Saturday, September 12, 2009
Another summer like day and we are off for James Island at 0900 hours. Favorable flooding tides help us reach Friday Harbor by 1100 hours but then we confront the incoming push through Cattle pass and plod past Turn Island at 3 knots until we round the bend into the mouth of Humphrey Channel. The rest of our journey was mostly with the currents filling up around the southern San Juans. At 1300 hours we find no room at James. A small setback, we consult current charts and consider the light winds and calm seas and forecasted morning fog likely tomorrow. Soon we are making the crossing of Juan de Fuca across the mid afternoon sun sparkled surface. The decision was a commitment to a long day underway so we began planning our options for the night's safe harbor. Either Port Townsend or Port Ludlow, depending upon progress, weather and energy levels. We followed the southbound ebb along Whidbey east of Smith Island and met the countering northward flow from Puget Sound through Admiralty Inlet. The confluence of these currents occurs near Partridge Point and our speed slowed as we reached these converging waters near the end of the waning ebb. By 1730 hours, we drew even with Point Wilson and had secured a slip at Boat Haven marina in Port Townsend via 66A on the VHF. Our staysail deployed to assist the Yanmar, we were making near 7 knots in the 20 knot northwesterly. Now we joined the dozens of sailboats plying the waters off Port Townsend's shores. Boats of a colors, shapes, sizes. Sail configurations of unequaled variety. All this in celebration of the weekend's wooden boat festival. We ran the gauntlet of this eclectic water arcade, Brooke snapping pictures while helping point out crossing traffic. Finally, we were tied to dock with a stiff breeze on our nose, glad to be tied to the wood for the night.

Friday, September 11, 2009
Leisure morning. Arise comfortably well after the sun. Top off the water, take out the trash, go for a hike of the shoreline and swing by the store for a few last "must-haves" and we shed the dock lines at noon. En route to Reid Harbor at nearby Stuart Island, we again encountered salmon playing, feeding, running from predators ??? at the surface with over 600 feet of available water beneath them. Inspired by the sight as well as commercial fisherman talk on the VHF, we made for Reid to secure Ohana and prepare the dinghy for an afternoon's fishing expedition. We rounded the southwest point of Stuart and headed northward along the shore. Ahead were three commercial trawlers feverishly dropping sets while a scattering a small fishing boats scurried to and fro after surface fish like family pets dogging the dinner table for scraps. We joined the other scavengers and started to draft cast at a respectful distance from the trawlers to avoid unwanted shooing completely out of the room. Our efforts soon paid off as Brooke hooked onto a feisty five pounder. We continued to work the water at the surface but were more fascinated by the commercial operations close by. Set after set, now five trawlers were leap-frogging each other. The tender boat would head close to shore dragging the heavy net with its tractor sized diesel roaring. The mother ship made away from shore in a slow arc. The tender would then arc in compliment completing the circle. As the net was drawn aboard we could see, and hear the salmon leaping against the freeboard while being herded into position by a deckhand with a ten foot gaff. Eventually, the dinner party moved to our part of the room and we were obliged to exit but not without a fine salmon dinner in our hold.

Back on the US side now and the weather has improved. Cloudless skies and mid 70s...and the salmon are running. In fact, the salmon are on the surface, followed by the dolphins, line fisherman and many seiners. We'll come back to that shortly. After clearing Customs at Roche Harbor, we opted for a night at the dock and a chance to top off provisions for the remaining days of the trip. Roche, as always, is picturesque and of course the sunset "colors" ceremony is a unique way to cap off the day. A few random bleating boat horns acknowledged the lowering of the last flag, a meager sound off compared to midsummer raucous blaring, hooting and hollering. As if a few remaining boaters are gradually losing their grip on this year's season.

Sidney Spit has provided panoramic views as the weather lifts. Lingering clouds from the past day's torrential rains are swept upward by winds that are thankfully not present at our elevation. We dropped a crab pot before dinghying ashore to hike the spit. The fine white sands, driftwood and evening light made for great photo ops. Back at Ohana, we were crabless and went with a simple dining menu before retiring for a peaceful night on the buoy.

At last a new home. We have left the familiar environs of Montague and taken the short excursion to Ganges on Salt Spring Island. We enjoyed a favorable current and 12 knot winds to make 8knots underway. Dock lines are snug, the fridge is chillin some fresh produce from the local market... aaaand we're on line. Gusty winds are pushing a few dark clouds across the deep blue evening sky. Fall is in the air. Tomorrow we will find anchorage at Portland Island in Princess Margaret Bay possibly in the company of our friends and neighbors, the Mundts, aboard their vessel, Liberte. Ten years have elapsed and 17 years of college tuitions have been paid since our last rendezvous by sail. OMG!

