The heavy-set man in an oversized Hawaiian shirt stood on the stern swim platform of his prestigious 54-foot Grand Banks motor yacht. The large man, with hands on hips, was in the “bitch wing pose” as he scrutinized Victoria and me in our 42-foot sailboat.
We were assigned to the mooring next to his spotless yacht. We were to be his new boat neighbor as we made our first of two futile attempts to secure our sailboat to the mooring ball in Catalina Island’s Avalon Harbor.
The year was 2008, and this was Paul and Victoria’s first “sailing visit” to Catalina Island. We were rookies in every sense of the word. As novice Ocean sailors, the journey from Newport Beach to Avalon was to be our first offshore crossing.
We planned well. Or at least we thought we prepared well. But sea time is a real thing. You can imagine all you want how you think things will go, but as we learned, there’s a big difference between knowing and thinking you know.
4:30 AM Anchored in Newport Beach Harbor 33.6189° N, 117.9298° W
The alarm ruined my peaceful rum-induced sleep. The night before, Victoria and I, excited and hopped up on mai tais from Billy’s Bar and Grill, felt invincible! Sailing to Catalina! How exciting! Now, hungover, I don’t feel so powerful. I struggle to make coffee and clear the thick yolk rolling inside my head.
Compass heading 223 degrees NM, 26 miles to Catalina. Averaging 5.5 mph, we can be in Avalon by 10:00 AM. I started the engine, weighed anchor, and motored through the protected Newport Beach Harbor. Pristine and well-lit multi-million dollar mansions line the channel that leads us into the pre-dawn black abyss of the Pacific Ocean.
In the dark, the swells rolled into our starboard beam, tossing our boat and our stomachs. Cursing each other for ordering one more mai tai, Victoria and I were miserable.
But by the 3rd hour, the wind picked up, the swells mellowed, the sun came out, and seeing the horizon settled our nausea. A pod of dolphins escorted us for a few minutes; all was good in our little world. This was the magical experience of sailing to Catalina Island we had hoped for. And those few minutes, watching dolphins swim alongside us, would bring us back to this Island year after year.
By 10:00AM, we entered Avalon Harbor; we dropped our sails, cut our speed to a crawl, and waited for Harbor Patrol to check us in and assign us to a mooring ball. The men and women of the Harbor Patrol unit on Catalina Island are saints! Every day, especially during the summer, these officers are met with a cornucopia of boating idiots. Speaking of idiots, there we are, me and my lovely wife, clueless first-timers.
After handing my credit card to the patient harbor patrol officer, we were assigned to ball number 192 and told how to get there. I nodded as if I had done this a thousand times. Then, I put my boat in forward gear and immediately went the wrong way. Like a tourist in a rental car driving through the streets of Rome, I was met with an onslaught of floating traffic coming and going in all directions. Large yachts, dinghies, paddleboarders, kids snorkeling, grandmas with noodles around their waists. My mouth was dry, and I needed to pee.
Still trying to look cool and give Victoria the false hope that I could do this, I slowly weaved my way through the minefield of boats and bodies. Making matters worse, the wind had kicked up to 15 MPH, and steering against a strong breeze at a slow speed was challenging.
A handy YouTube video explains in animated detail how to secure your boat to a mooring ball in Avalon Harbor. This informative cartoon makes it look like a breeze (no pun intended) to pick up a mooring line in a crowded, windy harbor. As I said, it’s informative, but actually doing it, well, that’s a different story.
For first-timers like Victoria and I, securing our boat to a mooring ball in breezy conditions without bow thrusters (those handy little sideways propellers) seemed daunting. Not to mention Mr. Bitch-wings, glaring at us from his shiny and flawless motor yacht.
The idea is pretty simple. Grab the pole next to the mooring ball and pull it and the yellow line onto your bow. Then, while one person ties off the bow line, the other person walks the line to the stern and ties the line to a stern cleat. Simple enough. Right?
Here’s the reality:
Victoria was on the bow, directing me, with flailing arms and obscene gestures, to the mooring ball’s flag pole. I was Ricky Bobby, coming in way too hot. The 3-foot round floating ball bounced off my hull. Slamming the transmission into reverse, the stern made an abrupt 90-degree turn to port, and before I could counter-steer, we were sideways. Our bow was less than 2 feet from our new neighbor, Hawaiian Shirt Man, who was no longer in a “Bitch-Wing” pose; now he was holding a big rubber fender ready to protect his boat’s flawless paint job.
The wind, or God’s mercy, pushed our bow around, and although we were backwards, we were no longer close to scraping another yacht.
We aborted and tried another attempt. Which means steering again through the maze of traffic to reposition our boat in line with the ball.
This time, my approach was slow. Unfortunately for the exasperated Hawaiian Shirt Man, we were too slow and again drifted to the left. But Victoria, with lightning fast hands, pulled the mooring stick out of the water and secured the yellow nylon line to the bow cleat. Leaving the helm, I ran up to the bow, grabbed hold of the “Sand Line,” and slowly pulled and made my way to the stern. (boater’s tip: WEAR GLOVES) The skin on my hands was sliced by the razor sharp barnacles attached to the slimy yellow line.
Inch by inch, as I pulled the line to the stern cleat, blood oozed through my fingers, as did the mud and slimy algae. Summoning Hercules, my shoulders burned as I pulled and dragged the boat against the wind. Slowly, the boat began to fall into line, parallel with my neighbors.
The onlookers from the other boats, now satisfied the collision threat was over, went back to their lives. Victoria and I, exhausted, wounded, and a little embarrassed, sat silent.
As Victoria washed the scrapes on my hands, she looked around at the other boats and the picturesque hillside town of Avalon. She looked at me, nodded and said only one word: enchanting. Despite the pain, the anxiety, and the risk, the journey was worth it.
That was over 15 years ago, and Catalina Island is still a magical destination for us. Over the years we’ve visited Isthmus Cove and Catalina Harbor, AKA Two Harbors. We’ve spent time in Emerald Bay, lounged at the Descanso Beach Club, had fabulous dinners at Avalon Grill, and while sipping margaritas, we’ve watched the throngs of tourists descend on Avalon from the cruise ships. Truly, the best people watching ever!
The charm, the nostalgic history, and, of course, the non-stop entertainment of watching the mooring ball two-step never gets old.
Please reach out to me if you’d like to experience Catalina Island from the comfort of Riviera. We can plan a day sail from Newport Beach, or Dana Point and drop you and your guests off at the public dock in Avalon Harbor. Lodging, restaurants, and island activities can be found here at Visit Catalina Island. I promise, we don’t have to leave at the butt-crack of dawn, you wont get sea sick, and my yacht handling skills have greatly improved in 15 years.
If you’re a novice sailor and have a few questions, give me a call, I’m happy to help.
Fair Winds and Following Seas,
Paul & Victoria
