Is Mandy memorable?

I think she must be. I mean, I can't forget her, but she's around all the time so that may not be a real test. But apparently other people remember her, too.

Yesterday, she was up doing laundry here at the marina, and a woman walked in and gave her a funny look. Finally, the woman said, "Did you go to the Olympics last year?"

We get into a lot of funny conversations around here, but that might have been stranger than usual. In fact, we did go to the Olympics last year in Vancouver, BC. Of course, so did several million other people. It's not a question like, "Did you have dinner at Matador last night?" And it's not as if Mandy were wearing a Vancouver 2010 Olympic stocking cap, or clutching an Olympic mascot Miga doll or anything; she was as plain as possibly could be at the tail end of a laundry cycle.

But it turned out the woman was Jean, of S/V Perfect Fit, a Bavaria 37 that had moored next to us at the False Creek Harbour Authority docks for a couple of days during the Games in February 2010. We had chatted with her and her husband Mark a couple times as we ran into them, either coming or going during that busy week, but if you had asked me to pick either of them out of a lineup a year and a half later, no way.

At that time, they were living in Arizona and keeping their boat up near Victoria. Now it turns out they have moved themselves and the vessel, respectively, to Portland, and to N dock here at Shilshole. And, apparently, they remember Mandy. No word on whether or not I might have been similarly memorable. But anyway, we'll probably be running into them more frequently now, so that test is yet to come.

You can't buy sunshine

I can't describe the degree to which simply having an affordable grocery store nearby seems like the height of luxury to me right now, but the one thing I am really left craving is something I can't find on the shelf (Florida oranges notwithstanding): the sunshine we were supposed to get today.

Apparently it's been delayed until tomorrow. I'll believe it when I see it.

We're in Friday Harbor now, tied up at the marina after a brisk sail down from Orcas Island on Wednesday. The weather, then and since, has been uniformly crappy. We reefed down before hauling in the anchor in Deer Harbor (fortunately, the anchorage proved sound, despite the southeastern exposure... in 25 knot gusts we didn't budge and in the cabin barely felt anything) and still managed to bury the rail tacking down through San Juan Channel. It only took us an hour, even going upwind. As Mandy said, that's probably why people come to sail here in the islands in the first place: all the destinations are close together. An hour of that is fun; all day, which is what it would have been up north in the Strait of Georgia, would have been demanding and tiring.

We are spending a total of five nights here, which is also quite luxurious. They are on fall rates now, though, and we were able to take advantage of our reciprocal moorage agreement with the San Juan Island Yacht Club, so it is affordable. So we're pumped out (sewage, that is, for the uninitiated... an empty holding tank makes Mandy happy!), powered up, and fully Internetized. And, I may have mentioned, there's a lovely market just up the street. It's practically like being back home at Shilshole. Better, even, when you realize that the nearest grocery store there is in Ballard.

The Huskies are on a bye this week, unfortunately, but Sunday I also plan to take advantage of the sports bar situation to watch the Seahawks self-destruct against San Diego. I haven't managed to catch a complete game yet this season.

We're also keeping a close eye on the weather. Our friend Maxx gets here on Tuesday, and if everything cooperates, we'll cross the strait that day. It was looking very promising in yesterday's forecast; today, they are predicting another system will be rolling in that day, but the forecast winds are still light (though from the worst possible direction) so it is still looking doable. It may be a long day, but probably not foggy or excessively rough.

We are both anxious to get back to town. We found out this week that our renters do not plan to extend their lease for another year, so we need to get to work lining up new tenants, and taking a look at the house to see what will need to be cleaned or repaired in between. The early response to our first hastily posted ad has been great, but we're not there right now to actually show the place, so that's a real disadvantage. Since Maxx is coming up anyway to help with the sailing, I'm considering putting Mandy on a ferry early or something so she could be around to deal with things, but it may not be worthwhile to gain only a few days. At any rate, we got plenty of notice, so we have a couple of months to get it rented, hopefully without losing more than a month of income.

Anyway, I suppose it is nice that there are compelling reasons for us to enjoy getting back to Seattle, because otherwise, I'm all ready to set up camp for the winter here in Friday Harbor. It's shameful what a simple little grocery store will tempt me into.

The end is nigh

We're into the home stretch, as it were, a period I always have difficulty with, and it's proving to be no exception on this trip. When it's clear that the going places and doing stuff is about wrapped up, I want to just wrap it up all the rest of the way and put a ribbon on it: done! But it's rarely that easy. So I'm trying to enjoy the time we have left between now and when our slip opens up again at the end of the month (actually, I'm concerned about that; this started out as the most difficult sublet we have ever done, and I am hoping that the end won't be as complicated--or delayed--as the beginning was).

The weather, at least, has cooperated. After a little rain the night we spent in Roche Harbor, the days have been clear and sunny, if not genuinely hot. We ducked up to Stuart Island and spent a couple nights in Reid Harbor there. Mandy made me hike all the way out to Turn Point, a prominence which we have seen often enough from the water but never before from land. It's a different perspective looking out on all the islands and vessel traffic from the lighthouse. The lighthouse itself is a bit of a disappointment... it's all automated now, but even back in the day apparently it was just a little concrete plinth about five feet high. The location, high on a bluff, provided all the height necessary without the grand extravagance of a tower. Now there is just a rather unimposing beacon and a steel frame festooned with antennas and video cameras used by the Coast Guard's Vessel Traffic Separation scheme (in which Turn Point is a prominent chokepoint deserving of great respect from boaters).

The lightkeeper's house and outbuildings are much more picturesque. On sunny days, I imagine it was a fine life up there on the bluff watching the ships go by. We didn't see it in the rain, but I can imagine it was less ideal through the winter months.

They managed to situate the place on the opposite side of every hill on the island from the marine park, so we got a good workout going back and forth. The anchorage in Reid Harbor was grand: well-protected, reasonably quiet, solid holding and convenient to the park landing. The one thing it didn't have was cellular service. Unless, of course, one hiked to the top of one of the many hills, in which case one could easily pick up a signal from... Canada. It's one of the more northern San Juan islands, and there are only about forty permanent residents, so I am sure it's not real high on T-mobile's list of places to cover. But as it happened, I had left a business conversation hanging on our departure from Roche, so we pulled back out after two nights and wandered over to Deer Harbor on Orcas. I am writing this from there on a quiet evening with light westerlies that have just about blown themselves out, but I have some trepidation about what the evening will bring. The next storm system is due in overnight, and with it strong-ish southeast winds, and we've never been in this harbor before. It looks pretty darned open to the south/southeast. So, we'll see how it goes. We may be pulling out early if it gets dicey. Fortunately, there are few other boats here and we have some room to swing.

Ganges: Not so quiet, really

I wasn't going to mention any of this, and perhaps I still shouldn't, since it may just be tempting fate. But reading Mandy's assertions about the relative quiet of Ganges Harbour in light of the events of the last twenty-four hours, I'm having trouble keeping it to myself. And no, it's not about the seaplanes that take off right next to us twelve hours a day (quiet? maybe if you have fancy noise-canceling headphones!).

I wasn't going to post about it because I make plenty of mistakes myself and don't like to point out those made by others; they are generally honest mistakes, and it's not always clear who is making them depending on conditions, experience, and a multitude of other factors.

