All Legs & Havens
121 entries from Jura's log
Home!
To Portland Island
I was chugging along in the early morning glow, enjoying my French toast, when I looked down at the tachometer to see, to my dismay, that it was at 0. It took me a moment to realize that the alternator belt had once again snapped, and of course, the engine was overheating, but this time due to the fresh water pump not turning. I shut the engine off and began the acrobats of removing the belt for the hydraulic windless so that I could get to the alternator belt, all the while hoping BC ferries didn’t choose that moment to show up on the scene. The wind did decide to show up, so I interrupted my contortions to set the Genoa, sending wrenches clattering across the cabin. At last I was able to install the new belt, luckily I replaced the spare I used up in Port McNeill. And now I’m off again, sailing into Princess Bay.
Oak Bay Marina
As you can see from the photo for this post, it was very shallow at the Gartside dock, and only possible to get in and out at high tide. Today was a zero tide and Jura sat in the mud for about an hour at low tide. Luckily it’s very soft mud. A new experience.
To D’Arcy Island
To Oak Bay
I got an appointment at Gartside Marine in Oak Bay, so I’m heading over there. Not much wind out here so I’m under power, I was expecting to have to drift for a while letting the engine cool off but… the temperature has stabilized and isn’t overheating. It’s like when you’re in agony and finally decide to go to the doctor, but when you get there you realize your not in so much pain anymore. The only things I can attribute this to are a) the water is about 4 degrees cooler here than on the west coast, so it’s conceivable that was enough to mean the raw water wasn’t taking enough heat from the fresh water coolant. Or b), there’s no swell here, so it’s possible the motion in the swell was creating air pockets in the fresh water coolant loop, leading to the overheating… Anyway, it will be good to have Gartside look at the engine regardless and tell me what they think. The mystery continues!
To Quarantine Bay
Well, that concludes the furthest I’ve ever sailed in a single day. It was quite a day. I am, to say the least, exhausted but satisfied. It was excellent wind and excellent conditions. It rained on and off, but in general the boat handled really well. I have certainly learned a lot about sailing Jura in different conditions on this circumnavigation. One thing I learned on this leg was that in certain conditions downwind she handles quite well under just the main, without the genoa. I often use the Genoa on its own, but seldom the main on its own because it moves the centre of effort too far back and means Jura develops too much weather helm (a tendency to turn into the wind). In the right downwind conditions, though, it actually works quite well, and it alleviates the genoa booming around as it collapses when the boat rolls and there isn’t enough wind to keep it full. The last little bit was quite exciting, coming through Race Rocks with probably 25 knots of gusting wind, then hitting some tide rips that were pretty dramatic and getting sort of spun around while being hit by a massive gust at the same time. There were a few moments where it was a little bit scary. Then, coming around across the entrance of Pedder Bay under full sail, I got hit by a huge gust and had to lose the genoa and come into the wind, we were just totally overpowered. It was also getting dark and raining at the same time. A very dramatic final hour. But I am now here next to the William Head prison, and looking very much forward to crawling into my bunk.
Pit stop in the Broken Islands
I managed to sail almost all the way to Wouwer Island, arriving just as the wind was dying. I don’t think I stopped here last summer, it’s quite nice. I’m sorry I won’t have time to explore it. I plan to leave around 5:30 or 6 am tomorrow morning, and see if I can make it to Sooke Basin, or Quarantine Bay. At 5 knots it’s around 14 hours to Sooke, 16-17 to Quarantine Bay. In the afternoon the current in the Strait of Juan de Fuca will be flowing against me at about 1 knot, and against the wind, which is likely to make for uncomfortable choppy seas. I’ll assess as I go how I’m feeling and what the conditions are like. If I need to, I can always pull in at Port Renfrew.
Ucluelet - engine test
With the thermostat fully removed, the engine is still overheating at the same rate. I am now sailing back under genoa only with a following breeze. This result makes the thermostat unlikely to be the cause. My best guess now is that something is wrong with the freshwater pump or freshwater circulation, and that the freshwater pump needs to be serviced.
