Fresh Entry: Avoiding "Get-there-itis"

 Greetings.  I've been on hiatus from the Blog for the last few years but back now with some new ideas and entries.

In aviation and other circles prone to discussions on safety there is a term frequently used to describe a human tendency often responsible for serious accidents.  It's called "Get-there-itis."   Simply put, it is the surprisingly powerful desire to get to our destination that causes us to take risks we might not normally take.  In the context of my sailing adventures these lessons have always been rather benign but in aviation they can quite literally be deadly.

This past June/July my girlfriend and I decided to take advantage of the unseasonably hot early-summer weather and head out for a few days sailing.  After spending a pleasant but predictable night in our favourite spot on Gambier Island we headed across the straight for a night inside the Gulf Islands.  We decided to take the slightly shorter route to Gabriola Pass and then proceeded to sail south inside the islands to Thetis Island.  We both love the cozy Telegraph Harbour marina on the west side of Thetis but my girlfriend had an event she needed to be home for the following evening and an early slack tide through Porlier Pass dictated we stay on the east side of the island and anchor in Clam Bay instead.  It's still possible to get to the marina from there by way of a mid-island passage called "The Cut" so we figured we could still visit Telegraph Harbour for a walk via the cut and still be close to Porlier for a quick getaway the next morning.

That evening we enjoyed a nice bbq dinner and concluded with me pouring some of David's 18 year old scotch and lighting up a Cuban cigar on the deck watching the night slowly overtake us.  A Partagas #4 takes a little while to smoke and soon I was refilling my whisky to keep it company.  This led to a chicken-egg scenario of philosophical thinking in the twilight, leading to more whisky, leading to more deep thinking.

They say that one of the stages of grief is negotiation.  It is also true that one of the stages of a hangover is grief, often followed by negotiation.  In this case the negotiation was with Brenda at 6am on why we didn't really need to catch the early slack in Porlier and how I could still get her home in time for her evening event by catching the late morning slack.  I sweetened my argument with talk of a hearty breakfast and relaxation over coffee - all of which was clearly more appealing to me in that moment than her.  Nonetheless she relented and we had a splendid morning lounging over breakfast and coffee.

At around 10am I was feeling considerably better and began to focus on how narrow our margin of error had become.  Slack tide was at roughly 11:30 and from there in perfect conditions it is 6 hours to Vancouver on the good ship Ge'Mara.  Brenda would be hard pressed to get to her event, unless of course we went through Porlier early.  The tide was currently flooding so I reasoned we could go in early, shoot through on a 4 knot current and get the sails up.  The wind had been blowing 20+ knots in the strait, creating conditions I knew Brenda wouldn't want to sail in but it was supposed to die down by noon.  If all went to plan we would get a brisk start to our crossing followed by a steady sail the rest of the way home.

Now that the plan was formed I found myself restless at anchor.  I looked at my watch, I looked at the tide chart, I looked at my watch...  Next thing you know I was pulling the anchor.  Brenda came up top wondering why we are leaving early and I reassured her I knew what I was doing.

30 minutes later we approached the mouth of Porlier Pass.  As I looked through the pass to the far side I could see an odd silvery sheen at the surface.  A look through the binoculars confirmed my fear.  The water on the far side of Porlier was churning.  The brisk NW wind was in almost direct opposition to the still-rushing current and that combination produces standing waves at the mouth of the pass.  I texted David to see what he would do.  He said slow up and wait for an hour until true slack.  I looked at Brenda and decided that wasn't an option.  We proceeded into the foaming maw of Porlier Pass.

My first surprise was how fast we weren't going.  We should have had a 4knot current helping us along but instead we were fighting to maintain 3knots forward speed.  Nonetheless we advanced towards the standing waves.  The first one or two were fine but the pitching of the bow seemed to increase with each new wave.  One second the bow was pointed at the sky, the next it was buried in a wave.  Loose items below crashed about the cabin.  I began to wonder if I'd made a grave error but eventually we got through.

