The Captain Triumphant

On Wednesday, June 18th, we head across the Strait of Georgia to Campbell River to provision, refuel, top off water tanks and do laundry. Our plans the next day are to head north thru Seymour Rapids and then cut up a channel to Cordero Lodge where we had had an enjoyable lay-over last year. It dawns rainy and grey. Bill has another satellite conference call as we motor across the strait. The one-hour or so call goes on to three, and, as the wind picks up, he bemoans the fact that because of the call, we cannot raise sail. The First Mate tells him to “dream on”. It is a team effort to raise sail on this J-160, and in this cold British Columbia rain, The Captain’s team is on strike which means that autopilot is competently doing its job and The First Mate is cozily sitting in the shelter of the dodger out of the elements. There is where she intends to stay. She can think of nothing that would move her to stand at the helm, gamely holding the bow into the wind (and the rain), while the sail is being raised. Absolutely nothing. Life is too short! The Captain talks on, and The First Mate remains either curled in a ball under the dodger or standing in the companion way on look out.

Campbell River is one of the best harbors along the eastern coast of Vancouver Island for a quick turn-around. Everything needed is within walking distance. The stores are well stocked, and the laundry and showers are modern and clean. There’s even a Starbucks. The only problem is that there is always a strong tidal current in the harbor making docking a challenge. Today there is also a stiff wind coming from the south. We have been given the end slot on the north side of a north/south running dock. With the tide running out or north as it does in this harbor that means that both tide and wind are going to be doing their utmost to push Avante off the dock and wreck havoc with any docking procedure attempted. I slowly motor down towards the dock and turn the boat around to back on down to the dock. I have come to trust backing in like this, for Avante does back down beautifully. With Bill’s help, I have adjusted angle and speed for wind and current. Avante approaches the dock and for a scant two seconds, she is alongside the dock. Time enough for Bill to jump off with the mid-ship line, secure that and then run aft to secure the stern line that he carried off with him at the same time. As soon as I see that Avante is on the dock with at least one rope tied, I run forward to get ready to throw Bill the bow line.

This is the part I positively dread. I am to throw this thick, black dock rope to him as quickly as I can. It’s heavy, usually wet and just plain yucky. I don’t even like touching the thing. My antipathy toward it has given it life, and it’s as much against me as I am against it. With all that dislike in the air between us and my stomach in knots, I now have to pick it up and throw it to the poor sucker (usually Bill) standing there on the dock waiting for what he thinks is a lifeless twist of benign rope to come looping over to fall just to his side so he can effortlessly catch it. Try as I do, that just doesn’t happen. What can I say? I throw like a girl. It truly is pathetic. I get the rope all set or so I think. I make sure which end is the throwing end and which is attached to the boat. I hurl the rope thru the air in one powerful thrust. It all goes sailing out, seems to hit some kind of invisible wall and then plummets straight down giving poor Bill a mad scramble to retrieve before it goes into the water – which, unfortunately, it does have a spiteful, willful tendency to do. Upon such occasions, the look I receive from Bill has no one guessing that he’d like to send me in after it. Now I have to retrieve this thoroughly wet and slimy thing, recoil it somehow so it will loop out without tangling and catching up short to only go back in the water and then valiantly heave it out to Bill again. I swear I have seen that rope lie there panting at me just daring me to touch it again. At other times, I’m so full of angst that I turn sideways and kind of slingshot the rope over to that same poor sucker. On those occasions, Bill had better madly duck or be knocked for a loop by this incoming missile. Again, the look and exclamation The First Mate receives from her Captain is far from uplifting. All this throwing and heaving, of course, have to be done in double time because Avante is only being held to the dock by one or two lines. It is all a truly pathetic show and quite embarrassing for both Captain and First Mate. I absolutely don’t know what to do to augment my throwing arm.

