Finlayson Channel to Bottleneck Inlet, May 12-13 , 2015

Seaforth Channel to Finlayson

Emails are unread, bills not paid but we need to push on, leaving  Shearwater at 7:45 AM. Our destination in Finlayson Channel is Bottleneck Inlet and the waterway leading there is a hazard.  Where in the past, the water has been littered with logs 30 - 50 feet long that we have had to swerve around, this time we are dodging a few Orcas and  actual trees, stumps and all.  Many, many trees.  For many, many hours.   We were told to expect this as the area experienced hurricane winds two weeks earlier but we didn't think it would be like playing Demolition Derby.

One of Many

 

 Bottleneck Inlet, as the name implies, is a narrow entrance, only about 200 feet wide at one point, with a rock shelf extending into the passage-way from the south shore.  At zero tide it is only one fathom deep but we make it through and are rewarded with a scenic cove.  There are already two other boats in the bay and Sea Bird hails us on the radio, inviting us and Fire Fly over for cocktails.  Yes!   I am so ready for these cocktail gatherings.  Rainforest crackers with goat cheese and fig raisin chutney.  I even have cute serving dishes.  Unfortunately, we can’t go because I have a case of food poisoning that has me down for the count.

Orca

We spend a quiet evening and just as we are about to go to bed, we spot a sailboat coming through the narrow entrance.  He is hugging the south shore, exactly where the rock ledge is, but he has a man perched mid-way up the mast as look out.  Apparently his theory is to stay close to shore so he can spot the rock outcropping as he hits it, although this strategy is flawed as it is dark out.  But the sailing Gods are with them and they make it safely in.

Finlayson Channel

The next morning we are the second boat to depart at 6:45 AM, leaving behind Sea Bird.  We make it about 10 nautical miles north when we get a radio call from Sea Bird telling us they have a leaking shaft seal and are rapidly taking on water.  We immediately turn around and hightail it back.  This is every boater’s nightmare, magnified by being in a remote area with no one nearby to help.  The Canadian Coast Guard monitors radio calls (no NSA here) and intercepts to find out the extent of the emergency.  They continually keep check on Sea Bird and us as we rush to help.  Forty-five minutes later, while Sea Bird’s First Mate Linda has been continuously hand pumping water overboard, Captain John stopped the leak. We raft off their boat, which is anchored in Bottleneck, and Jim clambers on board to assist.

Buddy Boating in Finlayson Channel

It is decided that we will buddy boat with them until we are all sure everything is operational.  We make a head start while they raise anchor and within 15 minutes they call – they are again taking on water and this time they are out in Finlayson Channel.  We turn around rush back, if you can call 8 knots rushing, it feels more like a lazy putter.

 Once back, we have to position our boat precisely next to a moving/drifting boat, being carried by the winds and currents, and raft off.  Jim leaves this dangerous and delicate maneuver to me. All food poisoning discomfort has been replaced with adrenalin injected terror.  I manage to gently sidle up next to their boat with no deaths or dings.  Jim heaves over with tools and repair materials while Linda and I make sure our boats drift along in sync.



It has been determined by the experts, a CPA and a physicist, that having finally stopped the leak, the fix will not hold if they run their engine. Adrift in Finlayson Channel, the Coast Guard dispatches a rescue vessel.  They will be towed back to Shearwater.  This is not our first experience with the Canadian Coast Guard whom we have found to be highly helpful and reliable.



Waterfall in Finlayson Channel

After wishing John and Linda an expedient repair so we can meet up in Alaska ,  we resume our journey, three hours later and now with the current and tides against us.  I wish the Canadian Coast Guard could do something about that.

And yes, not a single picture of Bottleneck Inlet as I was too ill to hoist the camera.

Shearwater, May 10 -12, 2015

Lighthouse near Bella Bella

Shearwater, on Denny Island, is a major stopping point for boats heading north.  There is a marina, general store and resort, plus they have cell phone coverage and internet! And of course, what resort would be complete without a café with espressos, lattes, and chai?  Starbucks it’s not.

Sunset at Shearwater

We decide to stay an extra day so we can provision the boat and get caught up on email and bill paying.  Unfortunately, the general store is closed until 4 PM today, a Monday, for stocking as they received their bi-monthly grocery delivery.  We hop the water taxi across the bay to Bella Bella, a Heiltsuk Native settlement that is a complete village with a hospital, grocery store and liquor agency.  The grocery store has an amazingly full array of staples, fruits and vegetables but curiously, no snack foods save a couple of bags of potato chips.  We will be better people for it. 

The liquor agency is closed for a funeral and sure enough, as we are at the docks waiting for the hourly water taxi, we watch a First Nations’ funeral procession through the main road and down to the harbor where waiting boats take the family and ashes to a burial plot on a neighboring island. 

