Back in the USA

We took a look at the weather forecast for the Strait of Juan de Fuca for the next few days. It looks relatively calm tomorrow morning, then 10 to 20 knots or more for several days.

The waves will be on our beam as we head south with wind blowing in from the ocean. That'll make it a very tough ride. Bob knows what I'm talking about.

If only we could cross the strait tomorrow instead of Thursday as we intended. It would make the crossing a lot more comfortable. Where there's a will...

That's how we find ourselves in the middle of another long day, skipping tonight's anchorage to leave us in position to cross the Strait of Juan de Fuca tomorrow morning instead of Thursday.

We used the CBP app to clear customs under way. It is very nice not to have to stop in Friday Harbor for clearance. That place is a zoo. Nice to spell Harbor correctly too.

Then we'll stay in Port Ludlow tomorrow night and be home a day early. It's too bad we couldn't spend one more evening in Canada. I'd have loved to do the inlet shore trail in Bedwell Harbour one more time. We talked about stopping there, but it's not worth getting beat up crossing the strait.

It'll be a very early start tomorrow. We have one more narrow pass to get the timing right for: Cattle Point at the South end of San Juan Channel runs about 5.5 kts if you hit it at the wrong time, which we will if we leave when we'd like to. Oh well. We can do early.

I made Mom's chili while under way today. That's the good news. The bad? We won't get to eat it until around 8:00 tonight. It'll be worth the wait. And pie afterward of course!

A windy Day in the Marina.

Yesterday was like today, but the wind blew hard all afternoon. It made me nervous about docking in Campbell River. I'd have to thread Quijote down a narrow fairway between two piers into a slip on the opposite side of the finger dock with little room to turn in blustery conditions. And by the way, slide her in next to a big, beautiful motor vessel with gorgeous wood trim.

It was the same slip I was assigned last time we moored in Campbell River on the way up. Last time, with little wind, I slipped her in without a thought. This time I knew enough to be nervous about it. It all came out well in the end, although not without hanging onto those wooden hand rails to keep Quijote from being blown toward the big boat before Mick and Yoshi could tie her up.

Half an hour later while the three of us were cleaning the deck, connecting the power cable, and filling the water tanks with fresh water, I saw activity on the big boat. I was wondering how it was going to handle the wind with so much surface area. Those big guys have bow thrusters to allow them to maneuver in tight spaces. They can thrust their bow left or right without the need for forward movement. Quijote has no such luxury. Without water flow over the rudder, she won't turn.

The vessel's operator backed the boat out of the slip and turned. Now broadside to the wind, he couldn't maintain control. He tried to gun the motor to use the prop wash and turn the boat into the wind and regain the center of the fairway, but the turning radius in that wind was too great. It just served to turn the stern into the pylon with a crunch.

He gunned it again and the behemoth shot forward toward Quijote. Thankfully he hit a second pylon instead. Crunch. A large section of the wooden hand rail broke off. From the back of our boat we pushed on what remained of his railing with all our strength and managed to push his bow clear of the pylon where his bow thruster and propeller took over and gave him back the fairway center line.

Yoshi ran after him waving his broken handrail. The man's wife yelled back to leave it on the dock.

Off to Nanaimo are we

 We're cruising down the Strait of Georgia with the wind at our backs making good time. We need to. We've got a long day ahead of us. I've been doing this for a while, so new trips plagiarize older trips. This trip is much like the trip to Haida Gawii: cruise to Prince Rupert, cross Hecate Strait, wander among the islands, cross back to the mainland, and head home. This time we'd do all that except the crossing to Haida Gwaii and back.

Unfortunately a couple of the planning details didn't translate. Today for example was intended to be a 45 mile day from Campbell River to Nanaimo. Never mind the fact that Campbell River is 75 miles away from Nanaimo. Oops!

Somehow we have to remedy that. We can either do 75 miles or we can break it into two days. The latter is more comfortable, but my crew has flights to catch. If we can just get 75 miles out of the day all will be well again. Or will be if I haven't screwed up the mileage on any of the other days. I make a mental note to check.

After a slow start (3.5 kts against a strong current) the wind filled in and pushed us for a few hours, peaking boat speed at about 8 kts. Then the wind died.

Now we're motoring in calm weather with about 35 miles remaining. It's a warmer sunnier day than advertised. Very nice. We couldn't have done it otherwise.

