A short YouTube video of some of my best moments on Gemara
With the end of 2014 not far off I've been reflecting on another year of sailing. It's been a great year for it; I took a package from my employer in early spring and allowed myself the summer off to sail and recharge my batteries. As an added bonus 2014 was one of the finest summers I can recall in Vancouver. As you might imagine, Ge'Mara had plenty of use across the year.
One of the best decisions I made this year was learning to single-hand. As I described in an earlier post, single-handing is a freeing experience. Being single and off work, this turned out to be a big advantage, culminating in a fantastic sail to the Gulf Islands that I also wrote about earlier.
Waking up in Clam Bay on my first single-handed trip
With that said, Ge'Mara's most notable trips this year were naturally with my sailing buddy and boat partner David. We achieved not one but two big milestones this year on the boat. In May we cruised North to Princess Louisa Inlet. The trip took us eight days and the scenery was spectacular. In August we embarked on an even longer trip to the far side of Vancouver Island and Barkley Sound. It was an experience not to be forgotten. In spite of a thick layer of fog that plagued us for most of our time West of Victoria it was an epic trip.
Motoring into Princess Louisa Inlet
Anchored in Barkley Sound
All in all as 2014 comes to a close I feel blessed for the chance to have sailed so much and so well (by way of location, not skill). The feeling reminds me of a moment that I had not long after we brought Ge'Mara home to Vancouver for the first time. But first a bit of background:
There is a song by Bruce Cockburn called "Wondering Where the Lions Are." It's a pleasantly optimistic tune that carries a feeling of well being and relief at not having to face some of the more severe of life's challenges. It even has a reference to sailing. I read somewhere that Cockburn was referring to his conversion to Christianity and the story of Daniel and the Lions Den. I grew up with those same stories and the reference really resonates with me.
As I drove to the marina one sunny morning for one of our first sails on Ge'Mara the song played on the radio. As I listened and hummed along I couldn't believe I was the co-owner of a 34ft sailboat. We had navigated the complexities of the purchase, successfully sailed her home from Nanaimo in the middle of winter and now she sat waiting for me in her new slip in Coal Harbour, perhaps the most desired moorage in the city. As a recently divorced man in the throes of reinventing himself, this seemed to be almost too much good fortune. It was one of those moments your brain takes a picture of and retains for posterity. The lions were nowhere to be seen.
***
This week I realized that with the fall season and my job search in full swing, Ge'Mara had been idle since September. We were in the middle of a clear, cold snap with -0 C temperatures and brilliant sunshine. On a whim I decided to go for an overnight sail. I won't go into details on the trip except to say that it was somewhat ill-conceived (as most sailing trips are when they are rushed). I had to pull into Snug Cove rather than continue to my intended destination because I ran out of daylight. I then proceeded to tie the boat to the outside of the dock, fully exposed to the opening of the cove. I reasoned this wouldn't be a problem, given the very tame weather forecast for Georgia Strait. However I didn't think to check the forecast in Howe Sound. That night there was a gale warning and the wind blew past Snug Cove at almost 40 knots. Tied up broadside to the waves I was tossed around like popcorn. With it being pitch dark and me by myself with the better part of a bottle of wine in me, moving the boat wasn't an option so I settled in for a long night. The next morning I was exhausted from a very poor sleep and low-level seasickness from the near constant pounding I took through the night. It was a rookie mistake. I made a quick breakfast and motored towards home in a foul mood.
As I passed the lighthouse at Point Atkinson and turned towards Vancouver my mood softened. While it was near freezing there wasn't a hint of wind and the sea was completely calm. The sun was rising over the city and the panorama in front of me was breathtaking. Suddenly I was reminded of how incredibly fortunate I was. I set the auto pilot and sat up on deck leaning back against the mast, surprised at how warm I was in the sun. I scanned the North Shore mountains and considered what an amazing year it has been on the water. Then, as now, I'm wondering where the Lions are.
It has been a particularly warm and sunny summer here in Vancouver and I feel blessed to have been given this beautiful weather during the year I am taking a break from work. We have taken full advantage of this gift and have kept Ge'Mara busy between our sails together, with others and of course my first solo ventures. But now even in mid September the banquet of sunshine isn't quite ready to end. The forecast calls for more stellar weather for the next week. Not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, David and I are heading out for the weekend.
