Pictographs and Pacific White-sides September 6

It’s been a month since I posted, and we’ve traveled many miles since then. We left Alaska and started south with every prospect of beautiful weather, so we chose a route that would take us out toward the Pacific rather than the more protected Inside Passage route. We anchored overnight in the islands of the Goose Group and explored several of them. You can get a sense of the “wild coast” from the tortured beach wrack in this picture. Among the bleached and scoured logs I found a bottle with Cyrillic script on the label. From the picture of a human molar and the ‘minty-fresh’ smell of what was left of the contents, I guessed that it was mouthwash—all the way from Russia. Another foray turned up a pack of cards from Shanghai, China (missing only the 3 of clubs, but with both Jokers.) Patrick and I took the dinghy to a kayaker camp on another island. It is thought to have been built by a local character called Kayak Bill, who built elaborate camps out of driftwood and beach detritus all over this coast. Something of a hermit, he disappeared several years ago, assumed to have drowned, poor man. We explored his camp, then followed a little trail through the woods to the other side of the island. I found a deer antler on the beach there, along with a number of fishing floats; alas, not the glass ones, though I searched and searched.

From there we meandered down along the outer coast. We stopped to find some pictographs we had read about, and I recorded photos of the site, latitude and longitude information about the location, and sent it in to a web site that is collecting such data about sites of pictographs (rock paintings) and petroglyphs (rock carvings) along the coast. I wonder what they were. Chiefs? Ancestors? Bottle openers? I continue researching and reading about the First Nation tribes that lived here.

We rounded Cape Caution again, with milder seas than the last time thank goodness, and are back in the Broughton Archipelago. While watching for orcas near Blackfish Pass we came across these sea lions who were not only extremely vocal; they were quite smelly. Patrick counted 84 that we could count from the boat. The big beachmasters wrestled and bumped with the smaller bulls. You should have heard the barking, groaning, burbling and fussing going on. Everybody had something to say.

We revisited Bond Sound to see if the salmon were running. Boy, were they! We could see them along the shoreline on both sides of the sound, running in thick, almost solid lines toward Little Ahta Creek at the head of the sound. Frequently, a salmon – or two or three at a time – would perform a series of leaps out of the water, slapping down on their sides, apparently practicing for their up-river journey. We took the dinghy up the creek as far as the depth and deadfall allowed, then hiked about 1 ½ miles to the bottom of a waterfall. In pools and eddies along the way we could see groups of dozens of salmon undulating just enough to stay in place against the current, waiting for some inner message to tell them to go forward toward the spawning ground. Every so often a group would begin thrashing fins and tails to cross a shallow rocky patch to the next pool.

Though we didn’t see any bears on that trip, we dodged messy piles of bear scat all over the trail and shore. Also scattered rather liberally about were plenty of freshly eviscerated salmon carcasses, so we knew the bears couldn’t be far away. We saw a number of eagles and I found a half-dozen large eagle feathers; white tail feathers, long dark-brown pinion feathers, and even down feathers that the Kwakwaka’wakw Indians use in their welcome dances. When we returned to where we had left the dinghy, we found the tide was still too high to cross a little channel we had waded through on our way in, so we lay down on the creek bank in the sunshine and drowsed away half an hour as the water level fell. Bees droned among the white yarrow and wild buttercups that dotted the tall grass, and a light breeze cooled us from our hike back to the creek delta. It was a perfect way to spend our 18th anniversary.

