To state the obvious, I haven't done much with this blog in the last year or so. This is partly because it was originally designed to document adventures with my buddy David on our sailboat. For a while there was a lot to talk about but eventually we started doing the same things, going the same places and learning the same lessons. I recall saying to David, "I feel like we're digging a trench in the water between here and Gambier Island." This repetition doesn't make for compelling reading (not that many people are really reading this anyway but that's kind of an existential black hole for a blogger).
John Lennon said that "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans." It seems that while I was paused waiting for more interesting sailing to write about, the rest of my life changed significantly. Developments in my career and other parts of my personal life have made me realize that there is much more to talk about than just sailing. On the other hand, I've come to realize that to be bored with living in Vancouver and sailing on the Pacific ocean is a shameful thing indeed. I've been wasting time ruminating over turns in my career, my expanding waistline and other things when I should be seizing every moment I have living in this beautiful part of the world. In the spirit of this new thinking, I've renamed this blog "Not a Moment to Lose." I'll still be relating my better/funnier/dumber moments on the boat but also using this medium to give voice to some of my other thoughts and opinions that up till now have been mostly foisted on my long-suffering friends over beers.
Tuesday, May 31, 2016
Thursday, April 23, 2015
The Ecstasy - and the Agony
We've been making do with day-sails for a while now but since spring arrived the weather has been cooperating more and more. Timing is always an issue with other obligations to consider but last weekend looked to be the perfect opportunity to get back on the water. Sunny skies, warm temps and brisk wind were all in the forecast.
The plan was to get to the boat by 8am and do a spring cleaning for a few hours, then leave with the ebb tide to a still undetermined destination. Unfortunately, the night before my buddy called and asked me to join he and his broker for a little night out. It was one of those moments when your Spidey sense tells you there's danger close but I didn't listen. I dragged myself back home at about 1am.
I managed to get to the boat by 8:30am feeling a little worse for wear. The deck of Ge'Mara has been covered in green funk from the winter rains and this morning we were supposed to scrub it all off. I let David know that wasn't going to happen and instead I went to the grocery store to purchase some provisions.
Later that morning we shot out with the ebb under First Narrows and things looked decidedly brighter. I had stopped at McDonald's for a Sausage n' Egg McMuffin, hash browns and coffee and was feeling much better. For his part, David was feeling bullish and actually suggested we sail all the way to Smuggler Cove. I questioned whether we could get there given the brisk northwest wind we'd be beating against so we decided to play it by ear.
We debated motoring all the way to Point Grey to get past the ships in the harbour but the temptation to catch the wind was too great so we raised the sails and tacked back and forth in English bay. This took longer than we expected and with the boisterous conditions, my sins of the previous night were coming back to haunt me. We decided to just head to Hallkett Bay on Gambier Island. We have always passed over Hallkett Bay in favour of the more sheltered Long Bay next to it but we wanted to check it out.
As we passed Point Atkinson we noticed a bright red kayak in the water with no one in it. We then realized that its owner had fallen out in rough seas. We slowed down and the man signalled that he could use assistance. Nearby was the rocky shore of Lighthouse Park. The seas were up that day and if he allowed himself to be swept onto the mussel and barnacle covered rocks he was likely to get pretty beat up. My plan was to simply drop the sails, motor over and offer to take him on board and tow his kayak to calm waters. However David had other plans. He lunged at the opportunity to raise the Coast Guard on the VHF radio.
Now, there is a protocol for VHF radio communications that we learned when we got our radio licenses. The Coast Guard in particular likes to adhere to this protocol. David, in his excited state at being a First Responder, grabbed the mic and unleashed a stream-of-consciousness narrative about who we are, something about a guy being in the water, it being cold and a variety of other things that may or may not have been relevant, ending abruptly with "Ge'Mara Out!" whereupon he put the mic back in its holder and looked out to sea. Having done his civic duty he then consented to dousing the sails so we could motor over and offer assistance ourselves. As we drew closer to the floating man the Coast Guard was responding to David's call, asking questions and generally trying to make sense of his incoherent transmission. David got back on the radio and filled in the blanks for the Coasties while we covered the last of the distance to our man in distress. By this time the guy had managed to climb back into his kayak, perhaps realizing his chances were better on his own. We asked if he needed further assistance and he indicated he thought he would be ok but would appreciate an escort to calm water. At that point a Coast Guard patrol in a rib boat showed up and took over the escort.
With the excitement over, we raised the sails again and rounded Point Atkinson heading towards Gambier, only to lose the wind in the lee of Bowen Island - per usual. We motored the rest of the way to Hallkett Bay and had the anchor set by 3pm. It was an earlier arrival than usual and after getting settled and taking in our surroundings I dove into my bunk for a much needed nap. Later we dined well as usual but didn't eat or drink to our usual excess - a good thing for both of us.
The next day dawned fair but breezy. There was a brisk outflow wind coming out of our bay and David commented that we could probably sail right out of our anchorage. We had never done this before and agreed to try it. Still full from dinner we decided to delay breakfast and perhaps enjoy it in Seymour Bay on Bowen Island, on our way home. We went up top and I raised the mainsail while David prepared the anchor. When he main was ready he hauled up the anchor. At first she sat nose into the wind or as sailors say, "in irons." Tweaking the traveler, her bow swung to port, at which point I pulled out the headsail and we arced around towards a small sailboat with a couple of young guys sipping coffee bleary eyed in the cockpit. At first they looked alarmed at us coming straight at them in an anchorage under full sail but as we continued our arc around to port we swung the bow past them and pointed out to the mouth of the bay. We silently slipped out of our anchorage with the young guys in the boat hooting their approval at our rather slick exit. David and I looked at each other and agreed that for all of our follies on Ge'Mara, that was a win.
Based on how the wind was behaving we decided to head home via Collingwood Channel which is between Bowen and Keats Islands. Soon we were tacking back and forth in the channel at a placid 3 - 4kts on calm seas. Given our smooth ride David suggested this would be a good time for breakfast. I agreed and before long we had the autopilot set and were dining on scrambled eggs, breakfast sausage, fresh oranges and piping hot coffee while the autopilot kept us sailing in the right direction.
Halfway through breakfast David was looking nervously at the shoreline of Keats Island. We were going to need to tack soon. This gave me an idea. I have inherited from my father a desire to make everything look as effortless as possible. I suggested to David that we could execute the entire tack without getting up from our seats at the table. He stared incredulously at me, at our plates of eggs and our still steaming cups of coffee. I assured him it was possible. The autopilot was within arm's reach and would take care of the tack at the helm. I could handle the mainsail from my current seated position and David was right beside the port side winch to handle the jib. David reluctantly agreed and I pushed the necessary buttons on the auto-pilot. The boat began smoothly coming about. I was dealing with the traveler and David was pulling on the jib sheet but he lost his nerve and stood up in order to better see what he was doing and have proper leverage to pull the sheet. I was disappointed that he ruined our "fully seated eating breakfast tack" but still pleased that not a drop of food or coffee was disturbed and we went about finishing our meal, our speed now increased to 6.5kts. Now for anyone reading this and shaking your head, of course I realize this was a stupid maneuver. We could have lost our breakfast to the sea, been scalded by hot coffee or worse. But some things just have to be tried.
When we left Collingwood Channel and turned East towards home in the Straight of Georgia the wind and seas really picked up. We turned downwind and enjoyed a brisk run past Cape Roger Curtis. It was fun sailing and we were making such good time that we elected not to stop in Seymour Bay but to maintain our run downwind towards home and surprise the girls by arriving home early.
At Point Atkinson we found that maintaining a downwind orientation was a little tough due to quartering seas which were up to over a metre by this point. We decided to tack across the entrance to English Bay toward Point Grey, putting us on a beam reach. Now we were flying. We sped along at 7.5 kts, taking boisterous seas on the beam, having a blast. In the distance was an incoming bulk cargo ship. We know from experience that these ships move quickly and we were about to cut across the shipping lane that enters the Port of Vancouver. David was eager to get on the VHF to chat with him about his intended course but I managed to talk him out of it. (I learned a long time ago that David was a traveling salesman in the age of CB radios and used to love chatting with truckers as he drove from city to city. To this day he will take any excuse to get on the VHF radio - warranted or not).
It was a thrilling sail home - the kind that makes up for hours of motoring on windless days - we had a blast. When at last it was time to douse the sails and motor under the Lions Gate Bridge, we started the process as usual by starting the engine. But when we pushed the ignition nothing happened. Even though our radios, lights, etc, were still working, there wasn't enough juice in the batteries to turn the engine over.
Our boat, like most, has several batteries. Two are designated for general use and a third is reserved for starting the engine. There is a switch that we use to ensure that we are only drawing from the house batteries while at anchor or under sail, thereby ensuring that the starting battery is always fresh. Now to be honest, we had cheated a bit on this trip. The autopilot was complaining about low batteries at one point so we switched the selector to "Both" in order to continue eating breakfast. We later turned it back but it seems we had over-estimated our power reserves. In hindsight we realized something else: Our slick sail out of the anchorage that morning had meant that we had not started the engine in the morning as we normally do. Thus our batteries had not received a morning boost charge from the engine. As we sailed closer to the bridge another realization hit us. We had been meaning to check the water levels in our old-school batteries for some time. Unfortunately they are stored deep in the lazaret and are very hard to reach unless you climb right in - a near impossibility for two guys who are 6' plus and slightly overweight. It was entirely possible our batteries performance was severely impaired due to low water levels.