Ucluelet
To Ucluelet
Whitepine Cove
I woke up this morning and my batteries were stone dead. I was a bit surprised, as they were at 60% when I went to sleep, but not that surprised because I’ve noticed that when they don’t get a full charge for some time, the battery monitoring system (BMS) loses fidelity, and reports a strong charge when they may actually be close to dead. It’s been sunny lately, but not long enough to get me to a full charge, and over the last couple of days there has been mixed cloud cover, with full cloud cover all day yesterday. Usually the mix of solar with a few hours of engine run time tops them off, but I’ve barely run the engine in weeks due to the overheating issue. That makes me hope that my starter battery is getting enough of a charge during the short time I run the engine, as I never got around to replacing the lead acid charger when it was fried last year, so I can charge my house batteries with a dedicated lithium charger, but don’t have a direct way to charge my starter apart from the alternator. Hopefully it holds out long enough to get me to Ucluelet. For now, it looks like I’ll be running the generator all day.
To Whitepine Cove
Hot Springs Cove
To Hot Spring Cove
Hesquiat Harbour
At anchor in Hesquiat Harbour.
To Hesquiat
I’m currently cruising out of Nootka, I came out of the sound and put up the main double-reefed, with the genoa at about 70%. I was sailing close-hauled for a little bit to get out of the sound, and then bearing off to a close reach. But the sea state is tremendous. It’s probably 3 to 5 metres today. At first it felt like about 20 knots of wind, but it quickly climbed above that. It feels more like 30 knots now. I was quickly overpowered and had to drop the main. Every once in a while I’d get hit broadside by one of these giant waves. I can see them rolling toward me, towering over me, and then duck for cover as they break over the boat. It was exciting to get the main down, clinging to the mast while we plunged through the waves and were buffeted by 30 knots of wind. But I was able to get it down in a number of successive stages, then tie it off and secure the halyard. I furled the genoa to about 30%, and that slowed things down. Jura is handling really well. We were still doing about 5 to 6 knots with just 30% of the genoa out, but it didn’t feel like we were going that fast, so I let out a little more. We’re now probably at about 40% of the genoa, and doing closer to between 6 and 8 knots, which feels much better. I think this is probably the most serious sea state and wind conditions I’ve sailed in, which is a little bit deceiving because it’s a bright, sunny day with a blue sky. When the sky is blue it feels like, what could possibly go wrong? Everything will be nice and tame. But it is a serious ocean out here. I feel quite comfortable now. I’m in the cabin. The autopilot is working at the moment and handling ok. With just the genoa up, Jura is quite balanced. I have it furled enough, and high enough, that I’m not too concerned about waves breaking into it. Waves have definitely been breaking over the bow, and so far the kayak has not filled up with water, so that’s a good sign.
Friendly Cove
I had the opportunity to tour the light house station and speak with the lighthouse keepers, and the crew of the inshore life raft station. It’s a pretty cool operation.
To Nootka Sound
I’m surfing on the backs of these waves at about 10 knots, which is pretty thrilling, to say the least. The wind appears to be picking up. I’m trying to claw my way offshore a little bit to make my way around this reef, but I have the genoa poled out on the starboard side, and I don’t know if I can get the pole down in this sea and wind. That’s the problem with putting the pole out: it’s very hard to get down, especially when the breeze builds and the sea state builds. Then you’re stuck over-canvassed. Anyway, it’s kind of fun surfing these waves. I just hope I’m not putting too much strain on the rig. I think it should be okay as long as we don’t get rolled sideways, which is a real possibility. Jura has gotten very wet on this trip, with water in places I haven’t had water on board before. I went down below and found that salt water had sprayed all across the cabin. I was very confused until I realized that when one of the waves broke over the cabin, it must have flooded the dorade and sprayed into the cabin. I guess I should probably have the dorades all facing backwards, and also closed off, in this kind of sea state. I think I may need to shorten sail quickly soon, as I think we’re pushing too fast and the wind is picking up very quickly. I can actually feel us starting to plough a little bit under the water which is what happens when a displacement hull goes too fast.
