Pacific NW

Expeditions

With rain on the deck and pressure systems on the move, we decided to lay in today and linger one more day in Haida Gwaii. We are perched at the edge of Hecate Strait, preparing for the crossing back to the BC mainland coast. Justin and I had a “day of silence” in which we don’t speak to each other for the whole day. It is our way of giving each other personal space every now and then, and works quite well. He’s just wrapping up another long love letter to his girlfriend Christina with a flourish. In the morning mist Modulus and I went for the most incredible row among the tide pools. Crystal water revealed a scene equally as colorful and varied as any I’ve seen in the tropics! I discovered many new life forms that I didn’t know even existed, both plant and animal. Bright blue and purple starfish, billions of sea urchins, kelp forests, and pink corals slathered every rock, pool, and ledge. I was followed around by a large school of perch, and an occasional kelp greenling poked his head out from under the rocks 30 feet below. I snuck up on a mink and an oystercatcher that was whacking apart a sea urchin. There were sea cucumbers and all kinds of crabs. The kelp rocked back and forth in the gentle surge. I rested my hands on the gunnels and took it all in as I drifted along in the current. Like an old friend, Modulus is always there during these extra-special moments of the voyage. The water was so flat I may as well have been snorkeling. When the tide came up enough I passed over a shallow sandbar and back to the boat, where Justin was cooking johnny cakes for breakfast. In the afternoon I went for an “extreme row” in Modulus to Hot Springs Island. Wind and current were both against me on the long, hard row and waves continually splashed into the boat, soaking me. I took pleasure in the workout and on the way discovered a thundering and gushing blowhole! As I was paddling around a rocky cliff I felt the whole face of it shake each time the swell came up on the rocks. Water was forced through an underground fissure and shot up in a violent plume! I hopped out onto the cliffs for a closer investigation, so that I might become showered in the mist and hear it at its loudest booming. Today I had Hot Springs Island all to myself. I soaked for several hours and watched the ravens fly close overhead. Justin had pointed out the other day how they cant their tails to shift direction of flight. They continually hovered overhead, cocking their tails and eyeing me in the pools below. Both my boats were safe in harbor–Silent Partner tied snug to a mooring buoy with Justin aboard and Modulus hauled high on the beach and tied to an alder tree. I was able to enjoy my soak to its fullest. On my row back it began to pour a warm rain, and I had my second “soak”. We are running out of fresh water on the boat. The mountains of Haida Gwaii are relatively lower and water on the islands is scant. I rigged up a raincatcher on the bow with one of those tinfoil space blankets and a few clothespins. It did quite well and the water is soft and sweet. We got a fire going inside to keep everything dry in the cabin, and boiled a pot of pasta and several cups of tea over the firebox.

Where is August going? The days snap by. As we left Sac Bay fingers of fog and cloud curled over the mountain tops. Further out into the channel we saw a massive wall of cloud quickly advancing toward us! As the wind struck the peaks, lenticular clouds formed over them, mimicking the silhoutte of the ridge. There was a doomsday quality about the whole scene, like a giant curtain dropping. A dozen dolphins swam by off the starboard bow as the mohawked Justin handed me a plate of eggs and toast. Ahh, life is good. An hour later we anchored off of Hot Springs Island and rowed to shore for a soak. Justin and I found G.I. Joe figures washed up on the beach, a major find! Needless to say, the island is complete paradise. Several large hot pools overlooked the sea. I jumped into the ocean and didn’t even shiver. Apparently the water here is warmer than ever recorded this year. We relaxed in a particularly nice pool for hours. I would say that we soaked the stress of our daily lives away, but there was none to be had. Later we picked up a mooring buoy in a cove a mile away and took long afternoon naps in the sun. The rest of the day melted away into relaxation, cooking, dinner, reading, and writing.

