Happy Birthday Ge'Mara

This past weekend marked exactly one year since we sailed Ge'Mara home to Vancouver from Nanaimo.  It seemed fitting that we take her for a run.

After a 3-month respite from sailing David and I were ready for some time back on the boat. Our day trip to Snug Cove a few weeks back didn't really cut it so we used Ge'Mara's "birthday" as an excuse to head out a little further and drop the anchor for a night.  Even though we still weren't going very far I was interested to see how comfortable it would be in the near-freezing temperatures of mid-January.  We reflected that it was March last year before we spent the night at anchor so this seemed like a little bit of an adventure in the middle of an otherwise dull winter month.  Normally we rely on the electric heater at the dock in the dead of winter but for this trip we'd be limited to Ge'Mara's on-board diesel heater.

As usual Saturday morning we met at the local Safeway to provision.  We were determined to reign ourselves in this time and not go crazy on the food.  For the most part we succeeded...  But no matter what, you can't scrimp on the meat so we had the butcher cut us a couple of massive rib steaks for our main course.  We then considered breakfast for the next morning and briefly thought about skipping the bacon, given the size of the dinner we had planned.  We quickly dismissed that thought and picked up a pack of the extra thick, smokey kind.

After a brief delay caused by me forgetting my sleeping bag at home we left the marina.   Unfortunately once again there was no wind to speak of so we settled in for a long motor and talked.    Just like last time when we turned the corner around Pt. Atkinson we were met by the Howe Sound outflow and we raised the sails.  We had about half an hour of very pleasant sailing but once we turned out of the Sound towards Long Bay and Gambir Island, the wind died.

David at the helm on the way out

A while later we were comfortably anchored in Long Bay.  We surveyed the area and took note of the two other boats who were anchored nearby.  We stared at the long evening shadows forming over the water and the beauty of our surroundings, shivered and retreated to the warmth of the cabin.  It was 4:30pm.  Safely ensconced below, we poured ourselves a drink and chatted for a bit. At 5pm David asked if he should start the barbecue.  I gave him a pained look.  I could see the whole thing taking shape in his mind...  David has the ability to go to bed at an incredibly early hour and leave me sitting with a full glass of whisky and nobody to talk to.  Now he was trying to get dinner started early and I'm sure he was thinking if all went well he could crawl into his bunk at 7pm.  I was having none of it and suggested he crack another beer and relax.  We could start cooking at 6pm.  I put out the cheese and chorizo I bought for the occasion (we're not barbarians after all) and we snacked and drank for another hour.

Happy Hour - Beers and a Dark n' Stormy

We had decided to let the cabin heater run non-stop since before we left the dock and it was really quite comfortable down below.  Before long we had our sweaters off and were happy just in t-shirts.  I put on a sweater and went up on into the cockpit just long enough to grill the two slabs of meat and then we settled down to a huge dinner of steak, potatoes and onions, and salad.  It was a delicious meal but way, way too much food.  David wisely left half his steak to wrap up.  I demolished mine.

Beef.  It's what's for dinner

I looked at my watch after we'd enjoyed a scotch and somehow we'd made it to 8pm.  With the cabin positively toasty David collapsed contentedly into his v-berth for the night.  I was ready for this and had downloaded a movie onto my MacBook to occupy me for the rest of the evening.  It was Hunter S. Thompson's "The Rum Diary" and I crawled into my own cabin, with a tot of rum for good measure, and settled in to watch my movie.  I was asleep by 8:20pm.

As I crawled out of my little cabin the next morning, turned on the heat and put the coffee on I resolved once again to exercise a little restraint on these boat trips.  I'm the smartest guy in the world at 7am.  With the previous nights' sins still weighing on my mind (and stomach) we decided to skip the bacon at breakfast.  However I did cut up David's steak and fried it up with the leftover potatoes and 6 scrambled eggs.

Morning

I wish I had some fun sailing to report on the way home but it was not to be.  We got the sails up for about half an hour and other than that it was motoring all the way home.  I wanted to be back to watch the Seahawks game at 3:30 and we made it in plenty of time.  We agreed that Ge'Mara's heater was more than up to the task of keeping us warm in the dead of a Vancouver winter, so long as she had a bit of a head start.  This gives rise to all sorts of new winter sailing opportunities.  Can't wait.

Back on the Water

As my blog posts will attest, Ge'Mara sat idle in her slip from mid-September until the new year.  David and I would occasionally stop by to say hello and ensure nothing had frozen or broken but other than that she sat unused.  After a long and eventful summer of cruising it was probably time for a break.  Work demanded our attention once again and fall storms swept in from the Pacific, further dampening any lingering enthusiasm for being on the water.  But now it is January - one year almost to the day since we purchased our lovely boat and sailed her home.  Almost on cue, we've both been feeling the itch once again to get back to the water.

It started with David's birthday in late December.  After celebrating in the usual way with family he declared that he would also like to mark the occasion by grilling some steaks on the boat.  At the time there was a prolonged winter storm blowing through, which in Vancouver means almost nonstop rain.  But that's what he wanted and I was sort of looking for an excuse to get back to the boat so steak it was.  It ended up being a great evening.  David and I hadn't spoken much given distractions with business travel, family and the holidays.  We enjoyed catching up over a rich California cabernet and a couple of succulent New York strips, followed by a nip or two from the bottle of 18 year old scotch I'd brought as a birthday gift.

The following week the skies cleared and with just the weekend between us and the return to work and routine we decided it was time to take Ge'Mara out for a run.  We decided a trip to Snug Cove on Bowen Island would be just the ticket, enticed by the fantastic bacon cheeseburger they serve up at Bowen Island Pub.

The forecast earlier in the week had been for 10 - 15 knot winds but when the day arrived winds were calm, other than a brisk outflow in Howe Sound.  I queried David first thing in the morning about the point of motoring all the way to Bowen but he wanted to press on and I'm thankful for that.

When I arrived before 10am David had already been there for some time and had started to prepare the boat.  I set about taking down the Christmas lights I had hastily put up for the benefit of those walking by on the seawall.  I had lifted the 120ft string of lights from the middle up to the top of the mast with the main halyard.  After releasing the halyard clutch, a light tug on the lights should pull it all down again.  Unfortunately when I tried it wouldn't budge.  I suspected this might be the case with the cold and the halyard not being used for a while.  I pulled a little harder on the string of lights and then - SNAP - they broke and part of the string came crashing down on top of me.  The rest of the lights remained aloft along with the halyard.  At this point I cursed, realizing that if the same thing happened with the other side of the string our halyard would be stuck at the top of the mast and nothing short of hauling someone to the top would retrieve it.  Until then there would be no sailing.

As I gingerly played with the remaining string, David inspected the lines and suggested that if I released the actual halyard rather than the mainsheet (which is what I had inadvertently released), things might go more smoothly.  Sheepishly I released the proper line and the lights and halyard pulled down smoothly.

A short while later we cranked the engine and despite the cold she started gamely without much protest.  Both David and I were feeling a little rusty with our pre-launch checklist so we paused an extra moment to make sure all was ready and then set off.  Sure enough there was no wind to speak of  and even though we had removed the mainsail cover there was no attempt to actually sail.

Heading out for the day.  Calm seas and no wind.

After a while we both realized that it was actually quite cold.  We were remembering last year's winter sails but on reflection, most of those took place in temps that were above 8 degrees Celsius.  Today it was hovering around 3.  When we rounded Pt. Atkinson and turned towards Bowen we felt the Howe Sound outflow in our faces and there was certainly enough wind to sail but by that point we were both too cold to care.  We motored on towards Snug Cove and resolved to put he sails up on the way home, once we had warmed up and filled our bellies.