Nonetheless, we seem to have some sort of magnetic attraction that compels people to anchor uncomfortably close to us even in absolutely empty anchorages. A couple years ago in Laura Cove, we were entirely by ourselves, anchored out with scads of open space around us, when in the late afternoon some guy chugs in and calmly parallel parks right next to us, like it's Manhattan and he has just squeaked into the last space within twenty blocks. There were probably fifty other prime spots around the cove he might have picked, but no, the place he had to be was right there, where I was going to have trouble sleeping thinking about our respective swinging radii.

One thing to understand about the anchorage in Ganges is that it's huge... probably half a mile wide, nearly two miles long, around 5 fathoms deep throughout over a sticky mud bottom. There is hardly anywhere in here you couldn't pitch the hook over the side and have a safe, secure evening of rest. And this time of year, the place is practically empty... there may be twenty boats here in the main part of the harbour, half those on permanent moorings. There is a good bit of space left over, even quite close to town.

So it came as some surprise a couple days ago when a forty-something foot Catalina came and anchored within about two boat lengths to windward of us. The owner seemed to know that he was a bit closer than he needed to be... I happened to be on deck at the time, and he struck up a conversation, and mentioned that since he was on chain, and I was using rope, I would stretch well out away from him and there shouldn't be a problem. Now, to my understanding, that's actually a bad thing, because a lighter boat on a rope rode will swing around faster than a heavier one on chain, and cause problems where two boats with similar anchoring setups might not, but this guy looked like the Ancient Mariner and I figured, hey, what do I know? Even though using the same logic, if the wind shifted, wouldn't we be more likely to collide? Anyway, he was old, and I decided not to ask him to haul up and move... something I do very rarely, even though my anchoring comfort zone is much larger than many people's.

Anyway, to make a long story shore, Mandy got up to use the head last night around midnight, and heard a funny noise coming from the lifelines. That was his anchor roller tangling up in them. It was pretty calm out, so there was no loud smacking or anything, we had just drifted together after a light breeze shifted us around a bit. I got up, rapped on the hull, and woke everyone up. His wife was very apologetic, but I had trouble understanding the resolution they chose... instead of letting out more rode and drifting further astern (out of our swinging radius), they started the engine up and backed away. That got us all clear for the moment, but I couldn't see how it was going to prevent the problem from recurring. Still, the devil you know and all, so I again didn't specifically ask them to re-anchor further off, preferring they come to that conclusion themselves, which happened finally around three hours later. So, not much sleep for me. They pulled out this morning with no further drama.

Fast forward to dinner time. I'd been laying around, still very tired, on a settee reading a bit, and Mandy told me to get cracking and whip her up some ham and potatoes. I get up to do just that... and am amazed to see out the companionway another sailboat, this one on the other side of us, with our dinghy gently brushing up against his anchor chain. I hadn't even heard him come in.

So I bound up on deck, it's raining now, and check, and we're not even stretched all the way out on our rode. Any little breeze coming up from the south and we're definitely going to smack him. So I hail him and he comes up scratching his head... he had anchored when the wind was coming from the other direction, just as the guy in the Catalina had, only it had shifted sooner this time. He had imagined he was well away from us, but again, he was on all-chain and we, with our mostly rope rode, had shifted back much more quickly. He asked how much I had out, and I told him ninety feet... a respectable three-to-one, our typical ratio in the crowded anchorages up here, and about the minimum I feel comfortable with, considering how light rope is. I am sometimes embarrassed to have to reveal that I have four or five to one out when it is windy, feeling a bit selfish and over-protective considering the community norms up here.

So I asked how much chain he had out. One hundred and twenty five feet. Better than four to one, of chain. Suddenly I didn't feel so selfish with my wimpy lightweight rope and a measly three to one. He volunteered to haul some in and shorten his scope, which I agreed was perhaps a good first step. Considering my own predilections, shortening scope is not something I am comfortable openly encouraging among others; after all, if they start dragging, they may present a much more drastic problem for me than if we are just rubbing. Still... I think he's probably safe, considering the forecast for the next week doesn't call for anything stronger than fifteen knots.

Like the fellow last night, I didn't directly ask him to re-anchor, but let him come to the conclusion himself that we would all get a better evening's rest (which god knows I need at this point) if he picked up and dropped back over where he thought he was in the first place. Eventually, he did.

So, that's how quiet it is here right now, which doesn't seem all that quiet, considering this is the first time we've bumped with anyone at anchor this season (I did, actually, ask a fellow in False Creek with a fifty-foot tug to re-anchor after he dropped too close; it was way too big, and obviously way too close, and we certainly would have hit given the wind and current patterns there, but after some grumbling he did move along), and it's happened twice in less than twenty-four hours, in an otherwise mostly empty anchorage.

From Quiet Ganges

Time to catch up on some happenings!

As Scott said, our last trip to Seattle was for me to work. So the days beforehand were spent in preparation. Wednesday night before we left Vancouver I suspected I might be coming down with a cold. I fought it in transit on the Amtrac train on Thursday. It was fun taking the train to Seattle since it was a route we've never seen before. We've driven it, taken the bus, and obviously sailed it. But the train follows along the water much of the way down, and it was interesting to see the water from land instead of that same land from the water. Also, we passed along Shilshole. We've seen the Amtrac train from the boat many times, but I'd never even actually considered I'd ride it some day. I wasn't actively dismissing the idea, but I never thought I'd have a purpose for it.

Thursday night I spent at our friend's place. Never before had I seen a sunset as spectacular from their waterfront home.

Friday morning I had my presentation, then in the evening we went and crashed at another friend's place in Everett. Still I could feel the lingering cold, and so unhappily avoided picking up their adorable baby.

Then Saturday was the bus ride back up to Vancouver, rather uneventful.

Sunday, four days after the first symptoms, my cold reared itself to its full extent. I was out, tired as hell, and fighting a pounding headache. Scott wasn't kidding when he said I spent most of the day in the v-berth. I didn't even wake up when he stopped for fuel. He had to single-hand the entire day, including docking for fuel, later raising and lowering the sails, getting us across the Strait of Georgia, and finally anchoring.

Monday I also slept, and Tuesday I began finally feeling a bit better. We hung out in Nanaimo for the rest of the week, spending time at anchor, then at Nanaimo Yacht Club, happily taking advantage of their facilities.

Once we finished up in Nanaimo, it was a long-ish motor down to Ganges. This Scott also pretty much did on his own. Since finally feeling recovered from my cold I've gotten my head back into a major work project I've been working on, and he's obliged to let me spend all the time I want working on it. So, that's it. I've been working. And reading. And sleeping.

(Images, top to bottom: Vancouver Sunset; view from the boat, Shilshole from the Amtrac, Sunset at Ed and Terry's, Morning fog at Ganges)

Everything is better in Nanaimo

I don't know if it's just because of the location, as the sort of northern terminus of the protected waters of the Gulf Islands, or if there is something about the place itself, but it seems like Nanaimo always serves as our happy place when we are cruising in the Strait of Georgia.

If there were ever a time we needed a happy place to go to, it was certainly this week. Ending a whirlwind, on again/off again visit to Vancouver the day after returning from a trip back to the States (for work and play; Mandy worked, I played), we had an arduous crossing of the Strait with no realistic options for bailing out or stopping early. Mandy came down with a terrible cold and was laid up in the v-berth most of the day; the wind was on the nose, and was only moderate at that, which made for a lot of slow beating across a lot of slop left over from heavier breezes the night before; we were low on fuel, necessitating a two hour detour and arguing against motoring; and we hadn't had a chance to go shopping to restock our barren pantry before we left. Also, another storm was brewing on the horizon, ominously, all day long.

