The trip to Glacier Bay was epic. You can read all about it by exploring the chronologically listed posts in the index to the right.
Or for ongoing activity, please explore our new blog: http://svquijote2017.blogspot.com
October 17, 2016
August 30, 2016
Final Post - Arrival, Party, Haiku
On Saturday our big adventure to Glacier Bay came to a close. The day started in sunshine, but the weather slowly deteriorated as we made our way toward Shilshole. Rounding Point No Point the wind was blowing against us at 14 knots; we were glad we weren't out in the Straight of Juan de Fuca, where initial planning for the day had put us. The current around the point was brisk and against the wind as well, so there was a curious local phenomena of sailing into a tempest. From a couple of miles away, we could see three foot chop hopping about like mad in a band around the point. We plowed through and had quite a wild ride for a few minutes before squirting out the other side into relative calm. Weird. It felt almost supernatural. It isn't hard to see why ancient sailors would attribute such things to deities, monsters, and whatnot. And really, whose to say they're not?
The wind was still blowing through Shilshole on our arrival, which made docking a little more challenging - all the more so for having to tie up four times in all: for fuel, pump out, crew pickup, and the final tie-up.
We stopped to pick up Kay's father Patrick, her son Chris, and former crew members Tina, and Jason. It was great fun sharing the ride through the locks with them. After pulling into the locks, then backing out again because there wasn't quite enough room, and waiting for the next cycle, we finally made it through. Patrick took the helm for the ride between the Ballard and Fremont bridges.
All too soon we were tied up and the show was over. Darn and Hurrah!
Vi has a party planned for Sept 18 to get everyone together for a crew reunion.
This is the evite:
Vi has also constructed a dropbox for photos. She asks that we fill our folders with a few (10-15) photos before September 9.
If those forwarded links don't work and you can't find your email invitations, please contact Vi.
After the party, I'll change the format of this blog so that it reads in chronological order, and it will no longer be an active blog. I'll start up another blog to document ongoing projects and planning for upcoming trips and I'll point to it in an obvious place so you can find your way to it from this blog if you're interested.
Thanks to those of you who have stuck with us through this trip. The blog has been a pleasure to write, only because many of you have indicated that you actually read it. I have to admit that reading blogs isn't my thing, mostly because they can be so uninteresting. I'm sensitive to that and have endeavored to keep posts short and say something worth reading. That so many of you have indicated that you enjoy reading it means a lot to us. Thank you.
We'll close with a a Haiku that Kay has asked me to post:
.
Haiku is a form of poetry and is written in 17 syllables divided into 3 lines of 5, 7, and 5 syllables.
This haiku condenses my thoughts about SV Quijote's Journey through the Inside Passage. Following the haiku is a short explanation for the words I chose.
This haiku condenses my thoughts about SV Quijote's Journey through the Inside Passage. Following the haiku is a short explanation for the words I chose.
APPRECIATION
INTIMATE. CONTRIBUTE. FRIENDS.
FOOD. AWE. NATURE. GIFTS
APPRECIATION
- For Skipper Rod's gracious sharing of this rich and rewarding experience.
- For each crew member's sense of adventure and camaraderie.
INTIMATE. CONTRIBUTE. FRIENDS.
- Spending intimate time in close quarters with graciousness and respect.
- Acknowledging each individuals contributions to the whole making for an environment in which we were able to enjoy the experience.
- Strangers at first, friends at last.
FOOD. AWE. NATURE. GIFTS
- Crew member's providing and cooking such a variety of delumpscious dinner meals which might be gourmet or homey, dried or fresh, new or family recipies and were ALWAYS tasty, appetizing, unique and enjoyed.
- I am filled with awe and wonder with the people, the places, the sights, the vastness, the experience.
- Living close to nature, clearly hearing the sounds of nature, always on the look-out for wildlife, never tiring of seeing water, trees and mountains.
- Thank you for the unique gift of self each of you brought and shared.
August 26, 2016
Day 105 - Photos
I haven't included photos with the last couple of blog post uploads, owing to shoddy throughput. We ended up in Port Ludlow for our final night; nice for showers and wifi, but not so much for fun and frolic to blog about. Instead, I'll take advantage of the decent wifi and upload a few more photos.
Let's start with a batch that Lavanya took (except the first two)
Lavamoves
Lavagoof
A guy can't defend himself from the Paparazi while rowing...
Quiet time for Kay
Kay's world famous oat pancakes. Awesome!
Port Ludlow
And a few by our hero:
Quijote on James Bay
Kay stretching her legs on James Island
Day 104 - Ticker Tape Parade
It's the night before our final night and we're holding on to every morsel of time. We're in what is likely to be the last anchorage of the trip. The last of seventy-five nights or so of anchoring. We've been out for 102 days, but 13 of those were spent in Petersburg during the break. That leaves 14 nights spent in marinas and 75 nights at anchor. In those seventy-five nights, we didn't drag anchor or hit anything the whole time - not a bad track record. It's not one we can learn much from, but I can live with that.
Tonight's anchorage is a small nook between James and Decatur Islands. There's a small dock on shore where boats have been coming and going. The whole island is a park with composting toilets, camp grounds and a few trails for clambering about. There's a particularly nice unmaintained trail that runs around the south end of the island overlooking the bluffs with nice views into Rosario Strait. It makes a spectacular sunset hike on a glassy day like today. We watched a small sailboat below the bluffs trying in vain to coerce their sails into filling with any kind of breath of air.
Planning for our final night is still not settled. Winter is coming and the Strait of Juan de Fuca isn't going to stay settled for much longer. We'll make our break in the morning and figure out where to stay along the way, either through Deception Pass or out around.
Wherever we stay, I anticipate a mid-day arrival into Shilshole the following day. A few folks have expressed interest in doing the locks with us, so it might turn out to be a party. If any crew reading this wants to join us, please contact Tina. Bring a PFD. With luck the slip will be empty when we get to the other side. …still waiting confirmation on that.
Tonight's anchorage is a small nook between James and Decatur Islands. There's a small dock on shore where boats have been coming and going. The whole island is a park with composting toilets, camp grounds and a few trails for clambering about. There's a particularly nice unmaintained trail that runs around the south end of the island overlooking the bluffs with nice views into Rosario Strait. It makes a spectacular sunset hike on a glassy day like today. We watched a small sailboat below the bluffs trying in vain to coerce their sails into filling with any kind of breath of air.
Planning for our final night is still not settled. Winter is coming and the Strait of Juan de Fuca isn't going to stay settled for much longer. We'll make our break in the morning and figure out where to stay along the way, either through Deception Pass or out around.
Wherever we stay, I anticipate a mid-day arrival into Shilshole the following day. A few folks have expressed interest in doing the locks with us, so it might turn out to be a party. If any crew reading this wants to join us, please contact Tina. Bring a PFD. With luck the slip will be empty when we get to the other side. …still waiting confirmation on that.
Day 103 - Making Magic
We're in Parks Bay tonight, but there are no parks - just signs that say "Absolutely no Trespassing" along the shore. The nice thing about snug little coves that don't allow you to go to shore is that they aren't as crowded as places that do. The down side is that you can't go ashore. Or if you do, you feel like a trespasser. You stretch your legs wondering if you're going to be led away in handcuffs.
Park Bay is allegedly a research conservancy of some kind - the kind that doesn't tolerate human impact. The Bay is just three miles from Friday Harbor, where we cleared customs, filled our water tanks, and picked up Lava 2.0. Lavanya did the leg from Wrangell to Juneau with us in June, so it's great to have her (and her cooking) back with us for the last three days.
She's in the galley, as I write, whipping up something awesome. I think we have barbecued fish and a kale salad on the menu tonight. I always feel like I'm eating a month's worth of nutrition when Lavanya gets to cooking. Not that we've had any nutritional slouches on this trip, but Lavanya always hits the deck running with bags of fresh vegetables in hand and goes go work making magic.
Park Bay is allegedly a research conservancy of some kind - the kind that doesn't tolerate human impact. The Bay is just three miles from Friday Harbor, where we cleared customs, filled our water tanks, and picked up Lava 2.0. Lavanya did the leg from Wrangell to Juneau with us in June, so it's great to have her (and her cooking) back with us for the last three days.