The next morning Patrick awoke early to see what the night had brought to our prawn trap in a deep spot across the sound from our anchorage. As he hand-pulled the 350 feet of line attached to the trap, watching the salmon jumping all around him, he heard a loud rushing sound. He quickly identified the source as a large pod of Pacific white-sided dolphins bounding along the shoreline, hunting together for salmon. He finished pulling in the trap (which contained a nice catch of truly colossal spot prawns) and radioed me aboard Tenacious. His call found me still in bed in my pajamas, but I was galvanized into instant action when he told me to get ready to go see the dolphins. He was already roaring across to the sound to pick me up. I grabbed my life jacket, threw on the first jacket I came across (which turned out to be one of Pat’s) and put the video recorded around my neck. We zipped over toward the hunting pod and then slowed as we approached them, about 100 yards away and running parallel to their path. In moments the curious creatures had come over to meet their visitors, swimming around and under the inflatable dinghy. They swam alongside us as we putted slowly, turning to one side or the other to look up at us from the water. As they crowded in to see us, we were bumped several times and even splashed as a couple of them jumped out of the water within inches of our gunwales. In the lower left of photo above you can just see a corner of the dinghy.

Then, quick as a flash, they left us to return to the business of salmon fishing. One dolphin leaped completely out of the water 13 times in a row, each time coming down to the water and slapping its tail loudly on the surface of the water. We wondered what message that must have communicated to the pod. A few dolphins stayed with us, rolling and diving all around us. I wanted to touch one; they were quite close enough to do so, and I left my hand in the water for a while until I remembered a visit to a local museum dedicated to whales where I had seen a skeleton of a Pacific white-side and pictured the teeth. What if my fingers looked like something good to eat?

The dolphins left us and returned to us several times. Seagulls filled the sky above us with their raucous cries, hoping to cadge salmon scraps from the feeding. A mother and baby dolphin humped out of the water just in front of us. It was a magical morning.

August 4 North to Alaska

We did it! We made it to Alaska! We started to believe that we could do it when we were approaching Prince Rupert, but with the wind, seas and fog up here, it never feels like it’s a sure thing until it happens, but it did. As we crossed into Alaskan waters, Patrick toasted our arrival with an international blend of Jack Daniels and Canadian whiskey (which was surprisingly good, by the way …)
Our last anchorage before that was in the Khutzeymateen Grizzly Bear Sanctuary, a preserve that is now surrounded by a conservancy area, and home to an estimated 50-60 grizzly bears. We spent two nights there, anchored in a corner of the “L” shaped inlet. One leg of the ‘L’ looked out toward the entrance to the inlet and the other gave us a vista of a huge, bare granite miuntain that sloped down toward the grassy meadow at the head of the inlet. We took our dinghy all around the inlet, spying out and watching bears as they grazed on sedge grass in the sunshine. I was interested to learn that grizzlies (or brown bears, as they are commonly known in Canada) make grasses and roots a large part of their diet, especially in the spring after hibernation. During the summer they tend to move to higher elevations to enjoy the ripening berries. Of course, late summer brings them back to the salmon streams to gorge on the fattiest parts of salmon in preparation for their long winter nap.

One bear’s territory was quite near our anchorage. He meandered along the sedge grass meadow yanking and chewing mouthful after mouthful of grass. Occasionally he stopped and sat down, taking a break in the heat. At one point he waded into the water and proceeded to groom the fur around his neck with his big claws, and duck low to wash his face with his huge paws. We could only imagine that with his thick fur, the cool water felt wonderful, though we hoped he didn’t decide to take a longer swim, as we were watching him from the dinghy!

We spotted a younger bear, still slim and showing some ribs, clambering over and around the boulders scattered in the outlet of a salmon stream. He must have wondered where the salmon were, but we knew. We could see thousands of them – pink salmon – milling around in the shallow water near the mouth of the creek, awaiting whatever call would tell them it was the moment to head upstream to the spawning grounds. Later that evening Pat rigged his fly rod and caught a pink. We enjoyed it for dinner.

