Ports Alexander & Hardy

Small crab hiding away in the rocks on the shore of Port Alexander

Sea anemone in the tide pools of Port Alexander 

Port Alexander

June 26, 2016

Sailing is a multi-tentacled pursuit. Romantically inclined think of it as billowing sails, galloping along the seas off Barbados, maybe a dolphin or two playing in the wake from the bow (admittedly, the inner visual I hold dear and that gets me through random weeks of anchor repairs). The notion that sailing is really about  "sailing",  handling lines, managing sails, navigating your vessel with an assured finesse. And it can certainly be that, particularly if you are day sailing or have a vessel that is kept very simple. 

When we first got into sailing I somehow glossed over the conversations and articles regarding the other elements of sailing. Particularly when it came to boat repairs and maintenance I thought the cliche' of cruising being mostly "repairing your boat in exotic harbors" sort of quaint. Even after the cold splash of reality last year, six weeks working on Tumbleweed in Sitka, I still kept a healthy disconnection from reality. That was just a one off, rarely happening type of thing. Anchored at the north end of Vancouver Island, entering our fifth week of trying to resolve our broken windlass gypsey, I'm starting to embrace the-constant-repair-and-upkeep-of-a-sailing-vessel as a solid core component of cruising. 

When we meet with other cruisers the early lines of conversation tend to curve around to the things we have all fixed, replaced or are accepting "as is" for this part of our trip. There is often an edge of gallows humor about the whole thing, embracing the pain of recalling when a line wrapped around the boats prop forcing a quick jump into 40 degree water with a kitchen knife. How they ran into an uncharted rock and lost a stabilizer and limped back from Alaska. They lost their engine and returned to port using their dinghy outboard. Many water pumps failing. A transmission failure on a boat we met in Nanaimo, they sailed back to Anacortes, replaced the transmission and caught up to us in Port McNeill (gleefully recalling coming into the marina in Anacortes under sail and  having to dock under sail at night). 

If sailing is some multi-tentacled pursuit and we're at the white board scrawling out Venn diagrams we'll have to make a wheel for patience. Sailing is loaded with opportunities to slow your heart rate, focus on your breathing, gaze off to the horizon, center yourself, and think calming thoughts. Usually in a healthy way, as in to be present in the beauty of an experience, often as a technique to keep yourself from unraveling. 

Traveling by sailboat there is a certainly a preoccupation with what can go wrong, what has gone wrong and what needs to be repaired. We started out this past winter with a list of something around 140 projects we wanted to complete before we left Port Townsend. And we plowed through them. I mentally dusted off my hands and thought we were at a point of completion, for at least a summer of sailing. Anchored in this beautiful bay at the end of the fourth week of trying to repair our anchor windlass I have fixated on the fragile nature of sailboat systems. 

It is the sound of the loon that pulls me out of that frame of mind. Several times a day a loon calls from somewhere at the edge of the forest. It is such a gorgeous cry, but what makes it haunting is how rare it calls. Once or twice in the morning, another call in the late afternoon, maybe once as the sun begins to fade. It is the unexpected timing of its call that gives it power, and reinforces the silence of the bay. After the loon calls the bay seems to become hushed for awhile and the place stills. 

Last night, deep in the few hours of darkness we are getting at this latitude,  I woke to the howling of several wolves. I sat up and listened to them call to each other for a few minutes before their calls faded away and the cove was quiet again. But I was awake and had time to think, to turn over in my mind not the problem with the broken gypsy or the month of time we have spent in limbo trying to sort out repairs, but instead time to be focused on what a magic place we have found ourselves, bobbing about in a sailboat in a cove at the far north of Vancouver Island. To have found space on this planet where we can embrace quiet and solitude. Our view from the head of the bay is down a long body of water with two small islets with Vancouver Island in the background. There are no lights of civilization, seldom the sound of a plane overhead, and about as rare are vessels off in the distance as they make way along the coast of the island. 

There is not a linear equation to finding a place like this, and often the physical place can be found but the inner space needed for a solid connection is missing. We have spent several days here instead of the overnight stop we had planned. By pushing on and making our way around Cape Scott we would have missed out on so much that makes this a special place. When traveling by sail I find that we often spend the day focused on the physical act of sailing the boat and navigating safely, we'll anchor typically late in the day, sort out putting the boat to bed, and work out the plan for the next day and deal with assorted boat chores - run the water maker, fix meals, etc. And although we are always receptive to appreciating a place we don't always get to embrace it as fully as when we are in a place for days, such as here. I love the calm of places like this and the space to think and to slow down. 

The people we continue to meet along the way has also been a rich part of the experience. We have connected with people that we know from Port Townsend, others that we have met briefly earlier this year and now hail as long lost friends, and we have bumped into people that after a few minutes chatting invited us over for conversation, gave us large fillets of salmon, fishing lures, and sourdough starter. 

There are these dimensions to traveling under sail, slowly poking along, sometimes taking a few steps back or sideways or meandering in circles, that make this mode of travel magic. The great days on the water with all our sails up, the people that we meet, and conversely the solitude of remote waters, are experiences that go to the core of my sense of being human. 

We had good news yesterday from the maker of our windlass. They have cast a new gypsy and shipped it out in the day's FedEx. Depending on Canadian customs we should have the part Monday, perhaps Tuesday. Tomorrow we'll sail back to Port Hardy and wait on the part. That will give us a couple of days to restock some provisions, maybe make a laundry run, embrace the "chaos" of civilization. 

If all goes well we'll head around to the west side of the island next week.

Port Hardy

June 29, 2016

Update: We are in Port Hardy now. The part arrived yesterday. It was cast marginally better than the previous gypsy but still locks up on retrieval and causes the links to skip and fly on deployment. I think we are pretty much over working with the manufacturer on a solution. We have a couple of work arounds - manual, hauling up the chain and anchor (tried that out yesterday and that's a good workout!) or working with the "wildcat" on the other side of the windlass, that's a smooth drum used to retrieve our rope anchor rode. We can use that to run a snubber line to the chain rode and haul it in. Tedious and slow but safe and not too much effort. We'll use some combination of those and move on. We are going to provision in Port Hardy today and move north tomorrow. 

This morning "Bad Kitty" one of the boats racing in the Race 2 Alaska (R2AK) was tied up at the end of our dock. They broke their rudder a few miles out last night and limped into port around midnight, their race is over. It is a tricked out, racing catamaran with a crew of 4 seriously experienced guys and they were in the running for the money. Breakdowns and repairs seem to come with the territory, even with the pros. 

Port Hardy is a good stop for provisioning and taking care of a few tasks. But feeling ready to move on and get over to the wild side. 

Alert Bay

We took a field trip over to Alert Bay, a small 'Namgis First Nations village a short ferry ride from Port McNeill. The sun was out, plants were in full bloom, lots of people out strolling and friendly. The downtown is a mix of older buildings that are abandoned and fading away, and a few buildings that have been fixed up. There is a new walkway along the waterfront with benches to take in the view. A highlight of the village is the museum of First Nations people artifacts, mostly masks. The masks are beautiful and cover a wide span of time. It had me thinking of how masks are used in so many cultures around the world, that there must be some deep cultural drivers that push people to tell stories around the fire, assuming the identities of mythological figures or to tell stories of their ancestors and daily experiences. 

We have been waiting for a replacement for our broken gypsy. The new part arrived but does not fit. In the 18 or so years from when our windlass was built the manufacturer has changed some of the parts and the new gypsy will not fit on the old windlass. Many calls and photos sent later we think they have built a solution for us, which should be delivered tomorrow. FedEx lost the last package they sent, so we'll see how this goes. If it arrives and works as spec'd we'll anchor out in front of Port McNeill for a night and try it out, then be on our way north. 

We've been here a week and a half, the weather has been mostly just fine if not great, so we've been able to work on various other projects. Taking advantage of the internet access to download weather apps, splicing tutorials and a couple of movies. I've started to work on splicing the cones onto our series drogue - one of my summer back burner projects. Good rainy afternoon work. 

Gypsies, Grizzlies, Whales and Watermakers

Douglas Prepping The New Watermaker

Gypsy - worn out at the center

The view from Boat Bay across Johnstone Strait to Robson Bight

Port McNeill, BC 

Douglas and I are in the marina at Port McNeill, it is flat-water calm and the sun has broken through the low hanging clouds for a evening blast of sunshine into the cabin. It’s 7:45pm as I write this and the sun is going strong, we’ve been having a fair amount of light past 10pm recently. Port McNeill has been the first place we’ve tied up to a marina since leaving Port Townsend on May 5th, and it is the first place we’ve been since Nanaimo where we could walk and really stretch our legs. There is something incredibly luxurious about being tied to a solid dock after a few weeks at anchor. We have water, power, the ability to hop off any time we choose and stroll up to the grocery store for fresh lettuce and a couple of lemons from California. And it is good to stretch those legs. 

The trip north has been a good ride so far, we’ve had some excellent sailing, we’ve slowed down and picked our weather and haven’t felt rushed. We’ve had a few pods of Dall’s Porpoises swim with us, we’ve seen a few Orca pods and had them surface near Tumbleweed. A grizzly bear family walked the beach near one of our anchorages and we’ve seen numerous majestic eagles.  We’ve also hit a couple equipment snags and done a couple repairs that stole a few days from our schedule but we’ve tried to keep a long term perspective and how these things fit into a bigger picture. 

A big decision for us was to realize that trying to rush north to jump off to Haida Gwaii and then rushing south to explore the west coast of Vancouver Island was causing us to move too quickly, and think too often of using the motor to move along instead of picking our weather and sailing. We had a permit that started June 1, good for the month, and at the rate we are traveling wouldn’tbe able to arrive at Haida Gwaii until mid-June. We motored a lot last summer and one of the topics we return to was a desire to sail more this year. With weather and equipment issues setting us back a couple weeks we’ve realized that we’d be rushing to get to Haida Gwaii and we’d rather not go to the islands in that mind frame. So we are heading around to the west coast of the Vancouver Island earlier and will take more time to explore the west coast. 

As we prepared to drop anchor in the bay in front of Port McNeill Douglas noticed something amiss with our windlass. The windlass is a motorized device used to haul the anchor and anchor chain up, ours is made by Lighthouse and solidly built, heavy duty stainless steel parts and massive cast bronze “gypsy” that grabs the chain as it hauls it in. There are few moving parts and those parts are all so robust that it is hard to imagine a piece breaking with normal use. Yet the cast bronze gypsy has done just that, sheared in half at the base where the two halves connect. Further investigation has revealed that at some point the windlass was serviced or assembled without a key bearing or spring and so the bronze part has worn over the years in that area until it is now paper thin and finally snapped like a stick to the achilles tendon of a giant. We went through the many now familiar stages of equipment failure aboard a yacht - Shock (WTF - this thing is cast bronze and massive stainless plate?!) Anger (good lord, again? We just replaced the water pump at the last port. How many casks of aged rum do we need to toss overboard to Neptune?!) Denial (I’m sure there is a super rational answer to this and these parts that are now freewheeling just need a quick shot of WD40 and a whack with a hammer) Resignation (Well, I’m sure it’s going to cost a fortune and take 9 days to get the part shipped here, let’s track down some interwebs and get cracking) Deep breath, positive outlook - this happened on a windless day, a few hundred yards from a marina, not on the west coast of Vancouver Island, or a few days ago when we were solidly set with 240 feet of chain out in heavy mud. Trying really hard to get to Deep Breath area as quick as possible, and with all the practice we’re having, that’s getting easier and easier. 

