Closing the Circle

It was brutal getting up at 5 AM so we didn’t. It was Wednesday, September 4, and there wasn’t enough light yet to safely navigate through the maze of rocks and reefs at the southern entrance to Dodger Passage. The rolling coming in from Imperial Eagle Channel through the night, and the attendant clattering of wires and halyards in the mast, had made sleep a scarce commodity. So we slept in. At 6 there was enough light, and we slid away. One of the guide books said the entrance was 2 feet deep on zero tide, the official chart said 9.2, so we went very slowly. With 4.8 feet of tide we saw a minimum depth of 8.3 feet so caution was indeed warranted. 

As we left Barkley Sound behind, we saw a couple of larger powerboats as they came out from Bamfield and set off down the coast. We recognized them from previous anchorages over the past couple of weeks. They had been quiet neighbours. They were soon past us, and we rolled our way southeast. 

 Cape Beale was a forlorn light as we worked our way along a dark coast, but the dawn gradually brightened and the miles slowly ticked by.

Breakfast was a welcome bowl of hot oatmeal with many cups of hot tea, followed by the morning washup on the move. Shaving in a swell can be very entertaining, and occasionally messy.

Pachena Point was the first light past Cape Beale, and a welcome sight to weary morning eyes. The ever-present southbound current was missing in action at this point, and since we were counting on this push to help us get to Sooke before dark, we were a little concerned that when the ebb tide started coming out of the Strait of Juan de Fuca we would be slowed even further. 

Speed is a relative concept, so when you are counting on going 6 miles per hour it's a serious blow to be going 5 miles per hour. 

As we came up to Carmanah Point at 11, we hit another milestone. Cape Flattery was on the horizon to starboard. We had reached the Strait, at least in our minds, and the adverse current seemed to be easing. It was about time. 

We were mistaken, it was a short-lived back-eddy and we were soon back to the slog. 

 At least we weren't alone out here. There was one tug and tow that we had been roughly even with ever since Cape Beale, but now that they had picked up the incoming tide coming around Cape Flattery they soon pulled ahead. With the reputation for volume of shipping going both directions, and the constant threat of fog, we stayed on the sidelines close to shore. At least it was photogenic there. As it turned out, we saw two ships on the entire trip down Juan de Fuca, and they were in the distance. 

The day was distinctly brighter by now, and there was no trace of wind. We had almost given up hope of help from the tide when we saw the current easing, and our speed finally increased as we picked up more of the favourable flow. We more than erased the slow start, and the swells finally eased with Cape Flattery blocking most of the rolling we had lived with for weeks. As we passed Port San Juan, which was our emergency bailout spot in case the weather wasn't cooperating, we ate lunch with over a knot of current helping us. The shoreline became more interesting, and with fewer things to bump into under the surface, we moved closer to shore to see the many caves and nooks in the coast. At the same time we suddenly had to pay attention to the many small fishing boats which lined the coastline. They all had downriggers and several lines in the water, and they really didn't care which way you were going, their fishing was far more important. We had to dodge several who suddenly turned right into our path. 

It was turning into a beautiful day, and as we flew ever faster (relative to a jellyfish, say) we watched the points on the chart pass behind us, one by one. Our dinghy, which we had tossed off the deck with so much trepidation in Bull Harbour, followed obediently, ever grimier with diesel stains on her nose from bumping our sooty transom night after night. Not only had we not lost her, we hadn't even had to add air in two months.

The last light on our trip down the coast was Sheringham Point, and as we passed the point, the sky was darkening and clouds gathered. No matter, we thought we could beat the incoming nastiness to Sooke, and once we were around Whiffin Spit and into Sooke harbour, there was a protected anchorage.

We almost made it. The entrance to Sooke harbour is very narrow and complicated, with several sets of leading lights to line up to get around the spit, and as we started the run in, the sky opened up and a squall hit, with driving rain right in the face. No matter, we drove on, and where the anchorage used to be, there was a field of commercial crab trap buoys. We went through the field, and not only was there no room to drop an anchor, there was almost no room to turn around. The greedheads on the crab boats had ruined another anchorage. We turned around, and with the rain still pelting, ran out of Sooke harbour. 

We thought we would try Becher Bay, which according to the guide books had good anchorage in the lee of Wolf Island. On the way, we were greeted by a return of the sun and a glorious rainbow. We thought that this was a good omen, and tucked ourselves into the Wolf Island cove. 

We were exhausted. 13 hours of motoring and constant attention to navigation and situational awareness had taken its toll, and the recent bad experience in Sooke had been depressing. As the sky cleared and we saw the rosy light to the west, we felt that we had cleared the final hurdle. The next day we would be in Victoria and almost home. 

The weather had different ideas. After an increasingly rough night, with occasional squalls and rain showers, we had a rougher day as the local fishing boats headed out. And in. And out. And in. The constant traffic left the water in a lumpy mess, and the southwest swell that came into the cove added yet another dimension. The current in the cove held us sideways to the swell and wash from boats so the motion was amplified. Sleep was not possible, so we sat inside for the morning and watched the weather roll over us. Thunder boomed and squall lines raced across the water.

