Where’d He Go?
Sunday, June 29th – Today is a short day. Hooray! We are only going a few hours south to position ourselves for the next challenge ahead: rounding Brooks Peninsula and its notorious Cape Cook. The First Mate prefers not to think of the day ahead but to enjoy the fine day we have now.
.
We leave our anchorage in Winter Harbor after a disappointing surprise from the crab trap. We caught 4 baby flounders – only useful as possible bait. We pick up the shrimp trap in the bay with its bounty of one baby shrimp and one baby crab. A very unpromising way to begin such a fine day.
.
The wind is up enough to raise sail. We do so and enjoy a few hours of sailing down Brooks Bay. This leg proves to be quite easy, and that is fortunate, because The First Mate cannot keep her eyes open. She feels absolutely drugged which undoubtedly is due to her upper/downer combination of anti-seasickness meds: Bonine and No Doz. The combined action of sleep-inducing Bonine and the soporific affect of fresh air and lulling sea waves are not being countered enough by eye-opening No Doz. As funny as The Captain seems to think this is, the serious side to all this is that the drugged-up First Mate is all but useless. Something has to be done. The drugs are right; the doses are wrong. Maybe more No Doz, but she hates taking the stuff!
.
With the calm sailing conditions, we try fishing. That, too, proves most unsuccessful. We are disappointed because we had truly expected to catch salmon out here on the ocean side of Vancouver. No luck. It appears that the salmon have not yet started to run, and no one has told them we’re here ready for them to start the race!
.
Outside the entrance to Klaskish Inlet, we drop the shrimp trap optimistically baited with one of those baby flounders. We enter the Inlet and bypass the first anchorage, for our destination is deep inside the Inlet. We slowly motor in looking for a narrow gorge with steep sided walls and overhanging vegetation that is supposed to lead us into Klaskish Basin, a primeval pool of unsurpassed beauty. We think we spot it, but from our angle, it looks more like the outlet to a stream. We continue, questioning, and slowly confirm that this is indeed our narrow gorge.
.
Though it is a relatively short passage, we cannot see through to the end. The rock walls are indeed steep. Tree limbs extend out from the walls and bow downward toward the water. Definitely one will not want to or be able to wander far off the centerline. Depth is sufficient for us, as the steep walls continue straight down below the waterline. We are alone down here and do not expect to encounter another boat coming out the passage as we go in, but one never knows. Slowly, we ease our way in.
.
The outside world is quickly closed off as we wind our way deeper in and through this channel. We emerge into a large hidden basin rimmed with old growth forest. There is an “other world” feel to the place. The solitude encloses us, and the quietness of nature is complete.
.
There are four large mooring buoys available, and we decide to use one. Our usual practice is to pass on the opportunity to tie up to buoys. With Avante’s size and weight, we can never be sure that the buoys will hold, but these are very large buoys and look reasonably well maintained. It turns out that these buoys are very secure, as they were put here for use by any fishing boat or other vessel that might be caught on the west coast during a bad storm. We are in what is called a “hurricane hole” so very protected it is from the elements that could be raging outside.
The First Mate rounds up into the negligible wind, and as she slowly advances on the buoy, The Captain makes ready to snag it with the boat hook. The First Mate can no longer see the buoy as it disappears below the curve of Avante‘s bow. The Captain climbs over the rails leaning out to grab the top of buoy ring and run our rope through it. The First Mate holds Avante in position by keeping Avante on line with a distant tree. She glances down to see how The Captain is doing. The Captain? What Captain? Where is he? Where’d he go? There’s the buoy bobbing several feet off the bow of the boat. What is it doing there? How did it get there? Oh, shit! (It’s another one of those moments.) What did she do or not do? How did the boat move so from its position right on the buoy? Did she have a brain lapse and switch trees without realizing it? And, where’s The Captain? In the water? Well, at least, he’ll be able to swim to the side of the boat and will not be lost at sea. But, where is he? There’s not a sound. Maybe she whacked him with the bow and knocked him out. He’s drowning! If he’s not dead, then he’s going to kill her instead. Then one of us is going to be all alone out here. How did she mess this one up? As with all such ruminations, her thoughts take up a mere nanosecond. Suddenly, a hand lurches up to grasp the narrow rail. Then another hand quickly reaches up. Like a creature from the deep, The Captain emerges. How did he get there? The First Mate dashes forward to help haul him over the rail and onto the deck of the boat.