It was our last morning in Grizzlyland, and I was on the bow, pulling up anchor while Patrick flaked the anchor chain into the anchor locker below. The anchor windlass is operated with a large button embedded in the deck, so I kept one foot on the button, one eye on the anchor chain, and watched for wildlife around us. I was hoping to see our grizzly bear, or perhaps a visiting harbor seal, but instead I spotted what looked like a strange bird swimming toward us from shore. I tried to identify the species, when I realized that I was not looking at a bird, but rather at a pair of antlers coming through the water! A deer was swimming across the inlet. I instantly called Pat to come up on deck. The deer passed within 25 yards of our stern, so close that we could see the fog of his breath on the surface of the water. We watched him, worrying about the freezing cold water, but he was a fine swimmer. We followed his progress until he swam around a point where we could no longer see him.

On our way up we stopped off to find an old stone and masonry cabin that was one of four built by the original crew that surveyed the Canada/Alaska border. It's roof is gone now, but we could still read the eroding letters on the stone next to the door; it says " ... Property, Port Seattle, Do Not Injure." Since the border was eventually established a few miles northwest of this cabin, someone apparently chiseled out the "U.S." at the beginning. Here I am in the doorway - notice the shorts and the sunshine!

Salmon and Otters

July 22 Salmon in Otter Channel
Its a red letter day, or rather a red salmon filet day! Patrick dropped me off for some beachcombing on Pitt Island and he took the dinghy toward Otter Channel to troll for salmon. He caught a lovely silvery coho! I found a large, round cedar burl on the beach. I have visions of a wooden bowl or sculpture from it. It's about the size of a football helmet. It was all I could do to wrestle it out of the jumble of huge driftwood logs it was half-buried in, haul it down to the water's edge and lift it in to the dinghy.

The cats, who seem to have a sixth sense about when seafood is coming on board, met us on the afterdeck where Pat was beginning to clean the fish. As he fileted, the cats demanded their share of "sushi treats" and eventually had enough. We dined royally on salmon filets with a pesto garnish and a drizzle of balsamic reduction glaze. Several more salmon dinners await us in the freezer.

July 21 The Cutest Thing in Hartley Bay
We stayed overnight behind the rock breakwater on the docks at Hartley Bay, a small Indian village with a cedar log cultural center, and friendly people. We talked to a dock neighbor who had had prodigious luck catching coho salmon in Otter Channel, which is on our planned route north. We went to sleep dreaming of beatuiful, thick red fillets... Patrick woke me up at 6:15am with two words, "Lydia! Otter!" I was awake, out of the rack and looking out the upper salon window in bare seconds. Pat had been watching an eagle, and suddenly it had swooped down toward the muddy margin at the bottom of the rock breakwater. That was when Pat realized that the eagle was after a river otter, who scampered for dear life up the rocks and into its den in some thick shrubs at the top of the bank. The otter was already gone despite my record-breaking dash, and since I was awake I thought I'd sit in the cockpit with a cup of coffee and enjoy the early morning quiet. I figured the otter wouldn't be seen for a while - having had the fear of God and eagles put into him by recent events - but I was wrong. It wasn't long before I heard a crunching noise in the water just behind our stern. There was the otter with his head out of the water, chomping down a fish with his mouth wide open. Once he had finished his little nosh, he dove back underwater. I spotted him again, coming out of the water near the place where the eagle had missed him. (I've tried to upload a video clip of the otters several times, and I'm having trouble - I'll try to clip a photo and add it another time. Sorry!)

Visiting Shangri-La

July 19 Visiting Shangri-La
We think we may have found our favorite anchorage of all time: Khutze (koots) Inlet. We are anchored in front of an utterly glorious series of waterfalls. The rain that has been wetting us for the past few days is paying off here - the falls are in full spate. I must have taken a hundred pictures; it reminded of Shangri-La.

We had some great adventures here. Patrick climbed up to the base of the falls and found a huge iceberg - we had thought it was a granite boulder. You can see it in the picture to the right, on the left side near the base of the waterfall, and in a closer view below. Patrick is dwarfed by this 'iceberg on land.' He peeked in to the tunnel that ran all the way under it, but wisely decided to go no farther.

