Author Archives: Bruce

We decided to spend our last few days at anchor in Nanaimo Harbour, which has become one of our favourite places. It has good holding, nearby hiking, washrooms with showers on Newcastle Island, access to groceries, booze and boat parts wishing easy walking distance and is a great place to simply sit and people watch. The weather turned out to be glorious and we enjoyed the warm sun and ran errands without thinking too much about the next week.

Over the next couple of days we had a visit with Leslie’s parents, enjoyed a beer/cider with an old high school chum (Hi Katie!), filled the propane tanks and hike some new trails on Newcastle Island. But all too soon it was Sunday morning and time to move onto the next phase.

Get Trucking

In the meantime however, we did need to make plans to move off the boat. We had no vehicle in British Columbia and I had sold my truck in January. Flying home to get Leslie’s car and driving it back would have cost too much and the and the little Pontiac likely wouldn’t hold all our stuff anyway. The next option we looked at was flying home and shipping the rest of our stuff. This was my referred solution. But I looked at the cost of flights out of Vancouver (we try to fly by seaplane to YVR and then home on Westjet or Air Canada, as it usually saves time and costs roughly the same as a taxi ride to Nanaimo’s airport and a direct flight) and then started to add in the extras. Shipping our stuff by truck wasn’t too much but it would mean I had to find a pallet and boxes and packing material and then get the all stuff to a depot. Total cost of around $1200. Another option I looked at was to leave a lot more stuff in storage and just ship 3 big boxes via Loomis — they would pick up and deliver. But the cost was pretty much the same and we would have ended up leaving behind way too much stuff that I wanted to take home.

Then we looked at booking a van one-way. The rental from a traditional rental agency was going to be at least  $1100. A U-Haul was more like $500 but then I had to drive a big, half-empty cube van across the Coquihalla and pay for all that fuel. Not my referred option. In the end, we settled on renting a full size car which would likely fit most of our stuff if we crammed, and only cost around $800 all-in. With ferry, meals and a hotel half-way that worked out to around $1200. Roughly the same cost as all the other options and Leslie’s preferred solution. As I was booking the car though, I discovered my license had expired back in April (Alberta decided to stop mailing out notices while we were away) so it looked like Leslie was going to have to drive — another good reason not to go with the U-Haul.

Up Anchor for the Last Time

On Sunday morning we hauled up the anchor and headed into the pumpout to give the holding tank a good flush. For once it worked—we’ve had a lot of bad luck with the Port of Nanaimo’s pumpout. We pumped it out, flushed and pumped it out again. Then we cast of and headed to the Gas and Go right by Stones Marina to fuel up. Once we had topped off all the tanks, Ian from Nanaimo Yacht Charters and Sailing School met us on the fuel dock and directed us into one of their slips at Stones and that was that. It was time to start getting ready to go.

As soon as we hit the dock we started by dividing the boat into three zones. The v-berth became the place for things returning Edmonton. The salon housed things going into storage and lockers were strictly for things remaining aboard.

In less than an hour the boat was a disaster area and remained that way until the very last minute. After nearly a year of an orderly and tidy boat it didn’t take long for us to start losing, misplacing and more importantly, miscommunicating, about everything we owned. Living in such a small place for so long relies on consistency and cooperation and once we started disassembling our little world, it didn’t take long for the clutter and the differences in our methodologies to create havoc.

But we had many, many reviews and reconsultations and the occasional moderate dispute and we kept moving forward. Step by step we made slow progress using what I like to call the box-step method. Two steps forward, one step sideways, one step back. Repeat. We tried to make lists of everything we packed and to  make sure things were labeled so that we weren’t going to be sitting in Edmonton wondering where things had got to or if we needed to  bring it out with us on our next trip. And while we didn’t expect to actually clean the boat to “charter” status, I wanted to get it unloaded, cleaned up a bit and then get at a few things I hadn’t been able to do in the spring. This included scrubbing the outside lockers, cleaning some hard-to-get-at spaces and rewaterproofing the canvas

Keeping it Clean

Keeping a boat clean while living on it is a test of skill, ingenuity and good systems. And I have to admit, we seemed to have failed. Most of the things I had scrubbed in the spring, inside and out, were even dirtier than after the winter and the things I hadn’t scrubbed were downright disgusting. The aft locker especially was a mess. I hadn’t done it because it was hard to get at on our old dock and frankly it was crammed full of so much stuff that I kept putting it off. But since we were tied stern to at Stones I had no more excuses. Out came everything and then down I went. The locker is a bout 2 and a half feet deep with and opening wide enough for more torso but not wide enough for my shoulders to easily pass through. By slipping one arm and then the other in I could hand from the waist and almost reach every corner of the dirty, mildewy locker. But getting out again was an exercise in controlling my mild claustrophobia as the leverage was just not there. But I got it cleaned out and all the junk was sorted and then the stuff that was staying aboard was restowed. Ian agreed to take my old plough anchor on consignment so was one issue I didn’t have to deal with.

The non-skid was another thing that seemed to collect dirt and grime at an excessive rate. I had scrubbed it all back in March April but it seems to get much dirtier, much faster when we are cruising. I tried a number of products from regular deck soap to special “corrosive” noon-skid cleaner but my best results were by using liberal amounts of FSR (fibreglass stain remover) and letting it soak in. Amazing stuff, that FSR. I also smeared it all over the small rust bits on the stainless plate mounted under our arch and it cleaned up all the rust in all the crevices and corners.

Over the course of the next few days we scrubbed the canvas again, although the rain later in the week prevented us from waterproofing more than than the dodger and connector. We cleaned out the fridge again (another thing really hard to keep clean when living aboard) and dug as much accumulated grunge out of the seemingly infinite crack and crevices that exist in a boats interior.

Although we had tried to keep up with the mildew over the winter and spring, as soon as we started unloading our stuff it became apparent that there were a lot of places (mostly the aforementioned cracks and crevices) where mildew had taken hold. I am not sure how one would deal with this long term other than to constantly shuffle ones belongings from space to space and cleaning as you went. But that would mean always having an empty space available to shuffle things to and that’s not really feasible.

Nanaimo Yacht Charters and Sailing School

I’ll do a separate post later on the wrap up of turning the boat over to NYCSS but Ian, Lorraine and Shari were their usual friendly and helpful selves, offering us use of their car and access to all the services. We discussed the repairs the boat needed (the d@mned Webasto heater stopped working sometime in the last 2 months among other things) and cleared up some details. On Tuesday we did the haul-out, pressure washed the bottom and replaced the zincs. The zincs were mostly gone and I really should have replaced them much earlier. But other than that everything looked good.

I had a chance to chat with the owner of Stargazer who was just returning from his cruise. He has had his boat at NYCSS for a couple of years now and was happy with the arrangement, which just reinforced our decision to give it a try. He said one of his deciding factors when choosing Nanaimo was their integration of a boatyard, service people and haul-out. Since everything gets billed back to the owners I can see how not having to pay the extra costs involved in moving the boat to a separate location for any work would be desirable.

