Around Vancouver Island

The only sounds here were the songs of the birds, the gasps of the seals, and the rustle of the wind. I spent several days here, hiking each day up to the lake, basking in the greenery of the forest, soaking in the sunshine, exploring the creek and its waterfalls. I didn’t see another boat or human during my stay, just the animals. It did blow quite hard, but the anchor held strong.

Motored all the way, with the Genoa out periodically to help motor sail. Went through the rapids at slack, had a smooth passage. Not many other boats around, pretty quiet.

All the greys. Blue grey. Green grey. Grey grey. Brown grey. White grey. A grey for the books.

50°21.9′N 125°20.2′W

All’s quiet in Blind Channel, just one big empty dock with lonely fingers. Took on diesel, propane, and gas. All the flammables. Plus some water to even things out. Set for a month in the Broughtons. The store was well stocked, acquired a case of root beer, oats, and sun-dried tomatoes. Ready for summer.

As we pulled out from the dock I checked the tach and saw it was at zero, and the alternator was also at zero. I groaned, knowing the alternator belt had likely snapped. We turned around and pulled back into a slip at the Blind Bay Resort, and I quickly opened the engine compartment. Sure enough, the alternator belt was blown.

This wasn’t a terrible surprise because I’d been meaning to change it, but hadn’t figured out how to get the hydraulic belt in front of it off in order to replace it. Nothing like necessity to help you learn what you’ve been avoiding. Still unable to figure out how to get the hydraulic belt off, I called my dad to troubleshoot, and after a few options we realized the hydraulic pump was mounted in slotted holes in a custom welded bracket. I hung up the phone and was able to loosen that, and then the rest was a smooth swap out of both belts. Luckily I have a bag of spares on board, which I discovered were purchased in 1990! Within a few minutes everything was assembled and we were pulling out of the dock, just in time to catch the current at the Green Point rapids.

50°24.8′N 125°30.1′W

We transited whirlpool rapids with the ebb which was quite exciting but manageable. We reached over 10 knots, and experienced several substantial whirlpools.

50°27.5′N 125°45.7′W

I arrived and tied up to the dock behind a dock work barge. Exploring the ocean old homestead I met one of the descendants of the original homesteaders, who welcomed me and shared the history of the property. It’s a beautiful spot, and they are gracious enough to allow visitors to peek around the property. The dock provides shelter to mariners when storms are blowing in Johnstone Strait and they need to seek shelter. I also met a new friend who cheerfully showed me around the property, and I’m sure would have happily joined me aboard Jura if invited.

50°29.6′N 126°05.3′W

Wind picked up enough to sail. Just the sound of rushing water and the voices of my podcast now.

50°29.2′N 126°12.3′W

There's a magical quality to this place. It's so peaceful, so majestic with the forested mountain towering over us. There's something special here that photos and words fail to capture.

50°33.6′N 126°11.3′W

As the adage dictates, “gentlemen never sail to weather”. Thus bound by honour, I shut off the engine, pop the Genoa, and surrender to the East.

50°38.0′N 126°20.4′W

What a place! I’m surrounded by towering snow peaked mountains. And it’s sweltering. I just discovered that I didn’t pack any shorts. Rather short sighted… when I left at the end of February, it never crossed my mind that I might one day hope to don my Birkenstocks and a pair of shorts.

I deployed an anchor buoy and trip line, as I keep reading reports of logging debris on the sea bed in these parts, and the floor here seems to be rock. It’s too deep to anchor almost everywhere in the inlet, but right here there’s an unusual little underwater plateau, making for the perfect anchoring spot in settled weather.

I read in the Salish Sea Pilot that they always lose sleep here to the grating sound of their anchor chain lumbering across the rocky seabed. But it seemed worth the risk of another restless night to stop and bask in these marvellous surroundings. So far there’s just the sound of a creek running in the forest, and the eagles as they circle above.

50°44.6′N 126°10.2′W

Hugged by mountains reaching for the sky, squeezed by the sound of water falling, endlessly. Majesty. Quiet.

50°51.9′N 126°15.0′W

I woke up to a glassy calm that had settled on the water, and immediately knew this was my chance to take my leave of Tribune Channel before the inflows began, and I would be pounding onto the wind.

The mountains here create their own world, as the sun rises it slowly creeps down the steep forested cliffs, while the bay and channel below remain in relative darkness. On some mornings clouds lay low, obscuring the mountain tops entirely from view, creating a low ceiling over those enjoying a ground floor experience.

