The Inlet Odyssey

We seem to be out of step with the rest of the boating world here. The guidebooks that we read implied that we would be fighting for space in the limited number of good anchorages, but nothing could be further from the truth. We are usually alone in whatever bombproof/scenic cove we settle on for the night. Occasionally one other boat will be in the same area, but rarely close. We have been seeing one small powerboat, Pacific Wanderer, off and on since Port Alice; we exchange hellos and they go anchor somewhere else for privacy and close enough to shore to walk their cute little puppy. The largest number of boats we had encountered was our first night in Columbia Cove, when we shared the cove with five other boats. They all left the next day and we never saw any of them again. Our trip down the coast is quite late in the season so we aren’t finding a lot of other boats out there. One of the reasons so many boats do the trip earlier, in June and July, is that the fog is much less prevalent then, but it comes on strong in August. We are finding that “Fogust” is alive and well. We are also finding that we are, by necessity, much more comfortable traveling in fog. Anne’s claustrophobia comes out in fog so she is a little uneasy, but she soldiers on. We can usually see far enough ahead that we can avoid debris in the water, and our electronic aids keep us on track and off the rocks. One huge positive of traveling at this time is that the weather is beautiful, once the fog burns off.

The exception to our solitude was our last night in the Bunsby Islands. We were alone in Scow Bay, in fact we were alone in the Bunsbies. We had done our dinghy exploration and there were no other boats here, not that it would have mattered; in most anchorages the boats try and leave personal room for each other. However, that afternoon one sailboat came in to Scow Bay and anchored within 100 feet of us. What? There are four glorious anchorages, each with room for two to ten boats and someone is so needy they anchor three boatlengths away? I guess anchorage etiquette isn’t taught some places.

Walters Cove, Kyuquot

We were impressed by Kyuquot, on the way in a small local boat changed course and came over to wish us welcome, and while walking around several people asked us if we liked Kyuquot. We could answer honestly that we were impressed. The people were friendly and the community was interesting, if not rich. The collapse of the fishing industry was hard on Kyuquot, they no longer have fleets of fishboats crowding the docks, so they are making do. The general store is only open from 1-5 every afternoon, and they control the water on the dock; $5 gets you a fill, but you may have to wait for the hose. They used to have a fuel dock with water on it, but that closed so now the only source of fuel in Kyuquot Inlet is in Fair Harbour, quite a distance away. The other thing Kyuquot doesn’t have is liquor. It’s a dry community and seems to be much better for it. 

The internet café we posted the last entry from used to be the school, until that closed and was repurposed as Java the Hutt, boat-through coffee shop and restaurant. They are open until 6 daily but only cook full meals on Thursdays, which is when the local supply ship Uchuck III comes in with new stock for the store and occasional tourists. There is a thriving sportfishing industry there, with lodges and dozens of identical sportfishing boats, but there doesn’t seem to be much trickledown to the community.

We left Kyoquot quite late due to the need to access the internet, so we didn’t arrive at our selected destination until after 8 PM. On the way, we were amazed at the endless vistas inside Kyoquot Sound, empty of any other boats or signs of human habitation. Dixie Cove, on Hohoae Island, got excellent write-ups by the various guide books so we knew it would be calm, scenic, and had good mud for anchoring. Again, we were surprised to find nobody else there, but we settled in for dinner as wisps of fog slid by the entrance, building for the night. 

When we left Dixie Cove the next morning, Tuesday August 6, intending to anchor close to the beaches at Rugged Point so we could do some beachwalking, the fog outside was thinning out, but by the time we got halfway to the entrance we could see that it was a solid grey fog bank out there on the outside. There is zero radio reception in Dixie Cove so we couldn’t hear the weather forecasts on VHF, so we wanted to get out to clear water to hear a forecast and have a look for ourselves.

We managed to pick enough information from the garble and static to reassure us that we weren’t in for anything nasty, then made our way to Blue Lips Cove in Amai Inlet as our next chosen spot. More picturesque than Dixie Cove, we liked Blue Lips Cove a lot, except for the same problem with radio reception.

 When your only weather information comes over the VHF, it’s tough being without. We had been there for a few hours, soaking up the sunshine and doing explorations in the kayak and dinghy, when our friends on Pacific Wanderer showed up. They waved, we exchanged pleasantries, then they chugged off and anchored as far away as they could. That’s how it’s supposed to work. 

When we awoke on Wednesday, there were a few strands of fog outside the entrance, but the sky was clear and we had high hopes so we raised anchor by 7 AM and slid quietly out of the cove. We had breakfast and did our morning ablutions under way, which we frequently do when we’re on passage. Shaving in a lumpy sea can get very entertaining, but this was smooth water. When we got closer to the entrance to the Sound, we could tell it was solid fog again. 

