Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet - Part V: The Trip Home

Note:  For earlier entries in this trip log, scroll down or click on an entry at the left of this page.

Some of the finest moments I've had on the water have been those spent at first light up top with a cup of coffee.  For a few precious moments, all is still, the water is calm and all the pleasures of nature seem distilled to this.  With that said, this morning may have been my most memorable yet.  The day dawned without a breath of wind and the water truly did appear as glass, mirroring almost perfectly the surrounding scenery.

After a short while enjoying these moments we shook ourselves from our revery and made preparations for departure.  We had thought for a while of staying here another day but the plan called for us to head for home and David had no way to contact his wife and advise her of a change.  We started the engine, untied from our mooring buoy and motored away.

As we exited through Malibu Rapids we expected to be greeted by a fresh breeze in Jervis Inlet.  Surprisingly it was every bit as still, the water just as perfect as inside PLI.  The result was a similar view as we woke up to but on a much grander scale.  Deep blue sky, vivid white snow caps and deep green forest were all reflected perfectly in the water around us, disturbed only by the oily ripples of our small wake.  Heaven x 2.  These few moments spent motoring at half speed into the stillness, leaving Princess Louisa behind us, will live in my memory for a very long time.

Click to enlarge

We turned the corner past Deserted Bay and at last felt a brisk breeze in our faces.  We briefly experimented with sailing but realized it would require an endless number of tacks across the inlet to make any forward progress.  So we set the autopilot and settled into the long motor back down Jervis Inlet.

Two thirds of the way down Jervis is Vancouver Bay.  This was another place we had scouted as a possible anchorage if we needed it.  We were in no particular hurry so we decided to explore the bay, drop the hook and have lunch.  When we turned in we noticed a strong breeze was blowing directly into the bay.  We were told that the only possible anchorage lies at the point where the Vancouver River empties into the bay so we headed for this spot, watching the depth gauge expectantly for shallow water.  To our dismay, it was only at the last minute the the bottom rose up to a suitable anchoring depth and at that point it was rising quickly.  We wrenched the boat around into the wind and, struggling to keep station in a brisk wind and incoming waves dropped the anchor.

Vancouver Bay on the chart. 

There is an old mariner's rule that says "beware of a lee shore."  A lee shore refers to a boat being blown towards shore by the wind.  Sailors rightly feared this because in the days before engines, if a skipper ventured too close to a lee shore he would eventually reach a point where it would be impossible to sail across the wind and away from land.  At this point all that was left was to wait until the boat went up on the rocks.  This isn't a problem in modern times when you have an engine but if, heaven forbid, the engine quits, you're pretty much in the soup.

And so it was that we finally got the anchor set but had a brief and nervous lunch on the hook, one of us keeping an eye on our depth at all times.  Even during our short 10 minute break Ge'Mara dragged her anchor several more feet towards shore.  We motored away from there making a note that Vancouver Bay held no suitable anchorage.

As we approached the mouth of Jervis Inlet we realized that we had made a mistake in our tide calculations and we couldn't turn up Sechelt Inlet to head for the Backeddy for another 2 hours.  We had planned to stay another night there and use the TV in the marina to watch the Montreal/Boston hockey game.  Neither of us had any interest in bobbing around and exploring waters that we had already seen so we made a quick change of plans and headed directly into Agamemnon Channel towards our new destination, Pender Harbour.  It was a long afternoon of motoring with nothing much to report except the moment when I just about ran us aground because I was at the helm and fiddling with my phone.  Other than that, we listened to the hockey game on the XM satellite radio and stayed below the dodger and out of the chilly headwind that had been building all day.

Around 5pm we had left the channel and turned the corner into Pender Harbour.  We were now happy for this change of plan because neither of us had been here before so it would be an unplanned new experience.  Pender Harbour is actually a collection of cozy little bays, many of which have marinas and other boater facilities.  However we quickly realized that many of them were closed for the season or at least offered minimal amenities.  Ultimately we ended up at Madiera Park Marina at the government dock.  This is a working dock and it was mostly lined with fishing boats preparing their traps for spot prawn season which was to start the very next day.

