First Mate's Log Brooks Peninsula July 23rd

For those of you paying attention, Brooks Peninsula came BEFORE The Bunsby's.

Brooks Peninsula is a dividing line on Vancouver Island: it separates colder conditions above, to a more temperate environment below. It also requires a good weather window, and once around it, we could relax our pace a little.
As land masses go, Brooks is fairly geometrical, with straight lines, but jutting at an irregular angle, like a tooth that needs orthodontia. On it's southern expanse is an environment that is nearly absent anywhere north--whitesand beaches in long expanses. They appear as whitemarks--like a swath of White Out between ocean and rock. But, we cut ourselves another line, one that took us further south.
Winds were high as we headed southwest around the point, but they were such that we were on a downwind broadreach, and we rose over the rollers gracefully and comfortably, because AllyMar was doing what she was built to do, saildownwind.
"Shall we turn the engine down honey?" I said to Ken, after we had 3 sails up and we were consistently cruising at 6 plus knots. "No, I want to get around this cape as quickly as possible." Shoals and isolated rocks dot this area, some of them just barely covered at low water, anxious and reaching to catch a 4 ton keel.
We flew along, comfortably and warm under a bright sun and sea. At the tip of Cape Cook lies Solander Island, a refuge for pelagic birds. I spied rounded white bellies on fast beating shortwings, Solander Puffins.
On 360 degree view, a tall sail was seen far aft. We tracked it, as it made it’s way from aft of starboard, to aft of port, then cut inside Solander Island as we went outside. The were heading for the beaches on the southside of Brooks, and they disappeared quickly after we rounded the Cape. We headed to the Bunsby Islands, named after a Charles Dicken’s character.

First Mate's Log The Bunsby's July 25th

First Mate’s Log
July 25th 2008
The Bunsby Islands
You may wonder how we know where to go, where the anchorages are good, and how we find out where to get fuel, ice for the icebox, and an occasional civilized shower. There are several excellent cruising guides that we use. In all of them the Bunsby Islands south of Cape Cook were recommended. We found Cozumel sands, some obliging star fish and some hearty Canadian women sea kayakers.
The Bunsbys are a popular destination for kayakers, who explore this protected group. The tidal changes reveal a cornicopia of marine life. We found a crevice in a reef rock that had a column of anemones, starfish, mussles, clams, crab and of course kelps.
It had been weeks since I had any significant female company. We anchored of the South Cove, which faced the ocean with just a low rocky rise but was protected nonetheless. We were also next to a beach, a perfect beach for kayakers to make camp. There were 7 or so, women who had gotten together like this for 14 years, Kayaking on the white beaches of the south Brooks and exploring the Bunsbys. “I’m going to make them some chocolate chip cookies” I said to Ken, “and see if Canadian women have as much of a chocolate gene as American women.” They do! Chocolate can dissolve any barrier. I wish to report that the sisterhood is strong, that we all are concerned about the same injustices. Our lives are made of the same fabric, interwoven. Our hearts, Canadian and American, are in the same various states of conviviality with the opposite sex. Our careers, it seemed, suffered the same difficulties. Experiencing our love of the water and it’s wild lands, whether with a double bladed paddle or on the wind, we also shared. Women open their lives to each other as comfortably as opening a newly minted book it seemed. That and chocolate, and good reads, and tea, and candies, and friendship.

July 23rd, Klakish Inlet

July 23 2008
Klakish Inlet
West Side Vancouver Island
For a completely different experience, try Klakish Inlet. The world is a thousand miles away once we made through the skinny spot to get to Klakish Inlet. From the big wide ocean we had to negotiate a very narrow steepsided gorge of 30 yards or so. Within, there was one lake sized power boat, you know, like a ski boat, and I wondered how he made it there. This must have been a favorite place for the Native Americans, very secluded and hidden.
As do many of these inlets, there was a creek draining into it from the head. We took the dinghy at sunset, with the shadows lengthening on the spruce green mountains above. The water was like glass, and we came just as the tide was changing: the eelgrass waved us in and up the creek, and then gently gestured goodbye on our way back to AllyMar.

