Island in the rain

July 10, 2020. Westview Marina, Tahsis

The rain started in earnest overnight, and came down heavily through the morning. With it, the wind has picked up, and has been blowing up the inlet all day. It’s strong enough to be heeling the boat a bit against the dock lines. Occasionally, some part of the rigging gets hit with a harmonic frequency, and I can feel a gentle vibration all the way down through the cabin table.

Rainy morning out the window

It’s been a good day to be tied to the dock. I have power here, so I started the electric heater when I got out of bed, and it has been nice and warm inside. That means I also have a hot water heater, so I had a nice shower today. I’ll replace the water before I leave, so I can go with full tanks.

I’ve spent most of the day tied to the cabin table, which has been serving as a desk. I’ve been dictating PFTs all day long, and taking breaks every hour or so. In the first break, I had breakfast. I’m down to cereal, milk, and tea at this point. I haven’t really gotten into making anything hot for breakfast, since I usually feel like I need to get the day going, and I don’t want to use up a lot of time.

In my second break, as I mentioned, I had a nice warm shower, which made me feel more human. Clean clothes and a clean self make it easier to sit and work.

In my third break, around 1100, I was ready to get up and move. The rain had stopped, so I decided to head in to Tahsis and check it out. I grabbed my waterproof backpack, put on a hoodie and a shell, and started walking into town.

In a few minutes, I passed a sign that said “Cardiac Climb Trail”. I looked at it for a minute, then figured I’d rather climb it with an empty backpack than a full one, so I headed up. I was thinking maybe it would get me up high and give me a good view of the inlet, but it only seemed to go between two roads, about a block apart, and I got to the top in a few minutes. Based on the amount of growth on the trail, it doesn’t seem like many Tahsis residents take advantage of the shortcut.

 

The overgrown Cardiac Climb Trail.  A bit underwhelming.

 

I resumed my walk into Tahsis proper. It took about 20 minutes. I arrived at the little grocery store/gas station, which had a sign saying it wasn’t open until 1200. The door was open, though, so I poked my head in, and the lady inside said to go ahead and come on in, since they were there already.

River emptying into the Tahsis inlet.

It was a bit run down, with a pretty minimal selection. I bought some milk and a bit of fruit, and a frozen pizza that I figured I could have for lunch today and tomorrow. The other vegetables didn’t really look worth buying. I made the mistake of shopping hungry, though, so ended up buying some cookies and chips as well. At least now I have a full snack cupboard.

The Tashsis supermarket.  Also a bit underwhelming.

Leaving the store, I checked out a map of Tahsis. I didn’t see that there was much else to it, other than a rec centre. The weather was getting worse again, though, so I decided to hoof it back to the boat.

I cooked up the pizza and had lunch while I looked over the cruising guides, and rechecked the weather. It looks like things may settle a bit in the next day or so. My next open coast hurdle is Estevan Point, just outside of the Tahsis inlet. I need to try to hit that on a good weather day. It is really the last major point that I have to get around before I start heading south to Victoria.

Tahsis is really all about the fishing.

I spent the rest of the afternoon continuing to work on PFTs. Now, I think I’m close to being caught up, and am debating whether to try and head out tomorrow. I think it will really depend on what the weather looks like in the morning. If it stays like this, I’ll hunker down for one more day, and wait for the wind and rain to blow themselves out.

I’m listening to a Spotify playlist called “Sunny Day”. Weezer is singing “Island in the Sun”. Hoping the power of positive thinking will have some effect.

Soaking in the Atmosphere

July 9, 2020. Nuchatlitz to Westview Marina, Tahsis. 19 NM.

 

It was another early start this morning. The rain woke me at around 0130, but as it eased off, I managed to get back to sleep until about 0530. Then, I lay in bed thinking about how shallow everything had gotten around me yesterday at low tide. By 0600, I realized I wasn’t going to get back to sleep, and I’d rather go back through the shallow and narrow pass into Nuchatlitz at mid-tide at least. It would be a falling tide, and if I got hung up on something, it would be a long wait to be lifted off again.

Breakfast was quick, and I had the boat moving by 0700. The tide was about the same height as it had been when I first entered, and the lowest depth I saw on the way out was 14 feet under my keel. At one point, I picked up a long piece of kelp, which I needed to pull off the rudder with the boat hook, but otherwise, the departure was uneventful.