Well, we needed to get moving, and I thought that we might get out of the fog shortly since it seemed to thin a bit to the south, so we drove into it. It was unfortunate that we didn’t get to see the magnificent beaches at Rugged Point, or anything else for the first ten miles, but as we got closer to Esperanza Inlet the fog thinned and eventually disappeared and left us floating on a calm, sunny ocean. “Calm” if you don’t count the constant 3-foot swell that is everywhere in open water on the west coast. That swell makes light-air sailing almost impossible out there, we can’t keep the sails full when the boat is moving up and down and sideways three feet every seven seconds.

We went around all the many rocks and reefs and followed the buoys marking the clear channel in to Esperanza, and anchored in solitary splendor in Queen Cove, which the guidebooks told us was a hugely popular anchorage. It was, in our terms. One small fishing boat came in at dinner time and anchored for the night, far away from us. It was quite windy in the afternoon, but as the day drew on, the wind went away, the fog came back and we were once again surrounded by grey mist, but with a nice patch of blue sky above us and sunshine warming us. Eventually the fog overtook everything and when the rigging started to drip on us we moved inside. 

Approaching Zeballos

The next morning, Thursday, the fog was heavy but started to break up as the sun warmed the air. We slid quietly out of Queen Cove and set out for the upper reaches of Esperanza, at first in no wind, then in a rapidly building inflow wind of over 20 knots. As the wind rose, the fog dissipated completely and we had a big push from the wind and tide all the way to Zeballos. The ride up was very scenic, and the terrain is quite different from what we see coming down the coast. Apparently much of this area is the result of volcanic activity. Coming around the last corner of the inlet and seeing Zeballos nestled on the flank of a mountain was quite impressive.

Zeballos, like a lot of west coast towns, got hit hard by the downturn in the fishing and mining industries. Once having a population of over 3000 at the height of the gold boom, it is down to about 125 permanent residents. One of the positive effects of this is that real estate is extremely affordable and Zeballos is seeing more retirees buying in.

Zeballos fixer-upper, comes with fishing boat in front yard

There is still a very good sport fishery around here, which attracts people from all over, and the local motel is full of fishermen and loggers, which keeps the local economy moving to some extent. Unlike many of the places we have been lately, Zeballos has road access, so they have a little more selection at the few stores, but still nothing like we’re used to in The Big City.  Port McNeill was the last real “supermarket” we were in, and oddly enough The cook at the local café at the motel here was raving about the meat she gets from the butcher at the SuperValu in Port McNeill, with which we heartily agreed. We haven’t had meat that good and that reasonably priced for a long time, including back in Victoria. It’s odd how things link up sometimes. 

Zeballos Small Craft Harbour

We are looking forward to a real store at our next stop, Tahsis. They get their deliveries on Friday morning, so we are going to actually have some choice. We have missed the fresh food deliveries all the way down the island so far, so pickings have been a little slim. Tahsis is going to be the last major stop before Tofino, so we are going to have to stock up. That will make two nights in a row at a dock, which is very unusual. We couldn’t get internet access at Zeballos, or cell phone service for that matter, so we are feeling technologically deprived.

Well, Tahsis was a bit of a surprise. Westview Marina was very accommodating, had a slip ready for us, 30 Amp power and all, so we slid right in. But not before negotiating the breakwater, which is very tricky for the first time in a sailboat, and once we were there, we noticed a distinct familiarity to the motion. 

This looks about the same width as our boat the first time through...

There is something about the head of long inlets, they are silk smooth in the morning, then as the breeze gets up, the waves build. Port Alice, Zeballos, and now Tahsis, it’s like garden pond in the morning and Hurricane Alley in the afternoon. We have learned to park the dinghy across the stern to stop the waves slapping loudly. We are developing some survival techniques, since I haven’t yet learned to park facing the waves. Duh.

So, the surprise part. Tahsis has about at most 2% more stuff than Zeballos, and less than Kyuquot. We were expecting Bountiful Harvest. The marina gave us a courtesy car to get to town, so we went to the Tahsis supermarket and liquor outlet. That was painful, since we have been deprived since Winter Harbour and were expecting a little more choice and better prices. The delivery was supposed to be today. Some of the meat in the freezer dated to the Pleistocene, and were priced for starving gold miners. You could hammer nails with the bananas. They had many kinds of Canadian whisky, and few Scotches. It’s a classic fishing town. Some of these 16’ fishing boats are worth more than our house in Victoria. Seriously. 

Today, down inlet to either Bodega Cove, halfway to the mouth, or all the way to either Friendly Cove, on Nootka Island, or Bligh Cove on Bligh Island. We’ll see where we really end up. More from our next stop – Tofino?