First Nations Home

Back at our boat, I am ready to launch into email but alas, no internet as there has been an electrical outage which will last until precisely 4 PM.  Once the power comes back on, much later than predicted, the internet coverage is so poor I can’t get anything done.  But on the plus side, the grocery store opens and they have junk food!  We pay cash for our stash, $9.47 but interestingly, Canada has eliminated the penny, but has not adjusted pricing.  So $9.50 in their favor.   And I assume it is always in their favor.

 

Feyut, Bear Cub Rescuer

We take a walk and meet Feyut, a beautiful dog - but this is not just another pretty face - she is a trained working dog who rescues bear cubs.  Her owner, Kief Archer, rehabilitates the rescued bear cubs and wolves that have been abandoned due to poachers killing the mothers.  He in turn hunts down the  poachers.  We didn't ask what happens to them when they get caught.  I think Feyut and Kiefer should get  their own reality show.

The evening entertainment is the resident eagle who guards the harbor from a tree at the head of the ramp to the docks.  The only patch of grass in the area is under his tree… hmmm, waiting for Fido to do his evening business?   We've heard stories about what eagles are capable of snatching but this one seems well behaved.  He is in fact joined by a friend later in the evening and they are both well mannered.

I'm thinking Salmon tonight - you?

Crossing Queen Charlotte Sound to Pruth, May 8 -10, 2015



Captain Wiley & First Mate

We must cross Queen Charlotte Sound, the second of three potentially dangerous crossings.  The Otter Bay Sea Buoy marine report calls for seas at 1 meter or less; it is safe and we make a 6:10 AM exit.  Again, it is a beautiful, sunny day but I have been lured into a false sense of complacency before so I am ready - everything has been secured.  Towels are wrapped around the spice bottles, eggs are protected and all falling, swinging or shooting items are battened down.  Of course, now that we’re prepared, the crossing turns out to be lumpy but not rough.

Pruth Harbor is off Fitzhugh Sound, west into a 5 nautical mile channel that dead ends into a charming cove on Calvert Island.  The area is a provincial park marked by the Hakai Beach Institute, a private rustic (think yurts) research center that can only be accessed by boat or float plane. 

We are one of only four boats anchored for the night and by the next morning, and for the rest of our stay, the only boat in this vast wilderness.  

Far away from any civilization, there is no din of airports, highways or even towns.  Just islands and stillness all around us. 

 

Tracks!!

Raw & Untouched

Our kayaks are launched and we paddle to the dock of the institute where there are a few research people and hike a half-mile to the beach on the other side of the island.   Crashing ocean waves wash over the golden sand.   It is said that wolves and bears frequent the beach, which is u-shaped and surrounded by hills and forest.  We were here in 2012 and never saw any wild life but this time we find fresh animal tracks leading to the water and analyze them like paleontologists pouring over a rare set of bones – and reach a conclusion: yup, they are tracks and yes, it’s an animal.  It could be a raccoon track for all we know.  The only wildlife we do see are hundreds of mussels, starfish and anemones.  But we are satisfied.

 

Our ride back to the boat is interrupted by the only noise we hear on our two day stay, a float plane claiming the right of way as he taxies on the water in front of our kayaks. 

Hogging the runway

Nanimo to Blind Channel, May 2 -6, 2015

Sunrise Roche Harbor

It is a beautiful sunny morning. We are heading to Nanaimo, 46 nautical miles.  Departure is at 6:10 as we have to cross the dreaded Dodd Narrows, a short and skinny dogleg, at exactly slack tide – 9:59 AM.  The current in the narrows run at 9 knots and the cruising books devote several paragraphs to the dos and don’ts of crossing.  This is not our first time through but we respect the wisdom of experienced sailors.

House on a Cliff

Entering Dodds Narrows

We leave the calm of our harbor, and as soon as we poke our bow out into Haro Straits, we are faced with a wall of white caps.  Immediately we are bucking and Wiley is hurling.  Clearly, the sun is not the friend I thought it would be.  We are in a full moon phase and it amplifies the tides and boosts the currents.  By the time we get to Dodds Narrow, we are one hour and 31 minutes late. 

There is much debate about an alternative course of action but we, along with four other boats, line up and one by one forge through.  It is calmer than our entire trip has been.

We dock in Nanaimo, an old coal mining town recreated as a technology, manufacturing and tourism destination.  The wind is howling, making docking, and our entire stay, uncomfortable.  We remember a great sushi restaurant from 3 years earlier and spend hours walking the town searching for it only to find it has also recreated itself -  into general Canadian fare.  Jim spies poutine featured on a sidewalk restaurant sign – Pirates Chips – and that is where we have dinner.  Their claim to fame is 8 deep fried “signature” desserts – everything from deep fried ice cream to deep fried cheesecake.  The poutine was good.

