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.

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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."

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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.