In Hot Pursuit

Wow! I’m getting more and more like the old neutered tomcat, curled up and lazing in the sun and doing very little — including the occasional update on the blog. But here we go.

Len and Ursula, friends from Sidney, were to join us at Campbell River after Chad, Angie and the boys left, for a bit of time on a power boat. They had had a number of sailing vessels in the past, and as they were presently between boats had given some thought to a power boat. Who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. But I get ahead of myself. While we were awaiting their arrival at Discovery Harbour I recognized a sailboat plying its way down our fairway, Paul and Christie, aboard Shearwater. We made arrangements to get together and before Len and Ursula could arrive down the fairway came Compromise with Chris and Jerry. With the arrival of Len and Ursula we all gathered at the pub for a dandy meal and visit. Seemed like an old Port Sidney rendezvous.

The following day brought forecasts of nasty winds for the Strait of Georgia and we had prepared ourselves for yet another day at the dock, but we awoke to flat calm water and zero winds. This is not all that unusual, but the weather reports still called for nasty winds rated gale force. We dithered around for a while trying to make up our minds what to do and decided to take the plunge, and thus we headed north through Seymour Narrows. Good call, as the day stayed dandy, and the water flat. We carried on towards Nodales Channel, where the majority of the fishing seemed to be taking place, as Len was most hopeful of getting some splendid fishing input from a seasoned pro such as myself. Well you note that I said "fishing" before, and not "catching" and as we joined all the small fish boats from Painters Lodge and April Point, we spent the remainder of the day drowning bait, along with the rest of the boats. On the plus, at least we didn’t have to make our living off our catch and tomorrow is another day.

The AM arrived, along with the sun, and we made our way along Nodales towards Sonora Point, still in pursuit of finny creatures, and oh yes, the nasty weather that was to happen the previous day found its way to the Strait and Discovery Passage. A good call leaving the dock when we did, as we would have had yet another day tied tight. Not to worry where we were, as Nodales and Cordero are well protected from the prevailing winds. It seems that the fish had little concern as to having protected water, as once again we could not entice a fish into keeping us company. Now there were quite a number of boats fishing Codero Channel above Dent rapids and once again we joined the pack — to no avail. A small boat next to us had a bite, a small rock fish which he promptly threw back. Stated that he had been fishing hard for a week and that was his first hit. Such is fishing and I am certain that Len truly appreciated the lesson in humility by getting skunked. Of course we tried just a bit too long to boat a fish, so that our passage through Dent rapids and the Yucultas left a little to be desired. Dent was manageable but there is a spot on the Yucultas where the current flows across the channel on a flood. That’s where we were — an instant change in direction of some 90 degrees. The channel is reasonably wide at this point, which allowed us to recover our direction and carry on through. Does grab your attention though. There was a smaller boat at anchor just below this frenzied water, and I assumed him to be fishing the turbulence. In fact he was likely a local, parked there to watch the faces and the antics of the tourists as they plied there way through.

Once we had the rapids all behind us, we headed off to Waddington Channel in Desolation Sound, where we had it on good authority that there were prawns and oysters to be had. A great opportunity to show Len that there are a number of ways to snag seafood. We thumped our way towards Waddington, taking the last of the Strait of Georgia’s nasties of the beak, but the trip was not all that long, and the water was laying down. Made Waddington in time to have yet another batch of food and some tasty grape and throw the pick for the night. The next day brought clear skies and flat water although the weather reports did not bode so well and our intention was to make Nelson Island that night and Pender Harbour the following day. We did have lots of time and took a pause to drop my four prawn traps and  then dinghy ashore for a batch of fresh oysters. The oyster hunt was excellent, but once again we would have been better off to use Bonnie’s bait for the prawns. Six prawns, four people — let  me see, even though the prawns were a good size this hardly makes a meal, but the traps are up and we are heading south, or southeast ,or what ever direction it is. Now things are good untill about the time we hit Lund. Although the day had darkened, and the rain was pelting down with enthusiasm, the gale force winds didn’t seem to find us untill just south of Lund and about the time we were thinking seriously about finding a hidy-hole to wait it out the water settled down considerably, and we plodded onward. Now this was actually a trick, for as we made our way south of Powell River the winds returned, with increased vigor and the rain continued unabated. Of course by this time we are about equal distance from Nelson Island and Powell River, we chose to carry on. Now that’s an oops, for about this time the windshield wiper that you might recall I had previously doctored in Matheson Channel decided that enough was enough, and promptly quit. This was of course the wiper for the helm windshield, which brought my visibility to approximately zero. As I could no longer see the direction of the waves I could no longer quarter them, and as a result took a couple on the beam. The resulting pitching and rolling launched a few items from the cupboards and off the counter and at this point Bonnie chose to remember one other time I made a slight error in judgement crossing the Strait of Georgia. Golly, she sometimes has a problem remembering yesterday, but one minor mistake eight years ago ??? We did manage to make Blind Bay, unscathed, as darkness closed in upon us

Our trek down the mainland side of the Strait had a purpose as Len and Ursula have good friends at Pender Harbour and Bonnie and I were on our way to a birthday celebration for our old buddy Art, at Gibsons. The glitch in the system was that Gibsons marina could only accommodate us for one night. Len and Ursula to the rescue as their friends at Pender just happened to have dock space, with power, with water, — how great is that. Not only do we now have a place to park our boat, but they have offered the use of their second vehicle so Len and Ursula can shuttle us down to Gibsons. Add to this the fact that Ryan and Sue are really nice people and very hospitable. We spent a very nice evening together where the grape flowed freely and Len prepared a most savory pasta, and we added some purchased prawns to our delectable six — plus — Sue had a most tasty recipe for oysters, so we managed to scarf down a bucket of the beasties. Even Bonnie ate several, not enough to put a sparkle in her eye, but several more than she would have normally consumed.

