January 2001
I was excited as it all came together quickly and I was finally able to take a few days off for a winter cruise in the Gulf Islands. Although the homeport for Shariyat (ex Freight Train), my Columbia 26 Mark II is Bellingham Washington, I had been anchored out in Tsehum Harbor, just north of Sidney, BC for a few months helping friends on another boat. I had taken a slip for a few days at Van Isle Marina to get some work done and entertain friends for the holidays and it was time to take Shariyat back to anchor, but the weather was just too nice for that. I decided I would take advantage of the full moon and take off to see Saturna Island as I had heard so much about it. Since I live aboard I stay pretty ready to sail and my friends had left me with all the New Year’s leftovers so I was underway shortly and left the breakwater at noon. It felt like a summer’s day with full sun and a light breeze from the north. Being Saturday there were about 20 boats to be seen out enjoying the respite from winter. It was one of the most pleasant sails I have had but by the time I turned north into Plumper Sound there was just one other sailboat in sight.
Although I have heard that Boot Cove on Saturna Island can be very windy I motored through the narrow entrance and anchored inside anyway, as it was calm with a favorable forecast. It was a beautiful, moonlit evening and I was warm below enjoying the pleasant atmosphere of my new oil lamp and the flickering of the diesel heater while listening to Loreena McKennit. I like to splice and seem to do it only when I’m cruising so I put together a new anchor chain snubber, then I set it up and went to bed very contented.
Early next morning it was overcast as I rowed over to Saturna town to find a tide table as I had brilliantly forgotten that it was a new year and with the full moon there would be extreme tides and currents. The harbor store had one and I couldn’t resist the fresh Island baked cookies that I munched on the way back to the boat. I had to wonder why the place was even open as I didn’t see anyone around but I guess it would be quite popular in the summer. Shariyat’s outboard was hard to start and ran rough as I prepared to leave. The motor is an old-timer and suffers memory loss at times-it forgets its supposed to start and run! As I pulled the anchor I accidentally let my new snubber slip out of my hands and watched it sink to the bottom of the shallow bay! It was not a good start to the day but I quickly forgot about it. There was very little wind and a convenient high tide so I motored and checked out Lyall Harbor, Winter Cove, Irish Bay and barely made my way against the current up Georgeson Passage and around Curlew Island into Horton Bay where I anchored for the evening. The day stayed cloudy and looked like it would rain but never did. I didn’t see another boat underway the entire day and it was a strange and pleasant feeling to be so alone in an area I knew would be crowded in the summertime.
As I got into the dinghy to take a row around before dark I heard bagpipes begin to play a ways down the shore so I went that direction and soon I was enjoying a private serenade by a fellow on shore breaking in a new reed in his pipes. He was very good and I was enchanted sitting there watching the otters and logs flow past me in the swift current of Robson Channel. It seemed that I could just as easily have been in a Scottish Fiord (if there are such things) as there was little to tell me I was in BC while I sat there in a far away place of mind.
Back on Shariyat I listened to the weather forecast and figured the tides and currents for the next day. As I drifted off to sleep I was pleased that the outboard had run so well once it started and wistfully thought that the problems I had been having with it were now maybe a thing of the past. I kept getting awakened though by a thumping on the hull but by the time I got up and looked outside there was nothing to see.
The next morning I slid off the v-berth and immediately lit the heater, but when I popped open the hatch I discovered a still and overcast morning and it felt pleasantly warm for January. I immediately saw the culprit that had waked me up over and over and I had to laugh. I was anchored in the middle of a mischievous rotating back-eddy created by West Horton Bay that had made prisoners of numerous small logs and flotsam. The gyre would move (or I would swing) and put me in the path of the orbiting thumpers for a while. Windchimes sang joyfully in the distance and as I listened to find its source I also heard eagles crying and kingfishers announcing the morning. I watched as wide-eyed seals glided across my bow in front of countless mergansers commuting underneath the low overhanging trees on the high tide. My soul was content as I stood in the companionway and absorbed nature’s magical timelessness and I felt at one with it. A profoundness engulfed me as I felt like I could be the only human alive on the planet to witness this beautiful morning as I hadn’t seen another boat underway for almost two days and last evening’s bagpiper now seemed more like a dream than reality. What a shame, I thought, that so many boaters miss the beauty of cruising the islands in winter, then I realized that it certainly wasn’t a shame for me at all as this would not be the same with the summertime crowds, and I grinned with appreciation.