As much as sailing, or really cruising under sail, is about sail trim, responding to weather, route planning, and enjoying the scenery, there is a lot of dealing with equipment and gear failure. The recent failures of our windlass gypsy and the water pump are two examples. The water pump was serviced over the winter, we replaced the parts with a set of spares we had on board, that looked great, but turned out to be 10 years old, it turns out rubber parts don’t age well and after so years the parts failed quickly. The windlass gypsy is another system that from an inspection short of pulling the whole thing apart wouldn’t reveal that the discs had wornpaper thinwhere they joined the axle. It is the nature of these vessels - so many complex systems in such rough environments. 

Update on the gypsy: The folks at Lighthouse, who make the windlass, have shipped out the replacement parts. Hope to have them tomorrow and be off on Saturday, or we’ll see them on Monday. They were great to deal with, small company with solid customer service. Really appreciate that when we are out here trying to figure these things out. Also discovered an excellent machine shop - if you are out this way and have needs for machining - Micron Machine up on the hill behind Port McNeill is excellent. Super friendly owner and they are set up to do pretty much anything that can be imagined in the realm of working with metals. They do a lot of work for the timber industry, including pneumatic saws that hang from helicopters to top trees, as well as about anything for the fishing industry. 

We’ll wrap up a few more details around Tumbleweed today, work on provisioning and get ready for the work on the windlass. 

I am also starting to post our locations through Farkwar again. They have a widget that I was able to embed on the site - you’ll see a map of our locations if you use the “Locations” tab. If you’d like more details on the locations you can go to www.farkwar.com  you can sign up to follow us and have our updates sent to you as we post them. This year I’ll try to be better with a quick note on the anchorages. 

Below are a few journal entries from the trip so far. 

Blubber Bay, Texada Island, BC

N 49º47.617 W 124º36.913

May 19, 2016

Good day on the water - got off to a civilized start around 10am. Leaving False Bay we had winds between 10 and 15 knots. All sails up we headed west for Vancouver Island under overcast skies with rolling 3 foot swells. We had a great ride for a couple of hours and then the wind started to ease itself out of the picture. Throughout the morning the winds settled and the seas calmed until a bit over lunch we changed up the game plan and switched over to the motor. A couple of hours after that we decided that Clam Bay was too distant of a destination for the night and set our sights on a more manageable Blubber Bay at that north tip of Texada Island. It is an odd spot - we anchored here last year on our trip north - it has a gravel mine at one side of the cove and a ferry dock for a large ferry that works between here and Powell River - but the remaining areas as wooded and the shores are empty except for birds. The view is similarly split - the view up to the northwest toward Campbell river is wide open and graced with a vast expanse of the Strait of Georgia, to the west are views of the hills on Vancouver Island, in the distance to the east are snow capped peaks on the BC mainland. But immediately to the east is the town and mill of Powell river, a sprawling mess of civilization running along the strait. 

This morning we had two small guests in the cockpit, little songbirds that perched on the stern arch, glancing around constantly for larger birds that wanted them for breakfast. The held their wings out and puffed their chests, drying them I'd guess. We watched them from the companionway for several minutes, waiting for them to see us and take flight, but it took Douglas going above to rustle them to flight. They left us with a few melodic chirps and split for another part of the bay. 

Tomorrow we intend to up anchor early and head to Campbell River. The currents around the town and the stretch of water to the west of it - Discovery Passage - are some of the most notorious in the area. At maximum flows the currents can reach up to 16 knots, staggering considering Tumbleweed tops out somewhere under 7 knots.  We were in Campbell river last year and our memories are strong with our transit into and out of the marina there - the cross current just pulling through the break water was epic, we had the bow pointed diagonally to the entry as we muscled through under full throttle against the current. Our plan is to arrive at Campbell river at slack tide tomorrow to avoid such drama, and to head up through Discovery Passage at slack tide on Saturday morning. A couple of 5am call times for the crew of Tumbleweed, but at least tomorrow we'll be in a marina which means the luxury of use-as-much-as-we-want hot water and the fleshpots of Campbell river. Or as least as much as we can stand before conking at 9pm.

The skies have cleared and the air stilled, it is a lovely evening here. 

Douglas Bay, BC 

N 50º28.965' W 125º44.985 

May 21, 2016

The narrowest of channels that separate the waters of Queen Charlotte Strait and the waters of the Strait of Georgia act as time release vault doors between the areas around them. In these areas they are monsters of whirlpools, overflows, boat crushing volumes of water that boil most every hour of the day. The passkey through these narrow places is knowing when slack tide occurs - simple enough in this day and age. Today we hit a bonus trifecta-plus-plus of narrows - Yaculta, Gillard, Dent, Green Point, and Whirlpool rapids. We hit each one at near optimum time, lining ourselves up and watching as the waters began to subside before motoring through the waters like a couple Aladdins on a magical carpet. 

Our morning didn't begin under an auspicious sign. As we pulled up anchor we were caught far short of the chain length and quickly realized that the chain had snagged on something deep underwater. Our anchorage was in a small bay used by a logging operation - they clear cut the area and haul the logs to the shore of the bay where they roll them down a ramp made from other trees, the logs are gathered together into a raft and a tug boat pulls them off to a sawmill where they are converted into toilet paper, plywood, maps of Ecuador, lumber pencils, Japanese lanterns, that sort of thing. The bay has been in use for a while and in addition to logs that float around until soaked with water until they sink to the bay's bottom, there are, I'm guessing, several Model T Fords, a tug boat, 8 refrigerators,  and who knows what all strewn about the bottom. We tried powering forward, then in reverse. Not an inch of give. A few nights ago we had dinner with our friends Bob and Ann on Charisma and they told us how they dealt with having their chain snagged on coral columns in the south pacific - they maneuver over the top of the snag, drop extra chain to loosen the chain below and give them some swinging room and then slowly work in a clockwise manner around the snag and "unwind" the snag. If that didn't work, they'drun counter clockwise. We didn't need to drop extra chain but we tried working slowly, first counter clockwise, and after about 3/4 of a turn we felt a tug and then easing of the chain - we were free! 

We motored out of Francis Bay with little wind but it picked up in Calm Channel, we were early for the timing through Yaculta Rapids and so hoisted our main and staysail, tacking lazily across the waters leading up to the rapids. We had a bit over an hour extra, the winds would build to 14 or so knots, then dwindle to 5, chain direction slightly, puff back up to 14. The sun was out, the waters calm, it was a beautiful morning. 

Yaculta Rapids are actually three sets of rapids - Yaculta, Gillard, and Dent. Timing needs to be pretty keen for a sailboat that cruises at a little over 6 knots. The current can run several knots against (or with) and keeled boats are more susceptible to the eddies and whirls in the water, getting spun about. Of the three, Dent is the most feared section of water. There are photographs of overfalls of water three feet high, like a running wave of water that roils off into massive whirlpools. In one sequence a large fishing vessel had mistimed their transit and is seen rolling heavily side to side and swinging all around, barely making their way through. We fared much better, we rode through with the current in our favor - giving us a couple of extra knots of boat speed over ground.

After passing through the rapids we motored up through the fjords of Cordera Channel. The winds dropped away, the waters were flat and the views up the various channels we passed were amazing. In mid afternoon we dropped anchor a couple of hours at Bickley Harbor to wait for the slack tide at Green Point rapids.  Our timing was good for Green Point as well and we motored through the rapids without drama. This put us in good shape to transit Whirpool Rapids and anchor for the night at Douglas Bay - a nice spot tucked away just north of the rapids. We were at Douglas Bay last year and really like this spot - good motivation for traveling into the evening. Whirlpool rapids were a bit more exciting than the previous rapids - on the north side of the passage we encountered numerous small whirlpools and eddies, and the current was strong. It was running in our favor and for a few minutes we were traveling at 10 knots speed over ground. Although we hadn't seen very many boats all day there were 5 already at anchor when we arrived. We anchored in 70 feet of water to the north of the other clustered boats.

Quinoa with basil sauce, asparagus, oyster mushrooms, boxed wine and early bed. Still night, waters calm, a large Canadian Coast guard cutter anchor further up the fjord in Forward Harbor. 

Blenkinsop Bay, BC 

N50º29.212 W126º00.353 

May 25, 2016

Short day, motored out Douglas bay at 11am. It was still and quiet, all the other boats had left. It is a lovely anchorage, with a nice sand beach, a good place to hang out if we weren't so focused on Haida Gwaii. 

Out of Forward Bay and into Sunderland Channel we started to see steady winds over 10 knots, gusting into the teens. We hoisted the main and staysail and sailed with the set up as the winds continued to rise to the high teens, gusting to 21 knots. We had some great sailing in choppy seas, wind right on the nose, tacking our way up Sunderland toward Johnstone Strait. As we reached the west end of Sunderland and could see the chop out in Johnstone we tucked a reef into the main and watched as the wind started to hold steady in the low 20's with gusts into the mid-20's. Fun sailing for a couple of hours. In the early afternoon we realized that our goal of Boat Bay was colliding with the reality of our slow progress and the forecast for stronger winds later in the afternoon/early evening. 

We had picked out Blenkinsop Bay as our back up and so as we came out of Sunderland Channel we worked out way up into Blenkinsop. It is a beautiful spot with views into Johnstone strait and of the mountains on Vancouver Island as well as on mainland BC. No other boats in sight at the moment. Shallow, mud with good holding, our favorite combination for a stormy night. We have put out 240 feet of chain and are solidly set. Forecast for tonight and tomorrow is pretty windy - up into the 30's. We'll most likely hang out here tomorrow as well. 

Excitement of the day was spotting a Grizzly bear and her two cubs. The momma grizzly was massive. It was so cool to see them saunter down the beach turning over rocks and looking for snacks, rolling in the tall grass, enjoying the sun. We watched through binoculars for about 30 minutes until they wandered back into the forest. We are a thousand or so feet from shore so they couldn't see orhear us and the wind was blowing away from them, so they didn't know we were watching. Unless the eagle told them. 

Otherwise we were getting ready for moving north tomorrow. We get a break in the weather and are ready move on. 

We have realized that trying to make it to Haida Gwaii and travel down the west coast of Vancouver island in a way that let's us enjoy those places in the way we'd like to is just too much for the time we have available. We have been looking at how long it takes to get up north to Haida Gwaii andrealizing we'd have to start motoring a lot and making long days for the next week or two to make the jump across Queen Charlotte Sound. We have sadly decided to put off going to Haida Gwaii to another time when we can enjoy it and not rush.  But we are really excited to get to focus on the west coast of Vancouver island. 

Our plan tomorrow is go head north toward Port McNeill. If the weather is good and we are making good time we'll head up all the way, we are also looking at Boat Bay which is across from Robson Bight, I think I wrote to you that it is famous for being a place that Orcas come up on the beach and scrape barnacles off their bellies. We anchored there last year and it is a pretty nice spot. There is a nice beach and the island has all sorts of little camp sites set up for observers who spend the summer there counting whales. A nice place to walk around and get a view across Johnstone Strait. Last year we didn't see any whales, but maybe this year! 

