Play Misty For Me

Our sojourn up Tahsis Inlet was remarkable, not only for a total lack of fog, but more importantly, good showers at Westview Marina…as long as you wanted to lounge in the (nice, clean, hot) shower for $3. Now that’s luxury. While the boat is set up for full shower facilities, our showers on the boat are limited by the amount of fresh water we can carry, and with up to a week between fills and a total capacity of about 60 gallons, there is just enough for the necessities, which means sponge baths for the crew. We’re clean, but we’re not ecstatic about it.

The landscape on the way back down Tahsis Inlet was unusual, probably because of its volcanic past. Rounded, bulbous mountains and rock outcrops are very different from the jagged peaks of the mainland and from the eroded sandstone we’re used to in the Gulf Islands. One of our regrets is that we didn’t think to bring the reference library we need to really understand the landforms that we are passing through. Who knew we needed books on geology? We thought we had it pretty well covered with guides to birds, fish, plants, astronomy, and things you might find washed up on the beach.

We spent the night of the 10^th in a nice little spot called Bodega Cove, tucked in between Nootka Island and Bodega Island. Very protected in all winds, we had our choice of places to anchor, since we were alone there, as usual. Also as usual, we had a view of what used to be verdant hillsides until most of the trees were taken away. It is truly astonishing to see the extent of the logging all the way around the island and down the coast. The logging companies are not being kind to our planet. Hillside after hillside taken down to rock and dirt, stream after stream choked with logging debris, cove after cove full of broken logging equipment  left to rot and rust, in and out of the water.

Nootka Light

The plan was to stay in Bodega Cove for a night, then visit Friendly Cove the next day and overnight in Bligh Cove, on Bligh Island (Yes, that Bligh. He was one of Vancouver’s officers at the time, before the famous mutiny). As usual, our plans changed. The forecast was good, the reports from Estevan Point were not bad, and when we got close to the mouth of Nootka Sound we saw no fog, so we headed out. It was a little lumpy on the water, and got lumpier as we approached Estevan Point.

The only negative was that we were mid-tide, so there was a conflux of currents and wave trains at Estevan, which resulted in 6-foot seas coming at strange angles. Estevan was a little foggy as we approached, and we couldn’t see the top of the light but as we rounded the point we could see it all. This lighthouse, the tallest on the west coast, was shelled by a Japanese submarine during WW II. We were glad they missed.

From Estevan Point, we headed across the mouth of Hesquiat Harbour to Hot Springs Cove. It was a relatively short trip, but the fog we ran into on the way across hid the land from view. Anne remarked that our chart for that leg was “sad”. I had to agree. It looked pretty bleak. We couldn't see land on the chart or in real life.

We arrived at Hot Springs Cove just before 4 in the afternoon and set the anchor with a couple of other boats in a cove just off the public dock. The dock was hopping with activity, float planes zooming in and out, and tourists in six or more fast boats from Tofino, plus three sailboats. We discovered we were on the landing path of one of the float planes that ran in every hour. That was entertaining.

Then, at 6 PM, all the tourists left. All the sailboats, ours included, disgorged crew and we all hiked the path to the hot springs. It’s further than it looks, and even though the entire path is boardwalk, it took considerable time to make the trek. We changed into swimsuits in the hut at the springs, then proceeded to the springs themselves.

Having viewed dozens of people at a time heading out on the path, we expected something a little…bigger. It was nice that it hadn’t been totally redone in concrete and tile, but we were taken a little aback by the need to crawl over and around large, sharp rocks to get to the springs. It is supposedly a lot different at high tide, when the sea spills into the various pools, creating several different levels of heat, but at low tide there is no sea coming in and the three pools, fed by a steaming waterfall, were all very hot. The first pool was too close to scalding to sit in, it hurt to walk through it, so our party of eight filled the rest of the pools. That was it - we filled all the available space. I have no idea where they deploy all the people from the planes and tour boats, unless they just stand and look, or they have to take five-minute turns. We spent an hour parboiling in the pools, and then trekked back to the dock in a light shower, almost unnoticeable in the forest. We rowed the dinghy back to the mothership in a bit more rain, dried off again, and cooked dinner. It was 10 PM by the time we ate, but at least we were clean and warm, if a bit sniffy from the sulphur in the hot springs water.