Mary Basin
It's glassy calm in Mary Basin, and the space is filled with the melodious notes of birdsong. The sun is gently reaching up over the mountain and illuminating the trees and the water, the beautiful blue sky, and some low-hanging clouds. Looks like it is going to be a beautiful day. I'm hoping that the swell will be minimal as I exit Nuchatlitz Inlet, allowing me to run the engine at a lower RPM as I get out. And then my most sincere wish is that there will be a strong northwesterly breeze once I get out of the inlet, which will be able to carry me swiftly to Nootka Sound — a place I have been wanting to visit for a long time, and am looking forward to.
To Mary Basin
My brain felt like it spend the afternoon in a washing machine after rolling around at anchor in Louie Bay for a few hours in the swell. I was hoping there might be some shelter there as there are some cool places to explore, including a shipwrecked freighter that was towed there and has since mostly rusted away (I could see it from the boat). I decided my sanity relied on a more settled anchorage though, and seeing as the engine had cooled down and the wind was up, I decided to continue on to Mary Basin. It was a rolly leg through the swell, but upon arriving in the basin, it’s very peaceful, very secluded, no sign of people.
To Louie Bay
Sat for a few minutes with the engine off to let it cool down. Tried sailing but there’s just not enough wind to keep the sails filled when the boat is moving this much in the swell. I’m motoring again now at 1500 RPM, which seems to be keeping the engine at a reasonable temperature. I definitely don’t want to lose power with no wind so close to these reefs. My last resort would be to drop the anchor, but I’d be pretty close to the rocks before reaching a depth where the anchor could bite.
Nuchatlitz
I woke up last night to the thump-thump of various items being rocked back and forth — a sound that only comes from one’s home being rolled broadside to a steep swell. In my dazed state, I forced myself out of my sleeping bag several times, mostly out of frustration, to better stow things in the cabinets, or to reach outside and cinch up the mainsheet so the boom wouldn’t move so much. Eventually, my confused mind arrived at the realization that it must be high tide. The long sandy spit that protects this bay from any swell at all is completely covered at high tide, which allows some of the swell from the open water to pass over it, and to break me from my wonderful sleep. After being woken up by several different items that decided they would give themselves over to gravity, and then stowing them properly, I was able to get back to sleep.
To Nutchatlitz
That was a thrilling entry to this beautiful sanctuary. I was rolling in with the surf and 25 knots of breeze on my starboard beam, threading the proverbial needle through two reefs, starting the engine for a hard turn to starboard into the inlet, into the wind, putting the engine into gear and steering while struggling to furl the Genoa as it flogged with terrifying ferocity. There was not much margin for error, but somehow I made it. Entering the inlet I passed a sea otter carrying a pup (or whatever you call a baby sea otter), it was pretty cute. I feel like I’ve just entered an atoll in the central pacific, surrounded by reefs. I can see the open water and surf breaking on the reefs from where I’m anchored, and there are countless little islands and beaches and grassy knolls to explore. This is a kayaking paradise. I’m ready for a nap and some nachos.