We debated for a while where we should head with only two and a half days to play with. I was big on the idea of crossing the strait because staying in the islands on the Vancouver side inevitably means a lot of motoring. But in light of shrinking hours of daylight and a desire for a relaxed pace we have decided to avoid a crossing and instead head up Howe sound with a view of staying in Squamish, BC.
Howe Sound is famous for fairly strong winds that tend to blow either directly up or out of the channel depending on the amount of sunshine and the time of day. These inflow/outflow winds are the product of convection heating in the valley around Squamish and further north. When the sun heats the land it creates a high pressure area. The cooler water of Howe Sound creates a lower pressure area and thus you have wind. The wind gets channeled through mountains on either side of Howe Sound and as a result, often achieves a higher velocity than in surrounding areas that are more open. Overnight the land cools faster than the water and the process reverses itself. Similar to our trip up the Strait of Juan de Fuca, we are hoping for some fun downwind sailing in at least one direction.
As far as I know, Squamish has only one marina and it doesn't cater much to transients. Fortunately I have a virtual friend from a sailing forum who I know only as "Stretch" who lives in Squamish. When I e-mailed him to mention we were thinking of making the trip up he immediately made arrangements for a slip for us. He also owns a Hunter 34, the same model as ours, so we are looking forward to comparing notes with him.
Seeing as David is still working for a living we can't get away until around 2:30pm on Friday afternoon. Squamish would be an ambitious goal for Friday given the relatively few hours of daylight we'll have left so we have decided to drop the hook at Gambier Island once again. This time however we will stay in Halkett Bay, a marine park complete with mooring buoys. For some reason we have never stopped here, opting instead for the more secluded Long Bay, further west on the island.
With all of this said, the "best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry."* Ge'Mara's little Yanmar diesel engine has been acting up as of late and Laurence our mechanic has been struggling to get to the bottom of the problem. It seems that air is getting into the fuel system and making the engine very difficult to start in the morning. I won't bore you with the details of our efforts to fix it but suffice it to say we are still not completely confident. We have a new fuel pump on order which we believe will finally fix the problem but for the time being it will be a game day (today) decision whether to proceed with our weekend trip or cancel. As soon as I finish writing this I will head down to the boat and start the engine. The results of that effort will determine whether we sail or spend the weekend ashore.
* These words are actually attributable to Robbie Burns an not John Steinbeck as I once thought.
Note: This is the final entry in this series about our trip to Barclay Sound. To start from the beginning, scroll down to Part I or use the index links to the left.
We awoke to the gentle lolling of the boat in the ocean swells that had made their way into our little anchorage. As I trundled up into the cockpit bleary eyed with a cup of coffee and looked at my surroundings I was reminded that the fog was nature's way of being kind to us out here on the wild side of Vancouver Island. Soon enough it would be blown away, replaced by howling winds and 25ft waves. I was ready to leave. As is often the case when faced with the need to move on, you can't get away fast enough. We raised the anchor and left.
At first the swells were hitting us on the stern quarter as we motored, which tends to roll the boat around on every axis. I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed for some reason and didn't feel all that well. The rolling around wasn't doing me any good. Quietly I slipped below and swallowed a Gravol without mentioning anything to David - who appeared impervious.
During our planning for this trip we had assumed that on the way home we would have a great downwind ride on the northwesterlies that blow on the west coast almost non-stop. But at this time of year the wind doesn't start until later in the day so by leaving so early we traded excitement for safety and ease. And perhaps boredom.
The day played out much as it did on the way up except for one memorable event. I had just buttoned myself into the cabin for a shift below resting and reading when David flung open the companionway and shouted down to me "Whales!"
I grabbed my camera bag from my berth and ran up top. David pointed in the direction he last saw them and after a while of staring we saw one blow, and then another. I scrambled on to the deck and sat down with my camera at the ready and after a time they came again but this time closer. They didn't seem particularly afraid of the boat and at one point I suggested to David that we bear away a little bit as they were getting to within less than 30 ft from us on a gradually converging course. While they were so near, one of the whales surfaced and blew. This time I could hear more then just the whoosh of air and moisture but also a deep resonant sound that hinted at the sheer size of this animal just beneath the waves. He lifted his tail out of the water slowly, as if to say goodbye and then they swam further away from the boat. It was a great moment. I had never before seen a whale close up.