Must I here also mention another part of the equation that goes arm in arm with throwing? I must. It is “AIM”. Aim as in one’s intended target. Aim as in “Susan, where the H--- were you aiming?” Suffice it to say, that where I aim has nothing to do with where the rope goes. The farther away I am from that poor sucker on the dock the more likely he is to have no worry about the rope hitting him or even getting close to him. His worry is a simple one: can he get to it fast enough before it slithers off the dock and into the water. I think it’s all a physics thing again. Further study is going to have to be made on the throwing characteristics of dock rope as well as the throwing handicaps of one female First Mate. Stay tuned. I will let you know when I get this all worked out, for I must. There are no two ways about it. I refuse to continue to look like a three year-old trying to throw a medicine ball. This pathetic show has got to stop.

This time at the Campbell River dock I do manage to throw ropes fairly well. Avante is tied to the dock, but not exactly nestled in. The current and wind have pushed Avante off the dock during the time that it took us to secure the lines. I point out to The Captain that he may be able to jump 4’ from boat to dock or dock to boat, but The First Mate certainly cannot. So, together we pull Avante closer. Bill rigs up spring lines, and we are set. We barely have time to admire our work before another sailboat motors up to the dock just down from ours. Instead of backing down, they motor into the fairway and then make a quick turn to come into the dock head on. They have two on deck to handle lines instead of one as we do on Avante, but neither is moving fast enough. The boat ends up tied at the stern but jutting straight out into the fairway. No one appears to now know what to do. A fishing boat comes along and offers assistance. A line is thrown to the fishing boat, and the askew sailboat is pulled back to the dock. Needless to say, I am feeling pretty good about our docking in this adverse wind and current. Even with my abysmal childlike throwing exhibition, we looked quite professional getting Avante on dock and secure. Later I meet The First Mate (wife) of that boat in the laundry. She tells me how envious she and her husband were watching our boat back down to dock because their boat is a “pig” to back up. “Pig” being her word, not mine. Then she tells me how amazed she was to see me, a woman, at the helm. That really made my day -- but – hold on - there is so much that can go wrong so quickly on a sailboat, that you cannot let any compliment go to your head. One small mistake can quickly spell disaster. Still it does make this First Mate feel like she’s getting somewhere on this long learning curve of boat handling.

After that miserable, windy, rainy slog across the Strait of Georgia, the skies clear, and it becomes a bright, sunny, albeit windy, day in harbor. I now have the boat and crew turn-around logistics down to a science. With no hold-ups like waiting in line for a clothes dryer or having to walk 2 miles to the grocery and then take a taxi back to the boat, the tasks of shower, laundry and shopping take 6 hours. That’s keeping on the move the whole time – hauling laundry, hauling groceries, etc. This is not my favorite time. If the boat also needs a good cleaning below deck, add another 2 hours at least, and then The Captain had better take The First Mate out to dinner. I have neglected to add the time I would like at my disposal to converse over the internet with the outside world and to update the blog. The blog alone can run between 2 – 4 or more hours depending upon how temperamental it is acting on that day. Add the hours together, and The First Mate would like a full day or at least an afternoon and the following morning in harbor. She has not always been understood and received this meager amount of time. The Captain, however, is belatedly and log-headedly getting the idea that this thing called Marital Bliss, at which he has scoffed, is a definite reality aboard the sailing vessel Avante, and appropriate harbor time has begun to appear on the schedule.

Setting off with four loads of laundry. The Captain is following with the other two, for The First Mate could not truck it all on her own.


All tasks are done. The First Mate decides Avante is clean enough, and the internet can wait until the next marina. A nice dinner on shore has been procured. We are prepared to head off to Seymour Narrows tomorrow around 10:30 so we can catch the slack tide at 11:15. We wake up to pelting rain and winds in the harbor clocking in at 20 to 25 knots.


Note the flag and streamers, both flapping madly, on this boat in harbor.

The First Mate is about to voice her objection to floating movement of any kind when The Captain wisely sidetracks her with his opinion that it is too miserable to motor out anywhere. We sit out the storm in harbor each contentedly involved in his/her own interests. For The First Mate, internet and blog are on the agenda.


Ahead for us await Seymour Narrows and Johnstone Strait. Even cruise ship operators respect these two stretches of water where current and wind have brought disaster to the unwary. If you have not read the entry in the blog of June 15, 2007 entitled “The Rapids”, you might want to do so to obtain a fuller picture of this stretch of nasty water. As we had already navigated these rapids successfully last year and I now fully understand the significance of slack tide, I thankfully will not be spending a sleepless night worried about what lies ahead.

