Pacific NW

Expeditions

It was an easy hop from Walker Island Cove to Port Hardy this morning. We took advantage of a sunny afternoon and gutted the boat, cleaning and making space for Jakob. I went into town and bought a large sledgehammer and splitting maul to break down the larger pieces of firewood on the boat. I must’ve been a sight with that sledgehammer and big beard. All traffic stopped 30 feet away from me and I received a few frightened stares from shop owners behind plate-glass windows. Ahh, my immersion back into civilization! Port Hardy, is the first city connected to a road system since Whittier! Being in Port Hardy is a lot like being in 1983. Every store seems to be locked into this time frame. Justin and I enjoyed dinner in one such establishment, when in the door walked Jakob! We drank a few rounds and toasted to a safe transit of the wild west side of Vancouver Island.

Vic and I rousted the crews early this morning after receiving a favorable forecast for the ocean crossing around Cape Caution. At the narrow entrance of Philip Inlet a mammoth humpback whale surfaced right behind the boat. As my friend Reeb says ” remarkable and yet an everyday occurance, a wonderful combination”. Once out in the strait we saw a giant white fin plying the surface. Further investigation revealed that it was a humongous skate, with a “wingspan” of perhaps 6 feet! I took these to be good omens for our crossing. Up ahead, Vic radioed back to us that conditions were looking very good. Indeed, it was a smooth crossing, and my sixth time around Cape Caution. Vancouver Island loomed up on the horizon. Vancouver Island, which can be seen from Bellingham too!! I have been at sea for a full 6 months now, and here was home turf comming into view. In Walker Island Cove Justin and I made an attempt at fishing. Justin caught a rockfisk, and soon it began to pour rain again. It is a warm rain–we are really starting to feel the heat of the southern latitudes again. Back aboard we almost roasted ourselves out of the boat with a fire, and Justin cooked a large batch of tortes. Neither of us really knows what a torte is, but we figure it is something like what we’re eating. It is the last night of just Justin and I aboard “Silent Partner”. Tomorrrow in Port Hardy we pick up a third crewmember, Jakob.

A fierce easterly wind funneled into the bay last night. I was awake for the greater part of the darkest hours, monitoring our position in the harbor. It was spitting rain in the grey morning, and it came down on the deck in thundering waves. The crab trap produced many more fine specimens of large Dungeness crab. I threw them all back, however. Justin and I have eaten our fill of crab (never thought I’d ever say that!) for now. Plus, we’re still revelling in the glory of last nights “triple crown” meal. Justin and I turned the last of the halibut into an incredibly gourmet dip. Restaurant quality for sure. We’re very proud of consuming the whole fish and of catching so many crab and other fish with its entrails. Toward afternoon we became restless and decided to make a run down Fitz Hugh Sound to an inlet, that would get us closer to our big crossing jump-off point into Southern B.C. I have never experienced such a rain! Squall after squall rolled up the sound. Visibility was reduced to near zero, and the whole surface of the sea began “smoking”. It was a true flash flood, and every brook and stream exploded from the mountainsides in violent torrents of brown water, tearing through the trees. The tide remained permanetly high all day! Winds and seas rose sharply until we heard light-house reports of 35 knots with 45 knots expected. Fitz Hugh Sound became a windswept seascape of smothering foam and vertical chop, and waves started breaking over our bows. We sought the immediate shelter of Philip Inlet, which was calm and complete. What an incredible feeling it is to come into a safe harbor in a storm! There was scarely a ripple to be seen as we watched the clouds scuttle across the sky at incredible speeds above the mountaintops. We hunkered down and built a hot fire in the stove to dry the boat out. In the evening we were pleased to see Vic and Matt pull into the anchorage, too. Vic recommended this place in a storm. Thanks Vic! We pulled our anchor and rafted “Silent Partner” to “Galaxy” for the night. We all sat on Galaxy’s deck and enjoyed a bottle of port while watching an Osprey hunt for fish. Justin baked a remarkable batch of tortes in the dutch oven. It was a most excellent evening of good company, good food, drink, and being safe and comfortable in a calm anchorage.

