Sunny Days and Starry, Starry Nights

Happy Anniversary to Us! September 1, 2011

Today we celebrate 20 years! As we reminisce this morning, neither of us can believe 20 years have passed since our wedding day. The memories of that day remain so fresh in our minds. We were surrounded by so many of the people we love that day, and tonight we are lucky enough to be anchored with dear friends who have invited us for a celebration dinner on board their boat. This morning we awoke in Nimmo Bay to see a mama black bear and her two young cubs beachcombing nearby - a special gift! It is truly a happy day for us. (That is Jessie the Cat in the photo instead of me. She was complaining that she wasn't getting any visibility ...)

What a Drag ... Bottleneck Inlet, August 24

We pull up the anchor at Lowe Inlet at 6:48am today with the full knowledge that it will be a long day. Our destination is Bottleneck Inlet, a good 12-hour run south. As we log our lat/long and weather conditions every hour, the only variation seems to be whether the sheets of rain are just relentlessly falling, or actually lashing the decks. We are grateful to pull in to Bottleneck Inlet. As its name implies, the entrance is through a narrow channel. It widens a bit, flanked on both sides by steep, tree-covered mountains. As you go farther in until it shoals off into a long tidal mudflat at the head. At 6:20 in the evening we drop the anchor in soft mud between a large power boat and a smaller sailboat, and take a brief dinghy tour of the inlet. We dine sumptuously on Patrick's home-made pizza and turn in.

All is calm, all is bright -- until about 1:30 in the morning when suddenly, a roaring wind awakens Patrick. He turns on the instruments; the anemometer reports over 30 knots blowing straight down the mountainsides and slamming into our decks. In the pitch dark we can see the anchor lights of our two boat neighbors. They are getting closer. Our anchor is dragging.

Patrick starts the engine and we dress in foul weather gear in record time. Because the mountains are so steep (and probably because we are in a rush) the GPS is taking forever to get a satellite signal, and then the display screen in the cockpit won't start. Even with our spreader lights on we can't see enough of the geography of the inlet to safely move the boat and get her re-anchored. From the bow, I can just see the outline of the mouth of the inlet and even though we still don't have electronics, I point out the way for Patrick to steer us when we get too close to the power boat for comfort. Finally the GPS acquires signal and we can "see" where we are well enough to safely re-anchor. By the time we shut down the boat, the strange "willawa" winds have dropped as quickly as they came up. I get very little sleep for the rest of the night.

Bears Will Be Bears ... Lowe Inlet, August _

From our anchor position directly in front of the falls I can sit, warm and dry in the cockpit and watch to see if any bears are fishing. In between the raindrops I notice a large black bear casually making his way to what we have deduced is the prime fishing spot near the base of falls at high tide. It has a ledge where he can secure his hindquarters, leaving paws and jaws free for fishing, and the water seems to flow in such a way that the salmon are drawn to jump there. From our up-close dinghy observations it is clearly the place where the largest number of salmon hurl themselves upward into the falls.

Our bear positions itself and in less than 30 seconds has secured a fish in his mouth and trapped another against the rocks with a paw. Juggling two fish while climbing up the bank proves beyond him and he ends up losing them both. He persists and almost immediately catches another fine salmon. He carries it in his mouth to what we call 'the platform' and lies down, totally relaxed and holding the fat fish in his forepaws. He begins to tear off chunks of red flesh with his huge incisors. I try to ignore the fact that the fish's tail is still flapping ... This Nature, red in tooth and claw. He catches several more salmon, eating just the fat-rich bellies and roe sacs, leaving the rest on the ground for other scavengers, and finally leaves the stage.

