Friday, July 7, 2017

Decisions, Decisions...

Written by: Kerry

At the dock in Cow Bay Marina, Prince Rupert, BC
I think it first occurred to us that we may not make it all the way to Alaska when we hit Nanaimo and realized that we were already half way through May.  It came up in conversation once in awhile, but I always countered that we still had time and the whole goal of this trip (for me) was to make it to Alaska!  So onward we went, ever northward, with the goal in mind of making it, at the very least, to Ketchikan.  You see, when one cruises to Alaska on one's own boat, you must check into customs in Ketchikan - that is the process and there are no alternatives.

With this in mind, we did not waver on our commitment to take as much time as we needed to journey north, whether from waiting out bad weather, or simply needing a day or two of downtime to rest and enjoy the beauty around us from a safe harbor or anchorage.  We reached Shearwater, another milestone along the way, on June 20th.  Time was ticking away.  We'd agreed to be back in Port Townsend by the first week of August, so that we'd have enough time to see family and friends, attend the Perry Rendezvous (an annual gathering of Robert Perry designed boats) in Port Ludlow, and prep for our big trip south.  The plan was to leave PT by the end of the summer, heading to San Francisco, down the rest of the California Coast, and on to Mexico by winter.  We wanted to reserve at least 2-3 weeks to make the trip home from Alaska, planning to travel quickly via more open water on the west side of Vancouver Island, but also account for weather delays, etc.  On June 20th, with not a lot of time left, we pressed on.

Fast forward to the last couple of days travelling up to Prince Rupert.  I started seriously questioning this need to get to Alaska.  Donn listened. He kept telling me it was my decision - saying he had always signed on to go up to Alaska and we would, because it was my dream.  My original plan was to get up there with enough time to truly explore SE Alaska a bit and see some of its beauty from our own boat.  But with time ticking away, my heart and brain were struggling to come to terms with not making it all the way to Alaska on our trip to ALASKA.

On our 10 hour day motor-sailing to Prince Rupert, we reached a point where our cell phones started receiving service again.  I hadn't talked to my mom in a few weeks, so Donn encouraged me to give her a call.  I did.  We were so happy to hear each other's voices again and, as we quickly caught up, I explained my dilemma to Mom.  She listened.  I kept talking through my thought process and the pros and cons of each path.  If we stayed in Prince Rupert and didn't go on, we could actually spend a couple of weeks relaxing in one place, explore a new town, get some more projects done and prep ourselves for the adventure of getting home.  If we continued on to Ketchikan, we would have fulfilled our goal of getting to Alaska and we'd get to experience Ketchikan.  As I talked, it became really obvious to me that my mind was reaching a decision.  Our conversation ended with my promise to call after arriving in Prince Rupert to fill her in on final plans.

Can you guess what we've decided to do?  Yeah, we're staying put.  The minute I said it out loud, a huge peace fell over me.  That night I slept over 12 hours.  My body needs rest, my soul needs to put down (temporary) roots for a little while.  Donn is pleased also.  We worked with the marina manager to stay here for a few weeks and voila - here we are.  We've already explored town a bit, they have a nice library and pool that I hope to make use of.  We've done some grocery shopping and lots of laundry.  Tonight we may even go see a movie!

Having that goal to reach Alaska got us this far.  I'm really happy about that.  As far as needing to go all the way across the border, well, I'm okay with not making it.  This trip is for us - to learn, to shakedown the boat and ourselves.  We're doing that.  We're seeing amazing places and meeting awesome people.  I really have no complaints, and so much to be thankful for.

So we're in Prince Rupert until July 22nd or so.  Another exciting announcement is that we will have a 3rd crew member joining us for our trip home, to help with our virgin off-shore passage.  David Cohen, a good friend of ours from Seattle, is flying up here on July 19th.  He's part owner of a J-boat, has lots of sailing/racing experience and in Donn's words is "competent, sane, responsible and familiar".  Should be a good trip home.

The "Outer Passage"

Written by: Kerry
TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;        
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,        
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.       
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

- Robert Frost (The Road Not Taken) 1920

Brigadoon at the dock in Shearwater, BC, with bald eagle.

We left Shearwater on Saturday, June 24th, having done lots of research about our next leg of the trip that would bring us up to Prince Rupert, the typical jumping off point for Alaskan waters.  We had expected to plan and take the more inside route, also known as the "Inside Passage", which follows more protected waters and is used by the BC ferries, many cruise ships, tugs, and most cruisers.  We looked it over closely and weren't majorly impressed with the choice of anchorages - both for distance between them and for depths.  I have no doubt the passages are beautiful and protected, but then we started to look at other options...



From Seaforth Channel into Milbanke Sound, we looked at how to get around Price Island and continue north without going up to Klemtu and the inside waters.  We decided to go to Louisa Cove for our first night out to see what Milbanke was like and make our final decisions on which direction to go, with the primary thought to continue on to Aristazabal Island the following day assuming we weren't too freaked out by the more open water.  Well if you look at the lowest black dot on the map above, that is Louisa Cove - and you'll notice we didn't stop there at all.  Here's what happened...

We were cruising out of Seaforth Channel and I casually brought up the idea of not stopping at Louisa at all, but going straight on to our first anchorage at Aristazabal, Wheeteeam Bay.  Donn pondered that and told me he'd think about it.  It seemed like a beautiful day and the conditions seemed mellow enough to try, so we continued to talk about it and as we broke out into Milbanke, we adjusted the route on the chart and steamed through to Wheeteeam.  The most remarkable moment of that day's journey was going through Catala Passage at the bottom of Price Island.  It's usually more protected waters and gives one a slight shortcut through to Laredo Sound.



  As you can see above, it also requires careful navigation around many islets and rocks.  We were both on point watching our way as we motored through.  It was stunning scenery, almost ghostly with mists and rock formations all around us.  Unfortunately no photos were taken, as we were so focused on staying safe...