So it was under those conditions that we chugged across the Strait for eleven hours, ending up at nightfall in an anchorage that was chock full of Labor Day sailors. In the rain. All I could do after such a numbing day was shovel down some hot ramen (which, together with instant oatmeal and granola bars, comprised the entirety of our larder for the trip) and crawl into my berth and hope that the anchor was set well enough to endure the wind shift coming with the storm.

We woke to a rainy, miserable day, in a damp, dark, chilled cabin. Mandy was still sick, I was still tired. But it was Labor Day, and we didn't really have anywhere to go: docks and anchorages were full, and anyway most of the stores we might have gone to were probably closed. So we just hung around and watched the rain coming down on the portlights.

Today was a new day. The rain stopped, the anchored boats evaporated, the stores opened, and the docks cleared. We hauled the anchor in and motored over to go shopping. It was still overcast, but fresh food brightened our spirits considerably. Returning to Mark Bay, the well-protected, solid anchorage off Newcastle Island Marine park, we had our choice of spots to drop the hook. I got well in close to the dinghy docks, and in the most protected nook in the bay. We managed to get our fiddly diesel heater going, and between it and the glimpses of sunshine that shot through the clouds by mid-afternoon, we got the cabin heated up and the relative humidity down from just over 90% to around 75%. Not exactly dry, but a lot drier, and warmer, than it had been.

We didn't have either oatmeal or ramen or a single granola bar all day today.

Tomorrow and Thursday are supposed to be the best days before another storm system rolls in late in the week, so we hope to spend some time exploring the park further. When it starts raining again, we can either hole up here with the heat on and the wet all locked outside, or we can take a little harbour ferry from the island in to town and amuse ourselves there. It feels good to be all stocked up, with no pressing deadlines, easy access to provisions, power and Internet readily available, and no need to venture out for anything.

We'll probably sit here for a week or so, then duck into a marina to do laundry and take on water, then start poking our way south through the Islands again. Even if September this year doesn't extend our summer measurably, fall isn't so oppressive if you can stay warm and dry and pick your ports as you choose, rather than being forced into them by circumstances.

Vancouver

I love Vancouver. Every time I am here I love it more.

Don't get me wrong, I love Seattle, too, but Vancouver has something to it that Seattle just doesn't. I'm sure part of it is where Scott and I are, anchored an easy dinghy ride from the Yaletown neighborhood. Yaletown is young, clean, and urban. The people, the buildings, and the parks are all beautiful. And Yaletown is probably the only place I've been in a couple of years that is pulling off what no other place seems to be capable of right now--prosperity. New condo high-rises have giant "SOLD OUT" banners across their billboards. Even with high-rises on every block, the building ordinances must allow the sun to reach the sidewalk. Most buildings are tiered back from the street and get narrower as they get higher. The mix of 3-4 story buildings mixed with 20+ story buildings is nice. Or one part of the building is only a few stories high (often on the street corners), then toward the center it climbs much higher. Either way, the effect is a dense, yet airy mixed-use city core. Actually, with Yaletown so vibrant and beautiful, it is no wonder the Olympic Village (across the water) is having a hard time filling up!

Transit here is efficient and easy to use, even for first-timers. No doubt a little familiarity with place names would make it easier for visitors, but it is like that in any metropolitan city. And it seems highly used by the locals.

The central library is spacious, and even non-citizens need only go to the service desk for a card for one year of public library Wifi. And, even though I can't check it out, they have a reference book here (two copies even!) that I really wanted to take a look at in Seattle. However, it was missing from the Seattle library's shelf. It wasn't checked out, and even after a thorough search by the librarian through all the possible hiding places, it was never found. I had hours of bliss yesterday afternoon getting so many answers from the book that had eluded me for many months. Before I left, I ordered myself a copy online. It was a somewhat expensive book, and I really wanted to take a look at it before buying it.

Canadian social service programs mean that I've only seen two homeless people so far in a stretch of time and distance that would have revealed at least a hundred in Seattle.

If I didn't love my life on the boat, and love Seattle so much, I could easily live here. As it is, I'll take in all I can in these brief visits.


:)
Mandy

Police Psychology

A basic grasp of this subject has proven invaluable to me of late, as odd as it may seem while spending so much time out on a boat, away from law enforcement in almost every aspect.

Last week, it came into play during our stay at a yacht club which shall remain nameless. A security deposit was required for the gate key, a common requirement at any marina. I didn't have enough cash, the person at the desk when we checked in didn't believe that her stand-in the next day would be capable of figuring out how to reverse a deposit authorized on a credit card, and at any rate we were leaving much earlier in the morning than anyone staffed the desk. She accepted my driver's license and told me I could turn in the key and collect the card from the night watchman before we headed out.

She didn't have a number or radio channel on which we could get hold of him, nor did he normally stay at the desk. This combination of information, while apparently vague, in actuality told me everything: having been a night watchman myself, I knew I would have to get up early the next day to give myself time to poke around all the buildings to find whatever secluded corner he was using to sleep in on the job.

In case he was smart and to give him an honorable way out, I first banged loudly on the front door of the main building, but there was no response. A more crafty man would be dozing nearby the entrance most likely to attract attention, hoping to be woken by the noise of anyone knocking or entering, but this wasn't the case. Fortunately, it was a terribly hot night, and two doors were left open on the main patio on the other side of the building, so I was able to walk in and wake him up from the couch on which he was napping in the bar. License retrieved, we left on time.

Our next stop was False Creek, where the subject of police psychology came up once again. Here in Vancouver, there are certain anchoring restrictions supposedly in effect in the False Creek area that allow anchorage only outside the navigable channel, and only for two weeks in every four during the summer. To enforce these, a self-registration system is set up, where you fill out your paperwork and post a permit on your boat if you are staying overnight.

I knew that considerable effort had been made prior to the Olympics to clear out the vast numbers of abandoned and resident derelicts, but as we motored in the other day, this seemed to have been abandoned or neglected in the intervening months. The anchorage was still very crowded, and many of the boats there didn't display permits, and looked either abandoned or as if they couldn't possibly have moved in the past two weeks. So, I wasn't all fired up about the necessity of getting a permit myself, for only two nights there. I figured if there was any enforcement effort, it would more likely be occupied with the more obvious transgressors and probably took some time to get rolling judging by how long some of them looked to have been in place.

I did go ashore that first day and stopped by the permit station, and if there had been a pen or something there, I would probably have just filled the thing out and dropped it in the box, but there wasn't so I just picked up the paperwork and took it back to the boat with me. I decided, at least partly out of curiosity, to hold off and see what happened.

I was relying, in this, on another principle of police psychology, which is the desire to avoid unnecessary paperwork. Even if there was a regular patrol, and even if they did note our presence, the most powerful instinct even when noting the absence of a posted permit, would be to let it go for a couple days... who wants to fill out tickets or file reports on problems that are going to go away by themselves? Additionally, most officers genuinely want to deal with real problems and not busywork; with limited hours in the day and clear choices between a boat that was obviously just passing through and others which equally obviously were not, most of them would probably give us a pass for a few days and deal with the longer-term problems. I was anchored near several of these, and figured the difference would be obvious.

