The Journey to Cape Foulweather

July 2nd, 2008 at 10:52pm Kit O'Carra 51

    There is something about the name Cape Foulweather that fascinates me. My mind races with thoughts ranging from the history of the area and wanting to know the facts, to images of a full length feature film of mystery and suspense starring Robert DeNiro, Al Pacino and Jack Nicholson. I wish there was an actual town of Cape Foulweather. I would consider renting a house there while I wait to purchase my sloop or ketch.
 
The name itself, Cape Foulweather, doesn’t bring the idea of a warm sunny day to the average tourist. The truth is that Captain James Cook discovered and named the Point in 1778 when he first sighted the mainland of North America on the Oregon Coast, and one of the sudden fierce storms, which greeted his arrival, almost put an end to his historical expedition. Captain Cook never set foot on land at Cape Foulweather and couldn’t wait for the storm to pass so he could set sail again and leave this area. I have just the opposite draw to Cape Foulweather, even if there are winds up to 100 mph a few times each year.
 
   I leaped at the opportunity to sail to the Point after we scrapped the idea of our Wednesday Night Regatta in Yaquina Bay in Newport, Oregon when there wasn’t even the slightest hope of a breeze strong enough to fill the sails for us to race. We placed our bets on the wind currents out at sea, as unpredictable as they always are, once we left the bay under power and raised the sails heading north a few miles to Cape Foulweather. The sea was as flat as I have ever seen it. Barely a ripple slapped against the boat. We were under power while we tried to catch some wind. Finally a whisper of wind became just strong enough for us to cut the engine and use full sails. It was slow going and unusually quiet. Seagulls were passing us the way a Lamborghini zips past a Geo Metro with an 8 watt blow dryer motor.
 
It was a short trip, even at our slow pace, but it was enough time spent on the sea to remind me that I don’t really care much about regattas and racing as much as I do spending quiet time in reverie on the sailboat. Since 1965 I have had my share of fast cars. But that’s another story for another blog.  Boats are in a different category for me when it comes to speed and purpose.
 
Maybe it’s the fact that I’m older, wiser, and no longer in a hurry for my days to pass by quickly. Time seems to stand still when I’m sailing. I forget that there is already an influx of tourist traffic on Hwy 101. I don’t think about how long it takes me to drive home from Newport to Lincoln City. The sun doesn’t set until after 9pm here in the Pacific Northwest. It isn’t dark until well after 10pm, so my days are longer and my nights are very short. I don’t get much sleep and I can use all the siesta time kicking back on the boat, listening to a sail flap when it loses its wind now and then, and I have to do some quick tacking to avoid turning the engine back on.
 
One of my co-workers who has been sailing for over 25 years here told me he became a little bored with sailing. He said, “What can you do?  You leave the bay, you go straight for a little while, then you either turn left or turn right. There’s nowhere to go.”  I reminded him that it’s not the destination that matters. It’s the journey. Even if that journey only takes you a few miles to the left or the right. It’s a journey filled with valuable time that rejuvenates the heart and soul of expatriated Woody Creek dreamers like me.

Entry Filed under: Sports, Transportation, Travel, Woody Creek, Outdoors, Women, The West