There certainly is an advantage in doing something a second time. Last year, having read the books about the extreme currents in The Narrows, we planned our departure from Campbell River to reach the entrance just before slack tide. We went thru with no problem and continued up Discovery Passage to Johnstone Strait. The slack we chose, because it allowed a convenient departure time, was the tide change from ebb to flood. As we were heading toward the sea into the flooding tide, our speed forward kept getting slower and slower as the incoming current increased. When one’s boat speed is only 8 knots, 3 knots of adverse current is a big deal. Our Speed Over Ground (SOG) was often a dismally slow 4 – 5 knots.

Bill, being the Type A personality that he is, did not want to view Johnstone Strait quite so slowly this year. He checked the tide table and found the slack current in Seymour Narrows occurred at 0629 and 1255. The First Mate thought the 1255 time was terrific as that meant an 11:15 departure from Campbell River. The Captain pointed out that the 0629 time was a shift from flood to ebb tide, and if we went with an ebbing tide by the time we got to Johnstone Strait, we’d have all that wonderful current moving with us. That meant leaving Campbell River at 5:15 or, more precisely, rising out of a warm bed at 4:30. “It’s still dark then”, opines The First Mate. “No, up here, if you were ever awake at that time, you would have noticed that it is light at 4:30”, sagely replies The Captain. Ignoring this retort, The First Mate plans for an 11:15 departure, and The Captain acquiesces to the rebuff. The storm, however, which gave us a relaxing day in harbor has now put us behind a day. The Captain is not going to be put off so easily anymore. On Friday, June 20th, the alarm clock, which The First Mate no longer believes belongs in her life, rang at 4:30. Bleary eyed and half-awake, she exits the harbor. There is nobody out there which she tells The Captain is at it should be at this unnatural hour. Ignored, she is told to set the engine on high speed. “Signal Buster”, says the former aircraft carrier pilot. “We are 15 minutes late!” As the tide is still flooding in, there are 2 knots against us giving us a mere 6 knots of over-the-ground speed. “Just wait”, enthuses The Captain.

Gradually a few other cruisers and even tugs with tows appear out of the mist. As we round the bend and can see the entrance to Seymour Narrows several miles ahead, two powerboats that had been waiting the slack begin to move toward and thru the entrance. We enter notorious Seymour Narrows 10 minutes after slack tide. Traversing The Narrows at slack is once again a non-event, but that is as it should be with proper foresight and planning.



As the tide slowly changes from flood to ebb, we watch our SOG inch upward. We are heading north with the current just as The Captain planned. The First Mate, still bleary eyed, is unimpressed, but is told that current does not reverse instantly. As it slowly changes direction, it slowly builds up speed. We reach Chatham Point where Discovery Passage joins Johnstone Strait in one hour and 25 minutes. Last year it had taken us 10 minutes longer. “No big deal”, mutters The First Mate. “For this I was forced out of bed at 4:30!”


After watching clouds and dark for a few more minutes and noting that autopilot is capably doing her job, she dispiritedly returns to bed to catch up on her interrupted sleep, leaving The Captain to watch his SOG by himself, alone, in the dark. Hardly noticing her absence, he is in his element comparing last year’s times to this year’s and with immense satisfaction, watching this year’s speed and time constantly increasing.

When I return to deck in the daylight under partially sunny skies, we are flying down Johnstone Strait averaging between 10.5 to 11 knots. The Captain is elated with himself and his strategy. Our record is 13.6 knots as we race thru Current Passage.

Even the winds are helping us. Johnstone Strait winds are well respected and are published on the marine forecasts often accompanied with ominous gale force warnings. Today, they are supposed to be light in the morning picking up from the south in the afternoon. They do as predicted, and pick up to 10 knots as we clear Current Passage.


When the wind speed builds to 15 knots, Bill sets the jib to flying. The wind was soon gusting between 20 – 25 knots enabling the jib to pull us along quite nicely.












Note the unsettled water due to the conflicting currents in Johnstone Strait. Now imagine what it would look like with gale force winds blowing in against the current. Definitely not a place to be – as the books so strongly advise.

