Friday Favourite: A Short Boating Trip

 

The weather forecast said sunny. Winds light. We packed our gear and enough food for three days and chugged off to Cabbage and Tumbo Islands. Solitude, our boat, hasn't been used much in the past few years - there was the driving trip to the Arctic Ocean one summer followed by a trip across Canada the next, and last year we went to Europe. This year we are staying closer to home and making an effort to use the boat. 

Doesn't the scene above look tropical? The water is very cold; less than 10 degrees Celsius, so no swimming for us. 

There is a lovely hiking trail on Tumbo Island, through the forest, alongside a marshy wetland, and by an old farm where buildings and rusting equipment lie drowsing in the sun. From the trail I took a photo of our boat, 25 feet, and just enough room for the two of us.

Two pairs of bald eagles provided entertainment. They swooped overhead, sometimes with small prey in their claws. Here the larger female is perched high while the male is down in the nest. We couldn't tell if there were young there or not. A few years ago we did see eaglets in this same nest. 

Oystercatchers in the evening light allowed our kayaks to approach quite close. 

Gulls of several varieties rose up in the air, swirling above us in our kayaks, filling the air with harsh screeching. I was thinking about gulls' penchant for leaving behind droppings everywhere and hoping my head wasn't a target. Luckily, we both escaped the indignity. 

Back on Solitude we watched the colours of sunset intensify and then fade into darkness before settling down to sleep on calm seas.

Home now. Unpacking and a few errands this afternoon. The wind has picked up and a bit of rain fell. I hope to spend time in the garden over the weekend. Now that May is here, everything grows much faster, including the weeds. 

It's Friday - A Short Boating Excursion

 "Believe me, my young friend, there is nothing - absolutely nothing half so much worth doing as simply messing about in boats." Kenneth Grahame (Wind in the Willows)

Last weekend, as restrictions began to ease, we launched the boat and spent a quiet and relaxing couple of nights on the water, just an hour away from home. The weather alternated between rain and cloud, cloud and rain, with a very few patches of blue sky here and there. On Friday evening, before the weather worsened, we hopped into the dinghy and toured along the shoreline. It was very peaceful until the Canada Geese decided we were coming too close and honked loudly to warn others of our proximity. 

This was our view the next morning. Still, with soft rain falling. No matter, we were cozy and dry, and enjoyed a good breakfast and cups of tea and coffee long into the morning. There was no rush to do much of anything. 

When the rain eased we stirred ourselves and took the dinghy to shore, beaching it on the sand and tying the painter to a driftwood log before setting off on a hike through the forest. 

We stopped and watched a variety of wildlife, including this group of fat seals lounging on the rocks. A pair of seal pups had enough of the inactivity. They played together like a pair of young boys, splashing and wrestling. The repeated whacks of their tails on the water echoed far. 

A pair of oyster-catchers poked along the inter-tidal zone with their long red beaks. From the boat that evening we watched seven river otters fishing for their supper. Down they went into the water, then up into the air with their catch wriggling until - gulp - down the gullet it went. Over and over the sleek otters dove and rose until, satisfied, they melted away into the dusk. 

This pair of geese appear to be having a disagreement. The one on the left was quite vocal as he/she marched off in the opposite direction. 

In 1958 Portland Island was given to Princess Margaret, our Queen's sister, to commemorate her visit to our province. She returned it in 1967 and it is now a park. But long before then First Nations peoples had a village here. In the mid-late 1800s Hawaiians settled here, planting orchards and gardens. There is little that remains, but in the abandoned orchard a pair of bright goldfinches caught my eye. 

Weathered pieces of sea glass always catch my eye and I pick them up to add to my collection here at home. 

We returned home on Sunday, with Monday a holiday here to commemorate Queen Victoria's birthday. I worked in the garden most of the day. It's starting to fill out and soon we will be enjoying more homegrown vegetables. The first strawberries are turning red and I did eat one luscious ripe juicy fruit. 

It's been another week of distance teaching. Students will have the option to return to school as of June 1, but it's unlikely that many of those in the high school will choose that option. 

We're looking forward to some family time this coming weekend, including a visit from our Vancouver people. Little Miss Iris is coming and I can hardly wait to see her. She's almost one and so much fun via Skype! Seeing her in person will be so much more fun! 

Have a great weekend, friends. 