September 6, 2009
0630 hours
Awakened by a building wind and fierce gusts, I lay in bed now pondering the strength of our mooring buoy’s design to hold our swinging 12 ton, full keeled mass. The wind howled through the halyards and I burrowed deeper under the comforter. Then five short harsh blasts penetrated the morning air. All about the bay, heads popped up above gangway hatches like grounds hogs on alert. Off our port side the forty foot sailboat, Tahoo, was sliding backward precariously close to the bow of her neighbor astern. Having anchored in the calm of the evening before, her hook was unable to hold and had clearly given up its grip. A motor yacht skipper upwind had witnessed the drifter through the steam rising from his morning coffee and in a commendable gesture of “motors” reaching out to “sails”, he sounded the alarm. But there was little time to marvel at this brotherly love across the aisle. Action was imperative. The skipper of Tahoo was now visibly clamoring about his cockpit. He moved his head, thrusting his gaze to various points of the compass like a nervous cockatoo with a morning hairdo to match. I was pressed to grab the camcorder but remained entranced and otherwise available to assist. Now the skipper of the threatened sailboat, Serenity, was making his way forward along her deck. His tufted white hair stood upright by the wind as he assumed a watchful perch on his bowsprit. This unlikely pair of birds now faced each other gesturing, bobbing heads and waving arms as if in some rare and serious mating ritual. In fact, if action wasn’t taken soon their vessels would mate like two elephants in a wind storm and it would be a serious matter. Somehow, the skippers reached an understanding and Tahoo’s engine coughed to life, belching and farting like an old man begrudgingly accepting the start to another day of work. Slowly the Tahoo inched away leaving Serenity in peace.

September 4, 2009
1400 hours
The varnished pine wood was thick. The seat and back were joined with sturdy lap joints. This bench was made to last. It stood south-facing with a panoramic view of Montague Harbour. A brass plate was affixed center on the topmost backboard. On the plate was inscribed a name and a message. Yes, the name is important to those who left it, but the message bears significance to all. It was a message of hope for one who was passed on. Acknowledgement of a life lived in full with special joy found in the local waters of the Canadian Gulf Islands. The words expressed a wish to enjoy forever now those places you have loved the most. The seated view was inspiring. It was easy to feel the presence of this mariner’s spirit and sense the joy that he had felt in this setting. The bench had worked its magic. The words had conveyed this man’s passion and helped fuel the same fire that burned in others as they embraced the scene.

September 6, 2009
1010 hours
We have become familiar with the mooring buoy at Montague. If we don’t leave soon, we shall have to name it as we have become quite attached. Tonight will be our fourth and last night swinging from our ring-topped friend. The harbour filled up quickly after our arrival here on Friday and with limited prospects for space in other bays on this holiday weekend and the added challenge of inclement weather, we have remained comfortably at Montague. Unfortunately, we have lacked cell reception and internet access and consequently contact with the world outside. How expectations have changed. Camping experiences used to be all about unplugging and now technology has become so integrated into our everyday lives that strong habits have created equally strong expectations. Some new habits seem harder to break than the old ones.

September 4,2009
0730 hours
No blogging, no emails and no texting. I’m feeling short of breath. My computer’s dark screen stares back at me. I glance over at the equally dark screen of the cell phone. My mind temporarily reruns the same question, “Is there really no access?” I blink a few times like my internal hard drive is working unsuccessfully on processing the information. Abort the program. Move on. But yes there is fishing, reading, writing and hiking. Ok, there you go. And besides, we will reconnect in a few days. I reached in the starboard stowage locker for the old orange tackle box wondering when habits become addictions. In a way, aren’t addictions just unhealthy habits? Is communication unhealthy? No. But what about when someone just can’t stop talking or is confusing themselves and others. Is that unhealthy? No, it’s just a bother. I stared at the colorful lures of many shapes, the bright spinners and sturdy leaders, swivel snaps and various sized hooks. A few items looked a little rusty, a couple swivels had seized up much like their fisherman’s back. I leaned in a bit closer and was uncomfortably aware of the familiar twinge in my right hip. I went to work polishing, sharpening and replacing parts. Eventually selecting the best for today’s task I installed new leaders and wrapped each lure to be snap-on ready. We loaded the dinghy and headed for Collinson Point at Active Pass to fish the hour on each side of the tidal turn. Local knowledge would say this is the time when bait fish spread out and predators freely feed. Despite being so well equipped with hardware and software, we were unable to raise the elusive quarry. Back on Ohana, we scrabbled together some lunch and were again off, this time to shore to circumambulate the peninsula of the Montague Marine Park where we would encounter a sturdy wooden bench with a most memorable dedication.

