Campbells Aboard!

 

Lori and Fred Campbell joined us for a week on the Heron in September.  It was amazing to have them fly all the way to the boat from New Jersey.  They landed at Dent Island Lodge (just north of Desolation Sound), in this seaplane, stepped onto the dock…

 

...and walked about 50 feet to the Heron.  We couldn’t believe they were here!  (With

gear for a week packed into just two 25-pound bags.) 

 We had a fabulous time... including three pristine days in Prideaux Haven, where Heron was one of only three boats  anchored so late in the season. and a GREAT sail down the Malaspina Strait with Lori (a terrific sailor), at the helm.

Slicing up Fitz Hugh Sound

We gingerly picked our way out of the McNaughton Islands in thick morning fog, but as we turned to head back down Fitz Hugh Sound the clouds lifted, and it turned into a gorgeous day -- 65 degrees, sunny,  air so crisp you could hear it whistle.  We hadn't had sails up all week, but as we crossed the mouth of Hakai Pass (which runs perpendicular to Fitz Hugh and is open to the Pacific), we suddenly hit winds blowing 15-20 from the SW.  Since it had been days since we'd been able to put the sails up, it took us a few seconds to register what had hit us!

While Kim rushed to clear away lunch, Jeff raised the Mainsail.  Leaving  dishes in the galley, Kim grabbed  life-jackets, then rushed back up to help raise the Staysail and Jenny.  By now Heron was on her side, flying through the water, the only boat for miles.   The wind picked up to 22 knots, and soon it felt like we were SHREDDING the water, the boat's left rail completely submerged as we hit 9.5 knots - a little out of control (!), but insanely fun and the fastest we'd ever gone under sail.  Sails up, we spied more giant humpbacks.  Kim managed to snap this shot of a tail fluke as we flew by...

After all the excitement, we had to laugh when we realized the cabin hadn't fared quite as well:  sandwich parts, crusts, plates, napkins were flung everywhere.  Even for two neat freaks like us it was worth it!  An invigorating, gorgeous day to be above 52 Degrees North  on the water...

Orcas All Around

The maze of islands west of Fitz Hugh Sound make up B.C.'s largest marine park, the 475-square-mile Hakai Luxvbalis Conservancy (pronounced hack-eye looks-bal-ease).  The area feels like a pristine wilderness, and indeed it is, but First Nations people have lived here for thousands of years.  Rather than push north toward Prince Rupert in a mad dash for the Alaska border, we decided to explore this section of wild coast, since it's clearly so exceptional:  complex terrain, impressive scenery, and challenging, hazard-strewn navigation!  This late in the season, we had  secret-cove beaches and deserted anchorages to ourselves, encountering no one in three days but a handful of kayakers.

Heading west into the Pacific, we made a run west around the islands of Kildidt Sound, holding our breath as we threaded through several rocky passages in Pacific swells. Rock formations as round as bald foreheads rose out of the water -- some entirely bare, others topped by fringes of hemlock and cedar.  After days plying the protected waterways of the Inside Passage, the sound of surf crashing against rock, the smell of salt air, and the cries of gulls and seabirds bouncing off waves rolling in all the way from Japan were fantastic.

As if that weren't enough, Kim spied the tip of a shiny black dorsal fin, wet and slippery, just past the boat's bimini window.  A pair of orcas slid past 30 feet away, as if to remind us whose territory this was.  Soon, we saw more whales spouting farther out to sea and decided to race out after them.  We caught up with a big pod of 12-15 orcas surfacing five abreast, like synchronized swimmers.  They were spectacular!  A sight we won't soon forget...

Pruth Bay

Motoring north through Fitz Hugh Sound, we spied two tugs pulling what looked like an entire neighborhood across the water.  Getting closer, we could see it was a fish  camp -- houses built on floats are common along this stretch of the B.C. coast's intricate maze of islands and waterways.  A float plane as curious as we were also circled a few times for a closer look...

After a wonderful passage up Fitz Hugh Sound, we anchored at Pruth Bay, a magical spot and one of our favorite places of the entire trip.  This late in the season, there were only two other boats.  We pulled on our rubber boots, jumped into the dinghy, and sped ashore to hike the trail to West Beach -- a mile-long, deserted white-sand beach that is legendary along this wild coast.  Emerging from the dense forest onto the beach was like hiking from a tunnel on B.C. on one side, and emerging in Polynesia on the other!  Everything felt brighter, warmer, tropical even.   The tide was out and beyond the flats were small basalt islets, some sprouting just a single tree, like a Japanese bonsai.  Exquisite.  It felt great to stretch our legs, and we walked the beach end to end, then simply sat on the smoothed logs that have drifted in and piled up over the years.

Dinner was back aboard Heron:  grilled steaks, sauteed spinach, Parmesan couscous, and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon.  Jeff snapped these shots of the full moon setting while he grilled steaks on the stern deck.  Indeed, a magical place.

Heading North (by Northwest)

d

We left Heron docked at the North Vancouver Island logging town of Port McNeill... flew back to Seattle with the boys... flew across Canada to take James to freshman year at  St. Lawrence in upstate New York... then flew straight back to Vancouver two days later and caught a plane to the boat.  After re-provisioning again we wheeled everything down to the Port McNeill docks,  stowed it away, and pushed off that same day to cross Queen Charlotte Strait. It goes without saying, we were exhausted, a little disoriented, and of course -- missing our boys.

Despite all the dire warnings and our nervousness about crossing "the Strait," the wind was blowing only 4.5 knots, the skies cornflower blue, and the water calm.  We decided to just go for it.  We were motoring up the glassy Strait, lost in our own thoughts, when the silence was suddenly broken by the eruption of a 20-foot waterspout to port, maybe 200 yards from the boat.  Then, without warning, a HUGE humpback whale breached-- half its enormous bulk shooting straight out of the water before crashing back down. It sounded like a cannon shot in the middle of all those miles of stillness.  There were two whales -- immense  animals, and they kept surfacing, their tail flukes waving at us like big steam shovels.

The last few days had been draining, but were were suddenly hooked again and happy to be heading north.  We tucked into Skull Cove, a pretty, deserted anchorage on Bramham Island, just west of Seymour Inlet, as dusk was falling. There were no other boats, just a beautiful view to the west and Harlequin ducks tracing arcs through the inky water. It looked like a perfect place to drop a crab pot...
We did, and when Jeff went out to check in the morning, he hauled in 5 hefty Dungenesss cabs.  We put a pot of water on to boil before breakfast and had fresh crab for lunch to celebrate the return of our appetites after rounding Cape Caution in 5-6 foot swells later that day. They were our first Dungeness of the trip, and they were delicious!