At 1310 (Captain’s log), we round Cracroft Point and enter Blackney Passage headed for the Broughton Islands. We had covered the 74 miles from Campbell River in 7 hours and 40 minutes. The Captain is positively jubilant. He has triumphed. Last year this same trip had taken us two days slogging up hill against both wind and current. This year, it is over in a little less than eight hours. We averaged a thrilling and racing 10 knots per hours. Even The First Mate is impressed -- as she well should be!


Under calm conditions (wind and sea) we enter narrow White Beach Passage and head to anchor. We had screamed past the turn-off to Cordero Lodge at which we had planned to overnight in order to arrive in the Broughton Islands, on schedule, with a stretch of relaxed exploring days ahead of us.

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.

Blue Sky and Grey Clouds

They say a photo is worth a thousand words, and this one sure tells the story of our voyage to date. We sail from one atmospheric condition to the other. Blue to Grey and Grey to Blue. Between the two extremes, we have encountered great sailing winds. Thus, all has not been lost.








On June 12th, we head to a popular and much photographed spot called Chatterbox Falls. By coincidence, I had just started reading a book sent to me by veteran sailor and Telluride friend, Lou Fanning. “The Curve of Time” by M. Wylie Blanchet is a memoir of the summers she, alone with her five young children and sometimes a dog, spent cruising the waters of the Pacific Northwest in the 1930’s and 40’s. Their water home was a 25’ motor vessel with a beam of 6 1/2’. (Avante in comparison is 52’ with a beam of 14 1/2’, and we two are quite comfortable. Thank you.) They explored this coast at a time when little was known of it and much has changed since. They caught fish easily (fewer fish now) and cooked them over fires on the beach (prohibited in many places now). They would favor a spot and spend 2 weeks there with no other visiting vessel to intrude (impossible now). They each had one set of clothes and a bathing suit. How? Bathing suit? Global Warming? Isn’t happening here! However, aside from all comparisons past to present or maybe because of them, this book has had me enthralled and caught me in its magic from the first page. (Thank you, Lou!)

The coincidence of my starting the book as we sailed toward Chatterbox Falls is that that is the first adventure described in the book. I am sailing it with her and seeing it thru her much wiser eyes. Chatterbox Falls is at the end of a 3-mile inlet called Princess Louisa Inlet. To get there, one must go down a long fiord whose name changes with each of three bends. I learn from her that Vancouver gave this area these names in honor of his sovereigns. Placing himself among the mighty, he gave his name to a large bay we sailed by and that she and her children stopped in for lunch while she, in a moment’s time, caught three trout in the near-by steam. Was Vancouver so sure that he had finally found the inland passage thru these mountains to the east that he gave this fiord such esteemed names: Prince of Wales Reach, Princess Royal Reach and Queens Reach? He did not explore Princess Louisa Inlet mistaking the narrow entrance with swift running rapids for a creek. He, therefore, did not name Princess Louisa Inlet nor did he give the improbable name of Malibu Rapids to the narrow entrance whose waters can race at 10 – 12 knots over barely submerged rocks.

Setting off at 8:30 in the morning, we have about 45 miles to go to catch the slack tide at 3:00 over Malibu Rapids.



Bill starts the day with a satellite connection to the outside world and a board meeting.










After the call, The First Mate treats The Captain to a Birthday Brunch.






The guidebooks talk about winds that in-flow and out-flow in these fiords creating great sailing, but we had experienced no such winds in any of the many fiords we had sailed up and down on our Alaskan trip last year. Expecting no such great sailing, to our amazement, the winds did pick up to 7, 8, 9 and even 12 knots.

We raised our sails and made excellent time sailing down wind to our destination. An interesting phenomenon occurred each time we rounded a bend. We set the autopilot to follow a course based on wind angle. The wind turned the corner up the fiord, and Avante under the autopilot’s control did the same. It was fascinating to observe the slow change in angle as we rounded each corner.


The massive, granite walls of the fiord rise straight up above us as they emerge from their watery depths to heights of 6,000’ and more. If we had wanted to, we could have sailed right up to the walls and touched them. Depths in these fiords are as astounding as the heights above.

