Barkley Sound on Vancouver Island, July 2010

 A trip to Barkley Sound had been thought about for years.  Bill Reed was a next-door neighbor, a sailboat addict, and spoke about a trip to this place on the Vancouver Island’s west coast.  That trip would require crossing the Strait of Juan de Fuca after carefully watching the weather to avoid the punch that the northern Pacific Ocean threw at the west coast.  Barkley Sound was known for incredible fishing, wildlife and spectacular scenery. Years later, I would read a magazine article about accessing this place from Port Alberni, an inland seaport that a trailerable boat could get to.  

Then, Barkley Sound took its place on the list of places to see by boat. Laurie was at first ambivalent about this trip because it meant going to the Vancouver Island’s fabled west coast, the place of awful weather, fog, remoteness and the unpredictable power of the ocean. But as she read about the place, excitement grew within her and this trip would preempt the Snake and Columbia River trip that was also in the planning stages.

The tug was ready to go.  We had spent part of the spring doing maintenance and had upgraded systems from the last boating expedition in the fall.  The trailer was another story.  The King Trailer had last seen a major service in the fall of 2008 in Fairhope, Alabama.  Now, two years and 3,500 miles later and many dips into Puget Sound, I was pushed into action by an article in Trailering Magazine on how to spot the early warning signs of impending disaster.  A quick inspection showed grease leaking past an inner seal.  A trip to the garage revealed a blown seal, the need to replace the bearings and all four disk brakes.  A bullet was dodged.

We chose Wednesday, July 7 as the departure day because the calendar was clear for the several weeks, a mid-week sailing on the Canadian ferry system was cheaper, and summer had arrived in the Pacific Northwest on July 5.

We scurried around for nearly two days, time between two other trips, to prepare for this adventure.  We had done this routine many times before, both for the boat and trips in the trailer.  We set out with checklists, working our areas of responsibility without much conversation.  Plus, we had the house to prepare.  Being away in the middle of summer with mature landscaping and a garden required preparation and planning. 

To meet the ferry’s sailing time and pass through Canadian border crossing, the departure time from home would have to be no later than 0900 hours and we intended to leave at 0830 hours.  But an email arriving at 0800 hours that required a response, a questionnaire completed and a fax return of a contract put us right at the 0900 time.  As we headed northbound on the interstate pulling the 9,500 pounds of boat, fuel and supplies, I was anxious about making the sailing time even though we had a reservation.

Boots probably picked up on the anxiety of her staff because she walked about the truck, meowing, and making noises of minor protests.

Laurie was anxious about the border crossing after reading on the Canadian government website that fruits, vegetables and more than the minimum amount of alcohol was prohibited.  Of course, the line we chose at the border was the slowest because, undoubtedly, the custom official was the most thorough.  We silently prepared to be waved into secondary inspection for a thorough top-to-bottom inspection of our trailerable tug.  The young man in the booth asked the standard set of questions about duration, destination, purpose and firearms and then waved us through in less than a minute.  It helps to look and act completely honest and forthcoming.  Plus, being in your mid-50s is not the profile of your typical wrongdoer.  Also, I answer only the question asked and do not volunteer anything else. 

We arrived at precisely 60 minutes before sailing time as recommended by the BC Ferry System and paid our one-way fare of $230.  We split and ate a chicken wrap and savored the gelato bought at the terminal and drove onto the “Coastal Inspiration” behind 18-wheel truckers and large recreational vehicles.  The ferry is only two years old, is well appointed with wide and comfortable seats, places to recharge those electronic devices that we all carry and has ample room with 7 decks. The tug looked like a huge whale swallowed it as it sat on its trailer deep within the bowels of the ferry.

The two-hour ride across the Strait of Georgia was uneventful and the time was spent reading a newspaper, scanning the tourist information and walking round the huge boat. The ferry’s huge bow-mounted doors opened to reveal the community of Nanaimo that we had seen by boat the year before.  We headed north on Highway 19 and stopped at every signal as the temperature climbed into the low 90s.  A stop for fuel and the fruits and vegetables that we did not bring, but could of, was required.  Penelope, our GPS map and navigator, told us how to find our way back to the highway.

Norman Gregory and the guidebooks told us about the pass on Highway 4 that needed crossing and the 8% grade on one side and the 6% on the other.  The truck struggled hard going up the mountain and its pain was eased when the speed was reduced to 30 miles an hour.  The long downhill grade required driving in a low gear and stacking up traffic behind us and it ended abruptly at the water’s edge in Port Alberni.  Our chosen launch site, Cluetesi Marina Haven, was easily found and the young employee greeted us with charm and sincerity.  Smelling hot brakes, a touch of the trailer’s four axle hubs revealed high heat hot and remained very warm for the following hour while we prepped the tug for launching.  I decided that without the trailer being serviced, we would have had a disaster.

At 6:25 PM we pulled away from the boat launch after paying for one night’s parking and a promise to pay the remainder whenever we returned.  When we paid $12 a night for parking, we realized that we are spoiled at our home cruising spots.  The Port Alberni Port Authority has a monopoly on all the marinas and ramps in the region; they set the rate and you pay them.

We motored two miles down the river and into the inlet that Port Alberni is located.  The remnants of the once prosperous timber and salmon eras were still visible at the wharfs and huge facilities that are nearly idle.  Marinas and tour boats have taken over a few of the places.  When the tug was motored up to its fast cruising speed at 3100 RPM’s, the coolant temperature gauged climbed well beyond its normal range but it cooled quickly when the speed was dropped.  Another seawater impeller replacement is on the horizon and this is a problem that can be handled on the water if necessary.

We were passing China Creek Marina when Laurie suggested that we take a look at it with the idea of stopping for the night.  It was nearly 8 PM and though we had at least another 90 minutes of daylight left, the tug made the hard turn to the left and toward the small breakwater that protected the small boat harbor.  Not seeing a plainly marked guest dock, we stopped at the closed fuel dock by spinning the boat around in its length and under the appreciative eye of the old-timers who stood around the ramp telling their fishing stories and taking entertainment by the comings and goings of boaters.  Boots was left alone on the idling as we searched for information on our next course of action.  Though she got out through an open window, she remained in the shade of the cockpit because it is her home on the water.

The marina office was closed for the day but one of the longtime residents, Jim, told us to take the spot at the foot of the ramp.  We recognized his authority and his suggestion were accepted and the same group watched in silent awe as the tug was eased into the tight spot without a nick or a curse word and Laurie stepped ashore with the quiet confidence of a veteran boater.  The small boat harbor had well over 75 boats tied to small finger piers and had room for more.  The marina had seen its best years; maintenance was needed in many areas but it was clean, safe and acceptable.

While the chicken burgers were grilling on the BBQ, about a dozen fishermen stopped by to admire the little green tug and asked their questions.  We were tired but social and enjoyed the low-key genuine graciousness of the Canadian boater at their homeport.  China Creek is also a park and it was stuffed with recreational vehicles of all shapes and sizes.  The Sockeye Salmon were running hard and this brought out the fisherman in droves. Most of the fifth wheels and huge motorhomes that were at the choice sites on the water’s edge were there for the long haul as evidenced by the fences, banners, gates, wheel coverings, name signs, cable dishes, and the sturdy plastic ground cover that was staked down.

