Resilient Pacific crews, equestrian adventures and a remarkable tale of a hunting horn

To the east, lights shone out and the sound of elephant seals echoed. To the west, the last blaze of red faded to black as the sun slipped below the horizon. Above, stars pricked out, mingling with the lights of aircraft that tempted us on until they swung treacherously to the east and north. Bar the lap of the waves and the honking bark of the seals, the creak of the mainstays and the flap of the mainsail in the light air, there was not a sound. Though there was no one to hear, Michael and I whispered to each other, whispers of wonder at the beauty of the summer night and the sheer magic of steering into the blackness, with nothing but soft night winds to push us south to the invisible horizon.

A painting by Turner or the Pacific at sunset?

The last of the light to the north

 

Homer's wine-dark sea

Sunset

We were aboard Ebenezer III once more, the trusty vessel that recently saw me safely to the Farallon Islands and back. We had set off from Gashouse Cove in the Marina district at 10am, before which I had sat on my balcony with a cup of tea and watched Cap’n Richard sail across the bay from Sausalito. Ebenezer’s dark-blue hull and bright white mainsail had been the only thing moving, and it had been a wonderful thing to sit cradling my mug and watch that graceful vessel slip across the blue water, knowing that in a few moments I would be aboard.

Ebenezer III passing Angel Island

Sailing past Alcatraz

We motored out under the bridge into the teeth of a brisk wind, which gave us some decent tacking just outside the gate before settling to our southerly course. Fickle as ever, the wind then dropped, the Pacific swell falling to a mere roll, friendly blue water glittering in the sun. We could have been on a lake for all the drama this great ocean offered us, but for novice sailors experiencing an overnight voyage for the first time, we were glad to sip ginger beer and feast on ham sandwiches in comfort. This is a coast that can be dangerous, changing in a moment from friendly lapping at the hull to raging winds or thick fog, heavy swells or zero visibility. Given the choice between battling gales on a lee shore and reclining on the foredeck in warm sunshine, we were all agreed that the latter was the more salubrious option. Cap’n Richard had, as always, gathered a cheerful group, this time comprised of Michael, with whom I had sailed once before and is a splendid cook; Jan, who is married to an Englishman (clearly a woman of taste); and college student Isabelle, an enthusiastic sailor and lover of all things marine. Jellies are her particular delight, and she was treated to a whole procession of bright orange jellyfish, symptomatic, apparently, of an unusually warm current.

 

Setting a course for the Gate and an ominous fog bank

Michael takes us out

Riding Ebenezer side-saddle!

Evidence of California's shifting tectonic plates as we pass

Devil's Slide, the section of Highway 1 that had a habit of collapsing

down the cliff, cars and all. Thankfully for today's motorists,

it has been replaced by a tunnel safely inland

Richard and Michael enjoy a puff of something tasty...

...as Isabelle and Jan concentrate on where we're going

An attempt to avoid using the engine with the spinnaker,

but sadly there was simply no wind. Call this the Pacific?!

Jellyfish! An egg-yolk jellyfish, I believe

Cheers!

Isabelle tucks into Michael's delicious chicken in filo pastry

The lighthouse at Pescadero Point

As we slipped gently southwards, another crew was fighting its way westwards, having survived everything the Pacific could throw at them with indomitable spirit and courage. The Coxless Crew has just left Hawaii on the second leg of their journey, after a week spent relishing hot showers and individual beds for the first time in nearly three months. I wrote about their epic row from San Francisco to Australia in an earlier entry, and have since been following their daily despatches with awe and admiration. Freezing rain and heavy swells, adverse winds and assaults from flying fish, hideous islands of plastic and failing electronics: nothing has quenched their insatiable determination, and this week they completed the first leg of their trans-Pacific row. The next stage will be the hardest, coping with getting back onto their 29ft boat Doris after the blessed comforts of life on land and settling down to the punishing schedule of two hours on, two hours off once more, for the next 2,608-mile row to Samoa. I urge you to follow their story at www.coxlesscrew.com/blog and be inspired by their strength, humour and resilience.

Doris in San Francisco, before the row began

 

Another crew characterized by its courage in the face of daunting odds is that of Mistress II, flagship of the ResilienceRacing team. Jennifer Hinkel has assembled a fine group of cancer survivors to contest the Leukaemia Cup this autumn, and restoration of the historic Farallon clipper is well under way. Freshly varnished and with her name emblazoned proudly on the transom, Mistress II is now in the water once more, ready for the finishing touches that will see her ready for racing. No doubt, she will prove a fast and handy vessel, well able to contest the win under the able leadership of Cap’n Jennifer.

Mistress II awaiting her varnish

Poised for launch

Mistress II, temporarily trammelled up with shipyard detritus

Cap'n Jennifer Hinkel, hard at work until the 90 degree

temperatures drove us in search of ice cream! 