We considered sailing under the bridge and trying to get as close as possible to the marina before flagging down some help. I even radioed Vancouver Traffic and signalled this intention before realizing this was a foolish idea. No matter how brisk the wind in English Bay, it generally dies once under the bridge. If we were to attempt sailing under and then lost the wind we could find ourselves dead in the water and directly in the path of a massive freighter. At the last minute we peeled off and sailed away from the lee shore to safer waters where we could figure out what to do. After several failed attempts to start the engine we gave up and reluctantly I called our old friends C-Tow to come and give us a tow to the marina. In a final insult, the guy on the other end of the line informed me that I had forgotten to renew our membership. I closed my eyes and swore silently to myself. David had reminded me multiple times to take care of this earlier in the year but I had procrastinated and ultimately forgot. Months later I thought I had done it. I feebly asked the C-Tow guy for mercy, given we were existing members and he promised to look into it. Then I remembered that as newbies we had used their towing services once in each of the two previous years and had therefore cost them money. There is an image in my mind to describe the treatment we would be receiving from them but this being a family oriented blog, I can't talk about it here.
We were told the tow pilot wouldn't arrive for about 45 minutes to an hour so we had no choice but to sail back and forth between Ambleside and Kitsilano in English Bay until he arrived. The wind had picked up even more and it was amazing sailing at 7.5 to 8kts the entire time. Normally we would have been thrilled but now we were just scanning the bay waiting for the grim reaper to come and tow us home.
An hour later we had limped home under tow and were tied up in our slip safe and sound. We plugged into shore power and within 15 minutes the boat started flawlessly, even unplugged. All you can do is shrug it off.
They say that the best days in a boat owners life are the day you buy your boat - and the day you sell it. We're not ready to admit to that just yet but on this trip we definitely saw both sides of sailboat ownership. The ecstasy - and the agony.
The plan was to get to the boat by 8am and do a spring cleaning for a few hours, then leave with the ebb tide to a still undetermined destination. Unfortunately, the night before my buddy called and asked me to join he and his broker for a little night out. It was one of those moments when your Spidey sense tells you there's danger close but I didn't listen. I dragged myself back home at about 1am.
I managed to get to the boat by 8:30am feeling a little worse for wear. The deck of Ge'Mara has been covered in green funk from the winter rains and this morning we were supposed to scrub it all off. I let David know that wasn't going to happen and instead I went to the grocery store to purchase some provisions.
Later that morning we shot out with the ebb under First Narrows and things looked decidedly brighter. I had stopped at McDonald's for a Sausage n' Egg McMuffin, hash browns and coffee and was feeling much better. For his part, David was feeling bullish and actually suggested we sail all the way to Smuggler Cove. I questioned whether we could get there given the brisk northwest wind we'd be beating against so we decided to play it by ear.
We debated motoring all the way to Point Grey to get past the ships in the harbour but the temptation to catch the wind was too great so we raised the sails and tacked back and forth in English bay. This took longer than we expected and with the boisterous conditions, my sins of the previous night were coming back to haunt me. We decided to just head to Hallkett Bay on Gambier Island. We have always passed over Hallkett Bay in favour of the more sheltered Long Bay next to it but we wanted to check it out.
As we passed Point Atkinson we noticed a bright red kayak in the water with no one in it. We then realized that its owner had fallen out in rough seas. We slowed down and the man signalled that he could use assistance. Nearby was the rocky shore of Lighthouse Park. The seas were up that day and if he allowed himself to be swept onto the mussel and barnacle covered rocks he was likely to get pretty beat up. My plan was to simply drop the sails, motor over and offer to take him on board and tow his kayak to calm waters. However David had other plans. He lunged at the opportunity to raise the Coast Guard on the VHF radio.
Now, there is a protocol for VHF radio communications that we learned when we got our radio licenses. The Coast Guard in particular likes to adhere to this protocol. David, in his excited state at being a First Responder, grabbed the mic and unleashed a stream-of-consciousness narrative about who we are, something about a guy being in the water, it being cold and a variety of other things that may or may not have been relevant, ending abruptly with "Ge'Mara Out!" whereupon he put the mic back in its holder and looked out to sea. Having done his civic duty he then consented to dousing the sails so we could motor over and offer assistance ourselves. As we drew closer to the floating man the Coast Guard was responding to David's call, asking questions and generally trying to make sense of his incoherent transmission. David got back on the radio and filled in the blanks for the Coasties while we covered the last of the distance to our man in distress. By this time the guy had managed to climb back into his kayak, perhaps realizing his chances were better on his own. We asked if he needed further assistance and he indicated he thought he would be ok but would appreciate an escort to calm water. At that point a Coast Guard patrol in a rib boat showed up and took over the escort.
With the excitement over, we raised the sails again and rounded Point Atkinson heading towards Gambier, only to lose the wind in the lee of Bowen Island - per usual. We motored the rest of the way to Hallkett Bay and had the anchor set by 3pm. It was an earlier arrival than usual and after getting settled and taking in our surroundings I dove into my bunk for a much needed nap. Later we dined well as usual but didn't eat or drink to our usual excess - a good thing for both of us.
The next day dawned fair but breezy. There was a brisk outflow wind coming out of our bay and David commented that we could probably sail right out of our anchorage. We had never done this before and agreed to try it. Still full from dinner we decided to delay breakfast and perhaps enjoy it in Seymour Bay on Bowen Island, on our way home. We went up top and I raised the mainsail while David prepared the anchor. When he main was ready he hauled up the anchor. At first she sat nose into the wind or as sailors say, "in irons." Tweaking the traveler, her bow swung to port, at which point I pulled out the headsail and we arced around towards a small sailboat with a couple of young guys sipping coffee bleary eyed in the cockpit. At first they looked alarmed at us coming straight at them in an anchorage under full sail but as we continued our arc around to port we swung the bow past them and pointed out to the mouth of the bay. We silently slipped out of our anchorage with the young guys in the boat hooting their approval at our rather slick exit. David and I looked at each other and agreed that for all of our follies on Ge'Mara, that was a win.
Based on how the wind was behaving we decided to head home via Collingwood Channel which is between Bowen and Keats Islands. Soon we were tacking back and forth in the channel at a placid 3 - 4kts on calm seas. Given our smooth ride David suggested this would be a good time for breakfast. I agreed and before long we had the autopilot set and were dining on scrambled eggs, breakfast sausage, fresh oranges and piping hot coffee while the autopilot kept us sailing in the right direction.
Halfway through breakfast David was looking nervously at the shoreline of Keats Island. We were going to need to tack soon. This gave me an idea. I have inherited from my father a desire to make everything look as effortless as possible. I suggested to David that we could execute the entire tack without getting up from our seats at the table. He stared incredulously at me, at our plates of eggs and our still steaming cups of coffee. I assured him it was possible. The autopilot was within arm's reach and would take care of the tack at the helm. I could handle the mainsail from my current seated position and David was right beside the port side winch to handle the jib. David reluctantly agreed and I pushed the necessary buttons on the auto-pilot. The boat began smoothly coming about. I was dealing with the traveler and David was pulling on the jib sheet but he lost his nerve and stood up in order to better see what he was doing and have proper leverage to pull the sheet. I was disappointed that he ruined our "fully seated eating breakfast tack" but still pleased that not a drop of food or coffee was disturbed and we went about finishing our meal, our speed now increased to 6.5kts. Now for anyone reading this and shaking your head, of course I realize this was a stupid maneuver. We could have lost our breakfast to the sea, been scalded by hot coffee or worse. But some things just have to be tried.
When we left Collingwood Channel and turned East towards home in the Straight of Georgia the wind and seas really picked up. We turned downwind and enjoyed a brisk run past Cape Roger Curtis. It was fun sailing and we were making such good time that we elected not to stop in Seymour Bay but to maintain our run downwind towards home and surprise the girls by arriving home early.
At Point Atkinson we found that maintaining a downwind orientation was a little tough due to quartering seas which were up to over a metre by this point. We decided to tack across the entrance to English Bay toward Point Grey, putting us on a beam reach. Now we were flying. We sped along at 7.5 kts, taking boisterous seas on the beam, having a blast. In the distance was an incoming bulk cargo ship. We know from experience that these ships move quickly and we were about to cut across the shipping lane that enters the Port of Vancouver. David was eager to get on the VHF to chat with him about his intended course but I managed to talk him out of it. (I learned a long time ago that David was a traveling salesman in the age of CB radios and used to love chatting with truckers as he drove from city to city. To this day he will take any excuse to get on the VHF radio - warranted or not).
It was a thrilling sail home - the kind that makes up for hours of motoring on windless days - we had a blast. When at last it was time to douse the sails and motor under the Lions Gate Bridge, we started the process as usual by starting the engine. But when we pushed the ignition nothing happened. Even though our radios, lights, etc, were still working, there wasn't enough juice in the batteries to turn the engine over.
Our boat, like most, has several batteries. Two are designated for general use and a third is reserved for starting the engine. There is a switch that we use to ensure that we are only drawing from the house batteries while at anchor or under sail, thereby ensuring that the starting battery is always fresh. Now to be honest, we had cheated a bit on this trip. The autopilot was complaining about low batteries at one point so we switched the selector to "Both" in order to continue eating breakfast. We later turned it back but it seems we had over-estimated our power reserves. In hindsight we realized something else: Our slick sail out of the anchorage that morning had meant that we had not started the engine in the morning as we normally do. Thus our batteries had not received a morning boost charge from the engine. As we sailed closer to the bridge another realization hit us. We had been meaning to check the water levels in our old-school batteries for some time. Unfortunately they are stored deep in the lazaret and are very hard to reach unless you climb right in - a near impossibility for two guys who are 6' plus and slightly overweight. It was entirely possible our batteries performance was severely impaired due to low water levels.