We took the dinghy up the river as far as we could go. The river water was cloudy pale green, a sure sign that its source is glacial snow melt. We found a hidden waterfall and had to clamber through this brush and downed logs to see it. I had a major "don't look down" moment when I had to stand on a moss-covered fallen log that was across the outflow of the waterfall to get this picture. There was nothing to hold on to ... Note the lovely, figure-enhancing PFD (personal flotation device) over my hooded sweatshirt and under my rain jacket, the muddy jeans and high-top boots. This is typical 'going- ashore' wardrobe for me. A far cry from opera opening night attire!

July 17 The Big House at Klemtu

Last year, as we thought about going farther north, Patrick coined a toast that is a take-off on the alien/man Klaatu's order to Gort in the movie, The Day the Earth Stood Still. Rather than "Klaatu, barada, nikto," we toasted to "Klemtu, barada, nikto," and we translate that as "The norther, the better." This year, we finally made it up to the First Nations village of Klemtu and had the chance to visit their beautiful Big House. Francis, our tour guide, told us wonderful stories from his Kitasoo heritage, including the one that explains why The Raven walks the way he does. We can't tell that one on the web - but ask us when we see you! The huge house posts with their carved images of the four major clan symbols, Raven, Eagle, Wolf and Orca, were so impressive. We used different carved sticks to beat the huge cedar log drum, eliciting a surprising range of tones. Wish we could have been there for a potlatch! Francis was wonderful, and we enjoyed our visit greatly.

July 10 Ocean Falls

We're back in Ocean Falls. This year, as we tied up at the dock, we were greeted by the new Canada Coast Guard rescue boat - aptly named "About Time." That gave us a laugh. We visited here last year and were fascinated with the abandoned business buildings and homes. This year we went farther into the empty buildings. A large, poured-concrete apartment building, despite its collapsing ceilings and gutted appliances, revealed details about the lives of its last inhabitants. Though the place had been stripped of most items of value, we could make educated guesses about the families it once housed. A master bedroom that had last been occupied in the '70s had wallpaper featuring large, harvest gold flowers. It was easy to identify a little girl's room from its pink walls. Another building that must have housed the school had lab stations that reminded me of the ones in the science classroom in my junior high school. One room still had library books, published in the 1960s. Broken windows, moss growing on linoleum floors, falling sheetrock and insulation -- after a little while, we both felt the need to get out. It wasn't that there were ghosts, but somehow, the spaces still felt haunted.

Out in the sun again, we pedaled our fold-up bikes through town and followed the road to Martin Valley, a couple of miles away, to buy fresh-grown lettuce from a lovely woman whose greenhouse is in her back yard. Along the way we spotted the hot colors of ripe salmon berries growing wild, and we risked clothing and skin to pick a hatful from the prickly bushes. Sweet and warm from the sun, it was tempting to just eat them as we found them (and I must admit, there were berries that followed just that fate) but Patrick had a better idea ... His salmon berry strudel was beyond delicious!

July 10 Eight Whales Before Breakfast
We spent the night before last tied up at Duncanby Lodge in Rivers Inlet. It was so nice to be in a luxury resort and have a delicious restaurant dinner, not to mention an extremely long, hot shower. The last time I had anything other than a sea shower (where you wet down, turn off the water, soap up, and turn the water on once more to rinse) was in Port McNeill and that was back in June! On our way out of the restaurant after dinner I picked up a copy of the resort's high-quality color brochure describing their 2009 fly-in fishing packages. Once we got under way early the next morning I flipped through it - and was surprised to see Tenacious in one of the photo spreads! We had been there last year and apparently they liked the look of Tenacious's sweeping lines at their dock, against the backdrop of a lovely sunset. (This link takes you to a slide show pqt3, and one of the 5 pictures in the show has Tenacious in it - the only sailboat you'll see... But the one in the brochure is even better!) http://www.duncanbylodgemarina.com/new_marina.html