We also met Selma, who is one of the local liveaboards’ cat and a bold and bossy little girl. But it was nice to get a little cat love again.

NYCSS also provided us with locker space on site (at a cost of course — tanstaafl), which was a great bonus for us during the week. We slowly hauled out everything that made the boat our comfortable home up and stored it in big, labeled rubbermaid containers. That way, when we come back we can just move what is appropriate for the length of our cruise. The charters are called bare boat and they mean bare boat. We were provided with a list of gear that needed to be aboard and they really didn’t want  any extra things like the percolator or dutch oven unless we were willing to bear the risk of loss or damage. So we packed it all up and moved it ashore so we would have it for our own use later.

We stored things like our nav equipment, charts, and pfds as wells as sheets, comforters and pillows—Leslie even left a bunch of clothes. There was also lots of extra galley gear, some reference books and cleaning stuff. All in all, there was a lot more than I thought there would be.

Saying Goodbye

We didn’t get it all done. It was too much, having to sort, move and clean at once and when we finally stepped off the boat on Thursday morning it was still a mess. But they have over a week to work on it and were going to go over it bow to stern anyway. All the cushions were going to be steam cleaned, bilges scrubbed and all the surfaces and lockers cleaned out by their experienced and well-equipped crew so I didn’t feel too bad about leaving it half done. We’d worked hard all week and it was time to go.

Thursday morning we packed up our last bits, stuffed the sheets in a laundry bag, hauled the pillows up to the storage locker and walked through the boat looking for forgotten items. Then we walked the keys over to the office, said goodbye and jumped in the car.

And like that our adventure was over.

We spent two nights stern tied at Deep Bay on Jedediah Island but by the second morning our stern seemed to be distinctly closer to the shore than when we had originally dropped anchor. The wind blew fairly strongly from the NW all afternoon the day after we arrived and our stern spent most of the time lined up with the chains that Chinook had been tied to. And we knew the bottom was rocky rather than mud. How? Well Chinook had had a bit of trouble with dragging when they arrived, and when they left, he’d pulled up that basketball-sized rock. So we figured we had dragged — mostly sideways — enough to move us about 6 to 10 feet closer to the shore. We were still fine for depth but the dragging had made us nervous.

Since time was running short and we were already thinking of resetting the anchor we decided to just go. South through Bull Passage brought us to the Strait and some 15 knot winds. We pulled out the main with our version of one reef and headed east in the SE wind until we cleared the south end of Lasqueti. Then we turned almost due south and sailed for a few hours in a variable wind. Another of the things we have yet to master is finding the balance in the 10 to 15 knot winds. IN 16 knots it is way more comfortable to have a small reef in and when the winds were gusting to 16 we would make 5.5 to 6 knots of speed with 15-20° of heel and hardly any weather helm. But when the winds settled to 12 or 13 knots the boat speed would drop to 4.5 to 4.8 knots and we found ourselves wishing we could shake the reef. Since we spent more time at 13 knots than 16, logic would dictate we sail without the reef and just weather the gusts. But comfort (and my anxiety levels) are better served by reefing for the gusts.

Try as I might I just couldn’t pick enough to clear Ballenas Islands so we went deep and then tacked. And as per usual the starboard tack is just a bit slower, so I was keen to tack back as soon as possible. But all my impatience meant was that we ended up having to tack two more times to clear the various islets that lie offshore of Schooner Cove.

I had phoned ahead and they had a spot for us at the marina so I had also texted my friend Darryl and enquired if he had some free time. He invited us to his house for dinner and some wine and we gratefully accepted. Once we hit the dock we cleaned up and relaxed while we awaited our ride. Darryl and his wife Loretta had just moved from the Edmonton area the year before and had been fixing up a lovely A-frame on the hill overlooking the Strait. Lovely place. We ate, drank and visited until it was time to head back to the boat. It’s a nice area and one well worth considering if you want to move to the coast.

The views from Bravo dock are pretty nice. All in all, Schooner Cove is a nice place but it is starting to feel its age. The showers etc. are great because they are mainly used by the Yacht Club. No cheapo paper towels or toilet paper there. And the showers are free which is a great bonus. They have gutted the main building and have plans to rebuild it as a sort of Granville-Island-esque market. We will have to see how that turns out.

The next morning we cast off and motored south straight into a 20 knot wind. The waves started out pretty small but built as the morning progressed and we were bashing into 6 or 7 footers by the time we approached Departure Bay. We thought about raising the sails but decided to just get it over with and spend the afternoon cleaning and organizing instead (of course that turned into putzing and relaxing instead). We motored into Nanaimo harbour and dropped anchor in lovely open spot amongst the crowd of boats. Thursday’s Child was still here (or back) and it turns out we dropped anchor right beside My Second Wind fresh from her refit on Gabriola. I haven’t seen any of Curtis’ videos since we pulled out of Victoria, but I would have thought he was half way to Alaska by now. I guess I will have to catch up watching to find out the story.

Then we spent a few days doing chores and kicking back. We got a ride from Leslie’s parents to top up the propane tank (Nanaimo is a horrible place to try and find propane). We bought some rubbermaid containers, cleaning supplies and scammed some boxes from the liquor store. And then generally enjoyed our last few days on the water. The rain made for some lazy days but that was all right.

Today we head to Stones Marina and 3 or 4 days of cleaning and packing. Then it’s home to Edmonton and the end of 11 months living aboard. But at least we can start having showers every day again 🙂

We spent 4 nights at Grace Harbour. At one point, for the briefest moment, we were the only people there and then suddenly there were 13 boats swinging on their anchors. The numbers varied the rest of the trip, but at no point did anyone resort to stern tying. I figure with boats stern tying, the harbour could easily accommodate another 20 boats.

It does highlight one of those cruising things that I have yet to get used to, that everything is relative. When we pulled into Grace there were only 4 boat there and, of course, the marked rock in the centre. It felt crowded. We slowly motored amongst the current occupants in search for some clear space. The next day two other boats joined us at the far end in a space we had originally estimated as only holding room for one. And so the next four days went. These sorts of distances, for me, are proving very hard to estimate and I am constantly astounded by how much in my perception size changes as the perspective does. When we left Grace Harbour there were only 10 boats but most (including the previously encountered Emerald Steel) were all crowded down at our end where I had previously sworn there was no room for more than 3 or 4.

After a pleasant night in Lund to top up tanks and batteries, where we met Alan and Charlene from Rugosa — a midnight blue Tartan 3400, stocked up on some groceries, visited the wonderful art gallery at the old hotel and had delicious cinnamon buns for breakfast, we cast off heading south down the Malaspina Strait. And for those of you paying attention, yes, we were heading into the wind. Again.

We had decided against making the six to seven hour run to Lasqueti Island and decided to break it up with a visit to Blind Bay which lies between Jervis Inlet and Agamemnon Channel. We, as usual, timed it wrong and fought the current for the first 4/5ths of the trip barely making 5.2 knots until the very last bit when it finally turned and were making 6.2 for the last few miles. There are two main anchorages in Blind Bay: Ballet Bay which had previously been recommended to us by R Shack and Hardy Island Marine Park. We decided to check out Hardy Island first since it more likely afforded someplace to go ashore and explore.