Dixie Cove
If life is a video game, I feel like I’ve unlocked the next level by buying a kayak. There is so much to explore that isn’t possible with a larger sailboat. And it’s hard to express just how different a kayak is from the drudgery of rowing an inflatable dinghy, which is really a purely pragmatic vessel. Gliding soundlessly through glassy calm water in the kayak, or riding the swell, is absolutely delightful. The water here is so crystal clear that if you skirt the shoreline, you have a never-ending view into the water world below: starfish, shellfish, all kinds of fish and aquatic life. It is miraculous and inspiring to observe on its own, but the clarity of the water itself is also a miracle of its own. It’s like a window into a world below. I was reflecting that one of the distinctive properties of this part of the west coast, for me, is the absence of BC Ferries and their constant wakes — the giant waves constantly pelting the shore, inevitably and forever changing the sea life and the shorelines wherever they travel, as is especially the case in the Gulf Islands. After spending several days at Rugged Point, with Jura constantly bobbing around in the swell, which was ever-present regardless of how calm it was, I have been sleeping very well the last couple nights in areas where it is perfectly still. It is really a marvel to be on a body of water that has the potential for constant motion, and for it to come to a pause. To just be still. It has been raining pretty much constantly all day, but it let up briefly, so I took the opportunity to go out for a paddle. That is also part of what I feel like I’ve unlocked. There isn’t much opportunity to go ashore here, so previously I would have just developed increasing cabin fever, waiting out the rain inside. But now I have the opportunity to go out, even in the rain. Actually, it has been showering on and off while I’ve been paddling, and it is particularly beautiful to be out here exploring, looking, seeing what is under the water, and taking in the silence and peace. I’m grateful.
To Dixie Cove
Fair Harbour
To Fair Harbour
Rugged Point
Rugged Point has been a beautiful, rugged escape. We tucked in behind the point, and although we could feel a little of the swell in the bay, and could hear and see the waves breaking on the point, it stayed quite calm where we were anchored. Even when the northwesterlies picked up, they streamed past the point leaving us bobbing peacefully with first row seats to the chop developing outside the bay. We had a couple of instances where the outflow picked up, coming out of Kyuquot Sound, but in general we were still quite comfortable. The snorkelling was absolutely spectacular. The water was clear, and the kelp forests were full of life: colourful snails clinging to the kelp, fish of all sizes, large schools of fish, small cohorts of post graduate fish, rock cod, and bright blue fish with orange tails. It was mesmerizing just floating there, watching the life drift by, watching the kelp forest sway in the swell. We also floated over forests — or I should say meadows — of seagrass: sparkling, green, vibrant, reflecting the sunlight and undulating in the swell. There are two sets of beaches. On the side where we were anchored, calm beaches. On the other side, a proper west coast set of long beaches, rocks, reefs, and as much sand as you could desire. And as much sea life as you might hope to find. And no people. Just the tracks of wolves and bears. Apparently there are some visiting Grizzlies in the area right now, but we didn't see any.
To Rugged Point
To Fair Harbour
Hankin Cove
I’ve been thinking lately about how to capture water while travelling, because sometimes fresh water can be the limiting factor to how far I can stay out before needing to seek out civilization. So far it hasn’t been a problem. I can carry quite a lot of water, and over the last several weeks I’ve been learning how to conserve more and more of it. I’ve largely stopped washing my hands with water, and use primarily hand sanitizer. I wash dishes almost entirely with salt water, only lightly rinsing things like cups and cutlery with fresh water. I don’t worry as much about pots and pans that are going to be heated up again anyway, since that will hopefully kill anything that might have been in the salt water. I’ve also been washing myself with salt water: soaping up, rinsing with salt water, and then using my pesticide sprayer with fresh water to spray myself off with just enough to get the salt off. And I’ve been cooking with salt water too — boiling vegetables like potatoes in it, which is really delicious. Cabbage boiled in salt water is fantastic. Pasta works well in half salt water, half fresh. All of those things mean I could probably make it a month with the water I carry on board. Maybe six weeks. But it is still nice to know I can take on more fresh water, and also to have enough for things like rinsing my wetsuit so it doesn’t get salty and smelly. Laundry is another limiting factor. I need to find somewhere to wash clothes every month or so, and if I need to do that on board, it takes quite a lot of water. So I’ve been thinking about how I can capture water without a watermaker, which is incredibly expensive and energy intensive. The obvious option is collecting water from creeks, and there is an abundance of those around here. I just need a way to filter it. It seems like the best approach would be one of those filter bags you fill and hang up, letting gravity do the work. But getting enough water on board from a creek would probably still mean hauling jugs a long way, which sounds like a lot of work. It has been raining for the last few days, so I’ve also been thinking about how people voyaged long-term offshore before watermakers. They captured rain running off the sails. Maybe I should rig up some way to do that. Being in the Pacific Northwest, there is no shortage of rain. I could use the same kind of filter bag: hoist the mainsail, let rain run off it into the bag, hang it off the end of the boom, and then filter it into one of my 20 litre jugs. Then I could use that water for things like washing clothes and rinsing my wetsuit, or even put it into the tanks. It is slightly unsavoury to think about drinking water that has just washed over my sails. But if push comes to shove, it’s a good way to survive. And at the very least, it would be very good washing water.
