California Pirates

California Pirates



I remember hearing something in the distance pounding against the sailboat’s hull. Half asleep and groggy, I thought the mooring buoy must be colliding with the hull. Footsteps and voices whispering drifted into the main salon where I snuggled under a couple of blankets on the couch. The footsteps got louder, coming closer, as I wondered what the guys were doing up so early. The answer came as someone struck a lighter in the companionway. I looked up to see an unfamiliar face peering out of a black hooded sweatshirt, with other hooded men behind him. “You should see at all the shit down here!” the man said. I could hardly believe my eyes, but this wasn’t a nightmare, it was real, very real, and within a few feet of me…

Only the day before we had begun our early morning sail amid Sausalito’s dense October fog, affording us only a couple hundred yards visibility. The Golden Gate Bridge was shrouded in whipped cream, the foghorns pounding out their ominous warnings. Ships were everywhere; the coastline with offshore rocks invisible, and huge, westerly swells threatening to break on the decks.

There were six of us onboard the Elysium, an Andrews 72- foot sloop; three owners, the captain and two mates, a good mix for two-person watches. All hands were on deck looking for small islands as we moved at ten knots in and around the shipping lanes, tankers, freighters and container ships. Within a few hours, leaving the congested lanes and threatening swells, things settled down and our comfortable routine of watches allowed us the freedom to relax and unwind, as any good cruise should. Light winds and following seas dictated motor sailing along the coast for the first day. The winds were predicted to increase on the second day with an approaching frontal system.

The second day, the gray morning fog off the central coast lifted, affording us a view of Hearst Castle and Morro Rock as we glided southbound. Listening to the coast guard weather report gave us a different perspective on our day.
We found that this frontal band was due to strike the Point Conception area about the same time we were to round that notoriously rough part of central California’s coastline. Captain David and I evaluated the situation noting
the risks vs. the rewards of continuing on, despite the appearance of present sunny skies and northwesterly breezes of fifteen knots.

After speaking with all aboard regarding this judgment call, we opted to pull into Port San Luis and hang on one of the public mooring buoys just inside of the break wall— half a mile from the wharf, yet clearly sheltered from the impending foul weather.

A fine lunch of sandwiches and salad accompanied by a good Chardonnay was served by Patricia, our vibrant chef/crew. This was her first cruise aboard and she was thoroughly impressing us all with her skills and great seafaring attitude.

The wind began to increase throughout the afternoon as we napped and read, and by sunset we were all glad to be snuggled behind the cliffs that rose windward of our mooring. We enjoyed another great meal of lamb and
potatoes with some fabulous merlot, listening as the wind sung through the rigging at a brisk thirty knots. Knowing that conditions out on the open ocean would have been a handful, especially near Point Conception, we were quite happy to have moored in the safety of sheltered waters—or what we thought was safety. We decided to call it a night and planned on rising early. If the weather calmed down we would continue on south before sunrise.

I turned off my cell phone, hoping for some undisturbed sleep on the couch in the main salon. The wind increased during the night and began to calm in the early hours of the morning. Only the wind was calm as I realized that the men in hooded sweat shirts were not my crew. Adrenaline took over as I literally flew off the couch after the hooded figures in the companionway, screaming at the top of my lungs. I heard one of them yell, “Shit! Somebody’s down here!” and they began retreating as fast as they could, all four hooded men at once stumbling and running through the cockpit headed aft to their stolen dingy.

Still howling and yelling, I continued after them, knowing that it was serving a dual purpose—to let the captain and others know that I was thwarting these scallywags and intimidating them into getting off the vessel as quickly as possible. Within seconds I had chased them through the center cockpit to the stern cockpit where the helms were. They began apologizing in unison repeatedly. One of them said, “We were just looking for a place to smoke.” This did not deter me from getting their sorry asses off the stern and into the aluminum dingy, as it continued to pound into the sugar scoop. I berated them for scratching the stern, insisting they untie immediately, which was proving difficult for them with all the shaking going on! As if they didn’t have enough to worry about—with me looking like some maniac crazed enough to pull out a gun at any moment and start shooting—their outboard wouldn’t start. In retrospect it was hilarious! They finally got the motor started and drove off into the darkness still crying out apologies and that it would never happen again.

I turned and headed back toward the cabin, still not really aware of what just happened, since I had gone from dead sleep to human repellent in ten seconds. Patricia met me at the top of the companionway with a big hug and told me I was a bulldog. Many thoughts then began to cross my mind. I apologized to everyone for using the four-letter word more that twenty times in one quick minute, wondered what would have happened if the would-be pirates had been carrying a gun or knife as they descended down the stairs. I wondered if they were actually just looking for a place to smoke. Were they going to steal items out of the boat? Were they actually trying to steal the boat itself?

Patricia kindly brewed coffee as I sat down to talk with David and two of the owners. The third, a 90-year-old, was fast asleep in the forward birth, unaware of the entire incident. Adrenaline a wonderful thing but the after effects began to shake me up. We debated on whether to call the harbor master, file reports, or just continue on south. We knew a report would further delay our departure and considered calling while underway.

I turned on my cell phone to discover two messages had been left during the night. There was a family emergency that would require I return to shore and abandon the rest of the cruise. This was really turning out to be one hell of a morning. We decided to call shore on the VHF radio to inform the authorities of the incident, hoping to reach someone so early an hour. I packed my duffel and caught a water taxi to the wharf, spotting the stolen dingy tied up to the pilings. I filed a report with the harbor master, and the Elysium crew continued their journey to San Diego. I headed south by automobile to deal with other life- threatening issues. Meanwhile, we all realized that we’d just had our first encounter with California pirates, and hoped it would be our last.