Above the Salish Sea

[David Patterson]

About to head back to port for a last week of cruising preparations, I'm appreciating my favorite San Juans anchorage. Its generally calm waters make for comfortable boat prep, though I've not gotten all done that I hoped (have I ever?). An evening moment of peace shows in the first photo. The second is of RANGER 7 sharing the anchorage. 50'x12', built 1926 in Alaska in wood as a US Forest Service craft, she has probably seen more of the Inner Passage than most boats ever will. Privately owned, she is clearly restored to high standards and kept in fine fettle. I presume that Ranger 7 was her original "wireless" call sign. Last is an oar source, with whom I'm an infrequent customer for utility oars. I'd like to have 7.5" oars for my CD dinghy, but settled for 7' ones that will stow fully inboard, which are being shipped to my port. The favorable exchange rate covered the shipping cost, nearly. I need well-made substantial oars that I can scrape on barnacle-covered rocks if need be. The entrance to fascinatingly beautiful NW lagoons can be shallow, narrow, and tricky to negotiate. Not to mention just rowing near shore. An inflatable with outboard would restrict my explorations and shore options, in these waters, my needs for exercise completely aside. A week from now, I hope to be sailing north. To be seen, of course. Anything can happen and often does.

[David Patterson]

Time and tasks begin to press on the last few days before a cruise. Then, if the cruise is to be under sail primarily, the cruiser can potentially be found fiddling thumbs waiting for a fair wind. On my way back to port two of my three familiar significant cruising failings showed: I left too early for my tidal current turn, and I went too close to Point George of Shaw. Relentless strong current in light airs was the consequence. Next I lost my light airs in the frequent midday lull that can happen here. Where my track smoothed out and began "sagging to leeward like a drunken sow," as a 19th Century sailor might say, is where I succumbed to time concerns and began to motor, the current still very influential. I'm not a purist, after all. The current took me right across the top of the Reid Rock sea-mount. When the light is right, you can look down on the kelp streaming two fathoms below, which the always running current never allows to break the surface. In port the varied collection of utility boats, at a dock near the fuel dock, caught my eye. Whale watching boats large and small, an open hauler, and the port's work boat, among others, are visible. Earlier in the week the centerboard trunk of my CD Dink was exposed as I prepared to reset the thwart and rowing seat. Improperly secured, the seat's flexing was damaging the trunk flange. Not to mention allowing water to squirt into the dinghy when under tow. Reseating the wood made all much more stable. Now to clean up the mess. Easier than getting rid of the otter scat I found in the dinghy yesterday. Sticky stuff! Some unfortunate folks have returned to their boats after a winter away to find otters have been living aboard. A monumental mess. Dock rats, the Alaskan watermen call them. Fascinating creatures; charming to live with they ain't.

[sailor]

Gave notice to my marina in Portland today. Will be headed your way on June 1, or whenever the weather allows.

[David Patterson]

Enjoy the passages. If you are still in the area in late July, let me know. I'd love to see your 270. David

[David Patterson]

On a last day in port (hopefully) the challenge is to get it all done. "It" being the remaining items on the list. And it won't, all. Somewhere cruiser Lin Pardey wrote that if you don't have it on board when you leave, then you don't need it. To be seen, of course. An ocean passage is not what's ahead, after all. The first planned stop is for provisioning in Canada. No fresh fruit, vegetables, nor eggs to be brought over this year, I read. I believe goat meat was excluded in one direction or the other a couple of years ago. On the docks I noticed a new engine to go aboard a hybrid craft. Since the boat is now mastless, getting those several hundred pounds in place won't be easy. Inclined plane and block and tackle, no doubt. On the lower end of cruising economy, where I operate also, creative problem solving has a different cast. Rowing (for youth preservation) means transporting hundreds of pounds as well. In physics, work = mass moved over a distance. In the photo it may not look like much, but over 200 lbs of ice, water, propane, provisions (in the backpack), and so on means work. Never mind my own weight. With all of the momentum resulting, once the dinghy is in motion, a quarter of a mile only required 125 strokes of the oars. Out of curiosity, I counted. The last photo is another look at the slightly green-tinged flowers of the madrone, above a rocky little beach. Local beauty, to my eyes.