Today, however, the sky is baby blue, rays of light warm the trees in patterns of geometry wherever they are allowed to peak through.

50°51.1′N 126°15.9′W

I was sitting in the cockpit working on my laptop as we motored along, and suddenly found myself engulfed in golden light. We had cleared a shadow and come suddenly into the sunlight, what a delightful experience! And what marvellous light.

An unexpected easterly breeze has now picked up to blow us out of here. Cruising along at 3 knots under the Genoa, working while listening to the murmur from rushing water, and soaking in the molten gold of the morning light.

50°50.4′N 126°18.8′W

They could just as easily have called this sonorous group of islands ‘Birdsong Group’. But I suppose Burdwood is acceptable, for the woods are indeed steeped with chirping creatures of all shapes and sizes.

The moment I shut off the engine and was greeted by the staccato, I knew I’d come to the right place. There’s a profound sense of peace that comes from stillness and the sounds of singing from the surrounding forest. I look forward to drinking it all in from my hammock.

50°47.9′N 126°27.9′W

I finally baked a loaf of bread this morning to have with breakfast, the first to be baked in Jura’s new oven! There’s nothing quite as salivating as the warm smell of fresh bread wafting from the oven. It’s a real treat after being out for several weeks and entering a phase where my diet is made up of increasingly of non-perishable food items. Next I need to learn to make sourdough.

I thought I would have to tuck in somewhere along the way and wait for the tide to change, as I set out in all odds against the current. But for most of the way I seemed to luck out and catch back eddies that pushed me along, much to my surprise. That changed though as I passed Cormorant Island and was also pushing into a freshening westerly, I was reduced to 4 knots, but that was ok, I chugged along through the rain and hail. It’s been a hail of a day.

I've spent the last few days in Port McNeill provisioning for the West Coast. The next place I'll be able to provision will be Tofino. I may also be able to get some things in Tahsis or Zeballos if I choose to venture inland that far, but I'm not relying on that. I plan to take my time and explore the many inlets and islands that are there to explore, provisioning for six weeks and hoping that will be sufficient.

240L of water, 240L diesel, 15L gas, 15lb propane, 15 tins of sardines, 1.4 kg of coffee, 3 chocolate bars, 2 bags of licorice, 3 cabbages, 1 tin of varnish, 3 grits of sandpaper, 6 rolls of electrical tape, 2 lithium batteries. If anything, I'll be highly combustible.

Provisioning is an interesting dance: if you increase the quantity of one item, say diesel, then you have to consider if you have enough propane, food, water, to make it through the newly extended diesel window.

50°35.5′N 127°05.4′W

The Pacific Ocean, framed by Cape Sutil to port and Hope Island to starboard.

50°53.1′N 127°54.8′W

I can see the gusts flying across the face of the water, not just through their wake, but as actual ghost like forms moving with terrific speed above the water. I suppose it’s water vapour being picked up and carried along. Jura swings and bounces, heels and jerks, like a toy boat bobbing in the storm of a bathtub.

Did not get much sleep due to the wind. The gusts would hit the boat with a profound wall of force that felt sure to break something. And then after a minute of sheer intensity, would disappear altogether.

Engine’s off. Doing 6 knots under just the Genoa. Let’s hope it’s a good idea to let this southeasterly take us across the bar.

50°53.8′N 127°56.6′W

We’re over Nahwitti Bar, it was an uneventful downwind crossing. Into the impacific Pacific we go.

50°53.7′N 128°02.0′W

Under power again, wind has died off. Onwards to Cape Scott. It’s pretty peaceful out here. Just one long blue horizon and a single fishing boat.

50°52.3′N 128°07.6′W

What a spectacular day to be out here. The blues are incredible — the dark blues and the turquoise and the green of the ocean, and then the different shades of light blue in the sky, and then the whites and greys of the clouds, and the whites and greys of the seagulls, and all the reflections, all the shimmering sunlight dancing on the water. And all set against the mesmerizing landscape of a 2 - 3 meter swell. Just now, an orca surfaced and swam past me.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

50°46.9′N 128°27.9′W

I encountered my first bear of the season on the grassy beach. I was walking along listening the sound of my bear bell be drowned out the squawking of geese down the beach, when I looked up to see a huge black bear grazing on the grass next to them. I let him enjoy that end of the beach and went for a walk in the forest.

