Seattle Bound (by way of Vancouver)

On the last night of the trip, we had a chance to set out our crabpots, finally, and would you believe it... with just over an hour and a big old turkey leg for bait, caught TWO crabs! They were splendid shared four ways as an hors d'ouevre before that night's down 'n dirty Seely Scrabble-fest.

Desolation Days

Cortes Bay to Desolation Sound

Buccaneer Bay and Beyond...

After anchoring in Buccanneer Bay, we crank up our anchor by hand, a few inches at a time (a horrible horrible job, and thankfully, the anchor windlass only fails this one morning), and continue north toward Desolation Sound. Skies are clear, winds NW at 8 knots. It's a beautiful passage, and we make it to Cortes Island by 4 pm.

Currents and Narrows

Depart early-ish, for big day through Dodd Narrow and crossing the Strait of Georgia. Sky clear; temps Northwest warm; wind easy 5 knots. Pleasant cruise up long protected bank of Galliano Island. Everyone settles into their preferred reading spots on deck, boys stripped down to shirtsleeves. Put sails up briefly; bring them in again. We’re closing in on Dodd Narrow, a notoriously interesting feature of B.C.’s maze of inlets and channels…

Dodd Narrow, we read in our Waggoner Cruising Guide (the Bible for northwest cruising), is a place where the water swirls though a narrow but deep passage between high rocky cliffs. Tide currents regularly run a crazy 9 knots through the cut, so boats line up to circle around and wait until they can ride through on slack water.

Tensions are running a little high as Heron falls in with the half-dozen other boats to wait her turn. We watch while a line of boats heading south passes us, single file. Then the current starts running in our favor. Anticipation high, we fall into a train of vessels passing slowly, single file, through the cut. It’s the kind of place where picnickers hike down to hang out and watch the action.

“Man, this is wild! Like running the Middle Fork of the Salmon, or something,” my husband says. Just then, at the worst possible moment, Heron tosses her daily curveball: the engine dies.

Up on the bow snapping photos, I recognize the sound. Or sickening lack thereof. There is a sudden quiet, then a pathetic clunk, clunk noise interspersed with under-the-breath swearing as my husband attempts to get us going.

“Sam grab a line in case we need a tow!” he yells. This is bad.

Me? I reach for a life jacket. Might come in handy, I think, whether we’re running around on deck or abandoning ship.

“Not now! Not now! Don’t crap out on me now!... my husband is saying to the boat.

Things get really interesting when we begin floating dangerously close to the gleaming 55-foot Halberg Rassey we’ve been following. Of course that’s when Heron decides, capriciously, to spring to life. The engine turns over innocently, and we’re on our way…

Anchors Away

Our first night anchoring Heron dishes up all kinds of family fun. Perhaps its because we’ve had a shirts-off kind of day: passing through Canadian Customs at Bedwell Harbour without having to turn over our contraband apples and oranges; sailing beneath clear blue skies; tuna sandwiches, beers, and chocolate chip cookies for lunch. It lulls us all into an unsuspecting coma. But we’re catching on to Sailing Rule No. 1: Day of bliss? Expect a small problem will be lobbed your way soon. Just to keep you on your toes.

So we anchor in 30 feet of water in Ganges Harbor, a popular anchorage off the eastern edge of B.C.’s Salt Spring Island, in the Canadian Gulf Islands. The Canadian Gulf Islands are wilder, scruffier, rockier than the San Juan Islands, and we’ve made our way gingerly through them so far, picking our way past rocks (marked and unmarked), to finally put out 100 or so feet of anchor and chain in this picturesque harbor and call it a night. It’s breezy and we’re not entirely sure we’re holding, but after observing other boats swinging in wide arcs from their anchors we decide that’s the deal. Keeping an eye on the distance between Heron’s hull and our neighbors, we pull out a bottle of merlot.

Over a dinner of grilled steaks, the wind picks up.

“Damn, what was that?” Sam says, putting down his fork. An eerie keening sound is coming from the mast. We look at each other, then Jeff and James rush up on deck. Sam and I sit for a moment, candles flickering on the table. “Like that last dinner on the Titanic, huh?” he quips. Then we blow out the votives.

It’s eerie, unnerving, up above. The wind is suddenly gusting 20 knots, with bursts up to 25. Heron’s mast, rising 65 feet above the deck, is humming. The edge of a cold front has howled in. The boys run to the bow in their bare feet.

“Check the anchor! Does it look like it’s holding???” Jeff is yelling to them in the wind-whipped dark. With each gust we swing in a wild arc, 48,000 pounds of teak and fiberglass at the end of a watery game of crack the whip. But we’re holding.

We don’t sleep very well that night. We’re swinging a little too close to a big granite outcropping, and as Jeff says when we wake up, “all I could dream about was Heron breaking up on the rocks,” but in the gray dawn light we’re still in one piece. So we get up, tune in the radio’s Extended Marine Forecast, and put on a pot of coffee.

Sailing the Salish Sea

We're up at dawn and off for a two week inaugural sail aboard Heron. Our destination:
north from Seattle through the Salish Sea to Desolation Sound and back. Our goal for the next two weeks? To practice the art of doing nothing. Although, with this being our shakedown cruise, and the first time Team Heron has sailed together, perfecting the fine art of doing nothing may pose a challenge...

Riding a strong current north, we make excellent time today, averaging 9-10 knots and
pulling into Friday Harbor by 3 pm. Weather is coolish, but an outstanding time is had by all... lots to learn between chart-reading, familiarizing ourselves with all the navigation instruments, and getting used to our new digs aboard Heron and her galley kitchen. Highlight of the day is threading our way through Cattle Pass, called perhaps "the wildest spot in the San Juans" by our cruising guide, a place where currents can run 8-9 knots with wide tide swings. At the wheel, we can feel sudden rips pushing Heron to starboard, but make our way carefully past the rocks marking the entrance to San Juan Channel.

All Aboard

With the Heron almost ready for her inaugural sail, our crew turned out for Father's Day. Although we never left the dock, we did attempt some fiberglass polishing. In three hours, we spiffed up a six-foot stretch of stern cabin. Only 48 feet left to go...

Big Blue Boat

You might say that this is an unusual time to buy a 54-foot sailboat.
And that, my friend, would be an understatement of epic proportions.
It's true - the economy is in freefall, job losses continue to mount, times are dire.

But we have a plan: if the world turns upside down and everything goes under, we can live aboard the boat. It's the ideal survival capsule.