Wayward Lass in the Canadian Gulf Islands - Jamie Orr

Our 2004 Cruise

This year our annual cruise was in home waters instead of driving to the north end of the island.  This meant I had only a 35 minute journey to Dad’s place then another 5 minutes to Tulista Park in Sidney, saving us two days on the road.  We left the dock at 11:20 on Saturday morning, motoring out onto a flat calm sea.  We steered slightly north of east, passing to the west of Forrest Island.

Setting out

At 11:45 a touch of wind came up from the south, so we raised the sails and motor-sailed past Domville Island, finally stopping the engine just north of Brethour Island at 12:15.  It took us until 1:30 to cover the next mile, sailing slowly against the ebbing tide until we neared Fairfax Point on Moresby Island.  The Current Atlas showed a weak counter-current in our favour, close in to the shore, that would give us a lift around the point and over to Pender Island, our goal for the night.

The Current Atlas lied.  At 5:30 we were still trying to round Fairfax Point.  We’d tried it close in to the land and we’d tried going well out from the point, but either way the little wind we had could not overcome the adverse current.  At one point we crept up the shore, not tacking until our bows were practically on the beach, but although we reached the point, we could not get around it.  Eventually, at 6:15, the tide weakened and we passed the point.  However, it was a hollow triumph, because the wind also died away completely, leaving us drifting down Haro Strait, away from Pender.

So Honda came to the rescue, and we finished the day by motoring into Bedwell Harbour on the south side of Pender Island, and anchoring in the marine park there.  The mooring buoys were all occupied, and the area around them was crowded with anchored boats, but we left them all behind, tucking ourselves into the shallows behind Skull Islet at 7:30, only a few yards from shore.

Here’s Bedwell Harbour, taken from behind Skull Islet

We first visited Skull Islet about eight years ago, when chartering in company with another family.  On that occasion we took up a couple of the mooring buoys, but with small children along, we just had to row over to Skull Islet to look for buried treasure!  No golden treasure, but we took away some good memories.

On this trip, we were just thankful that the rocks around the islet ensured our privacy.  This was just the first of several times that we appreciated the shallow draft of a Chebacco.  We put up the shelter and cooked up our supper, and by the time we’d cleaned up after it was quite dark.  I pulled the inflatable out of the after locker where it lives and put it on the cabin top to pump it up, there not being enough room in the now-covered cockpit.  There wasn’t really enough room up there either, but the inflatable has two main chambers, both of which go all the way around.  I was able to get the first one tight enough to let me row ashore to finish the job.  I did a little exploring by flashlight, then rowed back to Wayward Lass where we turned in for the night.

In the morning we had a good breakfast, fortifying ourselves for whatever the day would bring.  By 9:00 there was sufficient wind coming into the harbour from the southeast that we were able to recover the anchor and sail out of our corner without using the motor.  However, I have to confess that with all the rocks showing around us (it was low tide) we did start the motor and let it run in neutral while we did this.  Just a bit of insurance.

Bedwell Harbour is connected to Port Browning on the other side of Pender Island by a narrow channel, crossed by a road bridge.  Both Bedwell and Browning are bays that cut deeply into the island (it’s two islands actually, North and South Pender) so the channel is relatively short, but winding.  Since both the wind and the tide were going our way, we thought we’d see if we could get through the passage under sail alone.  We’d turned off the engine by now, and were confident enough that we left it sleeping.

The entrance, between the buoys

The channel was sheltered, and little wind followed us in.  At one point we thought the wind was going to turn against us, but after one or two flaps of the mainsail, everything went back as it was and we carried on, the tip of the gaff clearing the bridge with a healthy margin.

The bridge

As we neared the end of the passage, the wind grew steadier again, until we had a good sailing breeze from the mouth of Port Browning, which faces east.  Once clear, we turned and ran to the head of the bay to have a look around.  The most interesting sight was what appeared to be a Viking ship.  However, when we sailed closer, we could see that it was a large clinker built (lapstrake) boat with a false stem and stern added.  It looked very authentic from out in the bay, I guess that’s a lesson not to examine things too closely or they’ll spoil your illusions!