**********
I had hoped to outrun the fog that day before we reached Port Renfrew but it was still with us when we turned the corner into the bay. We motored to the dock but this time opted to stay out in the bay and anchor, as neither of us felt like a pub dinner.
The next morning we left very early, opting to prepare breakfast on the fly. While we motored steadily southeast in the fog I was below making the last of our bacon and eggs with a side of pancakes. We ate it hungrily in the cockpit and washed it down with strong coffee. Barkley Sound was now just a memory and we were both focusing on the moment when we would leave the fog behind and get back into the warmth and sunshine we knew was up there above the mist.
Somewhere around Shiringham Point the fog dissipated. As we continued on we pulled off our jackets, then sweaters, and eventually went below to don shorts and remove socks. It felt good to be alive and to soak up the sun. By the time we got to Sooke, the wind started to pick up behind us. At long last we could raise the sails. Soon we were wing on wing and sailing well at 5knots. As we progressed further south towards Victoria the wind continued to grow and we began to have some real fun. We pulled the reef out of the main and watched while the GPS speed indicated were were starting to surf the following waves and our speed was topping 8 knots. Happily the sea state was still restrained so it wasn't hard to maintain this otherwise tricky point of sail. We had a blast rocketing south into Victoria harbour.
Sweet relief: The fog and cloud finally give way to sunshine
Once we had cell service I called and was fortunate to make last minute arrangements for a slip in the inner harbour. The proverbial Rock Star Parking. A while later we tied up in the harbour on a scorching hot afternoon with nothing but blue sky in all directions. The harbour was packed with tourists who looked down from the promenade and pointed, chatting amongst themselves about who knows what. Some of the bolder ones walked down the ramp and strolled among the boats. I was already leaving Ge'Mara and walking towards the showers as I passed them, unshaven and unkempt, hair askew in all different directions. Normally I would have been embarrassed at my appearance but somehow this day I wore it like a badge of honour.
That evening David called our friend Michelle who lives in Nanaimo and asked if she'd like to join us for dinner in Victoria. Great lady that she is she dropped everything and drove down to see us. It was a fun evening.
David and Michelle at dinner in Victoria
Ge'Mara in the inner harbour
The next morning we left the inner harbour and continued the journey home. We had more decisions to make. We were now ahead of schedule and David had itchy feet to get home. We had already bypassed Sooke as a stop and at this point we could get home in just two more days if we wanted to. We debated whether to stay in Ganges Harbour again or to try Montegue Harbour this time, as David had never been there. While we mulled this over I made a snap decision of my own. I pulled out my phone and called Kevin Patterson, the writer whom I've referred to earlier in this trip log. The only reason I had his number is that he had called me when trying to connect when we were last in Ganges. It was very forward of me to call him now but I elected to impose. To my mild surprise he didn't seem irked to receive a call from me and said he would be available that night at Moby's pub at 9:30 if that would work. Yes it would. So the decision was made: We would be staying in Ganges Harbour this night.
Late that afternoon, tying up in Ganges felt like we were in a KOA campground. We were lucky to get a spot but it was nothing short of a zoo of boats, floatplanes, ferries and people. We barbecued a delicious steak dinner and then hob knobbed with some of our boating neighbours who were having a party, of sorts, on the dock. At first they were a little chilly to us but as usual, a bottle of 18 year old single malt broke the ice.
David posing with the Pirate flag my friend Tom bought for the boat
Dusk in Ganges Harbour
A while later I looked at my watch and said my farewells to our new friends. It was time to meet the writer at the nearby pub. Moby's Pub is in Saltspring Marina, which happens to be where Kevin lives. We couldn't get in there this time so we were staying at the adjacent Ganges Marina. I judged it to be about a 15 minute walk to get from one place to the other but the docks of Saltspring Marina were only 100 yards away from our marina so I elected to simply dinghy over.
Shortly I was seated in Moby's Pub, having been relieved of a $7 cover charge to listen to the very earnest folk singer in the corner. Once again, the locals regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion which I thought was odd for such a popular stop as Saltspring island. One particular guy who looked to be in his late 20's was staring at me intently from just a couple of tables over. I looked away but when I looked back his gaze was still fixed on me and I grew irritated. I was on the verge of either leaving the bar or confronting him when Kevin showed up.
