Pacific NW

Expeditions

Today began in the dredges and ended in supreme perfection. A cold, hard rain thundered down on the deck. Modulus had accumulated 6 inches of water in her by morning. It was the kind of rainy day that makes you think it will remain like it is forever. We had another round of errands in town, which we did as quickly as possible. Christoph and I serviced the engine, replaced the oil and the crankcase oil. She purrs now, of course. It feels good to have a well-maintained engine, especially with as much motoring as we’ve had to do! And with that, and to our relief, we purred out of the harbour. In the rain. Christoph sniffed out a little wind and raised the sails, but it soon got flukey and we had to motor again. Our destination for the evening was God’s Pocket, which I have used in the past and it is a great jumping-off point for the open-ocean crossing into northern B.C. To my despair, the good old mooring buoys in the bay had been removed! We moored to a derelict dock on shore but were soon forced to leave, near sundown, by the caretaker, who showed no interest in talking to me. As we left, the skies cleared and we made a short jump out into the middle of the straight, to the Walker Island group. It was low tide and we moored to a buoy in the bay, which was new since I’d been there last. You lose a buoy here, you gain a buoy there, it all works out, I guess. Christoph, Lee and I explored the bay as the day’s first and last rays of sun set over the tops of the old-growth cedar. The marine life blew us all away. Every inch of rock was chuckablock with giant tubeworms, starfish of all colors, barnacles as big as baseballs, irridescent seaweeds and a billion other forms of life that were just as hard to believe as they would be to describe in this journal. Modulus has been on some fantastic rowing expeditions, and this was one of her finest. In the evening we became ambitious and produced the best deep-dish pizza–cooked in a skillet over the wood stove–that we ever had. “The best pizza” as Christoph says, “without a doubt”. We enjoyed our pizza with a bottle of wine, and toasted to the sea and the continuing good fortune we have encountered on the voyage.

We left the abandoned village at the break of dawn, motoring out of a maze of islands and channels and out into the wide Queen Charlotte Strait. Our decision to wait out the rough weather proved wise, and we had an uneventful but pleasant passage to Port Hardy. The sun came out and Christoph and I played the accordian in our T-shirts. It has been a strange beginning of March in that the weather has been so warm, and there has been very little wind. We are doing way more motoring than I expected, but we consider it a small price to pay for this astonishing weather. For the record, we made it to Port Hardy on 26 gallons of fuel! Four-stroke motors are wonderful things. As we neared Port Hardy, a thick and pronounced sheet of cirrus clouds began pulling themselves across our blue sky from the west, and the barometer began to drop. A sure sign of rain. I took care of many errands in town, which wore me out. I begin to get a negative association with towns when I’m cruising. They are places where I need to run around, take care of “busyness”, and spend lots of money. But nonetheless, I was thankful for our stop and for all the services the town had to offer. Christoph and I were looking forward to catching the movie in the one theater in Port Hardy, but our hopes were dashed when we found the theater all boarded up and partially destroyed. Our evening plans were revived, however, when we inquired about the hot tub at the hotel next to our marina. “Sure you can use it, just hope you get in before the hockey team arrives” said the woman behind the desk. The “Houston Luckies” took over the hotel later in the evening, but we had a nice relaxing soak, and are looking forward to the natural hot springs we will encounter in northern B.C.

Today was our longest-distance day yet, and was nothing short of phenomenal. We fueled up in Shearwater and to my surprise, the gas attendant told us we were not the first sailboat headed for Alaska this year, but the second! We figure and assume that it must be a sailboat crewed by three beautiful women, that we have been scanning the horizons for! Later in the day we swung into Matheison Channel, entering “Fjordland” The mountains grew higher and higher and the waterfalls more numerous and stunning as we made our way deeper into Fjordland. Massive half-dome slabs of granite 4,000 feet tall–plunging directly into the fjords, greeted us as we turned into Kynoch Inlet. I lost all GPS detail, the area was poorly charted, and the Coast Pilot contained no information on where we were. We are in one of the least known-about places on this coast, which is surprising because it is so stunning. Finally, we reached the entrance to Culpepper Lagoon right at sunset. All odds were stacked against us. The entrance of the lagoon turned out to be a tidal rapids, and was flowing against us at 9 or 10 knots. Depths in the entrance were uncharted. It was getting dark, and our slack tide was going to occur at low water and it was a spring tide, which means stronger tidal currents. Christoph, Lee and I discussed our situation, and took all measures to prepare for the entrance. Slack water finally occurred 2 hours and 40 minutes after the tide charts predicted it to, so we ended up idling around the entrance while we prepared. I felt like I used to get before a really big piano recital, forgetting about everything else but the task at hand. We weren’t expecting slack water to arrive so late, and it was totally dark out with a new moon. I reminded my crew of a quote from Ernest Shackleton: “Put the footsteps of courage into stirrups of patience”. In the end, we were very patient, extremely cautious, and successfully transited into the lagoon at a speed of 1/2 knot. Christoph and Lee did a great job monitoring depth soundings, speed, and illuminating the shore with spotlights while we were in the narrows. Once in the inner chamber of the lagoon, we were greeted by another challenge: fog. After all of our waiting we had to proceed dead slow the 2 miles to the end of the inlet, where we anchored off a mud flat at the mouth of a river, and I fell into an exhausted and relieved sleep.

