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.

Pie Shop

We're hunting pie.

I woke this morning with thoughts of the day's objectives. Provision, clean fridge, fill water tank are upper most on my mental list. The latter two have since been dispatched. The provisioning can wait.

Right now we're after pie at, what else? The Pie Shop. It's chaotic, expensive, delicious. The Pie Shop is what we're calling it. It's the Savary Pie Company. I order a slice of apple and one for the road. A chai tea latte completes the order. $32. But it is Canadian.

The pie crust is clearly made with lard: tasty and filling. The slices are huge. One slice is a meal. I wonder if they sell savory pies.

We'll be starting with high tide in the morning. 7:30ish. We'll anchor in the Broken Group, last visited with MaryLou and Knute. Just two nights there and we'll head on down the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The beginning of the end.

TEACH

We're in Tofino for two nights. We motored ten miles from the last anchorage in a driving rain with a hard wind in our faces. Water found its way into every crevice, under every flap. It was difficult to see where to go. There was so much water spraying my face, getting in my eyes. It was the most uncomfortable day of the trip so far.

Tofino is riddled with narrow channels that thread between shallows, so you need either local knowledge or careful planning. Not having the former, I rely on the latter. All the planning in the world won't help you though if you can't see where you're going.

It was kind of exciting getting in here. First, we stopped for fuel on the way in. That was easy enough. Then we headed toward the marina. As I noted previously, the last time I moored in Tofino, I used the public dock and it was so shallow and so crowded, we bounced the keel off the bottom while maneuvering to raft up to another boat.

This time,I was determined to arrive at high(er) tide. When we arrived at the marina it appeared to be easy peasy maneuvering to the dock. I quickly discovered though that there was so much current running through the marina that it was impossible to maneuver. The boat wanted to spin when I tried to turn into the dock. It turns out there was about 5 kts running with us.

A boat relies on water flowing over the rudder to turn. If you're traveling with the current it can be going as fast or faster than you are. Which makes it impossible to turn the boat.

It must have been entertaining watching us fight the current before I finally figured out what was going on. All I had to do was approach from the other direction and suddenly there was a lot of water flowing over the rudder - more than usual. And it was so much easier to control the boat.

Once tied up, we've found the marina to be one of the nicer ones we've stayed at. Most places have coin operated showers and washers & dryers. In this marina it's all included. There's even a workout room.

The hot shower this afternoon was wonderful. Clean sheets, clean body, clean hair, shore power and no dishes to clean after dinner. How civilized!

And TEACH, my opening Wordle guess for more than two years finally pays off.

Much Ado About Fuel

We're in Quait Bay tonight, ten miles out of Tofino and the last stop for Doug and Diana before we send them off in Tofino tomorrow.

Diana is eager to be away and will fly. Doug has bus and ferry travel to look forward to. Mick and I wish them safe travel as they make their way home.

I was originally planning to spend two nights in Tofino, but the price of moorage seemed steep, so I opted to reserve just one night. Now it turns out high tide isn't until 4 pm. I bumped the bottom last time I was here at low tide, so we want to be careful with that, perhaps check-in to the marina at above mid-tide (after 1pm). That impacts longer term planning of course. Arriving later in the day, say, doesn't leave a lot of time in the day for scrubbing the boat, emptying the garbage, taking a shower, eating dinner, provisioning, doing laundry, filling water and fuel tanks, etc... Had high tide come earlier in the day, we could have made it work with just one night. As things are, It'll take us two nights to get every thing done. I'd better let them know and change the res.

Another solitary anchorage. I'm doing dinner tonight, bean soup and bbq sausages. Our last dinner before reprovisioning.

We've mostly done a good job managing our resources. We have about 15 gallons of water out of the 110 we left Port Hardy with. We have about 33 gallons of fuel remaining out of 90 refilled in Campbell River.

I'd like to refuel in Port Angeles because the diesel is about half the price of fuel in BC, according to an informal Google survey.

I really don't want to run out of fuel trying to get to PA. How confident am I that I'll make it? My calculations tell me I have just enough fuel to make it back to Seattle. So Port Angeles ought'a be a slam dunk. But I wonder... am I using a good burn rate? Will I have to motor hard against current?

