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.
I'm not going to lie. There were moments on this trip that made me question my interest in sailing or at least in the idea of the Epic Trip in a sailboat. But there were great times as well. On balance I think it will go down in memory as another winner.
Our departure date of August 1 was right in the middle of a heat wave in Vancouver and the forecast indicated nothing but sunshine and warm/hot weather for the duration of our trip. Outstanding. We knew that the Strait of Juan de Fuca is known for fog patches this time of year and naively I thought that the odd fog patch might be a welcome reprieve from the relentless sun. Little did we know just how big that patch would be.
I arrived at the boat a tad late due to a chance late-night encounter with a drunk man, his 120ft yacht and a cigar. But that's another story.
We slipped our moorings at 8:30 and motored out against a mild flood tide. Once under the bridge we chose to forgo the normal tacking back and forth out of English Bay because we were on a mission to get across the strait to Porlier Pass by just after lunch. We motored directly to the Point Grey bell buoy and raised the sails. There was a brisk breeze that morning and soon we were heeled over and making 6 - 7 knots across the strait. David was feeling a little wobbly on the boat after spending a month stuck ashore paying attention to fiscal year-end business, so I had the sailing duties which suited me just fine. It was a fine crossing and we reached Porlier ahead of schedule.
One of our abiding concerns for this trip was the timeline. I had flights booked to go fishing on August 14th and I would need some time in between trips. We knew that the weather might be unpredictable on the far side of Vancouver Island so we wanted to get there as soon as possible in order to buy some wiggle room if we needed it. As a result, we had planned long travel legs for the trip up, all between 40 and 50 nautical miles. (We average about 5kts and occasionally less - you can do the math...) So today we didn't stop in Clam Bay but proceeded south after transiting Porlier Pass towards our destination of Ganges Harbour on Saltspring Island. We expected the northwest wind to continue and push us south toward Ganges but naturally it switched to blow out of the south and we had to motor against if for hours.
Ganges Harbour was a convenient stop for us but I had another motive for going there. I had recently discovered that the author of one of my favourite books lived there. On a whim I reached out to him and asked if I could buy him a beer and ask him some questions. He graciously agreed and we were to meet that night. I don't generally get worked up about meeting celebrities but I was really looking forward to meeting him. Something about his book "The Water in Between" had touched a chord with me and I actually surprised myself at how eager I was to meet him. As it happened, we couldn't connect. Owing to a dinner party he had to attend, no e-mail or phone connectivity and an early night to bed on my part, it didn't happen. I was disappointed but we agreed by e-mail later in the trip to try again at some point.
Sunset at Ganges
Dawn in a crowded Ganges anchorage
Ge'Mara tied up in Ganges (on the left)
Leaving Ganges Harbour in Early morning
The next morning we threaded our way through the mass of anchored boats in Ganges Harbour and made for our next destination, Victoria Harbour. I was looking forward to this stop as well. I have visited Victoria many times and like everyone else have always been impressed with the view of the inner harbour, framed by the BC parliament buildings and the grand old Empress Hotel. The thought of revisiting this pretty place from the water was novel to me. I booked us a slip at the Coast Hotel and Marina, just outside the inner harbour but well within walking distance.
There is nothing much to report about our run down to Victoria other than it was a long day of motoring against wind and tide. The boredom was relieved somewhat by the fact that we had never been this far south with Ge'Mara before so the sights were all new. We motored past Sydney and entered the San Juan Islands, noting the interesting differences in geology between these and the Gulf Islands we are used to. We fell into our usual routine of spelling each other off, one man taking watch while the other attending to something else. For these long days of motoring, the autopilot was indispensable.
One of David's favourite pastimes was to go below and meticulously record our progress on the large charts he had insisted we purchase. I have the entire collection of official charts for the BC coast on my computer and my I-Phone and I questioned the wisdom of spending a ton of money on huge paper charts as well. He pointed out that electronic charts are subject to failure and I couldn't argue that point so now we have the paper ones too. He couldn't have been happier sitting there pouring over the charts, his recently purchased navigational instruments arrayed before him. Only once or twice did I point out that he was simply checking the GPS on his i-Phone to find our position and then marking it on the chart rather than taking a fix with a hand bearing compass as the traditional mariner is meant to do. The contraction didn't seem to trouble him.