Boat Bay, West Cracroft Island, BC

50º31.398'N -126º33.681'W 

May 25, 2016

 Exciting day on the water. After sitting in Blenkinsop Bay for 5 days while a wave of gales passed us by, it was nice to be on the water and under sail. We have been wanting to test our new storm sails - a trys'l and storm stays'l - that Hasse and company made for us. We prepped everything yesterday and then tested them out today, running them up, adjusting lines, taking notes on what to work on, notes on how we set everything up so that in a storm situation we'll be more efficient.

The sails are excellent, really well made, and it was nice to see them working. Still have a few things to work out before they are perfect but much better to sort this out and practice in a few knots of wind than out in a storm. After a week of gales the winds were pretty calm out in Johnstone Strait today - we didn't see much over 10 knots and mostly closer to 8. Still, it was odd that we were one of the only boats actually sailing - we saw one other boat all day that had sails up, everyone else was motoring - much like our trip through here last year. 

Boat Bay is a nice anchorage, especially in calm weather. It opens up to the south and has a many miles long view down the strait. We have been watching tugs, barges, fishing boats and a cruise ship since anchoring. This site is across the strait from Robson Bight, ecological reserve, where Orcas like to run up on the beach and scrape barnacles off their bellies. Later in the summer researchers and grad students will be here in Boat Bay looking across the strait to count and track orca pods. Last year we walked around all their empty campsites left over from the previous year. 

As we finished anchoring and were putting Tumbleweed to bed, a spry gent in his 60's rowed up in a gorgeous rowboat. He was rowing from Victoria to Ketchikan. The boat pretty tidy, very little gear that was visible. He mentioned that he grew up in Campbell river and was a guide in these areas at one point. The boat's name was "Rippingale" after a teacher who told them a story about how he had rowed to Alaska. Recently the man called the teacher and told him that he was so inspired by that story he told them in the 6th grad that he was now rowing to Alaska himself. The teacher laughed and told him that he had made the story up and had never actually rowed up here. Nonetheless, he’s rowing for Ketchikan and making good time. He said it took him a stunning 4 days from Victoria to Campbell River, I may have misheard him. That’s a good clip. He set up the boat so that he can rest it on the beach for sleeping, with a little tent over it, cushioned with floats. When the tide comes in he floats up and is ready to start rowing for the day. 

Saw a whale spouting as we motored out of the anchorage this morning, and another whale surfacing very near the mouth of Boat Bay as we were dropping our sails. The cove is somewhat open to Johnstone Strait and I wouldn’t want to be here in a southerly, the long beautiful views down the strait would bring massive swell and fetch in a blow. But on a quiet night it is a beautiful spot, the small island that buffers the cove from the strait is densely wooded with wind gnarled trees, and large logs have been wedged into the rocks above the high water line. To the north is a nice landing beach and there are paths through the forest to the observation platforms for counting whales. 

Last Dance

Last year we spent six weeks in Sitka,  Alaska where we became friends with Carl and Mary Ann Peterson who fish for salmon on their boat "Last Dance". I spent a couple of days out on the water with them and put together a short film. Meeting them was the highlight of our time in Sitka and among the best experiences of our trip north last year. They troll for salmon all around Baranof island, based out of Sitka. Tumbleweed was docked next to Last Dance for most of our stay in Sitka and we were pretty much adopted by Carl and Mary Ann within minutes of docking. 

 

North to Haida Gwaii

Roche Harbor, WA 

We are again on the move. We left Port Townsend on May 5th, celebrating Cinco de Mayo and a smooth crossing of the Strait of Juan de Fuca with beers and tacos in Griffin Bay, anchored off the site of what was once American Camp. A multi-cultural collision of history. 

We spent the winter in Port Townsend, focused on boat projects - repairs, changes, improvements, inspections, and on, running to a list of something like 120 projects large and small. From pulling and inspecting our chainplates, installing new engine mounts, rebedding a portlight, etc. Each task taking on multiple dimensions of research, sourcing materials, prepping, executing, tinkering, finalizing. And although there are many blogs and sites devoted to the arcana of boat projects (and thank you all for doing them - I visited many of them and they were immensely helpful!) this is not one of those sites......yet. I might someday post images from our winter work but at the time was mostly focused on doing not documenting. We had so many tasks to tackle that trying to properly capture them in a way to share would have blown our schedule and we’d still be tied up at Boat Haven marina. 

Among the additions one that has become instantly beloved are new sails from Carol Hasse and company. Our previous sails were original to Tumbleweed and almost 20 years old. The new sails are excellent in light air. We’ve been sailing handily in 6 or 7 knots, windspeeds that would have had the old genoa sagging in the breeze. The new sails are beautifully made and hold their shape so well. It’s a joy to hoist them in the light winds we’ve had recently and drift along. 

We returned south at the end of October, moving quickly to get ahead of the bad weather that was building to the north. When we arrived in Port Townsend we learned that Douglas’ mother was ill and we flew to visit her. Sadly, her health took a turn for the worse and she passed away in November. We were grateful that we could be with her, and with Douglas’ father.  It was a melancholy end to the year. 

After the new year we started in on our list of tasks to get ready for our next chapter. We had originally planned to head down the west coast and head for the South Pacific, but as we researched routes and weather it became obvious that it makes more sense to leave for the South Pacific from Mexico in March.  We altered plans and are going to head for Haida Gwaii, specifically Gwaii Haanas which is a collection of islands off the coast of northern British Columbia, that is set aside as a First Nations heritage site and nature conservancy. We have a permit to visit the area for the month of June and are working our way north. 

For the moment we are in Roche Harbor sorting out some other paperwork. Once we have that completed we’ll be able to cross over to Canada and begin heading north.  

Port Townsend, Six Months Later

A smack of moon jellyfish

Port Townsend, WA 

Douglas and I are back in Port Townsend after six months of traveling north through the inside passage. We made our way through the waters of the Strait of Georgia, Queen Charlotte Strait, Fitz Hugh Sound, Chatham Strait, Peril Strait, and others with names we had contemplating and trying to imagine the past year. Spending weeks in isolated anchorages and sailing through waters without another boat in sight. We visited small communities in British Columbia and southeast Alaska, spending six weeks in Sitka, ultimately our favorite town of the trip. The wildlife was a strong and emotionally stirring presence, daily we observed some form of wonder; breaching whales in Chatham Strait, Dall’s Porpoises racing across the bow, eagles on the hunt, flocks of geese making their way south in large V shaped flocks, massive smacks of jellyfish. We sailed through all types of weather, calm days where our sails hung loosely, the waters flat and undulating like oil, and days where the seas were whipped up and the winds were blowing steadily in the high 20s, gusting higher. We motored more than we wanted, and I nursed a running a grudge against tidal currents that ran through narrow channels, often with no wind. On our way south we felt driven to make the most of all good weather days, pushing on under sail or motor, aiming to get miles behind us. 

Mostly I felt humbled each day on the water.  Those days gave me plenty of time for thought and reflection. The scale of the environment we passed through and the abundance of wildlife were awe inspiring and something I enjoyed thoroughly. The further north we traveled the less we saw signs of society. The clear cutting and fish farms that were so present along the southern BC coastline gave way as we rounded Cape Caution and pretty much disappeared once we crossed into Alaska.  Each night that we anchored in a new cove we would be entertained by eagles, gulls, seals, sea otters further north. 

We left Sitka about five weeks ago, pushing to get past Cape Caution before  bad weather locked up the area to the north of Vancouver Island. Once around the cape there was the business of getting through Johnstone Strait, another notorious body of water, along the east side of the island. (I read last night that a boat with four aboard flipped in the narrows, I don’t know the circumstances, but when the currents run there they can create ship destroying whirlpools and large flows of standing waves). To travel south along the east side and in protected waters, of Vancouver Island,  we had to pass that relatively narrow slot where storm strength winds begin this time of year to work against the currents to produce truly ugly water. But we played our our timing well, making it through both bodies of water, getting in some excellent sailing along the way. The window is closing, since we passed through the gales have been building and running for days at a time up north. We met a couple that was caught north of Cape Caution a couple of days after we had rounded and they told us of sitting through 65 knots gusts while tied to the dock in Shearwater.  

Daylight started to work against us as well. For months we had enjoyed long days with dawn starting to glow at 4:30 in the morning and sunset lingering to 10pm, giving us opportunities for extending our days. When we needed to continue on to a distant anchorage or if we needed to be on the water early to meet slack water at a specific place we had plenty of light to work by. Over the past few weeks the days started to clip themselves shorter at either end, the sun showing up later each morning and leaving us each evening as we sorted out anchoring. 

We have a map taped up to the bulkhead that separates the salon from the v-berth that covers the inside passage. It begins with Port Townsend just visible above the green painter’s tape we used to secure it, and covers the area northward, including Vancouver Island and the British Columbia coast to Aristazabal Island. That is the “southern portion” of the two maps we used to get an overall view of the area we traveled through. There is another map that we used for the northern section. Each night when we  arrived at a new anchorage I’d place an X on the location and write the date. On just this map I’ve just counted 38 spots where we either anchored or tied up to a dock over the past 6 months, there are another 31 spots on the northern section. Each of those slightly scrawled dates represent a mini adventure in anchoring or the happy conclusion to a day on the water. 

Being back in Port Townsend feels good. There are many people on the dock who spent the winter here last year and are returning for another season. It has been nice to catch up. There is something nice about the familiarity of a place after being on the move for a few months. It also is taking a bit of adjusting, after being in so many isolated places and having  a free form to our lives. 

A nice surprise was to see an old friend from Portland who has just started taking courses at the NW School of Wooden Boat building. I hadn’t seen him for 15 years. And now he is docked two boats over, doing classes during the week and then returning to Portland on the weekends to see his family. What a crazy, small world…. 

I think I have a good amount of “processing” time ahead but wanted to post a note to put a punctuation on this portion of the trip. My thoughts at the moment are that there is a lifetime of exploration along the waters north of Cape Caution, we peeked at a small amount and look forward to spending more time in the region. I would head north more quickly in the future, and make our way around Cape Caution and into the northern BC and SE Alaskan waters as soon as possible. I would also like to spend a trip north focused on Haida Gwaii island. And as sailors our next trip would involve more “outside” passage than inside. We had planned on sailing along the outside on our return but repair work in Sitka changed those plans. It is a wonderful part of the world and I hope we are all able to preserve it as long as possible. 

For the moment we have a list of projects to tackle on Tumbleweed and are starting our research for heading to the south Pacific in the spring. The trip north was meant to be a “shake down” cruise, to put our systems through the paces, find out what worked, what could be addressed differently. We learned an incredible amount. A boat like this is a complex set of interconnected systems. Running them for six months mostly on the move has stressed  them and shown us what works well and what we can improve.  And reordered our priorities, giving us a better understanding of what we’ll need to do over the winter to prepare for a trip south. We can enthusiastically endorse the Valiant as a great cruising yacht, Tumbleweed was a pure joy to sail even in the most challenging conditions. 

I’m working on a list of resources we used for the trip, and notes on what worked well, what we’d like to improve, and will post as I get those thoughts organize. 