And now to the party and Art’s big 70. Jimmy Anderson, a trapper, rancher and bush pilot from our other life in the frozen North, once stated in his autobiography, "that had I known that I was going to live this long, I would have taken much better care of myself". Now this can probably apply to a number of us, but not Art. He is probably in as good condition now as he was thirty years ago and I am certain that he has no intention of being measured for his dirt vest until he has turned every tree he can find into firewood. Now this not only keeps him in good shape but as Confusious says " he who cuts his own firewood warms himself twice" Now that is Sammy Confusious, from the corner store — not that other guy.Given Art’s disposition and gene pool, he may well carry on into the next century. But the party was great, and gave us the opportunity to to get together with old friends, many of whom we had not seen for a number of years.

The following day our trusty travel guides, Len and Ursula came back down to Gibsons to chauffeur us back to Pender and our boat. It was time to say adieu as they made their way to Powell River and the ferry to Comox, where their own car was waiting. A great trip — no fish but great company and good times, plus we never starved.

More to follow.

More sun — less fish

The AM at Forward Harbour brought, of all things — SUNSHINE!!! Did not realize just how much I was taking on an albino appearance. With my ultra blond summer hair and the occasional pinkish morning eyes, topped off with my un-tanned skin and there you have it. As we slowly made our way down Cordero Channel we tried fishing in what appeared to be probable “good fishing areas” as we wanted to be somewhat prepared when , Angie and our grand-boys arrived in Campbell River. Not a fish in sight but we have a new sunny day and we  did notice some boating action at the north end of Sonora Island, and so, discretely slipped into the pattern of the other boats we methodically plodded around in large circles while trying all the appropriate gear in the tackle box. No fish — and as we kept closer tabs on the surrounding boats we noticed — no fish. But we did pass the day away in glorious sunshine. Make our way to Cameleon Harbour and drop the pick to await another dawn. A new day and guess what — more sun. This is getting unreal as we have definitely not been accustomed to this situation. Invigorated, we motor down to the junction of Nodales Channel and Discovery Passage to work an area where there are certain to be fine salmon, just waiting for the catching. Wrong, they are still waiting for the catching and we must be off to Cambell River to provision for the arrival of the family.

Good thing that we had allowed an extra day for some leisurely provisioning and boat clean-up as due to some rather crappy weather in the Bellingham area, Chad and Angie decided to join us a day earlier than originally expected. Hey, two thumbs up, — more time with the grand kids don’t you know. They all arrive in good order, albeit late in the day. We are in good shape for the following day, and the start of a new adventure. A new sunny day, but we are a bit late for the early slack at Seymour Narrows, and a bit early for the late slack, but we manage to kill a little time until we can make our way in a northerly direction once again. Back to Cameleon Harbour once again, but boy will we be ready for the fish on the morrow. Well you know, we were certainly ready, but someone forgot to inform the fish as we dutifully drowned bait in a blazing sun, as we wiled away the hours. Down Nodales and up Cordero we drowned bait, and not a sniff of a fish. Three small faces with big expectations — and no fish. However, as we near Bickley Bay, our intended destination for the day, we determine that perhaps a bottom fish or two will help to redeem ourselves, and so with a change of gear we proceed to impress the troops. In short order, ’s line indicates a fishy type activity and the boys were called to share the momentous occasion of boating a fish. But no – the fish-gods are still giving us the finger, as when the fish was skillfully brought to the surface, it turned into a dogfish. Exciting, but not tasty, and even though we changed location several times, dogfish was the “catch of the day”. Oh yum!, but fortunately we still have provisions for a group of forty or more. We shall not starve.

Another glorious morning, which we must appreciate, as it is all we have to offer, fishing being what it is. If nothing else we are determined, as we dutifully fish the shoreline of Nodales once-again, and yes — persistence can pay off, for just as we were about to pull our lines in and change locations once again, was blessed with an actual strike, by an actual fish. A small spring, but a salmon none the less. Big time excitement and it all seems worth while. Not the end of our fishing, but all we can show for our catching – unless you count more dogfish — which we won’t. I have never seen so many dogfish. Started to look up recipes for shark-fin soup. But that will have to wait. Won’t bore you with the details of our remaining days of non-catching nor will I yet-again mention the wonderful sunny, cloudless days, but all this hot weather has warmed some of the coves and small bays, to where it was possible to swim, and indeed this was taken advantage of by Chad and the boys.

Once again time has flashed by and it is time for us to part. With assurances that we will persevere and not only locate the preferred fishing areas, but also the time of the runs of salmon. Our next visit will be in Redmond, and we already look forward to that.

More to follow ——

Warden One

The word of the day is “storm warnings” all up and down the coast. Seas to five metres and winds 50 to 55 kts. Not only is it the word of the day, but the next several days.

Taking advantage of some flat water in Chatham Sound prior to the storm, we leave Prince Rupert and make our way south. No storm ,but heavy rains. First night Klewnuggit, second night Khutze. Next day we cross Jackson Passage to Matheson Channel and down to Reid passage, still trying to keep ahead of the northwest winds and even uglier weather. Now as we have had nearly constant rains for most of the summer and this trip southward, my windshield wiper, at the helm window, decided to go on strike. This would take place as we approached the south end of Matheson, which is a rock strewn jumble of hazards, awaiting to do injury to unsuspecting boats destined for Reids passage. At about this time, my Nobletech decided to go into slow motion. As this would show my vessel position moving along where we had been, not where we were at present, it made for tight sphincters and a nervous, actually very nervous, Admiral. Employing the age old skill of dead reckoning, we made our way into Port Blackney, and threw the hook.