Instead of a 4-5 hour day, we had about a 10 hour day when all was said and done, but we had left early and arrived with plenty of daylight remaining, finding a beautiful place to anchor.  We ended up staying there for 2 nights to give ourselves time to recover and also explore the beautiful bay with its endless coves and inlets.  It was truly stunning.

Low tidal flat in Wheeteeam Bay



When we left Wheeteeam Bay we continued our way north with the next target anchorage at the top of Aristazabal Island - Tate Cove in Borrowman Bay.  This stop ended up being one of our most rewarding and fun of the entire trip.  We arrived on a Monday afternoon and stayed until Thursday morning to wait out strong forecast winds.

Monday evening, as another boat pulled in and anchored near us, we realized we were looking at another Baba - little sister to our boat - a Baba 30.  The best part though?  Their boat's name was "Camelot".  Two Babas in the same cove is good enough, but two Babas with names like "Brigadoon" and "Camelot"?  How awesome is that???   Two boats named after mythical places, both told as musicals. I didn't stop giggling about it all week.

Camelot - Doug and John on their way to Haida Gwaii to meet up with their wives
On Tuesday, we went nosing about in the dinghy...  The cove next to us had a huge floating fishing lodge set up on a barge with multiple ties to shore and dock space for a small sport fishing fleet.  As we came close, they (nicely) warned us away from their dock, as they were expecting a helicopter landing any minute.  We dutifully left and did not return to bother them.  However, as we were leaving, another skiff with a driver and a black dog in the bow came up to us and invited us over to stretch out legs later if we wanted.  It was then we realized there was ANOTHER floating structure behind the lodge.  This turned out to be the home of Rick and Jeanne Beaver and their dog, Skipper.

Home of Rick and Jeanne Beaver
They are a retired couple who started creating this little floating homestead about 14 years ago.  They live here year round and use everything around them - most of their docks and structures were all built from found wood drifted up on the beach.  They create art and tend gardens in boxes and a little green house in back.  The little wood hut at the far left is a wood fired hot tub.  They welcomed us with open arms and a bit later Doug and John from "Camelot" showed up in their kayaks and we all hung out for awhile.  Jeanne and I had a great time sharing stories and getting to know each other while the guys all checked out Rick's various projects outside.  When it came time to head back to the boat, Jeanne piped up and said "Hey! Let's all get together tomorrow evening for a potluck!"  We all loved the idea, decided what we would each bring and bid adieu with promises of more fun the next day.

I spent the next day reading and relaxing on the boat.  Donn went for a hike on his own and then later got picked up by Rick in his skiff with the other two guys (and Skipper) and taken on a tour of the nearby islets and beaches (I stayed behind because I was enjoying my book too much).  We all convened around 6pm and had a lovely evening in the Beavers' home.  I convinced Donn to bring his guitar to entertain after dinner and it was a huge hit.  They loved his music and even suggested he check with a local hotel lounge in Prince Rupert about playing there when we arrived.  It was hard to say goodbye - but we decided we could easily stop there again on the way home - so we hope to see them again soon.

One of Jeanne's gardens, with Skipper in the background
Doug, John, Me, Donn, Jeanne, and Rick

We had plotted out our next stops between Aristazabal Island and Prince Rupert and each one went as planned.  We stayed a night in Weinberg Inlet on Campania Island, which was stunning.

Mount Pender on Campania Island
Then we stayed two nights in Patterson Inlet on Pitt Island due to heavy rain.  We woke up the first morning, knowing we had planned to leave around 10 or 11am.  We listened from our bunk as the rain poured down onto the deck and looked at each other and decided we could afford another day in this beautiful place and not brave the rain just yet.

We left Patterson and headed for Newcombe Harbour inside of Petrel channel, out last stop before a long day to Prince Rupert.  We enjoyed a little sailing that day, although the winds were light.  As we rounded into the channel for Newcombe Harbour, the winds picked up, with rain threatening to douse us.  Donn got two photos as we headed in...


Bald Eagle flying off a perch inside Newcombe Harbour
Newcombe Harbour was tricky, as our ideal anchorage depth was located in a trough in the middle of shallow mud flats.  Water covered it all, so except for our charting software, we had no idea of where those shallows started.  I inched our way in and watched the depth sounder.  As I got a little too close for comfort, I started to turn up into the wind to find a good spot and saw depths as low as 13 feet cross beneath us.  We safely anchored in about 34 feet a little ways out as a huge gust of wind blew us sideways hard, setting our anchor perfectly with the rain letting loose on us all at the same time.  As the rain died down that evening, Donn noted that he could hear multiple rivers and waterfalls around us as we sat there in the middle of the little bay.  This is another spot we hope to visit on our way back, hopefully with nicer weather.

Our final leg to Prince Rupert was about 10 hours - we left at 4:30am to catch Petrel Narrows at low water slack and everything was smooth as we glided through.  I sat in the bow to watch for logs in the early morning light and marveled at the beautiful scenery around us.  Simply gorgeous and so humbling.  We both remarked how happy we were to have taken the outer passage.  We barely saw any other boat traffic under way and never shared an anchorage with more than 1-2 boats.  The conditions were benign, we barely had enough wind to sail, and only did so about 1/4 of the way.  As we plan our return, we'll take this option again - no doubt in our minds.

Friday, June 23, 2017

Eight Weeks In


Written by: Donn

Eight weeks ago, we started this little adventure. On many evenings we have ended our day, be they hard days or easy days, with the beauty of sunsets like one cannot imagine. Each one has been different, each one has greeted the night for us, reminding us how fortunate we are to be executing the Freedom Project, finally.

Each day we greet brings us a new morning of adventure, a new place to explore, a new place to leave and plans for the new place we will find the next day. Each day we see some place, or leave some place, that we will never see again. It's a wonderful kind of discovery and also one of departure, of leaving. We are currently in Shearwater, B.C. We arrived here a few days ago for the first time and, if our plans go as we expect, we shall never see it again.