The fishermen at Madeira Cove were preparing for Spot Prawn season

Both David and I had been fighting a cold on this trip so we headed into town in search of a drug store and a place to eat.  Unfortunately everything was closed so we schlepped back to the boat, had a drink, ate from our dwindling provisions and went to sleep.  

The next morning we walked back into town and in our enthusiasm purchased way too much food and cold meds for our needs.  Back at the boat we learned that Environment Canada issued a strong wind warning, calling for winds up to 25kts.  We had decided that rather than simply beating down the coast towards home into the wind we would tack across the strait to Namaimo and visit a mutual friend.  We were both a little nervous about this given the forecast but we set ourselves to the task of changing to our smallest genoa, a 110.  We also triple reefed the main.  With these things done we had shortened sail as much as was possible on our boat with our current inventory of cloth.

After stopping in Hospital Bay for fuel we headed out of Pender Harbour.  We had plotted a course that would take us just past the southern tip of Texada Island and directly across the strait to Nanaimo.  When it came time to raise the sails, David questioned the wisdom of doing so.  Under power the boat was burying her bow repeatedly in growing waves and the wind was even fresher than we had imagined.  After some debate we decided that it would be stupid to have gone to all the trouble to shorten sail and not even try in the end.  So we raised the sails and off we went.  For a while we were healed over a little more than was comfortable but soon I was able to balance the boat and find a point of sail that was as high into the wind as we could manage.  Unfortunately we could not make it past the southern tip of Texada so we tacked and found ourselves headed almost directly for Smugglers Cove.  We had a brief debate and in the end decided to forgo crossing the strait and instead spend the evening back in Smugglers.  After an hour or so of exhilarating sailing that's exactly what we did.

The next morning I woke up feeling refreshed but David didn't.  He was really feeling the effects of his cold.  After breakfast he announced that he would be just as happy spending the day in the shelter of Smugglers Cove sleeping than pounding against the southeaster that had been building since last night.  I wasn't a huge fan of this idea but relented and let him sleep the morning away while I did some exploring ashore.  I returned around lunch time to find David up and moving around so I decided I'd make a hot lunch and then pitch the idea of proceeding as far south as Gibsons.  I made two packs of Kraft Dinner and we scarfed it down like kids in the comfortable warmth of the cabin.  Thus restored, David announced he was up for the run to Gibsons, so we cleaned up and departed.

We noticed as soon as we were heading south in Welcome Passage that we weren't going to make as much speed as we'd hoped.  Past Merry Island and into the more open water the wind and seas began to build and it was clear we were in for a long, pounding run south.  At one point near the Trail Islands we passed a Canadian Coast Guard hovercraft and two military boats all seemingly working in cooperation.  Later we heard on the radio that a kite boarder had been swept out to sea and was in need of assistance.  It seemed like a lot of hardware to rescue one person but as we passed one of the military boats we saw them raising a dinghy with people inside off the water.  All's well that ends well.

We continued past the Trail Islands and past Davis Bay to Pt. Staleshen.  Once around the point the wind blew even more fiercely and the seas were higher yet.  We had been steadily losing headway in the growing seas and now we were motoring at full throttle but only making 2kts.  It was going to be much longer than anticipated to get to Gibsons.  I listened to our little Yanmar roaring gamely at full throttle and thought about the two instances where she had quit on me due to a fuel line blockage.  If that were to happen now we would be immediately blown north and would be in a fairly serious situation.  I consulted our charts and guide books for alternatives.  I read about a small private marina in the area, situated behind its own breakwater.  Looking up I saw it directly to port.  David and I debated the diversion, part of us not wanting to admit defeat but as we saw our speed intermittently dip below 2kts we decided it was the right thing to do.

Wind, seas and tide were all working against us.

We turned to port and headed for a small private
marina, visible at the centre of this picture.

We turned around and headed for the breakwater, noting that the entrance the marina was quite narrow.  Although we were headed straight for it we were also being pushed sideways by the wind and waves.  I once watched my friend land a small airplane in a crosswind.   Mimicking him I crabbed Ge'Mara towards the entrance, turning her bow into the entrance at the very last minute.  We motored cautiously into the small marina in barely 6ft of depth and waited for someone to express annoyance at our intrusion.  Instead, the marina was deserted.  The calm behind the breakwater was a huge relief and as we proceeded further in we saw a stretch of dock right at the front that would easily accommodate Ge'Mara.  At the head of the dock was a sign that said "Emergency Use Only."  Apparently we weren't the first to encounter this kind of situation.