The following day brought some periods of lighter rain, which allowed me to take the wiper assembly from the galley window and exchange it with the totally non-working helm unit, and voila, our ability to see is restored. Add to this the fact that after re-booting the helm computer, and threatening it with a booting of a more physical nature, our Nobletech decided to give us back our navigation system. Had the spare system loaded on the laptop, and paper charts as stand-by, but is nice to have things work that are supposed to work. Bonnie looks to me in the same fashion.

On to Codville Lagoon and an extra day of just doing nothing. Not only that, but we have had the occasional glimpse of blue sky, less rain and varied winds. Things are looking up.

A better report for the Nor’wester and we make our way down Fitz Hugh Sound, to Frypan Bay, which we had to ourselves. Woke up to sunny skies and flat water in Frypan, and as our weather report was not well received in the Bay, we ventured out into open spaces with the intention of possibly taking a stab at Queen Charlotte Sound. Not to be as the dreaded swells were still coming in from the Sound, and the Admiral made the seniority decision that some time in Fury Cove, where we could watch the outer water from our anchorage, would be prudent. Good decision, as the next AM brought glass smooth water with a low westerly swell. Time to go.

A great crossing, although admiral Bonnie would have preferred no swell at all,  and we carried on down to Port McNeill. As it was late in the day, we were not able to get moorage so, once again dropped anchor in the harbour. Got good slip space the following morning allowing for a few provisions and some water. This in case we wished to shower again at some point. The need becomes apparent when Bonnie and I keep trying to “up-wind” ourselves from each other.

With tears in my eyes, we make our way over to the fuel dock and a top-up of diesel. Just about to the point where it would be cheaper to burn whiskey, but then one would run the risk of fighting with the engines for an appropriate share. I have found that if I keep the engine RPM’s under thirteen hundred, the fuel economy is not actually that bad, and gives us about 7.5 knots. It is in this proud fashion that we head towards Johnstone Strait. We are on flat water, but the forecast is for the perpetual gale warnings for the Strait. Some time it will actually happen and catch a bunch of boats unprepared for rough water.

As we neared Robson Bight we moved to the mainland side of the strait, as the Orcas like to frolic in the Bight, and scrape their bellies on the gravel beach. Because of this activity, the area has become a whale-watchers haven. Unfortunately it has also become a haven for “granolies” for as we made our way southward an inflatable boat approached us at a fairly high rate of speed. In the boat was a member of the” KGB whale saving society” who we were to find out was known as Warden One. As she approached our vessel she commenced to flap her arms in what appeared to be an attempt at becoming airborne. I quickly calculated that, given her body mass, (we ain’t talking no tiny Warden One here) her arms would need to be in the range of forty feet across, and thus assumed that she actually wanted us to stop. Now having been informed by Bonnie that I should just stay where I was, ”as I can be ignorant”, and she would handle the situation at hand. Warden One meets Admiral One.!!! Now after assuring us that she was just doing her job, we received a lecture about going too fast in a whale watching area and that we should keep our speed to 7 knots. Now this is a most discerning eye on Warden One, as when I once again brought us up to thirteen hundred RPM, we were doing 7.6 knots. However, I suspect that there may well be some tax payer funding involved here, and in order to build the bureaucracy an ever increasing quota of nasty perpetrators must be apprehended and scolded. Next year we may well have a Warden Two and Three as well. Plus I suspect that there may have been something of a personal motive involved with the protection of the whale as there was a bit of a family resemblance involved with the Orcas and Warden One. Oh well, I am certain that at the end of the day Warden One sleeps well with the thought that the world is a much better place because of her. Actually, Warden One does not realize just how close she  came to “poking the bear” during her discussion with Admiral One.

Winds are once again building as we make our way to Forward Harbour and our next anchorage.

Look after yourselves and enjoy each day.

The Summer that wasn’t

Time for an update from the summer that wasn’t. Todd, Kristen, Kayla and Matthew arrived from New York as scheduled. Flew the distance in one day, so was a long trip, plus a 5 hour layover in Vancouver. As a special treat the weather tried to co-operate by giving out fleeting glimpses on sunshine — a rare sight this year. It seems that it went directly from June-uary to November, and we now have cool days with much horizontal rain and, of course, frequent storms. But once again I get ahead of myself. 🙂

The weather is not the only item difficult to predict, there is also the location of the fish which has been, to say the least, very erratic. We strike out for the area which has shown a degree of dependability for us, and offers areas of good moorage, should a storm rear its ugly head. The north end of DundasIsland gives us both, as Brundidge Inlet offers excellent holding when at anchor. Unfortunately, it also offers a type of black fly that is actually a set of sharp teeth and a pair of wings. As a special bonus they come in large quantities, and I am certain that they can chew their way into a sealed boat when they are in a feeding frenzy. Now, I suspect, that in an effort to lure these carnivores away from her grand babies, Granny offered herself as a sacrifice, with the result of some rather nasty welts. Her year to look as though she was the loser in a bar brawl. Not to paint this picture all in the negative, we did get into a rather good bite of nice size cohos, which put something of a smile on Todd’s face. 🙂 Rather than face another opportunity of feeding the flying teeth, we struck out for the Moffats, and God”s pocket. On the way we decided to drop the prawn traps for a succulent feed of the little critters.