Into Kyuquot Sound
Kyuquot
Today was mail day. I’ve been tied up to the public dock in Kyuquot—the on on Walter Island—all day. I stayed here last night, and today I’ve mostly just been sitting on the boat working. Around noon, a floatplane from Air Nootka landed and tied up right next to me. The pilot began unloading parcels, which appeared to be deliveries for Canada Post. The post office is just up at the top of the pier in the general store. A number of people came down and began helping unload the parcels, talking with the pilot as they worked. They hoisted the boxes straight up onto the pier, so nobody had to walk them all the way around. Then, all day, little skiffs came and went, people picking up their packages. The Toyota Corolla of Kyuquot appears to be a 14-foot Lund with 9.9 horsepower. The Ford F-150 is maybe 18 to 20 feet of fibreglass, centre console with a small cabin, and at least 200 horsepower. There are a lot of outboards here. This is a sound full of outboards. On the pier, there are five or six 200-plus horsepower Yamaha engines that appear to have been abandoned, either waiting for an empty ship to haul them away, or kept around for parts, I can’t tell. It is so unusual, at least from my way of life, to be in a place where small boats are the primary mode of transport. It was kind of like being parked downtown in front of a general store, except everyone was coming in by skiff. Often people would come in, throw one line onto the dock, step off, leave the engine idling, and begin the trek up the pier to the post office. It has been incredibly warm. Just a really peaceful, beautiful day. Even though there is a very alive and bustling nature to the sound of boats coming and going — lots of fishing, people busy at work — there is also this sense of total peace, where things are moving in their own clocks. It is certainly true that this coast is subject to the curve of time. There’s also this paradox of feeling like there are people around, like the place is alive, but then there are long periods where I sit here and don’t see anybody at all. It’s just quiet. It’s a place full of paradoxes. I was able to get a few fresh things from the general store: a few pounds of frozen ground beef, some eggs, bacon, yoghurt, lemons and limes, and a loaf of bread. I’ve been trying to make a sourdough starter, but I think it’s struggling because I don’t have the right flour to start it off, and also because of the high variation in temperature. It’s often not warm enough for it to really get going. I also bought some fresh smoked sockeye salmon from one of the young women who came by on her boat. It was smoked just across the way at the village. I’m looking forward to that.
To Kyuquot
Barter Cove
Just about midnight, a small high-speed powerboat started cruising around the bay and circled me a few times. They had multiple searchlights out. They came very close to Jura and shone the lights on the boat, then seemed to be shining them on the beaches as well, driving back and forth around the bay as though they were looking for someone or something. Another small open skiff came by with a guy using a flashlight. He slowed down as he passed me and shone the flashlight on me too. I’m not really sure what’s going on. It’s a little bit spooky.
To Barter Cove
To Bunsby Islands
Columbia Cove
I woke up this morning and looked outside to see a pack of wolves trotting along the beach. There was probably 8-10 of them.
Around Brookes Peninsula
Smooth trip, light to moderate wind, 1-2 m seas, good visibility.
Klaskish Basin
I walked a little at the mouth of the river, which is a wide open field almost, vista. A black bear was grazing on it, so I couldn’t go too far as I didn’t want to disturb him. I wish I had a kayak, at high tide I would have loved to explore up the river.
