Crab Trap Mishap

Monday, June 30th – Having safely rounded the second great cape on Vancouver Island, we are anchored in Columbia Cove by late afternoon. There is supposed to be a trail leading from the cove out to the ocean where there is a broad expanse of soft beach. We head off to find the trail. Find it we do, but it has been many years since anyone has maintained it.

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Tuesday, July 1st – In the early hours of the morning, The First Mate again wakes Bill. This time it is not the sound of a freight train barreling down on us. This time she hears birds. Lots of birds, twittering away above our heads, on the deck, all around us. She is told that it is only the wind in the wires, but there is no wind she notes to him. Then she is told that she is imagining things – which she is NOT! Then she is told to go up on the deck and check it out – which she will not do by herself. It’s cold up there! Then she is told to GO TO SLEEP! – which he promptly does and she does not. She lay there listening to her “imagined” bird twitterings and beepings. The next morning he is up ahead of her making cappuccinos. We are socked in by fog so thick we cannot see the shore. Knowing we will not be going anywhere soon, she luxuriates in the warmth of the covers and waits for her cappuccino. Next thing she hears is The Captain muttering and clomping around on deck. The deck is covered in bird poop! Yes, Bird Poop! And the mess is not imagined, and neither was the chirping and twittering The First Mate heard last night! Avante became the overnight stopping place for a flock of LBDB’s (Little Black Diving Birds). Three are still stuck in the wheel well. The Captain disentangles them and sets them loose on the water where they lay there feebly flapping those useless wings. She is called up to watch this exhibition. They look like fledgling LBDB’s who have not yet learned how to fly, but how they ever got across the water and up on Avante’s deck is beyond us. Crazy little birds.

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We head over to Bunsby Islands, lower The Dingbat to explore and then head over to Lanikai where Irene and Barry McPhee invite us aboard for cocktails. They have two fishing poles on their boat. These are real fisherpeople or at least are as much into fishing as owners of sailboats usually are. We lament our mutual failure at catching any fish in these waters. They are determined to fish tomorrow. We agree to try also. Just in case, The First Mate offers homemade fish chowder from her frozen stash in the freezer if none of us catches a fish.

Wednesday, July 2nd – We wake to another foggy, wet, overcast day. There are many rocks in Checleset Bay, and our charts for this area are not very exact, but The First Mate threads our way out through the many rocks by following yesterday afternoon’s track on our chartplotter. We caught nothing in either the crab trap or the shrimp trap, so we decide to try our luck fishing near a group of small fishing boats. No luck. Both of us are of a fishing mentality which maintains that if you don’t catch something within the first half hour, it’s not going to happen.

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Thursday, July 3rd – We haul up nine (9) shrimp! Enough at least for an appetizer. “Nothing better,” says The First Mate. Lanikai and Avante weigh anchor to head over to Rugged Beach where there is another good hike. This one is actually maintained and in an area used regularly by kayakers. From there we head to Queen Cove. We actually get in 4 good hours of sailing with winds from the SE at 12 – 16 knots, though grey skies and low visibility do dampen some of the joy of sailing.

We anchor in Queen Cove after dropping the shrimp trap. To our disgust, now at the end of the day, the weather has turned warm and sunny. Why can’t we have this weather at the start of the day? Overcast skies during the day breaking into warm sun in the late afternoon and early evening has been the pattern of late. This is definitely not Camelot!

Friday, July 4th – Rain and more rain. We have 30 rather uninteresting miles to travel to position ourselves to go around Estevan Point. Since the weather forecast for the next day does not look good for going around this point, The Captain deems it useless to motor out those 30 miles in the rain. “Good idea”, thinks The First Mate. We stay put and work on boat chores!

Entering Nootka Sound, we gratefully drop anchor just north of the lighthouse in Friendly Cove. Our anchorage certainly feels friendly and welcoming after an uncomfortable and cold passage. We spend a chilly evening hunkered down on Avante.