Anyway, I dinghied ashore the next day and headed up the seawall path only to see a police Zodiac heading down the waterway past me. I was too far around a curve to see my boat, but I was curious how closely it might get looked at, so I stopped to watch. Sure enough, the Zod bent in off his course and swung into the anchorage. I couldn't see exactly what he was up to, though he pulled in and out a couple times (possibly just idling in circles as he was writing?) and had plenty of time to tag several of us in there. I didn't see anyone with permits properly displayed. Here, however, another aspect of cop psychology would be working against me: once you get the ticket book out and you're stopping to cite one offender, you may as well do 'em all. The stats look good.

This is one of the reasons the paperwork rule is not infallible; there are motivations involved beyond the obvious, in the form of superiors and other bureaucratic incentives. And there is always the danger that you'll get one of those twisted individuals who thrives on paperwork, and can happily spend all day dotting i's and crossing t's and will enforce the letter of the law to the last detail. You can't reason with, fudge, or sway these guys, they will just putter right along detailing every transgression and acting as the law dictates without logic or reason. They're like a big legal assembly line.

Although that may in fact seem like the fairest approach, in fact it's dangerous because most laws now are so complex and the mechanisms for implementation are so ill-defined that enforcement is effectively arbitrary. The law is whatever the police and prosecutors (although the two may not always agree) says it is, and applies to whoever they decide to apply it against. Too many laws and too few natural applications for them make for a sort of fascism, which inevitably is enforced mostly against an underclass that has no effective means of protest.

All the same, in reasonable hands, this isn't entirely unproductive. Though they may hate the paperwork, pursuant to filling it out most cops have an excellent opportunity to interact directly with the people being investigated, letting their very real and astute police instincts sort out the legitimate problems from the minor violations. This isn't infallible; I have a friend, an entirely stand-up guy who is utterly innocent of all significant wrong-doing, who manages to set off those cop instincts with every interaction he has with law enforcement and consistently gets the fifth degree. On the whole, though, most cops can sort out most citizens between those who have made a mistake or are confused, and those are truly up to no good. In this respect it's not a lot different from how things have always worked with law enforcement.

But if you also have some understanding of how exactly that process works, it's much easier to have conversations with officers that result in nothing happening, even if you haven't done everything technically legally. You simply have to reassure them that, in the main, you are all right, didn't mean it, and probably won't do it again.

How to do this depends on the officer and the circumstances, and I would say there aren't probably any hard and fast rules except to avoid challenging their authority. You may know it's bullshit, but there's no faster way to make things bad than to call them on it.

When I got back to the boat there was no notice of any sort on it, but I did notice that two others nearby that had not previously displayed permits, now had them up in the windows. My theory is that they were still aboard and got a talking to, and then complied with the registration. I filled out all my paperwork and put up the registration too, taking another basic principle of cop psychology as a guide: blend in, and they won't bother you. When no one else around had a permit up, it was okay that I didn't. Now that several of them did, I wanted one as well. Being the grey man, the one that looks just like everyone else, is a good way to avoid attracting attention in the first place.

That's not always possible. An example would be our late arrival to clear Customs in Port Townsend last year. We were faced with a very irritable Customs officer who had been called in after hours, and some serious fines for our transgression, not to mention the possibility we simply wouldn't be allowed back in to the country.

Late as we were, we had to wait even longer for the officer to show up, which on top of a very long day already was difficult to bear. Mandy was fuming so I swore her to silence; women, if they can't cry productively and on-demand, aren't always an asset to these interactions, having a certain sense of entitlement that rises from frequently getting the benefit of the doubt from authority figures at every stage of their upbringing. Anger and entitlement aren't useful attitudes in this respect. I didn't let her cook dinner, either, though her temper is even fouler when she is hungry... I didn't want to look too comfortable and settled in. It's good if you can look a little abject and miserable yourself; the idea that you've already paid, in some sense, for having done something wrong, can factor in your favor (this doesn't always work; I got a ticket after totaling my truck in college, for excessive speed, even though I had been within the limit, nothing else was damaged, my truck was clearly trashed, and I was lucky to be walking away; the trooper was just being a dick, and I got the ticket thrown out in court later. Still, he wasted my time and introduced undue anxiety I could have done without right then).

When the CBP officer showed up, I was tremendously apologetic in the manner of someone who has just dinged a stranger's car in a parking lot... gosh, sorry, I just didn't see it, thought I was clear, super sorry about that, I'll take care of whatever the insurance needs, sort of thing. We had had some engine difficulties, which made us later (though we probably were never have going to been exactly on time, and hadn't called ahead, or enough ahead, to schedule clearance for that reason), and I introduced an element of frustration with the engine, ensuring my dirty and bloodied hands were on display without calling attention to them. The patched hoses in the engine compartment were what sealed the deal; they were real, but after seeing them, the officer didn't investigate any further, and indeed didn't check our ID, ask any other questions, or do anything else except complain about the paperwork and staffing problems that apparently consume his post.

In my apologies I was careful to commiserate with this sort of problem in general, showing I understood that cops have lives too, and though we were late getting home already and badly wanting to tie up at a mooring and get some food and sleep, we sat around and chatted for quite a while about the miseries of working for the border patrol with him. He actually was a pretty decent guy and I did genuinely feel bad about his own situation; my anger was at the terrible system that put us both there and the inability of either of us to do anything constructive about it.

This sort of ingratiation shouldn't be carried too far, of course; it starts to be obvious and serves as a bit of a warning flag. And cops aren't stupid; they will usually know what you are up to no matter how subtle you think you are. But in some respects that doesn't matter. If you're able to make the effort and not over-do it, they are still getting a sense of who you are and whether or not you are worth the effort of further action.

Anyway; it's tiresome to have to deal with authority figures on this basis, but apparently, like any other sort of seamanship skill, it's necessary for navigating the complex waters of international cruising today.

Eeriness

This morning Scott dropped me off at the last sailboat accessible dock nearest the Amtrak station that sits near the head of False Creek in Vancouver. It was only around 8:00 am, and my bus to Seattle didn't leave until 11:30. I was armed with a map of Vancouver that Starbucks had been handing out during the Olympics. Along with street names and such, it also handily shows EVERY Starbucks near every Olympic venue as well as downtown.

I followed False Creek to its head, past the Olympic Village, which had been off limits to non-athletes during the events. This was my first chance to see it. A very nice trail had been constructed (or updated) along the waterfront, and walkers with and without dogs, joggers, bikers, roller-bladers, and moms pushing strollers all made heavy use of this lovely public green space.

To my right, it was easy to see where temporary staging areas must have been within the Village during the Games, since large swaths of land are now just empty lots alongside very nice looking brand new condos. In the center of one lot was a giant inukshuk, the symbol of the Vancouver 2010 Olympic Games.

After picking up my bus ticket, I consulted my map for the nearest Starbucks, which was only about 2 blocks away. I stepped inside it, but it looked like a commuter Starbucks and had only a few barstools for seating. I was looking for something more substantial to wait out the hours at. The next-nearest Starbucks was back the direction I had come from. So I headed back, but decided pass along the opposite side of the Village and see what was there. There was nothing much: old, nondescript buildings, workshops or former workshops of differing sorts, many of them with faded "for lease" signs out front. I walked along a street busy with cars, but not many pedestrians. The map was true, however, and there, in the bottom of a new condo/office building on the far edge of the Village was the promised Starbucks.

