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)

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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!

The Broughton Islands

The Broughton Islands...

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The next leg of our journey took us through three more sets of tidal rapids and into Johnstone Strait.  Again, we were up early to time the rapids at slack water, but rewarded ourselves with a feast of bacon and blueberry pancakes going through the straits.  After pounding through some lumpy seas, the calm channels of the Broughton Archipelago felt wild, deserted, almost mystical. Sam took the helm, and we drifted through watching bald eagles swoop.

It's chillier here, but beautiful too.  Each day we hear the squawk of blue herons (our namesake!), then have to pull out the "bird book" and binoculars since so many birds above the 50th parallel are new to us:  Marbled murrelets, Arctic terns, ravens, loons. Fantastic!

Dent Island Days

James catches a "humpie,"  Dent Island Lodge, B.C., August 2010

James and Cole, reeling one in.

Heading north from Desolation Sound involves passing through FIVE sets of tidal rapids.  You need to calculate the time of slack water at each one, and how long it will take to get through, in order to pass  each rapid safely.  It's tricky water, and intimidating the first time! Jeff did a great job on our calculations:  we slid Heron away from the Cortes docks at 7 a.m., hit the Yuculta rapids at 10:30, nailed slack water, and pulled into Dent Island Lodge soon after.  We spent a fantastic three days at Dent with our friends Dan and Amy and their three boys.  Here are some shots of the gang relaxing on the docks, and pulling "humpie" salmon out of the streams.  The best part?  Enjoying Dent's luxurious but relaxed setting, and sharing wonderfully delicious meals with good friends at the end of each day.

The only way to reach remote Dent Island is by boat... or float plane.

Boys of Cortes

After a week aboard the Heron, we couldn't believe the boys would actually be flying in to join us at Cortes Island. We hiked up to a granite-topped lookout to await their arrival... It was rainy and cold that morning in Seattle, which delayed their
flight by several hours, but finally we heard them circling, and their sea plane floated right up to our dock. Within minutes the boys had dropped their duffels, shed jeans and fleece for swim trunks, and were diving off the boat into the warm waters of Desolation Sound. After a swim, it was time for guitar-playing on the stern. Another boater asked the boys if they knew any "folk songs" from the Sixties, and before we knew it, we were being serenaded with "If I had a Hammer" and "Puff the Magic Dragon," which the boys found hilarious. Dinner was grilled flank steaks and fresh asparagus... the night was so warm we were able to set our table in the cockpit, where we lingered until the stars came out. Then it was time for... SCRABBLE! Jeff won, with "Vesper." James came in a close second with a tricky double formation: "Oxen" and "Damn."