David's charts
Eventually we passed Trial Island and approached Victoria Harbour. We motored in and easily spotted the Coast Hotel next to one of my old favourite spots, the Laurel Point Inn. The Marina at the Coast Hotel is not effectively managed like a marina. Rather they seem to treat it like just another collection of hotel rooms. There was no attendant to speak with, nobody monitoring the VHF radio. We eventually had to call the front desk and "check in" the old fashioned way. There was some confusion as to the location of our slip, due to a really stupid numbering system and David and I disputed this issue for a few moments. In my certainty of being correct I offered David a sizeable wager on the matter. He gave me a blank stare and then made a dismissive gesture and walked away to show me where our slip actually was. Given he was still paying off a bet that he had lost earlier I thought later that was pretty big of him.
Once settled in our slip we indulged in our happy hour routine and relaxed. This was to be one of the best moments of each day. Happy hour consisted of a strong German beer for David and a Dark and Stormy for me, along with some Hawkins cheesies, which just seem to go perfectly with the drink. Presently a pretty young lady walked by on the dock and said hello over her shoulder. Only spilling our drinks a little bit we sat up and engaged her in conversation. This took very little encouragement as she was very sociable. She explained that she worked for the whale watching outfit that was based out of the marina and she and her boyfriend lived on the houseboat just up the dock. She pointed it out and it was a fine looking houseboat. The roof was a patio of sorts, complete with comfortable deck chairs and a portable gas fireplace. We ended up joining them a while later on the houseboat along with her boyfriends' brother and his wife, who also lived in the marina. We had a very good time but it had the potential to be too good, so during a lull in conversation we excused ourselves and returned to Ge'Mara. We were asleep before dark.
Two of our new friends at the dock
Ge'Mara tied up in Victoria
Before leaving Victoria the next morning I couldn't help doing a quick lap in the inner harbour. The marina I had chosen was just around the corner so David and I had yet to experience the million dollar view of the Empress Hotel and the parliament buildings from the water. We made a slow circle, took some pictures and then motored out, stopping briefly at Victoria Marine Fuels to top up on our diesel. We were eager to head out now into the Juan de Fuca Strait. In our minds, this would be the end of the leisurely part of our trip and the start of the challenging and exciting part. We were both right and wrong in that assumption.
Now that David and I are in the peak of our 2nd sailing season with Ge'Mara, we've fallen into a sort of pattern. We each sail on our own across the year with friends, family, etc, but we make sure to carve out time every few months for what we now refer to as an "epic" trip. By this we mean a trip that pushes our existing boundaries of distance, time and sailing skills. The first of these was our week-long sail to Desolation Sound in August 2013. The next one was our fairly recent sail to Princess Louisa Inlet this past May. The nature of the epic trip dictates that by definition it must get bigger and/or more adventurous every time. To some this may not seem sustainable but for me it keeps the element of excitement in the boating experience, lest we fall into a pattern of "camping on the water." And if this gradual escalation of adventure means that ultimately we'll be circumnavigating the globe in a blue-water boat one day, so be it.
We are scheduled to depart for our next big trip on July 31 or August 1, depending on tides, schedules etc. David is finishing his year end run at work so there will be no sailing for him until the end of the fiscal year at ACL. The destination we are considering is Barkley Sound on the western side of Vancouver Island. This will be a bit of a stretch given the time we have allotted (10 or 11 days) but it meets the criteria for "epic" in several ways.
Most distance we have traveled in a trip.
First time to spend a night tied up in Victoria Harbour
First time in the (often temperamental) Strait of Juan de Fuca
First time in the open ocean and far side of Vancouver Island
First time to Barkley Sound and the Broken Island Group
And as a possible bonus (as if one is needed)
First time taking Ge'Mara into a US port. (David has already purchased a US courtesy flag)
One proposed route to Barkley Sound
The initial few days of the trip will be pretty much business as usual. We'll begin by crossing the strait and heading into the Gulf Islands with the goal of staying in Ganges Harbour on Saltspring Island. It's not clear yet wether we'll make the easy crossing to Porlier Pass and proceed south inside the Islands or make the longer crossing to Active Pass, which would constitute yet another "first" as neither of us have yet transited Active Pass. The former plan will be more leisurely and include a potential stop at Clam Bay on Thetis Island. The latter will involve quite a bit more sailing and will save precious time. From Ganges we will proceed South to Victoria and tie up in the inner harbour, most likely at the Coast Hotel as it has a marina. We are looking forward to bringing a decent set of clothes and going ashore that evening to see what kind of trouble we can find in Victoria. This will likely include but not be limited to, the venerable Sticky Wicket Pub.