Princess Louisa Inlet

"It has been said by people who have travelled the world and viewed all its beauty spots that two places stand out as the greatest mountain scenery in the world. One is Princess Louisa and the other is Milford Sound in New Zealand." Ray Phillips, The Royal Fjord

The distance from the boat launch at French Creek to Chatterbox Falls at the head of Princess Louisa Inlet is 70 nautical miles. Our boat chugs at about 7 knots. You can figure out how long it took us to get there. We broke the trip into two days, and it didn't seem overly long.

Unfortunately, smoke from the BC wildfires drifted westward and obscured the view. At times it felt like we were drifting on an unknown sea, not certain that there was anything beyond the next point of land.  

The inlet is narrow and tall vertical peaks rise sharply from the water, so high that we had to tip our heads far back to see the peaks (or their outline, as the case was). 

Chatterbox Falls lies at the head of the inlet, a torrent of freshwater, fed by multiple waterfalls above, rushing over rocks and logs to the saltwater. We anchored our boat, at the bottom of the falls for the best view in the house (our boat is the little one on the left) for a blissful few days.

We rowed our little dinghy along the shore and captured these photos with the falls in the background. It was hot and the spray refreshing.

Yours truly. This is my boating hair - curly, frizzy, wild. I tie it back in a pony tail to try to control it. I am so thankful for my flat iron!

The mist from the falls rises in great clouds wafted here and there by the breeze. Beautiful moss covers rocks and logs; tiny star-shaped flowers bloom in the hidden places. The water falls and falls in unending streams, creating a lush environment. 

The trails near the falls are not long and we like to get out and hike. We saw this sign, talked to a family who had done the trail, and set out one morning to do the same. 550 metres = 1800 feet. It was strenuous, alright. We made it in 1 hour 45 minutes, scrambling up rocky faces, using tree roots as foot holds, and sweating a lot. I can't imagine the Trapper who once lived up here who would have hauled his supplies from the inlet up this trail.
  

The Trapper chose a beautiful spot for his cabin (now in ruins) beside another waterfall. How lovely it was to let the cooling spray fall on our faces. Taking these photos with my camera's timer feature proved hilarious. There are other takes where I'm scrambling over the rocks and don't quite make the photo.

Here's a little perspective. The white speck above the "w" in white is the Trapper's Cabin waterfall. Our boat is in the bottom of the photo. After our descent we changed into swimming suits and bathed in the stream coming off Chatterbox Falls. Brrrr!

In the inlet, the water was completely calm, disturbed only by the comings and goings of boats and the occasional float plane. There are tour operators who bring people here for an hour or so, by fast boats or planes to see this amazing place. I suggest you do an internet search to truly see the beauty of this place. My smokey photos are but sad representations.

It is such a peaceful place. The continual chatter of the falls dulls other sounds. Admiring the scenery takes time and is utterly absorbing. The quietness of nature seeps deep into my mind and soul.  

Another day, on a tip from friends, we rowed to a stream trickling down through the rocks, climbed a very short ways and found this small waterfall. Two rocky pools, one just below the falls and another a bit lower, are completely hidden from shore and also very "refreshing." This was another case of using the delayed timer on the camera and I had just fallen into the water at this moment. I look at these photos and think that we are very silly for our ages. But we do have a lot of fun together. 

A low-flying heron. You can barely make out the far shore. It was indeed eerie. 

And our view leaving the inlet, still smokey. The next day the smoke blew away and it was lovely to see blue skies and real clouds. One day we hope to return to Princess Louisa Inlet when there is no smoke. 

Out to Sea and Back Again

I sit on my couch, freshly showered, washer and dryer humming away and wonder how I can convey some of the wonder and beauty we've absorbed in the past five days. Tim's sister came over from Alberta and the three of us headed out in Solitude for adventure on the water. Tim and Janet are sitting on the front deck in the above photo, enjoying the views and chatting while I steered the boat. 
 

We spent the first day on Saturna Island where we had lunch at the vineyard. It's such a beautiful setting with the grape vines in green rows marching down to the blue water. 
 

An evening walk to Boat Passage in Winter Cove where grasses glowed golden against the dark water. Visitors are often surprised at how dry our islands are in the summer, given that we enjoy endure a lot of rain the rest of the year. The islands are very rocky, for the most part, with little topsoil to hold moisture. 
 

