Or Circumnavigating Vancouver Island
Or How I spent my summer vacation
by Ed Moye
Part 4: August 17-26, 2000
8/17/00
Computer Entry. Today we are tied to the float dock in Bull Harbor and it is raining hard. We arrived yesterday after a near perfect day of gentlemanly sailing. It amounted to one 18 mile starboard tack right down the middle of Goletas Channel. We used the motor only to leave and enter the harbors on both ends of the day. Quite different from our days of endless motoring. It was wonderful to hear the water moving around the hull. It seems as if the motor is running almost all the time while making passage on this voyage. The rippling water music struck me like the laughter of an old friend. Hopefully we will see more sailing once we are past Cape Scott and Nahwitti Bar.
Today however, we are at the mercy of the Gale Warnings on the weather radio. It is cold, wet, and gray and though I can look out and see Nawhitti Bar through a gap in the rocks we are getting no closer to Cape Scott. It is a lazy day and the pace is markedly slow. The good thing is that we are relatively dry, there are no leaks, and there really is no hurry. Maybe tomorrow we will enter the Pacific but today we linger on the threshold of inland waters.
A few hours ago we got a wonderful surprise. Dennis and I heard a concussive noise above the patter of the rain. At first I thought it might be a gun shot in the distance. It happened repeatedly so Dennis looked out the port and called out to me “Hey you've got to see these Sea Lions fishing out here”. I crawled up from under my sleeping bag to look out the Plexiglas port. Beyond was a rainy day view of the narrow channel leading into Bull Harbor. The water was quiet except for the splattering of rain striking the surface. Then just outside my port light a 20 inch diameter area boils up a couple of inches above the still surrounding water. The boil then literally exploded with small fish leaping right out of the water. The action of these many small fins slapping the water to break free is the source of the concussive sound which caught our attention. No sooner had the fish fled the water than a large Sea Lion's open mouth surfaced from the middle of the boiling water. The head then followed the fish back under the water to repeat the display a few feet distant. Bull Harbor is so named for the large numbers of Sea Lions that once basked on the rocks just outside the harbor mouth. Just outside our Plexiglas windows the harbor's namesakes were putting on a great display. We saw at least 2 lions at once and there were probably several more. They appeared to be herding a school of fish for breakfast. This went on for more than 10 minutes. After a few minutes of craning my neck to look out the port I drew away. Even without looking I could hear the distinctive sound of this dance of lion and prey/ life and death. First the crack of fish breaking the surface of the boil followed by the splash of the lions thrust. Boil, crack, sploosh.
Later in the day we had a visit from the crew of the sloop Aeolus, which is tied just down the dock from us. They are also waiting for a break in the weather to head down the west coast. We were invited over to their boat for coffee. It turned into an afternoon and then a shared supper in Aeolus' spacious galley. They even had thermostatically controlled, forced air heat! I was much envious of all the dry interior space the 36 foot hull provided. There was a decidedly small forecastle and head forward. Most of the boat's interior space was open to the galley. We actually walked around upright like real Human Beings. The owner, Joe, was a friendly guy who had retired on some software licensing sell off. He had dreamed of circling the island for several years. Now he had the time and the boat and the money to do it. With him was an old friend Ron who was sailing this segment of the voyage with him. I was quite envious of the headroom and the forced air heat. However, Joe was generous with his luxury, giving us some time to stretch, away from the more confined space in Lacuna.
Dennis and I were both envious of Joe's navigation program. He has a computer program that contains charts for Vancouver Island. All you have to do to enter a course is to bring the appropriate electronic chart up on the screen. Then you click where you want to place waypoints on the chart. These waypoints are then automatically programmed into the GPS. He also has a program that will also project tides for any place and time with the click of a mouse. It produces 24 hour print outs for the selected location including direction and velocity! He can accomplish in minutes what it takes us hours to do. Nothing like wishing you could be replaced by a machine!
Not that Lacuna is all bad. It is great to finally have the hatch over my berth sealed!! I made 3 prior attempts to patch the crack but none of these proved successful. Today it poured hard rain all day and my bed is still dry. I have slept under a leaking hatch in a rainstorm on previous voyages and do not want to repeat the experience. Tonight I will not have to. We have done our boat work well. Little satisfactions seem to take on a larger significance in the scope of shipboard living. Yo ho yo ho the sailor's life for me.
I finally realized that the inland segment of this journey was our “shake down cruise”. Constraints of time, work, family, and the rest of life make it difficult for Dennis and I to get much time to boat together any more. So our shakedown had to be the inland voyage. We kept a list and we checked it many times. When we launched at Anacortes our boat was nowhere near ready for the ocean voyage. But now things are mostly done, still a few details, but mostly done. This feels good
8/18/00
0930. Log entry. We had a lay day yesterday in Bull Harbor. We met Joe (co-owner) and Ron (guest) on Aeolus, an S2 36 foot sloop. We spent much of the day with them gabbing, trying to trouble shoot their VHF, admiring their boat, envying Joe's computer charting program, and dining on fresh caught ling cod, salad, and vegetable-laden couscous (my contribution). It turned out that they're both ex-ski patrol; Ron teaches skiing in Colorado. Both are retired but active.
