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Having been land-bound for a few days, we are ready to
get back underway in the Patience. We bid my dad and
his wife goodbye and head southeast toward Browning Passage.
We exit the Tofino area via the non-recommended southern
exit near Usatzes Point
and the Y33 and Y34 buoys. The passage out is excruciatingly
tight and crowded with ugly looking rocks. We have no
problems at high water slack after reconnoitering in the Avon.
Browning Passage and Tsapee Narrows prove to
be navigationally non-challenging (we missed slack at Tsapee
Narrows by about half an hour).
Meares Island is the second largest
island in the archipelago (after Flores Island). The island was
named by Captain Richards in 1861 after John Meares, a British
naval officer whose name is closely associated with the early exploration
of this coast. In recent years,
Meares Island has been the center of
logging controversy.
We round the southern tip of Meares Island and head up
Tofino Inlet towards Tranquil Inlet. There is not a
boat to be seen in the entire inlet and we drop the Bruce into
the absolute still of what Don Douglass calls Tranquilito Cove at the
east end of Tranquil Inlet. The anchorage is a beautiful bowl
with a 100-foot (30.5 meter) high basalt cliff to the south. Later
I am told there is also a very nice anchorage in front of where
the Kennedy River empties into Tofino Inlet. That night
Christalini and Sebastian make BBQ hamburgers and baked
potatoes and then we settle in to play our first Hearts game of
the trip. Our roaring laughter and wise-ass Hearts commentary
echo in Tranquilito Cove until late in the night.
Given the fact that we are packed in like sardines, it is amazing
we all sleep the next morning until 10AM. It is going to be
another beautiful day. Other than the fog coming out Juan de
Fuca, we have enjoyed remarkable weather to-date. Christalini,
serves up one of her amazing breakfasts—french toast and
bacon. You can read further about my flat-out
respect for my cousin’s cooking ability in Around
Vancouver Island. After breakfast, Amy and I take the Avon
over to the estuary at the head of Tranquil Inlet. We are able to
take the Avon a fair way up Tranquil Creek at the head
of the estuary before the depth becomes insufficient for the
Avon. It is easy to see how this area got its name, although the
logging that took place here in the late ‘80s degrades
some of the beauty. Fortunately, second growth timber is
starting to really fill in and the timber scars don’t seem
as severe. We can’t find sign of any bears or other
wildlife, so we head back for the Patience.
Back in Tranquilito Cove, swimming has commenced in the
balmy 69 degree Farenheit (20.6 Celsius) water. We swim to the basalt cliffs
and dive off them. The cliffs go straight down. Later when we
leave, I am able to bring the Patience’s bowsprit
so close to the cliff that we can touch them. At least the top few
feet (meter) of Tranquilito Cove are fresh water—probably
due to the run-off from Tranquil Creek and other nearby rivers.
The cockpit thermometer is reading a sweltering 90+ degrees
Fahrenheit (32.2 Celsius). We are in heaven. The only
downside to Tranquilito Cove are the horseflies. The
monstrous black flies are quite numerous and highly irritating.
As captain, I declare “hunting season” officially
open. The towels and swatters if nothing else make us feel
better.
After a glorious day, we pull the hook up at 5:00PM and head
for Quait Bay. It is a beautiful evening and we only see two
other boats during the 20 nautical mile passage. When
circumnavigating Meares Island, the mariner has to transit
three “rapids”: Tsapee Narrows (already
discussed), Dawley
Passage and Matlset
Narrows. Unfortunately current predictions are not given
for these narrows, so one needs to estimate the current and
slack water based the Tofino tide station and the current
information shown on the chart. For whatever reason, we had
no problem with any of these narrows. We tried to time Tsapee
Narrows for slack water, but when Tsapee appeared to be a
non-event, we became less and less concerned with timing as
we progressed through the other narrows. Bottom line, I am not
sure if the current in these narrows ever becomes strong
enough to be a factor that needs to be considered.
