Chronicle 17 San Juans to Home

September 8- 14

We cleared US Customs with some difficulty. When Doug called to see if we could clear by phone or if we needed to report to Friday Harbor, he was told we needed a Boat Recreation Number. We had passport numbers, NEXUS numbers, and a number and decal from The Department of Homeland Security, US Customs and Boarder Protection Division. We did not have a Boat Recreation Number. We do now. We each have a number, not just one for the boat. (Shaman thought that was unfair. If is were not for her, we world not need the numbers.) We are sure that the next time we clear in Ketchikan, they will have never heard of a Boat Recreation Number.

Doug hauling up Kenny Kellet.

Kenny was unceremoniously thrown overboard in the wee small hours of the morning when we were anchored in Reid Harbor on Stuart Island in the San Juans. After a classic sunny September day, Doug was awakened at 2:00 AM by (un-forecast) wind in the rigging. I was sleeping soundly, but he decided that 20 knots deserved attention from both of us. We carefully made our way to the foredeck, with flashlights in hand, to let out more anchor line and send Kenny slithering down the anchor rode to hold it on the bottom. Kenny loves doing this. We hoped this was his last day on the job, but since a new anchor windlass costs more than $1.98, he may see action again.
Mt. Baker and one of the many ferries we avoided in the San Juans

The Adventuress slowing making her way across Lopez Sound.

After three days in the San Juans, Shaman sallied over to Anacortes where Jolie joined us for a day of sailing in Rosario Strait.

Shaman tucked up her dainty keel once more, and we headed for the Swinomish Channel (dredged to 6.8 feet…we draw almost 8 feet. We transited at hight tide.) for a rendezvous with the Eagle Harbor Yacht Club at La Conner.

La Conner was hosting a Classic and Antique Car and Boat show and I picked out my car. I liked his mischievous expression.

We didn’t find a boat to buy at the boat show, but I am going to try to replicate the dining room from this classic yacht on Shaman. Maybe just the tablecloth.

I thought that Doug looked good at the helm, but he was coveting the anchor windlass….

Shaman shuddered when we showed her the picture of what we had in mind for a new windlass and asked us to keep looking.

We left LaConner early in the morning on September 14th, headed for Liberty Bay Maria and then to our land-based home.

I am pleased to report that Shaman did not swagger when returning to her moorage this year. Her modest behavior may have been due to the fact that is was blowing hared, and it took all of her (and Doug’s) concentration to get her safely into her slip. But we know she had a good time and we’re grateful for her stellar performance.

Shaman flying her colors, safe at home.
*******************************************************************************

The Inside Passage is among the wildest coasts left

in the temperate zone, and through its defenses

of steepness and bad weather it has retained a

pristine condition that is a treasure in

the early twenty-first century.
…….. Passage to Alaska, p. 8

Thank you for sharing our adventures in this treasured land.

Doug, Jean, and Shaman

Chronicle 16 Nanaimo to Sidney

September 3-7

Shaman flying her colors on a beautiful day at the Port of Nanaimo. (The blue flag is Alaska’s, if you can’t see the stars.)

As many of you know, Shaman went to Alaska last year under another name. When we returned to our marina in Poulsbo, she had a distinct swagger to her stern as she came down the fairway on a sunny Sunday afternoon. “I’ve been to Alaska. Where did YOU go this summer?” she asked the other boats as she went by. We couldn’t blame her because it was quite an accomplishment and she did a great job; we were proud of her, too. But now she has a new name and Ego is not part of it. We will see.

By the way, we chose the name Shaman using the definition of “an intermediary between the spirit world and the physical world”. She takes us places and gives us time to experience the presence of what is truly important in life.

On our way north, we talked to a gentleman who told us that he pulp mill at Nanaimo had closed, taking 750 jobs out of the economy. We have always liked Nanaimo and were sorry that it would be facing hard times. In Pender Harbor on our way home, we met one of the mill workers who was very excited because he now OWNED the mill; the workers bought it.

When we cruised by, the mill was shut down. Very eerie to see it without activity and with no steam billowing. We wish them well. It is a difficult transition, having the workers take over the company and actually make it profitable.

Dodd Narrows at slack water. (Connecting the area near Nanaimo with the Gulf Islands)

I LOVE Dodd Narrows. Each year, I take the same pictures. Makes Doug crazy. Except for Deception Pass, Dodd was the first narrows we had to negotiate when we were younger boaters. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. I told Doug that I wanted my ashes scattered here. You’d never get any rest--swishing back and forth for eternity! I hadn’t thought of that. I’m reconsidering. I’d better decide before next summer. He may push me overboard if I try to take another series of pictures.

