Crab Trap Mishap

Having safely rounded Brooks Peninsula, we are anchored in Columbia Cove. There is supposed to be a trail leading from the cove out to the ocean where there is a broad expanse of soft beach. We head off to find the trail. Find it we do, but it has been many years since anyone has maintained it.



We climb over fallen trees, clomp thru mud, fight our way thru vegetation and reach the beach.














It was worth the effort. The fog has lifted. It is beautiful, peaceful and all ours.





We hike along enjoying the expanse of beach and the rushing sound of the surf.



The First Mate finds a driftwood tree with rocks securely held by roots that had grown around them.















The Captain finds a float to attach to the shrimp trap in hopes of increasing its visibility at sea. Pleased with this find, he hauls it home.










We even do a photo shoot. Look! We were there – on a beach on the West Coast of Vancouver Island!








In the early hours of the morning, I again wake Bill. This time it is not the sound of a freight train barreling down on us. This time I hear birds. Lots of birds, twittering away above our heads, on the deck, all around us. I am told that it is only the wind in the wires, but there is no wind I note to him. Then I am told I am imagining things – which I am NOT. Then I am told to go up on the deck and check it out – which I will not do by myself. Then I am told to GO TO SLEEP – which he promptly does and I do not. I lay there listening to my “imagined” bird twitterings and beepings. The next morning Bill is up ahead of me making cappuccinos. We are socked in by fog so thick we cannot see the shore. Knowing we will not be going anywhere soon, I luxuriate in the warmth of the covers and wait for my cappuccino. Next thing I hear is Bill muttering and clomping around on deck. The deck is covered in bird poop! Yes, Bird Poop – as in my imagined twitterings and beepings. Avante became the overnight stopping place for a flock of LBDB’s (Little Black Diving Birds). Three are still stuck in the wheel well. Bill disentangles them and sets them loose on the water where they lay there feebly flapping those useless wings. I am called up to watch this exhibition. They look like fledgling LBDB’s who have not yet learned how to fly, but how they ever got across the water and up on Avante’s deck is beyond us. Crazy little birds!







The fog finally lifts enough, and at 12:10 we set off. We pick up the crab trap and are rewarded with one of the largest uglies we have seen to date. Wherever these guys lurk, there are no crabs.









Our destination is the Bunsby Islands, but, as we leave our anchorage, we hear another boat, “Constellation Orion” on the radio talking about the remains of a whale on a beach not too far from us. Off we go to find a dead whale. We find the cove and also find Lanikai, the Sabre 402 whose owner Bill had talked to way back in Port McNeil. They had been to the beach to see the remains already and were having lunch before departing for the Bunsby Islands. We head off to the beach, see the bones, absorb the stink, and neither of us have any thoughts of lunch after that! It was interesting - bones being bones and all. We were able to see a good deal of the spinal column under the water. The size was certainly impressive.













Part of the spinal column sized next to the 10’ tender.






We head over to Bunsby Islands, lower The Dingbat to explore and then head over to Lanikai where Irene and Barry McPhee invite us aboard for cocktails. They have two fishing poles on their boat. These are real fisherpeople or at least as much into fishing as owners of sailboats usually are. We lament our mutual failure at catching any fish in these waters. They are determined to fish tomorrow. We agree to try also, and I offer homemade fish chowder from my frozen stash in the freezer if none of us catches a fish.

Wednesday, July 3rd, is another foggy, wet, overcast day. On our way to Dixie Cove, we fish along the edges of a group of fishing boats. No luck. Both of us are of a fishing mentality which maintains that if you don’t catch something within the first half hour, it’s not going to happen – at least not there. So we move on, but by now we are bored and cold and just want to drop anchor and turn on the heat. We head into Dixie Cove dropping the doubly-marked shrimp trap on the way.














Warmed up, I start making fish chowder for two. Lanikai motors in and anchors near us. Upon hearing their lack of fishing success, I happily pull out a few more ingredients. The fish chowder is filling and warm. Irene adds a great salad. To our delight, the evening clears
and warms up enough so that we can enjoy a dessert of Swiss Chocolate and Cappuccinos on deck while watching the sunset.
















Lanikai in the evening light. Can you pick out the rainbow just over the mountain top?










Sunset in Dixie Cove.





















The next morning we haul up nine (9) shrimp! Enough at least for an appetizer. “Nothing better,” says The First Mate. Lanikai and Avante weigh anchor to head over to Rugged Beach where there’s another good hike. This one is actually maintained and in an area used regularly by kayakers. From there we head to Queen Cove. We actually get in 4 good hours of sailing with winds from the SE at 12 – 16 knots. Grey skies and low visibility do dampen some of the joy of sailing.

We anchor in Queen Cove after dropping that shrimp pot. To our amazement, the weather has turned warm and sunny, but it is now after 5:00. Overcast skies during the day breaking into warm sun in the late afternoon and early evening has been the pattern of late. This is definitely not Camelot!


Friday, July 4th – Rain and more rain. We have 30 rather uninteresting miles to travel to position ourselves to go around Estevan Point. Since the weather forecast for the next day does not look good for going around this point, The Captain deemed it useless to motor out those 30 miles in the rain. “Good idea”, thinks The First Mate. We stay put and work on – what do you think? – boat chores!

We delay our start on Saturday until almost 1:00 due to fog and rain, but finally we just decide to go. After a dreary 5 hours of motoring we anchor in Friendly Cove. Anchored below a Canadian lighthouse in this cozy bay, it certainly feels friendly and welcoming after an uncomfortable and cold passage. We spend a cool evening hunkered down on Avante, but when the next morning dawns sunny, we head ashore to explore the area.