We jig for salmon while transiting Dawley Passage, but only
get a few shakers, which we throw back. Like Tofino Inlet,
much of Fortune
Channel has been logged. However, is still aesthetically
beautiful—most of the clear-cuts have recovered. Even the
more recent clear-cuts are not too bad. Unlike busy Tofino,
there is nothing back in these inlets except for abandoned
mining camps and some salmon
farms. The snow capped Bedingfield Range
behind Bedwell Sound
look beautiful in the setting sun as we motor slowly to the
northwest. I would love to explore Bedwell Sound, but that will
have to be saved for another day. The fjord is seven nautical
miles long and is surrounded by snow-capped peaks that all
summit a mile or two from the sound.
We enter Quait Bay using the
wider/safer northwest entrance and experience plenty of depth.
We anchor in mud deep in the bay in about 30 feet (9.1 meters)
of water. By the time our 100 feet (30.5 meters) of rode have
rattled into the 65 degree Fahrenheit (18.3 Celsius ) water, the
sun has completely set. We retire below for Hearts and dinner.
The next morning dawns foggy, but the fog quickly burns to
reveal clear blue skies. We are alone in Quait Bay except for an
anchored wilderness resort that is built on a floating barge.
During the morning we see a chopper come in and out of the
very posh Clayoquot Wilderness Resort two times. I am later
told that the lodge used to be anchored in the Pinkerton’s
in Barkley Sound, but was recently relocated here to
Clayoquot. The bay is almost a mile long and a quarter mile
wide with two narrow entrances. You can see the distinctive
peak of what I think is the 3,891 foot (1,186.0 meter) Mount Saavedra in the
Bedingfield Range about four miles north of the bay. There is
no clear-cutting around the actual bay. Quait Bay is known
locally as Calm Creek.
Given the names of many of the bays in Clayoquot, you can
probably gather where I get my tongue and cheek subtitle for
this chapter. Despite its calmness, Quait Bay feels
large and impersonal after cozy Tranquilito Cove. We decide to
move on.
On our way out of the bay, we again use the wider northwest
passage and see a minimum depth of 16 feet (4.9 meters) on a 5
foot (1.5 meter) tide. We head southwest around the top of
Meares Island. The interestingly named Catface Range lies to our
starboard. The range appears to have experienced some clear-
cutting in the past, but the second growth trees are getting quite
mature. The range is too low to have snow this late in the year.
While it’s not totally obvious to me, I think I can see
where the mountain range gets its name. The two tallest peaks
are the cat’s ears and the mound in the middle is its
snout. Back in the ‘60s, a reported C$10 million dollars
was invested in an unsuccessful attempt to get copper out of
the range.
We stop and anchor in 19 feet (5.8 meters) of water on Coombs Bank for a lunch
break. While the BBQ is grilling hot dogs, we try
jiggin’ again for some salmon. As is typical of our luck,
we are skunked. We are anchored right on the tideline, which
slowly moves westward with the rising tide. With us are 6
– 8 small sport fishing boats, mostly from the various
resorts like Weigh West. They are using some technique that
almost looks like fly-fishing, but don’t appear to be
having much more luck than we are. A low-lying fog bank
slowly drifts in from the west, and before we know it, our
perfect blue skies disappear and we are enshrouded in a chilly
fog that is like smoke from a wildfire. The fog puts a dampener
on our pathetic fishing efforts, so we fire up all the electronics
and head for Whitesand
Beach on the southeastern end of Flores Island.
The trip through the fog is uneventful and we drop anchor in
what we presume is the middle of Whitesand Cove—the
fog is so dense we can’t see any sign of land. Three of
us embark in the Avon and head off to where we believe
Whitesand Beach should theoretically be. We are packing the
handheld GPS, compass and VHF to ensure our return to the
mother ship. Sure enough, out of the swirling fog appears
Whitesand Beach. The big sandy beach is probably beautiful,
although the thick fog spoils a little of its appeal for us. If I
were to come back and spend a day on the beach, I think I
would try to do it on a rising tide. As we walk, the only people
we run into are some kayakers who are camping in the middle
of the beach. The walk along the beach is very nice. There are
well-marked trails at either end of the beach. We didn’t
follow either trail, but I assume they probably lead north to Matilda Inlet. We can see no
sign of the Patience anchored offshore—the cove
is completely enshrouded with fog.