She's in the galley, as I write, whipping up something awesome. I think we have barbecued fish and a kale salad on the menu tonight. I always feel like I'm eating a month's worth of nutrition when Lavanya gets to cooking. Not that we've had any nutritional slouches on this trip, but Lavanya always hits the deck running with bags of fresh vegetables in hand and goes go work making magic.
August 24, 2016
Day 102 - Like Chocolate
Mornings with no wakeup time are a treat. The light and sounds of the day pull consciousness out of dreams. Unconstrained, senseless flailing of the mind becomes thoughtful deliberation about things that matter; like corralling a wild sail by pulling in the sheet, bringing in order, subduing chaos, building control with each passing moment until I find myself cataloguing what needs to be done, where the challenges lie.
Sound sleep for me is just the opposite: it is the art of freeing myself from the constraints of thinking, abandoning all worry, leaving the cataloguing and considerations of all that is to come for another day, for the person in me that will take up the reins in the morning. Another day, another person.
The list of remaining challenges for this trip is dwindling. Will clearing customs in Friday Harbor be a challenge? I hope not. Docking to fill the tanks might be, depending on traffic and wind. We had intended to fill our water tanks in Nanaimo, but 15 knot winds were blowing through the harbor and we were told we'd have to raft up to some commercial vessels in a narrow fairway with few options for getting turned around. I decided we didn't need water that bad; it could wait. Hopefully getting water in Friday Harbor will be easier. We won't need diesel, propane, or outboard gas again until we're home.
Getting ourselves across the Strait of Juan de Fuca is the last remaining open body of water. On the wrong day that crossing can always present a challenge: open ocean is westward. I like to rely on luck more than skill for timing such things, but we'll take what we get. From the sound of it, nothing big is on the way that would prevent our crossing.
The itinerary shows us spending our last two nights in Anacortes and Langley, but I'm not sure what I was thinking there. Perhaps I was thinking we'd be longing for creature comforts by now. Instead we find ourselves combing the books for better things to do with those nights. There must be one or two remote coves to be enjoyed before time runs out.
And time is running out; like bittersweet chocolate dissolving on the tongue that leaves its flavor dispersed and lingering for a time.
Sound sleep for me is just the opposite: it is the art of freeing myself from the constraints of thinking, abandoning all worry, leaving the cataloguing and considerations of all that is to come for another day, for the person in me that will take up the reins in the morning. Another day, another person.
The list of remaining challenges for this trip is dwindling. Will clearing customs in Friday Harbor be a challenge? I hope not. Docking to fill the tanks might be, depending on traffic and wind. We had intended to fill our water tanks in Nanaimo, but 15 knot winds were blowing through the harbor and we were told we'd have to raft up to some commercial vessels in a narrow fairway with few options for getting turned around. I decided we didn't need water that bad; it could wait. Hopefully getting water in Friday Harbor will be easier. We won't need diesel, propane, or outboard gas again until we're home.
Getting ourselves across the Strait of Juan de Fuca is the last remaining open body of water. On the wrong day that crossing can always present a challenge: open ocean is westward. I like to rely on luck more than skill for timing such things, but we'll take what we get. From the sound of it, nothing big is on the way that would prevent our crossing.
The itinerary shows us spending our last two nights in Anacortes and Langley, but I'm not sure what I was thinking there. Perhaps I was thinking we'd be longing for creature comforts by now. Instead we find ourselves combing the books for better things to do with those nights. There must be one or two remote coves to be enjoyed before time runs out.
And time is running out; like bittersweet chocolate dissolving on the tongue that leaves its flavor dispersed and lingering for a time.
Day 101 - Mama Got Lucky
The days are getting progressively shorter as we work our way into the Canadian Gulf Islands - shorter daytimes and shorter milages. Today We shot through Dodd narrows early. We joined a convoy of roughly a dozen pleasure craft making their break at slack water and proceeded thirty-five miles to Prevost Island in search of James Bay Provincial Park.
Arriving before noon, we found only a couple of other boats in the bay, so anchoring was easy. It also helps to have a lot of chain, because it allows us the luxury of leaving the shallow anchoring to the hoards and park out away from the mayhem where it's a little deeper.
This was a family owned Island at one time; in fact the half of it that they didn't donate for the provincial park still is. I'm guessing the owners gave half the island to the government for the tax write-off and kept half for themselves. Or maybe the government wanted a park, so they kept raising the taxes to force the "donation." Whatever the history (or imaginary ramblings) the half that is park has a nice trail through the trees, above the shoreline, to a point with a lighted marine navigation aid (a small lighthouse without the house).
The weather was great and it felt good to get off the boat and hike for a couple of hours in the afternoon. I found a hat along the trail that looked as though it had been recently dropped. Thinking I might run into the owner on their return trip, I snatched it up and did the hike with hat in hand - so to speak. Sure enough, near the end of the trail, a family rounded the bend and spied me carrying the hat. "Oh! your hat!" one cried. They shrieked and laughed and could hardly contain their glee. They laughed and laughed. Clearly their reaction was about more than the hat; they made vague references to no one winning "the bet." Thanking me profusely, they wandered on in another cloud of laughter, leaving me a little wide eyed and wondering about the whole thing. The last thing I heard before they faded around the next corner was: "Mama got lucky."
Arriving before noon, we found only a couple of other boats in the bay, so anchoring was easy. It also helps to have a lot of chain, because it allows us the luxury of leaving the shallow anchoring to the hoards and park out away from the mayhem where it's a little deeper.
This was a family owned Island at one time; in fact the half of it that they didn't donate for the provincial park still is. I'm guessing the owners gave half the island to the government for the tax write-off and kept half for themselves. Or maybe the government wanted a park, so they kept raising the taxes to force the "donation." Whatever the history (or imaginary ramblings) the half that is park has a nice trail through the trees, above the shoreline, to a point with a lighted marine navigation aid (a small lighthouse without the house).
The weather was great and it felt good to get off the boat and hike for a couple of hours in the afternoon. I found a hat along the trail that looked as though it had been recently dropped. Thinking I might run into the owner on their return trip, I snatched it up and did the hike with hat in hand - so to speak. Sure enough, near the end of the trail, a family rounded the bend and spied me carrying the hat. "Oh! your hat!" one cried. They shrieked and laughed and could hardly contain their glee. They laughed and laughed. Clearly their reaction was about more than the hat; they made vague references to no one winning "the bet." Thanking me profusely, they wandered on in another cloud of laughter, leaving me a little wide eyed and wondering about the whole thing. The last thing I heard before they faded around the next corner was: "Mama got lucky."
August 21, 2016
Day 99 - Quijote Crew
When I began the process of recruiting crew for this little adventure up the Inside Passage, I imagined finding people on crew matching websites, advertising my intentions and offering to get to know whomever expressed interest by doing some sailing. Before investigating the websites that might be available, however, I began attending events that seemed likely to introduce me to like minded people. I joined the Corinthian Yacht Club and attended one of their monthly meet-and-greets. It was there that I met Frederic and Marta who joined me for two segments between Prince Rupert and Juneau. For one of those segments we were joined by their son and daughter Jake and Emily.
Then Tina alerted me to a Seattle Mountaineers event where a woman presented slides and talk about her solo trip up the Inside Passage in a sea kayak. At that event I was greeted at the door by Kay, who has turned out to be the ideal recruit for this trip. She quickly committed to doing the entire trip, which resolved any anxiety I might have had about having to do parts of the trip solo. She also volunteered to take on the gargantuan task of nonperishable provisioning. Shortly after agreeing to join me on the trip, she was on board with her daughter Emily, notebook and tape measure in hand, taking inventory and assessing locker space. Talk about initiative. She is the go-to-gal for so much that goes on on this boat. Every time we tie up in a town, she is on shore laundering the boat towels and restocking provisions. She's made it her mission to learn everything there is to know about operating the boat and she does an amazing job of sharing that information with new crew members. And she's a tour de force in the galley. Her brownies are to die for. I and every other crew member on this trip are so lucky to have her with us.
