This side of Vancouver Island lies in the open Pacific, the big blue.  Before we get into our trip down the northwest portion of the island, let’s look at a chart of the cool places we’re going to see (the red dots highlight places we moored).

Well, we had to wait a while for big blue to calm down some before we sailed out into it.  Cape Scott lies at the NW tip of Vancouver Island and juts well out into the Pacific.  This cape is notorious for nasty weather and seas, and it was living up to its reputation.  We had already waited 5 days in Bull Harbour for a break in the wind, which ranged from 25 to 40 knots and the gusts were higher.

Another gale was predicted for the evening of the 6^th day, but the early morning brought calm weather and fairly smooth seas (4 to 6 feet).  We decided to go for it.   The first stage involved crossing the Nahwitti Bar.  A bar is a shallow area at the entrance to a river or channel, where the swell approaches it from deep water and as it shallows out on the bar, the waves rise and can break, just like on a beach.  This bar is complicated more by the 2 to 3 knot current that can run against it, causing quite dangerous conditions.

We had all this in mind, when we planned our departure from Bull Harbour.  We waited for neap tides (weakest time of the month for current), and for the seas to calm down.  We timed our departure for the last hour of the flood tide, which was heading in the same direction as the wind, making for smoother swells.

Crossing the bar turned out to be easy, although there was a hefty 2 knot current running against us, but the seas were smooth and relatively small.

The wind was light, so we motor-sailed for several miles as we approached Cape Scott.  Since the currents are very strong off the cape, we had to stay several miles offshore in deeper water.  Getting too close in shallower water (less than 100 feet deep), would be dangerous because the seas could turn very steep with the confused currents and maintaining control is often not possible.

We approached the cape nervously, as the winds started to fill in.  There were several power boats ahead of us, who were chatting about the weather on the radio, so we didn’t feel alone, but they seemed concerned about the predicted gale as well.

Approaching Cape Scott

The wind had slowly picked up and of course it was coming from the direction we were trying to go.  As the wind strength slowly increased, we shut down the engine and began the slow process of tacking along the coast in the building waves.

As we got closer to Cape Scott, the water turned more turbulent.  Probably due to the current that splits down Queen Charlotte Sound and the outside of the island. It was a bumpy ride, but we were prepared for worse, and fortunately we had all our heavy weather equipment ready for its first true test.

Our goal was to make it to Winter Harbour about 60nm from Bull Harbour.  Our backup plan, if the weather turned sour, was to turn into Sea Otter Cove where there are 4 mooring buoys.  It was only about 38nm from Bull Harbour.  If worse came to worse, we could just turn around.

Against our hopes, Environment Canada’s weather forecast came true, albeit several hours early.  As we were about 30 minutes into sailing around the cape, the wind began to unleash itself on us.  We were down to a double reefed mainsail and our staysail.  (These are sail configurations that reduce the surface area of the sails so we would have the proper amount of sail power, but aren’t overpowered by the wind).

It was a good thing we had the boat rigged for heavy weather, because the seas became crazy turbulent and big.  Sherrell was gaining her sea legs and starting to enjoy watching the approach of the increasing beam seas (seas approaching the side of the boat), and then feeling the boat confidently lift up, over and down them.  As one particularly large wave was approaching, she pointed to it and said, “Oooh, there’s a good one.”  Just as I looked over, the wave slammed into the side of the boat sending a stream of water over the dodger and right at me.  I tried to duck but I ended up getting a little wet.

As I started to complain to Sherrell, “Aw, that one hit me,”  I looked over to see water pouring off her head, and down her open fowl weather jacket – she was soaked all the way thru. That dousing put a quick end to her spectator sport.  After that, I kept an eye on her, if she ducked, I dove for cover.

We tacked down the coast at a remarkable speed.  With our new sail setup, we managed a good 5 knots into the wind (blowing 25-30 knots, gusting 35), despite the waves and surprisingly, having to tack around 3 different tugs pulling tows heading in the other direction.

Even though we made progress it was tough going, and we knew it was only going to get worse so we decided to stop at Sea Otter Cove.  We weren’t too excited about the prospect though, as the seas were building and the entrance to the cove is shallow and very narrow, with rocks and reefs all around it.  We had read that in such conditions, the seas can break all around the entrance sending foam right across it.

