We were there that evening. 

Bishop Bay Hot Springs

June 5: 

We motored into to Bishop Cove last evening, all prepared to stern anchor when what we thought was a fishing boat, called over to invite us to bunk up alongside them.  Yahoo, no worries of anchor slippage tonight!  Captain Robert, the proud owner of Refuge, caught the bow line I tossed, put out another fender and welcomed us as bunk mates.  Refuge is a sturdy tug designed for offshore travel. He and two friends were on their way to Ketchikan, the next day a planned 20 hour sojourn.  He also let us borrow his dingy to head to the dock to visit the natural hot springs and to rendezvous with the flotilla for dinner.  I handed him a bottle of red wine with my verbal gratitude.  We’d have preferred to visit with them but had to get to shore for the morrow’s briefing. 

Without the daily log sheet, it would be difficult to keep track of time.  Though each day brings new adventures, sites, smells, sounds, colors and critters, the days lack routine or expectations other than arrival at the planned destination.  We’ve been in the enchanting region of the the Misty Fjords, anchoring each evening in quiet lagoons surrounded by subalpine forest. Tonight Allusion was the first vessel in, anchoring in front of a waterfall in Lowe Inlet which is halfway up Grenville Channel, a narrow, unbelievably beautiful strip of waterway.  The Misty Fjord National Monument is to the east and Pitt Island is westward.  We have seen thousands of waterfalls, from small shore drainages, to thunderous falls from hundreds of feet above us.  Some originate from snow melt, glacial melt or water-swollen alpine lakes overspilling. Frothy white ribbons glissade down solid granite mounds, hundreds of mini look alike Half Domes.

We put up our sails everyday regardless.  Up goes the main, down goes the main, up goes the genoa, down goes the genoa……many times a day.  In this steep and narrow waterway, wind circles around the small islets, bounces off granite headlands and rocky upwells so that the true wind can come from any direction at any time.  It keeps us busy as squirrels working the sheets.  It also saves fuel, something we are admittedly smug about in this flotilla of trawlers and power boats. I think they get their comeuppance on us as well, when we usually are the last boat into the marina or harbor.

Dolphins live here in abundance and love to bow surf.  They are spritely, nearly impossible to photograph from above water, unlike their  well-known cousins in Hawaii.I sat on the bow this morning and watched them just inches from the hull, cavorting, and sub-surface surfing.  It looks like so much fun! 

White Sided Dolphins bow surfing

Dinner is in-house tonight and I feel so fortunate to have heat and a tiny stove.  Each day seems a little colder as we are “outside” much of the time. It’s our choice,  loving the scenery, the smell of the mountains and the feel of the wind.  The water color continues to be deep grey teal, much like what a healthy mountain lake looks like.  The top ten inches are fresh water topping the salt from the Pacific that inflows with the tide.  Fresh water is immensely abundant, it sits atop the heavier salt water and the resulting color is unique.

Tim is playing guitar, I’ve just finished with importing photos and waiting for the rain to stop so we can explore the cove.  Another day in beauty and peace.

I married a man who grew up on a 100 acre farm, whose days were filled with the magic of the woods.  As a 10 year old it wasn't uncommon for him to take off to the woods with a hatchet, to spend the day and night in the wonder of wild. I think that’s why he can fix almost anything, has common sense and an alerted intuition of surviving in dangerous situations. However, his hunger for the wild seems to have been satisfied early on.

Though I am a child of the 50’s and 60’s my “wild” moments didn’t come about until my college years when I discovered backpacking and caving in West Virginia and much of the Appalachians became my bi-monthly playground between work and 18 credit hours each semester.  It was also my undoing.  I fell head-over-heels in love with the outdoors spending most of my second decade in the western mountains of North America and Mexico. I never gave my career a second thought when I left the East Coast with a backpack, a pair of hiking boots that I eventually re-soled twice and the best sleeping bag available in those days, re-stuffed twice (Camp 7).  I had my Svea camp stove, a light-weigh tent, my Winnie the Pooh Bear, and my enamel coffee cup, aka bowl, wash basin and drinking glass. I hitchhiked out west to Yosemite to accomplish every trail in the park and a few that were off the map, taking overnight trips with only the clothes on my back and a box of sturdy matches. Sometimes Winnie came with me strapped to the pack, keeping me company, watching my back.  I fell in love with the trees, the flowers, creeks, snowy peaks and granite cliffs, memorizing the names of flora and fauna.

In time, I hiked in bits and pieces most of the Pacific Crest Trail, some of it pretty boring, some of it back-and-knee-creakingly grueling, all of it worthwhile.  Skipping over to my late 20’s landed me in Montana where hiking was different, less traversed, populated with bears and large game.  I hiked, stayed a while, fell in love and then came the next 30 years of family-raising, growing up, and being tame.  I loved all of that too but hungered always for a return to the unsettled regions of my soul found only in the wild places, perfect quiet and the earth the way it once was, pre-craziness of humanity.  Absolute quiet is rare and I relish it.

I am grateful for this Allusion Journey, to get a chance to revisit wild places, though the revisiting is not so grueling, not so knee creaking.  Tim by my side, Allusion taking me through safe and dangerous waters, it’s going to be difficult to go home again.  