Tina turned out to be a great source for crew recruitment. It's in her nature to find what needs to be found and she's good at it, so when I started looking for crew, she did too. Her colleagues in the Seattle School District have some time to burn during the summer months, so she put the word out. We soon had six more people joining us for various segments: Vi, Tom, Wendy, Jerry, Mary Lou, and Knute. With friends Tina, Bob, Sue, Lavanya, and Jason, that gave us a total of seventeen in all doing one or more segments of this trip.
As I said in the introduction to this blog back in April, the primary qualifier for joining us is to be easy to get along with. Recruiting friends or by word of mouth helps insure that qualification is met. My plans to recruit using crew matching websites made me a little nervous. A week in a 37' space can be a long time to spend with someone if you don't get along with them. Thanks to Tina's help recruiting, to Kay agreeing to do the whole trip, and to every member of the Quijote crew willing to invest their time and energy into making it happen, every segment of the trip was covered with two or more people. Outstanding. I made the decision to be happy with the numbers I had and not try to bring unknown people into the mix.
As it turns out, the segments have been occupied by such a diverse mixture of personalities, abilities and interests, but every person that has come on board has been able bodied, easy to be with, and eager to learn and contribute. I've been so incredibly lucky. I couldn't have asked for better crew. Thank you all.
Then Tina alerted me to a Seattle Mountaineers event where a woman presented slides and talk about her solo trip up the Inside Passage in a sea kayak. At that event I was greeted at the door by Kay, who has turned out to be the ideal recruit for this trip. She quickly committed to doing the entire trip, which resolved any anxiety I might have had about having to do parts of the trip solo. She also volunteered to take on the gargantuan task of nonperishable provisioning. Shortly after agreeing to join me on the trip, she was on board with her daughter Emily, notebook and tape measure in hand, taking inventory and assessing locker space. Talk about initiative. She is the go-to-gal for so much that goes on on this boat. Every time we tie up in a town, she is on shore laundering the boat towels and restocking provisions. She's made it her mission to learn everything there is to know about operating the boat and she does an amazing job of sharing that information with new crew members. And she's a tour de force in the galley. Her brownies are to die for. I and every other crew member on this trip are so lucky to have her with us.
Tina turned out to be a great source for crew recruitment. It's in her nature to find what needs to be found and she's good at it, so when I started looking for crew, she did too. Her colleagues in the Seattle School District have some time to burn during the summer months, so she put the word out. We soon had six more people joining us for various segments: Vi, Tom, Wendy, Jerry, Mary Lou, and Knute. With friends Tina, Bob, Sue, Lavanya, and Jason, that gave us a total of seventeen in all doing one or more segments of this trip.
As I said in the introduction to this blog back in April, the primary qualifier for joining us is to be easy to get along with. Recruiting friends or by word of mouth helps insure that qualification is met. My plans to recruit using crew matching websites made me a little nervous. A week in a 37' space can be a long time to spend with someone if you don't get along with them. Thanks to Tina's help recruiting, to Kay agreeing to do the whole trip, and to every member of the Quijote crew willing to invest their time and energy into making it happen, every segment of the trip was covered with two or more people. Outstanding. I made the decision to be happy with the numbers I had and not try to bring unknown people into the mix.
As it turns out, the segments have been occupied by such a diverse mixture of personalities, abilities and interests, but every person that has come on board has been able bodied, easy to be with, and eager to learn and contribute. I've been so incredibly lucky. I couldn't have asked for better crew. Thank you all.
Day 98 - Quijote Comfort
It's a bimeny kind of day - shorts, bare feet and sunscreen. We're half way down the Strait of Georgia in Tribune Bay, a bay that could probably handle hundreds of boats at anchor. By Knute's count, there are 58 boats in here at the moment. That's the high water mark for this trip. Welcome back to the real world.
Knute and Mary Lou head for home from Nanaimo tomorrow as Kay and I enter our final week of the trip. As August and this adventure wind down it is only now starting to feel like summer to me.
Throughout the last three months we've seen many warm days, but very few hot days; many cool days, but very few cold days; many wet days, but very few days of driving rain or sustained rain; many sunny days, but very few clear days; many windy days, but very few days over 25 knots and very few days that didn't get above 10 knots. All in all it has been a very comfortable trip.
Knute and Mary Lou head for home from Nanaimo tomorrow as Kay and I enter our final week of the trip. As August and this adventure wind down it is only now starting to feel like summer to me.
Throughout the last three months we've seen many warm days, but very few hot days; many cool days, but very few cold days; many wet days, but very few days of driving rain or sustained rain; many sunny days, but very few clear days; many windy days, but very few days over 25 knots and very few days that didn't get above 10 knots. All in all it has been a very comfortable trip.
Day 97 - Paradise
We needed two hours to get to Seymour Narrows from our from our anchorage in Granite Bay this morning. The moon was full, giving us a full tide. That meant Tht meant the current sent from twelve knots in one direction to thirteen knots in the other in the space of roughly six hours. With that rate of change, really needed to hit it at slack: spot on.
Thankfully we did, riding the flood for those two hours and arriving less than five minutes hours. After shooting through, we plowed through a rising ebb until we were past Campbell River and slogging into 5.5 knots of current. The boat speed indicator showed us charing through the water at 7 knots, but the GPS showed our speed over ground as 1.5 knots. After an eternity, we finally rounded Cape Mudge and were on our way to Desolation Sound and a new kind of challenge: anchoring in a crowd.
We had Prideaux Haven in mind, but the more we read about it, the unlikely it sounded that we would be able to (or want to) shoehorn our way into what was certain to be a crowded cove. Douglass advised Laura Cove for more seclusion. Winding our way into the narrow entrance, we found a dozen other boats enjoying our "seclusion." They were stern tied to shore in the tiny circular cove like wedges in a pie.
We made a hasty retreat and found relative seclusion, or as much as can be expected in the neighborhood, in a small ad hoc nook around the corner. What a difference. We still had to stern tie, but there was plenty of room around us for swimming, kayaking, and rowing the dingy around our own little island. We kept expecting the hoards to encroach on our little corner of paradise, but they left us alone, perhaps because it was a nook that wasn't described in any of their books and in all likelihood, they feared the unknown.
Thankfully we did, riding the flood for those two hours and arriving less than five minutes hours. After shooting through, we plowed through a rising ebb until we were past Campbell River and slogging into 5.5 knots of current. The boat speed indicator showed us charing through the water at 7 knots, but the GPS showed our speed over ground as 1.5 knots. After an eternity, we finally rounded Cape Mudge and were on our way to Desolation Sound and a new kind of challenge: anchoring in a crowd.
We had Prideaux Haven in mind, but the more we read about it, the unlikely it sounded that we would be able to (or want to) shoehorn our way into what was certain to be a crowded cove. Douglass advised Laura Cove for more seclusion. Winding our way into the narrow entrance, we found a dozen other boats enjoying our "seclusion." They were stern tied to shore in the tiny circular cove like wedges in a pie.
We made a hasty retreat and found relative seclusion, or as much as can be expected in the neighborhood, in a small ad hoc nook around the corner. What a difference. We still had to stern tie, but there was plenty of room around us for swimming, kayaking, and rowing the dingy around our own little island. We kept expecting the hoards to encroach on our little corner of paradise, but they left us alone, perhaps because it was a nook that wasn't described in any of their books and in all likelihood, they feared the unknown.
Day 96 - Heating up
Our second day of traveling through Johnstone Strait today was a glorious, sunny day without the excessive winds we saw yesterday. We've been sailing directly downwind for the last couple of days, as is often the case in a channel. Channels funnel the winds, so they are normally following or in your face. Johnstone Straight is wide though, so it hasn't been necessary to gybe too frequently; just enough to keep things interesting. Today the traffic was heavier, and the challenges due to tidal currents a bit more constraining, so we motor- sailed for much of the day. The propeller gave us half our power and the jib provided the other half in 10 to 14 knots of wind. Awesome day!
We found Granite Bay (one of three anchorages inside Kanish Bay,) to be secure and well protected. It's lined with a few homes, has signs of log storage from previous decades and there's a public dock that must be newer than our guide book because no mention is made of it.
