Old Friends We’ve Just Met

Friday, June 19, 2020. Port McNeill, North Island Marina

What started out as a relatively uneventful day turned quite interesting in the end.

We got up early, aiming to get started in the laundromat right when it opened at 0800. We managed to be there at 0804, and I dropped Sara off to do some laundry. She settled in with the good internet, and managed to get everything washed within a couple of hours.

I stayed on the boat, and used the internet and phone access to dictate pulmonary function tests. Of course, just as I thought I was getting caught up, another 30 were dropped in my inbox. Since it was slow going with the internet, I managed to get about 20 done by lunchtime. I also caught up on emails, banking, etc.

Sara came back to the boat for lunch after checking out the rest of Port McNeill. Sara had an omelette, and I had a bagel and some snacks. Then, we went out for a walk to stretch our legs. As we walked, we discussed the idea of taking the bus up into Port Hardy to check it out. It turned out, the next bus was at 2:40, and the last bus came back at 5:25, which was only an hour away. So, we headed back to the boat, grabbed our stuff, and made haste to the bus stop. As we left the boat, we ran into Bruce from Sea Raven, who was on the dock across from us. He was very chatty, and we walked with him back toward the bus stop, as he was heading to meet up with friends at the pub near by.

Monashee at the dock, with Sea Raven behind her

We grabbed the bus for the half hour ride into Port Hardy. We have ridden buses in third world Central American countries, and this bus ride would have fit right in with any of them. No shocks, a windy road, and bus driver determined to get to her destination as fast as possible all made for an exciting trip. I was more seasick on the bus than I have been on the boat yet.

We were dropped off at the Thunderbird Mall in Port Hardy, and after buying a label maker at the office supply store, we headed downtown, where we had heard rumors that Café Guido was a coffee shop worth checking out. It was, in fact, very cute, with a book store and what looked like an interesting menu, but unfortunately, it was not serving anything due to COVID-19. We spent the next two hours wandering along the Port Hardy waterfront, seeing the Coast Guard station, and the very industrial marina, which was almost all filled with fishing boats. In the west coast drizzle, we made our way back to Thunderbird Mall, with about 45 minutes to spare for the bus.

The only photo we took in Port Hardy?

We stood outside the Dollar Store, waiting to be allowed in, then went and bought a couple of plastic containers to help Sara in her ongoing quest to organize every item on the boat. We then stood in a long line outside Save-On, but only ended up buying an iced tea and a box of mints, since while we were waiting we decided to try and go out for dinner once we were back in Port McNeill.

After Save-On, we walked across to the drug store, and Sara bought some earrings so she could keep up with the high level of fashion demanded aboard Monashee III.

Back on the bus, we got chatting with our bus driver, who’s name was Laurie. She sped along and chatted through her protective COVID plastic screen. We tried to hear her over the bouncing of the bus and tried to respond appropriately as our queasiness took hold. She was actually very pleasant, and gave us a bunch of interesting historical information about he Port Hard and Port McNeill areas. It was fascinating to find out that until the 80s, there were no roads connecting Port McNeill and Port Hardy to the southern part of the island. It was necessary to take a ferry into Telegraph Cove, then drive up north. We also learned about the large gravel mine operating just north of Port McNeill, and the huge military base that used to exist on the west coast of the north island.

Once back in Port McNeill, we stopped by Gus’s Pub. All the restaurants are running at ½ capacity right now, so unfortunately, no tables were available. As we turned to leave, though, some folks seated near the door told us they were finishing in a few minutes, so we waited outside until the table was free. We shared a Caesar salad and a chicken burger with fries for dinner. So-so at best, but it was nice not to have to cook or do dishes.

Over dinner, we pondered the weather some more, and decided to stay an extra night in the marina, as the weekend doesn’t look good, and our earliest good opportunity to go around the top of the island looks like Wednesday. Since we aren’t in a rush, and I have a fair bit more work today, we decided to pony up the big bucks, and stay an extra night. As we passed the marina office on the way back to the boat, we stopped in, and the fellow at the desk said it would be no big deal to stay.

