...and the Worst of Times

A week after the first overnight trip to the north side of Lasqueti Island, armed with a brand new dinghy, we went back out to once again attempt to visit Jedediah Island. We had a great sail under northwest winds across the Strait of Georgia and down the Sabine Channel between Lasqueti and Texada, to what I hoped would be our anchorage in White Rock Bay. To our delight we had it to ourselves, for awhile anyway until later that evening an American sailboat arrived for the night. This visitor, as well as not a few others we see, was NOT flying the courtesy Canadian flag, which infuriates our captain to no end.

We rowed in to shore, the new dinghy performing admirably, and checked out the landscape including the next door Deep Cove, a well protected and popular anchorage. Stern tied anchoring seems to be popular on this coast - new to me, from Lake Ontario sailing days. Jedediah is now a park island so there are chains along the rocks at the side of the cove to tie up to, and ashore there are maintained pathways and outhouses. From Deep Cove a path leads through the tall tree forest through a huge meadow to the other side of the island where the original homestead still stands looking west over Home Bay, which at low tide drains completely to mud.

The previous owners of the island were the Palmers and Mary Palmer has written a book about her time on the island as a homesteader called Jedediah Days: One Woman's Island Paradise. Although she had bought the island many years before, it was not until she, who ran a plant nursery, and her husband Al, who was a fisheries biologist with the University of Washington, retired in their 50's, that they moved to the island to live full time. There they grew gardens and orchards and raised goats and chickens and did the whole homesteading thing while entertaining a constant stream of visitors. In the early '90's, after 20 years of living and working on Jedediah, they found that their 70-something selves could no longer cope with the demands of running a productive farm and they looked to sell it. They wanted it to become a park, a place where the public could enjoy it forever.

It was not easy working through the negotiations to make Jedediah a public park, and it was not until the estate of the late Dan Culver donated $1.1 million to the cause that things started to move forward and the government put up much of the rest of the money for the purchase price and to maintain it as part of the British Columbia Park System. Dan Culver was a wilderness adventurer and environmentalist who had worked to save several key locations in British Columbia from destruction. He was the first Canadian to climb Mount Everest and K2, the world's highest peak, although sadly he also perished in a fall on that mountain. He had directed in his will that part of his estate should go to protection of some wilderness area on the coast.

The family home, which was built way before the Palmers arrived still stands, although crumbling. They have put fencing mesh over the doors and windows to keep people out and signs tell you that it would be unsafe to enter. You can peek in the windows and make out the kitchen area, still with its rusting out wood stove. A workshop out building still has tools and metal bits all over the walls and work benches. An old tractor and other farm machinery lie abandoned in what looks to be a former barn.

We stayed in White Rock Bay for 2 nights and one morning I poked my head up into the cockpit, looked around and saw this big training schooner anchored in Bull Passage just outside our Bay. Later that day the invading flotilla arrived - 7 schooners (a post race get together) and a trawler moved into our bay and stern line anchor rafted along one wall of the bay.

The weather had been great but on Friday, the day we were to go home, we awoke to cloudy skies and a forecast of mix of cloud and sun with some showers later in the day. Winds had shifted to the south and tides should be in our favor for an 11:00 departure. All was well as we sailed up Sabine Channel between Lasqueti and Texada. As we rounded the rocky island of Fegan Light I was delighted to see dozens and dozens of seals reclining on the rocks with a lone eagle standing guard on the highest point of the little island. Big grin on my face - which would be the last for some time to come.

The wind had died slightly towards the end of the Channel but as we rounded Lasqueti Island and headed across the Strait of Georgia it picked up and we raised the sail. All was well and we were sailing along just fine until BOOM. The sail let go and started flapping around wildly. We started the engine and hauled it down and headed through the winds and choppy seas, 30 miles across. The Nonsuch is a single sail cat rig and if you lose the sail, that's it, nothing to stabilize the boat and no way to get any speed. The south wind got stronger and stronger and for hours we were able to go no faster than about 2 1/2 knots. The seas were dark and churning so bad it looked to me like a vast top-loading washing machine. We bounced around and with every bump and crash I became more and more terrified.

The wind vane at the top of the mast disappeared. The depth sounder stopped working - at 395 feet depth not a particularly big deal but I had one eye on the mast as the boat swung from side to side and one ear on the engine. What next? I wondered, holding on tight to avoid being thrown around the cockpit.