Kevin Patterson is the author of several books, one of which is entitled "The Water in Between." I've mentioned him before in this blog because his book struck a chord with me, and while I am not normally enamoured of "celebrities," I really wanted to meet this guy. I can't say exactly why I was so determined to chat with him. Maybe it was because of some vanity that he and I might have a lot in common seeing as I liked his book so much. I knew for sure I wanted to ask him some questions about the fate of certain people and things in the book. This I did, and he answered them candidly and without hesitation. When I asked him what had become of the "Sea Mouse," (the boat he had sailed to and from Tahiti), he explained it was up in Nanaimo. He seemed eager to stoke my interest in blue water sailing and even hinted that I could buy the Sea Mouse for a very reasonable price. I was flattered that he would take such an interest in me and offer to sell me his beloved ketch. But then again, maybe he just wanted to sell it .
He pointed out the little balcony inside Moby's where he wrote the book. I suggested they could make a bronze statue of him at a computer and place it up there permanently, kind of like they did for Hemingway in El Floridita in Cuba. He didn't seem amused by that suggestion. We spoke briefly about a new book he is working on and he became guarded. "I' haven't come to agreement with the publisher" he said. He talked about subject matter in the book that was clearly very personal.
"Don't suppose you could slip me a manuscript?" I asked, as casually as I could.
"No."
**********
The next morning I woke up and took a gulp from my water bottle thinking it felt like Groundhog Day. I was just as ready as David to get home. We had seen everything we wanted to see, eaten way too much rich food and probably drank too many Dark and Stormy's. It felt like there was a permanent indent in the cushion in my berth where my my hip normally went.
We got out of Ganges Marina as soon as we could and motored out of the harbour. The run out of Ganges would take at least an hour in Ge'Mara before we could turn north to head for Porlier Pass and home. It would have been quicker to have stayed in Montegue Harbour and I asked myself whether it was worth all the fuss just to talk to a guy who wrote a book. Answers to questions like those aren't immediately obvious.
Hours later as we approached Porlier Pass the wind picked up but it was right on our nose. I decided to raise the main and motorsail for the time being, that way it would be up for crossing the strait. When the wind caught the sail the boat heeled over a bit and suddenly the engine started to lose power. I played with the throttle and it eventually died. David and I stared at each other and didn't need to say a word. We were both mentally finished with our trip and just wanted to be home. Now we were possibly facing a night in Clam Bay or Telegraph Harbour trying to fix engine problems. David wasn't going to have any of that and kept playing with the engines. I eased the sails and the boat stopped heeling. That seemed to help and soon the engine was running fine. We were entering Porlier Pass late and there were 3ft standing waves at the far end where the northwest wind met the flooding current. Fortunately Ge'Mara soldiered on and we shot through with the current at 8 knots.
Back in the strait I unfurled the headsail and we were off. We were a little overpowered so we needed to stop and reef but after that we fairly flew home. David was tired and had no interest in taking the helm so I had hours of fun steering the boat at 7.5 knots as we crossed this last body of water before home.
Back in Ganges David had started cleaning out the fridge as it was starting to smell. Soon he'd collected a fat bag of decaying lettuce, overripe blueberries and cherries, along with assorted other organic waste. Rather than walk it up to the marina garbage, he felt it would be better to keep it on board and dump it in the ocean once we were away from land, as if to somehow hasten the great circle of life. Now in the strait I reminded him of this small task and went to take care of it while I was steering the boat. He clearly wanted to do it himself and fairly lunged toward the bag before I got to it. The boat was heeled over quite a ways and he struggled to compose himself on the lower edge with the rail almost awash so he could expel the contents of the bag cleanly. After flailing around a bit he swung the bag seaward and the contents sprayed out - onto the side of the boat. I could see the foul mixture of blueberry and cherry juice working it's way into the pores of our gelcoat by the second. In a cruel irony, the inner of the two plastic bags holding the garbage flew out with the garbage and came to rest on top of the waves, disappearing in our wake, thus environmentally cancelling out whatever good he had hoped to do.
