Day 17

Today we left the shelter of Kiltik cove and headed out into a transformed world. Where yesterday there had been driving whitecaps and steep chop, today the water was polished like a mirror, without even the slightest hint of a ripple to denote any kind of wind, we motored on with Ray steering, and the two of us intermittently relaxing in the sun or crouching under the shelter of the dodger as short bursts of rain, still with no wind, passed over.

            The weather was generally fair throughout the morning, until we were about three miles from our midday fueling stop at Bella Bella. As we came around a bend in the channel and could see the tiny town center ahead, a heavy raincloud came down on us, forcing all the books, cushions, and sheets that were lying outside drying out to be hastily thrown below, and Foul weather gear to be re-applied layer by layer.

            Eventually, we did arrive at the docks, where we met the crews of both Sea Badger and Pairadise, who were just leaving in their dinghies for Shearwater after shopping in Bella Bella. We only stayed at the dock long enough to get fuel and some ice, so within an hour we were once more underway, headed for one more short hop through open water before dipping back into the channels.

At first, as we entered the wider channel leading to the ocean we only had some big rolling ground swell coming in, but soon the wind started to pick up and we raised the sails and were soon beating up channel into 15 knots under the full main and #2, the boat heeling over to a steady 20 degrees, the rail hovering just inches above the water, occasionally dipping under as a bigger gust or wave hit. The most surprising thing in all of this, however, was that there was absolutely no significant weather helm, even when we were putting the rail in the water. The helm was so balanced, that I could have been steering with only one finger on the tiller even through the worst of the gusts!

When we first started sailing and heeling, though we were moving fast, things were not good. We had been in flat water all day, and as a result things were, well, a bit relaxed down below, so that everything started sliding around and falling over as soon as we got onto the first tack. Once things settled down a bit, though it was really fun sailing, with enough wind to eventually warrant a reef in the main, and Darwind swooping over the ground swell, sometimes up to 1.5-2 meters on the bigger sets, pushing up the slope, then sliding down the backs as she accelerated past 6 knots some of the time. The only problems that arose from this passage was the proximity of the very rock-strewn lee shore and some scattered shoals and rocks to be maneuvered around, which necessitated making one tack back out and the wrong way, beating straight into the waves and reducing speed to one or two knots for about an hour.

However, after we had gained enough ground we settled back into a fast close-hauled run, bearing off to a beam reach as we rounded the last point, making 6 knots easily. Here too, there were numerous rocks, with one about two miles north, Vancouver Rock, crashing wildly and beating the seas into masses of white foam and spray. We were very happy that we didn’t have to sail anywhere near there today, and continued to hear the mournful hooting of the marker buoy well into the night.

The anchorage we eventually pulled into, Morris Bay, was surprisingly well protected from the wind, even with the low nature of the island, and only the tiniest residual chop found it’s way around the bend into the bay. Here we were once again alone in an uninhabited cove with the old growth cedar forests unspoiled all around. Later in the evening, after dinner, we decided to make a short expedition ashore in the dinghy, which I had blown up earlier to tighten the bolts on our rickety engine mount.

We started by just rowing up into the lagoon at the head of the bay to see how far it went, and discovered that lime so many places in this area it just kept going and going. Then, on the way back we passed a log hanging over the water shaped almost exactly like a Gloucester Schooner, with the bare top sticking far out over the water and to saplings forming the masts and sails. As we rowed back past Darwind to go find a beach where we could watch the sun set, I couldn’t help feeling an immense sense of pride in my little ship, she had come through a hell of a lot in the past two-and-a-half weeks and was ready for more.

When we went ashore, wandering along the rocky beach than going for a short bushwhack through the woods to get to the other side of the point, where we found a little patch of sand with a beautiful view of the channel and sunset. And as we rowed back to the boat in the gathering dusk, I felt that today was as good as it gets, though the rich Belgium chocolate desert waiting on the boat made it perfect.