I turned up Esperanza inlet with the sun trying to peek out from behind dark clouds. The rain held off. I passed the Canadian Coast Guard Atlantic Raven, anchored in the inlet, which was a reassuring sight. Otherwise, there was little wind and I motored calmly along. Lots of small fishing boats zipped past me in the other direction, heading to try for salmon in the open ocean.

CCGS Atlantic Raven, 249 feet long

Marine farms dotted the inlet as I got closer to Tahsis narrows. I knew I would be early for the turn of the tide, but I didn’t know exactly what time slack current was, so I figured I’d just give it a go and see what happened. As it turns out, I must have hit it at almost exactly slack, since there didn’t seem to be much resistance, or much assistance in either direction.

This is where your farmed salmon come from

As I came out of the narrows, I saw the first sailboat I’ve seen in a long time, heading down Tahsis inlet in the other direction. It was reassuring to see that they weren’t sailing either. There was still only a few knots of wind.

Coming through the Tahsis Narrows

As I came up Tahsis inlet, I was surprised to feel my phone buzz with incoming messages. I had been told there was no cell service in the inlet, but it turned out that Telus LTE was pretty good here. I spent 20 minutes deleting most of the email that had built up in my inbox over the last week or so, as the autopilot guided me along.

It was only about 1030 by the time I was drawing close to the Westview Marina in Tahsis. Sara had called an made a reservation, I think yesterday. She had texted me the details, and told me to set up for a port side tie, which is our usual. She had also verified that there was good internet on the docks, so I could catch up on work.

Coming into Tahsis.  A metropolis in the wilderness!

I put the engine in neutral and floated out in the middle of the bay, while I set up all the lines and fenders, ready for a single handed docking. Once I was set up, I radioed the marina to let them know I was on my way in. “Sure thing”, came the reply. They didn’t know anything about a reservation, but they had lots of space. “Set up for a starboard side tie, bow in.”

Oh. OK. I shifted back into neutral, and moved all the lines and fenders over to the other side. Once that was done, it was a fairly easy approach through the log breakwater into the small marina. The marina staffer popped down to the dock and grabbed my bowline, but it was still so calm it would have been an easy single-handed landing. He pulled me all the way forward, away from the marina office, which was OK with me.

 

Once I had the lines all sorted, I headed up to the office and filled out the paperwork and paid for two nights. There is a nice little dockfront café here, with some good seating looking out to the bay, so I treated myself to a hamburger, and called Sara to let her know I was safely tied to the dock. She was at work, so we only chatted briefly, with a plan to talk this evening.

Back on the boat, I tested the internet. At the spot I had tied up, I didn’t get any signal at all. I walked back up to the office and verified it would be OK to pull the boat forward, closer to the marina office. “Yup, no problem!” One of my dock neighbours helped me, as the afternoon wind was starting to come up a bit, and would have made it a tricky operation without some help.

The afternoon cloud blows up the Tahsis inlet

I got as close to the office as I could, and found I just managed to pick up a weak internet signal. Slow, but it was the best I could do. I sat down and caught up on some emails, and started to chip away at lung function studies. I can pick up a slow internet signal, just in the cockpit, so it looks like the next couple of days will be mostly sitting here, getting caught up on work.

At least I have a phone signal as well. I can use the data off that to speed up the process if I need to. I also called my parents to let them know I was safe, and they sounded relieved.

The dockside cafe.  I’ll probably eat here a few times in the next couple of days.

Now, it looks like some real weather is moving in. There is a grey fog and rain bank blowing up Tahsis inlet, and the winds is pushing hard against the cockpit enclosure. I’m well protected, though, and nice and warm, so I’ll enjoy being somewhere secure while the systems keep blowing through.

Turns out the dock right next to me is where they dump the remains of the fish that are cleaned on the dock at the end of the day.  It was a full on eagle feeding frenzy for a while there.  During the afternoon, I also saw vultures and river otters poking around looking for remaining goodies.

Sheryl Crow, Soak up the Sun just came on.  Soak is appropriate.  Sun, not so much.

Makes you think all the world’s a sunny day.

July 8, 2020. Nuchatlitz Bay.

Liquid sunshine on the West Coast

Nature taught me another lesson last night. When the “drip, drip, drip” started on the deck in the middle of the night, I realized that instead of bemoaning the lack of sun, I should have been thankful for the lack of rain in recent days. Sure enough, today ended that trend, and it rained most of the night. When I woke up, it was still a steady drizzle.