It was tempting to go for another round in the springs the next morning, but we decided against it and raised anchor at noon on Monday, the 12^th.

It was only a short run to Bottleneck Cove, so we were anchored again by just after 2 PM. This gave us a chance to try out the cockpit canopy we had built, and it worked well to keep us out of the hot sun. We were alone for a few hours until a 60-plus-foot sportsfishing boat came in and anchored at the far end of the cove. Thankfully, he had a quiet generator and turned it off for the night. Some powerboaters feel the need to run their generators non-stop at anchor, presumably to power their large flat-screen TV’s. Why spend all that time and money getting somewhere so you can sit around and watch TV? Beats me.

They left early the next morning, and we had the cove to ourselves all day, so we explored by dinghy and kayak, lounged in and out of the sun, and watched eagles. There was wind forecast for overnight and the next day, so we took down the canopy. It works well, but is a little susceptible to wind in its current configuration, is awkward to set and take down, and makes the boat look like a refugee from a covered wagon train. The night brought rain and gusty winds, and the next day was mainly torrential. Every once in a while another sailboat would show up, anchor, and the crew would disappear into the warm dry interior. We were four in Bottleneck Cove by that evening.

The entry to Bottleneck Cove. It seems to be about a foot wider than the boat when you are in it. 

Two of us, a singlehander in a smaller sailboat, and ourselves, left on Thursday morning, when the rain finally stopped. We had planned to go to Bacchante Bay on Wednesday, but the downpour stymied that. It was good to have a non-travelling day in any case.
Again, two hours saw us in a new anchorage, one that many people said was their favourite in the area. As usual, we were alone.

Bacchante Bay is large, with several good spots to anchor, and we ended up close to a small waterfall we could hear splashing in the trees. An exploratory row in the dinghy revealed three small trickles coming out of the woods into the bay, and we tucked that away as a possible supply of fresh water.

Overnight revealed an even better source of fresh water, as the rainfall was very heavy. We had put up our other “wind/rain tarp cover” setup to keep at least some of the cockpit dry, and we were glad of it. We were also running a little thin on drinking water, so the rainfall gave us fresh water for two days, collected in a variety of containers set up to catch the tarp runoff. Our little trickle waterfall of the day before was now a gushing torrent, and a new waterfall had sprung up on the sheer cliff face above the cove, hidden and revealed as the fog rolled past. Another boat from Bottlneck Cove had come in and were on the other side of the bay. We envied their full cockpit enclosure.

The rain finally stopped pounding down, so we took the opportunity to raise the anchor and head off in a light mist for civilization, in the form of Ahousat, in Matilda Inlet. The other boat, Losloper, was right behind us as we left the bay. It was good to be on the move again after the enforced idleness of the rainforest experience.







 

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?

From Fog to Frolic

So much for plans.

When we got up on Monday, July 29, we saw beautiful tendrils of fog drifting down the channel past our anchorage at Matthews Island, inside the entrance to Quatsino Sound. It was fascinating watching the streamers twist and swirl in the breeze. It didn’t look too bad, after all we were in full glorious sunlight, so we upped anchor and made our way to the entrance on our way to Klaskish Inlet.

Um…a little thick, we’ll try again later. Later was no better, in fact it seemed heavier. So that’s what visibility of 1/8 mile in fog looks like. Little fishing boats, few with radar, shot in and out of the fog. With no radar ourselves, we didn’t want to go out into that mess.

OK, no big deal, we’ll wait until tomorrow, we know a nice place to sit and watch the world go by. Back to Matthews. 

Tuesday, exactly the same scenario except the fog was thick in the morning and Quatsino light was reporting zero visibility. It cleared to our usual sunny patch in the afternoon, and after the attempt on the outside failed again we went back to Matthews. Wednesday, it looked a little clearer, at least we could see the entrance to Winter Harbour, so we went in to stock up on water and food again, then went back to our little anchorage. 

