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Chapter 10—Gwaii Haanas: Place of Wonder
Looking south down South Moresby Island from Hecate Strait. Louise Island and Cumshewa Head in distance. [35-70mm, F5.6, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia] We depart Sandspit Marina by 12:00 and are headed out to the spit. Once again, we are crossing the spit on a low (5 feet [1.5M] at Shingle Bay Station), but rising tide. Since we didn’t have any problems with depth during our previous attempted crossing, I decide to cut the corner even further and cross the spit before buoy C19. We turn east at a point 4.3 nautical miles northwest of Spit Point (as opposed to buoy C19 which is 5.5 nautical miles from Spit Point). Since there is no buoy to mark this turning point, we dub it the “ultra-liberal turning point”. Speaking of dubbing things, two “modes” have recently been dubbed on the Patience. The first mode is called “ultra-serious-mode”. The crew claims that I go into ultra-serious-mode whenever piloting in unknown waters. This is probably true, but I retaliate by telling the crew they are always in “ultra-mockery-mode”.
Crossing the bulk of the spit takes about an hour at 6 knots. The crossing is definitely more hairy than yesterdays crossing and we reach a low depth of 10 feet (3.0M) under the keel. While crossing the spit at the “ultra-liberal turning point” is successful for us, I am not sure if I would recommend it. I would certainly not recommend it if there is a lot of wind or wave action. Great sail along South Moresby. Photo taken near Cumshewa Head. Looking up Hecate Strait, Sandspit in distance. [20mm, F8, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
As we start to get more water under the keel, we slowly change our course towards the south. I am planning on sailing about 3 nautical miles off of South Moresby to Cumshewa Head. The barometer has fallen overnight to about 1023 millibars (30.21 in), from a high of 1030 millibars (30.42 in) the previous day, but has remained pretty steady since then. The wind has been building since we left Sandspit Marina and is now blowing about 20 – 21 knots from the north. This makes for a great sail and we have a reef in the main and the preventer on. The entire crew is a little queasy due to a combination of waves and hangovers. The tide is flooding in against us (up Hecate Strait) and seems to be running at about a knot. Visibility is about 20 nautical miles and we have light rain and no sign of sunshine. The weather forecast on the VHF is a bit of a nightmare as basically the entire forecast consists of gale warnings. Oh well. Looking northeast at Cumshewa Island. Note automated weather transmitter on island and rip tides on horizon to right (only visible on larger image). [35-70mm, F8, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
By about 4:30PM we are about even with Cumshewa Head, so we jibe and set a course into Cumshewa Inlet. I am planning on going between Cumshewa Island and Cumshewa Rocks. Our goal is to transit Louise Narrows at 8:02PM high water slack. As we near Cumshewa Island I can see the small white automated weather station that has been the source for many of the weather observations we have heard over the last 3 or 4 days. About 1,500 feet (457M) due east of Cumshewa Island, we encounter some riptides caused by the opposing wind and current. These are not noted on our chart. While the rips aren’t too bad today, I can imagine with more wind that they could be nasty. If you are in a smaller craft, or in worse weather conditions, you might consider trying to avoid these rip tides by rounding the corner a little wider and staying a closer to Cumshewa Rocks. Looking west into Cumshewa Channel. Newcombe Peak (3,445 feet) in center of photo. [20mm, F4, 1/125sec, Fuji Velvia]
On our way in to Cumshewa Inlet we favor the north side of the channel to avoid Fairbairn Shoals. We pass Cumshewa village on our way in, but can see no sign of the remains of the village. After passing Cumshewa village a dolphin jumps out of the water right next to the boat and scares the crap out of Sebastian and I. We run to the bow and watch him play under the forefoot for a few minutes. He doesn’t stay long and we continue on towards the majestic 3,445 foot (1,050M) tall Newcombe Peak. Right under Newcombe Peak, we turn southwards into Carmichael Passage. Carmichael Passage allows passage between the 2,000 – 3,000 foot (610 – 914M) mountains on Louise and Moresby Islands. While there is still probably 15 – 20 knots of wind out on Hecate Strait, Carmichael Passage is windless. It is overcast and is lightly raining. We pass approximately 6 mooring buoys (our charts says there are four) at the northwest end of Louise Island and there is not a single boat tied up. As a matter of fact, we have only seen two boats all day. Northern entrance to Carmichael Passage. Looking south. [80-200mm, F4, 1/200, Fuji Velvia]
We continue to get flushed in with the flood towards Louise Narrows, which is at the south end of Carmichael Passage. We reach the entrance to Louise Narrows shortly before 8:00PM, as planned. Before entering the Narrows, Sebastian gets on the VHF and makes the much-anticipated securité call on channel 16. Making a securité call is recommended, as there is apparently not sufficient room for two boats to pass in the Narrows, and your vision is obscured so that you cannot see the other end of the Narrows.