I had debated making today a down day, and the rain decided it for me. I laid in my warm bed as long as I could, then got up and made some hot tea and cereal. I took my time over that, and eventually, the rain seemed to settle a bit. I poked my head out of the cabin. It was still overcast, with a light misty liquid in the air, but the bay was dead calm. The tide was all the way down, so I decided to take the opportunity for a bit of exploring.

Low tide leave a lot more beach to climb

I grabbed a handheld VHF and the Inreach, then put the paddleboard in the water. It was an easy paddle back over to the old church site. With the tide down so far, I had to climb a fairly steep beach to get back on shore. I took a quick tour around the old village and church site, but there is nothing there now except for a few poles and a small driftwood structure. Yesterday, there was a man there mowing, and I took a quick walk around where the grass and weeds had been cut down.

The old village site

I then headed over to Kayak Island. At low tide, it is connected to the old village site by a long gravel bar, that winds its way along like a meandering road. Where I had paddled yesterday was now all dry, and I walked right across. The rain picked up again as I reached the island, and I was pretty soaked through in short order. Once you’re wet, though, the worst is over, so I decided to push on. With the tide so low, I was pretty sure I’d be able to walk right around the island. There was a big foreshore with the tide out, and I explored the gravel beach. As I got around to the open ocean side of the island, the beach faded out, and I had to work my away across some rugged rocks and tide pools. I explored a few, but the rain and the threat of a rising tide kept me moving. It all reminded me of hiking the West Coast trail with my brother, many years ago. The cold and soaked feet that made it easier to just keep moving, with the ocean crashing off the beach were all the same. The difference was that I had a nice warm boat waiting for me to get back to.

Low tide causeway to Kayak Island

It took a bit over half an hour to get all the way around. The tide hadn’t come up much, and there was still lots of room to make it back across the gravel causeway connecting the islands. Once across, I figured I was as wet as I could get, and as long as I kept moving, I was warm enough. So I turned right, and walked around the smaller village island as well. I was conscious of making noise, so as not to surprise the same bear from yesterday, but I didn’t see anything bigger than a bird. Apparently, the other animals had the sense to stay inside today.

Tide pool on the ocean side of Kayak Island

When I reached my paddleboard again, the rain slowed down. There had been a stiff wind blowing on the outer side of the island, but in the bay, it was calm and glassy. I sat on a wet log for a quick snack, then pushed off on my paddleboard. It slid along the calm water with minimal effort. I headed around the bay to explore. The mirror like surface of the water reflected the small rugged islands and trees, and the paddleboarding was almost perfect. After 45 minutes or so of paddling, the rain started up again, and I headed back to the boat.

Calm water reflecting the islands…

…and making perfect paddleboarding

 

Back on board, I stripped off all my soaking clothes, and left them in the cockpit. I had run the diesel heater in the morning to warm up some water. A hot shower was exactly what I needed to get rid of the damp chill. That and a change of clothes made me feel like new.

After warming up a bit, I fired up the watermaker to put back some of the freshwater I’d used in the shower. A hot lunch of bacon and cheese quesadilla filled me up. The boat needed a bit of a tidy after multiple days of travel, but it didn’t take too long. I settled on the settee to watch a movie under a blanket. I was still hungry, so I grabbed one of the jiffy pops out of the cupboard, and treated myself to popcorn and a movie.

It looks like it is going to rain on and off the rest of the day. I’ve left the paddleboard in the water for now, but being warm and dry inside makes it less appealing to consider another late afternoon exploration. I will probably take it easy for the rest of the day, and cook dinner in the oven to provide a little more heat in the cabin before an early night. Tomorrow, if I can catch a decent tide to get back out the narrow passage, I will head off early and head towards Tahsis, where I can catch up with civilization on their internet. That will be a mixed blessing, as it will mean getting back to work a bit as well. But with the forecast for rain over the next few days, if I’m going to be more or less boat bound, I may as well catch up on my other commitments.

Blog sound track: Kodachrome by Paul Simon.  Give us the green of summer…

 

A calm Nuchatlitz Bay at low tide

Nicely making way

July 7, 2020. Dixie Cove to Nuchatlitz. 27 NM.

Shortly after I finished writing last night, two fishing boats came in to spend the night in Dixie Cove. It was reassuring to see that I wasn’t the only person left in the world. I slept well, once the wind settled for the night, and by the time I got up around 0700, both fishing boats were gone.

