 |
|
|
| 2010 CRUISE REPORT, WEEK FIVE
|
|
July 12, 2010.
Around Cape Caution. The Waggoner refers to “gates” that must be gone through to get to the next cruising grounds. The Strait of Juan de Fuca is a gate that separates Puget Sound from the San Juan Islands. The Strait of Georgia is a gate that separates the Canadian Gulf Islands from Desolation Sound. A series of tidal current rapids and Johnstone Strait are gates that keep boats from seeing the Broughtons.
Then there’s Cape Caution, which is more like a moat with a drawbridge. Cape Caution keeps boats from venturing to the B.C. central and north coast. It’s a 40-mile open ocean run that can begin calm but be torn up by a midday westerly sea breeze that puts uncomfortable seas on the beam as you’re trying to reach shelter. This is not to say it cannot or should not be done, because we’ve done it many times – 27 times, to be precise. The go, no-go decision is made daily, after listening to the weather forecast and the wind and sea state reports from West Sea Otter buoy and the Egg Island, Pine Island and Scarlett Point lighthouses.
This year we should have crossed two days before we got to Port McNeill for provisions and fuel. “Flat as a pool table,” was one report. Well, fine, but we weren’t there yet. By the time we got to Port McNeill, the weather had changed. Winds were about. But wait. The next morning’s forecast called for light winds turning to southeasterly most of the day. Hey, hey, it was looking promising.
Two obstacles stood in our path, three obstacles, actually. The first was the effect of Slingsby Channel on the mainland side route. Slingsby Channel would be ebbing. After the beating we took on an ebb out of Slingsby Channel last year, we ruled out the mainland route. That left Pine Island, which is better begun from Port Hardy, some 20 miles closer to Cape Caution than Port McNeill.
The third obstacle was fuel. We had run out of time to refuel the day before, and the Port McNeill fuel dock didn’t open until 8:00 a.m. We would have preferred to depart at 5:30 or 6:00 a.m., but we had to wait. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky. The chance of a midday sea breeze was a definite possibility.
Go or no-go, we needed fuel. We tied up to the fuel dock at 7:30 a.m. so we’d be first in line. By 8:30 we were fueled up, our Visa card was added to, and we were on our way. After a half-hour to warm the engines, reluctantly I pushed the handles forward. Our fuel-efficient 8.5-knot speed increased to 15.5 knots, not bad with full fuel and full water. Hardy Bay came and went. Gods Pocket in Christie Passage came and went. Out Gordon Channel to Pine Island. Wind, 5 knots, one-foot chop, low westerly swell. We turned for Cape Caution, burning fuel. At exactly noon we put Cape Caution on our beam, seas rippled, low westerly swell. A half-hour later, hints of a developing westerly were apparent. Egg Island and Dugout Rocks were ahead. We kept the speed on, despite the fuel gauges that were trending steadily downward.
By the time we turned to enter Rivers Inlet, the westerly was in place. Fortunately, it was a weak westerly, without teeth. We cut the throttles back and surfed down the swells into the inlet, where we turned for Duncanby. It was a good crossing. It wasn’t our best, but if all could be like this one, hurray.
Duncanby. We arrived as 30 or so fly-in sport fishermen were preparing to leave and an equal number of new guests were expected. The staff was busy cleaning cabins and sharing hugs with their new best friends who were about to depart. Yet the staff members were invariably friendly and helpful to us. The docks were in good shape, and if we had not already had lunch the kitchen was open.
Dave Logan, the general manager, told us Duncanby’s sport fishing schedule is completely booked for the entire season. Part of the success is due to making earlier guests want to come back, part is due to displaying at sportsman’s shows and advertising in relevant media, and part is due to the closing or at least the non-operation of several lodges in Rivers Inlet this summer. The Great Recession is having an effect.
Dawsons Landing. We got to Dawsons in late afternoon, after the stop at Duncanby. Several boats were already there and people were milling on the docks. As we were tying up we heard the distinctive sound of Pratt & Whitney 985 radial engines overhead, and a moment later a Pacific Coastal twin engine Grumman Goose flopped into the water. With one wing down it worked its way to the dock. A passenger got out. And another. And another and another and another. The Goose didn’t look all that big. Where did they come from? Then the pilot dropped down through a hatch in the nose of the plane and began handing out freight. Box upon box was handed bucket-brigade style to Rob and Nola Bachen and their daughters Crystal and Amber, and deposited in a growing pile on the dock. Finally, luggage was lifted out and added to the increasingly impressive pile.
Shortly after the Goose, much lightened, roared away, another Pratt & Whitney 985 overhead, and a Pacific Coastal Beaver came in. The door was opened and more freight was added to the pile. We were astonished.