Winter Harbour Jully 22,2008

First Mates Log
July 22, 2008
Winter Harbour, Quatsino Sound
West Side Vancouver Island
The word fishing is synonymous with many places On Van Island, but The Outpost at Winter Harbour has a very high rate of success at catching fish. The dock has a viewing rack apon which the fishermen hang their prize catches for all to see. Mostly men, but we met one woman in the sorriest excuse for a Laundromat/shower who had caught three ‘springs’--Coho salmon. I saw a huge Halibut on the trophy rack and learned later that it weighed 54 pounds. If only I were having such luck!
Winter Harbour is distinguished by a boardwalk that snakes along the northern edge of the harbour. It was from this boardwalk that I got some very incredible Canadian Sea Eagle pictures! I commend and thank Ken for his patience in waiting while I shot a video of a mature bird ripping into a good sized salmon. Oh happy day for Cindy Harper the birdwatcher/photographer!

First Mate’s Log July 22nd, Cape Scott around the top

We awoke at 11 pm to do the passage around the top of Vancouver Island. We decided to do this at night, even though it can be somewhat treacherous, because we needed to leave on an ebb tide, and there wasn’t going to be a morning ebb tide for 4-5 days. We needed a morning ebb tide because in the afternoons the winds or too strong. I was excited and anxious, but ready to do it.
My attire for this evening engagement included leggings, ski pants and off shore bib overalls, 2 pairs of wool socks, rubber boots. Above, I wore a skin tight nylon camisole, long sleeve tee shirt, wool sweater, down vest, water resistant coat and off shore jacket. It has a very stylish high collar, but as for accessories I wore a headband, a wool hat, a polypro neck warmer. Quite the cruising fashion statement.
The moon was gorgeous, the stars were out and we haven’t seen the stars much this trip. The water was glassy---for a short time.
There are two general tide times, neap tides and spring tides. Springtides occur at full and new moon, when the moon and sun exert their greatest effects. Neap tides occur at quarter moon and half moon times. Since we crossed during full moon, the tides were at their strongest.
Ken took a nap at 1 am. We were making very good time since we had the ebb pushing us. Ken had laid in a track in the Garmin GPS to pass north of the Cape, so all I had to do was watch for ships (there were none until morning when we saw a guy-enormous cruise vessel heading north) and verify our position. As we approached the Cape, the seas became confused and erratic. This was due to the tremendous multi-directional movement of water and the effects of wind and waves in that area, and that is what makes capes and other points of land dangerous. We were under the influence of the ebb making the turn over the top of the island, the draining ebb coming down from Queen Charlotte Sound, and the 20 or so knots of wind blowing down from the north.
And it was the wind and the waves that did me in. The two gentleman who had sailed up from Seattle followed us and were within visual range the entire trip. I tried to avoid watching their boat buck and heave, and wished they would put a little more sea room between us. Unfortunately, I had not taken any anti-nausea meds and I became very seasick. Seasickness is compounded by being cold, and I was shivering cold within just a few hours.
I called Ken up at 3:30am and he quickly surmised that the seas would be calmer with more distance from the Cape, so he moved us a few degrees to the northwest and things did moderate some. Good thing he came to life as I am practically non-functional when ill. When we finally headed down, south, the swells and wind were on our tail, something we have been waiting for since someone said ‘lets go north’ and we executed this plan!!
One thing I hold onto when I’m cold and upchucking is something my wise father used to say--”This too will pass.” Though exhausted, we motored into Winter Harbour around 10 in the morning. It turned out to be a glorious day, and we lazed in the sun, drifting in and out of sleep, hearing the snorts and sonorous inhalations of the sea otters who dine heartily on shellfish in Quatsino Sound.