Ketchikan Revisited

Ketchikan, AK 

Two weeks ago we set out from Sitka on what was intended to be our focused effort to head south. Our first day we got a late start after topping off our fuel and provisions, and motored only a couple hours north of town to a cove in Krestof Sound. After six weeks of life in “town”, trying to find the source of some troubling vibration and rattling sounds from our drive train, and the last few days of getting ready, the weather opened up and we decided to take a down day, hang out and prepare ourselves for a multi-week push south. It was a beautiful anchorage and the weather held, we saw only a couple small boats in an area that before had been heavily trafficked with sport boats and small ferries running up into Peril Strait.

Over the next week we picked up the pace and with the exception of a day that kept us traveling only a few miles due to heavy winds and seas, we made pretty good progress. For much of the following week we had calm seas and very light winds. We put the sails up when we could and motored for the rest. Making a couple of long runs that took us from Peril Strait across Chatham Strait into Herring Bay in one day, from there we went through Frederick Sound into Petersburg in another long day, on through Wrangell Narrows with the tide, and then another solid day running down Clarence Strait to a snug cove on the east coast of Prince of Wales Island. 

Each day we had so many “only in Alaska” moments, the sublime beauty of waking in a fog bank at Herring Bay and motoring out into Frederick Sound in still air, the water undulating like something thick, viscous. Whales around us and off into the distance, surfacing, spouting, diving. Grizzly sightings on shore, birds skimming through the fog and calling out to each other, the mountains of Baranof Island in the distance, raw, chiseled, bearing glaciers on their shoulders. We had hit a groove and were feeling good about our object, getting around Cape Caution and to the relative protection of Vancouver island. 

On the 15th we set out early from Ratz Harbor. The night before we had been welcomed to the anchorage by a small group of Dall’s Porpoises and a large pod of Orcas, they had jumped and twisted, surfacing and diving, two adults raced past with a small baby nestled between them, moving quickly to catch up to the other 9 or so members of the pod heading north. In the morning  we passed a small group of Dall’s porpoises but no sight of the Orcas. Weather was clear and we had steady winds from the south. We hoisted our sails and spent much of the rest of the day sailing down Clarence Strait making way toward Ketchikan or an anchorage nearby. By mid-afternoon the wind had been on our bow the entire day and we were making slow progress, long tacks across the strait, although fun sailing and beautiful, we needed to make a switch to motor to make a safe anchorage for the night. 

The winds were kicking up a pretty healthy chop in the strait by late afternoon, large swell rolling up from Dixon Entrance hitting the ebbing current left us slogging through messy seas. Off the southern coast of Cleveland Peninsula we wrapped something in our propeller. The seas were large at that point, driving kelp, line, nets, scraps of wood under the surface. When we have hit kelp before there is usually a moment of thrashing around from the propeller and then a cloud of green chunks floats up around the stern. This time there was only a prolonged rumble and sound of something rhythmically hitting the hull every few moments. We dropped our revs down, idled, looked around for line, couldn’t see anything in the water. Over the next few minutes we went through our routine of running in reverse, then into forward, hoping to cut through or dislodge whatever had fouled our prop. After a bit we continued on but soon it was clear that whatever  balance we had found after our six weeks of work on the drive train in Sitka had been lost. After a week of the engine and drive train running quietly and strong, we were back to heavy vibrations and unpleasant sounds from the drive train. We could motor at only a couple of knots before the sounds became horrible so we went back to sailing and sailed across the mouth of Behm Canal toward Tongass Narrows, the channel of water that would bring us to Ketchikan. 

Once we had rounded Caamano Point and made our way into Behm Canal the chop from Clarence Strait diminished greatly and we had a shift in the wind to make a clean run to the narrows. We reached Tongass Narrows as the sun set, it was beautiful, the winds dropped a bit and in the protection of the Gravina Island we sailed along gently. As the light faded we switched again to motor to navigate the narrows, the sound of drive train was rough and it was clear something was out of alignment. We could only motor at 2 knots before the vibrations and grating sounds were too much, but we could hold a steady speed and make progress. We alerted the Coast Guard of our situation, and they called around for a towing service for us (the local tow operator had just left for the season), a passing commercial fishing boat offered us a tow. Although moving slowly we were able to navigate, and if we needed to could go to higher speeds it was just noisy. It was dark on the water of the narrows but it is well marked with aids to navigation and well charted, there is a lot of commercial traffic there. It was an exciting few hours for sure, commercial vessels are well lit and communicated with us as they passed for the most part, others we picked up on radar as they approached. At times a vessel would hide among the lights on shore and then pop up near us. But we kept a good look out with binoculars, radar and AIS. 

We entered Tongass narrows around 7pm and pulled up to the marina at 11:30pm. The harbormaster gave us an open,easy to pull into slip. Pulling up to the marina breakwater we realized that both the paper and electronic charts, both supposedly up to date, had the orientation of the breakwater flipped, with the opening on the wrong side. It is not clearly marked and I think in poor weather or if someone at the helm isn’t paying attention, it could be a rough landing. We saw the problem and swung around to the correct side. As we pulled up to the slip we had a last surprise, the current in the narrows runs strongly and as we rounded the breakwater it caught ahold of us and gave us a rude push against the dock. Tied up, engine off, we were in that moment of  post- adrenaline rush, happy to have made it to the dock, glad to be off the water, when some of the crew of the fishing vessel that had offered us a tow came down the dock, they wanted to be sure we had arrived safely and check in on us. Midnight, strangers passed for only a few moments, and yet they had come out to see how we were. There is a lot to love about Alaska. 

Since then we’ve had a diver inspect the propeller and take some video for us. There are signs of missing paint and scratch lines on our shaft, consistent with wrapping something.  We are pretty sure that the engine is out of alignment and our focus over the next few days will be to realign the engine and then begin heading south again. 

Halibut Point, Sitka, Alaska

We are hauled out, on the hard, up on boat stands with our keel settled on a line of cross set wood blocks and the hull propped with two rows of steel jacks. It is a weird, unnatural feeling to be on a boat, 10 feet in the air, the natural rhythm and sway we are so used to gone, making us sometimes stumble for our balance as we move through the cabin. Our neighbors are a large, steel fishing vessel in the throes of foreclosure, and a  wooden fishing boat having her bottom paint redone. 

Halibut Point boatyard is a mix of boat yard,  storage for shipping containers and home to the only deep water dock in Sitka for cruise ships. Although several miles out of town, with no services in the area, some 30 cruise ships docked here this year. When there are no cruise ships the yard is dead except for the occasional fork lift maneuvering a shipping container, or the hum of compressors on a handful of refrigerated containers. The yard is self service, they haul you out, get you on stands and then fade away. The crew here is friendly, helpful if you need something and the facility is pretty well ordered with a large new building to handling tours for folks coming off the ships, but this isn’t a typical boat yard with rows of boats wrapped in plastic with the hum of activity. In the spring this yard is supposed to be hopping with fishermen getting their boats ready for a new year.  With fishing season in full swing, the fleet is out on the water. 

We’ve been in Sitka a month now. We arrived with our nephew Sawyer and plans to see him to the airport and then head south along the west coast of Baranof and Prince of Wales Island. Meandering the outside passage through August, heading for Port Townsend. We had some troubling grinding sounds and heavy vibrations coming from somewhere in the drive train and needed to resolve that before heading out but thought it would be a few days of tinkering and repairs. We’ve since gone through having a diver do an inspection of the shaft and propeller, working with a local mechanic who suggested we pull the transmission for inspection - which we did, an epic undertaking- lots of research, phone calls with the kind and patient folks at CSR in Seattle who we’ve worked with over the past couple of years, until finally all that was left was hauling out the boat for a closer inspection of the propeller and shaft. Once out of the water it was apparent the problem was the propeller. We have a Maxprop, a feathering propeller that works on an elegant set of gears to “feather” the blades to reduce drag when under sail. The blades and the coupler to the prop shaft were all loose and easily wiggled. After a long and enlightening conversation with the owner of Maxprop it was pretty clear that all the problems we have been having were in line with his experience of similarly worn propellers. So off went the propeller for servicing. We shipped it out on Thursday and hope to have it back sometime in the coming week. 

Arriving in Sitka, with our plans for heading south, we had an eye on the calendar. Moving out of August into September the weather shifts toward more rain, heavier winds, and longer storms. We had hoped to be further south by this point to get ahead of unpleasant weather and there has been some anxiety around not keeping to our plans.  But we’ve made an unintended trade, we’ve really enjoyed out time in Sitka. It’s a pleasant town and the people have been wonderful. In particular our neighbors at Thompson marina. 

We were docked next to a couple who live on a  salmon troller and fish the waters around Southeast Alaska. Carl grew up in Sitka and spent his career in northern Alaska as a school administrator before coming back to fish in “semi-retirement”, Mary Ann is a “semi-retired” former ER nurse. From the beginning of our time in the marina there was a constant stream of visitors to their boat, I joked that we docked next to the mayor, and realized later that was probably closer to the truth than I thought. Over the few weeks we were neighbors they adopted us, sharing fish, baked treats, stories, advice and sympathy for our project. 

I spent two days on the water with them, shooting video while they fished. The rains let up and for two days we had perfect summer conditions. Calm seas, open blue skies, lazy puffs of clouds. We’d drift along at one and a half knots, drogues out to keep us slow. Carl would set out the hooks for trolling while Mary Ann took the helm, then back to the cabin for a couple of hours to let the gear “soak”, listening to the banter of the other fishermen, enjoying Mary Ann’s cooking - blueberry muffins one day, chocolate cake another (who can make a light, decadent chocolate cake, while at sea, fishing? Effortlessly?). Once the lines were vibrating from caught salmon he’d bring up the gear with the help of a winch, put the salmon on ice, and then reset for another round. 

The waters to the west of Sitka were packed with trollers, seiners and gill netters. All waltzing around each other at one and a half knots. It was mesmerizing, boats drifting slowly past, giving a wave or a shout if they knew one another. The VHF radio had the occasional squabble over one boat coming too close to another or crowding them into shallow waters. Carl and Mary Ann kept an eye on the commotion and boats around them, smiling at the bad language and behavior over the radio. 

Many of the people out fishing were single handed. A fisherman would set a course with the auto pilot, stroll to the stern of the boat and set out gear, giving the occasional glance around, then head back up to pilot the boat. Not much room for error, and I’m guessing some of the tempers flaring were due to boats wandering. Many of these folks have been doing this work for decades, and make it look easy, but I can’t imagine it’s a field for the faint of heart or inexperienced. One boat holding its course too long could force another boat into a shallow area, dragging their gear and wrecking havoc with their equipment.

But Carl and Mary Ann bring a great deal of joy to fishing, living on the sea, enjoying each other’s company and that of their friends. People stopped by at the dock to share coffee, catch up on the news, discuss fish politics, discuss where the fishing might be best. They offered us the use of their truck. Told us about life in Sitka, and made us feel welcomed and part of the community. There has been a running joke that we won’t get our repairs sorted out in time and will spend the winter here. Carl sees it as a foregone conclusion, and that if we play our cards right we’ll end up with Alaskan citizenship and be able to share in the state tax distribution. I can’t imagine two better ambassadors for the state. 

With these experiences, it’s been hard to look at our problems with our propeller as a complete negative. If we had just dropped Sawyer off at the airport and headed south we would have missed out on meeting Carl and Mary Ann, and getting to know Sitka.  We would have missed the experience of pulling the transmission and going over the entire drive train and getting a better education on our engine. Better to experience as part of a shake down cruise here in Alaska and not somewhere in the South Pacific. 