We worked the boat onto a course that would take us into the narrow and shallow gap on the straightest path.  It wasn’t easy, and we had to tack several times in order to make sure we would clear the out-lying reefs.  With our hearts in our throats, we dropped the sails and turned into the channel.  The entrance was about 60 feet wide and there were wild waves all over the place.  Sherrell had the fun job of keeping watch on the bow as we approached to keep us from hitting any underwater rocks, or just making a stupid mistake.  As it was, the entrance was so small, I had to trust the GPS, because the opening was not visible due to the jumble of rocks and reefs.  When we were about 300 feet from the opening, I could start to make out the path through the rocks.

With white knuckles, we piloted the boat through the entrance and around all the rocks to arrive in the very still waters of the anchorage.  A small power boat, which we had seen in Bull Harbour, was tied to one of the mooring buoys.  Later they told us they were surprised to see us come in through the entrance, because it looked like it was full of breaking waves and white foam.  In reality, it looked much worse than it actually was.

We tied up to the huge buoy that looked like it was made for a ship and hung on.  The boat was rocked by the wind and the choppy waves that were building up inside the anchorage.  But it was nothing compared to the sea conditions on the other side of the reefs at the entrance.  We could see the surf exploding on them, throwing spumes of water 10 feet over the top of them.  Watching those breakers made us feel much better about having to just hunker down inside the boat, because there were much worse places to be.  So we turned up the heater and waited.  And wait we did--three days worth of waiting.  We were beginning to wonder if the weather ever did anything other than rage against this rugged coast.  These two gales, the first lasting 5 days, and this one seemed to be set on never stopping as well.

 

     Sea Otter Cove as the storm was starting to break up.

 

     Sea Otter Cover on the 4^th day. 

Finally the winds had dropped to below 30 knots for the first time since Noah landed his ark.   Well, that’s how it felt (the winds built up to 45 knots during the time we were there).  The seas were still quite disturbed out there, 10 to 14 feet, however, we weren’t about to sit there and wait for another gale.  We busted out of there in a hurry.

The entrance was still being battered by these big waves.  The entire opening was thick with white foam and waves crashing all around.  After watching it for a little while, it looked safe to exit, but it was still pretty wild looking.  Pushing the boat through the swells and into the deepest part of the channel I could find, we floored it.  Waves were crashing and spraying on the nearby rocks like something out of a cheap Hollywood film.  It seemed surreal and I wished I had a way to video tape the exit, because it was indescribable.

We sailed out of there heading for Winter Harbour.  The large waves were good practice for us, and the wind conditions were ideal, about 20 knots.  Not too much wind that the waves would keep building, but enough to give us plenty of control sailing through them.  Sherrell tried to capture the large waves in a photograph.  The wave rising up behind me is about 12 or 13 feet high.  As another reference for scale, there was a 100 foot fishing boat out there with us that almost disappeared completely behind the troughs of the waves.

Sailing further south, it wasn’t long before we rounded Quatsino Lighthouse and turned up into Quatsino Sound where the waves quickly died down to a gentle nudge.

The weather seemed to be on our side and we were excited about getting some fresh produce in Winter Harbour, and being able to stretch our legs.

Alas, Winter Harbour turned out to be a tiny little village.  Our guide book said, “They have a well stocked store.”  They only had one stick of limp broccoli, 4 onions, some oranges and a bag of potatoes.  We bought it all but the broccoli.  They reassured us the owner was in Port Hardy with the delivery truck getting supplies.

We did laundry, hiked around their cool boardwalk which stretched for miles, ate salmon berries off the bush and waited for the delivery truck.

A fellow boater who was also waiting for the truck to arrive, told us the owner had called, and said he was leaving Port Hardy soon.  She relayed to us that he hadn’t bought any produce, but agreed to pick some up since hearing that we were waiting for some.  Then she started laughing as she told us, he was going to pick up some potatoes, onions, cabbage and carrots.  Now anyone who knows anything about boating, knows that boaters always carry tons of these items because they last a long time without refrigeration.  What we really wanted was tomatoes, zucchini, non-limp broccoli, etc.  We motored back to our anchored boat, deflated, and had some canned Indian food to cheer us up.  Now don’t grimace, we did a thorough search of all the canned Indian food around until we found a brand that rivals American Indian restaurants, so we’re eating well.