Vikings in the Gulf Islands!

We turned and tacked between the boats anchored off the shore, working our way towards the entrance to Port Browning.  We had a notion to sail to Saturna Island, since we were so close.  However, the closer we got to the mouth of the bay, the stronger the wind blew, and before we reached the open water we stopped and tied a reef in the mainsail.  As we passed into Plumper Sound between Pender and Saturna, the reefed mainsail was quite enough to keep us moving along at hull speed.  To reach the southern point of Saturna was going to mean a long, wet, uncomfortable beat, and while we had no doubts about Wayward Lass’ ability to get there, we weren’t convinced that we wanted to go to all that trouble.  So it was up with the helm and let her run northeast with the wind, leaving Saturna astern.

The tide was still flooding north, but the Current Atlas showed a contrary current coming southeast down Plumper Sound.  With the weight of wind in our sails, though, the current was academic.  We carried on at hull speed, occasionally exceeding that when we caught a wave and surfed down its face.  Another small sailboat was motoring along behind us and we were easily drawing away from him until he exchanged motor for sail.  Even so, we still pulled ahead, but more slowly.

As Plumper Sound narrowed into Navy Channel between Pender and Mayne Islands, we held to the port, or southwest, side, thinking we would turn down Swanson Channel and south around Prevost Island.  This turned out to be a mistake.  While our speed dropped, the other boat drew level then ahead, gaining half a mile in a matter of minutes.  To make matters worse, the wind off the point was fluky while the current against us became stronger.  So for the second time, we took the easy way out, and followed the other boat, now just a dot in the distance, up Trincomali Channel to the north side of Prevost island.

This was a successful strategy, although we never did catch up to the other boat before our paths separated for good.  In no time we were past Prevost, turning southwest into Captain’s Passage towards the town of Ganges on Saltspring Island.  We were able to get through without tacking, then ran downwind again until it was time to take in the sails and use the motor to negotiate the entrance to the government wharf.

Saltspring is the biggest of the Gulf Islands, and Ganges is the biggest town on Saltspring – which is not to say it’s big compared to other places!  But it has a number of docks, I think there are two public docks and at least one marina, although I’m not very familiar with them and could be wrong here.  We tied up at the Centennial (public)Dock at 1:30, and as it was still early, we had no trouble finding an open space.  Rafting up is normal procedure at the public docks, but I don’t want to be on the inside of a raft-up because Wayward Lass is only 20 feet long with a lot of shape.  It would be hard to avoid rubbing somewhere.  However, it never came up as we were on an inside dock and none of the folks who came in later came our way.

We bought some items I’d forgotten, like a pancake flipper and a thermos, and renewed the ice in the cooler.  Then we rigged the boom tent as an awning against the hot sun – we had great weather, never a drop of rain, but it did get very warm at times!

The boom tent worked well as an awning

There was an interesting selection of boats moored around us.  Several fishing type boats were undergoing renovations, and there looked to be a community of live-aboards, or at least very regular visitors, on the docks.  One of the visiting boats was the Mary Adair, owned by Robin – I didn’t get his last name, but he recognized our boat from last summer.  It was he and his crew that Randy Wheating and I met at Sidney Island, when they came to take the old dock out of the lagoon.

The Mary Adair is a big William Garden ketch, and Robin has been rebuilding her for five years.  I forget the numbers, but he’s replaced numerous frames, a lot of planking, and I think the whole deck.  The new frames are in two pieces, steamed separately then glued together in place, the planking is red cedar.  What struck me most, though, was the lovely smell of yellow cedar below decks.  The interior is all done in that wood and looks as great as it smells.

Robin hadn’t sailed her a lot yet.  He’d got the mainmast and sail from a schooner, and he’d left off the mizzen until he could try out the main alone.  He’d also got a lot of ballast to put back, she was riding very high so a cautious approach was a good thing!