Though we tried to get a good walk in, between the fatigue, the bugs and the heat, the boat was far more comfortable. The temperature did not drop below 90 until the sun dropped behind the coastal foothills.  The night air cooled gradually requiring an early morning placement of light blankets.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

The day started with the noise of footsteps on the metal grate ramp in the pre-dawn hours as the fisherman loaded their small powerboats to fish for Sockeye Salmon.  Finally rising at 6:30 AM hour because of hearing all the comings and goings, the air temperature was 58 degrees and climbing quickly.  Opening the curtains, fish and game officers were inspecting the boats that were coming back from their sunrise fishing and were taking action for having to many fish or not having a fishing license.  Over the next hour, we watched the two fish cops scurry about with their ticket books and log book, taking notes, and contacting the arriving fisherman.

After a nice breakfast of cold cereal, juice and fruit, the boat was inspected and readied for sailing.  Coolant was added to the reservoir and the intake filter was inspected and cleaned.  The young man working the fuel dock was asked about the cost of moorage and he replied that he only knew about boat launching fees and pumping fuel; that was clearly the limit of his training and responsibility to the marina. When asked if we were good then, he said, “Sure” and we were off at 0735 hours having enjoyed a free night at the dock.

Clearing the breakwater and turning left toward the ocean, we immediately saw the scores of small powerboats trolling the wider areas of the inlet.  The boats were doing a slow dance of moving to entice the Sockeye toward their bait but avoiding colliding with other boats.  For miles we would slowly go through a group or go around them and then have periods were there were no other boats.  At some unknown point, like a line drawn across the inlet, there were no other boats fishing for Sockeye and we had the inlet all to ourselves.  We motored at the tug’s fast cruising speed with my eye scanning the coolant temperature.  After about 20 minutes, the temperature would ease up another 25 degrees and I would slow down causing the engine to cool quickly to its normal 175 degrees.

San Mateo bay was on the Southside of the inlet and offered protection from the northwest winds that were forecasted by Environment Canada to build to near gale force in the late afternoon.  A public float was rumored to be in the bay.  These floats were built years ago and rarely, if ever, maintained.  The float may be there or it may be gone; it was a crapshoot and there was no expectation that the government would be committed to providing it for perpetuity. 

We scanned the shoreline and noted the three aqua farm operations.  Around a small hook of rock, protected from the winds, was the empty floating dock.  We tied up and enjoyed a light lunch in the rising heat and put up the windshield cover and closed the curtains.  I took a ride in the dingy with the new outboard motor and did the circumference of the bay.  The aqua farms were not staffed but large signs told the wandering boater to stay away.  The many blue floating plastic barrels marked the pens were some unknown species was being grown for harvest.  Each of the three farms had a different design and was probably growing different products.  After about an hour of exploring and becoming concerned about the diminishing fuel level in the small tank in the outboard motor, I headed back to the tug making a mental note to remember to bring the two-way radio and the extra gas can because rowing back in the head wind would be tough way to get the daily quotient of exercise.

In the early afternoon, we were joined on our small wooden island by 24 foot Bayliner trophy that was being single-handed.  I helped older man tie up his boat and noticed the fishing rods and tackle boxes.  He spoke with a German accent and over time, he revealed his love for fishing in these islands.  Hans was in his early 70’s and lived in nearby Parksville with his wife.  Wearing a faded sleeveless undershirt, the tone of his muscles and his sturdy frame was evident.  Hans was in great shape.  He was smart and eluded to years of professional experience but did not reveal what he had done during his prime working years. He shared his favorite anchorages and stops, told stories about hunting big game in the Yukon, and gave instruction on how to fish.

            “Sockeye are too small and anyone can catch them,” he said, “I fish for the big ones, the spring salmon, the ones that you call Chinook.”  Hans had a streamlined system of fishing using electric downriggers, twin leaders on each pole with carefully chosen lures and flashers that are set at distances and depths that he was honed over many years of fishing these waters.

            “Don’t take the advice of every fisherman,” he cautioned. “Take the best advice but develop your system and remember what works for and what does not.”

            Laurie took Hans into the tug and showed off the pole that was mounted on the wall; it was more for decoration than function, an old rod from her great uncle Carl.  “You can catch salmon with this pole, absolutely,” Hans announced, “and all you need is a salmon reel, the right line and setup.”

            Laurie was enthralled. She saw a fish landing in the boat with each of Hans’ instructions.  “Get yourself two 20 ounce lead weights, number 2 single hooks in a herring lure, a flasher and put it all on 30 pound test line.  Don’t pay $10 for the line; get it at the dollar store because it is all the same.  You can catch Sockeye and not have to pay hundreds of dollars to do so.”

            Another fishing boat with two couples aboard joined our little get-together.  Hector was retired for seven years and fished every chance he got.  He had befriended Jim who owned a bed and breakfast in Nanaimo and taught him how to fish.  They had seen us at China Creek Marina earlier that morning having limited out and were the first to return to the dock.  They were taking their wives fishing for their limit of Sockeye.  They were pleasant and polite people.  They asked if their two dogs come onto the float and Jim asked if it was okay for him to pee off the end of the float.  Hector was from Newfoundland and referred to himself as a, “New-Fi.”

With their arrival, Hans retreated to his boat and did not talk to them.

            Jim and Hector shared with us their favorite places in the Barkley Sound, of Poetts Nook and Ucluelet.  Jim shared his prejudice of how the First Nation people were taking any developed land that they saw fit, especially the nicer houses on the shoreline that had docks.  They offered us a small Sockeye that was caught after hinting that they were out of beer.  We accepted the fish in exchange two beers.  Hector offered to filleted salmon for us and brought out a set of knives dedicated for this purpose.  With Jim narrating and the wives being the witnesses, Jim quickly cut and filleted the meat from the Sockeye.  We took the leftovers for crab bait and put tonight’s dinner in the refrigerator.  We waved our good-byes as they headed back to their big recreational vehicles in the campground at China Creek Marina and Campground.

            Hans left also to spend the night at a “special place in Bamfield” and then go fishing the next day.  In the quiet of the late afternoon and in the rising heat because this float was protected from all wind, even the cooling kind, we decided to push off and head to Poetts Cove.  Every time we are underway, we use the charging power of the engine to power the inverter to charge something; the computer, a cellular phone or an electric toothbrush.  You try to not waste anything while boating.

            Along the way, we put our nose into a long and narrow cove that the Raymarine chartplotter indicated was acceptable anchorage.  When the depth suddenly rose from 55 feet to 6, the tug was put into reverse and we backed out of there.  We crossed Numukamis Bay and picked out the very narrow but quite deep entrance to Poett Nook.  With mature Cedar and Hemlock trees to the water’s edge and rocks peaking above the high tide, the entrance was narrow but easily doable at slow speed.  Once inside the cove, the marina, store, boat ramp and campground revealed itself.  We opted to anchor on the opposite side of the development, dropping the trusty Danforth anchor in 30 feet of water.  A reset was necessary when the tug’s stern was abruptly in 4 feet of water; that rock would reveal itself in the morning during the low tide.

            The salmon was marinated with Teriyaki and grilled.  It was splendid with green beans, drinks of rum and coke and bite-sized brownies.  The crab trap was put down for the night with the remains of the sockeye for bait. I discover the anchor light is not working and after doing a roof-mount troubleshooting with a voltage meter, the bulb is burned out; something that should have been checked at home or a spare carried.  Both did not happen.  So, until we can get to a reasonable boat store, the tug will be one of those many boats that do not use an anchor light.

After boat showers for everyone, the evening was closed with the first installment of the rummy marathon game. I awoke in the middle of the dark night to a splash or a thump against the hull.  A quick check of the depth and the outside showed no issues but the night sky was full of millions of stars.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Perhaps because the night was cooler, we slept longer and did not wake up when the parade of fishing boats left at sunrise to pursue the returning salmon.  A heavy dew provided the opportunity to give the tug a good wipe down.  After breakfast, the crab trap was pulled to find two crabs that would be tonight’s dinner.  The anchor was pulled at 9:25 AM and we idled out into Trevor Channel, turning left and did a slow cruise down to the community of Bamfield.