Then – I’m not making this up – a barge, pushed by a small tug, came around the point. Barge and tug circled around and approached the dock. Closer, closer, the barge moving an inch at a time as the dock grew near. Radio communication between a crewman on the barge and the skipper of the tug, hidden on the other side. The barge made the sweetest of kisses with the dock. Mooring lines went out. It was an impressive show. The crane was fired up and two skids of lumber were lifted off the barge and onto the dock. A third skid, with miscellaneous hardware plastic-wrapped to it, was transferred. Paperwork was executed. The barge left.
We live in Bellevue, Washington. (Seattle is a suburb of Bellevue. It used to be the other way around, before Bellevue shot skyward.) We’ve never seen anything like this in Bellevue. We know that 18-wheelers back into loading docks hidden on the back sides of shopping centers. But airplanes don’t land at the front doors, and black-painted barges don’t pull up in the late afternoon or any other time. This is how the coast is supplied. Orders are placed, packed, and delivered by air or sea. Nola told us it’s a constant fight to have the plastic that ties the loads to the shipping pallets put on double thick or even triple thick, and across the top. A pallet of freight on a barge is subject to movement, and it does rain up here, not to mention the effects of salt spray.
Dawsons Landing is the social and supply center for Rivers Inlet. It has been in the Bachen family since 1947. Rob’s parents owned it, now Rob and Nola own it. Rob was raised here, and Rob and Nola’s daughters Crystal and Amber were raised here, in float houses connected to land by log “stiff legs.”
The people we saw on the dock were there for a potluck supper. The supper began as a quiet get-together for the Bachens and four young fisheries researchers occupying a float house cabin at Dawsons. Dinner for eight. Then neighbors showed up and eight became 12. More people appeared. Eighteen. The Hales on Surprise appeared, and two others who were unexpected. Dinner for eight ended up as an outdoor potluck for 22. We sat across the table from a man from Hundred Mile House, in the B.C. Interior. He had just arrived to help out at a fishing lodge for the summer. He said he was a retired welder, but he doesn’t mention it to most people. “Tell someone you’re a welder, and he has a project for you,” the man said.
The day, which began sunny and warm, turned cloudy and cool. Then cloudy and cold. Twenty-two potluckers sat in hats and warm coats. They talked, and enjoyed a glass of wine, and laughed. I thought I felt a tiny raindrop on my cheek. There was no evidence of raindrops on the water. It must have been a stray from the heavy clouds above. No, a few moments later others mentioned raindrops. More talk, more laughter, more second and third helpings, more upturned wine bottles. Finally, when the thin shower had turned into a downpour, we all gave up and retreated to the shelter of float houses and boats.
Gumboots. I don’t have a lot of use for rubber boots on our power boat. My yellow sailing boots from years ago have served well the two or three occasions I might need them each year. Time has not been kind to the boots’ rubber, however, and leaks are appearing. The people who live on the B.C. coast mostly wear gumboots, black boots that reach almost to the knee. Gumboots must be comfortable. They’re worn all day long. I figured if anyone might have appropriate gumboots, it would be Nola Bachen at the Dawsons Landing General Store. I asked if she carried gumboots. She said, “Yup,” and led me to a shelf filled with them. I tried on a pair. They were comfortable, and provided support around my ankles. Nola said I would need felt liners for the bottoms of my feet, so they were added.
I love my gumboots. When we walked the occasionally muddy trail between Pruth Bay and West Beach at Hakai, my feet stayed dry. My pants legs, tucked inside the high tops of the gumboots, didn’t get muddy. Show me rain or the threat of rain, show me a water hose for boat washing, and I’ll be happily wearing my gumboots. No kidding. They’re great.
Hakai. Hakai’s new ownership as of last autumn is impressive. The once-struggling fly-in resort is now the “Hakai Beach Institute, a teaching, research and conference center.” Researchers from several Canadian colleges and universities already are there, studying fisheries, the ecology, and the archeological history of Calvert Island. Core samples are taken and analyzed to reconstruct weather patterns and earthquakes. Plant life is being catalogued. We met one researcher who excitedly told us he had found several plants he couldn’t identify. From the way he described other things he had seen, I thought he could identify anything. Yachties are welcome. They even installed wireless internet that beams out across the Pruth Bay anchorage. No password needed.
The walk to West Beach, across the narrow neck at the head of Pruth Bay, now is partly a narrow, winding trail through the forest, occasionally muddy in places. Heck, it’s a trail, not a road. Broad, sandy West Beach is stunning. Don’t miss it. The woods are buggy, however. Bug repellant is recommended. A worker at the head of the docks in Pruth Bay was wearing mosquito netting. Other than a short-sleeve shirt and long pants I had no protection, and didn’t get bitten too badly, but bugs seem to like other people better than they like me.