In the early morning we departed our fruitful kingdom by the sea. I hauled the trap which was stuffed with another load of Dungeness and Red Rock crabs, and kept two. We’re really making our way south now. I entered back into “home waters” when we steamed across the Hakai Passage. However, after we pick up Jakob in Port Hardy we’ll swing back up around Cape Scott at the northern tip of Vancouver Island and head down the west side. We dropped anchor in Pruth Bay and hiked a short trail overland to a white sand beach on the west side of the island. The scene before us was almost tropical and intoxicating. Nothing quite smells like a sand beach in the sunshine, with the surf pounding and gulls wheeling through the air. The pink beach cliffs and rounded rocks, set in the sand had a Fred Flinstone quality about them. It was as if a confusion of times and geographical locations had collided on this one stretch of beach. We picked our way along, squinting into the glare of the sun on such a vast area of white sand. Far off into the distance we saw two figures near the surf line gesturing to us. Then a faint “Pete! Pete!” At first I became alarmed that something had happened to the boat at anchor and that someone had come to find me. But we soon realized it was our friends Vic and Matt, from Baranoff! It was an uncanny reunion, on that beach in the middle of nowhere. Matt is hitching a ride south with Vic–the two of them bumped into each other in Petersburg. In the evening, the four of us put together the most remarkable dinner, which I call the “triple crown”. Just before rowing over to Vic’s boat “Galaxy” we pulled up many more large crab from the trap. Vic prepared a king salmon to perfection, and we baked the last of my halibut. And so, we ate fresh king salmon, halibut, crab, rice and salad for dinner, washed down with a bottle of beer! We eat well out here. A sharp rain and SE wind picked up throughout the evening, and the forecast is a grim one. Vic and I are both pleased to stall our southbound navigation for another day. We stayed up late playing guitar and singing. Vic knows some great songs of the sea. It has been yet another unexpected and wonderful day of the voyage.

I challenged my navigational skills in transiting the length of the Queen’s Sound area today. In the afternoon we anchored in the Spider Islands complex. Justin and I stuffed ourselves with poached and fried halibut for lunch, and then launched a major fishing expedition in Modulus. We prepared lures, bait buckets, and the crab trap and set out to catch fish. And catch fish we did!! Within 5 minutes Justin reeled in a kelp greenling. I threw out a chunk of halibut guts on a hook with a squid, and in ten minutes I was shouting for Justin to get my shirt and stuff it against my abdomen. The pole began to dig in and I knew I had a big one! An unbelievably huge ling cod surfaced, with a large rockfish in his mouth too! The ling cod was in the act of swallowing the rockfish (a meal in itself) whole! My line snapped in the retrieval however. It was “the big one that got away”. I would have been heartbroken except that we still have some halibut meat. This ling cod was just as big as the halibut and would have been too much meat to handle! Still, I felt bad about putting it through the misery of being caught and not killed and eaten. I tried to catch it again and instead immediately pulled up a medium sized rock cod. Justin and I threw up our arms and agreed that it was ridiculous to go on fishing. Every cast would bring one in! On our way back we pulled the crab trap, which was teeming with crab! Today is a turning point for us as fishermen. We are currently living off of the sea, and now have the confidence that we could procure enough meat each day to survive indefinately. We have reached a point where we can tell all the species of crab and fish apart, know a bit about where to find them and which times and places are best to fish, and what species we are likely to find in each locale. We clean and cook our catch, fresh from the sea, and are learning tons about the lifestyles and habits of the creatures we eat. It all brings on a great deal of respect for this amazing place, as well as a deep interest in the continuing health of this ecosystem. Tonight we ate halibut, greenling, tiger rockfish, and crab for dinner! Bon Appetit!!

We went out with the tide from Shearwater, and dropped down through a series of narrow passageways into the incredible Queen’s Sound. We are in an area with thousands upon thousands of tiny rocky islands that form a giant maze and border the sea. We anchored early in the afternoon in a snug cove. For lunch: halibut cheeks fried in garlic butter, and halibut curry with rice and mango chutney. It was so delicious that we both began laughing uncontrollably. The remainder of the day was spent in a state of sublime relaxation. I did a little reading, puttered around on the boat, went beachcombing, and listened to music. Despite the seriousness of the voyage, we still live an extremely relaxing lifestyle. Days like this have a euphoric quality about them. In the evening a thick blanket of fog descended upon us, and we stood quietly in the cockpit listening to the sounds of dripping water and a gurgling noise that issued from a nearby cliff, as the tide dropped and water drained from a crevice deep within.

I woke up several hours before sunrise in order to get us running for Shearwater ASAP. Before my eyes opened, I thought “Halibut” to myself and sprang out into the cockpit. The monster lay quietly in the cockpit, taking up all of my foot room. It glistened in the moonlight and looked like it would come back to life thrashing at any moment. We had a smooth ride all the way to Shearwater. It was quite a relief to get the halibut filleted and on ice! We took advantage of town life on a sunny afternoon and took showers, did our laundry, and cleaned up the boat a bit. In the evening I cooked fresh fish and chips aboard Silent Partner. They were bar none the best fish and chips we’d ever tasted! After we had semi-recovered from the massive amount of fish we’d just eaten ( and only made a small dent in our entire stock) we walked up to the bar at the end of the dock. They were the worst margaritas we’d ever had. We raised our glasses in a toast “the worst margaritas ever for the best halibut ever!” We downed our drinks in merriment and went to sleep happy, well-fed, and showered. We each have a full wardrobe of fresh laundry and an ice-chest full of delicious meat. The best things in life are unexpected! It is amazing how one fish has changed the course of the trip entirely.

