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WAGGONER RESEARCH CRUISE REPORT, SUMMER 2007
by Bob Hale
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SILVA BAY, JUNE 9--A 985mb low is a significant low pressure area, and a 985mb low is lying stalled about 200 miles west of the Queen Charlotte Islands just now. Here in the southern coastal waters of British Columbia, fresh southerly winds are trying to fill that low. The Strait of Georgia is unfriendly to pleasure boats, especially the non-sailing kind that don’t like a capful of wind.
We’re anchored in Silva Bay for the night, along with a couple dozen others. A hundred feet of chain is out in 20 feet of water. We’ve been swinging in the 25-knot gusts all afternoon and not budging. The set will hold. We hope the wind will quiet down by tomorrow, so we can cross the strait to Pender Harbour.
Marilynn and I have been out a week, and wherever we’ve stopped anxious marina owners have asked if boats will be coming cruising this summer. Fuel is expensive and the Canadian dollar is worth almost as much as the U.S. dollar. The days of the 25 percent currency exchange discount are memories.
Let me tell you about the cruise so far. In the little town of Chemainus last night, we took in a sold-out performance of Anything Goes, music and lyrics by Cole Porter, at the Chemainus Theater. The performers sang, they danced, and they played the instruments in the orchestra. They were amazing. They got a standing ovation, and we wished they could have gone on and on.
As we left the theater we chatted briefly with a couple getting into their beautiful little sports car, not one you often see. It was a perfectly restored MG TC, 1947, sassy lines, 19-inch wire wheels with skinny tires, smiles guaranteed wherever it goes.
The houses in Chemainus are old and quaint and charming. They’re well cared for, with ample gardens. One afternoon a year ago, a man tending his roses snipped a lovely blossom and gave it to Marilynn. She still talks about it. We walked past the house on the way back to the boat last night, but it was after 10 and the man wasn’t out.
Chemainus has new concrete docks this year, with 40-foot slips on the inside and side-tie moorage on the outside for larger boats. Harmen Bootsma, the dock manager, is as gracious and helpful as ever.
Before we went over to Chemainus, Marilynn had her traditional ice cream indulgence at Telegraph Harbour Marina. Usually she has a hard ice cream milkshake, but this time she chose a brownie sundae—large scoop of vanilla ice cream over a hot brownie, chocolate sauce, tiny chocolate chips, chopped nuts. We were shocked when we saw how big it was, but when it comes to ice cream and chocolate Marilynn has great reserves. She ate it all.
We didn’t spend nearly enough time in the village of Cowichan Bay a few days ago. Cowichan Bay is funky without setting out to be funky, meaning it’s genuine. The locals, many of whom appear to be living on old wooden boats anchored off the village docks, row around in real rowboats. The rowboats have sweet lines, and they glide with each pull of the oars. They aren’t at all like our RIB dinghy, which has to be pried through the water.
The buildings in Cowichan Bay are on the water side of the one street through town. The other side of the street is rock mountainside. The fish market has a baby grand piano in the corner, the cheese shop has some cheeses they make themselves, and the ice cream shop puts a jelly bean in the bottom of the cone so melting ice cream won’t drip onto your shoe. It seems like there’s a hundred shops crammed in, on, and under the old buildings in Cowichan Bay, not one of them a franchise. Cowichan Bay is on another planet, and it’s just a short hop from Sidney.
We anchored out our first night of this trip. We had wanted to make Hope Island marine park, inside Deception Pass, but darkness would have been upon us. Waggoner correspondents James and Jennifer Hamilton recommend Crescent Harbor as a good anchorage, so we tried it. Crescent Harbor is at the mouth of Penn Cove, on the east side of Whidbey Island. It’s a big bay and open to the south, but it’s protected from northerlies and from westerlies off the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Since an afternoon westerly had been blowing, it would be a good choice. We motored in until the depth sounder showed 30 feet. A hundred feet of chain went down and the anchor set solidly (better than in Silva Bay). The few gentle waves from outside died away when the westerly died, and we had a wonderful sunset before turning in.
We stopped at Port Browning Marina in the Gulf Islands for less than two hours, but it was enough time to walk 15 minutes to the Driftwood Centre to check out the beautiful grocery store there. We stopped at a small van that had a canvas awning in front to protect an assemblage of unusual tools. They turned out to be knife-sharpening tools, and the owners were at the Driftwood Centre for just a week before returning home to Miners Bay on nearby Mayne Island. We wished we’d brought our kitchen cutlery from home.
In seven nights we’ve been on the hook twice, on a park buoy once, and at marinas five times. We’ve rowed along walls at high tide and examined what wind and waves, given enough time, can do to solid rock. We’ve seen things and met people we could not have anticipated, and we couldn’t have done it without the boat. I don’t think the marina owners need to worry.v
SILVA BAY, JUNE 17 -- This has been a busy day, ending a busy week. We’re at beautiful, relaxed Shoal Bay on Cordero Channel, a short distance north of the Yuculta and Dent rapids. Greene Point Rapids and Whirlpool Rapids lie ahead, but not for a couple days. First we must finish our time here with the amazing Mark MacDonald, then visit Reinhardt and Doris Kupers at Cordero Lodge and overnight tomorrow at Blind Channel Resort.
Marilynn has been up at the tiny lodge, mowing the lawn. This was after she spent time in Mark’s expanding vegetable garden, where she emerged with dirty hands and fresh lettuce, radishes and chives. Mark and his neighbor Robert were building a set of stairs to an old shack next to the chicken coop, and Robert’s wife Shelly was working in the garden. The chickens gathered on the other side of the fence to watch the stair construction, hoping for a root full of bugs to be thrown in for them to peck at. It’s strange, digging and hammering, with a bunch of chickens looking on.
But back to the lawn mowing. Marilynn enjoys being on the boat, but her body was crying for some real exercise. The grass was plentiful and much too long. Did Mark have a mower and some gasoline? By golly he did. So there was Marilynn, with the mountains at the head of Phillips Arm as a backdrop, marching back and forth across a triangle of grass that was big enough to provide a workout, small enough to finish. There’s a lot more grass to go, but someone else will have to mow it.
The laundry has a big washer and dryer, and it also has a clothesline. Here are our sheets hanging from it. What a place it is that makes household chores a pleasure.
Oleo’s, in Frederick Arm, is open this summer. Ruth is cooking and Katrina came home from Campbell River to help. Katrina is 19 now. She is engaged to a pleasant young fellow named Levi. Wedding day is scheduled for late September.
At Dent Island, the Dent Island Lodge has 1200 feet of brand new concrete dock, 12 feet wide, with 30 and 50 amp power at every pedestal. Everything on the docks is new, including the power. Also a new and expanded gift shop, winding paver-covered walkways, lush landscaping, and other improvements that are hard to spot but make for an elegant atmosphere. One caution: Dent Island is not for the budget-conscious. It’s a quality experience, priced accordingly.
Bob and Jodé Morgan, at Morgan’s Landing, have room for about four boats, and now have 50 amp power available. Bob was raised on Stuart Island, and knows the region as few others know it. Ditto about Jodé’s knowledge. With Bob guiding, if salmon are around, he’ll find them.
The Stuart Island Community Dock is coming along well. New floats are easy to get into and out of, and the store has a wide selection of local gifts and essential foods. The docks have no power, so be prepared for the sweet sound of generators running. A good trail leads up to Eagle Lake. Even with my gimpy ankle we got to the lake in about 30 minutes, and took the tired aluminum skiff kept there out for a short paddle among the lily pads. The lake has fish. On the way back we met a young man heading up with his fly rod.
I helped a 30-foot sailboat land shortly after we tied up at Stuart Island. Two middle-aged men were aboard, both wearing good-looking inflatable life jackets. No fenders were out, however, and I sensed an air of uncertainty. Sure enough, the guy on the bow didn’t have a line, and no line was attached at the stern. The skipper, obviously flustered, picked up a line from the cockpit and was about to throw the end to the dock when I asked if it was attached to anything. It wasn’t. A fire drill followed, but fortunately nothing bumped and all worked out to satisfaction.
