Monday, April 29, 2013

In Which I Fix Something
By Michael

This is an unhappy girl on a mission.
Over the past two weeks, we've visited
half-a-dozen tattoo parlors with
Eleanor. She is fired up to get her
ears pierced and every place we
go, the resident body piercing
person is gone or off. It's become
hilarious--to most of us.
“Can you please fix the medicine cabinet catch?” Windy asked me the other day.
"What’s wrong with the medicine cabinet catch?”
“You’ll see, it’s been broken for months.”

There is no shortage of beer-in-hand/body-in-hammock stories that depict cruising as a carefree existence, free of the work and hassle that characterizes land-based life. And to be fair, neither is there a shortage of flashlight-in-mouth/body-upside-down-in-bilge stories that depict the cruising life for what it is: a lot of work and hassles landlubbers never know—in cool places.

This is one for the latter category.
Indeed, I hadn’t noticed that the medicine cabinet catch was loose, barely keeping the little door closed. And now that someone else knew that I knew, feigning ignorance was not an option. I set about solving this minor problem.

Now, good reader, how long should it take me, an average cruiser, to fix a loose door catch? The answer is two days. But I didn’t know this then. And that’s why this story is as much a cruising yarn as our recent trip to the San Juan Islands. This story is an important reminder that solving any problem aboard a cruising boat nearly always takes longer than anyone ought to imagine. Always, even after I’m reminded of this! (In fact, my inability to imagine the actual time—and cost—that any boat project will consume is what allows me to keep going. My ignorance is the magic that keeps me sane, that allows me to start another project, and another, each time armed with a fresh dose of misplaced confidence.)
So I grabbed my screwdriver from the drawer beneath the nav station and made my way forward to the head. Before even trying to tighten the screws that attached the catch, I notice it’s pointless. There is a crack, a split in the wood running through both of the tiny screw holes. I removed the catch to study the problem further.

The frame was split, but not badly, just enough to keep those screws loose. I thought about gluing and clamping the split. I’ve had success in the past with Gorilla glue, but it would be impossible to prep the surfaces (let alone squeeze any glue into the crack). I figured Crazy Glue might wick in there, but I feared it wouldn’t be up to the task, that the repair would fail as soon as I replaced the screws. I decided on a mechanical solution; I would use two additional screws to pull the two sides of the split frame together tightly. I would have to insert them from the back so the heads wouldn’t show and they wouldn’t get in the way of the door closing.
Such a little thing...
Only five minutes had elapsed, and I already had a plan.

In the aft cabin, I moved Eleanor’s stuffed animals aside to access my drill stored under her bunk. From my yellow tool chest under the v-berth, I retrieved my drill index. From a cubby underneath the dinette, I dug out my box of stainless screws. From behind the starboard settee, I found my #2 Phillips stubby.
Frances was now using the head, but no matter, I picked out the right screws, installed the bit I wanted for pilot holes, and waited.

I now have an arsenal of tools out and I’m on the job. I realize I can’t drill from inside the cabinet because the drill’s too big, but in a stroke of genius, I decide to drill through the outside, two tiny holes that I can cover up later. Yet when I go to start the first screw from inside the cabinet, I realize my Phillips-head stubby is way too long. I need a right-angle screwdriver and I’m pretty sure I have one, someplace.
Someplace. After thirty-five minutes of tearing the boat apart looking everywhere for the right-angle screwdriver I thought I had, I grab some long needle-nose pliers with a bend in the end. It’s difficult to start the first screw by hand, but once I do, I gingerly try and reach around and grab the screw head with the pliers, squeeze, and try and rotate the screw. It is very slow going, just a few degrees at a time, and only when the pliers don’t slip off the tiny screw head or I don’t twist it sideways.

“I thought we had a small black Sharpie in here.” I want a way to mark the head or shaft of the screw, just to assure myself it is indeed turning; increased resistance now causes the pliers to slip off more frequently.
And turning it is, though only every third try with the pliers is successful. Ever so slowly my little black mark rotates out of sight.

But I’ve stopped again, back in the salon looking for the tiny 1” c-clamp that was aboard the boat when we bought her. I realize it’s critical that the wood frame is held together tightly as I affix my screws.
I find the c-clamp and note I’ve been at this now for more than an hour.