Today we're bypassing Nahwitti Bar by taking the passage south of Tatnall Reef. They (Aeolus) left a few minutes after we did and took the direct route over the bar.
It rained a bunch yesterday and this morning the weather report predicted 20 to 30 knot winds but we have seen nothing but a fitful breeze.
Yesterday, when we were tied to the float, we watched two sea lions feasting on a school of 6 - 8” fish. The school would suddenly erupt from the water in a tight circle about 20” in diameter- a sea lion head would then emerge, a fish in her jaws. This went on for half an hour, sometimes less than 10 feet from Lacuna. DT
1007 Log entry. We had an uneventful passage past the bar and we're now in Queen Charlotte Sound. The ocean swells, which sometimes seem as if they might be 1.5 meters from crest to trough, roll through relentlessly with a period of 7 or 8 seconds. DT
2050 Log entry. After an eventful day we're back at the float in Bull Harbor. We made it past Nahwitti Bar just fine, but as we approached Cape Scott, the wind built and the waves and swells became more confused. Lacuna was rocking, yawing, pitching, bobbing, rolling and god knows what else.
Although we were at Scott Channel right around slack, we were facing a building current contrary to the south wind - and 10 miles of beating into that same wind to reach an unfamiliar, rock strewn anchorage with a reputation for an intimidating entry.
I argued strenuously to turn back. Ed was frustrated that we were so close and wanted to keep tacking, but I was able to persuade him that it was unwise.
After we passed Cape Scott and got into the lee of the big island the wind dropped, the waves subsided and our speed dropped. We started the motor and motorsailed for a few minutes until the shear pin broke.
We hove to, pulled the motor into the cockpit, and I replaced the pin. Soon we were on our way again. We powered up when the wind dropped and idled down when the wind rose. We retraced our route through the Tatnall Reef and made our way back to the float to find a 43 foot sloop (with 4 or 5 teenagers leaning on the boom) and a power boat tied up to the float, but we were able to tie up on the shore side where big boats fear to dock. DT
Computer entry. We are back in Bull Harbor. Despite our best efforts, today we were not destine to complete our passage around Cape Scott.
At 0615 this morning we left the float dock and motored out toward Nawhitti Bar. Piloting a ferry line across the 3 knot ebb current as the light of dawn reflected in to cold water was better than coffee. We found the entrance to the Tatnall Reef Channel and soon were past the buoy on the outside of Nawhitti with a 2 knot boost.
We timed our transit of the cape to coincide with slack tide. On the chart, the passage between Cape Scott and Cox Island, is broadly marked with dark, waving parallel lines, which demarcate areas of potentially dangerous tidal rips. We sailed past Cape Scott in a strong 20+ knot wind, but when we moved out into Scott Channel large seas began to pile up around us. Waves rushed at us from many directions as the wind waves, current boils and ocean swells all collided. I watched one such wave rise up above us. I steered to climb up the face of this wave. I got about 2/3s of the way up the face when the crest just caved over on top of the coach roof. White water poured over the sides and into the cockpit. The foam was so thick that I couldn't see the coach roof at all!!
We later found out that the wind that day got up to 28 knots. We pounded into the wind for a couple of miles past Cape Scott and then we tacked. I pulled the sheets tight to close haul back against the wind on the other tack. As Lacuna settled into her way with the wind and waves I was shocked to see the my close hauled course was leading me right back toward Cape Scott at great speed. I told this to Dennis who had been watching the chart. He was not pleased with this information. We had by now gone past the slack tide. The ebb, which was just starting to rise, would be in opposition to the wind and would rapidly escalate the sea state. The tone in Dennis' voice was somber as he told me we should get the hell out of Scott Channel before the seas grew bigger than we could handle.
I was already hard pressed to keep Lacuna climbing the larger seas and if they got much more violent we could soon be in big trouble. Still I argued with him about the idea of turning back just 9 miles short of our goal at Sea Otter Cove. If we didn't make Sea Otter Cove there was no safe anchorage short of Bull Harbor which we left many hours ago. We would then be faced with crossing Nawhitti Bar on close to maximum ebb current. All our cruising guides advise against doing this. The good thing was that back at Nahwitti Bar, Cape Scott was blocking the south wind and so we might have a chance. One of the old salts I talked to in the Port Hardy Ouarterdeck Marina told me that in these kinds of conditions it was possible to cross the bar via the southern channel behind Tatnall Reef. We had navigated the same channel in the morning and knew we had the channel logged correctly into the GPS.
Much as I disliked what Dennis was saying, in the back of my mind I had to agree with his assessment. I kept trying to get Lacuna to point higher into the waves without any success. Finally I had to accept his argument. Despite the frustration of working all day just to end up back in the same place we started from, I fell off the wind and headed back up Scott Channel.
Our frustrating decision was then followed by a ride that did much to soothe my bruised ambition. We were racing a bit to the lee of Full and By when we began to surf down and across the wave faces. Instead of struggling to claw our way up the waves now we were flying down them a 6 or 7 knots. The flat out rush of shooting across these wave faces was quite enough to bind my injured pride. We had worked hard beating to windward, now came the downhill run. When we rose to the top of a wave I could see that the water around us was quite turbulent, but Lacuna skipped across it like a Storm Petrel. It was frustrating to pass Cape Scott again but oh, what a ride it was.
