Lessons

So far I've tried to write this blog with a healthy dose of transparency.  I figure that if I'm going to share all the joys of owning and sailing a boat in Vancouver I might as well share the headaches and gaffs that go along with it, lest I seem like I'm bragging.  David and I carry very little pretension on the subject of sailing.  We knew going in that we were neophytes so why not laugh at our mistakes and let our friends laugh with us.

With that said, mistakes aren't much good if you don't learn anything from them.  Ergo I've decided to start concluding my trip  posts with a few words on "lessons learned."  Hopefully this will be an encouragement to friends or those of you from my sailing forum who may occasionally shake your heads at some of our stories.  So let's start with a few lessons from my last couple of trips:

The Importance of Planning

Sailing reminds me a bit of scuba diving in the sense that once you learn there is a temptation to become complacent.  Yet there are many ways to screw up even the simplest dive, and the simplest sail.  Every sail, no matter how casual, should take into consideration tides, wind daylight and the schedule of the passengers.  In particular on the last point, sailers take comfort in knowing there may be several contingencies in an emergency but not all of these may be convenient for the passengers.  

There 

Fuel Filters and Crazy Ivans - Part II

Please refer to the previous post for Part I

As we drifted dead-stick out into the Strait of Georgia, I could think of at least three reasons to be thankful.  The first was that our engine had quit as we left Porlier Pass and not as we entered it.  The other scenario would have been much more dangerous.  Second, there was a bit of a breeze and we were, after all, a sailboat.  Lastly the visibility had improved significantly since we left Telegraph Harbour and the sun was even trying to peek out in places.

Without waiting to tinker with the engine I immediately set the guys to raising the sails and soon we were underway.  Once the boat was under control we played a bit more with the engine but soon it was apparent that sailing was the only way we would be getting home.  I thought of a fourth reason to be thankful:  Earlier that year David and I purchased a one-year membership with C-Tow, which is sort of the nautical equivalent of AAA.  Once we were across the strait I would give them a call and someone would tow us back to our marina.  All we had to do was sail across the strait.

The course we were on was north of the one I had plotted to Pt. Grey, thanks to the direction of the wind.  I wasn't too concerned about this as we had all day to get home so we aimed Ge Mara's bow for roughly Gibsons and planned to tack back towards English Bay when we got about half way across.

In time the wind freshened and we were having a good sail.  We had one more good meal left for the trip and it was passing noon so Sean went below to prepare it.  He had promised us a sort of panini made with nearly-fresh focaccia bread, an assortment of ham and cured meats, fresh basil and boconcini.  I was at the helm while Sean worked on lunch below and soon he started to protest about being heeled over too much.  Things were starting to slide off the counter and he was having a difficult time controlling all of the ingredients he had laid out before him.  Sure enough, the wind was continuing to strengthen and we were heeling over even further.  Tom and I made further adjustments to the sail trim but we had two things working against us.  First, I had not been able to turn in to the cove to reef the main so we had full canvas up.  Second, I was flying my 150% genoa, a sail that was already much to large for the worsening conditions.  For the moment however, all was under control.

Soon the guys were scarfing down lunch and washing it down with our last bottle of wine.  They had fun taking pictures of their wine glasses with the boat so far heeled over.  I took my own turn to eat a short while later and with Tom at the helm.  After a while as we were cleaning up the lunch dishes, Tom called from up top. He was having trouble keeping the boat on course in the growing wind and we were starting to heel precariously in gusts.  It was time to make some adjustments.

Normally my procedure in this situation is to start the engine, head the boat directly into the wind and partially furl the genoa so we wouldn't be overpowered.  Unfortunately we couldn't do this as we had no engine.  I knew we needed to shorten sail but as new squalls blew through and the boat felt less and less under control, I began to fear that without an engine to fall back on I might be headed for trouble.  I elected to call C-Tow, as much for advice as to request a tow.

The man who picked up the phone at C-Tow asked me a few questions about the boat, the crew and our situation.  I explained that I had a fairly inexperienced crew and that I might be needing assistance sooner than I had planned.  Rather than working with me to this end, the guy asked me if I had a spare fuel filter.  To my embarrassment I said I wasn't sure and that I wouldn't really know what it looked like anyway.  He seemed aghast that I might be underway with no spare fuel filters and doubly so that I wasn't familiar with the procedure to replace one.  He went on to explain that the fuel filter was likely my problem and to essentially lecture me on the folly of not knowing more about engine maintenance.  I was speechless.