I go back to trying to turn the first screw, still only a few degrees at a time. The further it goes, the more difficult it is. After about 20 minutes, I finally stop; there doesn’t seem to be a gap between the frame and the head of the screw.
I realize right off the bat the second screw is going to be more difficult; I drilled that pilot hole just a bit closer to the inside of the cabinet. After a while, I give up, the second screw only half in. I push on the crack a bit and realize they both need to be tighter to be effective, much tighter.

“I’m leaving this door for tonight,” I call to Windy, “I need to go out tomorrow and buy a right-angle screwdriver to finish.”
The next day, after a 15-minute walk, I’m at Capitol Iron, the nearest hardware store. The old-timer in the hardware department sucks air in through clenched teeth, his lips drawn, “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, but we don’t carry those—but we should, they’d be right here. Sorry.”

But my spirts aren't dampened. Even before he spoke, I came up with another plan.
Back on the boat, I gathered a couple tool bags from different lockers. With a short #2 Phillips bit fitted into a ¼” socket attached to a ¼” driver, I’ve got an improvised right-angle screwdriver. It’s a bit difficult to use, given that the broad head on the wrench buts up against the inside of the cabinet and doesn’t allow me to get a solid fit on the screw head, but it works. Within minutes, both screws are tight and when I remove the c-clamp, the crack is gone, the frame solid.

But then I notice that both sharp screws are poking an eighth of an inch out of the front of the cabinet face, right out the pilot holes I made. I go and get my Dremel.
With a metal-cutting wheel in the chuck, I grind down each of the sharp heads. Sparks fly and both little screw tips turn cherry red before falling off into the sink. The wood frame is scarred, but smooth. I attach the catch, successfully test the door, and begin the clean-up.

“What in the world was that sound? Are you grinding metal?”
“Nothing a little paint won’t cover. The medicine cabinet door is fixed.”

This is the bench between the girls' berths in the aft
stateroom. The green blanket is shore, the white
paper slips in a marina. We clearly need to spend
more time at anchor.

Monday, April 22, 2013

We Slipped The Lines
By Michael

Most of the time, Windy sets the anchor
and snubber on Del Viento while I'm at
the helm. Here in Roche Harbor, late
afternoon, I noticed the girls up front,
watching her like two lion cubs watching
their momma take down prey. 
For the first time in months, we left Victoria aboard Del Viento. Motoring out of the picturesque harbor, the girls assumed their familiar sailing positions under the dodger: Frances cozied up on the port side of the companionway, Eleanor to starboard. Clear of Ogden Point, the wind blew 15- to 20-knots on our beam and we charged full sail into a 2-knot opposing current at nearly 7 knots. Windy and I sat in the cockpit, smiling at the thrill it was to be underway again. All of us wore warm layers and warm hats to defend against the 50-degree air.
After two hours, we turned left at San Juan Island and ran up the Haro Strait in rolling swells, now nearly dead downwind. Hours later, just at the entrance of the winding channel leading to Roche Harbor, we furled the jib, started the motor, and rounded up and dropped the main. It doesn’t get any better than this (unless it’s warmer).

Roche Harbor is a former company town that’s been turned into a weekend getaway spot for sailors and a home for wealthy retirees. It’s like the Pacific Northwest’s version of Southern California’s Avalon on Catalina Island, only 1/100th the size. Apparently, this place is bustling in the summer, but we dropped the hook in 30 feet with only two other boats to share the large anchorage and then nestled down below for a warm dinner and peaceful night aboard.
Only this column on the mausoleum
was constructed to appear broken,
to represent man's unfinished
work over a lifetime.
Ashore the next day, we walked into the forest to find the Afterglow Mausoleum.

John McMillin bought all of Roche harbor back in 1886. He turned the place into the largest lime producing operation west of the Mississippi. Late in his life, the turn-of-the-century tycoon commissioned construction of a mausoleum in the adjacent forest, a grand structure built of limestone to serve as the permanent home for his remains and those of his wife and the four McMillin children. It looks like some kind of Greek or Roman ruins, but apparently the guy put a lot of thought into exactly what it is. It’s so gaudy and out-of-place in the quiet forest, that it’s actually pretty cool. Today it’s a National Historic Place and mecca for the Sigma Chi brotherhood.
After we spent our second full day at Roche Harbor aboard, at anchor—reading, cooking, and playing games while we listened to the light rain tap on the deck above—we woke the next morning to sun and motored five miles over to Stuart Island and tucked into Reid Harbor, a beautiful, isolated narrow inlet with excellent holding. Emboldened by the sunny sky, Windy and the girls hiked up and over the island. Along with a bunch of animal skeletons Eleanor collected, they found a one-room schoolhouse that serves the island’s school-age children (both of them, in 1911 there were fourteen). There are no commercial establishments on Stuart and only about 700 permanent residents—all of them living off the grid, like cruisers. U.S. Postal Service mail comes three days a week via boat.