The obvious solution is to put a little fuel in at Tofino, So I have enough for comfort, but save the bulk of the purchase for when I get back to Seattle. We'll see how the fuel dock looks when we get there tomorrow.

Showers tomorrow!

Muffins and Honey

I was here in Hot Spring Cove seven summers ago - 2017. At that time we anchored off the dock as we've done this time. Then dinghied ashore and hiked a two mile trail through lush forest to the hot springs.

This time there was no trail. It has been replaced with a two mile long board walk. Our timing was better last time. We had the springs to ourselves. This time they were chockablock full of people. They were brought in from Tofino by the boat loads.

Still, it was nice to rinse our bodies in fresh, hot water, sitting shoulder to shoulder with the tourists.

Later in the day the crew returned and found them substantially less occupied.

While the crew was out for another soak, the captain spent some time with his boat.

I put a couple pounds of chicken in a gallon ziplock bag with some marinade for tonight's dinner.

I cleaned the decks, broke down and put away jack lines and preventer, pulled out the bbq and set it up, I had just replaced one of the upholstery buttons on the seat cushions and was putting tools away, when the crew returned and we started dinner.

The marinade I used was a jar provided by Kay in 2021 for our pandemic abbreviated South Pacific trip. It's a "Sweet Bourbon Glaze" with a further descriptor: "Kay's Treat." It really did a nice job on that chicken. We ate it with potatoes and veggies.

With pie gone, Mick made muffins for dessert. Those turned out really well too. They were delicious with honey.

Making Do

We were in Bligh Cove last night. (Yes, the mutinied Captain Bligh.) We had a long day and arrived at our anchorage late. Thankfully Mick started dinner while we were still underway, so feeding didn't take long.

Before leaving Mary Basin the following morning, we did some exploring in the dinghy, found the waterfall that was listed in the book.

The really cool part about the dinghy exploring wasn't the waterfall. One looks like another mostly. The really cool part was watching the tide come in. It rose at a walking pace, as tides will do in flats. The tide doesn't need to rise much, so they run. The crux was not getting the dinghy stranded or not being able to get back to it if the water cuts us off for some reason. As it turns out, we didn't even need to exit the dinghy. We paddled up to the base of the waterfall. Yep, it's a waterfall. Cool.

After reasonable amount of walking and paddling (thanks for rowing Doug) we motored back to Quijote and got going to the next anchorage at around noon.

That put us in Bligh Cove at 7pm, about the time Mick had dinner ready.

We entertained the idea of staying another night at Mary Basin, then considered staying another in Bligh Cove, but in the end continued on to Hot Springs Cove, where we are now. So we're still a day ahead of schedule.

A wooden sailing boat entered the anchorage shortly before we did this afternoon. It represents the only pleasure craft we've seen since leaving Port Hardy.

Hot Springs Cove has a public dock and a nice trail to the hot springs. I'll not rely on my memory to tell you about it. Instead I'll wait until tomorrow and tell you about it after we've visited it.

For tonight, Doug is making sausage spinach soup without spinach. Somehow the provisioning on this leg was not as flawless as we've come to expect. We've discovered we're short on hamburger, spinach, taco shells, shallots, diced tomatoes. We're making do.

Mary Basin

The hills around this basin have all been forested. You'd never know it. The forest looks ancient. I can hear its inhabitants better than I can see them. The birds have been very vocal this afternoon. Loons and kingfisher are stealing the show.

The crew are in the reading room, saturated by the beauty perhaps. It's time I joined them. The forecasts won't load themselves.

Fun Looking

Mick and I went out looking for the sandy beach detailed in the anchorage guide book. It was vaguely described as a motorized dinghy ride north.

We tied the dinghy along side and used the davit to lower the outboard motor down to the stern of the dinghy. Once cinched in place, it took some persuasion to convince the outboard to start. It was the season's first. My confidence in its ability to start was also dampened a little by remembering that this was the first time I'd tried to use it since replacing the water pump impeller. It should work...

Eventually it did sputter to life and once running, operated fairly smoothly.

We motored the dinghy around the corner and northward along the coastline for quite a distance. We never did find that sandy beach. That's okay. It was fun looking.

Rigatoni bolognese for dinner tonight, thanks to Diana.

I'm told we're out of diced tomatoes. Oops. Where are the Amazon drones when you need one?