We considered sailing under the bridge and trying to get as close as possible to the marina before flagging down some help. I even radioed Vancouver Traffic and signalled this intention before realizing this was a foolish idea. No matter how brisk the wind in English Bay, it generally dies once under the bridge. If we were to attempt sailing under and then lost the wind we could find ourselves dead in the water and directly in the path of a massive freighter. At the last minute we peeled off and sailed away from the lee shore to safer waters where we could figure out what to do. After several failed attempts to start the engine we gave up and reluctantly I called our old friends C-Tow to come and give us a tow to the marina. In a final insult, the guy on the other end of the line informed me that I had forgotten to renew our membership. I closed my eyes and swore silently to myself. David had reminded me multiple times to take care of this earlier in the year but I had procrastinated and ultimately forgot. Months later I thought I had done it. I feebly asked the C-Tow guy for mercy, given we were existing members and he promised to look into it. Then I remembered that as newbies we had used their towing services once in each of the two previous years and had therefore cost them money. There is an image in my mind to describe the treatment we would be receiving from them but this being a family oriented blog, I can't talk about it here.
We were told the tow pilot wouldn't arrive for about 45 minutes to an hour so we had no choice but to sail back and forth between Ambleside and Kitsilano in English Bay until he arrived. The wind had picked up even more and it was amazing sailing at 7.5 to 8kts the entire time. Normally we would have been thrilled but now we were just scanning the bay waiting for the grim reaper to come and tow us home.
An hour later we had limped home under tow and were tied up in our slip safe and sound. We plugged into shore power and within 15 minutes the boat started flawlessly, even unplugged. All you can do is shrug it off.
They say that the best days in a boat owners life are the day you buy your boat - and the day you sell it. We're not ready to admit to that just yet but on this trip we definitely saw both sides of sailboat ownership. The ecstasy - and the agony.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Winter: It's about small wins
I learned to sail in the middle of winter here in the Pacific Northwest. As a result, cold weather sailing has never been a problem for me. In fact I feel very fortunate to own a boat in a place where year round sailing is possible. I can't imagine going through what Canadian inland sailors experience every year, pulling their boats out of the water, removing the mast and rigging and storing the boat in a warehouse for the winter. With that said, winter sailing here in Vancouver is a little bit hit and miss. Between busy work schedules and long stretches of rain and monsoon winds, David and I have to seize our opportunities when we can.
This January it has been particularly tough to find an opportunity but this past week mother nature cooperated and blessed us with a few days of sunny weather and 10 - 15 knot winds. At first it looked like we would both be too busy to take advantage of the nice weather but on Friday morning I found myself loading up Ge'Mara and heading out into English Bay once again. I was sailing solo because David simply couldn't get away from work and no one else was able to join. However, we made an alternate plan. I would sail only as far as Snug Cove on Bowen Island. This would give David the opportunity to take the ferry and meet me that evening for dinner on the boat and hopefully a fun sail home the next day.
These mid-winter moments on the water have a unique feel about them. It's pretty special to be out on the water at any time of year but to find yourself gliding across the bay under full sail on a sunny mid-winter day, you really feel like you're getting away with something. While everyone else is happy just to be walking down the street without an umbrella, I am out sailing. And an excellent sail it was. With just enough wind to keep me moving along at about 4.5knots, I tacked back and forth across English Bay, dodging tanker traffic as I went. A little further out I was able to duck below and heat up a can of chicken noodle soup while the auto pilot kept us pointed at Pt. Atkinson. As I passed Lighthouse Park and waived to the day hikers, I slurped my hot soup and felt as good as I had in a while.
That night David and I enjoyed a steak dinner and got caught up after being preoccupied with our own lives for a month or so. It was good to find ourselves out on the boat again and we made yet another toast to Ge'Mara and the wonderful contribution she has made to our lives so far.
The next day we had a leisurely breakfast, went for a bit of a walk around the island and headed for home. We were teased by the outflow winds in Howe Sound to raise the sails but all too soon the wind died and we motored past Pt. Atkinson and towards home on glassy seas. It was a short outing but it was good to be out again. The time for epic sailing will come soon enough. This time of year it's about small wins.
This January it has been particularly tough to find an opportunity but this past week mother nature cooperated and blessed us with a few days of sunny weather and 10 - 15 knot winds. At first it looked like we would both be too busy to take advantage of the nice weather but on Friday morning I found myself loading up Ge'Mara and heading out into English Bay once again. I was sailing solo because David simply couldn't get away from work and no one else was able to join. However, we made an alternate plan. I would sail only as far as Snug Cove on Bowen Island. This would give David the opportunity to take the ferry and meet me that evening for dinner on the boat and hopefully a fun sail home the next day.
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| A fine day for a winter sail |
These mid-winter moments on the water have a unique feel about them. It's pretty special to be out on the water at any time of year but to find yourself gliding across the bay under full sail on a sunny mid-winter day, you really feel like you're getting away with something. While everyone else is happy just to be walking down the street without an umbrella, I am out sailing. And an excellent sail it was. With just enough wind to keep me moving along at about 4.5knots, I tacked back and forth across English Bay, dodging tanker traffic as I went. A little further out I was able to duck below and heat up a can of chicken noodle soup while the auto pilot kept us pointed at Pt. Atkinson. As I passed Lighthouse Park and waived to the day hikers, I slurped my hot soup and felt as good as I had in a while.
That night David and I enjoyed a steak dinner and got caught up after being preoccupied with our own lives for a month or so. It was good to find ourselves out on the boat again and we made yet another toast to Ge'Mara and the wonderful contribution she has made to our lives so far.
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| Tied up at Union Steamship Marina in Snug Cove. |
The next day we had a leisurely breakfast, went for a bit of a walk around the island and headed for home. We were teased by the outflow winds in Howe Sound to raise the sails but all too soon the wind died and we motored past Pt. Atkinson and towards home on glassy seas. It was a short outing but it was good to be out again. The time for epic sailing will come soon enough. This time of year it's about small wins.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Wondering Where the Lions Are
Sailing Memories of 2014
A short YouTube video of some of my best moments on Gemara
With the end of 2014 not far off I've been reflecting on another year of sailing. It's been a great year for it; I took a package from my employer in early spring and allowed myself the summer off to sail and recharge my batteries. As an added bonus 2014 was one of the finest summers I can recall in Vancouver. As you might imagine, Ge'Mara had plenty of use across the year.
One of the best decisions I made this year was learning to single-hand. As I described in an earlier post, single-handing is a freeing experience. Being single and off work, this turned out to be a big advantage, culminating in a fantastic sail to the Gulf Islands that I also wrote about earlier.
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| Waking up in Clam Bay on my first single-handed trip |
With that said, Ge'Mara's most notable trips this year were naturally with my sailing buddy and boat partner David. We achieved not one but two big milestones this year on the boat. In May we cruised North to Princess Louisa Inlet. The trip took us eight days and the scenery was spectacular. In August we embarked on an even longer trip to the far side of Vancouver Island and Barkley Sound. It was an experience not to be forgotten. In spite of a thick layer of fog that plagued us for most of our time West of Victoria it was an epic trip.
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| Motoring into Princess Louisa Inlet |
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| Anchored in Barkley Sound |
All in all as 2014 comes to a close I feel blessed for the chance to have sailed so much and so well (by way of location, not skill). The feeling reminds me of a moment that I had not long after we brought Ge'Mara home to Vancouver for the first time. But first a bit of background:
There is a song by Bruce Cockburn called "Wondering Where the Lions Are." It's a pleasantly optimistic tune that carries a feeling of well being and relief at not having to face some of the more severe of life's challenges. It even has a reference to sailing. I read somewhere that Cockburn was referring to his conversion to Christianity and the story of Daniel and the Lions Den. I grew up with those same stories and the reference really resonates with me.
As I drove to the marina one sunny morning for one of our first sails on Ge'Mara the song played on the radio. As I listened and hummed along I couldn't believe I was the co-owner of a 34ft sailboat. We had navigated the complexities of the purchase, successfully sailed her home from Nanaimo in the middle of winter and now she sat waiting for me in her new slip in Coal Harbour, perhaps the most desired moorage in the city. As a recently divorced man in the throes of reinventing himself, this seemed to be almost too much good fortune. It was one of those moments your brain takes a picture of and retains for posterity. The lions were nowhere to be seen.
***
This week I realized that with the fall season and my job search in full swing, Ge'Mara had been idle since September. We were in the middle of a clear, cold snap with -0 C temperatures and brilliant sunshine. On a whim I decided to go for an overnight sail. I won't go into details on the trip except to say that it was somewhat ill-conceived (as most sailing trips are when they are rushed). I had to pull into Snug Cove rather than continue to my intended destination because I ran out of daylight. I then proceeded to tie the boat to the outside of the dock, fully exposed to the opening of the cove. I reasoned this wouldn't be a problem, given the very tame weather forecast for Georgia Strait. However I didn't think to check the forecast in Howe Sound. That night there was a gale warning and the wind blew past Snug Cove at almost 40 knots. Tied up broadside to the waves I was tossed around like popcorn. With it being pitch dark and me by myself with the better part of a bottle of wine in me, moving the boat wasn't an option so I settled in for a long night. The next morning I was exhausted from a very poor sleep and low-level seasickness from the near constant pounding I took through the night. It was a rookie mistake. I made a quick breakfast and motored towards home in a foul mood.