It looks like we're going to make it to Nanaimo and be back on schedule. Meanwhile... Mick is making us pressure cooker stew for dinner. Tomorrow we get to sleep in and take a mid-day run at Dodd Narrows. Let's hope the rain holds off.

Quijote Crew

Mick and Yoshi

Fury Cove

Chillin'

What a Difference a Day Makes

Yesterday was a scorcher. We hiked into an impressively large lake, red with the tannins of centuries of cedar trees. We dove into the refreshing water from a dilapidated logging dock, sudsed up and dove in again.

I took a pic of the most handsome frog I've ever seen. He stroked his strong legs though the water to impress us with his athleticism, then hung limply in the water, enjoying the warmth of the sun above and the cool water from below. Just as we were doing.I'll post it when I can.  

Today it's raining; a hard rain that makes it difficult to see across the cove. We're in Waddington Cove, nestled among a cluster of rocky islands, cozy in the boat until morning when we'll bundle up and head for the next anchorage.

Tomorrow will be our 43rd out of fifty days on this little adventure.

Savoir-faire et Chance

We rounded the Cape yesterday, just in time to avoid some big weather. In one sense, we were lucky for that patch of kelp in our intended anchorage. It forced more miles out of us before the weather hit and left less time out in the strait this morning.

Queen Charlotte Strait takes us back into the Broughton Archipelago. For today it will certainly be at its best behavior at this hour. After a couple of hours we'll sneak out of the strait for the next few days and let the weather do its thing, leaving us unmolested. Maybe by the time we're ready to make our run down Jonstone Strait the weather will have exhausted itself. A combination of savvy planning and blind luck is not a bad thing.

Throwing Caution to the Wind

We made a productive day of it today. 53 miles in all, further than we intended to go. The wind started off light and variable. The anchorage was quiet, calm, and serene. The water was like glass as we glided out into the channel.

It's hard not to be struck by the beauty of the BC coast. Just as we were thinking we might sneak up on Cape Caution unobserved, she played her favorite trick: fog.

It wasn't really thick; just enough to keep us on edge. We felt we could see what we needed to. That was a good thing because Quijote's radar quit working. I'm not sure that it's not working, but it doesn't appear to be giving me any useful information. I guess we call that not working, unless of course there is no data.

When we arrived at tonight's anchorage it was choked with kelp. I don't know why it was recommended. We moved on and went to the next anchorage. It's huge leaving a lot of swinging room; a good thing since the wind is really blowing in here. I suppose having room for swinging leaves room for wind so we get what we plan for.

A Moderation of Ambition

There are lots of places to get beat up by the weather on this coast. Cape Caution is one such place; a place deserving... caution. It combines direct exposure to ocean swell, the product of storms raging thousands of miles away, with waves built by local weather. Add to that the brunt of unimpeded wind from weather systems and a lethal indifference to ones comfort.

When heading either direction up or down the coast, it pays to go when the wind is at your back, pushing you and the water in the same direction. The forecast says we'll have that tomorrow. We'll see.

We opted not to make a long day of today because the forecast said the wind would be lighter tomorrow. Then they changed their mind. I just hope they don't change the wind direction too.

The crew was unenthusiastic about continuing this afternoon. Understandably. Seventy-six miles is a long way to go in a day. Fifteen hours. We stoped at thirty-six. I hope we don't regret it.

Watch where you step

Yesterday the anchorage was hot and sunny. We hiked to the same beach at Codville Lagoon that Jeff and I visited in the rain. The hike was remarkable for a couple reasons. There is a sign at the trailhead warning hikers not to step on little tree frogs. They're about the size of a dime. This time saw a few.

And it was the first time on this crew's leg that they used the dinghy for recreation. There was still plenty of after dinner discussion in the cockpit, but last night it at least started out on the topic of WWII history, before moving on to Russian politics. You gotta give these two credit: they are well read and well traveled. And now they've enjoyed time in the dinghy at an anchorage.

Today's passage is a long, foggy run at Cape Caution. Details to follow.

Revisiting Shearwater

 We’re in Shearwater tonight. Jeff and I were here two weeks ago in windy wet weather. Today is glorious, though still windy.

There are far fewer boats tied to the dock than I've ever seen at this marina before. I don't know why. It's the middle of June - I'd think peak season. Where is everybody?  The laundry room was empty. The store was empty. Seating on the restaurant's patio was plentiful. I guess Shearwater is just not always the hubbub of activity I think it is. 

