Or Circumnavigating Vancouver Island
Or How I spent my summer vacation
by Ed Moye
Part 3: August 6-16, 2000
8/6/00
Computer entry. Today is the second we have spent here in Alert Bay on Cormorant Island. Alert Bay is an odd mix of official British principality and a strong willed First Nation community. Everywhere there are expressions of cultural pride.
On the one hand, there are numerous relics of the British past. There is the old customs house, the ferry dock, the county court house and the local police station. On the other, there are totem poles of many different ages all over town. Native art is sold in many shops along the waterfront. I've seen several large Cedar canoes.
The first canoe was in the carport of a small cabin just across the road from the marina. The boat had large totem style graphics on its sides and was carved from a single log. Another canoe was under construction and was far from a finished state. As I walked by yesterday (Saturday) there was a group of natives at the site working on the canoe. A nearby boom box kept the work on track with a loud drumbeat and the voices of First Nation singers. Despite the smoke and noise of chainsaw excavation, the detailed blueprints of lofting lines that laid on the tool box, and the blue plastic tarps stretched overhead to protect the green wood from the noonday sun, the place had the feel of an ancient practice. It was easy to look past the multicolored baseball caps on the workers and see a thriving maritime culture that had flourished for centuries. This blatant display of cultural pride is evident all over the island.
Yesterday we attended a dance exhibition in the “Big House”, which is a very large recently constructed Long House at the edge of town. Many of the dancers were children from the village who were involved in the cultural heritage programs in the local school. Their teachers and other elders also participated. The program began with a long greeting in Kwak-wa ka wakm, the language of the first Nations people of the larger area. The words popped and rattled foreign to my ear, thick with antiquity.
The long house was build of cedar, which the second speaker explained was a protective element which kept the dark sprits away from the meeting hall. The dancers also wore headbands of woven cedar for the same reason. The Big House was indeed quite big. The roof at the ridge was 30 feet above the sand floor. There was a cupola with open sides sheltering the smoke hole above a large fire pit. Massive cedar log purlins supported the open beam ceiling. These purlins and the posts which supported them were carved with linear fluting. The purlins and posts appeared to be at least 30 inch diameters, and could have been much larger since it was difficult to estimate their size from a distance. Surrounding the sand floor and fire pit were cedar risers with cedar benches built at the front of each successively higher step. It was here that Dennis and I sat with a group of about 40 people. The crowd was almost equally composed of First Nations people and tourists. The second speaker talked at length about the local community, the importance of the Big House and the Potlatch Culture, and the impact of current politics on their culture. Then the dances began.
We were shown portions of several “Cedar Dances”. One dance involved a single dancer with a large wooden raven mask. As he crouched and lunged about the sand floor he would stop and pull a string which operated the 4 foot bill of his raven head mask. This opening and closing of this bill produced a loud clacking noise. The clacking was clearly audible above the singers who were on drumming on a long hollow cedar log at the north end of the building. The performance resonated clearly inside the cedar walls. Though the rhythm and vocals were repetitive they swept me up into the pulse of the dances. It was an intriguing experience. Finally the dancers did a dance that they then invited the audience to come join in. A dancer came up to Dennis and waved for him to come on to the floor. He was hesitant and shook his head to decline the invitation, I however, had no such reticence, and immediately headed out onto the sand. To my surprise, Dennis followed. The crowd danced in a counter clockwise circle for another 3 or 4 minutes. It was staged. It was a tourist attraction. I suspect the dancers found much of the participation to be awkward and humorous. But I danced in a long house, to a cedar drum played by peoples who's heritage was long and vigorous. There was no way in hell I was missing out on this opportunity.
Alert Bay has been a village site for a long time. It has also been a white outpost for some time. Last night I rented a room at what was once the Customs House. Alert Bay was the only Canadian settlement this far north during the Alaska Gold Rush. Consequently a Customs house was built here. It has now been refurbished and houses a restaurant on the first floor and a Bed and Breakfast on the second floor. The upstairs rooms all adjoin a common living room, kitchen and bathroom. Out the sliding glass door there is a 8x12 deck overlooking Alert Bay and Broughton Channel. Beyond that, large snowcapped mountains on Vancouver Island crowd the horizon. I am the only person here and as a result I have what amounts to a large apartment all to myself.
Another interesting example of clashing cultures is to be found in what was the government “Indian School”. The building is a large multi-story concrete structure which housed a government relocation/ reeducation program for native children. Much like the notorious American “Indian School” counterparts, children were removed from their home villages and brought here to be taught to be farmers, carpenters, and other such white trades. It was one of the most successful schools in Canada. The students provided for much of their own needs, growing food and maintaining the operation. The school finally was closed but that was not the end of the story. The local people took over the abandoned building and created a Native college. There were signs on the outside of the building advertising carving classes and the like.
It is interesting to see a fishing community that is as vital as Alert Bay. After years spent sailing, driving and exploring the dying fishing towns of the Columbia River, this town is a window on what those the dilapidated relics must have once been. Here there are freshly painted houses and businesses. An abundance of recent art lines the street next to art obviously from years past. It is as if the town has managed to keep its spirit alive when other such towns have withered. Much of this resilience must be attributed to the strength of the native culture.