The cloud cover is low, blanketing the peaks above us. It is easy to imagine walls and clouds pressing in on us. For the first time, I am able to understand and empathize with Vancouver’s antipathy toward these towering heights. My advantage over Vancouver is that, with my charts and quidebooks, I know what lies ahead around each corner. Vancouver did not, and from his uncertain perspective, these monoliths would be foreboding.

We sailed down the fiord to Malibu Rapids, dropped sail, and dropped the shrimp trap. Guess who dropped the trap? If one remembers, I had a very difficult time coiling the rope as I pulled it in the first time. My poor job led to a coiled-up mess. Bill did his own tangle-tango up there getting ropes, weights, trap and float back in the water. The Captain is far from pleased with this whole endeavor, and The First Mate knows for sure she better come up with a workable system of rope management ASAP. Do Captains have the option of mutiny? Of course not -- but The First Mate could be made to walk the plank. Better get thinking.

The tide is now slack, though we are running late because of the shrimp trap launch. We rush toward the barely discernable entrance to the pass. I wish I had been able to take pictures of this relatively short and potentially lethal little pass, but there was not a moment when full attention was not needed at the helm to hold the course. In our favor was the fact that the middle of the pass was well deep enough for Avante, and, of course, we are at slack tide so we will not be tossed about by the 12-knot currents created by the tide racing in or running out. Against us, however, was a narrow, “S”-shaped passage running thru a minefield of rocks and sand bars. The passage itself cannot be seen until you are directly in front of it giving you no time to contemplate what lies ahead. Only the charts tell you. Upon entering, you are confronted with a spit of rock-covered land that juts out into your path, but you cannot turn away from it. You are in a channel cutting thru rocks on both the starboard and port sides. Finally, the rocks to starboard bend to the right allowing you to gratefully turn away from the fast approaching spit -- only to be confronted by a massive wall of granite. Again there is a line of rocks on the starboard side and this impenetrable granite wall ahead. It looks clear to port, and that’s where you instinctively want to turn, but according to the charts in which you must have faith, there is a continuing line of rocks coming off that spit at varying depths below surface. Most boats could have made their turn then, heading away from the wall, but Avante’s deep keel prevents that. Anxiously you wait and hold course staying in the deepest part of the passage. At what feels like the last possible moment, the Navigator (also known as The Captain) commands a 30 degree left turn. You execute the turn, but in no way is it enough. The wall still looms ahead. Impatiently and with unflagging confidence coupled with a strong desire to bolt, you wait until the command is given to turn a further 50 degrees, and you and Avante have gotten thru Malibu Rapids. Princess Louisa Inlet is clear ahead looking more like a river with the enclosing rock walls.

Day is waning as we reach the end of the inlet which has opened into a large bowl. There are boats securely tied to a dock, but Avante is too big to fit and that is not The Captain’s way of doing things anyway. He has read that it is possible to anchor just below the falls in about 90’ of water. Though the wind coming up the inlet would normally blow us into land, the current from the water out-flowing from the falls is supposed to keep the boat facing into land and off the land. Will that really work? We drop anchor, but it takes a long time for an anchor to feed down 90’. The wind catches hold of Avante and turns her around. The anchor finally hits bottom. Bill puts out more chain, and we sit on Avante waiting for this current to take effect. Slowly, ever so slowly, Avante turns back to the falls and pulls out on the chain. We set the anchor, and we are secure with the sound of the waterfalls raging in our ears. (For The First Mate, this is another one of those matters of faith things, but it works. In the morning, we are right where we anchored with a light wind at our backs and the current holding us off land.)








Steep granite walls rising into the clouds loom above us anchored as we are so close to land.















Our plans were to hike up to an old trapper’s cabin the next morning, but it rained so hard the night before that a hike in the mud no longer riveted our imagination. Instead in the surreal morning light, we pull anchor and head back up Princess Louisa Inlet to catch the morning slack tide in Malibu Rapids.






We look back at the falls and its heights lost in the morning mist.

The morning light creates fantastic reflections in this shadowy world of blue and grey as were head out the inlet.

