A Sailboat Runs Rapids?
Ever since she began reading about this trip, The First Mate has been worried about some notorious rapids that lie not far north of Campbell River. Rapids, to her, occur in rivers and streams, not oceans. They are downhill runs through a mine-field of boulders. They are created by the joining of rivers, the curving and narrowing of rivers or by steep drops in ground covered. They have nothing to do with ocean sailing. They are traveled (if traveled at all) by kayaks or flexible rubber rafts like the kind one uses on the Colorado River and other such RIVERS. They are not traveled by 52 foot fiberglass sailboats with 9 foot keels. So, what’s all this about?
Reading further, she learns that Seymour Narrows, as these rapids are called, are neither down hill nor up hill. They occur in a narrower stretch of water where the water flow is restricted by Vancouver Island on one side and a buffer of islands and the mainland on the other. On a map, the stretch shows up about the width of a pencil, but, in reality, it is well over 1/4 miles wide – big enough for cruise ships, barges, log booms and Avante to go through. How the rapids run and the danger they present depends predominantly on the tide. It’s all about the currents and whirlpools created by a great deal of water trying to flow through this narrower section. At its worst, the current is said to run at 15 knots! Rapids often have rocks, but that’s not a concern with these rapids – or at least it no longer is. Fifty years ago, there was a monolith in the middle. It had the innocuous name of Ripple Rock. It should have been Death Rock or something like that. It had earned the reputation of having the ability to suck boats into the swirling vortex at its base. In 1957, a group of engineers drilled into it, packed it with enough explosives to destroy a small city and blew the thing to smithereens. Ripple Rock was ripped to shreds, but that doesn’t mean the rapids went away; just the rock. Seymour Narrows is a dangerous stretch if you go through at the wrong time. Even the big cruise ships respect it. They set their speed to arrive at Seymour Narrows at slack tide when the current is least.
Friday, June 1 – We say good bye to Judy and Warner, and then spend the early morning working around the boat. At 1030 (timed to catch slack tide at Seymour Narrows), we head off. The First Mate is not exactly feeling in her prime, having slept badly last night worried about these rapids ahead. She has had 2 cappuccinos and a slice of watermelon, and that’s it for breakfast. She is sure that anything of substance would just sit like a brick in her stomach. Her insides ache. They feel in knots. At the moment, she does not know whether she is going to be sick or just “gotta pee”. She is on a continuous 5-minute pee break. The Captain finally has enough and tells her to stop and hold it. We are heading into the wind, so we are motoring. However, our speed over ground is an astounding 10 knots, as we are sucked toward the rapids by the current. Normally, she has the utmost faith in The Captain’s judgment, and she does now – but these are RAPIDS. All the books talk in awe or dread of them. What if he’s misread the time tables? What if the propeller falls off? That just happened to the boat of friends of ours. The rudder also could fall off. Then we’d go spinning out of control down these rapids. What is she doing here?
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The now familiar white buildings with red roofs of the Canadian Coast Guard are seen at the entrance to Seymour Narrows.
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Scenery is anything but static when one is moving on a boat. Looking at the lighthouse moments later, we are surprised at the sight of white snow-encrusted mountains in the distance.
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We round the corner and enter Seymour Narrows at 1150. It is just 15 minutes before slack tide. From a distance, things look calm, but when she looks down and around the water near the boat, it looks like swirling black ink. She can see the whirlpools and currents. She can feel the pull on the boat, and The Captain, at the helm, is constantly making adjustments. Depth is not a concern as long as we stay in the middle of the channel, and it is a wide channel. The concern is just keeping the boat on course against the pull. Crazily, she wonders for an instant what would happen if the wheel were free. Where would the boat end up and in what shape?
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The prop stays on. The engine doesn’t fail, and we motor through. (She really should not include this photo. Blue water, blue skies and no waves make the entrance to Seymour Narrows look like a “row in a bath tub”. Believe her, it wasn’t quite as pretty from the deck of Avante!)
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After Seymour Narrows, The First Mate, feeling more confident, takes the helm. There certainly is no doubt that Seymour Narrows needs respect, but, as the books say, (after they first scared her to death), “Run them at the right time and there’s no problem.” Her stomach eases. Later, she makes lunch and eats heartily since all is once again right with her world.
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We are now in Johnstone Strait. The weather is great. Everything around us is in shades of blue and green. The land is thickly covered with evergreens, and, as we proceed north, logging activity is increasingly evident. Yes, there are great swaths of trees cut down, but the logging is done in a weaving jig saw pattern. Everywhere, also, there is evidence of reforestation and new growth.
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We continue north in Johnstone Strait for several hours until the current from the incoming flood tide begins to really slow us down. Turning out of Johnstone Strait, we explore some of the channels to its north. During the afternoon, we go through two more sets of rapids, Greene Point Rapids and Whirlpool Rapids. We do so without the advantage of slack tide, but these rapids are nothing like Seymour Narrows and are no problem for a boat of Avante’s size.
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Other than a few fishing vessels and a barge or two, we pass no other private boats all day. We had expected another boat or two to be going through the Narrows with us. It was either then at noon or very early in the morning, but no other boats were with us. We pull into Forward Harbor for the evening and find two motor boats are there already. We have been so all alone on these waters that it really does come as a surprise when we see other boats.
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Saturday, June 2nd – We get underway early at 0600. The plan is to sail the remaining length of Johnstone Strait with assist from the ebbing tide. The winds are low to moderate which is a relief, because the whole week before winds had been blowing at gale force down this strait. As we head out a channel toward Johnstone Strait, we round a corner and are shocked to see a huge log boom suddenly loom into view. It had not been there yesterday afternoon when we passed there and must have pulled in off the Strait afterwards to wait for a favorable tide.
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It appears to be blocking the whole channel. “How do we get around this?” exclaims the startled First Mate. These log booms are immense floating platforms. The logs are held together within a log frame work and then lashed together with wire. Like a barge, one doesn’t argue with this thing’s right of way. It has it! As we ease toward it, we can finally see that there is just enough room to squeeze by.
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We enjoy a great trip up Johnstone Strait. The weather is sunny, the wind is light and the seas were slightly rippled. We are lucky! By late morning, we are turning off into Blackney Passage and heading for Farewell Harbour at the southern edge of the Broughton Archipelago. This is a remote and wild area with a reputation for great cruising, and we are looking forward to exploring it.