The Sticky Wicket Pub & Restaurant in Victoria
Upon leaving Victoria will have a big decision to make. If the weather outlook for the Strait of Juan de Fuca is foul for the foreseeable future, we may need to abandon our hopes of getting to Barkley Sound and instead make for the San Juan Islands, home of two famous sailing destinations, Roache Harbor and Friday Harbor. But assuming the best, we will continue south past Race Rocks and into the Juan de Fuca (often referred to as Juan de Puka, because of it's reputation for high winds and rough seas). We will likely head up the strait as far as Port Renfrew where we will take refuge for the night. From here it isn't clear where are next stop will be. The route I have charted in the map above calls for crossing the Strait and making for Neah Bay. This mostly commercial harbour is the last stop before heading into the open ocean and is often a point of refuge for boats of all description that are either running from, or waiting for, calmer seas and better weather. From Neah Bay it is pretty much a direct run northwest to Barkley Sound.
Barkley Sound is reputed to be a nature lovers paradise. By all accounts it is at least equal to Desolation Sound in beauty but benefits from its remote location and shallow waters, making it less of a haven for the mega-yacht vacationers. Inside the sound is the Broken Island Group, which as its name suggests, is a tightly clustered group of islands which hold endless possibilities for exploration by kayak or, more carefully, by sailboat. This is one of the unfortunate ironies of this trip; Our timeline dictates no more than a day of exploration in the sound before we will need to turn around and head for home. Even at that we will be running the risk of possible delays for weather which could result in some very long travel days getting home. I have a flight to catch to the BC interior for a fishing trip the day after our scheduled return so there is no wiggle room.
The trip home will be pretty much a reversal of our route with one possible exception I plan to suggest to David. I lived for 20 years in White Rock and spent many leisurely hours walking along the White Rock promenade and the famous pier that extends for almost a kilometre into the shallow bay. Years before I had done any sailing on my own I would linger at the end of the pier looking at the sailboats there, including the ones that might stop at the public dock for a brief visit with friends. It would be fun to close the loop and pay a visit of my own on Ge'Mara and invite some mutual friends to visit for lunch or dinner on the boat. We shall see...
The White Rock Pier
Tonight David and I will meet to plan the final details of our trip. I can tell he's taking it seriously because he suggested we shun the usual steak barbecue and immediately get down to business. He is, however, bringing a bottle of wine. We're not barbarians, after all.
It is surprisingly difficult to actually force ones' self out onto the water alone. There's always a reason to stay integrated into daily life and remain in the company of others. Lunch dates, appointments and to-do lists all conspire to keep me ashore, even though they take up very little time. A single 15 minute phone meeting can interfere with days of sailing if the timing isn't right. I've only just begun to realize how driven we all are by schedules and events, many of which aren't all that important. So it took a surprisingly large effort, or more an act of will, to clear the decks and head out again on the boat alone.
I left on a warm Sunday morning, once again racing the clock to provision, pack and get away from the dock while the tide was still ebbing through First Narrows. Given how calm the water was I elected to defer some of the normal dockside tasks until I was underway, knowing I could set the autopilot while motoring out and step up on deck to remove the sail cover and stow the lines.
There was just enough wind in English Bay for a decent sail and soon I was on a starboard tack towards Jericho beach, listening to Jimmy Buffet on the satellite radio. This year, with a bit more experience under my belt, I've come to appreciate just how nicely Ge'Mara sails, particularly in light air. It took only a few tacks to get completely out of the bay and I noticed with satisfaction that I could point higher into the wind than many of the nearby sailboats. I grinned to myself and wondered how well she would do with our full-sized genoa rather than the little 110 I was currently flying.
In my haste to provision that morning I had been unable to buy a proper supply of drinking water. Ge'Mara's onboard water is actually fine for drinking but it tastes vaguely like the garden hose we use to fill the tanks and generally we prefer to drink bottled water. By the time I had rounded Pt. Atkinson, the wind had mostly died and the sun seemed oppressive. Our little dodger offered no protection from the sun at its present angle and I was pounding back what was left of our bottled water onboard. With time on my side I made the decision to head into Snug Cove on Bowen Island for a flat of water. I had also neglected to buy wine, which was an even more serious problem than the water.
I knew from experience that the government dock in Snug Cove would be packed. A quick inspection through the binoculars confirmed this. Rather than going to the trouble and expense of checking with Union Steamship Marina, I elected to head into the adjacent bay where there is plenty of room to anchor and row ashore. Soon I was in the dinghy and headed for the beach, with Ge'Mara securely anchored a few hundred meters off shore. I walked into town, secured the water and headed back to the beach. In a rare show of temperance I only purchased one bottle of wine and was just as happy for not having to carry more. Back at the beach the tide had risen rapidly and the stern of the dinghy was already in the water. I was thankful to have returned as soon as I did because the dinghy would have been afloat in another 15 minutes.
The dinghy at Bowen Island. Within 20 min
the tide was threatening to wash her away.