As I passed the lighthouse at Point Atkinson and turned towards Vancouver my mood softened. While it was near freezing there wasn't a hint of wind and the sea was completely calm. The sun was rising over the city and the panorama in front of me was breathtaking. Suddenly I was reminded of how incredibly fortunate I was. I set the auto pilot and sat up on deck leaning back against the mast, surprised at how warm I was in the sun. I scanned the North Shore mountains and considered what an amazing year it has been on the water. Then, as now, I'm wondering where the Lions are.
Friday, September 12, 2014
Last Call for Summer Sailing
It has been a particularly warm and sunny summer here in Vancouver and I feel blessed to have been given this beautiful weather during the year I am taking a break from work. We have taken full advantage of this gift and have kept Ge'Mara busy between our sails together, with others and of course my first solo ventures. But now even in mid September the banquet of sunshine isn't quite ready to end. The forecast calls for more stellar weather for the next week. Not ones to look a gift horse in the mouth, David and I are heading out for the weekend.
We debated for a while where we should head with only two and a half days to play with. I was big on the idea of crossing the strait because staying in the islands on the Vancouver side inevitably means a lot of motoring. But in light of shrinking hours of daylight and a desire for a relaxed pace we have decided to avoid a crossing and instead head up Howe sound with a view of staying in Squamish, BC.
Howe Sound is famous for fairly strong winds that tend to blow either directly up or out of the channel depending on the amount of sunshine and the time of day. These inflow/outflow winds are the product of convection heating in the valley around Squamish and further north. When the sun heats the land it creates a high pressure area. The cooler water of Howe Sound creates a lower pressure area and thus you have wind. The wind gets channeled through mountains on either side of Howe Sound and as a result, often achieves a higher velocity than in surrounding areas that are more open. Overnight the land cools faster than the water and the process reverses itself. Similar to our trip up the Strait of Juan de Fuca, we are hoping for some fun downwind sailing in at least one direction.
As far as I know, Squamish has only one marina and it doesn't cater much to transients. Fortunately I have a virtual friend from a sailing forum who I know only as "Stretch" who lives in Squamish. When I e-mailed him to mention we were thinking of making the trip up he immediately made arrangements for a slip for us. He also owns a Hunter 34, the same model as ours, so we are looking forward to comparing notes with him.
Seeing as David is still working for a living we can't get away until around 2:30pm on Friday afternoon. Squamish would be an ambitious goal for Friday given the relatively few hours of daylight we'll have left so we have decided to drop the hook at Gambier Island once again. This time however we will stay in Halkett Bay, a marine park complete with mooring buoys. For some reason we have never stopped here, opting instead for the more secluded Long Bay, further west on the island.
With all of this said, the "best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry."* Ge'Mara's little Yanmar diesel engine has been acting up as of late and Laurence our mechanic has been struggling to get to the bottom of the problem. It seems that air is getting into the fuel system and making the engine very difficult to start in the morning. I won't bore you with the details of our efforts to fix it but suffice it to say we are still not completely confident. We have a new fuel pump on order which we believe will finally fix the problem but for the time being it will be a game day (today) decision whether to proceed with our weekend trip or cancel. As soon as I finish writing this I will head down to the boat and start the engine. The results of that effort will determine whether we sail or spend the weekend ashore.
* These words are actually attributable to Robbie Burns an not John Steinbeck as I once thought.
We debated for a while where we should head with only two and a half days to play with. I was big on the idea of crossing the strait because staying in the islands on the Vancouver side inevitably means a lot of motoring. But in light of shrinking hours of daylight and a desire for a relaxed pace we have decided to avoid a crossing and instead head up Howe sound with a view of staying in Squamish, BC.
Howe Sound is famous for fairly strong winds that tend to blow either directly up or out of the channel depending on the amount of sunshine and the time of day. These inflow/outflow winds are the product of convection heating in the valley around Squamish and further north. When the sun heats the land it creates a high pressure area. The cooler water of Howe Sound creates a lower pressure area and thus you have wind. The wind gets channeled through mountains on either side of Howe Sound and as a result, often achieves a higher velocity than in surrounding areas that are more open. Overnight the land cools faster than the water and the process reverses itself. Similar to our trip up the Strait of Juan de Fuca, we are hoping for some fun downwind sailing in at least one direction.
As far as I know, Squamish has only one marina and it doesn't cater much to transients. Fortunately I have a virtual friend from a sailing forum who I know only as "Stretch" who lives in Squamish. When I e-mailed him to mention we were thinking of making the trip up he immediately made arrangements for a slip for us. He also owns a Hunter 34, the same model as ours, so we are looking forward to comparing notes with him.
Seeing as David is still working for a living we can't get away until around 2:30pm on Friday afternoon. Squamish would be an ambitious goal for Friday given the relatively few hours of daylight we'll have left so we have decided to drop the hook at Gambier Island once again. This time however we will stay in Halkett Bay, a marine park complete with mooring buoys. For some reason we have never stopped here, opting instead for the more secluded Long Bay, further west on the island.
With all of this said, the "best laid schemes of mice and men often go awry."* Ge'Mara's little Yanmar diesel engine has been acting up as of late and Laurence our mechanic has been struggling to get to the bottom of the problem. It seems that air is getting into the fuel system and making the engine very difficult to start in the morning. I won't bore you with the details of our efforts to fix it but suffice it to say we are still not completely confident. We have a new fuel pump on order which we believe will finally fix the problem but for the time being it will be a game day (today) decision whether to proceed with our weekend trip or cancel. As soon as I finish writing this I will head down to the boat and start the engine. The results of that effort will determine whether we sail or spend the weekend ashore.
* These words are actually attributable to Robbie Burns an not John Steinbeck as I once thought.
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part VI (Conclusion)
Note: This is the final entry in this series about our trip to Barclay Sound. To start from the beginning, scroll down to Part I or use the index links to the left.
We awoke to the gentle lolling of the boat in the ocean swells that had made their way into our little anchorage. As I trundled up into the cockpit bleary eyed with a cup of coffee and looked at my surroundings I was reminded that the fog was nature's way of being kind to us out here on the wild side of Vancouver Island. Soon enough it would be blown away, replaced by howling winds and 25ft waves. I was ready to leave. As is often the case when faced with the need to move on, you can't get away fast enough. We raised the anchor and left.
At first the swells were hitting us on the stern quarter as we motored, which tends to roll the boat around on every axis. I had woken up on the wrong side of the bed for some reason and didn't feel all that well. The rolling around wasn't doing me any good. Quietly I slipped below and swallowed a Gravol without mentioning anything to David - who appeared impervious.
During our planning for this trip we had assumed that on the way home we would have a great downwind ride on the northwesterlies that blow on the west coast almost non-stop. But at this time of year the wind doesn't start until later in the day so by leaving so early we traded excitement for safety and ease. And perhaps boredom.
The day played out much as it did on the way up except for one memorable event. I had just buttoned myself into the cabin for a shift below resting and reading when David flung open the companionway and shouted down to me "Whales!"
I grabbed my camera bag from my berth and ran up top. David pointed in the direction he last saw them and after a while of staring we saw one blow, and then another. I scrambled on to the deck and sat down with my camera at the ready and after a time they came again but this time closer. They didn't seem particularly afraid of the boat and at one point I suggested to David that we bear away a little bit as they were getting to within less than 30 ft from us on a gradually converging course. While they were so near, one of the whales surfaced and blew. This time I could hear more then just the whoosh of air and moisture but also a deep resonant sound that hinted at the sheer size of this animal just beneath the waves. He lifted his tail out of the water slowly, as if to say goodbye and then they swam further away from the boat. It was a great moment. I had never before seen a whale close up.
**********
I had hoped to outrun the fog that day before we reached Port Renfrew but it was still with us when we turned the corner into the bay. We motored to the dock but this time opted to stay out in the bay and anchor, as neither of us felt like a pub dinner.
The next morning we left very early, opting to prepare breakfast on the fly. While we motored steadily southeast in the fog I was below making the last of our bacon and eggs with a side of pancakes. We ate it hungrily in the cockpit and washed it down with strong coffee. Barkley Sound was now just a memory and we were both focusing on the moment when we would leave the fog behind and get back into the warmth and sunshine we knew was up there above the mist.
Somewhere around Shiringham Point the fog dissipated. As we continued on we pulled off our jackets, then sweaters, and eventually went below to don shorts and remove socks. It felt good to be alive and to soak up the sun. By the time we got to Sooke, the wind started to pick up behind us. At long last we could raise the sails. Soon we were wing on wing and sailing well at 5knots. As we progressed further south towards Victoria the wind continued to grow and we began to have some real fun. We pulled the reef out of the main and watched while the GPS speed indicated were were starting to surf the following waves and our speed was topping 8 knots. Happily the sea state was still restrained so it wasn't hard to maintain this otherwise tricky point of sail. We had a blast rocketing south into Victoria harbour.
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| Sweet relief: The fog and cloud finally give way to sunshine |
Once we had cell service I called and was fortunate to make last minute arrangements for a slip in the inner harbour. The proverbial Rock Star Parking. A while later we tied up in the harbour on a scorching hot afternoon with nothing but blue sky in all directions. The harbour was packed with tourists who looked down from the promenade and pointed, chatting amongst themselves about who knows what. Some of the bolder ones walked down the ramp and strolled among the boats. I was already leaving Ge'Mara and walking towards the showers as I passed them, unshaven and unkempt, hair askew in all different directions. Normally I would have been embarrassed at my appearance but somehow this day I wore it like a badge of honour.