Moments later a smaller bear appears. Constantly looking over his shoulder, he makes his way to the bottom of the falls and takes up his position in the prime fishing spot. He is clearly not as experienced as the larger bears and is taking much longer to catch a fish. Suddenly a big adult bear appears at the top of the falls. He sees the young bear in the best fishing place and rushes toward it. The smaller bear, deafened by the roar of the falls in full spate, doesn't hear his larger cousin coming and is utterly surprised when he feels teeth on the back of his neck. The big bear gives him a shake by the scruff of the neck and challenges the smaller bear for the fishing position. The small bear is in a quandary: he wants to fish, and he wants to defend himself, but he knows the larger bear will win in the long run. He's got an attitude though! He flattens himself belly down on the sloped rock and bares his teeth, paws reaching up to slap the big bear looming over him. They scuffle. They jockey for position. We can literally see the bears reaching a sort of detente. The big bear scoots over a little to one side. The small bear sees his opening and scampers, tail tucked, up the shortest route back into the forest and safety. Now I know why he kept looking over his shoulder! Mr. Big Bear calmly moves into fishing position and promptly snatches a fish from the falls. He, too, retires into the forest to dine. Meanwhile, outside in Grenville Channel, Captain Patrick catches a nice coho for us!

Starry, Starry Nights, Chief Matthews Bay, August 9

We have been enjoying glorious sunny days and the stunning solitude of Chief Matthews Bay in the Great Bear Rain Forest. The scale of this place beggars description. Tenacious, anchored bravely in the northwest corner of the bay, looks like a bathtub toy. Sheer granite peaks rise thousands of feet, almost perpendicular to the water. We watch the depth sounder as Patrick noses our bow into the spray of yet another roaring, pulsing waterfall (there are dozens of them here.) Just a few feet from the rock wall we register no depth. It is so deep our sounder gets no reading. We haven't seen another boat in days. Snowfields extend down to the waterline in places. Wearing my sea boots, I 'skied' at sea level in BC in late August! A long, lazy dinghy tour of the waterfalls takes us outside the mouth of the bay to our "secret waterfall" hidden behind a spur of the mountain. Getting close to the base of the falls takes some courage as the volume and roaring of water splashing down into the narrow channel (only a few dinghy widths near the base of the falls) makes me feel a little claustrophobic, but the pidgeon guillemots have no fear. Here's one who caught a fish. With their sleek haute-couture black feathers, red mouths and red feet they remind me of supermodels wearing Christian Laboutin shoes!

It is almost 2am. The sky is so clear and the air so still that we wrap up in blankets against the dew and lie on the deck to gaze at a trillion stars. Satellites cross the sky in every direction. We count shooting stars (we never remember to look up exactly when the Perseid meteor showers are) and manage to spot at least a half dozen, two of which have huge tails almost like comets. We are eventually driven back inside by the chill. It feels good to crawl back in between the warm flannel sheets again.

A Seal's Gotta Eat Europa Bay Hot Springs, August 6

Big smiles break out all over the place as we pull in to Europa Bay, home of our favorite hot spring on the coast. We are finally enjoying day after day of warm, sunny weather and we have the bay all to ourselves. No need to be overly fastidious about the wearing of bathing suits in the hot springs. We scrub and soak, soak and scrub at least once a day. In the evening, we sit on the fantail and watch the salmon jumping in the bay, warming up for their imminent upstream heroics. The local harbor seals and otters are watching, too. I caught this one enjoying a little tail ...

Mysterious Khutze Inlet, August 4

After weeks of cold and rain, I am perhaps somewhat understandably enthralled with sunshine. I keep taking pictures of sunshine ... This morning the low clouds sinuously entwine themselves in and out of the valleys like long-bodied white Angora cats around the mountains' ankles. The waterfall is beautiful. A pair of humpback whales come to visit. A chorus line of harbor seals line up on a floating log, arguing and grumping, bumping and jockeying for their space in the sun. It is a spectacular morning.

The Wetter the Better?

July 27, 2011 Shearwater, Denny Island

It isn't raining! This exclamatory remark, loaded down with irony and sarcasm, tells a large chunk of the story of our summer sailing adventure so far. The Northwest coast has been plagued by wave after wave of low pressure systems, bringing storms, rain, cold winds and fog. The grey skies, cold and damp are taking their toll on our spirits. All we want to do is cuddle up on the banquette with blankets and good books, in the light of the brass oil lamp. That said, we have had some wonderful experiences in the 7 weeks we have been out.