Sitka, Alaska

Sitka, Baranof Island 

Heading south! We have reached the northern most point of our trip this season. Over the last couple of weeks we have sailed from Petersburg to Sitka, through Frederick Sound, across Chatham Strait and north along the eastern coast of Baranof Island, through Peril Strait (where we had our northern-most anchorage in Deep Bay) and finally through the small cluster of islands and islets just north of Sitka inside Kruzof Island. 

Our nephew Sawyer joined us in Petersburg and his addition to the crew amped up the adventure. It was also impeccable timed,  the beauty of nature between these ports of call has been at the top of the list of what we have experienced on the trip so far. The Humpback whales that went beyond counting in Chatham Strait and as we moved along the east coast of Baranof island, at any moment we could see spouting, or tail slapping or a great tail tipping up into the air - hanging for a moment and then slipping ever so elegantly into the sea. We spent several days in their company, often they were far from us though their massive percussive tail slaps would carry across the water like distant canon fire. We had a couple surface near us, one that came up fairly close to the boat and began to methodically pound his long flipper on the water's surface. 

The sailing itself was spotty, as it has been for most of the trip, with the exception of our crossing of Chatham Strait which was the the stand out day of sailing of the trip to day. A steady 28 knots and a healthy swell working up from the Gulf of Alaska made for a fast and exciting crossing. Other days we might get the sails up for a few hours before the winds disappeared. 

Our first night out of Petersburg we anchored in Thomas Bay with views of glaciers and some impressive peaks. Only a few miles from town and that part of Alaska begins to feel remote. Baird and Patterson Glaciers are pretty large and when the mist parted for a glimpse of Patterson it was an impressive sight - a large face, hundreds of feet high, covering the side of a mountain. 

Red Bluff Bay was the favorite anchorage. After a wild ride across Chatham Strait, and with the winds still blowing in the high-20's we motored into the narrow, winding passage at the bay's mouth and in moments the winds dropped to a couple knots, the waters stilled and the world calmed. Red Bluff Bay is a lengthy, winding passage through high cliffs with impressive waterfalls, over 20 from the mouth to the head of the waters. The moment we came into the entrance we felt we were crossing over into a forgotten spot slipped out of time, there were  comments about Jurassic Park with all the waterfalls, lush greenery and little islets. The anchorage had views of a massive waterfall cascading from a lake hidden from view, and when the mists when clear we could see snowy peaks and an impressive granite spire. 

At Red Bluff Sawyer had what will in the years to come be taken as a tall tale of fishing, and I'm sure he'll have to defend the story. It is sad that fishermen through the ages have embellished their accomplishments to such an extent that when one really does have a true story of "the one that got away" it will only be met with arched eyebrows and skepticism. Let me set the story down now so that skeptics can park their eye rolling and appreciate for a moment the beauty of the salmon lost. On his first cast (really!) Sawyer gave a slight tug of his line and looked over the water as though something not quite right was going on, before telling us that he maybe had a fish on. There was a moment of suspended belief when none of us really thought he'd hooked a fish, then the tip of the rod arched downward with a great jerk and we all shouted out, and set to work gathering up the net, running to life lines, and yelling encouragement. The salmon made a break for it - running deep and hard away from the boat, Sawyer had to work his way around the shrouds, stern arch and across the cockpit, as the salmon made the occasional mad dash and then dove deeply only to be reeled in ever so slowly. After a good deal of this the salmon surfaced and floated, exhausted. I leaned over with the net and it made a short run for it, tricking us into believing it was tuckered out. I went for another grab with the net, this time the salmon went head first into the net, it felt like I'd swooped up a large dog, the net seemed far too small for the fish, as I went to scoop it up it thrashed around, left the hook in the net, backflipped itself out of the mess and disappeared. In short - skillful rod work brought the salmon in, a net too small for such a beast let it slip away. 

Fishing went downhill from there but we did have some great kayaking! 

Our next anchorage along the coast of Baranof Island was Warm Springs, a small community of houses tucked up along the edge of a rain forest. The houses and boardwalk are all wood deck on supports, the ground is so damp and constantly shifting. We followed a boardwalk up into the forest behind town to a hot spring pool beside a waterfall and spent a couple of hours soaking in the pool and taking in the beauty of nature. There were a couple of small rock pools built around large boulders that cascaded into a stretch of white water at the head of the waterfall that drops into the bay. We anchored for the night in a small cove in the bay, hidden from the view of the community. There we were entertained by a baby seal and kayaked over a school of salmon, who had zero interest in our fishing lures. 

Over the next few days we motored north in very light winds through Peril Strait, which we caught on a calm day. We saw Dall's porpoises in the strait and a few more Humpback whales. We were up early to catch the slack tide to run through Sergius Narrows, a beautiful, raw passage that at the ebb gave us a 4 knot boost. Currents there can run to 9 knots off ebb, frightening. But we had a swift, lovely passage and made for an anchorage off the east side of Kurzof Island,  a nice spot with a wide shallows to one side and a cluster of small islets to the other. I kayaked over the shallows and noticed that they swiftly went from 20 feet or so to a few inches. Later that day when a Nauticat  sailboat came into the anchorage I saw it making for the shallows and hailed the skipper on channel 16 - he responded with:  "Yeah, I think I know what you're calling me about. I can confirm it shallows here" and was stuck. The tide was pretty much out, but over the next hour his boat listed over heavily and was a sad sight. He took his anchor out by dinghy and came over to say that it was no big deal, he was going to go fishing until the tide came in. He wasn't bothered a bit and soon was floating again. 

All too soon we were motoring into Sitka, where we spent a couple of days sightseeing with Sawyer, enjoying the luxuries of unlimited water,  fresh veggies and a great food truck. We were sad to put him on the plane home, we had a great time and it was a different adventure for us to have someone to share the trip with. Poetry nights and fair weather late night dinners were the highlights for me. The timing worked out so well, we saw more wildlife and had some of the best anchorages of the trip.

We are in Sitka for a few more days. We have had ongoing issues with what we thought was the prop but now think might be with the transmission. We had a diver do an inspection and he gave the prop a clean bill of health, we sent recordings of the sounds we were having with the engine to CSR in Seattle and they are leaning toward transmission problems. We will be heading south along the outside passage and want to be sure the problem is cleared up before we do. Sitka is a great town and there are excellent boat facilities, hopefully this goes quickly and isn't too painful.

Ketchikan AK

Ketchikan, Alaska After a month of wandering the BC coast, with a short stop in Shearwater for supplies, it feels a bit unreal to be docked in downtown Ketchikan. We have a slip right in the center of the action, our neighbor is a massive Norwegian Cruise ship, it pulled in this morning around 6:30 and will most likely move south in a couple of hours. Last night there was a Holland American liner in its place until sunset.

Yesterday morning we were in Foggy Bay, a stopping point on the way from the Canadian border to Ketchikan, a serene cove surrounded by forest with a notch that gave us a view out into Revillagigedo Sound. The route from the cove was shallow at low tide when we left and we motored slowly in almost no wind, winding around to the mouth of the inlet to the cove. As we left the inner cove two deer swam across our path, coming to the mainland from their night’s retreat on a little islet.

It was perfectly calm as we motored north from Foggy Bay to Ketchikan. we had some weird vibrations with our prop and kept our speed down. We came into sight of Ketchikan shortly after lunch. Quite the change from the serenity of the past month. There was a long line of cruising boats making their way to the city - it is the major port of entry for all boats heading north into the US. Long liners and sport fishermen with charter crews were out in force, the long liners had their rigs down and fishing along the shoreline, charter fishermen were running their clients out at full speed, other boats were idling along fishing along the shore as well. Two cruise ships headed our way as we came into Tongass Narrows, which is as named, narrow. We idled along as they passed by closely, a sudden wall of windows and people watching, taking photos.

Pulling into Ketchikan we were given our dock assignment in the city dock, right in the heart of the action. We went along to the stern of a Holland American cruise ship and found the narrow slot into the small marina. I circled at the mouth of the marina a couple times while Douglas finalized our shore ties, during which time four float planes landed within feet of us, two landed at either side in tandem at one point. It was all a bit nerve wracking like we’d been pulled into some circus act.

From the calm morning of two deer swimming across the channel to the whirlpool of Ketchikan.

It feels good to to be in Alaska. We came through this way 12 years ago and talked about coming back this way at some point, bringing kayaks and taking a ferry to various towns and exploring from there. Coming back in our own boat wasn’t even remotely on our minds. Alaska has been a place we have been aiming for the past couple of months, we’re not sure how far north we’ll travel, Glacier Bay is a remote point in our minds, there is so much to see and explore just between here and Juneau.

We’ll spend the next couple of days here, sorting out the issues with the prop, taking on provisions, enjoying the circus.

Edith Harbor, Dundas Island

One of the most other-worldly anchorages we've found. West of Prince Rupert, across Chatham Strait, Edith Harbor is tucked away among a collections of bonsai garden topped islets. The approach in at low low tide, we are close to a full moon, was along a granite cliff and through granite upthrust along either side of the channel. After an epic day of sailing we motored in through the passage at around 7:30 last night, shaking our heads, overwhelmed by the beauty. The sun was still high and the water was dazzling with diamond like reflections. 

Yesterday we set out with modest goals - sail to Lawson Cove, a bit west of Prince Rupert, from there sail to Foggy Bottom in the US, an anchorage allowed by US customs as long as we call ahead, at least so we've read. Setting out yesterday morning at six the waters were lightly rippled like a sheet of poured glass, with slight undulations and wavelets, but diffuse. The sky was a delicate blue and the distant mountains had a subtle softness, stepping away in various cool shades. There was a knot of wind and so we motored out, chugging along, passing long lines of debris - logs, whole trees, bull kelp, sticks - organized by various ebb currents into undulating bands. Crossing along side, or through them our depth meter would jump from 300 feet to 6 feet, setting off alarms, then drop down again as whatever hidden curtain of kelp slipped by underneath.

After lunch the winds started to pick up, we had motored quickly past Lawson Cove and set our sights on a distant goal. With the weather so favorable and the waters so calm we headed for Dundas Island, out in Chatham Strait and much more exposed to the waters of the Pacific than the inside route heading north out of Prince Rupert, which hugs the BC coast. With the winds at 12 knots we were able to put up all sails soon after passing Prince Rupert. We had the wind coming from the direction we were headed and so made a series of long tacks across the wind enjoying the roller coaster action of the waves coming to us from the Pacific Ocean. It was excellent sailing. Good winds, good sized waves, the BC coastline a range of distant mountains, a couple peaks still showing snow, to the west a clear horizon, a vast field of undulating sea and a pale blue sky above. We made our longest distance yesterday, some 60 nautical miles, impressive for us. The incredibly long days help, we are getting first light around 4am and at 11pm there is enough light to see by. Anchoring and putting Tumbleweed to bed until 8:30 in full light make a long day like that a real joy.

Rum and tonics in the cockpit, massive plates of spaghetti romesco, deep sleep. Rum was a bottle of Ron del Barrilito, Puerto Rican, that we had been given by the charter company we went through when we sailed in the BVI a few years ago. Neither of has ever been that into rum but it seems appropriate out here, and I like the reference of drinking something connected to that trip a few years ago - chartering in a foreign country was so daunting. But it was all part of the foundation we tried to build to be able to take off on a trip like this. And it reminds me of Mom and Bob, who were there with us. Really good memories mixed in with these new ones.

