| Captain | Bruce & Debbie | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd - San Diego, CA | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 Flush Deck - Hull 82 (1965) | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com/cal28 | |
Log Entry |
Thank you for visiting the Cal 28 web site, an online home for not just the original Cal 28 flush deck sailboat, but all Cal Boats, particularly the original Cal Boat line designed by Bill Lapworth and built by Jack Jensen at Jensen Marine Corporation. Please tell us about your Cal boat and any yarn that deserves telling. Cal Boat owners are urged to visit and join the Cal Boat Listserv by clicking on the "Suggested Link" below. List members include former Jensen employees and world class sailors who are ready to help you on all topics related to Cal Boats. | |
| Suggested Link | http://groups.yahoo.com/group/Cal_Boats/ | |
| DATE | Sunday, September 10th 2006 - 04:53:26 AM | |
| Captain | Bruce | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.rockypointweekly.com | |
Log Entry |
11-10-2006 Drove to San Diego to work on boat. Repaired tiller with Gorilla Glue and stainless steel screws and bolts. Single-handed boat into the bay and changed slips at the marina. | |
| Suggested Link | http://www.rockypointweekly.com | |
| DATE | Friday, November 17th 2006 - 06:46:35 PM | |
| Captain | [s] Bruce and Debbie | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com/cal28 | |
Log Entry |
Saturday sundown caught us making our way out of the south bay channel in San Diego. There are several 45 degree turns required to make it out without incident. As long you pay attention it is no big deal. However, the combination of twilight, another marooned sailboat on its beam in the mud about 300 yards away, and the passage of about thirty days since my last visit, all contributed to my smooth slide to a halt. While gazing at four stranded soles sitting high on the beam of a sailboat, completely laid over on its side in the mud, no keel even visible, I managed to miss the last channel marker and cut the last corner in the channel. Immediately prior to my mishap, I was also intent on making sure I waved at every kind of passing boat [another recent topic here]. I was equally focused on whether they acknowledged my salute with a return of their own. Never again. I wondered why the entire crew of the last saluted sailboat was gazing at us with such interest! Their attention was rewarded with our sudden full stop. No more Mr. Nice Guy for me. I am not even going to look at another passing boat. You think they could have shouted/signalled a warning? Several boats went by, and not one offered any assistance. So much for "the code." They didn't even stop long enough for me to invoke "Parlay!" It all happened very quickly. On my last trip I added a bit too much oil to the fuel mixture. Apparently, filling a gas tank with a small amount of remaining gas requires more precision when adding oil to the new combined mix. The motor was spitting, sputtering, and barely moving the boat as we exited the channel. I had already removed and cleaned the plugs, and even added additional gas to the tank thinking I'd fix the mix. We headed off for a mere "three hour tour" designed only to work some gas through the engine. As we headed through the channel making all obligatory turns, we noticed an unfortunate sailor, who grounded his boat in the mud. Not only ground it, did he, but he was in zero water, laid over on his side, with at least four persons gazing over the starboard beam. I looked around and noticed that in my zeal to hail all comers and goers, and to check out the other marooned sailors, I cut the corner off the last jog in the channel. While I thought I was in the middle of it, it realized I as about 75 yards out of the channel. We could not back out of the mud. To keep Debbie's recriminations to a minimum, I told her it was all her fault. I carefully explained that had she not climbed up to the bow in front of me, that I would not have been checking out her lovely figure, thereby causing me to become disoriented and heading off course. That bought me some time, and nothing further was said about how the incident occurred. We pulled out our handy tide chart to see when to expect the next high tide. We noticed from the chart we could try to blame others, too. Our dock mates told us we could sail any where in the bay at night because it was high tide. Not according to the chart! That was a couple of months ago . . . must be a "seasonal" thing. I learn something new from every one of these adventures. I know I learned about