[David Patterson]

Ganges, of Salt Spring Island in Canada's alluring Gulf Islands, has a multi-mile entrance that some local cruisers don't care for. I've found it exceptionally interesting and beautiful. The harbor mud is indeed a mephitic ooze, I'll grant, and seaplane traffic can be intensely loud in high summer. However, the port area is compact, most services are available, the library has free fast internet, and so on. During the Saturday summer fairs, French conversations mingle with English. One enticing feature is perhaps my favorite depiction of a mermaid anywhere, courtesy of the local Rotaries. An unusual percentage of anchored and moored boats here are catamarans and trimarans. As stable upside down as right side up, correct? I cleared into Canada via NEXUS easily, from the middle of Boundary Pass (no eggs, fresh fruit or vegetables) but was required to make "landfall" within 4 hours of entry. Coming to anchor is not good enough. My landfall was at a courtesy dock for 10". I was an hour late, due to being headed by both wind and tide for part of my passage. Working out the currents among these islands can be challenging. Tides, being mixed semi-diurnal, change 4 times per day in this area, the ebb and flood vying for hegemony, the currents sometimes completely circling islands. Often a counter current can be found. Or not.

[David Patterson]

Another post before losing cell coverage. As I ghost out of Ganges Harbor in less than a knot of north wind, I've passed the old wooden tug BREEZE, 1943. Now moored semi permanently, apparently. A varied collection of boats in evening light is depicted in the second photo. In the third my pocket cruiser is in its familiar Ganges anchorage, before a seemingly uninhabited yellow house. While novelty is an important aspect of cruising for me, I do enjoy visiting familiar places. Ganges is a usual provisioning stop after I enter Canada. Love the place.

[David Patterson]

Cell service after all, in these increasingly "urbanized" lower Gulf Islands. This screen shot shows a beat to weather, in mostly Force 3 & 4 NW winds. Wind waves of not even a foot, less than the 2' or more a plowing Bayliner can generate. While a tiring 7.5 hour passage, the living was good. Nothing like Vito Dumas' adventures, but still, living. He wrote "Lucky are those who can break loose from habit and escape the dreariness of dying on their feet. But how many reach the end without ever having lived?" For some hours yesterday I felt I was living, not being on Dumas' dreaded "treadmill of today and tomorrow." A rainbow touched on my destination island in a quieter moment.

[David Patterson]

A developing NW gale from an already persistent strong NW system is keeping me from crossing the mighty Strait of Georgia. The old name was the Gulf of Georgia. A few old locals still call it The Gulf, which gives a sense of its size and power. Of the three ways to exit the lower Gulf Islands at the north end --Dodd Narrows, False Narrows, and Gabriola-- I came out Gabriola, to make a meeting in windy Silva Bay. Tight schedules and attempting to cruise under sail are antithetical. On another note, motoring makes me complacently inattentive. The first photo shows a rock I passed over, unaware. Plenty of water above it, which is not the point. I didn't even realize it was there, which is. [Recall that my second consistent cruising failing is coming too close to points. I'm determined to break the habit!] The second photo is after exiting the east end of Gabriola, looking between Breakwater Island and another, toward the mountains north of Vancouver city. Waters do not look like that out in "The Gulf" right now. Last, my track from Ruxton Passage Cove of De Courcy Island up to Silva Bay. A more direct route would have required more time in close together, stiff, and steep wind-over-tide waves. Hugging the lee of Gabriola Island helped with wind, also. Narrow Gabriola Pass has very brief slack periods. Some motor traffic powers through all of these passes and narrows as fast as they can, conventionally, oblivious to the lack of necessity and the wake effects in smaller craft. I once had a Canadian Coast Guard vessel nearly swamp me in Dodd Narrows, water slopping into my cockpit. At least the Coasties were right there if I had gone in the chuck. I'm headed back inside the islands to wait for more favorable winds. I still have plenty of boat tasks to attend to anyway.

[David Patterson]

Waiting on weather allows continued preparations for taking little CLOUD GIRL out in the Strait of Georgia. Putting the dinghy on the foredeck of a 25' boat takes up a lot of space, in my case covers the heater vent (precluding use), and is on the anchor locker too. I've taken out an extra coil of my secondary rode and should be able to handle it okay. I'll miss my primary until the dinghy is towing again, though. Unable to wrestle it aboard, I used the lifting eyes with a truckers hitch in the middle of a line. The spare jib halyard and a mast winch raised her handily. Good thing I took her out for I found a crop of marine life on the bottom. I presumed, foolishly, that she had anti-fouling paint. Now I know. Scraped, secured, and in place, my visibility doesn't suffer. Windage will, but I can get to the roller furler easily to deal with an override, if necessary. Anchor deployment for my secondary is from the cockpit anyway. Anchor recovery will be less easy, but workable, as I know from experience doing it. May this work out for my crossing. It took me a couple of hours this first time.