July 24 Ocean Falls

This is our 6th day here; we are waiting out a series of storms here at this friendly dock. Today I use the hose at the fish cleaning station to swamp out Jessie's kitty litter box. Kneeling at the edge of the dock, I fill the empty box with water from the hose, scrub the bottom and dump the water into the chuck, when a sudden movement catches my eye. A harbor seal pops up right next to me, startling me a bit, looking at me with a world of hope and curiosity. I say hello to him, as I realize my splashing near the fish-cleaning area has led him to believe I have some nice, fresh fish offal for him. I inform him that, sadly, I don't have any tasty bits for him. He cocks his head and gives me a reproachful look. Surely no human could disappoint such a face! But I assure him that in fact I have no fish guts on my person, or I would surely share them with such a handsome seal. He coughs with disgust and shoves the water with a front flipper, splashing me, and disappears beneath the surface of the water just as suddenly as he appeared moments ago. Next time, I'll bring something for him! (This little blonde seal was relaxing on the log breakwater when we went out on a dinghy cruise last evening ...)

July 17 Indian Island

We anchor in a little basin near Takush Harbour, a favorite spot. Yesterday we came around Cape Caution, the aptly named point that marks the boundary between the southern and central coast of BC. It is the beginning of a difficult stretch of water that is open to Pacific swells, and can make for an uncomfortable passage. We always time our passage carefully, based on weather and wave height reports, and yesterday's journey was not too bad, (Jessie the Cat, who experienced some seasickness, may dispute this) and we are happy to be safely anchored in a tiny little cove that is almost completely hidden from sight. In the early morning silence, a mink makes its way along the rocky shoreline at low tide. Later, Patrick returns from a fishing expedition, triumphant, bearing a 40" lingcod which we will be dining upon for some time to come. Lingcod is a delicious firm, white fish. The process of cleaning and fileting it was intensely interesting to Jessie the Cat, who just about turned herself inside out winding around our ankles to make sure we knew she was available to assist with those pesky little fish scraps. She loves sushi!

July 1 Pierre's at Echo Bay

We always enjoy visiting our friends at Pierre's and this year we shared the Canada Day celebration with over 100 other boaters of many nationalities. Prime rib was on the menu, along with baked potatoes, veggies, salad and brownies for dessert. Pierre and Tove Landry really know how to throw a party! Last year our nephews Nate and Sam were with us for this event. We miss them!

June 29 Claydon Bay

A low tide, a stretch of beach and the promise of beachcombing gets me out of bed early this morning. We layer on the fleece vests, jackets and life preservers, top them off with raingear and head to the edge of the forest where we find a young black bear ambling along, turning over boulders to lick up the tasty beach crabs that hide underneath. He takes a look at us, but finds the breakfast buffet spread for him on shore much more interesting. In the mist of the early morning we can hear him crunching the shells of the mussels he is eating. His claws, turning over the barnacled rocks, are huge. A bald eagle in a nearby tree crying it's twittering call over and over. We watch the until the bear disappears back into the forest.

North--and South Again... August 18, 2010

Europa Bay, July 31 (Sorry - I just realized I have changed the 'order' of the blog - usually most recent to earlier, this time, earlier to most recent. Can't figure out how to change it without re-entering it all, so please bear with me this time~~)

I wake up early this morning hearing a strange sound; a long drawn-out high-pitched wail. It sounds like one of those whale song albums, but I thought those were recorded underwater. It is repeated a couple of times so I roust myself out of the sack and go up on deck to listen more closely. Standing on the aft deck in my jammies, the single wailing cry is joined by another one, and another. I realize I am listening to a pack of wolves howling up in the valley.

We are anchored at the Europa Hot Springs and are enjoying two-a-day baths. It is an indescribable luxury to have a hot soak in the cool of the morning, with an evening bath to look forward to at the end of a hot, humid day. Some one has left a pool thermometer here, and the water temperature is 105 degrees. Ahhhhh.....