First Mate’s Log

Port Hrdy to Bull Harbour
The Canadian Turkey Vulture
I have identified a bird in Canada, which resembles our humble Turkey Vulture from the Rogue Valley in appearance and numbers. It may be a subspecies, our a separate species entirely but it does share many of the Vultures characteristics. It is often seen in groups, roosting in trees or on pilings or on breakwaters. It does a lot of sitting around, but always has it’s eye out for an easy meal. It eats carrion, but prefers fresh kills. It appears to have excellent eyesight, and perhaps relies more on sight than smell as it searches for food than the Turkey Vulture does. We were privileged to an up close and personal display of it’s hunting prowess when it dove just behind our dinghy. It eased close to the water, then pulled up abruptly within inches of the surface. Perhaps it’s prey dove just then. We were trolling with a flasher, it’s action reflecting the sun’s light on the surface of the water. It pulled up as it approached though, somehow realizing that what it thought was a fish was too good looking to be true.
It has a much more distinctive call than the Turkey Vulture, which doesn’t have a call at all. When heard from the cockpit after sharing a fine meal with friends and imbibing perhaps too much wine, it’s call sounds like a high pitched cackling laugh.
Just like Turkey Vultures, it can be spotted soaring in great circles at higher and higher elevations on it’s great broad wings. Unlike the tilting TV however, it soars on steady wings, it’s dihedral being flat rather than V shaped. It’s head in flight is much more prominent than that of our Turkey Vulture.
The locals pay no attention to these birds as they are so plentiful, though one man told us that it has made a come backing the past 15 years or so since DDT was eliminated.
It has a thick yellow bill, not unlike the Turkey Vulture for ripping flesh. Turkey Vultures have just one color phase or morphology, this bird appears to have both a dark phase blotchy as well as a two toned, double ender color scheme which lends credence to the idea that it may likely be another species all together.
I’ve enclosed a few photos in case any of you could help out with identification……
At last, Port Hardy
Port Hardy, while sharing many of the same characteristics as other North Vancouver Island towns--as history of logging and fishing, a plentiful First Native population, like all towns if has it’s unique features. The grocery store chain here is called Overwaitea. They very kindly have an explanatory plaque at check out for all of the ignorant tourists who do what I did, which was to ask the checker “What does the name of your store mean and how do you pronounce it?” She answered me kindly Canadian style and pointed at the commemorative sign. Bunches of years ago, a clerk in a frontier store measured out 18 ounces of tea for a customer instead of the usual 16 ounces, thus becoming the over-weight tea merchant. A supermarket is born! Such were it’s humble beginnings.
Our weather was good in Port Hardy, and everyday went something like this: am woke to cloudy but calm skies. Clouds would dissipate around noon, or 10 or 2, and the wind would kick up from the north. If we were away from the docks, the sun warmed us quickly, but on the water it felt perhaps colder even than in the cloudy morning. We would head out from the dock with down vest and jacket bracing against the wind, and within one turn of the corner off the port off they would come. I’m a slow learner I guess--I didn’t figure this out until our last day there…..
We met some folks, Demi (accent on the last syllable ) and Holly who were full time cruisers for the past 4 years. They called home a 40-something foot catamaran that made our 38 foot mono-hull look like an efficiency apartment next their penthouse. They had wintered twice in Mexico and twice in front of the Empress Hotel in Victoria. They had sold their home in Colorado to buy their catamaran. They kindly invited us to tea (we brought the cookies) and we shared stories and looked at charts. They like we, had taken the only accommodation available at the cheap rate moorage fisherman’s dock, as the trendy Quarterdeck Marina had been full. The next morning they were gone, but had not left--we saw them the following day pulling out from Quarterdeck to head north up the coast. A guess 3 times the charge was worth it to be amongst like kind.
To Bull Harbour
Bull Harbour is the jump off point to head around the top of Vancouver Island via Cape Scott. When leaving Bull Harbour, it is necessary to go through Nahwitti Bar. This bar, like other bars, is an area of water where the ocean enters are much narrower passage, concentrating the force of the waves and sea strength. Nahwitti Bar is much respected by yachtsman and is generally run only at slack tide.
Bull Harbour was reached via Goletas Channel (see photo). Due to circumstances, we took Goletas Channel on a rising tide against us. Early on, the wind was against us as well, and Ken looked at our options to duck out of another upwind passage (“they are almost over honey I swear”) instead settled down when he realized that our alternates were few (see Ken reading in his full foulies). Fortunately, the wind calmed down and we hugged the northern shore thus being able to make way at an average of 5 knots.
We had been followed into Bull Harbour by another sailboat. Their plan was the same as ours--they were circumnavigating the Island, but were doing it at top speed, especially for a sailboat; they went from Seattle to Bull Harbour in 5 days!!! Bob and Leo are retired, so I’m not sure what they’re hurry was. I heard one of them say to the other when they were setting the anchor “how much chain should we put out?”, and Ken said they were still working under the assumption that flood tide moved north, which is the way it is south of Desolation Sound with in the southern half of Vancouver Island and the Inside Passage.
Hope Island is an Indian Reserve--see photo. It was under grey and dreary skies that we explored this just barely inhabited island. Acorrding to Waggoner’s Cruising Guide, depending on the time of year, between 2 and 30 individuals from the Tlatalisikwala Native band live here. And one dog--see photo. It was a somber place, perhaps reflecting injustices past or the bone weary fatigue of mariners and natives having made it around Cape Scott, or across Queen Charlotte Sound from the north.
A narrow land bridge separates Bull Harbour from Roller Bay on the north side of the Island. Roller Bay receives the full brunt of the Pacific wind and waves, and it’s rocky beach is testament to that with it’s perfectly smooth egg-like rocks--see photo. Notice all the Canadian Turkey Vultures here as well.