Just as we were getting on our boat, Bruce stepped out on the aft deck of his Selene 50 across the dock, and invited us aboard. We were a bit surprised, but keen to see the inside of a large powerboat, which is brand new to Bruce (he just bought it a couple of week ago), we gratefully accepted. Once on board, we met Bruce’s wife Hedy, and their dog Lucy. Also on board was his friend, who’s name I think was Currie, who is on an Erickson sailboat parked two behind us on the dock. We had a lovely conversation, and learned that the folks on the other boat they are travelling with would be coming over soon as well. Before long, Ray and Anne, who are on the Beneteau Oceanis 45 just behind us, came over, and they filled us in on details of their trip around Vancouver Island in 2015. It was both encouraging and intimidating to hear some of the details, but we picked up lots of valuable intel about things to see and what to watch out for.

We had several “small world” exclamations during our conversation. Anne used to work for UBC Medicine Alumni, and knew several folks that I know as well, including Erik and Mark Vu. Also, of interest, when they rounded the outside of Vancouver Island they buddy boated with Alcheringa, who we met in Waddington Bay a few nights ago.

All in all, it was a lovely evening, and it was extremely pleasant to meet these other folks with boating interests. Here’s hoping the rest of our trip will be filled with similar encounters!

Foggy Dew

June 18, 2020. Sullivan Bay to Port McNeill. 27 NM.

Back on land! We started the day in Sullivan Bay, with the rain falling lightly. After another walk around the docks, we headed out, completing the circuit over the top of North Broughton Island, and headed south. We planned to anchor overnight in a small cove in the middle of the Broughtons called Joe Cove, but the rain held off, and the sea was calm and glassy, so we just kept motoring west, back to Port McNeill.

Arctic Charm in Sullivan Bay

We came across the open waters of Queen Charlotte Strait, and we had high hopes that we could finally unfurl the sails to bring us back to Vancouver Island, but the most wind we saw all day was 4 knots, and that was right before we turned into Port McNeill. The rest of the day was glassy calm, with 2-3 knots of wind.

Little happened on the motor boat trip today. We had breakfast en route, of bagels toasted in the frying pan with peanut butter and jam, then cheese quesadillas a couple of hours later. At one point, we paused to put the dinghy back on deck, in anticipation of a couple of nights on a dock. While floating in the straight doing this, we were buzzed by a fancy POLICE boat checking us out, We gave them a friendly wave while the dinghy hung from the mast. We saw some porpoises, and an otter, but no whales.

A barge with gravel and trucks, headed to or from the gravel mine.

We pulled into the North Island Marina in Port McNeill around 3 p.m., and took a walk around town. Sara bought some new boots to make up for her old ones that are literally falling apart. I looked at some as well, hoping to find something warmer than my 30 year old boots that my parents bought for me when I was a teenager on their boat. But it looks like not much has changed in the interval, at least when it comes to sailing boots. I bought some warm wool socks, instead.

We popped across the street to Pharmasave, and bought a few log books to keep track of all the various things we have been following on the boat, including weather, maintenance, fuel, etc. Then, we headed back down to the boat for dinner and a chat with the kids, who we haven’t talked to in what seems like a long time. I don’t think they perceived it the same way. It’s funny, time does seem to move at a different speed when you are out adventuring than when you are at home. We’ve only been on the boat for just over a week, but it feels like a month. I remember feeling the same way when we sailed in the Caribbean. It felt like we had lived 5 years, but when we got home, little had changed, and people seemed to have lived a shorter time than we had since we had left. I don’t think it’s because we were moving at the speed of light. Just having more experiences every day made our lives seem fuller.

Mud flats at North Island Marina, Port McNeill

Dinner on the boat tonight was beef shish kabobs, cooked in the oven, since it is still too cold to really barbecue. We also had asparagus, Greek salad, and roasted potatoes, also done in the oven.

Then, another walk in the light rain, and a tour of the docks, looking at all the boats. Sara has started looking at “retirement” boats, for which she has decided a powerboat would be the ideal way to explore this area. I have to admit, we have been impersonating a motor boat until now on this trip. It is embarrassing, but has been the practical way to get where we are going so far. Still, the poetry and beauty of a well-found sailboat speaks to me in a way that few if any powerboats have managed. Maybe some day if we can’t sail at all, I will consider switching over for the simplicity, but something will be lost when that happens.