Gardner Canal, August 2-5 One simply runs out of superlatives. Patrick says it's as if Switzerland has been plopped down into the ocean. I find it hopeless to try to capture the grandeur with a camera--the scale of the beauty of this place is far beyond capture by a mere lens, and I despair at trying to select a photo or two that could possibly represent this experience. This long inland Fiord is lined with rugged, steep mountains that fall steeply into the water, a mixture of ocean saltwater and glacier run-off fresh water. In their slow, inexorable movement to the sea, the glaciers all around us grind rock into a powder finer than flour or talc, and it colors the meltwaters, making them appear milky. During these glorious sunny days we seem to float in a sea of opaline turquoise blue. In the pristine air, the mountains that surround us are spectacular. There are waterfalls just everywhere. We have been anchoring in huge, deep bays, finding the little slivers of anchorable space between the tidal flats that dry at low tide and the almost-bottomless bays.

In Chief Matthews Bay we take the dinghy up the river valley that empties in to the bay. It's course twisted and turned around huge pebble dunes built by last spring's floods. We have to dodge dozens of downed trees in the waterway--many that still have leaves or needles on them. They remind us of just how recently the spring-melt floods have ripped up those forest giants by their roots and sent them crashing down the valley. We can see dozens of slide chutes where countless tons of rock and biomass have broken off to slide thousands of feet down the mountainside, carrying everything ahead of them, finally to crash into the bay, leaving long streaks of bare granite and piles of broken rock and twisted, splintered wood at the bottom. I would not want to be in this anchorage in the early spring when meltwaters are running fast!

Another dinghy cruise takes us back out to the entrance of the bay where Patrick has spied a waterfall behind a little spur of mountain. We take the dinghy into the narrow opening - we can hear the crashing water and see the rising mist, but the bottom of the falls is still hidden. Farther and farther into the little nook we poke our little inflatable. The acute corner where the falls end is so tiny that it is only when we are actively getting drenched by the spray off the falls that we finally see where they meet the water. I can almost touched the rock walls on either side of us, and we both laugh to see a pair of harbor seals playing in the turbulent water. It must feel like a Jacuzzi to them!

Cameron Bay, Gil Island, August 13 This morning Patrick takes me ashore at the head of Cameron Bay, the site of an old First Nations reserve. I imagine that this place was a valued resource to them. In an area where shorelines are rocky and steep, a long drying tidal flat like this, especially with a salmon stream, would provide a bounty of food and other materials. Clams whose forebears fed this village are still here. Near the mouth of the creek on the east side I find an ancient rock fish trap, bared at low tide. The line of rocks piled across the river bottom just before it broadens into the bay form a chevron that would have guided salmon into cedar-bark nets and baskets on a dropping tide.
The salmon are beginning to come in here. Pat has seen a group of a dozen or so milling around near the mouth of the west creek. I see two carcasses on the flats farther upstream. A bear has stripped the protein-rich belly meat and roe, and eagles have been tearing away at the rest. I am sorry to interrupt their meal as I approach. They adjourn to a nearby tree to watch me--I'm sure they wonder about my intentions toward that fish! As the eagles and I watch each other, I noticed movement along the rocky shore. A mink hurries over a boulder and into the shadow of a fallen tree trunk. There are far too many bald eagles in the trees here for a mink to remain exposed for very long.

The carnivores are gathered here for sure. The salmon spawn plays a huge part in this ecosystem. The eagles are gathered--I spot more than 20 in the western bay alone. The ravens must be having a convention. I can hear dozens and dozens of them in the forest. They make forays out to the flats in hopes of finding a fish carcass not too closely guarded by the eagles. Their vocalizations are astonishing, ranging from sounds like clicks and knocks to whistles, whoops and something that sounds disconcertingly like a cat meowing.

Bear sign is everywhere. I narrowly avoid a pile near a huge downed cedar log in the woods near the shoreline. It is beside the colossal stump it was cut from and its upper surface is flat and smooth, covered with a thick layer of cushiony moss. At first I think I have found a house post from a big house, but the flat plane only goes about 30 feet down the log. I climb on top of the log to investigate and see the explanation: a plank, inches thick and split by hand from the log lies next to the parent log. It, too, is covered with a heavy layer of moss. More evidence of the ancient culture that once thrived here.