Two couples from Florida showed up in a chartered boat. They weren’t accustomed to the deep, cold water of the Northwest, or the 15- to 18-foot tides, or the reversing tidal rapids. They were doing fine, but I was reminded of how remarkable and complex our waters and weather are. They had last listened to the weather channel two days earlier, when old hands at Northwest cruising listen at least once a day if not after every weather update.
Kyle and Andrea Hunter had a tough winter at Toba Wildernest. Heavy snow was followed by warm temperatures and steady rain. The creek that flows down the mountain and through the property rose about 10 feet. It washed out a bridge a short distance up the mountain, and almost washed out the bridge next to their cabin, threatening the cabin itself. Kyle has rebuilt the upper bridge and repaired the lower one, but the new boulders bordering the stream bed are impressive. Things are okay now, and baby Rowan, at 18 months, is a charmer. She’ll have a whole slew of new grandmothers before the summer is over.
A prawn boat landed for the night an hour or so ago. We bought a nice container of frozen shrimp from them. Their generator will run all night for their freezer, but the exhaust is well muffled and won’t bother us.
Every day on this trip has been filled with a week’s worth of interest and adventure. We haven’t seen any bears or whales yet, but lots of bald eagles. The people who live on this coast are strong, self-reliant and capable, and as different from one another as I can imagine. And boy, do they have opinions!
Oh, one more. At the head of Pendrell Sound a 34-foot tri-cabin Taiwan trawler named Sheba Queen is tied bow and stern in a notch in the rock cliff. Bill and Sudie Mason are the owners. They come up from Port Angeles at the beginning of the season and stay there until the end of the season. When they aren’t fishing or clamming, Bill writes short stories. Sudie just self-published a book about lessons learned from her 40 years of working with pre-schoolers.
Interesting people, interesting cruising.
--Bob Hale
CLAYDON BAY, JUNE 23 -- It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon, and we’re anchored in 4 fathoms in the north arm of Claydon Bay, at the north end of the Broughtons cruising grounds. A light rain is falling from a leaden sky. The rain is the result of weak fronts rotating around a low pressure area a couple hundred miles west of Vancouver Island. The low is filling as it moves east toward the coast, and a weak ridge of high pressure is predicted to be in place in another day or so. We’ve been several days with steady rain and only occasional moments of sunshine, so a change in the weather will be welcome.
At anchor at last. I can think of nothing that compares with the peace of being on the hook in a snug cove, watching dense evergreen forest work past my view as the boat swings in the breeze. Marilynn is taking a nap, with the red blanket pulled over her. Little wavelets are talking to the hull.
But this is a report not a reverie, so I’d better get on with the news, and news there is.
Cordero Lodge. Cordero Lodge, between Dent Rapids and Greene Point Rapids on Cordero Channel, is open and still serving Doris Kupers’ superb German cooking. We had lunch: schnitzel for Marilynn and German meat loaf for me. They were wonderful. The docks are wide and stable and in excellent condition. New this year are planter boxes spaced along the docks, with solar powered lights to show the way at night. At least two dozen hummingbirds took turns at the feeder that is hung outside the dining area. Reinhardt takes care of the outside maintenance, and Doris could be everyone’s mom. A charming spot.
Blind Channel. The big news is that Phil and Jennifer’s eldest son Eliot and his wife Laura have come back from Vancouver and joined the business. Eliot is an intelligent and handsome young man with a welcoming manner and a dazzling smile, and Laura is the daughter everyone wants to have. After university, Eliot managed Vancouver’s second-busiest office in a well-known car rental firm, but decided the corporate ladder wasn’t for him and went home to the family business. He’s comfortable handling boats as they land at the docks, and later, dressed differently, he’s equally comfortable serving dinner and drinks in the dining room. Laura is quick and bright and lights up the place.
It was a tough winter at Blind Channel, as at many stops along the coast. Hurricane-force winds nearly destroyed the docks. Grandfather Edgar’s boat broke free during the storm, and Jennifer managed to get her hand between the boat and a piling as Phil (not knowing Jennifer was even there) tried to wrestle the boat back under control. Jennifer had to crouch low to keep from being blown off the dock.
Later, a cutting tool slipped as Phil was installing plastic plumbing in a cabin, and severed six tendons in Phil’s left wrist. Both are undergoing painful physical therapy exercises to restore full use of their hands.
The restaurant had a good crowd for dinner, which was excellent. The store is well stocked, and Jennifer’s baking sells out. We arrived late in the afternoon and were lucky to get a loaf of her bread. Blind Channel’s perfectly clear filtered spring water is available for its moorage guests. We topped up the tanks.
Lagoon Cove. Bill and Jean Barber at Lagoon Cove Marina continue to fill up the place, regardless of how young the season is. We arrived to nearly-full docks, and it was only mid-morning. All day long more boats came around the corner, often with a “Hi, Bill, got any room for us?” exchange on the radio. Somehow, Bill found room, even when it meant stern-tying cheek by jowl along the dock or rafting out. It’s not what we want to do at every stop, but Bill and Jean make it okay at Lagoon Cove.
That evening, everyone brought snacks—many of them darned tasty—up to the deck, and when the plates were emptied, Bill held up a white bone with “Bear” written on it, and said, “This is a bear bone.” It was the opening to a bear story, told as only Bill Barber can do it. This was the one about teaching the bear to water ski, but it took a lot of sidebars and detours to get to the water ski part. Bill is part of a dying breed on old-time tall tale-spinners, the kind that can entertain for hours.
Minstrel Island. We’ve not yet met Dan, the caretaker. He wasn’t around, anyway, so we don’t have much to report. The docks are usable, although grass is growing on them in places, and the ramp up to the wharf is seems safe. There are no other facilities. Some cleanup has taken place. Much more is needed.
Kwatsi Bay. As warm and personable as ever. Marieke is 14 and Russell is 11—they’re growing up before our eyes. Max and Anca have a new float almost re-decked, and will be moving the gift shop over to a building on that float. Winter storms and freezing have held projects back. At one point the family went weeks with the water line frozen. Mere survival had to come before new construction.
Anca took five of us in the speedboat around the corner to Watson Cove, where we climbed up to a fabulous old cedar tree, 15 feet in diameter. The tree is called out on p. 164 of Bill Proctor’s Full Moon, Flood Tide, a book all Broughtons cruisers should have. The rocks between the water and the forest were tricky and the trail has some difficult places, but even with my gimpy ankle I made it. Look for the large links of chain on rocks at the head of the cove, and land the dinghy there. The trail is just above.
Pierre’s Bay. Some of the work is about two weeks behind, but Pierre will have everything together by July, when the real crowds show up. Pierre’s wife Tove (pronounced “Tova”) will be up after school in Nanaimo is out at the end of June. Pierre’s has BroadbandXPress wireless Internet this year. Lady Di, the baker, was up briefly, but had to be flown out with what they feared was a heart attack. Fortunately, it wasn’t. She plans to be back shortly.
Echo Bay. The generator fire (see separate item) was devastating. Everything is behind. And then Nancy landed in the hospital. Not good.
Windsong Sea Village. Carol, the bead lady, has the gallery full of beautiful (and affordable) things. The docks are in good shape. Jerry came down with a touch of pneumonia, and has been on slow bell.
Bill Proctor. Bill is doing well, despite losing Yvonne last fall. He says Anca brings bread from Kwatsi Bay from time to time. The cook from the research station across the bay has brought some goodies, and the gal running a tour boat showed up with a bag of treats while we were there. We hope casseroles get delivered, too.
The museum has a steady stream of visitors. Bill still cannot believe that a former trapper and highliner fisherman is now receiving admiring guests at a museum.
Shawl Bay. Lorne and Rob have re-decked part of the dock, with more re-decking planned. The K-9 yacht club, is being expanded. Pancake breakfasts are offered every morning, as before. They have wireless Internet. Shawn’s rheumatoid arthritis is under control, and she’s looking good again. She’s adding pies to her bread and sticky bun offerings. In the mornings, Auntie Jo collects payment for moorage and any purchases, chain-smoking as she checks and re-checks her calculations. It’s part of the experience. Be patient.