After navigating thru Malibu Rapids, we head directly across the fiord to the wall where depths are a mere 250’ or so and pick up our shrimp trap. The First Mate, after much thought regarding the coiling tendencies of rope, has come up with a “rope management system”. While The Captain hauls the trap up from the depths, The First Mate is right there with a large orange bucket into which she is coiling the rope. It’s brilliant! It works! The rope coils in obediently. The Captain is skeptical about how well it is going to uncoil, but he is duly ignored. What’s in the trap? Not exactly shrimp, but we do have a critter from the deep. While The First Mate is thinking that this is kind of fun seeing what shows up from the depths below, The Captain is muttering something about his experience from Navy Survival School. “If the energy exerted to obtain nourishment exceeds the amount of energy derived from that nourishment than the energy exerted is wasted effort and not very well suited to survival”, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s going to continue with this wasted effort. He continues to be duly ignored while The First Mate enthuses about her system of rope management. It worked. The rope is coiled and contained. Who says she doesn’t understand physics?

Note the critter. Note The First Mate’s delight. Note the orange bucket with rope coiled and neatly contained. Lastly, note the basil plant which against The Captain’s wishes is up and out for its morning airing.


We begin to head on out the fiord in glassy seas and no wind. The morning in-flow fiord wind gradually picks up after we round the first bend, and we are soon able to raise sail. In fact, the wind rises to over 20 knots, and a reef has to be put in. We tack from one side of the fiord to the other sailing right up to the granite walls. The Captain returns to a much better frame of mind, and we continue on in this wonderful, beautiful, magical world of blue and grey.

Mystery aboard Avante

In Search of Gremlin Number One

I have been told that every boat has a Gremlin or two lurking aboard her somewhere. Gremlins are the creators of mysterious happenings or events for which a cause cannot be determined initially and sometimes never.

We have encountered our first Gremlin. Even The Captain is flummoxed. Here is the story:

A few evenings ago, I requested a high-powered drink: a soda water and a slice of lime. Our cans of soda water and tonic are stored in plastic boxes below a set of floorboards. Bill lifts up the floorboards and, believing I had requested a tonic, he retrieves a can of tonic. The can is light. He shakes it. There is nothing in it. He picks up another can. It too is empty. Of the six cans in storage, five are empty and one is half-full. He then checks the soda water, and they are fine, full and bubbly.

The First Mate does get her requested soda water and slice of lime, but the mystery remains: What happened to the tonic in the tonic cans? The cans had been bought last season, probably in Sitka on our return trip from Alaska. They were stored for the winter in the plastic box as described in the above paragraph. Frost is rare up here, but they do have plenty of cold and rain. The cans look and appear perfectly normal. The top openings are intact. There is no bulging to any of the cans. Each looks like an unopened can of soda should look. Though there is a slight discolored roughness to the bottom edges of the cans, there is no sign of puncture. There are no holes. We open one can and fill it with water. It does not leak. We set it in a bowl and leave it overnight. In the morning, there is no leakage or seepage. The bowl is perfectly dry and so is the bottom edge of the can. How did all that tonic get out? There is no way that it simply vaporized.

A second question also arises: Whatever mysterious event took place, why did it only happen to the tonic cans. Why not also to the soda water cans?

Can anyone solve this mystery? Are there any Sherlocks out there? Maybe this calls for an Einstein. Where did the tonic water go? What happened?

In Quest of Shrimp

The shrimp in Desolation Sound are this B-I-G! That is what two independent and reliable Sources have told me. The caveat then follows that it all depends upon the year, which I ignore because this is going to be my year. I can feel it!

Last year when we sailed into Desolation Sound armed with all the paraphernalia one needs to catch crabs, we were told that there were no crabs in Desolation Sound. No CRABS! How could that be? I imagined some kind of deep sea sign out there warning crabs not to trespass, but it turns out that the waters (at a balmy 55 or so degrees) are too warm for crabs. Refusing to be so easily put off, I baited my crab trap and dropped it in Okeover Bay, where I was told (perhaps out of pity) that any crab that crawled into Desolation Sound made it over to Okeover Bay. No luck.

