 |
|
|
WAGGONER CRUISE, WEEK SIX
by Bob Hale
|
|
Sharing Tables. At Shearwater we began supper by sitting at our own table, but then we saw the skipper who was single-handing his boat (we’d taken his lines as he landed), and invited him to join. He demurred, explaining that he was sharing a table with a couple from another boat—but shouldn’t we join them? Well, certainly. And so we met, at supper, a couple from Great Britain who keep their beautiful sailboat at Point Roberts and fly over each summer to cruise the B.C. coast. The single-hander also was a Brit, though he’d lived and worked in Victoria for the past 19 years. Ex-pat Brits who live in Victoria don’t lose their accents, even after 19 years.
At the Cow Bay Café in Prince Rupert we were about to take a table across the room, when a couple at the table next to where we were standing, said, “We met you at Ocean Falls last year!” and suggested we take the table next to them—elbow to elbow, for this was the Cow Bay Café. We had a great time. In fact, the staff was beginning to put the chairs up before we realized it was time to go.
Sharing tables is part of cruising. After a busy week back home we may treasure a quiet supper out with our spouse, who also happens to be our best friend, whom we’ve seen only in passing for several days. Out cruising, seeing each other is not a problem. A little fresh company is a welcome break. And since we’re always on our best behavior at these times (at the top of our game, we might say), we might actually say or do something that tickles our partner.
The café or restaurant staffs are used to table-sharing, and have no problem with separate checks. I suspect they end up with bigger tips, too.
We head south. Prince Rupert is the last significant town before crossing to Alaska, and is the Waggoner’s northernmost coverage point. We do laundry in Prince Rupert, and we resupply, refuel, and repair there. Our plan is to visit most of the facilities and places of interest on our way north, because when we turn south we’re like the horse at the end of the milk run who smells the barn. It took five weeks to get to Prince Rupert; weather and luck permitting, it will take three weeks to get home. .
The route home is different than the route up, however. Instead of going home through Grenville Channel (the ditch), we went west of Pitt Island, through Petrel Channel and Principe Channel. We rejoined “I-5,” the customary Inside Passage, at Wright Sound at the south end of Grenville Channel.
Even if we follow many of the same channels on the way home, we’ll anchor out more because most of the facilities have been visited. Anchoring usually is a joy. Surrounded by thick evergreen forest and sitting on waters so calm they reflect perfectly, a snug anchorage is one of life’s perfect pleasures.
Except, perhaps, this particular moment. With the westerly filling in, we tucked into Hawk Bay on Fin Island and put the hook down in 7 fathoms about a quarter mile in front of the Big Time Sport Fishing Lodge, 866-234-7422, with a dozen or more guide boats tied to it. The westerly blew through a saddle in the hills beside us and stood our flags out stiff, but the narrow channel prevented any sea from building. As I write this a few hours later, the sun is close to setting and the wind direction has changed. The wind is not blowing across the channel as before. It is blowing directly up the channel, carrying waves with it. The ship’s flags are still standing out stiff, but now we are rolling as we arc back and forth, tethered at the bow. Marilynn is wearing her Sea Bands. This is not one of life’s perfect pleasures.
Still later: The wind died with the sun. We had a quiet night. Next morning the guide boats, a dozen of them, departed at or around first light. They motored silently past our anchored boat and didn’t accelerate until they were well clear. Sport fishing lodge notwithstanding, Hawk Bay remains a good anchorage.
Anchorages. At the west end of Ogden Channel, Captain Cove is a beautiful and delightful anchorage. Two Krogens were rafted in one corner, and a lovely Nordic 37 named Del-N-I, Banks, Oregon, was in another corner. We saw the Krogens again in Rescue Bay. Del-N-I was in Rescue Bay, too, and now is tied up immediately behind us at Shearwater.
From Captain Cove we re-explored Newcombe Harbour, with its “street sign” marking Princess Diana Cove. Exiting Newcombe Harbour we saw three young men paddling an aluminum skiff, with the Johnson outboard tilted up. There being no mother ship in evidence, we pulled alongside and asked if they needed help. They waved us off. Gear was stored in the skiff. The young men appeared to be Native. Perhaps they were embarked on a rite of passage.