Behind us an enormous band of black storm clouds settled along the islands we had just left. Ahead, a long way off, was Vancouver Island, our destination, where some blue sky was starting to show through the clouds. As I watched the churning churning water and the waves coming at us I thought, "OK, I get it. It's me, the human, who doesn't belong here on this ocean. This body of water deserves respect. I get it."

Several hours later the winds shifted a bit, not quite so directly across the beam and we were able to move a little faster. As we got closer to Vancouver Island the clouds parted and the sun came out which helped the mood a little. We were in the middle of a Qualicum wind, a wind pattern of southeast winds that can increase sometimes unexpectedly from 10 to 40 knots in 15 minutes. Our engine kept chugging along, the mast held, and 7 hours later we pulled into our slip at the Deep Bay marina, with steady captain and traumatized crew.

We weren't exactly sure what had happened to the sail until later when we laid it out flat in the backyard. There's a big L-shaped rip in it and the frayed remains of one of the ripped out lines. Our sailing season appears to be over, as it will take many weeks to have a new sail made.

I have yet to get over this "adventure".

It Was the Best of Times...

For a year now I have looked across the Strait of Georgia at Lasqueti Island, with its backdrop of the much higher Texada Island and wondered what lay behind, between the two. For our first overnight sail we decided to find out.

This was to be the shakeout cruise, to get to know the boat and make the inevitable lists of things we could use, adjust where things are stowed, and generally see how things work. I had heard from a couple of people about a certain Jedediah Island that lay over there and was now a provincial park, described as "magic". So we packed up, provisioned for a two night cruise and off we went to make the 30 mile crossing of the Strait.

Orca sausages sunning themselves on the rocks

Paul Island - Texada in the background across Sabine Channel

It was a great time. The weather was great, lots of sun and warmth; the waters on the north side of Lasqueti saw many islands beside Jedediah, which were lovely and the tall mountainous facade of Texada across Sabine Channel was dramatic. We anchored in Scottie Bay the first night and as we got settled, we noticed that the dinghy looked a little weird. Turned out there was a gap between the inflatable part and the floor. It had come apart and as time went on, one of the wooden floorboard sections started floating across the Bay, adding to all the other deadhead debris that you have to watch out for when sailing in these waters. It appeared we were now towing a corpse, so no terra firma landings for us on this trip.

R.I.P.

 Speaking of deadheads, we saw a lot of these floating logs, that reveal themselves (hopefully before you hit them) to a greater or lesser degree depending on tides. We saw this boat salvaging a particularly huge one that had come to rest against the rocky shore of one of the islands. The boat is about 25 feet, the log must be 3 times that long.

The next day we sailed down through the islands, went around Jedediah, checked out the limited selection of protected anchorages, and generally had a great time. We went back to Scottie Bay for the second night, anchoring again in the outside, less protected area, away from the multiple masts in the inside. One couple exploring the bay in their dinghy came over to say hello. They mentioned that they had sailed their boat to New Zealand (and presumably back). They were smiling and appeared sane enough, although who could tell. My only reaction to that tale was, NIGHTMARE.

That night the water on the bay was smooth as glass and the sunset was outstanding. A seal and a couple of otters swam around us. Would have been completely peaceful but of course the humans had to fuck things up as usual, as somewhere, at some cottage way across the water, the faint boom bass of techno dance music played non-stop till the wee hours. Oh well, try not to let that rain on this particular parade. The next morning we headed back across the Strait of Georgia to our home base at Deep Bay marina. It had been fun but I was feeling like 2 nights is enough for me. I've had enough of this. I want a shower and my own bed.

However, a strange thing happened. Once back at home (all clean) I started pouring over the cruising guides and charts, thinking about the next trip.

To be continued...