To Klaskish Basin
It’s quite breezy out here, already into white caps. Expecting a tossed-up sea state. I’ll power into the wind to get clear of the reefs, and then should be able to pop a little of the Genoa and head towards Klaskish on a broad reach.
Kloskino
I was expecting this to be a rather rolly anchorage, given its proximity to open water. To my pleasant surprise, it's been glassy calm behind Anchorage Island, an apt name for such a spectacular anchorage. Along Vancouver Island lie numerous pebbly and sandy beaches. After dropping anchor a dropped the dinghy into the water and rowed to the nearest beach to enjoy a golden hour wandering along an enchanted shoreline. From where I'm anchored I can see and hear surf breaking on reefs and the beaches, and feel that sweet Pacific breeze that I love so dearly.
To Kloskino
Those were some mountainous swells. Coming in through the reefs to Klaskino, warily watching the waves break over them, was exciting. I’m learning that while the wind is a steady northwesterly as soon as you get a few miles offshore, it does all kinds of unexpected things along the coastline. I’m hoping it doesn’t become a challenge to get out of here as the wind seems to become a due westerly coming into the sound.
To Pamphlet Cove
To Varney Bay
Julien Cove
I encountered my first bear of the season on the grassy beach. I was walking along listening the sound of my bear bell be drowned out the squawking of geese down the beach, when I looked up to see a huge black bear grazing on the grass next to them. I let him enjoy that end of the beach and went for a walk in the forest. It’s warm. It feels like July. It’s quiet. No boats. The only sign of humanity are the scars of logging, all through the sound. It’s odd to feel so remote, yet see that at one point or another all the trees have been cut down. The bay shallows out significantly quicker than indicated on the charts. I was lucky I didn’t run aground. After anchoring I noticed the wonderful turquoise of shallow water unexpectedly close, and went to investigate in the dinghy. Upon confirming how shallow it was I pulled up the anchor and moved further out into the bay, just in case the wind comes up, I don’t want to be pinned so close to the shallows, it makes it impossible to weigh anchor single handed without ending up on the beach. I haven’t taken many photos because they are just so inadequate at capturing what it’s like to be out here, the beauty. It seems an injustice to present such a misleading representation.
Into Quatsino Sound
Winter Harbour
Past Winter Harbour
Cape Scott to Port
Wind is picking up! Averaging 6 knots, may just reach Winter Harbour before nightfall at this rate.
Bull Harbour
Did not get much sleep due to the wind. The gusts would hit the boat with a profound wall of force that felt sure to break something. And then after a minute of sheer intensity, would disappear altogether. It’s died down quite a bit now and is less gusty, but is still blowing from the SE. I’m hoping conditions at Nahwitti Bar will be manageable, as the wind will be blowing with the current when I cross, and the worst is when the opposite is the case. Conditions at Cape Scott should be more moderate when I arrive there as the wind will be shifting from SE to NW.
To Bull Harbour
The Pacific Ocean, framed by Cape Sutil to port and Hope Island to starboard.