As we sailed the 23 miles back to Bull Harbor it was critical that we keep up our speed. We made 6 knots and above for many miles. But as the Vancouver skyline rose to the south of us it blocked the wind, Lacuna's speed consequently soon dropped to 4 knots. Concerned with the miles we had to make to reach safe harbor, I wanted to start motoring to keep up speed. Dennis suggested we motor sail since we were on a perfect tack to do so. I had not thought much of the practice. In my mind it was loud and problematic. But with miles to go and daylight running out I was ready to try anything to keep our speed up. It proved a great decision.
Normally, under power, we can only effectively make 5.5 knots before our bow wave slows us down. It takes a lot of power to push Lacuna that last half knot to 6. The extra effort works the engine hard and makes a deafening noise. It also uses a lot more fuel. This is especially true with all the gear we have on board for this extended voyage
Motor sailing proved to be the perfect solution to keeping our speed up. With the full set of sails pulling on the beam wind the motor only had to turn at very low rpms. Dennis and I could easily converse without the usual yelling over the motor. Much to my surprise, with just this small boost we were soon making at 6 knots through the water once again.
As it turned out 4 hours later, the old salt in the marina had been right about the Tatnall Reef channel and the south wind. Lacuna slipped behind Nawhitti Bar 45 minutes short of maximum ebb current without too much consternation. We motored back into Bull Harbor at 2015. I noted that we had left the harbor at the exact same time we returned. Eight fifteen on the button. We spent 12 hours of hard sailing to get back to the same place we started. A mixed day to say the least. But as we tied up at the float dock once again I had to admit that despite our setbacks... It had been a great day of sailing.
We decided to try to get an early jump on Nawhitti Bay. The Slack tide would be an hour later in the day and we can get up and out on the water 2 hours earlier. With what we now know of the back channel around Tatnall reef we felt good about attempting to run the ebb current out before the slack. If it worked it would give us a current boost for a couple of hours. This we could use to advantage to round Cape Scott. The down side was that we would get about 5 or 6 hours sleep, a realization leading directly to bed and sleep.
8/19/00
0600 Log entry. We left the dock just after daybreak. Hoping to run around Nahwitti Bar during the ebb to gain some time and mileage on Cape Scott. After our crossing yesterday afternoon, the advice of the old salt in the marina seems to be sound. You can get around the bar in the southern small boat channel, in a south wind, at times other than slack tide. Hopefully there will be no surprises when the current is ebbing as opposed to flooding like last night.
1831 Log entry. 12 hours later and we've rounded Cape Scott to arrive in Winter Harbor. Lacuna bucked current most of the afternoon. The coastline was very rugged with many sea stacks and explosive waves. Some surf sprayed very high when it impacted the rocky shore. Sun stayed with us after some morning downpours. We did 59 miles today.
Computer entry. Like the previous one, today also ran to 12 hours, but we managed to get 59 miles down the coast this time. Now we were really on an ocean adventure. The voyage included hours of motoring through beam seas. The coast of Cape Scott was magnificent.
Even from a distance the surf crashing against the cliffs was spectacular. After an early morning squall drenched Dennis at the helm, the sky remained clear most of the day. The winds and seas never approached the pitch of the previous day. Soon Sea Otter Cove was 30 minutes away. We agreed to continue on and try to make moorage at the Winter Harbor Marina up Quatsino Sound that night.
The wind gave us a bit of sailing up to Cape Scott but from there on the wind was steady on our bow at about 10 knots. We needed to make time so the cast iron main sail pushed us all the way to port. We ran out of gas a few miles short of the entrance Quatsino Sound. This was not a problem since we had another can of gas stowed below. As we were pulling the gas can out, when there came a call for Coast Guard assistance over channel 16 on the VHF. It was a call for assistance for a sail vessel that had run out of gas. The position they gave matched ours almost to a tee. Talk about your instant service! We both got a good laugh out of that one.
Based on tales of heroic Royal Mounted Police exploits, a long standing principle of Canadian efficiency is the motto “One Riot, One Mounty.” That night we watched the modern day equivalent as the 40 foot sloop which had called for assistance was pushed to the fuel dock by a Canadian Coast Guard work boat manned by a single guardsman. One minor emergency, one coasty.
That night we both slept soundly after our second 12 hour day. The brief 5 hours sleep between marathon days assured that our sleep was swift and deep. There was very little enthusiasm for early rising the next morning. In fact Lacuna was quiet for the next few days.
8/20/00
Log entry. We took on 46 liters of gas at Grant Sales in Winter Harbor. We last filled at Port Hardy and used almost all our gas to get here. We motored for 23.5 hours (including a couple of hours of motor sailing)= 2 liters / hour = 2.5 Nautical Miles / liter = 115 Nautical Miles per fill
Log entry 1714. We're on the hook north of Matthew's Island in Forward Inlet, a grueling 2 nautical miles drive from the docks at Winter Harbor. The day, which started cold, wet and unpromising - low clouds, rain- turned warm and dry.
We took showers and did our laundry, got ice and supplies at the general store, and got out of there. The village is kind of depressing and the services meager, but if we're holed up by weather, we'll probably go back for showers.