Lorne and son Rob are running a water taxi service, plus scheduled shopping trips to Port McNeill every Wednesday. Departing from Shawl Bay at 0930 they pick up at Pierre’s Bay, Windsong and Echo Bay, and arrive Port McNeill at 1130. They depart Port McNeill at 1430. Cost is $100/person including 100 pounds of freight per person.
Greenway Sound Resort. The restaurant is open for lunch and dinner. Our dinner there last night was terrific. Wireless Internet is fast and available everywhere on the dock. A couple from Calgary are helping out, which is a good thing. Ann can’t work in the kitchen the way she used to, and this winter Tom developed a heart condition that has slowed him down. Greenway Sound is very seriously, very aggressively, for sale. The time has come.
Sullivan Bay. Sullivan Bay is dressed up and ready for the summer season. It’s still as quaint and funky as ever, meaning the docks aren’t quite level—but that’s Sullivan Bay. The store is getting stocked, the liquor store has needed provisions, the laundry and showers are running. The high-speed wireless Internet is in service. We had a good lunch in the Town Hall Restaurant.
Jennis Bay. Our boat and three others, all in the 40-foot range, pretty much filled the docks. Tom was in Port McNeill picking up some parts and equipment, but Allyson and the kids were here. Little Charlie Marie, age 6, is a salmon berry-picking dynamo. She came back from a walk with a container full of them. Orion went trout fishing in Bughouse Lake with a man off another boat and returned with a mess of handsome cutthroat trout. Talk about a proud 8-year-old. After supper several of us went for a walk up the logging road that leads to Huaskin Lake. The Lake is 7 kilometers from the marina, but we didn’t get that far (by a big margin). This is going to be a popular stop. Navigation Note: Stuart Narrows, near the mouth of Drury Inlet, is slack about the same time as high or low water at Alert Bay. On spring tides the narrows can run hard.
Rowers. As we approached Sullivan Bay a 23-foot-long rowing boat with two people aboard crossed our bow. This wasn’t a fishing skiff, it was a long-distance rowing machine. We caught up and met Robin Clark, age 44, from Seattle, and Sue Dandridge, 53, from Port Townsend. They had set out from Ketchikan June 1, destination Port Townsend or perhaps Seattle. They row 20-30 miles a day, camp on the beach, and think about food and hot showers. When we told them Sullivan Bay had showers, a store and a restaurant, they altered course at once. They were at the table next to us in the restaurant, and left not a crumb on their plates. See their Web site www.backwardsfromketchikan.org. The home page looks as if you got to the wrong place, but scroll to the bottom and click on Launch.
--Bob Hale
Week Four. No GPS. An hour and a half after departing Port McNeill to round Cape Caution, we lost our GPS signal. Without GPS the electronic charting program was useless. We already knew our course and first turn (Jeanette Islands, on the mainland side of Queen Charlotte Strait), but without the computer we felt naked. Two things had to be done, more or less at the same time. First, we had to plot our courses on paper charts. Second, we had to figure out if the loss of GPS was because of external antenna failure or failure of the ancient Magellan GPS we use. If our equipment was functioning, then we had to really go to work on the paper charts.
I unhooked the Magellan GPS from the antenna and power source, installed six new AA alkaline batteries, took it out to the cockpit and pointed the antenna to the sky. No signal. Then, magically, a little signal. Then a lot. Then the latitude and longitude came up, and the numbers changed. It was working. When I reconnected the GPS to the external antenna the electronic navigation program worked again. For some reason (maybe a satellite wasn’t over the horizon, I don’t know) for about a half-hour we were back on paper charts.
One thing was reconfirmed: Paper charts aren’t a luxury, they’re absolutely essential. So are the old-time plotting skills, including pencil-drawn course lines, compass courses and their reciprocals, and distances measured with dividers. Also, the discipline of identifying points of land, islands and rocks and matching them on the chart to confirm exactly where we are. Since oftentimes everything looks the same in these waters, matching what we see with what’s on the chart can be a challenge at times.
It was an excellent drill, but we are glad the GPS came back on.
We talk with the Alaska State ferry Malaspina. Marilynn looked out the back window and reported a large vessel several miles astern, bearing down on us. We had just entered Richards Channel, a fairly narrow passage with rocks on both sides, so the idea of being overtaken was of some concern. What to do?
Well, we used the Waggoner. We opened the 2007 edition to page 31, the map that shows the VTS (Vessel Traffic Service) radio channels. The map indicated that we were in the Comox Traffic area, channel 71. Here, as best I can remember at a remove of several hours, are the conversations.
“Comox Traffic, this is motor vessel Surprise.”
“Surprise, Comox Traffic. Go ahead.”
“Comox Traffic, we are a 37-foot pleasure boat westbound at the eastern entrance to Richards Channel, just off Jeanette Island, and a large vessel is overtaking us from astern. Could you tell us who the vessel is, and its intended course?”
“Roger that, Surprise, that vessel would be the Alaska State ferry Malaspina, outbound from Bellingham, Washington. For its intended course, call them on this channel.”
“Alaska State ferry Malaspina, this is motor vessel Surprise.”
Short pause. Then, a pleasant voice,
“Surprise, this is Malaspina.”
“Malaspina, we are a 37-foot pleasure boat several miles ahead of you, and we are concerned about your overtaking us in Richards Channel. Is that your intended course?”
“Surprise, thank you for your call. Yes, we will be transiting Richards Channel. We will pass on your starboard side, leaving you to port.”
“Roger, Malaspina. Would it be possible for you to slow down as you pass, to reduce your wake?”
“Of course, Surprise.”
And Malaspina did slow down, considerably. When the channel opened up to our left we called them to say we would move over and slow down as well, to make their passage as easy as possible. Malaspina was able to move to the right, to further separate us. When they were past and had resumed their cruising speed I called back.
“Malaspina, this is Surprise. Thank you for your courtesies.”
“Glad you called, Surprise. Have a pleasant day.” Malaspina proceeded to disappear over the horizon.
Note that communications on the VTS channels are short and navigation-related, with no extra chatter. The customary “out,” “clear,” or “clear to channel one-six” endings are not used. “Over” is used, and Traffic may say “Go ahead,” when responding to a call. The important things are clarity and brevity.
We don’t talk to large vessels often, but when it’s necessary, knowing how to do it is a real anxiety-reducer. That is why the VTS pages are in the Waggoner.
Marine weather forecasts. On Tuesday at home we can plan weekend family picnics based on the 5-day weather forecast, and usually (in the summer at least) we’re not disappointed. On the B.C. coast the weather predictions aren’t quite so dependable. The farther north we go, the more changeable the weather patterns become. A low pressure area may stall or speed up. A high pressure ridge may build or fail to build. The forecast can change from morning to night.
British Columbia marine weather forecasts are revised four times at day, at 0400, 1030, 1600 and 2130. They are augmented by interim reports from lighthouses and from unmanned weather stations and ocean buoys. If we’re on the move, we listen to the weather before we leave. If we’re planning a major crossing, whether the crossing is of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the Strait of Georgia, Queen Charlotte Strait or Queen Charlotte Sound (Cape Caution), we listen to the forecasts for at least a day in advance and definitely prior to crossing.
This morning, for example, was a good time to leave the north end of Vancouver Island and round Cape Caution for Rivers Inlet and points north. As I write this at 8:00 p.m., tied to the dock at Dawsons Landing in Rivers Inlet, the wind has built and rain is falling. The weather has changed.
Duncanby Lodge and Marina. Big changes at Duncanby Lodge and Marina in Rivers Inlet. It’s the first marina boats can get to after rounding Cape Caution northbound. Last January the owners decided to make another major investment. All the old guest cabins were torn down and inviting new cabins were built. A new wintertime caretaker’s (and summertime owners’) cabin was added. The old showers, which certainly were rustic, were replaced with new, modern showers. The rickety laundry was replaced by a new area, with brand-new high-capacity washers and dryers. The store and liquor agency were closed and the space made into an attractive lounge. The kitchen was expanded from one set of sinks to three sets, with added prep room and equipment. A fleet of new guide boats was acquired, and now line the north dock. Visiting yachties will be directed to the wide, new, south dock, which has 30 & 50 amp power and water for boat washing. Wireless Internet is available, some of the time at least. Dean McLaren, who was manager for the past two years, has departed.