tides somewhere in the 4th or 5th grade. Per the chart, we could expect high tide at MIDNIGHT. So we settled in for a five hour wait, hoping to get out of the mud halfway to high tide. First, though, I thought I'd jump into the water and see if I could push us out of the mud. I jumped into warm water. It was above my hips. The wind was blowing against the freeboard and fighting me. I managed to suction-cup myself to the bay floor mud a few times. I then struggled back aboard. [Reminder to self: buy a new ladder.] I grabbed the anchor and re-entered the water, hauling the anchor about 40 feet windward towards the channel. I placed it in the mud, stood on it, and then made it back to the boat. I struggled again to get back on the boat [Reminder to self: buy a new ladder], and then tried to haul on the rode to pull the boat out of the mud. Thought Hornblower/Bolitho/Aubrey did that once or twice. My Danforth just came up into my hands. I ran it back out again and decided to settle in until high tide. Some large powerboat wakes also failed to lift us off. I thought they were just jamming my rudder further into the mud. A check of the GPS showed we were not moving. It was nice out there in the dark. Tijuana's hillside lights to the south, the Coronado strand to the west, the Coronado Bridge to the north, and the lights of Chula Vista and San Diego everywhere else. Stars appeared overhead, too. We turned on our running lights, grabbed three flashlights to signal with and to light up the mast if anyone approached, and settled in [I remembered the discussion online here about the recent ramming by the power boat]. Debbie suggested it was margarita time, but I told her we could not consume anything, expecting a harbor patrol visit sometime soon. She then entertained herself with a head mounted flashlight, exploring the confines of the boat like a miner. She soon tired of that and pulled out her laptop to watch a movie. Soon we had cushions on the flush deck, several flashlights, and Debbie's laptop. We were just getting comfortable and about to watch Maureen O'Hara's first movie [Jamaica Inn - a story about shipwrecks and pirates], when a rescue boat arrived and asked if we called for a rescue. Forwarned of the cost, I said, "no." We asked out of curiosity, "how much is it?" He said it would cost $175.00. I promptly told him we would await the high tide. We pointed him in the direction of the beached boat and told him they were the ones who probably called. He said they were beyond help, and that they would have to await the 12:00 noon high tide tomorrow. I know now that all tides are not equal. Some are more equal than others. Our midnight high tide was not going to be as high as the 12:00 noon high tide. So those people were out of luck. They obviously grounded at high tide, while we did so at low tide. As he backed away empty-handed, he said, "Oh well, I'll toss you a bow line anyway. I can't just leave you here stranded. But you'll have to give me a nice tip!" I didn't like the sound of that, but I was going to look really cheap if I turned him down again, so I stood up to accept the tossed bowline. The rudder was previously stuck in the mud, too, and I worried it might be damaged. As he pulled us out of the mud [it took two seconds], Debbie checked the rudder again and said it was still stuck in the same position. Now I thought we really needed a tow all of the way into the marina. I asked him what it would be to take us to the marina. He said, $75.00, but you better have cash." Hmmm. . . . $175 v. $75??? I told him he had a deal. He told us they referred to our channel as "Golden Pond." He lashed our boats together and his big diesel powered us along nicely. Debbie now wants a bigger motor on the sailboat. I noticed the rudder appeared to work fine, so about 100 yards from the marina entrance, I asked to be freed to make a low profile entrance. We entered under our own power, and no one noticed the vanishing recue boat in the distant night. As we slowed to enter our slip, the motor died and we glided in perfectly. Debbie said it was our best docking, yet. It was surely the quietest. We slid into the marina in the cover of darkness, no one the wiser. It was Miller Time, so we broke out the Margaritas. So no more gazing around while in the channel. No more waving at other boats. No more bad gas mixtures. No more guessing at the tides in the bay (I judged by the angle of the ramp leading to the boat dock). And I will break down and get the full tow package, too. | |
| DATE | Saturday, September 8th 2007 - 03:54:44 PM | |