As we now had a good catch of salmon on ice, we decided to set our sights on some fresh halibut. Now as halibut have been the only dependable thing this season, that we should get our limit is pretty much a given — wrong !!! Just when I was starting to get pretty cocky about getting these “flat fish” at will, they up and disappeared. Possibly just to teach me a little humility.  We offered them some of the most delectable fishy type snacks known to man, and couldn’t get a sniff. We caught red snapper, caught lingcod, caught rock fish galore, but not one ugly halibut. Plus we tried the above at all the spots where we had previously caught halibut over the past two years. Some things are just not meant to be. Oh yes, our prawn pull yielded us a much better catch of starfish than it did prawns, and as their were no commercial prawners in the vicinity for Bonnie to exhibit her prawning skills, we opted to move the traps to a different location. It was a good thing that we did, as when we pulled this set, we not only had a bountiful two prawns, but one of the largest Pacific octopuses I have encountered. 🙂 It would have reached about eight feet from toe to toe and yet had managed to squeeze into the prawn trap through it’s three inch opening. While in there, he unscrewed the bait container and had a snack, but courteously left the container and lid. Now as the trap has little gates which fall down on the inside, he no longer had the little three inch opening to leave by and was in the process of building a new exit by tearing a hole in the net cover of the trap. This is when we brought him aboard and watched as he squeezed himself out of his newly created opening. Getting a fairly large octopus aboard the boat is one thing, getting him to leave is totally another. Worse than a landlord trying to evict a nasty tenant, or so it seems. I was about to get out my cookbook of Chinese cooking delights when we managed to entice our unwanted guest into the landing net, and then back into the water. So much for prawns.

As we continued our pursuit for the wily halibut, in the open, bouncy water south of Melville Island, we noticed a Humpback whale in the distance, trying to out do us in the fishing department no doubt. Apparently we elicited a degree of curiosity in the brute, for as we started to leave the area empty handed he surfaced about twenty feet abeam our starboard side. Now I can tell you that this is somewhat impressive, and as he dove back down we could even see vegetation hanging on his tail fluke. Another Kodak moment in trade of poor fishing. Unfortunately it is hard to think “picture” when your mouth is open in awe and your mind is in neutral.

A few more salmon for good measure, including a nice Spring, and we are off to Tuck Inlet for, hopefully, a feed of crab. As luck would have it, this came through for us as, on the pull, we had twenty – eight crab in the trap. Kept eleven of the biggest and sent the rest back for the next time.

Don’t have to like it but time is up and the family is off  to New Jersey. Time for us to prep the boat and point ourselves Southward in search of some sunshine — hopefully.

More to follow.

More From Dawson Creek

This could be assumed as more company or more news from Dawson Creek. Actually was both. Vern and Vicki Haglof, friends since forever, managed to pry themselves free from their busy retirement schedule to join us for a few days on the briny sea. It is truly great to get together with old friends and talk fondly about the "good old days". The real beauty is that nobody really remembers them all that well, and as an added bonus, nobody really notices that you don’t remember yesterday all that well either.

Actually the weather did rather improve, which allowed us to venture out in hot pursuit of the ‘friends of Nemo’ and we could do this on water that didn’t move up and down at the same rate of speed that we propelled ourselves forward. I find that the crew tends to be a much happier lot when the action of the boat does not spill their drink.  Spent a day in Hudson Bay Passage chasing fish as the wind was  a strong southwest in Hecate an a strong southeast in  Chatham Sound. This gave us a  bit of a breakwater to hide behind, and the opportunity to fish a little. We managed to snag a small halibut. Pretty exciting for prairie people. Well not really prairie people, but  I have to tell you that the salt water fishing around Dawson Creek is a tad limited. All this excitement helped to build a terrible thirst and as luck would have it, it was time for dinner at any rate. Back to our hidy-hole for some of both.

Now I must  tell you that I am in total awe of a highly skilled aptitude that I have noticed when women get together on the boat. The fairer sex appears to be able to talk at approximately 200 words per minute, while only listening at about 60 words per minute or so. Now logic would say that there would be a great deal of this conversation that they would miss, but at the end of the day they seem to have it all down pat. Totally amazing !!

Back to fishing. Now that Vern had been introduced to halibut fishing, there was just no holding him back and the request for the following day was for more of the same. Having noticed an interesting spot or two, while previously trolling, we tried to jig up a flat fish or two. Now as the tide was running, it was more like trolling for halibut and there was no way that we were going to stay at the "lucky spot", so we dropped anchor and tossed over the tasty halibut treat. This had scarcely hit the bottom when it was munched upon by the ‘happy hali.’ A fifty pounder no less, and a new fishing experience for the "new guy". Add to this catch an assortment of dining delights of the bottom fish variety, and it is yet again time to call it a day. Actually, you can call it whatever you like, but we like to call it a day.

A new day and a new request. Still fresh in his memory, the work involved at boating a bigger halibut, Vern thought it prudent to pursue a salmon or six, and as Vicki had been drooling over the thoughts of a crab feed for several days, we pointed the boat in the direction of the south end of the Moffats. Once again "Goodness triumphs over Evil" and we got into a bit of a bite. Landed four springs and two coho in fairly short order, then off to Tuck inlet and a catch of crab. You gotta love it when a plan comes together, Ten nice keepers in the crab trap the next A.M., plus several females and some undersize. Not a bad pull and they joined us as we boated back to Rupert. Turned several into a tasty meal for the ladies as Vern and I graciously stood aside that they might have their fill. This was particularly gallant of Vern, who can hardly get enough crab and prawns etc. — or not.

