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!