It’s warm. It feels like July. It’s quiet. No boats. The only sign of humanity are the scars of logging, all through the sound. It’s odd to feel so remote, yet see that at one point or another all the trees have been cut down.

I haven’t taken many photos because they are just so inadequate at capturing what it’s like to be out here, the beauty. It seems an injustice to present such a misleading representation.

50°29.1′N 127°36.5′W

Well there’s definitely a NW breeze out here, and 2-3m of swell already. Of course I waited until the wind and the swell picked up to decide to deploy the inner forestay and running backs, which is always fun in any kind of sea state. Anyway, the mast is now stabilized and we are cruising through a landscape of mountains and valleys, watching the surf break along the coast in spectacular displays of foam fireworks.

50°24.6′N 128°01.0′W

Those were some mountainous swells. Coming in through the reefs to Klaskino, warily watching the waves break over them, was exciting. I’m learning that while the wind is a steady northwesterly as soon as you get a few miles offshore, it does all kinds of unexpected things along the coastline. I’m hoping it doesn’t become a challenge to get out of here as the wind seems to become a due westerly coming into the sound.

50°18.2′N 127°50.7′W

I was expecting this to be a rather rolly anchorage, given its proximity to open water. To my pleasant surprise, it's been glassy calm behind Anchorage Island, an apt name for such a spectacular anchorage. Along Vancouver Island lie numerous pebbly and sandy beaches. After dropping anchor a dropped the dinghy into the water and rowed to the nearest beach to enjoy a golden hour wandering along an enchanted shoreline.

From where I'm anchored I can see and hear surf breaking on reefs and the beaches, and feel that sweet Pacific breeze that I love so dearly.

50°18.4′N 127°48.9′W

That was a spectacular trip.

I was foolishly optimistic to think I could motor straight into that breeze. It was probably blowing 20 to 25 knots, with a decent swell as soon as I got clear of the bay. I tried beating into for a while, hoping to work my way up to the marks, which are the recommended way through the reefs. But with the wind and sea as they were, clawing all the way up there just didn’t seem practical.

Once clear, I had a very exciting downwind run towards Klaskish Basin. I was under Genoa alone, maybe about 100%, with large following seas rolling up behind me. Jura would lift and accelerate down the faces, surfing along at 8.5 to 9 knots. It was exhilarating.

Coming into Klaskish Basin was spectacular. Layered mountains, forested slopes on either side, and then this tiny narrow entrance between tall cliffs. Like entering a lake hidden inside the coast.

It is really beautiful in here. I’m glad I didn’t skip it.

50°15.4′N 127°43.9′W

I walked a little at the mouth of the river, which is a wide open field almost, vista. A black bear was grazing on it, so I couldn’t go too far as I didn’t want to disturb him. I wish I had a kayak, at high tide I would have loved to explore up the river.

50°15.5′N 127°43.8′W

I went for a walk today through the forest over to the beach on the south side of Brooks Peninsula.

But Brooks Peninsula has been left untouched. The whole peninsula is preserved, full of old growth forest and all kinds of birds. It is also believed to be one of the few places here that was not covered by glaciers during the last Ice Age, so it has this very long history of life. It is remarkable to walk through an ancient forest with so much life around.

The beach itself is on the south side of Brooks Peninsula, opening out toward the Pacific. It is hard to describe how spectacular these west coast beaches are. The white sand, the softness of it under your feet, the endless amount of it. Being able to walk out into the water and just keep walking out over sand, feeling the waves come in and wash over you. The water cold, the sun warm.

There is something powerful about seeing open ocean like that. The blues, the sand, the waves coming in, the rocks, the mist on the water. It felt like something I had forgotten. I’ve spent so little of my life on these west coast beaches, and I think I had forgotten how much they move the spirit.

It is probably close to what Edmund Burke meant by the sublime: that awe that comes from being overwhelmed by the size and scale and majesty of something. Not necessarily terrifying, although I’m sure it could be in a storm. But it does impart that feeling of awe.

50°08.4′N 127°41.5′W

I woke up this morning and looked outside to see a pack of wolves trotting along the beach. There was probably 8-10 of them.

This is a pretty spectacular place to arrive.

This is a spectacular Pacific spot, surrounded by reefs and islands, with long beaches on them.