To determine the optimum transit time, I use Pacofi Bay tide station, which is 7 nautical miles due south of Louise Narrows. Pacofi is reporting a high of 17.3 feet (5.3M) at 7:58PM. As we enter the channel we see a low depth of about 10 feet (3.0M) under the keel, although most of the channel is closer to 15 feet (4.6M) deep.
Our chart has very little detail on the channel, but does note that it was dredged to 2 feet (0.6M) in 1967. This seems to sort of reconcile with the depths we see during our transit. According to the chart, the dredged portion of the channel is about 30 – 40 feet (9 – 12M) wide and our visual reconnaissance as we transit confirms this. The Narrows are almost exactly one nautical mile long and run north-south between Louise and Moresby Islands. In the middle of the Narrows, the passage opens up a bit, but the dredged channel is still very narrow. Entrance to Louise Narrows. Looking south. 20mm, ~F2.8, ~1/100, Fuji Velvia]
Due to the narrowness of the channel and poor satellite reception (due to all the mountains) our GPS receiver is not terribly useful in helping us navigate the channel. Instead of electronics, we rely on old-fashioned human lookouts. Sebastian climbs half way up the mast and Ben and Jose go to the bow pulpit. While it is hard for me to see the contours of the dredged channel from back in the cockpit, Sebastian up in the mast can see them very clearly. He directs me by saying “come a little starboard”, or “watch out for that big rock on your port bow”. There is a 2 – 3 knot current running southwards with us, that makes maintaining steerage a little difficult. I go through at a dead idle, frequently backing down to slow our momentum.
It takes us about 45 minutes to transit the Narrows at our dead slow pace. Where the Narrows opens up in the middle, we follow the arrow left around the uncharted island. We don’t run into any opposing traffic but a deer watches us curiously from the shoreline. Transiting the narrows is like going through a beautiful botanical garden. The old growth forest is beautiful and covered with moss. The water is clear and it is almost possible for Sebastian in his perch on the mast to see the bottom the whole way through. While the tightness of the channel gets our blood pumping, we are glad we did it. Looking over Patience's transom in Louise Narrows. The channel is only 30 - 40 feet wide and dries at low tide. [20mm, Unknown Exposure, Fuji Velvia]
As if by magic, when we exit Louise Narrows, the weather starts to improve. While the wind has vanished, so have most of the clouds. Although we are not in Gwaii Haanas yet, it is like we have passed through a portal to the magical southern islands. I steer a course for Thurston Harbor, which the crew promptly dubs, Thurston Howell III Harbor (in reference to Gilligan’s Island, an old popular U.S. television show). As we motor towards Thurston Harbor, we watch another beautiful sunset between the Patience’s dual backstays.
As we enter Thurston Harbor we watch as a very cool, but eerie fog quickly rolls in and encompasses the harbor. We are barely able to locate our mooring buoy before the harbor is socked in. The harbor has four industrial strength buoys. Of the four buoys, two are very close to each other. A sturdy looking steel sailboat has tied up to both these buoys and is resting quietly with no sign of life. We are moored to one of the remaining buoys by 10:15PM. About half an hour after we get moored, a trawler comes into Thurston Harbor and drops his anchor. All of a sudden the harbor is feeling crowded. Sunset over Selwyn Inlet. Photo taken just east of Kilmington Point. Looking west. [20mm, F8, 1/60, Fuji Velvia]
I go out and set our crab trap while Sebastian cooks the crew a dish that he calls Hamburger Delight. After devouring the delicious Hamburger Delight, we hit the sack at a record breaking early time of 12:00 midnight. Although it seems lame, we are exhausted and still a little hung-over from the previous night’s excesses. Sebastian and I sleep outside in the cockpit. The bizarre fog has lifted and the stars slowly come out. We are so far north, it takes until well after midnight for the sun’s light to die enough so that we can see the stars. It is a beautiful night with the Milky Way above us.
