Chronicle IX

Am I in the way if I stand here?

It doesn’t make any difference. I can’ see a thing.

We were southbound in the fog in Grenville Channel; we could see the shore, about 200 feet away, but nothing else. I got to toot the air horn and look for “alligators” (boat- eating vagrant logs) as well as other boats. We took turns scooting below to check the radar screen. The fog didn’t last long this time and we cruised out of Grenville without incident, crossed Wright Sound and headed up Verney Passage with its polished rock mountains, 3500 feet high, and glacier-carved bowls. (I’ve been reading the cruising guides again.) It is beautiful country and worthy of the hype.

We spent that night in Kitsaway Anchorage with a logging camp on one side. By the time we were deep enough in the bay to anchor, (searching for depths of less than 60 feet) we could no longer see the camp, AND the bug indicator was only 6 on a scale of 10. Yahoo! (We talked to a lady who asked us if we had encountered problems with “white-sock flies”. Huh??? You know, the little black flies with white feet. Who looks at their FEET?

We were boarded by the POOLICE! As Windwalker motored up Devastation Channel the next morning, we saw a handsome boat steaming up the channel behind us. (We have been fascinated on our trip by the place-names. This channel was named for a ship. Who would set sail on a ship named Devastation?) An inflatable detached itself from the mother ship (the M/V INKSTER – named after a former head of the RCMP), we stopped, and it and came alongside. Two handsome RCMP men greeted us. May we come aboard? No. We’re really not ready for company, and we don’t know you. Of course, Welcome aboard.

Windwalker passed her inspection with flying colors. She got to show off her flares and other safety equipment, as well as her vaccination certificate and adoption papers. She was very pleased with herself. Since her owners were apparently not members of a Taliban sleeper cell, we were allowed to go on our way.
We crossed the channel to Waweenie Hot Springs where the Kitimat Scuba Diving Club (really) had put two mooring buoys in the very small very deep bay. We dinghied ashore with our soap and towels. What a treat! There was a tub (a.k.a. concrete box) for scrubbing and a larger tub for soaking. We did. The sun was shining, the water did not smell like sulphur, and we no longer smelled like boaters.

Devastation Channel emptied into Douglas Channel, which became Kitimat Arm as we progressed north. We got to steer “0” degrees, which I thought was fairly exciting, until the enormous aluminum plant came into view. Kitimat is a company town, built by ALCAN and recently sold to EUROCAN. We knew it was now owned by EUROCAN because we could read the lettering on one of the many large buildings from miles away.

MK Marina, which both of our cruising books assured us is one of the best on this part of the coast was a bit of a puzzlement to Windwalker’s crew. Maybe the books meant the best marina on the coast of Kitimat Arm. Why am I whining? The store, which was well stocked with marine equipment, books, and canned goods, HAD NO ICE CREAM. It had no dairy products of any sort. We could understand the lack of alcohol, because the marina is part of Kitimat Village, a First Nations Community, but NO ICE CREAM???

We did stay to do the laundry and to change Windwalker’s filters and bodily fluids. ‘Sounds easy. In reality (which is where we are still operating, in spite of indications to the contrary) changing filters and fluids takes tricky body contortions, and we Have To Pay Attention. That is the hard part. The fuel filters and oil filter are in places we can barely see, much less reach. At lest we have not pumped hot oil into the aft cabin. Yet. The job description for that guardian gets longer.

Bishop Bay Hot Springs the next day was lovely, but the hot springs were full of tipsy fishermen off of a charter boat. We spent a restful night rafted to a handsome 52-foot wooden trawler. The morning light revealed a large former-tree-now-turned-navigation-hazard attempting to snuggle its long limbs around Windwalker’s rudder. It chortled as we tried to push it away with our spindly boat hook. The skipper of the trawler revved up his engine, and the prop wash from his 52-inch propeller sent the rudder-molester out into the bay. Windwalker appreciates her big brothers and sisters.

That night we anchored in our favorite depth: 90 feet. Allegra, Windwalker’s hero from the morning, was the only other boat in the bay until…the QE2 arrived, complete with helicopter on deck and a “garage” at the stern where they kept the jet skis and other small water toys. We dinghied around the bay, terroizing a seal, a herring ball, and a flock of apparently flightless birds.

Sunshine all the way to Klemtu the next day. We journeyed to Klemtu to find the crew of White Bear Rescue, the Coast Guard volunteer boat that had responded to our call for HELP! from Fjordland back in July. We saw the boat at a dock and asked around town for the skipper. Our knock on Jim’s door brought no response, so we left our note and big bag of dark chocolate on his boat, carefully protected from the ravens.