            Bamfield was named after an Englishman named Banfield who founded the village on the site of a long time First Nation’s people community that, like so many Indian communities, faded away from the diseases that were brought to them. 

We motored the entire length of the harbor and noted the two government docks with its red painted handrails on the ramp.  One side of the harbor is accessible only by boat while the other side is on the mainland and supports the wide range of community services that the resident population of 1,800 requires and the tourists desire. Large greenhouses near the town prompted the speculation that “Bamfield Bud” could be a thriving cash crop.

We tied up to a dock thinking it was a government dock but was actually owned by the Banfield General Store and licensed liquor dispenser.  We decided to buy an 8 pack of beer that would allow our stay at the dock for an hour, as we wanted to walk the boardwalk that was along the water’s edge.  Spending nearly $18 for 8 beers seemed a steep but acceptable trade for this privilege. The manager or owner of the store caught our comment as he leaned against the boardwalk’s handrail and told us to move our boat because the dock was his parking lot.  With the taste of bad service and public relations in our throats, we moved to the small public dock thinking about how one bad encounter can spoil the good intentions and a lot of effort to build a community’s reputation with the public.

We enjoyed a brisk walk along the narrow wooden boardwalk, past small wood frame homes, some needing vast amounts of repair while others were well cared for.  A small shed with windows added was the West Banfield Bistro and Coffeehouse that was complete with a doggie bar where pets could be tethered and have water.  The boardwalk’s railing had flower boxes placed and contained bright flowers that were watered and cared for.  We walked along to a twin set of docks that was home to small boats, both recreational and commercial, and had open room for more and found the new sign announcing the Bamfield Small Boat Harbor.  If we were going to stay the night, this would be the place.

We opted to leave Bamfield, spinning the tug in its length and leaving the harbor to head for Robber’s Passage on Fleming Island where the Port Alberni Yacht Club maintains an outstation for its members.  The passage is narrow, guarded by granite rocks that come from Fleming and Tzartus Islands.  A prominent marker announces the huge rock that is below the surface.  Slow speed and paying attention to depth makes this route safe.

The Port Alberni Yacht Club outstation was a very pleasant surprise.  First, we were greeted at the dock by Norman and later his wife Melanie who have been at the outstation since late May.  We could stay on the dock at no cost until 4 PM.  Overnight moorage was a dollar a foot and “chlorinated creek water” available.  Norm is also a scuba diver and dives frequently in these waters with his brother near reefs while Melanie operates the big inflatable boat.  He has been coming to this place for almost 30 years. Norm said that the water’s visibility had decreased in the last week as the water temperature rose 8 degrees to 65.  But under the 30-foot deep algae bloom, the visibility opened up to 30 to 50 feet. 

Norman explained that the Yacht Club founded the outstation in the 1970’s with a lease from the province and over time has expanded the lease to docks and some utilities.  The outstation needs the daily involvement, work and monitoring of the club members.  Norman explained that the revenue from the visitor moorage accounts for about 50% of the needs to maintain the facility. 

Like many organizations, the Yacht Club had depended upon a few key people to get the work done and in this case, a long time couple and spent their summers at the outstation doing maintenance, greeting boaters and coordinating the efforts of other club members. They had passed away causing Norman and Melanie to spend more time at the outstation.  They were leaving in a week to go back home near Okanagan, British Columbia and leave in January after Norman had gotten his skiing fix.  Then, they to go the Southwest for the winter and early spring, returning to the outstation in May.

Second, the members of the yacht club, all thirty boats strong, have created trails through the dense rainforest vegetation to the beaches on the other side of this small peninsula and have worked hard to maintain the docks, bunkhouse, generator and water system.  The quality of their improvements would rival most of the government run parks that we had seen. “One trail goes to Sunrise Beach, “Norman was telling us.  “The other trail goes to sunset beach and the trail that connects them is called ‘sonofabitch trail,’ because it was a son-of-a-bitch to cut.”  Norman was right, the under-story of vegetation was so thick that it prevented any penetration by an animal larger than a small dog and the density of the hemlock and cedar trees cast a dark pall throughout. We walked the narrow trails to the beaches of broken granite, to the shallow pools of mussels and climbed the weathered logs that were thrown up on the beach.

Finally, what made this place memorable was meeting Roger and Janet who had their Tomcat 25 boat next to the tug at the guest dock.  We had seen them twice the day before in passing.  They were in the early to mid-60’s.  She was pleasant, fit and trim and he had a stocky build, a demeanor that was first gruff but warmed as the conversation continued.  They were from the Sacramento area, chartered boats in Puget Sound, and felt home as soon as they crossed into Washington State to retire. They had stepped down in boats from a Krogen 39 to a 25-foot Tom Cat, a boat that Jeff Mesmer had sold them.  They had sold their Krogen for $60K more than they had paid for it. We shared the same pride of working on our boats and making them personally comfortable.  They knew people that we knew: Mac and Linda of Island Ranger, two new owners of Ranger Tugs who traded in their C-Dorys and Merv and Kathy on Whidbey Island who owned a Rosborough and who knew Norman and Clarice Gregory.  This boating world is small indeed.  They are accomplished at crabbing and catching prawns in traps but they do not fish.  For many cruisers that we have met over the years, cruising seems to conflict with serious fishing.

The two Poett Nook crabs were boiled to perfection and served with French bread and grilled shrimp.  A layer of low clouds had kept the day comfortably cool and a slight and short-lived drizzle came before sunset. After dinner, more stories were swapped with Roger and Janet until the mosquitoes and biting horse flies drove us back into our respective boats. Three powerboats came in during the early darkness and the guest dock was suddenly nearly full.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

            The marina remained quiet through the morning.  The late arriving fishing boats had left for fishing and the remaining boaters continued to be respectful of the quiet time.  After Laurie had a shower using the marina facilities, eggs and bacon were fried, the engine was checked, and a nagging leak from the galley faucet was fixed.  The water tank was half full after three days of use, so it was topped off.  Nettle Island in the Broken Group Islands that is in the Pacific Rim National Park was chosen as the next destination.

            At 10:30 hours we cast off and the tug was threaded between the huge rocks that are easily and safely and started the crossing of Eagle Channel that separates the Deer Group Islands from the Broken Group Islands.  The channel waters were a one to two foot chop with an occasional three footer. It is a sobering sight to look to the west and not see land, only the endless Pacific Ocean.  A heavy fog bank remained off shore but the weather report said that Bamfield’s visibility was limited to one mile with a forecast of clearing in the afternoon.

The tug was making the 12-mile trip to the north in great time but Boots lost her breakfast at both ends after an hour of these seas hitting the tug’s beam.  Once inside the protection of the Broken Group islands, the water was flat and the wind was very gentle.  We snaked through the small islets and rocks, past our first sighting of the big-boy boats that are common in our normal cruising grounds.  We chose a small cove tucked back into Nettle Island and dropped the anchor in 30 feet knowing that the early low tide at sunrise would still give us 15 feet under the tug. Later, the stern tie line was taken to a tree and back to keep us secure and predictable as the gentle breeze moved through the islands.

A dingy ride around this area revealed several other big boats, a floating ranger’s station and residence that was not occupied, and the conclusion that the low island’s vegetation was so thick to prevent any land exploration.  After lunch, I went on a “dipping dive” to explore the bottom of this shallow cove while Laurie would watch my bubbles and man the boat.  It was very nice to get wet, to hover in neutral buoyancy, and to be one with breathing.  The algae bloom had reduced the water’s clarity substantially in the first 20 feet, the bottom was broken rock and mud with only a smattering of interesting plant life.  The Danforth anchor was examined on the bottom and manually reset to provide better holding power. As the boat was circled, the occasional red rock crab would wave its pinchers.  In 25 minutes, I had seen all there was at that 35-foot depth.  Laurie was a gem at helping to remove and rinse the gear.