Whaleless

We glided into this cove under clear blue skies and sunshine. Rich green hills reflected off glassy still water.

As the day wore on, the wind picked up, the water became choppy, and the wind generator has been playing its song.

It's been a curiosity that we haven't spotted any whales on this trip. On any other year we'd have seen a dozen by now. Surely the whales aren't more elusive. I suspect we are probably less observant than the crews of previous years. My eyesight hasn't been getting any better with the progression of years.

I can picture Quijote crew sailing blithely unaware of dozens of whales spouting and breaching all around us.

The last time I did this this circumnavigation, Vi did the whole trip with me. She was very good at spotting wildlife, especially bears.

Other veterans of the first rounding included Lavanya, a crew member of multiple trips, Kevin, who bought a boat a few years later, and Thomas, who has since become a college graduate.

A tip of the hat to present and past Quijote crew!

Cover

The entry into just about all of the small coves we've been inhabiting involve winding our way through narrow passages, between rocks and shallow patches. If it's challenging for us to wind our way in and out again, it's likely to provide good cover from weather and waves.

Today's cove is a good example. There are several small coves etched out of this cluster of small islets called the Bunsby Group.

I suppose it's redundant to call them small islets. If they weren't small they'd be islands. Checking in with the chart... They're islands. Fair enough.

It's interesting to observe that "cove" and "cover" have the same roots. In their respective definitions both words use the word "shelter." One is shelter. The other provides shelter.

We did our ten or so miles today in dead calm and cloudy skies. We set the anchor, then watched the sun come out and the wind pick up.

Diana is out on the paddle board. Doug is exploring in the dinghy, and Mick is making dinner. Walnut chicken on white rice. He's planning to embellish the recipe. Uh-oh.

Columbia Cove

Wet day today. A perfect day for some Red Hot Chili Peppers.

We motored west out of the Klaskino Anchorage under calm, cloudy skies this morning. Then south for the width of the peninsula into wind and waves. Then east to the island, where we have traveled thirty miles to the crow's ten. The eastward segment at least allowed us a little sailing on a close reach.

Since dropping anchor it has rained all day. We're feeling a little cooped up.

Tomorrow we don't have far to go. Probably about ten miles to the Bunsby Group.

I checked on my Tofino moorage reservation and found I made it for July rather than September. Oops. I contacted them by email and they were very nice about rescheduling (two months after my no show).

One Fine Day

We rolled the day's dice and they came up sunshine and mostly calm. When we were within ten miles of our destination, the wind finally picked up.

Doug was at the helm, learning the feel of the boat. Mick and I unfurled the jib, and we were off to the races. I shut the engine off. Ahh.. The peace it brings always makes everyone sigh. We sailed toward the anchorage in silence.

With anchor down, we ate a lunch of leftovers. Afterward, the crew enjoyed the afternoon paddling around the cove. Diana deployed the paddle board, while the boys put their backs into the dinghy oars. I stayed on the boat to post a web log.

Diana is learning her way around the galley tonight. Sloppy Joes from scratch.

Blowing Fishy

We decided to stay put today. The wind was frisky this morning. Gusting to 25 or more. It's hard to say since I didn't turn on our instruments today. It's after 6:00pm and the wind is only now starting to abate. Tomorrow it'll be blowing a little lighter than it did today, but still enough to allow us to sail with the engine off. Or so the forecast says.

So we've had the day off today, but we'll be back at it tomorrow. On Friday the wind will shift and start blowing from the south. That'll be another good day to take a break. Then Saturday we'll go around the Brooks Peninsula. It's the large thumb sticking out of the west side of Vancouver Island. Life gets a little easier south of the Brooks. The peninsula provides cover from weather blowing in from the northwest.

Environment Canada provides weather forecasts that include west side of Vancouver Island, northern half and southern half, delineated by the Brooks Peninsula in.


This
In Doug is making dinner tonight. Jambalaya. It sounds from noises coming out of the kitchen like dinner is close to being ready. Thank goodness. I'm hungry.

Hurricane Proof

Today was a long day. A slog. There's only 25 miles between Port Hardy and Bull Harbour. Our 7 am departure put us there by 11am. Conditions were favorable though, so we kept going, eventually reaching Sea Otter Cove after ten hours motoring 53 miles.