Pt. Stalashen Marina - any old port in a storm!

After tying up I explored the marina to see if there was someone to pay and/or make arrangements with but there was no one to be found.  I ventured out of the development and came to a street with a strip mall with, among other stores, an IGA and a take-out pizza joint.  I went back to the boat and David and I quickly agreed that a hot pizza would be just the ticket.  We had cell service here so we found the number of the pizza joint and before long we were scarfing pepperoni pizza and beer, our little adventure quickly fading into memory.

Ge'Mara tied up in Pt. Stalashen Marina

The next morning we knew we would have a narrow window of relative calm before the southeaster picked up again and gave us similar grief.  We untied and left our little safe harbour as quickly as possible, grateful for the role it played in our trip.  Turning south once again, we motored uneventfully back home.  The wind and seas did pick up again but before long we were safely in English Bay, whereupon the sun came out from behind the clouds and things started warming up.

A short while later we were tied up in our slip.  Our scotch and rum supplies had been depleted across the trip so we contented ourselves with toasting a fantastic trip over a cold beer.  It was one to remember.

Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet - Part IV: Relax and Explore

Note:  For earlier entries in this trip log, scroll down or click on an entry at the left of this page.

We awoke in Princess Louisa to our own little world.  Already boxed in on three sides by formidable mountains, our anchorage was now blanketed by low cloud.  It had the effect of transforming a soaring and expansive environment into a closed and cozy one.  Some might find this confining or even claustrophobic.  To me it was reassuring.

Gradually our little seven-boat community began to wake up.  People with steaming mugs of coffee began to walk the length of the dock, hair still tussled and eyes sleepy.  We chatted and speculated about the day's weather.  Most were happy to accept the dense cloud - it only enhanced the feeling of being apart from everything else - a feeling that boaters of all strips inevitably crave.

Eventually though, the sun began to burn away our canopy of cloud and in places it would peek in and illuminate the dock  and surrounding area as though it was a stage in an otherwise darkened theatre.  It was truly some of the most surreal natural light I have ever seen and it continued to evolve as we sat and chatted.  Soon the direct sunlight began drawing steam from the moist dock and it rose in etherial wisps as we talked.

Eventually we made breakfast and once we were done we set out to explore.  There is a rugged trail that leads from Chatterbox falls up the steep mountainside to an old trappers cabin.  David and I set out with our day-hikers looking forward to some exercise.  Before long we came to a sign that warned of treacherous conditions on the trail, advising all but the most experienced hikers to stay away.  Normally neither of us would be deterred by this but a few more steps validated what the sign had warned:  The trail immediately turned into a scramble over steep rocks for as far as the eye could see.  It had been raining off and on for days and the rock looked slick and moss covered in places.  We promised ourselves we would follow this trail - just not today.

Back at the boat I occupied myself by rowing out in the dinghy to explore and take pictures from a different vantage point.  I glided into the mist of Chatterbox Falls and played with the settings on my new camera, most of which remain a complete mystery to me.  I took pictures of Ge'Mara from the water and then rowed over to one of the waterfalls that fell from the mountainside.  I later learned that in Princess Louisa one should never approach a waterfall that has a dinghy lingering beneath it as the occupants are liable to be naked and taking advantage of a fridgid freshwater shower.

On my return to the dock, David had the barbecue going to make burgers for lunch.  With that done, we decided to move to a different part of the park about half way between the entrance at Malibu Rapids and where we were.  BC parks had installed some mooring buoys next to MacDonald Island so we thought we would spend the next night there rather than at a dock with boat neighbours.  We motored slowly over and before long we had tied to a mooring buoy and were enjoying our new, even more secluded environment.  I had to laugh at David, as he struggled much more with the mooring buoy this time in absolutely perfect conditions than he had on his first attempt over a year ago in Plumper Cove - in driving rain and high winds.