Laurie talked to family and another installment of the marathon rummy card game was accomplished.  Washing the tug’s windows of salt and re-applying another coat of Rainex made them all sparkle.  After a fine dinner of steak on the barbie with a mix of grilled onions and potatoes, we watched the “Sister Act” on the laptop with sound over the boat’s audio system.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Low clouds and a whisper of a breeze greeted us. We were slow to get going, being in no hurry as the next destination was only about 7 miles away.  As I wiped down the tug using the morning dew, Boots walked the toe-rail, jumped onto the roof and explored her upper world of boat living, her paws denting the canvas over the cockpit.

The stern-tie was easily brought in because the line is long enough to loop around a tree on shore and then secured back on the boat.  Putting on heavy weight gloves, I pull the line to the boat and Laurie quickly reels it onto the line reel where it sits on the swim step allowing the water to drip off the boat.  Then the dinghy is quickly raised with one pull against the pivoting davits and the outboard motor, fixed to the stainless mount that pivots on the dinghy’s transom, is swung up and secured with a wing nut to the tug’s railing.  With the engine idling comfortably, Laurie goes forward to the anchor line, uncleating it and standing back as the electric windlass pulls in the rope and chain rode up as the tug is eased forward and kept in line toward the anchor.  Once the Danforth anchor is it’s roller, Laurie ties it down, and we are off.

We had chosen the destination the day before and took our time getting there because we wanted to heat the tug’s water tank and top off the batteries with the diesel engine’s systems.  Motoring along at 6 knots and after just clearing the narrow passage of a cluster of islands, the distinctive blow of mist by a whale was seen about a mile away and then the wave of good-bye by the whale’s flukes as it made its deep dive in search of food.  Motoring slowly to the area and keeping an eye on the clock to time its deep dive, we were surprised when the whale surface about 50 yards from the tug and then took 4 shallow breaths in preparation for another deep dive.  By its dark color and short dorsal fin, we concluded this was a Humpback whale; our first, but it is common in these waters.

We easily found the small passage between Chalk and Dodd islands and avoided the rocks and reefs that guard the entrance.  The chart, slow speed, binoculars, and applying judgment based on experience and training made it all nearly risk-free.  The anchor was dropped in 33 feet at the lee side of Willis Island and as we waited for the accustomed time to make certain that the anchor was securely set in the mud, phone messages were left and the dinghy was pivoted on the water.  We are thinking that this is a good lunch spot.  As the little Honda 2 horse motor pushed us across the smooth water, Travis called from the Marine Corps base in Quantico, Virginia.  The motor was shut down and I rowed while Laurie talked and listened.

After the phone call, we continued rowing around the perimeter of the bay, into the shallow waters full of oysters and steamer clams.  Bald eagles squawked and soared above us and a Common Merganser with her four young chicks took to the water from a nearby rock.  The mother paused in the water and all the chicks climbed onto her back and she scooted them across the water, the mother-of-all ferries.

A campground for kayaks was found on a point of land that had a beach of white, crushed granite.  The nearby tide pools were teeming with animal and plant life.  Norman at the Yacht Club outstation was right about the sea life is active where there is current and surf.  We walked all that we could in this part of the forest whose understory was cleared by decades of camping, using muscles that had been idle by spending too long on the boat.

Back at the tug, we had a light lunch and played another installment of the marathon rummy card game as we waited for the light fog that was enveloping the islands to lift and the breeze to moderate.  After 3 days, the score is Laurie 171, John 27; the lowest score is ahead.  “I hope you are enjoying this ride,” she says, “because it is the only one you are going to get.”

Some boats have left and others have arrived but nothing our size.  We decided to head for Effingham Island, about 5 miles away and known for it s great sunsets, trails and popularity.  As we headed into Coaster Channel, the chop picked up to 2 and 3 feet and the 15-knot breeze doused the tug’s cabin with its bow spray.  We headed into the chop at a 45-degree angle thus making the ride more comfortable.  A Harbor Porpoise surfaces and dives into the tug’s bow wake and escorted us for about 5 minutes before disappearing.  

The surf was pounding against the tall, white marker buoy that marks the entrance to Effingham Island sending spray into the air.  A large ocean-going sport fishing boat had taken shelter behind an islet at Effingham Bay but its dinghy was bouncing in the chop, a ride that we would have, if we decided to stay.  After going all the way to the back of Effingham Bay in search of smooth water and protection and not finding any, we opted to return to the protection of Dodd and Willis Islands.  Laurie used the paper charts to keep the total perspective in view and I used the close-up view on the chartplotter to steer clear of the underwater hazards.

In 30 minutes, we had surfed backed and dropped the anchor in 33 feet on a rising tide.  At first, we put out our normal 3 to 1 ratio of anchor line but when the breeze picked up to a sustained 20 knots with gusts that caused a soft rumble as it rattled across the cockpit canvas, we took the precautionary act of putting out more line.  The Danforth anchor has always served us well, now on its second boat and 13 years of service.  We turn and sway in the wind, the smooth water only rippled by the gusts coming over the low and forested islands but we do not drag or slide.  Boots senses the security of it all, sleeping quietly in the master berth.

For the evening meal, Laurie sautéed chicken and vegetables that was accompanied by a beer and a squeeze of lime.  In the setting sun, more boats arrive; large sail boats, small and large powerboats, undoubtedly seeking safe protection from the wind.  The sky is clear and the temperature remains in the mid-70’s.  Everyone around us has hunkered down in their cabins as the wind buffeted the bay and swooping down over the trees.

Monday July 12, 2010

The morning was clear and cool and the wind had moderated to a gentle but steady breeze.  The lowest tide of the day revealed the rocky reefs that drop steeply from the tree lines on the islands.  Oatmeal for breakfast and the destination options are determined that are dependent upon the wind and sea conditions that the tug will encounter.  The first option is Ucluelet (pronounced you-clue-let), a small community that is nestled inside a long harbor on the northwest corner of Barkley Sound.  Internet, reliable cell phone service, a few provisions, maybe laundry and the ability to walk more than a mile would be nice, though not required.  If the wind and seas prevent a safe transit, the next option is follow the northwest wind into the northeast corner of the Sound.

The windlass makes the long pull of the 160’ of anchor rode in about 2 ½ minutes and the Danforth pops up without mud or seaweed.  We idle out of bay and through the channel between Dodd and Chalk Islands doing the slow S-turns around the rock reefs that are exposed at this low tide and turned northwest into Loudon Channel.  The wind-created chop is 1 to 2 feet, not unlike a typical afternoon at the mouth of the Snohomish River at our homeport of Everett, and bringing the tug speed up to 2,900 RPM or 11 miles per hour and not using the trim tabs to bring the bow down, keeps the bow above the chop and minimizes the spray that douses the cabin. 

We angle across Loudon Channel, making for Ucluelet that is 15 miles away, while skirting the shallows of Sargison Bank and the occasional log. On the north side of Sargison Bank is Newcombe Channel and as we turn to the west and around a large commercial fishing ship with a net in the water, the tug takes the rising chop on the bow as the wind is intensifying with the heat of the day.  The ride is comfortable enough and the tug is catching up to Vixen, a 38 foot sailboat from Portland and passes it at the narrowest part of Newcombe Channel between Food and Chrow Islands.  After making the turn to approach Ucluelet Inlet, there is a 10 minute period while crossing Alpha Passage where the Pacific Ocean swells are felt at their full force and during which, Laurie announces, “Just to be clear, we are NOT going along the coast to Tofino and Nootka Sound!” 

