June 23, 2020
Bull Harbour to Sea Otter Cove. 32 NM
6:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.
One of the lessons we seem to be learning is that we should trust our own judgement. After downloading the new forecast last night, it seemed like we probably shouldn’t be going anywhere today. The weather called for light to moderate south-easterlies, right in the direction we wanted to go, with periods of heavy rain, and temperatures around 13 degrees. Given all the warnings we had read about the need for caution around Cape Scott, it seemed pretty obvious with that weather that we should stay put, and wait for something better on Wednesday.
We couldn’t raise Sea Treasure on the radio last night, though, so I was thinking about it all night, wanting to let them know that we had changed our minds. I was up around 4:00 a.m., and was just drifting back to sleep when I heard them raising their anchor at 0500. Sara and I walked out onto the back of the cockpit, and as they drove by, we let them know we had decided to postpone for a day, based on the weather. They carried on, and we went back inside.
But then we started second guessing ourselves. It was dead calm in the anchorage, and the rain had finally stopped for the first time in hours. Sitting on the boat all day for another day, waiting for the rain to come back didn’t seem too appealing either. So, we made a snap decision, and threw our clothes on and pulled up the anchor. We were sliding out of the silent, calm bay by 0600.
It didn’t stay calm for long. We knew we were going out at pretty close to maximum ebb current, which the guide books say can be nasty across Nawhitti Bar. Nawhitti Bar is a shallow spot at the top of Vancouver Island, where the water rises from 240 feet deep to 40 feet deep in no time at all. There is a way to sneak around it, through shallow depths of about 20 feet inside the Tattanall reefs, and thus avoid the worst of the waves and up welling of water over the bar. That was our original plan, but we had heard concerns about the possibility of kelp fouling your prop from both Tangent and Sea Treasure. We could see on the AIS that Sea Treasure had gone across the bar, and so we figured if they could do it with 4 kids on board, we’d go ahead and give it a shot. So, after two weeks of planning currents and timing, and reviewing all the guide book advice on how to get across Nawhitti Bar, we threw it all out the window, and went across at maximum ebb current.
At first, we thought we had gotten away with something. It started out a little bumpy, but seemed like no big deal. In a few minutes, though, we were pointing our bow upward, as we started to ride through 6 to 10-foot short, sharp waves. This lasted for about 15 or 20 minutes. It was a bit unnerving, but actually, Monashee rode it out remarkably well. We only had one or two times when we fell off the back of a wave, and came down with any impact. The rest of the time, it was like a roller coaster, with a smooth up, followed by a smooth slide down into the trough, the bow piercing nicely through the crest. In the original Monashee, our catamaran, every one of those drops would have been marked by a loud “bang”, as the bridgedeck crashed down into the trough of the wave.
Hanging on for a wild ride across Nawhitti Bar
Our speed across the bar made the ride a little more wild. With all that water coming across the shallow spot, it really picks up speed, and we saw 10.0 knots on the knotlog at the maximum.
New speed record on Mon III
Before long, though, things settled down, and eventually, we were just riding the increasing ocean swell, as we made our way out towards open waters. The clouds were low, and visibility was poor, but the rain held off. Occasionally, we could just make out the northern end of Vancouver Island through the low clouds and fog, but really, we got little to no view of Cape Scott at all. As we passed Cape Sutil, we caught up with Sea Treasure, who was doing their best to sail in the falling winds. We decided to keep motoring, as the unknown of the open coast lay ahead of us, and we didn’t want to get caught out there late in the day.
We eventually came around Cape Scott, but couldn’t really tell from anything we could see through the mist. The biggest clue was that, as we turned south, our speed dropped from about 6 knots to 2.7 knots, as we entered the Cape Scott current. This caught us by surprise. We knew from the charts there was some current off Cape Scott, but given that the channel is 5 miles wide, we didn’t expect it to set us back so much. There are no current speeds marked on our charts, so we hadn’t been able to calculate exact flood and ebb times for Cape Scott channel. The guidebooks mention some current, but all the timing they suggest seems to be aimed at crossing Nawhitti Bar at slack, and there isn’t a great way to do that without getting caught against the flood around Cape Scott.
Our view of the majestic Cape Scott
Anyway, as we turned south, our speed sat between 3 and 4 knots for the rest of the trip. Sea Otter Cove is about 8 miles south, and we had originally planned for 1-2 hours, but as we made slow progress, we realized we would be later than we thought.
The grey blanket of cloud settled in around us, and we saw nothing but the increasing sea swells, rolling in from Japan. The lack of visibility and orientation started to get to Sara, who regretted having a bowl of cereal earlier as we passed Cape Sutil. The only real excitement was a humpback, who spouted several times off our starboard side, before doing a deep dive and flicking his tail high in the air as if to say “See ya later, land folks!” He didn’t come up into view again, after that.
Eventually, we slowly approached our way point off Sea Otter Cove. Our speed picked up as we turned toward land, and the swells picked up our boat. As we surfed towards the breaking waves on shore, Sara looked back at me nervously, since we couldn’t see the entrance into the cove from the sea side. It was unnerving to have the big swells pushing and rocking the boat from behind as we approached the narrow entrance, with breakers on both sides, but as we got closer, the swell settled, and we made it up the narrow but shallow pass inside Helen Island.
Happy to be getting close to Sea Otter Cove
As we motored into the wild and empty cove, we were surprised to see the depth sounder rising and rising! What had seemed shallow in the pass at 20 feet dropped to 10, then to 6! A little further on, it became deeper, but then started dropping again. 5 feet, 4 feet, 3 feet! I throttled back to neutral, and we wiggled back and forth, trying to find deeper water. The charts didn’t show the shallows we were going over, and it became apparent that they were not marked with the greatest detail. As we came deeper into the cove, and turned toward the middle, depths started to increase. When we saw 14 feet under the keel, we decided to drop the hook and take stock.
Anchored in Sea Otter Cove, looking back out toward the open coast
Securely anchored, we checked our alternative chart source, and decided we were probably in as good a place as any right where we were. We buttoned up the boat, and closed up the enclosure as the rain started again. In the middle distance, we could hear the surf crashing on the rocks just outside the cove.
We ducked into the boat, and turned the heater on. Sara whipped up a hot lunch of cheese quesadillas, and I double checked our navigation for tomorrow. If we want to leave on at least as high a tide as we entered, it will need to be another early start.
Now, Sara has settled in for a well-deserved nap, after a long and rough morning. Sea Treasure is still out there somewhere. I’m not sure how they are managing the day, with four kids on board, and trying to sail against that current. It’s fully raining again now, and we noticed they didn’t really have a bimini or enclosure, so presumably all the kids are down below. We’ll watch for them to get in some time later this afternoon.
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