I gave up trying to get assistance from C-Tow and instead went back to the cockpit and proceeded to partially furl the genoa.  With this done the boat was a little more under control.  I considered trying to reef the main but remembering my last experience with trying this while in a stiff wind I elected not to.

Before long the weather threw a new challenge at us.  Just as fast as a big squall would come through and very nearly put us on our ear, the wind would die completely and we would lay becalmed.  Initially this lasted only a few moments but as the afternoon wore on the dead stretches lasted longer and longer.    Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guys glancing at their watches and eying the horizon for signs of the Vancouver shoreline.  I needed to get us home.

I re-dialed C-Tow and updated them on our situation.  At this point I informed the gentleman that in addition to being concerned about the squalls, we were for the moment becalmed and in all likelihood we would need a tow.  To my great surprise he was very reluctant to send someone out.  He explained that a tow for that distance would be very uncomfortable and would cost the local operator a lot of money.  I was flabbergasted.  Losing my patience I asked him just what good my annual membership was for if, while I was becalmed in the strait, I would have to argue with him to get a tow.  Shortly after he relented and said someone would be on the way.

As fate would have it, no sooner than I ended the call the wind picked up.  We pointed the boat back towards Vancouver which was now visible on the hazy horizon.  For the next two hours we manhandled the boat in the gusting winds toward English Bay.  The wind direction had changed again and we were now making great time, although the ride ranged from exciting to terrifying.  Occasionally we had to furl the headsail again when things got too hairy, only to need it all back out a few moments later.  It was all rather exhausting.  Along the way we came up with another sailboat of similar size.  He was heeled over dangerously, showing us more of his bottom then I'm sure he cared to.  It was obvious he too was having trouble with the weather and together we sailed closer to home.

In due course we approached English Bay and it was clear we were going to make it most of the way back without the aid of a tow.  I was happy about this but irked in another way that there was no sign of our assistance from C-Tow.  Finally as we sailed into the strait a distinctive orange boat motored up to us and a very good natured young guy hailed us.  He was a refreshing change from the man on the phone, sympathetic to our plight and eager to help.  We still had wind so we sailed for a while longer while he motored nearby.  After a while the wind died and he came along side and rigged us for a tow. As this was going on we doused Ge Mara's sails for the last time that trip, thankful to be done with the wind.  As we sat in the cockpit while being towed in towards Coal Harbour I relaxed for the first time since that morning.

Getting a tow into Coal Harbour

As we approached the marina our attendant once again came along side and explained that as we got closer to the marina he would have to raft along side rather than towing us.  I was concerned about this because there are some large yachts tied up along our dock and it might be tight for the two of us to maneuver towards my slip tied beside each other.  I convinced him to take me to the tip of the dock and untie us while still under power.  This would give us the momentum we would need to glide along the dock and ultimately into our slip.  He was concerned about this but ultimately agreed and executed the maneuver perfectly.

As we ghosted along towards our slip I felt like this last challenge of docking without the aid of the engine would go ok.  We had just enough momentum to get there.  But then, incredibly, a new challenge presented itself.

As we approached our slip I realized that it wasn't empty.  The marina is allowed to rent out the space when we are gone but we were very clear about our return time.  Now as we glided in with no engine with which to maneuver or reverse, we couldn't turn in and were headed instead directly for a brand new Boston Whaler tied up at the end of the finger.  A collision was inevitable.

One of of us must have done something good that day because, thank God, another slip was open very near the end.  We would be taking someone else's space but at least we could bring the boat in safely and without incident.  I turned in towards it and the guys stepped off onto the dock and had her tied up nicely a moment later.

I was so incensed about my slip being occupied and the collision that very nearly occurred as a result, I didn't wait to walk to the marina office but instead raised the night watchman on the VHF radio.  When I told him there was a large powerboat from Oregon in my slip he asked me to stand-by.  A moment later after checking the register he confirmed that yes, there was a boat in my slip and that it was scheduled to be there for a few more days.  I stared at the radio speechless and then after moment I started to smile and thanked him for confirming what I already knew.  There would be time to deal with the Marina's administrative bungling later.  For now I was just very glad to be safely home.

I gratefully accepted a rum and coke from one of the guys and sat down exhausted.  It had been a long day full of lessons that I would later think about in great detail.