From Dodd Narrows, Shaman rafted out at the public dock at Degnan Bay on Gabriola Island and her crew made their usual pilgrimage on the quiet, not-too-hilly roads to Silva Bay for their ration of greasy pub food.

Gardening on Gabriola

This old oak tree had a bench around its trunk and a sign ‘way up high that said Gossip Bench. The grass around it was tramped down. ‘Maybe the island version of the Internet?

Malcolm Island does not have a monopoly on whimsical gates.

We spent some time chatting with Verne Guieterez, the dock master at Degnan, He has lived on his sailboat at the dock for six years and had a wealth of knowledge about the bay and the island, as well as a great outlook on life.

When we stopped in Sidney to see our friends Carol and Don, who we’d visited on the way north, we stayed at the Port Sidney Marina, a “sophisticated oasis for the discerning marine traveler.”

It’s a lovely facility with many huge expensive boats: a stark contrast to Petersburg, Wrangell, Ketchikan, and Sitka. We laughed about their motto as well as where Shaman and her crew were the most at home. But we loved every minute of it.

There are many Laws of the Boat. I had to re-learn # 132.67 on the way to Sidney.

The one day that you do not close a hatch, you will take green water over the bow. Okay. Maybe it was blue water.

The weather was beautiful when we left Musgrave Landing and, for the first time in our 107 days at sea, I did not “dog down” the hatch in the forward cabin. A large yacht went by us at high speed, much closer than was polite. Doug turned in to the wake so we wouldn’t take it broadside, sending Shaman careening back and forth causing everything below to change places. The wake was bigger than the BC ferries. (Of course, the ferries are not usually that close.) The water rushed over the bow and a goodly amount of it dove into the forward cabin, soaking all of the bedding. The cushions have Sunbrella fabric, so the water just beaded up on them, but the comforter and sheets welcomed it, thinking we were doing a cold-(salt)-water wash. (The sloshing motion certainly resembled a washing machine.)

Fortunately we were headed for a “sophisticated oasis for the discerning marine traveler.” We used the sophisticated laundry room. And it really was. The folding table was black granite, with a stainless steel sink. Leather couches, a telly, and computer at the other end of the carpeted room offered entertainment. The washing machines washed and the dryers dried, just like the machines up the coast. The very thing we were hopping for.

The comforter didn’t get dry before the laundry area closed at the very civilized hour of 5:00 PM, so I draped it over the boom. We looked like the Jodes from Oklahoma. I’m surprised we were not issued a citation. Possibly when we try to return, we will be turned away.

We love Sidney.

Next port of call: U.S. of A.

Chronicle 15 Desolation Sound and Environs

August 24-September 2

Time once again to go grocery shopping, buy petrol and take on water. Shaman headed for the Heriot Bay Hotel on Quadra Island, our old stand-by for all the above, as well as ICE CREAM CONES (blackberry ripple). We skipped the bar where last year an inebriated resident tried to pick a fight with Doug.

Ferry from Quadra Island to Cortes

Gardening at Heriot Bay

With 30 knots of wind predicted, we screwed up our courage and headed for Von Donop Inlet the next day. We had two issues with Von Donop; one physical, one mental. The physical issue: Von Donop has a two-mile-long entrance that becomes very shallow (seven feet on a zero tide) and very narrow. The very shallow, very narrow spot has a rock in the middle. Actually, closer to the south wall. The “good” water (ha!) is on the south side. Our Hemmingway-Douglas book advises hugging the south wall, almost touching the trees. Okay, that’s fine. We took Shaman’s seven-foot-ten-inch keel in on a nine-foot tide.

The other problem with Von Donop concerns memories of our last visit, in September of 2001. We spent a sunny day hiking to Squirrel Cove on the other side of the Cortes Island. The next morning we were awakened by our cell phone: Julie was calling with the news of 9/ll. Strange that we would have had the phone on and stranger still that there would be reception in that obscure inlet. (Our cell phone has been silent this year in Canadian waters because Verizon was being pissy about Canadian coverage at a reasonable cost.)