From the charts it looked like there was one notch behind Fox Island where maybe two or three boats could stern tie. As we approached there was already a lovely double-ender anchored at opening of the notch and it seemed that we’d likely only fit in one more boat. But after we dropped anchor and were settled in, we jumped in Laughing Baby to visit the oyster-laden shoals at low tide and I had a chance to reevaluate the anchorage. Now that we were tied up seemed we could easily fit another 3 or 4 boats even with that anchored sailboat taking up extra room. There were no rings or chains but the angle of the rocks made going ashore easy and there were plenty of trees to tie up to. Several other boats did come into the park, but all chose to anchor in the deeper (50ft) and more exposed water in the middle.

We wandered around the shore, took plenty of pictures and admired yet another crop of unknown wildflowers (turns out they were Broderiaea). Leslie emitted the most girlish squeal I have ever heard her utter when a sizeable garter snake decided her shoes were a tad bit to close. This set off a chain reaction, as I was bent over peering at some wild creeping raspberries and, startled, hopped up with extreme alacrity on the nearest rock like the storied farmwife menaced by a mouse. The snake decided we were too, too much and left.

The next morning we headed south again and, with wind (15-20 knots) and current against us, we made barely 4 knots, turning a 3 hour trip to one almost 5 hours long when all was said and done. Again after we turned around the bottom of Texada, our speed increased dramatically and we entered the small group of islands between Texada and Lasquesti that was our destination doing in excess of 6.3 knots. It would have been great sailing if we weren’t barely a nautical mile from our first destination. Rugosa had recommended an “unmarked” anchorage on the east end of Little Bull Channel as being especially convenient and beautiful. On the charts it looked small but as we approached it, it actually looked too open and exposed so we decided to give it a pass this time.

The Desolation Sound chart book shows some aerial photos of our next choice, which was Deep Bay on the NW side of Jedediah Island. From the air it looked like there was room for maybe 4 or 5 boats if all were stern tied on the north shore. As we rounded the corner I could see there was one boat already tied up and 2 more sets of chains on the outward side of the bay. It really didn’t look like there was much room for anymore deeper in. But, after we tied up to the outermost chains, we dinghied in and counted a total of 10 sets of chains with a couple of more on the south side. You could never convince me there is enough room for 10 boats in this tiny bay but… I guess we will have to visit in the high season to see it in action.

A few minutes after we were settled in a lovely Westsail 32 named Chinook came in and tied up between us and the Hunter Deck Salon that had already been here. That made three boats tightly clustered at the outside end of the bay.

We hit the shore for a short hike to stretch our legs. The whole of Jedediah Island is a park which had been bought for the province in the mid nineties. Until then it was an active homestead and still has feral sheep and goats roaming the place. There are lots of trails and a few old buildings and the forest is relatively untouched, at least compared to most of the public lands we have hiked on the BC coast. Suffice it to say there were plenty of trees with girths exceeding 3 feet. On our way back I misremembered the map and we decided to do some bushwhacking to meet up with the trail again. This brought us to the top of Mount Jenny and then down the other side until we finally found the main trail near where we had started.

Back on board a beer was definitely in order and we availed ourselves of the hot water to shower and clean up.

The next morning both our neighbours pulled out and we had the bay to ourselves as the NW winds built. This isn’t the most recommended anchorage in a NW but since we are alone and since they are supposed to turn again this evening, we will stick it out and keep a watch. One interesting episode was when Chinook pulled up their anchor (by hand as the Westsail didn’t have an electric windlass) they also pulled up a sizeable rock (the size of a basketball) nestled in their plough anchor. This obviously made pulling the anchor that much harder and then left them with the problem of how to get it off the anchor. After 5 minutes of jiggling and poking with the boathook it finally dropped back into water with a splash and they were off to start their northward cruise. Seems they were aiming to hook up with two of the boats we had encountered in Grace Harbour: Chatham II a powerboat that had been there when we arrived and the aforementioned Emerald Steel.

As for us, as I type this it is June 13. We have six days before we are due in Stone’s Marina to start the process of packing up. I’d still like to visit some friends in Schooner Cove on our way and also to spend some time in Nanaimo Harbour decompressing and mentally preparing for the big shift. And there just isn’t that much time left on the clock.

Our cruising career, as short as it’s been, is notable for one somewhat atypical feature. Our first cruise and learn was at the end of April, we’ve spent June in the Broughtons, circumnavigated Vancouver Island in late May and are once again enjoying May — and now June — cruising Desolation Sound. Sure, we have done some chartering in July and last year spent August in the Broughtons, but all in all it seems we have spent an unusual amount of time avoiding the high season and crowded anchorages.

And you know what? I am beginning to think I like it that way.

Leaving Sturt, we decided to head up to Rebecca Spit on Quadra Island. It seemed we might still need to stay in cellphone/internet range and I also wanted to check in on Peter and his boat Kismet. Peter is a young fellow we shared the dock with in Victoria. He spends his summer guiding kayaks with an outfit out of Heriot Bay, so he had bought a small sailboat to live on while he was there. He’d left Victoria a week before us, and I wanted to check in, catch up and maybe buy him a beer. The day after we dropped anchor off Rebecca Spit, I motored over to Heriot Bay to find Kismet tied up to the government dock but no sign of Peter. I left a note saying we’d be around for a few days, but he never got back to us — likely out on a multi-day trip. Or maybe he didn’t like free beer.

We were one of only three boats at Rebecca Spit. And all three of us stayed at least three days. This, I think, is one of the things I like so much about early-season cruising. Last year on our way up to the Broughtons in late July we stopped for the night in Squirrel Cove. It was packed. We actually cruised around for almost half an hour trying to find a spot to anchor that suited our sensibilities and my poor ability to judge distances. And then, once we hit the Broughtons a week later, we were sharing anchorages with one or two other boats at the most. Much better. I may not be getting much practice making decisions on where to anchor in busy anchorages, but I think the benefits of having anchorages to ourselves outweigh the losses to my skill set.

On the way back from my visit to Kismet, I saw a parade going up the spit toward the picnic grounds. Turns out it was the local May Day celebration and the town was out in full force despite the slight rain. I collected Leslie and we wandered around and enjoyed the festivities that seemed to have a steampunk theme. We briefly considered (and then thought the better of) challenging the locals at the greased pole climbing contest. After a bit we climbed back into Laughing Baby and headed back over to Heriot Bay and had a coffee at the local shop in order to use their wifi to move some files around.

I love and miss small towns. While I waited in line, the barista ran out of whole milk, so the customer in front of me volunteered to walk over to the store and get some. “Sure,” said the barista, “tell them to put on my account.” That just doesn’t happen in the city.