Looking at a chart, it’s clear this five-day trip away from our winter home scarcely covers a tiny piece of the puzzle of islands (thousands of them) that stretch up the inside passage to Alaska. We saw very little of what there is to see in even this small geographic area; it’s clear June, July, August, September, and October will only allow us to scratch the surface of this landscape.
Tonight we are in Friday Harbor, preparing to sail (hopefully) back to Victoria tomorrow, in time for the girls’ drama and gymnastics classes on Tuesday. I’ll spend the next few days completing some small boat projects in preparation for heading out again, soon. I think the next five weeks we’ll be in and out, wrapping up the lives we’ve made in Victoria, getting ready to leave that city and several good friends behind.

The flowers are blooming at Roche Harbor, but walking around
the deserted tourist trap was like walking around Disneyland in
the hours before they open.

This is it. The remains of each family member are entombed
beneath each chair. Each chair back is engraved with the
name of a deceased and the titles they attained during
their lifetime. John's includes, "32-degree Mason, Knight Templar,
Noble of Mystic Shrine, Sigma Chi, Methodist, Republican"
His wife's single accomplishment? "Wife of John McMillin" 

The girls reading in the empty library of the Stuart Island schoolhouse.

Overlooking Reid Harbor, our bright yellow Pudgy at the public
dock and Del Viento just visible at anchor in the upper left.

The girls on a bluff on Stuart Island.

Monday, April 15, 2013

Six Simple Tools We Like
By Michael

The greatest thing about this vacuum is that
Eleanor can manage it easily.
There are lots of expensive things aboard the average cruising boat that get very little use. EPIRBs, life rafts, drogues, storm sails, and spare anchors come to mind. But then there are the small, inexpensive things that we value almost daily. Their place aboard is secure, they’ve almost become part of the crew and if we lost them tomorrow, they would be replaced in short order.

6     Ratcheting crimpers: Aboard the first Del Viento, I crimped hundreds of 12V wire connectors with cheap, common crimpers, the kind that come in sets. They worked okay for a short while, before the axle started to loosen and the handles began to twist under pressure. I always wondered if I was
squeezing tight enough, or too tight? I bought ratcheting crimpers at a boat show before we left and I will never go back to non-ratcheting crimpers. The tool is sturdy, the action is satisfyingly positive, and every crimp is perfect.

5     Colored tool bagsIn our D.C. garage I had a nice tool chest that rolled on sturdy wheels and featured drawers that slid on greased bearings. When I realized this chest wasn’t coming aboard with us, so I wondered what to do with my ¼”, 3/8”,and ½” socket sets and my collection of metric and standard open-end and box wrenches. Plastic tool boxes take up a lot of space, especially if they have the snazzy molded spots to organize your sockets and wrenches. Then I saw these bags and decided to try them out. They are great. I know to grab the orange bag when I need an open-end wrench, and when I need a 3/8” socket, I grab the brown bag. The inconvenience of digging through a bag for the particular sized wrench or socket is way offset by the fact that when these bags are stuffed with tools, they are like bean bags: compact and can be stowed anywhere. I keep them in a cubby beneath the dinette where they’re out of the way, but easy to grab. For canvas bags, they are not cheap, but the Klein quality is evident and the metal zippers still work perfectly after two years. I've spared them no abuse and the seams are tight and the material is sound. I can’t think of a better way to stow these necessary sets of hand tools.
4     Nesting stainless steel bowls: We bought this sturdy set of bowls at a Costco more than 10 years ago and use them more than once a day. I’ve since seen much thinner bowls than ours and I don't think they would work as well. Not only are these things indestructible, but because they’re impervious, I can use them in the morning to soak an engine part in a solvent, and in the evening to toss a kale salad. Maybe this doesn’t sit well with everyone, but I appreciate dual- and multi-purpose things in our life afloat where space is at a premium. Also, these bowls can be scoured with stainless steel wool (you should have this aboard too) after bread dough has stuck to them like glue.