It also has a very tragic history. Aktis Island was the summer village and cultural heart of the Ka:’yu:’k’t’h’ / Che:k’tles7et’h’ First Nations. Their history describes Aktis as having three rows of buildings, including 27 big houses, used by family groups from the surrounding inlets.

In 1929, the Canadian government 'forcibly demolished' the big houses and seized cultural possessions.

What an incredible place to have a summer village, and how heartbreaking to know how it was destroyed.

50°00.7′N 127°23.1′W

Just about midnight, a small high-speed powerboat started cruising around the bay and circled me a few times. They had multiple searchlights out. They came very close to Jura and shone the lights on the boat, then seemed to be shining them on the beaches as well, driving back and forth around the bay as though they were looking for someone or something.

Another small open skiff came by with a guy using a flashlight. He slowed down as he passed me and shone the flashlight on me too.

I’m not really sure what’s going on. It’s a little bit spooky.

As I entered Kyuquot, I was immediately in love.

You come in through a series of navigational marks that wind you through the islands and reefs like a game of snakes and ladders. Then you are greeted by a series of remarkably beautiful old houses, tucked into the forests and the landscape. Some of them are really charming, with windows looking in all directions to take in the extreme, magical beauty of this place.

It was interesting to notice that all of the boats are small. There are no large boats. Not a single sailboat. All small skiffs and fishing boats, with a handful of slightly larger fishing boats or landing craft. But no very large boats. Everything feels modest. There is a deep modesty to the community as a whole, which I found really moving.

I felt a sense of peace wash over me as I stepped off the boat. There is a quiet that hangs over the bay, even though you do feel like you are in a village, with a number of houses around.

The mystery of the boats that came by the other night was also solved. I was looking to see whether the café in the village was open, which it was not, and I ran into a woman who saw me and said, “Well, who are you?”

I told her I had just arrived on my sailboat, and she said, “Oh, were you out by Aktis Island, anchored there the other night?”

I said yes.

“Well,” she said, “you were the cause of some trouble. I was looking out the other night and saw this light bobbing around on the water. I thought someone might be out there in a rowboat, looking for help. So the Coast Guard was dispatched, and my son went by. They arrived and saw that it was just a sailboat, with an anchor light that was not at the top of the mast, but hanging over the cockpit.”

Which, of course, is how my anchor light hangs.

As I walked along the boardwalk and through the village, there were the most beautiful scents of nature: cedar trees, wood stoves, spring flowers, salt water. But it was not only the smell of nature. It was the smell of civilization living at peace with nature.

I walked out just past the village, and I am now standing on a small beach, looking out over the ocean and the reefs. In the distance I can hear the faint but rhythmic horn of a navigational mark, alerting mariners of danger in the fog.

50°01.7′N 127°22.6′W

Today was mail day.

I’ve been tied up to the public dock in Kyuquot—the on on Walter Island—all day. I stayed here last night, and today I’ve mostly just been sitting on the boat working. Around noon, a floatplane from Air Nootka landed and tied up right next to me. The pilot began unloading parcels, which appeared to be deliveries for Canada Post. The post office is just up at the top of the pier in the general store.

Then, all day, little skiffs came and went, people picking up their packages.

The Toyota Corolla of Kyuquot appears to be a 14-foot Lund with 9.9 horsepower. The Ford F-150 is maybe 18 to 20 feet of fibreglass, centre console with a small cabin, and at least 200 horsepower.

Even though there is a very alive and bustling nature to the sound of boats coming and going — lots of fishing, people busy at work — there is also this sense of total peace, where things are moving in their own clocks. It is certainly true that this coast is subject to the curve of time.

It’s a place full of paradoxes.

I was making dinner and looked out the window just in time to see an eagle swoop down and scoop something out of the water. It was wriggling, a fish! An impressive catch to be able to see it near the surface, then dart down and pull it out before the fish knew what was happening. Now he’s on the beach, enjoying his dinner.

So this afternoon I struggled into my wetsuit and went for a swim. I took the opportunity to scrub the side of Jura’s hull along the waterline, and it was nice just to be in the water.

50°06.4′N 127°13.2′W

Rugged Point has been a beautiful, rugged escape.

The snorkelling was absolutely spectacular. The water was clear, and the kelp forests were full of life: colourful snails clinging to the kelp, fish of all sizes, large schools of fish, small cohorts of post graduate fish, rock cod, and bright blue fish with orange tails.