The remains of David's offering to the sea
By the time we had reached the Point Grey bell buoy I was exhausted and feeling like I'd had too much sun. My arms ached from fighting the helm for 4 hours in growing winds. As we turned downwind into English Bay I realized that our short exciting crossing had amply made up for all the motoring in the fog. It had been an amazing trip, but it was time to be back on dry land.
Note: For earlier chapters in this trip log, scroll down or use the index to the left.
Waking up in Effingham Bay we were presented with a bit of a conundrum. Our old friend the fog was still hanging over us like a blanket. As it was coming off the ocean it was thickest near the mouth of the sound and dissipated as you progressed inland. This seemed to make a case for finding the next anchorage deep inside the Sound. However, we were already pondering the trip home. There was a gale warning in the Juan de Fuca currently and although it was forecast to calm down by the time we were out there we didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Ergo, we needed to be on the water and heading to Port Renfrew as early as possible the next morning. Additionally, we had elected not to buy fuel in Bamfield, thinking we would likely visit Uclulet before leaving Barkley Sound. We needed fuel and a few extra provisions and Ucluelet is conveniently located at the north entrance. And so it was that while our hearts were looking inland for the sunshine our heads dictated we stay near the mouth of the sound, pay a visit to Ucuelet and then find an anchorage that would serve as a staging point for a speedy departure the next morning. We ate an epic breakfast of bacon, eggs and pancakes and then left.
We motored northwest toward Ucluelet Inlet in the dreary cloud and fog and filled the time by arguing over how many degrees to port or starboard we needed to go to avoid the minefield of rocks we saw on the charts. As I watched them come into view through the fog and saw the waves crashing against their jagged edges I could only imagine how many ships had fallen prey to them over the years. I spend a lot of time romanticizing the early sailing explorers but right then I wouldn't have traded my trusty GPS for anything.
We entered Ucluelet Inlet and motored along looking for landmarks. We passed the fuel dock but we knew the main town dock was further in. Eventually we found it and in spite of a brisk wind blowing us away, landed smartly and without any drama. As an aside, David and I were both enjoying a string of good landings on this trip and were feeling pretty good about our docking skills.
We locked up the boat and walked up the hill to the main road and got directions from a local on where to find the grocery store. We walked up the road and I enjoyed looking around the town as I had never visited here before. A short while later we emerged from Thrifty Foods with a couple of bags of provisions and started for home.
For some reason I had a hankering to visit the local pub. I wasn't particularly hungry after our huge breakfast only a few hours ago but a cold beer in a cozy local pub sounded appealing. As it happened, the Eagles Nest Pub was very close to where we were tied up and soon enough we were quaffing pale ales and chatting with the bartender / waitress. We commented on the fog and asked how long she thought it would last. She shrugged "It's Fogust." This was the first time that someone had actually admitted to us that it's pretty much foggy here all the time here in August. I wondered how I couldn't have stumbled over this fact after all of the planning we had done. Just then I noticed a TV on the wall with an image of a lighthouse on the screen. I realized after a moment it was showing a web cam that was facing out to sea from the point of Ucluelet Inlet. Apparently the fog is on everyone's mind here. When a clear patch hits, people spring into action.
The pub in Ucluelet and the "fog cam" behind the bar
David had ordered a halibut burger because it seemed like the thing to do. When we first sat down we watched out the window as a sport fisherman walked up the dock from his boat with two huge fish that were at least half his size. When in Rome... In a fit of restraint I declined to order any food for myself, still thinking about breakfast. But when David bit into his halibut burger and started rolling his eyes with pleasure, I broke down and ordered one for myself. It was amazing. Certainly the best fish burger I've ever eaten and even one of the best fish meals of any sort. My opinion of sport fishermen softened for a few moments.
After lunch and a few beers we headed back to the boat feeling entirely satiated. We left the dock and headed out, stopping briefly at the fuel dock to top up.
We poured over the chart looking for a suitable anchorage that was both safe and near the entrance to the sound. Eventually we settled on Wouwer Island. Here's what the Waggoners cruising guide says about the place:
"The outer islands of the Broken Group are marked by twisted trees, the result of relentless onshore winds, especially in the winter. If your needs include the desire to navigate 'at the edge' the outer islands can satisfy that need. Here, you'll have your opportunity to run in wind and fog, with the Pacific Ocean swells beating against the rocks. Navigate carefully. The low islands are easy to get mixed up. Rocks and reefs are charted, but they're everywhere...' "...Wouwer Island is breathtaking, both in its scenery and gunk holing. At half tide or higher, most boats can make it through the slit between Barkley Island and Wouwer Island. A bow watch only will scare you. Once through, and when you're breathing again, anchor in either of the next two little bays."