After killing a few hours there catching up on this and that, I walked back to the bus station. This time I decided to walk through the middle of the former Village and see what that was like.
It was weird. Eerie-weird, and not at all what I expected from passing by within blocks of it in each direction. Two blocks toward the water, and the trail was busy with human traffic, two blocks the other direction, the the street was busy with car traffic. In the middle of the former Village there was nothing: no cars, no people, no dogs, no kids. The street and sidewalks were equally empty.

I'd heard that the condos that were built for the Village were not selling well, and many had been converted to rentals, which also were not filling very fast. Most of the condos had the shades drawn, either to make the vacancies less obvious, or to keep down the air conditioning costs on hot days like today. A few occupied units had plants out on balconies, softly announcing, "Someone lives here." The scene was mostly like an empty movie set. Since it's Sunday, people aren't at work and kids aren't at school. But they aren't here either. As I came to a park within the Village I noticed the first sign of life. There was a single family with a child. A little later, as I got to the end of the last street, two adults on bikes rode in and a car left a parking garage. There was a sign for a London Drug, but where it was, I don't know.

It was like a ghost town, except that everything was brand new and perfectly landscaped. The thing is, this place must have been the hub of the palpable energy of nervous, overwhelmed, elated, disappointed, or just relieved athletes and their coaches and families. The streets and sidewalks must have been packed with teams in their matching gear showing their country of origin. I highly doubt cars were even allowed inside, on account of the thousands of people. I can't imagine a place with more emotion than the Olympic Village would have. And now, everyone's gone; they took their liveliness with them, and the new residents have not yet arrived.


If we hadn't made the trip up to Vancouver to experience some of the Olympics, I doubt any of this would have occurred to me. I wouldn't have known the history of where I was, nor would I have experienced the spirit of the host city at its greatest hour. Now, here I was again, and there was nearly nothing that actually claimed that these few city blocks had even been the Village, nor marked its border or touted its past. Not a single set of Olympic rings were anywhere. Some "Vancouver 2010" flags remained, and a street was named "Athlete Ave," but that was about it. Except for the soft rustling of the leaves of newly-planted boulevard trees, there was only eerie silence, and the laughs of one child in a park.

And so it begins

Well, Mandy is on her way on the long road back to Wisconsin, marking the beginning of two or three or four weeks of complicated travel, moorage, and provisioning arrangements we are making to bounce back and forth between here and the States on various business and personal trips.

I am anchored out here on my own for a bit in False Creek, in Vancouver, enjoying the heat and the sunshine, if not all the other people out enjoying the heat and the sunshine. Despite efforts the city has made to clear out various derelict and "permanent" residents, it's pretty crowded in the outer parts of the Creek (note: not really a creek). In the inner basin, which was blocked off entirely for the Olympics (being adjacent to the Olympic Village) things look a little better, but that's on the other side of a bridge that is too low for us to pass, and out here, it doesn't look like there is a lot of compliance with the 14 day maximum occupancy rule. I could be wrong, some of these tubs that look like they haven't moved in ages may go out every other week, but it sure doesn't look like it.

So, anyway, that's mostly me grousing about getting a somewhat shoddy spot among the few allowable anchorages left in the outer area. Really, it's not so terrible... it is pretty secure here, and while there are a lot of wakes, generally people seem pretty good about keeping below the 10km/hr limit, so it's tolerable.

I don't have a lot going on here and not enough time between now and my own imminent departure to start with much, so I am cleaning and airing out the boat... projects much more easily done with only one person aboard. I went ashore and took a walk over to Granville Island this afternoon and explored Leg-in-Boot Square on the south side of False Creek. There are two grocery stores near there, a good find for us as we have always had trouble provisioning here. There's a neat park nearby also, which I didn't know was there, and Mandy told me that she quite enjoyed her walk to the train station through the former Olympic Village earlier. It seems clear that we have barely scratched the surface of things to see and do here... but although I would love to be able to be in two places at once, we're jumping around so much I fear there will be little time to explore while the boat is in this area.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'

That's what we were doing, for the past two days on a park buoy at Plumper Cove in Howe Sound. The BC Marine Parks brochure has the gall to refer to the place as "well-protected" which it's not, although it is in a channel that does not, at least, seem subject to the otherwise brisk inflow/outflow winds created by the steep terrain around the Sound. It's wide open to the Strait of Georgia, though, so when those big northwesterly swells start coming in, you get all 100+ miles worth of fetch on them. Well, that's not true, either... there is a relatively shallow bar near the entrance, which absorbs some of the energy... but not enough!

Despite that, it's a lovely little park, and if we were just making a day trip it would be at the top of our list for a return visit. Even one night would be tolerable. Two... well, unfortunately, we paid up front. The rates are excellent, but not something we wanted to forfeit.

Howe Sound is a bit like a big lake, a lot of cabins, a lot of hills. This morning, as we pulled out, they were somewhat obscured by a haze of smoke, drafted in by the nightly outflow from the mountains, I imagine. Yesterday was worse; you could smell it, and swirls of smoke curled through the anchorage as if everyone had started barbecuing at the same time.

We had a splendid sail across from Nanaimo, 15-20 knot winds on the beam, a low one foot chop, clear skies, bright sunshine. We were joined for a bit by a single porpoise, but as we were only making five or six knots, I don't think we were fast enough for him to play with and he soon lost interest. If only he had shown up earlier; a very short stretch of the way, out from behind Protection Island through the Fairway Channel, we had to sail on a close reach in an area that funneled the wind even faster. This put us on our side, at speeds up to seven knots, pounding into the chop. Usually, if I am on watch in such stuff, I put on at least my fouly bottoms, because it's a pain to do when you are underway and by the time you realize you need them, it's too late, but I was sitting up on the weather rail in shorts and a t-shirt while Mandy had the helm. Spray was coming over the bow, but not badly, until... we caught a particularly large wave at a particularly bad angle. I saw the wall of water coming over the bow at me as if it were in slow motion. Then... SPLOOSH! I was soaked from the waist up. A few seconds later, with a soft hiss, the part of the wave that had landed on the foredeck came rushing back along the side deck and spilled over into the cockpit, getting everything below the waist that had escaped the first drenching.

I looked back to see how Mandy had fared... and she was bone dry. I had been directly between her and the wave and formed a perfect human shield.

I went below and changed and put my fouly jacket on. Of course, that was the last wave we took over the bow. I bet the porpoise would have found the incident amusing, though.

We're in an outside slip at the West Vancouver Yacht Club right now, in Fisherman's Cove north of Point Atkinson. There is not much in this neighborhood, being rather on the outskirts of town, but it makes up for few commercial services with a considerable amount of local color. Three or four marinas, including the yacht club, are crammed into the Cove. On a chart it looks positively claustrophobic, particularly with very shallow waters. In person, it's not that tight, but it's busy, and cooperation and courtesy are key to getting around safely. Fortunately, everyone seems to have those qualities, and a large dollop of patience for outsiders who don't know where they are going and have to hunt around for the right dock. Like Seattle's houseboat community, life here seems to be lived largely on the water. In addition to the boats, there are houses lining the shore and the small Eagle Island that dominates the mouth of the cove. We just saw a dinghy parade go by, mostly comprised of small, flat barges with outboards, decorated variously as floats in a regular parade might be. Not long after that, some poor guy in a sailboat lost power right out in the channel; a passing Boston Whaler took him in tow almost immediately. The yacht club is hosting a wedding reception this evening, which also promises to be entertaining. There is plenty to see here, then, if not a lot to do.