September 3, 2009
1600 hours
We are firmly tethered to a mooring buoy in the midst of other mariners in Montague Harbour. I say firmly because a 15 knot wind has us swinging with gusto (no pun intended, but rarely refused) at the end of our mooring line. A strained thumb and rib muscle happily the only price of wrestling with the elements. Aside from the breeze, the harbour is peaceful. A hike to the Marine Park will be taken during our stay, but our plans are to fish tomorrow an hour either side of slack near Active Pass. Chinooks and Cohos are prevalent and we are intent on trying our luck.

September 3, 2009
0800 hours
Last night it came in dark silence and without warning. I was awakened by an unusual flash of light. The covers of the forward berth were warm. I was comfortable but rolled over just the same. Then KaaBoom! went an explosion from outside followed by another flash. Rain was now pelting the deck with rapidly increasing frequency. Faster and faster it soon came in sheets thrown down by an escalating wind. KaaBoom!, came another clap like a building falling over on concrete. Rain was pouring onto the deck as if shot from a fire hose. Brooke made her way forward and asked if it was okay with all the lightning to be in the boat. I figured the surrounding hills of the harbor gave protection and offered reassurance. The intense light and sound continued until I fell again fast asleep, content to be secured dockside during such a display by Mother Nature. Just before sinking into the grips of sleep, or perhaps it was a dream, I recall the water rationing lifted as I gleefully topped off our tank with excess fresh water pouring freely overboard.

Despite the night’s interruption, I felt rested with 6 hours of sleep. The morning was patchy blue with thick, medium gray clouds marching in phalanxes southward. I busied myself with bailing the dinghy, acquiring fuel, fishing licenses, ice and oh yes, a bit of dock water to top off our tank. I also took care of job applications on line via the wireless connection. This I do with mixed emotions. I have learned a few things about employment over the past year and half. When it stops, so does the paycheck. It’s sort of analogous to reaching space outside of Earth’s gravitational pull. Your salaried career is the rocket that propels you there. Now the question is, “Do you trust the laws of retirement or have they changed?” With much debate, I am now trying to build a booster, a small engine that will offset some of the recent perturbations to the local and world economy and rules of retirement. It’s a simple matter of risk management and why risk it if you can manage it. So in go the applications.

And up go the sails. Hey, you still can’t hesitate at the door of opportunity. So we sail on today into Canadian waters.

