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.