Boat Passage from Solitude at 6:50 pm, looking east. It seems I show a lot of photos of the water/land/rocks/etc. and I hope you are not getting tired of seeing them. 
 

Annette Inlet, 6:48 am

The water is most still early in the morning and late in the evening. Photos are so one-dimensional - I wish you could push a button and smell the morning freshness and slight salt tang, feel the oh-so-gentle rock of the boat and warm sunshine, hear the birds busy about their duties, and trail your hand in the cool water. 
 

Sunset in Conover Cove off Wallace Island

We meet other boaters along the way and everyone is friendly. A gentleman who has traveled and sailed all over the world says that these, our Gulf Islands, are the most beautiful. Treacherous, too, with often wild and unpredictable currents. Beauty and treachery hand in hand.

I'll be sharing more photos of our trip and am looking forward to catching up with you and seeing how August is beginning for you. 

On the Water

Last Friday afternoon Tim arrived home a bit earlier than normal and we set sail for Genoa Bay. I packed a picnic supper to eat along the way. After anchoring Solitude we watched clear light fade to pink and grey as we bobbed on the water.
 

Full moon? Almost full moon? How beautiful to watch it rise over the trees until its light shone a glimmering pathway to us. 
 

Mornings are what I love best - hanging over the side of the boat looking into the water and watching the activity on the shoreline. Gulls and a heron in this photo but there were seals a-plenty in the water, and on-shore, a mama raccoon with three little ones. Mama turned over rocks and dug down a little, then moved aside while the babies scrabbled in the hole for sustenance.
 

We usually anchor our boat in a sheltered harbour for the night, preferring the peace and quiet to conveniences on shore. But on this trip we pulled up to a slip in a marina because we were meeting with friends - new friends - people who own boats similar to ours. It was our first meet-up. Friendly folk with whom we shared dinner on the dock and boat talk. Frankly, the boat talk bored me rather quickly and I returned to Solitude to read while Tim chatted with various boat owners. 

This marina has a Purple Martin Recovery program and have built nesting boxes all along the dock. The Martins know they have nothing to fear from the boaters and remained quite calm while I snapped a few photos.
 

No breeze. High heat. Silky water. We took a short walk. My hair frizzed and my energy wilted.

 
Heading home again on Sunday. The sun danced with the water and cool breezes flirted against our skin. 
 

Seals drape themselves on the rocks, utterly relaxed. A lesson to be learned there, and I did. After arriving home I draped myself on the couch and took a snooze. There's nothing like being out on the water for de-stressing. 

Don't forget to enter the watch giveaway. Just click on the link to comment on that particular post. 

Summer and the Sea

We've named our boat Solitude, as in "a place apart." Here she is on a clear Saturday morning just after launching. There is nothing like being out on the water for the sense of getting away from it all. The cares and worries of life slip away and relaxation unlike anything I've experienced before sets in. 
 

On this morning, Tim had a co-pilot, complete with life jacket and sunglasses. She was so excited. Out on the water a police boat came alongside and asked us to slow down. I thought maybe they would board and check for licences and safety equipment, but no, they just wanted to compliment Little Miss A for wearing her life jacket and gave her some stickers, an activity book and other little items. Kudos to the RCMP!
 

After anchoring in Princess Bay, Tim took A out for a ride in the little dinghy. I love the way she rests her arm on his leg, watching every move he makes. He took her along the shore and pointed out various features. She had a hard time staying seated and Tim later said he kept his fingers hooked into her life jacket.
 

On the little island (Portland again) I crouched to snap a photo of this wildflower. A bee buzzed in at the last moment in a frenzied photo bomb. You can see how fast his wings were moving. The grasses that were so green a month ago are drying already, golden and rustling in the breeze.

 There's still plenty of green. Green trees, bushes, and dark rock meld beautifully with blue sky and sea. 

Homeward bound we wait for a ferry. On the water it can be difficult to judge distances. The ferries are big and move fast - they aren't as maneuverable as smaller boats so it's best to stay out of their way. If you are near a ferry and hear five loud blasts from its horn, know that it's saying something like, "what on earth are you doing? Get out of the way!"

And now, another week begins. I'll be attending a graduation, meeting with a few friends, gardening, cooking, and sewing. An ordinary week, if there is such a thing.

How to Fill a Day

This is a rather longer post - a reflection on a day spent away from normal life.