We didn't have much time to enjoy the brochure or the photograph, because within minutes of getting off the dock, Patrick spotted a humpback whale. As it turned out, it was the first of many we saw that day. We saw two mothers with babies, and even saw a humpback whale breach! It was quite a sight to see a 50- or 60-foot, multi-ton creature launching itself out of the water to land with a colossal splash on its side. We counted 8 whales in less than an hour. After that I went below to make breakfast. We saw several more as we continued north up Fitz Hugh Channel. Patrick took this picture while I was videotaping one of them. That's me on the bow - the whale is in the water...

July 7 Takush Harbour
We're anchored in a tiny little bay in the wilderness at the moment. It's so calm and beautiful, but its also pouring rain. Yesterday we rounded Cape Caution, which is considered one of the 'gates' to passage up here. Since the Cape marks the area where boats are beyond the northern tip of Vancouver Island, it can be a challenging stretch of water; there is no protection from Pacific swells. A lot of boaters just don't go this farth north -- they don't trust either their boats or themselves to attempt it. This is our second year going around Caution, and we ended up in 4-6' swells, which was absolutely no fun. The cats agreed with me. The highlight of the passage was spotting our first humpback whale of the season, and it was a fine, big one. He was traveling south, and we were traveling north, so we soon parted. I think he was probably trying to get out of this dreadful rain...

We eventually made it out of the swells and in to Smith Sound, and in return for about 3 miserable hours, we came in to this beautiful little anchorage. Looking at the chart, I was amazed that Patrick had the courage to try to anchor in here. It's so small, and rather shallow, but the Captain knows what he's doing, and as a result we are all alone in this tranquil, private nook. There are lots of little 3-4" fish in this bay (herring maybe?) that jump out of the water like miniature trained dolphins. We almost had one jump into the dinghy!

I explored the islands yesterday. I've read that in the 1800s and early 1900s this place was the permanent winter village of a native band called the Gwasilla. By 1960 there were very few of them left, and they all moved to Port Hardy on Vancouver Island. From the colossal volume of broken china and glass that are liberally sprinkled all over the place, they must have smashed every single plate, bottle and jar in the village before they left. I even found shards of the same china pattern here that I have seen at several other midden beaches - it must have been a very popular pattern! I also found older bits of depression glass, and even flow blue and other transferware china patterns from the 1800s. One piece I came across was marked with the manufacturers' name, Grindley Bros., England, on the bottom. I have pieces made by them among my antiques at home!

This morning on the beach I heard loons calling, and I was "buzzed" at least a dozen times by hummingbirds. Patrick suggested that in my periwinkle blue raincoat and knee-high yellow mud boots, perhaps they think I look like some kind of new flowering plant. I also spotted a band of gigantic maurading slugs (see picture.) They had to be 4 or 5 inches long. If these guys moved a little faster, I think they could beat you up for your lunch money! The islands are mostly covered with wild berry bushes that are all in flower now, along with the huge, lacy-white parasols of cow parsley. The hummingbirds couldn't be any happier. Rain and all, neither could I.

Getting started in 2009

June 10, 2009 We set sail once more

Our cruising season has begun! We had great weather while preparing Tenacious for cruising. We spent our first night after leaving our home dock as guests at the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club. Our dear friends Bruce and Ida are members, and they arranged for our overnight moorage and treated us to a fabulous dinner on the Club deck that looks out over English Bay and the panorama of the Vancouver skyline. Such a perfect beginning!

Our third night out we anchored in a little bay and almost had a run-in with another boat – literally. A 40’ sailboat came in to the anchorage late in the evening while we were belowdecks. The wind was forecast to rise overnight, and when Patrick did his customary pre-bed check of everything, it was gusting 25 to 30 knots, even in the sheltered bay. Our new neighbor had dropped anchor WAY too close to us, and as Tenacious swung with the wind on 225’ of anchor chain, the two boats were within 25 feet or less of each other. We were in 70’ of water, and a 3:1 ratio of anchor rode to depth is bare minimum for safety in these waters. A 5:1 ratio is preferred but not always practical in a small, populated anchorage.