Or, here's a thought, the locals who would be in Shearwater hunkered down on an ugly day like we experienced two weeks ago are all out fishing on a day like today. 

We made the best of a short visit today, arriving after 1pm. I did a little laundry while the gents filled our water tanks and rinsed the boat free of salt spray. 

We'll leave tomorrow after breakfast and travel an easy 20K to position ourselves to scoot back around the Cape if the weather allows. If not, we’ll spend another night in position. I think it’ll probably be OK. The wind is coming from the north northwest which is ideal really. We’ll probably make a go of it in the next couple days.

I went for a run this afternoon. After so many days of inactivity, or different activity, it actually felt pretty good. I’m a little surprised.

Now it’s bedtime. I can’t wait.

Political Conversation

And what a difference the crew makes. Where Jeff was all about exploring each cove with the dinghy, these guys like to sit in the cockpit at night and talk about politics. Lord help me. Tonight I'm going to channel my inner Jeff, go for a row, and let these guys talk.

Sailing Fun

The last two days have been full days of sailing downwind. All day. That's unprecedented in my experience. We weren't just sailing, we were sailing fast. We sailed for long stretches at over 8 knots.  

Sailing with 20 knott winds at our back gives us a lot of options and a great deal of comfort. We glide down the faces of the waves rather than smash into them as they come at us. 

 Most of the time we run downwind with our jib unfurled. This is easy sailing but it has two problems: we can't see through the jib that's in front of us, making the sailing more risky with all the logs that are floating about. And with Jib only, you can't (easily) sail dead down wind. Today we put the mainsail out and rigged a preventer. The preventer prevents an accidental jibe. It's not often that we get such ideal weather for down wind sailing with the mainsail out.

These are a few of my favorite anchorages…

Weather tomorrow, as today: 20 kn gusting 25 all day. Thankfully with us. We charged along at 5 or 6 kn under sail all day yesterday. We will again today. Tomorrow's Anchorage will be a little gusty, just like tonight's. Stable is good.

The anchorages this week are the same as on the trip up. We're backing our way out. The distances work out well that way. They're also excellent anchorages: good protection, good size, good scenery, interesting entry, good depths, good anchoring, a good day sail from one to the next. I give you Quijote's favorite anchorage string:

Prince Rupert, Captains Cove, Ire Inlet, Gung Ho, Doig, Bottleneck Inlet, Shearwater.

Seven reasons to love seven anchorages. Perhaps Sunny Afternoon will come take a look one day.

It’s a Wildlife

It's remarkable how seldom we've seen wildlife on this trip. Jeff spotted a bear in Captains Cove. And that's it. No whales whatsoever. No dolphins. A few birds.

I'm quite certain it's not that there are fewer out there. We just don't look with the attention to it we did on earlier trips. I have to say it was primarily Kay's attention and eagle eyesight that allowed us to see a lot more than we do now. My vision has deteriorated over the years from poor to worse to the point where my expectation is so low I don't bother really looking for whales anymore. How many have we missed? I'll never know. 

I will always remember crossing Frederic Sound in southeast Alaska. Whales were everywhere. We'd see them traveling in groups up the coast, or hear them from miles away slapping their flukes on the water. We often saw their tails lift into the air as they sounded into the depths. We saw them breach the surface into the air and crash down dramatically.

One memorable day the whale was leaping out of the water so close to the boat that we feared it might hit us. Kay ran about the boat beating on the hull with a pot trying to steer it away.

I love the memory of all my trips out here in the wilds of British Columbia and Alaska, but that summer remains special. I am so grateful for all the Quijote crew that have made these trips possible. I've guided boat and crew and each of them in their own way has guided me. Many a crew member has allowed me to see what is right in front of me, probably all the way.

Burning Fuel

Reading last night's post makes me chuckle. Suggesting the conditions might be reasonable was bold. Too bold. We spent most of the day crashing through waves at 2 miles an hour in the driving rain. What fun. Who wants to join me?

We were doing 2 miles an hour, instead of the more typical 6 because we were battling twenty-five knot headwinds and the commensurate sea state. At that rate we wouldn't be making our anchorage until after midnight. So I did what any American does when challenged. I burned more fuel. That doubled our pace.  

After stating I would probably not return to Captains Cove, I'm here once again. Thankfully the logging operation is not. They've pulled up and moved elsewhere. No choppers, no log booms, no workers, no noise. Incredible.