What to do while fogbound.

All this time, other boats had come and gone around us. Fog was no impediment to radar, although radar doesn’t see logs, but we didn’t see much point in going out and seeing nothing for the entire trip. We’re tourists. We have a GPS unit feeding a laptop with location data for our chartplotting function down below, plus an independent chartplotter at the helm, so we knew exactly where we are, it is the location of other boats and large pieces of floating wood we are unsure of. 

Thursday morning, Quatsino is reporting visibility of two miles in fog. We try again. We can actually see Kains Island this time as we go by, unlike the previous days. A mile out it drops to 1/8 mile, and we decide that even though we can’t see far, we can see enough. We have to go far offshore to clear the rocks around Kwakiutl Point and Lawn Point, and as we come up to the waypoint to turn into Klaskish, I realize I can see Solander Island, from over 13 miles away. By a stroke of luck, we would get there at slack tide, there is no wind, and the seas are not bad. In an instant change of plans, we headed for Cape Cook.

I thought we would be alone on our misty trek across Brooks Bay, but we ended up in partially visible company, as the fog came and went, with two other sailboats, and there were small fishing boats all along the path. Here we were, challenging one of the most famed stormy points on Vancouver Island, and there are guys out there in 15-foot runabouts. 

As we approached Cape Cook, the fog lifted, the sun came out, and we had a glorious close rounding of Solander Island.

 The wind picked up on the other side of Solander, so we motorsailed to Clerke Point. After we rounded Clerke, we drove into another fog bank, with reasonable visibility, which lasted until we anchored in Columbia Cove, a totally protected anchorage just north of Jackobson Point.

There were already several boats in there, and after we set the hook the other two boats from the trip around Cape Cook came in and anchored. After a quiet night, all the other boaters rushed off in their dinghies for the trek to the beach across the peninsula. This is best done at high tide so you don’t have to walk so far across the mud banks. With the low fog, we didn’t feel like going to the beach that day, so we hung out on the boat, went exploring by dinghy and kayak, and generally relaxed. After the obligatory hike, all the other boats pulled up anchors and left. We spent the night as the only boat in Columbia Cove. 

Saturday morning, August 3, the sky was blue and cloudless. There was no sign of fog anywhere, so we loaded up the dinghy with cameras and hiking gear and rowed over to the trailhead. It was easy to find the trailhead, where was the trail? 

Abandon hope, all ye who enter here...

Ah, over there, a fishing float in the tree. It was a trail in name only, in some places it looked like a training camp for forest survival.

Yes, this is a trail.

Changing from forest march to beachwalking

Jim notices his Crocs are floating away...

Kayaks just outside the surf line

 

Anne checks out the treasures

Back at the boat, we loaded up and set off for the Bunsby Islands. Everyone says “you must go to the Bunsbys”.Another long detour around rocks, hidden and otherwise, and two hours later we had the anchor down in Scow Bay, on Big Bunsby. The Bunsbys are notable for being a maze of low islands and reefs, unlike the tall and steep islands that are common.  

 

One of the giant jellies that were present in huge numbers. This one is probably 18" across.

Sunday was “explore in the dinghy” day. We went all through the islands and checked out all the other anchorages, including the one overlooked by Green Head. 

We had noted this on our way in earlier, and wanted to see it from the other side. From the ocean side, it looks like someone carved “The Thinker” with a jackhammer, from the island side it is equally impressive. The Bunsby Islands reminded us a lot of the friendlier Gulf Islands, but the surf crashing on the outer reefs was a reminder that we were a long way from home.

Monday, August 05. 

I am writing this sitting at anchor in Scow Bay. Another glorious sunny day in paradise. Anne is out playing in the kayak, when she returns we’ll pull up stakes and head for Kyuquot for water and supplies. Hopefully we can find an internet connection there so we can upload. After that, it’s off to Dixie Cove on Hohoae Island in Kyuquot Sound, Esperanza inlet in another day or two.

Happy BC Day!