as i start this post, i am heaving a big sigh - it's over!
last we left off was 100 day, which was splendid. not only were the festivities lovely, but by then it really felt like we had overcome a lot of our challenges. we could see how the kids had really grown, and we had found a nice groove that we all fit in. for all the hard times we went through, it finally felt worth it to have stuck it out and weathered our hardships together.
being silly helps (:
with bright hearts we moved in the direction of home, slowly at first. our original plan was to spend a week exploring the broughtons. as mentioned, we had been battling through a few days of fog, and day 101 was no different. we lingered at our anchorage in the pearse group until mid-day, waiting for the fog to lift - which it did not. so we opted to set out anyway, planning to cut through the plumper group and across blackfish sound. it was not so! the tide, the enigma that it be, was not in our favour at all. it was, in fact, bucking so hard against us that at times we were going 0.0 knots - argh!
as we were creeping toward the plumper islands, i saw something sticking up above the fog. it's puzzling when things appear from nowhere, but there really did appear to be the top of a crane creeping along over the fog. since we couldn't see around us i have no idea how i could see "over" the fog, but there it was, this crane or pile driver or whatever, something huge, moving in a direction that looked to be toward us. when visibility is low, we toot our horn every minute or two to let other vessels know we're near. nobody was answering us back, so we just stared hard toward the thing, until suddenly a big tug boat popped out of nowhere off our starboard bow, shuttling along lickety split with this massive barge and pile driver behind it! fortunately we crossed paths safely, but it had our hearts pumping.
after the tug went by, we attempted to seek safety in the plumpers, but the tide wouldn't let us in so we tried to go around the outside instead. poor old rafiki laboured along, hardly moving, for a good hour before we finally rounded the islands and had the tide in our favour. except now we were in blackfish sound, a large, open body of water often traversed by large vessel traffic and visibility was still nil. eyes and ears peeled, horn blowing, we ventured across, having only one near-miss with another sailboat. as we reached the other side, the fog began to dissipate. one humpback puffed up right off our bow, and as visibility increased we could see five others huffing all around the sound. a lot of fish get pushed in there, especially on a flood tide, making it an excellent feeding ground.
having made it safely across the sound, we puttered through more islands (including the area
aaron used to anchor at while commercial cod fishing back in the day) to find our anchorage for the night. we passed one ferocious pictograph, in a style unlike any other we had seen so far. it was thick and blocky, a vicious face in bold lines leering out from the rock. i was at the helm and so didn't take a photo, but i pulled this one from the internet. this image was edited with photoshop to bring out the red - so in real life it was much more faint and we couldn't see the smaller images behind it, but it was mighty powerful all the same.
the afternoon sun burned away the last of the fog as we came into goat bay to anchor. the warmth was a respite from the clammy fog and soon had us draped over the toasty shore like lizards in the sun. we played some hide and seek in the forest - aaron let us remain unfound in silence for quite some time, that rascal! for once, the kids were eager to be back on the boat (i.e. eager to work on their lego kits from 100 day), so we hung about in the last rays of august sun, enjoying our various hobbies in our little floating home.
the following morning, aaron pulled a boss move and sailed us off anchor. there was almost no wind, but what little there was happened to be just in our favour, so we slipped silently away from the bay, and with other boats to witness our salty departure. our goal for the day was straight across the way at the site of 'mimkwamlis, home of the mamalilikulla tribe, on village island. we whispered over the water, gaining a few decimals of speed but by no means going fast. sadly we had to motor the last stretch, but it was a good run!
an old image, to set the scene
at village island, we dropped anchor and rowed to the dock to check out the old site of 'mimkwamlis. there was a swath of confusing signage, but fortunately one of the watchmen came along and told us that yes, we were allowed to go ashore, and so we did. there were a handful of decaying european-style houses being eaten by the forest, which we didn't find overly impressive. beyond those, though, were the remains of an old longhouse, which was actually quite staggering. huuuuge logs still stood, marking the entryway into the longhouse. through the entrance the ground was packed down from generations of use. i found it enchanting to set foot through a doorway and stand on land where ceremonies were held and traditions were upheld, picturing storytellers and dancers moving around right here, shaping this land with their feet. if i recall correctly, i think village island was the site of some of the huge illegal potlaches that were held regardless of the ban put on by colonizers. that made the site even more powerful, to know that even though the intruders tried to stamp them down, the first nations people upheld their beliefs at great risk in order to hang on to their history.