We're in a protected area with arms of the inlet on two sides. Along the south of Matthew's Island lies the opening of Quatsino Sound. Ahead: Brooks Peninsula . DT
Computer entry. At Matthews Island we planned to tie up to the mooring buoys that were indicated on the chart. However once we got there it was apparent these buoys were never intended for fiberglass boats. The tops of the buoys stood upright from the waterline and were manufactured from plate steel. There was no provision to prevent the damage this plate steel would do if it were to ride up against a fiberglass hull. Clearly these buoys were intended for steel hulled fishing boats. Neither of us wanted to gouge Lacuna's new paint job on the buoy. However we could not figure out how to moor without that risk so we had to drop the hook. This is a big disappointment since moorage buoys are supposed to provide secure moorage and without being able to use them we will have to rely on our anchor much more. Many has been the time we have been grateful for the quick security of tying to a mooring buoy. It is quick and it will stand a lot more wind and seas than the hook will. Not good news.
8/21/00
1711 Log entry. We're back at the Winter Harbor dock after another grueling day. We got up at 0600 in hopes that we could make a passage south- but the forecast was for head winds building to gales. So we motored from our anchorage to the dock, took showers, and did boat work - hold-downs and storage, rudder box leaks, and back stay adjuster
The breeze in the harbor was up to 10 knots and gusting, so we did some recreational sailing - downwind toward the head of the harbor and upwind toward the docks. After a few go-rounds we dropped the sail and motored back to the dock. DT
Computer entry. So here we are in Winter Harbor for the second time. Yesterday we motored to Matthew's Island just south of here and dropped the hook. Today we motored back in the rain, a total of 4 nautical miles. This cruising stuff is grueling. We are held up waiting for the weather to clear so we can make our way around the tip of Brooks Peninsula, which sticks out into the Pacific 6 miles. The tip of the peninsula, named Cape Cook, is listed, along with Cape Scott and Estaban Point, as being the places to which you want to pay the closest attention to the weather when making passage. All of these capes project well into the Pacific and are heavily affected by opposing wind and current. The forecast that just came over the radio projected 35 knot winds and 3 meter seas!! That means that the average wave height is 9 feet high. To have an average height of 9 feet there has to be as many waves larger than 9 feet as there are waves smaller than 9 feet. Lacuna's coach roof is 5 feet high, so Cape Cook is no place for us today.
After a month at sea, I finally spent some time today playing with Lacuna's trim. It took several tries but I finally got the gear stowed in a manner which allows her to ride on her lines. Low in the water still, but on her lines. This should help our boat handling a bit. Since the first thing we usually do when we reach port is to move everything about, I had to wait for a time when the gear was stowed for making way before I could really balance the boat. Most times we have been in this state it was prior to leaving port and we had a tide to make. Trimming the boat also requires having a dock to step off on to observe the way Lacuna floats on the water. Today there was no hurry to get anywhere, so while Dennis was up at the store, I could fool with trim. I guess hurry up and wait has its advantages. Or should I say “Lemonade Ho”.
Yesterday there was a deep screech that could be heard coming from the near by trees. When I heard it I was watching the top a snag near those trees. At the same instant the cry pierced the woods, the snag exploded with small songbirds all bolting for cover in the lower branches of nearby trees. Then a Golden Eagle swooped through the ragged boughs of the same snag. Apparently the small birds had heard this cry before. Maybe they even had an uncomfortably close encounter with that cry.
This is a great place for eagles. There is a pair that hangs out in the trees right next to our moorage. They have a voice that resembles an Osprey in frequency with a little bit deeper tone. However they have a much broader range of vocalization. The calls are at times quite expressive. They sing, they screech, and they play with overtones much more than Osprey. Sort of like a cross between an Osprey and a Seagull.
Today I watched as a small bird chased a Bald Eagle low across the bay. About half way across the channel a second Bald suddenly flew up behind the small bird and the small bird beat feet to get the fuck out of Dodge. Both eagles landed on an open branch of the same tree across the bay, just watching the world go by. They stayed there most of the time we sailed around the bay.
We are now back at the dock for the night and there, in the tree above us, are 2 fully mature Bald Eagles. They seem to be rather nonplussed at the nearness of our boat. I watched them for the last half hour through the binoculars. Long moments passed with those large golden eyes peering down at me. Having much better eyesight than I do, I am sure they could see me at least as clearly as I could see them. Their heads looked much larger than my fist. I could see our cat, Cleo, making a nice little snack for these large predators. No problem, whoosh, kitty gone... In fact I made a point of knowing where I would duck if one of them took offense at my staring and decided to take a swipe at my head to prove it. Besides glaring at me, the majestic birds spend their time watching the water below them, looking out through the tree tops to the sky, and preening. They worked the large yellow hook of their bills all through the long primary feathers. Systematically cleaning each quill, arranging every feather. The bird that was closer to the trunk of the tree looked as if it had recently been in the water. Spiky white bits of feather stuck out at odd angles from its head in distinct contrast to the smooth fluffy down of its companion. As I watched, the wet bird balanced on the large evergreen bough on a single foot. Raising the other foot up to it's head it began to scratch at these spiky white feathers. With a flurry of rapid talon rakes across her head she appeared to relax into the repetitive motion. I couldn't help but chuckle as I watched the eagle go slack jawed with enjoyment, like a dog rapt with the same pleasure. Just then, a small white tuft of down was ejected by the rapid foot movements. The single feather drifted off slowly through the evergreen boughs on a passing breeze. Just Another Ho Hum Day In Paradise!!!
