Just stopped into Echo Bay, took on water and posted blog. Echo bay’s store is on a section of what was the Mercer Island floating bridge. On one of the sections that didn’t sink during that 1989 storm (I still remember looking at the news in disbelief as the bridge sank). Pierre’s Lodge is now there and we talked briefly with Pierre and his wife. Pierre commented on the bull frog and remembered talking with Craig at the boat show.
Last time I was up here it was far busier, but we were there for the weekly Saturday night pig roast. It was packed with boats, mostly power boats. Today there were only a few boats and all of them were sailboats.
We also saw the local bald eagle, “Sally”. She’s been hanging around Echo Bay for 13 years. We got a few shots of her atop a pole on a small island right outside Echo Bay.
If the weather doesn’t change, this evening will be our last day in the Broughtons. One could spend several lifetimes up here and not see it all, but to stay on schedule we’ve got to burn tomorrow getting in to position to go around the top of Vancouver Island. Tomorrow will be the first of several big days crossing large bodies of water. We’ve been spoiled by the calm of the Broughtons. Most of it is quite sheltered from the wind and as a result is delightfully calm. That will change tomorrow.
1600 hours, 50.44.96N 126.39.49W. Joes Cove was our destination of choice. Quiet, protected, and again one other boat in the anchorage so far. An old interesting sailboat. Jodi just went for a kayak excursion. We figured a nifty way of launching the kayaks from the boat. If we lower the davits so the bullfrog is in the water, there’s a slot between the swim step on the boat and the bullfrog. If you put the kayak in that slot, you can have part of your weight on the swim step and part on the bullfrog as you lower yourself in to the kayak. It’s almost graceful. As opposed to the kayaker we saw at Echo Bay. I didn’t see exactly what happened, but heard a shout, a splash and when I turned there’s a guy demonstrating the inelegant way of getting out of a kayak.
July 5, 2011. Location: Joes Cove. It’s 3am and I’m thinking about the rounding. Worried, playing currents and timing scenarios in my head. There’s competing (and mutually exclusive) advice on how and when to cross the Nahwitti Bar. There’s also pressure to get as far down the coast as possible so that once again we can slow down and enjoy a more relaxed schedule.
The next 2 days are part of one long move. First, position the boat to the jumping off point at Bull Harbor then tomorrow get up before first light, venture over the bar, into the largest ocean in the world. The Pacific. No wonder I’m up at 3am worrying.
Later today we’ll cross Queen Charlotte Strait, a large body of water just south of Queen Charlotte Sound. Then we’ll head up Goletas Channel to Bull Harbor, the jumping off point. (Maybe it’s the phrase ‘jumping off’ that has me worried?).
The kayaks are lashed to the deck, fuel cans are tied to the rail, the generator is secure, the boat is ready for heavy weather should we encounter it. Worrying won’t fix anything, headed back to sleep.
0630 hours July 5. Woke to the sound of screaming ravens. There are two of them and we first heard them yesterday. They each have a screech, but each screeched in a different pitch and they alternate. First one, then the other. The sound is an angry and almost human. The effect is like two people with very limited vocabularies yelling at each other. For hours. I have no idea if it’s a territorial dispute or some mating ritual using a sound that could only be pleasing to them. It’s a sound that starts you thinking about a shotgun. We don’t have one aboard, so we’ll crank up the boat and leave the two screechers to their home in Joe’s Cove. Perhaps that was their point all along? I wonder who Joe was and if he ever heard the ravens….
0900 hours.50.45.145N, 126.53.880W We are in Queen Charlottes straits. Were just visited by more dolphins, a couple of which played at the bow for a bit. I think I finally got a decent shot of them while they were underwater looking up at us. Jodi is still waiting for her first whale sighting. Haven’t seen one yet….
1034 hours. 50.46.184N, 127.11.504W. Motoring up the strait. Just past a funny looking small island off Numas Island. Looks like a half dome slightly protruding above the water. The Indian name for it is “Round Side of Hind End”. Or at least that’s what Franz Boas thought they told him in the late 1800’s or early 1900’s. I think the Indian’s were right.