We proceeded to get the sails up and headed towards home.  Brenda looked relatively unfazed by our trip through Porlier.  The look of naive trust.  I pushed aside my sense of guilt for that decision by reasoning I was now poised to get her home in good time.  Unfortunately nature had other plans.  Rather than calming, the wind seemed to be picking up.  I repeatedly trimmed the sails to compensate but it was clear we were in for a boisterous ride home.  Brenda hung on tightly as we took a wave over the bow and asked how long it would be like this.  I knew she wouldn't like the answer.  Twenty minutes later we tacked 180 degrees and headed back for Porlier Pass.  There was no way Brenda wanted hours of those conditions.  Being the gracious person she is, she took full responsibility for turning around and thus missing her friend's birthday party.

We motored back through Porlier and by the miracle of nature it was flat and calm.  The torrent of only 30 minutes ago was nowhere to be seen.  Slack tide.

Postscript

After resetting our expectations of getting home that day we quickly adjusted to the reality of another  beautiful day inside the Gulf Islands.  Blessed now with ample time we sailed south, thinking we would stay at Montegue Harbour on Galiano Island.  On our way we passed Wallace Island, a beautiful but very popular marine park and anchorage.  I had never been able to find space there.  We passed the two main anchorages and confirmed they were jam packed.  Even if there was a single spot available we wouldn't have wanted to spend the night in that sardine can.  We proceeded south past the lower tip of the island and I looked back into a tiny bay I knew was suitable for only one boat, fully expecting it to be occupied as well.  By divine providence it was empty.  There was another sailboat hovering near the entrance but he had decided not to go in because he lacked a stern anchor which is needed in such close quarters to prevent swinging.  We have a stern anchor.  A short while later we were secure in one of the most beautiful, cozy little anchorages I have ever found.  We went ashore for a nice walk and had a very pleasant stay at Wallace Island.  The next day we returned home uneventfully on calm seas.

I have read many stories with unpleasant endings about when people succumb to get-there-itis.  I'm very glad our lesson was a soft one with a happy ending.

Moods

The mayor of Bamfield, British Columbia opened her eyes at exactly 6:01am, without the benefit of an alarm clock.  She stared at the ceiling for a moment and then eased herself out of bed and walked sleepily into the kitchen.  Pouring water into the coffee maker, she looked out the window to take in her stunning view of Barkley Sound.   Instead, the view was obscured by low cloud and dense of mixed with steady rain.  She sighed.  "Doug and David must be visiting again."

********

What a difference a day makes.  After a mixed bag of weather upon leaving Victoria, our Port Renfrew to Bamfield day filled us with a sense of well-being.  The forecast had promised sunny weather for most of our trip and now it had delivered.  We pulled into Bamfield like conquering champions, back to Barkley Sound for the sunny visit we were supposed to have two years ago.  We fuelled up, bought some extra provisions and proceeded to our first stop, Port Alberni Yacht Club.  PAYC is located in Robbers Passage between Flemming Island and Tzartus Island.  Unfortunately there was no one home.  This didn't stop up from tying up at the dock but it did preclude us from having the unlimited $2 hot shower that we remembered so fondly from our last visit.  The unlimited shower is owing to an active artesian spring the club has tapped into and a recently installed on-demand hot water heater.  No matter, we had all the peace and quiet we could stand in surroundings that were so beautiful they would bring a tear to your eye.

Mobile Update

For days there has been a strong wind warning for the Juan de Fuca Strait. Today the wind has died. That means a repeat of last time - a long day of motoring. Equally disappointing, the sun has disappeared even though there are no clouds in the forecast. As an added insult, we're struggling against an all-day flood tide that has kep our speed to 3 - 4 knots. At this rate we won't be at Port Renfrew until 10pm. 

With that said, 25kt winds on the nose are expected tomorrow so I shouldn't complain. Just coming up to Sheringham Point with its lovely lighthouse. 