Awoke to a grim forecast: gale to storm-force 50 knots from the SE in Johnstone and Queen Charlotte Strait. The wind was already screaming through the tree tops in the lagoon, though we were well-protected. I decided not to attempt the Strait, of course. Instead we went for a short, wet and somewhat bumpy ride 8 miles up Beware Passage to Mamalilaculla, an abandoned Native American village, where we are spending the night. Mamalilaculla means “Place where killer whales are eaten”. Today the village told a somber story. It was grey, wet and windy as we climbed through the rotting wooden buildings. Moss and small trees have taken root in the old longhouse frames and totem poles. In 10 more years it will probably be almost indistinguishable from the rest of the forest. Short days like these are great for tying up loose ends on the boat. After our crabmeat omelets for lunch I briefed the crew on all of our saftey systems. We are preparing for our first open ocean sailing of the trip, all systems are go. I am really falling into the pattern of voyaging now. Lee has just cooked up our dinner: clam-potato chowder and crab, over the wood stove. Time to eat!

Another big-distance day, one that really felt like two or three days. Christoph and I awoke in the dark and motored out of Oleo’s while Lee slept soundly below. It was a calm morning and we had a successful transit of Greene Point and Whirlpool Rapids at sunrise. Things got exciting in the afternoon as the wind and rain picked up. As we entered the Johnstone Strait, we hoisted our jib and were greeted by a brisk 30 knot southeasterly wind. Johnstone Strait has always given me an uneasy feeling, even on flat calm days, I don’t know why. Today it threw up 4 foot waves and we had a terrific sail, achieving average boat speeds of 9 knots and surfing occasionally to 11.6 knots. It was a great test of my new standing rigging, which I now have strong confidence in. Lee, during this time, did an excellent job navigating and answering my questions as they came, one after the other. Alas, we swung into the Havana Channel and into more protected waters. We celebrated our good sail by eating the chocolate cake that Oleo had given us “for the road” (we ate the other one last night). Chocolate cake never tasted so good as we ate it behind the protection of the dodger, which by this point was blocking the bucketloads of wave spray. Thank God for our dodger! Toward evening the wind dropped, sun and rainbows appeared, and we proceeded slowly and cautiously into peaceful Pott’s Lagoon, where we are spending the night. Lee caught a few crabs for our dinner and I made a salad. Both were excellent. The water in the lagoon is so clear that we could see our anchor set into the sand on the bottom. Tonight again, Orion, the Dipper and the Milky Way are reflecting from the water of our anchorage. Few things please me more than rowing out around the lagoon and looking back at “Silent Partner” set amidst another peaceful place, with a plume of wood smoke rising from her chimney.

This morning saw our first bit of rain, and french toast, a la Christoph. Another wind-free day, full of great scenery and the drone of the motor. We had a completely successful transit through the Yuculta and Dent Rapids, where we saw 35 eagles perched on the trees and rocks, waiting for fish. We are now north of Desolation Sound. This northern section of Vancouver Island’s eastern coast brings back many feelings in me. I truly feel we are on our way to Alaska now. The most incredible thing happened as we came into Oleo’s dock. 8-10 Pacific white-sided dolphins swam right up to, alongside, and underneath “Silent Partner”. They set off our depth sounder alarm and swam around the boat for a few minutes. The water is so clear in the inlet that we could make out every detail, every tooth, every eye of the dolphins. “Silent Partner” is lucky to have such companions to guide her safely into harbor. Oleo’s is a tiny floating house in the middle of nowhere, owned by Leo and his family. Tonight they are cooking up a gourmet dinner and cake for us. Life is good.

Last night we had a tense moment sailing into Squitty Bay. The sun had just gone down and the light was fading fast. I am always apprehensive about coming into a harbor in the dark, especially an unknown one with as tight a fairway as Squitty Bay. Nevertheless, we made it in safely and rafted up to an old power boat on the dock crowded with empty boats. Lee fired up the wood stove and cooked an excellent meal of tomato soup and salad. He is very good at maintaining optimum stove heat output, and cooks great meals. We woke to a calm, spectacular sunrise that thrilled all of us first thing in the morning. As we wove through a chain of tall, rocky islands, three juvenile bald eagles flew over the boat, followed a minute later by an adult. It was a good omen. Then we saw the weirdest thing. Right down by the waterline at the base of a sheer cliff was a sheep! We don’t know what it was doing there or how it got down there, but it looked wet. Christoph and I composed sea chanties on the accordian as we traversed the Straight of Georgia. A ribbon of snow-white geese or swans, 50-60 of them, flew by. We are all still settling into our routines. There is still a lot to be done on board. It is getting easier for me as Christoph and Lee learn more of the boat’s systems, but I am still bombarded with many tasks, navigation, the need to be alert at all times, etc. I am grateful our weather has been calm and warm to this point. Today we wore T-shirts at midday. More porpoises and dolphins today, and tonight the stars are reflecting off the water in our anchorage.