After breakfast, I went through the morning routine of getting the boat ready, and was motoring out of Dixie Cove by 0830. Having read about the other anchorages in Kyoquot, I decided I was ready to move on, and headed back out towards the ocean.

Instead of going out into deep water, though, I decided to try Clear Passage, which winds it’s way  along inside some low-lying barrier rocks and islands, cutting off the ocean swell. There was less than 1 knot of wind as I rounded Rugged Point, so it probably didn’t make much difference to be inside or outside. I was treated to a great view of the long, white sand beach of Rugged Point as I cut inside the menacing Grogan Rock. In retrospect, it would have been great to stop inside Rugged Point, and explore the beach. That is one that I’ve left for next time. It looks like an amazing spot, and the long beach is definitely worth exploring.

Nasty looking Grogan Rock and the barrier islets

Part of Rugged Point beach.  A must stop for next time.

Coming to the end of Clear Passage, I started to see more signs of life. A remarkable house on the high point at the end of Rugged Beach presented an impressive view. Just below, 7 or 8 small sport fishing boats all gathered around what I can only assume is the hot fishing hole in the area.

Pretty impressive building site!

Exiting Clear Passage, it was another hour of relatively open water before I turned into Gillam Channel, and started my way up the Esperanza Inlet. I didn’t go far before I turned into the tight and winding entrance to the bay at Nuchatlitz Provincial Park. I was treated to even more civilization, with a few summer houses dotting the eastern shore. A couple were occupied, as evidenced by the boats parked at their docks. I headed to the middle of the bay, and dropped the hook in about 20 feet of water.

Summer houses at Nuchatlitz

This bay is probably the biggest anchorage I’ve been in since we left Nanaimo. It’s hard to believe that was more than a month ago! There is probably room in here for 30 or 50 boats. Once again, though, I am the only boat in sight, other than the small sport fishers at the docks of the summer homes.

Solo in Nutchatlitz Bay

I had a quick sandwich for lunch, and relaxed for an hour, waiting for the afternoon inflow winds to calm down. Once again, they seemed to start up just as I got into the anchorage, after motoring all morning with winds in the 2 to 3 knot range. It may be that I’m timing my day wrong, and should be starting later to catch more wind. The early starts work well for exploring new anchorages, though, so it is a trade off.

Since the timing worked out well today, after lunch I launched the paddleboard, and paddled upwind to the old first nation’s village site. There was a nice gravel beach, so I hauled the board out of the water and switched to my hiking shoes, then set off to walk around the island. It took about 20 minutes to get all the way around. On the way, I surprised a bear who was enjoying some raspberry bushes close to shore. He surprised me, too, but he seemed more scared than I was, running off into the bushes. I kept walking, a bit more briskly than before, and was soon back at my board. I pushed off into the bay, pretty confident that I could paddle faster than a bear could swim. I worked my way out towards some of the barrier islands, and enjoyed the small ocean swell coming through that lifted the board up and down.

Exploring further out.

It was starting to get late, so I headed back towards the boat, paddling back around the village island, re-tracing my steps on the beach, but this time, a bit offshore. Sure enough, I soon saw the same bear, grazing in the sea grass on shore. He didn’t see me for a long time, and when he finally looked up, he was completely unconcerned. I took a couple of pictures, then paddled back to the boat.

Second encounter from a safer distance.

Dinner was chicken cordon bleu (really!) which was pre-made at the grocery store. I cooked it up in the oven, and had some salad left over from last night. I’m sitting in the cockpit now, listening to the birds calling each other on shore as the light of the day is starting to wane. I can’t really claim to be getting a sunset, since the clouds have obscured the sun pretty much all day, but at least the rain has held off so far.

Steven Stills just finished singing about the Southern Cross. 80 feet on the water line, nicely making way. I guess if you’re a rock star, you can afford an 80-foot boat!

Every little thing gonna be alright.

July 6, 2020. Scow Cove, Bunsby Islands, to Dixie Cove, Kyoquot Sound. 23 NM

 

If travel is really about the people you meet, then I’m not sure what this trip has been about recently. There is noooobody out here. Today is day six, and anchorage number five, where I am the only person around. Day after day, I cruise into an empty anchorage, go straight to the middle, and drop the hook. No worries about swinging into other boats, or fouling anchors.

