Lyn's Log, 14th June 2008: Into the Wilderness
 

Goat Cove, Fiordland, BC; N52º56', W128º23'; 17,480 miles.

As soon as we had had lunch on 9th June we ventured north again, headed for a small bay on an outlying island called God’s Pocket. At the head of the tiny bay with a few run-down looking cabins was a short pontoon leaving little room to anchor. As we wondered what to do a man came down and moved one of his boats for us to tie up. Bill seemed very friendly and told us he was there with his wife, brother and father, and if we wanted we could join them with a drink and watch a film. We were invited into their cabin where they had just started a film. We drank the tins of cider we had brought and the wife went to sleep, and the brothers wandered off. So we left too and talked to Bill. He came on board and showed us on the chart a safe anchorage if we needed it the next day if there was a gale. He then suggested that we could anchor just a little further out of the bay, or if we stayed put he would have to charge us for the mooring. Andrew coughed up 30 dollars, quite extortionate given there were no facilities of any kind.

The weather forecast was not good. Gale force winds from the northwest were forecast for Monday afternoon, rising to storm force with a second low following quickly behind the first. The safest option seemed to retreat eight miles back to Port Hardy, a small town at the northern end of Vancouver Island. We left God’s Pocket in the rain and made across to Port Hardy to be told there were absolutely no spaces available in the marina, even though we could see plenty. It seemed obvious that with bad weather forecast few more yachts would arrive, so a little later we telephoned the marina to see if they had any cancellations. We were added as number seven to the yachts on the waiting list. Nevertheless, late in the afternoon, they telephoned back and offered us space. Power included, so warm at last!

We stayed two nights. Two other yachts left first thing in the morning and were back before midday as it was too stormy going north. We got a few jobs done, including the laundry, topping up propane gas and water, and a little more food shopping, all set for an early getaway on 11th June. We left Port Hardy at seven thirty, more than an hour after the two other yachts and met up with them again at the end of the day. It was cold and grey and my stomach was a little unsettled. We passed God’s Pocket again and then we met the swell, the wind and the waves of the open sea. It was a year almost to the day that Sentinel had last been out in open sea, when we rounded Sandy Hook approaching New York.

By midday we were rounding Cape Caution, then Egg Island. There were a lot of rocks with waves breaking over them. Then I saw some huge water spouts from whales, unfortunately too far away for a good view and I only saw the odd black back or black fin. The sun cleared the clouds away and I shed a couple of jackets. Later the wind was strong enough for us to get the sails up and enjoy a brisk sail for a couple of hours until we were again in the shelter behind islands. The wind shifted to a course straight down the waterway against us and we motored into our sheltered anchorage behind Green Island. I dropped the crab pot. There were the two yachts that had left Port Hardy with us and we thought to drop anchor nearby and socialise, but they didn't seem very welcoming so we moved away.

It was cold, grey and raining in the morning. At ten thirty we braved the elements, brought up the anchor, retrieved the empty crab pot, and again resolutely headed north. At least this time the winds were behind us and we averaged seven and a half knots under motor. It didn’t seem worth putting up the genoa and going slower. The rain was forecast to turn to showers in the afternoon but it just kept on raining, alternating between lightly and heavily. The oilskins did their job and we kept dry inside of them, but it got colder and colder. We changed watch every hour and when off watch and not preparing food, I was huddled under a blanket to get warm. The last couple of miles to Shearwater Marina, near Bella Bella, were into the biting wind and rain. I was freezing. I radioed the marina to be told they were full, but we could raft up against someone’s motorboat. We did this but then found out they were maxed out on electricity, presumably by all the motor yachts there, and many of the large ones were running generators as well. So without power and the noise of generators, we decided to anchor just off the breakwater.

Even though the cold drove us to bed early, we still rose late. The warmest place is in bed. We started to raise the anchor but the clutch on the windlass kept slipping and we had to pull it in by hand. We filled up with fuel at Shearwater and then motored the few miles to Bella Bella public dock to get a few more fresh food items and had lunch on board. The sun was really raising the clouds by then and we could see the tops of some of the mountains. Our afternoon trip of some fifteen miles was pleasant for a change, and we anchored in a very peaceful cove surrounded by low level islands and rocks. We took the windlass clutch apart to find we'd last reassembled it slightly wrongly. The fault now seemed to be cured. It was a lovely evening with the birds singing, some small fish jumping, and a few jobs completed on the boat.

The following day was also pleasant with hardly any rain, a little sunshine and light northwesterly winds. We decided to take a detour up a channel that entered an area called Fjordland. Here the granite rocks had sheer vertical surfaces in places, and some were like the largest boulders you had ever seen, smooth rounded with snow on the top and nothing growing on them. Just a little way into this tributary was a fast-flowing waterfall down to water level. We could motor right up into its spray. The shape of the waterfall calls to mind some sort of figure, some say a shaman, others a priestess all in white. What do you think? From there we made our way along Sheep Passage and into a small inlet called Goat Cove for the night. Another day would see us to Prince Rupert, the most northerly town on the British Columbia coast, and directly beyond lies Alaska.