The next morning, we wake to clear skies and sleeping bags covered with dew. Sebastian rows out to the check the crab trap and reports that we have been skunked, with the exception of one very large starfish who has inhabited our trap. Sebastian, Ben and I decide to take the Avon to Talunkwan Island and try one of the “hikes” recommended in Don Douglas’s book. Jose is kind enough to volunteer to stay and do the dreaded dishes. Don Douglas recommends walking along some of the abandoned logging roads on Talunkwan Island where you can find some nice vistas. Old overgrown logging road on Thurston Island. [35-70mm, ~F22, 2 seconds, tripod, Fuji Velvia]
We take the Avon and land on a beautiful beach about 1/3 of a mile east of our mooring. Our landing spot on Talunkwan Island is labeled “B.M.” on the chart. We don’t technically know what B.M. stands for in this instance, but conjecture abounds. As we Avon along, we notice the water is packed with jellyfish. We are not exactly sure how to scientifically measure the density of jellyfish, but suffice it to say there are thousands. Being junior self-acclaimed scientists, we wonder if water temperature might affect jellyfish density. We check the water temperature in Thurston Harbor and it is an unremarkable 56.4F (13.6C). Finally we pull the Avon up on the beach and wander southwards in search of the abandoned logging roads. Area B.M. is a pretty meadow that looks like it may be used by kayakers as a campsite. There is a picnic table and plenty of flat ground to pitch a tent on. There is even a small dock type structure on the beach, although we are unable to use it with the Avon because of the tide level. Deer on Thurston Island. [80-200mm, F2.8, ~1/500, Fuji Velvia]
As we continue south on foot, we find a road. The abandoned logging road goes through the fairly dense forest for about a ¼ mile, then starts gaining elevation with several switchbacks. The road is overgrown and pretty muddy. Being sailors, we are not terribly well prepared for a hike of any consequence, but we continue on anyway. After about another ¼ mile of switchbacks, the road finally opens up and we have a bit of a view of Thurston Harbor. We take some pictures, but we are not really high enough yet to get any good vistas. Unfortunately we are out of time and need to return to the boat.
The trip back down is much easier than the trip up. When we get back to area B.M., we find that a family of three deer is grazing on the grass in the meadow. They are remarkably unafraid of us and we engage them in a photoshoot. Afterwards we jet back to the Patience in the Avon. Looking southwest at Tuft Island. [20mm, F8, ~1/100, Fuji Velvia]
By 10:30AM, things are shipshape and secured, and we are ready to go. The guys “weigh the buoy” and we head out of Thurston Harbor. We are planning on going 25 nautical miles for a mid-afternoon soak at Hot Springs Island. While we are really tempted to take the inside and undoubtedly scenic passage via Darwin Sound and Dana Passage, our timetable dictates we need to take the passage outside of Tanu and Lyell Islands. The barometer is holding pretty steady at 1034 millibars (30.53 in) and we remain fairly optimistic about the weather outlook.
Our passage to Hot Springs Island is fairly uneventful. There is a small groundswell running in from Hecate Strait and about a 5 knot northerly. As we pass Lyell Island on our starboard, we try to imagine all of the controversy that took place here in the mid '80s.
At Tuft Island (east of Lyell), we stop for a few minutes and Sebastian tries to jig for salmon. Right as he finishes dropping the line, he is rewarded with a hit. Unfortunately, we can tell right away from the fight the fish puts up that it is not a salmon. Sebastian pulls up a small rock cod, eyes bulging from his quick ascent. We unhook him and let him swim away. Looking in at the Hot Springs on Hot Springs Island from the anchorage on the west side of the island. [80-200mm, F5.6, 1/250, Fuji Velvia]
We get underway again. As you probably recall, poor VHF weather reception has been a theme for the entire trip. We haven’t heard a weather forecast for two days. However, off Lyell Island, WX3 suddenly sputters to life and we are back online with a weather forecast. WX3 is transmitted via a transmitting station at Barry Inlet – 20 nautical miles away. Barry Inlet is the last transmitter on Moresby Island.
