Gratitude

Quijote and crew are home. We Stopped at Shilshole on our way by and refilled the fuel tanks, then transited the locks and put her in her slip sometime around 2:30.

When we arrived Dave, the owner of Molly and Will, Quijote crew for leg two, were there to greet us and welcome us home. Thanks guys.

I have to say, going through the locks on a Sunday is for crazy people and sadists. Everybody wants to go through on Sunday it seems.

In addition to the problem of too many boats trying to funnel through the locks, there are two types of boaters: those who are willing to wait their turn and those who aren't. And even for those willing to wait in the queue, it's really difficult to keep track of who's in front of whom because everyone mills around waiting in a pack.

Then suddenly the lock light turns green and it's pandemonium. Some people charge in and some people hang back because they know they're not supposed to be first.

Add to that the confusion that sailboats can't go under the railroad bridge. We're forced to hang back until the bridge opens.

When we arrived there was the usual Sunday queue/bunch of boats and the bridge was down. We gave the audible signal to ask the bridge operator to open the bridge (one long, one short blast of the air horn). The bridge operator ignored us. Then two long, slow trains rumbled by. We waited. While we were waiting, boats were streaming past us, all headed into the waiting area for the locks.

When the second train was finally through the bridge was raised. We had two choices: pull in behind all the boats that just passed us or charge to the front of the queue. If we waited behind the other boats the bridge might close again and we wouldn't be through it. I said screw it and we charged under the bridge and to the front of the line. The bridge closed behind me.

At that moment the light turned green for the large lock. I could hardly believe our luck, but proceeding into the lock in front of everybody would've been cutting off a lot of boats that deserved to be in there before we did. Pulling aside would be allowing a lot of boats in front of us that didn't deserve to be.

I hesitated for a moment and then charged in.

The loudspeaker suddenly came to life. Understandably they wanted bigger boats in first and asked us to let them by. Halfway into the lock we pulled aside. More waiting. I've never seen them try to organize the boats by size before, but it makes efficiency sense.

We were happy to comply. It's much easier to raft up to a bigger boat than to the wall of the lock.

Tying up to the wall requires managing lines while the water level changes. Rafting up to a bigger boat requires no effort. Sometime is it pays to be the little guy, Although we weren't the littlest. We rafted up to a bigger boat, a smaller boat rafted up to us, an even smaller rafted up to them. Everybody is little to somebody.

So we're home and the trip was a success. I'm so happy with the way everything worked out. I'm really glad I did this in September. It was a nice difference to experience. It was also nice to revisit some of the same places and see all the new and forgotten details.

The massive mooring balls and windswept nature of Sea Otter Cove, the lush forest path to the hot springs, now a boardwalk. Being stern tied in pocket coves, going a week without seeing another boat. The design, reliability, and efficiency of Quijote.

And the crew. They were so helpful at every turn; constantly anticipating our collective needs and stepping forward to make things happen. Honestly I feel such gratitude. Mick, Yoshi, Bek, Will, Doug, and Diana. Thank you all. The trip could not have happened without each of you.

So another good trip comes to an end. Until next year.

Final Stop

We're in Port Ludlow, the final anchorage of the trip. Mick and I switched our normal roles for this one. Mick did the helming and I worked the anchor.

It was a super fast day, almost all of it over seven knots. For a time it was over ten. Since I did my arrival time math assuming 5 kts, I thought we'd arrive after 4p. Instead it was about 2:30. Current really makes a difference.

Quijote's last super, so to speak, will be jambalaya. With just the two of us eating the meal we'll have leftovers.

Port Ludlow is a happening place. Boats coming and going all around us. Most of them look like they live here. There are some expensive homes in here.

We have 27 miles to go tomorrow. Quijote will probably be in her slip by 3p. That assumes we're on our way in the morning by 8a. And that we get through the locks in good order. Sundays can be busy, so that's never a given.

Between now and tomorrow morning we have some serious relaxing to do.

Dodging a Bullet

Today was the nicest day in a while. It was sunny and windy. It took a couple hours for the wind to decide to play, but it finally did, which left us a couple hours to sail across the strait. It was a very pleasant day.

We checked in with customs in Port Angels. We were supposed to use their customs clearing app, CBPROAM, which allows them to inspect your boat from the comfort of their desk by asking you to take them on a video tour of your boat using your phone.

I forgot about all that, tied up to the customs dock and tried to use the phone handset on the dock to get them to clear me. When the phone didn't work, I was undeterred. I looked up their digits and called with my own phone.

But that forced the customs officer to get out of his chair, put on his jacket, and walk down to the dock to inspect Quijote in person and he was not happy about it.