That evening David called our friend Michelle who lives in Nanaimo and asked if she'd like to join us for dinner in Victoria. Great lady that she is she dropped everything and drove down to see us. It was a fun evening.
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| David and Michelle at dinner in Victoria |
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| Ge'Mara in the inner harbour |
The next morning we left the inner harbour and continued the journey home. We had more decisions to make. We were now ahead of schedule and David had itchy feet to get home. We had already bypassed Sooke as a stop and at this point we could get home in just two more days if we wanted to. We debated whether to stay in Ganges Harbour again or to try Montegue Harbour this time, as David had never been there. While we mulled this over I made a snap decision of my own. I pulled out my phone and called Kevin Patterson, the writer whom I've referred to earlier in this trip log. The only reason I had his number is that he had called me when trying to connect when we were last in Ganges. It was very forward of me to call him now but I elected to impose. To my mild surprise he didn't seem irked to receive a call from me and said he would be available that night at Moby's pub at 9:30 if that would work. Yes it would. So the decision was made: We would be staying in Ganges Harbour this night.
Late that afternoon, tying up in Ganges felt like we were in a KOA campground. We were lucky to get a spot but it was nothing short of a zoo of boats, floatplanes, ferries and people. We barbecued a delicious steak dinner and then hob knobbed with some of our boating neighbours who were having a party, of sorts, on the dock. At first they were a little chilly to us but as usual, a bottle of 18 year old single malt broke the ice.
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| David posing with the Pirate flag my friend Tom bought for the boat |
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| Dusk in Ganges Harbour |
A while later I looked at my watch and said my farewells to our new friends. It was time to meet the writer at the nearby pub. Moby's Pub is in Saltspring Marina, which happens to be where Kevin lives. We couldn't get in there this time so we were staying at the adjacent Ganges Marina. I judged it to be about a 15 minute walk to get from one place to the other but the docks of Saltspring Marina were only 100 yards away from our marina so I elected to simply dinghy over.
Shortly I was seated in Moby's Pub, having been relieved of a $7 cover charge to listen to the very earnest folk singer in the corner. Once again, the locals regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion which I thought was odd for such a popular stop as Saltspring island. One particular guy who looked to be in his late 20's was staring at me intently from just a couple of tables over. I looked away but when I looked back his gaze was still fixed on me and I grew irritated. I was on the verge of either leaving the bar or confronting him when Kevin showed up.
Kevin Patterson is the author of several books, one of which is entitled "The Water in Between." I've mentioned him before in this blog because his book struck a chord with me, and while I am not normally enamoured of "celebrities," I really wanted to meet this guy. I can't say exactly why I was so determined to chat with him. Maybe it was because of some vanity that he and I might have a lot in common seeing as I liked his book so much. I knew for sure I wanted to ask him some questions about the fate of certain people and things in the book. This I did, and he answered them candidly and without hesitation. When I asked him what had become of the "Sea Mouse," (the boat he had sailed to and from Tahiti), he explained it was up in Nanaimo. He seemed eager to stoke my interest in blue water sailing and even hinted that I could buy the Sea Mouse for a very reasonable price. I was flattered that he would take such an interest in me and offer to sell me his beloved ketch. But then again, maybe he just wanted to sell it .
He pointed out the little balcony inside Moby's where he wrote the book. I suggested they could make a bronze statue of him at a computer and place it up there permanently, kind of like they did for Hemingway in El Floridita in Cuba. He didn't seem amused by that suggestion. We spoke briefly about a new book he is working on and he became guarded. "I' haven't come to agreement with the publisher" he said. He talked about subject matter in the book that was clearly very personal.
"Don't suppose you could slip me a manuscript?" I asked, as casually as I could.
"No."
**********
The next morning I woke up and took a gulp from my water bottle thinking it felt like Groundhog Day. I was just as ready as David to get home. We had seen everything we wanted to see, eaten way too much rich food and probably drank too many Dark and Stormy's. It felt like there was a permanent indent in the cushion in my berth where my my hip normally went.
We got out of Ganges Marina as soon as we could and motored out of the harbour. The run out of Ganges would take at least an hour in Ge'Mara before we could turn north to head for Porlier Pass and home. It would have been quicker to have stayed in Montegue Harbour and I asked myself whether it was worth all the fuss just to talk to a guy who wrote a book. Answers to questions like those aren't immediately obvious.
Hours later as we approached Porlier Pass the wind picked up but it was right on our nose. I decided to raise the main and motorsail for the time being, that way it would be up for crossing the strait. When the wind caught the sail the boat heeled over a bit and suddenly the engine started to lose power. I played with the throttle and it eventually died. David and I stared at each other and didn't need to say a word. We were both mentally finished with our trip and just wanted to be home. Now we were possibly facing a night in Clam Bay or Telegraph Harbour trying to fix engine problems. David wasn't going to have any of that and kept playing with the engines. I eased the sails and the boat stopped heeling. That seemed to help and soon the engine was running fine. We were entering Porlier Pass late and there were 3ft standing waves at the far end where the northwest wind met the flooding current. Fortunately Ge'Mara soldiered on and we shot through with the current at 8 knots.
Back in the strait I unfurled the headsail and we were off. We were a little overpowered so we needed to stop and reef but after that we fairly flew home. David was tired and had no interest in taking the helm so I had hours of fun steering the boat at 7.5 knots as we crossed this last body of water before home.
Back in Ganges David had started cleaning out the fridge as it was starting to smell. Soon he'd collected a fat bag of decaying lettuce, overripe blueberries and cherries, along with assorted other organic waste. Rather than walk it up to the marina garbage, he felt it would be better to keep it on board and dump it in the ocean once we were away from land, as if to somehow hasten the great circle of life. Now in the strait I reminded him of this small task and went to take care of it while I was steering the boat. He clearly wanted to do it himself and fairly lunged toward the bag before I got to it. The boat was heeled over quite a ways and he struggled to compose himself on the lower edge with the rail almost awash so he could expel the contents of the bag cleanly. After flailing around a bit he swung the bag seaward and the contents sprayed out - onto the side of the boat. I could see the foul mixture of blueberry and cherry juice working it's way into the pores of our gelcoat by the second. In a cruel irony, the inner of the two plastic bags holding the garbage flew out with the garbage and came to rest on top of the waves, disappearing in our wake, thus environmentally cancelling out whatever good he had hoped to do.
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| The remains of David's offering to the sea |
By the time we had reached the Point Grey bell buoy I was exhausted and feeling like I'd had too much sun. My arms ached from fighting the helm for 4 hours in growing winds. As we turned downwind into English Bay I realized that our short exciting crossing had amply made up for all the motoring in the fog. It had been an amazing trip, but it was time to be back on dry land.
Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part V
Note: For earlier chapters in this trip log, scroll down or use the index to the left.
Waking up in Effingham Bay we were presented with a bit of a conundrum. Our old friend the fog was still hanging over us like a blanket. As it was coming off the ocean it was thickest near the mouth of the sound and dissipated as you progressed inland. This seemed to make a case for finding the next anchorage deep inside the Sound. However, we were already pondering the trip home. There was a gale warning in the Juan de Fuca currently and although it was forecast to calm down by the time we were out there we didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Ergo, we needed to be on the water and heading to Port Renfrew as early as possible the next morning. Additionally, we had elected not to buy fuel in Bamfield, thinking we would likely visit Uclulet before leaving Barkley Sound. We needed fuel and a few extra provisions and Ucluelet is conveniently located at the north entrance. And so it was that while our hearts were looking inland for the sunshine our heads dictated we stay near the mouth of the sound, pay a visit to Ucuelet and then find an anchorage that would serve as a staging point for a speedy departure the next morning. We ate an epic breakfast of bacon, eggs and pancakes and then left.
We motored northwest toward Ucluelet Inlet in the dreary cloud and fog and filled the time by arguing over how many degrees to port or starboard we needed to go to avoid the minefield of rocks we saw on the charts. As I watched them come into view through the fog and saw the waves crashing against their jagged edges I could only imagine how many ships had fallen prey to them over the years. I spend a lot of time romanticizing the early sailing explorers but right then I wouldn't have traded my trusty GPS for anything.
We entered Ucluelet Inlet and motored along looking for landmarks. We passed the fuel dock but we knew the main town dock was further in. Eventually we found it and in spite of a brisk wind blowing us away, landed smartly and without any drama. As an aside, David and I were both enjoying a string of good landings on this trip and were feeling pretty good about our docking skills.
We locked up the boat and walked up the hill to the main road and got directions from a local on where to find the grocery store. We walked up the road and I enjoyed looking around the town as I had never visited here before. A short while later we emerged from Thrifty Foods with a couple of bags of provisions and started for home.
For some reason I had a hankering to visit the local pub. I wasn't particularly hungry after our huge breakfast only a few hours ago but a cold beer in a cozy local pub sounded appealing. As it happened, the Eagles Nest Pub was very close to where we were tied up and soon enough we were quaffing pale ales and chatting with the bartender / waitress. We commented on the fog and asked how long she thought it would last. She shrugged "It's Fogust." This was the first time that someone had actually admitted to us that it's pretty much foggy here all the time here in August. I wondered how I couldn't have stumbled over this fact after all of the planning we had done. Just then I noticed a TV on the wall with an image of a lighthouse on the screen. I realized after a moment it was showing a web cam that was facing out to sea from the point of Ucluelet Inlet. Apparently the fog is on everyone's mind here. When a clear patch hits, people spring into action.