As we approached the dock we had to stand off to allow the BC Ferry loaded with people and cars to depart for the mainland.  With a deafening blast of the ships "whistle" the ferry departed and as soon as we deemed him safely out of his slip I pulled in behind him and attempted to line the boat up to dock.  Big mistake.  The substantial thrust from the departing ferry immediately started pushing us broadside into the dock and I was forced to quickly turn into it and gun the engine just to keep from being slammed into another boat.  Even after the ferry was well away and I lined up for a second attempt I had to again maneuver away due to the lingering effects of the ferry. When the artificial current had finally subsided and I brought us close to the dock we looked up and saw a sign that said in bright red letters "BEWARE OF FERRY WASH."

The dock was covered in frost and we gingerly stepped off and tied up, wary of how slippery frosty docks can get.  I had just about brained myself and taken a swim earlier in the day on a slippery dock at Coal Harbour.  We walked briskly up the hill to the pub, trying to put feeling back into our frozen toes but it wasn't until we had been seated at our table and eating before we felt completely warm.

On our return to the boat we saw two guys loading what looked like fire logs onto their sailboat and we realized that they were wintering on their boat and had a furnace inside for warmth.  David commented that their boat looked like it hadn't moved for some time.  What a contrast this was from the hour-by-hour competition for dock space in the summer.  Sailing in the winter is truly different experience.  It may be cold but it's much more peaceful somehow.

The dock at Snug Cove was frosty

As we left Snug Cove I expected to feel the outflow breeze again and contemplated the effort of raising the mainsail.  David was at the helm so I knew it would be me doing the work this time.  I should have been looking forward to it but the chill had sapped my enthusiasm for the short sail to Pt. Atkinson and I was secretly relieved when we discovered that the outflow wind had died.  We settled in to motoring home.  We had done most of our catching up so we amused ourselves watching the massive tankers and container ships steaming out from under the Lions Gate bridge towards some far off destination.

A while later we approached Coal Harbour marina and it was David's turn to bring the boat in.  Out of an abundance of caution, having had a few months off, David slipped the boat into neutral about 100 meters from the slip.  It is customary to do this when approaching so as not to have too much momentum when approaching the dock but this was a little further out than normal.  I waited on deck with the bow line as we crept slowly towards the dock.  The GPS registered zero knots.  I slept for a little bit I think.  But finally we made the turn into the slip and David was rewarded for his patience by stepping lightly off the boat and tying the stern, so little movement was left in the boat.  We joked that it was the slowest docking ever for our boat but in reality, with an icy dock and rusty docking skills, it was a prudent decision.

We buttoned up the boat and paused for 5 minutes to enjoy a wee dram of Glen Livet to toast the day, as is our custom.  It was good to be back on the boat and to revive both her and ourselves from our winter doldrums.

Time Out

It's hard to believe that it hasn't yet been one year since we brought Ge Mara home from Nanaimo.  We've done and learned so much in the last ten months.  But the fiery red maple leaves on my street are a reminder to me that life has seasons and there is a time for everything.  This autumn has been a time to take a break from sailing.  With that said, our lovely boat isn't far from our homes or our thoughts.  Even as we focus our attention on the demands of work and changing personal circumstances the seeds of new adventures are taking root.

First on the list is the care and maintenance of the boat.  We promised ourselves that we would pull her out of the water at the end of the cruising season for a thorough inspection of her bottom and the inevitable maintenance that will result.  The bottom will be scraped, zinks replaced and at long last we will re-paint the transom.  This last item is important as it will facilitate the most important change of all;  Re-naming.

As I've alluded in the introduction to this blog, David and I settled on the name "Never Better" quite a while ago but it's been impossible to change the name until now because it can only be done by first taking the boat out of the water, removing the old decals, and sanding and repainting the transom.  Once that is accomplished we can proudly assign her new name and almost as important, her home port.  Nothing against Nanaimo but our boat lives with us in Vancouver now and her stern will certainly bear witness to that.

There is much lore around the subject of re-naming a boat and I won't go into that at the moment.  Suffice it to say we will have a bit of a party and honour the mixed and accumulated traditions of mariners over the centuries to properly respect the occasion.  I'm not much for superstition but this is an important occasion and we will give it the respect it deserves.

Once she is back in the water and suitably re-named we will set the boat up for winter.  This doesn't mean locking her down.  Rather we will prepare her for the more relaxed cruising schedule that winter affords.  Unnecessary and perishable provisions will be removed.  The electric heater will be turned on and set to keep the cabin from freezing in colder weather.  Cushions will be raised to reduce the tendency for moisture to accumulate in them and special attention will be paid to ventilation.

So for now she sits patiently in her slip like a retriever, bobbing contentedly and perhaps dreaming of new adventures to come.  The warm comfortable days of summer may be gone for now but soon the mountains will be covered in white and will make and even more stunning backdrop to our outings across the winter months.  Can't wait.

Lessons

So far I've tried to write this blog with a healthy dose of transparency.  I figure that if I'm going to share all the joys of owning and sailing a boat in Vancouver I might as well share the headaches and gaffs that go along with it, lest I seem like I'm bragging.  David and I carry very little pretension on the subject of sailing.  We knew going in that we were neophytes so why not laugh at our mistakes and let our friends laugh with us.

With that said, mistakes aren't much good if you don't learn anything from them.  Ergo I've decided to start concluding my trip  posts with a few words on "lessons learned."  Hopefully this will be an encouragement to friends or those of you from my sailing forum who may occasionally shake your heads at some of our stories.  So let's start with a few lessons from my last couple of trips:

The Importance of Planning

Sailing reminds me a bit of scuba diving in the sense that once you learn there is a temptation to become complacent.  Yet there are many ways to screw up even the simplest dive, and the simplest sail.  Every sail, no matter how casual, should take into consideration tides, wind daylight and the schedule of the passengers.  In particular on the last point, sailers take comfort in knowing there may be several contingencies in an emergency but not all of these may be convenient for the passengers.  

There 

Fuel Filters and Crazy Ivans - Part II

Please refer to the previous post for Part I

As we drifted dead-stick out into the Strait of Georgia, I could think of at least three reasons to be thankful.  The first was that our engine had quit as we left Porlier Pass and not as we entered it.  The other scenario would have been much more dangerous.  Second, there was a bit of a breeze and we were, after all, a sailboat.  Lastly the visibility had improved significantly since we left Telegraph Harbour and the sun was even trying to peek out in places.

Without waiting to tinker with the engine I immediately set the guys to raising the sails and soon we were underway.  Once the boat was under control we played a bit more with the engine but soon it was apparent that sailing was the only way we would be getting home.  I thought of a fourth reason to be thankful:  Earlier that year David and I purchased a one-year membership with C-Tow, which is sort of the nautical equivalent of AAA.  Once we were across the strait I would give them a call and someone would tow us back to our marina.  All we had to do was sail across the strait.

The course we were on was north of the one I had plotted to Pt. Grey, thanks to the direction of the wind.  I wasn't too concerned about this as we had all day to get home so we aimed Ge Mara's bow for roughly Gibsons and planned to tack back towards English Bay when we got about half way across.

In time the wind freshened and we were having a good sail.  We had one more good meal left for the trip and it was passing noon so Sean went below to prepare it.  He had promised us a sort of panini made with nearly-fresh focaccia bread, an assortment of ham and cured meats, fresh basil and boconcini.  I was at the helm while Sean worked on lunch below and soon he started to protest about being heeled over too much.  Things were starting to slide off the counter and he was having a difficult time controlling all of the ingredients he had laid out before him.  Sure enough, the wind was continuing to strengthen and we were heeling over even further.  Tom and I made further adjustments to the sail trim but we had two things working against us.  First, I had not been able to turn in to the cove to reef the main so we had full canvas up.  Second, I was flying my 150% genoa, a sail that was already much to large for the worsening conditions.  For the moment however, all was under control.