Vancouver Island West Coast July 30, 2008

Ahoy from Westview marina in Tahsis Nootka Sound.
Tahsis is about 1/3 of the way down the outside of Vancouver Island on the Pacific (out) side. Great scenery, lovely coves to spend the night, friendly boaters and local residents. Only thing missing is the sun. Can't really say that we have had any summer yet or at least as we know summer. Left Port hardy and crossed over the top of the island after a stop in Bull Harbor. Since then we have cove and port hopped. Usually we had the cove to ourselves or only shared it with one other boat. Finally have the wind on the stern and can dom more sailing and less motoring. One highlight of the bwestside was being witnesses to the signing of the most recent treaty between the Canadian government and the local first nation tribe concerning ownership of their lives and land. I have Harp to thank for finding out about it and urging me to go to the gathering.
Right now I am sitting before a fire under a canopy on Jimmy Buffet Blvd in a fishing marina. Must get a corona later. Oh to dream of warm Mexican and South Pacific days

Ken

Plans in flux

Now that we have our Garmin card and are ready to go around the outside, the current is not with us during the day for another week. By then a storm front which is brewing off the coast will have arrived. We have several options, but must keep our focus on heading south as soon as we can. We may have an opportunity to round Cape Scott in the full moon light. Doesn't that sound romantic? At any rate, we will mark our northern most reach with an innvocation to the wind gods to now be always at our back. Stay tuned.............

Canadian heros

1st Mates Log
July 10th, 2008
Tracy Harbour, Napier Bay
North Broughton Island
BC Canada