David had ordered a halibut burger because it seemed like the thing to do. When we first sat down we watched out the window as a sport fisherman walked up the dock from his boat with two huge fish that were at least half his size. When in Rome... In a fit of restraint I declined to order any food for myself, still thinking about breakfast. But when David bit into his halibut burger and started rolling his eyes with pleasure, I broke down and ordered one for myself. It was amazing. Certainly the best fish burger I've ever eaten and even one of the best fish meals of any sort. My opinion of sport fishermen softened for a few moments.
After lunch and a few beers we headed back to the boat feeling entirely satiated. We left the dock and headed out, stopping briefly at the fuel dock to top up.
We poured over the chart looking for a suitable anchorage that was both safe and near the entrance to the sound. Eventually we settled on Wouwer Island. Here's what the Waggoners cruising guide says about the place:
"The outer islands of the Broken Group are marked by twisted trees, the result of relentless onshore winds, especially in the winter. If your needs include the desire to navigate 'at the edge' the outer islands can satisfy that need. Here, you'll have your opportunity to run in wind and fog, with the Pacific Ocean swells beating against the rocks. Navigate carefully. The low islands are easy to get mixed up. Rocks and reefs are charted, but they're everywhere...'
"...Wouwer Island is breathtaking, both in its scenery and gunk holing. At half tide or higher, most boats can make it through the slit between Barkley Island and Wouwer Island. A bow watch only will scare you. Once through, and when you're breathing again, anchor in either of the next two little bays."
The descriptions were too enticing to pass up. We motored to Wouwer Island and crept our way through the narrow passage in, as indicated on the chart. Once again I wondered how people did this without GPS, although we both kept a sharp eye on the surrounding terrain knowing that electronics are not always accurate. The tide being rather high, we went through without any concerns. We found a beautiful little spot that was remarkably placid in the lee of the island and threw out the hook. We were careful this time to use extra scope and be extra sure of a good hold. By the looks of the surrounding trees and shoreline, this place could get active if the wind changed direction.
We noticed nearby our friends from the sailboat in Effingham Bay but they bugged out a short while later, just as they had done on the other island. Was it us? We were alone here in this rugged little bay and it felt, finally, like we were on nature's ragged edge.
David was content to sit and read but I wanted to go and explore the island. I rowed the dinghy ashore and found a trail that led to the ocean side and a beach that was wild and beautiful. I walked along the logs and rocks much as I had done at Effingham but feeling all the more secluded for being here by myself. I found a couple of fisherman's floats and took one back to the dinghy as a keepsake. I made my way back to the dinghy and as I approached I saw through the trees Ge'Mara floating out in the swells. She looked different this time. Indeed it felt like we had finally sailed her past the safe and comfortable marinas of the Strait of Georgia to a place that was truly wild, unspoilt and maybe just a touch dangerous. For all the planning, learning and dreaming we had done, for all the monotonous motoring in the fog, this was the moment I had been waiting to experience. It was deeply satisfying. Letting out a long breath I rowed the dinghy back to the boat where David was waiting in the cockpit to start happy hour.
Waking up in Effingham Bay we were presented with a bit of a conundrum. Our old friend the fog was still hanging over us like a blanket. As it was coming off the ocean it was thickest near the mouth of the sound and dissipated as you progressed inland. This seemed to make a case for finding the next anchorage deep inside the Sound. However, we were already pondering the trip home. There was a gale warning in the Juan de Fuca currently and although it was forecast to calm down by the time we were out there we didn't want to take any unnecessary risks. Ergo, we needed to be on the water and heading to Port Renfrew as early as possible the next morning. Additionally, we had elected not to buy fuel in Bamfield, thinking we would likely visit Uclulet before leaving Barkley Sound. We needed fuel and a few extra provisions and Ucluelet is conveniently located at the north entrance. And so it was that while our hearts were looking inland for the sunshine our heads dictated we stay near the mouth of the sound, pay a visit to Ucuelet and then find an anchorage that would serve as a staging point for a speedy departure the next morning. We ate an epic breakfast of bacon, eggs and pancakes and then left.
We motored northwest toward Ucluelet Inlet in the dreary cloud and fog and filled the time by arguing over how many degrees to port or starboard we needed to go to avoid the minefield of rocks we saw on the charts. As I watched them come into view through the fog and saw the waves crashing against their jagged edges I could only imagine how many ships had fallen prey to them over the years. I spend a lot of time romanticizing the early sailing explorers but right then I wouldn't have traded my trusty GPS for anything.
We entered Ucluelet Inlet and motored along looking for landmarks. We passed the fuel dock but we knew the main town dock was further in. Eventually we found it and in spite of a brisk wind blowing us away, landed smartly and without any drama. As an aside, David and I were both enjoying a string of good landings on this trip and were feeling pretty good about our docking skills.
We locked up the boat and walked up the hill to the main road and got directions from a local on where to find the grocery store. We walked up the road and I enjoyed looking around the town as I had never visited here before. A short while later we emerged from Thrifty Foods with a couple of bags of provisions and started for home.
For some reason I had a hankering to visit the local pub. I wasn't particularly hungry after our huge breakfast only a few hours ago but a cold beer in a cozy local pub sounded appealing. As it happened, the Eagles Nest Pub was very close to where we were tied up and soon enough we were quaffing pale ales and chatting with the bartender / waitress. We commented on the fog and asked how long she thought it would last. She shrugged "It's Fogust." This was the first time that someone had actually admitted to us that it's pretty much foggy here all the time here in August. I wondered how I couldn't have stumbled over this fact after all of the planning we had done. Just then I noticed a TV on the wall with an image of a lighthouse on the screen. I realized after a moment it was showing a web cam that was facing out to sea from the point of Ucluelet Inlet. Apparently the fog is on everyone's mind here. When a clear patch hits, people spring into action.
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| The pub in Ucluelet and the "fog cam" behind the bar |
David had ordered a halibut burger because it seemed like the thing to do. When we first sat down we watched out the window as a sport fisherman walked up the dock from his boat with two huge fish that were at least half his size. When in Rome... In a fit of restraint I declined to order any food for myself, still thinking about breakfast. But when David bit into his halibut burger and started rolling his eyes with pleasure, I broke down and ordered one for myself. It was amazing. Certainly the best fish burger I've ever eaten and even one of the best fish meals of any sort. My opinion of sport fishermen softened for a few moments.
After lunch and a few beers we headed back to the boat feeling entirely satiated. We left the dock and headed out, stopping briefly at the fuel dock to top up.
We poured over the chart looking for a suitable anchorage that was both safe and near the entrance to the sound. Eventually we settled on Wouwer Island. Here's what the Waggoners cruising guide says about the place:
"The outer islands of the Broken Group are marked by twisted trees, the result of relentless onshore winds, especially in the winter. If your needs include the desire to navigate 'at the edge' the outer islands can satisfy that need. Here, you'll have your opportunity to run in wind and fog, with the Pacific Ocean swells beating against the rocks. Navigate carefully. The low islands are easy to get mixed up. Rocks and reefs are charted, but they're everywhere...'
"...Wouwer Island is breathtaking, both in its scenery and gunk holing. At half tide or higher, most boats can make it through the slit between Barkley Island and Wouwer Island. A bow watch only will scare you. Once through, and when you're breathing again, anchor in either of the next two little bays."
The descriptions were too enticing to pass up. We motored to Wouwer Island and crept our way through the narrow passage in, as indicated on the chart. Once again I wondered how people did this without GPS, although we both kept a sharp eye on the surrounding terrain knowing that electronics are not always accurate. The tide being rather high, we went through without any concerns. We found a beautiful little spot that was remarkably placid in the lee of the island and threw out the hook. We were careful this time to use extra scope and be extra sure of a good hold. By the looks of the surrounding trees and shoreline, this place could get active if the wind changed direction.
We noticed nearby our friends from the sailboat in Effingham Bay but they bugged out a short while later, just as they had done on the other island. Was it us? We were alone here in this rugged little bay and it felt, finally, like we were on nature's ragged edge.
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| A rough depiction of our route through Barkley Sound. Click to enlarge |
Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part IV
Note: For earlier chapters in this trip log please scroll down or choose from the index on the left
It may sound a little naive but when we woke up in Robbers Passage after our first night in Barkley Sound we earnestly hoped the fog had all blown away. I was yearning for that "sense of place" that could only come through seeing the Broken Islands arrayed in the distance on one side of us and the endless open ocean on the other side. It's a bit like climbing Everest and summiting in the clouds; you know in your head you've made it but there is no vista - no satisfying visual cues to confirm it.
After going for another walk and exploring a small cave on the far side of the island, we said our goodbyes to the folks we met at Port Alberni Yacht club and motored away. The sky was partly cloudy and there was no fog in Robbers Passage but as we left we could see that fog still obscured some of the outer Broken Islands. Our plan today was to head to Effingham Island. Anyone looking at a chart of the area would likely identify this island and the large protected Effingham Bay as the most obvious place to anchor in the Broken Islands. A look at the cruising guide confirmed this and being our first night at anchor here we didn't want to try anything to risky.