On our after-dinner walk, we also came across the highlight of Port McNeill, the worlds largest burl! Who knew we would be treated to a world record holding wood knot? I guess that is the kind of thing that makes travel so exciting.

Take that, Burl Ives!

Strange days indeed

June 17, 2020. Waddington Bay to Sullivan Bay. 21 NM.

We have had the good fortune of a second mostly sunny day in a row. So far no rain has fallen today, which makes it the first two days without rain so far. It looks like fate will catch up with us in the coming days though, as the rain moves back in. The wind in the anchorage settled last night, and we had a calm night and morning, which made it easy to pick up the anchor.

We motored out through the Fox Group, and up several passages to come around the top of North Broughton Island, into the float home community of Sullivan Bay. On the way we saw lots of fishing boats, which we learned later are all taking part in the prawning season. We also past Echo Bay resort and marina, which was completely devoid of signs of life. We wondered if they were closed because of COVID, or if things were just slow with no American boaters up here this year.

A rare sighting of another sailboat

As we came up the Raleigh passage to the East of Pearse Peninsula, we saw a telltale spout, and before long began to see the small dorsal fin of a humpback whale as it came up for air. It spouted several times, came up, and dove again, then disappeared from sight, not to be seen again.

A couple of miles outside of Sullivan Bay we radioed in, and asked if they would have space for us on their dock for the night. “We certainly do! You can moor wherever you want”, came the reply. As we rounded the corner and saw the marina, we realized they had more than enough space. Just one boat sat on the dock, in a marina and float community that could probably hold 75 to 100 boats, or maybe more if they rafted. We tied up alongside on our own, and after getting fully secured, we walked along the dock onto “Main Street”, and stopped and chatted with the only two people we could see. They were sitting out front of their floating home, and we soon learned they were the caretakers of the community. They were from Alberta, but had been in Sullivan Bay since January, and were not keen to head back home where COVID has been significantly more active than it is in B.C.

On the empty dock at Sullivan Bay

The float homes otherwise were all empty, as the owners of all but two of them are from the States, and therefore not allowed across the border, at least so far this year. After talking with Linda and her husband Bill, we walked along past a couple more houses, and Debbie met us on her front deck to say hello. She then walked us two more doors down to the General Store, and checked us into the marina. For our 43 foot boat, we paid 1.00 per foot, plus tax. We were also hoping to do laundry, but it had not opened up for the year due to COVID. No electricity was offered, but we didn’t need it anyway, since our solar panels and engine had filled our battery en route.

Sullivan Bay Main Street

We chatted a bit with Debbie, and she was happy to hear that there had been 7 boats in our anchorage the night before. We later found out that, until today, Sullivan Bay had only seen about 5 boats all year. After getting on the satellite wifi and checking email and weather, we headed back to the boat for a late lunch of nachos. Over the course of the afternoon and evening, a few more boats trickled in, to make a total of 6 as of this evening. The last boat to get here is a huge old restored fishing boat named Arctic Charm, with a hailing port of Nanaimo. It is an interesting looking vessel. All the other boats are power boats, which are really the right tool for travelling in these waters. With all the islands and passages, the winds are fickle and twisty, and it is really impossible to get anywhere under sail. Sara is already planning our future on a power boat when we get too old to sail.

Even though the owners haven’t made it here yet, the garden has started

Dinner was falafel and tzatziki on home made pita, which is quite an accomplishment in our tiny galley, and was really tasty. After dinner, we went for another walk, and chatted with one of the village managers, by the name of Kevin. He is on his second season here, and told us he spends about 9 months of the year here, but is originally from Saskatchewan. We also learned that a water taxi to and from Port McNeill to here costs $700.00 for the 26 nautical mile trip, so most of their mail and groceries come in by barge or float plane. In fact, the mail plane came in the afternoon while we filled our water tanks, and was touched down, unloaded, and gone again in less than 10 minutes.

It’s interesting to be back on a dock for the night, in this unique community. It’s extra surreal given how empty it is, when in a normal season, it is apparently hard to find a spot on the dock. I guess we are lucky to be able to travel here this year, when it is off limits to so many across the border, but it is hard for the people that make their living off the tourists that come in the few good months every year. Kevin assured us that Sullivan Bay will survive, but there are many other operations around here that may not be here next year.

Quiet times at Sullivan Bay

Disconnected

Tuesday, June 16, 2020. Waddington Bay.