There are commercial services a couple miles away, but the neighborhood is at the base of some steep-to terrain that doesn't appeal to me at the moment. There are handy bus routes, but I have spent our last cold, hard Canadian cash on the gate key deposit, so it looks like a quiet night in for now.

Tomorrow we will get going pretty early so I can deliver Mandy to False Creek and she can make her way to the Amtrak station in time for her train to Seattle. After that, I am likely anchored on my own in False Creek for a few days. There, at least, city services are right near by. And cash machines... I'll need some more of that.

Meteors

(Image: Plumper Cove looking toward the Strait of Georgia)

The park attendant who came to collect our Plumper Cove Marine Park buoy fee two days ago asked if we'd heard about the meteor shower. We hadn't. He said it peaked the night before, but that night should provide a show as well.

We don't usually stay up until dark, thought it has gotten easier in the past couple of weeks as the days shorten.

That night as I crawled into the v-berth to bed, I opened the hatch wide above my head. This we don't usually do, on account of a dew-sodden bed in the morning in an already constantly damp boat. But this was special.

Slowly the light of day faded, revealing the stars that had been there all the time, hidden by the sunlight they now showed the reflection of. Since we were pretty close to Vancouver, I wasn't expecting very vivid stars, but I was hoping a few meteors would pass by our little opening to the sky.

Plumper Cove isn't really much of a "cove." At low tide, maybe, but at high tide it is a bay, protected only from the weather and swells of the Strait of Georgia by a couple of small islands. The wind had calmed completely, and with no tension on the line connecting us to the buoy, every tiny swell or wake rolled us side to side and we thump, thump, thumped against the buoy. With every roll the halyards inside the mast clanked from side to side, reverberating noisily into the cabin. Every time the boat calmed again, another motorized dinghy would pass close by, and we'd start over again.

Proximity to the city also brings other kinds of boater, not cruisers, but also pleasure boaters out for a few-day holiday. As the sky darkened and the rest of the world quieted, the party within another boat in the bay became more apparent. It was the first time I'd heard music come from another boat in quite a long time. As the minutes passed, and the sky darkened, they slowly became quieter and quieter as well. A heron screeched its ghastly call from a nearby dock.

Still we waited. The wakes stopped and the swells died and even the halyards quieted. Scott rolled over to go to sleep, and of course, shortly after he did, a huge, bright meteor streaked directly overhead, burning itself out just before passing from view. A few more small streaks followed.

When a flock of geese began honking I noticed that the party boat had become silent at some point, and that our boat too was silent. Another sizable meteor passed, seeming to leave its trail for longer than the first one. But perhaps it just showed more in the darker night. Then more small ones, and finally one last bright streak before I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

It's always windy in Nanaimo

I may have mentioned that before. At any rate, it's perfect for us right now, because we decided to test our spare anchor here on this stop, a two-day layover before heading for Howe Sound and Vancouver later in the week. Nothing to work out your hook like strong and shifty winds, which is what was forecast here. Well, not so strong, 15 knots, but when you throw in all the people going unreasonably fast and throwing wakes around the harbor, all the bouncing should give it a good work out.

We've had this Bruce anchor for a couple of years but the only time we used it, it didn't work so well and the conditions were poor, and our regular Danforth type has been rock solid, so there was no incentive. But I keep reading that Danforths don't reset when the direction of pull changes (as in a wind direction shift), and while that has never been our experience (we've been in some dandy wind shifts, and it's stayed right where we put it), there have been a few times when I have hauled it up and the long handles at the head of it have gotten twisted up in the anchor rode, effectively shortening our scope and putting pull on the anchor at an unpredictable angle. While this has never resulted in any problems, it makes me nervous, and the Bruce should avoid that issue, so we are giving it a try. It's smaller than I would like for a primary anchor, but as long as the winds are moderate (as forecast) it should be fine... and if higher winds are forecast, they are usually from a single direction, in which case the Danforth will serve perfectly well as it has in the past.

We're in Nanaimo again after a two-day jaunt down from Grace Harbour in Desolation Sound. Grace Harbour was a nice little spot, watched over by the inukshuk in the picture above. The inukshuk may be familiar to you, as it is to us, from this past winter's Vancouver Olympics, where it was part of the logo. We don't know if this one was here before that or if it's always been, but thought it was a neat touch.

We waited at Grace Harbour through a brief patch of unseasonable southeasterly winds, and hitched a lift on the northwesterlies as they returned to blow us down the west side of Texada Island. The largest island in the straight of Georgia, Texada doesn't see much traffic on the west side since the strait it forms together with the mainland on the east (Malaspina) is well-protected and an easy and direct route to points north. We've come down the west side in the open strait before and it's always a bit of a ride; this time, we stopped on Lasqueti Island, Texada's little brother, to spend a night in False Bay. It's definitely off the beaten path. We saw few other boats out on the water, and only a handful anchored inside. Lasqueti looks like an interesting little place but we were too tired to explore.

The next day we kept going, heading for Nanaimo even though it's on the wrong side of the Strait from our next destination because it was the best anchorage available within twenty-five miles without backtracking. This turns our jump to Howe Sound from one long and arduous day into two pretty easy ones.

That's about all I have to report. The weather has gotten back to very nice again after the spat of rain that came with the southeasterlies, and we're just waiting here for a day of variable winds to blow themselves out and get back into steady northwest winds so we have a fast and predictable ride across to Howe Sound tomorrow.

Hanging out

With a week to kill before we even have to think about getting down to Vancouver (our selected site for leaving the boat while we both make short trips Stateside to visit family), we're just sort of hanging around right now in Cortes Bay, at the south end of Cortes Island. The area is generally considered to be part of Desolation Sound, but if that's the case, it's probably due to the fact that both the Vancouver and Seattle yacht clubs have outstations here; for those clubs, and their many members, this probably serves as base and launchpad for the Desolation Sound area. There is a constant stream of boats and planes in and out. There is also well-developed Internet service; and, if exclusivity is your thing, the public dock here is very small, mostly used by locals, and the holding ground for anchorage is reputed to be poor. So, it's a great spot for exclusive yacht clubs. We've been enjoying it too, though.

The weather is still good although it is, of all things, somewhat foggy today. The forecasts haven't been particularly clear or accurate. Yesterday was clear and sunny all day, but a chance of rain was forecast. Winds have been supposed to be northwesterly still, but have been from the east. It's been mild and moderate, though, good conditions for sitting on the hook.

Today, Wednesday, most people have finally cleared out after the long BC day weekend. The club docks are back to being only one boat deep, with empty spots, after having been rafted to capacity. And there is only one other boat at anchor, although more may come in later in the evening.

We've only been here for a couple of days but I have to look at the date and day every morning, and even armed with that information, I can't really recall how long it has been since we left Campbell River. We left a day early, or on time, rather, as the electrical problems there continued and it wasn't worth staying for a make-up day. We spent a couple of days in Gorge Harbour, a nearly landlocked bay entered through a narrow, rocky gorge, and that was pretty pleasant. There is a marina there we could row into for provisions, or just to walk around if we wanted. But Internet service was spotty and we needed to get some work done. So, we had a nice sail down here and got a pretty good spot, even considering the holiday crowds.

Things have been pretty leisurely. We get up, read a bit, maybe work a little, have lunch, then fire up our portable generator and work some more while things are recharging. We've been slowly working on cleaning the boat and taking care of some small maintenance projects, too. There's not much rush. We may stay a couple more days then pick a more secluded spot nearby. Although the weather patterns are a little odd right now, I am betting that they will get back to normal at some point before we have to be in Vancouver, and with the prevailing northwesterly back behind us, it should be a quick one or two day trip.