The floating neighbors finally came up on the deck of their boat. When Patrick called out to ask if they would mind letting out more anchor line, they replied (somewhat elliptically) that their anchor was holding just fine. It turned out that they had anchored in the same 70’ depth that we had, and they only had 150’ of anchor line. They clearly didn’t know what they were doing. We took in some of our anchor chain to widen the distance between the boats (putting our own anchor set at more risk) and spent a restless night, waking every so often to check on the situation. We guessed that they had probably chartered the boat they were on, and had little experience on this coast.

At around 6 am, I heard the rattle of anchor chain. Our rookie neighbors slunk out of the anchorage at first light… (click on http://womensvoicesforchange.org/tenacious-on-desolation-sound.htm to link to a more complete published feature story.)

June 16-18 Matilpi and the Latest in Bears
We had a great passage up to Matilpi, one of my favorite anchorages and the site of an abandoned First Nation village, complete with pretty white shell midden beaches. Our second afternoon there, while I was beachcombing in the late afternoon, I looked up to find a bear staring at me. We were in a small section of beach, bordered by trees and rocks, and as we just looked at each other for those first seconds, I really wasn’t afraid. I had time to try to calculate how far apart we were (I estimate about 30 feet) and how much he weighed. I though he was around 200 pounds and probably a yearling bear, out on his own for his first summer without his mother.

I thought I should call Pat to come and get me, and as I pulled out my walkie-talkie, I started to back away from the bear, trying to look "big" and sloshing backwards in the shallows toward a small rock-strewn ravine with a creek at the bottom that bisected the beach. While Pat and I talked on the radio, I kept my eye on the bear. Moments later he calmly turned and walked back up in to the forest.

A few deep breaths later, I decided I’d stay – but on the other, larger part of the beach – and called off the rescue. I needed to cross the tidal creek to get there, and the creek bed was treacherous with seaweed and unstable rocks; I had to watch where I was walking. I was halfway across when I looked up again. And there was that bear, about 35 feet ahead of me. He had gone up into the forest and must have sprinted through the underbrush to get to the other side of the beach ahead of me.

I gave up. Another quick radio call and Captain Pat came speedily to my rescue. The bear, unperturbed by the humans or the dinghy motor, went about his business of turning over boulder-sized rocks on the shoreline, looking for shore crabs to eat. We floated in the dinghy and watched him all the way down the shoreline until he ambled back up in to the woods. He was a mighty nice bear!

June 18-21 Pierre’s at Echo Bay

We had another great experience at Pierre’s marina at Echo Bay. It's the place that has pig roasts on Saturday nights during the summer, and boaters from all over flock to the pot-luck events. It all takes place under a big tent on a huge concrete float that was once a section of a floating bridge in Seattle. We, along with a few other boaters, came in to the marina a couple of days early to help Pierre get ready. More hands are always needed; Patrick repaired two pressure washers, an outboard motor and Pierre’s electric drill, and built some shelves and a step up to the floating lodge and any number of other jobs. I helped unload the boatful of supplies for the little grocery store there, and priced and shelved everything from Cheetos to chocolate sauce.

While we were there, I had a pleasant interlude when I hitched a dinghy ride with some other boaters to visit the home/studio of Yvonne Maximchuk, a local artist whose acrylics and watercolors I have admired (and coveted) for years. She is also a potter and has been experimenting with some intriguing crystal glazes. It was great fun to tour her eclectic home and hear about all of her creative ideas as she and her husband continue to finish building it. Her beautiful garden was a special treat. She sent each of us home with a huge, fragrant pink peony. I have had mine on the table in the upper salon for days. It’s wilting, but I can’t bear to throw it away, it still smells heavenly.