 

Well, we finally did get a sunny day. And a rest day. Hallelujah for both!

It’s sunny, but cold, and a stiff west wind to keep us hunting at anchor, swinging back and forth.

We took advantage of our first real down day to sleep in a bit this morning. I finally caught up from my sleepless night a couple of nights ago. I put the cabin heater on about 7 a.m., and went back to bed until 8. Sara was up soon after that, but after a cup of tea, she took the opportunity to go back to bed again, and have a real sleep-in until about 9.

We finally came alive sometime after that. Breakfast was bagels toasted in a frying pan and a few pieces of bacon. As the sun warmed up the day, we took the opportunity to finally get the SUPs in the water, and headed up the bay to check out the other boats. Of course, the wind piped up around then too, so we ended up pushing into a fairly stiff breeze.

As we paddled by a boat called Alcheringa, the woman on board came out to hang her laundry on the line, taking advantage of our first break in the rain. We chatted for a bit, and her husband came up as well. Their boat was a wooden classic, built in 1979 they told us. I forget what make and model they said it was, but they told us it was the original boat that the molds for the Tayana 37 were based on. Another Bob Perry design. They had sailed to New Zealand and back in 1989, and apparently had been to Hawaii a couple of times too. We estimated their age to be mid to late 70s, but it’s hard to tell from a distance, on a SUP. Anyway, the seemed like lovely people, and if it weren’t for all the social isolating we are supposed to be doing, it would have been nice to chat with them more, and learn about their sailing history. They said that had sailed something like 38,000 miles on their little boat.

Alcheringa and Southwest 30 in front of Monashee III

After chatting with them, we pulled the SUPs up on a shell beach near the head of the bay, where a trail was flagged into the woods. It didn’t really go far. It seemed to end at a fire pit just inside the forest canopy. The tall trees had shaded the ground so much, though, that there wasn’t much undergrowth, and we rambled along through the huge green giants, walking along fallen logs and along through the forest for a while. Eventually, we ran out of ground though, as forest debris blocked our way, and we headed back to the SUPs. (Sara discovered the plastic in her 15 year old sailing boots had cracked and the water poured in so we will add boots to the ‘list’ when we next see a store.)

Sara getting hungry from all the hiking

We paddled around the rest of Waddington Bay, with the outgoing tide and a strengthening west wind pushing us quickly out the entrance. It was an uphill battle to get back to the boat. Eagles circled overhead, looking for fishing opportunities in the clear water.

Paddling Waddington Bay

Back on board, we had a quick lunch of cheese quesadilla, cheese and crackers. Then we settled down to enjoy the sunny afternoon. I took the opportunity to have a nap down below in the warm boat, and Sara read her book in the cockpit. The wind continued to whistle, but we were warm and cozy in our full cockpit enclosure. The plastic provides a nice greenhouse effect, and despite the cold wind, it stayed toasty inside.

After my nap, we put away the spare anchor and rode that we had left on the deck since our misadventures in Pearse Bay. I then double checked weather using the Garmin InReach device, which worked great. It is nice to have a satellite option for weather, since our VHF is only picking up the weather channel intermittently here, and without other connectivity, we can’t download weather any other way.

I was trying to remember the last time that I was completely disconnected from the world via cell phone or WiFi. It has been a long time. It’s amazing how much of a crutch it becomes, and how used we are to having constant connectivity at our fingertips. On a normal day, I shudder to think of the number of times I refresh the headlines on my news feed or check Facebook. Even the other day at Pearse Bay, a physician called me to check references for a colleague, and I answered right away.

Even though it is a bit unsettling, there is something therapeutic, even necessary, to being completely unplugged for a while. The constant availability and interconnectedness that we experience every day is an awesome thing, in the most literal sense of the word. But I wonder what the effect is of never having a break, never being alone with your thoughts, never being dependent on yourself to understand the world around you, without having instant access to all knowledge, all the time.

Anyway, eventually, we moved on to dinner. When you are out here on the boat, much of the daily routine revolves around planning, thinking about, and eating meals. We were going to barbecue, but the cold wind made it unappealing to open up the cockpit enclosure, so Sara fired up the oven and cooked some souvlaki chicken skewers, which we ate with tzatziki sauce, garlic bread, and a salad. Now, we have put the boat to bed by cleaning up the deck and pulling in the paddle boards, and are back in the cabin with the heat on and the light fading. The wind is whistling through the rigging, and we are still swinging side to side, but we are confident in the security our anchor, having hung on it all day as the tide and wind pulled hard at our home.