Soon the guys were scarfing down lunch and washing it down with our last bottle of wine.  They had fun taking pictures of their wine glasses with the boat so far heeled over.  I took my own turn to eat a short while later and with Tom at the helm.  After a while as we were cleaning up the lunch dishes, Tom called from up top. He was having trouble keeping the boat on course in the growing wind and we were starting to heel precariously in gusts.  It was time to make some adjustments.

Normally my procedure in this situation is to start the engine, head the boat directly into the wind and partially furl the genoa so we wouldn't be overpowered.  Unfortunately we couldn't do this as we had no engine.  I knew we needed to shorten sail but as new squalls blew through and the boat felt less and less under control, I began to fear that without an engine to fall back on I might be headed for trouble.  I elected to call C-Tow, as much for advice as to request a tow.

The man who picked up the phone at C-Tow asked me a few questions about the boat, the crew and our situation.  I explained that I had a fairly inexperienced crew and that I might be needing assistance sooner than I had planned.  Rather than working with me to this end, the guy asked me if I had a spare fuel filter.  To my embarrassment I said I wasn't sure and that I wouldn't really know what it looked like anyway.  He seemed aghast that I might be underway with no spare fuel filters and doubly so that I wasn't familiar with the procedure to replace one.  He went on to explain that the fuel filter was likely my problem and to essentially lecture me on the folly of not knowing more about engine maintenance.  I was speechless.

I gave up trying to get assistance from C-Tow and instead went back to the cockpit and proceeded to partially furl the genoa.  With this done the boat was a little more under control.  I considered trying to reef the main but remembering my last experience with trying this while in a stiff wind I elected not to.

Before long the weather threw a new challenge at us.  Just as fast as a big squall would come through and very nearly put us on our ear, the wind would die completely and we would lay becalmed.  Initially this lasted only a few moments but as the afternoon wore on the dead stretches lasted longer and longer.    Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guys glancing at their watches and eying the horizon for signs of the Vancouver shoreline.  I needed to get us home.

I re-dialed C-Tow and updated them on our situation.  At this point I informed the gentleman that in addition to being concerned about the squalls, we were for the moment becalmed and in all likelihood we would need a tow.  To my great surprise he was very reluctant to send someone out.  He explained that a tow for that distance would be very uncomfortable and would cost the local operator a lot of money.  I was flabbergasted.  Losing my patience I asked him just what good my annual membership was for if, while I was becalmed in the strait, I would have to argue with him to get a tow.  Shortly after he relented and said someone would be on the way.

As fate would have it, no sooner than I ended the call the wind picked up.  We pointed the boat back towards Vancouver which was now visible on the hazy horizon.  For the next two hours we manhandled the boat in the gusting winds toward English Bay.  The wind direction had changed again and we were now making great time, although the ride ranged from exciting to terrifying.  Occasionally we had to furl the headsail again when things got too hairy, only to need it all back out a few moments later.  It was all rather exhausting.  Along the way we came up with another sailboat of similar size.  He was heeled over dangerously, showing us more of his bottom then I'm sure he cared to.  It was obvious he too was having trouble with the weather and together we sailed closer to home.

In due course we approached English Bay and it was clear we were going to make it most of the way back without the aid of a tow.  I was happy about this but irked in another way that there was no sign of our assistance from C-Tow.  Finally as we sailed into the strait a distinctive orange boat motored up to us and a very good natured young guy hailed us.  He was a refreshing change from the man on the phone, sympathetic to our plight and eager to help.  We still had wind so we sailed for a while longer while he motored nearby.  After a while the wind died and he came along side and rigged us for a tow. As this was going on we doused Ge Mara's sails for the last time that trip, thankful to be done with the wind.  As we sat in the cockpit while being towed in towards Coal Harbour I relaxed for the first time since that morning.

Getting a tow into Coal Harbour

As we approached the marina our attendant once again came along side and explained that as we got closer to the marina he would have to raft along side rather than towing us.  I was concerned about this because there are some large yachts tied up along our dock and it might be tight for the two of us to maneuver towards my slip tied beside each other.  I convinced him to take me to the tip of the dock and untie us while still under power.  This would give us the momentum we would need to glide along the dock and ultimately into our slip.  He was concerned about this but ultimately agreed and executed the maneuver perfectly.

As we ghosted along towards our slip I felt like this last challenge of docking without the aid of the engine would go ok.  We had just enough momentum to get there.  But then, incredibly, a new challenge presented itself.

As we approached our slip I realized that it wasn't empty.  The marina is allowed to rent out the space when we are gone but we were very clear about our return time.  Now as we glided in with no engine with which to maneuver or reverse, we couldn't turn in and were headed instead directly for a brand new Boston Whaler tied up at the end of the finger.  A collision was inevitable.

One of of us must have done something good that day because, thank God, another slip was open very near the end.  We would be taking someone else's space but at least we could bring the boat in safely and without incident.  I turned in towards it and the guys stepped off onto the dock and had her tied up nicely a moment later.

I was so incensed about my slip being occupied and the collision that very nearly occurred as a result, I didn't wait to walk to the marina office but instead raised the night watchman on the VHF radio.  When I told him there was a large powerboat from Oregon in my slip he asked me to stand-by.  A moment later after checking the register he confirmed that yes, there was a boat in my slip and that it was scheduled to be there for a few more days.  I stared at the radio speechless and then after moment I started to smile and thanked him for confirming what I already knew.  There would be time to deal with the Marina's administrative bungling later.  For now I was just very glad to be safely home.

I gratefully accepted a rum and coke from one of the guys and sat down exhausted.  It had been a long day full of lessons that I would later think about in great detail.

Fuel Filters and Crazy Ivans - Part I

By the time David and I completed our trip to Desolation Sound I felt like I'd had my share of sailing for the summer.  However I had one more trip booked for the summer season, this one with my buddies Tom and Sean.  Tom hails from San Diego and had been sailing with me on a trip earlier this year.  When he found out he had a business reason to be back in Vancouver he was quick to ask about another outing on GeMara.  As for Sean, he is pretty busy with twin babies these days but thankfully his ever-patient wife Rupi gave him a weekend pass to join us.

The plan was to head out on Friday morning towards Porlier Pass, with the goal of dropping the hook at one of the anchorages on Wallace Island.  I had earlier dismissed Wallace as a desirable anchorage because of the need for a stern tie but now that David and I had slayed that particular dragon in Smugglers Cove I was keen to give it another try.

Planning and careful preparation are not things I'm known for.  While I'm not typically careless, I tend to defer things to the last minute.  Like many procrastinators I wear this tendency like a badge of honour until it finally bites me in the arse. After this trip I have teeth marks on both cheeks.

My friend Tom arrived on Thursday evening and we were scheduled to set sail on Friday morning.  Had I bothered to look at the tides I would have seen that First Narrows, the entrance to Coal Harbour, would be flooding at 6kts by mid morning and introduce significant delays.  Further study would have revealed that Porlier Pass was scheduled to be flooding (against us) in the late afternoon and evening.  Both of these things points pointed towards the need for a very early departure to hit the slack at First Narrows to make a quick getaway and then later that afternoon hit Porlier before it started to flood.  I was blissfully ignorant of all of this as I scarfed Thai food in Yaletown with my friends and quaffed yet another Singha while I should have been at the grocery store provisioning.