We return to the Patience using all of our handheld
electronics. All is well on board. We are anchored in 18 feet
(5.5 meters) of water. The bottom appears to be relatively hard
sand, although the Bruce bit well. The water temperature has
dropped precipitously since we left the inner inlets of
Clayoquot Sound and is now reading a more typical 55 degrees
Fahrenheit (12.8 Celsius). There will be no swimming today in
Whitesand Cove. By 8PM, we have no idea where the day
went and need to find a more sound overnight anchorage.
Given the remaining daylight, I decide nearby Ahousat in Matilda Inlet seems a
good destination. The six nautical mile trip is easy even with
the heavy fog (0.15 – 0.25 nautical mile visibility). At
Ahousat we tie up to the main dock at around 9:15PM. We are
the only pleasure boat, but there is quite a bit of other
activity—fishing boats coming and going. I head up to the
general store to ask if we can moor for the night. I seem to
upset some type of town meeting that is going on, but they let
us moor. We retire to the boat and drink Australian Shiraz wine
from the onboard cellar while eating a killer pasta dinner. After
dinner, the crew engages in a fiercely fought Hearts game
where Antionette successfully shoots the moon on her first
hand.
At 6:00AM the next morning, we are woken by the sound of
pouring rain and Sebastian and Antionette scurrying sleepily
down the companionway for indoor berths. We all manage to
eak out another hour of sleep before the Ahousat rooster starts
non-stop cocka-doodle-doing. By about 9AM, the combination
of cocka-doodle-does and small fishing boats zooming in and
out make sleep all but impossible.
Ahousat is a very interesting place. There are rabbits running
around everywhere, not to mention the rooster and hens. The
place has a lot of spare equipment lying around—some
might characterize all this as a bunch of junk. At any rate,
someone who enjoys tinkering with things would probably be
in heaven. Regardless of how you would characterize the place,
there is a FOR SALE sign up on the General Store with an
asking price of C$3 million. There is a full-blown marine
railway behind the General Store that currently is holding a
50+ foot (15.2+ meter) ketch getting her bottom painted.
Despite our less than favorable initial impression, breakfast at
the Ahousat General Store Café is good. There are some
entertaining signs and posters around the café that sport
colorful sayings and slogans. Here is the text from one of our
favorites:
Restaurant washroom for customers only.
Public washroom at fish camp.
Women topless ok.
No shirt
No shoes
No service
No beer served without food.
The weather has cleared, and we are able to see everything
we missed due to yesterday’s fog. The trip south down Maurus Channel brings
us by the much-vaunted Lone
Cone. This 2,395 foot (730 meter) peak summits about ¾
of a nautical mile east of Maurus Channel. In almost all the
literature I have read on Clayoquot, the authors somehow seem
to give this peak almost religious stature. While the peak is
cool, we are not all that overwhelmed with its presence. On the
way back into Tofino we come in through Dead Man’s
Pass and check out the eagle family. Having reconnoitered the
pass via Avon, going through in the Patience is
straight-forward.
We moor up again at Weigh West. On the whole, the trip
from Ahousat to Tofino is a little depressing since Sebastian,
Antionette and my cousins will be leaving us—a sign we
are nearing the end of our vacation. Our arrival at Tofino
signifies our successful circumnavigation of Meares Island.
This doesn’t give us much in the way of bragging
rights, but it was fun.
Sebastian and Antionette jump ship immediately as they have a
long drive and a ferry to catch. My cousins decide to stay in
Tofino for another day, but opt for a hotel instead of shipboard
life. That night, Willard and Christalini take us out for a
spectacular five-course meal at the New Wickaninnish Inn. The
original Wickaninnish Inn was built on land that is now in the
middle of Long Beach National Park. The building has since
been converted to a marine interpretive center. The new inn is
located about 2 ½ miles south of Tofino on Chesterman’s Beach, just
north of the park. To quote the inn’s own propaganda:
“Guests can experience nature at its
wildest while enjoying the luxurious
comfort of world-class service”.
