The Lure of Vancouver Island: Part 3
WE
LEFT SEA OTTER COVE the next day in high spirits. The day was beautiful, with a
clear blue sky and a calm sea. We were over the worst, and we could look
forward to two more weeks of exploring the five major inlets on Vancouver
Island’s west coast.
We
saw bears at Winter Harbour and Checleset Bay, and dozens of eagles fighting
like seagulls over scraps of salmon in Barkley Sound. In almost every little
anchorage we came to we were greeted by a bald eagle. We came across sea otters
in the remote Bunsby Islands, including one a mile out to sea that stayed fast
asleep as we approached, and then peered at us quizzically through his flippers
as we passed by. We greeted Gray whales and Humpbacks as if they were old
friends.
We
bathed in natural hot springs in Clayoquot Sound and rowed ashore on remote
islands to visit the sites of ancient Indian villages. We walked through dense
old-growth forest on the untamed Brooks Peninsula to a sandy beach as white and
pretty as we’d ever seen anywhere and sat to have sandwiches in the shade of a
gnarled madrona while green-blue water rushed in and out of a rocky cove below
us. Patches of soft grass spread over the rocks like blankets, and in every
sheltered spot the ground bloomed with wild bluebells and buttercups.
We
ran under jib only at three knots, dragging a lure to catch fish, and feasted
like royalty on grilled salmon and white wine in the warm cockpit.
Day
after day, we worked our way south and east, occasionally finding another cruising
boat in a quiet anchorage and making new friends. In Barkley Sound we met up
again with Wind Song and Pyreneenne. We swapped yarns like
long-lost pals. Burl Romick of Wind Song
gave us a bucket of oysters he’d gathered
in the nearby Brabant Islands, and Stuart Briscoe of Pyreneenne served up delicious gravlox they’d made from salmon
they’d caught.
But
our days in paradise were numbered. June had to get back to work, so
reluctantly we set off on the long crossing to Neah Bay, Washington, across the
wide mouth of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
There
was a small-craft warning in effect, and it blew hard from the northwest that
afternoon. Little Jabula
broad-reached down the long swells, occasionally touching 7 knots, which made
steering very difficult. Tokoloshe
surfed along quite happily at the end of a 75-foot painter that formed a loop
and slowed it down when it started to run into us.
For
most of the day there was no sign of land ahead, but in the late afternoon we
raised Cape Flattery and Tatoosh Island. When the wind got up to about 30 knots
in the gusts, I dropped the mainsail, leaving the working jib in place. It
hardly made any difference to our speed, but it certainly made steering a lot
easier.
The
tide turned a couple of hours before we reached Neah Bay. It started running
against the wind, which made the waves rough and steep-sided for our final
approach. We were very glad when we eventually tied up in the Makah marina and
cleared customs by phone. Cold and tired, we declined an invitation to drinks
on another boat, had a supper of good, hot soup, and collapsed in our bunks.
We
ran into patchy fog the next day, but when it cleared the rest was easy. In
bright sunshine, we motored non-stop over glassy swells to Bowman Bay, where we
crossed our outward track. Safely anchored in the beautiful state park just
after sundown, we celebrated Jabula’s
circumnavigation of Vancouver Island with a good hot meal and drinks in the
cockpit.
Next
day, as we were waiting for slack water at Deception Pass, two tugs came along
with a huge log raft. They halted near us and I read their names--Vulcan and Snee-oosh.
“You
won’t believe this,” I said to June, “but when I started out, right at the
beginning of the trip, these same two tugs were in exactly this same spot with a
log raft, waiting for slack water in the pass.”
“Oh,
I believe it,” said June. “It’s just another circle closing.”
It
was a glorious day for our homecoming. We caught the new flood through the pass
and carried it all the way down the Saratoga Passage to our berth in Oak Harbor
marina.
There
we sat in the cockpit and looked at each other, listening to the engine idling:
Quite a trip, yes,
quite a trip,
Saw the eagles, saw
the bears,
Saw the orcas, saw
the whales,
Saw the islands,
saw some gales,
At four knots plus,
all thanks to me,
Four knots plus,
all thanks to me ...
Good to be back,
good to rest
Good to be at home
at last ...
Good to be . . .
I
pulled the stop control out and the little Yanmar gurgled to a halt.
“Chatty
little guy,” I remarked. “But a bit swollen headed.”
“He
has a right to be,” said June. “He’s a Vancouver Island vet now.”
Today's Thought
We are all sailors on the spaceship Earth.—Frank Braynard.
Tailpiece
“Is it true that the trouble
with this country is ignorance and apathy?”“I don’t know — and what’s more I don’t give a damn.”
(Drop by every Monday,
Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)
No comments:
Post a Comment