After Winter Harbour we decided to check out Klaskish Inlet that sounded intriguing north of the Brooks Peninsula.  The entrance was about 50 feet wide, with rocks and trees for walls.

We had the whole bay to ourselves and the sun was shining!  It was the first day without rain we’ve had for almost 2 weeks.  We dried ourselves out and prepared for the next big cape.

And Brooks Peninsula is a biggie.  It juts out of the coast like a large brick for 15 miles.  At the end of the peninsula is Cape Cook (yes, named after James Cook who came here in the 1700’s), and just off the tip is a small island called Solander Island.  There’s an automated weather station on the island, and it ALWAYS reports the highest wind conditions along the coast of the island.  Some people call it the Cape Horn of Vancouver Island.  The similarity is mostly in appearance, I think, but it does have its own weather system and it’s usually the roughest spot along the coast.

We headed out early to beat the afternoon winds.  The seas were not too bad, 4 to 6 feet.  As we approached Solander we could see that the current was generating a lot of chop and strange breaking waves.  So we headed out a little further for more sea room.

 As we approached the island the waves got rough -- much rougher than we had expected.  Steering any sort of straight course was impossible.  I can only assume that the strong currents generated these strange choppy swells.  Our guide book mentioned that this point of the coast is where the supply ships often have to turn around because the conditions can be very rough.  The whole experience was a bit of a mystery to us.  I’m not sure where the crazy waves came from or after rounding it, where the crazy waves went.  But I could understand how this place could be terrible in bad weather.

We managed to rock and roll our way around the cape and the island and the choppy breaking swells quickly died off.

 

Now we were below 50 degrees North and in the so-called “Banana Belt” of warmer weather and fewer gales.  Our next stop was Columbia Cove.

Columbia Cove is tucked into the south shore of Brooks Peninsula which has been preserved as one of the largest Provincial Parks. Supposedly, the peninsula escaped the last ice age, which has excited a lot of biologists with its many unique plants and fauna.  The B.C. government had the wisdom to recognize its importance, and therefore protected it from logging and development.

At the head of the cove is a great hike through the tide flats and into the deep green old growth trees with huge trunks.  The trail leads to a beach with beautiful white sand.  After days of being storm bound inside the boat, and only having the board walk for a hike since Bull Harbour, we were in heaven.  The sun was incredible and we could smell the fragrant forest teeming with life.  But the highlight of the hike was emerging from the dark forest and strolling directly on to a bright sandy beach with waves rolling on the shore.  The view stretched out into the sky, as if we were suddenly transported to Hawaii.

 

Of course there was the reminder that this was still a Pacific Northwest Beach:  about 40,000 trees on the shore.

 

The air was so clean here and the sky a rich dark blue.  Being the only two people for as far as we could see made this beach a special place for us.  I even went swimming in the waves and we spent several hours relaxing on the hot sand.

Columbia Cove was so nice that we stayed an extra day to play on the beach and look around.  We found the remains of an old steal Coast Guard Cutter that was slowly falling apart; in fact we rowed over one of its 12 cylinder engines.  Only about half of the wreck is still recognizable.  But I liked the photo for Sherrell’s artistic skills.

Did I mention that the weather has been fantastic?  The temperature inside the boat (without the heater) reached an all time high of 87 degrees!  The humidity dropped to 32%.  Both of these are records since last summer.  We’re hoping that this is the banana belt effect and that it will hold out.

Basking in the warm weather, we planned our next stop solely to see sea otters.  These little guys are very different from the river otters seen in the inside protected waters (contrary to their name, river otters also live along the seashore).  They live for the open ocean and the cold water.  The fur traders encouraged the First Nation people to hunt them and skin them for a few chunks of copper, maybe a gun, or some booze.  The Sea Otter’s skin has the highest density of hair of any mammal, with up to 160,000 hairs per square centimeter.  Imagine that!  I think I have about 5.  Naturally a thick coat like that was in high demand, and by 1929 they were completely wiped out from Vancouver Island.  In an experiment to restore their population, a group of 90 were transplanted from Alaska in 1969-1972.  By 1995, their population had reached about 1950 along the coast.  Along with their recovery, the sea urchin population is back in control, which helps to keep the kelp forests strong.