This statement might sound a little like hyperbole, especially in
a place as remote as Tofino, but dinner was downright
fabulous. The dining room where we enjoyed our four-hour
meal has a 240-degree view of the Pacific. When we first
arrive, we can see Chesterman’s Beach, the reefs offshore,
Lennard Island and finally the open Pacific. By the time our
fifth course is done, all we can see is the flash every 10 seconds
from Lennard Island Light. Thank you Willard and Christalini
for the wonderful dinner.
The next day we rise for a little more time with my
cousins. We walk around Tofino and then go for a walk on
Chesterman Beach. It’s nice to stretch our legs and full
stomachs. There are some amazing houses on Chesterman
Beach. Afterwards we drive up to Radar Hill at the north end of the
park. In the mid 1950s a Distant Early Warning (DEW) radar
installation was built on this 404-foot (123.1 meter) hill to
warn of potential inbound bombers from the Soviet Union.
This installation as well as 43 others across Canada, were part
of the Pine-Tree radar line. The Pine Tree radar defense line
was built by the United States and Canada and was the last of
three radar defense lines. The installation was said to have been
obsolete before it was operational and was closed in 1957.
In 1999, the only remenants from this cold-war relic
are some nice views of Clayoquot Sound and the Pacific coast.
While it is partially foggy today, we can still see much of
Clayoquot Sound and the waters we have cruised the last week.
Afterwards Amy and I head back to Tofino and bid Willard
and Christalini goodbye. Amy heads up to town to get some
fresh fish (since we seem to be unable to catch any of our own)
and I clean the boat.
When Amy returns we leave Tofino via the now
familiar Deadman’s Pass. On the way through the pass,
we record a minimum depth of 12 feet (3.7 meters) right by the
Y18 marker, on a five-foot (1.5 meter) low tide. We go around
Meares Bank and then
head for Coombs Bank. It is the last day of my five-day fishing
license, so I try one more time to catch us a salmon on Coombs
Bank—again I am unsuccessful. The evening is beautiful
and navigation is easy as we have been this way before. Amy
has bought some Chinook Salmon and she makes it with
noodles, garlic and onion for dinner—awesome. As
usual, we are eating like kings.
We are nearing our destination of West Whitepine
Cove. Rather than venture all the way into the inner
anchorage, we anchor in the outer bay. We drop the hook in the
northeast part of the bay close to the island (labeled 67 on the
chart 367301) in about 35 feet (10.7 meters) of water. The
center of the bay is a little deep for anchoring at 50 – 60
feet (15.2 – 18.3 meters).
The next day we get lazy. I had originally planned to
use this day to continue up the east side of Flores Island and
ultimately end up at Hot Springs for the night. However, Amy
and I have been on the move non-stop for the last few days,
and decide to take it easy and relax. We crank up the tunes and
crack out the books. We spend a day of relaxing in the
sun—reading and bullshitting. The only thing that semi
spoils our relaxation is the occasional horsefly. The day starts
off a little foggy, but the fog burns off by around noon. The air
temperature is comfortable 80 degrees Fahrenheit (26.7
Celsius) while the water is 63 – 65 degrees (17.2 –
18.3 Celsius).
That evening we take the Avon into the inner anchorage and
circumnavigate island “67” (only possible at high
tide). The inner anchorage is very calm and peaceful and the
shallow depth makes for easy anchoring. It is a beautiful
evening and we continue out in the Avon to
Herbert Inlet.
There are no boats to be seen, and the large inlet is almost
glass calm. We meander over and check out the
fish farm moored near
Bawden Point. The fish farms
are strange beasts… if you want to learn more about them read
more in my appendix on Fish Farms. Soon the sun is setting and
the scant clouds above us are turning pink. We skirt back to
the Patience at full speed.
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