The topsail schooner, Californian appeared out of the mist like a ghost from the past.
By Kimmie Haworth
Published: July, 2006
The Topsail schooner, Californian appeared out of the mist like a ghost from the past. With her square sails and impressive size, it was obvious she was not of this century, and the fact that we had no prior indication of her presence made the experience all the more eerie. No sound announced her presence, and no image appeared on our radar because she was made entirely of wood. It was a disorienting feeling, as if we had sailed back in time.
We were on our way to Angel Island on our boat, the Dancing Dragon, when we got caught in that long finger of fog that sometimes stretches from the Golden Gate Bridge all the way to Berkeley. Every sailor knows that even a small amount of fog can limit visibility and change perception dramatically. Sound seems to move around like a cat in the night, never coming from the same direction twice. Light reflected off the water dances in the mist in unpredictable patterns, creating fantastic illusions and terrifying shapes. In really thick fog, you can’t seem to open your eyes wide enough to see what’s in the immediate vicinity. That’s why we couldn’t believe our eyes when the Californian appeared directly in front of us, and on a collision course no less. Not knowing where you are isn’t quite as bad as not knowing who, or what, is there with you.
Captain Sweetie and I have had more experience with fog than we would like. One time, coming up the coast from Half Moon Bay with three other boats, the fog was so thick that we had to fan out in formation across the water.
Each of us kept sight of the boat on our right. We stayed in radio contact and luckily, Carousel, the boat on the outside of the flotilla, caught a glimpse of the last channel marker on the north side of the entry channel of the Golden Gate. Had Carousel not sighted that buoy, our next indication would have been the sound of waves hitting the rocks.
Another foggy day on our way up bay from South City we came upon a huge black wall that turned out to be a freighter anchored in South Bay. I thought you were keeping watch! shouted Sweetie.
Even though I had been straining my peepers to the max, that darned freighter snuck up on me. Thank God he was anchored.
Several years ago we were comfortably tied up to a mooring ball in front of Sausalito Yacht Club on the 4th of July. All afternoon we watched as the fog poured in through the Golden Gate, wondering how it would affect the fireworks festivities later that evening.
As the sun set and the finger of fog thickened, we watched the green (starboard) running lights of hundreds of boats leaving Sausalito to cross the Bay toward Crissy Field. When we heard the first booming sound of the pyrotechnics explode, we knew there would be no show that night. In a few minutes those same hundreds of boats, now with red (port) running lights, came streaming out of the fog headed toward home.
The next time you hear the deep, resonant sound of the fog horn booming as you cross the Golden Gate Bridge, think of those of us on the water.
