Jeff Weathers the Gale...

Saturday August 20

Jeff writing here.  Sitting at anchor in Whittaker Cove, or what we call that, just off the east side of Hecate Island near Hakai Pass.  Kim and the boys flew out yesterday afternoon, and despite the forecast, it's very still now.  The forecast is for this to come out of the south, so I’m considering moving to Pruth Bay with more protection on that side.  Decide instead to stay in this cove, but re-anchor for more swing room. I pulled up the hook to drop more in the center of the cove in 50’ of water and put out 225 feet of chain, then marked the spot on the GPS.  Sat in the cockpit and watched the local eagle swoop down, grab a fish and take it to his favorite rock. I visited the rock later and it was covered in fish and crab carcasses, his dining table I guess.

During the night the wind built, and was steady at 25 knots when I went to bed. I checked the GPS to measure position, and the boat was swinging further back (taking slack out of the line), but the anchor was holding. Barometer dropped .3” in 2 hours, so it looked like this system was coming through. Couple of hours later, the wind was 30-35 knots and gusting higher. At about 3am, a side gust heeled Heron over enough to cause all the galley cabinets and drawers to fly open (we never secure them at anchor) with a great crash, so a pretty good indication of the rocking.  That said, the boat held position, stayed dry and was mostly quiet down below. The wind was coming out of the east, not south, so Pruth Bay would have been a bad night since it is entirely exposed to swell from the east.  Glad to have stayed put!

Storm night anchor-swing.

Sunday it just poured all day. Probably 3” or 4” of rain. No reason to go anywhere, it was a good day to just read and do projects on the boat.  Hakai Lodge had brought in a group of 14 guests from Beijing, China on the plane that Kim flew out on. Of the four families, including small kids, only one spoke English (Tina).  Their first night in BC was an interesting one given the storm, the remote lodge and the distance from home. They were determined to fish and went out for most of the day Sunday and apparently had a great time.  They caught some fish and Clyde, owner of Hakai, gave them half the kitchen to use so they could prepare the fish however they wanted.  I talked to Tina the next day and she said they had a great time and couldn’t imagine the vastness of space with no building, “So much unbroken green here with no towns, air is so clear."  Kim got back on schedule Monday, we head north to Bella Bella and will tie up at Shearwater.

Catching Coho, Hakai Lodge

 

Anchored in Whittacre Cove, just south of Hakai Lodge – an old-school summer fishing lodge with gray-shingled cottages on floats, owned by the same family for 30 years, and towed from Hakai Pass to River’s Inlet each fall.  (Jeff and Heron will anchor here for three nights, while Kim and the boys return briefly to Seattle.) 

For $100 we rent a 17-foot Boston Whaler, rods, reels, and bucket of herring. Lodge manager, Byron hands us a placemat-sized map of Hakai Marine Park’s rocky exposed shoreline, points out where the Coho are running, and turns us loose.  

It’s fun speeding through the rocks and inlets, after moving at Heron’s pace.  James hooks a nice one, but the fish steals away. Darn! Jeff lands a Coho and a weird-looking rockfish.  Sam lands a second Coho… it’s a beauty, and James nets it perfectly. 

With Sam’s fish neatly filleted, Kim and the boys catch the lodge’s floatplane back to Seattle (a 4.5-hour flight over every island, fjord, and channel it's taken us two weeks to navigate), and Jeff dinghies back to the Heron.  Gale force winds are predicted, so we’re a bit concerned, although Whittacre Cove looks to be a well-sheltered anchorage.  Stay tuned for the storm report…!

Ashore, Serpent Islands!

 

After raising the sails – finally – then threading our way through the byzantine chain of Spider islands, we anchored in a hidden bay off Hurricane Cove.  Amazing!  The next morning, we motored past the hazardous Mosquito Islets, anchoring for a hike just off the lovely deserted Serpent Islands.  

 We dinghied ashore… and where met by mysterious tracks.  What were they?  Wolf?  Cougar?  Yellow Lab? We met a naturalist a few weeks later who confirmed that they were, in fact, wolverine. Whoa!

Wolverine meets wolverine...

 

Not sure what we’d find on the far side of the cove, we followed the tracks to the Pacific … where whatever had left them had long since vanished.  We explored tide pools rich with kelp and invertebrates, poked about piles of driftwood, and simply enjoyed being together on a wild deserted island in the sun.

Feels Like Polynesia, Almost

 

We’d dreamed of taking the boys to explore the wild islands north of Cape Caution – and luckily, our weather held for this leg of the journey.  We left Duncanby Marina, a newly restored fishing lodge where we’d docked at the mouth of River’s Inlet, motoring up Fitz Hugh Sound along the eastern edge of Calvert Island.   Watching Duncanby guests returning with obscene amounts of just-caught Coho (including a 38 pounder), James tried valiantly to rig a super-salmon lure and troll off  Heron’s stern , but no bites.  

 

We anchored in Calvert Island’s Pruth Bay just in time for a visit to the Hakai Research Institute and hike along its rain forest trail, which emerges upon Hakai’s magnificent West Beach.   The fragrant cedar-fresh scent of the forest changed as we neared the beach side, hinting at salt air.  We could hear the rhythm of gentle surf pounding.  “There’s surf here?” the boys asked, hopefully.  

The surf turned out to be one-foot rollers sweeping a mile-long beach, but the boys took off running down the powder-soft sand anyway.    Jeff and I took a walk in the opposite direction, then we all sat on a weathered driftwood log, buried our toes in the warm sand, and watched the sun set over the Pacific...

 

Hotdogs and Humpbacks

 

Seas were so calm rounding Cape Caution (named Cape Caution for a reason, no doubt), that Sam grilled up hot dogs for lunch.  Delish!  No sooner had we wiped up the mustard than we heard a long eerie-sounding exhalation from somewhere off the starboard bow.  Humpbacks! 

 

A pair of them, each 30-45 feet long, were feeding off two islets near the Cape. How much does a  humpback eat?  About 4,000 pounds of krill and plankton a day. We sat, full of hot dogs, and watched them floating and feeding.  It was mesmerizing.

The next hour offered up more wonders:  a fraternity of rowdy sea lions…long-necked cormorants stretching their wings… bald eagles fat as small dogs… and inside the protected coves just south of Rivers Inlet, MORE humpbacks!  We floated for an hour, watching them surface right beside Heron, land listened to their breathing.  In the morning, the humpbacks were so close, Jeff could see their barnacles glistening from the dock. 

Humpback...

Sea lion...

Humpback fluke...

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.