It’s hard to keep up with these people. They change and improve Duncanby with amazing speed. Two things that weren’t changed are the quality of dining in the restaurant (delicious), and eager, attentive service. Visiting pleasure craft are accorded the same care as the fly-in fishing charter parties. If you stopped at Duncanby three years ago and stop again this year, you won’t believe you’re in the same place.
Goose Bay Cannery. Before we left Duncanby for Dawsons Landing we took the dinghy down the bay to the ruins of the Goose Bay Cannery, to see what was going on. In 2005 the cannery was bought by a partnership of some 30 Burnaby firefighters and friends, and we’d heard they were fixing the place up.
Our “Hello, hello!” calls were answered by Dave and Audrey Schmidt, who had arrived a day earlier to spend a week working, as required by the ownership agreement. We explained the reason for our visit, and they invited us to tie up and look around. As soon as they finished lunch they would give us a tour.
What a place. Goose Bay was built in the 1920s and closed in 1957, the last operating cannery in Rivers Inlet. Tools and equipment are still inside, although the old boiler and much of the piping and such have been removed, for safety and environmental reasons.
While there are no guarantees, if someone has the time, a tour might be arranged. Obviously, they can’t handle a stream of visitors all day long or they couldn’t get anything done. And much waits to be done.
Dawsons Landing. A few years ago most of the docks at Dawsons Landing were pretty rough, but Rob has rebuilt or replaced all of them now. Dawsons isn’t Duncanby by any stretch, nor will it be. By the same token, Duncanby isn’t Dawsons. Rob was raised at Dawsons Landing, in a floathouse next to the general store. He and his wife Nola have raised their daughters there, Nola running the store and Rob doing logging, towing, and construction work around the inlet. Duncanby is a resort; Dawsons is the Coast. Plan to relax and hang out, and get to know Rob and Nola. They’re the Real Thing. And if the spirits locker is running low, Dawsons is the resupply point. Or if you need charts, groceries, tools, parts, or a post office.
The phone service is still cranky. The most reliable way to contact Dawsons is by e-mail, dawsonslanding@hotmail.com.
Hakai Beach Resort and West Beach. The West Beach trail across the resort property is the same as described in the 2007 Waggoner. They want visitors to return from the beach and have their dinghies away from the dock by 5:30 p.m. If the resort has room, visitors are welcomed for supper. Give them a couple hours warning. Bring a credit card with ample room on it.
Namu. Pete and Rene (pronounced “Renie”) Darwin are unlike anyone we know on the coast, and we wouldn’t want to be up here without spending at least an afternoon and overnight with them. Three wonderful classic wooden boats, 50 to 61 feet long, all from Royal Van, were there for their second night. The potluck dinner, based on a fine spring salmon someone caught the day before, was a kick. There was fresh-caught crab and some halibut, as well. Too much food, though. Why is it that when women know it’s a potluck, they think they’re the only one bringing anything?
Namu is not a resort. It’s a hardworking, self-reliant community that is also very relaxed. Visitors are folded into this community. It’s kind of hard to describe. Maybe in a few years. We’ll see.
Ocean Falls. Ocean Falls has wireless Internet now, which is why I’m finishing this report (which began several days ago) here and sending it off. The sign at the moorage office says the wireless signal is poor out on the docks, and recommends an external antenna. The signal is good where we are, however, even with only the laptop’s internal card. And we’re out near the end of the dock. Tomorrow is July 1, Canada Day. A community celebration is scheduled for 2:00 p.m. up by the ferry dock—BYOE, which means Bring Your Own Everything.
Eva’s Holy Grill, at the back of the church, has closed, and Eva is cooking at one of the fishing resorts. There just wasn’t enough business to make the restaurant successful. We had dinner tonight at the café up at the Coast Lodge, where the showers and laundry machines are located. Dave Andrews runs the cafe, serving breakfast and dinner, some lunches. The buffet dinner is $21/plate. Several of the diners were loggers, nice guys with really big shoulders and arms—really big shoulders and arms—and even bigger appetites after working in the woods all day. Dinner is at 6:00, and they don’t mean 6:30 or 7:00. Hearty food, nicely prepared. No booze. Sort of like a typical cafeteria, but with good, honest, meat-and-potatoes offerings. Do it.
Later: A good crowd showed up for the Canada Day celebration, including most of the people from boats at the dock. The Canadian flag was hoisted and the Canadians (who knew the song) sang a rousing “O Canada.” A potluck lunch followed. I took these pictures of the spread and of two of the girls, with the Canadian maple leaf on their cheeks.
Dog biscuits. We meet lots of dogs, both on boats and at the stops. This year I brought a box of Milk Bone dog biscuits, and give each dog one or two. I make new friends quickly these days.
Wrapping up. There’s so much more I could write about, like the Beaver float planes that fly by, or the family from Quesnel, in the B.C. interior. They just arrived in their new 28-foot Harbercraft, five of them, counting the daughter’s fiancé, all tall and active. The new 28-footer is pure luxury. It replaces the 22-footer they used to bring out—the whole family, plus inflatable dinghy, crab traps and fishing gear.
Rain has fallen for weeks now but nobody complains. Every day filled with interest and adventure that wouldn’t happen in a week at home.
--Bob Hale
PRINCE RUPERT, JULY 9 -- We lend assistance, twice. A week ago we left Shearwater, near Bella Bella on the central B.C. coast, at 1315 under gray skies but thankfully, no rain. That didn’t last long. Soon the rain began, and fog lay ahead. Westbound in Seaforth Channel, visibility grew less and less. Radar on. Glad for the computer navigation program on the laptop. Watch the little green boat move along the chart on the computer screen, between the buoys and away from the rocks.
A sailboat following us either knew the area better or didn’t understand the buoys, because it drove right over a charted rock patch. To be fair, the buoys that mark the rock patch can be confusing. West of Lama Passage in Seaforth Channel, the buoyage system believes that Red, Right, Returning is Returning from south to north. It holds to this belief despite the fact that westbound vessels are looking squarely at the Pacific Ocean, with incoming swells to prove it. The rock patch is marked by a green buoy on the north side and a red buoy on the south side. It would be easy to assume the safe channel is between the two buoys—if the chart isn’t examined, showing Dall Rocks are there.
But the tide was less than two hours from a 13.1-foot high, and I guess there was plenty of water. Shortly afterward, the sailboat turned north and went toward Troup Passage.
But I wander from my story. We were bound for the village of Klemtu, about 40 miles from Shearwater. To get to Klemtu, Milbanke Sound must be dealt with. We had fog and rain but no wind, which sounds good for crossing Milbanke Sound. What we didn’t have was a favorable weather forecast. In short, Gale Warning. Rather than risk getting caught in Milbanke Sound, we turned for Reid Passage, which, after about a mile of open water and swells, connects with Perceval Narrows and Mathiason Channel, protected by islands.
It was at the north end of Reid Passage, where Cod Reef must be identified and left to port, that we lent our first assistance of the afternoon. A handsome and well-equipped sailboat, perhaps 48 feet long, had cut its power and waited for our approach. The skipper called on the radio and told us the GPS connection to their navigation computer had just failed. High tide covered Cod Reef. Would we be kind enough to lead him past the rocks and across to Perceval Narrows, the gateway to protection? The answer, of course, was certainly.
On the way across, they changed computers and got the nav program working again. But they were grateful for the help. (Important lesson for us: All computers on board should be loaded with the nav program and charts. If the primary nav computer goes down, a replacement is available.)
The second assist was about an hour later. We came upon a capable-looking trawler about 55 feet long, the style that is advertised in PassageMaker Magazine, acting uncertain. We called on the radio and learned that the fog had disoriented the skipper. He needed to know, first, if he was in Mathiason Channel; second, he needed to know where Oscar Passage was. He thought Oscar Passage was south, and had begun heading in that direction. We told him Oscar Passage actually was about 4 miles north and offered to lead him, an offer he accepted at once. When Oscar Passage, barely visible through the rain and fog, was abeam to port, we called the boat with the information. The skipper said he had thought it was Oscar Passage, thanked us for our help, and left us.