The descriptions were too enticing to pass up. We motored to Wouwer Island and crept our way through the narrow passage in, as indicated on the chart. Once again I wondered how people did this without GPS, although we both kept a sharp eye on the surrounding terrain knowing that electronics are not always accurate. The tide being rather high, we went through without any concerns. We found a beautiful little spot that was remarkably placid in the lee of the island and threw out the hook. We were careful this time to use extra scope and be extra sure of a good hold. By the looks of the surrounding trees and shoreline, this place could get active if the wind changed direction.
We noticed nearby our friends from the sailboat in Effingham Bay but they bugged out a short while later, just as they had done on the other island. Was it us? We were alone here in this rugged little bay and it felt, finally, like we were on nature's ragged edge.
A rough depiction of our route through Barkley Sound. Click to enlarge
David was content to sit and read but I wanted to go and explore the island. I rowed the dinghy ashore and found a trail that led to the ocean side and a beach that was wild and beautiful. I walked along the logs and rocks much as I had done at Effingham but feeling all the more secluded for being here by myself. I found a couple of fisherman's floats and took one back to the dinghy as a keepsake. I made my way back to the dinghy and as I approached I saw through the trees Ge'Mara floating out in the swells. She looked different this time. Indeed it felt like we had finally sailed her past the safe and comfortable marinas of the Strait of Georgia to a place that was truly wild, unspoilt and maybe just a touch dangerous. For all the planning, learning and dreaming we had done, for all the monotonous motoring in the fog, this was the moment I had been waiting to experience. It was deeply satisfying. Letting out a long breath I rowed the dinghy back to the boat where David was waiting in the cockpit to start happy hour.
Note: For earlier chapters in this trip log please scroll down or choose from the index on the left It may sound a little naive but when we woke up in Robbers Passage after our first night in Barkley Sound we earnestly hoped the fog had all blown away. I was yearning for that "sense of place" that could only come through seeing the Broken Islands arrayed in the distance on one side of us and the endless open ocean on the other side. It's a bit like climbing Everest and summiting in the clouds; you know in your head you've made it but there is no vista - no satisfying visual cues to confirm it.
After going for another walk and exploring a small cave on the far side of the island, we said our goodbyes to the folks we met at Port Alberni Yacht club and motored away. The sky was partly cloudy and there was no fog in Robbers Passage but as we left we could see that fog still obscured some of the outer Broken Islands. Our plan today was to head to Effingham Island. Anyone looking at a chart of the area would likely identify this island and the large protected Effingham Bay as the most obvious place to anchor in the Broken Islands. A look at the cruising guide confirmed this and being our first night at anchor here we didn't want to try anything to risky.
It was a brief, cloudy sail to Effingham Island
We motored across Imperial Eagle Channel and angled towards Effingham Island. For a while we had the sails up but before long we had arrived and needed to maneuver through the shallow north entrance. We puttered slowly through into the bay and found it to be satisfyingly sheltered - and empty. We made our way to the furthest, most sheltered corner of the bay and found only one other boat anchored there - a sailboat. There were no signs of life on the boat but a dinghy was pulled up on the shore nearby so we reasoned they were ashore hiking.
This was a lazy day. We had left Robbers Passage much later than usual and we had only been an hour or so crossing the channel. As a result we found ourselves anchored again in the early afternoon and restless. I had read about a trail on the island that led to a beach that was supposed to be the site of an old native village. We laced up our shoes, hopped in the dinghy and went ashore to explore. Before we left, the family from the other boat returned in their dinghy and we chatted with them for a bit. They had quit their jobs and pulled their son out of school in order to go sailing for a year or more. We would see more of them as our trip progressed.