After that things get a little complicated, with some odd travel arrangements to get us to where we are going. Mandy just needs to be dropped off near the Amtrak station in Vancouver, no real trouble since it's at the head of False Creek. After a couple days on my own (I'm still not sure exactly where to spend them), I will put in at a marina in Vancouver where we have a slip reserved and embark on a two-day odyssey to get from Vancouver, to Victoria, to Port Angeles, to Port Hadlock, to Spokane... to parts unknown, as I am going backpacking with Loyd at a destination he has not yet named (and perhaps has not yet selected). I still haven't figured out fully how I'm getting back again. It has to be easier than all that, though.

Anyway, I am trying not to think too much about that and instead just relax while the relaxing is good. I am already looking forward to September. Things should be quieter on the water then; the weather may be worse, but not much worse, and we'll be able to stay close to civilization and work, but still relax, as we hang out in Vancouver, the Gulf Islands, and the San Juans until our slip in Seattle opens up again in October. The more we do this hanging out stuff, the more I am enjoying it.

Another day in Campbell River

It's a good thing we both like Campbell River, because just about every time we are here, we end up spending at least one more day than we had planned.

That is somewhat understandable due in part to the location of the city. Five miles south of Seymour Narrows, five miles north of Cape Mudge, with no protected anchorages in between in either direction, it's a place you don't want to leave if conditions aren't just right. A southeasterly at Cape Mudge or a stiff northwesterly through the Narrows can cause you to postpone your departure from here indefinitely until conditions clear up.

This time around, though, it's something a little more mundane: the power is out. Around three am, a transformer blew that supplies at least some of the docks with power. A BC Hydro crew is up working on it right now, but as of 11:30 this morning, they are saying it will probably take the rest of the day to fix.

The only reason we were staying for the day in the first place was to get some work done. Now, it's like we're anchored out again (although Internet service has not been affected): we're cooking on propane, washing up in cold water, and relying on our solar panel to keep our computers charged (which relegates me to my tiny Eee PC and only allows Mandy to work about a quarter of much as she normally could... solar charging is slow!). So, not much is going to get done today. We did laundry when we got in last night, went shopping, and were all set just to get online and get stuff done today. Now we don't know what to do with ourselves. I washed the boat, and Mandy plans to patch up our dinghy sometime today. Otherwise, it's possible I might be more bored here than out at anchor somewhere!

We got to Desolation Sound last week two days out from Pender Harbour, and took on some supplies and spent our first night in Refuge Cove. Then we moved to Prideaux Haven, in the Desolation Sound Marine park itself, for a couple of days... it was busy, but not crowded. We moved up to another small Marine Park north of there called Walsh Cove, and that was great. Warm water, sunshine, some small but interesting islands to explore, and some cliffs with Indian petroglyphs on them (or, possibly, doodles by some teenagers with spray paint. I'm undecided). We read in the sun and went swimming. Mandy jumped off a small cliff a number of times. I did, too, but the warm layer of water ends about four feet down, so jumping in gets really cold, at least until you resurface. But as long as you float about in that top four feet, it's very pleasant.

After Walsh Cove, we headed up through Yaculta and Dent Rapids. It's the first time we have taken that back route and weren't sure what to expect. It was a lot of current, but the guidebooks show good techniques for getting through, and we followed several other sailboats with the same general idea, so it was just a matter of connecting the dots. I have some ideas to make it easier and faster next time around; the guides are all written for people going further north, so they advise cutting some corners at the rapids, but I suspect we would have gone through quicker if we had done things differently.

Our swing up north of the rapids could best be characterized as: windy. Gale force winds have been blowing down through Johnstone Strait for almost a month now. There was a lot of chop in all the channels and a lot of wind in all the bays. We stopped at the resort at Blind Channel because Terry keeps telling us how great the bread there was. We missed the bread but got cinammon rolls, which were good; we also hiked up to see an 800 year old cedar tree (just like other cedar trees, only bigger), and I got Mandy roped into judging a dog show. I think she had fun, though. That will all probably get a post of its own, though. I got pictures... she had to wear a funny hat. Funnier than her normal hats, even.

It was a fun stop, but very expensive, as everything up north of the rapids tends to be. Even so, they were full up while we were there. We only stayed a night. Even that seemed like a mistake, since waves rolling in from the nearby rapids kept us rolling around all night even at the dock.

The next night we tucked into a little spot at Turn Bay just out of the main part of Johnstone Strait. That was a nice little nook, but the wind blew in fiercely. It was the same story at our next stop, Small Inlet in Kanish Bay. Small Inlet actually isn't that small, but we were the only boat in there. A couple of kayakers came through in the afternoon, but that was it. We rowed ashore and hiked up across a low saddle to Waiatt Bay (sp?) which was chock full of boats. It also happens to be, in a convoluted way, south of all the rapids, which explains the difference. It was a great little hike, but a very strenuous row back to the boat, since it was all upwind. Also, we blew a leak somewhere in the dinghy and it wasn't as rigid a platform for rowing on the way back.

That night the gusts came in and batted us around pretty good, keeping Mandy awake much of the evening, but our anchor held like a rock. Even though she was tired the next day, she took the helm through Seymour Narrows coming south... it was uneventful, though, as our timing was right on and the wind was with us.

So here we are in Campbell River for two nights plus an extra. After this, we'll poke around near Desolation a bit more, then head down to Vancouver for our various trips stateside in mid-August.

A short time-out

We had intended to head north from Nanaimo pretty much directly (with overnight anchorages, obviously) to Desolation Sound, but events have conspired to keep us in Garden Bay for at least another day.

First, yesterday was a pretty rough crossing, at least in part. The Strait of Georgia lived up to its reputation for roughness as we cut across the western half... short, sharp chop and gusty winds had us burying our nose in saltwater and Mandy heaving over the side despite medicative precautions. We were both exhausted by the end of the day and in no mood to get up and press on immediately this morning.

Second, this morning was Saturday; yesterday, then, was Friday, and that makes it a weekend, and we inadvertently put ourselves on the same track as hordes of vacationers from Vancouver and Nanaimo, who showed up shortly after we did and turned the bay into a big parking lot. A lot of these folks have the same general plan that we do, which is to overnight here and head on to Desolation Sound... that means they'll be at anchorages between here and there today, and up there through the weekend. If we wait a day, we should be able to find relatively open places as we work our way north along behind them.

Third, I noticed the bilge pump coming on more frequently than usual yesterday after we started the engine, and when I opened the engine compartment for inspection, my suspicions were confirmed... the muffler had sprung a leak again. I pulled it this morning to repair it, and sure enough, there was a new hole, adjacent, of course, to the part already fixed. I laid some liquid metal into it and will let it cure today; hopefully it will be okay tomorrow. I suspect that I botched the job... the liquid metal filler stuff sets up much faster than I expected and I didn't get it laid into the hole as deeply as I was thinking. But there's no sense in putting more in if that layer won't hold, so I will just have to put it all back together and see if it blows again. If so, I'll get an opportunity to do it right, although I'm not looking forward to it. The weather is too nice to be all jammed up in the lazarette messing with hose clamps.

Anyway, we wanted to take a crack at it while we are still only a day's sail away from major ports like Nanaimo or Vancouver, which could still fix us up if I really botched things.