It reminds me a bit of our sailing in the Bahamas when we were there with the kids. We assured them they would meet kids on other boats, and have opportunities to make new friends and have adventures. But day after day, we saw no boats. The difference is that there were people around, on the islands and in towns. Also, it was warm.

The day started a bit later. I think I’m getting tired of the pace, and keeping everything moving on my own. I slept in until about 0730, then got up and took my time over breakfast and tea. The brief taste of summer I got yesterday afternoon has disappeared today, and it has stayed cloudy and cool all day. No rain yet, though.

I was raising the anchor shortly before 0900, and saw a small prawning boat making it’s way through Gay Passage. It was nice to at least get a glimpse of another boat. I followed behind, taking care to avoid the rocks and shallows in the middle of the passage. At one point, I had to put the engine in neutral and take stock of the contradiction between the charts, and what my eyes were telling me. The way that looked the clearest to the eye was in fact straight over a shallow rock. In the end, the charts were right, and I had to veer off to one side of the passage, around a small island, into a much narrower but deeper channel.

Avoiding rocks at low tide, Gay Passage

Eventually, I came out into more open water. Still, the area around the Bunsbys is complicated with reefs and low-lying rocks all around. Often the only sign of them was a breaking wave that showed where the water rapidly shallowed. I elected to head out to deeper water to avoid the worst of them, instead of trying to wind my way through all the underwater hazards.

The most wind I saw all day was about 3 knots, which made the waves and swell more manageable, but kept sailing off the menu. Shortly before I turned into Kyoquot Sound, I saw one other fishing boat. They were probably out of nearby Walter’s Cove. Although it promised a hint of civilization, I elected not to head in there, as it looks complex on the charts, and there is no real anchorage to speak of.

Entrance to Kyoquot Sound

Instead, I made my way up the Sound to Dixie Cove. Just as I entered the anchorage, I saw the first wind of the day, and I ended up setting my anchor with 8 to 12 knots of wind blowing through the bay. I stayed in the larger outer cove, as the entrance to the more protected inner cove looks narrow and shallow, and I don’t want to push my luck.

Once anchored, I had a late lunch of Mr. Noodles and bacon. I then had a nap on the settee, dreaming that Sara was sleeping on the one across the cabin. It was warmer inside than out, and with the wind still gusting, and the clouds threatening rain, going for a paddleboard explore wasn’t too enticing.

Empty Dixie Cove

Now, it’s getting close to dinner. I’m planning to BBQ a small steak tonight, and have some salad left over from last night. I just fired up Spotify and hit “shuffle”. Bob Marley is telling me not to worry about a thing, cause every little thing gonna be alright.

Deeper into the Wild

July 5, 2020. Klaskino Anchorage to Scow Cove, the Bunsbys. 35 NM. 0630 to 1330

 

After a week or more of planning, and several days waiting for weather, I passed another big milestone today. I managed to get past the Brooks Peninsula, and all went according to plan.

It was another early morning, with the anchor up and the boat moving by 0630. I motored out past the reefs guarding the Klaskino anchorage, and I was encouraged to see some fishing boats in the distance. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only person in the world.

The swells got bigger as I headed out to sea, but there was little wind, as was forecasted. Off in the cloudy distance, the sea carried on toward the horizon, and I realized if I just kept pointed in that direction, eventually I’d hit Japan. Instead, I turned south toward the Brooks Peninsula, jutting out into the Pacific.

This way lies Japan

I spent an uneventful morning motorsailing toward Cape Cook, and watching the peninsula grow closer and closer. Solander Island off the northwest tip of the peninsula reminded me of the island Luke Skywalker found himself living on at the end of the Star Wars saga. Rocky, pointy, and windswept, with grass clinging to the few spots that weren’t too steep. I wondered how they had managed to get the warning marks on the top of the island. It would have been a tricky landing and a climb from a boat.

Cape Cook and Solander Island

As I rounded the point the wind came up, and I managed to pull out the genoa. With the main I had already raised in the anchorage, I sailed along slowly at 3 to 4 knots, enjoying the silence without the engine. The couple of fishing boats I had seen stayed north of the peninsula, so I was soon alone again. I had the stereo on to keep me company as I made my way slowly along, adjusting course to keep the wind on my port quarter, and keep the sails from jibing.