Namu. Namu looks pretty rundown as you approach, which is appropriate for a major cannery site that has been abandoned for several decades. Docks are collapsing, buildings are falling down, and the big freighter tied to the wharf is long past reclaiming. Things change, though, once you get tied up. Pete and Rene (pronounced “Reenie”) Darwin are still there as caretakers. Pete mills lumber from logs found floating, and keeps building things. Rene has her greenhouse and crafts projects. Rene’s friend Theresa came to help out five years ago, and never left. Namu is a fascinating place with fascinating, do-anything people living there. We always enjoy our stop. Caution: Namu is not a resort. If you expect nothing, you will be pleasantly surprised during your stay.
Pete suffered a stroke while shopping in Port Hardy last autumn. Fortunately, he has recovered to the point where you wouldn’t know. The doctors want Pete to move to a location closer to medical attention, however, in case of recurrence. There’s a good chance Pete and Rene will find a place for their extensive camp and be gone before next year. I asked Pete if the doctors wanted any changes in Pete’s lifestyle, which included a steady stream of cigarettes and maybe a nip or three. “They don’t want me to smoke, drink, or chase women,” he said. “They ask a lot, Bob. They ask a lot.”
Whales. Lots of humback whales this year. Kwakshua Channel, which cuts into the north end of Calvert Island, had several. We tried to get pictures, but most of them show only a little black dot in the frame. A couple whales came fairly close to the dock at Namu. We heard them blow.
Ocean Falls. Plan to have all meals aboard the boat this year. There’s no food service at the lodge. Showers and laundry are still available. Ocean Falls is a good place to fill the water tanks. The water is as good as can be found anywhere. Ocean Falls used to be a garbage drop, but that changed a year ago last winter when the bridge that connected the town site with the mill site collapsed, cutting off access to the dump.
The houses and buildings of Ocean Falls continue to gather moss and fall apart. The doorway to the seven-story Martin Inn hotel used to be chained shut. Now the door stands open. Conditions inside argue against further exploration. You want to see a genuine ghost town? Come to colorful Ocean Falls. We do, every year.
Looking to the future, the international power company that bought the Ocean Falls dam and power company, is making investments. There’s talk of a new bridge across the river, maybe as soon as next March. The dam generates considerable excess power. The company is seeking an industrial customer. Part of the sales effort includes an attractive infrastructure.
A grant for a new outer dock at the public floats just came through. The dock should be in place next summer. Neil McLachlan is in his second summer as wharfinger, and is full of information, news and gossip about Ocean Falls.
Nearly Normal Norman Brown still brings flowers to the ladies, and will happily show visitors through his ever-expanding museum in the nearby marine railway haulout building. Herb Carpenter, the 75-year-old longtime harbour manager, keeps his immaculate shop in the haulout building. Herb’s wife Lena has an interesting gift shop in a corner of the building, filled with interesting local crafts. Marilynn bought a pair of knitted slippers that will be just right on chilly mornings aboard the boat.
Down on the docks, an ice chest holds bags of ice cubes, $4.00 a bag. It’s Norman Brown’s little business. A woman named Peggy has bags of fresh salad greens from her garden for sale in an adjacent box. Both enterprises rely on the honor system for payment.
Shearwater. Electrical problems have delayed the promised potable water to the Shearwater docks. Power is available all the way out the main dock, but not along the tee at the end. Long runs of shore power lines are needed there. Jean and Wayne Bowerman, who were dock managers the last two years, have moved on. Steve Cappello is the new dock manager. It’s a good idea to call ahead by phone or radio for reservations. Even early in the season, dock space that was empty in mid-morning has been full by late afternoon.
Garbage and recycling are available. The shipyard can haul you out if necessary, and can fix anything. The laundry is clean, although two out-of-order machines await replacement on the next barge delivery. Barge delivery is fairly well assured. Shearwater owns the barge and tug, and serves the entire central and north coast.
The restaurant has Chinese cooks this year, so Chinese dishes are part of the menu. We ordered Chinese for supper last night. It was good.
As we were finishing our suppers, Marilynn noted several men carrying musical instrument cases up the dock. When we walked out we learned why. They were the Fish On Five brass quintet – two trumpets, a trombone, a French horn and a tuba – come from Kelowna, in the Interior, to fish and play music. They set up under a tent outside and rehearsed for the next night’s gig in the pub. All are members of the Okanagon Symphony.
Well. We couldn’t have been more surprised. They were magnificent. They played jazz, popular tunes, Souza marches, waltzes, classical pieces. Slow tunes were languid. Marches were moving. The William Tell Overture (Lone Ranger theme song) bristled with energy. The theme from The Pink Panther was a hoot. For two hours they dazzled people who gathered nearby to applaud and admire. At 9:30 the trombone began a soulful Amazing Grace, brightened in time by the trumpets, the French horn and the tuba, and ending as soulfully as it began.
By 5:30 the next morning their boat was gone for a day’s fishing. They’ll play in the pub tonight, and across the way in the Bella Bella village tomorrow night, and again in the Shearwater pub on Saturday. Who would have guessed? v
|
|
|
|