Is that Bear Musk? Or just Ken?
Sailing is a lot like camping, in that you don’t always get to take a shower when you want to. Truth be told, Ken is much more of a got-to-take-a-shower-everyday person than I am, since I only break a sweat when the temperature hits about 80 degrees. Since we are above the 50th parallel and over the water, the only spot that comes close to 80 degrees is the engine room. Nevertheless, after a week or so even I enjoy a hot shower. We have a solar shower, which is a 5 gallon bag that is clear on one side and black on the other. Off the coast of BC it takes nearly all day to heat up to a decent temperature. But sailors don‘t ‘waste‘ precious drinking water on showers. Since we don’t go to marinas very often, we are always on the look out for a freshwater creek to fill our solar shower with. As we motored the dinghy around Napier Bay, we were disappointed that we didn’t see any creek outflows. The shower would have to wait for another day.
“Napier Bay has good holding but watch for the submerged pipeline that crosses the anchoring ground” said the guide book. There were already two boats anchored, one a power boater and the other a sloop. The sloop had 2 fishing lines out on either side, but we carefully motored around him as he was near where we wanted to drop our anchor. There sat a peaceful gray haired gentleman reading in the cockpit. “Excuse me,” Ken hailed him, “do you know where the pipeline is situated? There’s no indication on the chart.” The man briefly looked up from his book and said “No, don’t.”
Now most boaters we have met, especially Canadians, have been friendly with advice and eager to engage in the fine and tricky art of anchoring (see Anchoring 101-104). “He must be having a bad day” I told Ken, but I mentally wrote him off as Not A Very Nice Canadian. We anchored without any assistance from the Crabby Canadian, and headed out into the dinghy to see what there was to see.
Before we left, a couple on a power boat motored over. “Do you have any dogs?” I heard them say from down below. My interested was piqued and I ran on deck.
“No,” Ken said, “Why?”
“We went to take our dogs ashore to do their duty and standing just above the shore, was a wolf!” the woman exclaimed. “We just wanted to warn you in case you had any dogs, just to be aware.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Ken said, with a smirky smile on his face. I looked down into their dinghy and saw the reason for his reaction: there in the bottom of their boat was not one, not two, but FOUR bite sized dogs, all with little red top knot ribbons in their hair! I smiled and remembered that I had had a brief encounter with them in Port McNeill. The man was walking two of the dogs, and I smiled cordially after him. I turned around and then saw her, some distance away, with 2 of the identical breed of dog. She looked at me and said, “We look like we’re together don’t we”, to which I responded “Either that or you just met the man of your dreams!”
Ken and I weren’t so sure about the wolf story, but we logged the possibility of wolves with the known threat of bears.
All of these islands have been subject to logging in the past, but North Broughton Is still being logged. This worked to our advantage though, because there were logging roads to hike on. The forest on either side was impenetrably dark. It had been several days since Ken and I had been able to walk around on shore much at all, and we were somewhat boat weary. “I wonder where they’re going to take their wolf food for a walk”, Ken said showing his most genuine dog lover side.

“How far do you want to hike?” Ken asked me. He wanted to continue on down the road, which was getting narrower and narrower, but I’d come about as far as I wanted, and felt a bit wary of going farther. As we walked farther down the now path wide road, I felt more and more uneasy. ‘I smell something bad!” I said to Ken. “It’s not me” he said.
“I don’t like this, it doesn't feel right” I said, and immediately saw a bear sized area that had been bear flattened, and there was fresh bear scat ahead. “Let’s go back.” We then saw bear tracks, and right next to them, cat tracks, as big as my palm. And right next to them, wolf tracks!

Back at the landing, was a shiny red box with Chinese writing on it , like a chocolate confectioner’s chocolate candy box, but it had abear claw sized hole in the middle of it. Next to it was the molded plastic tray from inside,which had a most unusual offering: several 10 milliliter vials of ginseng and Royal Jelly! The labels were only very slightly faded, and almost all of them were completely intact. Chinese timber fallers? Souped up bears?

Looking on the dock where we parked the dinghy, I saw a black pipe coming up from the sea floor, up and over the dock and hanging over the end. There were lots of rolls of black pipe lying around, but this one had water dripping out of it, clear fresh water, solar shower water!

We dinghied back to the boat, and Ken noted that the wind generator had been powering up a storm. “We have to use up some of that power” he said. That may sound silly to those who have always received electric bills, but if the wind charger completely charges the batteries, the power has to be wasted or the batteries will blow up (I guess). What did we need to do that would use up a bunch of power? “ I think I’ll vacuum,” he said. Sure enough, when he turned on the Dirt Devil, it drew 12 amps! After I marveled at the ampere gauge awhile (cheap boat fun) I stepped out on deck to shake out the rugs, when the power boaters with the wolf bait doggies honked their horn at us, and pointed down wind. I turned and looked, and there was a sight you never want to see: about 300 yards aft of the boat was our dinghy! “Holy Toledo, what happened?!” I said.
“Those three half hitches I always tie came loose because of the wave action I guess,” Ken answered. Well thank heaven that 1) we weren’t the only people in the bay, and 2) the wind pushed it in to the cove and not out into the straight. That would have been a super bummer.
Remember that Crabby Canadian? I take it all back. He wasn’t crabby, just...quiet, simply…introspective, only wanted to be left alone. He and his lovely wife had gotten into their dinghy and rescued ours. Even introverts like to play the hero.
We sat in the cockpit after a dinner of crab (I haven’t written my crab story yet), pineapple coleslaw and brownies, and a nightcap of ginseng royal jelly. We considered that it probably had been another good day not to be working. I realized that Ken would likely never smell as bad as a bear, Canadians have big hearts, and surely we would never have to learn any more lessons that involved the dinghy!