Though in the protection of Ucluelet Inlet, the wind has continued to build and is gusting down the inlet with peaks in the low 30 miles per hour and sustained at 20 miles per hour.  The Inlet is awash in white caps as we follow the buoy markers past the commercial fishing fleet facilities and toward the Ucluelet Small Craft Harbour.  Near the head of the head there is prime anchoring opportunities but only the hardiest of the larger sailboats are there with their all-chain rode.  The Small Craft Harbour looks packed, so Laurie opted to deviate from our normal routine and made a phone call to the harbormaster’s number was contained in one of the guidebooks that she packed.  Steve quickly answered the call and told us there is one opportunity for a boat our sized; we take it.

We approached the windward side of F-dock and pivot the tug in its length avoiding the mud on one side and the gelcoat of other boats on the other and we let the wind propel the tug into the dock, using the thrusters to make a feather-soft landing.  The tug is squeezed up against the small fishing boat ahead of us as Steve makes his introduction.  There is a sailboat coming in now and we all help the older couple secure their craft behind the tug.  They told us that they had been anchored at the head of the inlet for a couple days and were tired of the ride in the heavy wind. 

Vixen, the sailboat we passed earlier, comes down the narrow finger channel across the tug, Steve yells to the boat’s captain to, “Swing wide, now!” and the mutters to me that this could be ugly.  As the sailboat is turning around in the finger channel, the boat’s bow is headed for the dock on a collision course and three men pushing on the heavy craft will not prevent it.  Steve, the veteran harbormaster joked that he knows how to give orders but not how to handle a boat, yelled, “Put her hard into reverse and turn her hard to port.”  The boat shuddered under the reverse power and eased to the dock without a nick.

The wind continued to intensify through the afternoon pushing the tug into the dock and causing the three ball fenders to earn their keep.  Steve said the wind was keeping boaters in the harbor and keeping others from moving across the Sound. We willingly paid the 80 cents per foot, the $3 power fee and the $3 Internet access.

After a light lunch, we started to explore the Ucluelet, population 1,800 but has a seasonal population of much more.  The locals call themselves “Ukees.”  The longtime community of fishing and timber has re-invented itself with fishing charters, whale watching, kayak trips, bed & breakfast accommodations and a small floating hotel that was a cruise ship, the “Canadian Princess” with its 8 identical charter boats that are named after local geographical points.

In a couple of hours of walking around the community, you get a feel for it.  Working class people live near the harbor above the tourist shops and fishing fleet.  The main street has the “Co-Op Store” that is the grocery, hardware, sporting goods, and some building supplies all under one roof.  On the ocean side of this peninsula is the upscale tourist spots: the Big Beach Lodge, townhouses, condominiums, and the housing tract that will be finished one day when the economy turns around.  A store clerk was asked about the walking distance between the inlet side and the ocean side, she had no idea and no wonder; she would have no reason to go there.

The small sportfishing boat harbor that has the only ramp, next to the small craft harbor, was explored and it has the best laundromat. We bought some groceries, found the anchor light bulb replacement at a small boat supply store that was well stocked for its small footprint. Small shops and galleries were walked through. 

As the docks were explored, the charter boat crews sat on the gunnels of their boats drinking pop and gesturing their arms during the telling of stories and their laughter could be enjoyed at some distance away.  A shrimp boat arrived in the mid-afternoon and put out the sign that fresh shrimp was for sale.  Later in the afternoon, we did laundry and because the wind prevented the use of the BBQ, Laurie did a pasta dinner with meatballs that was followed by a movie on the laptop.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

The wind eased after midnight and followed the update forecast of light to moderate winds all day.  We were up to clear skies and temperatures remained in the low 70’s all day.  After breakfast, we walked across the peninsula to the ocean side finding the District of Ucluelet’s Wild Pacific Trail that had stunning views of the ocean as it pounded against the rocky shore.  We walked the trail and portions of the new housing development’s streets for two hours before turning to walk back to town.  The new community center with its breathtaking views of the ocean was found and we enjoyed a conversation with a maintenance worker who was cleaning up the skateboard park that was next to it.

Though the community center opened three months ago, the very nice skateboard park was built about 5 years before.  As we walked the small neighborhoods back to the commercial district on the inlet, we talked about the life where it rains over 200 inches a year and being on the far side of an island that is a very long distance from the mainland.  Laurie found a small bookstore that also serves espresso.  The city had put in a modular building that contained new and well-maintained bathrooms for the visitors.  We sat on a picnic table over looking the calm water of the inlet, eating an apple, and watched the bald eagles hunt while the fishing and pleasure boats came and went.

After lunch on the tug, we formally met Tom and Vicky of the sailboat Vixen.  They are from Portland, Oregon and have owned their Cascade 36 for 14 years.  He is repaired and replaced nearly everything on the boat, and with the failure of the Raymarine autopilot on this trip, he is starting round two.  They have cruised these waters before and brought out their charts and guidebooks to share their favorite places in Barkley Sound. 

We went for a short walk for ice cream and thoroughly enjoyed this treat as we watched the foot and car traffic come and go from the Canadian Princess hotel, restaurant and charter boat operation.

We returned to the tug to enjoy the late afternoon warm sun, cloudless skies and the very light wind. Then, Russ and Melody introduced themselves.  They are from Nanaimo and were docked near us at the Port Alberni Yacht Club outstation and saw the tug when they arrived a few hours ago.  Their sailboat had a crippled transmission but was able to limp into the dock.  They are waiting on an overnight shipment of a part that Russ will install.  Over the next hour, Russ revealed that he does all the mechanical work on the C & C 35 sailboat and is an avid sailor. He was the commodore of his yacht club that he described,  “As a working man’s club, of people who just like boats. We don’t have the big floating gin palaces.”

Before dinner, the early preparations to leave were started.  The water tank was down to a ¼ tank after four days and we were not careful about using water for the last two, so it was filled.  The trash and recycling was taken ashore.  Dinner was BBQ bison burgers, grilled asparagus with a rum and coke.  The bison meat came from a buffalo range on Vancouver Island and was fabulous.  The evening was closed with another installment of the marathon rummy card game where Laurie won big and closed the gap in scores.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Another change in the weather with fog blanketing the mountains and foothills, visibility was less than a mile until 10:00 AM.  We puttered about, had a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal, had plenty of dew on the tug for cleaning, and squeegeed every window with fresh water to remove the dried salt. Laurie started reading aloud the trivia in the tide book and we laughed and joked about her having a case of the babbling trivia.

 We pulled away from the dock at the lowest tide of the day and idled through by the tight docks and through the narrow gap between the fishing boats and the mud bar to enter Ucluelet Inlet.  The chartplotter lost its fix on the GPS satellites twice but rebooting the system brought them back, a preview of things to come.

As we went by the only diesel fuel station in Barkley Sound, we re-did the math of fuel consumption. We had gone 125 miles on this tank, 80 in Barkley Sound and 45 in Everett, and the tug’s accurate fuel gauge showed just under ¾ of tank.  Conservatively, we would probably go another 125 miles in Barkley Sound before pulling the tug back on the trailer, but probably less, and still have 1/3 of a tank of fuel left.  A nice reserve cushion for the unexpected and yet the fuel weight is less for the trailer trip over the mountains.