Day-O!

Monday, June 15, 2020. Pearse Islets to Waddington Bay. 15 NM.

 

They say that attitude is the difference between adversity and adventure. I’ve also read that the simple act of smiling, whether you are feeling happy or not, can increase the good neurotransmitters; things like dopamine and serotonin, that improve your mood. Today had a lot of forced smiling to adjust the attitude to adventure levels.

In fact, the day really started late last night, with two rookie mistakes; one small and annoying, the other that might have had significant consequences. After going to bed exhausted, I woke up around 11:30 with the sound of increased wind in the rigging, and a halyard “ting-ting-tinging” off the mast, as the wind picked up. I realized that, despite looking over the weather extensively for the next several days on the outside of Vancouver Island, we had forgotten to check the weather for the anchorage we were in, for that night. Rookie mistake number 1. We had selected Pearse Island for it’s protection from the west, but a quick look at the forecast for the night showed east winds building to 20 knots. The anchorage we were in had no protection from the east. In fact, looking east was basically looking back 50 miles down Johnstone Strait. And we were on a lee shore.

I got up to take a look outside, and saw the waves building, as the boat started to become more active. I then took a quick pee break. Rookie mistake number 2. As I relieved myself, I felt my feet getting wet, and realized we had forgotten to empty the pee bucket on the composting toilet, what with all the other chores we completed during the day. Sure enough, the bucket was overflowing.

Now, I am loathe to say anything bad about our composting toilet, as it has simplified sewage management on the boat immensely. On our previous boat, I was forever fixing macerator pumps, holding tanks, pumping handles, etc. The composting toilet trades all these complicated (and disgusting) maintenance tasks and trades them in for a couple of very simple and easy maintenance tasks. The trade-off, though, requires that the simple tasks of emptying the pee bucket and the main tank be done without fail on a regular basis. They are easy to do, but if you forget – well, wet feet at midnight.

Anyway, after drying and cleaning my feet and the floor, I stepped out into the gathering storm, and emptied the bucket over the back. The rocky shore was disconcertingly close in the faint light of midnight.

I climbed back into bed, but it wasn’t long before the anchor alarm app on my phone went off, as our chain stretched out in the growing wind. I reset it, and went back up to the cockpit to turn on the instruments, and check the wind speed and position. It started to feel like a dangerous situation, so I pulled a sleeping bag and pillow into the cockpit, and settled down where I could keep a closer eye on things. I knew I wasn’t going to sleep well down below, anyway. Sara, on the other hand, is the world champion of sleepers, and I knew she would get through things without batting an eye. In fact, I was quite happy for that, as I knew a sleepless night for two of us would be much worse than a sleepless night for only one. She could always carry the burden the next day, if I was too exhausted.

I spent the rest of the night in the cockpit, watching our anchor chain get stretched further and further, and the rocks coming closer and closer. Every time I started to drift off, the anchor alarm jerked me back to attention, as the boat broke through the artificial GPS defined boundary that I had set.

Finally, around 5:00 a.m., we seemed to have stretched all we were going to stretch, and I fell asleep for a couple of hours.

I headed back down into the cabin around 0700, and turned the heater on, so that things were warm when Sara got up. The wind had calmed a bit, to 15 knots with gusts to 20, and we decided, after a quick breakfast, to get the anchor up and find somewhere with better protection, as the east wind was forecast to last until the evening.

Blackfish Sound

This is when the adventure/adversity dichotomy started to become a bit fuzzy. We got all our foul weather gear on and went out into the blustery wind and rain to pull up the anchor. Sara ran the windlass as I eased the boat forward to take the pressure off the chain. The anchor came in slowly but surely. 175 feet, 150 feet, 100 feet, 75 feet – then, the windlass started to slow and strain, and the anchor chain pulled straight down, but it became clear, it wasn’t going to keep coming aboard, and the windlass was close to blowing a fuse.