Lowe Inlet, August 15 A last-minute change of plans brings us back north in to Lowe Inlet. On our way up Grenville Channel we watch four humpback whales lunge feeding all around us. They dive down near a school of small fish or krill (always leaving us with a jaunty flip of the flukes), then turn and head back to the surface, mouths wide open to capture their meal. We drift with them and the current, watching their lazy feeding patterns. Pat drops a line over the side, baited for salmon. Soon we hear the buzzing sound of the reel letting out. He has one on the line! Patrick reels it in and I man the net to haul in a fat, beautiful silvery-green coho that weighs about 25 pounds. We enjoy dining on fresh salmon!

We enter Lowe Inlet late in the day and anchor in front of the falls, facing east. An evening dinghy cruise takes us close to the falls at high tide. Rock formations on either side look like perfect hunting platforms for the bears. We drop a small anchor in the pool in front of the falls to hold us in one place to watch all the action. The water around us is alive with salmon, some swimming deep, some milling around with their dorsal fins above the surface, and some doing practice leaps, warming up for the big moment against the falls. A pair of harbor seals cruise the pool silently, hoping to catch a fish off guard. They are joined by an otter, also looking for an easy meal. Waves of salmon suddenly begin thrashing their tails, propelling themselves forward and upward, launching fearlessly into the unknown of the falls. Some make progress, others strike the rocks with a meaty 'thunk' and slither and flip themselves back into the pool for another try. Pat says quietly, "Bear," and like an actor making an entrance from stage right, a large black bear comes out of the wings of the forest and takes the granite stage, lit by the lowering sun. A Greek chorus of bald eagles and ravens perch on nearby branches, twittering and squawking of their hopes the bear will have a successful catch, so they can take their own turns at the carcasses. The little theatrical has a happy ending (for all but the salmon!) The bear carries off his prize. The drama of the food chain continues its long run here in Lowe Inlet.

Our second afternoon at the falls brings us more bears to watch. Each uses different methods, from snatching leaping fish mid-air in their jaws, to pinning them down on the rocks with their huge paws. One little cub makes half a dozen forays to the edge of the rushing falls. He nervously approaches the edge, watching the leaping, thrashing fish for a while before gingerly dipping the tip of his paw in the cold water. Each time he backs away, the look on his face clearly says, "Surely they don't expect ME to do THAT!?" as he trundles back into the forest, only to reappear and approach the falls again moments later. I wonder about the "Stage Mother" bear back there, encouraging his multiple attempts...

Whales, Waterfalls and Natural Wonders -- July 29, 2010

It seems we have decided to continue north despite a great deal of discouragingly wet weather, mostly because we just didn't want to admit defeat just yet. Our de facto choice has certainly paid off this past week!We have been in Fiordland Recreation Area in some of the most beautiful, hot sunny summer weather we have ever experienced on the north coast. We are surrounded by steep, tree-covered mountains punctuated by the bare slashes of huge landslides; granite peaks and huge rock bowls still covered with the last of the winter's snow; with glimpses of glacier-topped peaks farther inland. Waterfalls are a strong possibility around every point of land, and up the many inlets that mark the outflow of snow-melt rivers. Long, vaguely parallel tracks gouged out of living rock meander across the face of naked granite walls, giving mute testimony to the vast power of the glacial ice that carved many of these stunning mountain valleys thousands of years ago. Floating at anchor, the majestic silence imposed by these mountain walls can be shattered by the piping cry of a young eagle practicing flight, or the gutteral bark of a passing sea lion.

Kynock Inlet, Fiordland -- June 25 We ventured in to Kynoch Inlet for the first time, and caught up with our friends Elsie and Steve Hulsizer about their beautiful 44' sailboat Osprey. As we traveled up the inlet they told us about some pictographs they had found on the rock walls. We marked our chart and promised to hunt for them ourselves on the way out. Our destination was Culpepper Lagoon, a tidal inlet that can be most safely entered (and left) at high slack tide, the time that occurs twice each day when the tide is at its highest for the day, and the water level on both sides of the very narrow, shallow entrance to the lagoon is just about equal. We came in when the tide was still rising a bit and got a speed boost as the incoming current lifted us through the narrows. I stood on the bow and watched our hull pass by huge boulders, barely covered with water, that littered the edges of the narrow fairway. The lagoon is a couple of miles long and very deep throughout, so few cruising boats have reason to come in, let alone try to anchor, so we were completely alone as we passed rock near shore, covered with barking, groaning, grumbling harbor seals who watched us suspiciously with their bright, dark eyes.