It was mesmerizing just floating there, watching the life drift by, watching the kelp forest sway in the swell. We also floated over forests — or I should say meadows — of seagrass: sparkling, green, vibrant, reflecting the sunlight and undulating in the swell.

And no people. Just the tracks of wolves and bears. Apparently there are some visiting Grizzlies in the area right now, but we didn't see any.

49°58.2′N 127°15.0′W

If life is a video game, I feel like I’ve unlocked the next level by buying a kayak.

Gliding soundlessly through glassy calm water in the kayak, or riding the swell, is absolutely delightful. The water here is so crystal clear that if you skirt the shoreline, you have a never-ending view into the water world below: starfish, shellfish, all kinds of fish and aquatic life. It is miraculous and inspiring to observe on its own, but the clarity of the water itself is also a miracle of its own. It’s like a window into a world below.

I’m grateful.

50°03.0′N 127°11.6′W

The time has come to depart Kyuquot Sound and make the voyage to Nootka Island.

49°58.5′N 127°15.4′W

I just hit a log, it felt pretty hard, evidently we sailed over it and it hit the keel several times before rolling away. I was below attempting to heat up some lunch. Hopefully the damage is minimal. Some of these swells are mountainous. It’s hard to keep on course without an autopilot.

49°53.4′N 127°15.2′W

It’s getting pretty spicy out there. Surging along on a beam reach, watching surf explode on reefs to port and starboard. It’s funny to see the odd sea otter drifting out here.

49°49.4′N 127°00.4′W

That was a thrilling entry to this beautiful sanctuary. I was rolling in with the surf and 25 knots of breeze on my starboard beam, threading the proverbial needle through two reefs, starting the engine for a hard turn to starboard into the inlet, into the wind, putting the engine into gear and steering while struggling to furl the Genoa as it flogged with terrifying ferocity. There was not much margin for error, but somehow I made it.

Entering the inlet I passed a sea otter carrying a pup (or whatever you call a baby sea otter), it was pretty cute.

I feel like I’ve just entered an atoll in the central pacific, surrounded by reefs. I can see the open water and surf breaking on the reefs from where I’m anchored, and there are countless little islands and beaches and grassy knolls to explore. This is a kayaking paradise.

I’m ready for a nap and some nachos.

I forgot to mention that yesterday I saw a black bear with the tiniest cub I’ve ever seen, wandering along the beach just by the boat.

It was so cute. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a micro bear.

I’m slowly motoring out through the many islands and reefs of Nuchatlitz, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many eagles.

I’m surrounded by them: circling overhead, diving, sitting on the beaches. It’s low tide right now, so much of the area is exposed. It’s a spectacular place, and I’m regretting not flying the drone. I don’t think my photos will really do it justice.

49°48.9′N 126°58.4′W

Sat for a few minutes with the engine off to let it cool down. Tried sailing but there’s just not enough wind to keep the sails filled when the boat is moving this much in the swell. I’m motoring again now at 1500 RPM, which seems to be keeping the engine at a reasonable temperature. I definitely don’t want to lose power with no wind so close to these reefs. My last resort would be to drop the anchor, but I’d be pretty close to the rocks before reaching a depth where the anchor could bite.

49°45.9′N 127°00.9′W

I lost a pillow. It was bound to happen eventually in order for me to learn an obvious lesson: don’t leave a pillow in the hammock! It’s getting a bit gusty in here with the afternoon northwesterlies funneling through, and it must have blown the pillow overboard as there is no sign of it. It’s a bit disappointing as I’ve had those pillows pillow cases for many years, first aboard my 22 foot sailboat Alchemist.

But on the bright side my sourdough has finally turned out, and it is delicious! Before I’d been making just regular white bread, and it was nothing to write home about, but this levain is to die for, it has so much flavour. It was worth the last several weeks of babying it along, trying to keep it warm enough. I’ve also been making apple crumble with pears and apples that are going bad.

49°46.9′N 126°50.3′W

I was cooking dinner and popped my head out. I’ve been busy at work, and to my surprise I saw another sailboat across on the other side of the basin. I was very excited to see what appeared to be a varnished Sitka spruce mast, and when I picked up my binoculars I was even more excited to see that it looked like a Lyle Hess cutter — a beautiful little boat that looked very familiar, like I had almost certainly seen it around before.

It was rather bizarre to see another boat here, let alone another sailboat, and let alone another wood boat. So after dinner I eagerly jumped in my kayak and paddled over and met Bob, who is on his 15th circumnavigation of Vancouver Island aboard Mabel.