I was exhilirated when I opened my eyes this morning to blue windows and hot sunshine pouring into the boat. Winds were light and we made a safe passage around the outside of Burnaby Island while the weather was good. I decided not to take the shortcut of Dolomite Narrows. There is no reason to put the boat into a potentially hazardous situation. Justin has become very good about understanding my conservative decisions regarding navigation. Our common goal, as we head closer to Washington state, is a safe return. Together we take a certain pride in being prudent (but not overly so). The wind freshened in the afternoon and we had an excellent tack into Sac Bay. Sunshine kept our spirits high, although we acknowledged a high cirrus developing, bringing the promise of rain. At anchor I gave my very first haircut to Justin. He now sports a wonderful, well-defined mohawk. I don’t know which of us is pleased with it more! We rowed to shore so that Justin could jump into the river and clean the itchy hair bits off. I bolted up the side of the mountain and searched for a swimming hole in the sun. Running higher and higher up the mountain and into the alpine country I became almost frantic in my quest to find a swimming hole in the sunshine. The long shadows of the jagged mountain peaks were fast making their way up the valley. It became a race against time, and I flew with sweat in my eyes and cedar limbs tearing at my arms and legs. Finally I broke out into the sunshine, and there before me was a thundering waterfall with several plunge pools and basins! I cast off my clothing and stepped in…the plunge pool was much deeper than I thought and the water warm! Very quickly it became one of the best swims of my life. The rocks were covered in short moss, perfect for sitting on. The hydraulic flow of the waterfall washed my hair in two seconds flat and the view of the surreal mountains couldn’t be beat. Far below I could see the white speck of “Silent Patner” at anchor and somewhere down there Justin was enjoying his new mohawk. Life is good! I couldn’t help but jump back into the pools and under the waterfalls 10 times or so. I followed the cascading waterfalls over the boulders all the way back down to the sea, and came across countless stellar swimming holes. On the way back I made a major botanical discovery–an insect-eating plant that catches bugs with its sticky antennae. I’ve been looking to find these strange plants for years. It is a shining moment in time.

We decided upon sleeping in when we heard rain pattering on the deck in the early morning. It never let up and we eventually set out into the gray Hectate Strait. We were on an excellent tack into Bag Harbour when a small gaff-rig sailboat closed in on us. In it was a man with a large beard and smile. We talked for a bit as our vessels were each making the same speed. I believe that it was the first time I’ve “had a gam” with another skipper on the open sea. The waters around Dolomite narrows turned a vibrant electric blue neon color, almost scarey! Dolomite narrows apparently has the highest concentration of protein per square meter than anywhere else on earth. It is too shallow to navigate for my liking, so we anchored up and explored it with Modulus. 10 deer greeted us on the lush tidal flats as we made our way through the waters. The bottom was littered with huge barnacles, starfish of all colors, and irridescent seaweeds. At one point we reached in and pulled out a red rock crab. The marine life is so abundant here that you can just stick your arm in the water and pull out your dinner! We found two old cabins that reminded me of the puestos of Chile. And there were all manner of eagles, seals, sandhill cranes, and deer, deer everywhere. And then we saw the killer whales! A pod of 10 or so of them was feeding at the tideline about a mile from where we were drifting. We could see their large dorsal fins arc-ing through the waters. A stillness hung over the whole channel. The only sounds to be heard were the chuffing of the whales, punctuating the air, and the occasional chittering of a bald eagle. “Justin”, I said. For lack of a coin, we flipped the spare oarlock. All three times indicted that we should head back to the boat. I promptly swung Modulus around and made a bee-line for the squadron of whales. Suddenly one appeared very close to us, its dorsal cutting a path directly for us! Justin hunkered down and away from the gunnels, until we realized our killer whales were in fact a pod of very large dolphins. We were only momentarily disappointed, for we found ourselves in the center of the pod! They were big as cows and surrounded us on all quadrants. According to the field guide, they were feeding on squid. I rowed faster and the squadron veered toward us. They came to within 10 feet of us, several times leaping completely out of the water. Each one had intricate markings and patterns on its sides. It made for quite another experience seeing the dolphins leaping around us from Modulus! We had to look UP when they jumped! “Ten feet, Pete! Ten feet” shouted Justin. We laughed about the “ten foot” rule that seems to be following us. Grizzly and black bears, countless humpbacks, and even the sperm whale surfacing event were all within ten feet. Ten feet is also a lot smaller when you’re dealing with the world’s largest mammals and cow-sized dolphins! Our row amongst the dolphins gave us a pure adrenaline rush. What an incredible animal. We rowed home in the drizzle and had a quick fire to dry out the cabin before we went to bed.