We have this cove to ourselves, it is so peaceful, many songbirds in the trees of the islets. Napoleon the seal just popped his head up. Last night a small flock of Canadian geese flew over us as we tidied up for the night. After a slightly overcast morning the sun is out and burning off the clouds. I'm in a tee shirt in the cockpit, feeling like a summer morning.Homemade granola for breakfast.

We had an excellent day at Edith Harbor instead of moving north. We put together the kayaks and spent the day paddling around the islets in the harbor. The harbor has what seems like at least a dozen small islets, each a beautiful base of granite, horizontally colored - first with brown and yellow from seaweed and silt at the low water mark, then a band of dark grey or black from the low to high water mark, then a band of white lichen above high water. The subtle tones and richness of the granite and various shades of water, kelp, lichen, moss, is austere, like zen master robes. 

Above the granite foundation is a dense mass of gnarled trees and undergrowth, lichen, moss, the occasional well worn animal path, all compacted into a solid green mass, nurtured with a thin cover of soil. I was mesmerized, paddling around each one, drifting along the sheer, high faces of a few that had gained vertical mass. Lots of photos of granite, the patterns, crevices, occasional contrasting trees. Excellent day.

Back to Tumbleweed the wind had died and the sun had come out bringing with it satan's winged insects. Some sort of little fly, maybe black flies? They swarmed over us even though we covered ourselves in Avon Skin So Soft and some herbal bug spray. I think I'll be buying Deet or agent orange in Ketchikan. We hung out our mosquito netting over the cockpit and they kept them mostly at bay, but in the 45 minutes I was on deck taking down the kayaks they attacked my temples and neck, and my temples have 6 or so swollen, bloody marks. Douglas has several good lumps, one bloody one under his left eye and a massive lump on his forehead. They are tiny and soundless, and were gone once the wind picked up. High marks for the beauty of Dundas Island but bring a mosquito net.

Up anchor at 7am, as it surfaced Douglas called me forward to show me that our anchor had snagged on some ancient, rusty slab of metal and it was hooked to our chain. He was working at it with the boat pole for a bit when one of the guides with the MV Parry, set up to do charter fishing out of Prince Rupert, came over and lifted the slab of metal off, freeing us. He thought it might be a leftover piece of one of the mooring buoys that used to be in Edith Harbor. High fives and praise to the crew of the Parry - a beautifully restored large yacht - looks like a workboat from the 40's, I'll have to look it up. They have a collection of 4 sharp looking fishing skiffs they they pull along behind them and take clients out for weeklong fishing excursions. Looks pretty 1st class. Grateful for their help, it would have been a real project for us to get out to the bow and work that thing off, from a rubber dinghy - not a solid aluminum skiff.

We set out this morning from Dundas Island to Foggy Bay, the halfway point to Ketchikan. Very light winds, 1 - 4 knots most of the way, most we saw were 7 knots as we neared Foggy Bay, so no sailing. A real shame - it was sunny and gorgeous, water was flat as far as we could see. Would have been amazing with a little wind.

We scoped out Foggy Bay's Outer Cove but it looks too exposed and the swinging room, depth ratio seemed sketchy. There is also some sort of camp set up on the shore. We went on to the Inner Cove and on the way watched a whale surface several times, maybe a humpback, it was pretty large. Inner Cove is excellent. Plenty of swinging room, protected surrounded by forest with a view through a pass to the sound. We were joined by 2 motor yachts about an hour after we anchored and all is pretty quiet now.

Fury Cove to Kakushdish Harbor

Fury Cove to Kakushdish Harbor

We've had a solid few days coming up from Fury Cove. Bears, whales, a school of jellyfish, numerous birds - many of them eagles.

As we were pulling up anchor at Fury Cove Ray and Gill of SV Kerveza, came over with an offer of fresh caught rock fish. When Ray asked if I knew how to fillet it, I hesitated for a moment, and he offered to fillet it and bring it back over. A few moment later he was back with the fish beautifully filleted and a small ziplock bag of flour and a small ziplock back of crushed cornflakes, with a recipe for how they like to prepare it. Beautiful fish and I was moved by their kindness. They embody this can do, make it happen cruising spirit, they seem to be on the move with their dinghy setting crab or prawn traps or zipping off to catch fish, their dog Kona on the bow a shaggy figurehead.

The forecast was for 15-20 knots of wind in the afternoon and we were ready to finally do some sailing. We motored out of Fury Cove in a dead calm and into the dead calm waters of Fitz Hugh Sound. But the sun was out and the water sparkled as though covered in sequins. After a half hour on the water we spotted a massive whale off in the distance. It dove, kicking up an immense tail fluke that hung in the air for a moment. Twenty minutes later a massive whale surfaced off our port side, taking a few moments to take on air before sliding back under the surface. We identified it as a Minke whale and it might have been the same as the first we saw. Some twenty minutes further on we had our third whale sighting, a different whale we were unable to identify. It surfaced off our port bow, coming up for air a couple of times and taking its time. We were the only vessel in sight, the water was flat, we spent the afternoon scanning north and south but did not seen any other whales.

The entrance of Green Island Anchorage weaves around a few small islets before lining up with a narrow slot in to a small cove. As we made our final approach into the slot we passed over a field of jelly fish. They were white, about hand sized, and in that area appeared to be in the thousands. The water was very clear and as far as we could see into the depths and for several minutes as we idled forward to the cove we passed over them.

Green Island Anchorage is beautiful, enclosed by a rocky shoreline with a small gap to Fitz Hugh Sound. There is a an area of brambles and vivid green vegetation over a midden, otherwise the shore is covered with stunted trees. Navigating into the cove we wove in through a couple small islets and up a back channel and into the entrance which is sheltered from Fitz Hugh Sound by small islands.

We had the cove to ourselves for about an hour before a prawn boat arrived. They promptly dropped anchor and disappeared below deck. But it is a large cove and other than their generator was peaceful and still.

I followed Gill's recipe for the fish, rolling them in flour and crushed cornflakes that I seasoned with smoked paprika, salt and pepper. Fried in the dutch oven. Delicious - firm, white flesh, it's been some time since I've had fish as delicious as that. Served up with mashed potatoes, the last of our lettuce, and a glass of fine boxed wine "from foreign grapes".

The sun went on and on, until late in that evening and we ate in the cockpit, looking out through the small gap in the cove to Fitz Hugh Sound.

We spent a day exploring the cove mostly rowing with the dinghy. (Our dinghy is an inflatable and incredibly practical - we can deflate it and store it below decks, it is lightweight, will take an outboard motor, very stable, holds many people - but rows like a bathtub with short oars. Each time I row it I fantasize about a wooden tender with nice long oars. Lately I've been mentally designing a dinghy out of carbon fiber panels that would slot together and when not in use collapse into a flatpack like a portfolio case.......)

But back to the cove. One of the most beautiful features of Green Island is the site of an ancient midden. Native people had lived at one time on a small islet in the cove and over generations their tossed aside clam shells built up a midden that could archeologically be explored to understand more about them. At present the midden is covered in dense, brilliant green brambles, utterly inaccessible from the shoreline. We rowed around the islet and found the that three of the small islets connected at low tide with a small patch of sand. We tied up the dinghy and began to follow a large game trail up the steep side of the islet. This side of the islet was dense with cedar trees and close undergrowth, the ground spongy and deep with decaying branches, leaves, organic matter. I took a couple photos and began to follow the game trail up to the higher level of the islet and through the trees to the midden. It was dense and dim under the trees and I stopped for a moment to see massive impressions under a couple of the trees, body sized wallowing areas for a large animal, perhaps a bear, in my mind, most like a bear, and certainly a female bear with cubs. The large game trail with footprints became the walking path of grizzlies and my interest in exploring the midden evaporated. Douglas and I went back to the dinghy and rowed off to explore another area.

The next day we finally had a chance to get the sails up and had a beautiful sail to Warrior Cove, a narrow, long indent off Fitz Hugh Sound. Once we were anchored back in a shallow area the swell from the sound mostly disappeared and we had a quiet night with great views down the inlet to the sound. We were entertained by several large bald eagles, one that had a nest at the mouth of the cove high on the tallest tree, a massive pile of branches. I've read that eagle nests can weigh as much as two tons. We tried our hand at crabbing, putting out a trap a short row from the boat, with no luck. We also rowed ashore and walked the small beach. Like most inlets we've seen here there are usually no beaches or just a small landing, for the most part the shoreline is steep rock to the waterline and once it begins to level off and accumulate soil is thick with underbrush and gnarled pine.

From Warrior Cove we sailed for Fancy Cove, through Fitz Hugh Strait to Lama Passage. Coming into the passage at the first red channel marker I saw a massive white splash out of the corner of my eye. A whale had breached and in landing had caused a massive splash. It looked like a small car had been dropped from a helicopter. I went into fwd idle and turned to port, away from the whale. Soon we saw that it was part of a pod and for the next 20 minutes we idled slowly away from them and watched as a group of at least four humpback whales breached, dove, spouted and played around. It was awe inspiring to see a massive whale come fully out of the water, seem to hang for a moment in air and then crash down creating a cloud of spray. We drifted away and used binoculars to watch them at play. They were utterly magnificent and I was overwhelmed with the happiness of seeing such beautiful creatures.

Fancy Cove is beautiful and deserves a keener name than “Fancy” - it sounds like a grade of produce. Straightforward anchoring - we probably could have anchored a bit further back in shallower waters but we were in about 36 feet of water and it was still as a bathtub. No other boats around. Very quiet, not much in the way of wildlife there. Kakushdish Harbour, Denny Island

Sweet sail from Fancy Cove through Lama Passage yesterday. Lama Passage is wide enough and the wind was mostly on our beam, for a few gentle tacks up to the turn north to Shearwater. We were passed by an immense Alaska bound barge, from a distance it looked like a cruise ship, a couple of pick up trucks stacked on top of the shipping containers looked like toys.

We pulled into Shearwater around 3:30 yesterday afternoon. It is an area resupply point with groceries, marine supplies, fuel, etc. We were planning on getting a few charts and supplies, topping off the fuel and water, staying the night if the price was right or anchoring in the bay. Dock rates are at summer cost of $1.50 a foot plus $10 for power, we passed. The fall back was the harbor for anchoring but it was too deep, with high tide taken into account we'd be dealing with 70 feet for scope. So off to Kakushdish Harbour, three miles away and really happy we did.

Slightly tricky getting in, narrow, shallow slot under power lines but there were only 3 kts of wind and very easy to navigate. The harbor itself is wide and shallow, we anchored in 17feet, set well in mud. There was one other boat when we pulled in, a cute small sailboat with a clunky pilot house and workboat lines, like the drawing of a sailboat I'd make as a child.

