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2009 CRUISE REPORT, WEEK EIGHT
July 21, 2009.
The first radio transmission was routine, business as usual. It came a little after noon Sunday, July 19. We were in Jervis Inlet, returning from a two-day visit to Princess Louisa Inlet. Our radio was tuned to VHF channel 16, the calling and distress channel vessels under way are supposed to monitor. A young-sounding man’s voice:
“Securite, securite. Tug North Arm Venture, Sechelt Rapids, inbound with one barge. Any concerned traffic come back channel one-six.”
The timing was right. Slack water in the rapids was predicted for 1255. The tug and barge were carrying the last of the dying flood current into the narrows, and would be through before the new ebb current developed. Sechelt Rapids is one of the world’s fastest tidal current rapids. Many lives have been lost in its treacherous waters. The tug was transiting when it would be safe.
A few moments later came the Mayday.
“Mayday, Mayday! Tug North Arm Venture, Sechelt Rapids. We have rolled over and we are sinking!”
Comox Coast Guard Radio responded instantly, confirming the Mayday. Other vessels near the tragedy provided information. One boat, Nanette, was able to stand by, and provided important information. A tug stationed nearby ran out and gained control of the barge and the upside-down tug. The tug’s four-man crew got on the barge by ladders built into the sides. As the video shows, kayaker Dave Fusilli was a real hero, towing the men to the barge. At first all were reported uninjured, but later one man was reported to have head injuries. He would be taken to Egmont and transported to the hospital for treatment. Meanwhile, Comox Coast Guard Radio was coordinating emergency response vessels. The whole coast collapsed on the problem. Less than an hour later, with the tug’s crew safe and the barge and overturned tug under control, the Mayday was stood down.
During this time, Comox Coast Guard Radio also was helping a woman who didn’t know her boat’s location. It was a medical emergency, and she needed to get back to Comox for help. The man on board had suffered an apparent stroke. In an effort to fix the boat’s location, the radio operator helped her find the GPS and read the coordinates. “It should begin four-nine, with a string of numbers afterward. Do you see the four-nine? Good. What are the other numbers?” They also had put out a possible Mayday for a diver who had been missing for more than two hours. He was described as wearing a black suit, with a yellow tank on his back. Shortly afterward, he was reported ashore and safe. Mayday stood down.
Other than listening to tug rollover developments on channel 16, we played no role in the incident. An hour or so later, however, we overtook a lovely double-ended converted fish boat as we motored through Agamemnon Channel on our way to Pender Harbour. When we were alongside I read the name – Nanette. A man was in the wheelhouse. I considered calling him on the radio, but decided not to bother him.
This morning, I took the dinghy over to Madeira Park, and noted a couple rowing a sweet-looking skiff. The skiff appeared to have come from a beautiful double-ended converted fish boat lying at anchor a short distance away. I motored up and asked first, were they from that boat (yes), and second, was that boat Nanette (again, yes). They said they had seen the rollover. It was caused by the very large barge getting off to the side and then pulling the very small tug over. “It happened fast,” the man said, and resumed rowing.
Last week it was a major disappointment to give up plans to continue north, but there have been benefits. The first was a two-night stop at the Octopus Islands, part of the Desolation Sound cruising area. The second was a three-day, two-night trip to Princess Louisa Inlet. We had gone too long since our last visits to either place.
The Octopus Islands are a gem. Rapids wall them off from the rest of the Desolation Sound and Discovery Islands cruising grounds, but the rapids haven’t kept the boats away. We always knew when slack water was approaching in the rapids. Engines started, anchor chains rattled up, and boats moved out. Soon a new fleet of visitors would arrive. The new boats would do as we did. They would nose into the various anchorages, make a tentative decision about where to anchor, and stop when the time came to lower away. Anchor chain would go out as the boat backed away, one person on the bow and one on the helm. Once set, the crew would look around. If they liked the result they would quit. If they didn’t like how close that rock was, up would come the anchor and a new search would begin. We did it. Others did it, too. The smaller and cozier anchorage requires stern-ties for most boats. The larger anchorage has room to swing, unless you arrive late and are forced to anchor close to shore with a line to keep the boat in place.