Near here on Village Island the last public potlatch was held in 1921. The participants of this ancient event were all arrested and 22 were sent to prison for their involvement. The Canadian government had passed a series of laws prohibiting the practice of Potlatch. The RCMP seized all the goods intended for the Potlatch and sent them to national museums. Despite this devastating blow the local people insisted on their right to choose their own cultural practices. Against all odds this insistence continued for decades until the Federal Government acquiesced to the soundness of their argument. The National Museum returned all of the artifacts it had possessed to Alert Bay, where a Cultural Center was built of house them and to tell the story of the struggle to return them to their home. Such resilience must play a role in the continued vigor of this town. In fact, if you ask me I would say that the native culture is now outstripping the British system that was overlaid upon it. The totem poles defiantly out number the Canadian flags in town.
I have enjoyed our stay in Alert Bay. The people seem honestly friendly and don't have the veneer of cynicism so common in tourist towns. As I walked the streets old people, children, women and men greeted me with hellos and comments about the weather and other such pleasantries. It is surprising to find a place where there is obviously a tourist economy and at the same time the people show such openness. Usually tourists are ignored with the same pained endurance reserved for things like bad weather, or other necessary evils. Here I really do get the refreshing feeling that the culture is stronger than the weight the modern world places on it.
In a few minutes Dennis and I are going to go take a whale tour on a local sailboat.
8/7/00
1128 Log entry. Monday. We're still tied up at the dock at Alert Bay. We took a whale tour yesterday aboard Tuan, a 43 foot ferrocement cutter, and we finally saw whales. Right where we sailed a couple of days ago!
There might have been 20 whales. We saw big bulls, matriarchs, and a trio of playful youngsters. We watched them blow, spy hop, lounge, feed, and splash the water repeatedly with their flukes and pectorals. I didn't have enough eyes in my head to take it all in. I would be looking at a pod of whales on the starboard side of the boat when I would hear several blowholes venting to port behind me.
The whales moved in groups that are built around a matriarch, whose children stay with her until she dies. Orcas can live as long as 70 years. When the matriarch dies, the oldest daughter takes her place. Pods without a female to be matriarch are believed to fall apart over time. We watched as the pods surfaced and moved together. Some would spy hop, which is a move where a whale raises its head straight upright above the water level to look around. Others would surface, roll over on their backs, and slap at the water's surface with their pectoral fins. Others seemed to enjoy splashing water toward their pod with their upraised tail. For 30 minutes there were so many Orcas around us it was impossible to see them all. Some got as close as 50 yards away.
The Orcas were just outside the reserve boundary, which was still occupied by dozen fish boats. Some trollers working the Bight and gillnetters lounging, waiting for their season opening. I could see that David and Maureen, our boaters, tried to hide, with marginal success, their irritation and bitterness that the fishermen were in the reserve
Computer entry. On our way out to the Bight I talked with the skipper, David, about the continual gale warnings we had been monitoring for Johnstone Straits and the fact that it never seemed that bad during the time we had stayed in Alert Bay. He informed me that much of this wind occurs at the southern end of the Straits. So our choice to avoid that section of Johnstone Straits by using the channels behind Hardwicke and the Thurlow Islands was a wise one after all.
David and Maureen have been doing whale watching tours for many years now and Maureen was quite enthusiastic about the Orcas in Robson Bight. She knew many of them as individuals and was eager to share her knowledge with the people on board. There is quite an industry built around whale watching in this area. There are many different companies offering such tours in the area. They all do spotting for each other and call out their sighting over the radio to make it easier for all of them to provide productive tours to their clientele. All the way to our encounter there was constant chatter over the radio between Tuan and the other boats regarding the latest sightings. As we got closer to the area the pod had last been seen David raised the sails and killed the motor. It was great to be able to hear the sounds of water without the overbearing rumble of the diesel below deck. It was Maureen who first spotted the distinctive dorsal fin of an Orca. Soon there were Killer Whales all around the boat. They then deployed a hydrophone which allowed us to listen to the chatter of the pod as we got closer. The lack of engine noise allowed us to hear the sounds of blowholes when the whales surfaced around us. Even when we didn't have eyes enough to see them all the “Whoosh” sounds let us know the whales were there behind us. It was great.
8/7/00
1300 Log entry. We pulled away form the fuel dock at Alert Bay. We have spent a couple of days here and I really enjoyed the stay. Alert Bay was a friendly small First Nations village and a provincial municipality. There was a great deal of native craft evident all over town. The cemetery was filled with totem poles. We saw one finished log canoe in someone's carport, another abandoned in the grass along the bay. Another being carved at the waters edge and finally a large cedar log yarded up on the beach to make yet another. We danced in a long house and watched as the Orcas played. A delightful stay.
Today we plan to cross the east end of the Queen Charlotte Strait and round Eden Island to spent the night in Echo Bay or thereabouts. It is sunny, there are no clouds and the wind is light.
1400 Log entry. Set the #1 jib and full main on downwind run towards east point of Malcolm Island. The wind is running 12 to 15 mph, the sky is clear, and it is warm. We put up the whisker pole and Lacuna is just gliding on down wind at 4 knots
1930 Log entry. Landed at Echo Bay Marina. From 1500 to 1849 we sailed large seas at the jackhammer end of Queen Charlotte Strait. We tied in the second reef on the main sail and kept the #1 jib on the forestay. Many times water came into the cockpit. Made steady 5+ knots from the end of Malcolm Island, where we entered the Queen Charlotte Strait. The seas were large and we had to turn down wind to enter Fife Sound. We had to deploy a drogue to keep the folbot from broaching in following seas. Our towing bridle also came undone leading to an impromptu hoveing to fix it. Navigation was complicated by the constant requisite use of 3 separate charts. This really complicated compass navigation!!
