Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part VI (Conclusion)

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.

Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part V

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.

Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part IV

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.

Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part III

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

**********

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.

Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part II

Note:  To read part I of this trip log, click here

We knew that in summer the wind always blows down Juan de Fuca Strait from the ocean and on the trip up we would be facing into it so we settled in for another long day of motoring.  As we left Victoria behind we took turns peering through the binoculars at a blockish mass on the horizon with a tower on top.  At first it almost looked like a container ship but on closer examination we realized it was Race Rocks.  Race Rocks is at the very southern tip of Vancouver Island and represents the east entrance on the Canadian side to the Juan de Fuca.  Because of its important (and once dangerous) location, the British built a lighthouse here in 1859 and it has been in operation in one form or another ever since.  The rocky islands are also now home to a protected marine park of some significance.  Wildlife of all varieties gathers here both above and below the water because of the fast moving currents and the abundant organic life comes with them.  As we passed between the mainland and the rocks I could hear the sea lions barking in the distance and suggested without too much conviction that we go over for a look.  David dismissed the idea in favour of soldiering on up the strait.  This miffed me a little bit even as I acknowledged that he had a point.  I held my tongue.

The Olympia Mountains on the far side of Juan de Fuca 

Race Rock Light

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Social Dynamics of Sailing
Many people ask me how it works to be in the same confined space with another person for days on end.  My answer is that generally it's fine and mostly enjoyable.  With that said, there are moments, as one would expect, when logging repeated 12 hour days of sailing/motoring without stopping.

One issue that we have begun to encounter is that of command and control.  Now that both of us feel completely comfortable with sailing and navigation, we both seek to have a say in ongoing operation of the boat.  This can lead to some interesting exchanges.  For example, one of us might say "Maybe we should turn another 10 degrees to port.  The other person, who happens to be steering the boat and is quite happy with the current course then looks up with a slightly strained smile and agrees to make the correction.  A while later another 5 degree course correction is suggested.  The person at the helm now has a pained look and pushes back.  "On our current course we will just nicely go to starboard of that marker."  The observer then purses his lips, consults the GPS on his i-phone again and adopts a look of concern.  There is a strained silence.  Finally, with a look of exasperation the man at the helm enters a 5 degree course correction into the autopilot and looks at the other guy as if to say "There - happy now??"  Sometimes these interactions devolve into a war of the GPS chart plotting apps.  In this regard I hold the high ground since I have purchased the official Canadian Hydrographic Service Charts whereas the app that David uses has far less detailed and unsanctioned charts.  Official trumps knock-offs anytime.  But I digress.

The good news is that we act as a kind of margin of error or redundancy for one another.  Occasionally being questioned can be irritating but it keeps us both in line.  Also, I have found that we both have aspects of boat operation we are really comfortable with.  David is a detail guy so he always has the tides and navigational details down pat.  On the other hand I am getting better at sail trim and balancing the boat in bigger winds.  Neither of us are experts by any stretch but in the end it works.   More about onboard social interaction later.

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As we headed up the strait past the Sooke Basin, we were introduced to one of the irritations of our trip: recreational fishing boats.  It was Sunday and the water was chock full of 22 foot fishing boats filled with eager, if hungover, fishermen waiting for that big lunker to bite.  If we were in a powerboat we would have simply headed well out to sea to skirt the whole lot of them.  Unfortunately as a sailboat we can only motor at 5kts so we couldn't afford the time it would take to motor around them.  Most of these guys were fine and some waved sociably but some would gesticulate madly if they felt you were too close to their lines.

Fishing boats and crab traps were everywhere.  

Fortunately we eventually left them in the distance.  But just as this challenge was put behind us another one loomed ahead:  Fog.  About half way to Port Renfrew the horizon became obscured and we entered a huge fog bank.  We expected this and were happy that there was at least 100meters of visibility in all directions.  The temperature dropped dramatically and before long we had donned fleeces and sailing jackets to compensate for the damp chill.  After we got used to it we were fairly comfortable and could still make out potential hazards such as crab traps, floating logs and of course boats.  We don't own a radar on Ge'Mara and this has been cause for concern in these conditions.  However I consoled myself with the knowledge that at our slow rate of speed we can turn to avoid most any hazard in plenty of time.  This also applied to another sailboats.  The big commercial traffic stays in the shipping lanes in the centre of the strait and the commercial fishing vessels stay pretty far out as well.  So all we needed to worry about is the 22 foot recreational fishing boats that seemed to have only 3 speeds:  Dead stop, slow troll or a million miles an hour.

The fog began half way to Port Renfrew

By now we were well into the Strait of Juan de Fuca and if we didn't know this from the charts we would know it from the ponderous, meter high swells that we were now riding.  To my relief, ocean swells are not nearly as uncomfortable to ride as the wind waves we are used to.  In fact, it was sort of mesmerizing to stand staring ahead, arms folded on top of the dodger, peering into the fog.  The only thing we could see for long moments at a time was the next swell emerging from the mist.  Without thinking we learned to shift our weight subtly while standing to ride the swells without losing balance or needing to grab for handholds.