The bad thing about being at the Yacht Club in Rupert is that it signals the end of another wonderful time with friends or family, but time does fly. One more page for the book of memories.

A couple of days will see the arrival of the "New York family", who actually now live in New Jersey. We are quite looking forward to their arrival, at which time "Poor Granny" will be able to satiate the grand child withdrawal symptoms that she has been suffering from.

Take care of yourselves and keep in touch.
T & B

Enjoy the moment

It is June , or  with the rain and cold, possibly June-uary, and it is Sunday and it is the twenty-second and Mike and Janet arrive. Just like on schedule. They also arrive with sufficient food and beverage to care for the Argentine navy for a full fighting season. A new water line on the boat hull and a new notch in my belt will accommodate this little problem.

Monday AM and we are in hot pursuit of things that swim, excluding mermaids and the girls synchronized swim team, and as we have strong winds from the south-east we head north to the Work Channel. This makes for a somewhat smoother ride with a following sea. It is later in the day when we arrive at Trail Bay but there are a number of charter boats fishing the turn of the tide. We did note that although there were quite a number of these boats, there were not quite a number of them catching fish, but not t be outdone we too fished a great deal and caught not so many. Fortunately hunger and thirst overcame us and as the winds were still up, we hunkered down in Trail Bay for the night. When the sun is well up in the sky (if you could get a glimpse of the sun) we are back at work, fishing the shore, accompanied by still another cluster of charter boats. The difference this time is that although the other boats still appeared to be having limited luck and we had three in the bucket on the first tide. Rather than fish aimlessly until the next tide, we decided to drop anchor and have a little lunch. As we got ourselves settled, we noticed that most of the boats had left as well. No sooner had the girls prepared some tasty sandwiches and we made ourselves comfortable, when our solitude was broken by the sound of roaring engines along side our boat. This was accompanied by a major type wave as the high speed vessel of the fish Gestapo came abeam and requested to board our boat. Now I often wondered what would happen if one refused this request, but not wishing to be blown out of the water, or rammed or whatever it is that they might do, I readily complied with this request. Actually quite a nice young chappie, and as the ladies said “ he had nice dimples”. At any rate, he just wanted to see our licenses, and as we had actually had our catch marked in as we were supposed to, everything went quite well and we parted company on reasonably good terms.

Next AM we were alone in our fish pursuit and the weather reports were still not great. On the upside, the weather was supposed to get worse later in the day. With this in mind we decided to poke our nose out into Chatham Sound and make a decision at that time. As luck would have it, the water was not too cranky so we headed across Chatham to Dundas Islands. The water continued to “lay-down” and allowed us to quarter the waves and swells, for quite a pleasant crossing. Even Bonnie didn’t seem to notice the lumps in the water, as she and Janet discussed everything that was happening in “good old Dawson Creek”for most of the crossing. We set our prawn traps and shut it down for the day in a very secure moorage, locally known as “God’s Pocket”. More massive meals and good spirits and we are off to bed. One thing about these marathon eating binges is that with my increasingly rotund form, I can now rock myself to sleep by lying on my belly and letting the wave action propel me back and forth. Fishing is still nasty and we manage only a dinner fish and a good sized Ling cod. Back to God’s Pocket where we can listen to the rain thump on our roof. Oh yes, we did manage to get enough prawns to supplement the yearling cow that Mike tastefully prepared on the barbeque. Now for those of you who don’t know Mike, his idea of steaks for four, is to knock the hooves and horns off a fully grown grain fed beef, cut the remaining part into four equal sections and cook until medium rare. To eat one of these “puppies” is very nearly a career move, but I can assure you that it can be done. A new leisurely day, and the plan is to fish for a while and then cross back over Chatham and up into Tuck Inlet and a feed of fresh crab, prior to getting Mike and Janet back to Prince Rupert. First we once again pull the prawn trap, which once again was not so full as to make the pulling difficult, and then out into Chatham Sound to fish the east side of the Moffats. Now as logic would have it, this is the day for the fishing to pick up and we had scarcely dropped the hooks when we caught our first of five spring salmon. Next we managed to troll up a thirty pound halibut on Mike’s line. Certainly a pleasant change from the past several days. All this in two hours fishing. About this time I noticed that the water was starting to build and thought it prudent to get with it if we were crossing to Rupert. Each tick of the clock seemed to build the water a little more and after a rather short period of time I did a one-eighty and high tailed it back to God’s Pocket. Neither Janet nor Bonnie were enthused about a lumpy crossing and a Kermit the frog impression. It isn’t easy being green.

It seems that the plan of staying in the “pocket” was rather fortuitous as the winds gusted fifty, fifty-five most of the afternoon and a good part of the night and we soon had the company of other boaters in our safe-moorage spot.

The AM brought a change of wind direction and rippled water with low swells for our crossing. Perfect except for the fact that the sooner that we reach Prince Rupert, the sooner that we loose the company of some wonderful friends, whom we don’t get to see often enough. Enjoy the moment!!

New spots but no fish

Back in internet range and time for an update. Son Troy and his buddy Rick made a quick trip in our direction in hopes that all my spouting off about fish were not just more fish tales. The “tales” make thin soup. I am quite certain that had the weather been more co-operative, the fishing would have been much better, but we did manage to slay some of the finny critters. The winds kept us in a nice safe harbour (Brundidge) for the best part of one full day, but they still managed to go home with their limit of springs, but only one small halibut. Oh well, they will be bigger next time guys. As Rick was new to salmon fishing, we courteously let him catch the largest salmon and entitlement to the appropriate bragging rights. This was particularly gracious of Troy as it has been some time since he was fishing as well. Time just flew and the guys headed back to Woodinville — maybe just as well as both Troy and Rick are very accomplished when it comes to cooking, and I need gourmet meals every day like I need a good enema. Or maybe that is the only part of the gourmet feasting that I should have been having. At any rate we had a great time and certainly enjoyed the company and the culinary delights!

