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.
Wednesday, June 10, 2026
Tuesday, June 9, 2026
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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.
Monday, June 8, 2026
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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.
Sunday, June 7, 2026
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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
Friday, June 5, 2026
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.
Thursday, June 4, 2026
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.
Tuesday, June 2, 2026
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.
Monday, June 1, 2026
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.
