Just Gunkholing Along
“Gunkhole”: a quiet anchorage, as in a cove used by small yachts, where the anchor usually sinks into soft mud or gunk. Thus, “gunkholing” applies to those who engage in this low-key, relaxed style of cruising. (from “Gunkholing in the San Juans”)
We are gunkholing in the Broughton Archipelago. The schedule gives us five days to meander and explore the inner passages and islands of this fascinating area. The First Mate is delighted. Five days to just kick back and relax: this to her is what cruising is all about.
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Sunday, June 22nd With The Dingbat safely secured on the bow of the boat, we set off to explore more islands.
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Six crabs are in our trap this morning! Once again, here at Mound Island, we reap the bounty of the deep. What a disappointment when we discover that 5 of them are female! Fortunately, the one male meets the size limits. The First Mate knows immediately what she is going to do with it. Tonight’s appetizer: chilled steamed crab with homemade Aioli Mayonnaise.
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At 1000, we are out in Knight Inlet where we dropped the shrimp trap. Once again there is no float in sight, and another search pattern is initiated. Finally, the marker is sighted and the wayward shrimp trap is recovered. The harvest is not very bountiful. This bug-eyed fellow unhappily enmeshed in the netting is a Rock Fish. It is the only inhabitant of the trap this morning. One can only catch Rock Fish in certain areas, and The First Mate is not sure we are in such an area. It matters not, however, since it is too small to keep. Besides that, she is not so sure she could eat it. It’s so ugly; it’s cute. A halibut? Now that she can eat. They’re just plain ugly.
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It has taken 1 and 1/2 hours for us to find and retrieve the shrimp trap, and The Captain is most frustrated. We are finally underway, motoring east in Knight Inlet whose length, at almost 71 miles, makes it the longest inlet in British Columbia. The views of snow-topped mountains in the distance as well as the sheer granite cliffs and the dense pine forests beribboned with waterfalls are familiar to us, but it is impossible to grow tired of this scenery.
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Along the way, we spot another “Sleeping Elephant” similar to the formation we had seen last year off the coast of Wrangell, Alaska.
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Landslides, during winter rains or anytime there are heavy rains, are as common up here as avalanches are in our snow-packed mountains of Colorado. Blanchet in “The Curve of Time” recounts an afternoon hike with her children. It was a clear day after several days of rain, and everybody was ready for an excursion. They were traversing a moss-covered area that sloped steeply down and over a precipice to the sea below them. Feeling an oozy slipping under her feet, she fell to her hands and knees. Grabbing a bush, she shouted to her children to do the same. The mossy slope slowly slid from beneath them. They painfully crawled upward over the now mud-slick granite, grasping bush to bush, hand hold to hand hold, until finally, exhausted, they reached the solid ground above them.
From a distance, it is hard to tell whether the vertical gashes we see are exposed granite, a waterfall, lumber work or a landslide. As we approach, all of the above are identifiable on the mountainside ahead of us.
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We do not follow Knight Inlet all 71 miles to its end, but take a left up Tribune Channel.
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Motoring between Watson Cove and Kwatsi Bay, We pass a spectacular granite wall rising straight up out of the water.
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As we continue on, the sound of a waterfall cascading over another equally spectacular granite wall draws our attention. Note the small groupings of pines that have somehow managed to secure a toe-hold in that granite. The tenacity Mother Nature endowed her species with is always amazing.
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Our destination is Kwatsi Bay Marina, which is a rather grandiose name to give to a dock that can only hold 8 – 10 medium-sized boats. There is potable water, but no power. There is one shower on the dock and a small gift shop. Other than a small home and a few out buildings belonging to the owners, Max and Inga – that’s it. However, it’s the “that’s it” that brings cruisers to this remote outpost. The location is what draws in the outside world. A small island is located at the end of the channel. Upon going around the island, the vista ahead opens up into a pond-like setting surrounded by steep cliffs, vibrant green trees and the sound of a waterfall hidden by the heavy vegetation. It is beautiful, quiet and serene.