It's been the same for Hunter Bay, Jones Island, Sucia, Port Browning, Ganges, Herring Bay, Nanaimo, Owen Bay, Otter Bay, Port Neville, Port McNeill and a host of other anchorages and marinas. Each time we get to see a place with new eyes, only having read about it in a book, or seen it on a chart. Each time we leave, it's forever. I always say, "Goodbye," to the place, out loud, with gratitude, even if the trip there, the stay, or the departure was challenging.

Each place has given me a gift, a memory, a chance to see a place in the world I have never seen. The fact that I may never see it again, makes it all the more precious.

And I've left so many things behind that I really don't miss. We do check in with the internet, email and facebook when we get in port but, I don't miss it. It's hard to latch onto the daily distractions of such things when faced with the water and wild out here.


So far, Brigadoon has treated us well. She has been stout and dependable. Yes, we have had some minor and somewhat scary things pop up, like when our steering decided to have some issues in Port Browning, but I called Port Townsend Shipwrights and, after a false start at a fix, was able to finally resolve it a couple ports later. Our Dickenson heater gave us some issues but, I tore it down to its bones after a fight or two, and it seems to be doing much better now. The cheerful yellow flame keeps us cozy and warm, once I did the job right. So far, I can fix this boat. I can keep us going. Brigadoon keeps us safe and warm. We couldn't ask for a better home, a better vessel, in which to discover the world.


I've walked places, old and desolate, full of the remnants of people's lives. Shadows of what used to be where I stand, with stories told in old books, rusting machinery, and fallen down buildings. I'm reminded that I'm not the only person who has ever been here. Every time I walk around a corner I find a ghost of the past on ground trodden by someone else, long ago.



There are abandoned canneries, falling down and long dead, giving themselves back to the land. We visit these dying places, witnessing the things that were here before yet no longer are. Namu was a ghost town, passed quietly as we dove deeper into the cove, seeking shelter from a driving rainstorm. I set our anchor in rain that came in sheets, while Kerry calmly talked to me over the headsets. We took to the safety and warmth of Brigadoon to try and dry off and have dinner. It was a damp night, but the Dickenson heater did what it does and we awoke to a dry and warm home.


Yet, in the morning, when the rain had passed, we were left with nothing but the beauty of the tidelands, until they were covered by the waters again. The mirror smooth waters reflecting the quiet life all around us.


Sometimes, when I was so busy pointing the camera, I didn't see the deer for the trees. Hidden among the tidelands, and the drying seaweed, under the watchful gaze of the towering firs of Blunden Harbor, a red deer snuck into my photograph. It stood there, unknown and undiscovered until a week later, when I looked closely enough. So many creatures move though the world, hidden from our eyes.



And yet, some of them are brazen and bold, standing right there, not feet away. In Port McNeill, great bald eagles sang and chittered every night. They owned the top of every mast, every piling, even when harassed by crows and terns. 



Yet, they weren't the only raptors plying the bays. In Allison Harbor, we were entertained by a pair of Ospreys, whose cries were higher and faster than the great eagles. They wheeled with a light grace not found in their bigger cousins, flying around each other like acrobats. Light of color and light on the wing, they owned Allison Harbor.  




Through it all, we have slept well on our Ultra Anchor, safe and secure knowing it rides just below Wilson, our anchor buoy. We have almost perfected the use of this trip line and buoy and plan to continue its use as we set our Ultra at every anchorage. Being able to look out and know exactly where our anchor is set gives us peace of mind and a knowing that we didn't have before.


We have anchored in the shadow of great mountains, graced with snow still, even in June. These craggy ramparts greeted us as we worked out way towards Melanie Cove, former home of Mike the Logger, whose old homestead we walked among on our trip ashore. Do yourself a favor and read "The Curve of Time" -- you will not be disappointed in the places and times it takes you.


The best thing on this journey so far, has been the deepening relationship between the crew. I won't lie. The first couple weeks out was a little rough, sprinkled with misunderstandings and miscommunication as we figured things out. It was harder than I expected but, it was easier than it could have been, because of my lovely First Mate, Kerry. Through her patience, honesty, and trust in me, we have worked through the initial challenges and become a crew that is strong and trustful. 

We sit here, in Shearwater (52 deg 8.850 N, 128 deg 5.398 W) the farthest north and west we have traveled so far. Tomorrow we head westward into the edges of the open Pacific, then north, talking of Ketchikan more every day.

Alaska is in our sights and I couldn't ask for a better partner for this journey.

Sunday, June 11, 2017

Port McNeill -- Alert Bay -- Sointula

Written by: Kerry

 We arrived in Port McNeill on Wednesday, June 7th, after a long 42 mile trip up Johnstone Strait from Port Neville.  To date, this may have been one of our longest days on the water, but it was an excellent trip.  We started off early, just before dawn, to catch as much of the ebb current as possible. We weren't disappointed - we arrived in Port McNeill just before 11am with the wind at our back, having motored and motor sailed (rolled the genoa out for awhile) at 6.5-8 knots the whole way.

After settling in, we decided we'd stay a few days and explore the area a bit - two other nearby island harbours - Alert Bay and Sointula both had ferry service from Port McNeill and we thought that would make for a fun day of ferry travel and walking around a couple new towns.

Friday, June 9th we got up early enough to catch the 8:40am ferry to Alert Bay, paid our fares and walked on for the 30 minute trip.  Alert Bay has a well known and highly respected First Nations museum - The U'mista Cultural Centre and we headed straight there as we turned left off the ferry. On our way we caught a couple photos of local sites as we walked down the waterfront boardwalk:



The museum was fantastic, as promised, and also quite sobering.  The history we watched on video and read about was filled with both beautiful examples of Kwakwa̱ka̱╩╝wakw culture and history, as well as the devastating treatment they suffered under the white man's laws and influence.