After three quiet nights on the hook we wandered over to Taku Resort — again we were the only boat on the dock — and enjoyed another benefit of early-season cruising: their low-season rate of $1.15/foot with power included. Considering their regular rate was around $1.75, it was unlikely we would stay there without the discount. Actually, I also checked at the Heriot Bay Inn and Marina and their low-season rate was an amazing $0.50/foot. After we tied up we hauled our accumulated laundry up the hill, charged up the batteries and topped up the water tank. One last trip to Heriot Bay to get a few fresh provisions and the next morning we were ready to go.

Next we made the short trip through Uganda Passage on our way to Gorge Harbour. Either our chart plotter is wrong or the green buoys have drifted south, but our track through the passage off Shark Spit had us on the wrong side of the buoys as we negotiated the s-turn. When we came back the next day I kept an eye on the depth sounder, and if I had to guess, I would say the chart plotter was correct and the buoys had moved — but I wouldn’t put any money on it.

At Gorge we motored into the far west end to drop our hook. The docks at the Gorge Harbour Resort were empty except for one boat, and it looked like we were the only transients at anchor (one sailboat did join us at anchor later that evening). Leslie had had the helm from castoff to arrival so we (I) decided to switch our usual roles for anchoring as well. Normally she “mans” the windlass and I look after the helm, but we both need practice at the other’s jobs. What made this anchoring more difficult than usual is that the bay was crowded with moored boats — some swinging and some moored fore and aft — and even more empty mooring buoys. We needed to judge the distances so that our greater swing wouldn’t send us into these static targets if the wind came up. And of course the anchor decided to drag for one of the first times ever. Eventually we got a good hold, but then wind or current or something decided to move us over our chain and we ended up on the opposite side of the anchor. But it was all good and we had a quiet night — albeit a bit closer to one moored boat than we had anticipated.

The harbour was populated by a family of geese with goslings in that awkward teenage phase. I can’t say I have ever seen Canada geese in such a disreputable state before, with half grown-in feathers and a seemingly sun-faded colouration. We were also entertained by both a kingfisher and the local otter fishing for dinner — the otter seemed to have much better success. Speaking of dinner, the highlight of ours was when I dropped the ceramic bowl of tomato salad, laden with onions, garlic and olive oil, on the companionway steps. It, predictably, shattered and the bowl shards, salad and oil exploded, managing to land in three separate cabins, just as I need to get the chops off the BBQ and the orzo out of the water. I treated myself to an extra glass of wine for dinner. Desert was still-warm brownies that Leslie had whipped up, so with that, and the wine, in the end all turned out good.

Before dinner we did row up to the resort, but the restaurant was closed and the store held nothing appealing except Leslie finally found a copy of The Curve of Time. Everywhere we went last year people asked if we had read it and we had seen copies for sale at every stop. But after we had decided to buy it this spring, it was out of stock every place we checked from Sidney to Desolation. The bookseller in Madeira Park had copies backordered and figured it was because Whitecap had put out an anniversary edition hardcover and it must have sold out. But we finally have our own copy.

The next morning we figured Gorge just wasn’t where the cool kids were, so we decided to move on. I had wanted to visit Von Donop Inlet, and it has a reputation as a must-do that was often crowded. It seemed perfect for an early-season visit. It was only a short two and half hour motor, so we raised anchor at around 11 am and, after fuelling up at the resort, headed back toward Uganda Passage and then turned north to follow the coast of Cortes Island. There was one sailboat boat anchored at the lagoon, two in the next small bay and we joined three others and two powerboats in the bigger bay at the far south end. Plenty of room for everyone.

I did notice that all of the sailboats here were outfitted as serious cruisers. Actually since we left Nanaimo we haven’t really seen very many Hunters or Beneteaus or other boats of that ilk other than ones from charter companies. Still, Never for Ever, Hunter that she is, is serving us just fine, even if she’s not as fancy or well outfitted. We are grateful for the “full” enclosure to keep the wind and rain out of the cockpit, and I find myself wishing we had invested in a generator or some solar to extend our visits at anchorages. Even a larger alternator would help, because after 3 or 4 nights on the hook, motoring is not enough to put charge back into the batteries for another extended stay.

It’s beautiful here in Von Donop and we are getting a bit of rain that transforms the hilly scenery into a misty and mystical place. The other bays are worth exploring by dinghy and there are trails here as well so we plan to do some hiking. And oddly enough, we have a better cell signal here than we did at Gorge.

The plan as it stands now is to stay here a couple of days, then head off to Grace Harbour. But who really knows what we’ll do? We don’t.

 

The Texada Boat Club is one of my favourite places to visit — despite its creaky dock. We’ve been lucky enough to get the same, stern-in spot almost every time we’ve visited; it backs up onto their small covered float with two picnic tables, flower pots, a tent to keep the rain and sun off and a small book exchange. There is water and and 15 amp power available and garbage can be dropped off for $3/bag. Bob and his wife Maggie, the wharfingers, maintain a database of visiting boats so if you’ve been there before you might get greeted by name, which can come as a bit of a surprise to those not “in the know.” All this for only $.70/ft!

This year we shared the dock with a little 27 footer on its way to Victoria. The older fellow was going to join up with his son and daughter, both of whom had boats, and they were going for a family cruise. I think I need to get my extended family cruising, as that plan sounded just grand. The small bay (the inlet part Sturt Bay) across from the Boat Club usually has one or two boats hanging on the hook and I have always assumed that’s all it had room for. Well last night there was a trimaran really far in and 6 other sailboats as well. And there still looked like there was plenty of room for more. We will have to give it a try. I am noticing that this early-season cruising is popular with the more salty crowd and the anchorages are more popular than the docks.

But if you do come to the Boat Club for a visit, just grab a spot on the most westerly dock which generally has plenty of room and Bob will come by in the evening to settle up.

When he came down, Bob let us know that tragedy had struck that afternoon. The Texada Island Inn, a short walk from the docks, had burned down. I walked up today to survey the damage and the hotel looks completely gutted, although the restaurant section seemed better off. The fireman I talked to said he figured it was a write-off but it would, of course, be up to the insurance companies. Meanwhile that means the only restaurant and bar in town is closed indefinitely. He did mention that this might be a boon for the local Legion and hopefully they would extend their hours. Not much help for visiting boaters though.

I cruised the town on my way back. Not much to see although they had a nice sized market and an interesting direction sign post; all in all a typical small, small town with lots of personality. I also came across a hummingbird feeder with more hummingbirds than I can count buzzing around it like bees. For a prairie boy like me this counts as a most amazing sight, and I stood there amongst the barking neighbourhood dogs for a few minutes staring. The local cat on the porch just through disdainful glance at me and then continued to ignore all the activity in fine cat fashion.

We had motored up from Pender the day before straight into the 12-15 knot winds, staring enviously at all the boats running downwind, making better time than us with just their genoas flying. Despite the number of times I have travelled up and down the Malaspina strait, I have yet to do it with the wind anywhere but on my nose. I have had some fine sails beating into the wind, but it would be nice to be able to have it at my back just once. At least the decks got a good washing.

