The Man Who Fell From Heaven, Intertidal LIfe and Whales That Fish With Nets

August 8, 2015: The Man Who Fell From Heaven

What a summer! Ever since we set sail in June we have had what I call 'Goldilocks Weather.' Day after day on the south and central coast we roasted under mercilessly sunny skies Like Goldilocks tasting the three bears' porridge we said, "This is TOO HOT!" We continued north and were plagued by a relentless series of  low-pressure systems bringing seemingly endless days of cold and rain. We said, "This is TOO COLD!" Every so often we get a day that is "JUST RIGHT."

At this moment those days seem to be few and far between. Unlike Goldilocks, we can't run out the door when the bears come home. We tough it out, whether we strip down and clip a little 12-volt fan to the door of our cabin to blow away the heat of the night, or add wooly socks and a warmer, waterproof jacket when it's time to  leave the relative comfort of the cabin or cockpit to go on deck and hoist the anchor or go ashore. Lately we are alternating between cold rainy days and cold damp days.

That said, we must maintain perspective, reminding ourselves that we are sailing in the Great Bear Rain Forest (emphasis on the Rain.) Today we don climate-appropriate clothing and launch the dinghy from our anchorage in Pillsbury Cove, across from the busy deep-water port of Prince Rupert, BC. Our destination is one that has eluded us in the past: we are seeking a petroglyph, a rock carving, locally known as The Man Who Fell From Heaven. We searched for it a few years ago when we were last in this area but didn't find it. This time we have a bit more information about where to look.

Our course is treacherous with reefs and rock outcroppings that are more or less visible depending on the tide level. In an area with 24-foot tides, every hour can mean a difference of 4 feet -- the difference between passing safely over a rock,or losing a propeller. Needless to say in an unknown area, Patrick stands in the dinghy and steers with a handle extension, so he can see ahead.

We land safely on a sandy beach near where we believe the petroglyph might be. This looks as if it might have been the site of an old village. Patrick clambers along the outcroppings near the high tideline and finds our objective: The Man Who Fell From Heaven. Life sized, pecked out of the bulwark pf sedimentary rock that protects the land from the sea, we observe this queer thing. It is unlike other petroglyphs we have come across, most of which feature symbols and images of stylized and fantastic creatures. This is clearly a human shape,  concave, legs and arms splayed. It really does look as if a human fell to earth, leaving a mold of his (or her?) body on the rocky shoreline. We hustle back into the dinghy and push away from the beach as another squall passes overhead, all the while speculating about this unusual petroglyph. Another mystery on this coast! And another glad return to the cozy warmth and shelter of Tenacious. Next stop: The Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht Club tomorrow!

August 2, 2015: “Clearly” a Special Place

We Seeking a new anchorage, we make our serpentine way through the jigsaw puzzle of islets and rocky outcroppings that is Ala Passage. Showers are in the outlook but no high winds, so we tuck into the little nook just west of Clear Passage in the “Math Islands.” We are snugged in between Sine and Cosine Islands. Tangent Island is nearby. I'm guessing whoever named these islands was working on their charting and navigation skills.

We have little trouble setting the anchor, though we drag a bit before it catches on the rocky bottom. As the boat moves with the wind and currents we hear our beefy 3/8” anchor chain rattling over the rocks. Patrick deploys a rope “bridle” on the chain, stopping the transmission of the grating sound into Tenacious's hull. And so we enjoy a quiet night. The morning brings us a minus tide and we venture out in the inflatable to reconnoiter Clear Passage.

The variety and volume of intertidal life leaves us breathless. We see yards and yards of the undulating fronds of bull kelp hosting raucous parties of tiny, needle-like fish and kelp crabs. Above the rocky tide line festoons of uncomfortable-looking white anemones dangle, seemingly stretched to the breaking point. Their luckier underwater brethren wave translucent tentacles lazily in the crystalline water.
There are three different kinds of jellyfish floating. On the bottom, the large, brightly colored plumes of ‘sea pens' are scattered liberally across white shell patches, looking for all the world like old-fashioned ostrich feather quill pens, except they are bright, almost fluorescent orange. A patchwork of colorful sponges, corals, algae and seaweeds quilts the seafloor, draped with the fat spiky bodies of sea cucumbers and sprinkled with several species of sea stars. Closer to shore a brilliant red globe about the size of a softball catches

my eye; a stunning example of a white-speckled rose anemone.

In the outer reaches, the  rocky reefs are studded with spiny red, purple and green sea urchins in sizes that range from tiny to dinner plate. We hang over the sides of the boat, enthralled, dazzled. Drifting along, we eagerly point out each new submerged wonder to one another. We will surely come back to this captivating, life-filled place. (Note: sea pen photo not mine.)

July 28, 2015: Whales That Go Fishing With Nets

Wright Sound and Grenville Channel are always great places to look for whales. Today our route takes us to the intersection of the two. To our delight, it is not long before we see the heart-shaped spout of a humpback whale near the rocky shoreline. As I race for the video camera, Captain Pat brings Tenacious in cautiously, staying far enough away that the whale is not disturbed, then shifts into neutral.

Look at the circle of bubbles!

In a twinkling I am on the bow, camera at the ready, scanning the water for signs of the whale. It is making its way slowly along the shoreline. I notice what looks like the line of a tide rip, a strip of foaming water on the surface. It takes me a few moments to put together what I am seeing. The whale is swimming underwater and blowing bubbles. With the camera I follow the line of surfacing bubbles. They form an ellipse. When the circle is completed, the whale surfaces in the middle of the ring of bubbles, its huge mouth agape to capture the small fish trapped inside the “bubble net” it made. It blows once loudly, exhaling and inhaling through his large blow hole, then dips its head below the surface inside the circle once more, probably to snatch another mouthful of

confused and swirling fish still trapped in the bubble net. One more blow and the whale again dips its massive head, the curve of its back angled sharply downward. The distinctive “knuckle” of its dorsal fin submerges, followed by the balletic curved arch of its back and tail. Our last glimpse is a slow, graceful wave of its magnificent flukes, revealing distinctive twinned patches of white on the underside.
 There must be an abundance of food here; the whale makes net after net with bubbles, lunging through each net's center for mouthfuls of the sea's bounty. This whale seems to have a pattern of feeding through each bubble net twice --two gulps-- before blowing a new net a few yards away.

Finally we must leave this busy and talented leviathan. I look at Patrick and think about how to describe my feelings. “That was amazing,” is all I seem to be able to come up with. He silently nods his agreement. I think about it some more. “That was truly amazing.” I think it will be some time before I will stop smiling. Sometimes there just aren't words ... 
https://youtu.be/NKXckJlvfXA
(YouTube video of our whale bubble net feeding... 2:54)