To Port Hardy
Provisioning
I've spent the last few days in Port McNeill provisioning for the West Coast. The next place I'll be able to provision will be Tofino. I may also be able to get some things in Tahsis or Zeballos if I choose to venture inland that far, but I'm not relying on that. I plan to take my time and explore the many inlets and islands that are there to explore, provisioning for six weeks and hoping that will be sufficient. 240L of water, 240L diesel, 15L gas, 15lb propane, 15 tins of sardines, 1.4 kg of coffee, 3 chocolate bars, 2 bags of licorice, 3 cabbages, 1 tin of varnish, 3 grits of sandpaper, 6 rolls of electrical tape, 2 lithium batteries. If anything, I'll be highly combustible. Provisioning is an interesting dance: if you increase the quantity of one item, say diesel, then you have to consider if you have enough propane, food, water, to make it through the newly extended diesel window. I should be set for 6 weeks, probably 7 to 8 if I stretched things a little, although I'd be really longing for some fresh food by that point. This is the longest I've ever provisioned for, so it's a new experience. I'm trying to make sure I record things in my new logbook app (that you're reading, but not everything in it is public) so that I can later analyse how well my provisioning went. What will I do when I run out of onions, though? All the onions in Port McNeill were already starting to go bad, so I didn't take on as many as I would have liked. I'm banking on sailing a lot more on those NW breezes, which will cut my diesel use, and hoping it will start warming up which will cut my diesel use for heating. The other limiting factor is my ability to do laundry is constrained by my water rationing, so at some point I'll want to be somewhere I can wash my clothes. This is where it would be nice to have a watermaker, but then you need more diesel, solar or gas, and those all come with their own challenges and expenses. On a boat you get a first row seat to the non-linear relationship between scaling comfort and the rise in cost and complexity. Each new technology you add needs even more technology to support it. Better to keep things simple.
Crease Is. to Port McNeill
It’s a wet day out here today.
Fresh bread!
I finally baked a loaf of bread this morning to have with breakfast, the first to be baked in Jura’s new oven! There’s nothing quite as salivating as the warm smell of fresh bread wafting from the oven. It’s a real treat after being out for several weeks and entering a phase where my diet is made up of increasingly of non-perishable food items. Next I need to learn to make sourdough.
Waddington Bay - Crease Is.
Into the Archipelago
Burdwood Group
They could just as easily have called this sonorous group of islands ‘Birdsong Group’. But I suppose Burdwood is acceptable, for the woods are indeed steeped with chirping creatures of all shapes and sizes. The moment I shut off the engine and was greeted by the staccato, I knew I’d come to the right place. There’s a profound sense of peace that comes from stillness and the sounds of singing from the surrounding forest. I look forward to drinking it all in from my hammock.
Molten Morning Light
I was sitting in the cockpit working on my laptop as we motored along, and suddenly found myself engulfed in golden light. We had cleared a shadow and come suddenly into the sunlight, what a delightful experience! And what marvellous light. An unexpected easterly breeze has now picked up to blow us out of here. Cruising along at 3 knots under the Genoa, working while listening to the murmur from rushing water, and soaking in the molten gold of the morning light.
Kwatsi Bay
Hugged by mountains reaching for the sky, squeezed by the sound of water falling, endlessly. Majesty. Quiet.
In search of dolphins and waterfalls.
Sun bathing amongst snow capped peaks
What a place! I’m surrounded by towering snow peaked mountains. And it’s sweltering. I just discovered that I didn’t pack any shorts. Rather short sighted… when I left at the end of February, it never crossed my mind that I might one day hope to don my Birkenstocks and a pair of shorts. I deployed an anchor buoy and trip line, as I keep reading reports of logging debris on the sea bed in these parts, and the floor here seems to be rock. It’s too deep to anchor almost everywhere in the inlet, but right here there’s an unusual little underwater plateau, making for the perfect anchoring spot in settled weather. I read in the Salish Sea Pilot that they always lose sleep here to the grating sound of their anchor chain lumbering across the rocky seabed. But it seemed worth the risk of another restless night to stop and bask in these marvellous surroundings. So far there’s just the sound of a creek running in the forest, and the eagles as they circle above.
Lagoon Cove Marina
Spent a day and night here. It’s a beautiful spot, with some trails in the forest, and are charming old workshop. Unfortunately the famous happy hour potluck hasn’t yet started up for summer time, it was a very quiet stay. I had trouble sleeping as a westerly breeze was stirring up some chip in the bay, and it was rather uncomfortable at the dock. I always prefer to be at anchor in and kind of breeze or chop so that the boat can move freely. Filled up with water and enjoyed a nice hot shower. Ready to explore the Broughtons!
East with the wind.
As the adage dictates, “gentlemen never sail to weather”. Thus bound by honour, I shut off the engine, pop the Genoa, and surrender to the East.