And now we are pausing here briefly so we have a good cell reception to allow Leslie to finish some work on her book. Then we will likely head for the wilds of Desolation Sound — Grace Harbour or Roscoe Bay — to hang and drink in the rugged beauty and, hopefully, solitude.

Like many would be boaters, I spent, and spend, a lot of time reading other boaters’ blogs and watching YouTube channels made by fellow cruisers. And, as we put in more and more time on the water, I am starting to actual encounter some of these “famous” people in our travels. Over the winter in Victoria, we saw My Second Wind from Living Aboard Boats at dock in Westbay although did not manage to meet Curtis — he’s heading to Alaska this summer so maybe we will encounter him on our way back south. I also saw Gudgeon — who’s blog gudgeonblog.ca I have followed since it started as nothing more than a dream of buying a boat and living aboard — tied up at Fishermans’ Wharf numerous times and did manage to exchange a few emails with Matt.

But since leaving Princess Louisa, the brushes have started to come fast and furious. Yahtzee, (threesheetsnw.com/yahtzee) whose master is Andy Cross of Three Sheets NW fame, was just entering Malibu Rapids as we exited, so we missed him by the tiniest margins. He subsequently wrote a blog post about his visit that reflects my feelings almost exactly. But now I know he’s around.

We spent that night stern-tied at Harmony Islands and then proceeded on to anchor in Garden Bay at Pender Harbour. We needed some fresh produce and some internet because my own little star had received the first edits back from her publisher for the book she wrote during the winter. While there I set up a new domain for her website (readingwithapencil.com) and a Facebook page so she can start the process of promoting the book — which, by the way, is a primer on how to be a book editor.

The third night we were there Emerald Steel, whose owners Jules and Suzie have a fascinating YouTube channel documenting, among other things, their travels to the Pacific and back, also anchored out in Garden Bay. Jules was on deck when I dinghied by, so I spent 15 minutes or so chatting with him, with Suzie occasionally popping up from below and interjecting. Seems Emerald Steel has never spent the night on the dock (barring haul outs and such) in the over 30 years since they built her. A fascinating couple who’s positive attitude were more than a little inspiring, even in the short time I talked to them.

Later that day Stephanie from S/V Cambria (svcambria.com) left a comment on my blog saying they were heading to Pender as well. Unfortunately I didn’t spot them until late in the evening and we had raised anchor the next morning. I did cruise by on our way out but no one seems to be up and about. Still, we are cruising the same grounds so maybe, like Yahtzee, there will be a next time.

For now, we are spending the night at the Texada Boat Club in Sturt Bay, in my favourite spot on the dock. If all goes well with the last of the edits, then next we will head for Desolation and some quiet time in Grace Harbour. If not, we might pop over to Rebecca Spit and anchor there for a spell so we still have access to internet and also access to a great anchorage. And I have great hopes to meet a whole lot more people — famous or not — in the time we have left aboard.

Some local YouTube channels I follow

Life is Like Sailing
Hundred Rabbits
Sailing Maiweh
S/V Pardon my French

Other YouTube channels I follow

White Spot Pirates
Sailing Uma 
Sailing La Vagabonde
and of course S/V Delos

A few other favourite “local” blogs

S/V Asunto 
Pacific Sailors 
S/V Violet Hour 
Stories of Aeolus 

From the very first moment I ever considered boating in the PNW, a journey to Princess Louisa Inlet has been held up as the quintessential, must-do voyage. Every guidebook, every charter company’s trip planner, every boater we met, all talked about the beauty and majesty of that mystical destination. But frankly, after a season or two of visiting some of the “popular” destinations and then getting the chance to explore some destinations off the beaten path, I had almost decided to give Princess Louisa a pass. At the very most, my latest plan was to charter a powerboat and get in and get out so I wouldn’t have to deal with the crowds that are generally associated with the “must do’s” but still be able to say I’d seen it. And yes, I realize I was being a bit cynical.

But as we pulled out of Smuggler Cove, we talked it over and decided that the week before the Victoria Day long weekend was probably our best shot at a quiet visit and the high-water slack at Malibu Rapids was currently somewhere between 5 and 6 p.m. so we could still have a reasonable start for the five- to six-hour trip up the various reaches to Malibu Rapids at the mouth of Princess Louisa. So we decided, what the hell, let’s give Louisa a chance.

We departed Smuggler Cove in a light fog and motored up Agamemnon Channel doing a bit of radar review, and a couple of hours later arrived at Backeddy Resort and Marina outside Egmont. I had given the Bathgate General Store, Resort and Marina located right in Egmont a call as we wanted to pick up some fresh produce there instead of stopping at Madiera Park in Pender Harbour. But the lady on the phone informed me it was too shallow for sailboats although there was some space at the government dock. As we still wanted to top up the water and batteries we opted for Backeddy. Backeddy has strong currents and a lot of bouncing and rolling when the powerboats and tugs go by, but it settles down at night although the $60 tab I could have done without. Safely tied up we lowered the outboard onto the dinghy and took off for Egmont. But our trip was to no avail; the only fresh produce available was potatoes and yams, the former of which we had and the latter not in any way a part of my dietary preferences.

The next morning we cleaned up a bit and cast off around 10 a.m.; at an average of 5.5 knots, it would get us there at around 4 p.m. for the 5:05 slack. I went to the trouble of setting up a route on the chartplotter so we could keep an eye on the ETAs between waypoints as we progressed. This turned out to be some brilliant foresight because at 2400 rpm we started off doing 6.5 knots, well above my estimated average. As the long journey progressed I kept dropping the revs until, on the last legs, we were putting along at a mere 1900 rpm and still maintaining a 5.5 knot SOG (speed over ground).

The journey up the various reaches (Prince of Wales, Princess Royal Reach and Queens Reach) is a different kind of trip than we’ve taken before. There was zero traffic the whole way except for one tug coming out of a logging camp. The legs are long and straight with great visibility and forty-five minutes to an hour between turns. And we saw very little detritus and no logs whatsoever in the water. This meant we could set up the autopilot on each leg to head to the next waypoint and then relax in the beautiful weather and scenery with a slightly less vigilant watch; the alarm (not that we relied on it) would make sure we made our turn. It was a lot like I imagine an offshore watch would be like.

Given the the good speed we were making we spent the last 4 or 5 nautical miles idling along the tiny beaches in the lower part of Queens Reach, and then let out the sails to almost drift in the 5- or 6-knot winds while we waited for the turn. I could see on the AIS that the small cruise ship Safari Queen was waiting on the other side to make the transit. She made a securité call at around 20 minutes to 5 announcing her intentions and then came through. We waited until 10 minutes to 5 before starting our run, making the actual transit about 10 minutes before full slack. We had about a knot of current pushing us, but it was uneventful in the extreme. Once on the other side the mountains seem to close in, and the 5-mile trip to the end of the inlet is breathtaking, surrounded by high cliffs and, at this time of year, dozens and dozens of waterfalls.