While I cooked dinner an eagle wailed on and on, a plaintive cry that sounded unmajestic, forlorn, piercing. There were also many small birds that ran a straight line together, maybe 100 in a row, then took turns dunking one after another like a Berkley Busby scene. This harbor is on the edge of native lands and other than a small cabin at one end there are not signs of people. Early in the evening an aluminum fishing boat with a group of young first nations people - 3 guys and two girls - came into the harbor, drifting past, smoking weed and drinking beer. After hanging out at the far end of the bay they came over to talk with the lady in the small sailboat who had rafted up with another couple in a motor boat, then motored over to us. They were in good spirits and asking where the party was, joking around, then puttered off to the other end of the harbor and laughed and carried on for another hour or so before revving up and blasting out the passage.

Big thunderheads built up on the horizon late in the afternoon and there were a few massive rolls of thunder but after a couple of hours the clouds melted away and we had a clear evening.

Sun was a glow at 10:30 when we went to bed last night and it was glowing before we woke early this morning. Blue skies all around today, warm already. Off to Shearwater in a bit then aiming for Roscoe Inlet - supposed to be gorgeous with massive vertical walls of granite.

Pendrell Sound

We've had a couple of amazing sun filled days here. The break of warm weather, with no wind and the sun warming everything has made it feel like we are slipping deeper to the edge of summer. We've been kayaking, collecting oysters and mussels, bird watching, baking bread (success!), getting Tumbleweed dried out -hanging bedding from the halyards, opening up lockers and getting this nice low humidity air circling about.

Two days ago we kayaked across the sound and along the further shore, it's a mile across and took us a while, the water was as still as a pond, only the faintest of wind puffs drifted across the surface. There is almost no sign of other people here. A small logging operation on the island has a couple of trucks that run back and forth, perhaps a truck an hour, and that is the only sound of humanity. An occasional distant rumble of the trucks, a muffled toot of a horn on a sharp curve.They aren’t clearcutting but there is something about logging in Desolation Sound that jogs the dignity of the place, various clumps and scars here and there. For the rest it is all as still as the surface of the waters. An eagle cries out and sends a ripple through the air, but it fades out and we are left with the sounds of our paddles and water dripping across the deck of our kayaks.

We paddled back across the sound as the sun started to dip behind the hills of Redondo Island. The tide was up and we paddled along the high water mark close to shore. The shoreline is steep and rocky, with cliffs dropping straight into the waters of the sound, water seeping along the rock face. In the cooling day we were able to glide along, quietly, over the top of small schools of fish, starfish, tiny jellyfish the size of a silver dollar, transparent but for white outlines, and even smaller red jellyfish. The water so clear it was easy to be deceived by the true depth. In the late day the forest released a wash of fragrant air over these cliff edges- cedar, pine, rich soil, plants waking to these warmer days. The air reminded me of being in a Japanese temple, that smell of wood and earth like incense.

Yesterday we took the dinghy across and collected a bucket of oysters and mussels. We looked for a possible place to land the dinghy, the waterline is covered with oysters - on top of each other, on every rock, clinging to small stones, cliff faces, trees hanging over the water. It is sort of mind boggling how many oysters there are here. At some point it seems just too much, like an infestation - which is actually what has happened. These are an introduced species - the Japanese oyster, and they have forced out the smaller, indigenous, Olympia oyster. The area is mostly pristine - no signs of trash or debris, except for the oyster bags that have been dropped along the shore. Every beach or small out crop has a few net bags of oysters that have been dropped off in a way that looks careless and discarded. As the tide goes out the beach line is covered with unsightly net piles filled with heaps of oyster shells. Most of the bags look to be made of nylon mesh and so will never really deteriorate. Maybe this is an annual thing, put out bags of oysters to up the count of sprat in the waters in the summer? It is difficult to go ashore when the tide is in transition and the tide exposes the shells. They are sharp and facing upward, a fall could seriously ruin your day, and an abrupt landing with an inflatable could leave you swimming back to your boat.

Last night I steamed a small pan of mussels - small, richly flavored. Butter, a splash of white wine and some garlic. I fried the oysters, rolled them in flour, cornmeal and paprika. I had made a loaf of Jim Lahey's no knead bread in the dutch oven earlier in the day and that went really well, the warm weather helps out the bread making. Simple cabbage slaw on the side. By then the loggers had returned to camp and the cove was quiet.

Desolation Sound

Four years ago on an Easter Sunday, Douglas and I checked out a Valiant 42 sailboat for the first time. I can clearly recall looking over the boat and sitting in the salon, looking around the cabin and thinking this was the sort of boat we could make a voyage with. We had looked at many boats before that, had been to a few boat shows, chartered boats, but we hadn't been aboard a boat that felt so right. That afternoon we started talking about going to places like Desolation Sound, exploring Alaska by boat, sailing the South Pacific. It all felt so possible and we knew we had found the right type of boat. That Valiant didn't work out for us but we soon found Tumbleweed and started the process of outfitting, sailing, updating, learning and dreaming about distant travels. High on our list was going north - to see the British Columbia coastline and to explore Alaska. Desolation Sound came up often as one of the cool, distant places we wanted to explore. Being here, finally, feels like a fresh chapter in this adventure, another big stepping off point.

We sailed up from Blubber Bay, at the top of Texada Island, in steady high 20 knot winds with gusts into the low 30's. Large swell built up by late morning and with the occasional surf we were hitting 7.5 knots boat speed but most of the day we were sailing around 6 knots. Late afternoon we put in our second reef and that with our staysail made a perfect combination. The sailing was thrilling, but Valiants seem built for this sort of sailing and Tumbleweed was solid and settled.

We saw our first Orca whale of the trip, just west of Savary Island, first a few spouts and then one surfaced. I had been thinking that morning that we were overdue for a sighting. Someone was listening.

Shortly after that we crossed the 50th parallel. We really feel like we're moving north. We noticed today that we are listening in on the Comox Coast Guard station. We've moved from the Puget Sound Coast Guard based in Seattle that we are used to listening to, and up from the Victoria Coast Guard that we followed the past couple of weeks. Each station seems to have their own personality - the US Coast Guard sounds younger, occasionally hesitant, but always professional. Victoria Coast Guard had an urbane vibe, like one would expect crossing over to Canada, polished and polite. Comox Coast Guard sounds like the late night DJ, he has a world weariness and authority that the other stations didn't bring to the game. Mayday calls, boats out of fuel, kayakers in the water, he addresses them all with a gruff, collected voice that says “we are going to get you out of this fine mess you got yourself into, but first let's get all the details…..” . That's the sort of entertainment out here, the VHF radio scans all the channels, Coast Guard on 16 and 83A, the other channels up for grabs. Several times a day someone uses channel 16 for a radio check, or to chat up a friend, and Comox Coast Guard comes and and wearily tells them, again, that channel 16 is for distress calls only……implying - “for the love of God, don't you people read your VHF regulations before you start gabbing away?”

The waves were getting pretty large when we passed Savary Island so we tucked behind the island, hove to for lunch and put in the second reef in the main sail. The afternoon was a couple of long jibes downwind until we rounded Malaspina Peninsula and sailed into Desolation Sound. Passing Sarah Point the waves dropped dramatically and the wind went from 28 to 18 knots to12, then as we thought we were clear, gusted back up to 22. Two large bald eagles crossed in front of us, gliding on the wind and circling upward.

Douglas and I were both overwhelmed with the unexpected beauty and majesty of the place. Steep fjords, mountains running off into the far distance, rocky islands covered in stunted pine, a glacier catching a bit of sun through the grey cloud cover. Our speed dropped and we sailed in slowly, passing rugged Kinghorn Island and making for Galley Bay on the Gifford Peninsula.

We are anchored in Galley Bay, in a small cove, with a view up into Homfrey Channel and the fjords of the sound. The tide was out as we anchored, exposing rocks covered in oysters. The bay was once the site of a large commune. There are several cabins and the remnants of the commune's fruit trees, all looks tidy and well maintained. Lots of no trespassing signs that kill the commune vibe. Once we set anchor the winds died out and the water went pretty flat.

Naniamo, Vancouver Island

 Nanaimo, Vancouver Island

Time to shelve our San Juan/Gulf Islands guide books until October. Nanaimo is the cut off point for the various guides we have for the islands. A solid stepping off juncture to the north. 

Yesterday we left our anchorage at North Cove on Thetis island and motored across flat, almost windless waters north through Gabriola Passage. We timed our transit for slack tide and went through about 15 minutes ahead of full slack with no other boats in sight. Waters were very still except at Josef Point, the narrowest slot in the passage, there were a handful of eddys and whirls of water as we exited the east side of the passage but they had little impact on us. In various guide book descriptions Gabriola Passage conjures up visions of Deception Pass on Whidbey Island. It is a small passage where the waters of the Strait of Georgia and the waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca are exchanged through the Gulf Islands. It is the transit point from the protected Gulf Islands out to the Strait of Georgia, a very narrow shallow slot through which an impressive amount of sea runs with the shifting tides.  Certainly want to hit it at a slack tide, extra points for hitting it on a windless morning. Our guides report that current against wind can stack up the seas  on the east side of the passage to 2 meters. In addition to contending with the waters there is also the traffic of log booms and tugs to contend with.  Very slow moving tugs pulling long rafts of logs wend their way through these passages, but not this morning as we passed through. We did hail out a "securite" as we made our way through to see if there were mariners coming from the other side, but it was all clear, just us and a handful of sea birds. 

We spent the next couple\ hours motoring north and west, along the length of Gabriola Island with Vancouver in the distance to the east, dropping in and out of sight as clouds moved through the city. On the water the sun came out, sharp and warm.  As we got closer to Nanaimo we picked up the radio chatter of a team moving log booms with barges. Charlie, Bruce, Steven and John ever so politely negotiating the various tasks to be done.  

"Oh, hey there Bruce, what do you think about closing up that bag over there?." 

"Got ya there Charlie, sounds good.  I'm thinking of running a safety line over to that raft to the north." 

On it went for hours, probably the most polite workers in the timber industry, Charlie would suggest something to Bruce, who thought that was a great idea and eagerly tackle it, or report back that the task was already done. When a couple of them were ready to call it a day and head back to the 'barn' there was a about 10 minutes of conversation to be sure they weren't leaving at an inopportune time for the others. No sarcasm, no cursing, no snide chatter, all very positive and upbeat.  Pro, old school operators.  

We anchored in Nanaimo harbor, across the way from the commercial docks, in a cove between Newcastle and Protection islands.  There are a 15 or so other boats either anchored or moored here. Pretty calm over here and protected.  Lot of traffic from Nanaimo out to Newcastle Island, there is a small water taxi running out there every 20 minutes or so and the weather was beautiful yesterday, a saturday, so I think they were running tourists out to walk the park. 

It was a gorgeous summerlike day yesterday.  After anchoring and lunch in the cockpit in full sun, we took the dinghy over to the commercial dock and wandered around town.  Picked up a few groceries and walked across town and through a neighborhood to find a fish market. Picked up a nice piece of salmon for dinner last night and have enough for dinner tonight. Nice walk but much further than we had expected.  After the early start and all the excitement of the trip through the passage it was a bit much and we had a good nap when we returned to Tumbleweed. 

Today is overcast and raining lightly.  I'm writing this from the comfort of Tumbleweed but soon will head over to town, across the harbor, to upload this and hopefully a couple photos to the website. The trip over in the dinghy looks like it's going to be a wet and cold trip. 