Effingham Island - our anchorage for the night
We had an enjoyable hike to the far side of the island. I had forgotten my day hikers and was using my smooth soled boat shoes, which made it hard to keep up with David who was powering through mud and uneven terrain at full stride. The trail opened up to the placid rocky beach that was littered with huge old growth logs that had become massive articles of driftwood. The tide was down and we spend a while beach combing and checking out the many tidal pools. I never tire of doing this and was pleased to see a bunch of anemones on the rocks. We don't see these near Vancouver for some reason. I had a blast poking around the pools to the extent that David got tired of it and laid down against a log to take a nap while I explored. As I jumped from rock to rock peering down into the pools I remembered that my first serious career ambition as a child was to be a marine biologist. Somewhere along the line I became a lot more pragmatic.
The remains of a wrecked boat sits amongst the driftwood
Eventually I returned to where David was sitting and staring contemplatively out at the water. He saw me coming and together we hiked back to the dinghy, glad for both the exercise and an hour or so of pure serenity.
Back on the boat we were at loose ends for a bit, reading and puttering with things until it was time to have a drink before dinner. I had been carefully rationing my Goslings rum and Fever Tree ginger beer to last for the entire trip and carefully poured my daily allotment. 100 years ago in the British navy this occasion would have been known as "Up Spirits" - the time when a ration of rum given to each and every sailor on the ship. Unfortunately, while in Victoria, I had decided to "splice the mainbrace," which is to say, pour a double ration. As a result my rum supply was dwindling faster than anticipated and this was the cause of no small amount of angst.
Our anchorage, with the skies finally clear for the evening
Getting ready for an epic sunset
After another hearty dinner I went up top and looked out of the bay to the east as the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon. The cruising guide had indicated Effingham Bay is an outstanding place to watch the sun set and it was easy to see why. I suggested to David that we drag the folding deck chairs up top and enjoy the show while we finished the last of the wine from dinner. However I could see this would be a losing battle. As I've alluded to earlier, once David is finished dinner he has one eye on his bed, regardless of how early it is. This irritates me to no end as I very much enjoy good conversation in the evening, especially in a spectacular environment like this. Somehow, diving into your bunk with the sun still up not only seems impolite but an abdication of a fundamental responsibility to your fellow man. Royally miffed, I sat alone on the deck and snapped pictures until it was dark. Oddly, at some point I realized I had cell service way out here on the far side of nowhere. I called Brenda and talked with her at length about the trip, glad to have some company after all. Happy now, I drifted off thinking of one of the more stunning sunsets I've seen in a long
time.
Note: Scroll down or use the index to the left for earlier posts in this trip log
I woke up to the deep rumbling sound of a large nearby diesel engine. As I cleared the cobwebs I realized that the first of the commercial fishing boats was getting underway and leaving Port Renfrew. It was dark. I laid there for a while longer and soon I began to hear other smaller boats, from further away. Soon Ge'Mara started to rock in the wake of the departing boats. Salmon fishing season was underway.
David and I stumbled around the cabin rubbing sleep out of our eyes. While he put some coffee on I went up top and took some pictures in the gathering dawn. By the time I got back to the boat we were being buffeted against the dock by a steady succession of waves from the departing fishing boats. It was only going to get worse. We had another long day in store so with a nod we agreed to untie and bolt.
Dawn at Port Renfrew Community Dock
As we left the harbour I poured the coffee and looked back. The little fishing boats just kept coming, all of them roaring at top speed toward whatever spot they had in mind, lest all the fish be caught before they got there. The sun rose directly over Port Renfrew and I snapped a few more pics. It was breathtaking.
Sunrise as we leave Port Refrew. A few fishing boats were still coming out
Heading back into the fog
Once out in the ocean we went a little further away from the coast in an effort to avoid more of the fishing boats. We had already disappeared back into the fog so it was hard to tell where they had all gone. That as a little scary in itself.
That morning was pretty much just long and boring. There was absolutely nothing to see in the dense fog but one of us needed to be watching intently at all times for logs, crab traps and other vessels. Thankfully we only had one scare. A small sport fishing boat came tearing out of the fog at full speed headed directly for us. Upon seeing our lights he veered wildly to one side, passing to our starboard. He then slowed to a stop and sat dead in the water. At first we thought he wanted to talk to us bus he made no move to come back around. In hindsight he was probably tending to whatever havoc he caused to his passengers and materials by making such a harsh turn at full speed. Or maybe he was just changing his underwear. I didn't think to look to see if he had radar but if he didn't I can't understand why he would be traveling so fast in the fog. This was a discussion that would be revisited several times with multiple people during our stay here.