We arrive at Hot Springs Island at about 2:30PM. The anchorage for the Hot Springs is on the southwest side of the island. There is another boat already anchored so I decide venture a little farther northwest into the anchorage to give us all plenty of room. Unfortunately, I get an embarrassing call on the VHF from Haida Watchmen at Hotsprings who essentially tell me we are standing into danger. I think I may have mistaken some rocks for depth contour lines on our not terribly detailed 1:37,500 chart (380801—Juan Peréz Sound). What visually looks like a nice anchorage site is apparently encumbered with rocks. I heed the Haida Watchmen’s advice and do a quick about face. I figure the Haida know what they are talking about; after all, they have lived here for 10,000 years (plus or minus a few thousand years). The crew getting a much needed bath before heading heading off to the soaking tubs. [20mm, Unknown Exposure, Flash, Fuji Velvia]
We end up anchored in about 19 feet (5.8M) of water, right in front of the hot springs. The tide is rising and is about half way in. Before going in to the hot springs, we are supposed to call the Haida Watchmen on the VHF and get clearance. During the day we had debated who should make this call. We finally assigned Jose the duty of being our Haida Liason. Unfortunately, Jose lames-out, and I have to make the call. The Haida tell us we are welcome to come in, but need to wait an hour as the pools are already occupied. The weather has gotten quite good and it is 69 or 70F (20.6 – 21.1C) as we lounge in the Patience cockpit. We consider taking a pre-tub swim in the bay while we wait, but the chilly 57F (13.9C) water dissuades us. On the Patience we have an informal rule that water needs to be warmer than 60F (15.6C) before we will take a dip. Looking in towards the hot springs, all we can really see is a number of what look like small cabins and sheds. The structures are the beautiful silver color that cedar gets after long exposure to the salt air.
Within an hour, the Haida hail us and tell us we are clear to come in. We pile into the Avon with soap and towels and head for the shore. At low tide, the beach in front of the hot springs has a number of exposed rocks/reefs as well as tide pools. There is a huge beautiful tide pool directly in front of the cabins. Landing and mooring the Avon is a little challenging due to the complexity of the terrain. I imagine at high tide, the beach looks completely different. Patience anchored in front of Hot Springs Island. Looking southwest towards the San Christoval Range. [Unknown lense, Unknown Exposure, Fuji Velvia]
As you walk into the complex (for lack of a better word), there is a nice fire pit and picnic area. Near this is a small shed which has a tub fed by the hot springs. This tub is used for rinsing off. The tub has a plug in the bottom of it and guests drain the tub so the next set of visitors can have clean water. We cram into the tub and clean up. It is our first shower or bath since Prince Rupert and feels beyond excellent.
Above the covered rinsing tub, is a large outdoor pool. This pool is very large and could probably hold 20 people. It is set in natural rock and has a gravel bottom. The pool is extremely hot and we could hardly put our chests in it. I figure the pool was probably about 110F (43.3C). While we are tenderly soaking in this pool we meet one of the Haida Watchmen. Douglas is a six-year-old boy who is here with his family on Hot Springs Island for the month of July. He is an Eagle and normally lives in Skidegate. He is a great guy and tells us a little about his experience on the island. Large outdoor pool at Hot Springs Island. Looking south at Ramsay Island. [20mm, Unknown Exposure, Fuji Velvia]
Besides these two pools, there are at least two more pools on the island. One pool is called the “tidal pool” and looks out over the anchorage. Although we didn’t see it, apparently the cold saltwater mixes with the hot water in the pool at high tide, thus the name. Even sans-saltwater, this pool is significantly cooler than the main, large pool. We would estimate it is a relatively mild 90 – 95F (32.2 – 35.0C). My brother Ben visited another pool that is near the beach on the north side of the island. I believe there are probably a few other less visible pools, but we did not visit them.
The scenery on the island is beautiful. The island is covered with rock, salal and scrubby evergreens. Most of the west side of the island has amazing views of Juan Pérez Sound. It doesn’t hurt that we are seeing the island on a nice hot day. I’m not a terribly superstitious person, but the island has a magical feel to it. While we were bathing in the large outdoor pool, about 100 crows and ravens suddenly flew in and settled into the trees above us. It seemed there was always a couple bald eagles soaring in holding pattern above the island. Overall, Hot Springs Island lived up to expectations and was a highlight for us. After a couple of hours of bathing and enjoying the scenery, we thank the Haida Watchmen for their hospitality and head back to the Patience.






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Adventures in the Charlottes was written by Tim Whelan.
All pictures and text ©Tim Whelan 1998-1999.
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