Winter Harbor has the look of a fishing town that is fast loosing its grip on life. Houses in all states of repair line the bay. From the well-maintained Bed and Breakfast, to houses that are well on their way to the ground. The decaying infrastructure to support a large fishing fleet are everywhere evident. But it looks as if that fleet has not been in port for some time now.
Between these houses and the bay is an extensive elevated boardwalk . The cruising guides call it quaint and picturesque. Many small houses are connected to the public dock by this boardwalk. The plank path also serves as the conduit to connect the waterfront homes to the town's public utilities. Water and sewage mains are attached to the same scaffolding that support the boardwalk. It looks like a public works project that must have benefited from a community development grant intended to help transition such towns beyond the end of the fishing industry. Winter Harbor looks as if it may not make that transition. It is just too far form anywhere else for it to benefit from tourist trade.
Many of the houses look as if they were substantial working class homes not many years ago. Architectural embellishments of these abandoned homes suggest no small amount of community pride. But now many houses appear abandoned and are falling into dilapidation. One house, just over from our dock, actually has a tree growing out through it's roof... A house plant gone berserk? Revenge of Christmas past?
8/23/00
0746 Log entry. We pulled away from the Winter Harbor dock after another rainy day and night. Our solar panels were unable to keep up, so we plugged into an outlet at the wharf for a few hours to top up our batteries. The morning is muggy, foggy, and damp. DT
1233. We're almost abeam of Clerke Point, the southeast point of Brooks Peninsula. We motored in the fog, with visibility at times down to 0.1 mile, until we were west of Solander Island off Cape Cook. The fog thinned a bit and I could see the outlines of the lower slopes of Brooks Peninsula below the low stratus clouds. Soon the fog thinned more and we could see Solander Island and, through the layers of fog and clouds, the mountains around Kyuquot Sound. DT
1526 Log entry. We set anchor in Columbia Cove, where Captain Gray of Columbia traded for sea otter pelts. This area, Checleset Bay, is the site of successful sea otter re-introduction- I hope we get a chance to see some. DT
Computer entry. Lacuna now is lying on the hook here in the same bay that Robert Gray anchored Columbia Rediviva 200 years ago. Today we made a good passage from Winter Harbor, logging 42 miles in the process. We left the dock at 0730 today after showers and breakfast. There was not much wind out on the channel as we motored away from the dock. It looked like another good day for rain. Visibility was limited in all directions. I used the GPS to pilot the lower channel as fog began to set in. The GPS screen map is not much more than a vague cartoon but it really proved useful. From the cockpit I found I could easily understand the faint landmarks as they moved in the fog around us. The GPS is really amazing.
Soon we motored past the Quatsino Light House on Kains Island and things began to take on a tone of complete gray. It was not long after we passed the light that I noticed that we were entirely out of sight of land. For the next 3 hours all we could see was fog, water, and ourselves. At times I thought I might even loose sight of Dennis across the cockpit, it was so thick.
For days we had studied the details about Brooks Peninsula from our onboard library. It is listed as a beautiful remnant of the wild coast that used to be the western shore of Vancouver Island. In fact it is one of the only places along the coast that has not been logged. Both of us were excited to see the place. For hours all there was to show for the wild coast of Brooks Peninsula was dense fog. It was disappointing to say the least. The good news was that we were making way and the days of waiting were left behind in the fog.
Helmsmanship was challenging today. At times the seas really pushed Lacuna around. You could not let attention to the compass lapse or soon the boat would be headed in the wrong direction. I did find that the compass and the GPS were quite good and monitoring each other and with attention I kept a fair course right atop the preprogrammed route. Lacuna ran out into the open Pacific as if she were headed toward Japan.
After hours of gray the GPS told us we had rounded Solander Island which is beyond Cape Cook. We had cleared the Cape of Storms, as it is locally known, and it was time to turn the bow away from Japan. I pulled the tiller to port to ease Lacuna onto the new course. Once Lacuna had settled into the new heading I asked Dennis if I could pass the stick to him and take a break. I was below when he called out to me that land was in sight. I was skeptical, but a quick look to the east confirmed his sighting. The fog was beginning to lift, and the faint outline of Brooks Peninsula appeared in the western sky. From our vantage, 2 miles beyond Solander Island, the whole of Checleset Bay began to appear. Not all at once, but rather slowly, the vista just kept getting better. Finally we could see all of Brooks Peninsula rising up above the crashing surf. Though the seas were subdued today, at times the surf exploded skyward with enough force to be clearly visible 3 miles away.