From there we walked back into town, as it was, and visited the local grocery store and deli (definitely the social hub of town at lunchtime), got a snack and headed back to the ferry.  Now the ferry is based out of McNeill and there is just one - so it goes to Alert Bay and back to McNeill and then out to Sointula and back to McNeill, etc. - all day long.  So we asked if we could just stay on the ferry when it hit McNeill again and keep riding to Sointula.  Yes!  No problem!  And they only charge you when you get on in McNeill, so we rode all day for the initial fares paid.  :-)

We arrived in Sointula on Malcolm Island just after 1pm.  As we waited to disembark, we chatted up a local woman who encouraged us to enjoy the town and check out their museum too.  We wandered off the ferry and turned right, Donn leading the way, and almost immediately discovered the town Info Centre with a string of old beach cruisers in front with a sign saying "For Loan".  What's more fun then a free loaner bicycle for the afternoon to explore a seaside town?  At that moment, not much.  


We proceeded to ride back the other direction from the ferry and found the Sointula Community Library and Museum.  This was a whole different experience from Alert Bay.   Sointula is a town settled by a group of Finnish Socialists in 1901 with the hopes of creating a utopian community.  The museum was like walking into an antique store with a focus on a specific town.  Two large rooms and a basement held all kinds of photos, clothing, household goods, personal items, and industrial equipment from the past.  Stumbling across a large map of the Northwest, we got a photo opp of the distance we've traveled so far...


After departing the museum, we headed around the bay towards the marina and found the Burger Shack, where we enjoyed really good halibut and chips and shakes.


We then headed back towards town and returned the bikes.  We checked out their Co-op grocery store and then crossed the street to enjoy a treat at the local bakery, owned and run by a lovely Chilean man, right next to the ferry.  Donn enjoyed a cinnamon roll made with cardamom that was divine and my lime shortbread cookie wasn't too shabby either.  

Our ferry ride back to Port McNeill signaled the end of our day - we were home by 5pm, feeling tired but happy.  The best thing about both Alert Bay and Sointula?  Without fail, everyone we came across, waved or said hello as we went by.  This included people in cars, on foot, or on their bikes.  It felt amazing to visit these towns and be so welcomed by the locals.

The last few days have been full of chores - laundry, provisioning and getting the boat ready for our next big leg - across Queen Charlotte Strait, up and around Cape Caution, and further north on our journey.  We leave tomorrow morning.  More adventure awaits!

Living the Yotting LIfe

Written by: Donn

We are six weeks or so into this adventure of cruising on the yacht Brigadoon. It's been five years of planning, five years of sacrifices, hard work, missed schedules, changing plans, but we are here.

"It's been a long road,
getting from there to here.
It's been a long road,
But our time is finally near.

I can see my dream come alive at last..."

Getting this far has been a beautifully challenging mix and, it's nothing, I tell you, nothing like living on land. The interesting thing has been the assumptions we've been witness to and the target of, as we embark on and continue this adventure.

For example, in a conversation about my country (The USA) a friend raised a very political question about our immigration policies:

"There are no developed countries a US citizen can go to and, so long as we physically make it onto the soil, are welcomed with open arms, no questions asked, and immediately provided all the benefits of natives. No matter who we are or how sad our story, if we don’t follow their rules we’re turned around and sent right back where we came from. They require we follow their rules or they don’t let us in.

The same countries we’re jealous of for their “free” healthcare and extensive social programs also have very strict immigration rules. They clearly value the interests of their own citizens over those of others."

My basic response was, "We (edit: this country) are rich enough to take them all and provide for health care for all, if we choose to. There is nothing special about being born here."

I meant it. My country is rich beyond measure and, if it weren't for the greed corrupting our high ideals, I truly believe we could set an example to the world, if only we wanted to.

Setting that political question aside, because I have no interest in debating that here, I'd like to focus on his response and the assumptions contained therein.

"Since I know you to have a very good sense of humor I'll just ask: Are you being funny, or is a guy who's currently sailing around the world on a yacht telling the rest of us how easy it is to embrace the huddled masses?

My friend has since apologized for his assumptions, that we are some rich, well off yachties, sailing around the world, telling him and others what they should do with their guilt. Let's talk about those assumptions, because this isn't the first time we've run into them. They are in Facebook posts about young couples who threw it all way to take on the sailing life, tossing aside the normal cares of the work-a-day world, leaving all of those wage slaves behind. They visit tropical islands, far flung places, arriving on their yacht, only to depart for another paradise the next week.

Allow me to inject a little reality into this life we have chosen and share a little bit about us.

First off -- the money. We are not rich, or even well off anymore. True, we had fairly high paying jobs but, we used all those resources to pay off our debt, outfit our yacht to make her safe and seaworthy, and set aside a little for living expenses. There is some savings but, we are basically unemployed at this time and I, for one, have no plans on ever working for anyone else, ever. Not ever again. I'm working on a novel, which I hope people will like and buy but, aside from that, it's our savings and my modest retirement that will see us through this adventure. Money aside, let's talk about what it's been like to go cruising on a yacht.

Brigadoon is our home. She contains all our earthly possessions within the confines of her hull. This includes clothes, food, art, tools, spares and anything else we think we might need. That means that, when we are sitting in a beautiful cove, surrounded by towering firs and cedars, with eagles flying overhead and otters playing in the cove, we still have to fix that leaking water pump or get that diesel stove working so we can keep warm. There is no ordering of parts from Amazon Prime (and getting what we need in two days). There is no mechanic to call, who will arrive and fix the problem while we go out to dinner and a movie. There is no store to drive to (if we still had a car), to get what we need. We have to be resourceful and make do with our resourcefulness and parts on hand. No one is coming to save us.

Imagine if you had to work on sink at home. The water isn't coming out. You can't just have someone replace it. You can't just run to the big box hardware store in your car and get a new faucet. Water pressure is supplied by a pump, not the city. By the way, all your water (80 gallons of it), is stored under the floor of your living room. The pump is located in the corner of a closet, hidden behind fishing poles, dock lines, buckets, and a host of other things that must be stored there. You have to remove all those things to get to it and, they have to stay on the boat. There is no spare room to move them to, so you stack them in your small back porch, hopefully in a corner so you can still walk around.