The afternoon was hot with a light breeze, so I jumped off the back of the boat and went for a swim. Afterward, it was nice to dinghy ashore and explore a bit. We found signs to a short trail leading to a few small lakes. It was great to stretch our legs, even if it did just take us to more beautiful views of water. Oh boy.
Tomorrow we'll be up at oh-dark-thirty to get through Seymour Narrows at a reasonable hour. Then it's off to the races and back into Desolation Sound for a couple of days. If this weather holds it should be a great couple of days. It's certainly heating up.
We found Granite Bay (one of three anchorages inside Kanish Bay,) to be secure and well protected. It's lined with a few homes, has signs of log storage from previous decades and there's a public dock that must be newer than our guide book because no mention is made of it.
The afternoon was hot with a light breeze, so I jumped off the back of the boat and went for a swim. Afterward, it was nice to dinghy ashore and explore a bit. We found signs to a short trail leading to a few small lakes. It was great to stretch our legs, even if it did just take us to more beautiful views of water. Oh boy.
Tomorrow we'll be up at oh-dark-thirty to get through Seymour Narrows at a reasonable hour. Then it's off to the races and back into Desolation Sound for a couple of days. If this weather holds it should be a great couple of days. It's certainly heating up.
Day 95 - Blustery Bay
The day started off mildly enough. It was Mary Lou's and Knute's first night on board. We enjoyed a fine meal in Port McNeill and a good night's sleep. Then we were off with the rising tide into a calm, sunny day.
Listening to the forecast for gale force winds, it was hard to give the meteorologists much credit. Light winds came and went all morning with hardly enough to sail in. Finally, after mid-day the winds were steady enough to hoist the sails and we enjoyed a few hours of down wind sailing in the sunshine. Perfect!
When the winds crawled up into the mid twenties, it was breezy enough to shorten the sails, but by then we were close enough to our anchorage that we decided to bring them in all together. It was well that we did. We'd no sooner put them away than we started seeing wind speeds in the thirties. I guess the weather forecasters knew what they were talking about after all.
Now that we're securely anchored in Blenkensop Bay, it's still blowing in the twenties. It's only marginally calmer than it is out in the strait, but we have all our chain out and plenty of swinging room. The boat is swinging around the bay like a drunken bar maid while Knute and Mary Lou are down below whipping up dinner. It's grilled chicken burgers tonight; the barbecue didn't sound like such a great idea in that wind.
Listening to the forecast for gale force winds, it was hard to give the meteorologists much credit. Light winds came and went all morning with hardly enough to sail in. Finally, after mid-day the winds were steady enough to hoist the sails and we enjoyed a few hours of down wind sailing in the sunshine. Perfect!
When the winds crawled up into the mid twenties, it was breezy enough to shorten the sails, but by then we were close enough to our anchorage that we decided to bring them in all together. It was well that we did. We'd no sooner put them away than we started seeing wind speeds in the thirties. I guess the weather forecasters knew what they were talking about after all.
Now that we're securely anchored in Blenkensop Bay, it's still blowing in the twenties. It's only marginally calmer than it is out in the strait, but we have all our chain out and plenty of swinging room. The boat is swinging around the bay like a drunken bar maid while Knute and Mary Lou are down below whipping up dinner. It's grilled chicken burgers tonight; the barbecue didn't sound like such a great idea in that wind.
August 16, 2016
Day 94 - Photos
We're in Port McNeill tonight with decent internet for the first time in months. I'll take advantage of it by uploading a few photos - apologies for any duplicates.
A couple of people have asked me about the shape of Quijote's keel, so I'll throw these two in. The photos were taken for the marine survey when I bought the boat in 2014
Captain Cove
Kay shows off her wine hitch for cooling the wine in the water
Princess Louisa Inlet
Quijote waxing artistic
Wrangell
What remains of a humpback whale vs a cruise ship
Good times
Kimshan Cove
Curlew Bay
Fitzgibbon Cove
Mackerel Skies and Mare's tails...
Sneaking up on Cape Caution
Day 93 - Whither Now Offy?
We have a nickname for the chart plotter: we call it Iffy. It's a name Vi thought of when it gave us a burst of temperamental fits, shutting itself down periodically at inopportune moments. Today it was more aptly named Offy. It got us here, but in the middle of trying to plot tomorrow's route into Port McNeill, it would not cooperate. I tried all manner of fixes without luck. The problem just kept getting worse, crashing sooner and sooner, until it was crashing while reading the chart data.
That seemed like a clue, but I had already reseated the smart card that has the chart data. Then I removed the chart card and powered it up and it still reported the version number of the card. Ah haa! It doesn't read the chart card at power up if the data is already stored in memory. Maybe that data was corrupted. Powering it up without the card and then re-installing the card and powering it up again forced it to re-read the chart data and the problem went away. Fixed? I don't know because I don't really understand what corrupted the data in the first place, but it seems to be working for now. I guess we'll see.
If the plotter goes down permanently, we can still use the PC (or the handheld gps) to see where we are, but it won't have radar or AIS.
We're anchored in a small shallow passage between two islands tonight. Pearce Narrows Cove is less than ten miles from Port McNeill, where we'll meet Mary Lou and Knute in the morning, spending one night in the harbor. We'll spend four nights with them, traveling south through Johnstone Straight (on a spring tide, no less) before we pop out of Seymour Narrows, around the South End of Quadra Island, and into Desolation Sound on our way to Nanaimo. It is a leg I'm looking forward to.
That seemed like a clue, but I had already reseated the smart card that has the chart data. Then I removed the chart card and powered it up and it still reported the version number of the card. Ah haa! It doesn't read the chart card at power up if the data is already stored in memory. Maybe that data was corrupted. Powering it up without the card and then re-installing the card and powering it up again forced it to re-read the chart data and the problem went away. Fixed? I don't know because I don't really understand what corrupted the data in the first place, but it seems to be working for now. I guess we'll see.
If the plotter goes down permanently, we can still use the PC (or the handheld gps) to see where we are, but it won't have radar or AIS.
We're anchored in a small shallow passage between two islands tonight. Pearce Narrows Cove is less than ten miles from Port McNeill, where we'll meet Mary Lou and Knute in the morning, spending one night in the harbor. We'll spend four nights with them, traveling south through Johnstone Straight (on a spring tide, no less) before we pop out of Seymour Narrows, around the South End of Quadra Island, and into Desolation Sound on our way to Nanaimo. It is a leg I'm looking forward to.
Day 92 - Back Around
We can't say we didn't have our choice of conditions for getting around Cape Caution. At the north end of Vancouver Island, it's the most exposed part of the trip, so the timing of it has been on my mind for several days. Hitting it at a sprint or lallygagging offers some control in the timing.
There are (for me) four things to consider: wind, wind waves (affected by the relative directions of wind and current), ocean swell, and fog. When we came north we were lucky (by sprinting) to find a window without any of the four. This time we were lucky again, but not that lucky.
Going yesterday would have dealt us an afternoon of big seas (wind waves on top of swell). Going today was much more peaceful: no wind waves, but plenty of ocean swell and fog.
The ocean swell can be kind of fun on a calm day as long as the direction isn't too objectionable. The more out of line the directions of the boat movement and the wave movement are, the more objectionable it can be. The ocean swell today was initially not substantial, but the direction of it rolled us around for a while. After we turned the corner and started down into the Queen Charlotte Strait, the swell increased to a couple of meters, but by then we were in line with it so it wasn't so bad.
While the ride was more comfortable than it would have been yesterday, the visibility was worse. We were in thick fog and blind for most of the day, had to rely on our electronics to see for us. The radar and the AIS system got a good workout. AIS is an identification system that commercial traffic is equipped with. It transmits position, speed, course and boat data, much like airplane transponders do. It's pretty essential equipment for dodging fishing boats and tugs with barges.
As is the case with most recreational boats, Quijote doesn't transmit AIS (yet,) but it does receive the data and displays the traffic on the chart plotter. That allows us to see the position of most of the important traffic - the boats that are large or fast, but not most of the other recreational traffic. To see the non-AIS equipped vessels requires radar.
I did some experimenting with different display modes today, overlaying the radar image onto the chart image, then displaying the radar image and the chart image side by side. I found the modes useful in different circumstances. Overlaying works well in cases where boats and small islands can be confused. Separate windows was useful for cases where one might want the navigation to be done at one chart range while the radar is set to a wider range to cover more area. Cool stuff.