The next morning Tom and I picked up Sean and we trundled over to the store for groceries.  Somewhere along the line I think David texted me and reminded me of the tides but I dismissed it as a concern and decided this would be a "casual sail" and we wouldn't worry about it.  Together we strolled through the isles of Safeway and discovered yet another Law of Sailing that I didn't know about.
"The grocery bill for a sailing trip roughly doubles with each additional person involved in the provisioning, in spite of economies of scale." 

As we roamed through the store, we each imposed our personal tastes and preferences on the provisioning, vitally concerned that we might forget fresh basil for sandwiches, limes for the Dark n' Stormies or sharp cheddar for happy hour.  I think we had over 100 cans of Coke Zero.  The overburdened shopping cart groaned in protest.

This process repeated itself at the liquor store.

David was kind enough to meet us at the boat and assist with stowing the gear and provisions.  He reminded me that the tide was now surging into Coal Harbour with a vengeance and suggested at this point that we take our time and let it subside a bit.  This seemed like a good idea so we all sat down for a beer.

By lunch time we decided to leave and after a quick stop for fuel we were off.  The tide had indeed tamed a bit and we made reasonable time getting out into English Bay and past the bell buoy, except for the fact that we were now well into the afternoon.

I gave my mates our compass heading and let them take the wheel as we talked and generally enjoyed ourselves.  As we yacked back and forth, the helmsman would occasionally get caught up in conversation and allow the boat to veer off course.  Eventually he or someone else would notice the error and yank the boat back in the other direction, inevitably overcorrecting, only to come back eventually to the correct heading.  A more serious yachtsman might find this mightily irritating.  My way of dealing with it was simply to yell out "CRAZY IVAN!"  My friends immediately recognized this from the movie Hunt for Red October.  In the film, a Crazy Ivan is a sudden zig-zag maneuver used by Russian subs to detect other subs that might be following closely behind them.

Another tendency that ate up precious minutes on our crossing was Tom's free spirit.  It seems that Tom prefers to sail where the wind takes him rather than on a specific course.  Therefore when he was at the wheel I would occasionally look around and realize that we were significantly off course, by as much as 45 degrees at times.  When I queried him on where he was taking us he would calmly explain that this was a better point of sail given the current wind.  This would have made sense if we had time to tack broadly but due to my self imposed delays, we needed to head directly to the pass, even if it mean motoring.  If I asked politely he would return to our desired heading and I would alter sail trim as necessary.

Heading across the Strait

All of this is really to say that we took our sweet time leaving home and then crossing and it soon became apparent we had a predicament.  As we approached Porlier Pass, daylight was fading fast.  In addition, the current was flooding against us at 4 knots.  I briefly debated trying to get through Porlier but even if we succeeded it would be dark by the time we were through and we'd be forced to not only find our anchorage but drop the hook and secure the boat entirely in the dark.  That was not something I was prepared to do.  And so it was that we headed for the safety of one of 3 shallow coves at the mouth of Porlier Pass.  We crept in as far as I dared, allowing for a low tide due later that evening, and dropped the anchor.  Once the anchor was set I shut off the motor and looked with trepidation at the pass just 100 meters in front of us.  The water was still churning through rapidly with a dull roar that we could hear clearly from our little point of shelter.  We were secure for the moment but it didn't feel that way.  To add to my unsettled feeling, our stern began swinging out towards the mouth of the cove and Porlier Pass.  It was as if the tide wanted to pull us back out into the rapidly running water.  I envisioned this happening once we were all asleep below and shivered.  We needed to further secure the boat.  We were right in the middle of the cove and a fair distance from shore on either side.   it would likely be at the limits of the long line we use for stern tying.  Plus, our light was almost gone - this was no time to be thrashing about in the dinghy with a line.  As an alternative I remembered the spare anchor.  I fished it out of the stern locker and looked at it closely for the first time since we bought the boat.  Both anchor and rode were in great shape.

Looking out at Porlier Pass from a very small anchorage

We started the engine, put it in reverse and put the wheel hard over in an effort to swing back on our anchor line and point the stern back into the cove.  After a moment or two of playing around the boat cooperated.  Then I threw the anchor as far off the stern as I could manage, having secured the line to one of the stern cleats.  We made some adjustments to tension and then, just as darkness fell completely we sat back and poured a glass of wine, satisfied that that boat was truly secure with an anchor set fore and aft.  Our little cove was pretty enough but nowhere near as nice as Wallace Island would have been.  My stress levels were still in the process of normalizing and at this moment the importance of planning and organization - even on a casual sail - really hit home.

The next morning I was reminded again of the folly of my poor planning.   Porlier Pass, having reversed itself in the dead of night, was once again charging out into the strait and preventing an early departure.  We had no choice but to have a lazy morning on the boat and wait until close to noon to finally leave.  During this time Tom decided he was antsy so he untied the dinghy and rowed ashore to explore.  Meanwhile Sean and I puttered and talked on the boat.  After a while, Sean looked towards the nearest bank and registered a look that was somewhere between anger and disgust.  When I asked him what he was on about he pointed to sandstone rock along the shoreline that had been neatly rounded away by centuries of tides.  We had commented on this interesting formation earlier but now it looked a little different.  Someone had used a rock to scratch out a rather good Pittsburgh Steelers logo on the face of the soft sandstone.  Our friend Tom is a die-hard Steelers fan.  For some reason Sean was incensed by this environmental violation.  In fact, had he known the number for Paul Watson and Greenpeace, I think he would have reported Tom right then and there.  I reminded Sean that the markings would disappear at the first high tide or rain but he was having fun pretending to be miffed.  Later when Tom reappeared in the dinghy Sean gave him a good ribbing and we all had a chuckle about it.

At lunch time we weighed the anchor(s) and headed into Porlier which at last would allow our passage.  We passed through uneventfully and headed towards today's destination of Telegraph Harbour, having missed the chance to stop at Wallace Island.  Earlier that morning I asked the guys whether they just wanted to head back across the strait and spend the night in Gibsons or Snug Cove so we would be close to home on our final day.  Neither of them wanted to make that call and deferred to the skipper for a command decision.  I decided to press ahead with the plan for Telegraph Harbour in spite of growing winds forecast for the following day.

By early afternoon we were tied up in the prettiest little marina I've ever been to and I was glad to be back - mostly.  My lack of planning bit me here yet again.  While remarkably, they did have a slip for us even though I hadn't reserved on in advance, they informed me over the phone that there was a Tollycraft rendezvous going on that weekend.  Tollycraft are large power boats.  Or what sailers refer to as "stinkpots."  Sure enough, as we hopped off the boat and looked around, every square inch of dock space was occupied by sizeable yachts, most of which dwarfed Ge Mara in size.  The occupants had all spilled out onto the dock in their lawn chairs and many were apparently observing happy hour in New York because it sure wasn't 5:00pm here.  This was all a touch irritating but by the time we had walked around the far side of the island and visited the local pub for a little fortification of our own, we forgot about our diesel chugging neighbours and focused on making a steak and chicken dinner for ourselves, complete with good wine.

When I opened my eyes on Sunday morning I was determined we would make a quick getaway.  The current was again flooding at Porlier which was at least moving in the direction we wanted to go but the longer we delayed, the faster it would be flooding.  It is not recommended to run through a pass that is ebbing or flooding faster than your boat is capable of motoring.  Under these conditions it is possible to lose steerage and ultimately control of the boat.  Not a situation you want to be in when there are treacherous rocks about.  Unfortunately a swift departure was not in the cards.  When we climbed up into the cockpit with our coffee we were greeted by a beautiful and somewhat ominous blanket of dense fog.  Visibility, as the Coast Guard would soon confirm, was effectively zero.