Once around the peninsula, I toyed with the idea of continuing south to Kyoquot Sound, but realized that would make for a very long day. As it was, I would be about 6 hours to the Bunsbys, which felt like enough sailing. The wind died as I came in behind Brooks Peninsula, and I had to start the engine again in Checleset Bay. As I neared the rocky islets dotting the inner part of the Bay, I dropped the mainsail, and motored up past Battle Bay. I could see some big beaches at the head of the bay that looked like they would make for interesting exploring, but the wind was blowing directly in there, so I carried on to Gay Passage, and turned in toward Scow Cove in the middle of the Bumsbys.

I wound past shallow spots and rocks, keeping a close eye on the chart plotter as I made my way in. It took me a couple of tries to get the anchor set in a reasonable spot in Scow Cove. It was either quite deep, with limited swing room for adequate scope, or shallow, with a rocky point nearby.

Eventually I got things situated, and went below for a late lunch of canned chili and cheese. The sun had finally come out, and for what felt like the first time in a long time, it started to feel like summer. I threw the paddleboard in the water, and grabbed the InReach and VHF, and set off to explore the Bunsbys.

Natural paddleboard dock in the Bunsbys

I started by paddling south from the boat. I thought I would reach the head of the anchorage and be turned around quickly, but a maze of passages between small islands opened up, and I wound in and out, trying to keep track of the direction the boat lay behind me. A couple of signs dotted a few of the points of the island, and I hopped off the board to check one out. It was a warning about beach closures. Who exactly they were warning, I have no idea. The signs were buried back amongst the islands where only small boats could go. And there is no one around as far as I can see. I guess they were all there to warn me? Heeding the warning, I refrained from harvesting shellfish from the beach, and hopped back on the board.

The writing on this sign was so small, you had to get on shore to read it

As I got further from the boat, a passage magically opened up in front of me that took me back to Scow Bay, saving me from having to retrace my route. The paddle boarding in among the islands here is fantastic, and is worth the trip in itself. Gliding silently along through the water, with only the dip of the paddle to mark my progress, it was quiet enough to hear the hiss of an eagle’s wings as he flew low over my head.

Eagles and otters are everywhere.

I paddled back past the boat, and out into Gay Passage, where the wind from the open ocean was blowing in, making it hard to work against it. I crossed the passage over to the other main anchorage in the Bunsbys, South Nook. This anchorage had some low rocks breaking the swell at the head, but was otherwise open to the ocean. I pushed against the wind right up to the rocks, and then took a break, sitting down on the board. As I took out my camera to take a picture, I heard a loud “snort” a few feet away as a seal popped up for air. I figured he was as surprised to see me as I was to see him, and he hadn’t heard me, since I was sitting without paddling.

Vindictive seal, or curious puppy?

I didn’t think much of it as I turned downwind to head back to the boat. But then I realized I kept hearing the same loud “snuff” behind me every few minutes, as the seal followed along behind me. At first it occurred to me that it would take something exactly the size of a vindictive harbour seal to knock me off my board and put me in the water. After a while, though, it seemed like he was just curious, and was following me home like a stray puppy looking for a treat. He followed me all the way back to the boat, and the last I saw of him, he was looking at me as I got back on Monashee.

On the stereo: Green Grass and High Tides by the Outlaws.  “Green grass and high tides forever…”

 

Finally, a bit of summer weather

I think I’m alone now.

July 4, 2020. North Harbour to Klaskino Inlet. 18 NM. 0630 to 1030

 

I’m really alone now. There is not another person in sight. No fishing boats, no wakes. No sounds of airplanes, traffic or engines. Not even chainsaws. The only sounds are the surf breaking on the beach, the wind in the rigging, and crows and eagles calling out. It is a strange, slightly uneasy feeling, to be this far from anyone else, this self-reliant. I guess other people will come into this anchorage sometime this summer, but I haven’t seen another cruising boat since Giebateau sailed away almost a week ago, and none showed up on my AIS today.

The day started early again, with the wake from fishing boats heading out rocking me out of sleep before 0500. I’d gotten to bed early the night before, though, so it wasn’t hard to get up. I had my morning cup of tea, then woke the boat up. First, the cabin. Clothes and life jacket ready for the inevitable drop in temperature when I stareted moving. Everything that could fall or be tipped over at sea was stowed. Soaps bottles and dishes were put in the sink. Engine check. Then outside. All the canvas came off the cockpit, the sailbag was opened, the mainsail raised, the engine started, instruments on, and the anchor came up.