We overnighted in wonderful Colby Bay, across the Principe Channel on the east side of Banks Island. A fresh westerly was blowing the tops off waves in Principe channel, but in Colby Bay the surface was barely rippled. Colby Bay is fairly remote, and we thought we would be the only boat there. We were, until near suppertime a beautiful Ingrid 38 named Jaga pulled in and anchored. Jaga was single-handed by Scot Hunter, from Port Townsend, with plans for the Charlottes and a return down the west coast of Vancouver Island. Scot was friendly and articulate, the kind of person who would wear well. And his boat, built by Taylor in Victoria in 1955, cedar over oak, was a knockout. Jaga, Scot told us, means “the hunter” in Swedish. Scot Hunter didn’t know the meaning at the time he bought the boat, but wasn’t about to rename once he learned.
Rescue Bay. We anchored in Rescue Bay heading north, and again as we came south. Each time it was because we were near the end of a long day’s run and Rescue Bay was a known good choice. On the way south the shallower spots already were taken, so we opted more for the middle, in about 12 fathoms. When we paid out 200 feet of chain, however, Marilynn said we were pretty close to the charted (but covered) reef on the east side. A few moments later the dinghy from the motor vessel Migrator, Gene and Sandy Johnston, Anacortes, Washington, came by to say hello. Migrator had been moored on the other side of the dock from us in Prince Rupert. Seeing that the dinghy had a depth sounder, I asked if we could check the depths a short distance to the east. From 75 feet of depth the sounder reported what it saw: 60 feet; 50 feet; 30 feet; 15 feet—“I see rock!”
We re-anchored farther out. On a 1-foot low tide the next morning the reef no longer was hiding. It stood kelp-covered and proud, several feet above the surface. We were glad we had moved.
Shearwater (again). Shearwater lives up to its reputation as the crossroads of the central coast. It’s also a collection point for unusual boats. Several years ago we saw a home-built hovercraft when it overnighted here on its way to Alaska. Shortly after we tied up this year (thank you for the starboard-side tie, Jean), a most unusual-looking yellow-hulled sailboat came in. Silently. As if by electric motor. By jingo, it was by electric motor, and it was looking for a shore power recharge.
The boat was designed and built by Scott Davis, age 55, from Port Townsend. The hull is cold-molded of cedar, fir and fiberglass from a mold taken off a shorter lifeboat and stretched to 30 feet. The deck was rounded, life-boat style, as if to take a rollover. The boat had a mast but no boom. Scott told me it sailed with headsails only, a light No. 1, heavy No. 1 and storm jib. He balances the rig by attaching the tack to a succession of pad eyes located from the bow to partway back on the foredeck. When at dock or at anchor, a pop-top with canvas side curtains emerges as if by magic. The boat is an artistic masterpiece. The project took 10 years from inception to completion, and is one of the most imaginative things I have seen.
As I was chatting with Scott Davis, a SeaDoo, laden with baggage, came in. “Cruising the coast on a motorcycle,” Scott Davis suggested. A little later I met the motorcyclist. He was Jack Dekens, age 53, manager of a probation office in Vancouver. He had been out only 16 days and was returning home, having turned around at Skagway, Alaska. The SeaDoo had a 130-horsepower 4-stroke engine, carried 65 liters of gasoline in the main tank and another 50 liters in a second tank strapped to the back. Top speed was 50 mph; cruise in good conditions was 30 mph. Jack slept most nights in B&Bs, hotels and hostels he hustled up along the way. One night he slept under shelter at Bishop Bay Hot Springs. He has been offered sleeping space on boats, but so far hadn’t needed it.
Do you remember from an earlier report the two women rowing from Ketchikan to Puget Sound? We had chatted with them at the restaurant at Sullivan Bay. Now we’ve met, much too briefly, Scot, Scott and Jack. All of them are intelligent, interesting and creative people, the kind who could entertain a dinner party far into the evening.
This damned weather. We could stand a little sunshine. I haven’t kept count, but I think we’ve had about four days without rain since we left home June 2. That’s four days in six weeks. It’s time for a break.
|
|
|
|