Had about a week before our good friends Mike and Jan Fraser join us from “good old Dawson Creek” and took advantage of the hospitality of our Sidney friends, Doug and Becky Trapp. Doug and Becky have spent many years in this area fishing and charter fishing, so are very familiar with all the little spots to hide out from rough water and the spots to sniff out the big fish. Can’t say enough good things in that they would take the time to show us some of their favorite spots as well as some “new to us” fishing spots. We spent several nights rafted up and sharing a libation or two and more gourmet cooking. Becky certainly knows her way around the galley. It seems that I am just magnetically drawn to people who prepare great food in an effort to make me fat. — too late, I beat them all to that. Doug not only shared fishing spots, but shared fishing pointers and I look forward to putting them into practice as I pursue the wily salmon. Now Becky quite enjoys hanging a hook into a halibut or two and told us about rafting with some friends of theirs in the little bay where we spent our first night. Apparently they and the friends, (well the ladies) had dropped a hook on the off chance of catching a halibut or two. Yes they did, an eighty pounder , and in twenty feet of water no less. As she was relating this story, she was rigging a line to set over the side for a repeat performance. As we all sharpened an eye with a liquid refreshment, there was some action on her line, but by the time she was able to grab the rod the line was broken and the “huge fish” gone. Time for heavier gear and the halibut rod is now over the side. No sooner were we back to our mind enhancing nectar and there is action on the new rod. Not only action but the heavy line is snapped before it can be retrieved. This is too much for my own fat self and as Becky is once again rigging her line, I drop one off our boat as well as we are obviously perched over a veritable cluster of huge flat-fish. You guessed it, we had barely sat down to our much needed libation, as by this time I was beginning to feel like a camel, when my line began to make some fishy type movements. Well I grab the rod and watch the line just peeling off the reel. I have visions of this monster type halibut and how many meals this beast will make, when a rather large seal surfaced and glared at me. Now I suspect that this was just a younger type seal trying to get some spiffy new body piercings, so I cleated my line and let him have my fine stylish hook. Now a sensible person would have called it quits by now, rather than donate more gear, but nobody ever accused me of being sensible, so I re-rigged and once again dropped a line. By this time we had managed to get the first drink down and managed a verbal re-play of the seal episode assisted by some “nectar of the Gods”, when once again Becky noticed movement on my line. Thinking that the seal was going to drown himself if he wore much more of this heavy hardware, we started to retrieve the line but this time it had a much different feel. You guessed it, a halibut, and fifty pounds of it to boot. And all of this in twenty feet of water. Just goes to show — ‘fish are where you find them”

Next day we are not having much luck as the salmon fishing has dropped right off. Even the charters are coming up short as the “springs” seem to vanish other than the occasional short period of time. Definitely not like last year, but that is fishing and so we went into Hunts Inlet to “drop the pick” and share some great company. No excitement like the previous evening. A new morning and actual sunshine. What could possibly happen to us next? Fishing is still slow and at slack tide we opted to anchor at a drop off and try for some more halibut. Skill obviously wins out as r’Andiamo landed two, Tawny Port — zero. As the winds were starting to build, we followed Doug and Becky into Welcome harbour. Now this is like going through a mine field when looking at the chart, but there is a a skinny little pathway to follow when you know the area. Sort of tight sphincter time on the first run but a piece of cake the next time around. What a great little cove and pretty much bullet proof for the weather. A short hike across a narrow strip of land and you are at a strip of fine gravel beach on Hecate Strait. That is the plan for the following day, and one more new experience.

New day and new sun — hard to believe two days in a row with actual sun light. Do you get the feeling that sunny days have been in short supply here this year? Anyway, we dinghy to shore and hike over to the Hecate side. Quite spectacular and if Bonnie stood on her tippy-toes, she could very nearly see . Walked the beach for a while, and just enjoyed the moment, but there are fish to be caught — or not! Threaded our way back through the mine field and then in hot pursuit of the elusive Pacific salmon. Still pretty slow, and yet again the charters are having tough luck. Sort of a bummer as this is how they make their living. Weather reports are talking gale-force winds so we have opted to slip back into Prince Rupert Harbour and the quiet of Pillsbury Cove. Doug and Becky are booked into the yacht club for Friday night and we are there on Saturday. A most enjoyable few days, at least certainly for us.

Mike and Jan arrive Sunday, and with them a new story or two.

Prince Rupert at last

Well we are at Prince Rupert, we have both phone and internet, and I can not come up with any good excuses for not updating our blog —- so here goes.

We left Ocean Falls and headed west towards Milbanke Sound, but rather than cross the sound, which can be somewhat snotty at times, we snuck up Reid Passage and on to Mathieson Channel, which was our intended destination at any rate. We tucked into Rescue Bay with the intention on continuing on the following AM. The weather kept nicely, and we stayed a couple of extra days and low and behold, there were more boat chores. Fancy that !. Oh well, it all has to be done I guess.

On to Kynoch Inlet, part of Fiordland Recreation Area. They are definitely fjord-like with steep granite walls dropping straight down to the water. A few trees have missed the loggers axe by clinging precariously to these rock faces. It is amazing how a cup full of questionable soil can support a full grown tree — but they do. The inlet was burdened with some high cloud cover, which prevented us from looking right up to the top, but maybe just as well as by the time I got all the folds in my neck smoothed out by looking upwards, I had a kink in my neck. Half a mountain is good enough. Back on the go as we hope to make Khutze Inlet for the night.

