May 29, 2022:  Tenacious Sails Again …

 We are once again aboard our beloved Tenacious. Our last trip was in 2019 and we have missed our summer adventures. At long last, we are on our way!

June 3, 2022: Broughton Archipelago 

All the cleaning, repairing and restocking are finished (plus the dislodging of a colony of bats living in the folds of our mainsail, but that's a story for another time.) We have planned our departure for a favorable tide, and leave early so the strong tidal currents will give us a push down the Fraser River and north through the Georgia Strait. A fuel stop and an anchorage or two will bring us to the Broughtons, familiar stomping grounds.

Mimquamlis means "village with islands in front:

We visit Village Island. I love to explore the beach there while Patrick takes the dinghy around the constellation of islets out front. He hunts with his fishnet for Dungeness crabs near the tide line. It’s a very low tide today. The beach I’m on is usually covered with up to 12-14 feet of water. At low tide this morning it is just mud and big rocks, starfish and anemones temporarily stranded, clams squirting in the clear air. My walkie-talkie rings. It’s Patrick, calling from the dinghy to ask excitedly, “Can you see the bear?” A black bear is browsing along the shoreline about 40 yards from me. I see him when he ambles out from behind a huge boulder. I feel the thrill of the nearness of this 300+-lb animal, but the wonder and gratitude are overwhelming. He lifts his muzzle – I’m upwind and I’m sure he knows I’m not far—and calmly continues to feed, turning over watermelon-sized rocks to feed on shore crabs, ghost shrimp, blennies and whatever tasty inter-tidal riches are revealed.

I move on with my beach combing, harvesting a baggie-full of sea asparagus. It’s young and the stems aren’t woody as they can be later in the season. After a few fresh-water rinses and a vinaigrette, it will add a delightful flavor and crunchy texture to our salad. I keep an eye on the bear, who has moved on to grazing a patch of sedge grass, a high-protein spring staple for bears who need to get their digestive systems going after hibernation, and before berry season and the late summer return of spawning salmon.  .

 We’ve shared the beach, this bear and I, each traversing the territory, seeking food. I don’t sense the bear feels any concern. I feel no fear, thought my awareness is heightened. Rather, I feel amazement-gratitude-wonder-awe, and calm and peace. It’s difficult to describe the sense belonging I have in a place so wild.  

 Patrick and I move on and anchor in Shoal Harbor to see friends in the area. I'm treated to several visits with my friend, Billy Proctor, who is a legend on this coast. He has the best stories of life in these waters; fishing, logging, sea rescues, beachcombing, and carving a living out of this unforgiving part of the world for over 80 years. My little collection of treasures was first inspired by the museum he built to house his collection artifacts of life in this area, from thousands of years old to decades old. Love you, Billy!

June 13: Fitzhugh Channel

This morning we transited one of the “barriers” to traveling north on the Inside Passage: Cape Caution is beyond the protection of Vancouver Island from Pacific winds and seas. Slower cruisers like us generally anticipate ‘rounding Caution’ with little enthusiasm. The area combines winds from the open ocean, currents from all directions and often, pea soup fog. Swell from the Pacific can make this passage truly and uniquely miserable. Thankfully, our passage is uneventful this time, and we see a sea otter rocking among the waves as we pass. We have seen them return to these waters after they were over-trapped for decades. So adorable!

In the calmer waters of Fitzhugh Channel, I’m down below making chicken noodle soup for dinner when Patrick shouts there is a whale ahead, and it’s breaching. For the next 30 minutes or so, we are treated to an epic humpback whale show. Over and over, the whale flukes and dives, then launches itself out of the water to topple and make an enormous splash. Forward, backward, sideways. It’s hard not to imagine this whale is having a helluva lot of fun. We laughed and shared its playful joy. Whale gratitude!

Here is a link to a video clip on YouTube:  https://youtu.be/3UYMB_1ctEk                            

June 14: Pruth Bay

We are in a series of low tides now, and that’s always a good time for a dinghy cruise. Pruth Bay has many nooks and crannies to explore, so we set off with anticipation and cameras. Patrick poles us along the tide line and past granite banks with a paddle so we travel slowly and silently. Eagles soar above and harbor seals swim by to stare at us with surprised looks on their whiskered faces, eyebrow hairs raised at our effrontery.

The sea life is colorful and amusing. Stranded plumose anemones hang suspended from their rocks, looking desparately uncomfortable. We see giant pink stars, purple stars, bat and leather stars. In one little bay there are thousands of tiny sea urchins on the sandy bottom. Red rock crabs and spider crabs crawl amid the seaweed on rocky ledges. Hours of fun and entertainment!

The sunny afternoon lures out to West Beach, a short hike through the forest at the head of the bay. There we are greeted by an arch of wide, sandy beach. Beachcomber that I am, I collect a pocketful of whitecap limpet shells, and clamber among gigantic drift logs and colorful rounded rocks that adorn the high-tide line. When  we were here a few years ago, we found a Dungeness crab nursery. Dozens of them bumping around in the warm, shallow water of a sandy tide pool. We broke open a mussel to see what they would do ... they swarmed it almost instantly. So many hungry little crabs! 

 

  

As the light changes late in the day, we think about returning to Jake and Simon, the Kitty Boyzz, hot showers and a cozy dinner aboard Tenacious. Altogether a most satisfactory day. 

South with the Bears and Whales and a Very Tasty Halibut

August 21, 2015: Our Swimming Bear

I think the pictures tell the story here ... except for the part about our surprise and wonder! We have never seen a swimming bear in these waters. Today we are treated to the sight of a Kermode bear swimming from one island to another, right next to our anchorage.