With a storm predicted, we had a lot of company in the large bay at the end of the inlet with its many hidey-holes. At least thirty of us were looking for a good night’s sleep. The hiking trails did not beckon to us though the downpour and we were grateful that the predicted high winds never materialized.

Von Donop with a few of the remaining boats waiting for high tide to leave.

We headed north the next day to Toba Wildernest, a small marina in the middle of nowhere. I’d read about it in our Waggoner book and just had to visit. We think that 20-mile-long Toba Inlet is stunning, but we’re not sure because the 8,000 foot high mountains were wearing their clouds.

Kyle and Andrea (from the prairies of Alberta) have been here for about five years. They were joined by Rowan

and Teddy.....

Gardening at Toba Wildernest (...not sure about the thing on the beach…)

Toba Wildernest has a water-turbine mini-hydro plant. Kyle said that one of the selling points for him was the electricity provided by a year-round stream and this reliable turbine--much less expensive, trouble-free, and friendlier-sounding than its diesel cousins.

Chute retuning turbine water to the creek after it did its work. The creek comes from what we are told is a beautiful lake. It is a short, steep hike, and the Old Knees we brought with us requested we only go part way.

Fifteen or so people arrived on this classic mini-excursion boat to spend the night in the tidy cabins at Toba Wildernest.

What is this man doing? Kyle hauled Ratty up on the dock when we arrived and dumped out gallons of rainwater. After a (another) night of rain, Doug repeated the process.

Would you go for a dinghy ride in this weather???

Anchored in Prideaux Haven in Desolation Sound, we decided to go for an explore. We were towing Ratty, so this was not the ordeal it is when he is on the foredeck. However it still take some prep. Lower Tommy Tahutse on to Ratty’s transom. Secure the oars in case it gets too shallow for Tommy or he want to take a little time off. (That has never happened.) Gas can for Tommy. “Throwable device” (boat cushion) for the BC Coast guard .

“It looks like it is going to rain.”

In the five minutes it took us to get ourselves ready to depart, clouds had lowered, wind had increased from nothing to way too much, and the RAIN commenced. We rook off our life jackets and went below. The people off the boat next to us came zipping back in their inflatable as the thunder arrived.

The storm passed as quickly as it had arrived and Ratty took us around the labyrinth of coves that make up this part of Desolation Sound.

Sailboat with stern-tie, laundry, and kayak on deck.

I don’t remember the name of the boat, but she got the prize for the best paint job. It was even prettier in person (in boat). The colors were very pleasing.

We didn’t join the fun.

The guy standing watch was looking out to sea and did not see us drifting toward them. At Toba Wildernest, we saw a family of Mergansers with many tiny babies. In September! Mother Nature does interesting things to perpetuate a species and keep the eagles fed.

Classic Desolation Sound

View from our anchorage in Prideaus Haven at high tide, it looks like you can go between the islands. This is why we read charts.

Ratty chatting with Shaman at Gorge Harbor, Cortes Island, near Desolation Sound.

Leaving Gorge Harbor early in the morning, headed for Pender Harbor.

Gardening at Madera Park in Pender Harbor on the Sunshine Coast (north of Vancouver)

For two years we have admired the evolving plantings near the visitors’ center in this tiny community. We assumed that it was a community effort, but found out that it is the work of one man--a semi-retired landscaped architect who employees one person full time to work on three different plots of ground. Ain’t that grand?

This little log pusher is a memorial, probably to a tugboat crewmember or logger.

Last year on the way north we anchored in Buccaneer Bay and promised ourselves we would return. What we had not taken into account was the calm weather last year. This year we had a strong southerly wind that came into the bay over the spit connecting North and South Thormanby Islands and made finding a calm spot challenging.

Shaman found herself a hidey-hole among a lot of nasty-looking rocks and spent a quiet afternoon and night with three resident seals.

The next morning we left early to cross the Straits of Georgia, headed for Nanaimo with a forecast of 5-15 knots southerly winds. The tide had just turned, so we would have the wind against us, but the current with us. Bad combination. Shaman was taking green water over her bow, although we only had 8 knots of wind. WHERE DID THESE WAVES COME FROM? When our speed dropped to 3.5 knots, Doug turned north for Lasqueti Island in the middle of the Straits where we anchored for three hours until the wind died down.

After all of those miles under our keel this summer, we were not expecting to get in such uncomfortable (not dangerous, just a slog) water so close to home. But then we remembered that the worst weather we have ever encountered was in the Straits of Juan de Fuca. We don’t make the rules.