Back on the boat I resumed motoring toward Long Bay on Gambier Island. Once passing the Northern edge of Bowen and turning west the wind returned and I was able to sail smartly in a series of long tacks to the mouth of the bay, shamelessly singing along to the Al Green songs I had playing on the stereo. On arrival at Long Bay I doused the sails for the day and motored in to anchor for the night. Once the boat was secured there was something I was dying to do even more than pouring a cold Dark and Stormy. I stripped down to my underwear and without hesitation dove off the boat into the water. After swimming around a bit I climbed back aboard and dried off, feeling refreshed. I put on some fresh clothes, poured my drink and settled in for the night.
Later in the evening I was sitting in the cockpit at dusk enjoying a whisky. On such a clear night I was hoping to look at the stars but Gambier is a little too close to the lights Vancouver to offer much of a show. I heard a splash and a thump and I looked around in the gathering darkness to see what it was. I thought I saw movement in the dinghy, which was floating at the end of its painter about 6 ft away from the boat. It was too dark to see much so I went below and fetched a flashlight. When I pointed the light at the dinghy I was greeted by two glowing eyeballs. Moving the light around, I realized a River Otter had jumped into the dinghy. I waited for him to jump out as a result of my flashlight but he just stared into the light for a few seconds more and then settled into grooming himself, apparently satisfied there was no threat.
I've heard stories about otters taking up residence on boats and how their amonia-smelling excrement can leave a permanent stain on a deck. My swim ladder was still down from when I jumped in the water and I knew this guy was agile enough to climb up into the cockpit. I leaned over the rail and pulled up the ladder, fastening it into place. With that done I grabbed the dinghy painter and started gently pulling it towards the boat to give me a better look at my new friend. Apparently this startled him and in a flash he jumped out of the dinghy and disappeared below the surface of the water. I was mildly disappointed that I'd chased him away but when I thought of scrubbing otter dung off the bottom of my dinghy I realized it was probably for the best.
The next morning I had a decision to make. I could either make the short, leisurely sail to Gibsons and nearby Plumper Cove or I could cross the strait to Silva Bay. The Gibsons option offered the additional attraction of lunch or dinner at Smitty's Oyster Bar, a favourite of mine. On the other hand, crossing the strait seemed like a better sailing opportunity. In the end the decision was made when I called Smitty's and found out they are closed on Monday. Silva Bay it was.
The stretch of water between Bowen and Keats islands known as Collingwood Channel frequently has inflow and outflow winds, similar to Howe Sound. Today was no exception and I once again tacked up the channel against a brisk inflow, enjoying myself thoroughly. My wind reports told me that this was just an anomaly and there was no wind in the Strait of Georgia but it seemed difficult to believe as I approached Cape Roger Curtis at the Southern tip of Bowen, heeled over in the stiff breeze. Sure enough, a mile or so into the strait the wind all but died. I bobbed around thoughtfully for a few moments, reassessing my decision to cross. In the end I opted to continue, even if I had to motor.
There was enough wind to sail but not very fast. When I slipped below 3 knots I started the engine and re-trimmed for motor-sailing. With the combined efforts of the engine and my small breeze I made excellent time across the Strait. Before long I was approaching Thrasher Rock and consulting my charts. The entrance to Silva Bay is guarded by many rock hazards and shallow water. I was alarmed when I couldn't pull up the appropriate electronic chart on my phone and had to refer to the paper chart to confirm the location of local hazards. So much for relying on electronics. Soon, with my passage and entrance to Silva Bay made uneventfully, I was tied up at Silva Bay Marina. I was sweaty from a day in the hot sun and made a beeline to the showers for some relief. Later on I opted for dinner in the marina restaurant and then passed the evening sitting quietly on the boat and chatting with the guys on the boat next to mine. Marina life is very social and provides the ideal alternative to the quiet seclusion of a night at anchor.
Evening in Silva Bay
The next day I enjoyed a relaxing morning in the marina before heading home. After stopping for fuel I motored out into the strait. This time I had no illusions about sailing across - I knew the wind would be light. So I trimmed the boat for motor sailing and settled in for a pleasant crossing in the brilliant sunlight and dead calm seas. For much of the trip I sat on the deck in the cool shadow of the mainsail, reading my copy of "The Island of Dr. Moreau."
Later that day as I made the turn into English Bay I was treated to a following wind and I was able to enjoy an hour or so of downwind sailing wing on wing. Later as I doused the sails and prepared for arrival in Coal Harbour I reflected that it may not have been an "Epic" trip, but it had certainly been worthwhile.