Klemtu is on Swindle Island, directly south of Princess Royal Island, the home of the Spirit Bear. The village has an impressive Big House (it was not open) and has discovered eco-tourism. A hotel had just opened the week we were there, and a boat takes visitors on daily excursions to Princess Royal Island in hopes of seeing these white bears that have become a symbol of the coast. (For those of you who are aware of our intent to change Windwalker’s name to Spirit Bear, we have altered course. Windwalker has been working with us on the new name. We’ll let you know when we know.)

More sunshine and calm seas across Milbanke Sound that had given us such a rough ride on the way north. At Shearwater, we finally saw the crew of Ghost Rider. She is a 50-foot older fiberglass trawler out of Cathlamet. We first saw her at anchor in Montague Harbor in the Gulf Islands. No sign of people on board for two days. Our next sighting was on the dock at Ocean Falls. The curtains were drawn all day. No people. The final manifestation was on our way north off of Grenville Channel. She came into the bay, and quickly, quietly departed. Very ghost-like, and much in keeping with our conclusion that there were only phantoms on board. No, they turned out to be actual people. We didn’t touch them, but they did talk, and you could not see through them. We kinda’ liked the phantom ship idea….

Green Island Anchorage moved onto our ‘favorites” list the next day. I lowered our star crab trap over the stern and waited for crabs to crawl on board. I don’t know if it was the rocky bottom or the lack of appeal of our turkey bait. No critters. We loaded the star trap, the 45-day old bait, and our rain-gear-clad selves into Ratty and went on an explore (in the rain) to find the Home of the Crabs. Rock is the surface of choice in this part of the world. ‘Tis difficult to find sandy places with crab-habitat eel grass. At the end of the adjoining inlet, we spotted a tiny lagoon and rowed in across the shallow mouth on the incoming tide. Do you anticipate a problem with this?

We floated around the lagoon and lowered the star-trap. With our rain-booted feet draped over the sides of the little boat, we floated and snoozed in the warm rain, dreaming of crabs pig-piling on top of each other to get at our turkey. When I pulled up the trap, the turkey looked a lot like it did when it went down. Doug started up Taku and we motored to the mouth of the lagoon, where Taku had be shut off; Doug tilted his little ass up so his blades would not touch bottom. Instead of Toshiba 3.5 hp, we now had Doug-sitting-on-the-floor-of- dinghy with tiny oars hp. The incoming current and the Doug hp were almost equal forces. Almost. We slowly made our way out of the current, and Taku took a crab-free Ratty and his crew back to Windwalker.

Doug and I have different tolerance levels for many things in life. I had carefully researched the closest possible, safest possible anchorage choices for our rounding of Cape Caution. It also had to be a place we could get weather reports. We could get weather reports in Green Island Anchorage. It was very safe. It was miles north of my tolerance level. HOWEVER, the weather report the next morning predicted 15-25 knots in the morning, diminishing to 15-20 in the afternoon. The “sea state’ at West Sea Otter Buoy (can you tell that I just LOVE all of these names?) was 1.2 meters. We were good to go up to 1.5 meters. We headed for Cape Caution. Slowly. The only way we go anywhere.

Four hours down Fits Hugh Sound, past the entrances to Rivers Inlet, and Smith Sound, Egg Island came into view, with the promise of Cape Caution beyond. Light winds and seas until we cleared the end of Calvert Island. The seas increased to a northwesterly swell on undetermined heights. The land never disappeared, so we assume they were less than two meters.
When we traveled north in June, it was very calm, and we were close enough to Cape Caution to take pictures. No pictures on this trip. We’ll rely on our imaginations. (‘Can’t rely on memory anymore.) It was a long, lumpy crossing, but not terrifying. We gave thanks.

Who ARE these people and why are they allowed out on their own??? Instead of going into Allison Harbor for the night, we traveled three hours further to Blunden Harbor a wonderful well-sheltered anchorage that is a favorite of cruising boats. We had fifteen knots of wind in the Queen Charlotte Straits. We had fifteen knots of wind in Blunden Harbor. AND there were three (3!) other boats. What kind of an anchorage is this??? We a put the anchor down in thirty feet on solid rock, dragged 90 feet of chain out behind it, and pretended like we were anchored. The wind dropped as the sun set. We were back “inside”.