We didn’t make it to Klemtu that afternoon. The day was growing late and hunger was setting in. We anchored in Rescue Bay at the east end of Jackson Passage, a few miles from Klemtu. A short time after anchoring, Charlie and Terri Champaine, the new owners of the Silva Bay Inn at Silva Bay, came in and anchored. After supper, Charlie motored the dinghy over through the rain with their two dogs—a shore trip for the dogs. He told us he’d listened to the radio chatter between our boat and the disoriented boat, and said some very nice things about it. Then he pulled the starter cord and said to the dogs, “Let’s find the girls’ room,” and headed for the beach.
Shearwater. Shearwater, the crossroads of the central B.C. coast, is open and running. Our supper in the restaurant was good. The laundromat and showers are clean and in good condition. The fuel dock pumps fuel. The store is well stocked (for a small store), with a nice selection of spirits in the liquor store. The Travelift haulout and shipyard are running. The marine supply store has boating supplies and charts. Shearwater is a Honda agency. There was no dock manager when we stopped on our way north, but on our way south we found Jean and Wayne Bowerman, who helped out one summer at Lagoon Cove Marina, as Shearwater dock managers. Jean was just settling in, figuring out how to squeeze boats tightly together without ruffling feathers, and get the best use from the docks. She’s a real sweetheart.
Klemtu. As reported elsewhere on this Web site, the visitor dock at the Native village of Klemtu has been re-anchored and now is safe. We met Doug Neasloss, who is running eco-tours, taking visitors to where the bears and wolves are, and explaining Native cultural traditions. Doug is well-spoken, bright, and energetic. He’s also a fine wildlife photographer. His images of the white “Spirit” bears are superb. Francis Robinson still provides tours of the Big House. If Francis isn’t available, others are. The fuel dock has fuel. The manager’s name is Ernie. Telus/Verizon has cell phone coverage. Our visit was somewhat hurried, but those who spend a few days in Klemtu and get to know the residents have good things to say about the experience.
Butedale. This once-great cannery site may be going back to Nature, but Lou Simoneau, the caretaker, is fighting back. “Butedale Lou,” some call him, and “the Mayor of Butedale.” The docks and surroundings are rough, but Lou is a warm and fascinating host. Lou’s 15-year-old granddaughter, Kandice, was there for the summer, with her friend Brianna. They came down from Kitimat.
Kitimat. At long last we motored up Douglas Channel to Kitimat, where we spent a night at the MK Bay Marina. Visitor boats are assigned to D dock, the first dock as you enter. The 40-foot inside slips will take boats to about 45 feet in length. Longer boats will side-tie on the outside of the dock. The side-tied boats will need good fenders. Afternoon inflow winds kick up waves, even with the log breakwater to knock them down. The winds die in the evening.
D dock doesn’t have enough shore power connections. We and another visitor boat had to rely on our generators for 120-volt power. The modern store has a good supply of boating necessities, including charts and books. The deli has a limited range of delicious baked goods, and pizzas. Kitmat is big-time fishing country, so the store has lots of fishing gear. The showers were clean, and the newly-remodeled and equipped laundry was beautiful. The fuel dock has gas, diesel and propane.
Hartley Bay. The tidy and prosperous-feeling Native village of Hartley Bay, at the south end of Grenville Channel, became famous one night a year ago last winter when the BC ferry Queen of the North failed to make a turn and ran up on nearby Gil Island, sinking in 1400 feet of water. Fish boats, work boats, speedboats and skiffs were mobilized at Hartley Bay, and they rescued the crew and all but two of the passengers from the sinking vessel. The village is built on a bog. Transport is on Honda or Yamaha quads (4-wheelers, ATVs, whatever) on wooden walkways built above the soft earth below. We were there for only an hour during a brief appearance of the sun, and took this picture.
Prince Rupert. In some ways, not much has changed at Prince Rupert. By evening the Prince Rupert Rowing & Yacht Club docks (the favored yachtie tie-up) are full. Boats on the outside of the outer float will bounce around in the wakes of passing traffic, and really bounce around in storm conditions. Reservations are a very good idea, especially for larger boats. Shopping at the Prince Rupert Safeway is outstanding. King Koin will do all the ship’s laundry for a fair price. King Koin seems like a long way uptown, but Marilynn walked up and back in a little less than 20 minutes each way, pulling our folding hand truck stacked with towels, bedsheets and our personal laundry. I was up at the golf course, losing brand-new little white golf balls in the woods. (If I plant enough, maybe they’ll grow?) Skeena Taxi service is virtually immediate. Five dollars, plus tip, will take you just about anywhere in town.
The Cow Bay Café is closed Sunday nights and all day Monday, so we had dinner there Saturday night. Terrific, as always. We had an excellent lunch Monday at the Crest Hotel, with its extraordinary view of the harbor, and we had a very workable dinner one night at Breakers Pub, overlooking the yacht club moorage.
Prince Rupert came precious close to dying about three years ago, what with mill closures, fishing fleet cutbacks and logging changes, but it’s beginning to look up again. The big deal now is the new container ship terminal. The docks you see will handle the largest container ships not just afloat, but the largest on the drawing boards. The cranes are due in late summer. They are taller than the Highliner Inn, the tallest building in Prince Rupert. The first ship arrivals are scheduled for this fall. Prince Rupert is 2-3 days closer to Asia than any other west coast port, and Canadian National Railway owns the tracks all the way to Memphis, Tennessee. Economic recovery is far from complete. Prince Rupert’s downtown commercial area still has too much empty space for rent and buildings for sale, but house prices are trending up and the people seem more optimistic.
The charter sport fishing fleet is busy and growing, mainly because customers bring back fish. See accompanying photo. We saw one salmon in the mid-50-pound range. It was huge. They bring in halibut, too.
Wireless Internet. Land line and cell phone coverage is spotty up here, but wireless Internet is available at most stops along the entire coast. Stops that don’t have land line connection bounce the Internet signal off a satellite, with limits on daily use. Don’t send or receive large files in these places.
Wireless is so neat, and so accessible, that “everyone” has it. The consequence is that in popular stops the available bandwidth is eaten up in the late afternoon and evening, and the system all but shuts down. Internet access that was instantaneous at 6:00 a.m. can be non-existent at 6:00 p.m. This is a case of technology running ahead of capacity.
Anchorages. The north coast has fewer facilities than farther south, so we’re able to anchor more often. I’ve always ducked the question when people ask our favorite stops, but I think I can reveal two of my favorite anchorages. They are Khutze Inlet, a half-day’s run north of Klemtu, and Nettle Basin in Lowe Inlet. Both anchorages are deep, but with good holding ground. Usually in Khutze Inlet we’re in about 100 feet. In Nettle Basin we’re always in 100 feet.
The anchorages are well protected, and both of them are surrounded by dramatic scenery. Khutze Inlet is dominated by waterfalls that snake down from snow fields on a mountain that towers above. Fabulous cliffs and mountains are on the opposite side. The Khutze River estuary is at the head of the anchorage, and mist forms over it in the evenings and in the mornings. We took some pictures that only hint at the beauty that surrounded us.
Nettle Basin is in Grenville Channel, just about where you’d want an anchorage on your way north or south. It too is surrounded by mountains, but the special drama in Nettle Basin is Verney Falls, which spill from Verney Lake, just behind. We’ve not seen the falls during a salmon run, but we’re told the sight of salmon fighting their way up is inspiring. Some boats anchor in front of the falls. Although the holding ground in front of the falls is poor, it’s good enough to keep a boat pointed into the current. Away from the falls the depths drop sharply to 100 feet, mud bottom, wonderful holding.
Week Six. Sharing Tables. At Shearwater we began supper by sitting at our own table, but then we saw the skipper who was single-handing his boat (we’d taken his lines as he landed), and invited him to join. He demurred, explaining that he was sharing a table with a couple from another boat—but shouldn’t we join them? Well, certainly. And so we met, at supper, a couple from Great Britain who keep their beautiful sailboat at Point Roberts and fly over each summer to cruise the B.C. coast. The single-hander also was a Brit, though he’d lived and worked in Victoria for the past 19 years. Ex-pat Brits who live in Victoria don’t lose their accents, even after 19 years.
