S.V. CAMBRIA: February 2016

Searching for Sunshine Along the Sunshine Coast

Friday, February 26, 2016TheCambrians

Cambria stern-tied in Deep Bay in 2013.

We left Carrington Bay (Cortes Island) early Monday morning, stopping off in Heriot Bay (Quadra Island) to buy some provisions and fill the water tanks before setting off on a 60-mile day. Our destination: Deep Bay, Jedediah Island. Our plan: to spend a couple of days mooching around and generally enjoying life in an area called the Sunshine Coast. Our problem: we couldn’t get a good set with our anchor and stern-tie.

Deep Bay falls on the small side when it comes to anchorages and requires a stern-tie. When we arrived that evening, there were already three boats there – two tied to the northern shore and one tied to the southern. Squeezing in proved to be a little difficult, but we dropped the anchor, got a set, tied to shore and settled in for a peaceful night with the idea of staying for a couple of days while waited out another frontal system that was due to hit the area.

Cambria had other ideas. We were getting ready to go to shore the next afternoon when the boat started to get a little too close to the rocks, thanks to the prevailing wind out of the southeast (which put it just forward of our port beam). Deep Bay offers good protection out of that quadrant, but Cambria has a fair amount of windage and started to crab a bit so we upped anchor and tried again, coming up with the same result. We tried one more time but couldn’t seem to improve the boat’s final position (most likely over thinking it at that point). With the wind forecasted to increase to 40 knots over the next day or so, we called it quits and moved over to Tucker Bay on the northern end of Lasqueti Island.

The promised gales in the Strait of Georgia arrived early Wednesday morning and continued through Thursday. We saw a steady 15 to 18 inside the protection of the anchorage while nearby stations were reporting much higher sustained winds with gusts in the upper 30s. To the south of us, near Nanaimo, it was only blowing 11 to 16 knots. With nothing better to do than watch the rain fall, we decided to find out why the “split” occurs here.

A quick look at a chart told us all we needed to know – Alberni Inlet.

Environment

Canada

breaks the Strait of Georgia into two sections for its weather forecast: North of Nanaimo and South of Nanaimo. Honestly, we’d never given it much thought and just assumed the reason was the impact from Johnstone Strait on the northern waters and the impact of Juan de Fuca Strait on the southern waters. To some extent, that’s true. But that’s not the whole story. Alberni Inlet runs deep into Vancouver Island and is open to the Pacific Ocean. Winds can funnel up the channel and scream down the eastern side of Vancouver Island by way of Qualicum Beach, impacting the weather in the area . . . and we placed ourselves smack dab in the middle of it.

Alphabet Photography Project

Alphabet Photography Project | W is for Water

Wednesday, February 24, 2016TheCambrians

Sum It Up Sunday the Inside Passage

(Inside) Passage Making

Sunday, February 21, 2016TheCambrians

David enjoying the view of one of the many beaches on Fury Island last year.

Shearwater, Fury Cove, Blunden Harbour, Octopus Islands and now Carrington Bay – the last weeks have been a blur of activity . . . and movement.

Things started off on a disappointing note. When we left Shearwater, we had a good forecast in hand and planned to stay a couple of night in Fury Cove – walking on the beaches and generally enjoying life in effort to help make up for a wet and dreary summer. But the forecast changed significantly overnight and we risked being stuck north of Cape Caution for days, weeks possibly, if we didn’t leave. So we did.

From there, we moved down to Blunden Harbour and steadily made our way south – 40, 50, 60 miles at a time – doing our best to get clear of the mess off lows and fronts that were moving over the north and central coasts of British Columbia. We did okay overall and even managed to take a couple of days off to relax in Octopus Islands Marine Park, one of our favourite spots, but the weather is moving south as well and the sun filled days promised in the forecast have yet to transpire.

That doesn’t mean we haven’t had some good times along the way: We anchored in Rebecca Spit for a couple of nights and buddy-boated with some friends who live in Campbell River, discovering a new anchorage in the process. We spent a few lovely, peaceful days in Von Donop Inlet, which is fast becoming a favourite anchorage of ours. And we returned to Carrington Bay where we’re always sure to find seclusion and privacy. But, for the most part, summer has eluded us.

The season appears to be over here at 50° N, so we’ll be moving further south tomorrow. The truth is, it was probably over a week ago but there was no sign of it in the forecast, just the opposite. It looked like things were going to shape up; the high was moving in again, but it centered too far offshore and we’ve been barraged by cold fronts, troughs and intense lows. To say it’s disappointing is an understatement – we were looking forward to a week of relaxed days in Desolation Sound, Prideaux Haven in particular. But it’s that time of year again – the equinox is upon us.