What's down there?

First Mate’s Log July 8, 2008
Vitner sound, Gilford Island
Broughton Archipelago
British Columbia, Canada
I decided to get a fishing license. Neither Ken or I have ever really fished. Since the license cost a whopping $106, plus the cost of lures, I better make this good. How many fish would I have to catch to pay for 100 bucks of fish protein?
I was excited to fish, and then reality it. Catching is one thing, all the rest is something else again. Does this make any sense: you put a hook on the end of a pole and drop it into the vast ocean, and hope you catch something. You can’t see your quarry, you don’t know what’s down there except kelp and logs and debris to catch the line. Would any self respecting land hunter shoot in the dark and hope that he got what he wanted?
I sat in the dinghy and jigged with a very pretty minnow looking lure for (I swear) about five minutes, when I felt like I must have picked up some kelp--the line felt heavier. I reeled it in and there was a bloody fish on the hook! I told Ken I had caught a fish, he looked over and saw that I was obviously not struggling, nor was the pole bent, and he said “No you didn’t!” Indeed the fish, which we later identified as a rock fish looked as if we had had a knock down drag out most-of-the-afternoon struggle, and hung limply from the line. “Gee, those Rock fish really put up a fight eh?” I said to Ken, feeling like I really had the touch. “They must be fatalists” I said “ and know when they‘re hooked, that they might as well through in the towel.”
Ken got me a bucket of salt water to put him in, and after I figured out how to get the hook out (man their flesh is tough)urged me to keep fishing. Inspired, I rowed the dinghy about a quarter mile against the current in order to do some drift fishing. Upon returning to the boat, Ken being ever hopeful of his wife’s new found angling skill, said “Caught anything else for dinner?”
“No honey, but I did catch something else.”
“What’s all that junk in the boat?”, he noticed, which was full of cedar branches, moss and leaves. I had gotten the lure hooked on the bottom, and wondered what my ratio of fish to snags would be in my new found avocation as a great fishing huntress. Being in an inter-tidal area, and not wanting to lose my lucky minnow, I had to figure out how to stop the boat!--and not lose the oars or the pole was starting to slip over the gunwale, and I had nothing to cut the line save my teeth. I quickly weighed the try to save the lure or the pole equation. The fate of being pole-less and unable to fish paled in comparison to the tongue lashing I knew I would receive from my captain.
Letting the line out, I rowed upstream, then took the line in again, but I quickly drifted by the snag. I had to stop the boat, so I rowed to shore, underneath the overhanging cedar boughs. Even along the shore the current was enough to pull the bow out. I stood up and, using the boughs as levers, inched my way towards the snag. I was finally successful at freeing my pretty little minnow.
Nobody talks about the experience of killing a fish, and now I know why--it’s traumatic! I had nothing to stun it with, so I wrapped a towel around him and pithed him with my trusty Leatherman right between his eyes. Though this quickly kills most creatures--cows and people come to mind--his mouth gaped--his yellow-brown flying fins flared, and I felt like I had just committed murder. He flopped and thrashed and flipped and betrayed his earlier representation as a passive fellow. He simply would not sit still for gutting, and, just like a girl, I squeaked and screamed every time he struggled. I felt like a torturess. As if all that writhing wasn’t enough, this guy exuded goo from his pores, you know, like what happens to your nose when you catch a cold. Whatever happened to going to a restaurant and just ordering the catch of the day?
I hoped it would all be worth it. After all the excitement, all I could muster was throwing him in the frying pan. Fresh and surprisingly free of bones , and Ken liked him too. And I figured I only had to catch another 20 just like him to pay for my fishing license. I can’t wait.

Port Hardy on Monday (don't know the date)

Hello friends and family. We hope your summer is grand and warm.