The nearby terrain was not nearly as steep as it was near Chatterbox and there was an unoccupied summer camp on the shore so we opted to row over in the dinghy and explore.  We walked around the well-kept camp buildings and commented that this would be a wonderful summer camp for anyone.  The tide was low and exposed huge beds of beach oysters.  David pointed out the interesting looking birds with long orange beaks called oyster catchers.  We also tromped through the bush, following a dried creek bed for a time.  Everywhere we went we saw reasonably fresh animal droppings and we speculated what kind of animal it might be.  I looked around and fancied that somewhere that animal was watching us from a distance.

We figured out where all the animal droppings were coming from

Oyster Catchers

Back on the boat we opened a bottle of wine and got the barbecue started.  As we chatted, David suddenly pointed to shore and we both had the answer to our earlier question.  There, lumbering around foraging was a sizeable black bear.  By this time we had burned through our first bottle of wine and were on to number two.  Thus emboldened, I got in the dinghy with my camera and rowed towards shore, hopeful of a better photo of the bear.  Perhaps fortunately, the bear wanted no part of this and disappeared into the forest before I could get close.  As a consolation prize I got a decent shot of a pair of oyster catchers.

Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet - Part III: The Arrival

Note:  For parts one and two of this trip log scroll down or click on the link you want to the left of this page.  A 30 minute HD video summary of the trip is below:

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of David going through the morning routine of putting coffee on and turning on the diesel heater to take the chill off the cabin.  Normally he waits for me to crawl out of my bunk and do this but due to the excesses of the previous night I was slow to wake up.  A bacon and egg breakfast seemed like a good idea but I couldn't contemplate such a complex task for a little while.  I sat in the cockpit with a cup of hot coffee and a bottle of water and watched the current race by the dock.

The dock at the Backeddy Marina, near Egmont

There were signs around advertising diving expeditions and it occurred to me that the drift diving must be very good here.  Drift diving is a way of scuba diving that involves descending and drifting with the current, usually along a steep wall and being picked up by a boat somewhere downstream.  In BC this type of diving is popular because narrow channels with significant current and tidal exchange tend to teem with marine flora, due to the rich nutrients regularly supplied by the fast running water.  I recall doing a drift dive in a place called Dodds Narrows near Nanaimo.  As we prepared to jump in the water a fishing boat captain stopped beside us and was incredulous that we would be diving in a place with such strong currents and high boat traffic.  Later, as I glided along in the murky depths and listened to the throb of tug boats above me, I had to agree.  All that to see a few anemones and nudibranchs.  But I digress...

At the fuel dock

After a time I wandered up to the showers with my kit bag and got myself cleaned up.  Emerging a while later with head and teeth feeling a little less fuzzy I was ready to get under way.  The marina offered wifi here so David and I sent some messages and made some FaceTime calls before we left, knowing we would be completely out of touch for a few days.  Before leaving we brought the boat to the other side of the dock to top up our water at the fuel dock.  I suggested we top off our fuel as well but David didn't want to.  He keeps detailed records of how many hours we log on the engine and prides himself on knowing exactly how long we have until we run out of diesel.  It is a personal affront to him to suggest that we "get gas" until he declares that his calculations deem it necessary.  I predict that one day this will bite us both in the arse.

Leaving the Backeddy.  We lingered off the dock for a few
moments to take final advantage of wifi from the marina.

After pulling away from the Backeddy and turning up Jervis Inlet we set the autopilot and settled in for a long motor.  I went below and prepared a hot breakfast which I was now very much looking forward to.  There is nothing quite so comforting while underway in the boat as a steaming plate of bacon and scrambled eggs with a large hot cup of coffee.  A gourmet meal could not have tasted any better.

Breakfast underway

We knew the weather for this trip would be a mixed bag and today the clouds hung low in the air.  In some cases they obscured the peaks of the mountains we were passing but they gave the scenery an otherworldly feel - something out of Game of Thrones.  The time passed more quickly than if we were motoring in the open ocean because much of the time we kept close to shore and occupied ourselves looking at the myriad waterfalls and other interesting land features.

As the day wore on the clouds began to lift and the mountain peaks grew higher and more impressive.      Soon we could see Malibu Lodge in our binoculars, marking the entrance to Malibu rapids - the gateway to Princess Louisa Inlet.  The lodge was quite literally dwarfed by the surrounding mountains.  The very narrow entrance to PLI that is Malibu rapids was enough to prevent Captain George Vancouver from entering the fjord and to this day it dictates when transit can be made.  As we approached we noticed another sailboat anchored nearby, clearly waiting for the slack.  As we passed, they left their anchorage and followed us toward the entrance.