I find that some boats, especially fiberglass motor-cruisers are difficult to see on radar, because they don't have a lot of reflective metal well off the water. Seeing poor targets in less than 100 yards of visibility requires vigilance of two kinds: one person seeing through the fog and one person seeing a flickering blip on the radar that comes and goes amid the clutter of wave reflections.
While that might sound a little dubious, even risky, it's not as bad as it sounds because no boater in their right mind would be plowing through that fog without radar and Quijote has an excellent target signature. High on the mast is a good quality radar reflector, so even when I can't see them very well, they can see us. If they're paying attention.
There are (for me) four things to consider: wind, wind waves (affected by the relative directions of wind and current), ocean swell, and fog. When we came north we were lucky (by sprinting) to find a window without any of the four. This time we were lucky again, but not that lucky.
Going yesterday would have dealt us an afternoon of big seas (wind waves on top of swell). Going today was much more peaceful: no wind waves, but plenty of ocean swell and fog.
The ocean swell can be kind of fun on a calm day as long as the direction isn't too objectionable. The more out of line the directions of the boat movement and the wave movement are, the more objectionable it can be. The ocean swell today was initially not substantial, but the direction of it rolled us around for a while. After we turned the corner and started down into the Queen Charlotte Strait, the swell increased to a couple of meters, but by then we were in line with it so it wasn't so bad.
While the ride was more comfortable than it would have been yesterday, the visibility was worse. We were in thick fog and blind for most of the day, had to rely on our electronics to see for us. The radar and the AIS system got a good workout. AIS is an identification system that commercial traffic is equipped with. It transmits position, speed, course and boat data, much like airplane transponders do. It's pretty essential equipment for dodging fishing boats and tugs with barges.
As is the case with most recreational boats, Quijote doesn't transmit AIS (yet,) but it does receive the data and displays the traffic on the chart plotter. That allows us to see the position of most of the important traffic - the boats that are large or fast, but not most of the other recreational traffic. To see the non-AIS equipped vessels requires radar.
I did some experimenting with different display modes today, overlaying the radar image onto the chart image, then displaying the radar image and the chart image side by side. I found the modes useful in different circumstances. Overlaying works well in cases where boats and small islands can be confused. Separate windows was useful for cases where one might want the navigation to be done at one chart range while the radar is set to a wider range to cover more area. Cool stuff.
I find that some boats, especially fiberglass motor-cruisers are difficult to see on radar, because they don't have a lot of reflective metal well off the water. Seeing poor targets in less than 100 yards of visibility requires vigilance of two kinds: one person seeing through the fog and one person seeing a flickering blip on the radar that comes and goes amid the clutter of wave reflections.
While that might sound a little dubious, even risky, it's not as bad as it sounds because no boater in their right mind would be plowing through that fog without radar and Quijote has an excellent target signature. High on the mast is a good quality radar reflector, so even when I can't see them very well, they can see us. If they're paying attention.
Day 91 - To Go or Not to Go
As much as it might have sounded yesterday like the decision was made on whether or not to get around Cape Caution, Kay and I went back and forth about it for as long as all options were still on the table. We even added an intermediate option to stop at Walker Island Cove to get us around the cape but enjoy a shorter day. We were constantly updating our thinking as conditions and forecasts evolved.
The shorter day to Millbrook Cove on this side of the cape would be 25 miles. Continuing on around the cape to Blunden Harbor would add about 30 more. In the end Kay asked me to decide and I went with the shorter day. The Pine and Egg Island lighthouses were reporting zero vis and fog. The forecast was calling for the wind to pick up this afternoon and then settle down tonight, which should make for easier seas when we get up early to go around tomorrow morning. Listening to the wind generator humming away up on deck, I think we made the right decision. We probably would have been fine going today, but why not do it in more comfortable conditions?
The shorter day to Millbrook Cove on this side of the cape would be 25 miles. Continuing on around the cape to Blunden Harbor would add about 30 more. In the end Kay asked me to decide and I went with the shorter day. The Pine and Egg Island lighthouses were reporting zero vis and fog. The forecast was calling for the wind to pick up this afternoon and then settle down tonight, which should make for easier seas when we get up early to go around tomorrow morning. Listening to the wind generator humming away up on deck, I think we made the right decision. We probably would have been fine going today, but why not do it in more comfortable conditions?
Day 90 - The Strait of Quijote
Civilization is encroaching. We haven't even rounded Cape Caution yet and already we're starting to see a lot more boats. Today we were caught up in what seemed like a flotilla streaming into Fish Egg Inlet. Thankfully the inlet is vast with several anchorages to absorb them all. Even so, there were three other boats in our little cove.
We decided on Green Island Anchorage at the entrance to Fish Egg Inlet for its proximity to Fitz Hugh Sound just outside the entrance to the cove. The other coves inside the inlet are several miles in. Positioning ourselves near the entrance was intended to give us the option of leaving as early as possible in case getting out and around Cape Caution quickly seemed prudent.
As it turns out, the rounding will probably go better on Sunday, so tomorrow will be a light mileage day. There's nothing wrong with that I say. I can do without the drizzle that's in the forecast, but at least we won't have gales to wait out.
We motored south today under wispy high clouds - mackerel skies and mares tails (make sailors shorten sails). Our fair weather will be leaving us. It was glorious while it lasted. Thankfully the front that is moving toward us will be dissipated by the Queen Charlotte Islands.
The Queen plays a big roll in this neighborhood. The Islands are about 50-100 miles off the central coast of BC. The crossing by ferry can be so rough that they anchor vehicle axels to the deck. The Islands also go by their native name: Haida Gwaii. South of there in the neighborhood of Cape Caution is Queen Charlotte Sound. From there, the passage between Vancouver Island and the mainland is called Queen Charlotte Straight. You'd think they could have come up with another couple names in that mix. It would have made it a lot less confusing. Heck, Haida Gwaii already had a name, so they only needed to come up with one. They should have asked me. I'm sure I could have come up with something. The Strait of Quijote?
We decided on Green Island Anchorage at the entrance to Fish Egg Inlet for its proximity to Fitz Hugh Sound just outside the entrance to the cove. The other coves inside the inlet are several miles in. Positioning ourselves near the entrance was intended to give us the option of leaving as early as possible in case getting out and around Cape Caution quickly seemed prudent.
As it turns out, the rounding will probably go better on Sunday, so tomorrow will be a light mileage day. There's nothing wrong with that I say. I can do without the drizzle that's in the forecast, but at least we won't have gales to wait out.
We motored south today under wispy high clouds - mackerel skies and mares tails (make sailors shorten sails). Our fair weather will be leaving us. It was glorious while it lasted. Thankfully the front that is moving toward us will be dissipated by the Queen Charlotte Islands.
The Queen plays a big roll in this neighborhood. The Islands are about 50-100 miles off the central coast of BC. The crossing by ferry can be so rough that they anchor vehicle axels to the deck. The Islands also go by their native name: Haida Gwaii. South of there in the neighborhood of Cape Caution is Queen Charlotte Sound. From there, the passage between Vancouver Island and the mainland is called Queen Charlotte Straight. You'd think they could have come up with another couple names in that mix. It would have made it a lot less confusing. Heck, Haida Gwaii already had a name, so they only needed to come up with one. They should have asked me. I'm sure I could have come up with something. The Strait of Quijote?
August 11, 2016
Day 89 - Fire and ice
We're in Shearwater tonight. The water tanks are filling while we drink gin and tonics. In real ice! Ahh!
What a terrific weather day it was today: hot and sunny; just like it was the last time we were here. Word has it the weather is not always like this. A week ago, they say, a big electrical storm hit and knocked out electricity thoughout the entire town. And they say July was a brutal month for rain. Sitting here, cold drink in hand on such a hot day, it's hard to picture it. I will always remember Shearwater as the sunniest, hottest marina on the inside passage.
We left Boat Cove this morning at high tide and were tied up by 11:30 or so. Boat Cove was one of the smaller coves we've anchored in: a tiny little land locked cove that has just enough swinging room for two or three boats and sits inside a short, shallow, narrow entrance. The entrance has just two feet of depth at zero tide, so we had to come and go while the tide was high. Add ten feet of tide to that two feet of depth and we had just a few feet to spare when we left this morning.