Hoping that they will have room for us on the dock, we radio in and are told that there is 60 feet open between a sailboat and a motor vessel. We motor round the island into this peaceful bay to take a look. From our perspective at the distance we are from the dock, both of us have doubts as to that 60 feet, but we figure Max should know his docks. We motor in, and The First Mate slowly circles toward the dock. It still does not look like 60 feet, and even if it is 60 feet of space, so what? That gives her a mere 8 feet of angle-in room for Avante’s 52 feet. The First Mate is thinking she will need a shoe horn or a miracle or both to make this docking happen. The Captain tells her to hush up and keep on trucking. “There are three capable-looking men on the dock ready to receive our lines, and if the space does prove too small, we will just do a fly-by,” says the former pilot. “With little wind and no current, you should be able to ease Avante close to the dock.” Sure, and if she could just shimmy the boat sideways, all this docking angst would be for nothing!
The First Mate slows Avante to bleed off speed, for this whole docking maneuver is going to have to go slowly. We angle in gliding close to a gorgeous mahogany-hulled sailboat. It is one of the prettiest sailboats we have seen, and The First Mate sure doesn’t want to put a scratch on it! Avante eases into position. Ropes are thrown by The Captain. The three men pull her sideways and secure her to the dock. Shimmying Avante sideways is easy with a good crew. The First Mate has floored herself. Wow! (She needs a drink!) But, wait, she knows not to let it go to her head.
Happy Hour starts shortly. We dash off to shower and get more presentable and then join everyone sitting in a covered porch area on the dock. The evening is warm, and the companionship of 8 other boaters plus Max and Inga is fun and pleasant. What a delightful spot! It feels totally closed off from the rest of the world. We learn that Max and Inga live here all year with their two children. The children were initially home-schooled by Inga and later attended a one-room schoolhouse in Echo Bay, a mere half-hour or so away by small motor boat, a distance that had to be navigated in all kinds of weather. Talk about lonely and remote! But this is their dream, and we hear them bemoaning the fact that they are going to have to move to Port McNeill, pop 2,641, for the winters as their oldest child is now entering high school.
Max tells us a frightening story about their experience with landslides. Last winter in the middle of the night, they were awoken by the sound of a freight train crashing somewhere out there near their home so snuggly nestled on the sides of the shore beneath the cliffs. Panic and fear take over, but they don’t know where to turn, hide or run. The noise continues to grow louder and then ends quickly. When Max goes outside with a flashlight, he finds a wide wedge of landslide just off the side of his house. A few more feet, and it would have wiped out their house and them along with it.
As the evening cools, we all gradually return to our respective boats for dinner. Later, Max and Pat Maxwell, the owners of the beautiful mahogany sailboat, invite us over for tea. They had listened to our plans and wanted to give us some good anchorages on the west coast of Vancouver.
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Monday, June 23rd Both sailboats on the dock depart at the same time in the morning. Liz of Hanko, owned by Max and Pat, is a former British racing sailboat. Liz is a classic beauty with elegant lines. Her newly refinished mahogany exterior makes her a delight to look at either at dock or sailing the waters.
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We both raise sail when we get out to Tribune Channel and tack up the channel together until Avante veers off to head to Echo Bay and Liz of Hanko continues on to Port McNeill to have a water pump replaced. (All boats need work now and then.)
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Years ago, logging men lived up here with their families. They worked claims, moving from site to site, as the worked demanded. To accomplish this moving of house and kin easily in a topography where finding a level piece of land was just about impossible, they built floating houses that were towed to each site and tied up just off the shore. Some of these sites held enough people to support a one-room school and a small store. Though the floating logging camps no longer exist, many people have bought and restored these homes or simply built new ones. Funky little summer tourist communities have grown up, and a few hearty souls, in an attempt to recapture a vanished way of life, have chosen to live in these isolated little bergs full time.