Sailing

Last week I finished the third of three new flower beds in front of the house. Who needs the gym? What with pushing around wheelbarrows full of soil to build raised shrub beds (triceps), shoveling the soil (quads, glutes, shoulders), digging holes (more fun than doing lunges) - it was a full day workout. The view out the front window, is now one of laceleaf Japanese Maples, one deep red, one green, and the evergreen shrubs:  Ligustrum 'Sawannee River', Hebe 'Wiri Blush' and Viburnum 'Davidii', all three of which will grow to around 4'x4', flower in spring and berry in the fall. They will stay green and keep the bed grounded during our coastal winters. Plus a Sedum, Autumn Joy, that was rescued from the garden, one of the very few plants left from previous owners and tenants. Also one of my old time favorite perennials, a Peony, this one 'Kansas', for that late spring flamboyance.

After all that I ended up in some, shall we say,  discomfort and spent the following day reclining with a book and aching muscles - on the couch, and outside on a lawn chair in the garden. It seemed a good time for a change of pace. Time to go sailing. Friday was warm and sunny and glorious. I got up really early, around 6:00 made coffee and went out in the garden with Dennis where I saw the sun rise and watched the light change on the golden brown of the new cedar fences. A few hours later, we packed lunch and were off to the marina, a 25 minute drive up the coast headed on a day sail to Tribune Bay on Hornby Island. My first sail on the new boat.

Chrome Island Lighthouse - on the way to Hornby from the marina

I think about the people who choose to live on Hornby Island, about 1000 of them. If you live there it will take 3 ferries to get to to mainland (Vancouver) and 2 to get to Vancouver Island, passing through Denman Island on your way. A few years ago we visited Denman Island and looked at a property for sale, prompting the whole imaginary tale of what it would be like to live on one of these small islands in the Salish Sea. Not for us but it certainly is for some. Many on Hornby are artists and the summer months are filled with festivals, retreats and workshops. I'm thinking that they all must breathe a sigh of relief in the fall when all the tourists once again disappear until another summer rolls around.

Tribune Bay (BC Tourism)

We sailed to Tribune Bay where we dropped the lunch hook. It is quite a large bay with a long beach and apparently is a popular anchorage in summer as long as the winds aren't coming from the south east. We practically had the place to ourselves, aside from one small power boat way over close to the beach and two sets of kayakers paddling past. As a matter of fact, it felt like we had the entire Salish Sea to ourselves; we saw only a few other boats on this glorious Friday in May. By the way, this is a new sea. Well, at least a new name for this body of water which stretches between the southern part of Vancouver Island and the mainland, encompassing the Georgia Strait and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It was only recently that it was officially renamed, taking its name from the Coast Salish native populations who have lived here for thousands of years before the Europeans ever arrived.

I thought a lot about Ed and Irma, the couple who owned this boat for over 20 years. I'm told that in the 14 or so years they had it on this coast, their practice was to go out on a month or so cruise every year, along the coast. It is so huge, this coast of ours, and if you are sailing everything obviously will take time. I can see how a month would make sense, although for me, right now, I can't see that far. Friday was a day sail, no doubt next will be an overnight, and then who knows. Go as far as you can see and when you get there, you will see further. Being on board a sailboat after all these years was strange and familiar and intimidating and breathtaking.

Lasqueti Island

Susan Mrosek

Latest moaning and groaning notwithstanding (last post), it wasn't ALL work through August and early September. Our first house guest, or should I say, our first Bunkie guest came for a few weeks. Maristella. We got to explore this new home and its geography together, making a point of really enjoying the summer that had come so late. Lots of time later to unpack that final box.

Now it was particularly important to get outside and enjoy the August summer weather as July was not so good. But whatever the weather, "hot" or cool, all I am is cold. Seems that my internal body temperature is still very much in Asian mode and I have been cold ever since I landed here. Bit by bit I have been adding layers, merino wool tops, heavy cotton sweat shirts (this only good for summer evenings - a lousy choice for when the rains really do come) and ... socks.

I didn't own a pair of socks. When Maristella and I went down to Victoria to spend a week at Haro House, I took myself sock shopping. The Left Coast is so quiche. Organic cotton, hemp and bamboo fabric. Costs a lot, worth it, feels terrific, unabashedly call themselves "the best sox" ever (this is true), claims that if you wear them you can help save the planet. (Ha! See Planet Earth Wants You to Leave to see just how much this will make a difference.) Still, I can see myself getting in touch with my inner hippie.