As we cleared Clerke Point, on the end of Brooks Peninsula, we could see the jagged rock gardens of the Barrier Islands to the south. Countless small rocks, reefs, islands and islets fill Checletset Bay. The scene was painted with intermixed patches of clouds, water, fog, mountains and sky. In the distance the edges that defined the elements of the vista blurred in the mist. To the southeast it was difficult to really tell what was fog and what was water. Or just where the blue of the sky changed into the blue of cloud banks. Or which were distant mountains and which were islands. It was a beautiful watercolor kind of day. The thick fog that characterized the earlier passage of the Cape of Storms gave me an acute appetite for the atmospheric artistry over Checleset Bay. Finally we rounded our waypoint and made a hard turn to port. All the while we headed east the vista got better. Lacuna was closing on the protected waters of Columbia Cove. There we would anchor for the night, ending our rounding of the second of the “Great Capes” of Vancouver Island.
Columbia Cove is near the mainland end of Brooks Peninsula. There is the wreck of a Coast Guard cutter piled up on the west rocks of the cove's mouth. As you enter the cove you can't miss the large red and white hulk facing directly into the channel. Partially submerged and tipped a bit to the port on the black rocks, its entire bow structure, up to and including the base of the pilot house tower, is sheered right off. The conning tower is still upright but the pilothouse ports are all stove in. A jagged bulkhead remnant is twisted completely away from the position where it once formed the side of cutter's forehouse. It now stands out from the wreck like a flag that was violently overblown and then suddenly turned to steel. The fore deck and everything else ahead of the jagged bulkhead has been ripped away by the sea. Further up the rocky black shore, deformed, red pieces of the missing bow are strewn about. As we entered the cove we could look right into the hold of the old wreck where the crew was supposed to be able to find refuge from the sea. There didn't appear to be much refuge in there today. Waves washed into the open hull and splashed about inside the hold making a sound like laughter. This boat was really torn up.
This evening we spotted an Osprey, a seemingly commonplace event. They are listed as common birds in this area but this was the first one either of us has seen. It flew in just over our anchorage before dark. Dennis and I both recognized the profile and the call it later made from some nearby trees. Many eagles, 1 Osprey.
8/24/00
Log entry. 0900 Motoring out of Columbia Cove toward Bunsby Island. Fog has set in and we may not be able to approach the islands without some clearing. If so our plan is to carry on to Walters Cove. The radio is forecasting strong southeasterly winds this evening. We may or may not be able to get gas in Walters Cove. There is a marina, but it the cruising guides are questionable as to the availability of gas.
Columbia Cove was one of the most remote anchorages we've yet stayed in. Brooks Peninsula is much as it was when Robert Gray first traded with the local aboriginal people. That first exchange ended in a volley of cannon fire when a large group of men approached Columbia at night, Gray did successfully trade with the same band one year later.
There was a wrecked coast guard cutter on the rocks lining the mouth of the cove. Its entire bow section has been ripped off. A piece of the red bow can be seen a quarter mile further down the channel. The ship's hold is left facing into the channel and the tides wash through it at will. What was a refuge for the crew is now a place for waves to play!
1237 Log entry. Lacuna is anchored in 10 fathoms of water is Scow Bay on the northern island of the Bunsby Group. It is raining hard. We hope to see Sea Otters here.
Computer entry. We are riding on the hook in the Bunsby Islands. It was a short, damp voyage through rock infested waters today. There was some seat of the pants navigation through Gay Passage, which leads through Bunsby Islands, as we scouted out the local anchorages. There are many rocks both above and below the waterline. Despite the fact that the rain gray day could really use some color, nobody was real hot on the idea of redecorating Gay Channel with Lacuna's bottom paint.
There were kayakers camped next to the first anchorage that we looked at. It had an incredible view of the rock gardens to the south west of here. The cruising guide said it was a great place to watch surf crash against these same rocks. The problem was that the way it was blowing, Lacuna's cockpit would have been facing away from the surf. So there would be no easy view out the companionway. It was raining so hard neither of us had much enthusiasm about spending time outside. Consequently there would not be much view to be had today. Besides, it was also very exposed to the winds.
So we moved back up the rocks of Gay Passage a quarter mile to the other anchorage in Scow Bay. The bay is a bit deeper than we usually like to anchor in. The bay was large and there were no other boats anchored here. This was good since it took a lot of swinging room to accommodate the 350 foot of rode needed to set the anchor in such deep water. Our first anchoring attempt dragged after the flukes bit, jammed full of mud and shell, and then uselessly bounced along the bottom. After hauling the 350 feet of rode back on Lacuna's foredeck, it took some work to get the flukes cleared of mud for a second attempt. All the while the rain and wind pounded Lacuna, compounding the cold, wet labor. Once the flukes were cleared we motored back up wind and made a second attempt with the hook. This time it bit clean and strong and would prove a reliable anchorage.
We put up our riding sail, tied the cargo tarp over the foredeck and draped the hammock tarp over the companionway. The riding sail steadied Lacuna on her long rode. The cargo tarp allowed us to open the foredeck hatch for ventilation. The folded hammock replaced the washboards providing a convenient way to keep the weather out and still have easy access to the cockpit. For the umpteenth time Lacuna's crew did the “Duffel Shuffle” moving much of our gear out into the cockpit. We cleared the head area and fired up the Lacuna's oil space heater. As the burner took the flame, it's low murmur did wonders for the disposition of the crew of the good ship Lacuna. A great thing to be able to do after a cold wet day. Soon the cabin began to heat up and we got cozy. We even managed to dry out both sets of wet rain gear, 4 pairs of socks, a set of sailing gloves and 2 bath towels. This was not entirely without its drawbacks, namely condensation on the walls. Every once in a while I toweled them off and wrung the water outside the companionway. Over the afternoon and evening I wrung out dozens of condensation soaked towels. I just figured that every towel I wrung out side the companionway was a wet spot I didn't have to live in. As the rain and wind howled through the rigging outside it was a balmy 72 degrees inside. This temperature despite the fact we vented a couple of hatches to carry out the moist air. On this voyage the heater has now run for 12 hours and burned less than a quart of oil. We are finally getting our money's worth out of the oil heater we bought 8 years ago.