Echo Bay, our next destination, is one such area. As we near the long dock, The Bead Lady of Echo Bay, as she calls herself, comes out of her store to lend a hand with docking ropes. As referred to several times previously, one must not rest on one’s laurels when it comes to boating accomplishments. This turns out not to be one of The First Mate’s crowning moments. Not heeding enough of The Captain’s warning that the wind is going to blow us off the dock if we don’t adjust for it, she fails to fully adjust. As The Captain warned, the wind takes hold of the bow and blows it off and away from the dock. Bead Lady and Captain have a heck of a time pulling Avante back to the dock. The First Mate earns one of those “I told you so” looks, and she humbly apologizes to the Bead Lady who shrugs it off saying she has seen worse. We are each given a hug of welcome which we are told is the custom here. Not a bad custom in our often cold, unwelcoming world, and it does make The First Mate feel better.
We have a pleasant time talking with her and, of course, head over to look at her store. Our conversation with her confirms what we already suspected. These little tourist areas are suffering this season from both the unusually cold weather and the price of fuel – both of which have been keeping boaters home or closer to home. The season up here is a very marginal two months: July 1st to August 31st. There is some activity prior to and later than those dates, but the make-or-break time for them is those two short months. Things were not looking good.
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Echo Bay was once the home of the largest First Nations village in the area. At the head of the bay is a large midden beach, proof of their early inhabitance. These people, like the residents of Mamalilaculla, also knew how to pick a spot. What a gorgeous setting!
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That granite wall, looking too perfectly like a theater backdrop, retains faded native paintings – if one looks hard enough and knows where to look and for what to look.
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We find the one-room school house that Max and Inga’s children attend. Many students travel in from remote homes or communities, and we are there at the close of school and watch the kids walking down to the dock to get into small family motor boats for the trip home. Fine on a sunny, warm June day, but that trip is not to be envied on a cold, stormy January day.
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A short hike takes us to Proctor Bay to visit Billy Proctor’s eclectic museum of local memorabilia that he has collected over the years. The museum is full to busting, but well labeled and organized. We enjoy looking at old logging and fishing paraphernalia and perusing vintage Sears Roebuck catalogs and Time Life magazines. Billy was born and raised here and is the stuff of legend in these parts. He enjoys meeting all visitors to his home site and museum, but, unfortunately, he was not home that day.
Walking back to Avante, we stop to admire the colorful floating homes. What a unique place and what a challenge to live here! After listening to the Bead Lady’s description of the economic issues of these little tourist spots, The First Mate wishes they had plans to spend the night so that we could help the season by paying overnight dock fees. Returning to the bead store to say good bye, she buys a pair of earrings. It is the least she can do to help. She really does like the earrings and will remember a very pleasant afternoon each time she wears them.
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We motor out of harbor and head to Waddington Bay, an area of many, many islands and rocky protuberances. On the way to the bay, we dropped the shrimp trap in deeper water. Now in the bay, we set the anchor and launch The Dingbat. Dropping the crab trap on our way, we head off to explore. We meander deep into little coves with The First Mate sitting on the bow watching for rocks or heavy seaweed that could clog up the motor.
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Tuesday, June 24th – Eureka! Two nice male crabs are in our trap! We leave Waddington Bay and spend the day sailing around the many islands and exploring the area. We anchor for two hours in Cullen Harbor and explore Booker Lagoon on The Dingbat.
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Winds are up in Fife Sound in the mid-afternoon, so we raise sails. Obviously from the look and stance in this photo, The First Mate is not totally at ease. That is not a smile you see on her face, and she is holding on for all she’s worth. She still is uncomfortable when we are anywhere past a 12 degree angle. Though she’s getting there and finds her mind and body more accepting of sailing forces she never imagined they’d be subjected to or even knew existed, she still has a ways to go. The Captain is bamboozled that she could be such a slow learner and still be related to him, but such things do happen. To his credit, he perseveres, and to her credit, she does, too.