Bounding around inside a closed space on a hot day also complicates navigation. For a while we had seas breaking over the coach roof. So we put the washboards in. This stopped all ventilation and it became a sauna bath below. I would come in from crew duties where I needed a parka to keep my clothes dry. As I came below to do nav work I would have to immediately strip off all my gear and was usually sweating by the time I was done. The hot stuffy air below combined with the violent pitching to produce a dismal effect. At one point I came close to nausea and had to go up on deck to stop it. Finally we removed the top washboard and it helped a lot.
Echo Harbor is a very scenic place and is a bit different from other marinas we have seen so far. There is somebody on staff who is a maniacal deck builder. There are ramps and stairs and platforms and walkways running all over the surrounding hillside. There may be a mile of ramps and walks around here.
However there is no restaurant. A well motivated galley slave rebellion was put down by a lack of available restaurant.
Computer entry. That night as we slept there was a serenade of the marina from the balcony of a condo on top of the island. There was a party going on and apparently many musicians were there. They played a lot of original music with harmony and multi piece accompaniment. I suspect they were a musical group who were passing through the area and ended up at this party. It was interesting to note in the morning at the marina store there were several boaters offering their negative comments to the proprietor about this music. To much noise, to late in the night for such an early rising group
In the morning before we left I paddled the Folbot across the bay to the Windsong Sea Village. This was a float house community with a marina and an art gallery. The gallery was located in an interesting float house toward the mouth of the bay. Moored up against the forested shore, it had a dramatic roofline that reminded me of the sound booth I built at Main Stage at the Country Fair. Between the art inside, the sweeping roof design, and the Music that filled the star filled pervious night I was very much put in mind of the Country Fair. In the gallery I purchased a set of Lapis ear rings for Kathryn. As she wrapped the purchase for me the proprietor of the gallery told me that her and her husband live in Alert Bay during the winter. They come out to Sea Village during the summer cruising season to run this gallery. It was an interesting place.
Across the bay back at the Echo Bay Resort store there was also an interesting relic. The owners had shipped a section of the old Lake Washington Bridge up here to form the breakwater that protects the marina. The large bolted plate steel structure looked out of place in this remote location but it did shelter the marina.
8/8/00
1106 Log entry. We motored away from the Echo Bay Marina, headed toward Kingcome Inlet. There is a bit of sun peeking through low level stratus clouds and a hint of a breeze, but not enough to tempt us to sail. DT
1403 Log entry. We're coming up on Wakeman Sound and I can see a tall snowfield-studded ridge to our left up Wakeman Sound and ever taller mountains peeking through the clouds to our right, down Kingcome Inlet. The slopes ahead of us are scarred by two landslide tracks that look like snow avalanche tracks in the upper Columbia River area.
It's really isolated. We've seen one yacht and no other boats or residences since we entered Kingcome Inlet. DT
Computer entry. The voyage up the inlet was dramatic in that we saw evidence of several massive landslides along the way. The terrain is so steep that large sections of earth have apparently slid into the sea. Under the soil there is nothing but glacier polished rock. It probably took thousands of years for the soils and trees to build up on the polished stone. Then, maybe it is a heavy rain that triggers the event, or maybe it is the exfoliation of slabs of rock below the soil. But once the slide started down that steep terrain everything below the trigger zone would go along for the ride. This left large highly visible gouges on the landscape. The first such slide we spotted was just as we turned to enter Kingcome Inlet. It was many miles distant so we could not get a clear idea of what we were looking at. First we thought that it must be a large waterfall. As we motored closer it then became evident that it was the scar of a recent landslide. It was amazing how large the gouge was. It averaged 100 yards wide and plunged thousands of feet without interruption to the water's edge.
There was no debris left anywhere along the mile long landslide track, just a silver gray ribbon of smooth granite running down the mountain side. Everything plunged into the ocean. There must have been a massive wave generated when the slide hit the ocean. The slide could have very well hit the water in one massive blow. Tons of rock, earth, and forest slamming into the water without anything to cushion the impact. Below the waters edge the same steep terrain offered nothing to obstruct a rampaging mountain. This submarine terrain probably increased the force of the resulting tsunami What an incredible noise it must have produced. Landscape that roars. Not like mere lions, bears or even raging water but rather the cataclysmic blows of Thor's hammer against the anvil of creation.
Along the way up Kingcome Inlet we saw several smaller such recent slide scars. Apparently most of this steep, forest covered terrain is standing on the same polished granite. The really astonishing thing is that this dense forest cover could have ever grown here in the first place. Rock climbing trees. Once we recognized the slide form we noticed the remains of much older such slides along the slopes lining the channel. The underlying glacier polished stone and the steep nature of the terrain has been producing these slides since the Ice Age. It is further humbling to think of the massive ice rivers that must have originally carved this terrain out of solid granite. These thoughts set the mind careening well over the bounds of daily life.