Okay, so I concede Frances
has never used this and
her affection is feigned.
3     Oil extractor: I used to suck all 6.5 quarts of oil out of our engine using one of those little pumps you spin with your drill. It was terrible. I'd sit for 30 minutes with the drill running continuously—tons of power consumed, tons of wear and tear on the drill, and it was inevitably messy. I saw this West Marine manual vacuum extractor raved about online by a number of folks. I was skeptical but I couldn’t find anything else that seemed better or had such stellar reviews. When I saw it in person, I was shocked at how big the thing is and wondered where I was going to stow it. After using it the first time, I didn’t care if it had to live in my berth, it’s that great. I simply connect the tubes (friction) and insert one end down the dipstick tube and plug the other into the top of the canister. Then I pump 10 or 15 times and walk away. Twenty minutes later all the oil is out of the engine and in the canister. I've used it also to suck up a spill in a hard-to-reach place in the hull. After every use, I simply wedge the end of the tube someplace high and let it sit overnight; in the morning, it's totally clean. This thing is great.
2     Vacuum cleaner: Having owned terrible rechargeable and 12V vacuums in the past, we researched vacuums like crazy before buying this one. We wanted something compact, but heavier duty that would provide a lot of suction. We’ve used this Eureka EasyClean vacuum at least every other day for the past two years and it is still going strong. And it doesn’t just get light-duty use. I use it on nearly every dirty project aboard, sucking up the waste from drilling fiberglass, metal, and wood, inside and out. It is well-built, stows neatly, provides lots of suction, and its bag-less design is easy to empty.

1     Screwdriver: I don’t know what I was thinking when I bought this thing at the 2010 Annapolis boat show; I was irrational, clearly in a buying frenzy. Have you ever seen anything more suited to a late-night infomercial? It is like those 6-in-1 screwdrivers that come with the different magnetic bits, except that all the bits are stowed inside and you simply have to twist it to the right position for the bit you want and then pump the thing like a shotgun to change bits. The Autoloader screwdriver is the greatest thing since sliced bread. Other than two monster screwdrivers I bought in Mexico, I’ve not used any of the dozen “regular” screwdrivers I own since moving aboard. Not once. Through all the work we’ve done, all those projects, all the screwing’s been done by this guy. I’ve used it so much and so often, I’ve memorized the order of the bits inside, so I just know I have to twist two clicks this way to get to my #2 Phillips driver and one more that way if it turns out #1 is a better fit. A great feature is that you can customize it with your own bits, or replace these if they wear out (they have not). Looking at it, I would imagine at least one plastic part would have broken by now, but none have. I know that no matter how emphatic I am, you will still think this is hokey, but you would be wrong.

My beloved Autoloader. That thing on the handle that looks
like a button, isn't--it's perfect in every other way though.

Monday, April 8, 2013

The Neskowin Ghost Forest
By Michael

I feel compelled to note that my previous post was in the spirit of the holiday, April Fools Day. I think it was obvious to readers of sailing magazines and books that I was having fun, painting caricatures of the personalities that are so well-known to many of us: Nigel Calder, Fatty Goodlander, Beth Leonard, and Lin and Larry Pardey. But it must have seemed odd to everyone not acquainted with these folks--now you know. And if you want more, check out last year’s April 1 post.
Now back to our serious programming.

Eleanor resting at the top of a bluff she
reached after climbing up a 250-foot dune.
See that coat next to her? Yep, she left it
right there and had to climb that dune
a second time to get it.
This past summer and fall, en route from Mexico to Canada, we stopped at 14 ports and anchorages between San Diego and San Francisco (mostly to visit with family and friends). North of San Francisco, we made one more stop in California (Eureka) and then only one stop on the entire Oregon-Washington outside coast (Astoria). It's not that we don't have as many friends north (we don't), it's that this stretch is comparatively desolate, with few ports or anchorages.

But we sailed (mostly motored) almost always in sight of this wild coast. Neither of us has spent time here and we wondered--even aloud--about its magnificence. I reasoned it would resemble the rugged beaches of Big Sur I know well. Windy figured it would remind her of cold, windy days she's spent on the beaches of Humboldt County.