You need tools and spares.

The spare water pump is located under your bed. Not under it like you just reach under a regular bed under it, like inside the the box springs, under the mattress. You have to lift the mattress with the block and tackle (it weighs 80 pounds) and dig though various spares.

Tools are located under and inside your couch in the living room, so you have to tear all the cushions off and put them on top of your bed. The rest of the tools and miscellaneous spares are located under the cushions of your love seat, so you have to take the cushions and pillows off that too and put them on your bed.

You now have absolutely no place to sit, but it's time to get to work while otters play along the shoreline and majestic bald eagles hunt from hundreds-year-old fir trees along the granite cliffs surrounding the beautiful cove in which you are anchored.

You work on the problem until it is solved, or you give up for a break -- remember there is now nowhere to sit? You get back to work until you solve the problem. Simple as that. You have nothing but what is on the boat and you can't go get anything else you need. When you do finally solve the problem, because you have to, you simply have to, you put all the stuff back.

All the tools and spares have to be put away in some semblance of order so you can find/use them again. Once that is done, you dig all the cushions our of your bed and put them back on your couch and love seat so you can sit down again.

If you are skilled, resourceful and lucky (never discount this), you fixed the problem and can now enjoy the paradise in which you are currently anchored.

Then the house heater malfunctions the next day. You start moving cushions again, lather, rinse repeat.

Until the next problem.

So you plan your road trip to a destination twenty miles away. You check the weather, because winds and road conditions can literally swallow your car and everything you own. If the road is too bumpy today, it might be too dangerous to go. You double check the route to make sure there are no obstacles in your path on maps you have never seen before, and you have to trust that they are correct. If they aren't, and you hit one of those obstacles, the road can literally swallow your car and everyone inside. You might want to call for help or a tow but, no one may respond and, if you really screw up, no one is likely to find you. You make sure you have enough fuel (there are no gas stations en-route). You make sure you have enough food in your fridge (there are no stores on your route). Do you carry spares or a means to replace or repair every single part of your vehicle (there are no stores or mechanics along your route). Do you even know how?

Then, if everything is ready, you leave the beautiful cove, with the playful otters, the shell beaches, the hunting eagles and the bears (don't forget the bear spray). You take the car our of park (manually lift a 46 lb anchor and 160 lbs of chain) and hit the road.

Along the way you may find that the weather report lied or the conditions simply changed. The roads are now outright dangerous. You have to find a safe parking lot and you hope your parking brake (anchor) can hold you in place until the weather passes. You find it and decide dinner is called for -- the stove doesn't light because one of the propane tanks is empty, so you have to go out to the back porch and switch to the backup.

Then you discover the knocking noise every time you turn the steering wheel...the last person (not you, then you who tried to fix it the first time) didn't solve it.

But the place you parked is beautiful and, when the storm blows over the next day, you find yourself in a Yottie's paradise, surrounded by towering fir trees, hunting eagles and kingfishers, otters and maybe an occasional porpoise or whale. You are in paradise for a day and, to be honest, it was worth it to get here, even if the bumpy road tossed everything in the car just simply everywhere.

But you earned every eagle, every otter, every skinny dip in a warm mountain lake, every stroll along pristine shell beaches.

Even if no one really understands what it took to get here.

And you'll do it again the next day, and the day after that, because you want to.







Saturday, June 3, 2017

One Month!

Written by: Kerry


We’ve been out here a month and boy has it flown by!  Thought it might be fun to share some numbers and facts about the first month of our adventure.  J
We have visited the following places:

US
Hunter Bay, Lopez Island (anchored 3 nights)
Blind Bay, Shaw Island (anchored 1 night)
Deer Harbor, Orcas Island (docked 2 nights)
Jones Island (north bay) (anchored 2 nights)
Echo Bay, Sucia Island (anchored 3 nights)

Canada
Port Browning, North Pender Island (docked 1 night)
Ganges Harbour, Saltspring Island (anchored 4 nights)
North Cove, Thetis Island (anchored 1 night)
Herring Bay, Ruxton Island (anchored 1 night)
Nanaimo, Vancouver Island (docked 4 nights)
Garden Bay, Pender Harbour (anchored 4 nights)
Sturt Bay, Texada Island (anchored 1 night)
Cortes Bay, Cortes Island (anchored 1 night)
Grace Harbour, Desolation Sound (anchored 3 nights)
Melanie Cove, Desolation Sound (anchored 1 night)
Squirrel Cove, Cortes Island (docked 4 nights) – this place is awesome, you should come here.

Nautical Miles Traveled: 237.36

We’ve sailed only once, motorsailed once and motored the remaining times due to low winds, or wind right on the nose.

We have made water 4 times, approximately once per week. 

We have done laundry 5 times.

We have topped up our diesel tank twice, although we’ve never been under half a tank empty.

We (meaning mostly Donn) have raised over 1200 feet of anchor chain (at 1.6 lbs per foot) with our rebuilt Seatiger manual windlass.

We’ve been on 11 walks/hikes – either on trails or exploring towns.

We’ve been through one “rapids” where we had to time our passage (Dodd Narrows).  We have many more of those coming up soon.

We’ve seen one movie (Guardians of the Galaxy 2 in Namaimo).

Donn make $12 Canadian busking on the Nanaimo waterfront with his guitar.

We’ve enjoyed numerous coffee shops, a few takeout places and two sit down restaurants.

Meals with new friends:
Dinner at Dan and Paula’s home in Ganges (Thanks to Evan who introduced us online!)
Happy Hour aboard “Sleighride”, a sailboat we crossed paths with twice so far, with Judy and Scott
Breakfast aboard a resident boat in Nanaimo with Trinda and Kevin

We’ve cooked dinner on our rail mounted BBQ 8 times, with everything from corn on the cob to sausages to steaks.

We’ve used our Honda outboard, our electric paddle, and our oars to get around in our dinghy.

We caught, cooked and ate two red rock crabs.