We dropped anchor in about 80 feet of water and only about 50 feet from shore. A creek tumbled out of the deep forest and dropped a few feet to the rocks below; a little cascade that made a pretty picture our of our aft cabin windows, and lulled us to sleep through the open hatch.

In the morning we pulled up anchor and went back to the lagoon entrance. We needed to time our departure to coincide with high slack again, but we hoped that maybe we could sneak out a little early. We wanted to explore the site of an old cabin, and it was so calm that we were able to leave Tenacious adrift and drop the dinghy to go ashore to see what was left. We found signs of human habitation in the form of foundation logs and some burned timbers, but evidence of bear habitation was much more recent! Deep holes were everywhere - sign that they had been digging up the abundant skunk cabbage plants to get at their roots. Both black bears and grizzlies eat skunk cabbage, and we wondered which species had been where we were standing.

We returned to Tenacious to make the run out of the lagoon but the current was still too strong against us so we waited an hour before our attempt. Success! We were back out in Kynoch Inlet and we headed toward the area where the pictographs were reported. Here is one of the ones we found. Note the tiered dots at left, the human-like figure at the top and the "box" at the bottom. (Sorry about the shadows.) We were surprised to hear a whale blow, but enjoyed watching a humpback move slowly along one of the bare rock walls, scratching himself against the rock. He moved so slowly and seemed so relaxed - he must have really been enjoying himself! Kynoch Falls were lovely, and on this hot day we edged in close enough to feel the cool spray off the falls from where we stood on the bow.

Poison Cove - June 26 Our next anchorage was Poison Cove, named by Captain Vancouver when several of his crew ate mussels infected with a toxic algae and sickened. One died. We decided not to try the mussels... When we reached the head of the bay and saw the dark aquamarine river racing through the fresh green of a grassy meadow that was bordered at the shoreline by mustard-yellow rockweed, I was reminded of the colorful thermal springs in Yellowstone. The sparkling clear tiered colors looked like they came from an artist's paintbox. We scouted around for a good place to drop the anchor. The water was still and clear when Pat called "Let fall!" and pushed the anchor out of its berth. Pat backed Tenacious toward the shore to set the anchor and as the numbers on the depth sounder dropped from 80, I could see the steeply-angled mud bank that dropped from just a few feet near the shore line to hundreds of feet in just a few dozen yards. On our way out, we stopped by beautiful Lizette Falls, where Patrick and Jessica had a photo opportunity.

We headed for Bishop Bay and its popular hot spring for some hot-water soaking. Only those who have been "enjoying" sea showers (using water only very sparingly) can truly appreciate the luxury, the sheer joy of stepping down into a deep rock tub full of steaming fresh water that just bubbled up out of the ground. It's a darn miracle! The only reason I was able to leave there was the knowledge that there are more hot springs out there that we can visit.

We were joined by some Pacific White-sides on our way here in Kitimat, a new destination for us. We will leave here tomorrow and plan to continue exploring new territory in Gardener Canal and the Kitlope.

Hot, sunny days and stunning deep-water anchorages, waterfalls to cool us, hot springs to soothe us, whales to watch, pictographs to discover, all in all its been a pretty good week. More soon!

Ocean Falls and Special Visitors: July 18, 2010

I'm catching up on the blog in fascinating Ocean Falls, a ghost town and favorite spot of ours in recent years. Once a thriving mill town with one of the world's purest water supplies (from Link Lake) and limitless power generated by the dam that gave this place its name, Ocean Falls now has about 35 full-time residents, a handful of deteriorating buildings and houses, and lots of clues as to its past scattered about. I have already gathered several bouquets of wildflowers, and flowers once planted in well-kept gardens that have gone feral. I can fill the boat with their beautiful colors and fragrances just by taking a short walk. I have to watch out for the local deer population though--you can practically stumble over them as they calmly munch on flowers and berry bushes. They are my biggest competition! The berries are especially plentiful this year, and yesterday Patrick and I picked enough huge, ripe salmon berries for him to make a beautiful pair of strudels. We delivered one of them with our boat neighbors across the dock who had given us a sizeable Dungeness crab for dinner.