We are back onVancouver Island after a week in the Broughton Islands. Very interesting place the Broughtons, very few boats, no towns (or villages even), just places to anchor and floating marinas that offer a bit of community with other boaters, (docks rather than anchors all for a hefty overnight price). It was interesting to sail by crouded places like Sullivan Bay and Echo Bay and end up in a beautiful cove for the night. The marinas have helicoptors to ferry guests in and out and dock space for 100 foot yachts. The downside to the Broughtons is the inability to really go onshore. There are no hiking trails and even if there were, the bears do present a challange. We carry pepper spray given to us by a vet we met in Port Neville. In addition to pepper spray he takes his 12 gauge out with him when walking his property. Yesterday we took the dingy and went 6-7 miles back into a lovely lagoon and had the place to ourselves. Did have to get out before the tide changed as the pass we used to get into the lagoonthere had rapids and falls on an ebb current. Don't want to get trapped back there like a kayaker we met did one year. He had to wait 8 hours to get out. That lagoon and its approach to Queen Charlotte Straits was the home to first nations people for 6 -7 thousand years. The middens are huge and beads and other artifacts of their lives are found on the beaches.
We are both looking forward to going over the top soon. Plan is to go to Bull Harbour on Hope Island on Wednesday and over Nawitti Bar on Thursday. We need a bit of civilization every once in a while and Port Hardy is it. We are dockes with the fishing boats and now in a plasure craft harbor. They will be going out in the am to try their luck. The reports are of limited catches and in requested government interference in their livehood. Huuuum.
Health and spirits are good, Allymar is a good and sturdy home, although we three do tend to creak a little every once in a while.

Fairwinds and smooth seas

Ken

The World’s Grumpiest Marine store Owner
Port McNeill
We had a short list of items needed from the chandlery--12 Volt socket fititng, diesel additive, latex gloves. The owner of the marine store’s reputation preceded him-- we were advised to get our Garmin Westside data card there “ but watch out, the owner is a chauvinist and rather off putting.” Ken bought what he had to there but wouldn’t go back when we needed a guide book for the Broughton’s “That guy was talking to a new employee, young kid, treated him like a piece of dog doo-doo.” Oh Kay. I went in just to meet grumpy Gus, but it was early in the morning and he hadn’t worked up a head of steam yet I guess.
We fortunately didn’t need to spend the 50 bucks to buy the Dreamspeaker Guide for the Broughtons--our favorite guide book series-because as we were standing outside wondering if we should fork out the equivalent of a night’s moorage to buy a book we would use for just a few days, Ed came by. I met him at the Laundromat internet klatch group the day before. “Come on over to the boat, I’ve got 4-5 books I can loan you on the Broughtons.” Such a deal. Plan was to meet him in a half an hour, but he decided he’d go out in his tender to pick up his crab pot just as we arrived. There he was, speeding away--”hey Ed, we got to leave, dock check out is at noon.” He managed to make it back with one big Dungeness in time for us to look at his favorite anchorages in the Broughtons and send us off with a guide book.
Port McNeill Laundromat and Internet visitors Centre
The washers and driers were expensive but the internet was free, a reasonable tradeoff. Bring your laundry and your computer, wash and dry, post on the blog and talk to mom via Skype. It was a friendly atmosphere, and why not: we were all travelers, by land or sea, all doing the same thing. Met a family who were all there--mom dad and teenage son and daughter. When the dad found out I was from Ashland, he launched into a very detailed story about how he got a ticket there, including an exact description of the solid and dashed road markings. Anybody who has that kind of memory for a town he had been to once years ago “when my kids were old enough to enjoy Disneyland” ought to be shot. “Thanks for supporting the local Police Department” I said.
There was Ed, the lone non-interneter--reading a book of all things,laughing out loud at the funny parts. He’s been over the top (of the Island) 3 times, and as a single handler no less.
As things were winding down and the number of computer users had dwindled to a mere me from a maximum of 6, Sven and Melanie (names are changed to protect the not so innocent) came in: they are on a 32 foot steel ketch which he built. Based in Seattle, they too are going down the outside, and have about the same cruising speed as us. Unfortunately, they have to be back in Seattle August first to work, how unfortunate. Sven had read about this particular hull design when he was in eighth grade “It chose me” as he put it. Designed in 1926 by Hannah as a wooden hull and redesigned years later for steel, he found a basic hull that had been laid up by someone in Missouri. He went back to look at it, and called his then girlfriend Melanie to see what she thought. “Well given the fact that you don’t know how to weld, I think you should buy it.” He had it shipped out to Washington on a flatbed trailer. Seven years later, it was ready to be launched. “It’s nice to finally have her in the water.” I guess!
Navigating through the rocks
Our sail over to the Broughtons from Port McNeill started under a darkly and blustery clouded sky, but it was blessedly warm--I only had to wear one layer under my light weight rain gear. (It’s July after all.) Ken was his usual anxious self to get the sails up. We had about 45 minutes of good wind, and then it was clocking and veering all over the place. To get to the Broughtons, we had to go southeast--the first time we weren’t going north or west since we set out. And guess what? The ‘prevailing noserlies were just that--this was a storm out of the SE and we had a head wind!
The Broughtons are an Archipelago-- that must mean a land of many rocks. The chart looks like an irregular set of large islands with popcorn strewn in-between--popcorn that could ground and grind the hull to a very unpleasant stop. Neither Ken nor I have ever been here before. We do have the Garmin of course for navigation--how did they ever do it before electronics and satellites-- but Ken said “I’d like to try it with out using that thing.” They call it dead reckoning--finding your position based on your relationship to visual clues--that mounded island to port, that pointy rock way off to starboard, that day marker to the east--then looking at the chart. We were searching for a small opening between a multitude of islands, islets and rocks before us. It was bewildering to me, but Ken was able to steer us on the right course, without hitting anything the chart required we give a wide berth to. His only flaw was to not understand why I couldn’t do it too!!!
Lorena McKinett, melodious wren song, Bald Eagles flying at close range, the early dusk and cooling air we sit inShoal Harbor off Gilford Idland. And the falling tide and advancing shore, oh I hope they’ll be adequate sea below the hull!
Truly lucky, truly blessed.