We awake to the sound of water gently slapping the hull. Another boater is passing by, up earlier than we are. Sunlight glares from the window above us since we left the curtain partially open to watch the night stars as we fell asleep.

morning in Annette Inlet

 In the morning the day stretches ahead of us, long, lovely hours. How we will fill them? There's no list of things to do, no errands to run, no schedule to keep. Will we be bored by day's end?

I stretch, dress, and make my way to the cockpit where open sides let me lean over the boat edge. I stare into the water below. It's a moving highway of life. As the tide ebbs, bits and pieces from our snug inlet anchorage drift out into the channel. Tiny translucent moon jellyfish, scarcely an inch in diameter, contract and push to get wherever they need to go. Suspended filaments twist gracefully in the current. What are they? I toy with taking a course or two in marine biology.

Shadows in the water - see how the dead head and its shadow form an arrow? Perhaps it points to secret treasure.

In the compact galley I prepare breakfast - bacon, pancakes, and fresh pineapple. A pot of tea. Maple syrup and butter. We eat in the cockpit with the fresh air blowing across our small table. We talk of this and that and nothing much, the desultory talk of two people long accustomed to breakfasting together. 

I heat water to wash dishes. He dries. "What shall we do?" one or the other says. I decide to go out in the dinghy, exploring. He chooses to stay on the boat and putter. Man plus boat equals intense puttering.

Life above and below the water

Life vest on, I clamber into the dinghy and begin to row away from the boat. He waves. 

Last night when we arrived, the tide was very low, exposing large rocks. The tide is high now, barely ebbing and the rocks are mostly covered. I row over to check them out. Balancing the oars on the dinghy sides, I drift along the barnacled and shell-encrusted rocks. Crabs scurry to safety when my shadow covers them. Schools of tiny fish dart in unison. Long ribbons of kelp and sea lettuce wave gracefully. 

Continuing along the shoreline I startle half a dozen robins from their low hanging branch. They fly off in a hurry and alight not too far away. Deadfalls lean into the water, creating shadows where larger fish hide. If I am still I see them there, waiting. 

After an hour of paddling and watching, I return to the boat. I see that Tim has hung the Canadian flag and it flaps brightly in the wind.

Solitude anchored in James Bay off Prevost Island

We decide to weigh anchor and find a hiking trail. On the same island is a small park. We anchor the boat again, take the dinghy ashore and begin hiking to Peile Point. Our guidebook warns that this is a sheep trail and so we find it. Sheep appear to be more agile than we are, clambering up and down steep rocky inclines. We know that it's a sheep trail for they've left clumps of creamy, soft wool behind. Trail markers, perhaps?

Tim sitting on the rocks below the lighthouse at Peile Point

Hot and sweaty we arrive at the lighthouse point. We sit on the rocks eating apples, nuts and dried fruit and wishing we'd brought our lunch. A seal swims by just to take a look. Reassured, he soon returns to his rocky sunbathing some distance off. A bald eagle soars overhead and alights in a tall tree. White sails dot the ocean. A tidal pool holds a small reddish purple crab, several tiny fish, barnacles and pebbles. On the water-covered rocks below we see starfish, purple and orange, and rows of purple mussels.

Peile Point lighthouse from the water

We return to the boat. Three hours have passed. We're hungry and break out the salami, cheese, bread and crudités. We decide to go to Montague Harbour for the night. Half an hour to cross Trincomali Channel, another half hour to decide where to anchor. I read a book. He reads a magazine. Often the reading material falls to our laps as we gaze out at the world around us. He takes a nap, then decides to go exploring in the dinghy. I stay aboard to finish my book.

Light filtering through spring green maple leaves

We cook dinner late. He grills a marinated pork tenderloin on the barbecue mounted on the back rail of the boat. I cook asparagus and re-heat some vegetables I'd roasted at home. Coleslaw with a peanut dressing. Red wine. Before the sun sinks away we take the dinghy ashore and walk up the road for 20 minutes or so. Once aboard again I make two mugs of hot chocolate. He eats a couple of cookies and I have a square (or two) of dark chocolate. We talk and watch the light fade. We see the glow from other anchored boats - a neighbourly sight although we know no one. 

Just after 10 pm we crawl into bed. The waves have died down and the boat is still, barely turning on her anchor as we fall asleep. Just one day left.

As the light fades - Annette Inlet

 
 How will we fill the hours that stretch ahead?