At the end of Mathieson Channel lies Mathieson Narrows. Now this causes the water to hurry up as it all has to get to where it is going at the same time as the rest of the water. If you are going with the current, you can gain mileage big time. The reverse holds true if you are going agin’ the current. We, however, arrived at slack, while the water just lies there while it tries to make up it’s mind what it wants to do. This does give the best ride. See how I look after Bonnie.

Had a small pod of Orcas accompany us through the Narrows and part way down Sheep Passage. The Orca pod was small, only three, but quite spectacular. A lot of leaping clear of the water accompanied by great splashing etc. Very entertaining.

I’m not certain if Sheep Passage was named for the big curly horned animal who likes to stand in the middle of the road at Banff and Jasper, or perhaps a Scotsman trundled his little furry favourites off to the wilds of BC. We were unable to spot either kind, so it is still a mystery. From Sheep Passage we enter Hiekish Narrows. Now those of you who listened to me whine last year, about the nasty log that snuck up upon us with the intention of doing damage to our propellers, this is the spot!! Having put up a valiant struggle in an effort to turn the log to pulp fodder, did create a very noticeable vibration. We did not want a repeat performance!

We made it through unscathed, and no small thanks to the white knuckles Bonnie presented to the helm cabinet. Into Graham Reach and on to Khutze Inlet. Tomorrow another day.

Caught a bit of the tide in our favour, and scooted along passed Butedale. Vicky, you will be happy to know that it is for sale in its entirety, and can be had for only a couple mil. Was going to stop and put an offer in on your behalf, but had to get out of the way of a tug and tow. Maybe on our way back down.

Managed to sneak across Wright Sound just ahead of the lumpy water, and started up Grenville Channel. Pulled into Lowe Inlet in bathroom weather. “Pissing” down rain with a “shitty” outlook for the next two-four hours. Slept the night away accompanied to the sound of buckets of water dumping down on our roof. Morning brought more rain and fog, but we are within sniffing distance of Prince Rupert. Started into Chatham Sound with a slight chop and low swells. Enough to grab Bonnie’s attention once again, but it did not worsen from there to PR. A happy Bonnie.

Speaking of Bonnie, I must mention that I mis-judged her interest in the gathering of sea food. I always knew that she enjoyed eating the stuff, but pulling a trap, or baiting a hook — no thanks. Now it seems that she has been less than pleased with my abilities of filling the deep freeze with prawns. Whilst we were in Ocean Falls, she took it upon herself to show me how the gathering of prawns was done. Now I must admit that she did much, much better than I, but I have come to the conclusion that it is the bait that makes the difference. Bonnie found that the best bait was cash, and that all one had to do was to present it to a commercial dude, on his prawn boat, and you had a quick catch. Not only that. But she found that if you added more “bait”, you could select the size that you wanted. I may try this out here, or may just toss some cash in the trap.

All for now, take care.
T

Ocean Falls

Another day in downtown Ocean Falls. This is our third, and is due to utter laziness, and not adverse weather. Left Fury Cove on a beauteous morning with flat water. We were accompanied up Fitz Hugh Sound by some whales who seemed oblivious to our presence, and were more than content to continue feeding. It is always a pleasant change to view some of the flora and fauna as opposed to logs and deadheads. Just so long as one is not dashed back to reality with an encounter with one of the aforementioned. As we progress northward, there are weather reports of winds building from the northwest. Nothing spectacular, but building all the same. In the “old days” a nor’wester. Now in times long past ,sea faring men were noted for their lack of conversation skills, this possibly as a result of not being heard above the sound of the wind screaming through the halyards, of maybe that they were just unsociable suckers at the best, and better off at sea. At any rate, this attitude resulted in many an abbreviation and rather than state that “the winds are building from the north-west” a “nor’wester” would cover the same territory. This also applied a so’easter or so’wester, but even ancient mariners drew the line at north and south as a we’wester only sounded as though they had a stammer. All this changed when someone determined that women aboard ships were no less unlucky than say shooting an Albatross, for example. Women being somewhat more able to vent their feelings verbally, in as many words, and for as long as the situation required, created a whole new aura on the ocean. In my own situation for example, if I have not explicitly followed instructions from the Admiral, will likely be reminded of this for some considerable period of time, and in as colorful expletives as the situations require. On the other hand, had my failure to follow instructions resulted in an unpleasant boat ride, the conversation could be short and terse, followed by long periods of silence. Go figure. It is also my understanding that BC Ferries is having an extensive study done in an effort to re-instate the policy of women being bad luck on boats.

It seems strange to pass Lama Passage and ply our way on towards Ocean Falls. Lama Passage leads towards Bella Bella and Shearwater, and has been the way that we have gone in the past. The fact that Ocean Falls has good docks, good power and abundant clean, clear water all at a reasonable price, may have some bearing on this choice. It seems that by the time we make it this far some laundry is in order and in Shearwater even the whites come out brown, to match the color of the water they are washed in. Now those who live in that area claim that this brown water is perfectly harmless, and even quite all right to drink. As most of the resident population has rather a brownish tinge, maybe as a result of the water, we choose not to take this chance.