After breakfast next morning, we motored clear of the docks and set sail right away.  The wind had swung round a hundred and eighty degrees, coming now from the northwest.  However, this meant we could run back out of the harbour, so we had an easy start.

My parents used to have a house overlooking Ganges Harbour, behind the chain of islands (called the Chain Islands!) on the northeast side, and it wasn’t unusual to see a boat lose its propeller on the shallows between the islands.  After a good look at the chart, I decided we could safely cross behind the line of islands so we picked out a gap and sailed up to it close hauled, raised the centre board for a moment as we crossed, and we were over.  However, I got a surprise when I looked at the chart again and realized I had missed an entire island, and crossed somewhere else entirely!  Again, I was glad to have a shallow draft boat.

We reefed again before we reached back through Captain’s Passage to Trincomali Channel, so were ready for the full force of the northwest wind – an estimated fifteen knots, with gusts to twenty, at most.  However, whitecaps stretched away as far as we could see, so we prepared for some wet sailing.  With one reef, Wayward Lass handled things easily and we settled down to enjoy a fast journey.

The wind was actually more from the west than the north, so we were able to make long and short tacks, almost making our desired course on the long ones.  Again we found ourselves overhauling a motoring sailboat, (not the same one) and again it raised its sails and started moving faster.  This time, going to windward, the sloop rig with its big genoa gave him the advantage and we started to drop behind.

The wind was great while it lasted, but as we approached Wallace Island it started to die away.  By the time we had shaken out the reef it was almost gone.  We kept moving, but very slowly.  Our friend with the genoa was having even worse problems, he was close in to shore and going nowhere, and we gradually caught him up until he restarted his motor and moved off.  A few minutes later we followed his example, and motored into Conover Cove on Wallace Island, a popular anchorage.

Our draft again allowed us to anchor away from the crowd, in the shallows at the south end of this long and narrow cove.  It’s not long and narrow the way you’d expect, but instead has a narrow entrance at right angles to the island (also long and narrow) and to the long axis of the cove itself.  We chose the southern end.

We’d had a short day again, so I had time for a good walk on the island.  I looked at some old cabins, the last resident moved away in the 1980’s I think, and the whole island is now a park.  I also walked across the island (a very short walk) and looked out over a now calm Trincomali.

Trincomali from Wallace Island

We finally got an earlyish start the next morning, leaving at 8:40.  Our tide calculations worked out, we still had three inches under our keel at low tide, just before we left.  We motored out and put up the sails again as soon as we cleared the entrance.  The wind was from the same direction as the previous morning, but not as strong, so we didn’t reef.  We were in Houston Passage now, and wouldn’t rejoin Trincomali until we passed Wallace and its neighbors to the northwest.

We had planned to stop at Clam Bay the previous day until the wind failed.  This bay is made by Thetis and Kuper Islands, which are like one bigger island with a muddy strip between them.  This muddy strip has, I believe, been dredged in the past.  In any case, the chart says “boat passage at high water” and we’d looked forward to trying it.  However, we wanted to make the most of our wind, so we tacked on past Clam Bay, promising ourselves we’d stop on the way back.

As we sailed along, a de Havilland Twin Otter, (a twin-engined seaplane) came flying along at only about a hundred feet.  As we watched, it lost more height then landed in the middle of the channel.  It idled along for a while, then put on the power again.  However it didn’t take off, but raced over the water for a mile or two, making a long curve as it went.  After a further time of doing nothing much, it powered up again, taking off this time.  We couldn’t decide why it was doing this, but when it came back later and landed a second time, we decided it had to be some kind of training exercise.

Our destination for today was Pirate’s Cove, a marine park on De Courcy Island, one of another chain at the north end of Trincomali.  Once we could point past the north end of Thetis, we made a long tack, all the way over to Yellow Point on Vancouver Island, setting ourselves up to make Ruxton Passage, a small pass immediately south of De Courcy, on the next tack.  We had to pass through the chain in order to reach the entrance to Pirate’s Cove, on the east side of the islands.