Fuel Filters and Crazy Ivans - Part I

By the time David and I completed our trip to Desolation Sound I felt like I'd had my share of sailing for the summer.  However I had one more trip booked for the summer season, this one with my buddies Tom and Sean.  Tom hails from San Diego and had been sailing with me on a trip earlier this year.  When he found out he had a business reason to be back in Vancouver he was quick to ask about another outing on GeMara.  As for Sean, he is pretty busy with twin babies these days but thankfully his ever-patient wife Rupi gave him a weekend pass to join us.

The plan was to head out on Friday morning towards Porlier Pass, with the goal of dropping the hook at one of the anchorages on Wallace Island.  I had earlier dismissed Wallace as a desirable anchorage because of the need for a stern tie but now that David and I had slayed that particular dragon in Smugglers Cove I was keen to give it another try.

Planning and careful preparation are not things I'm known for.  While I'm not typically careless, I tend to defer things to the last minute.  Like many procrastinators I wear this tendency like a badge of honour until it finally bites me in the arse. After this trip I have teeth marks on both cheeks.

My friend Tom arrived on Thursday evening and we were scheduled to set sail on Friday morning.  Had I bothered to look at the tides I would have seen that First Narrows, the entrance to Coal Harbour, would be flooding at 6kts by mid morning and introduce significant delays.  Further study would have revealed that Porlier Pass was scheduled to be flooding (against us) in the late afternoon and evening.  Both of these things points pointed towards the need for a very early departure to hit the slack at First Narrows to make a quick getaway and then later that afternoon hit Porlier before it started to flood.  I was blissfully ignorant of all of this as I scarfed Thai food in Yaletown with my friends and quaffed yet another Singha while I should have been at the grocery store provisioning.

The next morning Tom and I picked up Sean and we trundled over to the store for groceries.  Somewhere along the line I think David texted me and reminded me of the tides but I dismissed it as a concern and decided this would be a "casual sail" and we wouldn't worry about it.  Together we strolled through the isles of Safeway and discovered yet another Law of Sailing that I didn't know about.
"The grocery bill for a sailing trip roughly doubles with each additional person involved in the provisioning, in spite of economies of scale." 

As we roamed through the store, we each imposed our personal tastes and preferences on the provisioning, vitally concerned that we might forget fresh basil for sandwiches, limes for the Dark n' Stormies or sharp cheddar for happy hour.  I think we had over 100 cans of Coke Zero.  The overburdened shopping cart groaned in protest.

This process repeated itself at the liquor store.

David was kind enough to meet us at the boat and assist with stowing the gear and provisions.  He reminded me that the tide was now surging into Coal Harbour with a vengeance and suggested at this point that we take our time and let it subside a bit.  This seemed like a good idea so we all sat down for a beer.

By lunch time we decided to leave and after a quick stop for fuel we were off.  The tide had indeed tamed a bit and we made reasonable time getting out into English Bay and past the bell buoy, except for the fact that we were now well into the afternoon.

I gave my mates our compass heading and let them take the wheel as we talked and generally enjoyed ourselves.  As we yacked back and forth, the helmsman would occasionally get caught up in conversation and allow the boat to veer off course.  Eventually he or someone else would notice the error and yank the boat back in the other direction, inevitably overcorrecting, only to come back eventually to the correct heading.  A more serious yachtsman might find this mightily irritating.  My way of dealing with it was simply to yell out "CRAZY IVAN!"  My friends immediately recognized this from the movie Hunt for Red October.  In the film, a Crazy Ivan is a sudden zig-zag maneuver used by Russian subs to detect other subs that might be following closely behind them.

Another tendency that ate up precious minutes on our crossing was Tom's free spirit.  It seems that Tom prefers to sail where the wind takes him rather than on a specific course.  Therefore when he was at the wheel I would occasionally look around and realize that we were significantly off course, by as much as 45 degrees at times.  When I queried him on where he was taking us he would calmly explain that this was a better point of sail given the current wind.  This would have made sense if we had time to tack broadly but due to my self imposed delays, we needed to head directly to the pass, even if it mean motoring.  If I asked politely he would return to our desired heading and I would alter sail trim as necessary.