A Primer on Single Handing:
When I first got involved in sailing I was struck by how many terms we use in everyday life that have nautical origins. For example, if a shopkeeper says he is "shorthanded", he's actually using a sailing term that refers to having less than the optimal number of crew on a the boat. (Imagine an America's Cup boat being operated by two or three people). Sailboats usually require multiple people to handle a variety of tasks, often simultaneously. Someone needs to steer the boat, handle the jib sheets, attend to the trim of the mainsail, and so on. These jobs can often be performed consecutively rather than concurrently but the process will be less efficient.
Likewise, people use the term "singlehanded" to describe accomplishing a task by one's self. This term is actually derived from the operation of a sailboat with only one person on board. This can be tricky on any boat but particularly on a sailboat which traditionally requires at least two operators; one person at the helm and one person working the lines and sail trim. Docking and anchoring of course, is another matter.
In some ways, the concept of single handing seems at odds with the normal standards of sailing. Avid mariners tend to be a meticulous lot with scrupulous concern for detail. There are procedures and processes for everything, be it coiling ropes, trimming sails or stowing gear, and anyone taking shortcuts tends to be looked down upon. With this in mind it would seem counter-intuitive for a sailor to attempt to manage his vessel by himself when clearly it was designed for multiple hands. But as it turns out, the fastidious nature of the sailor can be overcome by an even more compelling need; freedom - and possibly solitude. Indeed, the concept of freedom and release from everyday tedium has been connected with "sailing away into the sunset" for as long as anyone can remember. And so it is that sailors will find ways to manage their vessels by themselves in order to control their own destiny and find their freedom, regardless of the added risk or inefficiency.
Single-handing has a long and rich tradition. Possibly the most famous single-handed journey ever documented is Joshua Slocum's classic account of his solo circumnavigation entitled "Sailing Alone Around the World." Slocum certainly wasn't the first to Single-hand but he may have done more to promote the practice than any other single person in history.
Today single-handing is a common practice for experienced sailors, the more eclectic of whom compete in round the world races that have generated some interesting stories of their own. But perhaps one example best illustrates the ethos of the single handed sailor, albeit taken to the extreme. In 1968 French sailor Bernard Moitessier participated in a round-the-world, non-stop solo sailing race. He was a man of the sea and in spite of innumerable storms and setbacks, he stood an excellent chance of winning the race. However Moitessier had left many personal demons behind in Europe, and the closer he came to completing the race, the more angst-ridden he became. Finally, as he was poised to finish and possibly win, he came along side a passing freighter, inserted a note into an empty 35mm film canister and sent it up via slingshot to the crew to be forwarded to the race sponsors in London. In it he announced his resignation from the race "...because I am happy at sea and perhaps to save my soul." He went on to sail to Tahiti.
************
As I wrote earlier this spring, one of the enhancements we made to the boat was the addition of an autopilot. We had toyed with this for nearly a year but when I found out I was being "cast off" by my employer along with a summer sailing allowance, the autopilot moved abruptly into the "must-have" column. (In addition to steering the boat during long periods of motoring, an autopilot can take the place of the "2nd man" at the helm during critical moments such as raising and lowering the sails or tacking. In this way, it allows one person to manage all aspects of a sailboat's operation alone.) After seeing how well it worked on our sail to Princess Louisa Inlet I knew then for certain that I wanted to head out on my own.
The weather after the PLI trip was maddeningly uncooperative and I waited impatiently for the chance to head out. Fortunately after a few weeks the forecast took a positive turn. The coming weekend looked to be a beauty and I had planned a solo trip across the Strait of Georgia and into the Gulf Islands. However as my planned departure date approached the wind forecast was cause for concern. Strong wind warnings were issued for the entire weekend, with winds reaching 25kts at certain times of the day. This kind of wind is not impossible for Ge'Mara to sail in but David and I were still getting used to those conditions together so it seemed foolhardy to take them on myself. The morning of my planned departure I sat undecided in my condo and looked at the boats bobbing in False Creek, the water reflecting the brilliant sunlight and blue sky. How hard could it be?
I called an experienced sailing friend and asked his advice. Knowing my skill level he suggested I would be fine, with the obvious caveat that I reef the main. I still wasn't completely comfortable but my friend had removed the worst of my reservations so I set aside my remaining fears and prepared to leave. I had to cast off by 1pm in order to make slack tide at Porlier Pass later that evening so I had a busy morning packing and provisioning the boat.
In the taxi on the way to the marina I got a text from David. He was in his own taxi from the airport on his way to the office, having just returned from a business trip to Ohio. He asked what headsail was up and I told him it was the 135. We also own a 110 genoa which would be more suitable for the windy conditions. Good friend that he is, he came straight to the boat in his work clothes and helped me change the headsail (on our boat this is a two-man job).