We passed the time that morning by spelling each other off in one-hour increments. We had been on the water for long enough now that we no longer made a pretense of keeping each other company. It was just nice to go below and read a book with the heat on.
Continued motoring in the fog
Our first look at Cape Beale at the entrance to Barkley Sound
At around 2pm we were staring alternately at our chart plotters and off to starboard. We knew by the GPS and by the sound of the waves, that we had made Cape Beale at the entrance to Barkley Sound. We gave this point and it's treacherous rocks a wide berth and made a broad arc into the sound. To our vast relief, as we headed further and further in the fog seemed to be lifting. Before long we could make out nearby land on both sides of the boat and soon we could make out blue sky above the mist. Eventually the sun emerged into full sunshine and to our amazement the water was a gorgeous turquoise colour. The last time I had seen water that colour was in the Florida Keys. I looked back towards the open ocean and all I could see was dense fog. I was disappointed not to be able to look to the horizon and see nothing but ocean but turning around it was at least great to be in the sun.
Gradually improving visibility...
... Revealing amazing turquoise water
Our first order of business was to head into Bamfield to resupply on coffee and ice. We turned into the narrow inlet just inside the sound and motored toward the community dock.
In the book "The Water in Between" Kevin Patterson tells of making landfall after a month at sea single handing his sailboat back from Hawaii. He landed in Bamfield, I'm pretty sure at the same dock I was looking at that moment. Our journey through the fog the last couple of days could not compare to his crossing of the Pacific but when I considered how good it felt to be here I had a new appreciation for the relief he must have felt. I made a mental note to try yet again to connect with him on the way home.
The public dock at Bamfield
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Having restocked our ice we headed out of Bamfield in search of an anchorage. We had planned to go first to Effingham Island but it was still shrouded in fog so we looked for an option deeper in the Sound where the sun was shining. I had been reading our cruising guide and the author had mentioned a little marina located in in a narrow inlet between two islands called Robbers Passage. This was the Port Alberni Yacht Club. Given that Port Alberni was located miles inland from here it was tempting to think of this as an outstation but in fact this was the actual club. The channel seemed a bit challenging for a sailboat but we decided to try it.
Robbers Passage, home of Port Alberni Yacht Club
We motored carefully into Robbers Passage and once inside saw the yacht club nestled inside a small bay. There were a few boats near the main building but another long dock extended outwards and was completely empty. We headed for it, not sure whether our information was up to date. Presently a woman walked out onto the dock and waved. "Welcome!" she smiled.
We tied up at the dock and chatted with our new host. She confirmed that the club was indeed open for business and was not restricted to members. She pointed out the amenities which were few, but saved the best for last. "We've tapped into a very pure spring here on the island. We have unlimited clean water. Feel free to fill your tanks. You can even have an unlimited length hot shower for only two bucks!" She gestured at a small out-building at the end of the dock.
Her pride was understandable. To traveling boaters, an ample supply of clean water to drink is highly prized. And even very modern marinas typically charge a buck or two for only 3 minutes of hot water in the shower. An unlimited hot shower for $2 was the mother lode. We all stood around smiling. She was happy to have some paying customers. We were just happy to have reached our destination for the night with the prospect of a hot shower.
Port Alberni Yacht Club
The unlimited hot shower for $2.00
There was a small network of well-groomed trails on the island and our host gave us a pamphlet with a map. It was evident we were to explore them. David and I were thinking of hot showers and happy hour but we both needed exercise after an extended stay on the boat so we put on some shoes and tromped around the island for a half hour. The trails were very well taken care of and led to the far side of the island to a beach. For some reason I was thinking of how much my Dad might enjoy this. Wherever he lived he liked to cut trails in the forest so he and his guests could stroll in the woods. I imagined he would approve of the Port Alberni Yacht Club and their efforts.
A nice pic of Ge'Mara from up in the trails
On the far side of the island
The entrance to Robbers Passage
Back at the boat I grabbed a towel and walked up the dock for a wonderful hot shower. Shortly after David and I were having happy hour and feeling very good about everything, the memory of dense fog and errant fishing boats fading into memory.