How to launch a dingy from the deck of a sailboat.

1. Put on rain-gear if raining
2. Don life preservers
3. Lower the stern platform
4. First Mate, at the forward helm, open the clutch of the red halyard
5. Captain, unclip halyard from the foredeck, then,
6. Loosen the halyard to attach to the nose-ring of the dingy
7. First Mate, wrap the working end of the halyard around the winch
8. First Mate, winch the halyard to hoist the dingy nose up off the deck
9. Captain does a dingy dance to maneuver it up and over the life lines along the side of the boat
10. First Mate, release the halyard and slowly lower the dingy into the water
11. First Mate, retrieve the dingy oars from the storage below
12. Captain, maneuver the dingy with the halyard line to the stern of the boat and secure it
13. First Mate, retrieve the dingy anchor from the lazarette and put into the dingy which is now secured to the stern of the sailboat.
14. Oars are loaded and then passengers.

If not exhausted, dingy is now launched and ready for adventures to shore or other boats by oar power.  To attach the outboard motor is a whole nother story.  

June 2: Shearwater to Rescue Cove

At anchor for the night, cove-water tinged with cedar pigment, pocked marked with millions of rain drops, I realize that there is no where else I would rather be.  Our salty boat is getting a natural wash from the sky!

The woods are not so dark here, the trees not so tall and the banks lower so that we need to beware of rocky shoals that lurk subsurface, unseen.  Rescue Cove is our sheltered harbor tonight.  We left Shearwater Marina at 10:00AM. Fearing the predicted gale force winds, we wound our way through mostly inside channels with only one opening to the ocean.  The swells there were about three feet.  No big deal.  However, last night was a wild one in the marina, winds howled through the riggings and a loose halyard distracted me from deep sleep.  It was too daunting to put on storm gear, open the canvas, and head out to the deck with a flashlight to better secure it so I just had to deal with it.  Needless to say, I had interesting dreams all night.  Tim slept deeply, unperturbed by stormy nocturnal sounds. 

The topography is changing as we sail north.  We see more snow on the not so distant peaks, the trees, still densely populating every patch of soil, are smaller, more hemlock and fewer cedars. We’re north of Vancouver Island by now.  Boat traffic is minimal except for the occasional shrimper.  All that will change in Alaska but this is an incredibly remote area, no homes, no roads, no seaplanes, tugboats, freighters and few other recreational boaters.  It would take many years of constant exploration to dive into each cove, travel up each channel and discover the many bays, inlets and islands.  I think I could easily step into the solitude of this wilderness for a season.

Exhultation is the going

Of the inland soul to sea-

Past the houses, past the headlands,

Into deep Eternity. 

 Emily Dickinson

Thursday, June 1

Ocean Falls to Shearwater, BC

We departed OC early to go fishing.  The local dock master showed Tim the areas the kings are running and sure enough when we headed out, a local boat was passing us likety-split.  After an hour, no action so we pulled in the gear, put up the transom and headed for Shearwater, a short passage of 20 miles with the mainsail pulled out.

Along the way we were escorted by about 200 white sided dolphins or porpoises.  They are such quick jumpers that I had a heck of a time capturing them but finally got a short video and three shots of wake jumpers.  They seemed to like the bubbles from the engine.  While under sail they didn't swim near.  I suggested to Tim to start up the engine. In no time, they were jumping and dancing all around us.  A while later a humpback joined them.  There must have been something tasty in the water today!

Shearwater is interesting.  We’re headed to the local pub for a meal tonight and our Waggoner guide told us to think: Star Wars bar scene.  “fishermen, tug captains, yachties, locals and tribal folks” converge here.  Think I’ll wear my Blundies and checked flannel shirt, just to fit in a bit more with the local color.  The pub is next to the half dead tree where the half dead bald eagle has been hanging out all day.  It looks like it has seen better days, or maybe it got into a bar fight?

Today was another photo day, the scenery gorgeous, but having wifi to check email is not the same as trying to upload photos.  It’s up to almost 45 minutes for one jpeg.  SO, you’ll just  have to do without. 

Sanderlings along the pristine West Beach

My reflection in the kelp bulb

Incoming Tide

Fury Cove to Pruth Bay:
A more relaxed pace today, Tuesday the 30th, takes us 20 miles to Pruth Bay.  We motor sailed, sailed, then motored only through Fitz Hugh Sound over to Calvert Island side and then our guide took us west on Kwakshua Channel west all the way into Pruth Bay where we anchored in a flat bottomed cove, with safe holdings.  The story of this Island is interesting and can be accessed through the Waggoner Guide.  The Hakai Institute is the current resident, a research organization.
Since it takes about 30 minutes to upload one photo to post, I'll publish the text and see what happens.
This is our favorite spot so far, the island is magical, remote and the beaches we hiked to, unpeopled. White sand beaches line the north and south edges, each reached by a trail through the rainforest. We motored to the institute in our dingy, saw a few folks who weren't especially friendly, or made just preoccupied with their research?  We spent several hours on the island, motored back for a galley made meal onboard Allusion.