The memorable thing about Boat Cove though wasn't that it was small, cozy, quiet and beautiful. We can say that about most of the anchorages along the way. The memorable thing about it was the crab that we scored while we were there. We arrived last night, after winding our way through Percival Narrows, to find a motor-cruiser in "our" cove. what was worse, they had crab pots out that took up half the cove. Hurrumph! Those crab pots turned out to be pretty sweet in the long run.
While Wendy and I were out for a dinghy row around the cove, checking out the nooks and crannies, the couple on the cruiser, "Remote Access," (their tender is called "Local Access") called out to ask if we wanted some crab. They were from Anacortes and were so friendly. It was really nice to meet them. We chatted for a while and they gave a large bag of crab. It was even cooked. Way cool. They had more than they could eat they said. I guess it really pays to put those pots out. We have one, but we don't catch fish and so don't have much in the way of bait. They use the heads off the fish they catch and mix it with cat food, the story goes.
One of the things I'd like to improve about this whole experience is my ability to take advantage of the bounty that inhabits the waters around the boat. It would be a lot easier on a bigger boat. I have to choose carefully what we make room for on a 37' boat and so far fishing gear has not been high on the list. Some day I'll make it happen. I have to learn to make it work first. Once I know what I'm doing I'll have confidence that the space I'm taking up for it is space well spent.
We put that crab to good use. Jerry spent the better part of half an hour cleaning the meat from the shell. Then tonight while sitting at the dock in Shearwater Kay, with Wendy's help, made crab cakes from a recipe Kay brought, imagining that we would catch crab at some point on this trip. Those were some awesome crab cakes: moist, fresh and flavorful.
The bay we anchored in the night before last, around the east end of Roderick Island, was called Windy Bay. It was the antithesis of Boat Cove. The bay was large, deep and easy to get into. In fact, it was so large and so deep, that it had difficulties of another kind: instead of being difficult to get into, it was difficult to anchor in. The ideal depth for anchoring is thirty to seventy feet. Much less than thirty feet and you run the risk of running aground at low tide. Much more than 70 feet needs too much anchor chain to give you good scope. Windy Bay stays deep and then gets to the right depth close to shore. There was one spot that was easiest to anchor in, but someone had already parked their boat there, so we were forced to find another spot that was less optimal. We ended up in seventy feet of water with three to one scope: 210 feet of chain. Three to one is fine if you don't expect to get blown around much. As it turned out, the bay was calm for the night.
The advantage of such a big, wide bay, didn't present itself until the following morning. I was up on deck, enjoying the stillness of the morning with a mug of hot chocolate and listening to the gulls singing their morning songs, when I heard the distinctive sound of whales breathing. I didn't see anything right away though. We were so used to seeing the humpbacks blowing mist when they breathe. It turns out these were orcas. The pod took a spin through the bay and went out through a small passage at the entrance.
Now we're in Shearwater. The tanks are full, the laundry is done, dinner is eaten and showers taken. We ended up doing the hike to Eddy Lake that Bob did on the day he departed. As I think he noted at that time, it is a bit of a mud slog. With the day hot and sweaty, it was so so nice to go swimming when we got there.
Tomorrow Wendy and Jerry will be leaving us to fly home and we will be sorry to see them go. They have been excellent crew: eager to contribute and great company. After seeing them off, Kay and I will continue south retracing our steps through Gunboat Passage and into Fitz Hugh Sound toward Cape Caution and Port McNeill where we'll meet Knute and Mary Lou. What fun!
What a terrific weather day it was today: hot and sunny; just like it was the last time we were here. Word has it the weather is not always like this. A week ago, they say, a big electrical storm hit and knocked out electricity thoughout the entire town. And they say July was a brutal month for rain. Sitting here, cold drink in hand on such a hot day, it's hard to picture it. I will always remember Shearwater as the sunniest, hottest marina on the inside passage.
We left Boat Cove this morning at high tide and were tied up by 11:30 or so. Boat Cove was one of the smaller coves we've anchored in: a tiny little land locked cove that has just enough swinging room for two or three boats and sits inside a short, shallow, narrow entrance. The entrance has just two feet of depth at zero tide, so we had to come and go while the tide was high. Add ten feet of tide to that two feet of depth and we had just a few feet to spare when we left this morning.
The memorable thing about Boat Cove though wasn't that it was small, cozy, quiet and beautiful. We can say that about most of the anchorages along the way. The memorable thing about it was the crab that we scored while we were there. We arrived last night, after winding our way through Percival Narrows, to find a motor-cruiser in "our" cove. what was worse, they had crab pots out that took up half the cove. Hurrumph! Those crab pots turned out to be pretty sweet in the long run.
While Wendy and I were out for a dinghy row around the cove, checking out the nooks and crannies, the couple on the cruiser, "Remote Access," (their tender is called "Local Access") called out to ask if we wanted some crab. They were from Anacortes and were so friendly. It was really nice to meet them. We chatted for a while and they gave a large bag of crab. It was even cooked. Way cool. They had more than they could eat they said. I guess it really pays to put those pots out. We have one, but we don't catch fish and so don't have much in the way of bait. They use the heads off the fish they catch and mix it with cat food, the story goes.
One of the things I'd like to improve about this whole experience is my ability to take advantage of the bounty that inhabits the waters around the boat. It would be a lot easier on a bigger boat. I have to choose carefully what we make room for on a 37' boat and so far fishing gear has not been high on the list. Some day I'll make it happen. I have to learn to make it work first. Once I know what I'm doing I'll have confidence that the space I'm taking up for it is space well spent.
We put that crab to good use. Jerry spent the better part of half an hour cleaning the meat from the shell. Then tonight while sitting at the dock in Shearwater Kay, with Wendy's help, made crab cakes from a recipe Kay brought, imagining that we would catch crab at some point on this trip. Those were some awesome crab cakes: moist, fresh and flavorful.
The bay we anchored in the night before last, around the east end of Roderick Island, was called Windy Bay. It was the antithesis of Boat Cove. The bay was large, deep and easy to get into. In fact, it was so large and so deep, that it had difficulties of another kind: instead of being difficult to get into, it was difficult to anchor in. The ideal depth for anchoring is thirty to seventy feet. Much less than thirty feet and you run the risk of running aground at low tide. Much more than 70 feet needs too much anchor chain to give you good scope. Windy Bay stays deep and then gets to the right depth close to shore. There was one spot that was easiest to anchor in, but someone had already parked their boat there, so we were forced to find another spot that was less optimal. We ended up in seventy feet of water with three to one scope: 210 feet of chain. Three to one is fine if you don't expect to get blown around much. As it turned out, the bay was calm for the night.
The advantage of such a big, wide bay, didn't present itself until the following morning. I was up on deck, enjoying the stillness of the morning with a mug of hot chocolate and listening to the gulls singing their morning songs, when I heard the distinctive sound of whales breathing. I didn't see anything right away though. We were so used to seeing the humpbacks blowing mist when they breathe. It turns out these were orcas. The pod took a spin through the bay and went out through a small passage at the entrance.
Now we're in Shearwater. The tanks are full, the laundry is done, dinner is eaten and showers taken. We ended up doing the hike to Eddy Lake that Bob did on the day he departed. As I think he noted at that time, it is a bit of a mud slog. With the day hot and sweaty, it was so so nice to go swimming when we got there.
Tomorrow Wendy and Jerry will be leaving us to fly home and we will be sorry to see them go. They have been excellent crew: eager to contribute and great company. After seeing them off, Kay and I will continue south retracing our steps through Gunboat Passage and into Fitz Hugh Sound toward Cape Caution and Port McNeill where we'll meet Knute and Mary Lou. What fun!
Day 87 - Cheers
Wendy and Jerry whipped up an Indian(ish) meal for dinner tonight consisting of curry, tofu, cuscus, rice and other assorted tidbits. Was that cocoanut and sweet potatoes in there? Yum! They also served a curry ginger cabbage salad that was excellent, and artisan bread dipped in balsamic vinegar and Salim's awesome home pressed olive oil.