 

Mobile Post: Juan de Fuca Strait

Good fun in Victoria last night. We had dinner and drinks at an old favourite of mine, the Sticky Wicket. The bar was filled with US Navy sailors on shore leave from their destroyer tied up nearby in Esquimalt. David, being the hyper-social guy that he is, began chatting them and buying them drinks. What ensued was inevitable, as was how I feel this morning. I'm the smartest guy in the world at 7am. 

Heading out of Victoria Harbiur as I write this and the view is expansive. The Juan de Fuca Strait lies before us with the Olympic mountains in the background. Race Rocks light station is just off our bow. I'd love to motor over and check out the sea lions that rest there but we have 50 nautical miles to get to Port Renfrew and the wind is right on our nose. Not a moment to lose. 

 
 

Mobile Post: First Night - First Problem

We got away in good time on Friday. By 10am we were on our way. After topping up fuel we motored out into the strait and headed South towards Active Pass. It was a pleasant and uneventful crossing with the wind on our stern quarter. 

As we got closer to Active Pass I checked in with an experienced sailing friend for options on anchorages inside the pass. JV suggested Annette Inlet on Prevost Island. We took his advice and enjoyed a peaceful evening at a beautiful anchorage (pics to follow).

This morning dawned with rain, wind and cloud. After enjoying a bacon and eggs breakfast we started bundling up for a cool day on the water. I went to grab my sailing jacket and....  Gone. I stared in disbelief at the empty hook where I normally hang it. Bad words were uttered. It was literally pouring rain outside.

David offered me one of his jackets but it was a little small. I hatched a plan. I called my long suffering partner Brenda and asked if she would send my jacket - and some other items I had forgotten, by Greyhound bus to downtown Victoria. I made the call and she reluctantly agreed, barely holding back her sarcastic remarks at my stupidity. 

A while later Brenda called and said my jacket was nowhere to be found at home.   At this point she remembered that last time she was on the boat she decided to nearly hang up my jacket in the aft locker. I never bother to do this so I didn't think to check there. A quick look in the locker confirmed - there it was neatly hanging ready for action. 

First problem solved. Now it's off into the rain. Victoria tonight. 

 

Barkley Sound - Revisited

A couple of years ago David and I struck out on the most ambitious sail we had attempted to that point.  We headed south past Victoria, around the southern tip of Vancouver Island, up the Juan de Fuca Strait and into open ocean.  Our destination was Barkley Sound on the west coast of the Island.  Inside the sound is an array of islands, fittingly known as the Broken Islands, that provide infinite possibilities for exploration and pristine anchorage.  What we didn't know was that August in that part of the world is known for fog.  As a result, much of the legendary scenery we were looking forward to was shrouded from view most of the time.  Today we are about to revisit that epic trip during a season of clearer weather.

Our route to Barclay Sound.  (Note, we will stop in Port Renfrew rather than Neah Bay to avoid customs hassles)

One notable improvement we've made for this trip is our dinghy.  The one we've been using was a hard shell Walker Bay model with only oars for propulsion.  To say this little boat was precarious with the two of us in it is an understatement.  Representing close to 500lbs between us, we made a comic picture rowing around.  So David splurged on a new, more buoyant inflatable dinghy and a small outboard engine.  This will make for safer and more enjoyable exploration once we get to our destination.

The old dinghy(above) and an example of our new one (below)

Provisions, as usual, are excessive.  In our tradition of wanting for nothing while we're afloat we spent close to $400 on food and roughly the same again for wine, beer, rum and a very nice bottle of scotch, all because, as we are fond of saying, "we're not barbarians."

The weather outlook is generally great, with just a couple of cloudy/damp days to face on our way out before a good stretch of sunshine and warm temps.

We are very grateful to Brenda and Pam for giving us this extended (10-day) pass to act like kids again and go exploring.  In just a few hours we'll be pushing off.  Can't wait.

Time for an Update

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Motoring into Princess Louisa Inlet

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.