Note: This blog was written on Sunday, 20 September 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project

Alphabet Photography Project | V is for Vessel

Thursday, February 18, 2016TheCambrians

Inside Passage The Central Coast

Rainy Days and Mondays

Tuesday, February 16, 2016TheCambrians

Anchorages Inside Passage The Central Coast

Bottleneck Inlet: Hiding Out

Saturday, February 13, 2016TheCambrians

Our overall plan is to move south but to take our time and enjoy some of our favourite anchorages along the Central Coast as we do. So, we left Bishop Bay Wednesday morning and made our way down Princess Royal Reach, through Heikish Narrows, down Finlayson Channel and into Bottleneck Inlet for the night: we’d start there.

The forecast for the weekend wasn’t the best and we decided to wait out an approaching low and trough rather than continue to Shearwater – the protection would be a lot better. The barometer was falling and rain was on its way, but it was still nice on Thursday so I spent some time in the kayak and talked with another couple on a boat that had just arrived. They used to live in Sitka and spend every summer in Alaska. They said it was the best season weather-wise they’ve had for years . . . I’m pretty sure they were delusional.

On Friday, the heavens opened and it rained down in buckets. The barometer was steady at 1003 Mb (down from 1014 Mb) and we hoped for the best. The wind blew a bit during the day but the protection is so good inside Bottleneck that we hardly noticed. Our Alaskan neighbours stayed put along with us but were off and running again on Saturday morning despite the barometer having fallen to 987 Mb overnight.

It was a squally day and we were happy to be tucked up safely. Environment

Canada

bumped the forecast up to storm-force for the Central Coast as an intense cold front joined the mix and moved south. Listening to the radio in the afternoon, there were reports of 60 knot winds off McInnis Island and 40+ off Dryad Point (near Shearwater), combined with three to five metre seas along the coast. It was cold, wet and windy inside Bottleneck Inlet; but we were safe and feeling good about our decision to stay.

We were the only boat in the anchorage until four or five o’clock when a sailboat called Dreamketcher came in. We’d seen them a time or two when we were in Alaska and were really surprised to see them here – the entire coast of BC was feeling the pain from this weather system and it was ugly outside the anchorage, too ugly to be under way. Along with the intensifying cold front, we were dealing with low pressure systems from Oregon and the Gulf of Alaska and the remnants of a typhoon from

Japan

, all working together to create a wild ending to the month of August.

Cambria's movements in red and Dreamketcher's in blue. All distances are outside the range of scope either boat would have had out.

We were sitting in the same spot we’d been in since Wednesday: smack dab in the middle of the anchorage with a view out into Finlayson Channel. Dreamketcher was to the northeast of us, closer to the head of the bay and seemingly close to shore. David was sitting in the cockpit keeping an eye on things and playing the guitar. I was down below drawing, getting up every few minutes to look around as well. The wind was howling as the front moved inland and we were seeing swirling gusts in the 30s. We weren’t surprised: This was a wicked storm, but Bottleneck Inlet is a hurricane hole and the fact that we were seeing so much wind ourselves meant that the situation outside was pretty grim.

A little later, David said “take a peek at where we’re sitting now.” I looked out on the port side and could no longer see the entrance to the anchorage . . . it’d been replaced by a small waterfall. We’d moved 100 metres or so and were sitting close to the southern shore in 5 to 7 metres of water: We had dragged but were holding steady again. Another gust of wind soon followed, and we swung around to 2.1 metres. At that point, we jumped into action, upped anchor and moved into the middle of the bay. But we couldn’t go back to the spot we’d been sitting in for the last three or four days because Dreamketcher was there . . . they’d dragged somewhere in the neighbourhood of 150 metres (best guess), tripping our anchor in the process. The only thing we couldn’t figure out is how we missed it happening.

We dropped the anchor upwind of them and got a good set but wanted to keep a closer eye on things until we felt more comfortable with the situation. We kept the radar on for a while as an extra pair of eyes, but everything was fine after that. Meanwhile, all was quiet aboard Dreamketcher – they hadn’t noticed the commotion or, if they had, they kept themselves hidden. It’s possible that they were already asleep; their anchor light was turned on shortly after they arrived. Either way, it didn’t instill a lot of confidence in their anchoring abilities and we were happy to see they were gone when we woke up this morning.

Note: This blog was written on Sunday, 30 August 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project

Alphabet Photography Project | U is for Under Sail

Wednesday, February 10, 2016TheCambrians

British Columbia Hot Springs the Inside Passage

Bishop Bay Hot Springs: Soaking It Up

Tuesday, February 09, 2016TheCambrians

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.

Ferris Bueller

Blame the sunshine. Blame the natural hot springs. Or blame the good company. But nobody was in a hurry to leave Bishop Bay. Nobody aboard Cambria, anyway. And we were more than happy to pick up on Friday where Thursday had left off with some kayaking, soaks in the hot springs and another cookout at the campsite. It was brilliant! And short-lived.