We motored across Imperial Eagle Channel and angled towards Effingham Island. For a while we had the sails up but before long we had arrived and needed to maneuver through the shallow north entrance. We puttered slowly through into the bay and found it to be satisfyingly sheltered - and empty. We made our way to the furthest, most sheltered corner of the bay and found only one other boat anchored there - a sailboat. There were no signs of life on the boat but a dinghy was pulled up on the shore nearby so we reasoned they were ashore hiking.
This was a lazy day. We had left Robbers Passage much later than usual and we had only been an hour or so crossing the channel. As a result we found ourselves anchored again in the early afternoon and restless. I had read about a trail on the island that led to a beach that was supposed to be the site of an old native village. We laced up our shoes, hopped in the dinghy and went ashore to explore. Before we left, the family from the other boat returned in their dinghy and we chatted with them for a bit. They had quit their jobs and pulled their son out of school in order to go sailing for a year or more. We would see more of them as our trip progressed.
We had an enjoyable hike to the far side of the island. I had forgotten my day hikers and was using my smooth soled boat shoes, which made it hard to keep up with David who was powering through mud and uneven terrain at full stride. The trail opened up to the placid rocky beach that was littered with huge old growth logs that had become massive articles of driftwood. The tide was down and we spend a while beach combing and checking out the many tidal pools. I never tire of doing this and was pleased to see a bunch of anemones on the rocks. We don't see these near Vancouver for some reason. I had a blast poking around the pools to the extent that David got tired of it and laid down against a log to take a nap while I explored. As I jumped from rock to rock peering down into the pools I remembered that my first serious career ambition as a child was to be a marine biologist. Somewhere along the line I became a lot more pragmatic.
Eventually I returned to where David was sitting and staring contemplatively out at the water. He saw me coming and together we hiked back to the dinghy, glad for both the exercise and an hour or so of pure serenity.
Back on the boat we were at loose ends for a bit, reading and puttering with things until it was time to have a drink before dinner. I had been carefully rationing my Goslings rum and Fever Tree ginger beer to last for the entire trip and carefully poured my daily allotment. 100 years ago in the British navy this occasion would have been known as "Up Spirits" - the time when a ration of rum given to each and every sailor on the ship. Unfortunately, while in Victoria, I had decided to "splice the mainbrace," which is to say, pour a double ration. As a result my rum supply was dwindling faster than anticipated and this was the cause of no small amount of angst.
After another hearty dinner I went up top and looked out of the bay to the east as the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon. The cruising guide had indicated Effingham Bay is an outstanding place to watch the sun set and it was easy to see why. I suggested to David that we drag the folding deck chairs up top and enjoy the show while we finished the last of the wine from dinner. However I could see this would be a losing battle. As I've alluded to earlier, once David is finished dinner he has one eye on his bed, regardless of how early it is. This irritates me to no end as I very much enjoy good conversation in the evening, especially in a spectacular environment like this. Somehow, diving into your bunk with the sun still up not only seems impolite but an abdication of a fundamental responsibility to your fellow man. Royally miffed, I sat alone on the deck and snapped pictures until it was dark. Oddly, at some point I realized I had cell service way out here on the far side of nowhere. I called Brenda and talked with her at length about the trip, glad to have some company after all. Happy now, I drifted off thinking of one of the more stunning sunsets I've seen in a long
time.
It may sound a little naive but when we woke up in Robbers Passage after our first night in Barkley Sound we earnestly hoped the fog had all blown away. I was yearning for that "sense of place" that could only come through seeing the Broken Islands arrayed in the distance on one side of us and the endless open ocean on the other side. It's a bit like climbing Everest and summiting in the clouds; you know in your head you've made it but there is no vista - no satisfying visual cues to confirm it.
After going for another walk and exploring a small cave on the far side of the island, we said our goodbyes to the folks we met at Port Alberni Yacht club and motored away. The sky was partly cloudy and there was no fog in Robbers Passage but as we left we could see that fog still obscured some of the outer Broken Islands. Our plan today was to head to Effingham Island. Anyone looking at a chart of the area would likely identify this island and the large protected Effingham Bay as the most obvious place to anchor in the Broken Islands. A look at the cruising guide confirmed this and being our first night at anchor here we didn't want to try anything to risky.
 |
| It was a brief, cloudy sail to Effingham Island |
We motored across Imperial Eagle Channel and angled towards Effingham Island. For a while we had the sails up but before long we had arrived and needed to maneuver through the shallow north entrance. We puttered slowly through into the bay and found it to be satisfyingly sheltered - and empty. We made our way to the furthest, most sheltered corner of the bay and found only one other boat anchored there - a sailboat. There were no signs of life on the boat but a dinghy was pulled up on the shore nearby so we reasoned they were ashore hiking.
This was a lazy day. We had left Robbers Passage much later than usual and we had only been an hour or so crossing the channel. As a result we found ourselves anchored again in the early afternoon and restless. I had read about a trail on the island that led to a beach that was supposed to be the site of an old native village. We laced up our shoes, hopped in the dinghy and went ashore to explore. Before we left, the family from the other boat returned in their dinghy and we chatted with them for a bit. They had quit their jobs and pulled their son out of school in order to go sailing for a year or more. We would see more of them as our trip progressed.
 |
| Effingham Island - our anchorage for the night |
We had an enjoyable hike to the far side of the island. I had forgotten my day hikers and was using my smooth soled boat shoes, which made it hard to keep up with David who was powering through mud and uneven terrain at full stride. The trail opened up to the placid rocky beach that was littered with huge old growth logs that had become massive articles of driftwood. The tide was down and we spend a while beach combing and checking out the many tidal pools. I never tire of doing this and was pleased to see a bunch of anemones on the rocks. We don't see these near Vancouver for some reason. I had a blast poking around the pools to the extent that David got tired of it and laid down against a log to take a nap while I explored. As I jumped from rock to rock peering down into the pools I remembered that my first serious career ambition as a child was to be a marine biologist. Somewhere along the line I became a lot more pragmatic.
 |
| The remains of a wrecked boat sits amongst the driftwood |
Eventually I returned to where David was sitting and staring contemplatively out at the water. He saw me coming and together we hiked back to the dinghy, glad for both the exercise and an hour or so of pure serenity.
Back on the boat we were at loose ends for a bit, reading and puttering with things until it was time to have a drink before dinner. I had been carefully rationing my Goslings rum and Fever Tree ginger beer to last for the entire trip and carefully poured my daily allotment. 100 years ago in the British navy this occasion would have been known as "Up Spirits" - the time when a ration of rum given to each and every sailor on the ship. Unfortunately, while in Victoria, I had decided to "splice the mainbrace," which is to say, pour a double ration. As a result my rum supply was dwindling faster than anticipated and this was the cause of no small amount of angst.
 |
| Our anchorage, with the skies finally clear for the evening |
 |
| Getting ready for an epic sunset |
After another hearty dinner I went up top and looked out of the bay to the east as the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon. The cruising guide had indicated Effingham Bay is an outstanding place to watch the sun set and it was easy to see why. I suggested to David that we drag the folding deck chairs up top and enjoy the show while we finished the last of the wine from dinner. However I could see this would be a losing battle. As I've alluded to earlier, once David is finished dinner he has one eye on his bed, regardless of how early it is. This irritates me to no end as I very much enjoy good conversation in the evening, especially in a spectacular environment like this. Somehow, diving into your bunk with the sun still up not only seems impolite but an abdication of a fundamental responsibility to your fellow man. Royally miffed, I sat alone on the deck and snapped pictures until it was dark. Oddly, at some point I realized I had cell service way out here on the far side of nowhere. I called Brenda and talked with her at length about the trip, glad to have some company after all. Happy now, I drifted off thinking of one of the more stunning sunsets I've seen in a long
time.
Tuesday, August 12, 2014
Barkley Sound - Adventures in "Fogust" - Part III
Note: Scroll down or use the index to the left for earlier posts in this trip log
I woke up to the deep rumbling sound of a large nearby diesel engine. As I cleared the cobwebs I realized that the first of the commercial fishing boats was getting underway and leaving Port Renfrew. It was dark. I laid there for a while longer and soon I began to hear other smaller boats, from further away. Soon Ge'Mara started to rock in the wake of the departing boats. Salmon fishing season was underway.
David and I stumbled around the cabin rubbing sleep out of our eyes. While he put some coffee on I went up top and took some pictures in the gathering dawn. By the time I got back to the boat we were being buffeted against the dock by a steady succession of waves from the departing fishing boats. It was only going to get worse. We had another long day in store so with a nod we agreed to untie and bolt.
As we left the harbour I poured the coffee and looked back. The little fishing boats just kept coming, all of them roaring at top speed toward whatever spot they had in mind, lest all the fish be caught before they got there. The sun rose directly over Port Renfrew and I snapped a few more pics. It was breathtaking.
Once out in the ocean we went a little further away from the coast in an effort to avoid more of the fishing boats. We had already disappeared back into the fog so it was hard to tell where they had all gone. That as a little scary in itself.
That morning was pretty much just long and boring. There was absolutely nothing to see in the dense fog but one of us needed to be watching intently at all times for logs, crab traps and other vessels. Thankfully we only had one scare. A small sport fishing boat came tearing out of the fog at full speed headed directly for us. Upon seeing our lights he veered wildly to one side, passing to our starboard. He then slowed to a stop and sat dead in the water. At first we thought he wanted to talk to us bus he made no move to come back around. In hindsight he was probably tending to whatever havoc he caused to his passengers and materials by making such a harsh turn at full speed. Or maybe he was just changing his underwear. I didn't think to look to see if he had radar but if he didn't I can't understand why he would be traveling so fast in the fog. This was a discussion that would be revisited several times with multiple people during our stay here.
