Here Comes the Coast Guard!

We've been in the news lately. Did you see us? If not, that's probably for the best, as accounts thus far have all been more inaccurate than not. Here's a prime example. It contains an average of one inaccuracy per sentence. For example: "foundering" means "taking on water and sinking," neither of which was even a little bit true.

Here's what really happened:
Early the morning of the 16th, the weather off the Oregon coast went from really unpleasant to downright nasty. Swells were up to 20 feet, and winds were gusting up to 50 knots. Though both engines were fully operational, the Hawaiian Chieftain is a relatively lightweight vessel with a draft of only five feet, and she was unable to make headway against the wind. With no sea anchor aboard, our captain was occupied with trying to keep the vessel from broaching (i.e. veering broadside to the swells). The forecast coming over the radio called for still worse weather in the next few hours.

There was really only one logical thing to do at this point: call on the Coast Guard. They came out to assess the situation, and by the time they arrived, the weather had calmed temporarily (thus the report of merely 14 foot seas and 35 knot winds). They agreed to give us a tow into the nearest harbor, which happened to be Tillamook, and there we are even now lying low until the forecast looks a little friendlier.

It's simple enough in retrospect, but while it was all going on it was much more confusing. I was awakened by our steward at 8 a.m. (midway between watches): "Put on your foulies and harness and stand by for all hands on deck." Weak with nausea and exhaustion, I struggled into my foul-weather gear and harness, then numbly donned the lifejacket handed to me, trying really really hard not to wonder what was going on.

On deck, the world was cold wet chaos. I planted myself on a quarterdeck bench next to a couple of similarly dazed shipmates and tried to wrap my mind around what was going on. The captain was whipping the wheel back and forth. Several of the crew were struggling to rig the giant yellow tarp as a makeshift sea anchor. The steward was getting everyone into big orange vests. Eventually the salt spray and adrenaline brought back my wits, and I was able to make some bumbling attempts at usefulness.

The waves gradually began to settle a bit, and the next big swell I was bracing myself for finally just didn't come. The Coast Guard radioed that they had a visual, and eventually we spotted them too, zipping through the waves in their rough-and-ready vessel. As they drew alongside to send heaving lines, a ray of sunlight burst out improbably through the heavy cloud cover and radiated a brilliant rainbow against the gray sky.

And so we were towed into Tillamook Bay. The waters in the harbor were calm and the sky was blue, which made it seem as though everything we had just been through was merely a ridiculous nightmare. Residents of the town raced down to the dock to see what strange vessel the Coasties had brought in. (One of the Guardsmen had radioed ahead: "Tell my wife to come down to the dock with the camera.") And I called up my aunt and uncle who live in Tillamook, and they invited the entire crew over to their place for pizza and showers and much-needed rest.

So we're not in Fran Sancisco. We're not even in Newport, which is where we hoped to be before the storm hit. But we're safe, and very grateful to be so. And as soon as the weather clears, we'll be headed south again.

I've posted this MP3 before, but this is the song that popped into my head the first moment I sighted the Coast Guard vessel:
Tennis - Here Comes the Coast Guard!