I rose early, hauled anchor, and got the boat underweigh while Justin slept below. I enjoyed the fog-free morning, and we passed the southern tip of Moresby Island with a good tide. We are anchored up in Ikeda Cove. An extensive search for some Japanese tombstones proved fruitless, although it was a stellar exploration. The forest was a cathedral of alder trees, interspersed with huge, silent cedar trees. A thick layer of bright green moss covered the entire forest floor, with an occasional clearing of grass where many deer could be found. The effect it gave was like being in a quiet churchyard. We stalked our way among the green shadows and “hunted” deer with small stones. Justin and I came across many ruins–old barges, boats, rusting wood stoves, tram tracks, and cabin remains. We even found a rotting mass of bamboo, possibly left from those who are buried here! Justin remarked that every anchorage has the same trees, rocks, animals etc, but that every one has a totally different feel to it. I agree. Each place has its own different concentrations of flora and fauna, but it is amazing how much of a contrast there is to each cove on this coast. We spent the evening sorting and consolidating our food supplies, and cleaning the boat. Our food locker has gone from being a “bottomless and mysterious treasure chest” as Christoph put it, to a sober and organized pile with all contents visible.

The great fog persisted until afternoon, when we suddenly sailed out from under it and a sharp line of blue sky appeared where it ended. Favorable winds and a building swell dictated that we not linger any more on the wild west coast of the Queen Charlottes. We have been lucky! Around noon we anchored in a rocky and windy area and explored the island and village of SGaang Gwaii. SGaang Gwaii was a village inhabited by the Haida people for over 10,000 years! Today there are still several Haida watchmen living there who showed us around the old village site.

Today was a continuation of what Justin and I are starting to call the “great fog”. A weather pattern is firmly established in which there are calm evenings and mornings followed by windy afternoons. The winds are from the northwest and the fog at sea is ever-present, never lifting. We take advantage of the calm mornings and do our west coast transit before the swells and breakers become too violent. The ocean continues to cast up great miracles. The first of which was a plate of crab cakes with fried eggs on top for breakfast! Not a bad way to start the day. Justin and I can safely say that we have had our fill of crab for now. The satellite phone crab cakes worked! Through the billows of fog we made our way back out to the abyss. A sea lion broke the surface with a blaze-orange canary rockfish in its mouth. The rock fish was the size of a basketball and still alive and thrashing! Farther out the swell picked up. Suddenly a whale spouted and surfaced right by the boat! Justin and I found ourselves not but 10 feet away from the largest whale we’d ever seen–a sperm whale! Its blunt head resembled those giant ice breakers on supertankers. The waters all around the boat began to boil, and our shallow water alarm sounded when it read a depth of 4 feet. To be so close to one of the world’s largest animals, and see every wrinkle and fold in its skin, was something else. “Silent Partner” was dwarfed by the immensity of the whale. I was so dumbfounded by the sight that the possibility of collision didn’t enter my mind until after the event. How lucky we are to be witness to such a spectacular animal. Tcuga Cove is poised at the edge of the sea, and “Silent Partner” rocks gently in the surge. We found piles and piles of fascinating shells all over the beaches, towering old-growth spruce forests, and deer that were unafraid of us. We walked right up to 5 of them and they continued to keep their heads bent to the grass, feeding. We found an ancient wooden shipwreck on the rocks and explored the storm-beaten coast. There was flotsam and jetsam of all sorts washed high up on shore–numerous fenders, trawling buoys, and bottles from China, Japan, and even Brazil. Today the foggy coastline is an extremely lonely place. The roaring crash of surf fills our ears and there isn’t a speck of humanity (except for the jetsam) anywhere. It is an extremely remote and uncharted coast! A cove just north of here is said to contain the long-lost village of Saolangai, but today is was hidden in the fog.