A couple weeks ago we hopped on the ferry and rented a car and drove down there to visit friends who were staying about an hour north of the small Oregon seaside community of Newport. I knew we'd hit the good breweries nearby and discover the beaches we'd sailed past. None of us expected to see ghosts...

Windy just told her that it is
often said that there are as
many stars in the universe
as there are grains of sand
on all the worlds' beaches.
This idea didn't sit well
with Frances--she's not
a believer.
The forest is just a few miles north of a giant sea stack called Proposal Rock, in a town called Neskowin (pop. 170). It’s not a forest like one you may imagine on the Oregon coast, mostly because it is really on the coast—in the water actually. And forget leaves and branches and birds and shade, this is a ghost forest, made up of ancient Sitka spruce trees—that aren’t there. I’ve never seen anything like it.

Until 1998, these trees were the stuff of rural legend, of stories told and re-told. Generations of residents in the area spoke of a forest of massive stumps that appeared in the surf every 20 or 30 years before quickly disappearing. Then, some of the largest winter storm waves ever recorded on the Oregon coast hit at the end of 1998. When that storm season ended, the newly eroded beachscape featured a ghost forest for all to see: about 200 massive stumps stood in the surf, rooted where they’ve been mostly hidden for sixteen centuries.
It’s thought that these trees were casualties of a major subsidence event (this is where the ground level drops suddenly to fill a void beneath), sparked by a massive quake along the Cascadia fault line around 400 AD. The trees quickly died and rotted away—except for the root structure and 6-7 feet of trunk. This part of the trees was preserved in the dense sand that covered them up soon after (in fact, the nutrient-rich forest floor the trees grew in is preserved beneath the sand too).

But whereas before the sand had always returned--carried ashore by the prevailing summer currents--to cover the exposed stumps, after 1998 the stumps remained exposed. For the first time in 1,600 years, the stumps are weathering 15 years of continuous exposure, deteriorating in the elements. They are covered in barnacles, pounded by the relentless surf and tide. Scientists aren’t sure why, only that this period of exposure is unique. The leading hypothesis is our changing climate.

This is it, a portion of the Neskowin Ghost Forest. Not
a lot of surfers around.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Chance Encounters
By Michael

Eleanor with the garter snake she
caught at my sister's house.
I stepped off Del Viento, headed for the trash cans at the end of the dock, a bag in-hand filled with the greasy detritus of my efforts down below.

“Looks like you’re doing a bit of boat work.”

The British lilt from behind belonged to our new neighbor aboard Nada. I turned to greet him, “Morning Nigel. Yeah, I’m struggling with a couple projects today. On the engine, I can’t for the life of me loosen a couple bolts attaching the oil lines to the oil cooler. And up forward, there are gremlins in the wiring causing a reading light to flicker.”
“I can probably help you solve both those problems,” Nigel offered.

“Oh, I couldn’t…”
“I don’t mind. I’ve got a few minutes and can probably steer you in the right direction; I know my way around motors and electrics.”

Five minutes later, down below, Nigel shook his head.
“All of these traditional hardwired circuits…” he closed his eyes and exhaled before continuing, “You should tear out all of your wiring and start over with a distributed power system, it’s the only way to go—everything should be powered via nodes these days.”

“Of course. After your batteries, nothing is more important then wiring. What kind of batteries do you have anyway?”

“Six-volt AGMs, I installed them last year.”
“Oh, no—that technology is 10 years old,” he cringed. “You need a bank of lithium-manganese-ion-kryptonite cells, with Kevlar insulators and fuses—make sure everything is fused.”

I nodded. “Thanks for the info Nigel, any thoughts on the motor? I just need a way to loosen…”
He was already turned around, staring at my silver Yanmar. “Well, you could spray penetrating oil on the offending bolt heads, tap them with a hammer, and then wait overnight before turning your fists into bloody pulps trying to remove them. You’ll curse like a sailor, get nowhere, and probably break something else.” His head hung low and his voice got softer. “I don’t recommend it.”

I took the bait, “What do you recommend?”
He brightened, “Your future is a hybrid pod-drive system, why wait? Ditch the Yanmar and get a bio-fuel diesel genset supplying 48 volts to an all-electric engine powering a pod drive that swivels 360 degrees—with a joy-stick control at the helm.” He paused, “That’s the ticket.”