What happened? The buoy, as can be seen in the photo, is quite a large one. Most buoys have either thick rope or chain attached to them. One uses that rope or chain to grab the buoy, and then run one’s own rope, securely attached to the boat, through a loop or hook on the buoy. Our buoy only has a square-shaped handle on top and no rope to grab onto for easier management. It is also a long reach from the bow of Avante down to that handle. As Avante approached, the buoy swiveled in the water so that the opening on the handle was pointing away from The Captain, giving him no easy opportunity to thread our rope through it. From The Captain’s perspective, the broad base with four large tires supporting each corner of the buoy looked secure enough to step onto, run the rope through the handle and then jump back onto the boat. Decision made, The Captain jumped off the boat, landed agilely on the base and discovered to his surprise that his base was anything but secure. Instead, it had all the stable characteristics of a wet noodle standing on end. With The Captain fighting to hang on and maintain balance, the buoy bobbled and canted away from the boat. The Captain quickly looped the rope through the handle and then launched himself back to our boat before the buoy turned turtle under his weight. That was the same instant when The First Mate glanced down to see the buoy bobbling off the side of the boat and The Captain nowhere in sight. Suddenly, the fingertips of a hand appeared grasping the narrow edge of the rail. Then, the other hand grasped the edge. Slowly, painfully, feeling each of his 62 years, The Captain hauled himself and the rope back on the boat. To The First Mate’s immense relief, she had not had a mental lapse and she had not done anything wrong. However, to her extreme disappointment, she had missed the look of astonishment that must have been on The Captain’s face when the buoy collapsed out from under him. This time, he almost got another cold-water dousing but without benefit of a wet suit.
We are tied up, and it is only mid-afternoon. The First Mate wants to launch The Dingbat, explore and fish. The Captain has other plans. After lunch, he needs to change the water filters on the water maker. Boat maintenance comes first.
.
Maintenance completed, we head off to explore the end of the basin where a stream empties. Wildlife, as in “bears”, is supposed to abound, but we see no bears or any other signs of wildlife.
.
We motor out the narrow gorge into the bay where The First Mate is determined to catch a fish. She knows not what kind. Just as long as it’s eatable. The Captain reads. It is quiet and peaceful.
.
Though no fish are caught, we do spot several otters floating along on the waves. The First Mate is delighted, for she believes that sea otters and mountain marmots are some of Mother Nature’s happiest creatures.
.
As evening approaches, we return down that narrow channel to Avante. Inside this hidden basin, it feels so very primeval as if nothing had ever touched the trees or the land around. The stillness is complete. How special to be in such a place!
.
We fall asleep nestled in this quiet of primeval wilderness only to be awoken in the early hours of the morning by what sounds like a freight train barreling down on us. The Williwaws have found us! The Captain explains this phenomena of strong land winds blowing down to the sea. Nothing to worry about, and then he rolls over and returns to sleep. The First Mate, thoroughly alert now, lays awake listening to the wind screaming its approach before it hits the boat with all its force. How nice that we are so securely tied to this heavy-duty buoy!
We are later told that these heavy-duty buoys can be a problem when the Williwaws blow. In the wind, the buoys can get positioned in such a way that one’s boat will keep knocking into them. Friends we later meet experienced this on their night in Klaskish Basin, and the only way to protect their boat was to put out their fenders to cushion the impact and then to stand guard until the Williwaws abated. We were lucky to have missed that exercise.
The First Mate tries to go back to sleep. She really does, but the sound of the Williwaws sweeping down on the boat and thoughts of the coming day’s transit keep her awake. Tomorrow morning we are to engage the infamous Brooks Peninsula and its notorious Cape Cook.