We have been relaxing after returning our nephews, Nate and Sam, to their parents a couple of weeks ago. Their visit was such a highlight! This will catch you up on the rest of their trip since the last posting: After we left Sullivan Bay we thought a stop at Shawl Bay was in order. Their claim to fame is an all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast each morning, and our boys made a pretty good showing there. We will leave the actual number of pancakes consumed per boy private... As we left there we pulled up our prawn trap to find a small octopus inside. Everybody got to hold him and feel the little suckers on his tentacles, then he was carefully set free.

Our next destination was Pierre's at Echo Bay. We wanted to be there July 1 for Canada Day and their famous Prime Rib feed. We came in a day ahead and got settled on the dock, then made our way over the bridge and through woods to Billy Proctor's Museum. Billy was there, and showed us around, talking about some of his treasures and where they had been found. Nikki van Schyndel was there and we played with her dog Cricket. We invited Billy, Nikki and dear friends Lorne and Colleen Shantz over for dessert that night. Patrick made strudel from salmon berries the boys had gathered on their bike ride at Jennis Bay, and I made a key lime pie. It was a lovely evening and a great gathering of friends. Canada Day dawned sunny and beautiful, and with many of the boats decorated in honor of the day, the marina was a festive sight. The prime rib feed was terrific! We always enjoy our visits to Pierre's.

We left Pierre's on July 2 and headed back toward the Johnstone Strait. On our way we spotted a deer swimming! We watched it rather anxiously--the seas were rough and it was a long way to shore, but it got there safely, and we all heaved a sigh of relief. It was quite a sight to see those antlers making their way through the chop.

We spent a night in an unnamed anchorage in the Broughtons. Uncle Pat sent the boys out in the dinghy on their own to do some fishing. They had been practicing their skills with running the motor, controlling the boat and bringing it in to Tenacious for landings, and they did a great job out there! And they caught some more fish, but let them all go. In honor of thier success we named the pretty little nook "Nate and Sam's Anchorage" and posted the new name on our electronic charts. We'll go back there and remember their wonderful visit.

In the morning we left the newly-named anchorage to try to find some whales. Though we were in an area where humpbacks, orcas and other whales are often seen, all we found were some Pacific White-sided Dolphins, so we decided to head over to the Whale Interpretive Center in Telegraph Cove. There we spoke to some of the staff who told us about the huge fin whale skeleton that hangs overhead, and about how the bones of the many marine mammals there are preserved and displayed. We got some pre-lunch ice cream treats and headed back to Tenacious, anchored just outside Telegraph Cove, and returned to our pursuit of the elusive whales.

We had better luck with live whales in the afternoon. After Patrick and Nate did some work with the sextant, the volunteers of StraitWatch, who do research and protection work for marine mammals in this area, stopped by our boat and told us that it was the first day that members of the northern resident pod of orcas had been seen in the area this season. A grandmother orca who had lost her son a few years ago had connected with two young male orcas who had lost their mother recently. The three were traveling together, and we saw them! Soon after, we were joined by a pod of dozens of Pacific White-sides and we enjoyed their frolicking in our bow waves. Sam took this great photo of a group of them! A humpback whale then appeared, blowing, fluking and diving, and the dolphins moved over to join the whale. Finally, the pair of young male orcas, swimming synchronously side by side, proceeded to parade just past the humpie and dolphins, all three species in a single frame. It was a memorable day!

We spent our last night out anchored at Native Anchorage at Village Island. A pair of eagles soared overhead as we dropped the anchor. Our trip back to Port McNeill was a bit rough, but we got back safely and had a day free to drive inland to Port Alice, and some time to visit the First Nations museum and cemetery with its unusual memorial poles at Alert Bay. This one seems to be a man who looks very surprised to find a very colorful life-sized halibut standing behind him. All too soon I had to take Nate and Sam back to Vancouver for their trip home. We are still missing them, their jokes and games of Liar's Dice and Refusal, and being able to share the wonders of this world with them. Dan and Leslie, thank you so much for sharing them with us!!