At 1715, we drop our sails and stop to pick up the shrimp trap we had dropped yesterday afternoon in an area that was recommended by one of the shopkeepers in Echo Bay. From The Captain’s Log “A double success. Found trap right where we dropped it and caught 22 shrimp. The shrimp trap can live another day.” In less than 30 minutes, we are under sail again. That evening, we drop anchor in Cypress Harbor which is well sheltered from the strong west winds predicted for overnight.
Wednesday, June 25th – Today we are returning to a few places where we stopped last year on our trip north to Alaska. Sullivan Bay is another one of those funky little floating towns. When we stopped here last year, it was our first miserable rainy day, and we went into the little restaurant and treated ourselves to great tasting hamburgers and a mountain of French fries. We are looking forward to another such treat.
We motor into the dock. This time wind is not a factor, and there is plenty of room. What we are not aware of is that there is a very strong current running out from the dock that will push any boat off the dock. The First Mate has to abort the first pass. Her angle of approach was all wrong, and she could not get Avante near enough to the dock before that current took hold. On the second pass, two men from a nearby motorboat step up to help. Both men and The Captain struggle to haul Avante onto the dock. For a moment, The First Mate thought the current was going to win, and she was going to be set loose to drift and manage alone, but the men were valiant, gallant and, fortunately, strong. She could have kissed them all.
Leaving Avante tied to the dock with the black dock ropes stretched so tightly with the strain of holding her on the dock that one might not be surprised to see a line or two frazzle and fray, we head off to the little restaurant. Our cholesterol orgy is not to be. We are told that the cook had quit the day before miffed that a request for more money had been denied, and the waitress, after a drunken night where she almost fell off the dock and drowned, had left with him. They are expecting another cook in the next day by plane, but we are welcomed to join them for a potluck dinner on the dock that evening. Such is the way with these little places out here.
We thank them and decline dinner, for we are going to spend our last evening gunkholed in Claydon Bay. A meager lunch of soup and garlic bread is had on Avante before we head off. With that current pushing us off the dock, it is a super easy departure. All we have to do is drop lines to be on our way. Out in the harbor, we raise sail even though the wind is light, and it immediately gets lighter. We flounder around for a bit hoping it will pick up. It does enough for us to slowly sail. We are heading down a narrow channel to Claydon Bay under a slow sail. There are rocks to steer around and curving shores to navigate. All is quiet. It is just us on Avante leisurely moving along listening to the sound of the water passing the boat, birds in the trees and hidden waterfalls. It must have been like this for Captain Vancouver and all other early explorers. Slowly, quietly passing, listening to the sounds around them, absorbing all they see and straining forward to see the unknown that lies ahead.
We anchor in Claydon Bay, a nice anchorage where we spent a delightful night last year. Unfortunately, it’s not as idyllic this year, as there are 7 – 8 boats already at anchor, and there is a new fishing operation in the southwest end of the bay. The Dingbat is launched to set both shrimp and crab traps. The shrimp trap now has a new canvas bucket, whose sides collapse neatly, to contain the rope. The trap finally yielded enough shrimp for The Captain to allow this bucket to be used.
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As far as The Captain is concerned, it is more trouble than it is worth, but he is resignedly putting up with this shrimping.
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Thursday, June 26th – No crabs this morning, but we do bring up about 15 of the biggest shrimp we have caught to date. Not a bad way to end our gunkholing holiday.
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Gunkholing: setting one’s anchor in mud or gunk. Thankfully, Avante has a salt water hose to wash off all that sticky anchor-holding mud. How we enjoyed our days of gunkholing through the Broughton Archipelago! We sailed through majestic scenery with interesting places to stop and visit. The First Mate could continue this easy, relaxed sailing, but we cannot do that and also complete our circumnavigation of Vancouver Island. The next leg of the trip calls us.