Day 12 - Moron Anchoring; Rod

It’s great to arrive at an anchorage early in the day.  Not only does it simplify the job of anchoring with fewer boats around  to consider, but it gives us the opportunity to watch other boats go about the task as they arrive.  Some make us want to cringe; others we can learn from.

Consider two very different anchoring styles demonstrated after our arrival to Grace Harbor in Malaspina Inlet.  The anchorage is well protected, but the winds can still kick up a bit and push the anchored boats around.

The first, one I witnessed, an elderly couple arrived in their cabin cruiser, slowly motored to a point midway between three existing boats (one was ours),  and dropped their anchor until it hit the bottom: 40’ chain for 35’ depth.  Since the chain needs to be pulled horizontally to set the anchor, we’ll call this the “anticipating perfect weather technique.”  It’s a forecast that has held up remarkably well so far tonight.  Since their arrival this afternoon there has been hardly a breath of wind.  If the wind does kick up, they’ll be up on deck in their pajamas letting out more chain to allow their anchor to set properly.

The second technique, one Bob witnessed,  we’ll call the hurricane set.  According to Bob, they dropped their anchor, let out an appropriate amount of chain, and powered up to full throttle, tearing the anchor out of the bottom of the bay.  While this technique sounds a little crazy, it has some merit.  Sure they had to reset their anchor and try again, but they do have a better sense of what it takes to drag the anchor in this bay than someone like me does, who applies a moderate amount of power to set the anchor, but stops short of pulling it out.

(Image courtesy of Kevin Monahan, author of Local Knowledge)

Day 12 - Hike to Black Lake; Bob

After anchoring in Grace Harbour, the three of us hopped in the dinghy and paddled over to land for a quick hike.  This would give us a chance for much needed exercise and maybe an adventure or two.

The well-defined trail led directly from the small rocky beach into a dense wall of vegetation that we had to push out of our way as we went along.   The sounds of buzzing insects (thankfully not the biting variety) filled our ears as we entered a forest of 2nd growth cedar.  Partially dried wide  spots on the trail must have been muddy spots just a few weeks ago. 

After only a few hundred yards we spied the remains of a very old tractor.  Rather small in size compared to today’s behemoths, this was obviously a remnant from past logging activity.  Parts from the old Caterpillar were strewn about the undergrowth along with thick cable.  Damage to a key hitch was apparent and we concluded that the loggers had simply abandoned it at some point after the repairs became too much.

The weather was pleasant and sunny as we ambled further up the path, gradually gaining a few hundred feet in elevation.  No wildlife was evident, but we saw some interesting funghi and lichens.  A smaller species of Skunk Cabbage dotted the occasional dried mud hole. 

Soon Black Lake was visible through the trees.  I was looking forward to the lunch of bread and cheese we had packed but we were mesmerized by the compact lake and its shore life upon arrival.  Dragonflies flitted about in the sun, and a few Western Tiger Swallowtail butterflies also paid a visit as we silently observed the scene.  A loud buzzing announced the arrival of a Rufous hummingbird who poked at the wild roses briefly.  A Garter Snake (possibly the Puget Sound sub-species) was sunning itself and Rod managed to get a picture of it.  These are some of the most northern reptiles in the world and Rod said that the snake seemed unafraid and simply eyed him as he got the “perfect shot”.  We looked for a loon (in vain) but heard an owl from across the lake.  A hawk soared above us, looking at us carefully.

On the way back we detoured (on purpose) onto a very overgrown trail and eventually revealed itself to be an old logging trail of some sort. It was very brushy and we spied a single deer track in some fresh mud.  There was no other wildlife sound or sign - not even a squirrel.  The flies were becoming an annoyance as stepped over and under logs so we turned around after only a 1/4 mile.  The original path back seemed to be in especially good shape after that episode of “bushwhacking.”

Back at the bay, we spent a few hours lollygagging on the shore, each of us in our own world of contemplation, before heading back to the Quijote sitting gracefully in the middle of the Bay.