As I motored out of Quatsino sound, I passed through a telus service zone, which would be the last I would see for some time. I called Sara, who was just waking up. We had a quick chat and I checked weather again before I lost the signal. Before long I was back out into the open ocean, and starting to get rocked by the ocean swell. It wasn’t anywhere near as big as it was when Sara and I came in. The day was grey and overcast, but the rain held off. It was still cold, with temperatures reading about 10 degrees before I got moving.

For a while, the wind was behind me, pushing out of Quatsino Sound. I managed to sail for a bit with the genoa and main. As I approached Brooks Bay, the wind shifted, then was blanketed by the peninsula, so I had to start the engine again. The swells built a bit, but it was still relatively calm. For about half an hour I debated just going around the peninsula today. The forecast was for wind against me, but not too strong. Everything I have read, and everyone I have talked to, have emphasized how important it is to be cautious around Brooks. Given that, and after our experience around Cape Scott, I decided to stick with plan A, and turned into Brooks Bay, bound for the anchorage in Klatsino Inlet, to wait for what is supposed to be a calmer day tomorrow. It would be nice to wait for a good northwest wind to push me around the Peninsula and allow me to sail, but it looks like the next several days are either minimal wind, or strong wind against me. With that choice, I’m opting for a quiet day, even if it means a motorsail.

Brooks Peninsula in a blanket of cloud

Weaving through the surf crashing on the rocks, I left Rugged Island to starboard as I turned for Klaskino Anchorage. Two sea otters lying on their backs greeted me as I dropped the mainsail. A big sand and gravel beach marked the turn into the protection behind Anchorage Island. I motored around looking for a good spot, but found the most protected areas gave little swing room. I opted to anchor out in 50 feet of water, where I had more room to swing on adequate scope.

Klaskino welcoming committee

By the time the anchor was down and the boat was a bit squared away, it was almost 11. I had missed breakfast, so I had an early lunch of cheese quesadilla and a banana. The anchorage was remarkably calm, and since it was still early, I decided to explore on the paddleboard. The SUP is really the ideal tool for getting around these anchorages. It is so much easier to launch than the dinghy, and can get into shallow water. It moves along pretty well too, at about walking pace. It makes no noise, so frequently wildlife doesn’t see me coming, and I can get up close to them. And no gas or engine to mess with means it will go as far as my arms can take me.

Paddleboard adventure

I paddled in and out of the maze of little rocks and islands, sneaking through a tiny passageway into a lagoon that was rapidly filling with water as the tide came up. I circled all around the boat, and ended up on the beach that I had passed on the way into the anchorage. I got off and went for a walk, and pretty quickly came to a creek. I could hear a waterfall not far away, so I headed inland, walking through the cool fresh water. Just around the corner were a few fallen logs, and a pristine pool with a waterfall splashing into it. If we were somewhere tropical, it would have been a perfect spot for a swim. I did reach in and test the water, but it was definitely too cold to get in.

Hidden waterfall

I headed back to the boat, nervous to be away from it for too long. It’s time to run the watermaker again, so I started that up, then took advantage of the warm water from running the engine, and had a shower. It’s been a few days, and it felt amazing to get clean and put on a change of clothes.

The wind is coming up now, with the usual afternoon gusts. It’s good to be back on the boat to make sure everything stays where it is. If the forecast holds, it should settle tonight.

On the speaker right now – Yes, singing “All Good People”. With not a person in sight, it doesn’t really apply.

Totally alone in Klaskino Inlet

A Long Trip to the Store

July 3, 2020. Julian Cove to North Harbour, via the Koskino Islands. 20 NM

 

I was up with the sun in Julian Cove today. It seems like I am getting into the rhythm of daylight hours. I was asleep early last night, and out of bed shortly after 0500. It was the first sunny morning I can remember in a long time. Nevertheless, the thermometer in the cockpit read 9 degrees! It was slightly warmer in the cabin at 13, but still, this is July!

I didn’t feel much like eating, so after a cup of tea, I started to get the boat ready to move. I decided to pull up the mainsail in the anchorage, so I could pay attention to it without having to worry about the boat moving. It went up easily, and I elected to put the first reef in, partly to practice, and partly because I wasn’t sure what to expect out in the sound. Once the sail was up, I stepped back to admire the new canvas, and looked up to the top to make sure it was fully raised. As I did this, the second overboard situation of the trip occurred. I heard a clack-clack of something bouncing off the deck, and then a small sploosh. I looked overboard to see my prescription sunglasses slowly sinking into 35 feet of dark, freezing water. I briefly thought of jumping in after them, but I was pretty sure by the time I hit the water, they would be out of reach, and I would be freezing.