Malibu lodge is dwarfed by the surrounding mountains. (center)

A quick sail across Jervis to visit a waterfall

With a bit of time to kill we decided to wander over to a large waterfall we had spotted on the opposite side of Jervis from Malibu Rapids.  A nice breeze was blowing and in crossing the inlet we could take it off our beam so we pulled out the headsail, shut off the motor and drifted pleasantly over to have a look.  Having done this and taken a few pictures we turned back toward PLI to see our sailboat friend entering the rapids.  A few moments later we followed him in.  There was still a bit of current left in the ebb but the entrance was otherwise calm and we enjoyed slowly motoring through and taking in the emerging scenery.  Words can't really do justice to the experience of entering PLI.  The mountains soar to thousands of feet on either side, their white snowy caps contrasting sharply with the now deep-blue sky.   Waterfalls are everywhere.  Eagles drift overhead.  The shoreline, exposed by low tide, is encrusted with thousands of purple sea stars.  Speaking later to someone at the dock he would comment that "It's hard to be an atheist when you come to this place."  However you understand and appreciate nature, you will definitely appreciate it here.

Princess Louisa Inlet is several miles long.  The primary destination for most boaters is the end of the fjord where Chatterbox falls comes thundering down from the mountains and frothing into the ocean. BC Parks maintains a long dock here and there are public structures ashore such as outhouses and a gazebo with fire pit.  There is another area set aside for boaters with several mooring buoys about halfway up the inlet adjacent to MacDonald Island.  We took note of this place on our way in but like everyone else, we had to experience the marquis view of Chatterbox falls.  As the falls and the dock came into view, we were slightly disappointed to see a couple of large powerboats tied up there.

It's hard to describe the relationship between sailors and power-boaters.  It can range from being cordial to downright adversarial.  Most would agree that beyond our mutual love of the water, there is a different ethos driving each.  Sailors tend towards minimalism, quietness and simplicity, at one with nature.  Power boaters lean toward comfort and dominance over nature, much like an RV in a remote campground.  Whereas most sailors will content themselves with whatever luxuries they can contrive with the power in their batteries or generate with solar panels,  powerboats typically use diesel generators.  Incredibly, many powerboats today actually shun propane power for stoves and fridges and use electric ranges that need generators to run.  I'm not saying this is wrong but it runs contrary to the sensibilities of most sailors.

And so we tied up at the dock, next to a couple of our sailing brethren, our view of Chatterbox effectively blocked by the large power yacht in front of us.  Later we traded polite smiles and nods with the power boat owners but it was the sailors with whom we fell into animated conversation.

Chatterbox falls with the public dock to the right

Later that evening we sat drinking wine and digesting our dinner, contemplating yet another sailing milestone reached.  This had seemed like such a daunting trip last year when we first bought the boat but now, here we were.  I could have sat for hours under the stars reflecting on this and many other things but the long day and fresh air dictated otherwise.  No sooner had darkness fallen than we were asleep in our bunks.  It had been quite a day.

Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet - Part II - Egmont

Note:  Please scroll down for part 1 of Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet

As we left the narrow mouth of Smugglers Cove, a huge splash in the bay in front of us startled us both.  My assumption as I dove into the cabin for my camera was that we had seen the splash of a humpback whale breaching.  But by the time I had my lens cap off and zoomed in for a closer look it was clear we were seeing something even more rare - a pod of orcas.

I have lived in British Columbia for 28 years and in that time I have seen a pod of orcas twice - while I was on a ferry to Vancouver Island.  The next sighting was last summer in Porlier Pass, but it was so brief I couldn't even get a picture.  This day however, was a different story.  The pod, consisting of what appeared to be 2 adults and 3 - 4 juveniles, was surfacing regularly in the same area, apparently unperturbed by the presence of our boat.  When we reached a respectable distance we stopped the boat and took pictures.