Heading across the Strait

All of this is really to say that we took our sweet time leaving home and then crossing and it soon became apparent we had a predicament.  As we approached Porlier Pass, daylight was fading fast.  In addition, the current was flooding against us at 4 knots.  I briefly debated trying to get through Porlier but even if we succeeded it would be dark by the time we were through and we'd be forced to not only find our anchorage but drop the hook and secure the boat entirely in the dark.  That was not something I was prepared to do.  And so it was that we headed for the safety of one of 3 shallow coves at the mouth of Porlier Pass.  We crept in as far as I dared, allowing for a low tide due later that evening, and dropped the anchor.  Once the anchor was set I shut off the motor and looked with trepidation at the pass just 100 meters in front of us.  The water was still churning through rapidly with a dull roar that we could hear clearly from our little point of shelter.  We were secure for the moment but it didn't feel that way.  To add to my unsettled feeling, our stern began swinging out towards the mouth of the cove and Porlier Pass.  It was as if the tide wanted to pull us back out into the rapidly running water.  I envisioned this happening once we were all asleep below and shivered.  We needed to further secure the boat.  We were right in the middle of the cove and a fair distance from shore on either side.   it would likely be at the limits of the long line we use for stern tying.  Plus, our light was almost gone - this was no time to be thrashing about in the dinghy with a line.  As an alternative I remembered the spare anchor.  I fished it out of the stern locker and looked at it closely for the first time since we bought the boat.  Both anchor and rode were in great shape.

Looking out at Porlier Pass from a very small anchorage

We started the engine, put it in reverse and put the wheel hard over in an effort to swing back on our anchor line and point the stern back into the cove.  After a moment or two of playing around the boat cooperated.  Then I threw the anchor as far off the stern as I could manage, having secured the line to one of the stern cleats.  We made some adjustments to tension and then, just as darkness fell completely we sat back and poured a glass of wine, satisfied that that boat was truly secure with an anchor set fore and aft.  Our little cove was pretty enough but nowhere near as nice as Wallace Island would have been.  My stress levels were still in the process of normalizing and at this moment the importance of planning and organization - even on a casual sail - really hit home.

The next morning I was reminded again of the folly of my poor planning.   Porlier Pass, having reversed itself in the dead of night, was once again charging out into the strait and preventing an early departure.  We had no choice but to have a lazy morning on the boat and wait until close to noon to finally leave.  During this time Tom decided he was antsy so he untied the dinghy and rowed ashore to explore.  Meanwhile Sean and I puttered and talked on the boat.  After a while, Sean looked towards the nearest bank and registered a look that was somewhere between anger and disgust.  When I asked him what he was on about he pointed to sandstone rock along the shoreline that had been neatly rounded away by centuries of tides.  We had commented on this interesting formation earlier but now it looked a little different.  Someone had used a rock to scratch out a rather good Pittsburgh Steelers logo on the face of the soft sandstone.  Our friend Tom is a die-hard Steelers fan.  For some reason Sean was incensed by this environmental violation.  In fact, had he known the number for Paul Watson and Greenpeace, I think he would have reported Tom right then and there.  I reminded Sean that the markings would disappear at the first high tide or rain but he was having fun pretending to be miffed.  Later when Tom reappeared in the dinghy Sean gave him a good ribbing and we all had a chuckle about it.

At lunch time we weighed the anchor(s) and headed into Porlier which at last would allow our passage.  We passed through uneventfully and headed towards today's destination of Telegraph Harbour, having missed the chance to stop at Wallace Island.  Earlier that morning I asked the guys whether they just wanted to head back across the strait and spend the night in Gibsons or Snug Cove so we would be close to home on our final day.  Neither of them wanted to make that call and deferred to the skipper for a command decision.  I decided to press ahead with the plan for Telegraph Harbour in spite of growing winds forecast for the following day.

By early afternoon we were tied up in the prettiest little marina I've ever been to and I was glad to be back - mostly.  My lack of planning bit me here yet again.  While remarkably, they did have a slip for us even though I hadn't reserved on in advance, they informed me over the phone that there was a Tollycraft rendezvous going on that weekend.  Tollycraft are large power boats.  Or what sailers refer to as "stinkpots."  Sure enough, as we hopped off the boat and looked around, every square inch of dock space was occupied by sizeable yachts, most of which dwarfed Ge Mara in size.  The occupants had all spilled out onto the dock in their lawn chairs and many were apparently observing happy hour in New York because it sure wasn't 5:00pm here.  This was all a touch irritating but by the time we had walked around the far side of the island and visited the local pub for a little fortification of our own, we forgot about our diesel chugging neighbours and focused on making a steak and chicken dinner for ourselves, complete with good wine.