The Bunsbys are a Sea Otter Restoration Area. One of the cruising guides speaks of a local otter who repeatedly retrieved fishing spoon thrown off the side of the boat. We keep looking, but no otters so far. But who knows, maybe otters will drop by for dinner.
The passage today got us on the sheltered side of Acous Peninsula, setting the stage for a clear shot at Walters Cove tomorrow. The cruising guides are not encouraging about the availability of fuel this year in Walter's Cove but we hope to check there. Our extended passage of Cape Scott has left us very aware of our limited fuel capacity. We think we have enough gas to make the next port beyond Walter's Cove but it is always nice to have lots of gas in case you have to repeat some part of your voyage again before making port.
The winds, tonight and tomorrow, are forecast to shift to SE winds as a front passes. We might have been able to make the passage to Walter's Cove today. But we wanted to see the Bunsbys and my back gave me a couple of tweaks of pain as we approached Gay Passage. Experience has taught me to heed those warnings. So it must be time to kick back and relax. If the weather looks good we will attempt to get to Walter's Cove tomorrow morning.
8/25/00
1020 Log entry. After a long wet windy day and night, we woke to calm winds and scant rain. The clouds are still low and the air, saturated with water. We weighed anchor in the cove on Bunsby Island and motored away through Gay Passage. We had some distant glimpses of sea otters, and heard splashes and breathing, but no close encounters. We ran the heater for 8 hours yesterday, getting some of our clothes dry and drying the interior of Lacuna a bit, but it rained so hard and the wind blew so hard (gusts est. 20 knots) that it was a losing battle to try to dry everything out. DT
Computer entry. It has become our custom to wake at 0600 and turn on the radio. From the warmth and nearness of sleep, we listen to the forecast and make the call about the day. If the weather sounds good, we both start directly in to the morning rituals of breakfast, stowing gear, and getting under way. If the weather sounds bad we don't have far to go back to sleep. It has proved a better plan than getting up, fixing breakfast, drinking hot coffee and going back to bed after a disappointing forecast.
It never stopped raining and blew like hell last night. The only encouragement to be found in the 0600 forecast was that we hadn't got up to listen to it. It sounded as if the wind would blow from 3 different direction at different times in the day. It was to finish up with a real blow from the northwest of 20 to 30 knots according to the voice on the radio. Dennis and I were soon back asleep.
An hour later I woke to a strange sound. There was no rain pounding on the coach roof and the wind through the rigging had dropped as well. I listened for a long while trying to convince my self that I was really sound asleep. I began to wonder if it might not be a good idea to make a run to Walters Cove after all. If the wind did stay down for a while we could easily make the 8 mile run. Dennis finally awoke and he was of a like mind. Soon breakfast dishes were stowed and Lacuna was picking her way through the rocks of Gay Passage.
As we neared the end of the passage the motor began to sputter erratically. We managed to clear the rocks and Dennis pulled the motor cowling. Every time he removed the cowling the motor ran fine. Every time he replaced the fiberglass cowling the engine would sputter. He finally determined there was a spark plug wire that had worn insulation. When the cowling was lower into place the wire came in contact with the engine and shorted out. Dennis soon had an electrical tape fix in place. It is always good to have an experienced mechanic in the crowd and I was especially pleased which Dennis' knowledgeable company at that moment.
Once the motor was working again we set ourselves to the task of navigating the waters leading to Walter's Cove. The sky was low and gray but the visibility was good out across this abundant rock gardens of Checleset Bay. All around us surf crashed against the reefs, rocks, islets, and sea stacks of the Barrier Islands. As the cold morning churned about me, it reminded me of the things that have attracted me to the coast. My favorite shore haunts are not the long sandy beaches, but rather, the rugged shores where rocks and sea stacks do constant battle with the ocean. From Lacuna's cockpit the view of the Barrier Islands filled that bill quite nicely.
It's odd that after 5 weeks of being on the ocean I would suddenly make these emotional connections to the ocean today. Dennis has a Masters Degree from the Scripps Institute of Oceanography. It has driven him nuts because I keep referring to these channels we navigated as “Up river” and “Down river” depending on the direction of the tidal current. My answer to his groans was to plead too many years as a fresh water sailor and to ask if referring to it as “Up ocean or down ocean” would be better. The topography and the currents of our inland passage just would not set easy with my conception of what an ocean is. However, as we picked our way through the surf pounded rocks today, the world around me was the definitive example of ocean in my mind. I suspect that having me as a shipmate will go easier on Dennis from here on out
It didn't take a genius to see that wandering aimlessly in this rock garden was a bad idea. In places waves crashed against rocks on both sides of Lacuna. I paid close attention to the GPS route and the compass and Dennis was quite attentive to the charts. There was a good passage that ran much of the way along the shore and then worked a crooked path through the crashing surf to Walter's Cove. It was a very exciting voyage.