A few photos

Heading Home

 Jeff, Yoshi and I found ourselves on  a police boat today. Then a Coast Guard vessel, A navy training ship, and a Search and Rescue boat. The police boat had dirt bikes tied to the bow in case officers need to play. I mean go somewhere in the dirt. Fast.  This was Sea Fest in Prince Rupert and the populous was out in force. Live music, food tents, and kids everywhere.

Among that mayhem Yoshi and I could be seen tracing back-and-forth to the grocery store, filling Quijote's larder.

The big to-do today was to re-provision. Laundry was done yesterday. We saw Jeff off and ushered in our two new crew, who are anything but new. Mick and Yoshi have been on Quijote before, two years ago when we circumnavigated Vancouver Island. These guys are hardened Quijote veterans.

We're starting early this morning. Hoping to beat rising winds expected to be becoming at us. Thankfully we don't have any open water today, so the conditions should be reasonable.

I'm lying in my bunk waiting for the alarm to go off and listening to the rain. It's gonna be a wet day.

We'll miss you Jeff. Hope you enjoy sleeping in. Starting now we're heading south. Homeward bound.

SMS from 881631402002@msg.iridium.com

Captains Cove: our final night at anchor on the northward journey. We arrived here around 2 PM to find it full of logging industry. They've got barges, log booms, helicopters and chainsaws going constantly. This used to be such a lovely slice of heaven just three years ago. Judging from the mature and immature clearcut surrounding the area it looks like they've been at it for a while. It just didn't happen to be here when I was here before. So be it. We will be on our way in the morning I'll probably not be coming back again.

Update: Jeff rowed out to take photos of our reported "waterfall" and found that it was just rapids that look like a waterfall from a distance. Oh well. Still pretty cool the way the rapids change directions.

We found we have exactly enough white sugar left to make another batch of pineapple upside down cake tonight. This time with pineapple.

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We're in Ire Inlet on Anger Island tonight. It's on the other side of the island from Foul Point. There's a cool phenomenon about this inlet. The island appears from the chart to be composed of three parts. Inlets and waterways divide the parts. The far end of our inlet leads to an enclosed waterway that leads to another inlet. Two inlets on opposite sides of the island are connected by a waterway. The cool part is that the inlets flood and ebb at different times. When the tide is high enough, water flows from the inlet with the higher level to the inlet with the lower level. The change of level follows the terrain of course, but when the tide is high, from Quijote it looks like a long, niagara like waterfall between our inlet and the waterway. The water falls in one of two directions depending on the tides.

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The last few anchorages have been wind swept, solitary, lovely. Two nights ago we were in Doig Anchorage, presumably named for the author, but who knows? Yesterday we were in Harwood Bay, a pocket sized cove with a narrow entry. There wasn't room for another boat. Thankfully there hasn't been competition. The entries are a little challenging, so it keeps the hordes away. After we arrived and got ourselves settled yesterday, Jeff went off to explore in the dinghy while I made a batch of chocolate chip cookies. Tonight's anchorage is called Gung Ho. We arrived early for two reasons: the distance from Harwood is less than ten miles, and I wanted addition depth on entry. The depth at low tide is roughly the same as the depth of Quijote's keel. Entering at high tide (10am today) gave us an additional 13 feet. No small potatoes. Tonight while Jeff was exploring in the dinghy, I made Mom's chili (without meat): chili sin carne.

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The stern tie line is a big duffle bag with a strong, floating line stacked loosely inside. The established technique pulls the end to shore, around a tree, and then pulled back to the boat with a tag line. Jeff's idea for improving the stern tie? Tie the end of the line to the boat and take the bag to shore. Instead of me feeding him slack as he rowed to shore, he now had to manage paying out line while rowing. I was interested to see what was next. It was hard to see what he was up to at that distance, but it appeared he climbed up the kelp slick slope with coils of rope in his arms, then passed wads of rope around the tree. The rats-nest that had been an orderly stack of rope was returned to the bag and gave him more trouble on the way back to the boat than it did on the way out. He admitted afterward that he hadn't thought it through very well. Ahh well, rarely is there innovation without a few setbacks.