(after writing this , i realize i just assumed this building was a longhouse. you can tell it's the same entryway in the picture above, so i'm not sure now what the structure was... but it sparked my imagination just the same)
in the present we were awed by the size of the timbers used to make the structure. a few were left standing (or had been re-erected) and were marked with simple yet elegant detail. at the rear of the site were a pair of huge, oddly rooted trees - which we then realized had grown atop and down the ancient pillars, still cradling shards of their birth logs in their roots. that was another moment of reverie: how a culture survived for so long and could leave hardly a trace, all artworks and bodies and songs eventually reclaimed by nature. but for the ending (an erasure from an overbearing, over-proud intrusion), what a remarkable way to be part of the circle of life. we continued to find fallen totem poles and structures on the same return journey into the earth from whence they came; one day this site will be nothing at all, except everything nature intended it to be.
'mamkwamlis: longhouse, old totems, and bear prints to boot
we set out the next morning from village island thinking that we would continue to explore the broughtons and kingcome inlet, but the fog was absurdly thick, settled in like cement, so we left. we weren't far from knight inlet, our chosen exit, and no sooner had we entered the inlet than the fog was gone and the sun shone bright all around us. looking back, we could see a great white wall across the entrance, and bid it good riddance!
a few miles into knight inlet we cut down through chatham channel, another epic shortcut from one body of water to another. chatham is unique in the way that the land inside it is low-lying, and it's quite tidal. the result of these two natural details makes the passage feel like a swift river - but one full of kelp and seals and other sea-ish things; of course, the ocean would never let you forget where you are.
chatham spat us out and we glided over to an old village site called matilpi. information overload: this is where sid's life began, seven summers ago, and so is a special place for us. last time we didn't go ashore because we saw bears. this time we did go ashore and saw no bears! but we were charmed by a seemingly bottomless midden and chilled by the cold, cold ocean. with the nights coming earlier, aaron and i actually stayed up "late" enough to see stars and the vast milky way painted across the sky above us. standing in the companionway, squished together, we reflected over how much our lives have changed since last we were here, debated over the ups and downs, and finally agreed that the change has been for the better. good thing, right?!
sid at matilpi, where the spark of his life began!
the wind was scheduled to build in johnstone strait the following afternoon, so we made our move to get some miles behind us. we had planned to go back to boat bay and retrieve that black float we had found (remember the video of us paddling it about?), but it would have been an eight mile detour both ways and the wind wouldn't allow it. instead rafiki found herself racing down johnstone strait with a mounting wind at her stern, sights set on port neville inlet once again. as we turned into the inlet, the wind alternated between screaming down over the hillside and being shadowed by the same. as we turned past the entrance to face down towards our destination, the wind built again and sent us swiftly on our way. past robber's nob and through the narrows at the end, we peeped at the estuary and the now-developed logging show, then rounded up and dropped our sails to find a spot to anchor. we picked one spot that was near a midden and rowed ashore to explore and throw rocks (also check out that video of sage twirling about). on the shore we were protected by the wind, but poor rafiki was rollicking about like a cork on the high seas! after our shore explore, we nimbly leapt back aboard between rolls and found a new place to anchor just across the way. the wind still howled, but our little home was safe and sound.
the morning wind was just as malevolent as the night before, but this time with some rain to
boot. back up the inlet we went, the chop and spray balanced by a charming rainbow over robber's nob, and then out we went, teeth bared, into the roaring strait. surprisingly, we don't often see a lot of other sailboats sailing, but that morning there were four or five other vessels in our sights with sails raised. luckily for us, we were sticking to the north side of the strait, and so traveling through kinder waters. across from us we could see the other vessels struggling over the nasty corner where the strait shallows up and, with a big wind, the water piles up and gets quite gnarly. we heard deliberations over the radio for safety manoeuvres and wind updates between boats and were thankful that our route today kept us in slightly calmer waters. still, we sped down sunderland channel at quite a clip, ripping past rocks and reefs to finally tuck into the calm of forward harbour. as we were anchoring, i spied a few buoys hanging in a tree. being that that's mostly a coastal sign for a trailhead, we went ashore to explore and lo and behold, we found a beautiful trail. it led through a robust second-growth forest, bursting with late-season huckleberries the size of grapes, and led us to a beach on the other side. this beach had all the things: rocks, logs, seaweed, and sand. so we tossed rocks, made driftwood art, popped help bulbs, and made sand castles. on the return journey, sid got speared in the knee by a branch while trying to squeeze past his sister on the trail. he went flying and crash-landed hard in the dirt, but he took it like a champ!
from forward harbour we caught the tide through whirlpool rapids, beginning an epic travel day. the winds continued as before, and were still at our stern as we came into chancellor channel. with the tide in our favour, we raced down the channel, sometimes surpassing 8
knots! it was amazing to see the land race by, shore by shore, tree after tree - swiftness is rare for our little boat, and so to be in a narrow channel and so see our progress go blazing by, well, it's exciting! even through green rapids, the winds nearly died but the current carried us through at 5 knots - our usual hull speed but now seemingly slow - making the miles tick on by. out through cordero channel we came to the great crossroads, where four big bodies of water come together in a choose-your-own-adventure-type situation. our adventure took us down into nodales channel where we deked off into anchorage lagoon for the night.