Mabel is a 24-foot gaff-rigged cutter, designed in the 1930s in the UK, and Bob built her himself on Pender Island. She has a cedar-planked wedge seamed hull just like Jura. I had seen her before on her mooring buoy in Port Browning.

Really beautiful little boat. I really love small boats: small, well kept, well fashioned, seaworthy, and beautiful at the same time. Mabel is one of my favourite kinds of boats. I love these little cutters. There is something so charming about them, and they are capable of going around the world just as well as any modern, large, monolithic piece of plastic.

49°46.9′N 126°50.3′W

The mystery of the overheating engine remains open.

The thermostat is working properly. There is sufficient coolant. That seems to leave the centrifugal freshwater pump as the main contender, and that is the most difficult to service. I do not think I have the parts to service it, nor do I particularly want to dismantle the entire front of the engine while I am far from help, should I run into any issues.

49°46.9′N 126°50.3′W

It's glassy calm in Mary Basin, and the space is filled with the melodious notes of birdsong. The sun is gently reaching up over the mountain and illuminating the trees and the water, the beautiful blue sky, and some low-hanging clouds. Looks like it is going to be a beautiful day.

49°46.9′N 126°50.3′W

As I head out of the inlet and toward open water, the waves are getting progressively steeper, and the kayak is getting well washed on the foredeck. Once in a while, we get one swell that looks as though it is about to break. We surge up and over it, and then plunge down the backside. As we plunge into the trough, my fog bell down below makes a celebratory ding. Who knows what it’s celebrating.

49°45.3′N 126°59.6′W

It’s a serious ocean out here. I finally made it out of the inlet, and am just rounding Ferrer Point. The wind and the swell are spectacular. It’s probably 25-plus knots of wind and 1-2 metre swell. Some of the waves are beginning to break. We’re doing a steady 7 to 8 knots of speed over ground (SOG). What a spectacular day. The anchor was banging, so I had to go up to the bow to tie it off and do it as fast as possible so that I didn't get drenched by a breaking wave. Turning around and looking back at Jura, and then the wake behind us and the waves moving faster than us, it was like a scene from a movie. It made me think of the cover of John Kretschmer’s book Sailing a Serious Ocean. It was sublime. It feels good to bear off, we’re now on a beam reach. The motion is much more enjoyable than being close-hauled and pounding into the waves.

49°43.1′N 126°59.1′W

I’m surfing on the backs of these waves at about 10 knots, which is pretty thrilling, to say the least. The wind appears to be picking up. I’m trying to claw my way offshore a little bit to make my way around this reef, but I have the genoa poled out on the starboard side, and I don’t know if I can get the pole down in this sea and wind. That’s the problem with putting the pole out: it’s very hard to get down, especially when the breeze builds and the sea state builds. Then you’re stuck over-canvassed.

49°35.2′N 126°52.4′W

I had the opportunity to tour the light house station and speak with the lighthouse keepers, and the crew of the inshore life raft station. It’s a pretty cool operation.

49°35.7′N 126°37.0′W

But the sea state is tremendous. It’s probably 3 to 5 metres today. At first it felt like about 20 knots of wind, but it quickly climbed above that. It feels more like 30 knots now. I was quickly overpowered and had to drop the main. Every once in a while I’d get hit broadside by one of these giant waves. I can see them rolling toward me, towering over me, and then duck for cover as they break over the boat.

I think this is probably the most serious sea state and wind conditions I’ve sailed in, which is a little bit deceiving because it’s a bright, sunny day with a blue sky. When the sky is blue it feels like, what could possibly go wrong? Everything will be nice and tame. But it is a serious ocean out here.

49°30.4′N 126°37.3′W

The water here is translucent and glowing, it’s hard to get used to it’s so bright. Best I can tell it’s a form of algae bloom the reflects the light.

49°17.8′N 125°58.3′W

My plan now is to try to make it back to Maple Bay. It’s going to be a bit of a dance relying entirely on sail. Getting back past Port Renfrew should mostly be no problem, though there are a few awkward parts, like getting in and out of Port Renfrew Inlet if there is no wind. I’m tempted to sail through the night to get back toward Victoria, but that might destroy me, and I am not sure I have the stamina for it. But I would not mind skipping Port Renfrew if I can.

For now I have been bobbing around in a lot of swell with no wind. It’s pouring and grey, very grey. Surprising good visibility though.