Heading out into the fog

We sat together sipping our coffee and debating what to do.  Departing in the fog isn't quite as dangerous as it sounds, so long as we kept a constant watch and monitored my AIS app that would warn of any nearby commercial shipping activity.  We could wait for the fog to lift but the longer we waited, the faster Porlier Pass would be flooding.  In the bigger picture, we all had to get home that day.  Sean had a tired wife with twins badly in need of relief.  Tom and I had to get back for a very busy Monday at the office.

I walked over and chatted with some guys who were sitting in one of the few sailboats besides ours in the marina.  After exchanging the mandatory complements on our boats we talked about the fog and the current at Porlier.  Their home base was Snug Cove on Bowen Island so they were facing basically the same trip home as us.  The owner of the boat seemed pretty experienced and he said without hesitation that they would be departing shortly.  No, the fog didn't concern him and no, he had no issues with the flooding current at Porlier Pass.  He explained that if the current is running particularly fast, one technique to maintain control is to steer a sort of zig-zag pattern across the current, such that the boat is never completely in line with the direction of water flow.  In this way, water is always flowing across the rudder and control is maintained.  "The main thing" he added seriously,  "just don't lose your engine."  I had to smile at the advice.  At last, a practical sailboat use for the Crazy Ivan.

As the morning progressed and the fog slowly lifted, we decided to split the difference between the two hazards and leave while things were still pretty socked in but the current at Porlier was not too crazy.  This turned out to be a fine strategy as the fog continued to burn off quickly, even more so as we headed towards the Porlier Pass and Georgia Strait.  As we approached the pass, I thought I noticed a subtle change in the pitch of the engine.  I glanced at the tachometer and our revs were steady at 3000 rpm, right where I had set it.  Once or twice more I fancied I heard more fluctuations but each time when I checked there was no evidence of any problem.

Soon we were in the pass and to my relief I had no issues controlling the boat, even in a 5 knot surging tide.  I tried out a few drawn out zig-zags, heretofore known as Lazy Crazy Ivans.  I don't think they made much difference.  Suddenly something caught my eye off the port bow.  To my surprise and delight, the unmistakable dorsal fins of three Orcas broke the surface not far ahead of us.  I had been waiting all year to catch my first sight of them while onboard Ge Mara.  I pointed them out to Sean and we shouted down to Tom who was sleeping below.  Unfortunately they disappeared before he could scramble up top and we didn't see them again.  We didn't get a single photo.

One other element of our decision making that morning was wind.  The winds were scheduled to increase later that afternoon to 15-20 knots.  Based on this we debated whether to reef the main before we left the dock.  At the time the wind was dead calm and the bigger wind wasn't scheduled until late afternoon so I was concerned that if we reefed we would be under-canvassed for much of the day.  Again, thoughts of home and schedules pressed.  In the end we decided to get through Porlier Pass and make a last minute decision.  If the wind seemed fresh in the Strait we would slip in the same little cove we had slept in a couple of nights before and reef the main before continuing.

Now as we emerged into the strait from the pass I needed to decide whether to turn into that cove before we passed it as we would have to fight the current to get back.  I delayed longer than I should have but ultimately started to turn in.  I added a little more throttle to prepare for the current hitting our beam but at that point I once again heard a distinct change in engine pitch.  This time there was no mistake.  I glanced at the tach and sure enough we were losing rpm's.  Right in the mouth of Porlier Pass.  I tried compensating with a little more throttle but the more I tried to add, the more the engine faltered.  Before long the engine died completely and we were drifting with the flood out into Georgia Strait.

End of part I

Vancouver to Desolation Sound - Part II

Please see the previous post below for the first part of this trip log.

By and large the winds in the Strait of Georgia tend to blow up and down its length - that is to say from  the Northwest or the Southeast.  So far they had been blowing Southeast and that meant running downwind all the way to Lund.  At this point in the trip we needed to continue north but cross to the west side of the strait, passing below Cortez Island and Marina Island and then continuing North to Read Island, our destination.  This more westerly course meant having the wind more on our beam and a different kind of sailing.

As we headed across the wind the boat started to heel over, as is normally the case.  The further out into the Strait we went, the stronger the wind blew and soon we were heeled well over and feeling that sense of riding the line between fun and panic.  Every time the boat threatened to broach we looked over at one another with tight smiles and pretended to be loving it, making comments like "This is more like it!" in the most carefree tones we could muster.  In reality we were both wishing for 5knots less wind or a different point of sail or both.

The basics of sail trim aren't too difficult to grasp but the finer points can take a lifetime to master.  I had the mainsail more or less trimmed as it was supposed to be but I was pretty sure we weren't supposed to be heeled over this much.  So with David and the helm I tried to recall the advice I've been given from more experienced sailors.  First up, use the mainsheet and the boom vang (the lines that pulls downwards on the boom) to flatten the sail.  They say that the more the sails balloon out, the more they resemble a wing and the more lift they create.  This is good in light wind but in "heavy air" as sailers call it, you want to flatten the sail as much as possible by sheeting (tightening) in the mainsheet and vang.  Next, someone told me to use the traveler as your throttle.  The traveler is a track that allows the mainsail to swing out to either side.  With the wind on your beam (side), the closer the main is to centre the more wind it will capture and the more you will heel.  By letting the main out to leeward it spills the wind and reduces heel.  Having flattened the sail I let the traveler out and immediately the boat levelled off to a more comfortable point.  I could feel that we had lost speed in doing this but I was just as happy for the more comfortable ride.  To my surprise when I checked the GPS we were still making 7 knots and the boat was no longer fighting us.  So this was what a "well balanced" boat feels like.  Feeling rather pleased with myself I looked over to David and gestured to the GPS speed but he was already grinning like a kid, feeling the same sense of accomplishment that I was.

All too soon we needed to make our turn North around Marina Island and for the next few hours we threaded our way among the smaller islands approaching our final stop.  Soon we rounded a corner and in front of us was Read Island and Evans Bay.  At the far end was the dock we were looking for.  We had arrived.  We quickly doused the sails and by the time we were done, David's friend Mike was on the dock directing us in.

No sooner had we tied up than two characters who could have been plucked out of a Herman Melville novel were walking down the ramp to greet us.  John, who sported a huge if slightly unkempt  silver beard offered a huge paw in greeting.  We later learned that he was a mariner in the truest sense, having made his living on the sea in many ways, including on the infamous crab boats in Alaska.  He pointed to a blue steel ketch that was bobbing on a mooring buoy a little bit off shore.   This he explained was his boat.  He then immediately advised us that we should untie from the dock and move another mooring buoy not far from his.  His rationale was that the wind was going to blow in the night and that it might be a rough ride along side the dock for anyone sleeping on board.  We thanked him politely for his advice and he moved on.

GeMara at the end of the dock at Read Island.
Turned out tobe a bad place to tie up

Once again it was time for the grand tour.  Mike showed us his property including the new home he is building with the help of an Island friend named Tom.  Up until now his island getaway had been just that - a getaway from life in the city.  He had been living in an older cottage and slowly building his new home which is now complete enough for him to live in full time.  Once again it was interesting to see how he designed systems to live off the grid, his being more industrial strength than the others we'd seen in order to support living full-time on the island.  At the end of the tour he said he had one other thing he wanted to show us.  He took us for a walk up his access road that led up the mountain behind behind his property.  After a while we left the road and walked into the trees where, hidden beneath a newly constructed wooden shelter was a natural spring.  From here he ran a pipe down the hill to his home.  With only a simple filter in place at the mouth of the pipe he had created an elegant, gravity fed source of pristine water that is clean enough for drinking and ample enough for filling a bathtub.