Dad had the helm, and we made excellent progress towards Ruxton.  However, just short of the passage, a power boat passed in front of us, and it was as if he just took all the wind with him.  We were left bobbing around in a chop with only the slightest breath of wind.  However, Dad persevered, and just barely got us through Ruxton before the current started running against us.

It was 4:00 in the afternoon by now, so we said we’d give it another hour before starting Honda.  We mostly drifted for the next fifty minutes, moving slowly southeast, the wrong direction.  Then, with ten minutes to the deadline, the breeze came back from the northwest and we started sailing again.  We took a long tack out into the main channel, then aimed for the entrance to the cove.  Some care is wanted with this entrance, the cove runs northwest/southeast, as does the island, and reefs run northwest from the point guarding the entrance, even beyond the marker.  And if that’s not enough, there are more rocks on the island side, narrowing the entrance further.  However, these are well marked, so as long as one doesn’t cut any corners and stays between the marks, all is well.

We passed the reef on a close reach, gybed and ran down between the marks.  There were a number of yachts already anchored, but there was a good looking space for us in the middle of them. We were being followed by a big sailboat under power, so we didn’t fool about looking for a better place in case we lost this one.  As soon as we reached the right place, I rounded up and dropped the Danforth from the cockpit, the rode already being in place over the bow.  Wayward Lass surprised me, carrying more way than I expected, and for a minute the anchor rode streamed out behind us.  She soon stopped and drifted back but I kind of wished I’d held on to the anchor a few seconds longer, because by the time I let out the right amount of rode for the depth, we were closer to the next row of boats than I had planned.  But not close enough to make it worth moving.

Sunset from Pirate’s Cove, showing the entrance markers

The wind that had brought us into Pirate’s Cove was now blowing at fifteen knots or better.  Pirate’s Cove is somewhat exposed to the northwest, the same direction as the wind, so we went to bed expecting some rolling and noise from the waves.  That didn’t keep us awake, though, after a second day of windward work.  Our anchor also gave us no concerns.  The Danforth has held the light Chebacco in worse conditions, despite weighing only eight pounds.  Others weren’t so lucky, though, and I was woken at 2:30 by bright lights reflecting off the white boom tent.  We could see a sailboat moving around downwind from us, they must have been dragging.  Once they re-anchored, it quieted down again, but in the morning it was apparent that they weren’t the only ones to have trouble.  Several boats had moved, and others had disappeared, presumably looking for better protection.  The big boat that entered behind us was one of the ones that had gone.  Wayward Lass hadn’t moved an inch, nor had the Cal 20 directly downwind from us.  Let’s hear it for little boats!

Inside Pirate’s Cove

It was time to be thinking of going south again.  I had entertained hopes of reaching Nanaimo and logging some time at the Dinghy Dock, a harbour pub there, but it wasn’t to be.  Too much windward work.  Oddly enough, if we’d had the usual summer winds, or rather lack of them, we’d probably have made it, but by motoring.

In any case, we motored out of Pirate’s Cove at 8:00 with the wind still blowing a good fifteen knots.  When we put up the sails, we put a reef in the mainsail, expecting the wind to be stronger out in the channel.  We were surprised to find it weaker instead, so we took out the reef and turned downwind.  We had a very pleasant run back to Clam Bay, arriving at 9:50 – much less time than it took us going the other way!  Since low water had only been an hour and a half earlier, we anchored off the cut and watched the water rise.

Watching the tide rise

At 10:30 I got impatient and pulled up the anchor.  We motored slowly along until we grounded on the mud, then I pulled up the motor.  As you know, a short shaft motor only extends exactly as far as a Chebacco’s skeg, but there was a chance we might drift sideways and bend something expensive.