Dodging logs

 

The next day we head for Pender Harbor, across the Straits of Georgia.  Those darned straits.  The wind report is for 15 – 20 knots and yes, it is sunny, with white caps and walls of waves greeting us. The currents are strong on our stern and we ride the crest of the surfing waves at 12 knots, drop, roll, wallow in 8 knots and repeat.  I feel like a Blue Angel pilot spiraling into a nose dive.  Our belongings are flying, my computer sails by, the camera crashes down, it is so bad Jim dons our Scooter helmet to stay safe.   

Sunrise Pender Harbor

 

From Pender Harbor we head to Blind Channel requiring one more difficult passage through
"the rapids,"  a series of 3, Yuculta, Gillard and  "The Devil's Hole," Dent Rapids.  They are each approximately 2 nautical miles apart and timing is the key. 

There are complicated tables and diagrams,  math calculations - about speed, distance, full moon, slack turning to ebb versus ebb turning to slack - all detailed with precision in the Tides and Currents Book.  Every publication on board devotes paragraphs, if not entire pages,  to these rapids. By the time we finish reading the cautions, study the pictures and digest the horror stories of someone who knew someone who didn't follow the directions, we conclude only a fool would try this -  so right up our alley. 



What Rapids?

Of course hundreds of people cross these rapids every year without dying and so do we.  This time we are not late and we have a perfectly calm crossing. Although my stomach hasn't been the same since.



 

Seattle Departure, May 1, 2015

It is May 1, our departure date, and we are ready - in a manner of speaking.  The boat has been provisioned and I learned my lessons from last time.  We are not heading to Mars, there will be grocery stores, there is no need to pack 16 cans of beans.  However, in my 16 trips to the grocery store, I am now stowing 16 cans of beans.  Plus, as a seasoned Alaska cruiser, I know that I have to include hors d'oeuvres for all those impromptu cocktail parties that happen whenever two or more boaters are gathered at an anchorage.  Smoke is rising from my beloved FoodSaver as it works overtime vacuum packing everything from chicken breasts to baguettes.  

But finally the cupboards are full, the bilges bursting with extra  blushers, mousses and moisturizers.  I even find room for some medicals supplies.  When I'm satisfied that I have everything I possibly need, Jim comes back from the marine supply store with the necessary spare parts for the engine, generator and water maker but the bilges are full.  I may have to consolidate.

We are prepared to leave at 7:30 AM armed with a great bottle of red wine from Carolyn and Gary, our dock neighbors to the left; and home baked breakfast muffins from Kathy and Eric to our right.  It is a beautiful, sunny day - our first May crossing of the Straits of Juan de Fuca in good weather.  Surely this is a good omen.

First, Wiley the cat got sick.  And what is that loud banging?  Ah, the waves beating on the hull. And although it is still sunny, we are facing 180 degrees of white caps.  The bow drops into the water and rises back up, up, up, and crashes down again.  It is not raining but the wipers are furiously trying to clear the windshield of the salt water  washing over the pilot house.   Wiley is now howling, lending a nice counterpoint to the banging noise.  I enter the galley to batten things down when spice bottles shoot by – I duck to avoid incoming curry, cumin and cinnamon.  I open the refrigerator door to secure things there and a 6 pack carton of eggs immediately shoots out.  Note, get  eggs at the next stop.


Celestine docked at Roche Harbor

We continue this way for several hours until we reach the calm waters of Roche Harbor, our destination for the evening.    We spend the next several hours washing the hull, removing the seaweed from the dinghy on the flybridge and generally restoring order to the interior. Yes, this has been our worst ever crossing of the straits…but it was sunny.

Roche Harbor

Echo Bay, Gilford Island, August 15 – 17, 2012; The Party Place

Echo Bay

 

Entering Echo Cove

Land!  I feel like Christopher Columbus discovering the United States, euphoric.  We can walk on something other than docks.  But we still don’t have Internet service and word has it that cell coverage is only sometimes available in the store’s ketchup aisle.  But never mind that, this is the famed Echo Bay of Pierre and Tova – they are like rock stars in the boating world,  known both for their Saturday night themed pig roasts and their flamboyant personalities.   This couple go out of their way to make you feel welcome and catered to.  And they attract not just boats, but yachts.  Several 100 ft. plus mega boats came here just to partake of the ambience.

The setting is upscale rustic.  We arrived just in time for the traditional Wednesday night prime rib dinner held at sunset in the newly built mess hall overlooking the bay.  No BYO appetizers here – well you do bring your own wine and utensils – and you best bring them early.  At 3 PM in the afternoon I spotted a woman from a neighboring boat marching to the mess hall with plates and silverware.  When I stopped to ask her about this she informed me that the protocol is to “reserve” your seat.  Nikki invited us to join her group so I gathered up the paper plates and headed out.  The room was set up with banquet tables and most spots had already been taken.  These are clearly veterans of this event – and no paper plates or plastic silverware here.  China and goblets are the order of the day…and placemats.   I scurried back to the boat to exchange my low rent eating utensils with the real deal and headed back up to claim our place.