Finally, our anniversary is tomorrow, and Mandy wanted a nice night out, and this is probably the last place anything of that sort will be easily possible. So, she'll have it a night early, assuming we can get in at the Garden Bay Hotel, which is reputed to have an excellent spread.

Images from Nanaimo

Nanaimo seems like a town that's really trying to be somebody. I think, if it weren't for the financial meltdown, it could have been almost there by now. Instead, there is a dying shopping mall a few blocks from brand new, vacant (but lovely) buildings, and a highly touted, through barely-there "Old Town." I hope, that once North America actually recovers and small business starts to grow again, Nanaimo will thrive. It certainly seems to have the waterfront infrastructure to become a tourist destination and lovely getaway.





A nice pedestrian friendly waterfront (McGinn, take note).













The Nanaimo constants: seaplanes, sailboats, and mountains











Roses along the waterfront












New waterfront construction, waiting for occupants (like too many of the rest of the buildings).














Old Town, which covers a whole block, and seems to be mostly new buildings (except this string of facades), seems to be facing some challenges as well.














The truest sailboat name ever












Departure day sunrise from Mark Bay













Goodbye, Nanaimo. Seeing ourselves out in fresh Northwesterlies. Next stop: Garden Bay, Pender Harbor, mainland British Columbia

Oh, just Nanaimo again

I think we've only been here twice before, but it all fades together... blue skies, sunshine, crazy northerly winds.

We're tied up right now at Nanaimo Yacht Club, on the outside of H dock facing Newcastle Island Passage, and we're getting bounced around more with doubled-up docklines and extra fenders out than we were last night on just our anchor in the middle of Telegraph Harbour. It's an undesirable berth anyway, because, 5 knot speed limit notwithstanding, there is normally a lot of traffic up and down the channel and you would catch all the wakes here; right now, no one is out there, so there are no wakes, but thirty knots of wind is whistling down the gap and trying hard to scrape us down the side of the dock and into the big powerboat behind us.

For all that, I'm happy to be here. Dinghying in from the anchorage would be no picnic right now. We came in and tied here because it's adjacent to the check-in slip, where you are supposed to tie temporarily while walking up to the office to get a regular slip assignment. That was where the big powerboat was already parked, though, so we just got as close as we could so I could go up to the office and see if they had anything else available in our size. Turns out the member who normally moors right here is gone this week, so they just told us to stay right where we are. That was fine with me. If there's something worse than being in a bouncy outboard tie-up, it's having to get out of one and try to dock someplace else in high winds.

Every time we have been here it's been blowing like mad, and docking and undocking has always been unpleasant (particularly within the confines of the Harbour Authority docks a bit south of here). So, an outside spot, where all I have to do is fire up the engine and go, no jockeying around, no boats on either side, is pretty darn attractive.

So we're happy to be in port, and particularly happy that it's Nanaimo, despite the wind. It's a great town, with an interesting and useful waterfront and downtown area. There are a ton of used bookstores, which is good because I've pretty much worked my way through our onboard library already (we've only been gone a week!), shops and galleries, hole-in-the-wall restaurants.

We're also particularly impressed with the yacht club. The staff are friendly, they have showers and laundry on site, and the ice is cheaper than at the grocery store, and not nearly as far to carry home! It's also further away from the airplane docks than where we have stayed before, making for a quieter experience... well, it would be quieter if the wind would die down, anyway. The rates are good, too, both for services and for moorage itself.

So we decided to stay for a few days. To tell the truth, I'm not exactly sure where to go from here. We're planning on heading north to Desolation Sound, of course; but do I crawl up the Vancouver Island coast or jet across to the more interesting areas along the Sunshine Coast of the mainland? Clearly I'll need a few days to make up my mind.

It's harder now because, although in my mind this has sort of been a vacation plan, really it's not... it's just life, with a few side trips. I need to think about not just what we want to go see, but where we need to be to get things done. Transportation, work, getting mail... all the unglamorous bits that still need to happen. Nanaimo just happens to be well-suited to meeting most of those needs. It's going to be hard to pull out.

Oh, and we've seen more evidence that boat traffic is down... Mark Bay, across the harbour, was absolutely jammed full at this time two years ago. Today, it would have been easy to find anchorage. We could have had our pick of spots. The Harbour Authority docks look relatively empty, too, apart from long-term tenants.

Small victories

This morning we sailed off the anchor, something boats with no motor do every time they weigh anchor, be we have accomplished (or even attempted) only a handful of times in the past four years of semi-regular sailing. Albeit, the conditions were pretty good: there were no other boats exceedingly close to us, and the wind was from a mostly favorable direction while being neither to weak nor too strong, and the amount of rode out with the anchor wasn't excessive, meaning it could be pulled up rather quickly.

Scott has to do all the heavy lifting in circumstances like this. He must quickly raise the mainsail, then immediately shift to pulling up the anchor. My job is to listen to him beforehand about the technique we will use, then try my best to remember and follow the instructions at the helm once he is at the bow and we can no longer speak gracefully about matters.

The primary goal was to not end up on the rocks of the Chain Islands, about 200 feet to port. The secondary goal was to get out of Ganges Harbor without starting the engine (we had the batteries switched to the starter bank just in case we decided to ditch the endeavor and continue to meet the primary goal).

Both goals were met, I dare say, even with grace.

I liked Ganges. We were lucky enough to be there on a Saturday, too, and got the experience the VERY popular Farmer's Market.

Popularity is it's own curse

Like everyone else, we keep going to all the popular places mentioned in the guidebooks, only to find that is exactly where all the people are.

We're in Telegraph Harbour right now, and it being a Sunday evening, managed to find a spot to drop the hook in the crowd of permanent moorings and raft-ups. Some other people have managed to squeeze in later on, but they're mostly in spots I would never have dared to try.

I don't know why it is that I keep being surprised that we go to great places and find lots of people there. It's not that I mind the people so much, after all, I'm one of them. It's hard to complain that everyone else is ruining your trip, when you are just as culpable of ruining theirs. Actually, ruin is the wrong word. I'm just used to a little less crowding, a result, perhaps, of spending our last couple of seasons further off the beaten path, or when we were on the beaten path, taking it during times of year that no one else wanted to.

Anyway, it's another beautiful day here and I like our spot. I'm a little too pooped to row ashore right now, although it wasn't as long a day as I feel like it was... only took a few hours to sail here from Ganges, even with spotty winds. Speaking of crowded, the crowd making for the exits in Ganges this morning was a sight to behold. The weekend is clearly over! Anyway, I'm afraid I would likely be underwhelmed by whatever we might find ashore here at the moment, or perhaps just overly tempted to spend money on treats we don't really need, so I foresee an early evening.

We haven't even been gone a week yet but it seems longer. Tomorrow we'll head to Nanaimo for (hopefully) our first real port stop. We're low on water and need some ice and grocery products we couldn't otherwise bring in from the States. We're hoping that, it being a Monday, we'll be able to find moorage for a couple days at the Nanaimo Yacht Club. It's a bit further from town center, but it would have the virtue of being relatively inexpensive, and also of avoiding the zoo that the Harbour Authority inner floats become when the wind is blowing hard, as it invariably has done during our past visits.

If we can't get in there, we may have to anchor out in Mark's Bay and figure out a quicker provisioning stop somehow. We keep hearing that recreational boat traffic is on the wane, but it's hard to imagine more people out here than there already are, even considering it's the high season.