We passed the time that morning by spelling each other off in one-hour increments. We had been on the water for long enough now that we no longer made a pretense of keeping each other company. It was just nice to go below and read a book with the heat on.
At around 2pm we were staring alternately at our chart plotters and off to starboard. We knew by the GPS and by the sound of the waves, that we had made Cape Beale at the entrance to Barkley Sound. We gave this point and it's treacherous rocks a wide berth and made a broad arc into the sound. To our vast relief, as we headed further and further in the fog seemed to be lifting. Before long we could make out nearby land on both sides of the boat and soon we could make out blue sky above the mist. Eventually the sun emerged into full sunshine and to our amazement the water was a gorgeous turquoise colour. The last time I had seen water that colour was in the Florida Keys. I looked back towards the open ocean and all I could see was dense fog. I was disappointed not to be able to look to the horizon and see nothing but ocean but turning around it was at least great to be in the sun.
Our first order of business was to head into Bamfield to resupply on coffee and ice. We turned into the narrow inlet just inside the sound and motored toward the community dock.
In the book "The Water in Between" Kevin Patterson tells of making landfall after a month at sea single handing his sailboat back from Hawaii. He landed in Bamfield, I'm pretty sure at the same dock I was looking at that moment. Our journey through the fog the last couple of days could not compare to his crossing of the Pacific but when I considered how good it felt to be here I had a new appreciation for the relief he must have felt. I made a mental note to try yet again to connect with him on the way home.
Having restocked our ice we headed out of Bamfield in search of an anchorage. We had planned to go first to Effingham Island but it was still shrouded in fog so we looked for an option deeper in the Sound where the sun was shining. I had been reading our cruising guide and the author had mentioned a little marina located in in a narrow inlet between two islands called Robbers Passage. This was the Port Alberni Yacht Club. Given that Port Alberni was located miles inland from here it was tempting to think of this as an outstation but in fact this was the actual club. The channel seemed a bit challenging for a sailboat but we decided to try it.
We motored carefully into Robbers Passage and once inside saw the yacht club nestled inside a small bay. There were a few boats near the main building but another long dock extended outwards and was completely empty. We headed for it, not sure whether our information was up to date. Presently a woman walked out onto the dock and waved. "Welcome!" she smiled.
We tied up at the dock and chatted with our new host. She confirmed that the club was indeed open for business and was not restricted to members. She pointed out the amenities which were few, but saved the best for last. "We've tapped into a very pure spring here on the island. We have unlimited clean water. Feel free to fill your tanks. You can even have an unlimited length hot shower for only two bucks!" She gestured at a small out-building at the end of the dock.
Her pride was understandable. To traveling boaters, an ample supply of clean water to drink is highly prized. And even very modern marinas typically charge a buck or two for only 3 minutes of hot water in the shower. An unlimited hot shower for $2 was the mother lode. We all stood around smiling. She was happy to have some paying customers. We were just happy to have reached our destination for the night with the prospect of a hot shower.
There was a small network of well-groomed trails on the island and our host gave us a pamphlet with a map. It was evident we were to explore them. David and I were thinking of hot showers and happy hour but we both needed exercise after an extended stay on the boat so we put on some shoes and tromped around the island for a half hour. The trails were very well taken care of and led to the far side of the island to a beach. For some reason I was thinking of how much my Dad might enjoy this. Wherever he lived he liked to cut trails in the forest so he and his guests could stroll in the woods. I imagined he would approve of the Port Alberni Yacht Club and their efforts.
Back at the boat I grabbed a towel and walked up the dock for a wonderful hot shower. Shortly after David and I were having happy hour and feeling very good about everything, the memory of dense fog and errant fishing boats fading into memory.
I woke up to the deep rumbling sound of a large nearby diesel engine. As I cleared the cobwebs I realized that the first of the commercial fishing boats was getting underway and leaving Port Renfrew. It was dark. I laid there for a while longer and soon I began to hear other smaller boats, from further away. Soon Ge'Mara started to rock in the wake of the departing boats. Salmon fishing season was underway.
David and I stumbled around the cabin rubbing sleep out of our eyes. While he put some coffee on I went up top and took some pictures in the gathering dawn. By the time I got back to the boat we were being buffeted against the dock by a steady succession of waves from the departing fishing boats. It was only going to get worse. We had another long day in store so with a nod we agreed to untie and bolt.
 |
| Dawn at Port Renfrew Community Dock |
As we left the harbour I poured the coffee and looked back. The little fishing boats just kept coming, all of them roaring at top speed toward whatever spot they had in mind, lest all the fish be caught before they got there. The sun rose directly over Port Renfrew and I snapped a few more pics. It was breathtaking.
 |
| Sunrise as we leave Port Refrew. A few fishing boats were still coming out |
 |
| Heading back into the fog |
Once out in the ocean we went a little further away from the coast in an effort to avoid more of the fishing boats. We had already disappeared back into the fog so it was hard to tell where they had all gone. That as a little scary in itself.
That morning was pretty much just long and boring. There was absolutely nothing to see in the dense fog but one of us needed to be watching intently at all times for logs, crab traps and other vessels. Thankfully we only had one scare. A small sport fishing boat came tearing out of the fog at full speed headed directly for us. Upon seeing our lights he veered wildly to one side, passing to our starboard. He then slowed to a stop and sat dead in the water. At first we thought he wanted to talk to us bus he made no move to come back around. In hindsight he was probably tending to whatever havoc he caused to his passengers and materials by making such a harsh turn at full speed. Or maybe he was just changing his underwear. I didn't think to look to see if he had radar but if he didn't I can't understand why he would be traveling so fast in the fog. This was a discussion that would be revisited several times with multiple people during our stay here.
We passed the time that morning by spelling each other off in one-hour increments. We had been on the water for long enough now that we no longer made a pretense of keeping each other company. It was just nice to go below and read a book with the heat on.
 |
| Continued motoring in the fog |
 |
| Our first look at Cape Beale at the entrance to Barkley Sound |
At around 2pm we were staring alternately at our chart plotters and off to starboard. We knew by the GPS and by the sound of the waves, that we had made Cape Beale at the entrance to Barkley Sound. We gave this point and it's treacherous rocks a wide berth and made a broad arc into the sound. To our vast relief, as we headed further and further in the fog seemed to be lifting. Before long we could make out nearby land on both sides of the boat and soon we could make out blue sky above the mist. Eventually the sun emerged into full sunshine and to our amazement the water was a gorgeous turquoise colour. The last time I had seen water that colour was in the Florida Keys. I looked back towards the open ocean and all I could see was dense fog. I was disappointed not to be able to look to the horizon and see nothing but ocean but turning around it was at least great to be in the sun.
 |
| Gradually improving visibility... |
 |
| ... Revealing amazing turquoise water |
Our first order of business was to head into Bamfield to resupply on coffee and ice. We turned into the narrow inlet just inside the sound and motored toward the community dock.
In the book "The Water in Between" Kevin Patterson tells of making landfall after a month at sea single handing his sailboat back from Hawaii. He landed in Bamfield, I'm pretty sure at the same dock I was looking at that moment. Our journey through the fog the last couple of days could not compare to his crossing of the Pacific but when I considered how good it felt to be here I had a new appreciation for the relief he must have felt. I made a mental note to try yet again to connect with him on the way home.
 |
| The public dock at Bamfield |
**********
 |
| Robbers Passage, home of Port Alberni Yacht Club |
We motored carefully into Robbers Passage and once inside saw the yacht club nestled inside a small bay. There were a few boats near the main building but another long dock extended outwards and was completely empty. We headed for it, not sure whether our information was up to date. Presently a woman walked out onto the dock and waved. "Welcome!" she smiled.
We tied up at the dock and chatted with our new host. She confirmed that the club was indeed open for business and was not restricted to members. She pointed out the amenities which were few, but saved the best for last. "We've tapped into a very pure spring here on the island. We have unlimited clean water. Feel free to fill your tanks. You can even have an unlimited length hot shower for only two bucks!" She gestured at a small out-building at the end of the dock.
Her pride was understandable. To traveling boaters, an ample supply of clean water to drink is highly prized. And even very modern marinas typically charge a buck or two for only 3 minutes of hot water in the shower. An unlimited hot shower for $2 was the mother lode. We all stood around smiling. She was happy to have some paying customers. We were just happy to have reached our destination for the night with the prospect of a hot shower.
 |
| Port Alberni Yacht Club |
 |
| The unlimited hot shower for $2.00 |
There was a small network of well-groomed trails on the island and our host gave us a pamphlet with a map. It was evident we were to explore them. David and I were thinking of hot showers and happy hour but we both needed exercise after an extended stay on the boat so we put on some shoes and tromped around the island for a half hour. The trails were very well taken care of and led to the far side of the island to a beach. For some reason I was thinking of how much my Dad might enjoy this. Wherever he lived he liked to cut trails in the forest so he and his guests could stroll in the woods. I imagined he would approve of the Port Alberni Yacht Club and their efforts.
 |
| A nice pic of Ge'Mara from up in the trails |
 |
| On the far side of the island |
 |
| The entrance to Robbers Passage |
Back at the boat I grabbed a towel and walked up the dock for a wonderful hot shower. Shortly after David and I were having happy hour and feeling very good about everything, the memory of dense fog and errant fishing boats fading into memory.
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