A while later I was motoring out of English Bay towards the Point Grey bell buoy. It was a long uncomfortable slog against wind, waves and tide that offered plenty of time for reflection. Why was I doing this anyway? What was so important that was driving me to sail away by myself in uncomfortable conditions? A quote came to mind that I had read in one of my favourite sailing books*.
"He who starts on a ride of two or three thousand miles may experience, at the moment of departure, a variety of emotions. He may feel excited, sentimental, anxious, carefree, heroic, roistering, picaresque, introspective, or practically anything else; but above all he will feel like a fool."
Peter Flemming
The journey to the mouth of Porlier Pass is 20 nautical miles. I planned to anchor 2 miles the other side of the pass. Be that as it may, the quote still resonated in a way that it didn't when I first read it.
Eventually I passed Point Grey and it was time to sail. I raised my already reefed main and unfurled my genoa. Immediately the boat heeled well over and I scrambled to trim the sails to the best of my ability. This accomplished, I took over control from the autopilot and focused on holding my course of 196 degrees toward Porlier Pass. The waves were up after hours of sustained winds and I took them on the beam. This was a less than comfortable sensation given how far I was already heeled over.
After a while I set the autopilot again and sat high up on the windward side of the boat, for once in my life wishing I had more than my 235lbs to serve as rail meat. I called a close friend and checked in. She asked about the conditions. I told her a bit but the tone of my voice told the full story.
"Maybe you should turn around."
"Um, yeah maybe. I'll go a bit longer and see."
The truth was, the boat was reasonably well balanced and I wasn't sure what I feared most, continuing out into the strait or trying to turn the boat around amid the wind and waves.
"I think I'll be ok. I'll keep you posted."
"Ok. Be careful."
I spent the next hour placating myself with indecision. Even though I was sailing at 7 knots further and further from land, somehow by giving myself the option to turn around it made things easier. Point Grey was well behind me now but off in the distance to port was the control tower of Vancouver airport and still later, the loading cranes of Roberts Bank terminal stood as a reassuring landmark.
At around the halfway point across the strait I realized that I felt more comfortable and that things were going to be ok. It seemed as though the wind had calmed slightly or maybe the seas were down a bit, or maybe I was just growing used to the conditions. In any case, as the mouth of Porlier Pass came into focus I had a growing sense of relief, well being and ultimately accomplishment. This trip was going to happen and I was going to live to tell about it. As if there was ever any doubt. As with most fears, once confronted they shrink to something closer to their actual size. I looked off to starboard and saw, incredibly, a small sailing skiff less than half my size, also heading for Porlier. "Never Mind," I thought. That was his accomplishment. I was still revelling in mine.
I had arrived at Porlier a full hour early due to my speedy crossing and I hesitated to fight the still-flooding current. However a few moments later I saw the little skiff heading fearlessly in. That, and the tug towing two barges of wood chips bearing down behind me was sufficient motivation to proceed. Before long I was through and motoring into Clam Bay on the Northeast side of Thetis Island. I doused the sails, motored in and dropped the anchor at a respectful distance from the nearest sailboat that had already taken up residence. Satisfied my anchor was well set, I cut the engine and stood looking out at the bay. I'm not sure why, but standing there in the cockpit by myself I was trying hard to suppress a grin. Not for the first time since buying Ge'Mara I felt like a kid again.
************
By tradition I would normally make myself a Dark and Stormy at this point but I had declared a moratorium after getting a little carried away earlier in the week. I did, however, open a bottle of wine and light the barbecue. Shortly after I slapped an impossibly large New York Strip on the grill and went below to make a salad. It was lost on me that eating that entire steak was far more stupid than venturing out solo into a brisk wind. I had a fitful sleep and an upset stomach.
The next morning was calm and beautiful as it always is at that time of the day. I did my best to relax and enjoy the peace and solitude of being at anchor alone in the sunshine. It occurred to me that I should read a book. But eventually my itchy feet got the best of me and I weighed anchor and motored away.
The plan for today was to head south to Ganges Harbour on Saltspring Island. I had been there before by BC Ferry but never on Ge'Mara so it seemed like as good a destination as any. Also, I had made contact with the author of a book that I've already mentioned, one that I have enjoyed for many years. He lives on Saltspring and he and I had made tentative plans to meet for a beer. (I was surprised and flattered that he had agreed to do so). In the end we couldn't make it work this particular weekend but I decided to press ahead with the plan to visit Ganges regardless.