We’ve each been sick with a cold once.

We have installed an Iridium Go antenna cable, created a windlass chain retainer, modified our stay-sail sheets for a 2 to 1 purchase, repaired a loose rudder quadrant (twice), replaced o-rings in leaky water pump, built and modified our safety tethers using our Sailrite sewing machine, perfected the design and use of our anchor buoy, re-positioned our Danforth stern anchor, and re-engineered our dinghy davit slings.

Donn caught one small flounder, which he threw back in.

We’ve seen countless eagles, herons, oyster catchers, kingfishers, gulls, terns, vultures, ospreys, doves, murrelets, swifts, moon jellies, sea cucumbers, otters, salmon, herring, harbor seals, sea lions, kelp crab, red rock crab, and one cavorting weasel.

A Hike and a Swim

Written by: Kerry

We pulled into Grace Harbour on a beautiful Saturday in May, early enough in the day to enjoy the afternoon.  We had read about a trail leading from the head of the bay to a nearby fresh water lake and after securely anchoring the boat and lowering our dinghy, we set off to explore!

OK – let me set you up with a little background on me…   I am not an outdoorsy kind of girl.  I had some bad hiking experiences in my youth and in my thirties and I’m well aware of the baggage I still carry around due to this.  So although walking and hiking are going to be a part of my life from now on as a cruiser, I still ramp up on the anxiety scale around this activity.


The guide book had said a “15 minute walk” to the lake.  I thought, “Great!  I can do that.  It’s getting to be a really warm day (80F) and a dip in the lake might be nice!”  We beach our dinghy and set off.  Donn’s leading the way.  About 10-15 minutes into the walk, we’ve had to scramble a bit and duck under a tree or two.  We reach a point where it looks like the trail could go one of two ways.  We pick the path to the right, which leads us down to a stream/waterfall area, which is obviously coming from the lake, but the trail seems to disappear at this point.  


We confer and agree to go back to the fork.  By now, my anxiety is starting to creep up and I alert Donn, who is always understanding and supportive.  He listens, says "ok", and we keep going.  We now find the trail to the left, which crosses the upper end of the stream and keeps going through patches of mud.  We are wearing our crocs, which helps with the terrain and muddiness, so I keep trudging forward, hoping the lake is getting closer.  We go over and under more fallen trees, I’m getting hotter and more anxious, not seeing any signs of thinning trees or a lake.  Donn keeps checking in.  I drink water and try to calm my breathing.  We keep going.


Finally the lake appears - (It’s probably only been 30 minutes) - and truly, it is lovely.  My stress starts to seep away, but now I get to face a new dilemma.  I REALLY want to go swimming.  But the edge of the lake accessible to us has one nice flat rock outcropping just under the water, but it’s pretty slick with algae, and there are reeds and lily pads in the way of truly swimming out into deep water.  Except!  There is one good path between the reeds that looks like there is nothing blocking our way – so that is the plan.  We strip down.  The lake is deserted save for some frogs, small fish, and water bugs, so we decide suits are not necessary.  I keep my yellow crocs on.  Another thing I can’t deal with is touching soft stuff under the water, especially when it’s murky enough that I can’t see more than 1-2 feet down.  So my plan entails squatting or sitting on the slippery rock, and pushing off into full swim towards the break in the reeds out into deeper (cleaner?) water.  I am not interested in touching my feet down if I can help it.  Donn asks if I would like him to join me – hell yes, I do!  This is pushing all kinds of scary buttons for me and having him out there too will make me feel better.   We’re naked (except for my crocs) and we creep out onto the slippery rock.  The water is a lovely temperature – not too cold, and definitely refreshing after the crazy 30 minute hike I just endured.

I dog paddle like crazy to keep my body as close to the surface as possible until I get through the reeds.  Success!  I do not touch or run into anything under the surface and out into open water, I relax a bit.  Donn is still standing on the rock, debating his entrance plan.  He starts to move closer to the edge and I watch him slide and slip himself into the water.  He follows my path and soon he’s out there with me.  He finds a log or stump to stand on and invites me over, but I decline the foothold (too scary if I can’t see it).  I come over and float closer to him.  We swim around a bit enjoying the sun and solitude of this amazing lake.  When we decide to go back in, he leads the way and crawls up on to the slippery rock, finding finger holds in cracks to pull himself up and out.  I follow suit.  Soon we are on the shore again, drying off in the sun.  I’m feeling rather proud of myself for making it there at all, and getting out there in the water.  The return hike looms, but at least I know what to expect now.  We get dressed and prepare for the journey back.  

As we walk, I’m the one who suggests we take that first offshoot we tried and make our way down to the lower stream and shoreline and see if we can walk back to the dinghy around the edge of the bay rather than up and over through the woods again.  Donn thinks that’s a fine idea and we work our way down to the low tide line and pick our way among the rocks, oysters and barnacles.  Again, very thankful for our crocs!  We get back to the dinghy and Donn rows us back to the boat.  I immediately crawl into bed for a nap, happy and proud of my big adventure in Grace Harbour.

Saturday, May 20, 2017

You can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave...

Written by: Kerry

Nanaimo, home of the Nanaimo Bar.

This beautiful port city on the eastern coast of Vancouver Island has been a major goal/planned stopover, ever since we started thinking about our trip north.

The Original Plan:  Work our way up through the San Juan Islands and the Gulf Islands in 2-3 weeks, time our passing through Dodd Narrows at slack water and come up to Nanaimo to provision, get a few things done, enjoy the last city we're going to see in awhile and rest up before crossing the Strait of Georgia to the Sunshine Coast and up to Desolation Sound.  This plan involved anchoring out by Newcastle Island (free) and taking the dinghy back and forth to shore as needed, staying for 2-4 or more days to prep for the crossing.

Plan B:  Two nights before our arrival in Nanaimo, I suggested we may want to stay on the dock for one night when we arrived to make it easier to get laundry and provisioning done, then move to a nearby anchorage.  Donn agreed.  We called ahead one day before to reserve a spot for Wednesday night, May 17th.