These little “sea dudes” are really funny to watch.  They roll in the sea, turn flips, and float on their backs with their feet way up in the air.  Often they emerge from under the water with a clam or an urchin, and a small rock.  While floating on their back, they rest the rock on their belly and crack open their snacks.

 

This one has his hands on the side of his head, combing his fur back for the camera.

The anchorage was nice too.  We were in a spot called Scow Bay with tons of little islands and places to take the dinghy to explore.  The spot where the next photo was taken from completely dries at low tide.

Not to mention that the sunset at Scow Bay left us speechless.

There’s lots of sea life too.  Here’s one of my favorite animals, the sunstar.  It’s the biggest and the fastest starfish on the planet, and it’s only found in the Pacific Northwest.

 

Check out how this guy blends into the texture of the barnacles and the rocks.

 

In our exploring we also found a large animal skeleton, minus the skull.  We tried our hand at rebuilding the creature, but I think we must have misplaced something.  Anyone know what this is?  There are some crazy shaped bones in there, so we figure it is probably a marine mammal of some kind or maybe it’s the missing link.

 

 

We left it behind to confuse the next person who lands on this remote beach, and headed back to the boat to get ready for our early morning departure.

We set off for Walter’s Cove in the thick morning fog.  Navigating by radar and GPS we transited a hodgepodge of rocks and reefs called the Broken Islands.  There were a lot of kelp beds everywhere, which are magnets for Sea Otters (a.k.a. Sea Dudes, their scientific name).

We were turning around one of the fog shrouded points, when Sherrell (looking through the binoculars) gasped, “Oh, my god!  You’ve got to see this!”  She handed me the binoculars and pointed into the haze with an ear to ear grin.  I looked at the lumpy kelp bed and suddenly realized those lumps were Sea Otters!  There must have been over a hundred of them!  We circled back for photos, being very careful not to get too close and disturb them.

We left them to their otter business, and felt our way to the next cove.  Walter’s Cove turned out to be a small town and the store was open only a few hours every day, with no water, no fuel, no laundry.  As it was, we were lucky, and managed to pick up some of the last fresh produce and two bags of ice for our icebox.  We made ourselves a big pot of Thai Curry with the fresh veggies. 

Here’s a picture of our boat at the dock, one of the few times we’ve gone to a dock (mostly because it’s free at Walter’s Cove).

 

From Walter’s Cove we headed up Kyuquot Sound to a place called Dixie Cove.  The route took us inside a long chain of broken rocky reefs called the Barrier Islands.  They’re sort of eerie, especially in the fog.  We managed to get a few pictures, but it was hard to convey the three dimensional depths as the openings in the reefs would grow and shrink as we passed by and the surf would crash randomly against them mixing briefly with the wisps of fog.

The reefs were probably the most scenic, if not dynamic, part of this leg.  After all that, Dixie Cove was a nice spot, well protected, but nothing too spectacular.  After Dixie Cove, we headed back out into the big blue, in pea-soup fog, to enter the southern portion of Vancouver Island.  The fog was so thick that we had to abandon our plan to go inside a series of reefs known, ironically, as Clear Channel.  The visibility was just too poor to put ourselves in such a tight spot, relying only on radar and GPS to feel our way around the rocks.

So we headed deep out into the sea, then back south again to round another point, all the while, I’m blasting our fog horn, because there are a lot of tiny speed boats who run full throttle through the fog.  They don’t have radar and they just hope others see them coming.  Since the visibility was less than ¼ mile, we had to keep a close eye on the radar for moving spots.

After we were about 3 miles or so offshore, the fog cleared some, and so did our tension.  We rounded a smaller cape and headed up into Esperanza Inlet to anchor in Queen Cove for the night.  This area is officially West Vancouver Island South, so it seems like a good place to stop writing for now, besides we’re only 30 minutes away from our next town which is supposed to be much bigger than anything we’ve encountered on the West Coast so far, and we’ve got boat fever bad!