A fresh breeze was behind us and the tide was starting to rise.  The tug was powered up to its slow cruising speed of 2,200 RPM at 8.5 miles per hour.  With no schedule to follow and a destination that was 15 miles away, fuel economy speed and a pace to see wildlife was appropriate.  The low clouds obscured the visibility to about 10 miles, so we ran with the radar on, retraining ourselves on what the targets of rocks and boats look like, and how to tell if a craft is approaching and their distance from us. 

We re-traced our route from the previous day and headed up the shoreline on the north side of Barkley Sound only the water was nearly flat and the gentle breeze was behind us as we cruised with the flooding tide.  The skies completely cleared revealing the mountains to the north and east. The tug was brought up to its fast cruising speed of 3,200 RPM and we clipped along at 13 miles per hour until the temperature gauge slowly eased up to 185 degrees over 15 minutes, the engine was brought back down to 2200 RPM where the coolant temperature immediately returned to 175 degrees.

In 90 minutes, we had nearly traveled the length of Barkley Sound and were passing the tiny Hermit Island when the alarm sounded on the chartplotter that the GPS fix had been lost.  Only this time, no matter we measures we took, the GPS satellites were not being acquired by the chartplotter.  We quickly became uncomfortable, fully acknowledging our over-dependence on the electronic device that instantly displayed the boat’s position relative to islands and rocks.

We were not lost but we were slightly bewildered as to our exact location.  Was that island over there Snowden Island?  Did we pass it already?  We want to go to Refuge Island, is that it? Is it that one over there?  Or is it over here?  We did take a turn that was not planned, getting between Bazett Island and the mainland in a narrow channel with rocks approaching and Laurie picked out the changing color of the bottom, a clue that it was shallow there.

 I used the cursor on the chartplotter to mark the tug’s present location and then zoomed in to verify the depth on the depth sounder against the information on the chart.  Once we had re-established our confidence in our location, we knew where to turn.  As we were heading to the anchorage on Refuge Island, I was not paying attention to the shoals on the chart.  Laurie spotted the quickly changing color of the water as the bottom and the rocks rose quickly from the depths to be visible under the water.  We were already nearly idling, so the tug was very responsive when put into reverse. The floating aqua-farming operation was avoided and a huge tree that was speared into the mud occupied the preferred anchorage in 20 feet of depth.

We anchored behind Refuge Island in 45 feet, the Danforth setting quickly.  We found the backup handheld GPS in the abandon ship bag, its batteries fresh but the 14 year old unit could not acquire any satellites with its old software and the owner’s manual could not be found on how to re-boot the system and download new data.  That unit will have to be replaced.  Then, magically, when the chartplotter was turned on, the GPS fix was made instantly.  Laurie wondered if something had happened to the worldwide GPS system.  Maybe a secret military weapon was tested to disable the GPS system?

After lunch, we pivoted the dinghy from the swimstep and into water to explore other anchoring possibilities and to explore Lucky Creek. The dinghy took us across Pipestem Inlet to Bazett Island and small of group of islets to the east.  The anchoring possibilities were interesting but the access was narrow and the rocks were numerous. 

According to the guidebooks, if you access Lucky Creek an hour before high tide, you could dinghy upstream over the shoals to the fresh falls and pools.  Russ and Melody had told us about the beauty of Lucky Creek and their message of, “Go ashore at the cedar that overhangs the water,” would somehow make sense.  We avoided shoals of oysters and grass as the creek left the Sound and penetrated deep into the forest.  It seemed like we were in a bayou in the southeast rather than on the west coast of Vancouver Island. After several turns, the short falls came into view.  As it came closer, a better view of the smoothed granite and where the water had forced its way through was revealed.

On the right side of the falls was a cedar tree and its long branches over hung the water.  Going under the branches, a large boulder, smoothed by the water, came to the water’s edge with steps in it.  Over the boulder was a very steep but do-able trail.  Suddenly, a mature bald eagle flew overhead, perhaps 30 feet from us and landed in a nearby tree. We tied the dinghy to the roots of the cedar tree, easily climbed ashore and used both hands to grab roots and hand holds to pull and walk up the steep slope.  In a few minutes, we were atop a small granite ridge that held the water back, forming a pool whose bottom was covered with rounded river rocks.

The granite wall was smooth from centuries of spring flooding.  Upstream, Lucky Creek continued northward into the mountains was more short falls cascading over granite rocks, kicking up some white water in its urgency to get to the ocean.  We stayed at this idyllic place taking in the sights and sounds and the serenity of it all.

Returning to the dinghy, we used the oars in tribute to the beauty of the creek, and easily traveled the length the creek. An Eagle 40 trawler had dropped anchor nearby and we had short conversation with the captain.  He had brought his boat from Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands.  He knew the owner of another Ranger Tug, just like ours, who kept his tug at Eastsound on Orcas Island.  He was hoisting his anchor to continue on to the Pinkerton Islands that was just around the point and stay the night.  We waved our good-byes and we had the cove all to ourselves.

The breeze had faded away and in the late afternoon, Refuge Island lived up to its name.  Except for the evidence of clear cut logging and flagging tape that mark a future project, probably the next Indian Casino, there was no evidence of anyone and as the sun went down, we realized the uniqueness of Barkley Sound.  Though the scenery was basically same as the San Juan Islands, the Gulf Islands, Desolation Sound and other cruising areas in the Salish Sea, Barkley Sound was remote; there were few, if any, other boaters.  At night, there are no lights or evidence of any other human kind and at most places; there is no cell phone or Internet coverage. Barkley Sound was a remote as many parts of Southeastern Alaska.

For dinner, Mahi Mahi was grilled on the BBQ and served with new potatoes.  After dinner, chocolate brownies were baked on the BBQ and though not perfect by at-home standards, they were incredible and served with hot tea while watching a movie on the laptop with the boat’s great sound system.

The night was dead calm with no wind and no ripples or wakes.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

Low clouds and fog with visibility of about a mile made for a slow morning.  Laurie scrambled eggs with lots of veggies and served it with fruit, juice and coffee while I wiped down the tug and did the pre-departure inspections of the mechanical system.   The fog was lifting as the tide continued to drop exposing the tidelands that were rich in sea life.  Laurie spotted it first, looking over my shoulder at the tug’s dinette and out the cabin door, she paused with a forkful of egg in mid-air and said, “Bear.  On the shore.  Right now.”

A fully mature, large, black bear had emerged from the woods and was lumbering along the water’s edge smelling.  It would stop and roll a rock with its huge paw, sniff, eat and continued the hunt.  We watched in awe and silence for 20 minutes as the bear foraged; we were spectators and visitors to the bear’s world.

We took the dinghy out and paddled around the small islets that nearly encircled the tug, examining the shallow water where Laurie announced the names that she knew: moon snails, bat sea stars, oysters, sunflower sea stars and other sea stars that would need looking up when we got back to boat.  The oysters were very thick in some places and non-existent in others.  Bags of oysters were seen in their blue netting in an attempt to re-establish the colony; the oyster spats would grown on the old shells.  The flooding current drifted us over eelgrass that was teeming with small fish.

We pulled up the anchor at about 11:30 hours with the sun coming out and headed up Pipestem Inlet at a slow cruising speed.  The inlet is quite deep, triple digits, and lined with 1,000 plus high mountains on each side.  There are narrow spots along its 4-mile length and ends at a sand bar and a small creek enters.  We rode the incoming tide and the 10-knot breeze.  Bald eagles were frequently seen.  There is no anchorage here; the triple depths end with vertical wall at the sandy beach and the creek’s mouth.  We turned and thoroughly enjoyed the trip back.  Near Refuge Island, we spotted Roger and Janet in their Tomcat 25, “Dreamer,” and briefly talked with them on the VHF.