[David Patterson]

Fieri potest, my latinized motto for this year's cruising, means "Can it be done?" I'll transit the saltwater rapids that is Dodd Narrows, today or tomorrow if all goes well. I've been able to go south through them under sail only once in my half-dozen transits. Sedately wing 'n' wing on a sweet following breeze, I was able to take the first photo below of some local whimsical art. The monster in Dodd Narrows! A chart of the Narrows shows scale. Likely, I will have a headwind and must motor. Once committed, I'll do what it takes, including come back out. Once I did 360* circles near the east shore while a long tug and log boom came south. A smaller tug managed the back end to avert disaster. On VHF 16 I was hailed: "Sailboat heading north in Dodd, you better stand down. Coming south with a 10 by 20 log boom." I stood down. Perhaps worse are anxious mega-yacht drivers, irresponsibly blasting through under full power, unnecessarily, throwing wild wakes. Here they can't simply program the next waypoint into the autopilot and go take part in the conversation in the lounge, but must take the helm themselves.

[tjr818]

Fieri potest, my latinized motto for this year's cruising, means "Can it be done?" ....

My army units motto, Pouvoir.

Enjoy the rides and watch out for logs that have broken away from those booms.

[David Patterson]

Amen, Tim. The logs concern me less than the mega yachts. Last week I was nearly run down entering Pylades Channel. I'm convinced no one aboard it was on watch.

[David Patterson]

Three options exist for clearing out of the north end of the inner Gulf Islands of Canada. None are particularly easy for sailing. So it proved yesterday when transiting the westernmost Dodd Narrows. On the chart you can see my sailing track as I worked to make my northing against Force 3 and mostly Force 4 NW winds, gusting Force 5 at times. Heeling rail down on both tacks tested my cabin stowage, which did well. I took a photo in a 9 kt lull. The other two exits are Gabriola Passage to the east and False Narrows in the center. Gab Pass I motored both ways through last week. Not quite a year ago I sailed north through False Narrows, a tricky transit. [You can find that described in last year's May postings.] Sailing with a 110 pound dinghy lashed to the foredeck of a 25' boat makes for different sailing behaviors of the boat. She was faster though, not towing the shore boat. With wind speeds in the mid-teens, I had a reef in the main when larger boats might just be sailing strong under full sail. My jib was at about 70% as well, what I call my "3rd reef" of it. With weight and windage CLOUDIE definitely heeled farther, yielding the impression of greater speeds than the 4-5 knots she was consistently making. Up near the Narrows I furled in Force 5 winds shooting out of the narrows and motored back and forth some until slack was near. Of course in the narrowest point a 30' motor vessel came south just as a 40' Bayliner overtook and passed me, squeezing me against the rocky shore in swirling currents. That was not idealized vacation cruising for me. Mom and Pop Bayliner stared down impassively at me from their skybox as they roared by. The last photo is up Northumberland Channel from Percy Anchorage. Nanaimo, the nearby city, has an industrial feel from this point. The yellow haze is partly local production and may be partly due to the Alberta fires, which are affecting the entire mid-continent, I read.

[David Patterson]

Nanoose Harbor, a Canadian naval area with nowhere for a cruiser to land. An anchorage in 8-10 fathoms though, behind a spit providing some protection from the strait. Easily seen on my track is where I was sailing on the way. The rest was motor-sailing, or for the last third in calms, simply motoring. I've already motored more than in my entire (short) cruising life, in the last ten days. You might be able to make out the seven ferry tracks out of Nanaimo and Departure Bay. Their deep impressive horns vibrate a man's parts, his lungs and whatnot. Headwinds or no winds, I've been uncharacteristically impatient as I work to get north. The coast of Vancouver and BC, along the Strait of Georgia, is well-populated, for it is probably the warmest part of the nation. In the mornings I've multiple layers on. By the afternoons I'm shoeless in the cockpit in one layer: hat, tee shirt, light pants. On sunny days, that is, which have been often recently. Gabriola Island below Nanaimo is a log booming area, for there is a mill to supply. My course was blocked by the work, Tim. And yes, plenty of floating logs. They gather in tidal gyres of sorts above Dodd Narrows. The strait, in a calm guise, sometimes beckoned in French blues, the 20 miles or so hinting at the curvature of the earth when looking toward the BC mountain ranges. I reflected on sailing in one of the extensive fiords, last year, as I took in the scene. I'm looking forward to launching the dinghy and going ashore to walk, when and if I reach Jedediah Island. Last night I was surprised to realize I've briefly been ashore only once in eleven days. I've not felt restricted, since on passage most days, but the walking will be a welcome change and valuable to my health.