1517 Log entry. We're in Belle Isle Sound having investigated it for anchorage. It's generally too deep and the mouth (which is recommended as a sketchy anchorage at least) is too deep (30 meters) for anchoring. We found an alluvial fan about 0.8 nautical miles inside the sound, on the east side, that might have reasonably good holding, close to the shore, in 10 meters of water. But the bottom drops off so quickly that there's not much swinging room close to the shore. DT
1715 Log entry. We landed at the public dock at the head of Kingcome Inlet. At first when we reached the head of the inlet, we feared that the dock was missing. Actually, it was hidden by a log boom and a small barge loaded with propane cylinders and gas drums. But when we turned around in disgust at the head of the inlet, we could see the dock hidden behind the barge. We've seen no boats at all -on or off shore- since the small trawler yacht that was fishing at the mouth of the inlet
Over our stern we have a view of steep, rocky peaks with many snowfields. Just around the point, out of our immediate view, lies the low marshland of the inlet's head and more hidden views of rugged peaks. The sun is warm, there's a gentle breeze and we can hear little waterfalls cascading down the rocky hillside next to us. Life's a bitch! DT
1840 Log entry. As I was preparing dinner I took a short break. While I was sitting in the cockpit I noticed that the boom, between which and the dock Lacuna sat, was closing rapidly. I scrambled to release the painters from the dock and walk her backwards through the ever-shrinking gap to freedom. But before I could get her there the gap closed.
Ed then pulled up in the Folbot and a tribal member sped up in a small outboard boat. They both saw our predicament. The native came to retrieve the barge and push it up river to the village. After we helped him untie and get going, he pushed the dock away from the boom. He pointed out that the dock was adrift and no place he would spend the night. We needed no convincing
He gestured to the far side of the head of the inlet and said we could tie up over there. We're motoring over to investigate. DT
1905 Log entry. We tied up to a dock at a log landing site (unused for a couple of years, from the looks of it). We can see the cables and chains that anchor it to shore. There's a logging road on which we can hike, but I'm a bit concerned about bears. There's a tremendous racket of waterfowl calls in the marshes at the head of the inlet - and the hoot of an owl. We've seen a couple of float planes fly in - but except for the friendly native we've seen no one. DT
8/9/00
1415 Motored away from the dock in Anchorage Bay. The crew has conflicted reviews of our moorage for the previous night.
Good = Best view for an anchorage
Best wildlife songs
Best sea kayaking destination
Bad = Worst bugs
Worst mice
Worst bears
Pretty exposed
This morning we kayaked up the Kingcome River delta. It was a long push back against a steady head wind. It was a sunny voyage but the slog back to Lacuna was long and tiring. Dennis got a sore wrist from the adventure and is declaring his hatred of paddling into the wind.
Our plan for today is to find a better anchorage without all the pests. This is a magnificent place but we are referring to last night's anchorage as Port Vermin.
Computer entry. Last night we had quite the adventure at the head of Kingcome Inlet. Our plan was to spent the night tied to a government dock at the head of Kingcome Inlet. Our sea kayak library talked of great paddling opportunities up the Kingcome River. The river estuary looked to run up for many miles up into a valley that was defined on both sides by very dramatic alpine ridges. There was also an Indian village a couple of miles up the estuary. In fact the book and the following movie “ I Heard the Owl Call My Name ” was written about, and filmed on this very river. Exactly the sort of place I had dreamed of playing with the Folbot for the last few years.
It took most of the day for us to navigate the inlet and it was well into the afternoon when we arrived at an odd looking dock. The dock was next to a rock cliff and there was a large log boom close by which crowded the approach to the south side of the dock. A dilapidated barge was tied to the north side of the dock which hid the dock at first. This meant we would have to tie to the south side next to the log boom. We managed to get Lacuna maneuvered into the narrow channel and tied up without to much problem. Once we had settled Dennis set about galley slave duties. Since it would be a while until dinner was going to be ready, I decided to go paddle toward the mouth of the Kingcome River.
I had a great paddle and managed to get up to the point where the current coming out of the river equaled the breeze pushing up river. Hovering effortlessly in place between these opposing forces, I spotted a River Otter at the base of a near by rock wall. Upon seeing me the Otter immediately jumped into the water. I waited to see if I would be able to spot him when he surfaced again. Small wind waves washed along the cliff. The ripples stood up in profile against the rock as they rolled along the cliff base. To my complete surprise I thought I saw an eye in one such wavelet. Unsure of just what I was seeing, I followed the wave along the rock until it reached the spot where the otter had disappeared. There the eye rose out of the top of the wave, followed by the reappearing Otter. He had been using the wave to allow him to scan the situation without having to expose himself. Climbing defiantly up his original perch, not 15 feet away, he began to bark at me. Talk about your “Disney Moments”!
There was a familiar feel to this freshwater estuary. The green grass along the shore and willows bending in the breeze felt like home. I have spent many years in many boats, but most of my experience has been in fresh water.
Dennis, the trained oceanographer, is always quick to point out how much more life there is in salt water. He is right. A multiplicity of life crowds in everywhere below the ocean's surface. But, over the last few weeks, I have also been struck by how sterile the intertidal zone can seem. The caustic salt water allows little terrestrial life below the high tide line. It is a dark band of mud and rock. Nothing green ventures here. Mammals do not gather at the water's edge to drink from the sea. Despite the richness of ocean life, this strikes my freshwater eye as stark and devoid of the comforting trappings of prior experience. This paradox was brought home as I hovered between wind and current off the lush green shores of the Kingcome River mouth. I was excited about spending a few days exploring.
Knowing dinner would be ready soon, I paddled back toward Lacuna. Rounding the last point, an unsettling sight awaited me. Dennis was apparently attempting to move Lacuna. This was not part of the plan so I paddled back as quickly as I could. When I arrived Dennis pointed out that the log boom seemed to be moving and had closed off the entry channel. Lacuna was all but caught in the jaws of a rather imposing nutcracker. This was a real problem.