When he got down to the boat, the first words out of his mouth were clear indicators of his mind set and it wasn't customs. "Do you have CBPROAM on your phone?"

"Uhh... Now that you mention it... I used it a couple years ago, but forgot to this time. "

He looked at me for a beat without saying anything. Looked at the boat. He was probably trying to decide how best to make me suffer. In the end he cleared us without comment.

The problem from the officer's perspective is that Quijote has lifelines with no gate. He had no way to board without going over the lifelines. But the man was no athlete, so after making the walk, he chose not to climb onto the boat and instead took our word for it that we were not trafficking sex slaves. He never did get on the boat. It's his job is to look into every corner to make sure we have no stowaways or other illegal cargo, but he couldn't be bothered going over the lifelines.

Note to self: Don't try to transport slaves in a boat with gated lifelines.

After "clearing" customs, we took showers sold the slaves, and walked to dinner for pizza and beer.

Early (daylight) start tomorrow.

Early vs Late

We got rained on as we were approaching this bay and anchoring, but for the most part it was a dry day. Cold, but we'll take it.

This was a busy little bay when we were here last year. Boats and people everywhere. Of course it was the middle of summer. It's deserted now, cold and gray. Off season.

That brings up the question I posed at the beginning of the trip. Would we find more boats in the anchorages late season, as it is now, or early season, as it was last time we did this trip?

For the peak season, we can expect anchorages to be busy, but how does early season (mid-May to end of June) compare to late season (mid August to end of Sept.)? Off peak, the kids are in school and the weather is less reliable, so that throttles back the tourist hose considerably.

The answer, in early season there were very few boats out on the west side of the island, but there were boats. In late season we didn't see anybody out there. It was kind of spooky. I felt like the last kid coming in from recess. For the more popular areas; San Juan Islands, Gulf Islands, Desolation Sound, Broughtons; there were fewer boats out late season than early season. Perhaps boaters are eager to get out in May and have had their fill by September.

Reporting from Becher Bay, BC

History

History

It has never felt so good to be anchored in such a poor excuse for a cove. It's more of a roadstead really, an indentation in the shoreline of Port San Juan. It's enough protection to dampen the worst of the wind and waves rolling down the Strait of Juan de Fuca, but Quijote is still rocking and bucking on her anchor. The wind generator is doing its thing, charging the batteries. Not that they need it.

The reason it feels so good to be in this marginal anchorage is warmth. It was a cold, wet, gray day and we had a hard time staying warm. We woke to a steady downpour that didn't let up until afternoon - a good day for foul weather gear and sea boots. But dampness knows no boundaries. Before long I was going below for another layer. An hour later I was dithering and went down for a fifth layer while Mick took the helm. He said his feet were cold, but otherwise seemed to be warmer that I was.

It wasn't a pleasant day, but we're here, securely anchored, the heater is filling the cabin with toasty warm air and life is good.

Mick is making dinner tonight. Instant pot beef stew (in the pressure cooker). I'm really looking forward to it. I love stew.

This Anchorage has history. It's the anchorage where we burned up our starter motor a few years ago. It was during the first circumnavigation of this Island, so 2017. It took us three days to organize local fishermen to help us get a new one out to the boat from Sooke. Thomas didn't have three days, so another local ferried him to shore for us. Thank goodness the area has good cell reception.

This is also the starting point for the west coast trail. We can see tents on the beach from the boat. We were those campers many years ago. We're talking about doing it again if we can get the permits for it.

Last year the water was a bit smoother than it is today so we paddled the dinghy to shore and hiked up a long series of ladders to the top of the ridge that looks down on this bay. It was a good workout.

Tomorrow we'll be in Becher Bay, east of Victoria, our last night before leaving Canada. If we don't burn the extra day we gained today somewhere, we'll be home a day ahead of schedule.

Weather

We're anchored in a small cove in the Broken Group, a part of Barkley Sound. The cove is small enough that there's no room to swing in the anchorage, so we've tied the stern to a tree on shore.

It's nice to finally get into this cove. It's been on my list, but I've found it occupied every time I've come by to have a look.

We ate up all our leftovers today. We provisioned three meals for seven nights because they feed four, but there's only two of us.

No sailing today. No wind. Plenty of fog though. I fired up the radar to give us visibility, make sure we didn't hit anybody. After leaving Tofino, we didn't see another boat all day.

Dodger Channel was planned for tomorrow night, just ten miles away, but the weather the following day is forecast to be nasty. 30 kts against us, gusting to 40. So we're considering options.

We're thinking about doing a long day tomorrow to avoid the worst of the coming weather. That will put us in Thatcher Cove tomorrow night, inside the Strait of Juan de Fuca and (hopefully) beyond the reach of the wind building in the Pacific Ocean.

Stay tuned.