Two major coves plus several niche anchorages make up the Octopus Islands. Waiatt Bay is immediately next door to these coves, and will hold more boats along its extensive shores. A beach, with trail head, is at the head of Waiatt Bay. The trail leads to Small Inlet on the other side of Quadra Island, and continues to two lakes. We didn’t walk the trail, but others did. They reported it easy and not too long. The first lake is beautiful. They didn’t continue to the second lake.
The chief occupation at the Octopus Islands is divided four ways. You can potter about in the dinghy or kayak, admiring the fascinating rock shoreline and perhaps go ashore on the islands to explore. Or you can do absolutely nothing except read and take naps, surrounded by beautiful little islets with evergreen forests clinging to granite beneath. Or you can walk the trail to Small Inlet. Or you can socialize. Somehow, it’s perfectly natural for complete strangers to approach an anchored boat, compliment the owners on what a handsome vessel it is, and strike up a conversation. After about half a day, both parties are new best friends. This sounds shallow and even trite as I write it, but it’s not trite. Interesting, accomplished people go cruising, and they enjoy meeting other interesting people when they’re out. Besides, unless they’re honeymooning, how much of each other do people need?
I did chat up a couple from one boat that came in, Don and Gayle McNeil, from Yellville, Arkansas. Their boat easily won the “prettiest boat in the bay” award. It was Traveler, a 1925 26-foot Elco raised deck cruiser, perfect in every way. Except Traveler wasn’t built in 1925. Don McNeil built the boat in Yellville, a three-year project completed in 2002. The hull is cold-molded wood. Power is a 27-horsepower Yanmar diesel. The boat weighs 5,200 pounds, and can be pulled by the McNeils’ half-ton Ford pickup truck. They have trailered the boat to Florida and cruised the Bahamas. They have trailered it to New York and cruised Lake Champlain. Twice, they have trailered it to the Northwest and cruised here.
In our pottering around I took pictures of two rafted boats that we’d shared dock space with at Port Harvey, a couple days earlier. They were Shalady, Bart and Audrey Shaw, and Amante, Neil and Joyce Cole, all from the Vancouver area. The sun was getting low, and they waved us over. Would we come aboard for a glass? We protested that we were just motoring around, and weren’t carrying the requisite refreshments (the etiquette is, bring your own to get-togethers). Nonsense, please come aboard. So . . . we did.
Karen and Ted Thorstenson also were there. Ted designed and built Pacific Dawn, a particularly good looking pilothouse cruiser, about 45 feet. We’d met the Thorstensons last year, and had crossed paths with them several times this year. So it was a jolly old-home assemblage. Marilynn said she’d have a vodka tonic, light on the vodka, please. I’d have my usual gin and tonic.
Bart didn’t have any vodka. Oh, change mine to gin, Marilynn insisted, even though she isn’t fond of gin. “I have vodka on my boat,” rescued Neil, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He scrambled over and back, Smirnoff in hand. Bart, it turned out, is a generous host. Especially with Neil’s vodka.
Why has it taken so long for us to return to Princess Louisa Inlet? There’s a reason why. Princess Louisa is a three-day adventure – a day to get there, a day to be there, and a day to get back. It is up near the head of Jervis Inlet, about 40 miles from either Scotch Fir Point at the mouth, or from Pender Harbour via Agamemnon Channel. Entry to Princess Louisa is barred by Malibu Rapids, which are slack twice a day – often too early in the morning for a daylight run up Jervis Inlet, or sometime around mid-afternoon. Unless you have a 30-knot boat, which means something around 25 feet, you spend a day to get there, another day to get back. You might say, go up for the afternoon slack, look around, spend the night, and go home on the next morning’s slack.
I don’t recommend that plan. Princess Louisa is simply too special to be taken quickly. A visitor needs to spend at least an unencumbered day there. It’s one thing to see the magnificence of Princess Louisa Inlet, another to let it soak in. The rock cliffs rising straight up for thousands of feet, with their endless range of hues and textures, are overpowering. Chatterbox Falls, blasting out of the cliff, needs to be seen from far away, from nearby, and from almost under, with spray filling the air. Something happens to people at the park dock. They become better people.