We are currently under full sail in the Strait of Georgia. Winds are perfectly suited to blow us into Squitty Bay where we hope to spend the evening. Yesterday I was so tired from the farewell party and running around doing the final preparations that I could do nothing but go to sleep last night. We all slept great last night and got a 6AM start this morning. We had a fantastic breakfast of eggs, toast, tomato and avocados, cheese and apple juice as we steamed through a glassy calm sunrise in the Gulf Islands via Dodd Narrows. “Silent Partner” is fully loaded with firewood, fuel and so much food that we could be our own floating co-op. Despite the weight, she is behaving wonderfully in cross seas and feels very stable with all the ballast. Christoph and I are practicing playing his new accordian and we have learned to play “God Save the Queen” and we plan on later accompanying it with dancing and stomping. Lee is mastering all of the electronic systems on the boat that have always been a frustration to me. He is learning to use our handheld weather station and my digital camera. As for the wildlife so far, yesterday saw a dozen or so porpoises, and we just had a pod of dolphins and a pod of sea lions close in on the boat.

Today I am generally exhausted. The reality of the voyage has yet to sink in. It is a trip too big and long to imagine in its entirety, so I am focusing on only a few things at a time. Too exhausted to write any more.

After 6 days of gloomy weather in Seward, Ryan and I awoke to bright sunshine. We had to wait until 0800 for the harbormaster’s office to open up, and Ryan cooked up some eggs and bacon for breakfast. And then we were off–finally!! It feels so good to be out on the water again after being in town for so long. Very natural. The boat and I are completely in tune with each other. It is also exciting having Ryan here, seeing Alaska for his first time. It brings a renewed perspective to my own eyes and refreshes all the amazing things that I have begun to take for granted. Although, today was an exceptional day. It started off discouragingly, as we lost a fishing lure and flasher while trolling for salmon. I must’ve tied an improper knot in the line. As if to mock us, the salmon leapt into the air around the boat many times throughout the day. Among the fantastic cliffs, arches, and sea-stacks of Cape Resurrection we came across several large harems of sea lions, hauled out on the ledges. They make the funniest bellowing noises. One of the males resembled about 10 stacked truck tires. He was huge! Ryan and I cracked up when he roared at one of the little sea lion pups. The pup became so scared that it rolled off the ledge and fell into the water. All around the sea lions was thundering surf and the shrieking of thousands upon thousands of kittiwake gulls. The gulls poured off the cliffs and fanned out over the water. In such great swarming numbers, they make beautiful swooping patterns in the air. Further out from the cape we passed through dense rafts of common murres, in staggering numbers. They dove as we passed through. So many were under the boat that it continually set off the depth sounder alarm! There were also many tufted puffins and horned puffins, whose faces look like a painted clown’s. We had BLT’s and a beer for lunch and soaked in the sunshine as we motored up Aialik Bay. Abra Cove is where we dropped anchor, which is backed by a bunch of cliffs and waterfalls and looks out at a massive tidewater glacier and the Harding Icefield. We went for a row to a National Park Service cabin where we met a group of kayakers. I was disappointed and not surprised that the Parkies don’t have woodstoves in their cabins like the Forest Service does. How would a person in desperation warm up when the propane stove is broken or empty? There wasn’t even an axe, but there was a giant wheelchair-accessible ramp to the outhouse. Yahoo for the Park Service. Behind the beach we found a small freshwater lake and two black bear feeding on the sedge around it! We hauled Modulus into the lake and admired the bears as we rowed down it. All throughout the woods and on the beach we saw bear scat and tracks. Back out on the salt water we came across land and sea otters, seals, and a cave. It was low tide and the starfish and kelp beds were exposed to the air. Ryan remarked that the hundreds of anenomies dangling from the cave walls looked like the male anatomy, and we named the cave accordingly. Once back in the anchorage we rowed to shore where a group of kayakers had set up a camp for the evening. I gave them some of our halibut, and they gave me two cups of coffee, chicken and pasta, and two brownies in return. They are a very nice group of people out kayaking for the week. The evening sun has tricked us once again, and we stay up late. We cooked up some halibut and mashed potatoes for dinner, the perfect way to end a good day. As I write this, the glacier thunders and booms from across the inlet.