At the Cow Bay Café in Prince Rupert we were about to take a table across the room, when a couple at the table next to where we were standing, said, “We met you at Ocean Falls last year!” and suggested we take the table next to them—elbow to elbow, for this was the Cow Bay Café. We had a great time. In fact, the staff was beginning to put the chairs up before we realized it was time to go.
Sharing tables is part of cruising. After a busy week back home we may treasure a quiet supper out with our spouse, who also happens to be our best friend, whom we’ve seen only in passing for several days. Out cruising, seeing each other is not a problem. A little fresh company is a welcome break. And since we’re always on our best behavior at these times (at the top of our game, we might say), we might actually say or do something that tickles our partner.
The café or restaurant staffs are used to table-sharing, and have no problem with separate checks. I suspect they end up with bigger tips, too.
We head south. Prince Rupert is the last significant town before crossing to Alaska, and is the Waggoner’s northernmost coverage point. We do laundry in Prince Rupert, and we resupply, refuel, and repair there. Our plan is to visit most of the facilities and places of interest on our way north, because when we turn south we’re like the horse at the end of the milk run who smells the barn. It took five weeks to get to Prince Rupert; weather and luck permitting, it will take three weeks to get home. .
The route home is different than the route up, however. Instead of going home through Grenville Channel (the ditch), we went west of Pitt Island, through Petrel Channel and Principe Channel. We rejoined “I-5,” the customary Inside Passage, at Wright Sound at the south end of Grenville Channel.
Even if we follow many of the same channels on the way home, we’ll anchor out more because most of the facilities have been visited. Anchoring usually is a joy. Surrounded by thick evergreen forest and sitting on waters so calm they reflect perfectly, a snug anchorage is one of life’s perfect pleasures.
Except, perhaps, this particular moment. With the westerly filling in, we tucked into Hawk Bay on Fin Island and put the hook down in 7 fathoms about a quarter mile in front of the Big Time Sport Fishing Lodge, 866-234-7422, with a dozen or more guide boats tied to it. The westerly blew through a saddle in the hills beside us and stood our flags out stiff, but the narrow channel prevented any sea from building. As I write this a few hours later, the sun is close to setting and the wind direction has changed. The wind is not blowing across the channel as before. It is blowing directly up the channel, carrying waves with it. The ship’s flags are still standing out stiff, but now we are rolling as we arc back and forth, tethered at the bow. Marilynn is wearing her Sea Bands. This is not one of life’s perfect pleasures.
Still later: The wind died with the sun. We had a quiet night. Next morning the guide boats, a dozen of them, departed at or around first light. They motored silently past our anchored boat and didn’t accelerate until they were well clear. Sport fishing lodge notwithstanding, Hawk Bay remains a good anchorage.
Anchorages. At the west end of Ogden Channel, Captain Cove is a beautiful and delightful anchorage. Two Krogens were rafted in one corner, and a lovely Nordic 37 named Del-N-I, Banks, Oregon, was in another corner. We saw the Krogens again in Rescue Bay. Del-N-I was in Rescue Bay, too, and now is tied up immediately behind us at Shearwater.
From Captain Cove we re-explored Newcombe Harbour, with its “street sign” marking Princess Diana Cove. Exiting Newcombe Harbour we saw three young men paddling an aluminum skiff, with the Johnson outboard tilted up. There being no mother ship in evidence, we pulled alongside and asked if they needed help. They waved us off. Gear was stored in the skiff. The young men appeared to be Native. Perhaps they were embarked on a rite of passage.
We overnighted in wonderful Colby Bay, across the Principe Channel on the east side of Banks Island. A fresh westerly was blowing the tops off waves in Principe channel, but in Colby Bay the surface was barely rippled. Colby Bay is fairly remote, and we thought we would be the only boat there. We were, until near suppertime a beautiful Ingrid 38 named Jaga pulled in and anchored. Jaga was single-handed by Scot Hunter, from Port Townsend, with plans for the Charlottes and a return down the west coast of Vancouver Island. Scot was friendly and articulate, the kind of person who would wear well. And his boat, built by Taylor in Victoria in 1955, cedar over oak, was a knockout. Jaga, Scot told us, means “the hunter” in Swedish. Scot Hunter didn’t know the meaning at the time he bought the boat, but wasn’t about to rename once he learned.
Rescue Bay. We anchored in Rescue Bay heading north, and again as we came south. Each time it was because we were near the end of a long day’s run and Rescue Bay was a known good choice. On the way south the shallower spots already were taken, so we opted more for the middle, in about 12 fathoms. When we paid out 200 feet of chain, however, Marilynn said we were pretty close to the charted (but covered) reef on the east side. A few moments later the dinghy from the motor vessel Migrator, Gene and Sandy Johnston, Anacortes, Washington, came by to say hello. Migrator had been moored on the other side of the dock from us in Prince Rupert. Seeing that the dinghy had a depth sounder, I asked if we could check the depths a short distance to the east. From 75 feet of depth the sounder reported what it saw: 60 feet; 50 feet; 30 feet; 15 feet—“I see rock!”
We re-anchored farther out. On a 1-foot low tide the next morning the reef no longer was hiding. It stood kelp-covered and proud, several feet above the surface. We were glad we had moved.
Shearwater (again). Shearwater lives up to its reputation as the crossroads of the central coast. It’s also a collection point for unusual boats. Several years ago we saw a home-built hovercraft when it overnighted here on its way to Alaska. Shortly after we tied up this year (thank you for the starboard-side tie, Jean), a most unusual-looking yellow-hulled sailboat came in. Silently. As if by electric motor. By jingo, it was by electric motor, and it was looking for a shore power recharge.
The boat was designed and built by Scott Davis, age 55, from Port Townsend. The hull is cold-molded of cedar, fir and fiberglass from a mold taken off a shorter lifeboat and stretched to 30 feet. The deck was rounded, life-boat style, as if to take a rollover. The boat had a mast but no boom. Scott told me it sailed with headsails only, a light No. 1, heavy No. 1 and storm jib. He balances the rig by attaching the tack to a succession of pad eyes located from the bow to partway back on the foredeck. When at dock or at anchor, a pop-top with canvas side curtains emerges as if by magic. The boat is an artistic masterpiece. The project took 10 years from inception to completion, and is one of the most imaginative things I have seen.
As I was chatting with Scott Davis, a SeaDoo, laden with baggage, came in. “Cruising the coast on a motorcycle,” Scott Davis suggested. A little later I met the motorcyclist. He was Jack Dekens, age 53, manager of a probation office in Vancouver. He had been out only 16 days and was returning home, having turned around at Skagway, Alaska. The SeaDoo had a 130-horsepower 4-stroke engine, carried 65 liters of gasoline in the main tank and another 50 liters in a second tank strapped to the back. Top speed was 50 mph; cruise in good conditions was 30 mph. Jack slept most nights in B&Bs, hotels and hostels he hustled up along the way. One night he slept under shelter at Bishop Bay Hot Springs. He has been offered sleeping space on boats, but so far hadn’t needed it.
Do you remember from an earlier report the two women rowing from Ketchikan to Puget Sound? We had chatted with them at the restaurant at Sullivan Bay. Now we’ve met, much too briefly, Scot, Scott and Jack. All of them are intelligent, interesting and creative people, the kind who could entertain a dinner party far into the evening.
This damned weather. We could stand a little sunshine. I haven’t kept count, but I think we’ve had about four days without rain since we left home June 2. That’s four days in six weeks. It’s time for a break.
Week Seven. This is being written on a Saturday afternoon, exactly seven weeks into our cruise. Rain has fallen on all but about six days in the past seven weeks, and it’s raining again now. People have told us of experiencing a month or more of rain in Southeast Alaska, but this is the first time we’ve had it on the B.C. coast.
Right now we’re waiting for the Strait of Georgia to settle down. We had near-calm conditions when we rounded Cape Caution, and flat calm between Port Hardy and the Broughtons. Johnstone Strait was nearly calm. Desolation Sound was almost calm when we left Refuge Cove after a short shopping trip, and headed south for the Strait of Georgia.