When I first went to Asia the heat was overwhelming. I suffered huge meltdowns at unforeseen and usually potentially embarrassing times that could only be helped by sitting down for 5 or 10 minutes and pressing ice against my wrists and neck, just above the collar bone. That was the only way I could finally get my internal body temperature in sync, otherwise it felt like I was an overheating furnace with a broken thermostat. However I eventually did adjust to it and now, four years later, with that warm Asian interior body thermostat setting, coastal British Columbia is freezing to me now. No doubt that too will change, with time, but meanwhile I am looking sartorially interesting to say the least, bundled up against the heat of this so-called summer.

This picture following was taken outside of Haro House by the water, in the afternoon, in mid-August. It was a "hot" summer day.

Freezing in mid-summer. Multiple layers of shirt, sweatshirt, Lao silk wrap. new Sox (note abandoned summer flip flops). Also note the reflection on the window - "my" view across the Strait to San Juan Island and the mountains beyond, how wonderful is that.

One day we took the passenger ferry from French Creek, which is about a 7 minute drive away, across to Lasqueti Island - a day trip to visit friends who have a cottage there.  Now Lasqueti Island is a place that I have known about for a very long time, although until now I really had no idea what it really was. Or, especially, WHERE it was. For such a long time, before we started visiting here in past years, the coastal area between the mainland and Vancouver Island was only an abstraction, an idea of a place. When I knew of Lasqueti Island way back when, I thought of it as some isolated place somewhere. This is true, to some degree, but now as I explore this geography around my personal ground zero, I can see "isolated" is no way to describe anything around here.

Back in the day, the time it came into my view, Lasqueti Island was home to a lot of 1960's era travellers, as well as not a few south of the border so-called "draft dodgers". Some were people seeking a back to the land life and some sought fellowship through co-ops and communes. Whatever, you really had to be seeking a certain lifestyle, which is still true today.

To this day, Lasqueti Island is off the grid. No BC Hydro. Alternative energy has been around here from necessity for a very long time. There is a permanent resident population of 350. There is no car ferry, so visitors come on a passenger ferry. Residents bring a car for use on the island over on a barge which is how all the building supplies and larger items are shipped over.  There is one restaurant/bar right by the ferry dock, another store/restaurant, a couple of seasonal B&B's, a cookie stand and that's about it to the casual observer. No town. No stores. No tourism there there. It is not a place for tourists to come, although the curious still do. You could bring a bike and cycle the roads on this 28 square mile island, but you would see nothing. Most of the houses off these roads are down a lane behind the trees. Very private.

The "on your honor" munchie shack, just up from the ferry dock. Payment on the honor system. But wait... may not be all that it seems...

Hmmm. Trouble in paradise?

And also very community. The scene at the ferry dock of people meeting and greeting shows that this is the island's "town square". Their website is a bulletin board - fascinating to read the postings; this and that wanted, or for sale, or to give away; ride wanted to Vancouver, Ride available to Vancouver; so-and-so won't have her usual table at the weekly market but will be back next week; an Alexandra Morton petition about the fish farms, please sign...

Lasqueti Island Passenger Ferry Dock

People who have lived here over the generations have been here because they wanted a certain kind of life that is unique and different from the Vancouver Island, other larger populated islands, or the Mainland. It's always been like that and it still is. Although, like everything, things change.

Once upon a time the island was once known, or at least rumored, to be a big source of growing marijuana. No doubt that hat has long since passed to large lower mainland gro-ops. Although I'm told, on very good authority, that pot is still being grown in those remote island fields. Unfortunately on our short day visit I was unable to confirm. In 2004 the police raided some property on the island, bringing in huge helicopters, succeeding in blowing some solar panels off roofs and scaring the children and livestock. They (the police) issued a statement saying that Lasqueti Island was a "hotbed" of illegal marijuana growing, and went on to imply a link with organized crime. Oh please. The residents weren't about to take this lying down and public meetings were held, complaining at the slander or libel or whatever you call it against them and scoring a lot of media attention and a public apology from the police.

Here's the thing. This wondrous island that I have known about, and been so curious about, for so long  happens to be right across the strait from our beach. What used to be to my mind, so remote, so away and so much mystery... is now part of our geography. One of those many shadows of islands out on the horizon  - now I can identify the shape of beautiful and quiet Lasqueti Island.

Arbutus tree (aka Madrona south of the border)

Eagle nests

Lasqueti Island bumper sticker