That is when a small open skiff approached from the direction of the river mouth. In the rear, sat a large Indian with his hand on the outboard throttle. The skiff pulled up to the dock and the helmsman came over to talk to us. He was there to push the barge back up river to the village. With his skiff at full throttle this voyage would take him hours to complete. Mildly amused at our situation, he informed us that it was not the log boom that was moving but the dock! It had apparently pulled loose of its moorings some time ago and drifted to the location at which we found it. Talk about “Transient Moorage”. Good thing we found this out before it got dark and possibly windy! The good natured Indian offered to move the dock far enough to open an escape channel for Lacuna.
Thankful of his assistance, I helped him wrestle some propane bottles aboard his small boat. The weight lowered the boat deeper into the water and provided better steerage. Once the bottles were stowed he maneuvered the skiff against the runaway dock. With a masterful flourish of boat handling and a generous application of the skiff's throttle Lacuna was freed from the nutcracker's jaws.
This however presented us with a dilemma. There isn't any good holding ground in Kingcome Inlet. The bottom drops off much to steep to allow for any reliable anchorage. Without the dock there was not a good place for Lacuna to hole up for the impending night. The Indian told us of a dock on the far side of the inlet and then he set off pushing the supply barge toward the village. As the tandem boats slowly powered away we decided to pack up and head out while the getting was good.
Crossing the inlet was magnificent. We could see up into one of the arms of Knight Inlet, which is famous for its rugged terrain. However it was a long motor to the far side of the inlet and we had only minimal directions to follow. It was unsettling to consider the alternative possibility of backtracking the many miles out of Kingcome Inlet with dark so close at hand. The hurried directions the Indian had given us seemed overly vague and the possibility of a long night voyage loomed heavy. Fortunately the dock did appear and after maneuvering though the remains of an off shore log boom we had Lacuna secured for the night.
The dock was obviously built to provide access for logging operations in the area. It looked as if it had not seen heavy use in a while. There was a wooden ramp that led from a landing on shore to the floating dock. The entire apparatus was attached to steel cables that were anchored by deadmen on shore since the water was too deep to allow pilings to anchor the structure.
We began to notice mosquitoes and flies almost immediately. Then came the No-see-ums. At dusk we had an outrageous series of animal calls. First a couple of gull cries came in across the water. The songs seemed to waver, one around the other's note. It really had a musical jazz like quality to it. For long minutes this filled evening air. Then a group of ducks or geese of some other such vocally inclined birds launched forth into a long salvo of squawks. About the time the cacophony began to subside, there came the cry of an owl from the trees near by. Just to make sure that no one would mistake the hooting call for a errant goose the owl repeated the call twice. Then there was a rock fall from the cliffs to the east followed by a low grumbling roar. After the roar there was only silence. Latter discoveries would suggest that the last word had been that of a bear.
The views from the dock were quite spectacular and we stood outside watching the colors of twilight reflect across the waters of Kingcome. As darkness came over the inlet we remained outside to escape the hordes of bugs swarming in the cabin of the boat. There was a steady wind blowing from the upper end of Knight inlet and it made it hard for bugs to land on us. Our Gortex parkas were zipped up to our noses and our hoods pulled down tight for protection, not from the wind but rather to fend off bugs. When I turned my face away from the wind there was a steady drum beat of bug bodies impacting the nylon of my hood. When I faced the wind it felt chunky. We stayed out in the wind until it was time to go to bed. I was very glad to have brought along a mosquito net, which I hastily rigged over my bed. I tucked the net in around my sleeping bag, glad for the reprieve form the winged attacks. Behind the net barrier I fell into a smug sleep, a bravado that was to prove premature.
In the middle of the night I awoke to the feel of a small animal scurrying up my sleeping bag. I yelled out that there was a mouse on board, which woke Dennis. We both heard the mouse scurrying off under the cockpit. I am certain there was no mouse onboard before this. It was no small accomplishment for this mouse to get aboard Lacuna. It must have scurried out along on of the lines that held her to the dock since the boat was continually rocking against the dock. Dennis got an idea and set up a makeshift mouse trap that involved a stick projecting over the edge of the baling bucket and a bit of cookie balanced on it's end. In the morning we found no mouse in the baling bucket. Subsequently more diabolical mouse traps over the next couple of nights also proved to be fruitless. But we never heard or saw the intruder again. Apparently the mouse fled in the same manner by which it arrived aboard. As we drifted off to sleep this surprise did little to assuage nagging worries about the possibility that a bear might decide to check out the cooler for yucks.
In the morning we took a hike up the logging road leading from the dock. There was a huge amount of VERY LARGE BEAR SHIT everywhere we looked!!! Mice and bugs and bears oh my . The undergrowth was very thick and the ground off the road was difficult to see. A great place to surprise a sleepy bear. We both made a lot of noise. As we stepped around the large piles of bear spoor Dennis commented that he could now answer the question about the bear in the woods with a qualified “ Well a bear does shit in the road all right.” We decided to call this anchorage “Port Vermin”.
Back at the boat I managed to talk Dennis into paddling up the river a ways. Unfortunately we were now a couple of miles form the river mouth. There was a good wind that helped us to get to the river but which blew right into our teeth on the return. I had hoped to stay tied up at the government dock for a couple of days while we explored the area by Folbot. Without the government dock and the nearby access to the river mouth Dennis was not in favor of staying another night. I couldn't really argue with him after our night of vermin assault (Dennis had no mosquito net). So we motored away from Port Vermin around noon that same day. It was odd because this moorage had proved to be both the best and the worst moorage on the trip that far. It had the best views, the best wildlife, the most remote feeling, the best kayaking opportunities, and a great sunset to boot. It also had the junkiest dock, worst bugs, the worst mice, the most bear sign, and the worst night's sleep. So much for Port Vermin.