I didn’t really have to be back in Sidney that day but the forecast seemed to be giving me a window to travel and then might close down for a few days. A weak frontal system was moving through with winds from the SE, shifting to the SW, which would give me headwinds, but they were not to exceed 20 knots and I had a very strong and favorable current that would both carry me south down Plumper Sound and west back home. At least there would be wind to sail and the current would offset the wind’s direction, so I thought. As I made my breakfast and a thermos of tea for later I properly stowed everything below. Although it looks a bit like a cluttered mess (living aboard a 26’ sailboat is somewhat cramped) with crates and boxes sitting on the bunks, they and other items are all tied in place with lashing line, prompting one guest to call my cabin "Spiderman’s Lair"!
As I worked on deck to leave I debated if I should remove the 150% genoa which was already hanked on or change to the working jib in light of the forecast but there was almost no wind in the harbor so I kept what I had ready to fly. A little before 11 am as the anchor approached the deck I saw the mischievous gyre had played another joke on me as the chain had been so twisted from the boat being spun around all night that it looked like a big ball next to the anchor and it took a few minutes to spin itself out. I will put swivels on both ends of the chain now! Towing my trusty dinghy I had to motor out into Plumper Sound as the tide was still flooding and the wind, although strong, was right on the nose going through Robson Channel and past Lizard Island. The current was so strong I had to edge over to the shore hoping for relief and still made only about 1 to 2 knots over the bottom. I finally made it through the narrows, raised the genny and stormed off a bit overpowered. I wished I had reefed the main already but saw that if I carried on for a while I could make the lee behind St. John’s point and do it there in comfort, which I did. I was still somewhat overpowered but I have discovered sailing amongst the islands that it is sometimes good to put up with it because within a few minutes the wind will often practically die leaving me wishing I still had the bigger sail up. Now, however, by the time I made Lyall Harbor the wind was still increasing and there were more whitecaps in the sound so I made the lee of Payne Point and changed down to the working jib.
The tide was now starting to ebb so I could expect a boost as I tacked out the sound directly into the SE wind. Although it was blowing strong and was somewhat lumpy, I could carry almost the full weight of wind in the reefed main and made good time as the boat steered itself most of the way with the tiller lashed. Although it was overcast and threatening to rain I was warm and dry and I could see lighter sky to the west so I was confident of continuing on. I hoped the wind stayed from the SE for a while because once I got out of the sound it would be favorable for heading west. The wind continued to freshen and I had to dump more and more weight of wind out of the main until it had a full bubble and I couldn’t spill any more or it would flog itself. The seas were getting nastier as the current came on stronger and I approached the sound’s entrance. I now had to hand steer constantly in order to keep a slight luff in the sails to keep the boat on its feet. Below in the cabin the bilge water that hides in an inaccessible place behind the keel now had found the cabin sole and I had to quickly jump below a few times to save things I didn’t want wet. One time this resulted in an unplanned tack but it didn’t really matter at the time.
I now had to evaluate my situation. If I could make it out of the sound I would have both a favorable wind and current. Or I could bail out and head for Port Browning, only a short distance behind me. There was now blue sky to the west but the edge of a passing squall looked menacing. I thought I may not have better weather for a few days and I did have to get back fairly soon, but I might break something trying to continue. This was quickly becoming the most wind I had ever sailed this boat into, but I could use a good test if I was going to sail offshore up the West Vancouver Island coast next spring. I couldn’t shorten sail any further because the 2nd reef point was ill designed and I had no proper tack pennant on the storm jib and this was no time to experiment! My priority list was re-arranging itself! With these things in mind I decided to continue on for now. I was now easily clearing Saturna Island on a starboard tack and I could easily bail out anytime by tacking to port and make Port Browning without the risk of gybing.
Within a few minutes I reached the point where the strong currents of Plumper Sound and Haro Strait met and were opposed by the wind which had now increased a bit more as the edge of the squall was grazing me. While fortunately the seas were only about 5-6’, I estimated that the wind was gusting to 40+ Knots and the waves were square, confused and breaking with the sea mostly white with streaking spume. All I could do was hang on to the tiller and carefully play the edge of luffing the sails and try to dodge the bigger waves. Even luffing I couldn’t get the boat to slow down below 5 k and she insisted on leaping from one wave to the next like a playful dolphin and for the first time ever I was taking heavy spray into the cockpit. Once or twice the boat pounded pretty good into a wave. But I was happily surprised it wasn’t worse. My stainless steel teapot found its way loose below and broke itself on the other side of the galley but all else was hanging in pretty good in the cabin. I almost forgot about my dinghy and when I finally looked back at it the bow was pointed almost straight up but the painter jerked it back down.