That’s when the wind began. It started as a gentle breeze, and I counted five sailboats actually sailing, having a lovely time. (Most sailboats are under power most of time on the B.C. coast. The channels are narrow and the winds can be contrary.) The wind increased as we worked south across Desolation Sound proper. At Mary Point on Cortes Island, with the full sweep of the Strait of Georgia before us, the southeast wind got serious. Fifteen knots. Twenty knots. Twenty-five knots with higher gusts. We were in an ugly Strait of Georgia chop, 4-foot-plus seas close together, whitecaps all the way to the horizon.
Four-foot-plus seas are nothing when you’re rounding Cape Caution or out on the west coast of Vancouver Island. They’re simply long, lazy ocean swells, and the boat rides up and down with no drama. Strait of Georgia 4-footers are full of drama. They’re close together, and therefore steep. The boat doesn’t ride up the back of the wave. It noses up, sometimes—if they’re 5-footers—pointing toward the sky. At the crest of the wave the boat plunges down, often into the back of the next 4- or 5-footer: 10,000 pounds, 20,000, 40,000 pounds or more of boat driving at 8 knots into seas traveling toward it.
A well-designed, strongly-built boat can take this pounding all day and not show the strain. The crew, however, gets tired of it in a hurry, especially when a log sweeps past close aboard, unseen until it’s abeam. If we were to run over such a log and it took out our running gear. . . . All eyes forward, with renewed intensity.
This is why I’m skeptical of those who don’t take these conditions seriously. If one little thing should go wrong, all at once it’s not a little thing, it’s a big thing. A boat disabled, wallowing in the troughs, rolls heavily from side to side. A small boat such as a skiff might tip over, but a larger boat won’t. It’ll just feel like it’s going to tip over. Doors fly open, lockers spill their contents, furniture slides across the cabin sole. Walking is impossible. You grab whatever you can hang onto and pull yourself along, struggling for balance and not always keeping it. The advice to never have anything loose that you wouldn’t want flying at your face becomes more than a joke.
Well, enough. We didn’t break down, nor have we ever broken down. But the possibility always exists, and good seamanship includes trying to avoid it. If conditions had allowed, we would have crossed the strait, probably to Comox on Vancouver Island. Instead, we made for Cortes Bay and the security of the SYC outstation docks there.
It was a straight line from just south of Mary Point to the mouth of Cortes Bay, but for two reasons we didn’t make an immediate turn. One reason was the presence of rocks along the way. Especially with electronic navigation we certainly would have avoided the rocks, but if anything were to have gone wrong, rocks are so unforgiving. The second reason was the southeast wind. A direct course would have put the seas exactly on our beam, and the boat would have been rolling, rolling, rolling.
So we headed off as much as we could without putting the seas beam-to, and plunged on until they would be on our stern as we made for the bay. In a flat spot after a particularly large set of waves, we made our turn. Suddenly spray no longer washed over the front windows and the boat settled down. Waves still grabbed the stern and tried to turn us sideways, but that’s what rudders are for. A few minutes later we entered Cortes Bay. The docks lay ahead, with an empty space right where we needed it. Friends took our lines and helped tie us down.
The wind has built up again and rain is lashing at the windows. A gale warning is issued for tonight. The low pressure area off the coast that is causing all this weather is moving slowly north, however, and by tomorrow or the next day comfortable travel should be possible. We’ll wait.
Cape Caution. Northbound or southbound between Vancouver Island and the safety of Fitz Hugh Sound, the big question is, “When will conditions allow for a good rounding of Cape Caution?” The answer is that there is no one perfect reply. A good rounding depends on the way many elements blend on a given day. The weather forecast, certainly. If a fresh westerly is forecast for the afternoon, an early morning departure is called for.
But the weather forecasts can be on the cautious side, calling for more wind than actually develops. So we listen to the reports from the Addenbroke, Egg Island, Pine Island and Scarlett Point light stations. Addenbroke and Scarlett Point are in more protected waters, but if Egg Island and Pine Island are reporting 5-foot “moderate” seas, it’s too much for us. Even 4-foot “moderate” is more than we volunteer for. We want “two-foot chop, low westerly swell.” “Seas rippled, low westerly swell” is even better.
Next, what is the West Sea Otter buoy reporting? One meter or less is ideal. Anything under 1.5 meters usually is positive, but not if the westerly is a-coming or a big ebb is pouring out of Rivers Inlet. It also pays to look out the window. Black clouds on the horizon might override other indicators.
We had good roundings both ways this year, especially southbound, which was unplanned. We’d departed Shearwater, 50 miles north, in late morning, and we got to Addenbroke Island around 1500. Our intent was to quit for the day and overnight in Frypan Bay or Fury Cove and cross the next morning. The reports sounded too good, though. Addenbroke, Egg Island, Pine Island and Scarlett Point were low winds and seas. There was no westerly. The tide was flooding, so we wouldn’t have big rollers outside Rivers Inlet. West Sea Otter had been varying between 1.1 and 1.2 meters all afternoon. With all such crossings, our operative rule is, “If the window is open, go,” and we went.
Port Hardy. The Quarterdeck Marina continues to be one of the best-run marinas along the way. Other marinas do have better docks, but the Quarterdeck staff is always on top of things, and always helpful. Dinner in the pub was good, too. I’m sorry, though, to report that I.V. (“Ivey”), the marina manager, refuses to change his mind about retiring at the end of this summer season. Ivey is special. He helps you land and tie up, he helps you in the store, he helps you on the fuel dock. He’s everywhere doing everything, all at the same time, always with a smile. In the early evening he was helping pull the starboard shaft from 50-foot Riviera that was hauled out with two bent props and a bent shaft—it’s what happens when a boat runs over even a log at 25 knots a little south of Cape Caution.
In front of town, something like 1,200 feet of new summer-season-only floats have been installed at the wharf where the Coast Guard boats are located. This wharf is called the City Dock, the Seagate Dock (for the tired Seagate Hotel at the head of the wharf), and—among old-timers—the Whiskey Dock.
A small but complete grocery store is a short block away, and a large Overwaitea supermarket is an easy walk. Many of the items at Overwaitea have annoying “Regular price/Member price” stickers on the shelves, although visitors still can get the Member price. Just tell the checker you want the Tourist card. You don’t get a card but you do get the price. On large orders Overwaitea offers to pay the taxi fare back to the boat. The definition of “large order” wasn’t very precise; around $100 would be a good start.
If you have electronics problems, Stryker Electronics probably can help. Merchandise old and new is piled everywhere, and Doug Kemp, the owner, really knows his stuff. Stryker also is a Suzuki outboard dealer, and has a mechanic on staff.
Broughtons. Tom and Ann Taylor at Greenway Sound Resort report a busy season. You need to make dinner entre selections by 3:00 p.m. They can be made by radio. Shawl Bay Marina lost a generator and didn’t have power on the docks. Lorne was in Port Hardy, getting a new generator. Son Robbie (now in his early twenties) handled the docks and made the signature morning pancakes as if he’d been doing it for years, which he has. Part of the Shawl Bay experience is settling up in the morning with Auntie Jo, shown here. Cash only, no credit cards. Be patient. Auntie Jo is very careful with her calculations.
Pierre’s Bay lost a generator, so most of the promised dock power isn’t installed. The new washrooms and showers are running, though. Tove (pronounced “Tova”) has lost a lot of weight, and she looks great in her short skirts. Lady Di, the bakery lady, is still in Bellingham, recovering. Maybe she will get back to Pierre’s this summer. People were signing a big get-well card, urging Diane to get her buns back up north.
This has been a bad year for generators in the Broughtons. As noted above, Pierre’s Bay and Shawl Bay lost generators and had to cut back dock power. Echo Bay Resort lost all its generators in that awful fire in early June, and is only partly operational. I understand that Nancy has been further diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Bob and Nancy can’t get a break.
Anchorages. We anchored in Port Alexander, off Browning Passage, after we crossed Cape Caution southbound. Lovely spot, lots of room, good choice after a long, long day’s run. We had a good night in Douglas Bay, inside the mouth of Forward Harbour, prior to running the rapids on the way south. We came in late and left early, so there was no time to try the trail over the saddle in the hills to Bessborough Bay.