There was decent wind for the afternoon, but it was against us. We can tack into the wind for a few miles but not more than a few. It would take all summer to do this trip without using the motor.

When we got to the anchorage we found a shallow cove with barely enough depth to get in and four HUGE mooring buoys. The guide book claims they are designed to hold in hurricanes.

The cove itself is calm and quite beautiful. Tomorrow the wind is forecast to be with us. I'll believe it when I see it.

Doug says he brought home made pancake mix and wants to make us pancakes for breakfast. Cheers to that.

West Coast Sailing

We made a lot of steps today, according to my phone. I'll probably end up with twenty thousand or so by the time my head hits the pillow. The restaurants and grocery store in town aren't too far away, but far enough to build our step count by the end of the day. After more than a week of less than 1k, it has been good to stretch our legs.

We're planning an early departure in the morning, 6:30 up and 7am out. In that half hour we'll dump the last of our garbage, top off the water tank, and play Wordle before we untie our lines and head as far north as we intend to go on this trip.

The north end of Vancouver Island has a chain of small islands with a cove that's nicely positioned to offer a place to evaluate conditions before making a break to round Cape Scott. After tomorrow we'll be exposed to the Pacific Ocean for several days.

Tomorrow, light wind is forecasted but on the following day we can expect some down wind sailing. Ten or twenty knots down the west coast if the forecast holds up.

Take a Seat

We're in Port Hardy for two nights. There are two marinas in in this bay. The public dock, and a private dock. I used the public dock last time I was in this harbor and they had me tie up to the Coast Guard slip because they were away on assignment.

This time we're tied up to the private dock. It does the job, has showers, garbage collection, fresh water, etc. But... I hate to say it, but the reviews of this marina were right: the place needs a face lift. The whole town does.

Everyone I've interacted with in this town has been super friendly, but the town and this marina in particular is a little run down.

The marina has WiFi, which sounds great, but it doesn't work at the office. It doesn't work at the boat, so where does it work?

This afternoon I walked around the marina looking for likely places for a router to be located. When I saw a trio of plastic lawn chairs set in front of a small shed, I knew I had found what I was looking for.

I plopped into one of the chairs and found I had internet connectivity immediately.

But it's cold and dark out there now. Who wants to deal with that? So as with any slow Internet, the trick is to write messages like this in the comfort of home (or boat) and walk over to the secret spot when it's ready to send.

We cleaned the boat, filled the water tanks, and did the non-perishable provisioning today. Tomorrow we'll finish provisioning and relax.

It was nice to eat out tonight. No prep, no clean up.

Okay, Now it's time to go take a seat in one of the lawn chairs.

A Short Trail to a Large Lake

We're in Turnbull Cove tonight. So named for the tractor sized piece of machinery at the head of a short trail to a large lake.

The trail was the reason for diverting here rather than to Clayton Bay in the itinerary. It's steep so it gets the heart going, which was just what I needed. Mick jumped into the lake from a small dock leftover from the days of forestry.

Then we returned to the boat and took showers on the back deck. We're headed into Port Hardy tomorrow, and we have water to burn.

King Fisher Chatter

Every night we're anchored in another beautiful spot. This is one of the prettiest of the pretty. We wound our way through the mist, passing between islets shrouded with scraggy trees and tendrils of fog. We're near the head of Viner Inlet and the scenery is breathtaking.

Will left us this morning and we are sad to see him go. Life drags us all back by the scruff of the neck eventually. After tonight we have one more night before Port Hardy and the end of leg two.

Kay would love this cove. It's very birdy. King Fisher chatter along the shoreline. As soon as I bring up the Merlin app to identify others, the birds go silent. Insufferable cretins.

We have this cove to ourselves tonight. We're swinging on a mooring ball of unknown quality. If the weather forecast is right, it shouldn't matter how well it's built because we'll just be floating placidly next to it.

Upwind Fun

We covered about nineteen miles today, going from last night's anchorage to tonight's in Wadington Bay. I wonder who Wadington was.

It was upwind all day, but the mileage was light enough that we felt free to do some upwind sailing. Sailing in sunshine with 12 kt breeze in the Broughtons. It doesn't get much better.

There's only two other boats so far. I've been in here with over a dozen.