The barometer had been sitting steady at 1015 Mb for the last few days but a cold front moved into the area early Saturday and dropped the temperature . . . along with some more rain. John (SV Gypsy Woman) was eager to continue south and make his way home to Port Townsend to see his lady, so Impossible Dream and Gypsy Woman left the anchorage that morning at nine o’clock. By 11:00 am, they were back. David radioed to make sure everything was alright. It was. But the wind was blowing 25 knots from the south in the channel with a corresponding sea state, so they decided to wait until Sunday. Tom added that he heard someone trying to hail us on the radio – it was Jim and Laurie aboard SV JouJou!

They came into the bay and rafted up to us for the night and another great evening. The reunion was short and sweet, however. Jim and Laurie were eager to make some more southing as well and they left Sunday morning shortly after Impossible Dream and Gypsy Woman. As for us, we’re not ones to leave a hot spring in a rush and whenever we stop in Bishop Bay, we linger. Sometimes it’s to our detriment and sometimes it’s to our benefit. We won’t know until the next forecast period if there’s a price to pay for our idleness but today there was, in fact, a benefit.

There were only two boats left in Bishop Bay: us and a fishing vessel making their way south. Shortly before lunch, there was a knock on the hull – a young guy called Jesse came by to offer us a frozen sockeye before they left. We said no, but thank you. He was surprised by our refusal and couldn’t quite understand it, even when we told him we don’t really care for salmon and it would go to waste. In hindsight, I wish we would have taken it and then whapped him on the head with it. But we didn’t know then what we were about to find out.

It’s common for boats that visit Bishop Bay to leave something at the bath house with their name on it. In 2013, during our first visit, David made a sign out of a cedar plank and hung it in the changing area where it remained, untouched, for two years – even surviving a complete clean-out by the local yacht club in Kitimat.

I went to the pools after lunch for a long, hot bath and was getting changed when I noticed “BJ” on our sign. BJ? Who’s BJ? And what are they doing on our board? And then the penny dropped: The buggers aboard the fishing vessel (who had just so kindly offered us a salmon) took our sign down, turned it around, wrote their names on it in permanent black marker and hung it back up. I bet young Jesse had a real surprise when he came over to Cambria this morning only to find out we were the boat sign they’d poached . . . along with that sockeye.

Note: This blog was written on Tuesday, 25 August 2015.

Inside Passage The North Coast Wildlife

Going Aground and Tales of Whales

Saturday, February 06, 2016TheCambrians

They say there are two types of sailors: Those who’ve run aground, and those who will (although some refer to the second simply as “liars”). And I suppose being high and dry twice in 15 years isn’t bad percentage-wise, but it’s still incredibly embarrassing to admit (and yet I am). Embarrassing because it should have never happened. And increasingly embarrassing because I ignored every sign that clearly pointed me in that direction.

It was Wednesday afternoon and the tide was low. I went on deck to launch my kayak while David was below cleaning the spare raw water pump. We were anchored in the southeast corner of Nettle Basin in Lowe Inlet and I could see the shoals off our bow. At the time, I felt we were a little close given the current range of the tide. Normally I would’ve run down below and had David, who has much better depth perception than I do, come up for a look and a second opinion. But I didn’t. I thought about turning on the depth meter, but I quickly reminded myself that we were anchored in more than eight metres (over 26 feet) and went about my business. The tide came back in and all was forgotten.

That evening, the wind picked up out of the northwest quadrant (as it had the night before). But this time it built to 20 or 25 knots and there were whitecaps in the bay. I know this because I got up to use the head and looked outside when I did. Why the simple fact that we were lee-shored and floating over the shoals didn’t seem to concern either one of us is beyond me. And why the fact that the door to the head was a little snug didn’t set off alarm bells off in my mind, I can’t be entirely sure. What I do know is that by the time I sauntered back to our cabin, it was too late – we were aground.

Complacency. It’ll get you every time. I can’t speak for David but I feel confident that with Alaska behind us, I had let my guard down and was too relaxed now that we’re back in familiar territory. And because of that, I earned the distinct honour of having to drag my ass out into the wind and cold to help him try to kedge the boat off the shoal in the dark of night.

There was no getting free so David got into one of the kayaks and paddled to the eastern shore where he secured a line from the trees back to Cambria to help keep her from healing over any more (we were already sitting at a good 30° and the wind was still blowing). In the meantime, one of the other boats in the anchorage heard the commotion and shone a light on us . . . and then promptly went inside, shut off all their lights and went to bed. We didn’t need their help but were pretty surprised and disappointed by their reaction nonetheless. Finally around two in the morning, the tide had come in enough that we were floating again. We moved into deeper water (with less scope), used the line to shore as a stern-tie and went to bed, shaking our heads at our stupidity as we did.