1929 Log entry. Arrived in Greenway marina expecting to get out of Galley slave duty only to find 1. Reservations for dinner guests are booked 2 days out. 2. The water system is not working well and showers may not happen until tomorrow morning. So... off to galley slave duty I go.
Addendum- As I was sitting down to do galley slave duty, Tom (the owner of the marina) came to tell us there was a cancellation for dinner. If we wanted to we could come down to eat dinner. Reprieved from the slings and arrows of galley slave life!!
8/10/00 Thursday
1129 Log entry. We pulled away from the docks after a great hike up to Broughton Lake. We hiked on the most impressive cord road I've ever seen - I figured it must have been used by oxen. There was no trace of planking or rails - just worn areas where the oxcart wheels would have crossed the logs, some of which were 4 feet in diameter (small stuff at the time) - The stumps were obviously hand logged - the springboard notches were evident.
The rusted scraps of the boiler, gear box, cylinder and piston of a steam donkey were on the side hill near the shore and scraps of cable lay all over the place. The whole marina here, including the crew quarters, is on floats with no foot connection to the shore. Lots of big power cruisers. The restaurant was expensive but very good. Nice showers and restrooms. DT
1604 Log entry. We're anchored in 10 meters of water in a little cove just west of Blair Islet in Mackenzie Sound.
The day's passage involved lots of needle threading through Kenneth Passage and Grappler Sound, and a long wait for gas at Sullivan Bay, where we took on 28 liters of fuel.
Sullivan bay is a picturesque little aggregation of floating buildings - lots of brightly colored float homes with flower planters and clever and kitschy signs and decorations. I didn't mind the long wait for gas because it gave me time to look the place over the day has been bright, warm, and almost without wind. DT
Computer entry. We are on the hook in Burly Bay, which is one of the most beautiful places yet. There is a 2000 foot granite face that rises from the other side of the lagoon. Dennis and I concur that the guidebook descriptions of Ansel Adams views are right on. Our anchorage is in the lee of some small islands, which provide protection in most directions. We are anchored in 10 meters of water surrounded on all sides by low islands, peninsulas and the granite wall to the east. All around us are dense forests so thick that a human would have a hard time making 1/4 mile and hour through it. Yet as Lacuna swings about her rode, this view of Yosemite towers just above us changes as our vantage point shifts on the wind. Raven is calling low and the echoes of his call ripple over the low islands. The granite face has now gathered a red glow from the sun as it sinks into the Pacific just a little way away from here. The clouds to the northwest now have also begun to show evening light in their folds. Again the reds that glowed on the granite faces. Colorful tendrils of trailing cloud etched on the azure sky of a summer's eve.
We arrived about 1600 hours and so had some time to just relax and enjoy the view. Dinner is done and put away. There is still this wonderful view swinging around the hook that holds Lacuna in the middle of it all. Over to the east the gibbous moon has climbed into the horizon low against the towering rock wall just to the north. The moon is partially obscured by the veils of light and cloud. Yet the silver orb is stark and clear in the sky heralding the coming spring tides. Now the Yosemite wall has lost its alpine glow and is adopting the silver tone of the rising moon. Today we did only 15 miles, which left all this daylight to enjoy the place we are. I got to do a little paddling. Dennis did a bit of writing. We both shot a lot of pictures. It is now about 2100 hours and night is coming on. Who knows maybe even aurora or a shooting star.
Late entry. I spent an hour, after Dennis went to bed, laying out on the foredeck watching for aurora with no luck. That is not to say that I didn't enjoy the effort. It put me in mind of a similar night I spent watching the sky in eastern Washington as we navigated the Big Bend area of the Columbia. That night I also could not sleep and decided to spend the time gawking at the wonders of a clear night sky.
8/11/00
Computer entry. Last night, after I had gone below and to bed, I heard an odd sound. I awoke to what sounded like someone walking down a wood plank deck. It seemed to be moving rather rapidly in the darkness. As it passed the foot falls seemed to get faster. Finally the sound faded off into the distance. I have no idea what it could have been, but my suspicion runs to Ravens at play.
Burly Bay is an interesting body of water. Besides the channel we used to get here, there are several passages that lead out of here. There is a much more direct way back to Greenway Marina, called Hopetown Passage, that runs through a narrow opening just to the west of our anchorage. The cruising guides report that it is to shoal and rock strewn for Lacuna to manage. Maybe the Folbot could manage it.
Today we came very close to sending the Folbot down that narrow passage to Greenway Marina sans crew. In moving the Folbot around I managed to not secure it. Dennis looked up to see it drifting away on the tidal current headed into the shoal entrance of that very channel! It was already out of reach from the cockpit and it didn't look good. We immediately sprung into action. I started the motor while Dennis tied a fender to the anchor line so we could release it immediately without having to raise the anchor. We caught the Folbot before it got into shoal water, but it was a close call. Once retrieved, it was tied securely to one of the cockpit cleats and we motored back to tie to the anchor line once again. Duuhhh!!