The Northwest wind was still blowing but here inside the Gulf Islands it was muted. No matter, I was now heading almost directly downwind so I spent a peaceful few hours, carried South by both wind and tide at 7 knots toward Ganges. During the few languorous hours on this run I listened to CBC on my satellite radio and casually scanned the local charts along with a cruising guide that described all of the local marinas and anchorages. I was sailing with Galiano Island to port and Saltspring Island to starboard. I noticed on the chart there was a large well protected bay on Galiano called Montague Harbour. The cruising guide spoke well of the place so I decided to check in there before committing to Ganges.
Montague Harbour, it turns out, is one of the most beautiful and sought after cruising destination in the Gulf Islands. It is very well protected, to the extent that once anchored or moored it is impossible to see where you entered. The depth in the harbour is such that there is room for a great many boats to anchor without seeming overly crowded. At the north end is a marine park with numerous mooring buoys for public use. At the south end is Montague Harbour Marina. I briefly considered the mooring buoys but seeing as I hadn't brought the dinghy with me I opted to check in with the marina so I could stretch my legs.
I explained to the gal in the marina on the VHF that I was single handing for the first time and she assured me that someone would be there to meet me. She assigned me a slip that thankfully could be approached from downwind. The fellow who assisted me was effusive in his praise for my docking and it I muttered something about being lucky. When I finished tying up he stuck his hand out. "I'm Dan. I just bought this place two weeks ago."
************
With the boat secured and systems shut down I walked up to the marina office to pay for my slip and look around. The lady who took care of me mentioned there is a bus that takes people to the main pub, elsewhere on the island. "It comes at 5 minutes before every hour, starting at 5 o'clock" she said. I had heard of this bus before and I found out later it is somewhat legendary among boaters, having been in operation for the last 25 years or so.
I went back to the boat and along the way chatted with Dan. We talked about his big step to purchase the marina and revitalize it. He pointed out his Mom and Dad who were helping him for a few days until things were under control and the local kids were available to work for the summer. "You wait," he said. "This place is going to be awesome." I thought it was pretty awesome already and told him so. There were only a few transient boats in the marina this weekend but Dan assured me as the season progressed it would be packed. I felt oddly privileged to have visited here and met Dan so early in his plans and I found myself rooting for his success. Over the time I was there I was made to feel like a friend and this congeniality added a lot to the overall experience of the trip.
I have always made fun of David for napping in the afternoon but by 3pm I was feeling tired. It seemed oddly indulgent but I took a nap on the settee. I never do this. As I listened to the sounds of the marina outside the cabin I dozed off feeling more relaxed than I could remember being in a long time.
When I woke up I decided to shower and catch the bus to the pub. The marina had no showers, owing they said, to the lack of fresh water on the island. I used the shower on the boat which was more than adequate, particularly with me being the only one aboard and therefore not sharing my water supply with anyone else. I shaved and felt refreshed for having gone to the effort.
I walked up the road to the bus stop and two guys were already waiting there. After a time we struck up a conversation and I found out they were anchored offshore on a beautiful 50ft wooden sailboat. We asked each other polite questions about each other's boats. All three of us stood with our arms tightly crossed.
Eventually an old yellow school bus came rolling to a stop near us and we stepped aboard. The Beatles song Yellow Submarine was blasting on the stereo. The driver greeted us enthusiastically and roared off to his next stop. Arrayed above him were cymbals, drums, cowbells and various other devices he used as crude instruments. A tambourine was mounted on his steering wheel. Turning the music up, he proceeded to bang away on his instruments with unreserved enthusiasm, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand flailing with a drumstick. Shortly he reached down to his left and produced another tambourine which he promptly passed to me. "Going to put you to work!" he grinned. I banged away for a while in time with the music, feeling vaguely stupid. I could see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the other two guys and a moment later I passed my instrument to the nearest one, glad to be rid of it. Immediately another instrument was thrust into my hands.
We stopped again and there was a dozen or so older guys waiting to embark. As they stepped on, each was given an instrument of some sort. Some were clearly home-made, others were perhaps high school band rejects. Soon the whole bus was banging away to the backdrop of "I Found My Thrills" blasting on the stereo. Beside me sat a Hemingway look-alike who sullenly refused to participate. I felt sorry for him and glad that I had overcome my own self consciousness. I shook my maraca a little harder. Look at me, I thought. Iknew I'd have some fun but I hadn't expected this.
Later that evening I returned to the marina with my new friends and invited them aboard Ge'Mara for a scotch. We chatted for quite a while about all things sailing. They were gracious in their praise for Ge'Mara, considering how much nicer I knew their boat to be. When they left I put some marinated beef ribs on the barbecue and poured the remaining red wine. This was turning out better than I expected.