Friendly Cove received this name in commemoration of many agreements and treaty signings that took place there over the centuries. The most remembered appears to have been the one in 1792 when Captain Vancouver from England and Captain Quadra from Spain met to sign and carry out the terms of the Nootka Convention in which Spain relinquished all its claims to the Northwest lands. Spain had held these claims since the 1400’s, but due to internal problems and general lack of interest, they apparently were unwilling to engage in a war with England to keep their claims. The old Catholic church in the cove has 2 elegant stained glass windows depicting this event. The church also holds many well preserved First Nations’ carvings. This area has been designated a National Historical Site by the Canadian Government, and plans are in the works to one day build a museum and educational center. Needing a huge capital investment, it is going to be quite a while, if ever, for these plans to reach completion.












































Hiking along a water front path and down to the beach, we find an old cemetery with crosses and tomb stones eerily peaking up thru heavy shrubbery and vines.







Friendly Cove proved to be a delightful stop made all the more welcoming by the sunny weather that morning.











We pulled anchor at 1:00 to head to Hot Springs Cove eagerly anticipating the soaking that those hot waters meant. We raise sails right out of the harbor and neatly round Estevan Point in rolling seas and 15 – 18 knot winds. We drop sail at the entrance to Hot Springs Cove. It is a long motor down the channel to the cove, which proves to be uninteresting and not at all pretty, but we are looking forward to those soaking, aromatic waters. Who cares what the immediate scenery looks like?

It is 7:00. Without further adieu, we lower The Dingbat to head ashore for our baths. Our timing is perfect, for all the tourist traffic flying or boating in from nearby Tofino have left for the day. There is a mile-long wooden walkway leading thru dense vegetation to the hot springs. Over the years, boaters have carved the names of their boats in the wooden planks adding a certain charm to the area. When we finally arrive at the springs, we find the area deserted of all forms of humankind. We are quite pleased with ourselves and our timing.











A series of rocky pools lead from a waterfall of hot water down to the ocean. Each pool is increasingly cooler as the water moves farther from its heated source. In the cold, damp evening air, we find ourselves in the hottest pool nearest the waterfall. What a luxury to soak in those warm waters looking out on the ocean and to have the whole place to ourselves!



Today, Monday, July 7th, we are heading to Tofino, a popular adventure holiday and tourist town along this western coast. Again, we have a great sail in 15 – 18 knot winds down to the Templar Channel leading into Tofino. Sails are dropped, and we slowly navigate our way thru this well marked, but shallow channel. We don’t dare wonder off course, for we could run aground quite quickly. We are relieved to get thru the channel and into Tofino harbor, but here too depth is an issue for us. After fueling, we slowly motor pass several small marinas that look somewhat decrepit and uninviting. According to the charts, these marinas are also too shallow for us. We decide to head back to the harbor entrance to anchor there when an attendant from one of the marinas motors out to talk to us. Upon determining that Avante’s 9’ keel is indeed too deep for his marina, he advises us to anchor just off Arret Island right across the harbor. This we do, and it proves a great anchorage sheltered from the wind, though not from the current which is the strongest we have ever seen in any harbor.



This is to be a restocking and laundry stop, for which The Captain has allocated The First Mate one full day. We drop The Dingbat to head ashore to reconnoiter and find dinner. As we motor in, we drop the crab trap. There are lots of crab traps all over the bay, and many appear to be from commercial fisherman. We figure this must be the place for these succulents.

We walk the town from one end to the other. It does not take long, and I am disappointed with the lack of interesting stores. Even the grocery is a huge disappointment. Tofino had been described to us as a smaller version of Carmel, California. Way smaller, for sure – and a ton more primitive. We see no similarity at all, no way!

The First Mate spends the next day doing several loads of laundry in a rather sad Laundromat. Upon returning to the dock where she is retrieved by The Captain, her gallant dinghy chauffeur, she is informed that her crab trap has disappeared. “What do you mean my crab trap has disappeared,” she inquires in alarmed disbelief. The Captain informs her that he has been circling around the spot where we dropped the crab trap and he has motored both up and down possible paths the current could have dragged the thing, and he cannot find it. Laundry is deposited on the boat, grocery list is picked up, and The First Mate retraces her path across the harbor, all the while looking for her vanished crab trap. She runs into that same marine attendant who tells her that the current is so strong in the harbor that not only do traps get dragged, but floats get pulled under to suddenly pop to surface at slack tide. “Look for your trap at slack tide,” he optimistically advises. Look we do. Like lost souls, we wander the harbor in The Dingbat at slack tide. We see many floats bobbing on the surface as the current ebbs, and anxiously head over to check each of them out. But we cannot find the one bearing my name. I am disconsolate. This is beyond belief. This cannot be happening, but it is. The trap cannot be found. My crab trap! After all I put Bill thru with the thing, will he ever allow me to buy another? As we motor out the harbor the next day, my eyes are scanning all around looking one last time for the crab trap. What a dismal departure! The First Mate is in tears, and The Captain is wondering why in heaven’s name it could not have been the stupid shrimp trap! He would have gladly given the sea the shrimp trap. It could have had the two floats, too. Hearing those thoughts, The First Mate is somewhat consoled by the thought that the procurement of a new Crab Trap may be a possibility at a future date – like when we get to Mexico. Ever the optimist, she just knows there are crabs down there -- for sure! All waiting for the taking!