Two views of the cut:

Looking back

Looking ahead

In fact, we had a slight current with us, so as the water level rose, we would unstick and drift forward.  We used paddle and boat hook to keep her aligned when we grounded, so we weren’t pushed broadside across the channel, but it was easy work.  We eventually made it through at 11:30, the shallowest part being right the western end.  We started the motor just long enough to push us into Thetis Island Marina, where we hoped to get showers.

Unfortunately, only those boaters who paid for moorage overnight could have showers, due to a scarcity of water.  We were welcome to fill up our five gallon container, though, and we also hit the café for two big pieces of pie and a couple of large mugs of coffee.  In less than an hour we cast off again, drifting away under sail.

The wind was disappointing on this side of the island.  We managed to sail out of the harbour into Stuart Channel, but made very little progress after that.  We wanted to go down the east side of Saltspring Island this time, through Sansum Narrows to Genoa Bay.  It eventually became apparent, even to us, that it wasn’t going to happen under sail, not that day anyway, so we fired up Honda and furled the sails.

Honda gave us a pleasant journey, making nothing of the fact that the tide had turned against us at the narrows, and we tied up at Genoa Bay, tucked into larger Cowichan Bay, at 7:15.  The office had closed, but the shower building was open, so we were much cleaner and felt a whole lot better when we presented ourselves at the restaurant.  This was our treat, the only meal we ate “out” on the trip.  However, neither of us were really hungry, so we concentrated on the appetizers and desserts, leaving the entrees for another time.  The beer was good, too.

The office was still closed when we left the next morning – unusual for a marina to be keeping banker’s hours at that time of year.  (I called a few days later and ‘fessed up, and paid by credit card.)  We motored out of Cowichan Bay, hoping to find some wind, but this was to be our big motoring day.  We did sail for a while from Cape Keppel to Isabella Island, along the south shore of Saltspring.  However, with a strong feeling of déjà vu, we couldn’t overcome the current flowing against us around Isabella – it’s right against the land, more like a point than an island when seen from the sea.

So we called on Honda again, and motored off northeast, towards Prevost Island again.  We could have been back at our starting point in Sidney in under an hour, but we weren’t ready to go home just yet.  By mid-afternoon we closed our circle around Saltspring Island (and a few others) and were nearing Active Pass, between Galiano and Mayne Islands.  When people come to Victoria via BC Ferries, Active Pass is what they remember from the trip.  It’s two miles long but only three or four hundred feet wide at times, and it feels like the big ferries are going to graze the sides as they negotiate the two ninety degree turns in the pass.

So naturally, we wanted to sail through this marine freeway.

It’s not as dumb an idea as it sounds as first.  The ferries stick to their specified routes, and despite appearances, there’s a lot of water left for the rest of us.  As well, they sound their horns before coming around those corners, so there’s lots of notice given.  There’s also the schedule, but with the number of vehicles to load in summer, sailing times can be delayed so we didn’t count on that.  In any case, we arrived at the pass with a light north wind, which, if it had kept true, would have taken us through on a broad reach.  But inside the pass the winds were fluky and unreliable, and the current, which was just barely still with us, swirled around in circles as it moved eastward.

We were about half a mile into the pass when I heard a ship’s siren.  I wasn’t sure which end it came from, as it bounced off the islands, but that didn’t matter.  We started the motor and moved to the south side, away from the ferry track.  A minute later, the Queen of Saanich came into sight from the west, doing about 20 knots.  She passed us on the other side of the channel, then before she was out of sight a smaller ferry appeared from the east.  We thought this must be the ferry that services Galiano Island, stopping at a dock in Sturdies Bay, just inside the eastern end of Active Pass.  As it went by we could see a third ferry approaching, so held our position until the big Spirit of Vancouver Island had also passed us, heading west.

The Spirit of Vancouver – don’t mess with this one!

That was it for ferries.  It would probably be an hour before the next one came through, but we didn't try to sail any more because the wind wasn’t reaching us in there.  I furled the sails and we completed our transit under power, turning south once we reached Georgia Strait.