H Dock at Port of Nanaimo

Plan C:  Two hours after arriving:

    Donn - "What if we stayed at the dock until Saturday?  We could get a few projects done, enjoy the showers, and take our time."

     Kerry - "That sounds nice - we could also maybe find a movie theater and hit a matinee tomorrow and see the city a bit"

Plan D:  Ninety minutes after we awoke on Saturday:

     Donn - (mostly joking) "Shall we stay one more night?"

     Kerry - (starts crying) "Don't even joke if you aren't seriously offering that up..."

     Donn - "We can stay one more night if you want to.  Go up and talk to the office."

     Kerry - "OK.  Thank you!"  (Goes to office and pays for one more night)

Now you're probably wondering why the heck I was crying on a beautiful Saturday morning the day we were scheduled to leave.  Let me back up a bit.

Five and half years ago when we hatched this crazy big idea, I did what I do best, I organized a plan, stayed focused on executing said plan, and dreamt about the future sailing the world on our little boat.  As the time went by I did my best to keep my expectations as realistic as possible and to not romanticize our future adventures.  I would continually remind myself (and others) that I was consciously choosing this to challenge myself, to invite growth, to open myself to new paths and adventures in ways I could not even imagine yet.  I have never been a huge risk taker or daredevil.  I tend to play by the rules and not place myself in unnecessary danger.  The boat is well thought out and outfitted for safety as a result.

So yes, I knew I would face internal challenges - that has not surprised me at all.  But the truth of the matter is that no matter how "prepared" I was, I have been a little blindsided by the emotional roller coaster I have experienced in only the first three weeks.  Yes, I am out of my comfort zone - again - not unexpected, but still not easy.  Thank god for the moments of true beauty and rest we have been gifted along the way at Jones and Sucia Islands, and in Herring Bay, our last stop before arriving in Nanaimo.  I have made my share of mistakes.  I have experienced loneliness.  I have experienced fear and stress, in relatively safe situations by most sailors' standards.  But here's the thing, this is my journey, and I am not most sailors.  All the planning in the world cannot replace true experience and the trust and knowledge that comes along with that.  The highs of the roller coaster are filled with beauty, a feeling of competence, and connection with my partner and captain, Donn.  The lows are filled with self doubt, fear, and feeling completely out of my comfort zone.

Back to today, in Nanaimo.  Being at the dock here is so much like being at home at our dock back on Lake Union.  It's comfortable and safe.  And I hate to say it, but it's hard to push off and leave.  Ahead of us we have a fairly large crossing of a large body of water - nothing we haven't done before (we've crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca three times), but still a bit formidable.  Then from there it's a lot of unknowns as we head into the wilderness of the Inside Passage...  there will be beauty and there will be miserable moments.  That's about all I can guarantee.  I am still extremely committed to this journey.  I am willing to walk through this personal fire, always have been.  But the reality of sitting in the middle of this uncomfortable space and feeling all the things?  It's tough.

I am grateful for Donn.  I am grateful for this incredible opportunity to find out what I'm made of and to learn and grow and feel.  One day at a time.

Sunset at Herring Bay

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

Portland Pudgy: How to Ruin a Otherwise Good Product


Not our boat, but a perfect representation of how I feel about it right now.