We continued on another 5 miles to the Pinkerton Islands, a cluster of small islets, with narrow and accessible bays, hoping to find an anchorage for the night.  A large cruiser occupied every bay we found that was suitable for anchoring.  Several of the boats we had seen before.  Barkley Sound has its own unwritten and unspoken rules about anchoring close to other boats; you don’t.  We looked at one bay twice thinking about how to anchor there but we felt that we were too close to the other boat.  Now, we would never have second thoughts if we were doing this in the San Juan Islands or the Canadian Gulf Islands; if there is room, you take it.  We did do a lunch anchor in the Pinkerton Islands, putting the transom in 6 feet of water that was fine for this high tide but it would be mud in a few hours.

Continuing on to record number of 30 miles on this trip, we continued traversing across the eastern shore of Barkley Sound and going around the peninsula that is bounded by Pipestem Inlet on the north, the Pinkerton Islands on the south, and the Alma Russell Islands on the east.  The entrance to the Alma Russell Islands and its Julia Passage was cluttered with rocks and islets and that was clearly for local boaters only.  Laurie had learned of an anchoring opportunity near John’s Island that was at the beginning of Effingham Inlet.  We rejected that one but found an idyllic spot nearby and just around a hook of land.  The small bay went quickly from 170 feet to 25 feet and the Danforth set solidly.  The tide would drop by 9 feet leaving the stern in 8 feet of water at 10:00 AM the next day; plenty of room if we are still here then.  A stern tie was run to a fallen tree and returned to the tug.  We were set and secure.

In the late afternoon, we watched a teenage bald eagle, with its mottled markings, try to hunt the school of fish that was kicking up water around the tug; the mature parent eagle was flying overhead in apparent supervision. We rowed the dinghy around our anchorage drifting over the variety of sea stars, mussels, and the occasional oyster.  As darkness fell around the entrance to Effingham Inlet, we played five more games of rummy while sipping Hennessy and then watched a movie.

Friday, July 16, 2010

The night air was still and the boat’s ride was quiet and solid.  We awoke to a low tide and took quiet pride in properly setting the anchor and the stern tie line; the tug was nearly surrounded by a rocky beach and large boulders as the transom floating in 9 feet of water over eelgrass. As we were doing our normal routines, I saw the young black bear foraging on the beach about 50 yards away.  It stood up on its hind legs and sniffed the air, probably got a reading on us, and sauntered back into the woods.  10 minutes later, the bear appeared on the next beach, sniffing rocks, turning some over, and eating.

Boots saw this bear as she was exploring the bow area of the tug.  She hunkered down on the deck, undetectable from inside the cabin, as she looked over the short ledge that encompasses the deck.  The predator and the prey; she was hiding, not hunting. We watched until the bear left.

Ready to leave, we quickly worked together to bring in the anchor line enough to but the transom in 10 feet of depth, released the stern tie line, pulled it in and reeled it onto the line reel, pivoted up the dinghy and secured in place and brought in the 40 feet to anchor line; all while keeping the boat from drifting to the rocks where gelcoat is no match for mussels on granite.

We did a slow cruise up Effingham Inlet for the next 7 miles.  It is sometimes narrow, sometimes wide, where depths are often 400 feet and sometimes over 600 feet, where the tree covered mountain slopes are at least 600 feet.  Aqua-farming dominates the first half of the inlet, taking every cove, nook and bend with their nets, buoys, lines, and floating buildings.   The second half is truly boating in the wilderness, except for the occasional floating home or the cabin nestled in the woods next to the shore.  Living up here, on the west coast of Vancouver Island, defines getting away from civilization.  The head of Effingham Inlet is a broad sandy beach where creeks flow into and old stumps mark the place where timber operations once were.  Laurie saw our third bear for the day on the shore near the creek’s mouth.  Old logging roads that were over grown with vegetation could still be seen on the shoreline and could be followed into the valleys.  The sky had cleared and the water was as flat as a pool table with only a whisper of wind coming up the inlet.

We turned the tug around and sped up to fast cruising speed, covering the same distance in about half the time.  As we were looking for a lunch place to drop the anchor, we sighted a carpet of orange sea stars glistening on the rocks at Palmer Point. We poked our nose into a cove off of Vernon Bay and found the backside of Eagle Nook Lodge.  The cove was too deep to set the anchor but the nearby sandy beach near Allen Point provided ample holding in 25 feet.  As we sat down for a quiet lunch, the seas slowly began to change from small ripples to white caps.

After pulling the anchor and starting to across the end of Eagle Channel, the seas had built over the length of the channel, culminating in 2 to 3 foot waves with white caps.  As we quartered these seas in the sustained 15 knot winds and headed toward Rainy Bay on the east side of Seddal Island, Laurie said, “Don’t get to comfortable with the weather, because it changes every 15 minutes.”

We avoided putting the waves at the tug’s beam that would cause uncomfortable rolling action that could throw items around the cabin.  Instead, we zigged and zagged the 6 miles to Rainy Bay using the wind to help propel us forward.  Keeping the boat at about 8 to 9 miles per hour created a very comfortable ride. 

We headed toward Rendezvous Dive Adventures, a place that Norman and Clarice had stayed the previous September, and though we did not have reservations or notice that we were coming, we hoped to stop there if the conditions were right.  The conditions were not right.  The afternoon seas were pitching over the log boom that protected their two boats and there was no other obvious place to moor.  As we approached closer, a man came out of the lodge with binoculars and carefully looked us over.  We continued on, looking at the nearby cove and private float that Gregorys received permission to stay on, continued around the small Boyson Islands into a long a short, semi-protected inlet and thought about anchoring near the half dozen homes that were built or floating at its end, but decided to return to nearby San Mateo Bay and its public float.

In 20 minutes, we rounded the familiar Bernard Point and sighted the float that we had known.  There was another boat, a tug-design; named Lively Polly tied on the opposite side.  We joined them and met Bill and Shirley.  They live, “At Port” or what the locals call Port Alberni six months a year and in Costa Rica the other six months.  She stills work part-time as a contract social worker, reviewing files via the Internet and then doing interviews.   Another “sporty” boat arrived, what the locals call a sport fishing boat and the older couple aboard Swell Bound were also from At Port and the four had a great conversation of who-do-you-know as they worked to prove the theory that everyone is connected by only six degrees of separation.

We had sautéed shrimp and vegetables with wine in the cockpit and then took the dinghy for an exploration of the nearby rock wall and decided to dive this cove and wall tomorrow morning.  For Laurie, it would be a get wet dive.  I connected with Rendezvous Dive Adventures when Bill said that everyone who lives here monitors VHF channel 06.  Kathy came right back on the radio when I called her.  Forget about phone calls.  She told us that we could get our tanks filled tomorrow at 9 AM and they had an opening on Sunday for a dive trip.  We agreed to meet and talk about it.  She asked if we were the cute green boat that came by earlier and I said we were.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Low clouds, cool weather, and a quiet anchorage changed our minds about diving this cove. We opted to stay in bed, have a leisurely breakfast of oatmeal and fruit and take our time in leaving San Mateo Bay.  We arrived at the Rendezvous Retreat shortly after 9 AM and followed Peter’s waving directions to avoid a submerged rock and rafted onto the side of his main dive boat, the Rendezvous 1. 

We quickly liked Peter and his wife Kathy who ushered us into their home and business handing us mugs of steaming coffee.  Peter is from Holland, owned a dive shop in the south of France and is now a “Knucklehead-Canuck.”  He is fit and trim, bounding up and down the steps, ramps, and decking of their multi-level house and lodge, with ease and speed.  Peter is the master of the intricate the systems that make this lodge and diving center possible.  He is somewhere in that ageless category between 35 and 45 years old.  Kathy is a delight with air of easy pleasantness and graciousness but you can sense a quiet confidence.  She is often the Divemaster for trips and a dive instructor.