North Cove, Thetis Island

North Cove, Thetis Island

Anchored at 5pm in North Cove after an excellent day on the water.  We had good winds most of the day and after motoring out of Ganges harbor around 8 this morning we had fine, variable winds sailing.  From 8 knots to gusts of 28 knots, lots of sailing in steady 17 knots.  Showers, sun breaks, blue sky patches and the close of the day with a mackerel sky.  Classic NW sailing.

We scoped out Herring Bay on Ruxton Island but it was pretty narrow and didn't look like we'd have much scope there.  Also considered Pirates Cove on De Courcy Island but it was low tide and we'd be unable to cross a bar to get into the cove. Which is a shame, De Courcy Island is on my list of places to visit - it was the site of a personality cult, where the charismatic leader sent the men to one side of the island, kept the women for himself and somehow was able to convince the men to give him their money.  He disappeared one night with one of the ladies and a rumored million bucks.   But went south to North Cove - plenty of swinging room, only boat anchored, a few houses on the shore, a nice view up to the west. Tomorrow morning we'll go through Gabriola Pass at slack tide, 9:30am.  We're about 7  miles from the pass so will leave early in the morning to get that all lined up. 

Yesterday in Ganges we did some provisioning, had pizza at an over priced, mostly vacant tourist joint. Ganges feels forlorn and abandoned for the winter.  Our highlight was walking down the sidewalk and having two large, inebriated guys pass us - one mumbled "hat, coat" (Douglas had on his red team Zissou hat, and I was in my orange raincoat) his friend a couple steps behind him lunged at me as he passed and tried to tickle me....oh, Canada, even the obnoxious drunks are friendly.  

Ganges harbor was bustling with fishing traffic and float planes.  There was a constant buzz of activity in the morning and in the late afternoon.  Several planes taking off and landing one right after  with a few sprinkled around the rest of the day.  Early this morning as we readied the boat for departure a plane taxied up alongside us, I could see the pilot and his passengers a boat length away. The engine revved up and the sound was like a storm shrieking past.  He deftly meandered around the moored boats of various stages of abandonment and disrepair and then off. Moments after he was airborne another plane swooped in to land.  Seems dangerous and incongruent - I can't imagine what it's like in the summer with more boats, more tourists, more planes and more folks anchored out in front of the town.  Our afternoon there, albeit entertaining, was enough, we were ready to move north. 

Rr

Echo Bay, Sucia Island

Echo Bay, Sucia Island April 16, 2015

Woke to a perfect morning - blue skies, flat water, still and quiet, off in the distance a clear view of Mt. Baker and the Cascade Mountains, all capped with snow. Glorious. In the past Douglas and I have avoided this bay, in the summer is is overrun with all forms of watercraft and a bit chaotic, we opt for the quieter Fox Cove or Shallow Bay. Fox Cove is preferred but open to winds from the south and Shallow Bay is open to westerlies. We're pretty protected here in Echo Bay, open to the east but no weather from that direction in the forecast.

Yesterday we were in Parks Bay, a small cove across San Juan Channel from Friday Harbor. The land around the bay is owned by the University of Washington and off limits to visitors, which keeps the place pretty quiet. We had light winds, 2-4 knots most of the day, with a few puffs to 8 knots, and so motored to Sucia. A real shame because the day was beautiful and felt more like a summer afternoon than early spring.

We are continually amazed at how few boaters there are in the San Juan's during the off season, even with beautiful weather we saw only a couple boats the entire day. When we anchored at Sucia there was a lone fishing boat that left as we anchored. Late in the afternoon a small fishing boat came and tied up at North island, one of the two private islands that make up the Sucia Island group.

Later today we'll row ashore and hike around the island. It is a beautiful park and even in the summer it is easy to find quiet space. The trails wind around the island's many little coves and bays, coming in and out of the forest and along nice stretches of beach.

VHF is giving us grief - seems to not be transmitting beyond a close range, and receives intermittently. Douglas is at work troubleshooting it today, could have been fried by a loose antennae connection, or a problem with the AIS splitter. A small rain on the parade but want to get it sorted out before leaving the US, might need to order a new one and have it shipped to us in Roche Harbor. We had tested it in Port Townsend but think that maybe we weren't testing from far enough away (about 1 mile) or that it was damaged between now and then. Could also be that the antennae was damaged when the new rigging was done - we had a bit of work done at the top of the mast including some drilling - perhaps a line was cut or worked loose. Hope we can get that sorted out quickly.

PM Instead of a walk ashore I climbed the mast to inspect the fitting for the VHF antenna. It was my first time up the mast, a great day to do it - no winds and the water was still. Quite a view from up there - the deck looks very far away. I have some good photos I'll post when I have wifi access. Our VHF isn’t working, we are getting a weak signal and able to broadcast only weakly. We have the VHF and the AIS run through a splitter and the AIS is able to analyze the system and is giving us a message that the antenna isn’t in order. I went up the mast to see if there was any corrosion or fraying with the wiring at the top. All looks clean and in good order but the collar for the connection from the wire below to the antenna at the very top of the mast shows several threads. I can’t reach the very top of the mast with my current climbing set up and so ordered an etrier or webbing ladder from Bluewater ropes, it’s being sent to Roche Harbor and I should have it monday, I’ll try going up the mast again in more settled weather tied up at the dock on monday or tuesday, the etrier has a series of steps sewn with webbing, I”ll be able to “step up” a couple more feet at the mast top and give the plug a couple turns. Hopefully that is the problem - we need VHF and AIS is very handy. Currently back to our handheld VHF radios that have short range, better than nothing but not once we are out of the San Juan Islands.

Feels pretty safe up there, I”m using a climbing harness with a mechanical ascender and foot straps to climb my way up the rope, and using a gri gri for a controlled descent. The system for climbing the mast was set up us by Port Townsend Rigging and I've seen it mentioned by other cruisers. Evans Starzinger has an excellent description with photos on the website he and his partner Beth Leonard maintain. I haul a climbing rope up the mast with a halyard and use a combination of mechanical ascender,a mechanical belay device called a gri gri and foot loops to climb up the mast wearing a climbing harness. The ascender moves up a few inches, I stand up on the foot loops, take in the slack through the gri gri, and repeat, moving up the mast inches at at time. The folks at PT Rigging have a space to demo the whole set up and put together a good kit. Douglas belays me on a second line.It sure feels high from up there and the mast has a lot of flex at the top. I climbed on a windless, perfect day and have nice photos of Tumbleweed’s deck from above. Don’t like to think about doing that on a rolling deck at sea

Yesterday we went ashore and walked out the length of one of what looks like the ‘thumb’ on Sucia. The stretch of land that faces south to Echo Bay and north to the Strait of Georgia. We had a picnic on the beach at Shallow Bay, where we usually anchor, then walked all the way out to the end of the island along a forested trail that wove along small coves and back into the trees, up a couple of sandstone bluffs and ends at a small cove with limestone sculptured with pockets and organic shapes. We had the place entirely to ourselves until the end of our walk when we saw a small group that had recently landed.

Echo Cove was empty thursday but is filling up for the weekend. Several boats came in at the end of the day and there are now 5 sailboats, 2 motor boats and a large Coast Guard cutter as neighbors. But the bay is very large and everyone is quiet and keeping to themselves.

The light yesterday and today has been bright and crisp, the water has been sparkling with thousands of tiny reflections. In the distance is Mt. Baker and watching it change throughout the day has been our entertainment. Last night it was capped with high clouds that marched out in bands toward us, all yesterday afternoon it was cloud free and stately with its dome of snow.

Port Townsend

We have spent the winter in Port Townsend, hard to believe the past few months have gone by so quickly. Today the sun was out, we had lunch in the cockpit and readied for tomorrow’s departure.

Our plan was to spend the winter based in Port Townsend and sail the San Juan Islands. Instead we had several projects pop up that kept us in town working through the winter. The trade off is we are ready to head north tomorrow and feel good about the work we’ve done over the past few months. We’ve had a chance to inspect and repair/replace or do maintenance on all the systems. We’ve replaced some systems that were not up to grade and improved many that were original to the boat.

We had a high point of something like 243 “projects” - including everything from inspecting our chain plates to replacing light bulbs, suffice to say it was an interesting winter. We had a great time getting to understand the systems on Tumbleweed much better, and to have the time to go over all the major systems. But, we are ready to be done with all that for a while and get sailing. The north calls and we are glad to be moving.

Port Townsend has been a welcoming place, the people have been really friendly, the landscape has been stunning. We’ve had a great beach to walk along and open bays for kayaking. Wildlife has included a family of River Otters at the dock, a couple of bald eagles that circle the nearby beach and occasionally swoop into the marina for a meal, flocks of gulls, cormorants, a heron that is usually perched at the end of the breakwater - poised in ruffling feathers staring into the water for long periods waiting to snap up a snack.

The landscape has been sublime. From Point Hudson we watch the sun rise over the Cascade mountains and set behind the Olympics. Each range roaming north and south with foothills in the foreground, grading the light in bands of various shades of grey up to the peaks in the range. With the low morning or evening light this winter the landscape often looks like it has been painted into place with watercolors - soft, diffuse color, either warm with oranges and yellows, or bands of cool tones - pale blues blending with darker blues becoming purple. Admiralty Inlet was a constantly changing body of water - at times flat calm, at other times covered with white caps. From our various vantage points - the bluff of Fort Worden, or the beach at Point Hudson, it was hypnotizing.

Tomorrow we head north across the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We’ll spend a few days in the San Juan Islands and then cross over to Canada for some time in the Gulf Islands and a slow sail to the north of Vancouver Island. We have a handful of good recommendations for islands to visit and are in no hurry.

Day One Year One

Halloween 2014

The beginning of this latest nomadic chapter in our lives starts with our last day in Seattle.  Douglas and I woke to heavy rain,  but as we readied Tumbleweed to leave, the rain eased and the clouds began to work themselves apart. We said our goodbyes to our neighbors in the marina and they handed up our dock lines, we backed from our slip,  motored around the Shilshole breakwater, and  into Puget Sound.  To the south the sun broke through the clouds over Seattle, to the north a faint rainbow arced from Shoreline to Port Madison.  The wind died down to a few knots and we slowly made distance from an incredible chapter in our lives.

Ten years ago Douglas and I fetched up in Seattle fresh from a couple years of roaming through Asia and North America.  Our decade in Seattle was exhilarating and moved by quickly.   We made great friends, had immensely satisfying careers, indulged our passion for the Northwest and fell in love with sailing. For a few years we were content to sail Puget Sound, and spend a couple weeks at a time in the San Juan Islands. But soon our thoughts turned to taking a sailing sabbatical, to spend  for a few years wandering under sail. We bought Tumbleweed with the thought of extended cruising and we’ve spent the past couple of years sailing as much as we could, preparing Tumbleweed and ourselves for an extended trip.

We’ve moved from our house, put a few things into storage, sold off or given away the rest.  We’ve left our jobs, which still feels surreal.  And we’ve said our awkward, not goodbyes because we’ll be back after a bit of sailing, but something more like “see you you in a bit”.  A couple of months in and we are still in the the transition phase. 

We are spending the winter in Port Townsend, we’ll take advantage of good weather when we can to cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca , gunkholing in the San Juan Islands.  In the Spring we will work our way through the islands north of here, along the British Columbia coast and into South East Alaska. At the end of the summer we are planning on returning for another winter to the San Juan and Gulf Islands.  From there, it's an open sea.