The crab trap produced more fantastic specimens this morning. Popeye went on the defense–claws up– when I stepped out into the cockpit to take my morning pee over the side. Heavy and billowing fog settled onto the entire coast. Within the anchorage giant schools of herring roiled the surface of the water. It was a constant and fantastic show. Justin caught a herring with our buzz bomb. It swam countless circles around the anchor chain and fouled things up pretty well! After much deliberation I decided to run in the fog. The whole west coast of Moresby is uncharted and seldom traveled. We struck a route well out to sea, off the edge of an abyss that quickly dropped to depths of 3,000 feet and greater. With the axe, Justin made quick work of the crabs. Popeye gave Justin a fright and actually gripped the axe and held on tight. We boiled them and had fresh crab for breakfast! I shelled the rest and put the meat into a big pot. All the claws were so large that I had to use the hammer to break the meat out. The fog never lifted on the ocean. It made for an exciting entrance into the uncharted Kootenay Inlet. As we neared land I reduced speed to one knot and a giant rock island came into view, directly in front of us. It was well over 100 feet tall and very large with reefs around it, and I could scarecly believe something that big wouldn’t even show up on a chart! Small breaks in the fog revealed a totally rugged, wave-scoured shoreline of unforgiving rock. Once inside the inlet the fog bank ended abruptly and it was a sunny day 1/2 mile in-shore! We proceeded with caution around many uncharted reefs, my heart pounding when the depth sounder alarm went off, indicating shallow water. Justin and I were awed by the view that unfolded before us. On the sunny side we watched as the fog bank broke over the first chain of mountains and spilled down through the trees below. The treetops ripped the fog bank to shreds. It was like seeing a silent Niagara Falls of fog cascading into the inlet, because of the enormous proportions. The fog that damned our navigation that day gave us a moment of incredible beauty and made it all worthwhile right then. Dr. Suess lorax trees cling to the cliff walls of our anchorage. We ate crab claw sandwiches for lunch in the sunshine, and the thick wall of fog remained poised on the edge of the sea all day without letting up. Justin and I explored a river valley. Like all the rest, it was pristine and had trees of dizzying proportions. I cannot emphasize enough how incredible it feels just being in such places as this. Time and space fly out the window and every footstep reveals new treasures. I found a perfect swimming hole in the gravel by the river. I took a warm soak in the sun with trout and sculpins swimming around me. Just as I was getting out the tide rose and began spilling cold saltwater over the lip into the pool. In the evening I called my Mom on the satellite phone to get a recipe for crab cakes. The signal was very broken but I managed to hear about half of the ingredients she listed before the phone cut out. Justin is very good at improvising in the galley, and he served up a large batch of delicious crab cakes! We laughed at our success and enjoy living off the bounty of the sea.