When I opened my eyes on Sunday morning I was determined we would make a quick getaway.  The current was again flooding at Porlier which was at least moving in the direction we wanted to go but the longer we delayed, the faster it would be flooding.  It is not recommended to run through a pass that is ebbing or flooding faster than your boat is capable of motoring.  Under these conditions it is possible to lose steerage and ultimately control of the boat.  Not a situation you want to be in when there are treacherous rocks about.  Unfortunately a swift departure was not in the cards.  When we climbed up into the cockpit with our coffee we were greeted by a beautiful and somewhat ominous blanket of dense fog.  Visibility, as the Coast Guard would soon confirm, was effectively zero.

Heading out into the fog

We sat together sipping our coffee and debating what to do.  Departing in the fog isn't quite as dangerous as it sounds, so long as we kept a constant watch and monitored my AIS app that would warn of any nearby commercial shipping activity.  We could wait for the fog to lift but the longer we waited, the faster Porlier Pass would be flooding.  In the bigger picture, we all had to get home that day.  Sean had a tired wife with twins badly in need of relief.  Tom and I had to get back for a very busy Monday at the office.

I walked over and chatted with some guys who were sitting in one of the few sailboats besides ours in the marina.  After exchanging the mandatory complements on our boats we talked about the fog and the current at Porlier.  Their home base was Snug Cove on Bowen Island so they were facing basically the same trip home as us.  The owner of the boat seemed pretty experienced and he said without hesitation that they would be departing shortly.  No, the fog didn't concern him and no, he had no issues with the flooding current at Porlier Pass.  He explained that if the current is running particularly fast, one technique to maintain control is to steer a sort of zig-zag pattern across the current, such that the boat is never completely in line with the direction of water flow.  In this way, water is always flowing across the rudder and control is maintained.  "The main thing" he added seriously,  "just don't lose your engine."  I had to smile at the advice.  At last, a practical sailboat use for the Crazy Ivan.

As the morning progressed and the fog slowly lifted, we decided to split the difference between the two hazards and leave while things were still pretty socked in but the current at Porlier was not too crazy.  This turned out to be a fine strategy as the fog continued to burn off quickly, even more so as we headed towards the Porlier Pass and Georgia Strait.  As we approached the pass, I thought I noticed a subtle change in the pitch of the engine.  I glanced at the tachometer and our revs were steady at 3000 rpm, right where I had set it.  Once or twice more I fancied I heard more fluctuations but each time when I checked there was no evidence of any problem.

Soon we were in the pass and to my relief I had no issues controlling the boat, even in a 5 knot surging tide.  I tried out a few drawn out zig-zags, heretofore known as Lazy Crazy Ivans.  I don't think they made much difference.  Suddenly something caught my eye off the port bow.  To my surprise and delight, the unmistakable dorsal fins of three Orcas broke the surface not far ahead of us.  I had been waiting all year to catch my first sight of them while onboard Ge Mara.  I pointed them out to Sean and we shouted down to Tom who was sleeping below.  Unfortunately they disappeared before he could scramble up top and we didn't see them again.  We didn't get a single photo.

One other element of our decision making that morning was wind.  The winds were scheduled to increase later that afternoon to 15-20 knots.  Based on this we debated whether to reef the main before we left the dock.  At the time the wind was dead calm and the bigger wind wasn't scheduled until late afternoon so I was concerned that if we reefed we would be under-canvassed for much of the day.  Again, thoughts of home and schedules pressed.  In the end we decided to get through Porlier Pass and make a last minute decision.  If the wind seemed fresh in the Strait we would slip in the same little cove we had slept in a couple of nights before and reef the main before continuing.

Now as we emerged into the strait from the pass I needed to decide whether to turn into that cove before we passed it as we would have to fight the current to get back.  I delayed longer than I should have but ultimately started to turn in.  I added a little more throttle to prepare for the current hitting our beam but at that point I once again heard a distinct change in engine pitch.  This time there was no mistake.  I glanced at the tach and sure enough we were losing rpm's.  Right in the mouth of Porlier Pass.  I tried compensating with a little more throttle but the more I tried to add, the more the engine faltered.  Before long the engine died completely and we were drifting with the flood out into Georgia Strait.

End of part I