Chapter 5—Bugs & Fog, a Bad Combo:
Clayoquot Sound to Port Townsend
Map of trip back to Port Townsend Unfortunately the toils of modern day life and work are calling—it is time to go home. I wake at 5:30AM and stick my head out the companionway to thick chilly fog. Visibility is less than a quarter mile. I start up the motor and the radar and have us on our way out of West Whitepine Cove by 6:00AM. We are headed to Barkley Sound today, so I take us out through the fog via Millar and then Brabant Channels. The fog is so thick I don’t get a single sight of any land or the navigational hazards that cloud this entrance to Clayoquot Sound. In Brabant Channel we run into some pretty steep rip tides even though there is no wind and theoretically the tide should be flooding. It takes us a few hours to work our way out through Brabant Channel. Once we reach the invisible Cleland Island, I turn us southeast, headed for home.
Sunrise through the fog in Brabant Channel--Clayoquot Sound, British Columbia. There is a light southeast wind, but it is really the swell on our stern quarter that is making life uncomfortable. All of our gear is on the cabin sole as the rocking and rolling is throwing everything around. We motor southeast along the coast of Vancouver Island for hours. As we pass the Tofino area, we can hear the deep Lennard Island foghorn off in the distance. Sometimes the fog thins giving us maybe half a mile visibility, but essentially is stays socked in under a quarter mile visibility. We pass, but don’t see, Long Beach, Florencia Bay and the entrance to Ucluelet. As we pass the entrance to Ucluelet, Environment Canada broadcasts Gale Warnings in the Straits of Juan de Fuca for the following day. I am unsure whether to be worried or excited about a good sail.
I have been pondering potential Barkley Sound anchorages all day. Ultimately I decide on the anchorage Don Douglass recommends on the west side of Dodger Channel in Barkley Sound. This anchorage is not only convenient given our homeward bound itinerary but also has the added advantage of being uncharted waters for the Patience. We enter Barkley Sound via Imperial Channel and navigate to Dodger Channel using the radar and Visual Navigation Suite. The entrance to Dodger Channel is a little hairy until the cliffs on Diana Island finally loom out of the fog giving us some perspective. We drop anchor in about 18 feet (5.5 meters) of water. Due to the fog, during our entire twelve-hour trip, the only time we saw land was when we left West Whitepine Cove and when we entered Dodger Channel.
Our only glimpse of the sun all day. The view from our anchorage at Dodger Channel--Barkley Sound, British Columbia. In Dodger Channel we are alone except for a single kayaker camping on Haines Island to our southwest. As we near sunset, the fog briefly clears enough so that we can see our surroundings. The scene is beautiful. Dodger Channel is a wild, beautiful spot. I don’t know if I would want to be anchored here if it was really blowing, but given the current wind conditions, it is close to ideal. The only downside is that the anchorage is pretty rolly, despite the relatively calm conditions. This seems to be an outer-anchorage phenomenon in Barkley Sound. The atmosphere at Dodger Channel reminds me of our 1996 anchorage at Benson Island (west corner of the Broken Group). Given the broadcasted gale warnings, I spend the remaining daylight hours getting the boat ready for heavy weather.
We are up the next “morning” at an unbelievable 3:00AM. We have a long day down the Straits to Sooke and I want to be well under way if it starts to blow. I start the motor and electronics and then head up the companionway into the dark in my foulies. As I open the companionway doors a literal swarm of bugs that is as thick as oily black smoke invades the cabin. We are under assault!
Cruising down the northern side of Juan de Fuca, post fog, post bugs. The bug attack is unbelievable—unbelievably gross that is. Every kind of insect from the west coast of Vancouver Island seems to be concentrated on the Patience. As I hurriedly pull up the anchor, I gag on mosquitos and the other flying arthropods. The bugs flock to the radar screen, spreader lights and searchlight like college freshmen flock to a keg of beer. Given the circumstances, we can’t get out of Dodger Channel quick enough. A fishing boat has come in at night and anchored near us —I am glad he has his anchor light on.
Navigating back out of Imperial Channel proves to be very difficult. The combination of night and thick fog makes for dangerous conditions. It is so dark and the fog is so thick that I can’t see the bow of the boat. One would think it would not be too hard given that we had just navigated the channel the previous day in under quarter mile visibility. However, there is a big difference between quarter mile visibility and 10-foot (3.0 meter) visibility.
Sheringham Lighthouse--West Coast Vancouver Island, British Columbia. I am totally reliant on Amy and our electronics. The spotlight is completely useless—its piercing beam only reveals swarms and swarms of bugs. We carefully crawl our way out of Barkley Sound through the murk. Two Pacific Whiteside Dolphins jump right alongside the cockpit and scare the absolute crap out of me. I am strung-out from lack of sleep, bugs and navigating out of Imperial Channel. Fortunately, the fog seems to be lightening as eventually we see the Cape Beale light going in circles. We slowly round Cape Beale, giving the dangerous rocks nearby plenty of distance. By 7:30AM it is getting light and visibility is a miraculous two miles. The wind starts to blow about 15 knots from the southeast making for a light chop, however, all of the automated weather stations down the south coast of Vancouver Island are reporting light or no wind. Our speed over ground for the first six or seven hours is miserable given the wind and current conditions.