48°53.6′N 125°28.3′W

I managed to sail almost all the way to Wouwer Island, arriving just as the wind was dying. I don’t think I stopped here last summer, it’s quite nice. I’m sorry I won’t have time to explore it. I plan to leave around 5:30 or 6 am tomorrow morning, and see if I can make it to Sooke Basin, or Quarantine Bay. At 5 knots it’s around 14 hours to Sooke, 16-17 to Quarantine Bay.

48°52.0′N 125°21.3′W

It’s a glorious morning out here: grey, with all the shades of grey and all the blues. There’s a nice breeze, probably 20 knots, and a decent swell. We are currently somewhere between a close reach and a beam reach, which is an ideal point of sail, so we’re cruising along quite comfortably. I wish we could stay on this point of sail all the way down the Strait, but we’ll have to bear off and end up running downwind at some point. Let’s hope this wind holds out all day, and the current isn’t too nasty in the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

48°48.6′N 125°17.9′W

Well, that concludes the furthest I’ve ever sailed in a single day. It was quite a day. I am, to say the least, exhausted but satisfied. It was excellent wind and excellent conditions. It rained on and off, but in general the boat handled really well. I have certainly learned a lot about sailing Jura in different conditions on this circumnavigation.

The last little bit was quite exciting, coming through Race Rocks with probably 25 knots of gusting wind, then hitting some tide rips that were pretty dramatic and getting sort of spun around while being hit by a massive gust at the same time. There were a few moments where it was a little bit scary. Then, coming around across the entrance of Pedder Bay under full sail, I got hit by a huge gust and had to lose the genoa and come into the wind, we were just totally overpowered. It was also getting dark and raining at the same time. A very dramatic final hour.

But I am now here next to the William Head prison, and looking very much forward to crawling into my bunk.

48°20.5′N 123°32.2′W

I got an appointment at Gartside Marine in Oak Bay, so I’m heading over there. Not much wind out here so I’m under power, I was expecting to have to drift for a while letting the engine cool off but… the temperature has stabilized and isn’t overheating. It’s like when you’re in agony and finally decide to go to the doctor, but when you get there you realize your not in so much pain anymore.

The mystery continues!

48°22.5′N 123°24.5′W

Well, I spent a beautiful weekend at the Oak Bay Marina, at the service dock for Gartside Marine. They solved the mystery of the overheating engine—the seals on the heat exchanger were shot and salt water was mixing with the coolant and had clogged up the space between the small copper tubes that the cold salt water flows through, where coolant normally flows to exchange its heat for the cool of the ocean. So the cooling wasn’t happening as efficiently. It took the weekend because they needed to soak the heat exchanger core, the copper tubes, in acid to free up all the salt. So Jura is now ready to head back to sea, motoring through the calms of the gulf islands.

It was a really pleasant weekend, visiting with friends, walking, kayaking, reading in my hammock, talking to people on the dock. It’s nice to be around people again! It’s been a long stretch of solitude, and it’s nice to return to civilization in such a beautiful place, in the heat of summer. I’m very grateful.

48°25.5′N 123°18.2′W

As you can see from the photo for this post, it was very shallow at the Gartside dock, and only possible to get in and out at high tide. Today was a zero tide and Jura sat in the mud for about an hour at low tide. Luckily it’s very soft mud. A new experience.

Well I didn’t sleep at all last night. I’ve only anchored at D’arcy island once before, and I recall it being rolly, but I was pushing the current last night and it was dark, so I decided to pull in. It got significantly worse as the night wore on, preventing me from sleeping. So I’m up now at the first glimmerings of dawn, barrelling downwind towards Portland Island.

48°34.9′N 123°15.8′W

I was chugging along in the early morning glow, enjoying my French toast, when I looked down at the tachometer to see, to my dismay, that it was at 0. It took me a moment to realize that the alternator belt had once again snapped, and of course, the engine was overheating, but this time due to the fresh water pump not turning.

I shut the engine off and began the acrobats of removing the belt for the hydraulic windless so that I could get to the alternator belt, all the while hoping BC ferries didn’t choose that moment to show up on the scene. The wind did decide to show up, so I interrupted my contortions to set the Genoa, sending wrenches clattering across the cabin. At last I was able to install the new belt, luckily I replaced the spare I used up in Port McNeill. And now I’m off again, sailing into Princess Bay.

48°41.6′N 123°21.1′W