Dinner is a fun experience - everyone remains seated until Tova waltzes  in and rhythmically claps her hands, at which point we clap back.  I feel like I’m part of a sorority and we’ve just done the secret handshake.  The meal is a feast of prime rib, salmon – always salmon – and a ton of side dishes.  I don’t even know where all this food was prepared as there is no restaurant here.  And this is only one of three weekly events; there is a Thursday night Italian Supper and of course, the fabled Saturday pig roast.  Running this place is real work.

We stay a couple of days and meet a fellow boater with one of those 110 ft. plus boats who really wants to tour our boat – now there’s a twist.  This guy has been serenading our dock in the evenings with his concert quality piano playing that drifts out of his yacht.  He looks just like Alec Baldwin and when I mention this he admits to having worked in Hollywood for 10 years doing, among other things, doubles for Baldwin and stunts for Schwarzenegger.  And looking at this guy, I get that.

View from Echo Cove

As wonderful as it is here, we must push on – we are running out of supplies, and by this I mean wine. I last provisioned in Ketchikan and  I can’t believe we made it all the way through Alaska without being short of anything and now, when we are in civilization, (although Jim claims this is an intermediary step to civilization) ,  our supplies are dwindling.   But I grab a cinnamon roll before I leave – it has the consistency of a Danish and despite seeing tons of cinnamon, it lacks any real flavor.  Definitely time to push on.



Fog Rolling In

Shawl Bay, August 14-15, 2012: Another Dock, Another Cocktail

Approaching Shawl Bay

Shawl Bay Marina

Our next stop, a short 1 ½ hour ride south, is Shawl Bay, the funky one.  There is no grocery store but there are daily fresh baked pies and cinnamon rolls (raisins, too, too sweet).  The Bead Lady sells jewelry in a tiny shack on the dock and there are a few one room rental cabins plus a Doggy Yacht Club, the now standard 6’ x 2’ patch of grass at the end of a float.

Cabins on the Dock

Leads to Doggy Yacht Club

I decide to make sourdough bread for dinner with some starter I snagged from a fellow boater in Ketchikan in May.  But the starter has now separated, is a funny gray color and my recipe calls for two cups of this goop – the whole thing doesn’t seem right to me.  So I stroll over to the pie lady but she doesn’t know sourdough, only pie crusts.  She directs me to The Bead Lady – her qualifications are unclear and when I meet up with her on the docks, she confirms her lack of knowledge.  But Utsi, a woman on one of the nearby boats, just made some sourdough herself – really, only 15 boats in the harbor, what are the chances of this – and shows me her own starter, similarly unappetizing.  Jill, on the boat next door,  overhears our conversation and chimes in with her take: yes, 2 cups seems too much, no the color is fine.  A group has now gathered, each woman offering her own ideas on the state of the sourdough.  This is my own version of googling since there is no Internet here.

My baking takes me right up to happy hour under the big blue tent decorated with flags.  Everyone participates and the appetizers are amazing and plentiful, there is no need for dinner – you can just segue right into the morning pancake breakfast served daily, in said tent.  But of course, we have dinner with some very tasty hot sourdough bread.  I made an extra loaf which I shared with Jill and Ray who gave me such good baking input.

Happy Hour Here

It’s dark now and even though we have taken Zippy to the Doggy Yacht Club several times, he has turned up his nose at this pathetic strip of dried, overgrown and under cared for grass.  Jill, who used to show dogs, is sympathetic and lets me in on The Official Dog Show Secret:  before dogs go into the ring, they must go potty so as not to drop a pile on the white carpeted stage.  In order to facilitate this  ah, elimination - and here I caution small children to leave the room -   the handler  takes an unlit match - yes, that's right, a match -  douses the tip with saliva (this  step cannot be skipped for reasons I'm not clear on)  and, well, unceremoniously sticks it up the dogs, um, rectum.  This will immediately produce the much hoped for release.

  Jill helpfully brings over several matches.  I demure, as does Zippy.  After several more glasses of wine and a couple more trips to the Yacht Club, Jill offers to accompany us to assist with The Official Dog Show Secret, the match insertion.  I’ll spare all the gory details, but let me say this procedure is best done by a professional – which Jim and I are not, but luckily Jill is.   Zippy now has said unlit match firmly inserted but being stubborn, he merely clenches the match and refuses to go with the flow for quite some time, astounding Jill. Finally, after scurrying here and there, and never on the actual grass patch, he finally gives  in to nature.  The small audience that has gathered applauds and all is well.  Do not try this at home.

Resting Comfortably After the Ordeal