Three cheers for the cooks! Three cheers for Salim!
Three cheers for the cooks! Three cheers for Salim!
Day 86 - What's up doc?
Tomorrow morning we'll weigh anchor, slip through Thistle Passage, and make the return trip through Meyers Narrows. We'll have to navigate the narrows at low water slack, so we'll see depths of 20' or less. High water slack would mean a six hour wait and I'd rather have no current than more depth. All it takes is 6.5 feet. After popping out on the other side of Meyers Narrows, we'll start a two day circumnavigation of Roderick Island. What a great name for an island!
So… From Prince Rupert, we spent nights at Captain Cove, Ire Inlet, Curlew Bay, Hague Point Lagoon and Alston Cove. Then it'll be Windy Cove, Boat Cove, and Shearwater - eight nights in paradise on this segment, each one better than the next. Or so it seems sometimes, but that may have more to do with a dubious memory than with the quality of the anchorages. I can say that the bugs have been behaving themselves and we haven't seen more than one other boat in any anchorage this segment. I anticipate that the further south we get the more competition we will see for the anchorages.
So… From Prince Rupert, we spent nights at Captain Cove, Ire Inlet, Curlew Bay, Hague Point Lagoon and Alston Cove. Then it'll be Windy Cove, Boat Cove, and Shearwater - eight nights in paradise on this segment, each one better than the next. Or so it seems sometimes, but that may have more to do with a dubious memory than with the quality of the anchorages. I can say that the bugs have been behaving themselves and we haven't seen more than one other boat in any anchorage this segment. I anticipate that the further south we get the more competition we will see for the anchorages.
Day 85 - Room with a View
Hague Point Lagoon is one of two anchorages that had me feeling a little nervous when I picked them. Like Ire Inlet a couple of nights ago, the description of it was that it is very narrow and poorly charted. Great. Further, while Ire had ample depth, the entrance to Hague is a fathom at low tide. That's less than the boat draws, so timing is key. The other thing that gives me pause for both anchorages is that I never really know what to expect for current. My strategy was to hit it at high water and have faith that the current (and depth) will be reasonable.
As ever, the unknown was a larger demon than the deed itself. There was plenty of depth and very little current. But it was narrow. There's a short dogleg around a couple of charted obstructions in the narrowest part, so slack water gave us the luxury of going slowly around them.
Once in, we found ourselves in a circular little cove with easy anchoring and room for several boats. Kay whipped up an awesome halibut chowder for dinner and then the four of us rowed the dinghy to shore for a walk. There wasn't much in the way of shoreline, but the chart showed a lake nearby. We found the drainage into the cove and followed it through a mossy cedar forest to the primeval looking lake. There was no accessible shoreline on the lake either, but it was beautiful. I have little doubt that the lake and this cove look the same as they did ten thousand years ago. Untouched. OK one touch: a small path has begun to form where boaters like us have crawled through the brush in search of the lake. Everybody likes a little exercise and a view.
As ever, the unknown was a larger demon than the deed itself. There was plenty of depth and very little current. But it was narrow. There's a short dogleg around a couple of charted obstructions in the narrowest part, so slack water gave us the luxury of going slowly around them.
Once in, we found ourselves in a circular little cove with easy anchoring and room for several boats. Kay whipped up an awesome halibut chowder for dinner and then the four of us rowed the dinghy to shore for a walk. There wasn't much in the way of shoreline, but the chart showed a lake nearby. We found the drainage into the cove and followed it through a mossy cedar forest to the primeval looking lake. There was no accessible shoreline on the lake either, but it was beautiful. I have little doubt that the lake and this cove look the same as they did ten thousand years ago. Untouched. OK one touch: a small path has begun to form where boaters like us have crawled through the brush in search of the lake. Everybody likes a little exercise and a view.
Day 84 - What's in a Name
Lunch is in the works as I consider what to write about this anchorage. A lot of nicknames could serve for Curlew Bay. Ravens Roost? Fly Basin? Mamba Midden? Humpback Hideaway?
There is a colony of ravens perched in the trees overlooking the boat that make the most bizarre sounds. They cluck, hoot, whistle and honk at irregular intervals. Even flying, their large wing spans make a louder whooshing sound than most birds I've heard. Quiet these birds are not, but they are entertaining.
The sun is out and so are the flies. We probably shouldn't call this anchorage Fly Basin though because another already exists. We anchored in the official Fly Basin after rounding Cape Caution on our way north. Oddly enough there were no flies in Fly Basin. In these conditions though, I'll bet any anchorage could be counted on for a few flies. We've primarily seen deer flies on this trip. They don't bite unless you ignore them. They also don't die. They have an innate sense of danger that allows them to ignore feints, but disappear at the first hint of real intent. Moreover if you do succeed in striking one, no casual blow will do. You can leave it's guts smeared on the deck and it will still fly away, laughing at you for the mess you have to clean up. That's a fly with an impressive degree of evolutionary complexity.
The name Mamba Midden is a nod to the cruise ships that have sailed by on their way up toward Grenville Channel the last time we anchored here. I was working on something below deck and and I thought I heard music. That's a curious sensation in an anchorage that feels so remote. I couldn't imagine where it would be coming from. Poking my head through the hatch and looking up into the channel I saw what appeared to be a city block floating by the bay entrance. The passengers on the upper deck of that floating fourteen story building sounded like they were having a grand old time.
Then there are the possibilities such as Whale Outlook, Humpback Hideaway, or Breach Bay. We threaded our way out of Ala Passage in the dark today, our second pre-dawn start of the trip, then passed through Principe and Otter Channels, and up through Lewis Passage before turning into Curlew Bay. We saw whales blowing, sounding, and breaching just about the whole way. Their numbers seem to have increased throughout the summer. It would be interesting to know if they are just more active or if we are more in tune with their presence and just notice them more readily. The last time we passed through here, we didn't see any in this area. This time we can even see and hear them out in the channel from our anchorage.
There are so many great names to choose from. Then again, with a halibut taco now in hand, maybe I'll just call it Leftover Lunch Lagoon.
There is a colony of ravens perched in the trees overlooking the boat that make the most bizarre sounds. They cluck, hoot, whistle and honk at irregular intervals. Even flying, their large wing spans make a louder whooshing sound than most birds I've heard. Quiet these birds are not, but they are entertaining.
The sun is out and so are the flies. We probably shouldn't call this anchorage Fly Basin though because another already exists. We anchored in the official Fly Basin after rounding Cape Caution on our way north. Oddly enough there were no flies in Fly Basin. In these conditions though, I'll bet any anchorage could be counted on for a few flies. We've primarily seen deer flies on this trip. They don't bite unless you ignore them. They also don't die. They have an innate sense of danger that allows them to ignore feints, but disappear at the first hint of real intent. Moreover if you do succeed in striking one, no casual blow will do. You can leave it's guts smeared on the deck and it will still fly away, laughing at you for the mess you have to clean up. That's a fly with an impressive degree of evolutionary complexity.
The name Mamba Midden is a nod to the cruise ships that have sailed by on their way up toward Grenville Channel the last time we anchored here. I was working on something below deck and and I thought I heard music. That's a curious sensation in an anchorage that feels so remote. I couldn't imagine where it would be coming from. Poking my head through the hatch and looking up into the channel I saw what appeared to be a city block floating by the bay entrance. The passengers on the upper deck of that floating fourteen story building sounded like they were having a grand old time.
Then there are the possibilities such as Whale Outlook, Humpback Hideaway, or Breach Bay. We threaded our way out of Ala Passage in the dark today, our second pre-dawn start of the trip, then passed through Principe and Otter Channels, and up through Lewis Passage before turning into Curlew Bay. We saw whales blowing, sounding, and breaching just about the whole way. Their numbers seem to have increased throughout the summer. It would be interesting to know if they are just more active or if we are more in tune with their presence and just notice them more readily. The last time we passed through here, we didn't see any in this area. This time we can even see and hear them out in the channel from our anchorage.
There are so many great names to choose from. Then again, with a halibut taco now in hand, maybe I'll just call it Leftover Lunch Lagoon.