From experience, we knew that it was not wise to strain the windlass to that point, so we backed off. We pushed the boat forward to see if we could dislodge the chain from whatever it had become caught on, but it wouldn’t budge. We knew it wasn’t the anchor that was caught, since we still had about 75 feet out in 30 feet of water. The chain was stuck on something.

We let some more anchor chain out so we could sit back and puzzle things out. What was going on? Was the chain wrapped around a rock, or a log, or somehow caught up in some debris on the bottom? All these things had happened to us before. What was clear was, with the wind blowing 20 knots and waves coming down 50 miles worth of fetch, now was not the time to try and sort things out. We would wait for the wind to settle later in the day, and the current to ease off, so that we could try to get the anchor up with less pressure on the chain.

We settled in for a bouncy, but otherwise quiet day on the boat. I took a nap, and Sara did some boat chores, and once again took a shot at the ever-complicated tasks of planning, coordinating weather, currents, and wind to see where else we could explore during our time together. She also made lovely biscuits and soup for lunch.

Then, we sat and waited some more. We practiced knots, solidifying our bowline and rolling hitch skills in the cockpit. Finally, things seemed to have eased enough for us to try again. Neither of us was keen to spend another night in the same anchorage, so we headed out back into the rain, and the now easing wind, to try again.

We worked the boat around to one side of where we thought the anchor lay, thinking that if the chain was caught under a rock or a log, maybe we could pull it out before we brought it up. No luck; we still hit a windlass breaking strain at 75 feet. Next, we tried to set our alternative anchor, in the hopes of easing the pressure off our primary anchor chain to help us raise it off the bottom. Almost instantly, the two became tangled, and we ended up having to pull up the secondary anchor by hand, as the second windlass wouldn’t grab the chain right. We had never used this anchor before, and now was not the time to test it.

In the end, we used the boat to pull on the chain going forward. When we eased off the throttle, we took up the chain slack on the windlass without overloading it. This process seemed to work, and before long, we saw 75 feet come up again. Then, shortly after that, we managed to get 50 feet in. We were almost off the bottom! Finally, we saw the 50 foot mark come by. The windlass was straining, but lifting. In came 25 feet, and we were off the bottom! Sara drove forward to get us into deeper water, and I kept slowly raising what seemed like huge load for the windlass.

 

Finally, I saw what had been causing us all the problem. A massive ball of kelp had gathered around the chain, and had now slid down to sit on the anchor. It was about the size of an oven, and must have weighed a couple of hundred pounds at least. It took about 10 minutes with the boat hook, pulling off bunch after bunch, to free up the anchor so it could be brought back up over the bow roller.

In retrospect, we realized that we had been warned by the various cruising guides that anchoring somewhere with a strong current was bound to build up kelp on your chain and anchor. Having been there for two nights, I think we had built up a huge ball of kelp, and as we pulled the chain in, it slipped down until it caught near the end, creating a load that was too heavy for the windlass. Driving around and pulling on it a bit had knocked off enough kelp that we could just raise the remainder, and finally knock it off and escape. At last, we were free!

It was about 5:30 p.m. by the time we were done with all this messing around, but since we are close to the longest day of the year here, it doesn’t get dark until about 10:00 p.m. We decided to push north in the late day to Waddington Bay, in the norther Broughtons. On the way, we were treated to low cloud over flat calm waters as we crossed Blackfish Sound. Black and white porpoises (maybe Dahl’s porpoises) surfaced around us multiple times, and they seemed to be enjoying feeding in the quiet water.

Eventually, the rain started again as we worked our way up Spring Passage toward Waddington Bay. We pulled into the still bay surrounded by evergreens right down to the water. For the first time since we left Nanaimo, we shared the anchorage with others. Six boats were already silently lying at anchor as we found a spot among them. Not a person was in sight, though, as everyone was tucked away from the rain.

We put up the cockpit enclosure, and started the process of drying things out. Sara worked her daily magic, and before long, a steaming dinner of shrimp stir fry and rice was on the table as the Spotify “Eclectic Mix” kept us company.

Waddington Bay

As I close this entry, Harry Belafonte is singing “Day-O!”, and tallying his banana! Six-foot, seven-foot, eight-foot bunch! After a good night’s sleep, attitudes will be dialed back to adventure. Here’s hoping for a sunny day tomorrow!