We met Kelly and Sherri Busey from Gig Harbor, Washington, aboard their C&C 34 sailboat Frisk. When Kelly was seven, he had seen in Sail magazine a photo of a sailboat anchored in front of Chatterbox Falls, and he has dreamed of putting himself in that photo ever since. When Frisk rounded the final turn and before him was Chatterbox Falls spewing from the mountainside, Kelly Busey knew he had achieved something important. Kelly is 44. It had taken 37 years. They anchored in front of the falls. Kelly’s first act was to get in the dinghy and take a picture of his boat to replace the boat in the long-ago issue of Sail.
Because Princess Louisa Inlet is so special, and so popular, the park dock fills up fairly quickly. New arrivals must anchor out until the next turnover. Anchoring out, however, can be somewhat daunting. The inlet is deep, and gets that way quickly. It’s nothing to be putting the hook down in 100-plus feet, and hoping nothing goes wrong. If there were an alternative, boats would seize it. But there is no alternative. They must find a way to anchor for the night. And by golly, they do. From the park dock to the far wall, the night is punctuated by anchor lights. If you want to learn to anchor, go to Princess Louisa. You will learn. You will have no choice.
The comments column in the guest book at the head of the park dock is filled with words such as magnificent, awesome, incredible, and amazing. These words are called superlatives, meaning roughly that nothing could be greater. If they hadn’t been used before, they might be good enough to describe Princess Louisa Inlet. Unfortunately, they have been wasted on lesser subjects.
Two added points. I had hoped to include a section on running tidal rapids, but I’m out of space and more important, out of time. This report needs to be sent off tonight. The tidal rapids report might turn out to be more involved than what’s suitable, anyway, and probably deserves its own effort. Maybe by promising something, I’ll do it. We learned a great deal about tidal rapids this year.
Second, we had a little problem with our four-horse Johnson, the little darling. It weighs only 30 pounds and is easy to put on and off the dinghy. The other outboard is the 85-pound 15-horse Mariner, which is more power than the dinghy needs and is a real effort to move around. We’re in Pender Harbour, and we hoped Madeira Marina here could reassemble our beloved little Johnson. A phone call. Well, maybe they could squeeze it in. This afternoon, another phone call, this one from Karen King at Madeira Marina. Rick King had squeezed us in. The Johnson was ready to go. Thank you, Rick and Karen. They have a fine reputation in this area. I can see why.v
Two major coves plus several niche anchorages make up the Octopus Islands. Waiatt Bay is immediately next door to these coves, and will hold more boats along its extensive shores. A beach, with trail head, is at the head of Waiatt Bay. The trail leads to Small Inlet on the other side of Quadra Island, and continues to two lakes. We didn’t walk the trail, but others did. They reported it easy and not too long. The first lake is beautiful. They didn’t continue to the second lake.
In our pottering around I took pictures of two rafted boats that we’d shared dock space with at Port Harvey, a couple days earlier. They were Shalady, Bart and Audrey Shaw, and Amante, Neil and Joyce Cole, all from the Vancouver area. The sun was getting low, and they waved us over. Would we come aboard for a glass? We protested that we were just motoring around, and weren’t carrying the requisite refreshments (the etiquette is, bring your own to get-togethers). Nonsense, please come aboard. So . . . we did.
I don’t recommend that plan. Princess Louisa is simply too special to be taken quickly. A visitor needs to spend at least an unencumbered day there. It’s one thing to see the magnificence of Princess Louisa Inlet, another to let it soak in. The rock cliffs rising straight up for thousands of feet, with their endless range of hues and textures, are overpowering. Chatterbox Falls, blasting out of the cliff, needs to be seen from far away, from nearby, and from almost under, with spray filling the air. Something happens to people at the park dock. They become better people. 
The comments column in the guest book at the head of the park dock is filled with words such as magnificent, awesome, incredible, and amazing. These words are called superlatives, meaning roughly that nothing could be greater. If they hadn’t been used before, they might be good enough to describe Princess Louisa Inlet. Unfortunately, they have been wasted on lesser subjects.