I can be very patient and understanding with challenges facing small companies, especially if they have a good product but, I have no patience with shoddy customer service and a continuing failure to deliver. 
This was my original review, not built on satisfaction but a desire to just let things go and make do the best we can with a product we believed in. When I wrote this, we were just leaving on our world cruise. We finally had all the parts to our Pudgy. I didn't want to fault the product, even if we had some challenges with delivery and communication. My review wasn't as glowing but, I didn't want to be that customer, you know? 
"Portland Pudgy provided us with a literal lifeboat. Instead of a liferaft, we carry a Pudgy, with sail kit and lifeboat canopy. It’s a small company, and you have to take that into account but, Dave really cares about delivering. Though we had to wait a bit for the original boat and, later, the lifeboat canopy, Dave worked diligently to get us the product we needed. He deserves your business.
It was with great anticipation I ordered our Portland Pudgy a few years ago. We had researched the options for offshore safety. Portland Pudgy seemed to have the answer, attached to what seemed to be tough little dinghy that actually functioned as a lifeboat. It wasn't inexpensive for a dinghy, but we could get it with a sail kit and an actual lifeboat canopy. This seemed to make a lot of sense to us, so we ordered one.
I spent the last couple years praising this product to others. When Dave asked, I even agreed to show other potential customers the boat. I raved about it. It made so much sense. I was an advocate for this idea and product. 
Here are my challenges with Portland Pudgy, specifically Dave, the owner. Here are the stories he told me as he failed, time and time again, to deliver what is otherwise a good product. But, is it? I don't know anymore.
1) Ordering the actual boat. 
I talked to Dave in February of 2010 with initial questions and placed our order in November of 2013, with the promise of a December 2013, delivery.
It arrived three months late. At first, we were told the boat would be delivered in about a month, that they had them in stock. Then we received notice that they were doing a new mold formulation, that it was an improvement, and that it would be delayed. It wasn't what I was originally promised, but Dave did call and, while we were disappointed, we waited. While I didn't get the product I paid for when it was promised, I was getting it. I saw no reason to be a jerk to Dave so I shrugged and waited. Things happen. People have challenges. I understood that. 
When the Pudgy was finally delivered, it seemed to be everything promised so I just let the delays go. I considered the late delivery a glitch and planned to order the Lifeboat Canopy with enough lead time in case there was a delay. Little did I know what that would entail.
2) Ordering the Lifeboat Canopy.
We placed our order and sent the deposit in February of 2016. 
Based on our previous experience, we ordered this item a year in advance. We were told to order early, so we could be "in the queue" and ensure we received it in time. We eagerly awaited the delivery of the canopy while we continued to prepare for our departure.
Then the first delay came. Their seamstress was pregnant and was on maternity leave. Apparently, at the time, only one person had the knowledge, skills and responsibility to create this canopy. Like some women do, she went on maternity leave, and decided she could not return. I get it. This happens. Companies have to deal with this all the time, right?
Again, I was disappointed but, we still had time.
Then Dave went dark, sometimes for months. I had to call him multiple times to get status, and longer stories, more reasons until I finally had to tell him, "Dave, I understand your challenges, and I believe you when you say you are working diligently to fix them but, your customers will stop caring about that if you cannot deliver. They will also stop caring if you don't communicate with them. If you don't resolve this, someone will take this to social media and you will have to deal with that too."
In September of 2016,  Dave was still making promises, interwoven with a business sob story that was no longer interesting to me, nor effective. Yes, I understood his predicament but at the same time, April of 2017 was fast approaching. Were we to receive our product in time? He promised that we would be first in the queue.
Soon.
Then he went dark again. We had to call him again and again. 
The stories and what I finally considered excuses got more involved until I finally had to tell him they didn't matter anymore. I had heard them all by now. 
  • The seamstress was gone. She hand cut all the patters and was the only person who knew how to sew the canopies. It took her ten hours to cut them -- a laborious process to be sure. 
  • Truly skilled seamstresses were hard to come by.
  • They were investigating a new laser cutting machine to make the canopies faster and were having problems with the CAD files. 
  • They had problems sewing the canopy together. It wasn't right and they were delayed.
  • Then they were working on the prototype and it still wasn't right but -- get this -- I could have the stitched and re-stitched prototype if I needed it in time...
All I was really interested in was when he was going to deliver what I paid for -- when.
When was he going to deliver? That was all I wanted to know. 
He made promises to update us via email. We waited. He made promises to call. We waited. Time and time again he failed to communicate with us.
We had to call him. We did. I wasn't rude with him in our conversations, though I had to get pretty direct.
"When are you going to call us with the next status, Dave?"
"Next week...I'll call next week."
"When next week, Dave?"
"Well..."
"Dave, will you call me one week from today, on this day? How about this time of day? Can I hear from you then?"
He agreed. Then Dave didn't call. When Kerry called him (I didn't want to lose my temper), he said he was 'afraid to call and give us bad news."
At that point, Kerry was dealing with Dave. 
In March of 2017, our canopy had still not arrived, but a bunch of promises did. 
On Mon, Jan 30, 2017 at 2:48 PM, Portland Pudgy info@portlandpudgy.com wrote:
Hi Don,  I have not in the past committed to a final date for the exposure canopy, but I now do feel certain we will be able to get you a canopy in time for your trip.  We have a hand cut prototype built that fits the boat perfectly.  We have Rhino computer drawings completed ready to be cut out by a computerized cutting machine, and we have a seamstress (maybe even two) lined up for fabrication.  The prototype is exactly the same as the computer cut pieces will be.  The difference is that some of the fabric for the prototype was folded for a long time and has the fold marks in it.  Another piece is quite wrinkled with a little irregularity around one of the seams.  Not really important, but not our best.  If in the very unlikely chance something extraterrestrial happens we can get you the prototype.  All fabric, valves, bladders, valves are new.  Thanks,
David H., Pres.
It's a good thing that other work delayed our departure on April 1st. Otherwise we would be sitting here, still waiting, delayed, for the canopy.
It finally arrived. We received two boxes, one containing the pressure canisters and one containing a beaten up box with three canopy parts in side. 
There were no instructions, no note, and no followup call of any sort from Dave. We searched the box for instructions, anything to guide us in the installation. Nope. Nothing.
And Dave accepted the final payment for the full amount for the canopy. We said we would pay on time and we did. 
We went online and downloaded the instructions for installing the canopy.
There were no mounting pad eyes delivered with the canopy. I didn't want to call Dave again and, frankly, we were out of time and patience. I had to find some.
I took some measurements and purchased some pad eyes, planning to do the install work on the Pudgy. At least I had everything else and I did like how the boat sailed and rowed.
Today, in Echo Bay, on Sucia Island, at anchor, more than a year of frustrating phone calls, missed commitments, reasons and excuses, I climbed down into the Pudgy with a screw driver and the pad eyes. I'd finally start the install. I'd have this installed and ready before we turned south in August. We had time.
The first pad eye didn't fit. The screw holes were 1/8 to 1/4" off. 
So, if Portland Pudgy pre-drills holes in the boat, obviously for the pad eyes, and they are crucial to the function of the canopy, and I'm, supposed to 'trust my life' (Dave's words over and over and over) to it, why not provide the actual pad eyes that fit? Why have your customer discover they don't fit 10 days into a world cruise? 
Dave, meet my last straw.
What am I supposed to do now? Is Dave going to ship me pad eyes that fit? Where to? Canada? Alaska? Will he fly them into some desolate bay in the Broughtons or wherever we might be in the next few weeks?
I am done dealing with this company or recommending them. Their product is great but, Dave is awful at following up and delivering what he promises. We waited one YEAR for our lifeboat canopy to be delivered. One Year. It was sob story after excuse after some reason as we waited. He was going to send us his prototype but eventually sent the next model produced. After it arrived, we heard nothing. No question if it arrived or if we had any other concerns.
I was going to let this go, even though he provided no actual mounting hardware for the straps and eye hooks to attach to the boat mounting points. I purchased my own and -- they don't fit. It's too bad that a decent product, one that we like so much, has to be supported in such a shoddy and unprofessional manner.
I really wanted to like this company and their product. I shouldn't have to screw around buying the wrong $20.00 worth of stainless steel eyes after I've spent $6,000 on his product.
Now, as I awake at dawn, I wonder, I doubt, about that canopy. What else might I discover? Will it actually fit and inflate properly? 
Can I trust my life to it, as Dave claims?
I don't know if I can believe anything Dave says anymore.

There's only one thing I really resent. It's paying good money, full price, on time, as I promised, for an experience like this.