Mike's cabin on Read Island

Later that evening we accepted a generous invitation by a Mike and a young family that lives on the property to join them for dinner.  John and his friend had caught some salmon the night before and so an impromptu barbecue was planned, with David and I as guests of honour.  That night we feasted on huge slabs of delicious salmon and corn fresh from the garden.

After dinner we returned to the boat in the pitch dark.  Unfortunately there was no stargazing that night as the sky was cloudy.  Earlier, David and I had considered John's advice about moving the boat off the dock and over to the mooring buoy.  We decided that the wind had mostly died off for the evening and it would be a pain to have to take the dinghy to the boat in the dark so we reinforced the knots in the dock lines, threw a couple of extra fenders over the side of the boat and retired for the night, confident there would be no issues.  Just after midnight we both awoke to the boat rolling, sometimes violently, in the waves.  As John had predicted, they were hitting us broadside given that we were tied up at the end of the dock and at times I thought I might get thrown right out of my bunk.  David dressed and went outside to make sure all was secure but nothing further could be done.  We spend a semi-sleepless night bouncing at the dock, vowing to listen to sage advice next time it came our way.

**********

The Trip Home
The next morning we invited Mike down to the boat for a hearty bacon and eggs breakfast.  With our bellies full we said our goodbyes and motored away in light rain.  The bad weather had held off until this point but now we were expecting intermittent rain, at times heavy, all the way home.  Also, the southeast winds that blew us north so quickly were persisting so we now needed to head directly into them.  A sailboat can sail in almost any direction but directly into the wind or within about 45 degrees off the wind.  In order to proceed directly into the wind the only option is to A) use the engine or B) tack broadly back and forth under sail, taking a very indirect path to the destination.  We had to be home in 3 days - 1 day less than we took to get here - so didn't have the luxury of tacking.

At the helm in full foul weather gear.  It wasn't so bad.

And so we fell into a different sort of routine going home.  One of us would be at the helm, dressed from head to toe in foul weather gear and the other would stay below, organizing, washing dishes, cooking or just relaxing with a book.  We spelled each other off at regular intervals and it became a rather pleasant cycle.  Even the times up top in the rain were not so bad.  There is something very comforting about being in adverse conditions with excellent gear.  I have a Goretex sailing jacket with a hood and Goretex pants, along with rubber sailing boots.  Even as the heaviest rain pelted down on us I was impervious to it.  Unfortunately David was not so well equipped.  He had an excellent sailing jacket but it is getting a little long in the tooth and proved to be less then waterproof.  He did have good Goretex pants - at home in the closet.  The rain pants he did bring were simple nylon and were waterproof but somewhat uncomfortable.  I'm pretty sure he is out buying better rain gear even as I write this.

We decided to more or less reverse the course that we used to come north but we would stop in different places seeing as we needed to make better time.  We bypassed Lund and made our first stop Grief Point Marina in Powell River.  Once again we would need to cross the strait and get back to the mainland on the eastern side.  However this time we would stay on the western side and head south until we passed Savary Island and then head East.  it was slow going out in the strait, pounding into the wind and waves under power.  In our boat we can often sail faster than we can motor and we were down to less than 3 knots at times, fighting wind, waves and current.  But finally we passed the reef off of Savary and made our turn eastward.  For what turned out to be the last time this trip we raised the sails and had a brisk ride across the wind toward the mainland.  Once again were were verging on being overpowered and were heeled way over.  But with few adjustments as described earlier the boat settled down and we had an excellent sail across.  We made such good speed sailing that we compensated for the slow going earlier and arrived at Grief Point in good time.

Rainbow at Grief Point

Sunrise over the breakwater at Grief Point

The next morning we were off again, chugging down the Malaspina Strait.  The day passed in much the same way as the previous one, except this time there would be no fun sailing - it was straight south into the wind.  The weather in the distance looked ominous and heavy rain was forecast.  Fortunately the skies looked worse than the weather turned out to be.

Ominous clouds ahead of us.

As we retraced our route home and passed familiar landmarks I could tell David was getting restless.  When you spend a lot of time on a boat with another person you learn about their little eccentricities.  One of Davids is that when a trip draws close to completion and he smells home he can't get there fast enough, even if there is ample time in the plan.  I could see he was thinking and he kept running below studying the charts and making calculations.  After a while he returned to the cockpit and declared that if we pushed really hard we could make Gibsons by dinner time.  "Just in time for Oysters at Smitty's" he added as an enticement.  David hates oysters.  This was a thinly veiled attempt to charge farther than planned for that day in order to satisfy his need to make progress towards home.  On the other hand, I wanted to stop at a pretty little anchorage called Smugglers Cove that I have heard a great deal about.  I was about to protest when David placed his Ace on the table:  Smugglers Cove sits at the north end of Welcome Passage.  After all his scouring of charts and tides he had deduced that if we continued south past Smugglers we would have the tide and current with us through the passage - the same one that pushed us to close to 10 knots when we were heading north.  "And," he paused for effect before the final blow, "if we stay in Smugglers Cove we will be against the current the next morning."  With this he sat back and said nothing more, knowing his argument was rock solid. 

I stewed over this for some time, trying to pick holes in his logic but alas there were none.  Getting through the passage with the tide made perfect sense.  But I still couldn't abide passing up the chance to drop the hook in a beautiful anchorage and instead tie up at a marina that is both familiar and unremarkable to me.  So I played the only card I had.  I explained that my vacation wasn't over for two days yet and that tide or no tide I had a right to enjoy it rather than blasting home at full speed.  Smugglers Cove is one of the premier anchorages on the Sunshine Coast and it would be dumb to speed right by it, even if it was raining.  Now it was my turn to be silent.

David is nothing if not a reasonable man and I could see him struggling to parry.  But after only a moment he turned and agreed with my point and the matter was settled.  Thankfully this turned out to be a decision we would be both be happy about.

Not long after we crept into Smugglers Cove with one eye on the water and one eye on our chart.  This is a very safe anchorage but there is a rather narrow entrance and only one path to follow that is deep enough for a sailboat.  Once inside we surveyed the cozy little cove and picked a spot for ourselves in between two other boats.  In small anchorages like this, you generally need to stern tie.  This involves dropping the anchor, backing towards the shore and then one person gets in the dinghy and pulls a long line from the stern to shore, securing it to a tree or rock and bringing it back to the boat.  Once this line is pulled tight the boat will not swing at anchor and in this way quite a few boats can fit in a small area. Smugglers Cove is a provincial marine park so there are even iron rings pounded into the rocks to help with stern tying.

This was our first time attempting this type of anchor.  I went out in the dinghy and David let out the line.  I went ashore and ran the line through the ring and started rowing back, only to be jerked to a stop.  David had let out what he thought was enough line and then cleated it off.  It wasn't enough.  I yelled for him to give me more line and this he did, once again cleating it off when he estimated there was enough.  I rowed further toward the boat and once again was jerked short.  At this point I directed a few comments at David that the people with kids next door probably didn't appreciate.  As it turned out, neither did David but there was no shortage of line to get back to the boat after that.

Stern tying in Smugglers Cove

GeMara from the dinghy is Smugglers Cove

The view further into the Smugglers Cove from the boat.

We passed a very enjoyable late afternoon and evening exploring the cove in the dinghy and chatting with our boat neighbours.  The water was pristine and the low tide revealed impossible numbers of starfish and other marine fauna.  The kids from the boat next to us were preoccupied watching a baby seal that was frolicking near shore.  Later in the evening we ate our last dinner of the trip which could best be described as a mixed plate.  We were nearing the end of our provisions and had enjoyed t-bone steak, rack of lamb and other opulent meals.  Tonight we cobbled together a dinner of potatoes and onions, Libby's beans and barbecued smokies.