Water is one thing in abundance at Ocean Falls, considering that it has an average rainfall of some 14.5 feet per year. Now put in it’s proper perspective, this would be equivalent to stacking three Bonnies end to end. That is quite a bit of water. However on the two days of summer the weather is spectacular and the scenery beautiful. Not to mention that the 40 full time residents are very friendly and helpful. It is hard to envision that this community once boasted a population in excess of 5000 people, and the largest hotel north of Seattle, with some 400 rooms. This was back in the times that pulp and paper was king, and money was no object. The 1970’s started the hard times for Ocean Falls, and a number of factors, both financial and political, brought about it’s eventual demise. Well so much for the history lesson, time to head north. More to follow.

T

To Fish or Not To Fish

A new day, and time to put the money where the mouth is, as it were. After convincing ourselves that there were fish to be had, to wily fishers such as ourselves, Bonnie and I backtracked down Johnstone Strait with Art and Janice, heading for Codero Channel and some open fishing area. Having awaited the incoming tide that we might extricate ourselves from the shore side of the dock at Port Neville, we now had the advantage of an incoming tide and hefty current down the strait. Quite a thrill at Race passage. Hair straight back and we are finally getting the fuel mileage that we would like. Never lasts as long as it should as we make our way to Bickley Bay. Too late in the day for the elusive finny creatures, but time to drop the crab trap and yet again over eat.

Up at the crack of noon, or there about, as we ply the waters with the most appealing of lures, and all the skill of the dedicated hunter. Nary a salmon to be had, but we did manage to get a pair of ling in the bucket, and Art and Janice did about the same. Now all we have to do is convince ourselves that it requires the same finesse to boat a bottom fish as it does to take a salmon. Doesn’t take a lot of convincing that they all eat very well. Add to this a trap load of crab and once again too many munchies.

A new day and more decisions. With the uncertainty of Queen Charlotte Strait ahead of us, the prudent mind says to get back pointed north, and after much procrastination and fond farewells that is exactly what we did. Timed our passage through Green rapids and Whirlpool Rapids, and found ourselves safely ensconced in Forward Harbour for the night. Back to Johnstone Strait on the morrow.

Poked our nose out into Sunderland Channel in the AM and noticed that it did indeed bounce rather nicely in an up and down motion. This as a result of incoming water down Johnstone, accompanied by significant winds. A couple of hours of this and we decided to tuck back into Port Neville and let the water settle down a bit. Like Yogi Bera would say “ déjà vu all over again”. Two days later and we are back in Port Neville. Sat around in the boat for a couple of hours, and the water began to flatten out nicely. Pointed north once again and away we went. Some things just get better as they get older, a single malt for one and this day for another. The water just kept getting flatter and even the sun reared its ugly head. What with the great water and the sunshine, even Bonnie was happy. As we neared Port McNeill and prior to crossing Queen Charlotte Strait we decided to top off our fuel tanks. Now normally we do this little duty at Port Hardy as the price of fuel tends to be somewhat more reasonable there. Not !! Would you believe abut 3 cents a litre less at Port McNeill. I believe that they all belong to a society of bandits and at least Jesse James wore a mask. However, thanks to Bonnie and here telephone, we did save that 3 cents a litre. Water still flat and the day yet fine, so north it is to yet another port. Port Alexander on Nigei Island. Now as all the other ports we have spoken of, had real live people, one might jump to the conclusion that there may be inhabitants here. Not so, but it is a great spot to drop the pick prior to crossing the open water of Queen Charlotte Strait and gains about 15 miles from leaving port Hardy.

A fine nights sleep and a six o’clock awakening to water with a mirror finish prompted us to weigh anchor and try the crossing. The report from West Sea Otter listed swells of one and a half metres, but calm winds, and the reports from both Pine and Egg Islands had light winds. Prefer a metre or less at West Sea Otter but what the hey. For the land lubbers amongst us, West Sea Otter in not a cute furry little animal placed on the water for our viewing pleasure, but an unmanned reporting device giving sea conditions in Queen Charlotte Strait. Made our way out Douglas Channel, taking some current on our beak, (the pointy part of the boat), along with some ups and downs of ocean swells. We are still a way from the Strait and already Bonnie is starting to clench her window sill. A quick taste of the open water convinced us that a smoother passage might be had later, and so, back to Port Alexander. Water dead calm, deceitful little devil. As we sat about enjoying the day, the reports kept getting better. WSO is now 1.2 metres, with Pine and Egg as before. Up with the anchor and back down Douglas Channel. Less bounce to the ounce on this pass and away we go. The closer we get to Pine Island the greater the roller coaster ride, until Bonnie started to make little whimpering sounds. Now I have been around long enough to interpret the signs, and I know that if mom ain’t happy, nobody’s happy. Back to Port Alexander. Now, had we turned off the ships radio, we might have spent the remainder of the day with a good book and sunshine, but oh no, we’re not that clever. It is now 3 o’clock and West Sea Otter is less than one mtere. Bonnie suggests that if we wait much later in the day, we would be making the crossing in the dark. That is not going to happen, so pull the pick and off we go. Suffice to say that Bonnie kept horizontal on the crossing, but in spite of the carnival ride we made it to Fury Bay unscathed, and in time for a little relaxation and then to bed.

A new day and a new sun. One could get used to this. Also no wind. A definite bonus when on the water. However, it is Sunday, a day of rest. I curled myself up on the chesterfield with a good book and the warmth of an early morning sun. Quite contented, like a fat old tom cat. I was very nearly to the point of purring when “she who decides” determined that the day of rest could include “a few chores”. It is too small to hide on a boat and too cold to swim to shore, so a few chores it was. Oh well, nothing so pressing in our schedule that a vegetative state can’t be post-poned. Tomorrow is another day and we will ply our way north once again. On to Ocean Falls. Will update from time to time. Care to all.

T