Dennis and I took a tour in the Folbot in the morning. We paddled close to shore all the way around Burly Bay. We managed to get very close to a Black Bear who was busy working over the drying rocks in the intertidal zone for of food. He was so occupied with dinner that he didn't notice our approach. We stopped our paddling and allowed our momentum to carry us toward him. We finally drifted to within 30 feet of where the bear was chowing down. Through my binoculars I got a real good look at the bear. He was rolling large boulders around in the tide pools. This produced a distinctive knocking sound as the boulders fell against the rocks around them. Some of these boulders looked to be 150+ pounds! The bear made it look easy by rolling them with one paw and a little shoulder work. Having done some landscaping at my house this summer I had recently moved boulders and had a real appreciation for what this bear was casually doing. I learned a new respect for Black Bears watching him. Once the boulder was rolled over the bear would plunge his nose into the exposed area and snap at something there. Dennis later suggested he may be catching crabs. When we got 30 feet away Dennis snapped a picture. The sound of the shutter startled the bear, who's head bolted upright with wide eyed surprise. Seeing us just off shore was to much for him and he charged off into the thick underbrush. We have seen other bears doing this boulder rolling along the shore but this was a much closer experience.
1240 Log entry. Left wonderful anchorage in Burly Bay. We spent a great afternoon and morning in the bay all by ourselves. Views came and went as Lacuna swung on the hook. A 2,000 foot mountain rose out of the far side of the bay. From our position, behind Blair Islet, the view has been exceptional for the whole time we anchored there. We agree it is the best anchorage yet. We did some sea kayaking around the bay.
We are now headed toward Sullivan Bay with the thought we might jump across the Queen Charlotte Straits to Port Hardy. We had a very relaxed anchorage in Burley Bay. Yes... the captain has turned on the vacation light.
1650 Log entry. Arrived at Sullivan Bay Marina after a brief day of motoring. We saw the upper end of Mackenzie sound and got buzzed by low flying helicopters for our effort. We can now clearly pick out the granite cliff face we anchored below yesterday. As the crow flies it's quite close to Sullivan Bay. Dennis remarked that we could have paddled here by folbot faster than the long way we had to come in Lacuna. We will stay tonight at Sullivan Bay. Maybe we cross the Queen Charlotte Straits tomorrow.
8/12/00 Friday
0728 Log entry. We motored away form the dock at Sullivan Bay after a restful night except for the cannon that went off at 0600 to mark the start of the fishing derby. Fortunately, we had been forewarned and I set my alarm for a minute or two earlier. DT
1117 Log entry. Queen Charlotte is in a mellow mood today compared with the last time we met her. We're motoring on rippled seas in 5 knots of wind, sunny skies, and cool temperatures. We're halfway across the straits now, just putting along.
I programmed a GPS with our course last night and about all I have to do today is record the times we get to our way points. Life's a bitch. DT
1426 Log entry. We're docked in a slip at the Quarter-deck Marina. The crossing of Queen Charlotte Strait was easy but not uneventful - We finally saw orcas from Lacuna's decks! Although we didn't get very close, we could see the whale watching tour boat and at least two whales. Even though the breeze was building we had no desire to distract ourselves by raising sails. DT
8/16/00 Port Hardy
Computer entry. Today we are in Port Hardy, as we have been for the last 4 days. There has been boat work to do, provisioning to finish, and the final touches to prepare for the transit of Nahwitti Bar and Cape Scott. The plan is to leave this afternoon on the turn to ebb slack which should give us a good boost to Bull Harbor. There we will wait. Wait for the tides to let us cross the bar, wait for the weather for allow us around Cape Scott, and wait for our open ocean voyage to begin. There is a low pressure system to the north and it has turned the wind to a south west flow. This could be an asset crossing the bar but it also could be a problem while rounding the Cape. I thought the rapids we crossed thus far were demanding in regard to the timing of crossings. This Cape rounding is much more complicated.
Both Cape Scott and Nahwitti Bar are best crossed at slack tides. However they are 20 tide swept miles apart. There are no real safe harbors between these two navigational hazards. We are here at the height of the Spring Tides and tides radically alter this 20 mile distance. Maximum currents run as high as 3 knots on both the ebb and the flood. This current could almost double the time it takes to make the Cape. I have been talking to old salts around the marina and they tell me that Nahwitti Bar is important to hit on a slack. The bottom on the Pacific side of the bar gradually slopes from 30 fathoms up to the 6 or 7 fathoms depths of the bar. On the east side of the bar there is a much different story. There the bottom drops very quickly to 30 fathoms. In the worst of conditions, such as a strong westerly, the miles leading up to the bar are churned by massive breaking waves. These rollers will actually run right over the bar. When a strong ebb tide moves over the steep contour of the bar it produces a massive standing wave across its width. Not a place for a small boat like Lacuna. If the low pressure system to the north will allow us the opportunity, our hope is to cross the bar tomorrow either in the morning on the turn to flood slack or to wait until the afternoon for the turn to ebb slack. None of the tides are particularly well suited for our transit. Turn to ebb is our preferred tide but they are happening at night and in the afternoon. This wastes the daylight of the morning and leaves little room for dealing with the unexpected before nightfall. The Waggoner cruising guide reports that they talked to people who had to wait for 6 days in Bull Harbor before the conditions were good enough to cross the bar. Our hope is that will not happen to us.
Our stay in Port Hardy has been for the most part uneventful and filled with working on Lacuna. Boat work is slow because of all the gear we have stored on board. No matter how much you work to keep things organized, the thing you need is always at the bottom of a large pile of gear. You have to move the pile to get at the thing you want. This means that now there is a lot of stuff piled on top of the other plies. So a task that could take 30 minutes in an empty boat now takes an hour or more.