Sunday, July 6th – No rain! No fog! Sun greets the day, and with renewed enthusiasm, we head ashore to explore. Friendly Cove received this name in commemoration of many agreements and treaty signings that took place here over the centuries. The most remembered appears to have been the one in 1792 when Captain Vancouver from England and Captain Quadra from Spain met to sign and carry out the terms of the Nootka Convention in which Spain relinquished all its claims to the Northwest lands. Spain had held these claims since the 1400’s, but due to internal problems and general lack of interest, they apparently were unwilling to engage in a war with England to keep their claims. 

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After our tour of the area, we pull anchor at 1300 to head to Hot Springs Cove, for we are eagerly anticipating soaking in the hot waters for which the cove is named. We raise sails right out of the harbor and neatly round Estevan Point in rolling seas and 15 – 18 knot winds. We drop sail at the entrance to Hot Springs Cove. It is a long motor down the channel to the cove, which proves to be uninteresting and not at all pretty, but we are looking forward to those soaking, aromatic waters. Who cares what the immediate scenery looks like?

By now, it is 1900. Without further adieu, we lower The Dingbat to head ashore for our baths. It may be rather late on a summer evening to be heading ashore, but our timing actually is perfect, for all the tourist traffic flying or boating in from nearby Tofino have left for the day. There is a mile-long wooden walkway leading through dense vegetation to the hot springs. Over the years, boaters have carved the names of their boats in the wooden planks adding a certain charm to the area. When we finally arrive at the springs, we find the area deserted of all forms of humankind. We are quite pleased with ourselves and our timing.

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Sails are dropped, and we slowly navigate our way through this well marked, but shallow channel. We don’t dare wander off course, for we could run aground quite quickly. We are relieved to get through the channel and into Tofino harbor, but here too depth is an issue for us. After fueling, we slowly motor pass several small marinas that look somewhat decrepit and uninviting. According to the charts, these marinas are also too shallow for us.

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This is to be a restocking and laundry stop for which The Captain has allocated The First Mate over one full day. Heading ashore to reconnoiter and find dinner, we drop the crab trap. There are lots of crab traps all over the bay, and many appear to be from commercial fisherman. We figure this must be the place for these succulents.

We walk the town from one end to the other. It does not take long, and The First Mate is colossally disappointed with the lack of interesting stores. Even the grocery is a huge disappointment. Tofino had been described to us as a smaller version of Carmel, California. Way smaller, for sure – and a ton more primitive. She sees no similarity at all, no way!

The next day is spent doing several loads of laundry in a rather sad laundromat. Upon returning to the dock where she is retrieved by The Captain, her gallant dinghy chauffeur, she is informed that her crab trap has disappeared. “What do you mean my crab trap has disappeared,” she inquires in alarmed disbelief. The Captain informs her that he has been circling around the spot where we dropped the crab trap, and he has motored both up and down possible paths the current could have dragged the thing. He cannot find it. Laundry is deposited on the boat, grocery list is picked up, and they retrace their path across the harbor, all the while looking for the vanished crab trap. She runs into that same marine attendant who tells her that the current is so strong in the harbor that not only do traps get dragged, but floats get pulled under to suddenly pop to surface at slack tide. “Look for your trap at slack tide,” he optimistically advises. Look we do. Like lost souls, we wander the harbor in The Dingbat at slack tide. We see many floats bobbing on the surface as the current ebbs, and anxiously head over to check each of them out. But we cannot find the one bearing her name. She is disconsolate. This is beyond belief. This cannot be happening, but it is. The trap cannot be found. Her crab trap! After all she put The Captain through with the thing, will he ever allow her to buy another?

Wednesday, July 9th – As we motor out the harbor the next day, her eyes are scanning all around looking one last time for the crab trap. What a dismal departure! The First Mate is in tears, and The Captain is wondering why in heaven’s name it could not have been the stupid shrimp trap! He would have gladly given the sea the shrimp trap. It could have had the two floats, too. Hearing those thoughts, The First Mate is somewhat consoled by the thought that the procurement of a new Crab Trap may be a possibility at a future date – like when we get to Mexico. Ever the optimist, she just knows there are crabs down there — for sure! All waiting for the taking!