At the end of the inlet, four boats were already tied up to the docks, and one was anchored at the base of the falls. Two other followed us in, but that still left plenty of room on the spacious docks. The use of the docks (and five mooring balls behind Macdonald Island) is free but a suggested donation is recommended.

When we visited Newfoundland’s Gros Morne National Park many years ago we had taken a tourist boat trip up Western Brook Pond, the Newfoundlanders’ understated name for a massive fjord. The trip through Princess Louisa was both slightly less, and slightly more, impressive and awe-inspiring. But unlike Gros Morne, the kicker at Princess Louisa is rounding a final corner and seeing the long narrow valley that wraps around Chatterbox Falls, funnelling the water down over 1500 feet to the base where the docks are. This view disappears once you get in close, so be sure to take it slow and savour the multiple cascades from mountain top to sea level as you approach.

Besides the large UnCruise boat that had left as we arrived, another tourboat — a high-speed zodiac out of Egmont — made several trips in with its visitors bundled up in survival suits. The guide said it was about an hour and a half trip out for them including stops. Each trip he would pause so they could take pictures at the base of the falls and then allow them 30 minutes to explore before bundling them back aboard and zooming off for home. Several other boats came and went during our visit, including a lovely old wooden powerboat built in the 1920s, with a maximum of eight boats on the docks at any given time. I imagine this is very quiet compared to July or August — they have a suggested 72 hour maximum to ensure everyone gets a chance. A few of the other boats stayed for more than two evenings, but one boat arrived on the evening slack and left the next day by noon — that seems like such a waste an experience.

The first thing that hit us after we had Never for Ever secured to the dock was the taste of the air. The base of the falls is much bigger than we expected, and the moist, cool air produced by the crashing water was loaded with smells and tastes that can most aptly be described as clean and fresh. This sensation occurred again and again during our stay as we would round a corner on a path or poke our heads up from below. It was as if every scent produced by the verdant growth was buoyed up by the dense air and delivered gently to our nostrils. Throughout our stay both Leslie and I would remark on it each time we strayed from our boat.

The second thing we noticed is the sound. The background roar of the falls never leaves. Your voices are a bit louder while you are here, you don’t hear the powerboat running his engines, and you fall asleep to the sound of a “fan” you just can’t shut off. For all its volume, it’s much subtler than the scent of the place. The air hits your senses in waves, coming and going, but the sound is always there, in the background until you notice it at the oddest moments.

When we walked up to the base of the Chatterbox Falls I — having for some strange reason changed from synthetics to cottons — got appropriately drenched by the ever-present mist. Thousands of litres of water are pounding down the mountain side, throwing water in every direction. Between the shadows and the immense amount of water and spray in the air, it’s difficult to get a picture that appropriately captures the grandeur of Chatterbox Falls, but I had fun trying. Later, when the wind came up and blew the mist back against the falls, I did manage to get a few clearer images of the water cascading down the rocks that might, somehow, capture the essence of the experience.

Low tide is also a very interesting time here. The sandbars created by the many outflows of water extend quite a distance beyond the base of the falls and makes for great sand cats and interesting exploring. Swimming here is not advised because of the presence of lions mane jelly fish (and, I imagine, the glacier cold water). Along the docks there were hundreds of jellyfish swimming in the water ranging from a few inches to more than a foot across. We also found many unfortunate ones lying on the rock where they were trapped by the receding tides. We wonder if they can survive their time out of the water, but the dead ones we saw floating later as the tide came back in seems to indicate they can’t. The shore is littered with clam shells, and a myriad collection of basalt and granite stones with a full complement of sizes from the tiniest specks to bowling-ball-size rocks. The action of the outflow tends to group them according to their size so as you explore you find these collections of similar diameter sand, gravel, stones and rocks.

At one point the wind came up in late afternoon and the boat at anchor began to swing. Normally the current from the falls is enough to keep a boat bow towards shore. Waggoners recommends a stern anchor in case of such winds but they obviously didn’t have one. After an hour or two of anchor watch they joined us on the dock, noting that after the second time their anchor dragged they had lost confidence that it was going to hold. And, in the way of such things, the wind died a few minutes after they were safely tied up. Other than that brief spell, the weather remained very calm, albeit cloudy and rainy on the secondhand third day.

There are few trails here, and some picnic tables and fire pits, with one larger shelter and fire pit built by the Princess Louisa International Society. But other than at low tide, exploring and hiking is pretty much limited to one “arduous” trail with a 500-meter elevation gain up to an old trapper’s cabin. On our short walks we did find lovely displays of Nootka roses that added their scent to the air, Queen Anne’s Lace in bloom, plenty of red and orange salmonberries to feed your inner bear, and lots of tiny wildflowers, including some native bleeding hearts (Dicentra formosa) and silverweed (Potentilla anseria). Here and there in the mostly coniferous forest, broad maple trees are covered with moss and the word verdant realizes its true meaning in this moist, healthy ecosystem with lush undergrowth and soaring deciduous and coniferous trees that create a canopy coloured in myriad shades of green.

 

A magnificent place. I can see how it might lose some of its wonder in high season, and the circumstances created by distance and geography certainly lend themselves to the tendency to make it one of those spots where you arrive, take in the splendour and move on. But, as in so much of the beautiful coast of B.C., if you come at a quiet time and take the time to just sit and appreciate, you will find much to keep mind and soul fed for days. We certainly did.

After  I wrote this post, but before I posted it, Andy Cross from Yahtzee posted a remarkably similar post. They were entering Malibu as we were leaving. Well worth a read. 

So a couple of nights ago we were stern-tied in Smuggler Cove, only one of three boats. Calm, peaceful and quiet. Then three more boats show up. Then another. Then a south wind starts to blow right on the beam and three more show up. And all of them attempt to tie up south of us.

 

We had left Nanaimo behind a couple of days earlier and crossed the Strait. We managed to sail for about an hour before the winds died down, then motored the rest of the way. Unusual for this time of year, the winds were coming from the north and showed no sign of change for at least five or six days. We spent a night at Secret Cove Marina to top up the water and batteries and enjoyed a half-price pre-season discount. The next morning we did the short motor to Smuggler Cove to relax and start settling into cruising mode.

I deliberately tied up on the north end of the cove as last time we were here it was also a north wind and I, and everyone trying to tie up, had been blown south, which made it difficult to stern tie upwind of another boat. Well, best-laid plans and all that — it didn’t work out so well.

The first three boats in tied up at the far south end of the first cove, well away from us. The next boat in, a Hunter from a charter company, thankfully also attempted a ring well away us, but later gave up and moved because they couldn’t get their anchor to hold (they eventually moved again and may even have left, but I was too busy to notice).

They were replaced by the first of two boats that came in at the same time. The skipper bravely tried to keep control of the stern but eventually the boat swung in a 360° circle and managed to wrap the as-yet-untied stern line around the boat. They got it straightened out, but the poor fellow with shore duty somehow set off his inflatable and was fighting the wind, the dinghy painter and the stern line with this big yellow doughnut around his neck. Eventually they did get tied up, but their anchor started to drag and their stern crept precariously close to the shore. They eventually gave up, raised the anchor and left altogether. I noticed they left their line behind — although they were back bright and early the next morning to retrieve it — so I am not sure what prompted the exit.