Starfish everywhere

Once the dishes were clean we sat in the cockpit with a single malt and enjoyed the sounds of the night from shore in the pitch dark.  We then retired below and sat in the warm glow of the cabin lights savouring both our scotch and our last night on the boat.  As we sat I looked over and noticed, not for the first time, that David had his bed in the V-berth all prepared and ready to go.  He had left a light on in there and it looked positively cozy.  Maybe it was the dim lights in the cabin but I thought I saw a fluffy down duvet in there and maybe a few candles burning.  By contrast, my berth is beneath the cockpit and smells of diesel.  It is so cramped to get in and out of that it reminds me of getting into a lunar module.  Because of this I elected to use that berth for storage and instead fold down the dining table every night into a bed.  As David regarded the last drops of scotch in his glass I could tell he was getting ready to retire to his little Hilton on the Sea.  On the other hand I had still to make up my makeshift bunk and for a moment I was a little irked.  I may have made a lame protest as David trundled off to bed but as I lay in my own bunk moments later I remembered again that co-owning a boat is all about compromise and that there are far more benefits than drawbacks to this arrangement.  As the beans we had for dinner started to kick in and sound of flatulence started emanating from the V-berth I reasoned that my little cave and the smell of diesel may not be so bad after all.

Postscript
We woke up to a gentle rain falling on our quiet little anchorage.  After perking some coffee we sat under the dodger and quietly soaked in the morning ambiance, contemplating everything we had done.  We were both ready to head home now and soon we began making preparations to leave.

This last motor home held no surprises.  We knew the weather would be wet and socked in, albeit reasonably warm.  When you're standing at the wheel in the pouring rain there isn't much to do but look forward to going below to take your turn for lunch.  I went down first and enjoyed chicken soup and a grilled cheese sandwich - a new boat favourite.  Later David came below to have his lunch and I took my turn at the wheel with full rain gear and CBC radio streaming "The Debaters" to keep my mind occupied.

As we entered English Bay the visibility was so poor that we couldn't even see the city.   Dark brooding clouds obscured our view and the VHF radio was alive with Coast Guard notices advising of poor visibility.  For us, however it was just a touch of final drama for our return home and soon we passed under the bridge and turned towards Coal Harbour Marina.  David expertly brought the boat into her slip and while nothing was said, I think we were both contemplating how much we've learned since bringing GeMara home in January.  Down below we had our ritual of toasting a successful sail. As we savoured the mouthful of scotch and considered the past week I realized were also toasting a successful partnership.  We had made it back without cracking up the boat or cracking each other's skulls out of frustration.  And that was something truly worth toasting.

Vancouver to Desolation Sound - Part 1

Exultation is the going

Of an inland soul to sea - 

Past the houses, past the headlands,

Into deep Eternity!

Bred as we, among the mountains,

Can the sailor understand

The divine intoxication

Of the first league out from land?

Emily Dickinson

We had planned to take GeMara further afield than ever before at the end of the summer.  The decision seemed to be coming down to either Desolation Sound or Princess Louisa Inlet.  The latter is guaranteed to be a lot of motoring given it's location at the far end of windy Jervis Inlet so we opted instead of the somewhat simpler route directly north up the strait.  David has a friend who owns property and a few cabins on Read Island so this became our ultimate destination.  Along the way we had some other friends to visit on Nelson Island so our itinerary took shape around these stops.  Ultimately it was as follows:

Day 1:  Secret Cove
Day 2:  Nelson Island
Day 3:  Lund
Day 4:  Read Island, Desolation Sound

We decided to leave the route home up in the air based on the wind and other factors.  This would make for interesting conversations later in the trip.

Preparations
Whenever I think of taking big trips I always envision extensive and thoughtful planning.  In David's case this was true for the most part.  Mine, not so much.  The week leading up to the trip was the only week I was to be in the office for the month of August so I was caught up on work and assured myself that David was covering off all important details.  On departure day we still hadn't fully provisioned so we met at the local Safeway to finish buying food for the week.  $250 later we trundled out of the store with a kings bounty of provisions including T-bone steak, rack of lamb, ample bacon and eggs and enough chips and cheesies to satisfy any sea-bourne craving.  Like fire, thirst is the enemy of the mariner so we were extra careful on this front as well, to the point that we needed an extra cooler strapped to the deck to accommodate the beer, water, cranberry juice and ginger beer needed for the trip.  The refrigerator in the cabin was reserved for perishables.  Dry goods were stowed in GeMara's ample space along the sides of the cabin and the rum and single malt were carefully stowed in the locker reserved exclusively for this purpose.

We had a new idea this trip for storage of delicate fruits and vegetables that are subject to bruising.  I had seen in pictures and videos that people making long ocean passages use miniature "fruit hammocks" to store produce.  When hung properly these swing harmlessly back and forth with the waves without making contact with anything and freeing up valuable stowage space for other items.

The new hammocks were great for the fruit.  Can you guess
which one is hung correctly?  Didn't take us long to figure it out.

Day 1
The weather forecast for our trip was consistent.  The hot, dry weather that had dominated July and early August had finally run out and we knew we were in for some cloud and rain, particularly towards the back half of the trip.  The wind for the entire time blew out of the southeast, directly up the strait.  And so it was that on day 1 we would have 20 knot winds at our back to push us on our way.

It was great fun but a little tiring as we were on a deep broad reach with quartering waves constantly trying to twist the boat off our intended course.  The wind continued to build as well as the waves which we later heard were between 6 and 8 ft at times.  This was made all the more exhilarating by the fact that we opted not to reef or change the headsail from our current 150% genoa.  We reasoned that unless it's a gale, downwind shouldn't require reefing.  Technically this was true but with the large following seas we found that when the waves occasionally knocked us far enough broadside, our sails would feel the full fury of the wind and we would eventually broach.  We soon realized that our thrilling downwind ride in big winds could quickly get ugly if we needed to use a different point of sail.  

It was about this time that the dock master at Secret Cove marina called David's cell to warn us of big weather and suggest we consider delaying our departure.  Not only was he concerned for our welfare, we found out later he was short on dock space given that his existing tenants were reluctant to leave when they were supposed to because of the weather.  We thanked the man for his concern but assured him we would be arriving soon, in fact well ahead of schedule.  We were blasting North along the coast at 7 - 8 knots, almost double our normal speed.  (Later we would calculate an average speed for the day of 6.5 knots).

Realizing we were probably being a little reckless we decided to put the nose into the wind and I crawled up onto the deck to reef the main.  On this subject I will simply say that I will not try again to reef the main at sea in 6ft waves any time soon.  When I finally collapsed back in the cockpit my right hand was completely cramped from the exertion of trying to tie the reefing lines with the wind trying to blow the excess sail to windward.

Thankfully by the time we arrived at Merry Island and Welcome Passage the sea had abated and we were scooting along at close to 10 knots at times, thanks to the continued tailwind and a 3 knot current. Not long after we arrived at our destination and tied up safely at Secret Cove Marina, our scare with the wind and waves already fading into memory, waiting to be reconstituted at a later time for the benefit of our friends with a suitable amount of embellishment.

One other note on day 1:   A few guys sat in a weather-worn sailboat in front of us at the dock during our stay.  After we arrived, one of them sauntered over and offered up some unsolicited advice, saying that we should NEVER connect to shore power until we have finished securing the dock lines.  We thanked him for his wisdom but afterward David and I agreed that we had in fact secured the boat first and only made a minor tweak to one of the lines a few moments after the power was connected.  I realized then that while learning is important, it's also important to know the difference between good advice and meddling by know-it-alls.