The idea of turning around now seemed to vanish as a familiar surrealness filled me again with a profound feeling not unlike the stillness of the morning but of course in a different way. The intense undivided attention required to steer coupled with the sense of amazement of what I was doing and my awe of the magnificence and power of the sea in that moment created a feeling I can’t really describe. I was living totally in the moment as absolutely nothing else-past, present or future-meant anything at all, just pure awareness to do what was necessary here and now. It wasn’t exhilaration as I was as much relaxed as I was excited. I think that like that morning I became one with my surroundings and was truly living life like only a few times in my life. Time again stood still as the boat, the sea and I were fused as one playing with the Eternal itself………..
How long it took to clear the converging currents I’m not sure but it was probably only minutes and I was well out into the pass and it was time to tack and head west for home. I carefully prepared for it but my too-short jib sheets pulled all the way up to the block slightly out of reach and I had to go forward to retrieve it. All the while the jib thundered like it was going to tear itself to pieces instantly but it survived. Now I could bear off a bit and the boat took off like a runaway freight train! She refused to go below hull speed of 6.1k and maxed out at 7.3K and this was on a very close reach and even towing the dinghy! Or was I? I looked back and the dinghy was still dutifully behind me! Although the waves were now more regular they now could hit the boat further aft and I got quite a dowsing at times. There had been a thud coming from somewhere near the cockpit for a while and I finally saw that the outboard had come adrift and was bouncing around in the well but couldn’t really go anywhere.
I continued on to gain sea-room as Pender Island was a bit of a lee-shore and when I thought it a safe distance I tacked over to heave-to and the boat lay beam to the sea and quietly went nowhere. WOW, what a ride! For the first time I could leave the helm, take a deep breath, stretch, secure the outboard, pee, pour a cup of tea and eat the last piece of the New Year’s apple pie! I pulled in the dinghy and found it only had about a gallon of water in it so I left it!
I tacked Shariyat back around again, finding the wind had moderated and now I was on course with the sun coming out. I had noticed an unusual splashing and finally saw that a number of dolphins had come to play around me leaping in my bow and quarter waves. What a joy it was as they stayed for quite a while! I guess I was making enough speed to interest them. I figured their visit must have been the reward for my reverie just a few minutes before or perhaps I had communicated something to them when I felt one with everything. Somehow it seemed appropriate and validating that they were there.
How fast things can change here in the Islands! The wind continued to drop and within about a ½ hour it had died altogether. I went to start the motor and it wouldn’t which never surprises me anymore but is always disappointing. My outboard is proof that inanimate objects have a sense of humor! I can’t replace it until I do some major cockpit and rudder modifications and it seems to think it has me over a barrel. I solved that problem though by enlisting the aid of 14’ sweeps so I can row the boat if necessary. So there you unruly outboard! I have even shown that noisy beast a number of times that it is expendible but it doesn’t seem to care, so I don’t either.
I tried to avoid thinking about being out all night as I hanked on and raised the genny and shook out the reef, and a breeze began to fill in from the west, just as predicted. Now sailing past Swanson Channel I was grateful for the strong full-moon current that would be behind me until 9pm so I didn’t mind the prospect of tacking back the remaining 8 or so miles into a glorious winter sun! By the time I reached Imrie Island in Prevost Channel I was again overpowered with the genny and full main but I hung on to it as there was apparently less wind on the water ahead. Sure enough, as I approached Coal Island it dropped to a perfect sailing breeze as the sky exploded into a beautiful sunset ahead with the full moon rising behind to escort me home! As dusk started to fall I decided to take the trickier north route into Tsehum Bay tacking and dodging the rocks between Coal Is and the Little Group as the strong ebb might make getting back north to the harbor a problem if the wind died with the sun and I had gone south of the islands. It seemed I made the right choice as the wind went light near the entrance giving me just enough breeze to get through and into the anchorage without having to break out the sweeps and row in to the amusement of the locals! As I stood in the cockpit after dropping the hook I was filled with satisfaction and gratitude for such a wonderful and diverse adventure and was very pleased with Shariyat and the prospects of exploring further afield in the spring.
The next morning I watched a pretty blue wooden sloop approach and pass close by me. It was rather rough and sailed by a lone man who appeared to be about 90 years old. He smiled at me with a toothless grin and a sparkle in his eyes and said "nice day for a spin, eh?" I agreed with him and remembered the periods of timelessness on my trip. Then I had the thought that maybe I was seeing myself 50 years from now. I like to think that I was!
Editor’s note: You can follow along Lance’s journey with charts; 3441, 3476, 3477 and/or 18432