1100 hours. Seas are calm and we’ve now been underway for 4 hours. Breakfast and coffee are over, there’s no wind and no whales. We haven’t touched land for 4 days now. Jodi is starting to crave exercise. We’ve taken a few kayak trips, but nothing really aerobic. So this morning we looked around and invented the ‘stair step at sea’ move. I’m sure it’s been done before, but I just haven’t seen it. We went to the bow and the cabin trunk rises about 15 inches off the deck. A step. 80 steps is 100 feet of vertical elevation. Start stepping. We did 125 feet of vertical in a few short minutes. Felt good. Will do much more of that. A couple of hundred feet of vertical every couple of hours should do it….
There are very few boats around. The straits are about 15 miles wide and we can see 20 miles of its length in front of us and another 20 miles behind us. That’s roughly 600 square miles of water with perhaps 3 vessels widely spaced apart. I recall much more commercial traffic up here in previous years. The economy? Fuel prices? Declining fish stocks? Something else? All of the above? Don’t know.
1330 hours. Location 50.50.232N, 127.42.367W. Well into Goletas channel now. Fairly boring day of motoring. We’ve been dodging drift for a while. Jodi is getting good at it. We are approaching Bull Harbor and can now see the Pacific Ocean. It’s still calm as we’re still in the lee of the north end of Vancouver island, but we’re getting very near the top of the island. We’re passing abeam of Sushartie Bay. A long time ago one of my buddies saw some Killer Whales right about here and jumped in the boston whaler for a close look. He got some great shots and nearly climbed over the back of one of them (and for anyone reading this that was over 30 years ago under a different set of sensibilities. I like the US 200 yard buffer more than the Canadian 100 yard buffer and a good telephoto is better than harassing wildlife).
Vancouver island, for all its majesty, wimps out at the top. For all the mountains that form its backbone, the northern end gently dips into the ocean and extends out a bit forming Tatnall reef and the bar.
Just as we begin to feel the swell from the ocean, we duck into Bull Harbor. Two other cruising boats here, we find a nice spot, drop the hook, and we’re here.
Jodi presents me with a choice. Vegetarian chili or fresh fish. I say ‘fish sounds pretty good…’. Her eyes cast a glance at the unused fishing pole affixed to the backstay. Uh oh. Pressure is on. For those that know me, fishing has never been my strong suit. I fished as a kid, but never really pursued it the way Bruce or Sheldon have. Because I cruised with both, fresh fish really wasn’t a problem. Both were born with that ‘hunter gatherer gene’ that some people, mostly guys, have. They venture out with appropriate ‘gathering gear’ and gather. It used to be rocks, spears and snares. Now it’s shotguns, rifles, fishing poles, crab pots and shrimping gear.
In any case, if you are fortunate enough to have them as friends, fresh food is never far away. It’s terrific, and over the years I’ve gotten used to it. If it involved diving, I can spear fish as good as the next guy (Bruce will forever remember the flash of my knife when we were 60 feet down and I pithed his nice big ling cod that he had shot in the gut). But on top of the water my fishing skills are not that great. In short, they suck.
Which is why I had two alternating thoughts when her eyes went to the fishing pole. One was that vegeterian chile wasn’t that bad. Especially hers. It’s pretty good. The other was one of terror. The pressure was on. She raised an eyebrow. Nuts. I had to provide.
Worse, she wanted to go with me. Heck. Humiliation was just around the corner. I could feel it.
After all that, we jumped in the dinghy, I picked a spot that seemed likely and before too long. Bam. Two fish were in the boat. Success!!! A fresh fish dinner was assured. A good omen. Perhaps ‘jumping off’ tomorrow would be alright afterall. The dolphins had played with our bow, a traditional good luck sign and I’d caught a couple of fish.
Its 930. 2130 hours in nautical speak. It’s still light outside. The weather up here is different. Just before dinner time the visibility was about 100 yards. A fine mist, bordering on fog, blanketed the harbor. We couldn’t see much. Fast forward 30 minutes. Brilliant sun – sun with authority. It was beautiful for about an hour. Then the mist returned. We’re getting the boat ready for tomorrow. The drill. Lash down everything, store everything. Nothing to roll or rocket around if we hit big waves.
There are two other boats in the harbor and both are going around. Departure time is around 4am. I would have picked about a half hour later, but there’s comfort in numbers. Alarm is set for the ungodly hour of 345. We’re ready. Just need to pull up the anchor and point the bow towards the bar, then the Pacific. The first part of the plan – screaming up the east side of the island and spending time in the Broughtons, worked. We wish we could have spend more times in the Broughtons, but time won’t allow it. Future years. Now to execute the next part of the plan…..