But I barely noticed any of this at the time. Because, and please forgive my hyperbolic judgementalism, the “sailors without a plan” had arrived at the same time and proceeded to keep me distracted for the next hour. It was obvious from the beginning they had no plan, very little clue and an old, cantankerous boat with a helmsman who, as far as I could tell, was so decrepit, he didn’t stand up once throughout the whole debacle.

They initially dropped their anchor in the middle of the cove and looked like they were going to tie up off our bow, nose into the wind, 90° to us, alongside a lovely Bayfield ketch. They did drop their anchor a bit far out for that, though. I remember saying to Leslie, “I wonder what their plan is?” Plan… Ha!

They launched their dinghy with an engine that wouldn’t start and only one oar. The fellow in the dinghy had instructions, but obviously was not an experienced cruiser so really didn’t know what was going on. The skipper of the ketch was out on his deck giving him advice and, it turns out, offering to take the stern line while they got things straightened out. That was the first time of many that I thought I might go help. He eventually made it to shore. But now for some reason, he (or they) gave up on that idea.

Meanwhile their boat is not anchored well and is threatening my neighbour’s bow as the helmsman fails to gain any stability in the situation and the boat is running back and forth over the anchor. At this point I am still fairly sympathetic, as I have done much worse and provided even more hilarious entertainment. Still, a banged-up old boat with literally shredded sails and three aged crew — the sole seemingly competent person was a woman who wasn’t doing any of the jobs requiring competence — doesn’t leave me with high hopes for success.

Someone decides to shift tactics and the dingy heads to the rings just upwind of us. They had a reel of 1000-plus feet of stern line, so the fellow in the dinghy was able to put out a lot of line, leaving most of it floating in swirls off our bow. Now I’m starting to get a bit concerned as their plan would swing their boat from being nose into the wind to beam on, immediately upwind of us. I know from experience that this is not an easy task in calm water and virtually impossible in any sort of wind without a lot of muscling, and the boat did not look like it backed up well. Still, I remain hopeful and we continue to keep an eye on them, tempted once again to go lend a hand.

There they are with hundreds of feet of line in the water, the boat motoring back and forth over its anchor and the fellow in the dinghy looking lost on shore until I point out two nearest rings. Of course he chooses the one 20 feet from ours rather than the one further away. Of course he does. He crawls up on the rock and loops his line through the ring, then hops back into the dinghy. Then he discovers his line is tangled around the ring. I grab my jacket. And the boat on the other end of the line starts to do weird circles. I put my shoes on. And his outboard wouldn’t start again. That’s when I hop in our dinghy, fire up the outboard and make a beeline for shore. While he gets his engine restarted, I quickly untangle his line and start to feed it through the ring and he heads back to the boat.

Well, that’s when we find out, unbeknownst to dinghy dude and me, that the crew on the boat have pulled up the fricking anchor. So they are motoring around dragging hundreds of feet of floating line while loosely tied to the shore. Just upwind of us. In 15-knot bloody winds!

They circle around to drop their anchor again, but this time 40 or so feet south of our bow. We have 80 feet of rode out so the fact that they are dropping the anchor just in front of us makes me very nervous for what the night will hold. Silly me. As soon as they get the anchor down and let out a little scope, they start drifting right into us. By now I am back in the dinghy and rush over and get between the boats while they drop one — yes, one — fender. Of course they drop it to the waterline where it won’t do any good, and of course the loose line is more likely to foul one of the dinghy props. The fellow in the dinghy follows my example and gets between the two sterns while I position myself just forward of the beams. I tell Leslie to start our engine. Just in case.

So there we are, beam to beam, separated by two dinghies holding the boats apart and the full weight of both boats on my anchor and my stern line. That’s when the person at their wheel decides to drive straight ahead. Which, at the angle we are now at, would be straight over my anchor rode and would likely knock my anchor loose as well. A little firm talk convinces him otherwise, but suddenly he’s taking direction from me, the guy stuck in a dinghy between two boats, rather than paying attention to what the hell is going on. Bugger.

By walking their bow off our boat, we get them fended off and pointed almost upwind, and they start to pull the anchor and move off. And then drop the bloody thing only 10 feet further on, and we do the whole bloody thing again. Seriously. Almost an exact repeat, but this time their stern is farther back and they almost take out our stern line. Once again, I’m stuck being a human fender between the two boats, and we manage to fend them off. Then we did it ONE MORE TIME. Seriously seriously. They did it again, and this time neither of us got the dinghies in between in time and they actually scraped the sides of the boats together (no damage, thankfully — I believe it was rub rail to lifelines).

I have no friggin’ clue what their “plan” was. Plan… Ha! I have no idea what they thought was going to happen. Or if any of them were even thinking by this point.

I wedge the dinghy back in between again and finally manage to get my dinghy bow to their beam and give it some throttle. Doing this, I could now push them away and keep them away while they tried to pull in the copious amounts of stern line floating around.

Oh, and I left out the part where loops of the stern line they had retrieved started to tighten, catch on loose objects in their cockpit and fling objects around the still-seated helmsman. It was one of those moments where you are suspended between fear and hope something bad would happen to him. Luckily for my future peace of mind, fear won out and I desperately wished he wouldn’t lose an eye in the chaos. I also remember almost screaming at the woman reeling in the line as she got her fingers wrapped in it as it started to tighten on their winch. It’s amazing how much gibbering the back of your mind can do while you are concentrating on the job at hand.

Eventually they get the line in and between their winch and me pushing their boat, they get the stern over. The situation settled out with a too-tight stern line, too little rode and boats way too close for comfort on a tide rising another 10 feet. But they were happy; someone even quipped that it hadn’t been as bad a stern tie as some Navy captain had once done. Me? Not so happy and not so confident that we were done with the drama.

Actually, I kept waiting for them to catch their breath and leave; or at least try again (somewhere else) with everything a bit more secure. But nope. They were definitely there for the night.

So we ate dinner (in the cockpit), played some cards (in the cockpit) and watched the sun slowly set (in the cockpit). I eventually decided to tie the dinghy alongside as a fender for when their anchor dragged and they swung their bow into us in the middle of the night. And we confirmed a plan B for loosing our stern line if we should need to escape from their dragging anchor. Then we retired below and listened to the winds climb. I checked again at midnight, right around high tide, and all was still well. Although they had no anchor light showing…sigh.

Elsewhere in the cove one of the first three boats that had looked to be decently anchored further down also must have dragged. It was a 45-foot, almost new charter boat that had a full crew and a speedy little dinghy that had been zipping back and forth. So they tried, sensibly, to tie up beside the Bayfield, nose into the wind, but then abandoned the attempt. I found out the next day they gave the boat too much throttle and pulled their own anchor. So they also, again sensibly, abandoned Smuggler Cove and joined what must have been a growing party at Secret Cove Marina.