So - we plan to continue north when we leave Ocean Falls tomorrow. We'll keep you 'posted' when we have more to tell.

Humpbacks at Play and New Swabbies Aboard Tenacious - June 28, 2010

Patrick and I left the home dock near Vancouver on June 1 this year, and made excellent time to the Broughtons. We spent our first night out tied up at Hardy Island at the vacation home of friends, then sped onward to our second night in Forward Harbour - a distance of over 80 miles in one day, only doable because we happened to catch the tides through the series of tidal rapids just right. On 0ur third day out as we transited Johnstone Strait, we spotted a pair of frisky humpback whales, leaping, diving and cavorting not far from Robson Bight. We watched them for over an hour as they dove, fluked, breached, rolled on their backs, clapped their long, narrow pectoral fins back and forth on the water, slapped their tails, and just generally celebrated life. Twice they breached together. Such grace in such huge creatures... and such joy in sharing their play! A 9 minute video on YouTube is here.

A short sail brought us to Pierre's at Echo Bay where we were welcomed by friends old and new. A couple of days relaxing there prepared us for our first trip to Blunden Harbour where we anchored for over a week, exploring and beachcombing. Pat had some great luck crabbing, and we feasted on huge Dungeness crabs so often that we had to laugh when "we caught ourselves say, "Freshly-caught crab AGAIN???"

We headed back to Port McNeill to prepare for the highlight of our summer trip, the visit of our nephews from Kansas, Nate and Sam. I met them at Vancouver Airport and after a stop for lunch and visit to a local museum, we took the BC Ferry from Tsawwassen to Nanaimo, the drove the rest of the way up Vancouver Island to Port McNeill, where Captain Pat met us with a ship-shape boat and hot pizza for a late dinner. After early morning errands and last-minute shopping, the boys helped to cast off and we embarked for Blunden Harbour. Fair winds and smooth seas accompanied us across the Queen Charlotte Strait. The boys each took the helm for a while, and by late afternoon (after a passing shower) the boys and I were on the beach hunting for old trade beads - and they each even had a little luck! Low tide was at 6:30 the next morning, so everybody was rousted out early and the boys had their first crab-hunting lesson from Uncle Pat. They each caught beautiful legal-sized crabs, and we enjoyed them for dinner that night - some of us more than others, but the boys were great about tasting the new food with interest. Steaks remained quite popular, too.

A couple of days at Blunden included some time exploring the old village site, identifying the sites of bighouses from their foundations, and the remains of huge log timbers and house planks over 5 feet wide and thicker than a forearm, all abandoned on the forest floor. We climbed up the slope and found huge old cedar trees, trunks healed around the edges of long ago scars where First Nations people harvested long strips of their inner bark to make clothing, baskets and more.

At our next destination, Jennis Bay, the boys met new friends; Orion and Charlie Marie, children of the marina owners Tom and Allison Allo. As the boys managed the lines and fenders upon landing, were greeted with an invitation to join a pot luck dinner of Allison's freshly caught ling cod fish and chips. Nate and I made fudge to contribute, and we provided potatoes for the chips. Potlucks are a tradition up here; each boat contributing what they can. The serendipity of dishes and flavors is always great fun. The boys explored the area, taking mountain bikes and a picnic lunch up the 4-mile trail to Huaskin Lake, and spent the afternoon kayaking around all of the little bays and islets around Jennis Bay with Orion. They brought us a bounty of freshly-picked salmon berries, Our second day at Jennis closed with a guitar sing-along around a campfire, complete with s'mores.

We were sorry to leave, but a geocache stashed far up Drury Inlet called so we went on the hunt. Unfortunately we weren't successful finding the cache, but no one else has been either, so we think it might have been muggled. The boys went fishing in the afternoon and caught several red sea cucumbers - ugly, slimy-looking things. Needless to say - not keepers!

After overnighting at Sullivan Bay and enjoying great burgers in their restaurant, we moved on to an afternoon anchorage where the fellows did some more fishing. This time Nate had some luck, pulling up three rockfish, including a really large, really ugly bullhead. Again, no keepers, but we seem to be moving toward the right species! More later...

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.