July 6th. 0345 hours. Up before dawn. There’s movement on the other two boats, they are awake also. For me, it’s still too dark to venture out. There’s no benefit – slack is still an hour and a half away and there’s an adverse current. I make coffee, crank up all the systems – GPS, laptop, radar, fathometer, and the VHF. And wait.
The trawler makes the first move, raises his anchor and disappears out of the harbor into the gloom. It’s foggy.
Finally there’s a bit of light. We need to leave as well. The other sailboat in the harbor has been up for sometime. We talked to him yesterday and he too is going around. We raise the anchor and Jodi steers as I stay out on deck for better visibility. The harbor behind us disappears. We are in the fog. The radar shows no targets in front of us and a blip appears behind us. The other sailboat. I can’t find the trawler ahead of us on the radar.
We head towards the infamous Nahwitti Bar. As we approach the bar the depth comes up dramatically. We go from 400 feet to about 60 feet in just a few boat lengths. We’re at the bar, boat is ready for anticipated waves --- but they don’t really appear. We can feel the ocean swells, but the bar is quiet. Another non- event. Good.
0530 hours. Jodi and I are talking in the cockpit, enveloped in the fog. I look behind her and off to starboard by about 50 feet a Minke whale surfaces. It surfaces once again and swims out into the fog.
The water is glassy smooth with ocean swells. It’s foggy, and there are hundreds – thousands – of birds floating on the surface. They dive underwater, take flight, there’ll all busy and the sheer number of them is awesome. Our world is roughly a 200 yard circle. We can’t see land.
0718 hours. Visibility has improved a little bit. Still can’t see land, but our world has grown to perhaps a mile in all directions. Swells are getting larger. The true ocean is getting closer. Were not quite yet to cape Scott, but getting there.
“Butch Cassidy” is the sailboat that left the harbor when we did. Total stranger, but we’ve been cruising side by side for a couple of hours now, he off my port beam by just under a half mile. Sometimes I can see him, other times he’s the only blip on the radar, but there’s some comfort that another boat is out here.
Just saw my first real Sea Otter. There’s plenty of river otters around, but this guy was large – about the size of a seal, but definitely an otter. The were hunted out here nearly to extinction, but are making a comeback….
0830. Just rounded Cape Scott. That’s the good news. Bad news? We’re in the slop. Not enough wind to heel us to one side, and lumpy irregular waves on top of ocean swells. Jodi is turning an odd shade of green. I did raise the main as a preventive measure before we left and while it does help, there’s still a lot of movement. Going down below is difficult at present.
The only good news is that we’re making decent speed. Above 7 knots, which is a good thing, I’d give Jodi some advise, like ‘look at the horizon’ – but there isn’t any horizon. The gray water melts into the gray fog at some unknown distance.
0934 hours Location: 50.39.140N 128.25.500W. There simply is not much charitable I can say about the Northwest end of Vancouver Island. An inhospitable lee shore full of reefs. Sea is confused. Jodi is resting.
1000 hours: ‘Butch Cassidy’ stayed inshore and went to Sea Otter cove. We’re pressing onward to Winter cove. There are no blips on the radar anymore. We have this stretch of the pacific to ourselves. I can see why. No one else would want it. Uncomfortable and boring. Still foggy, haven’t seen land since we left at oh dark hundred….
1030 hours: We are not alone. I kept seeing an intermittent target on the radar and as the fog is clearing, there’s another sailboat inshore of us. He must have left from Sea Otter cove this morning.
1045 hours The breeze is filling in as the fog lifts. The ocean waves are becoming more rhythmic and the motion of the boat is less chaotic. Jodi is feeling better. Hopefully we can sail soon.
1215 hours. Settled into a comfortable motor sail. Wind just hasn’t filled in yet. Blowing perhaps 10 knots from the NW. We went from seeing no one to seeing dozens of small fishing boats out of the Winter harbor area. Must be a lot of salmon around. We saw a couple of them jump out of the water near the boat. The rounding and the first day are nearly behind us. All and all things went OK, although sloppy seas in the fog aren’t very fun.
1320. Location 50.27.936N, 128.01290W. We’re now well into Forward inlet, heading towards Winter Cove. Well in the lee of Cape Parsons. Looks like we’re headed into another rain squall, but the seas are calm for now.
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