Bitches Blog Port Neville and Johnstone Straight

There once was a Sea of Soup Pea

Through wihich we wanted to flee

We felt forlourn, and tooted our horn

But alas that last boat went unseen

Johnstone Straight is notorious for high winds, and fog. We experienced both! I took a great video of the high wind experience, but here are some photos of the Straight.

We again celebrated Canada Day in Port Neville with Lorna, granddaughter of one of the original settlers in the Port, she has lived here all her life. She sold off a chunk of her land to 2 veterinarians from Nanaimo who will be building a cabin here. they were surveying their land while we were here, and they carry a shotgun with them because there are bears here. As Ken and I discovered, we were just off the shore in the woods when I heard Ken saying "nice bear, Nice bear". No he didn't really say that but he did see one with in talking distance. They had a staring contest (Ken one) and the bear sidled away.

Later I saw a large dog running up from the water, shaking is thick coat dry. He ambled up the rocky point, flipping rocks with his massive paws. It was then that I realized when he was stuffing his face with crabs from under the rock that this was a small bear! I waved to him and he politely turned tail. Sorry, no photos of our bear encounters.

We were sailing along Johnstone Straight

Who's winds made us notoriously late

They rose at ten, capturing us then

Disasterously sealing our fate!

Moving north

July 3rd 2008
Port McNeill on the upper Vancouver Island west side is the last good provisioning place before going around the top and down the outside of ther island. We will make a pit stop in Port hardy in a few days to pick up out snailmail. The weather is great as it has finally warmed up, but the wind is still unfortunately on the nose and we are doing way to much motoring. The locals talk about the wind as "prevailing nosers" for those heading up island. We both look forward to turning the corner at Cape Scott and heading south. The canadians we have met are friendly and open. There must also be some sort of buffer at the border that screens out the difficult americans as we have only met great fellow travelers.
I do love being pretired and not having to get up in the morning until I want to usually. Also love not having listened to a real news broadcase for weeks. Hope the world can get along without my permission.

Ken