Once we entered the channel it was still a round about trip to the public dock. The route led through a series of islands via some shoal channels. The route was not all that clear at times but we managed a relatively easy passage. The town of Walter's Cove is protected by this gathering of islands and the water leading up to the dock was calm and soothing.
1432 Log entry. We took in 23 liters of gas at Walters Cove at 1200 after an uneventful 8 mile passage from Bunsby Island . The rain has stopped (temporarily) and the day turned warm and muggy. The air is still, in marked contrast with the southeast gales that have hit the coast in the past week.
We had lunch at Miss Charlie's Restaurant. Miss Charlie herself, a 36 year old seal who's been a family pet since she was delivered by C section, is not in evidence, but the restaurant owner assures us that she's still around. DT
Computer entry. We were glad to find that the fuel dock at Walter's Cove was still in limited service. It was a low budget operation run from a dock crowded with 55 gallon drums. The operator was very friendly and talked about how he needed to get out of the business the whole time he filled our fuel tank. He insisted the work was killing him. I watched as he set about pumping diesel out of another drum for another boat. He reached down, grabbed the end of a hose he had just inserted into the drum, put it to his mouth, and sucked the gas to get a siphon action going. As he spit out a mouthful of gas I had to agree, this job was quite likely killing him!
Once we tied up at the public dock the day settled into a lazy rhythm. There are 2 settlements along the shores of Walters Cove. On the west shore are the White owned homes and the business district. Along the east shore was the Indian Village. Kids of both races could be seen running up and down the dock for most of the afternoon. It was interesting to note that they seemed to have great fun playing with each other. It seemed as if there was little racial tension. Red and White seemed at ease with each other all around town. People were friendly and it was a relaxed day.
One native boy was quite outgoing. He came right up to Lacuna and asked if he could see inside. We welcomed him aboard and he immediately set about looking the boat over. He wanted to know all about life aboard a sailboat and asked if we were doing any fishing. When I told him we were not, he looked aghast. As if I had told him that Dennis and I didn't breath air. Everybody up here fishes. “Doing any fishing” is the local way of saying hello. Most people are adept at hiding their reaction to the lack of fishing enthusiasm on Lacuna. As I watched the dumbfounded look in this boy's eyes it hit me that if I ever return to the area maybe I should take up fishing. Slowly disbelief was overpowered by curiosity about Lacuna and the boy returned to his exploration. I believe he may be the only person I have ever seen to stand upright in the cabin. It looked to be a perfect fit. After a look around he ran off to take turns with his friends doing cannon ball dives into the cold waters of the cove. Sploosh. Sploosh. “Hey look at me!” Sploosh.
8/26/00
0720 Log entry. Left the dock in a hurry. We could not pick up weather forecast at 0600 this morning. There was no reception until it was 0630 and then the forecast was not good. The winds are supposed to shift to the northwest later this morning. At that time the speed is supposed to reach 20 to 30 knots. At the moment there was no sign of this or any storm or even wind for that matter now. The lighthouse reports also indicated no wind. So we are making an attempt to get to Esperanza Inlet by the 1120 tide change. It is close for sure. We got no breakfast or coffee this morning. We will snack along the way. The good news is that if the wind comes up, it will be behind us. That is if the wind heard the forecast.
1327 Log entry. We are once again on an inland waterway. Dennis jokes that I'm going to start calling it the “River” again. He is probably right.
We have been seeing snow clad mountains through the clouds for the last couple of hours. There are 4000 foot mountain peaks within 3.25 miles of sea level!!! Really enjoying the reminder of our earlier inland voyage. It is picturesque here. It is also ravaged by large clear cuts with washed out roads everywhere. Go figure....
1415 Tied up at Zeballos public dock. Zeballos is promoted as the rain capital of Vancouver Island. Oh boy...
Computer entry. I just got back from dropping off my wash at the local laundry/ shower/ room for rent establishment. The old woman who runs the place told me she would have my wash ready in a couple of hours. She then led me back through her home to the shower facilities where the hot water worked wonders. Kind of nice not having to sit around in a Laundromat listening to the drums of clothes tumble around and around.
There is a highway connecting Zebollos to the rest of Vancouver Island and so the place is not as isolated as could be. The town is now turning to tourism to support it where gold mining and fishing have fallen off. There is still a First Nation community of some size here.
There is an interesting story about Zeballos, which is located at the site of an ancient First Nation village. Yesterday as we motored into Esperanza Inlet, we passed an old village site called Ehatisaht. Some of the older cruising guides refer to Ehatisaht as the site of one of the last standing totem poles visible from the water. It was quite famous in its day. Coastal weather finally took its toll on this landmark, and it was taken to the Natural History Museum in Victoria to preserve it. A replica was made and given to the descendants of the Ehatisaht village, most of which now live in the Zeballos area. They decided to erect it at Zeballos instead of the ancient site. That year there was a storm that blew the totem down. The natives decided that maybe it was not such a good idea after all and they destroyed the replica.