In the morning I pored over my charts, tables, and indexes and estimated the time of low water slack for our infamous narrows. We idled up to it and held off for a half hour, and waited for the waters to become absolutely still. Justin cast out a fishing line as we slipped through and immediately caught a rockfish! This time we had a much more pleasant experience in the narrows. The fish went straight to the frying pan and we ate it as we headed out into the main channel. I was very content as I dined on that fine tasting fish and watched the depths drop off to 650 feet and more. Later in the evening after a long day of motoring against a strong spring tide we tried our luck again with fishing. We went up to an underwater pinnacle that goes from 950 feet deep to 8 feet deep within 50 yards. I rigged up the halibut pole with several pounds of lead weight, and put the head of the rockfish on a giant hook, and threw the setup down to the bottom 200 feet below. Five minutes later I felt a powerful tugging. “Justin” I said. “Justin! Justin!” I began to reel frantically and the pole dug into my stomach. Justin sprang down below and grabbed my sweater. I balled it up and used it as a cushion for my abdomen. Sweat began to flow and I used all of my strength to reel in. Justin tore through the boat, throwing things about while looking for the nets and gaff hook. It was pandemonium. Out of the corner of my eye the giant halibut floated to the surface!! I don’t remember doing it, but somehow I managed to spear the halibut with the gaff hook and flip it into the cockpit. It then started thrashing violently and so powerfully–like a pair of kicking human legs. The halibut thundered against the sides of the cockpit, slamming the fiberglass, knocking everything into a confused heap and showering the entire boat in a spray of fish slime and blood! We began to scream like a couple of schoolgirls (we had a good laugh about that one later). Justin recalls a moment in time where all three of us–himself, myself and the halibut–were all flying through the air in the cockpit. With great effort we eventually pinned it down, avoiding the sharp hooks that were whipping around. It was so powerful that it took both of us to hold it to the floor. We sat there for a moment, sweating and deciding upon what to do. Axe? No. Too dangerous with the sharp blade. I grabbed the nearest metal winch handle and struck the fish hard blows. Even after it died it continued to thrash occasionally, threatening to flop out of the cockpit and injure the helmsman. We used metal wires to lash the halibut to the cockpit. After all had settled down we surveyed the wreckage of the cockpit. Charts, cruising guide, dodger,lines–everything was drenched in a shower of slime and blood. The fishing poles lay in a tangled heap amongst a pile of dishes and sailing gear that had been knocked over in the thrashing. And most of all, the giant halibut lay sprawled in the bottom of it all, dominating the whole cockpit. The fish’s lips alone were larger than our own! For the next hour we cleaned the boat and cleared away the wreckage. “This changes everything, Pete,” said Justin. Indeed. We needed to formulate a plan in which to get to the nearest town so we could get the fish on ice. We now had an incredible amount of meat, and must not let any of it go to waste. We were way out in the middle of nowhere. Almost as if it were meant to be, the boat had drifted right back onto course by the time we were able to get up and running again. I looked at a chart and found Klemtu, a small village, to be the nearest “civilization”. We ran all through the night carrying “all canvas and steam” and made haste for Klemtu. On the long run there we encountered fog, rain, and darkness. But none of that mattered. I was so thrilled and grateful for catching the huge fish that my only thoughts were of preparing it and getting ice. We finally reached Klemtu in the middle of the night, and tied up to a public dock. Our neighbors were a begrudging fisherman and a drink skipper of a large powerboat. He was half-naked and messing around with the fuse box on the dock. His wife was yelling at him from somewhere inside the boat as the lights on the dock flickered on and off. Nobody in town–not even the cannery or a large coast guard ship–had any ice whatsoever! We would have to make another 30 mile run to the village of Shearwater in the morning. I constructed a crude fortress of buckets and boat cushions around the halibut to keep the birds off it, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was an eerie and restless night. Early on, massive swarms of fierce biting gnats descended upon the boat and gathered in clouds under the dodger. We were forced to seal up the hatches. Several times in the night I had to adjust the anchor rode length. The cove is narrow and the tides extreme, and we had little swinging room. In the morning Justin remarked that there was something different about the day. Indeed, it was a strange one! In our crab trap we found a rock sole (too small to eat) and the most incredible crab ever! It was a rainbow of purple, red, and orange spikes, covered in barnacles, and the size of a football. It was too beautiful to eat, and we released it. We never know what we’re going to pull up from the bottom. I always eagerly peer over the side of the boat as the trap comes into view to get the first glimpse of the strange creatures inside. We didn’t have to travel far today, but it was a most unnerving and hazardous day of navigation. Making our way around the uncharted Estevan complex, we entered Langley Narrows. The chart was a black and white hand-drawn sketch from WWII. I reduced speed to bare minimum and glanced nervously from the sketch to the shore many times as we picked our way along. Suddenly the current became very strong and we were pulled at a high speed into the narrows! The water was clear and ony 10 feet deep or so, with many rocks, reefs, and ledges waiting to puncture a boat hull. The treacherous waters ahead turned into an unexpected full-blown rapids, and we were whisked along at a heart-stopping 7 knots through a notch that was no wider than two boat lengths!! A side channel entered in, catching our stern and whipping it around and into a backeddy like the boat was nothing more than a matchstick. All around, the whitewater roared, and suddenly we were going through the narrows backwards! I shouted one loud and well-pronounced swear word and went into “combat mode”. The next 30 seconds of my life were spent entirely on studying the swirling waters, applying quick manoeuvres with throttle and tiller (in reverse!!), and appealing to a higher power. And then, as soon as it came, the the waters panned out and we were left bobbing in peace and disbelief. I felt like a fool, relieved, and extremely lucky! We plucked our way through the intricate channel of the inner chamber for several miles, winding through a maze and clutter of islands. This was true exploration! After dropping anchor in a sunny and calm basin we poured ourselves two tots of rum and relaxed. In the afternoon Justin and I explored the blank areas of the sketch with Modulus. We slipped through a narrow notch in one corner of our anchorage. The tide carried us along and into another chamber with several forested “hallways” and more chambers at the end of each. It was a neverending maze! At each junction, we carefully studied the trees and rocks around it so that we could find our way back. I was in my element. Eventually we came across a bay with some buildings and boats in a corner, reportedly an abalone farm. We stepped out onto the rickety docks and called out for the owners. Dan and Danielle Pollock greeted us, and allowed us to explore the property. The place was built during WWII as a loran station. It has been long out of service and much of it lay in disrepair and ruin. We walked along a massive wooden road that led deep into the heart of the island. The scene was a strange one–stunted bonzai trees, muskeg, and small lakes everywhere. Water filtered up through neon-colored mosses and soaked my shoes when I stepped off the planking. The road led up a small mountain and became increasingly rickety. We tested the boards before commiting our weight to them. At the top we came across the old heliocopter pad! A dozen barrels of jet fuel still lay tipped over in the bushes beside the pad. A soft breeze blew across the concrete, and we surveyed the vast, lonely expanse of islands and water all around us. Even on this sunny warm day, Justin and I felt a sense of desolation about the area. Several antennae bristled atop a nearby mountain peak. They were used during the cold war as a first-defense anti-ballistic missle unit. In the mud beside us, I found the largest canine track I’d ever seen. Back at the docks we talked with Dan and Danielle. They said the tracks belonged to a huge black wolf that makes a circuit by there every full moon, and that there were about 60 wolves on the island. They pointed out ancient petroglyphs on the rocks, told us how to get up to the antennaes, and taught us many ways of collecting seafood. “I’ll be writing in my journal about how you guys are the first boat to come through the narrows backwards and throw away a box crab!” said Danielle, and we all laughed. They were such nice people and interesting people. Upon our leaving, Danielle gifted us with a bottle of salal syrup which she had made on the island, and then we let the tide caay us back through the islands to our boat.