Day 83 - High Water Waiting
We tried to time our arrival into Ire Inlet on Anger Island for high water slack at around 4pm, but we made better progress than expected and needed to kill some time before entering. We cut the engine and drifted for an hour while we ate lunch. It was tough duty on a windy summer day in the sunshine with wild coastline all around. Kay and Wendy put together a delicious spinach salad with tuna salad on crackers. We drifted along at two knots in a stiff, steady breeze, without the benefit of sails.
The further we get from Prince Rupert, the more remote it feels. There are no longer any signs of human presence and we only saw one other vessel all day. We passed Sine, Cosine and Tangent Islands, so named by surveyors who found the islands difficult to record without trigonometric conveniences.
The entrance into the inlet was about as narrow as we've seen on this trip, with rocks on one side and fallen trees encroaching on the other. Threading our way through, we were glad for the high tide.
There's a sidebar in our guidebook by Douglass detailing the misfortune of one sailboat that got their rigging wrapped up in one of the trees on the way in and were forced to extricate themselves with saws, doing considerable damage to the boat in the process. Thankfully we avoided such pitfalls, but we did see the results of their labors fifteen years later.
Tomorrow we'll make our way out the way we came in. Getting out at high tide again will mean a 5am start. Up at 4:50 and out at 5:00; there'll be no waiting around for it.
The further we get from Prince Rupert, the more remote it feels. There are no longer any signs of human presence and we only saw one other vessel all day. We passed Sine, Cosine and Tangent Islands, so named by surveyors who found the islands difficult to record without trigonometric conveniences.
The entrance into the inlet was about as narrow as we've seen on this trip, with rocks on one side and fallen trees encroaching on the other. Threading our way through, we were glad for the high tide.
There's a sidebar in our guidebook by Douglass detailing the misfortune of one sailboat that got their rigging wrapped up in one of the trees on the way in and were forced to extricate themselves with saws, doing considerable damage to the boat in the process. Thankfully we avoided such pitfalls, but we did see the results of their labors fifteen years later.
Tomorrow we'll make our way out the way we came in. Getting out at high tide again will mean a 5am start. Up at 4:50 and out at 5:00; there'll be no waiting around for it.
Day 82 - Snubbed
We're in Captain Cove tonight, an anchorage we blew by on our way north. Today we're covering ground at a more leisurely pace. We're on our first day out with Wendy and Jerry after saying sad farewells to Tina, Sue and Tom.
After a late start, we enjoyed a sunny, windy day. The winds were even blowing in the right direction. We hoisted sails and flew south from Prince Rupert, out of Chatham Sound, and through Arthur Passage into our own slice of tranquility.
If I had to coin a nickname for this cove, I'd call it Hummingbird Bay. Shortly after arriving, we ran through our anchoring and snubbing procedure with Wendy and Jerry. We set our anchor with a four to one scope, then rigged a snubber to take the strain off the the windlass and to dampen the chain noise if it drags back and forth on the sea bottom.
With the snubber set, we were standing on the foredeck chatting, when a hummingbird swooped in, probably attracted by my bright red jacket. It hovered a foot from my face and we stared at each other eye to eye for a moment. He was clearly wondering what kind of huge red flower I could be and I was wondering if I was about to lose an eye to that long, needle sharp beak. Finally the spell was broken with his deciding I didn't smell as good as I looked. We moved on, each attending to our need for sustenance.
After a late start, we enjoyed a sunny, windy day. The winds were even blowing in the right direction. We hoisted sails and flew south from Prince Rupert, out of Chatham Sound, and through Arthur Passage into our own slice of tranquility.
If I had to coin a nickname for this cove, I'd call it Hummingbird Bay. Shortly after arriving, we ran through our anchoring and snubbing procedure with Wendy and Jerry. We set our anchor with a four to one scope, then rigged a snubber to take the strain off the the windlass and to dampen the chain noise if it drags back and forth on the sea bottom.
With the snubber set, we were standing on the foredeck chatting, when a hummingbird swooped in, probably attracted by my bright red jacket. It hovered a foot from my face and we stared at each other eye to eye for a moment. He was clearly wondering what kind of huge red flower I could be and I was wondering if I was about to lose an eye to that long, needle sharp beak. Finally the spell was broken with his deciding I didn't smell as good as I looked. We moved on, each attending to our need for sustenance.
August 3, 2016
Day 80 - Crew Overlap; Rod
We're in Prince Rupert for a couple of nights on our way south, refilling tanks, and exchanging crew. After a great nine day leg from Petersburg, through Ketchikan, and around the Misty Fjords, Tom, Sue, and Tina will be flying home tomorrow. Wendy and Jerry will be with us now until we reach Shearwater. I always enjoy the crew overlap; it's a day of chaos getting everything done, meeting up with the new and saying our fond farewells to the outgoing folks. It's fun to have a dinner meal in town together with incoming and outgoing crew as it is usually a time filled with stories and a lot of laughs as we relive the previous couple of weeks and regale the new crew with things to look forward to.
One of the things that I've been doing on this trip is asking crew members to contribute two dinner meals a week per person. I've asked that each of us provision, and take charge of those two meals for each week that we're on board. I think most of the crew that have participated in this trip so far will tell you that it is a request that has been satisfied with no small amount of anxiety. Most of that anxiety is, I suspect, a fear of the unknown. How will it go, preparing a dinner meal for a crew of strange people on a small sail boat? What if I crash and burn? The anxiety created by this seemingly small request is not dampened by outgoing crews who wax eloquent about the truly amazing meals created on the previous leg. As understandable as these concerns may be, I have to say the meals that have been enjoyed on our little voyage have been uniformly exceptional. Everyone has put a lot of thought and preparation into what they want to do; the creative juices have flowed, and the meals have been awesome. I'm so glad it has worked out so well and I so appreciate the effort that has gone into such good eating. Eating well is, I think, one of the primary pleasures of (cruising) life.
Overlapping crew has created some sleeping challenges as well. We have seven overlapping crew tonight. When we were in Wrangell, we had eight crew for one night of overlap. In that case, Frederic graciously volunteered to sleep on seat cushions laid end to end on the floor. Tonight we're making use of a hotel room. Thankfully everyone has been flexible and maintained a spirit of doing what it takes to make things happen. Thanks guys!
I'll wrap this post up with a few of the many photos that Sue sent me. She took them over the last week and a half; including Petersburg, Ketchikan, Prince Rupert and the Misty Fjords. At some point I think we'll try to put a Drop Box together that will give us a place to share our best images of the voyage up the Inside Passage to Glacier Bay on SV Quijote.
One of the things that I've been doing on this trip is asking crew members to contribute two dinner meals a week per person. I've asked that each of us provision, and take charge of those two meals for each week that we're on board. I think most of the crew that have participated in this trip so far will tell you that it is a request that has been satisfied with no small amount of anxiety. Most of that anxiety is, I suspect, a fear of the unknown. How will it go, preparing a dinner meal for a crew of strange people on a small sail boat? What if I crash and burn? The anxiety created by this seemingly small request is not dampened by outgoing crews who wax eloquent about the truly amazing meals created on the previous leg. As understandable as these concerns may be, I have to say the meals that have been enjoyed on our little voyage have been uniformly exceptional. Everyone has put a lot of thought and preparation into what they want to do; the creative juices have flowed, and the meals have been awesome. I'm so glad it has worked out so well and I so appreciate the effort that has gone into such good eating. Eating well is, I think, one of the primary pleasures of (cruising) life.
Overlapping crew has created some sleeping challenges as well. We have seven overlapping crew tonight. When we were in Wrangell, we had eight crew for one night of overlap. In that case, Frederic graciously volunteered to sleep on seat cushions laid end to end on the floor. Tonight we're making use of a hotel room. Thankfully everyone has been flexible and maintained a spirit of doing what it takes to make things happen. Thanks guys!
I'll wrap this post up with a few of the many photos that Sue sent me. She took them over the last week and a half; including Petersburg, Ketchikan, Prince Rupert and the Misty Fjords. At some point I think we'll try to put a Drop Box together that will give us a place to share our best images of the voyage up the Inside Passage to Glacier Bay on SV Quijote.
Petersburg
Ketchikan
Green Island
Prince Rupert
Misty Fjords
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