The sail that caused the trouble!

I decided to suck it up, and head out. Unfortunately, I didn’t have another pair of sunglasses on board, and wouldn’t you know it, today was one of the first blue sky mornings I’ve sailed in all month. I turned up Quatsino sound, and the wind fluked around, occasionally falling far enough off my nose the mainsail to help out. As I changed course around islands, the wind was all over the place, and up and down, so I didn’t bother trying to pull out the jib as well. I motorsailed along, making good time.

With my early departure, I debated heading all the way back to North Harbour, versus my original plan of stopping in the Koskino Islands. I decided to head for the Koskino’s, as I thought I would still have a telus signal there, and I knew that if I went to North Harbour, that would be the end of my connectivity for possibly the next couple of weeks. It only took me a couple of hours to drop the anchor in the Koskino’s. As I let out the chain, I saw a bear turning over rocks on the shore, looking for a low tide meal. Once the anchor was down, I called Sara to test out the cell signal. It wasn’t very good, and the call dropped. There wasn’t enough signal to get any data either. Given that one more day of talking to my family was the main goal of staying in this anchor, and I still had a lot of daylight to burn, I decided to head on to North Harbour, and take advantage of the store in Winter Harbour to get a pair of sunglasses, as this would be my last chance for a couple of weeks.

Up the anchor went again, and I motored for another hour into North Harbour, dropping the anchor again just before noon. I had a quick lunch of a toasted bagel with peanut butter and jam, then went about getting the dinghy off the deck, and the engine on it. This is all a fair bit trickier with one person, but I managed OK. I gathered up a portable VHF, life jacket, oars, backpack and wallet, and headed off in the strengthening afternoon wind.

It was a wet ride over. It took me awhile to figure out how to balance the dinghy with just one person, and I had forgotten to put the seat in the middle, so the side I was sitting on was weighed down. With the choppy waves, I had a pretty wet back in no time. As I planed along, the engine cut out a couple of times, giving me a bit of angst. It would be a long row back to the boat, especially without the seat in place. That is definitely something I won’t forget again. With a bit of trouble shooting, I managed to get better gas flow to the engine, and got it running again. I pulled up to the Winter Harbour dock about 20 minutes after I left the boat.

The store was open, so I popped in and grabbed two pairs of plastic sunglasses. I’ll miss having my prescriptions in them, but at least they will protect me if I get more sun. And now I have a spare. Since I was on shore, I figured I’d better stretch my legs a bit, so I walked the boardwalk Sara and I had walked about a week ago. It was strange to be doing it alone, now, but there are a lot more people in Winter Harbour than there were last week. It seems like their summer season has started.

Without a word of exaggeration, as soon as I walked out of the store with my new sunglasses on, the afternoon clouded over, and dark clouds threatened rain all around. And it wasn’t just because I had dark glasses on – the sun really did disappear at the exact time that I replaced my glasses.

Clouds coming in.  It looked worse in real life.  Or was it my glasses?

Since I didn’t want to be dinghying back to the boat in a downpour, I hopped back in, and started to work my way upwind back to North Harbour. It was a bumpy, wet ride. At first, I did better in terms of keeping my back dry, by hunching down in the bottom of the dinghy and staying off the pontoon. But then, I started to get into some big waves from the south, and a couple broke right over the front of the dinghy and into my face. Fortunately, the engine ran without complaint all the way back, and I was relieved to get off onto the boat.

The wind had piped up, and the usual afternoon gusts made it hard to get the dinghy back on the deck, but I eventually did. Normally, we would just leave it down and I would tow it, but I’m planning to head out of the sound into open ocean either tomorrow or the following day, so I’d rather have the dinghy on the deck.

After getting everything put away again, I did some housekeeping chores, taking advantage of the empty anchorage to get the boat cleaned up a bit. The fishing boats seem to like to come back from open water right through this anchorage, and they don’t seem familiar with having a sailboat in here. Once just came within 40 feet of me, full speed, and now I’m rocking in his wake. Oh well, that’s the price of being back near civilization.

Smokey Robinson is singing “Tears of a Clown” right now. Doesn’t really suit my mood at this point, but I can’t think of any songs that have the word “exhausted” in them.

Happy Birthday Sara!