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 |
**********
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.
**********
 |
| 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.
No comments:
Post a Comment