Matilpi to Lagoon Cove
Off early today to catch slack water at Chatham Channel.
Matilpi
There's a magical quality to this place. It's so peaceful, so majestic with the forested mountain towering over us. There's something special here that photos and words fail to capture.
Port Neville - Matilpi
Wind picked up enough to sail. Just the sound of rushing water and the voices of my podcast now.
Port Neville
I arrived and tied up to the dock behind a dock work barge. Exploring the ocean old homestead I met one of the descendants of the original homesteaders, who welcomed me and shared the history of the property. It’s a beautiful spot, and they are gracious enough to allow visitors to peek around the property. The dock provides shelter to mariners when storms are blowing in Johnstone Strait and they need to seek shelter. I also met a new friend who cheerfully showed me around the property, and I’m sure would have happily joined me aboard Jura if invited.
Forward Harbour - Port Neville
Stopped in Kelsey Bay.
Blind Channel - Forward Harbour
We transited whirlpool rapids with the ebb which was quite exciting but manageable. We reached over 10 knots, and experienced several substantial whirlpools.
Blown alternator belt.
As we pulled out from the dock I checked the tach and saw it was at zero, and the alternator was also at zero. I groaned, knowing the alternator belt had likely snapped. We turned around and pulled back into a slip at the Blind Bay Resort, and I quickly opened the engine compartment. Sure enough, the alternator belt was blown. This wasn’t a terrible surprise because I’d been meaning to change it, but hadn’t figured out how to get the hydraulic belt in front of it off in order to replace it. Nothing like necessity to help you learn what you’ve been avoiding. Still unable to figure out how to get the hydraulic belt off, I called my dad to troubleshoot, and after a few options we realized the hydraulic pump was mounted in slotted holes in a custom welded bracket. I hung up the phone and was able to loosen that, and then the rest was a smooth swap out of both belts. Luckily I have a bag of spares on board, which I discovered were purchased in 1990! Within a few minutes everything was assembled and we were pulling out of the dock, just in time to catch the current at the Green Point rapids.
Blind Channel Marina
Very quiet, very peaceful. Photos by Marine.
Cordero Islands - Blind Bay
All’s quiet in Blind Channel, just one big empty dock with lonely fingers. Took on diesel, propane, and gas. All the flammables. Plus some water to even things out. Set for a month in the Broughtons. The store was well stocked, acquired a case of root beer, oats, and sun-dried tomatoes. Ready for summer.
Handfield Bay - Cordero Islands
All the greys. Blue grey. Green grey. Grey grey. Brown grey. White grey. A grey for the books.
Discovery Islands/Mainland Inlets
Octopus Islands - Handfield Bay
Motored all the way, with the Genoa out periodically to help motor sail. Went through the rapids at slack, had a smooth passage. Not many other boats around, pretty quiet.
Heriot Bay - Octopus Islands
Von Donop Inlet - Heriot Bay
Squirrel Cove - Von Donop
Cortes Island - Squirrel Cove
Grace Harbour - Squirrel Cove
Campbell River - Grace Harbour
The only sounds here were the songs of the birds, the gasps of the seals, and the rustle of the wind. I spent several days here, hiking each day up to the lake, basking in the greenery of the forest, soaking in the sunshine, exploring the creek and its waterfalls. I didn’t see another boat or human during my stay, just the animals. It did blow quite hard, but the anchor held strong.
Heriot Bay - Campbell River
Cortes Bay - Heriot Bay
Prideaux Haven - Cortes Bay
Malaspina/Toba - Cortes Island
Malaspina/Toba
Comox - Malaspina/Toba
Baynes Sound - Comox
Baynes Sound
Lighthouse Country - Baynes Sound
Baynes Sound - Lighthouse Country
Lasqueti - Baynes Sound
Nanaimo - Lasqueti
DeCourcy/Gabriola/Mudge - Nanaimo
Saltair / Gulf Islands - DeCourcy/Gabriola/Mudge