A few days earlier I had given in to a lingering temptation and purchased a new Sony A6000 camera with a 10:200 zoom lens.  At the time I was feeling a little guilty for the purchase as I'm not much of a photographer.  Now I was thankful as I snapped away trying to get that perfect shot.  As it happens, the perfect shot eluded me as I missed the few times the whales actually breached but I did manage some reasonably good shots of the adults surfacing and blowing.

After a while we left the whales to their business and we raised our sails.  The wind was still blowing from the south but at this time of the morning the sea was quite calm.  We set up the sails in a wing-on-wing configuration and had a wonderful sail northward towards the entrance to Agamemnon Channel.  Wing-on-wing can be a fussy and even dangerous way to sail because following waves will often hit the stern quarter and push the boat off course.  When this happens, one of the sails will lose the wind and collapse.  At best this is irritating and requires constant input at the helm, at worst, the boom can fly over to the opposite side of the boat, potentially damaging the rig or injuring someone.  As a precaution I had rigged a preventer.  This is simply a line tied from the rail to the boom to prevent it from swinging if the wind shifts.  Today however, it was largely unnecessary as the sea was calm and we ghosted along with the wind at 5 - 6kts.  Under these conditions it often feels like the boat is hardly moving at all until one looks at the GPS for confirmation of how quickly you're actually moving.

Eventually we made our turn up Agamemnon Channel and lost the wind.  We brought in the sails and motored up the channel toward Sechelt Inlet and our destination, the Backeddy Marina, near Egmont.  The town of Egmont features two marinas, the Backeddy being the closest to the mouth of Jervis Inlet, where we wanted to go.  Egmont is actually the last stop for fuel and provisions on the way to Princess Louisa.  As a result it is a popular stopping place in the summer for everything from sailboats to mega-yachts on their way to PLI.  The only challenge is that the Backeddy is positioned at the mouth of Sechelt Inlet and is subject to the significant tidal current flowing in and out of the inlet.  Currents can reach an amazing 16kts at nearby Skookumchuk narrows.  Contrary to what its name implies, the Backeddy is not really that well protected from these currents.  The guest dock is on the outermost edge of the marina, extending well out into the current.  All of this to say, arrival and departure from the Backeddy must be timed with slack tide.  Ge'Mara can only steam at 6kts under full power so attempting to enter the channel with anything more than a couple of knots of current is foolhardy and at times downright impossible.

We had an hour or more to kill while waiting for slack tide so we passed the entrance to Sechelt Inlet and went on to explore nearby Goliath Bay.  We had looked at this spot on the map as a possible alternative to tying up at a marina.  On closer inspection we confirmed what others had reported:  there are very few good anchoring spots in Jervis inlet and Goliath Bay wasn't much of an exception. Part of the problem is the steep terrain of the area.  As one might expect, a steep mountainside continues to be steep as it enters the water and as a result the shore provides little or no opportunity to anchor.  When we turned back towards Egmont we passed a small island and were surprised to find a large group of seals and sea lions lounging on the rocks.  We made a couple of slow passes and took pictures while they barked away at us.

A short while later we arrived at the Backeddy, the current having finally been tamed for a while.  David is familiar with this marina as he has a friend with a cottage in the area.  The two of them have whiled away a few hours in the marina pub in years past while waiting for a ferry.  And so it was that after tying up we checked in at the marina office and then checked in at the pub.  Before long we were commiserating over a pints of a stunningly good beer by local brewer Townsite called Suncoast Ale.  As we chatted with the marina office manager who had now made her way to the bar, one beer turned into several, followed by Irish whiskey.  We ordered excellent cheeseburgers and more beers.  Eventually we said our goodbyes and made our way back to the boat, whereupon David collapsed into his bunk and started snoring loudly.  I wasn't feeling tired and after poking around the boat for a while I unwisely decided to head back up to the pub.  And in the words of Forest Gump, "that's all I have to say about that."

Sailing to Princess Louisa Inlet - Part I - Smugglers Cove

Note:  As an alternative or complement to this blog, check out the 30 min YouTube video of our trip above.

The cruising guide Waggoner refers to Princess Louisa Inlet as the "holy grail" of northwest cruising destinations.  This is not an exaggeration.   This stunningly beautiful fiord is far enough away from everything to be unspoilt  but close enough to Vancouver be accessible to a determined sailor with a week to spare.  David and I had been hearing about this special spot ever since we started sailing and this spring was our time to see it for ourselves.