In submarines there is also a real shortage of space. As a result they do what is called “Hot Racking”. Two or three men will share a bunk on the ship, meaning that there is only a third as much space given over to sleeping areas. So when you go to bed the bed is usually still warm from the person who just got up, hence the term Hot Racking. Our boat is so small and our gear so much that we hot rack with our gear. During the day my bed is filled with sails, dry boxes, dry bags, and large plastic “Action Packer” containers. No sleeping or resting here while underway. At night we move all the Action Packers out into the cockpit so we can use the beds.
We spent much of the last few days working our way down the list of tasks needed to move on to open water. We now can lash most of the gear down, I have once again attempted to seal the leak in the forward hatch, the third reef in now operational, and we have installed jackline/ hiking straps in the cockpit.
The cockpit jackline/hiking straps proved to be a good deal more complicated than we had expected. We are now on our third installation. Dennis kept insisting that we could use small diameter line as a keeper. But both attempts failed very badly. We have now installed a half inch line as a keeper and stitched it to the strap as well. This appears to be adequate to the task.
We also had to put the Folbot away for the ocean voyage. We washed it out completely with fresh water. Then we dried it and treated it with 303. It will not be so convenient to get to shore now but we will not have to worry about having the dink swamped in a following sea. Entering Fife Sound last week with following seas and a 15 knot wind the Folbot buried its bow as it surged down a wave and broached. looked as if things could soon get much worse. We deployed a drogue and this helped until the towing bridle gave way. All in all it amounted to a lot of problems in following seas. Our cruising guides all talk of “20 knot sleigh rides” of downwind sailing on the west coast passage. So now the sea kayak is folded up and stowed in Lacuna's hold. Bring on the sleigh rides.
Port Hardy is definitely the best place we have yet encountered for Bald Eagles. They are everywhere and show little if any consideration to human presence. Dennis saw 5 eagles playing with each other 50 feet above the water just outside the marina breakwater. Yesterday I watched mature eagle fly right through the masts of the boats tied in the nearby slips. It seems you can't do anything here without seeing Bald Eagles. We also thought we saw a Golden Eagle as we motored into Port Hardy Bay last Saturday. We have seen a few of these but by far Bald Eagles are the most common sighting.
As we made our passage from Sullivan Bay to Port Hardy 5 days ago I think I saw an Orca broach to the north of us. I can't be sure but I did see a very large burst of water splashing into the air. It happened just after we spotted a whale watching boat in the same area but I could not be sure since all I saw was a large splash. Shortly there after we also spotted an Orca who swam a parallel course to us for some distance. It was not as spectacular as the sightings we had at Robson Bight but we saw the whale surface many times. Dennis even got bored with the repetitive sightings.
There is a good working boat yard at the Quarter-deck Marina where Lacuna is moored. They have a large sling launching/ lifting rig and a large yard to put boats on the hard. It appears that private individuals are also able to use the yard to work on their own boats. There is also a crew of workers to do work for the yard. There may be as many as 12 boats in the yard now. In the last few days we have seen several boats come and go through the yard.
Port Hardy has little First Nation presence. There is the ubiquitous totem art and Long House architecture, but not the obvious community that other towns supported. It seems this place is mostly a white man town on the end of the white man highway. Ferries leave here for Prince Rupert to the north. Every other day the ferry arrives and all the local motels are filled. Since our arrival I have been staying at motels in town. I have had a bit of a time finding a room on shore here due to this busy ferry traffic.
For the first 3 nights I had a fourth floor room over looking the marina. I had to check everyday to see if there would be any cancellations. Last night I had to walk into town to find a room. Once there, instead of a view of the marina I had a view of the propane tank behind the building and the guys working on the roof of a nearby retail building. Not the same thing. However it doesn't really matter now since we will be living on Lacuna for sometime to come. I certainly hope that we don't end up stuck in Bull Harbor for long. With Dink packed and stowed we have no way to get to shore and 23 feet of boat could get very small after a couple of days. The good part is that we don't have to worry much about time. Two weeks is supposed to be long enough to navigate the west coast and we have four. Talking to some other boaters the other day one of them stated that the single biggest cause of aircraft crashes was trying to keep a schedule when the weather had other ideas. Lacuna may lack wings, but the same principle applies.
1437. Log entry. Motored away from the fuel dock at Port Hardy. The weather forecast is not looking so good for a quick rounding of Cape Scott tomorrow. 3 other sailing boats were in Port Hardy waiting for a change in the weather and they were not leaving port today. There is a window of good tides tomorrow however, and if the wind drops we will be in position to round the cape. Once around Cape Scott we are committed to an ocean voyage home. Current and prevailing winds both push south and west along the outer coast of Vancouver Island making any thought of returning the way we came difficult once we round Cape Scott.
Soon these endless protected islands will be behind us and the ocean will dictate the course of our journey. We have talked with several old salts about Nahwitti Bar and Cape Scott. If the weather will permit us tomorrow looks like our best bet.
1535 Log entry. Raised the #1 jib and full main ... All praise the sounds of silence!
1720 Log entry. Raised the Genoa on the whisker pole to a subsiding east wind. We also have the vang working as a preventer. Still making 4.4 knots. We have been on the same tack all day!! First it was a beam reach. Now it is blowing from astern.
1950. Log entry. Arrived at the public dock at Bull Harbor. We had an exceptional day of perfect sailing. It was starboard tack for 20 some odd miles! Maybe longest sail passage to date on this voyage. The sky appears less cloudy than earlier today but still overcast. From our cockpit you can see Nahwitti Bar.