One of Those Days, or Two

Returning to the boat always comes as a surprise, no matter how many weeks we’ve had to prepare for it. This time, Heron lost shore power during our absence. Steve Jackman, dockmaster extraordinaire at Port McNeill’s North Island Marina, and his wife Jessica, heroically rescued all our chilled provisions in time – including six-weeks-worth of frozen food – hauling about 50 pounds of wrapped meats off the boat to their own deep freeze. 

We learned from Steve upon our return that an eagle had landed on a transformer -- not only frying himself but knocking out power to the entire dock, making an exciting week for both Steve and the ill-fated eagle.  Of course every other boat’s power cycled right back on.  Every other boat, that is, except Heron.  Once her power was tripped, Mighty Heron, quirky British dame that she is, didn't feel like cooperating. 

Fortunately, engineer Paul LaRussa, who often troubleshoots Heron’s tricky systems in Seattle happened to be on Vancouver Island working on another boat.  He drove up from Campbell River, identified the problem within 15 minutes (a pair of hidden breakers that only a Moody’s makers would put behind the instrument panel), and hit the road. 

Welcome Home.

Returning to the dock a week after all this excitement, we repacked all the frozen provisions and now extremely ripe month-old cheeses in the fridge, then hauled our sheets and towels up to the Laundromat.  Since it was “BC Day” in British Columbia, pretty much everything in Port McNeill was closed – the diner, the café, the liquor store.  Thankfully the market and pub were open.  We restocked our fresh produce and collected enough Loonies for the dryers.

But there were more surprises!

At the end of our chilly motor across Queen Charlotte Strait, the swells picked up and we hit a massive side swell just as we were tucking into the night’s planned anchorage, one of our favorites:  Skull Cove.  The swell sent everything in the cabin that wasn’t secured sailing across the main salon – including the big storage bin under the settee.  It came flying out, exploded completely off its hinges, and landed squarely in the middle of the floor.  Hmmm...

After anchoring we unpacked everything out of the drawer (most of our pantry), removed the screws from the drawer, disassembled it, screwed it back together (going so far as to glue the screws in this time), and slid it back in.  No dice.  The impact of a single monster side-swell had busted the tracks.

Captain Jeff gets out the tool kit...

Big Drawer, No More. Luckily, the Moody 54 has many secret holds and compartments and we weren’t expecting any guests for this remote and rainy part of the trip.  We squirreled away all our nuts, dried fruits, cookies, and boxes of crackers in the forward stateroom’s closet shelves, turning it into a walk-in kitchen pantry.

Settling into a beautiful evening at Skull Cove, we realized we were in an extraordinarily wild and beautiful place, and that it was all worth it.  It turned out to be a perfectly still, high-tide evening punctuated by a resounding chorus of birds going bonkers  - including many breeding pairs of loons so loud they sounded like dogs barking on the water.  We sat in the cockpit, incredulous, listening to the night.

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