Our trip with the flooding tide down the Straits of Juan de Fuca is uneventful. The strait is named after a Greek pilot named Apostolos Valerianos, better known as Juan de Fuca. Juan de Fuca supposedly explored the northwest coast in 1592, however, accounts of his voyage are patchy at best. It is quite likely that Juan de Fuca got his name on this body of water without ever having seen it. Regardless of who actually discovered the strait, they would probably be shocked to see it today. The landscape on the Vancouver Island side of the strait is highlighted (or low lighted, depending how you look at it) by numerous clear cuts and some second growth forest once you get past Port Renfrew. Vessel traffic is predominantly large commercial vessels headed in and out of the major ports. We only see three other pleasure craft besides ourselves—one northbound sailing vessel and two southbound sports fishermen. The Canadian Sailing Directions for British Columbia have the following to say about flood currents in Juan de Fuca.
“Within the entrance and as far E [east] as 124° W [west]
the eastgoing (flood) tidal current sets toward the Vancouver
Island shore. It attains a greater velocity on the N [north]
side of the Strait as far E [east] as Race Rocks than on the
south side…”

Looking southeast from our berth at the Sooke Harbor Marina. Entrance to Sooke and Olympics in background. Given this piece of advice from our friends at the Defense Mapping Agency, we steer an extraordinarily straight course, keeping about a mile off Vancouver Island. The southeasterly wind dies and the seas are calm. I remain on the lookout for the forecasted westerly gale, but it never materializes. Another pair of dolphins join us in Juan de Fuca around noon. The dolphins play in our bow wave for about five minutes and then go on their merry way. At about 3:00PM, a light northwesterly starts to blow. It gets up to about 10 knots, but doesn’t build further. We at least get a chance to motorsail. As I pull up the mainsail, bug carcasses fall onto the deck, reminding me of our heinous morning experience.
We arrive at the entrance to Sooke Harbor at around 5:30PM. The entrance to the harbor is interesting, but well marked by three sets of range markers. As we enter, there is about a three knot ebb coming out of Sooke Basin through Sooke Intlet I could not find any tidal information for Sooke, so current conditions were somewhat of a mystery to me. It’s interesting to note that there was about a 3 knot ebb at Race Rocks when we entered Sooke Harbor, so perhaps there is a correlation between between what is going on at Race Rocks and what is going on at Sooke. Our entry to the harbor is straightforward, we hug Whitfin Spit and put Grant Rocks on our starboard beam. There is a bit of rip tide as we go through, but not much. This entrance might get interesting if there was an ebb tide and the wind was blowing from the southwest. We end up mooring at the Sooke Harbour Marina—the first main dock in Sooke Harbor.
Patience moored at Sooke Harbor Marina--West Coast Vancouver Island. The facilities at Sooke Harbour Marina are ok—I think we would probably try a different marina next time. Moorage costs us C$28 for the night and showers run C$0.25 for two and a half minutes. The showers are a long way from the docks and they are a little shabby. The marina is also a RV (recreational vehicle) facility. The town of Sooke is quite nice. From Sooke Harbour Marina you go right on the main road and then walk for about a mile to the town center. There is a grocery store, bank, liquor store, hardware store, ice cream shop, coffee shop, etc.. Unfortunately we are exhausted from our long day. We don’t explore too much—rather we hit the sack early.
The next day we are up and on our way early again. There is a strong 5 – 6 knot ebb running at Race Passage. Once again, the currents in Sooke Harbor seem to follow the Race Rocks station and we have about a 3 knot ebb pushing us out of Sooke Harbor and Sooke Inlet. There are a number of people fishing around Sooke Inlet and I make a mental note to try dropping the hook next time we are here and have more time. Initially we make excellent progress towards Race Rocks, so one must assume that there is a nice back-eddy behind Cape Calver that must be helping us out. Unfortunately, forward progress all but comes to an end when we meet the full force of the ebb about two miles southwest of Race Rocks. We crawl along at 2 – 3 knots over ground until slack water at about noon.
Looking west as we round Point Wilson. Unfortunately for us, the area just south of Race Rocks is the convergence of three shipping lanes. For the non-mariners out there, this equates to a gigantic traffic intersection for commercial vessels heading in and out of the Straits of Juan de Fuca. To further complicate matters, the fog has thickened and we now only have quarter to half-mile visibility. Not a good place to be in sailboat that is only crawling across the shipping lanes at 2 – 3 knots. I man the radar and let Amy helm. Big, solid, fast moving targets abound on the radar screen—indicating commercial vessels transiting the shipping lanes. We carefully avoid all the traffic and only get a glimpse of one ship through the cloak of fog. As if by magic, the fog clears up after we clear the shipping lanes. The hour hand on the brass ship’s clock creeps past noon, and our speed over the bottom improves with slack tide. Amy remarks that, “we could have crawled faster across the shipping lanes”.
Victoria Clipper headed noprthbound for Victoria, British Columbia. In the middle of the straits we watch as an oil tanker heads westbound out of Anacortes with it’s escort tug tagging along behind. The New Dungeness Lighthouse slowly looms up from the calm waters like a mirage in the middle of a water desert. You can see the lighthouse long before the low lying spit itself is visible. Hours later, we round Point Wilson, making 7 – 10 knots with the flood. While the fog has completely cleared the day has remained cool and cloudy. We enter Port Townsend and moor at Point Hudson Marina. Clearing customs is a breeze on the phone and Amy still has a few hours left to shop at her favorite Port Townsend shop, the “Clothes Horse”.
We are in the mood for pizza. We are about ready to give up hope as we can’t find a sit-down place that serves pizza, when a passerby tells us that Waterfront Pizza actually has a small dining area upstairs. The pizzeria only seats 19 people, but damn is it good! Sailors in a hurry or arriving late should note that Waterfront Pizza delivers to Point Hudson for an extra US$1. Give ‘em a call on your cell—their number is (360) 385-6629. Stuffed to the gills, we return Point Hudson Marina and I cough up the US$28/night moorage fee. We watch “Babe” on the VCR and then call it a night.











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