| Captain | [s] Bruce and Debbie | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com/cal28 | |
Log Entry |
Message: 2 Date: Wed May 31, 2006 6:51 pm (PDT) From: "Bruce Stirling" bruce@... Subject: Latest San Diego Sailing Adventure - Entertainment - Long Most of you are too experienced to remember the kind of fun some of us are still having, so with the idea of providing a bit of entertainment, I submit this latest log entry on the adventures of my Cal 28. It's a bit long, but it does cover the Memorial Day weekend: My wife and I hadn't been to San Diego together since before my brother and I tried to the shoot the Embarcadero Pier in our Cal 28 sailboat while gang members harrassed us from above. Some of you might recall that last adventure, although I note it was deleted from the online messages. It was time to return and get that death defying rush again, and to demonstrate our sailing prowess to the Californians. So with renewed spirit, we headed into the desert night in a "new" 1981 Datsun 280ZX, hoping to kill two birds with one stone. A check out drive for the car, and yet another check out cruise for the boat. We blasted down the highway, trusting in Japanese technology. We arrived at the marina at about 3:30 a.m. and promptly passed out. The Datsun passed inspection. Saturday morning San Diego was gray and cloudy. Gale winds were forecast for islands off the coast of LA. We hung out on the boat, too tired after that drive to haul ourselves over the lifeline. We tidied up and talked to other marina residents and ate stale chips and pretzels found onboard. One guy was working on a Nissan outboard a few boats down. I was happy to know he knew a great deal about motors. I was jealous with envy when he hit the electric start button on his motor and it fired right up. I asked him how much the electric starter cost. He said, "around $200.00." He then walked over to our boat to show me a few things in response to my telling him about my bad kill switch. He started the motor with a single pull, said it sounded good, and then pressed a button below the choke, thinking it was a kill switch. It made a bad sound, and he said, "there's your electric starter button." Joy! I immediately called my brother in Phoenix to tell him we had an electric starter! Hurray! So we had that going for us. Sunday we spent time hooking up the anchors and generally checking things out. After the near miss at the pier, I vowed never to leave the dock again without all sails and anchors ready to go. We decided to hoist all sails at the dock, just to see if we could. Sure enough, the main sail got stuck again. A woman walked by and said we needed some kind of lubricant, which she had on her boat. She invited me over her place to borrow some lubricant. My wife just looked on and urged me to follow her. I didn't want to. I delayed a bit, and then was not able to find where she went, although I did try. Instead, I went to the store and bought some grease spray in a can. It worked great. Later someone told me it would attract dirt. A bit later, the woman's husband showed up and said his wife thought we could "use some help." We already had the sail up, so he introduced us to others, and a sailing party was organized. We were all to meet somewhere in the bay, charge around awhile, anchor, row to shore, and have a pot luck. Right . . . . (we have never anchored and have no tender). We were too tired to even think about hauling in the large genoa jib, so we never hoisted it. We sailed around a few hours under main sail alone without incident, and waved at the others on the water. We were left in their wakes as we bobbed along. Returning to the dock, my wife manned the Cal's rail with docking line in hand, ready to tie us up. As we neared the mooring and made the final turn into the slip, my wife claimed we were about to hit the dock. I disagreed (from 28 feet away) and looked around to make sure. We were only about two feet away when I looked up and noticed my wife was gone. She could only be in the water. I jumped to the dock to make sure the 6000 lb. boat didn't smash her. I looked down, and there she was in the water between the boat and the dock, hanging on to the line with one hand. There was only about 18 inches between the boat and concrete. She reached out with her other hand, and I pulled her onto the dock. We secured the boat and looked around, hoping no one saw our latest sweet move. It was too late. Boaters on the third deck of a big power boat two rows away were all pointing at us. My wife ran into the boat, too embarrassed to emerge again before dark. She suffered what appeared to be two broken fingers. She said she "took one for the boat." My wife never let go of the line in her hand. She said it was a short line, and as she jumped, the length was too short to reach the dock, snapping her back into the water. She used to be a member of the girl's gymnastic team. That was enough excitement for one day. The next day, Monday, we were just going to skip it all, what with my wife's busted fingers. But she proved game, and said she wanted to go out again. This time time we thought we'd raise the genoa and do the full sailing adventure. To make sure the genoa went up easily, I thought I'd hoist it at the dock and check that it was AOK. Our slip sits right in front of the restaurant. I knew eyes were on us. I meant to ensure there would be no surprises. The jib was in a sail bag at the bow, where my brother and I vowed it should forever remain after a motor failure caught us with all sails below decks. I very carefully attached everything while the sail remained inside the bag. All I needed to do was haul it up the line. I did. As the sail surged skyward for the whole marina and restaurant to see, something didn't look right. I watched the sail as I pulled on the sheet, happy no snags were making us look bad. The sail was about 2/3's hoisted when I realized the problem. IT WAS UPSIDE DOWN!!! I was horrified. I immediately tried to lower it, but IT GOT CAUGHT!!! There was no helping me now! I tugged and pulled, but the #@^%^#@*^$*@!! just stayed there, flying high for all to see, the broad base at the top, and the tip of the sail on deck. I thought about walking away and leaving my wife alone to explain it. I called her to help me out, and I explained why it looked a bit strange. We started laughing hysterically, trying not to look at the restaurant windows. Finally, with a great tug and with all of my 220 lbs. on the line, the sail gave way and came crashing down onto the deck. Speed was of the essence. We needed to move fast before someone official asked for my credentials. The idea was to launch and get as far away from the marina as possible. We shoved off, vowing to improve over our last effort. My wife gave me grief each time we watched other boats softly come to a rest after being out on the water. She pointed out how all of the other sailors came in solo, slow as you please, right into their moorings (into the wind), and stepped off like they were stepping onto a curb in a parking lot. I explained to her that their boats were smaller, weighed less, and that they were more maneuverable at slow speeds. I reminded her we were a 28 foot boat in a 25 foot downwind slip. The others did not suffer from this problem. I told my wife I would see how slow we could go under control as we left the marina. It was practice for our return maneuver. We walked it out of the slip, pointed the bow towards the exit, jumped on, and hit the gas. We took off a bit fast, so I cut the power on the Nissan. Our sails were down. The speed dropped quickly as I tried to mirror the slow speed of the smaller boats. I succeeded, and we putted along the side channel towards the larger channel that exits to the bay. I was pleased at how slow I was moving, steering the boat from one side to another, as we slowly moved towards the main channel. All was going smoothly. We thought again of the upside down genoa and laughed hysterically, glad we had not tried to hoist it on the bay in the presence of our new marina friends. A 90 degree right turn was required at the main channel. Just as we slowly moved into the main channel and tried to make the turn, the boat refused to respond. The wind and main channel current caught the slow moving boat and pushed us to the left! Not to worry, we were still moving slowly forward. All I needed to do was jump on the gas, right? I did. The Cal 28 roared forward. I pulled on the tiller to make the 90 degree right turn but the boat continued to charge straight forward, gaining speed, charging directly towards all of the large power yachts moored on the main channel. #@^%^#@*^$*@!! The main channel was only about fifty feet wide, and I was already halfway across it, with no response from the tiller at all! I slammed on the brakes with the cockpit remote control by throwing the motor into reverse and gunning it full throttle, hoping to stop and hoping to avoid ramming the big boats. I just read in the owner's manual that one should avoid switching gears in this fashion. People were now emerging on to their power boat decks, concern on their faces, as we charged down on them full speed. Finally, the reverse thrust kicked in and we halted forward progress about five feet short