The day of Pierre’s pig roast, the authors of our favorite cruising guide, Bob and Marilynn Hale, came in to Pierre's. They publish the Waggoner's Cruising Guide. My friend Colleen and I planned to hike over the fairly challenging trail to Billy Proctor’s Museum and we invited them to hike with us. Billy's Museum is a treasure trove of local historical memorabilia he has collected over his lifetime of fishing, logging and exploring this coast. It includes everything from ancient stone tools to early 20th century fishing and logging gear. We all had a wonderful visit with Billy, who identified a couple of artifacts I had found. One was a twisted copper nose ring (!) quite similar to others that he had in the museum. Bob Hale brought a video recorder so that he could capture some of Billy’s stories on tape. Billy is a national treasure himself – I think Canadian public television should interview him for a television special.

We walked over to see the progress on the nearby log cabin that our friend and survivalist Nikki Van Schyndel is building by hand. Over the past couple of years she has found, cut, trimmed, notched, fitted and raised all of the logs with the occasional help of a couple of friends. She now has a spacious one-room cabin with a roomy sleeping loft. They just put the roof up and it’s ready for windows and some chinking. It’s SO solid. It looks out on the water where we first saw Nikki in her rowboat several years ago.

On Saturday night we sat with our friends Lorne and Colleen and the Hales for the pig roast. A group of 42 Rotarians came over from Port McNeill – a good time was had by all.

We left the next morning for Blunden Harbour, but Mother Nature had other plans. We listened to the weather report for the Queen Charlotte Strait, which we had to transit for part of the way, and it didn’t sound very attractive. We have been fooled by weather reports before, however, so we thought we’d give it a try and stick our nose out to see how bad it really was. As we got to the end of Wells Passage, we found the wind gusting at over 30 knots and we were in 4-foot seas before we even got to the strait. The cats were absolutely miserable, and I had to clean up the results of their digestive displeasure… so we ducked back in to a very protected little anchorage we hadn’t been in before and spent a quiet night. There was an old, abandoned logging camp in the bay and we spotted a watchman on shore...

June 22-26 Beachcombing at Blunden Harbour
We are in Blunden Harbour now and having cold and rain. Looks like our glorious spring sunshine is on hiatus for a while. I’ve been spending hours and hours on the beach each day, hunting for beads and having some pretty good luck. Today I found a HUGE black bead, the largest I’ve ever found at about ¾ of an inch across. Yesterday I found a very pretty blue glass bottle, about 10 inches high and quite narrow, perhaps an old tonic or patent medicine bottle. It’s quite old and unbroken, the glass surface is satiny with wear. Pat says it was mold-blown and has an applied lip. It was rolling along the bottom, just below the tide line.

My beach attire lately has included long underwear (top and bottom), a turtleneck, a hooded sweatshirt, jeans, rainpants, baseball cap and hooded rain jacket. Between rain showers I can slip off the rain jacket hood. Brrr…

One evening we took the dinghy and had tea and chocolates with new friends aboard their boat. Another night we hosted a pot-luck crab feed. Patrick has honed his skills as a crab hunter to the point where he can tell the size and sex of a crab while standing up in the dinghy, poling himself around in the shallow water at low tide. He searches for them as the dropping tide chases them down the shoreline, and he spots them among the eel grass and sea lettuce. Only males that are over a certain size are legal to take, and he ended up getting 18 huge Dungeness crabs for us while we were in Blunden – plenty to enjoy for several dinners, including the crab feed with two other couples. The cats have been eating well, too. They are starting to expect fresh crab at every meal.

It’s in the 50s here this late afternoon and I’m baking cranberry-orange bread for breakfast, and to warm the boat. If the weather cooperates we’ll backtrack a bit to Port McNeill to re-stock on fresh vegetables and other supplies, then continue north around Cape Caution. We’ll keep you posted.