Before Nigel left, he invited us to tea aboard his Nada the next day. “We’ll kick around some more ideas!”
I was just getting back to it when there was a knock on the hull. I stuck my head out of the companionway, “Oh, hey Fatty! How are things?”

“Couldn’t be better! Do you guys want to drop by later and see our new ketch?”
“We’d love to.” I said. “You’re sure in a good mood.”

“Of course I am! I’m mainlining the most powerful drug in the world man, Freedom! Carolyn and I have an unlimited supply. And I can never be busted because the dirt dwellers don’t even know this drug exists.” Fatty paused, “But you seem kind of down, what’s going on?”
“Just some boat trouble: engine, wiring, typical stuff.”

Fatty scratched his beard, “You know, I saw a whole heap of wiring in the marina dumpsters up in the parking lot. I left it, but pulled out a couple halyards with thousands of miles left on ‘em. I’ll tell ya, if it wasn’t for the wealthy sailors among us, we’d be in a heap of trouble!”
I nodded, “Thanks. Any ideas for loosening a couple stuck bolts on my engine?”

Frances eagerly getting
eggs ready for the
big hunt--to be held
this year at our friends'
house in Port Angeles.
“That’s easy: a party. Get enough folks aboard and start dropping hints, doubting anyone will have the strength or smarts to loosen your bolts. Invariably, several folks will take the bait—you only need one who proves stronger or smarter than you.”
“Fatty!” came the call down the dock.

“Oh, gotta run, there’s an Italian bombshell looking for me. I love that woman!”
When Fatty left, I looked up at the clock. My day was slipping by and nothing was getting done. I decided a break was in order and walked up to the marina office to see where I could dump used motor oil. On a bench out front, a woman sat hunched over a laptop, working intently on a complicated-looking spreadsheet on her display.

I stopped, “Oh, hi Beth, I didn’t recognize you, your head was down. How’s Evans?”

“He’s good, how’s Windy?”
“She’s fine, she took the girls out to the park so I could get some work done, but I’m not making much headway.”

“What kind of work?”
For the third time today, I explained the two issues I was focused on.

“Hmmm, good luck with that. Hey, let me ask you a question: as a cruiser, would you classify yourself Simplicity, Moderation, or High-Life?”
“Well, I guess I’m in between simple and moderate. Why?”

“Just a project I’m working on. Let me know how it turns out, will you please?”
“Sure, take care Beth.”

The office was warm and smelled like fresh coffee. I greeted the woman behind the desk, “Do you have a place I can dump used motor oil?”
She pointed to a shack across the parking lot and I turned to head out, thanking her.

Before I grabbed the door, somebody outside pulled it open for me, “After you!”
“Hey, Lin and Larry! When did you guys get in?”

“We just dropped the hook this morning, we were hove-to outside the harbor in that storm all night.” Lin said.
“Yeah, glad I wasn’t out there—but I couldn’t have been, boat problems.”

“What kind of problems?” Larry asked.
I told them what was hanging me up.

“Paraffin and mahogany are what you need.” Larry said.

“What he means,” Lin explained, “is forget electric lighting. Do you really need the bother? A pair of nice oil lamps casts a much prettier light and they only need a bit of paraffin oil to operate reliably.”
“Exactly!” Larry beamed, “And as for your stuck bolts, a long piece of solid mahogany will do the trick.”

“What, for leverage?” I asked.
“No! You’re gonna carve it into a handsome sculling oar, that’s all you should ever need. You said it’s a sailboat, right? What do you need an iron jenny for? Haven’t you got a Dacron one? Go simple, you’d be out there now!”

“Well, yeah, I know what you’re saying…”
“Good, good. If you need planers or any other woodworking tools, I have them aboard, just swing by.”

“Thanks Larry, thanks Lin, see you later.”
I walked slowly back to Del Viento, two ideas taking shape in my head. First, that the cruising community is one of the truest forms of community out there, with another cruiser always ready to help. Second, that we’re all out here alone, bound to the boats and systems we have and responsible for ourselves. I picked up my wrenches and multimeter, refreshed and ready to tackle my problems anew.


On a trip this week to the Oregon coast, we found this challenging
harbor entrance in Depoe Bay. Despite the narrow passage and
strong tidal currents, there are 50-foot fishing boats inside the
small harbor.
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