Shrimp, however, abound in Desolation Sound, and it was the beginning of shrimp season. Fleets of shrimp boats were out there. With envy, I watched them pull in their traps. I imagined them full with the luscious morsels. Gambas al Ajillo: Shrimp delicately sautéed with Garlic. “Oh, Bill, just imagine if we had a shrimp trap,” I enthused. “NO,” said he emphatically. “You have already brought onto this boat a crab pot and some 75’ of line with a float attached. We have a deep sea fishing rod and all sorts of fishing gadgets. All this stuff takes up room. This is a SAILBOAT. We are not part of the fishing fleet. End of discussion.” Can’t you just hear him?

Well, that was last year, and as a fine red wine mellows with age, so too has The Captain of the sailing vessel Avante. With sighing resignation, I am told to go get the “damn trap”. Which I did. The Captain flew off to Chicago for a board meeting, and The First Mate flew into the car and headed off in search of a shrimp trap and whatever else one needs to shrimp. Such information proved as difficult to gather as "How to Catch Crabs" and "How to Catch Salmon" did last year. I have decided that up here in the Pacific Northwest this procuring of food from the sea is pretty much a male activity. I have yet to find a woman who knows anything about this sport, if sport it be. It has been from men that I have had to pull such information, and no man out there will ever tell you that he only knows part of the story. Therefore, going in search of “How to Catch Shrimp” information takes time, energy, patience and a good sense of resigned acceptance of erroneous fiction as fact.

What does one need to catch shrimp? One cannot use the same trap as one uses to catch crab. That would be too easy. Since shrimp are smaller than crab, the mesh of the trap must be smaller and, more importantly, the opening into and, therefore, out of the trap has to be smaller or one’s shrimp will escape in high glee after eating all the bait one has so assiduously placed there for them. Thus, another trap will have to be added to the lazarette. This one proves to be a bit larger than the crab trap, but, fortunately when folded, it is not much bigger. Bill will be somewhat mollified. I am told by this Source that it is not as good a trap for trapping shrimp as this big round one he now shows me, but as the round one does not collapse and therefore could never fit into a lazarette, I told the Source that the shrimp were just going to have to like my collapsible trap.

Onto the counter goes the trap which comes with its own weight or I would have had to add that to the counter. Next comes a bait container. Then the rope --- this part I have been dreading because I have been told by another Source that I need a minimum of 300’ of sinkable rope. The Source I am now talking to shows me the correct rope to use: one that somehow has lead laced into it. Lead? How am I ever going to pull that rope and my trap full of shrimp to the surface? He tells me that it isn’t that bad and that I actually only need 250’. It takes forever to real off 250’. Assuming I can pull in 18” on one pull, that’s 166.6666 pulls. My trainer back in Telluride will love the upper body strengthening if I don’t drop dead first. The only item left to put on the counter is a float, but this store is out of floats. The Source tells me that one of the two hardware stores in town will have a float. My bill for trap, bait box and leaded rope is about $110. Not bad, I guess. That’s a lot of shrimp.

Off to the first hardware store. No luck. The second store offers to sell me a big, round orange ball. This Hardware Store Source says that it is the best because it is so visible. Maybe so, but it will not fit in the lazarette, and it will not be hung off the side of the boat either. He has no other floats for me, but gives me directions to a kind of marine second-hand store. A light orange tubular float of the right size is bought. I feel elated. I have saved money. My second-hand float is $10.00 instead of the $25.00 new. However, this Second-hand Store Source now, quite gravely, assures me that 250’ of rope is in no way enough. I need 350 or more! One starts shrimping at 250’, and one can and should shrimp more deeply than that, especially in Desolation Sound. Now what to do? I cannot simply hide the too-short rope and buy 350’ more. I decide that The Captain is just going to have to use his rope tying skills. Off I go to another marine store. This new Source listens to my plight and suggests that I do not need 100’ more of the leaded rope. I can use a less expensive (like that word) and lighter (even better word) rope with a weight added (don’t like that verb) to make sure the whole mess sinks so no boat propeller gets tangled in it – most of all, our own. He tells me that this is what many shrimpers do to cut down on weight. Sounds good to me – so $30.00 later, I am all set to shrimp. That’s $150 worth of shrimp catching stuff. The critters had better be out there.