Nobody Told Me There’d Be Days Like This

June 14, 2020. Pearse Islets.

Pearse Islets Anchorage

 

Today, we tried to take a rest day. We failed.

It started out innocently enough. We began with our usual study of the wind and weather, looking for an opportunity to get around to the open coast before Sara has to go home. Unfortunately, it looks like we only have a couple of suitable days coming up to get around, and then the wind will come up from the south, pinning us in Quatsino for at least a week. That means we wouldn’t have enough time to get down to Tofino, where Sara could fly out from. So, we need to stay closer to Port Hardy, which is the other transit hub. It’s all pretty complicated, but the upshot is that we are going to stay in the Broughtons for at least a few more days, almost a week.

Which isn’t so bad. Our anchorage remains completely uninhabited, and beautiful. We saw a few fishing boats and dinghies coming through the pass today, but for the most part, we are blissfully alone. So, we figured why not enjoy it, and stay the day? After all, this is why people come to the Broughtons. And the idea of a rest day after 4 long days of motoring to get here seemed attractive.

After breakfast, I mentioned a few small jobs that I wanted to get done today, as long as we were sitting still. We started by cleaning out the bilge, which, for some reason, seems to slowly get water in it. I think it is water coming down the mast when it rains, but I haven’t been able to verify that for sure. While I was in there, I switched over the water tanks, and we figured we’d make water, since we were sitting still for the day. So, I walked Sara through the process of making water, which is pretty simple, but takes a while the first time you do it.

After that, we figured we would empty our two diesel jerry cans into our empty forward tank. Now, on our engine panel, there are two fuel gauges, one for each tank. The aft tank gauge is on the right side of the panel, which sits in the coaming on the starboard side, so the aft tank gauge is to the right of the forward tank gauge, which sits on the left side of the panel. Makes sense? I simply assumed that this arrangement would translate to the fill holes for the tanks, so that the filler for the forward tank is on the left (port) side of the boat, and the starboard filler is attached to the aft tank.

So, we merrily went to pour diesel in the port side filler, to fill up the forward tank. Imagine our surprise when diesel came to the top of the fill hole within a couple of minutes. It took us a few minutes to realize that we had the fill holes reversed, and the empty forward tank actually fills on the starboard side. Anyway, we finally got it sorted out, and after cleaning up a bit of diesel, we put what remained of the diesel in the proper tank, although it wasn’t much, given how empty that tank is. We will want to get fuel before too long.

After that, we went to get the dinghy off the deck, so we can move to the more standard cruising configuration of towing the dinghy. Then, we needed to inflate it, dig out the seat and the oars, and get the towing bridle all set up. Sounds easy, but it took awhile.

Off the boat!

Once the dinghy was in the water, I could see under the boat, and saw what looked like a piece of line around our prop shaft. I had been wanting to get under the boat to clean the hard growth off the shaft and propeller anyway, so decided to dig out my wet suit, as well as all the tools and the SeaBreathe diving gear. While I was down there, I figured I would check the zincs, and change any that needed it, so I dug out the spares of those, too, as well as the relevant tools. Then, we realized our anchorage has a solid current running through it, which wouldn’t be slack until 6 p.m. Since I can’t swim at 2 knots to keep myself in place under the boat, we decided to wait.

In the meantime, I caught up on work, since this is likely the last place we will have a Telus signal for a while. After about an hour of that, I took out the SUPs, and inflated both of those, which was the most exercise I’ve had all week. Sara continued to clean here and there all day, which is a never ending task if we want the boat to keep looking decent.

Finally, around 4:30 p.m., our “rest day” finally slowed down. Since we had the dinghy in the water, we decided to row over to shore, to get off the boat for the first time in 5 days. We went for a lovely walk on the deserted rocky beach, and took lots of pictures of the boat sitting all alone in the anchorage.

Exploring the Pearse Islets

We got back in time for me to wet suit up, and jump in the freezing water. My wet suit gear is quite good, and I managed to stay under the boat for half an hour, during which time I cleaned a bunch of barnacles and mussels off the prop and shaft, clean up all the through hulls, and change a zinc. Just before I got out, the current switched, and suddenly freezing cold water flooded the anchorage from the Johnstone Strait side of our little bay. I got out of the water as quickly as I could, and used up most of our newly made water in a warm shower, military style.