Today goes down in “Silent Partner” history as one of her finest sails. It was A+, world-class sailing! We awoke, tapped the barometer, and listened to the 0400 forecast over the radio. Winds S, to 30 knots, then weakening. Our course was E by NE. Under a full moon and still at anchor, we hoisted the main and secured a reef. On our way out of the cove we picked up our crab trap, which revealed two fine specimens! Perfect for dinner. Justin put them into a bucket and they began fighting each other, but soon mellowed out. It proved to be a clear morning. “Silent Partner” rose to the swell and punched through the waves like a champion! The wind freshened and it blew a sweet and a pleasant gale. With a bone in her teeth, “Silent Partner” tore through the water leaving a twin-tailed wake of hissing foam. My god, but it was excellent sailing the whole way! Sea-spray curled over the deck and blew off to leeward over the bows, one of my favorite things to watch. Occasionally a wave thumped the hull, and thick globules of Hecate Strait waters slapped the deck and my back. At the turn of the tide the seas steeped and began to break, with an ugly 6 foot chop on top of the swell. But we reefed down even more and flew right along at 7.5 knots and greater. In all, our crossing to the mainland was one continuous 70 mile tack. I am so proud of the way “Silent Partner” handled in those seas. We made landfall in the uncharted Estevan Islands complex, and encountered steep tide rips where the Inside Passage pours into the sea. The full moon makes for strong tides! We passed by a pod of real killer whales this time–about 6 ot them–and one large gray whale. Justin killed and cooked the crabs for dinner, and here we sit in Geodetic Cove. A family of river otters plays by a small waterfall and we’re ready for another peaceful night at anchor. Amen.