Behold The Captain expertly connecting all the parts.




Next I buy a Canadian fishing license, the cost of which I do not add into the cost of shrimping since that license covers all my crab, salmon, halibut and shrimp catches. I am now ready to harvest our dinners from the bounty of the sea.

It is Saturday, June 7th. We leave Montague Harbour with our power-hungry but not efficiently power-producing boat and head off to explore a another part of the Gulf Islands. It is a beautiful day, but alas no wind. We anchor off Wallace Island Marine Park. Tides are running exceptionally low, and as you can see from the picture, we did not want to risk taking Avante with her 8 1/2’ keel into the bay. We launch The Dingbat and head to shore. It was just wonderful to again be on land and stretch our legs walking under a blue, sunny sky. Not wanting to anchor for the night in as exposed a position as we then were, we head to Clam Bay. Here, without our usual prolonged discussion and analysis of the best crab crawling location, we simply drop our crab trap off the stern after anchoring. In the morning, we pick up that trap and to both our delights, there are two of the biggest male crabs we have seen to date. That night’s feast rode unceremoniously in a bright orange bucket to the harbor in Canoe Cove before being dispatched for dinner. What a feast! The bounty of the sea at our table at last.


Prior to entering Canoe Cove, we had carefully chosen a spot for our first casting of the shrimp trap. With acrobatic aplomb, The First Mate danced thru an impossible tangle of rope, weights and feet and eventually got the trap in the water without deep-sixing herself with it. The Captain was aghast. However, the trap sank in 250’ of water with the float bobbing merrily along. We each marked, in his or her own way, the location of that happily bobbing float and continued on into Canoe Cove to fix our boat. The trap would be down for the whole time we were to be in harbor getting our alternator repaired.

On Tuesday, June 10th, in the early afternoon, we leave Canoe Cove. Avante’s spare alternator has been modified to fit and has been installed. The failed alternator will be rebuilt pending our return in July. She also has two new, upgraded Voltage Regulators and new belts – she is purring along beautifully and putting out that all important battery charge. She is set: We are set!

We motor out to our shrimp trap or to where we each in his/her own way think the trap is. It is not there. We scan the area. The binoculars are in high demand. We decide we need two binoculars on board. A “His” and a “Hers” for His eyes are different from Her eyes, and binoculars in such situations are not compatibly shared. There are several bright orange round floats out there -- the kind of float that the Hardware Store Source told me was the kind to buy because they were highly visible. Should have listened. Where is our faded orange second-hand tubular shaped float? Nowhere. Did it sink? Was it stolen? Who would do that? We circle around relieved that no one is afloat near us to watch this scene. Finally, off in left field, as far as both the navigators are concerned, we spot the float. A faded orange tubular float has limited visibility bobbing around on the great wide ocean, but how could I have guessed? We motor over. The First Mate has a very difficult time getting the hook under the float to catch the rope, but catch it she finally does. She begins to haul all 350’ onto the deck. It’s not that bad. Hey, she can do this! Next thing she knows, The Captain takes over, not capable of standing there watching the rope scrape along Avante’s midnight blue hull. The First Mate’s job is to coil the rope as it is being hauled in, but it’s coming in faster than she can coil, and it doesn’t want to coil the way she wants it to coil. The rope has a mind of its own! Again, she is a tangle of rope, weights and feet. Plus it smells, and it’s wet. It’s a mess, but the shrimp will be worth it. Just wait --The following pictures tell it all.





Retrieving the shrimp.

They squiggled and jumped --- a right startling sight!

Here’s one. Notice the gloves. They were not on because it was cold. They were on because that is the only way The First Mate would pick up one of those things. Bounty of the Sea? The First Mate realizes she really did not until then know exactly what a live shrimp looked like or acted like. Now she knows.

And Here They Are!

all 3 and 1/2 of them!










Along with our bounty were two Rock Crabs that we thought could be added to the feast until we remembered to check sex and size. On both counts, they went back into the sea.

Still, Gambas al Ajillo is made. We share our catch -- 1 and 1/2 shrimp each , but that most succulent, most tender taste has us yearning for more. Our catch - fresh from the sea – there is nothing better!