Orcas Everywhere...

 

Pushing off the dock at Cordova Lodge, we shot through Greenpointe and Whirlpool rapids, riding the remnants of a flood tide, which added an extra 4 -5 knots to Heron’s boat speed.  We clocked 11.5 over the bottom (practically flying by Heron standards), and turned into Johnstone Strait.

Johnstone can be rough, but mercifully, conditions were strangely calm: the water flat, the sky blue.  We spotted our first Bonaparte gulls, a  flock of  small, elegant white birds skittering over the water's surface.  Along with the chilly fresh air, the birds signaled that we were headed north again…

Jeff and James were playing backgammon in the cockpit when we suddenly spotted orcas off the port beam. “Grab the camera!” “Get the binoculars!” we all shouted at one another,  waiting to see where they’d surface next.  We didn’t have to wait long;  in a few moments two pairs surfaced and followed right beside us, not even 25 yards off the boat. It was two mothers, each trailed closely by a calf, and the visceral thrill of seeing those big black and tiny black dorsal fins slicing through the water right alongside us is almost indescribable.

 

We knew that about 30 different orca pods move between Washington state and the northern coast of British Columbia – and that nearly half of them can be found in Johnstone Strait in summer, feeding on migrating salmon.  But we never counted on seeing them; last summer we crossed Johnstone twice without spotting a single whale.

This year, though, felt like we’d hit the jackpot:  the four orcas joined another group closer to shore – including a huge alpha male – and soon they all formed a wide flank, following us off the stern.  We were surrounded by orcas for over an hour.  By the time we pulled into the docks at Port McNeill we were still on a high, feeling like we’d sailed into a National Geographic special.  After dinner we re-played the videos the boys shot, reliving a remarkable day.

 

Seely Boys Aboard, Yahoo!

We were up before sunrise today, pushing off from SYC’s Cortes Outstation at 5 a.m. in order to time our passage through the Yuculta Rapids at slack tide and make it to Dent Island Lodge for the boys’ arrival at noon.   The instant we slid away from the dock there was an enormous white flash.  Had we forgotten to disconnect our power cord, blowing up the outstation?  No, thankfully – it was lightning soon followed by thunder.  Bundled up on deck, coffee mugs in hand, we huddled under our new canvas trying to enjoy the dramatic sunrise and chill morning rain...

 

 

By the time Sam and James landed at Dent Island Lodge the sun was shining thankfully, and it seemed warm enough for a swim.  (NOT EVEN CLOSE!)  As the boys jumped off the back of the Heron, a small crowd gathered to take bets on how long they’d endure the 54 degree water.  

(Average:  3 seconds.)

Dad, do you have a towel??!!!

 

We enjoyed cocktails for 9 in Heron's cockpit, along with H's fresh-caught salmon and Corliss wines in the Dent Island Lodge dining room, overlooking Canoe Pass with old and new friends:  Howard and Robbie Wright, Mike and Lori Corliss, and their daughter, Sydney.  All too soon it was time to cast off. but happily, we were headed "North" again with our favorite crew...

All Sails Up, Georgia Strait

The tides of the Pacific Northwest are typically semi-diurnal – and extreme.  Consulting tide charts shows two high tides and two low tides every 24 hours.  As Heron slipped out of Newcastle Island Marine Park (where we’d anchored for the night, just above Nanaimo), at 7:30 a.m., Jeff noted that dead low tide would be at 7:48 a.m.  The sailboat we’d seen leaving 5 minutes ahead of us failed to note this, apparently. As we rounded a rocky islet, there it was: hard aground atop a sandbar, going nowhere.  Ouch!

Imagine the discussion in THAT cockpit!!!   Not even 8 a.m...

We set out across the Straits of Georgia in early morning light, the wind picking up from 7.5 knots to 10, then 15, as we hit open water.  We put up all three sails and had a glorious run across the Straits; averaging boat speeds of 7.5 – 7.9 knots under sail.  Heron handled beautifully under these conditions, humming across the water.  We savored the sound of the wind in the canvas, the waves splashing off the hull, and just enjoyed the simple warmth of the sun as it pierced through the clouds, shining on Heron’s foredeck.

We lost the wind, as usual, rounding the southern tip of Texada Island.  Then, when we went to start the engine:  nothing.  Dead silence. A bit unnerving, as we were afloat in the middle of the Straits of Georgia. Jeff went to check  below, fearing there was a connectivity issue.  Still, nothing.  He pulled out the strainers, found a jellyfish clogging one, tossed the jellyfish overboard, and reset the strainer.  When Kim retried the starter:  Eureka! Power again. 

We docked at the SYC Garden Bay outstation, re-provisioning and wheeling our cartfull of produce and Canadian Kokanee beer down to the dock.  Bumped into Malcolm of Coon Island while grocery shopping, Malcolm joined us for cocktails on the boat.  Fun!

                                           

                                            It was still T-shirt-weather by dinner time, 9 pm.  

Swamped!

                                                                     

Heron’s adventures got off to a now-almost-routine start this summer as James drove Kim and Jeff down to the dock early Saturday morning, untied their lines, and waved goodbye. (Phew, would they ever leave?) After much last-minute wrangling, everyone is happy:  James gets the house to himself for a few days, Mom and Dad get to move the boat north, and Sam (who finally landed a job in San Francisco last week, hooray!), gets to join the trip after all.

Heron motored out of Elliott Bay, the Seattle skyline receding beneath a blanket of low clouds.  The water was glassy, the wind a whisper at just 3.5 knots.  The morning was completely uneventful, routine even.  Then, as we proceeded through the shipping lanes on autopilot, an enormous Evergreen container ship passed us to port.  It wasn’t any bigger than any other behemoth container ship, but for some reason it threw up a wake that was 8-10 feet high…

 “Holy shit, look at those waves!” Jeff yelled, coming up from below.  Too late.  We watched in a mix of awe and horror, as we buried the boat’s nose in the giant wake and green water crashed over the bow. As two to three feet of water poured over the foredeck, slammed into the windscreen, then sloshed back funneling down the deck drains, we realized we’d left the hatches open a crack. Uh-oh… 

In the cabin we found salt water everywhere:  sloshing back and forth on the office’s wooden desk, puddling atop the  front stateroom comforter, soaking the leather banquette and wood floor under the dinette… We spent the next 15 minutes on our hands and knees cursing and using every fresh-laundered towel we had to clean up the mess.

By 2 pm we had to laugh.  Towels were hanging off every rail, drying in the sun.  Heron looked like she’d been commandeered by gypsies. 

“That was the most water we’ve ever had on deck, I should have immediately throttled down… what a dumb-shit,” Jeff said in retrospect.  Kim was just glad Chet was the one who’d left the hatches openJ As the old saying goes, a little salt water never hurt anything.

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...