of the first power boat, much to the relief of the people on her deck. My wife was on the bow, smiling at them silently, ready to damage their boats with her feet. We were now drifting left, and gaining reverse speed, backing toward a 75 foot super high-tech luxury boat moored on the main channel, too big to fit into a slip. As we picked up speed in reverse, my thought was to repeat the same maneuver, and to move forward under control and to finally make that 90 degree right turn to freedom. Luck was not on my side. The tiller was ripped from my hand and slammed around by the speed of the water running past the rudder in reverse. The spinning tiller almost sent me overboard as it whipped around. I think I demonstrated this trick several times. My memory was affected by the stress of the situation. I remember a guy in a Zodiac raft with an outboard coming out. I guessed he was there to assist me, but all I could think of was, #@^%^#@*^$*@!! Get out the way!" He calmly and silently stood by, while he kept a wary eye on me. He was soon joined by a second Zodiac. I tried to make eye contact and my excuses while we spiraled in a circle demontrating my tiller trick, alternating between forward and reverse gears. I saw them go by several times as I appeared to be caught in a whirlpool of my own making. Miraculously, each time I neared a zillion dollar boat and approached bankruptcy, we stopped and pulled away from disaster. I finally regained control, but to my horror, I was traveling in reverse. Every time I made the transition from forward to reverse, or vice versa, all control was lost. I elected to stay in reverse. I backed out of the main channel, traveling at least 100 yards, going by gawking onlookers on the fishing pier and on other boats. Doing my best to pretend I planned it that way, I made like a politician and waved, again making my excuses to the two Zodiacs as I backed away triumphantly in reverse. In front of the channel to the bay, with plenty of steerage, I made a very nice turn and blasted away! We had a very successful sail. Sailing was the easy part. So much for a little rest and relaxation. We got back at midnight Monday. Robert Bruce Stirling, II, Esq. 602.254.6638 602.460.5631 [Cell] 602.258.0706 [Fax] bruce@stirlinglaw.com http://www.stirlinglaw.com/lawyers http://rockypointweekly.com http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freecyclephoenix/ This message is protected by attorney/client privilege. This message is intended only or the use of the person or entity to which it is addressed. If the reader of this message is not the intended recipient, or the employee, or agent responsible for delivering the message to the intended recipient, you are hereby notified that any dissemination, distribution, or copying of this message is strictly prohibited. If you received this communication in error, please notify us immediately by replying to the sender of this email or by telephone. If you believe it was sent to you in error, do not read it. Please reply to the sender that you received the message in error, then delete it. | |
| DATE | Saturday, September 8th 2007 - 03:57:42 PM | |
| Captain | [s] Bruce and Debbie | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com/cal28 | |
Log Entry |
Sent: Tuesday, July 17, 2007 1:03 PM To: Cal_Boats@yahoogroups.com Subject: [Cal_Boats] First Solo Sail on Cal 28 [ a bit long] I heard my brother was going to be in San Diego last weekend, so I zoomed over from Phx and got there in a mere five hours. We had a small missing problem with the outboard that did not inspire confidence leaving the marina, and then sailed around in good wind on Saturday. He returned to Phx by air the next day. The missing stopped when the engine heated up. Meanwhile, Sunday found me sitting on the boat alone remembering how nice the air was the day before. I get lazy when left to my own devices, but I talked myself into my first sailing solo. When I think about it, I don't think I ever sailed any boat solo before. Anyway, remembering the missing problem, I let her idle for about ten minutes before heading out. Piece of cake backing out of the slip and proceeding out of the marina, but still missing. I motored to the middle of nowhere before raising the sails, and all went well. A Catalina 30 went by headed toward the Coronado Bridge, so I tacked around and gave chase. He had about 75 yards on me, but I caught him before reaching the bridge, much to his dismay. The air went bad just beyond the bridge. I later came across the same Catalina 30 near Tom Ham's Lighthouse and waved at him. He grudgingly acknowledged my