We travelled southeast along the “outside” of Mayne Island to Edith Point, where we turned south and negotiated some small channels that eventually led us to Winter Cove, between Saturna and smaller Samuel Island.  On the north side of this cove is Boat Passage, a narrow opening to Georgia Strait.  The current was flowing into the Cove, so we felt safe in having a look – a strong current in the other direction could have left us stuck in Georgia Strait, and having to go the long way around to get back again – a matter of several miles.  As it happened, we had enough power to get out, and of course coming back was no problem.

As we motored over to our chosen anchorage, we altered course slightly to avoid a short pole sticking out of the water.  This was nailed to a deadhead, a water soaked, partly sunken log.  Next time we’ll give it a wider berth, though, because not far from it was another one, unmarked.  We were too late to go wider, we only had time to change course enough to go between the deadheads – not the preferred action, in case of yet another one!

This area has diurnal tides, two highs and two lows each day, and the highs and lows ususally vary in height.  The tide table showed a rising tide for most of the afternoon, then a drop of less than a foot, followed by another rise until after midnight.  Only then did the level really start to drop, and it wouldn’t be really low until mid-morning the next day.  This was important to us because we wanted to anchor off the old log dump, where the park is now.  No one else was anchored this close because of the drying rocks and mud shown on the chart.  We did the math, and decided that as long as we were out of there by 9:00 in the morning, we’d be all right.

At anchor in Winter Cove, with the boom tent up

After a sound sleep, we were up at 6:00 and glad to see our calculations were sound.  We thought we’d better not waste time, but there’s a lot to do each morning to get under way, particularly as we were sleeping in the cockpit.  We stowed the air mattresses and rolled up the sleeping bags so we could put the floorboards back where they belonged, took down and folded away the boom tent, cooked breakfast and cleaned up after, then finally deflated the dinghy and stowed that away.  So it wasn’t until 8:00 that we were ready to pull up the anchor.  By then the bottom was coming up fast, if we’d waited until our 9:00 deadline, we might have been hard aground.

We left Honda alone, raising the sails instead.  Dad took the helm and I pulled in the anchor, everything went according to plan and we sailed clear, enjoying a good sneer at another boat that was motoring out.  (Yes, I can be a jerk at times.)  We were able to clear all the reefs and rocks on a broad reach, then turned towards the wind as our course became clear.  We planned to cross Plumper Sound and retrace our path through the channel between North and South Pender.  The wind was from the southeast, and at first we thought we’d have to tack our way up to the entrance to Port Browning.  However, as we left Saturna, the wind backed around to the south and let us point almost directly at the entrance.  We had a fine sail over, only needing one short tack to let us weather the point and run down the harbour.

No sightseeing this time.  We went directly to the channel, starting the motor as we neared it.  We left the sails up but we were completely sheltered from any breezes.  We were through in a minute and had the engine stopped and out of the water again.  As we worked our way up Bedwell Harbour, against the wind, we wondered whether to stop for fuel.  However, the wind was doing a great job, so we thought we could count on it to take us at least half way home and we’d definitely have enough fuel then.  So although our next tack took us within yards of the fuel dock, we turned away again and carried on.

Once out of the harbour, we could easily make our course, passing south of Fairfax Point on Moresby Island, where we spent so much time the first day.

Nearing Moresby Island, going home

Although the wind kept blowing, it wasn’t as strong as it had been, so we thought it best to go as far south as the wind would let us.  This way, we hoped to use the tide, which was about to change to flood, to our advantage.  This meant we would ideally pass upwind of Forrest Island.  Dad held the helm steady as we crept up to the island.  He didn’t quite make it without tacking, but only a very short tack was needed.  From there we could easily round Sidney Spit and carry on across Sidney Channel to the boat ramp.  We passed the spit about noon, docked at 12:45, and had Wayward Lass on the trailer, ready to roll, by 1:30.

Another cruise was over.  This one was a huge success, we had expected light and variable winds, and a lot of motoring, but instead we had more sailing than on any other cruise, and good sailing at that.  And no rain!