When I first see the bear it is already in the water swimming.

It reaches the point of the islet behind which we are anchored and climbs out of the water.

With it's huge paws, it pads purposefully across the rockweed. This isn't the bear we saw last year...

We watch it's progress carefully to see if its a male or female. Inconclusive ...



Our beautiful bear stops for a sniff and a pose before continuing on up into the woods.

August 19, 2015: Wild Birds, Wild Beaches and Patrick’s First Halibut

We’ve wanted to come back to the Estevan Group of islands since our first visit several years ago. It is a wild part of the coast, pristine and seldom visited by cruisers. This time, with strong weather in the forecast, we choose the south end of the archipelago for its compelling combination of a protected anchorage, nearby wild “west coast” beaches and a reputation for great fishing. 

We've tugged on the anchor to ensure a good set, shut down the engine and are enjoying cocktails on the taffrail when we notice a big osprey making huge, lazy circles in the sky above our mast. It lands on the tip of a nearby dead tree to surveys its domain and pose for pictures before resuming its restless circling. A gaggle of gossiping Canada honkers graze on grass and wrack nearby. The prehistoric-sounding cries of sandhill cranes can be heard; we don’t see them but the sound reminds us of home. The sky glows with sunset colors. Red sky at night ...

 

We enjoy a quiet night and awake to sunny skies. My first thought: “Beachcombing!” Patrick’s first thought: “Fishing!” It is almost low tide. Patrick drops me off at a beach that looks like it has potential. My goal: more glass fishing floats to join the ones I found last year. They happily float around in our swimming pool, a much less stressful environment than the wild Pacific Ocean or, worse yet, the reefs and rocks of this merciless coast.

 

Watching for underwater boulders that could damage the inflatable’s propeller, we gingerly approach shore. I sit balanced on the bow, riding the waves with boots sticking out ahead to feel for the bottom. The first couple of steps are always the worst. Awash in the swell, the rocks are covered with treacherously slippery seaweed and algae. The moment when I transfer my weight from the boat to the rocks is the hardest. That’s when I have the greatest chance of slipping—and soaking myself. This time it’s a success. I hop from boulder to boulder on the way to the messy bulwark of gigantic drift logs near the high tide line where flotsam and jetsam get tangled and caught. Hopefully a target-rich environment.

I find a battered orange laundry basket with Kanji characters, then use a stick to turn over a weathered shoe. It’s a Nike. Is it from the famous “lost container” that years ago fell off a cargo ship and deposited many thousands of athletic shoes all along this coast?

Then I find something wonderful. It’s the dining table of a coast-dwelling creature, perhaps an otter. I have found them before, always on a big, stable log near the very top of the beach, one that has been there a long time. Sometimes I’ll find little piles of bleached-white, butterfly-shaped chiton plates, or the lavender-colored shards and spines of a sea urchin. Here, I find a scattering of gleaming iridescent abalone shells, perfectly clean, turned up and shining in the sunlight. Somebody has had quite a few abalone feasts here! I crawl, climb, slip, slide and scoot my way around and over the logs, thinking about all of the happy gym-class hours I spent on the balance beam. This is sort of like that except these logs are uneven, tilted, often tippy, and I’m wearing clumsy gumboots.  A bright colorful spot catches my eye. Nestled cozily on a log is a vivid orange flower (artificial.) How did that get here?? Where did it come from?

 

No glass floats this time, but it’s time to head back to Tenacious. I find a good spot to

rendezvous with Patrick and the inflatable: big flat rocks with a sandy patch in front for an easy approach. I shift my balance and half-topple into the dinghy, giving a final shove with a booted foot to send us out into the channel. A surprise awaits me on the floor of the dinghy. There, still flopping half-heartedly, is a beautiful small halibut – Patrick’s first! It’s the perfect size for us, since we don’t have much freezer space and nobody to share it with out here. We will feast tonight and still have several meals to look forward to. Hurray for halibut! Hurray for the halibut catcher!

August 16, 2015: That’s Close Enough, Mr. Whale

Traveling south in Estevan Sound I notice a whale ahead, rolling and splashing with its pectoral fins. We adjust our course so as not to come too close while we watch its antics. We have seen this behavior before and wondered about it. Is the whale stunning food fish with its slapping fins? It is using its fins to scoop fish toward its mouth? Or is it just horsing around and having a helluva good time on a nice day? Hmmm. More study required.

Patrick shifts into neutral and we slow to a drift, watching and wondering as the whale splashes and rolls. Finally, it dives, leaving us with a pretty wave of its massive flukes. A minute passes. We’re thinking  our private whale show is over when we hear a blow off our stern. The whale is back and clearly moving toward us. 

There is nothing we can do -- we are adrift. The whale will be in control of this encounter. He surfaces again, this time within a few yards of our port quarter, moving parallel to our hull. This whale is BIG. And it is very CLOSE! He sinks down I notice a line of large bubbles forming alongside. It looks like something is boiling down below. The whale turns right and swims underneath our keel. Crossing to the 

starboard side we watch for the whale to surface. He blows right next to Patrick where he stands on the companionway next to the cockpit. Jake and Simon are watching from inside, eyes huge and ears pricked at the explosive sound of the whale’s blow. It stays near the surface and passes behind our stern just under our davit-hung inflatable (yikes!) and continues to circle back to our port side, once again blowing bubbles. For a second I think, “It’s bubble-netting Tenacious!” but realize that it is probably bubble-netting and feeding upon a school of fish that are ‘hiding’ in Tenacious’s shadow. Another circle and the whale leaves us with a farewell flourish of its flukes. We do love our visits with whales, but that was close enough!

 

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)