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We're in Doig Anchorage tonight, three nights north of Shearwater. After tonight there's just four more anchorages before we arrive in Prince Rupert on the 13th where Jeff will depart; Mick and Yoshi will join me for the return trip. When we arrived at this Anchorage the niche I had identified for us to anchor in was a little small. A little too cramped if there's a need to swing. Concerned that the wind may shift as forecasted, we decided to stern tie to shore. The way I normally stern tie is to send the dinghy ashore with one end of the stern tie line and one end of a tag line. The rope goes around a tree and the tagline is used to pull it back to the boat. Easy Peezy. In the morning all you have to do is pull one end of the line and pull it aboard. No need to go ashore. Easy. Jeff decided to try a new method. It didn't work out but you gotta give him credit for trying.

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We find ourselves in Bottleneck Inlet this morning after a dry, mostly sunny passage yesterday. There was one other boat in here when we arrived, and eight others now. They just kept streaming in. Most we recognize from Shearwater. It will be interesting to see how many arrive at our next anchorage with us. Or will they go further? Ours is the only sailboat among the group. This Cove is loaded with sea birds. The Merlin app came to life identifying them all. We barbecued sausages on the grill last night, watched the sun set over the entrance to the inlet, and listened to the sea birds. Today we transit another narrow, shallow channel. We'll arrive at slack so we don't need to leave here until 9:30 AM. There's no published current information for this channel, so we'll arrive at low tide. High tide would be preferable but not convenient. We'd have to leave here at 3 AM. 9:30 AM sounds much more civilized.

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We find ourselves in Bottleneck Inlet this morning after a dry, mostly sunny passage yesterday. There was one other boat in here when we arrived, and eight others now. They just kept streaming in. Most we recognize from Shearwater. It will be interesting to see how many arrive at our next anchorage with us. Or will they go further? Ours is the only sailboat among the group. This Cove is loaded with sea birds. The Merlin app came to life identifying them all. We barbecued sausages on the grill last night, watched the sun set over the entrance to the inlet, and listened to the sea birds. Today we transit another narrow, shallow channel. We'll arrive at slack so we don't need to leave here until 9:30 AM. There's no

A stow-away joins us on the T dock

 Quijote is tied up to a dock in Shearwater. It's the end of a T dock, as far as you can get from shore and still be tied to the dock. We arrived yesterday and found the space saved for us. No electricity. No water. Mostly no WiFi. If we want electricity and water, they tell me I can move before other boats arrive, but I don't think we'll bother. We do enough motoring to keep the batteries fairly well charged. Jeff and I only used about a sixth of our total water capacity since leaving Campbell River.

It's been raining for three days. Every time it looks like it's about to ease up, it gains new strength, begins anew. It's nice to sit in the boat reading or writing, doing crossword puzzles, playing cribbage… We're going to start feeling cooped up if it doesn't let up soon. We can only do so much walking in the rain, track water into the boat on coats and shoes. Quijote's furnace is wonderful for warming up and drying out.

We did showers and laundry yesterday, shopping in the small grocery store today. We'll have to reconsider our menu options to match what they have to offer.

This afternoon the marina staff asked us to move SVQ over to the middle of the T. A bigger boat was coming in, so they shuffled things around. The good news is... we now have access to (30A) electricity and water. We topped up the water tank (110 gal) before coming to dinner and the batteries are charging.

A small group of folks from San Francisco tapped on our boat last night and invited us to take a look at the top of our mast. When we did we were rewarded with a bald eagle clinging to the top. I had visions of bird poop sprayed into the rigging and deck below, so I tried to discourage the bird from staying long, but he or she was determined.

We're off at 6 am tomorrow, getting an early start to have time for the 45 miles before dinner. We're just hoping it's dry.

Peach upside down cake

Pancake breakfast

Fury Cove looking anything but

Another stow-away this one atop the mast

Harmony

 After three very long days, we're finally in for a few that are shorter.  We did twenty miles yesterday and again today.

Yesterday shortly before our departure, who should come rolling into the anchorage, but  Harmony. She was arriving at anchor just as we were contemplating our departure.

Out came the binoculars. How could we not take a look at boat and crew. As it turns out, no crew. Nice boat: mid forties, double-ender, as boats with tapered bow and stern are known. 

It was a lovely sunny morning as we readied to leave. Eventually a woman  came up on Harmony's deck wearing a long yellow sun dress flowing in the wind.  It was like she was in a movie. After working her way around Cape Caution alone, a girl just wants to feel pretty I guess.   

Under way again, the winds were from the south to start, so we unfurled our sails and enjoyed the sound of waves slapping the hull, rather than the sound of the engine droning. Eventually the wind petered out. We put the sails away and motored into the night's anchorage. 