Dockside again after a few nights on mooring buoys slipping ever further northward. We are currently balanced comfortably on the border of our Canadian neighbor, specifically tied at Bedwell Harbor. Backtracking a bit, we left Sucia this morning at 0800 hours, without fog for a change, and with greater than 3knots of favorable current. Last night was peaceful. The full moon rose in the distant horizon beyond the east end of the shallow glassy, waters of Fossil Cove. As the moonlight cast a watchful eye on the serenity of moored boats topped by glowing anchor lights, we rowed the dinghy to the head of the cove where we tied to the weathered wooden dock protruding like an arthritic finger arched sharply by the low water of the waning tide. On shore, we remitted our modest mooring fee at the pay station and plied the shimmering water a half mile back to Ohana. Save for an intermittent rap on the bow by the mooring ring, the gentle rocking of tidal waves made for a restful sleep. The morning was clear an calm. Mist hung light and high on shore amidst the pines and twisted Madrona. The day would be clear, the morning run to Bedwell Harbor speedy. A day earlier found us waiting for persistent morning fog to lift from our Turn Island moorage. We made use of the time by motoring the dinghy to acquire a few perishable groceries from Friday Harbor, oh yes, and a replacement lure for the one lost the evening before. Now that is a fish story of rare proportion. It began inconspicuously with a few casual casts of the bow of Ohana. I had elected to hunker down in the cockpit for some writing while Brooke decided to keep her fishing technique tuned up. Cast, retrieve, cast, retrieve, cast...snag. Called to service, I clamored into the dinghy with rod in hand and proceeded with the extraction of a now famous lure from what was likely the grip of a tenacious kelp frond. Rowing downstream of the cast to reverse the direction of the hook, a couple of swift firm pulls freed the tackle. Opening of Act II finds me with perfectly useful fishing gear in a dinghy close to potentially promising water. Being a fisherman myself I felt little choice but to commence taking a few casts. Soon I had landed and released two fat rockfish while back on deck Brooke's agitation was building. "How many are you going to catch?", came the barbed query. Reading between the lines, I traded fishing gear for oars and made for Ohana. Now we both decided the best use of the afternoon would be to enjoy some lazy, barefooted drift fishing with a possible fresh dinner in mind. Another rod, a little extra tackle and a last minute grab of the net and we were Huck Finning in our inflatable raft. True to form, Brooke landed a couple nice rockies within minutes. Coaxed on by success, I nosed us out to the edge of the tide rip just beyond the long undulating kelp fronds off the north shore. Thus commenced ACT III. A few small fish were caught and released when I hooked the bottom. I wrestled with the line as Brooke continued to go deep for bigger prey. Now she too was snagged. But then her snag began to yield. Still yanking on my line with building frustration I glanced over my shoulder to Brooke's pulsing rod tip. We exchanged confirmation that it was likely kelp and rockfish, the fish and salad combo. She continued to reel up. The suspect was now at the surface, sans salad fixings and appeared to be a solid 2 pounder. What happened next could easily be classified as Discovery Channel worthy. From the deep came a toothy mouth the size of a catcher's mitt. With fast and deadly speed a three foot ling cod grabbed the fighting rockfish stunning its prey only slightly more than the spectating fisherman. With a yelp, Brooke passed the fishing rod to me hoping to create more distance between her and this nightmare. I slackened the line in hopes that the ling would gain a naturally firmer grip which it did as it made for deeper water. I gave a small jerk on the line to "set its teeth" and began to coax him to the surface explaining to Brooke that she would have one chance to net this beast as I brought him boatward. Lure, rockfish and ling were coming closer. Brooke readied the net with shaking hands. Twent feet, fifteen, ten, ready, ready. With a lunge forward the fron half of the ling was netted. I gave a final firm pull on the rod, the line snapped, the lure disappeared and the ling came swinging into the dinghy. I looked down on the floor in amazement at the size of the toothy mouth thrashing like a food processor on high within inches of my bare toes. Quickly I twisted the net to prevent a bloody fiasco while practicing a hat dance in the rear two square feet of the bobbing dinghy. Surprisingly, the rockfish had survived his lead role as ling cod lure and was returned to the water with an albeit seated ovation. The famous lure was lost. The ling cod was released into the freezer for later grilling. My snag was in fact a snag and with a hyper-adrenalated pull I broke the line. Brooke and I returned to Ohana to sit awhile in the cockpit like lingering about the lobby to fully comprehend the dramatic play just witnessed before leaving the theater. It all began with a few unintentional casts on a lazy sunny afternoon.

Anchor up at 1030 hours today folowing a dinghy row dockside at Ludlow, a walk about the grounds, a few blackberries and a casual conversation with the marina staff. The hook came up ladened with a bit of clay/mud which was quickly dispatched before stowing the iron on deck. We made for Foulweather bluff to cast for "pinks" and within a half hour, Brooke landed a 7 pounder on light spin tackle after a 20 minute battle involving mad dives below Ohana's keel. At 1300 hours we made for Point Hudson by way of the east shore of Marristone. We hugged the shore in the eddy of the flood and found a one knot advantage despite the incoming tide. mid-island we were treated to a surfacing grey whale whose length looked ominously longer than ours. At the northern tip of Marristone, we paused to fish the point at the turning tide. Yes, Brooke hooked onto another salmon and soon we had a silver of 7 pounds to match her other catch. At 1500 hours we threw out the jib and were quickly off with a 15 knot wind toward our home for the night at Point Hudson Marina. Safely tucked in and grilled fresh salmon under the belt we are quite pleased with the generosity of the Northwest on this day. Tomorrow, we are away at 0600 to catch the ebb out into Juan de Fuca and make Cattle Pass with the afternoon flood. Turn Island will be our destination all elements in our favor.

Old Waters, New Horizons

Ohana waits with graceful patience. She is prepared. Today, at noon, we will cast off and ride the afternoon's timid ebb to anchor at Port Ludlow. A small first step on another immeasurable journey.