Oh — I left out the guy anchoring later in the evening, dropping his anchor just off the neighbouring ketch’s bow with around a 2:1 scope and a gale forecast. There were some words between the two boats until he finally moved. Unfortunately his new spot was closer to us and our uncomfortable neighbours, still with a small scope and still no stern tie. But all the fight was out of me by then.

Well, in the morning I woke up to calm winds and the sight of our pestiferous neighbour’s stern floating serenely 5 feet off our dinghy with lovely little coils of thin yellow line floating alongside. Seems the wind had sawn through their patently insufficient stern line (it looked maybe 3/8″ poly but sure as hell was not 1/2 or 3/4 inch that every other bloody boat I’ve ever been on had — and yes I was, at this point, completely out of patience). Anyway, their line had parted and they had swung stern into us. Thank god their anchor held. Still, I imagine when the line parted and the winds were up, they must have been bouncing off our dinghy.

So I waited with my coffee. My old professor used to say “comedy is excess.” This was bloody hilarious. Eventually around 9 a.m. they poked their heads up. Their heater had been on for an hour but no one had thought to check on their precarious anchor and pathetic line.

“Oh,” she said. “At least we didn’t touch.”

“Oh,” I replied, “I think we probably did.”

“Ah,” she said. “Good thing you put the dinghy there.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think we’ll move the boat and just anchor in the middle while we get ready to go.”

“Ah. Well, then. Good luck,” I rejoined.

So they moved out to where they had dropped anchor the first time, and just swung for a couple of hours. At least there was no wind. It turns out they were part of the larger group of six boats, two of which were the ones who had bailed the day before. I wish these guys had have been that sensible.

The fellow and his wife from the Bayfield ketch that was initially threatened by the shenanigans came by to say he had videos of the whole thing. We watched one later, relived the whole thing, had a beer, toured his boat and made a new friend.

Other than that, it was an uneventful visit.

---

I will post the video later if I can…

Thursday’s Child has far to go…

Thursday’s Child is a almost new Hunter 33 we first encountered at the Hunter Rendezvous last year. This year she is anchored off our stern in Protection Bay in Nanaimo’s harbour. What’s notable about her is not evident in the above picture.

This morning I was enjoying the almost noon sun in our cockpit when I glanced up and saw a dinghy floating off the shoals at the entrance to Newcastle Island Passage. At second glance I noticed that there was no one in said dinghy. It occurred to me it might be tied off to a float or anchored, but as I watched it really did look like it was drifting. So I hopped in Laughing Baby and putted off to check. As I circled it, it appeared it did have a line in the water but on closer inspection I determined that line was not attached to anything. A quick glance revealed no overt identification although there was a bag with a towel. I grabbed the submerged line and started slowly back to Never for Ever, scanning the shore and the docks for anyone frantically waving.

Back at our boat I had a closer look, but there didn’t seem to be anything that indicated the owners other than a dog’s life jacket and the aforementioned bag with woman’s shower gear. So L cast me off again as we had decided I would head for the docks as the first likely place to ask around. As I circled the boat, I noticed Thursday’s Child was sans dinghy and thought I would hail her on the way by, just in case. Sure enough the owner popped up with a confused look on her face wondering what I was doing with her dinghy.  She was obviously relieved as there is nothing quite so unnerving as being stuck on a boat with no way to get to shore. Since she was in the midst of an important call, we tied off the boat, exchanged names and thanks and I zoomed back home. All’s well that ends well.

Low Tide and The Last Few Days

For what it’s worth, our itinerary, since leaving Victoria for good, has been Montague Harbour, Wallace Island and Nanaimo. And the supposedly steady south winds have been determinedly north—right on the nose the whole way. We did manage an hour or two of beating int 20 knot winds while waiting for slack at Dodds Narrows.

The last few days have had some extraordinary low tides, all less than a foot of datum. So we decided, obviously, to spend them in the shallowest cove around: Conover Cove on Wallace Island. We had attempted to visit numerous times before but the small cove has always previously been filled to capacity. We pulled in just after low tide and as soon as we hit the bar we hit 0′ on the depth meter. Now I have my meter set for 6′ below the zero mark which gives me about a 2.5 foot buffer. Usually I am glad for that, but in this particular case it was unnerving to not actually know my real depth. We set up to stern tie in a fairly strong NW wind and managed to do a great job of it; except for one small thing. We had initially set the anchor stern into the wind, parallel to the shore. This allowed me to row ashore and get a line tied off without the stern swinging downwind and me having to wrestle it back like int previous attempts. What I failed to account for in my brilliant plan was that this meant the anchor would have to swing almost 180° to reset in the strong wind hitting us on the beam and that my scope didn’t really take into account the actual distance from the shore. As it was we did successfully tie up with a strong wind hitting us on the beam, the stern sitting in 5.5′ of water (I measured), 35′ of chain out and an anchor that I wasn’t 100% had reset. And the tide tomorrow was going to be about .3 of foot lower.

So I hummed, hawed, dithered and rowed to the dock to see if there was space, and then decided to move the boat tot he dock. And there we sat for 3 days. And every day around noon, the three or so sailboat skippers would start peering into the water below their keels. No one actually touched bottom but Private Passage, the Hunter Vision 36, figured they had scant inches left on one particular afternoon.

The other effect of the low low tides (and high high as well—one day there was a difference of over 14 feet), was that the bar I had blithely motored across to enter Conover Cove caught two less lucky sailors out. The first motored slowly into the sandier center bit and got hung up for 4 or 5 minutes before backing out and heading for deeper waters. The second, a lovely custom Ted Brewer, hit the rocky portion on the north side of the entrance with a resounding clang and hung up. Luckily the tide was still rising. Unluckily the tide was still rising and a strong current kept pushing the stern closer to shore. After a tense 10 minutes or so, she finally floated off and cleared the rocky shore line with room to spare. Undaunted by his miscalculation the skipper brought her around through the center of the entrance and joined us on the dock a few minutes later none the worse for wear.

I also learned another helpful tidbit about naming boats. I gave them a call on the VHF to see if they needed anything but they didn’t answer. Who did answer after my second call was Victoria Coast Guard. Seems that Judith Anne sounds a bit too close to Pan Pan and they wanted to clarify my enunciation. I guess that takes HeyDay off the list of potential boat names.

The upside of low low tides is it did afford us some great beachcombing and a fascinating hour of floating in the sandy shallows watching the fingerlings, baby crabs and burbling clams, and a fun afternoon checking out the exposed rocks. We spotted some starfish (so happy to see them making a comeback) and what I believe were sea cucumbers (above) as well as the requisite clams, oysters, mussels and of course barnacles. The cove itself was filled with birds, from swallows and hummingbirds to a pair of vultures and we were entertained by both osprey and Bald Eagles fishing.

I do have to say though, as nice as Wallace Island is, I think I prefer Portland. More nature, less people and somehow more serene.

We are in Nanaimo for a few days doing some errands and then plan on heading up the Sunshine Coast to Desolation Sound. Still waiting for those south winds though.