I didn’t loose any sleep due to the anchor chain grumbling along the rocky sea bed, as predicted by the Salish Sea Pilot. I did hear it shift a few times, but it was nothing terribly unusual. I was woken around 3 am by the thump, thump, of my anchor buoy against the hull as Jura drifted over the anchor with the changing of the current. And then kept awake by the concern that the trip line would get somehow wrapped around the keel and then trip the anchor. In the end my system with a block tied to the buoy and a bottle of maple syrup tied to the free end of the trip line, running through the block, kept things from tangling. Thank God for maple syrup.

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.