First a little history:
Princess Louisa Inlet (PLI) is located near the top of Jervis Inlet on the BC coast.  The narrow entrance to PLI was first identified by Captain George Vancouver in 1792 while he was looking for the Northwest Passage.  At the time the tide was ebbing and what we now know as Malibu Rapids presented a formidable (if temporary) barrier so he simply noted it and moved on.  It wasn't until 1860 that Captain George Richards surveyed and mapped PLI and its surrounding features.

In 1919, the core of PLI was purchased by James "Mac" MacDonald.  He came to cherish the spot so much that in 1953 he donated the land to the Princess Louisa Preservation Society to ensure it remained in its pristine state for the enjoyment of future generations.  In 1964 it was acquired by BC parks and has remained protected land ever since.  The only hint of private development is the lodge that is built at the entrance adjacent to Malibu rapids.  Once catering to Hollywood stars and elite businessmen, it was closed after a polio outbreak and remained so until being purchased and reopened as a youth camp.  The PLI Preservation Society still exists and its followers are a dedicated group.  Some still talk fondly of playing bridge with Mac MacDonald and spending long summers there years ago.

                                                   *********************

We set off for PLI on a beautiful May morning with blue skies and unseasonably warm temperatures. There was a good southeast wind blowing which we considered to be a blessing on our trip because it would push us downwind all the way up to our first destination, Smugglers Cove.  It wasn't long before the clouds crept in but temperatures stayed comfortably warm.  Additionally, sailing downwind always feels like there is little or no wind at all so it was a very pleasant sail indeed.

Given how much thought we put into the decision to purchase an autopilot, it didn't take long for us to embrace the new addition.  In a word, we love it.  For anyone reading this who might be sailing without an autopilot, we heartily recommend it.  No sooner than we emerged from First Narrows, we had the autopilot engaged and took advantage of the freedom it offered to move around.

The new autopilot was even better than we imagined

There isn't much to report about this leg of the trip.  It was just a languid day of sailing and catching up with each other.  Meals are an important part of breaking up a day on the boat and so I was glad when David offered to go below and prepare bunwiches and tea for lunch.  A while later he handed up my plate and I looked at it with more than a trace of disappointment.  Inside the ample white Portugese bun was the most meagre offering of sliced ham ever served.  With some mouthfuls the meat was almost undetectable.  For context, one of my favourite meals while traveling in New York City is a pastrami sandwich from a good Jewish deli.  Here the meat is piled high and rightly it is the bread that is dwarfed by meat, not the other way around.  I asked David why we were rationing the meat and for some reason this struck him as funny.  He spent the next hour lapsing into spontaneous fits of private laughter at my expense.  I didn't feel like going below and pulling everything out of the fridge to salvage my sandwich so instead I soldiered through it, taking copious gulps of water in order to swallow the disproportionately large mouthfuls of bread.  I made a note to do the cooking from there on.

When we arrived in Smugglers Cove David immediately offered to go out in the dinghy to run the line for our stern tie.  I think he was still smarting from my stinging rebuke last year when he wasn't paying the line out fast enough so he thought he'd take the other job instead.  As he rowed ashore I payed the line out smoothly and wondered what could be so hard about it.  I decided I would pay him back for last year so I planned to jerk the line short repeatedly as he rowed back to the boat.  However in the end I didn't need to bother as he made life difficult enough for himself.  One of the oar locks in the dinghy is broken and won't hold an oar.  There are others but rather than work this out David got frustrated and decided to make it back to the boat with only one oar.  The comedy that ensued was better than anything I could have created by jerking the line short.  But I did it once just for good measure.

David managing our stern line with just one paddle

That night a gentle rain fell and when we awoke there was still something between rain and mist falling on this most serene little anchorage.  I had just purchased a new camera so this morning there was ample opportunity to experiment with it.  As the morning progressed the sun shone in beneath the rain clouds and provided some dramatic lighting for additional photos.  I had to force myself to put the camera down and just enjoy the moment while sipping a hot cup of coffee.

Before long it was time to go and after cleaning up we retrieved our anchor and stern line and set off. Emerging from the cove we were just considering when to set the sails when we saw a huge splash dead ahead.  We were in for a treat...