************
The next day I had a decision to make. The strong winds that were forecast to dominate the week were going to abate for a while and I had a window to head back across the strait without any drama. In fact I might need to motor at times. As much as I'd enjoyed my sense of accomplishment at crossing a few days earlier in big wind, the thought of not doing that again was attractive. On the other hand, I was really starting to relax here and I didn't relish the thought of cutting my trip short.
As I considered this dilemma my friends from the big boat came motoring past in their dinghy and waving. They pointed to shore and I remembered they had plans to rent scooters from the Marina to explore the island this morning. On a whim I decided to join them.
Even though it was Sunday and prime time for this kind of thing, the scooter rental people were nowhere to be found. We called the cell number posted on the sign and 20 minutes later a retired man and his wife drove up in a pickup truck and introduced themselves. We took care of the paperwork for the rental, listened to the requisite briefing on the safe operation of the scooters and we were set free. In my haste I hadn't locked up the boat so I told my friends to go ahead. A short while later I donned my ridiculous looking helmet and fired up my scooter.
I have a friend who can't ride a bicycle without grinning from ear to ear. This amuses me to no end and I've always envied the joy she feels in such a simple thing. Now, as I accelerated down the smooth asphalt road and leaned into the corners, I was doing exactly the same thing.
That afternoon on the scooter was pure, unadulterated pleasure. Sure, it wasn't a Harley, or even the 500 cc street bike I rode as a teenager. But it was a blast nonetheless. And on the mostly deserted pastoral roads of Galiano, who the hell cared anyway? I stopped at the local grocery store and to my surprise found good ginger beer. I bought a few bottles and put them under the seat, already anticipating the cold Dark and Stormy I would have later that day. I came across a little book store, the kind that seems to exist on every one of the Gulf Islands. I thumbed through the new and used books and walked out with a copy of H.G. Wells' The Strange Island of Dr. Moreau. I'd always wanted to read that book. It was brand new but somehow I wished I'd have found a used copy. I put it under the seat with the ginger beer and carried on.
I found my way to the Galiano Inn and enjoyed a succulent wood-fired pizza and drank good pale ale while watching the ferries make their way through Active Pass. I flirted with a lady several years my senior who was drinking champagne and chatting me up. I was full of a sense of well being.
With a full stomach I continued my tour of the island, stopping occasionally to enjoy a lookout or walk to the ocean. I shook my head at the thought that I'd lived in BC for over 25 years but I hadn't taken the time to explore the islands like this until now. It was a fine afternoon.
************
The next morning it truly was time to go. I needed to be back in Vancouver for a Tuesday morning meeting with a prospective employer. The marine forecast was once again full of red ink, indicating a strong wind warning. I would be paying for my fun the day before with fun of a different kind today.
I filled my tank with diesel, said my goodbyes to Dan and family and motored away from the dock. I had calculated a 2 hour motor north into the wind to get to Porlier Pass, whereupon I would have a brisk sail home across the strait. This in fact is exactly what happened. In a little over two hours I was transiting Porlier, just in front of another sailboat. As I exited the pass I raised my mainsail, this time triple reefed in an abundance of caution. So far so good. I unfurled the Genoa and I was off. To my quiet pleasure the sailboat behind me seemed to be having trouble finding a suitable point of sail and I was putting distance between us by the minute. Eventually though, she found her way and began to gain on me.
For a while we sailed in parallel across the strait and all was good. My triple reef was probably more than necessary however and eventually the other boat pulled ahead. As the distance between us grew, I grew frustrated and decided to turn into the wind and release the reef. The plan was to change to a standard double reef but in the waves on the open ocean this proved more challenging than I and anticipated. In the end I just raised the full main and worked on getting back on course. By now the other boat had put significant distance between us. Frustrated as I was, I stopped worrying about our mock race and settled in to enjoying the reminder of my sail across the strait. Besides, now I was slightly over-canvassed and was more concerned about keeping the boat under control.
A while later my phone chimed. I had received a text from David offering to meet me at the slip. I readily accepted and put my mind to making as good time as possible. My hope was that I would turn downwind into English Bay and use my full main and genoa for a top speed run for home. Unfortunately, once past Point Grey the wind became fickle and in frustration I eventually doused the sails entirely and motored home.
Back at the slip, David and I toasted my safe return, he with his strong German beer and me with my Dark and Stormy. He had been stuck in the office and was envious of my trip but happy for me and proud of my small accomplishment. As I related my adventure to him over drinks I couldn't help but think that for all the pleasures of solo sailing, it was good to enjoy the company of a friend.
***
*The Water in Between by Kevin Patterson. Published by Randomhouse
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.