Slow speeds. Among powerboaters, the chatter on the docks is about how slow the boats seem to be going. Fuel at $4-$5 per gallon does have an effect. Our fuel usage at 8.5 knots is much less than at planing speed. We’re a trawler much of the time. We enjoy having a two-speed boat, however. We used our speed going around Cape Caution both times, and again when we got to the Yuculta Rapids just after the current turned against us. Running the speed up is good for the engines, too (if I need further justification).
Week Eight. We’re home. We tied up just after 5:00 p.m. on Friday, exactly eight weeks after we had untied and headed north. It took a full week to travel from Douglas Bay in Forward Harbour to Seattle, including a two-day wait in Cortes Bay while the wind blew 25 knots in the Strait of Georgia. That was the storm I wrote about in the Week 7 report.
Mechanically, this was our best trip ever. From Seattle to Prince Rupert and back, the only failure was a single light bulb. That’s it—one little light bulb. When I contrast our experience with the engine problems the Yeadon-Joneses had (they write the Dreamspeaker books), or the generator problems we saw on another boat, or the blown-up marina generators in the Broughtons this year, I’d have to say we were unusually lucky.
We did have one bad experience, and it happened less than an hour before we tied up. It was at the locks. As we waited for the light to turn green, a boat came up from behind and crowded ahead. We still got in, but only just, and we were tied side by side with the boat that had crowded. While the offending boat’s skipper was adjusting fenders, as nicely as I could I asked if he realized he had gone out of turn. I forget the exact words, but the gist of his reply (head down, no eye contact) was that it didn’t make sense to hang back and wait. He was quite firm about it. I never did see his face, just his back. Sigh. There’s always one, isn’t there?
Wireless Internet. In only a few years, Internet connectivity has changed from Internet cafes ashore to wireless connection on the boats. In the B.C. wilderness, facilities with no telephones had a dish pointed at an Internet satellite. The old idea of setting off in the boat to get away from it all has changed. Now we set off in the boat but bring it all with us.
This is not a lament. I used wireless to stay in touch with the office, answer e-mails and send weekly reports, with photos, for posting on this Web site. Marilynn delighted in sending notes and photos to the kids and grandchildren. She probably drove them nuts, although they haven’t said so.
Sleep. When we didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to make a tide, we routinely slept 8-9 hours a night, sometimes with a mid-day nap for good measure. Here at home I’m back to 6 hours or so at night, no nap.
Cooking. As with most boats, brave little Surprise has a one-butt galley, with limited counter space and restricted refrigerator and freezer space. Yet we ate better on the boat than we have since we got home to the big kitchen, the Sub-Zero refrigerator, the freezer downstairs, and cupboards everywhere.
One reason for the difference is the kids and grandkids. After eight weeks, Marilynn had enough of me—she wanted the grandchildren. Five-and-one-half (the one-half is important) year-old Ashley Jane had a sleepover at our house two nights after we got home. Ashley’s two-year-old sister Hayley joined us for playtime and dinner before their mommy took them back. Marilynn spent the better part of yesterday with our two grandsons. With a schedule like that, supper is whatever can be scared up 30 minutes before I get home.
It’s different on the boat. When you’re up the coast, with rocks and Christmas trees all around, you can’t pop down to the deli section at QFC. Meal planning and preparation are important parts of the day, sometimes the most important parts of the day. We planned menus together, we shopped together, and even in the one-butt galley we would work together.
Well, we didn’t always work together. It was not unusual for Marilynn to prepare supper while I checked the engines, washed salt off the windows, and made log and journal entries and the like. We did wash the dishes together and plan the next day somewhat. Before we knew it the time was nine or nine-thirty, and we were tired.
Invasion of the C-Dories. Beautiful Montague Harbour is one of the best destinations in the Gulf Islands, with a popular marina (Montague Harbour Marina: store, café, gift shops, kayak rentals, fuel), a fascinating provincial park, a whole bunch of park mooring buoys, and ample room for anchoring. We anchored there the second to last night out. The weather was perfect. It was warm, there were no clouds, and only a light breeze to wash through the boat from the open forward hatch to the back door.
As we relaxed in the late afternoon, we saw a succession of C-Dories motor in and plop their anchors down. By the time they finished there must have been a dozen of them, mostly 22-footers, with canvas biminis over the cockpits and kayaks or little inflatable dinghies mounted on the cabin tops.
It turned out the C-Dories were on a loosely-planned group cruise, and they were having fun. Some had trailered from several states away. They were in Montague Harbour to catch the famous Pub Bus up to the Hummingbird for pub food and mugs of cheer, and around 6:00 p.m. the procession of dinghies began. Now, there isn’t much room for a dinghy on a 22-foot boat, so some of their inflatables looked a little like gray, blue or white colored donuts with 2-horse Honda outboards on the back. It was quite a sight to watch these tiny dinghies loaded deep on their marks with four adults, as they putt-putted across the bay to the public dock.
Back in 1979, our 37-footer was a pretty big boat. Several times on this trip, however, we were the smallest boat at the dock. Fifty feet is nothing anymore. So it was refreshing to see that two adults still can have as much happiness as two people can absorb, camping out with style on their 22-foot C-Dory. The boats were well-equipped, too. They had full electronics including radar, cockpit biminis (as noted above), barbecues, tenders, the whole works. Many even had windlasses for their 10-pound anchors.
The group, club, whatever you want to call it, is very informal. There are no dues and no officers. It’s held together by the glue of their enthusiasm for their boats. Their Web site is www.c-brats.com.
Wrapping up. Between meeting new people, seeing new places and figuring out new challenges, we had more experiences in a day on the boat than we would have in a week at home—maybe in a month at home.
It seemed that every day brought something unexpected. It might be fog that filled the spaces between the raindrops, and required close attention to the radar. It might be the walk up the road at Cortes Bay, when a nice lady in a VW van stopped to suggest an interesting trail to explore. The nice lady turned out to be the locally renowned author/artist/adventurer June Cameron. Although June is 78 now, her eyes are bright and curious, and her mind is crisp. She’s also terribly deaf. “If people died of deafness,” she said, “there would be a lot more research.”
June is working on her third book, titled 26 Feet to the Charlottes. It’s about a sailing trip she took to the Queen Charlotte Islands aboard a 26-foot boat in the early 1980s. “We didn’t know the west side of the Charlottes were so poorly charted,” she said. “But the boat was slow, and we could see where the waves were breaking over the rocks.”
Compared with some of the cruisers we met, we didn’t see a lot of wildlife. But we did see some bears, a tawny-colored wolf, a few whales, a pod of orcas (killer whales), a minke whale that surfaced right in front of us, and a pod of Pacific white-sided dolphins, who laugh and splash the day away—never seen so much joy. Black and white Dall’s porpoises played with our boat, too, zooming beside and under us as we motored along. Suddenly they were gone.
Eagles, of course, were everywhere. Ravens, too. And plump little swallows that perched on the bow rail where they fluffed themselves importantly, then flew off before I could get the camera out. Lots of sea birds. (I need to learn more about the different varieties.)
In an earlier post, I noted that boats were going slower now, a response to the rising price of fuel. I have to modify that report. Boats indeed were going slowly up north, away from the cities. In the Gulf Islands, the San Juan Islands and Puget Sound, however, the boats seemed to be going as fast as always.
When it comes to handling the boat around the docks, we yachties are a bunch of wusses, you know. Compare our delicate, tentative approaches and departures, hoping for a friendly hand ashore to help with our lines—compare us with the work boat and fish boat guys. One engine, one propeller, one rudder, no bow thruster, no stern thruster. Yet they wind down narrow channels between docks and put their boats into gaps barely larger than their total length. They do it single-handed: no fuss, no help needed. For a really impressive sight, watch a tugboat skipper move a barge an inch at a time alongside a dock. These guys are really good.
Another eight-week cruise is complete. We met a lot of interesting people, and kept up with the changes along the way. Wherever we went, we were pleased and flattered by the reception the Waggoner got. It’s the book the cruising folk carry and use. The praise is very rewarding. It also reminds us of the responsibility we have to keep the Waggoner up-to-date and topical, and easy to use.
—Bob Hale
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