We saw a bear yesterday. Mick spotted the black bear cub ambling along the shoreline. They're easy to spot when they're moving. It's not easy when they're just a dark shape in a field of many.

unsullied

Today and tomorrow are short days, each less than twenty miles. We're in Port Elizabeth tonight. That's a somewhat pretentious name for a geographical feature that is completely without human influence. Okay, not completely. There is the odd abandoned crab pot.

This is the first time this trip that we're anchored in a place that I've never been to before.

The problem with this anchorage is that while there is plenty of room, most of it is too shallow or too deep. I located a place that looked promising on the chart, but when we motored through, it was much deeper than the chart said it would be.

When I look for anchoring spots, I can tolerate 7' to 60'. Generally shallow is better if it doesn't get too shallow when the tide goes out. We end up in water that's 20-40' most of the time.

So what should have been 40' turned out to be 65'. I decided to look for something else. If 40 is actually 65, what will 16' be? It turns out 36'. Sold.

So that's where we are. Floating in 36' of water where the chart says there should be 16'.

Will pulled the standup board out of storage and paddled around the islands next to us. Two miles by his count.

Billy Goat Cove Fly By - Port Harvey tonight

I was expecting sunshine and rough conditions underway today, but saw neither. We rode an ebb tide northwest through Johnstone Strait. It was a gray day, cloudy bordering on cold.

I set the rpm for a steady slog. And flew. We kept up 7-8 kts all morning.

The wind was forecast for 15-20 in the morning. We saw all of that. It died shortly before we arrived at the anchorage. It's supposed to pipe up again this evening, but has yet to get going.

I just rechecked the weather and the afternoon forecast has changed, essentially from windy to calm. A high pressure system is building over the area, so that'll bring sunshine and warm, calm days.

We have a late departure planned for tomorrow. There's eight miles to the entrance of Chatham Narrows. The Narrows have 16' of depth at zero tide and barely enough room to pass if you meet a boat coming the other way.

There are patches of kelp along the way to make things interesting. It is sometimes necessary to choose between steering into shallows or into kelp beds. Tomorrow's slack is mid way between low and high tides at 3' and 13' respectively, which will add 8' to the charted depths. That'll make the shallows a little less... shallow.

That's not to say the transit won't be challenging. In late summer the kelp beds can be huge. I've always made the trip in early summer, so this will be my first look at the late summer kelp beds in Chatham Narrows.

The current in the narrows is slack at three times tomorrow: early (too dark), noon, and late (too late). Noon it is (11:52am). To get there at that time we'll pull anchor at 10:30.

Banana Mojo

We transited Seymour Narrows without incident today (thanks to our lucky bananas,) arriving in Thurston Bay well behind the Motor Vessel Molly, a friend of Will's. We threw our anchor out next to where we imagined theirs to be and backed up along side of them. A certifiable boat raft. Molly is stern tied to shore, but the weather is forecasted to be fair, so we didn't bother, relying instead on theirs.

Kevin and I rafted up in this bay a couple years ago. I regretted the move when the winds and waves kicked up over night, but we survived to tell the tale.

This afternoon, the two crews are scheming to hike a possibly defunct trail to a lake. It isn't clear which side of the island the trail is on, so some exploration is expected. I'm thinking I'll pass that. It sounds somewhat fruitless. I'll do some walking on the beach instead and help Yoshi make dinner.

It's tortellini pasta tonight. I bought two "family sized" bags of tortellini for the last leg as a fall back for any unsuccessful meals, but all were fine, so neither were needed.

We were told by a crew member that it was folly to bring bananas aboard a boat. He has stories of calamity to support his claim. It's the kind of superstitious dread that you can forget if nothing happens to the boat, but when something eventually does, allows him to say "I told you so," adding one more story to a lengthy lore of nonsense.

I dismissed the claim by insisting that bananas bring luck to Quijote. I never go anywhere without my lucky bananas. That apparently didn't mollify him because it was with some relief that he brought over a pineapple from the other boat, claiming that the pineapple counters the bad banana mojo. Right.

Ready

Seymour Narrows is slack at 11:41 tomorrow morning. We'll untie our dock lines at 10:00 for the 8 mile transit. Then 16 more to Thurston Bay. We'll get to our anchorage at about 2:30. On Tuesday we'll sail into the wind in Johnstone Strait.