At times like this, the only reprieve from the monotony of hours of motoring is a hot lunch.  I am the ships' cook and I know the importance of hearty food on board.  The ubiquitous lunchtime food on the boat is deli meat piled high on a Portuguese bun or bread of some sort.  But for colder days such as we were now experiencing hot food is important too.  A more recent favourite is grilled ham and cheese sandwiches.  Add to this steaming mugs of chicken noodle soup and the mood is guaranteed to improve.  Other new favourites are Kraft Dinner, ramen noodles and of course hot tea when lunch is over.  On this particular stretch I can't remember which of these we had but both the preparation and the consumption were a welcome distraction.

An example of a hot meal being prepared while underway

As evening approached we knew by the GPS chart plotter we were getting close to Port Renfrew.  Being careful to avoid the treacherous rocks at the entrance that we could hear but hear but not see, we made our turn into the bay, still effectively blind.  Then gladly as we came closer to the government dock at the end of the bay, the fog opened up enough to let the evening sky show through and illuminate our day's destination.

Our destination for the night in Port Renfrew.

The atmosphere here is all business.  Port Renfrew community dock is first and foremost a working fishing dock but it does have limited transient moorage.  There was an open stretch of dock available but some numbskull had tied up his dinghy right in the middle of it, preventing us from getting in.  We debated anchoring out but in the end we just called out to some fishermen on the dock and asked them to move the dinghy for us, which they did.

When we tied up we had a bit of de ja vous from a year ago.  The commercial fisherman who helped with the dinghy said "You might not want to tie up there broadside to the waves.  Boats leaving early in the morning scream out of here and the waves will pound your boat up good against that dock.  So inconsiderate" he added, with a look of disdain.  I felt a momentary kinship with him in my unfounded dislike for the sport fishermen.   A year ago in Desolation Sound we ignored similar advice from a similar kind of guy and paid the price for it.  But we were tired and anxious to go up to the pub for a beer and something to eat so we elected to deal with the issue later.

We were told to talk to a man named Perry up in the pub about the dock space.  We went inside and surveyed the customers.  The pub was actually quite modern looking but the clientele were pretty much as you'd expect.  When we came in they all turned looked at us, in the way that locals always look at visitors who walk into their pub.  We walked to the bar and asked the barmaid for Perry.  She indicated he was in the kitchen flipping burgers.  When we didn't go away she eventually disappeared into the back.  A few minutes later a guy walked out from the back and introduced himself as Perry.  He looked exactly like I thought he would.

We walked together toward the dock so he could see where we had tied up.  After looking it over he grunted his approval and motioned us back to the pub for some dinner.  "Sorry to keep you waiting" he said.  "Had to bring things down to a dull roar back there."

I asked what we owed him for the dock space, even though as a community dock it wasn't clear to me that there should be a charge at all.  He turned quickly and said "Fifty bucks."  David produced a 50 dollar bill and Perry stuffed it in his pocket and strode into the pub.  Apparently our financial transaction had concluded.  I guess a receipt was out of the question.

Back inside we each ordered pints of pale ale and huge plates of halibut and chips.  We dove into them hungrily but ran out of gas before they were finished.  The waitress later explained "Most of the people who come here have been out fishing or hiking the West Coast Trail.  They're always hungry."

A bit later as we sat digesting our food the waitress came over with a couple of shot glasses filled with a dark liquor that I guessed to be Jaegermeister.  "From Perry" she said.  We looked over and Perry smiled at us from behind the bar waving his own shot.  A few of the locals were chatting with him at the bar and they were also armed with shots.  "It'll warm your insides!" he said with gusto and downed his shot.  David and I downed ours and waived our thanks.  It turned out to be Black Sambuca and tequila.  Not something I would order but not entirely disagreeable after a day in the fog.

Just then we noticed that the guys sitting at the table next to us had a pile of life preservers next to them.  They turned out to be the guys that owned the sailboat anchored in the harbour and who left their dinghy in the middle of the dock.  We explained that we had moved their dinghy forward and all was good.  We determined that they too were heading to Barkely Sound.  I figured out which one of them owned the boat and chatted with him about my concerns for the next day.  "I'm worried about the fog and big wind coming up"  I said.  He shrugged his shoulders and said "It's a challenging sail."  I waited for some sage advice but none was forthcoming.

We walked back over to Perry to get the bill.  "Oh hey" he said, "I can't buy you another shot until next hour."

"We'd just like the bill thanks Perry."

"Oh sure, of course."  He looked a bit deflated.

We walked out of the pub feeling slightly ill from the pile of deep fried food, beers and the shot.  When we got to the boat we agreed to take our chances with the waves.  According to the fisherman, the problem was primarily from the armada of small fishing boats that leaves early in the morning.  We reasoned that we would leave even earlier and beat them out.  Problem solved.

We were asleep in seconds.