Day 2
This would be a shorter day in terms of progress towards our ultimate destination but full in the sense of activity.  We were headed north to Nelson Island to visit two sets of people.  First we would enter Quary Bay to meet with our friends Peter and Jan at mid-day and then we would head to the far side of the Island to Vangard Bay to meet with David's friend Ed, his wife Diane and some other guests.

The Southeast wind continued this day but minus the big seas.  Thus we had a quick and enjoyable sail up to Nelson Island with nothing of note to report.  We first headed slightly away from the island in order to turn exactly downwind and head wing-on-wing directly into Quarry Bay.  As we entered the bay we saw Peter scooting out in his dinghy to meet us half way in.  It's always a great pleasure to meet work friends for the first time in their personal element and Peter was grinning ear to ear in his little boat, happy for the chance to introduce us to what must be his favourite place in the world.  He guided us into a mooring buoy positioned right offshore from his cottage.  We tied up and hopped into his dinghy for the short ride to the dock where Jan was waiting for us.

GeMara at anchor in Quarry Bay

We spent a pleasant couple of hours with Peter and Jan, sipping a cold beer and getting the grand tour of their cottage and the surrounding properties belonging to friends and family.  While David and I don't own cottages, we recognized their pride in their summer getaway as a version of our our own pride in GeMara and together we toasted the happier moments in life.  We learned about the many ways that people exist "off the grid," using tried-and-true practices augmented by modern technology in the form of solar panels, battery banks, propane and a good generator.

Peter and Jan outside their cottage

Soon we left them to their holiday and after a short lunch continued on to Vangard Bay.  Here we were met by Ed and his friend Brian on the dock and once secured we walked up to Brian's place for another tour.  The cottages here were also right on the water but rather than the ocean they were perched above a placid body of water known as West Lake.  We admired the abundance of beauty they had here that they could enjoy the benefits of a trout filled fresh water lake only minutes from Vangard Bay and the ocean.

Later that evening David and I sat on the boat with a scotch and pondered a clear black sky packed with a million stars that we never see in the city.  This led to the sort of quiet contemplative conversation that only late night stargazing can invoke.  Before retiring we both stepped onto the dock for a quick pee over the side.  To our delight the water exploded in light as the plankton in the water responded to the disturbance with glowing phosphorescence.  I knew this was a common phenomena but in my entire life I had yet to experience it until this moment.  For a few precious seconds we were young boys once again, doing our best to distribute the beer and wine we had consumed earlier in spectacular fashion across the waters of Vangard Bay and being rewarded with a light show that  rivalled a fireworks display.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny.  It was to be the nicest day of the trip weather-wise.  After saying our goodbye's to David's friends we motored away from the dock on glassy waters, en-route to Lund, BC - the gateway to Desolation sound.

At the dock in Vangard Bay

Motoring out in glassy waters

Day 3
The tradeoff for having blue skies and warm sunshine was no wind.  That was ok with us as we had been treated to two days of exciting downwind sailing and somewhat chilly weather.  We quickly fell into our routine of spelling each other off at the helm and enjoying the scenery.  The waters and wind remained quite calm as the temperature rose and soon we were back in t-shirts and shorts, feeling like summer had returned.  The calm weather also meant that whoever wasn't at the wheel had the chance to relax and read or putter around the boat without being tossed around by the waves.  At some point I noticed that the deck had accumulated quite a bit of dirt and bird droppings so I pulled out our deck brush and began scrubbing the deck, stopping to rinse the brush in the passing ocean at regular intervals.  We were motoring up Malaspina Strait, the strip of water between the BC mainland and Texada Island.  The time passed pleasantly as we took turns scrubbing the deck, saying high to passing boats and enjoying the sunshine.

David scrubbing the deck on our way to Lund

We arrived in Lund around 3pm but were undecided if we would stay.  Lund is the last major marina before entering Desolation Sound and we needed fuel, water and ice.  Unfortunately the marina there is a bit small to meet the summertime demand so rafting (tying boats together at the dock) is often required.  We had no interest in doing this as it is akin to staying in a hotel and having an open door to the room next to you.  Not only is there no privacy but the people on the outside boat have no option but to walk over your boat to get to the dock.  The Copeland Island Marine Park is just north of Lund and looked to be an excellent anchorage so we determined that we would go there if the marina couldn't arrange for a slip with power and no rafting.  Fortunately they accommodated us in the end and we tied up in the last available slip that was large enough for GeMara.

Lund Marina is a very pleasant stop, with a well stocked general store for provisions, a restaurant and the famous Nancy's Bakery.  It is also known as the northernmost point - and origin - of highway 101 which extends all the way to South America.  We took some time to explore and buy provisions, including some of Nancy's famous cinnamon buns which we kept for breakfast the next morning.  (This turned out to be a rookie mistake as you can buy them fresh from the oven at 7am rather than eating day-olds).

Looking back at the marina resort from our slip

The marker indicating mile zero - the start of highway 101

The famous Nancy's Bakery

It was at this point that David and I had our first test of conflict resolution for the trip.  When we were done re-provisioning and looking around the marina we headed back to the boat.  It was 5pm and I was hot so I announced it was time to relax with a well-earned drink.  I went below and happily mixed a Dark and Stormy just the way I like it with a bit of extra rum and lots of ice.  I settled into the cockpit with my drink and a bowl of Hawkins Cheesies just in time to see David hauling that spare sail out of storage and onto the deck.  He declared he was going to change our 150% genoa out for the high-cut jib which would be a much more appropriate sail for the following day when strong winds were forecast.  There was no arguing with the logic of changing the sails but his timing was horrendous.  I glanced at my icy cold drink and back at him and declared that I wasn't moving and we could do it later.  In response David manhandled the sail bag onto the deck and said he would do the job himself.  This was ridiculous as changing the sail is a 2-person job.  For a while I sat stubbornly sipping my drink listening to David grunting and flailing around the deck, first feeding the sail onto the forestay and then running back to pull on the jib halyard a little bit, only to have to rush forward again.  This was painful to watch and after a while with a roll of my eyes I put my drink down and went forward to assist.  After a while the job was done and I collapsed back into the cockpit and turned my attention back to my now watered down Dark and Stormy.  It was then that I realized my sunglasses were missing.  These are costly Maui Jim's with special reader lenses built in to the bottom.  A search of the deck where I remembered leaving them revealed nothing and it became apparent to me that as we were manipulating the sails on the deck at some point they were swept overboard.  Now I was really ticked.

Sensing a bit of tension, David offered to unpack the 150 to see if they had gotten caught up in that sail.  With a groan and a few expletives I helped him in this task, only to come up empty handed.  As we re-packed the sail I started to cool off and realized that it was no big deal and I had a spare set of sunglasses so I let the matter drop.  For his part, David didn't get defensive about it, nor did he make the obvious point that we wouldn't have felt like doing the sail later after a big dinner and a bottle of wine.  Shortly after I reconstituted my drink, David cracked a beer and the matter was over.  Later that evening David found the my sunglasses where they had fallen down underneath the dodger from where I put them down.  They had never been on the deck at all.  He handed them to me without comment.  We ended the evening by sharing a meal with a friendly couple in a big trawler across the dock and hit the sack.

The next morning we reefed the main in anticipation of a windy day and left the marina.  Most of the other boats that were leaving were turning left and heading south, as the weekend and their vacations were drawing to a close.  It felt good that we were turning north toward Desolation Sound, with lots of adventure still in front of us.

GeMara at the dock in Lund just before departure