our incredible captain at the crossroads <3
the next day we headed ashore in the lagoon to find a hiking trail. on our row over, we noticed schools of salmon in the water, making dark pools on the shallow bottom. we rowed over some to take a look. flighty as fish are, they collectively swished away, making a muted fwoomming sound as they did. it totally blew my mind to hear the fish under the water. not just slapping the surface on a jump or wetly thrashing on deck, but moving in their own world, the sound of fish living, just brought to mind how separate we are. i kind of can't explain, other than to say it blew my mind.
once ashore, we found the trail and hiked over to the other beach. it was unremarkable except for the salmon leaping in the bay. like aaron said, at any given time there were at least three fish in the air - and good sized ones too - splishing and thwapping against the sea. splish, thwap, splish, thwap as we snacked and carved and befriended an inchworm. we also mulled over how we were now on sonora island, a direct neighbour to quadra - our home rock was getting mighty close.
that evening we set out to catch a fish, as well as to exit the lagoon on high tide. in the morning we weighed anchor and headed for okisollo, the channel between sonoroa and quadra's north end. and sure enough, as we rounded the point, quadra came into sight, steady as ever and as rocky and treed as the rest of the coast. we all stared for a bit; i think the kids were a little bit like "well if this is quadra, where is everybody?", but of course we were passing by the less-inhabited end and so there was no greeting. which was good! we were all keen to make our entry slowly.
quadra off the port bow!
and so we did. okisollo passed us on through the upper and lower rapids and we pulled up unannouced to visit our friends on maurelle. only one of them was there, which again was nice to ease back into social interactions. we spent one night adjusting to familiar company, then took off the next morning to head down to the cabin for a couple nights. as we came to beazley passage, we could see well-known homesteads up on the hill and truly felt like we were back in home waters. running with the tide, we blasted through beazley going 10 knots! it felt like quite an entrance for our return, even if it was largely unobserved. but we observed it within our own company, grinning and hugging and smiling as we looked upon familiar sights.
blasting through beazley!
but it was short-lived! we stayed two nights at read, then fled back up to maurelle to drag out the end of the trip just a little bit longer. this time everyone was there, including the salty french family we met in shearwater! we had a lake day and a beachfeast all together, making our only party of the summer a very sweet one indeed.
finally, though, the day came for us to head back again to read island, and to reality. we left rafiki without ceremony, tied to the floathouse while we shuttled ourselves and some of our stuff over to the cabin. then somehow life caught up to us: all of a sudden our kids are enrolled in school here! we have schedules! we have rent to pay! but we still live in the wilderness, looking out over the ocean every day and with the wind in our faces. aaron keeps saying the trip isn't really over until we get back to quadra, which seems fair to me. it ended so abruptly, but also kind of vaguely, that i think it will really take landing back on the dock in heriot bay for my brain to grasp that it has indeed come to an end. once we settle back in to our house on quadra, among our familiar things and places and friends, then we will be home from the sea.
how was it? people will ask. it was all the things, i'll say. it was adventure, raw and true. it was fun on the good days, and wretched on the bad. we saw new things, made discoveries, and filled in the blanks of the BC coast. we met few enough people that my switch has turned to solitude over socialization, but the opposite is probably true of the kids. we know what we can do (which seems like anything now), and our aspirations have grown to size.
and the things that didn't happen: no man overboards, no running aground, no collisions (rules 1, 2, and 3, respectively). no dragging anchors or major injuries. no mutinies or abandoning ship or keel-hauling (the last may have been threatened, though). we didn't forget anything or lose anything, save the one bucket that got sunk and a few fishing lures.
overall our travels were tremendous, in both experience and scope. little rafiki braved a good thousand miles of this coast, up and down, in and out, and we have the memories and pictures to prove it. for me it was an epic achievement for our young family, a testament to my kids' abilities to adapt and learn, and to mine and aaron's commitment to each other and our family. we stuck it all out, we problem-solved, and we came back in strength. i'm proud of all of us for doing what we said we were going to do - and having an incredible time doing it.
thanks to everyone who helped us out along the way, and thanks to everyone who tuned in to our tale. tremendous gratitude for aaron, who checked the tides and the winds and the weather and the charts and the boat and the motor and the sails all day every day. i'll thank myself on behalf of our crew for feeding everyone and keeping their day-to-day lives in order. and, of course, great thanks to our noble steed, rafiki, our sweet little compact traveling home and the harbinger of our dreams. of course the joys of space and convenience have wooed us for now, but that clever little ship will be calling us soon, back to the sea and places beyond and a life of continual motion.
the end.
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