In Praise of Shrimp

You betcha – we caught ‘em!

But first, here’s how we got there. After leaving Chatterbox Falls, our next destination was the cruising waters and islands of Desolation Sound. It takes two days to traverse the distance north. We chose a marine park on Hardy Island to overnight on the way north. The island proved to be well named for, in an area already full of granite and stone, this island was the rockiest and stoniest we had seen to date. The few houses we saw looked like they had a mere toehold on the land. You just knew that those who felt called to this island were indeed “hardy” souls. When we pulled into the marine park, there were several smaller sailboats all stern-tied to the shore. That system takes more work than just dropping and setting an anchor off the bow, but with depths in the bay at 90 and more feet, not many small boats have enough chain to enable them to anchor in these depths. Having put on extra chain for last year’s trip to Alaska where we often had no choice but to anchor in depths around 100’, we are delighted to be able to drop our anchor rather than go thru a stern-tie exercise.

The next day we enjoy a wonderful sail up the Strait of Georgia to Gorge Harbor. The year before with friends from Telluride, Judy Hall and Warner Paige, we had endured a miserable, grey 13-hour slog up this channel to gratefully drop anchor in this same harbor. The four of us had gone to sleep with the sound of rain on the roof but awoken to a gorgeous blue-sky morning. This second time we have the sun and blue all along and sailing too!

The Gorge is a narrow slot that takes one into (what else?), Gorge Harbor. It proves every bit as interesting as that first trip.












We anchor.

We lower The Dingbat.

We head ashore for showers. All clean and feeling good, we wander over to the little convenience store to purchase the garlic that Sue knew she was going to need for those Desolation Sound shrimp.

Gorge Harbor, at the entrance to Desolation Sound, is just one of those “must stop” places.











The next morning we pull anchor and motor out The Gorge for what will be the last time unless we decide to return to these waters after our world cruising is finished.

Once again, we search the granite wall at the entrance for ancient First Nation’s rock paintings that are supposed to still be visible, but we cannot locate them. Either they have eroded with time or they are one of those things you have to be shown first. Once seen, they jump out at you and you wonder how/why you could not have see them earlier. Which ever it is, we cannot find them.





We return to the Strait of Georgia, shortly turn east up Baker Passage and then north into Desolation Sound. Those snow-capped mountains draw our eyes north as they did all last year on our voyage to Alaska. The day is warm. The wind is up and behind us. We raise sail and continue wing-on-wing into this area of deep passages, waterfalls and islands – an area Vancouver found so overbearingly depressing he named it Desolation Sound. For us, like last year, it is a fascinating area to explore with warmer waters and brilliant sunshine. That is exactly what we do sailing up one channel and down another until the wind finally dies down in the late afternoon. We head over to Prideaux Haven. Just outside the entrance to the harbor, we drop sail and drop the shrimp trap. This is Desolation Sound. This is where those B-I-G shrimp are. The First Mate baits the trap box, and, to sweeten the attraction, she ties on the head of a salmon she had bought in the fish store in Ganges Harbor. She hauls trap and orange bucket of neatly coiled rope to the bow. The Captain stops the boat, over goes the trap with rope neatly uncoiling behind it. The Captain is amazed, and The First Mate hides her satisfaction with a nonchalant air. “Go trap, Go rope, Come on, Shrimp!”

Though there are a few other boats in our favorite spot to anchor, we are able to position Avante within prime view territory. Prideaux Haven is another one of those must-see spots. It is a maze of rocky, little islands with evergreens tenaciously clinging on the edges. There are isolated lagoons to explore and drop-dead views to catch your breath and make you pause. It is an area made for relaxing on deck in the sun and for exploring, preferably by dingy as I soon learn.





We spend the early evening on deck relaxing in the warmth and the sun.

A man from a near-by sailboat rows over in his dingy to say hello. In talking, we mention that we are going to hike over to Tenedos Bay in the morning. “There is supposed to be a trail leading out of the lagoon behind us”, says Bill. Grace and Rob Dodge join us the next day for this 2 – 3 hour hike that turns into 6. The trail starts out quite nicely and then deteriorates into primitive track that has us scrambling over huge deadfall, bolters and streams.

After years of hiking the San Juans of Telluride, The First Mate takes it all in stride.

Several times, this “trail” just plain disappears causing us great difficulty to relocate. Rob turns out to be made out of the same stuff as Bill. “We came here to hike to Tenedos Bay. It’s just over that ridge (or maybe that ridge over there). Damit, we’re going to find it!” Well, find it we did, tramping thru moist dense rainforest not sure whether one’s foot was going to sink 3 inches or 3 feet.

One of the highlights of the adventure was a stop at an inland freshwater lake to relax. We shared oranges and wished we were prepared to go for a swim -- it was just that warm! (Almost)

Another interesting highlight, causing The First Mate her usual child-like delight in inane things, was the spotting of “tree stump” man complete with a moss-covered cap.













We greatly enjoyed our hike with Grace and Rob and listening to their very interesting life story. When they were in their early 20’s, they were invited to spend a short holiday on a friend’s sailboat. They thought it was most romantic and decided then and there that they (who were not sailors) were going to buy a sailboat and sail around the world. They end up putting in a low-ball offer for the hull of a 36’ sailboat. It is accepted (my god, now what do we do?), and Rob and Grace, neither of whom had ever built more than a birdhouse, complete the boat. They garner ideas and suggestions from all the accomplished boaters around them, decide which suggestion is best for them and then build it or put it into their boat. When they finally have the mast put in, they set off for their first sail. Grace recounts how difficult it was to get out of the way of the ferries up here when you aren’t yet ready to point your tippy little boat more than a 5 degree angle. Hey, I can relate to that! They spend about 4 years learning to sail “Nanamuk”, an Indian name for Sea Otter – a perfect name for their pretty ocean-going home. They save their money, quit their pharmacist jobs and, with their plastic sextant, take off to see the world. Three years later they return, go back to work, have 2 children, save their money and about 10 years later, take off with their 6 and 7 year-olds to see the world again. This time they are gone for 6 years. We ply them with questions and totally enjoy listening to their stories, especially how they delicately declined the well-meant offer of a herd of camels as bride price for their daughter in that part of the world where such things are still done.






Upon returning to Avante, we grab a quick lunch and head off in The Dingbat to explore by water. We pull up to several of the smaller islands.

We head out of the protected harbor to capture this shot.

In the early evening, we head back to Avante. Prideaux Haven has truly offered us its best.

The next morning, we head out to pick up that shrimp trap. We had heard that a neighboring boat had hauled up 17 large shrimp the evening before. I’m ready, but Bill’s not placing any bets. Pulling up the trap is now teamwork. The Captain pulls – The First Mate coils. The trap comes up. There’s shrimp! 17 large ones or at least kind of large ones. Stretch it a little, and there will be enough for a dinner.

That evening, I make Gambas al Ajillo with rice and roasted asparagus. A good white wine compliments the dinner. There’s a candle on the table. Rod Stewart (One of Bill’s favorites) is on the CD. Heavenly! I just knew this shrimping venture was going to work, but the real surprise for me is how very, very different fresh-caught shrimp is from any that you buy in a store no matter how “fresh” they are supposed to be. The texture and sweetness are beyond description. All other shrimp I’ve ever had now pale by comparison. In one evening, I have become a Shrimp Snob. AJ’s, Bristol Farms or any so-called “fresh fish” supplier – eat your heart out! None of you can provide the true taste of right-out-of-the-water shrimp. I’m hooked and spoiled for life. Give me shrimp! Fresh-caught shrimp.