The Coquille River bar, one of many treacherous bars along the United States West Coast, is the third bar we’ve crossed since starting our trip to Mexico. Our sailboat, Distant Star, is a forty-two-foot Fraser built fifty years ago, in 1974. My family and I set sail for Mexico on September 1st 2024. We are from Calgary, Alberta, Canada, and have little ocean experience: the only sailing we have done is on lakes, and one charter for a couple of days in Desolation Sound. In this article I will share my experience as well as my family’s with crossing the Coquille River Bar.
As we had a little more experience with bar crossing now, we believed we could cherry-pick the calmer weather to find out when the Coquille bar would be more comfortable. We soon found out that even in favorable conditions, the Coquille River bar is hectic and frightening. My Dad and Mom were tired from previous night watches. When entering the bar in favorable conditions, when the wind is calm and the tide is high, the two-meter swells from far away do not have waves on top of them. That was not the situation we faced. Our bow was reaching for the sky and crashing into the waves the next second, with the tangy taste of salty mist flying in our faces. The Coquille River bar has a straight, narrow path to follow not to run aground. The concept of “straight” fools most minds: when we add in the constant rolling of two meter swells and waves building up on top of the swells, it becomes much more difficult to keep a boat in a “straight” line. Luckily, I fell asleep under the dodger when we were halfway through – was I glad for that! My parents and two brothers were not so lucky. They witnessed the same crashing waves and swells only worse, water flying in the air and into their mouths, and yet again the tangy, salty mist. As you reach the end of the bar and further, conditions improve: the swells and waves weaken as you approach the marina.
Arrival to Bandon, returning through the bar.
I was woken up to help with docking. My Dad has invested in what some of our friends call “marriage savers”, since yelling at each other over the wind or from opposite ends of the boat becomes tiring. Because our family is using them, we should call them “family savers”. These one-ear mics come in handy whenever we are lowering the anchor or docking. Given all the chaos, however, we did not put them on. Dad, for some reason – whether it’s docking or casting off – is always in a rush, and we have very little time to prepare the fenders and make sure we are not tripping on any ropes. As we came in, our boat did not want to turn while backing up due to the wind, so our docking ended with a big crash near the bow. Dad made plans to number the fenders and clip a carabiner on them at the right height to make docking easier, but 2 months later this still has not happened. Our last docking in Coos Bay was even less successful. It was also in horrible conditions: at night, glaring light in the eyes from fishing vessels, heavy winds, and running aground earlier in the evening. The bow went from pointing away from the dock to kissing it hard in less than three seconds.
The port of Bandon is a hundred and forty years old, but they recently went through new dredging in the channel to make way for a new marina. The marina is close to the entrance of the bar. The natural landscape offers protection from the harsh climate, and the further in the channel you get, the calmer it is. The docks close to the entrance have 30 amp plugins, and further down they are 15 amps. Although we did not witness any boat thievery, port security is low as there are two entranceways and no gates. There is, however, a secluded section of the dock where there is a gate that auto locks at 8pm. The marina office is to the left along the road; it is quite a distance away, and is in an old U.S. Coast Guard building, white with green shutters. They are currently building showers and bathrooms near the marina to make it more efficient. The port captain was kind enough to let us use the Coast Guard showers as we weren’t looking so “fresh” from our passage.
The town bordering the marina is “cute” according to my dad. There is a Mexican restaurant right off the entrance, with nice waiters and food. Their menu is big with lots of options; if you visit I hope you’re hungry. The Italian place is bordering a toy shop about a three-minute walk from the marina. The food is good: they recently went through a reopening and have live music almost every night. During the couple of days we were there, we were able to learn about the town and the charming sandy beaches, and play at an arcade. We met fellow Canadians all heading for Mexico and an ex-Mexican marine: he had some stories!
Where we were seated during the crossing. Me far left, Jacob (my middle brother) and my Mom taking the photo.
Undocking was not as rushed; the waking up early, however, I could have done without. There was fog covering the worst waves: we did not realize that until we were there as there is no Coast Guard monitoring at this bar crossing. Everyone was up on deck except the dog – boy was he lucky. The sound of waves crashing against jetties and not stopping or turning around is a petrifying experience. Ten minutes in, we crossed into the fog and had three-metre swells and waves just like when we were coming in. Except this time, I was awake, and the ship was going against the flow. Mom was freaked out, almost a nervous breakdown; her moaning in my ear did not help the situation. The happiness of being dry was short-lived as two huge waves came out of nowhere and slammed over the starboard side of our boat into the cockpit, bringing it to a complete stop. Gabe, my youngest brother, was under the dodger this time, so he stayed dry. I did not have my waterproof jacket on, so I did not stay dry. It is not a pleasant feeling when the wind is blowing in your face, and your upper body, shoes, and socks, are wet on top of feeling queasy with the motion. I stayed up for a little while in my wet clothes, listening to Mom freak out. The seas calmed down, and we sailed to our next destination. I was completely fine despite it all – I was actually having a lot of fun. If mom wasn’t so upset, I would have cheered with excitement as the waves hit us.
Crossing bars along the west coast of the United States is no small feat. The waves are huge on top of crashing and rolling swells; salt water is everywhere you don’t want it; the hardships of crashing into docks after running your boat into shallow water and making it out without the Coast Guard’s help is marvelous; taking seasick medication so you don’t throw up just to make it a bit more comfortable. Yet at the end of the day, the stories you have to tell and the experiences that no one can take away from you is the thrill and treasure of crossing a bar.
Plourde family at Montague Harbour
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