Eventually, the sky started to clear, at least locally, and although it looked quite dark towards Victoria, we thought that it should have passed by the time we arrived. As we rounded Race Rocks, we could still see flashes of lightning hitting in the Victoria area, and were careful to stay away from the rigging, just in case. A lightning hit might damage the boat, but the mast provides a cone of protection to the occupants so as long as we didn't hang on to metal parts, we should be OK. Theoretically. 

We were right, as we closed on the Victoria skyline the sky cleared and the lightning stopped. We started hanging onto the rigging again. 

Passing Ogden Point, the entrance to Victoria harbour, was a real milestone, we were back in semi-familiar waters.  We had been married on a boat off the Victoria waterfront, almost 20 years previous.
We made our way through the busy entrance to the harbour and arranged for a berth in front of the Empress Hotel. Floatplanes took off and landed right next to us, the harbour ferries were all over the place, and the whale-watchers roared in and out. It was a culture shock.

The moorage charge was quite reasonable in the circumstances, only about seven times more than Zeballos; the people in the big brick building across the road were paying far more per night, and we had better entertainment at our doorstep. On the other hand, the showers in Zeballos were closer, if not so appealing.  The buskers, tourists, artists, and con men were deep on the causeway, and the harbour was alive with traffic.

This was quite a change from our previous two months of frequent solitude and silence. We slept well, much to my surprise.

The next day, we departed for Sidney after lunch, but didn't get far. As we approached the entrance, the fog got thicker and thicker, and we could just see Ogden Point light even though we were only a hundred feet away. I thought it might thin out if we got away from the coast, but the opposite was true. Brotchie Ledge was only a hint in the fog when we were far too close, and with due consideration for the amount of traffic around, we turned tail and returned to our dock in Victoria harbour. After dodging fog all the way down the coast, it was a little annoying to be held up here.

 It wasn't a total loss, we did meet some interesting people. De Frogs stayed for one night, and we never did figure out how many people were on board. Somewhere between six and eight, we think. They gave the harbour a rousing sendoff on departure, much hollering and yahooing. They were pleasant enough, although one of them was a dead ringer for Micheal Keaton as Beetlejuice. One of them mentioned they were going to Hot Springs Cove that day. I told them that today was unlikely. "Well, tomorrow then." I didn't rain on his parade, he would find out fast enough that 150 miles up the west coast was not a two-day jaunt, especially in that boat. I hope they made it past Sooke. 

When we did try to escape again, on Saturday, the fog was a little thinner, and I thought if we hugged the coast we might be able to see some of the Victoria skyline. Well, that was partly true. We saw the tops of the taller buildings as the fog came and went, and we mostly saw Trial Island as we went by. I guess we will just have to go back to see the coastline in better weather.

Fabulous sailing weather. Not.

By the time we had passed Cadboro Bay the fog was dissipating, and as we churned up Haro Strait, we had our usual fabulous sailing weather. It was hard to complain, it was warm and sunny, and the previous few days of fog and rain had been a trial. I don't do well cooped up, unable to move. Anne would say that was an understatement.

Sidney Spit seemed like a likely place to spend our last night on the boat, we had never been there overnight despite keeping the boat only a couple of miles away in Tsehum Harbour. Our midday sorties had been very rolly there due to the amount of traffic going through, but at night it was calm, almost serene. It was still pretty weird being surrounded by so many boats. 

A friend had given us a bottle of champagne for Christmas, and we had hoarded it, stashed away in a safe spot in the boat. We almost drank it the first night out, then we almost had it at Sea Otter Cove, but each occasion had seemed presumptuous. Tonight, we were close enough to our goal that it was appropriate. It was very good champagne. Thanks, Koglen. 

Our neighbour for the night at Sidney Spit had motored in late in the afternoon and dropped anchor close to us. It was an excellent reminder of our trip. These were the people from the waterfall in Lucky Creek. 

We slept soundly, had a great bacon-and-egg breakfast, lazed around, and in the middle of the afternoon pulled up the anchor and motored slowly towards our dock.

Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. Halfway there, Anne smelled very hot rubber, and when I took off the engine cover, I found the latest alternator belt shredded in the bilge and the compartment full of smoke. We shut down the motor instantly, and I broke my previous record in getting a new belt on despite everything being too hot to touch. The condensation on the belt, stored next to the hull, sizzled and vaporized when I put it on the pulleys, but we got cooling water moving. I needed a beer. 

At 4 PM we put our home dock lines back on and pulled into our slip. 61 days, over 900 nautical miles (1034 regular miles). It's going to be tough to top this one, but we're thinking hard. We like this lifestyle.
The lifestyle itself and how we keep it going on a boat will be dealt with by Anne in the next post.

Anchored at Lucky Creek

Google Earth has some wonderful aerial images of the places that we saw from water level. You need to have Google Earth installed to view our track from space, but it's easy and free and well worthwhile. To follow our track, click Right Here and download the track file.