wave. A second later I heard a lot of laughter on his boat. I figured they were laughing at my expense. On my return to the south bay I came across him again. He was ahead of me by about 50 yards when I noticed him. One more time, I reeled him in, catching him giving furtived glances to the rear as I closed with him. Suddenly, we were about 30 feet apart, side by side, and not a single noise was coming from his once happy crew. We sailed that way about a mile down the channel alongside the Navy ships. We were on starboard tack and I was windward of him. I pulled ahead by about a boat and a half. My original rust stained sails must have been driving him crazy. We were angling towards the ships and I took a bit of joy knowing I had him where I wanted him. He pulled up again, and we see-sawed back and forth for a while. Finally, he pulled forward a bit, and I noticed he was able to point higher than I could, which ticked me off to no end. He then continued to pull away. My solo adventure got a bit dicey at the very last second as I entered my slip. I usually hit reverse a bit once in the slip, but this time, the motor died as I switched to reverse. I was able to stop the boat by hand without mishap. My hands were very much worse for the wear. Four and five blisters on both hands. Handling that 150 genoa solo was a bit of a killer on the hands. I had holes in both gloves and blood bleeding through the holes. But I can still type! Sorry so long. I needed to document my first solo. When I was tied up, I called my brother to ask if he spotted me out on the water, and learned he was at the Phx airport already. I still had to clean up. Left SD at 7:03 PM and was home at 12:43 A.M. (no stops). | |
| DATE | Saturday, September 8th 2007 - 04:03:54 PM | |
| Captain | [s] Bruce and Debbie | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| Email (email) | bruce@stirlinglaw.com | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com/cal28 | |
Log Entry |
They say confession is good for the soul. This weekend my brother and I took the "new" 1965 Cal 28 for a spin in San Diego Bay. After driving all night from Phoenix, we elected to motor across with a Nissan 9.8 outboard in the rain to Coronado to the Burger King. Thereafter, we planned to motor over to the fuel dock near Tom Ham's Lighthouse to fill the tanks. We never untied a sheet, nor hoisted a sail. The Genoa remained bagged below. The two anchors were stored away, too. Big mistake. We pulled the kill switch on the Nissan at the public dock in Coronado and it just kept on firing. It would not shut off. We pushed and pulled on the kill switch, but nothing happened. We decided to unplug the fuel line. We returned from our Burger King breakfast and hooked the line back up. I pumped the primer a few times and noticed a vaccum in the line. I thought it would slowly resolve itself and thought about it no more. I started the engine, and it ran smoothly. We decided to wait and let it run a while, just in case. We finally headed out, convinced the Nissan was running smoothly. About 40 yards from the dock, the engine died. We quickly tried to restart it, but to no avail. My brother kept working on the motor, while I looked to hoist the sails. The wind pushing on the hull quickly pushed us across the bay towards the rocks on the other side. Hurried attempts to hoist the sails (all sails either remained covered, tied down, or down below) proved fruitless. The shore line rapidly approached. With about 20 feet to go I prepared to fend off at the Embarcadero Pier, where several fishermen and gang members watched our approach with interest. My brother some how managed to keep the boat from striking or going under the peer for about 20 minutes. While fending off and battling large wakes, wind, etc., the gang members shouted to the approaching police to bust us. They also commented, "Looks like Broke Back Water to me." We were able to laugh about what almost proved to be a total disaster. We convinced the cops to give us some time before they called Boater Assist. We discovered the vacuum problem and were finally able to pull away unscathed, our egos totally deflated. | |
| DATE | Saturday, September 8th 2007 - 04:12:06 PM | |
| Captain | Bruce | |
| Boat Name & Port | Gangfurd | |
| Cal Model | Cal 28 | |
| URL | http://www.stirlinglaw.com | |
Log Entry |
I selected the above three incidents to share. They reflect the learning process we experienced with our "new" good old boat. We learned from these experiences and pass them on to you as examples of what to avoid. Enjoy. | |
| DATE | Tuesday, September 11th 2007 - 06:15:22 AM | |