Out of the corner of my eye a large black potential cougar shot like an arrow silently through the forest. Soon we found the tracks of a cat and its scat. And at the river we encountered a bear. Never before had we seen so much bear scat. There were mounds of it literally every 5 feet in all directions out on the grassy tidal flats. And then we came to an abrupt stop on the edge of the beach where we saw the most remarkable thing of all: A giant squid had surfaced from the depths and washed itself onto the beach! We had never seen anything like it before, couldn’t have imagined such a foreign life form. It was if we had landed in Modulus on the shores of a different planet in a different time. Within 10 minutes we had encountered a bear, a large cat, and a giant squid! I experienced a moment of infinite expansion and asked myself “What else is possible?” The huge trees of the forest drew us onward. They were trees with all kinds of other species of large trees growing from them from 100 feet up in the canopy. Cedar trees supported their own forests of alder, spruce, ferns, hemlock, and always a thick cloak of moss hanging from every branch. It was a privilege being amongst such a forest, the last of it’s kind. Losing myself in thought I stepped unsuspectingly into a pool of quicksand. Justin and I exchanged a glance as if to say ” Could this place get any cooler?” as I pulled my legs out of the mud. Suddenly we heard human voices and instinctively dove for cover. Kayakers. They couldn’t see us, but then one of them looked right at the bush we were hiding behind. “Is that a deer on the beach? I wish I had my shotgun”. The deer was directly below us and we were happy he didn’t have a gun! We stalked the kayakers until their boats vanished into the curve of the horizon. Eagles chirruped overhead and the onset of darkness allowed the first thoughts of returning to the mothership. The tide had come out more, exposing a larger area of beaches. And there, the North Pacific Ocean had thrown up more of her wonders of the deep. Justin and I refer to it as the “Giant Squid Beaching Event” and stared unbelievingly at seven of the massive creatures, all in a cluster. Some appeared to have just died and stared at us with empty eyes, while others had been sampled by the eagles and bears. “The bears are eating god-damned calamari for dinner out here” said Justin. “Calamari for dinner” I replied. Every beach was strewn with these giant squid! Deer and vibrant green tree frogs had also come out for the sunset. We pushed away from that amazing shore with a new perspective on life and time. On our way back we hauled the crab trap. The line was heavy and we expected kelp or a 19-armed starfish. Nope– MOTHERLODE!! The pot was stuffed with Red Rock crab and one enormous Dungeness crab. All male, all well over legal size. They had torn open the bait jars and were stuffing themselves. Justin and I started howling and somewhere in the excitement I lost my sunglasses overboard. We don’t know how the big dungeness even fit into the trap! One of the crabs had ridiculously large claws, that were very disproportionate to his body. And he really knew how to use them! He locked onto the trap and then tried to nip off my finger as he drove his other pointy legs into my glove. We nick-named him “Popeye”. Popeye began pinching the legs off of the other crabs that got close to him. We put him in “solitary confinement” for the night, another crab’s leg in his robust pincher, and the others in an another bucket. As the sun went down a thick fog rolled into the anchorage from the sea. Periodically throughout the night I was woken by the rustling of crab legs as they moved about in the buckets in the cockpit. When I went out to check on them and change the water, a sea bird flew smack into my flashlight beam and landed in the bucket! I quickly turned out the light out, and hoped the bird would escape before popeye got to him.

The day began with eggs benedict at the local restaurant. It was a good square meal and an omen of the rest of the day’s unusually odd and fantastic events! Justin went off and did his last-minute town chores while I combed the docks asking for local advice on timing Skidegate Narrows correctly. Everyone gave me a completely different answer. The coast guard said “If you go on the rocks, just do it after 1600 hours so we can get overtime pay.” I topped off our water tanks and hitchhiked to the gas station up the road with two jerry cans. Expensive gas!! 10 gallons for $50.00 Canadian. Ouch! Hitching back was an experience. My car did a U-turn in the road and swerved over to pick me up. Inside was a questionable man that was prepared to take me down the road in the direction he had just come from. “Just throw the cans in the back seat there. You see, if I was an airline pilot I would say “no” because you have dangerous and illegal and flammable cargo, but we’re not in an airplane so I don’t care”. OK, I thought, this will work. On the way he told me of his idea he’d been formulating to hitchhike across Canada with a hinged jerry can, containing his whole camp. “Then everybody’d pick you up, heh, because you look like you’re out gas. So I saw you standing there with those cans and couldn’t believe it, so I had to pick you up. Then when you get to town you just put the can into a canvas sack and you look normal”. At the marina I hopped out and thanked him for the ride, met Justin, and we cast off and bid farewell to Queen Charlotte City. A brisk wind piped up as we entered the infamous narrows. Mile after mile of shallow winding passage, with strong currents and a constantly changing bottom. Large parts of it go completely dry on a 6-foot tide! Today we were lucky and passed without incident. Once through we found ourselves on the wild west side of the Queen Charlotte Islands. The combination of gale-force westerlies, steep chop, and an alternation of thick fog and searing sunshine forced us to seek immediate shelter. Any harbor in a storm. After anchoring and relaxing the tension of our narrows transit away for a few hours, we set the crab trap and rowed to shore. What we found there was an experience like no other. We picked our way along colossal pillars of cedar and spruce in complete silence. The place had a feel about it. Not only were we in an unimaginably vibrant and healthy ecosystem, it also felt like we had gone back in time somehow. Eventually bringing ourselves to speak in whispers we agreed that the feeling was not of our imaginations, but of something instinctual and rooted to a deeper past. I have no idea why it was, but I felt ageless and was brought to the verge of tears of joy.