It was just time to fire up the bar-b-que and grill some burgers for dinner. Then, we cleaned up all the tools and spares from the day, and we are finally sitting down for our rest day. It’s now 9:00 p.m. I can’t take too many more rest days like this!

Low tide, isolated anchorage

Move Along

June 13 2020. Billy Goat Bay to Pearse Islets. 40 NM.

 

The furious pace continues, as we do our best impression of power boaters on our way North. Actually, today we completed our trip down Johnstone Strait, which was mostly westward. And finally, we have some sun!

It was a bit rainy early this morning, but we took our time waiting for the current to switch from flood to ebb, and help us in the right direction. We had surprisingly good Telus service in Billy Goat Bay. I still can’t figure out why, as there is no significant settlement anywhere near there that I can think of, and we felt as isolated as early explorers. Nevertheless, I had enough connectivity to log into IHAnywhere, and interpret some pulmonary function tests, as Sara slept in.

By the time we were both up and about, the sun was out, and we enjoyed the tranquility and the view over a late breakfast. Then, it was anchors up at 10:30 to catch the 11ish change in the current. We practiced my solo anchor raising technique, and while it was a bit of running back and forth, I managed to get the anchor up and stored away without putting the boat on the rocks.

We headed back out into Johnstone Strait, and turned west. Before long, the wind came up from the east, and we spent the rest of the day motoring into the teeth of a 20 knot cold wind against our current. This set up a chop that we bounced around in for the day. It was cold enough that we took 1 hour shifts as we motored along, taking our breaks below to warm up and rest.

West in Johnstone Strait

We had originally planned to pull into Port Neville for the evening, but since we were already cold and bundled up, we elected to keep going for another long day, all the way to the Pearse Islands in the Broughtons. En route, we passed the famous Robson Bight, where Orcas are known to rub their bellies on the rocks. Unfortunately, we didn’t see any whales today.

In fact, we only saw a few boats all day, and most of them seemed to be commercial fishing vessels.

Finally, after another long day of motoring, we pulled into the Pearse Islands, as the west wind stiffened. Fortunately, we have reasonable protection from the west here, and only gusts are buffeting the boat. The current driving between the islands seems to be what is determining our position here, and we have been fairly stable since dropping the anchor.

Sara and I had our first tiff of the trip, for a few minutes while we dropped the anchor. At first, I was trying my solo anchoring technique again, but the long day and empty stomach got the best of me, and we had a bit of a snitty moment on the bow of the boat as we were attaching the snubbers. Fortunately, there is not a soul in sight to hear us bicker, and it only lasted for a few moments, which is pretty impressive, as we haven’t seen or talked to another person for 5 days, and haven’t been more than a few feet away from each other that whole time. Overall, we seem to have a good system, and lots of the social reflexes we developed from living on the catamaran are coming into play instinctively, which makes everything a lot easier. We have our roles figured out pretty well, with Sara being largely in charge of the kitchen, and keen to do some cleaning around the boat. I tend to manage the boat systems, and the sewage, such as it is. We split up the work of helming the boat pretty evenly, and Sara manages the bow while I run the engine when anchoring or docking.

One thing that has changed a bit on this trip is that Sara has thrown herself enthusiastically into the navigation and planning. As soon as we are done with our other chores, she is pouring through the cruising guides, and calculating times, distances, current ebbs and floods, and wind direction, to figure out where we can get, and when. She is keen to try and get onto the open coast of Vancouver Island together, if timing and weather allow, so that is why we have pushed so hard thus far. It remains to be seen if the weather will cooperate for us to get out there before she has to fly back for work.

If not, we will stay and explore the Broughtons, and I will try to complete the circumnavigation of the Island at a more leisurely pace on my own, when weather permits.

Tomorrow we are planning for a shorter day, just into Port McNeill to top up on fuel and do some laundry. Then, a down day to allow for what looks like another soaker before we push on, if weather allows.

Oh, in case it is interesting, meals today were cereal for breakfast, quesadillas cooked en route, then leftover Shepherd’s pie and a salad for tonight.

It’s almost cruiser’s midnight now (it’s actually 8:30 p.m.), but I’m going to turn in soon – the hard pace is wearing me out, and I am ready for bed early these days.