We talked while Riley the big and friendly Black Labrador Retriever and Bugs the taffy cat is new to the household circulated among the humans seeking scratches and rubs.  Peter and Kathy offered to have us tie unto their dive boat for the night and we could enjoy diving the “house reef” which is immediately in front of their lodge.  They were not available to take us diving today because the local community was having a “regatta” of sailboats in a nearby inlet and then having a potluck and some beer.  We talked about going on a two dive trip with them on Sunday, what that would look like and the cost.

Peter started topping off my scuba cylinder with air. “We call them cylinders,” Peter said, “Tanks are something the Germans used during the World War.”  But this was no small operation and Peter is man in constant motion because the Rendezvous Retreat is a completely self-contained operation from power, to water, sewage, and buildings.  Then, add the dock, ramp, breakwater and two boats.  Then, add the complexities of the scuba dive equipment; regulators, dry suits, cylinders, weights and the knowledge and expertise to guide, instruct and rescue.  As Peter told his story in response to our questions, he would sprint up to the shed that housed the air compressor and the racks of high-pressure tanks. Then, he would sprint up to the shed that contained the diesel generator that created the power for the lodge to run on.

He was unrestrained in talking about the highs and lows of running this lodge.  He and Kathy bought it seven years ago from the owner who had felled and milled the cedar trees into boards, had blasted the space in the granite face that the lodge would sit on, and operated the Rendezvous Diving Adventures for 28 years.  The first owner was one of the pioneers of scuba diving on Vancouver Island. When the purchase deal was finalized, Peter and Kathy would have a 12-week hand-off period to learn the business and how to operate all the systems but the owner was diagnosed with an aggressive brain cancer 4 weeks into the hand-off period and was gone. 

“The first two years were very stressful,” said Peter, “and at times I did not know if we were going to make it.”  Peter learned that dive community is fickle and unpredictable.  There are times of only feast or famine and his reputation is determined by word of mouth and connections.  Some dive clubs frequent the lodge while others are not responsive.  He hosted a search and rescue training for one part of the Canadian government and now hosts several sessions a year.  Now, he sells underwater video footage to aquariums. He spoke with passion about seeing humpback whales just off his dock and gave the names and descriptions of sea stars and marine plants and animals that we had never heard of.  Peter is part marine biologist, part businessman, and part all-purpose maintenance man.

They are a trusting and friendly couple that has been successful at making quick and valid assessments of people; an essential survival skill on the west coast of Vancouver Island. They quickly decided to leave us with their home and business as they prepared to leave for the day.  Maybe, when you drive a Ranger Tug and they have estimated the outlay of money needed to have our systems, you get a little credibility. In a few minutes, they had started up their smaller boat, brought their contributions for the get-together and pulled away from the dock waving their good-byes.

What is telling is that Peter and Kathy have a mountain of maintenance to do on their facility.  The ocean air and the cold temperatures take a heavy toll on the lodge’s infrastructure.  Though summer is the only time to accomplish this work, it is also the busiest time of the business.    Peter is so busy, that he will not be diving until the early part of October.

Waiting for the high tide to go diving at the house reef, we did boat cleaning projects, read, Laurie made a cheesecake, and we relaxed.  I strained my back, something that I have not done for some time; not exercising, stress, and lifting and turning at the same time caused it.  I know that I have to relax it and let it heal for about a week.  Then, I can strengthen it and prevent it from happening.  You slack off, be willing to pay the prices.  I knew from the pain and the lack of flexibility and strength on certain movements that a two-cylinder boat dive tomorrow was off.

With the tide finally up, we did the 30 minutes of preparation for diving and did the giant step off the dive boat into the 50-degree water.  Laurie had issues with air in her dry suit and not being able to purge it through the valve.  We worked on this problem for about 10 minutes.  After the third attempt to descend, she sank like a stone, a sure sign of being over-weighted.  The plankton was as Peter had predicted it, about 30 feet thick, but under it, the visibility was great, over 30 feet and the bottom was rich with life.  Laurie had a leaky mask and was working to achieve neutral buoyancy.  After 20 minutes, she had used up her air and we ascended.

After the dive and the rinsing of the equipment, we relaxed in the hot tub and later grilled a steak on the BBQ that was accompanied with a salad and red wine.  Peter and Kathy returned while the sun was still up and invited us up to their deck for drinks and conversation.  For the next several hours, we listened to their stories, challenges and rewards, their journey to this place and they listened to ours; we laughed until it was time to sleep.

Sunday, July 18, 2010

Another morning of low fog and heavy dew, it coated the dive gear and everything it touched. Laurie made a magical breakfast of eggs with veggies, juice and coffee.  The cheesecake that was intended for last night’s dessert was this morning’s breakfast addition. Peter stopped by to say his good-byes as he was working the tasks of the day.  We walked up to the lodge and met Kathy, thanking her for the hospitality and made a contribution to the tip jar for their great service.  The lines were untied at about 10:15 AM and we rounded Chub Point and headed up Alberni Inlet with a fresh breeze behind as and the waters were flat.

Listening to the local chatter on VHF channel 6, we learned that halibut fish are called “Hallies,” and if the water has whitecaps, the seas are described as, “Lumpy.”  So, fisherman from Port Alberni who are fishing for halibut in a small fishing boat where the seas have whitecaps could be heard on the radio as, “A couple from Port are looking for hallies in their sporty where it is lumpy.”

Again, not in any hurry, the tug was cruising along at 8 MPH at its low but efficient cruising speed, the autopilot doing most of the steering work.  Soon, the breezed turned into a wind and the long portions of the inlet allowed the waves to build to 2 feet with an occasional 3 feet, and white caps.  But the ride was great, a gentle sway because we were one with nature and riding the wind and the current toward Port Alberni.  We covered the 25 miles in about 3 hours, burning about 3 gallons of fuel.

Laurie had made phone calls about overnight moorage because we wanted to relax, see the town, and make some decisions about the next step.  The Harbor Quay at Port Alberni had room for us and the Fisherman’s Harbor marina was full of commercial fishing boats.  The breakwater that protects the Harbor Quay is the former floating bridge that crossed the Hood Canal in Washington State and it is formidable.  The docks were new and space was plentiful.  Laurie met another boater, Phil, a local resident who kept his boat in the marina.  We were directed to a finger pier and the tug was snugged in and plugged in with dockside power.  The 15-25 mile per hour wind is a near daily occurrence but the temperature was warm.

Phil came by and offered us to drive us to the store that was 4 miles away and beyond walking distance.  He offered to pick us up at the store because he was returning to boat.  Phil grew up in Port Alberni and provided a brief historical and community profile.  It was the logging capital of Vancouver Island.  There were two towns, side by side, Port Alberni and Alberni that combined in 1967 to form the present community. The wide streets and industrial area are symbols of the once vibrant period.  The city is trying to come out of a downturn.  It calls itself the salmon fishing capital of the world. He dropped us at a nice market that is know for the quality of its meat and he returned on time, as promised and took us and our 8 bags to the marina.

Later in the afternoon, we walked the area, deciding to have an early dinner and settled on a restaurant for our first meal away from the boat at the Swale Rock Restaurant where the local pale ale beer was excellent, the homemade fisherman’s bread with homemade bumblebleberry jam was astonishing and we had halibut that was wonderful.

We finished the day, walking the docks, and using the Internet for research. 

For this trip, we cruised 171 miles over 11 days, the engine was moving us, generating power and heating water for 30 hours, the engine burned about 60 gallons of fuel and we used about 50 gallons of water.