The next morning got off to a somewhat inauspicious start: I overslept by an hour, putting us at odds with the current. And we had to cut ourselves free from a rope someone left behind when we were upping anchor, which delayed us even further. From then on, though, things improved quickly and all the ills from the previous night were soon forgotten.

Coming down Greenville Channel into Wright Sound we saw (at the very least) 30 humpback whales – some alone, some together and several mothers and calves. They weren’t bubble or lunge feeding, but it was still amazing to see so many whales in one place. And if the whales weren’t enough, we were a few miles south of Tomkinson Point (the entrance to Bishop Bay, our destination) when I saw two white conical shapes about 5 miles off to the north of us. I thought they were markers when I first put the binoculars on them. But as we got closer, I decided they might be sailboats, so I took another look. They were. And one was a ketch. I looked at David and, with a tone of disbelief, asked him to hail Impossible Dream on the VHF: My suspicions were confirmed. It was Tom, Gale and John (on Gypsy Woman). That makes ninth time we’ve ended up in the same anchorage this season and the second time we’ve arrived at the same place within minutes of each other after departing from different locations at different times.

Anchoring in Bishop Bay can be tricky thanks to poor holding, but Parks Canada had added a third mooring over the summer season and two were available when we arrived. We took one and Impossible Dream and Gypsy Woman took the other – no need to worry about going aground tonight!

There was still plenty of day left to enjoy, so we did just that. After securing the boats, we all got ready quickly and went to shore for a soak in the hot springs and a to catch-up. But the pièce de résistance came later when we met at the campsite where Tom had built a nice fire and cooked our dinner over hot coals while sharing beers and swapping stories – not a bad way to end the day!

Note: This blog was written on Thursday, 20 August 2015).

Alphabet Photography Project

Alphabet Photography Project | T is for Territory

Wednesday, February 03, 2016TheCambrians

British Columbia Inside Passage North Coast

Sailing South for the Winter: Back to BC

Monday, February 01, 2016TheCambrians

Regardless of where we’ve been or what kind of conditions we’ve encountered along the way, moving south is always a little depressing . . . and the first real sign that the season is coming to an end. Even this year, despite all the rain, the thought of leaving Alaska had us feeling down. But it wouldn’t too long before the first major storm of the season hit, so we needed to be on our way. We upped anchor early Sunday morning and left Kah Shakes, our final Alaskan anchorage, taking full advantage of the current across Dixon Entrance and down into Prince Rupert.

The conditions were good, but the sky was overcast and gray which made for a long day. We arrived around 3 o’clock, some ten hours later, cleared in with customs and anchored in Pillsbury Cove for the night: After more than three months, we were back in

Canada

The next day, we launched the dinghy and I went into town to provision while David stayed aboard. It was another gray and dreary day and the mist and drizzle did nothing to improve our moods, so we had to settle for chocolate – thank goodness for Cadbury . . . and Walmart, which sells it at a discount.

It was foggy Tuesday morning, but that was no surprise. Prince Rupert is close to the open Pacific and, this time of year, the fog and marine layer roll in most nights. We upped anchor at 10 am with limited visibility and started to make our way down to Lowe Inlet. As we passed the Skeena River, the sun began to burn through the fog. The conditions were good and we had a light northwesterly breeze that filled our headsail for a while but did more to life our spirits than move us along – we were headed in the right direction.

The anchorage at the head of Lowe Inlet was busy when we arrived and the midges were out in full-force. It’d been another long day, so we had dinner and kicked back for the night – the rest would just have to wait.

By 10 o’clock this morning, all of the other boats had left and we had the anchorage to ourselves until the afternoon. The sun was shining, so I spent the day in the kayak watching the salmon try to jump up the falls . . . and staying out of David’s way. He’d discovered a drip off the raw water pump when we were coming down Grenville Channel and wanted to prepare the spare in case it needed to be changed out, the preference being to do the work someplace with facilities like Shearwater in case there’s a problem.

Nothing physical had changed since we were here in May, but it felt different: Everything was new and we were heading north to areas unknown. And now we’re moving south, a depressing but necessary chore. Summer’s almost over; I can feel it in the air and that, more than anything, has left me feeling sad.

Note: This blog was written on Wednesday, 19 August 2015.

Searching for Sunshine Along the Sunshine Coast

Alphabet Photography Project | W is for Water

(Inside) Passage Making

Alphabet Photography Project | V is for Vessel

Rainy Days and Mondays

But I Digress

Light at the End of the Tunnel

Bottleneck Inlet: Hiding Out

Alphabet Photography Project | U is for Under Sail

Bishop Bay Hot Springs: Soaking It Up

Going Aground and Tales of Whales

Alphabet Photography Project | T is for Territory

Sailing South for the Winter: Back to BC

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