Now two days later, we found a short hike yesterday in an anchorage called Codville Lagoon. The exercise was wonderful. Between anchoring and rowing to shore, we baked a peach upside-down cake. We already eaten the canned pineapple.  It was awesome. We'll have to do it again on the way home.

We're headed for Shearwater today. It's raining. We're getting a slow start. It'll be nice  to shower.

Weaponizing

 Our anchorage last night was a small ring of islands with excellent protection and stunning scenery. The cruising guide tells us it was closed for a couple of years and suggests we check the status on the BC Parks website. 

With no cellular coverage, we were already anchored when we got word from home that the site asks us not to anchor here. Oops. Too late. 

We were in for the night and not about to move in the dark. 

Around dusk, the cove enacted revenge by way of a full-scale mosquito assault. They were vicious. 

I have to wonder if standing water has been strategically located in this cove to make it less attractive to boaters. What better way to both discourage use and give it an unfavorable reputation?  There's a conspiracy theory for you.

Caution

Yesterday was a bluebird day, clear and sunny from start to finish.  According to Environment Canada, the winds were supposed to build from light and variable in the morning to 10-20 in the early afternoon.

We contemplated how far we'd go.  Round Cap Caution: 72 miles, possibly rough.  If not that, then what? I programmed three options into the plotter: long, longer and longest: 47 miles, 67 miles and 72 miles. They're all too long. I would do 72 miles to spare us something worse. We would choose along the way according to conditions.

Forty-seven miles came and went quickly.  With a super early start, we were there by noon and kept going.  The conditions were easy and the day was gorgeous.

I downloaded weather files created with a NOAA model.  It predicted lighter winds than the Canadian forecast.

By the time we reached our middle option, we were on a roll.  We kept going.

The Canadian forecast was more likely to be accurate than weather files generated with the NOAA model; The Canadian forecasts are more specific and contain local knowledge. Although I wouldn't have counted on NOAA model accuracy, the NOAA files did give me confidence that the Canadian forecast probably wouldn’t be wrong by not predicting much stronger winds.

The question in my mind was: will this be too rough?

At 2 PM, our radio came to life: “Quijote, Quijote, Quijote, this is Harmony, over.”  Harmony turned out to be another sailboat planning to round the Cape.  They were fishing for information that would help them make a decision.  I told them we had just discussed it and decided to make a go for it.  I didn’t have any information for her, so I’m sure I wasn’t much help.  In the end, Quijote went around, and Harmony waited for a better day.   Different boats, different circumstances, different captains result in different decisions.  

The seas got bigger, Quijote did her thing, dancing through the waves.  The passage seemed endless.  Diving, pitching, rolling, twisting, pounding, rolling… items thrown below decks crashed.  The conditions slowed our speed down to 3 knots.  It would take us hours to get to sheltered water at that rate.  And hours it was, but eventually we plodded into Fitzhugh Sound and out of the chop and ocean swell.

Then, before losing our wind, we pulled out our sails and practiced unfurling, tacking and jibing.  It was good fun on a sunny, breezy day.  We’d been motoring into the wind all day.  We needed some fun.

Sprints

We've made up the day lost to weather with two very long ones. We made forty miles today, leaving early and finishing before 1pm. We did 63 miles yesterday, finishing around 8pm because we had to pull out and wait for slack in Chatham Channel.

We anchored temporarily in Port Harvey, our original destination for the day, cooked an early dinner, and proceeded on our way a couple hours later.

Chatham Channel is a long, narrow, shallow passage that deserves caution. Maximum current is 5 knots, so commercial fishing vessels charge through at any time, but our limited familiarity and power made us want to wait for slack. Even at slack it can be challenging to stay on course. Instinct tells you to go slow, but even at slack, there are swirls, eddies, and currents pushing the boat around where there is little room to maneuver. It's necessary to keep the boat speed up to maintain water flow over the rudder and by extension, good steerage.  

We've got another long day today to make the most of a favorable weather forecast. Then, weather permitting, we'll round Cape Caution tomorrow.

I love mornings out on the water. The early start, raising anchor, operating the boat, winding through small islands, the light of a rising sun, the surrounding mountains shrouded in wisps of fog, cold hands warmed by a hot cup of minty chocolate.

 

Boat hookah

 

Stow-away

Breakfast of dorks