Back aboard Ebenezer III, Michael and I completed our Night’s Watch (viewers of Game of Thrones will understand my somewhat geeky excitement at the chance to say ‘And now my watch begins’ for real) to curl up below decks for the kind of deep sleep only possible when being rocked by the Pacific Ocean. It was a shame to be woken by the rumble of the engine, but when I climbed up the ladder into the cockpit, it was easy to see why we needed it. Limpid, oily seas stretched into a pale mist, already burning off under the rays of the dawn sun. A flat calm indeed. Richard turned on the radio and we woke the local wildlife with the stirring strains of an orchestral Mass, which no doubt carried for miles and stirred the souls of early morning fishermen. A huge mola mola, or Pacific sunfish, wallowed lazily through the water, a cousin of the vast, floppy finned fish we had observed the day before. Porpoises leapt ahead of us and, adorably, two sea otters nuzzled and rolled just off our bow. But it was after our delicious breakfast of pancakes, cherries and bacon (Michael is a gourmet cook), when the whole crew was on deck and the mist had cleared completely, that the true display began. Whales, four of them, two great males and a mother and baby, spouted and flashed their flukes mere yards from us, one humping its great bulk above the surface about 10 yards off the port bow. Isabelle and I couldn’t help but squeak, and any hope of decent photographs was lost as I feasted my eyes, entirely forgetting to aim the camera. I have been whale-watching before on tourist boats, but never have I seen such a display, all the better for being aboard a yacht after a fast overnight passage. Off such moments are dreams made.

Good morning!

Limpid defined

A mola mola, or Pacific sunfish, according to the experts

at the Monterey Aquarium - and Richard

Michael's gourmet breakfast, crepes, cherries and cream

WHALE!!!

A whale's flukes! Not perfectly timed, I'm afraid

Whale watching

Whales - just out of frame because I was looking at them and

not at where I was pointing the camera. But those are their spouts, promise

Kayakers get up close to a whale as a yacht looks on.

It was whale-watching central in Monterey Bay that morning!

Sea lions. Just hangin' out

Ebenezer III, safely berthed in Monterey

Our sterling crew, me, Isabelle, Captain Richard, Michael and Jan

If not on board ship, I am never happier than on board a horse. Long-held intentions finally came to fruition a couple of weeks ago when I and my friend Josephine Arader of Arader Galleries, who has been such a support with Gateway to England, drove north across the Golden Gate Bridge one grey morning to visit Arabian Adventures. We were slightly confused by wet stuff on the windscreen – rain? In California? – but it proved to be nothing more than heavy drizzle, so I didn’t have to put the waterproofness of my Noble Outfitters coat to the test. Arabian Adventures is a friendly set up just outside the village of Point Reyes, blissfully free of the overly manicured Californian feel of luxurious barns where white breeches are de rigeur. There are about 20-odd horses available for guests, mainly elegant Arabs, with some quarter horses and crosses for more substantial riders. I had heard lots of good things about Arabian Adventures and it was heaven to be out in the countryside, watching the red-winged blackbirds soar over the pond and looking up rolling fields (brown, not green) to the ridge. The owner, Sussex-bred Suzie Rowell, loaded up the horses and we followed her 20 minutes south through gloriously empty countryside to a trail head that led into the hills.

The fields above Arabian Adventures.

Yes, the sky is California in July

Me on Cinderella and Jo on Cody

 

Jo and I had the choice of bay Arab Cinderella and skewbald cross Cody, both impressively well mannered and gentle. I took Cinderella and we set off up into the hills, climbing up and up until we reached a ridge that looked down onto a hidden lake, around which rides are sometimes taken. After a well-earned water stop, we put on a spurt of speed back up a hill until we began the long descent back to the road. We saw not a soul, not a hiker, cyclist or fellow rider, meandering along in blissful peace without even the sound of an aircraft to disturb the peace. You can ride for miles here, unencumbered by the need to avoid anyone and with glorious views in all directions. The blustery weather meant we were confined to the forest tracks, but the glimpses of distant hills through the trees were uplifting and the horses light-mouthed and comfortable, with the lovely floating action of the Arab. Hopefully, the weather will be kind next time and we can try their paces on open hills and beaches in proper Californian sunshine.

Not a bad view

Jo impersonates a monkey. I think she was happy...

A pause to admire the view and trust our horses not to plunge down the hill

We could have been in Norway or Canada:

California still has plenty of wild corners 

Last Christmas, I reported on the brilliantly friendly Carmarthenshire Hunt in Wales for Horse & Hound and had such good time that I returned for a non-work day. I was particularly impressed by the enthusiastic young thrusters, especially Kieran Evans, then 7, who was encouraged endlessly by huntsman Owain Fisher. I wrote about how Kieran had saved up all summer to buy a hunting horn at Frampton country show, but had been disappointed that he couldn’t afford a silver-banded one. Several months later, his mother Vashti was contacted by Glynis Karlsson of Freyja Welsh Cobs in South Africa. Glynis had a silver-banded Swaine & Co horn in her possession that had been carried by Maj Alec Chasemore, master of the Cape Hunt (now disbanded) in the 1950s, and with which she hunted hounds herself. She had read of Kieran’s wish in my article (copies take a long time to get to South Africa) and arranged for her own horn to be presented to him at the Royal Welsh Show, as she knew of no one else who would value it more. The horn must be over 80 years old, but I am assured it sounded as sweet as ever when Kieran blew it in the ring, a ring graced by no less a personage than Prime Minister David Cameron that same week. Not a dry eye in the house and the horses 'nearly did somersaults' thinking the season had started. I feel very proud to have had a hand in bringing the scene about, and I like to think that a future hunt correspondent will visit a hunt where Kieran is hunting hounds and write about how he acquired his horn...

Kieran meets Gustav Karlsson, Glynis's husband, at the Royal Welsh Show

Gone away! Trying the precious silver-banded horn for the first time

Gustav, Kieran, Kieran's mother Vashti Hasdell and father Aeron Evans.

A very proud moment

Photographs by Arthur D. Thomson