![Juan Peréz Sound and the San Christoval Range. Looking west as we depart Hotsprings Island. Image is actually three separate photos stiched together in Adobe Photoshop. [35-70mm, F11, 1/160sec, Fuji Velvia]](./jpegs/bigimages/juanperez.L.JPG)
We weigh anchor and depart Hot Springs Island by 5:00PM. We
are planning on spending the night at Bag Harbor. Due to
navigational conservatism (dubbed “ultra-chickenshit-mode” by the
crew), I have opted out of transiting treacherous Dolomite/Burnaby
Narrows and will instead be going outside
Burnaby Island. We go inside (west)
of Ramsay Island, but then head east
out of Juan Pérez Sound, to Hecate Strait again. As we exit
Juan Pérez Sound, the view over the transom is spectacular.
Juan Pérez Sound butts up against the
San Christoval Range on Moresby
Island. This mountain range has at least 10 peaks over 2,000
feet (610M). Several are over 3,000 feet (914M). The summits of
most of the peaks are within 2 – 3 nautical miles of the
various inlets in Juan Pérez Sound. The sound is generally
considered some of the best cruising grounds on the islands. The
sound is named after the first European explorer to have discovered
the Charlottes in 1774. Juan Pérez captained the Spanish
ship Santiago, hailing from Monterey, California. While
Juan Pérez’s name has been bestowed upon this beautiful
place, it sounds like he may have been less than deserving.
The late Dr. George Mercer Dawson, a noted Canadian explorer and
surveyor, is quoted in Kathleen
Dalzell’s book as saying the following about Pérez:
“Juan Pérez Sound has been so named, in honour of the
reputed discoverer of the Q.C. Islands, who–though he
appears rather to have had that honor thrust upon him than earned
it by courage in his exploration—probably deserves some
recognition.”
![Looking down from Patience's mast in Skincuttle Inlet. Looking northeast towards the south end of Burnaby Island. [20mm, F2.8, ~1/80sec, Fuji Velvia]](./jpegs/bigimages/51_1128.L.JPG)
Pondering Pérez’s apparent lack of courage over a glass of
wine, I decide to avoid my own captainly duties and cook dinner for
the crew. After a brief inventory of supplies, I decide to make chicken
fajitas. I create two varieties; ultra hot (for wimps), and
Honorary, Tony-Jones Ultra Hot (for real men). Tony was a prior Patience crew member and friend who début extremely hot fajitas on the Patience back when we circumnavigated Vancouver Island. Honorary, Tony-Jones Ultra Hot fajitas are only recommended for those who have a stainless steel G.I. (gastro-intestinal) system. Despite my efforts to segment my eating audience, both varieties are screaming hot and we wash them down with a few bottles of wine.
As we drink our wine, we motor past Skudder Point, on the northeastern corner of Burnaby Island. Skudder Point has developed some notoriety with the crew of the Patience. Skudder Point is home to another one of Environment Canada’s excellent automated weather stations. Since we arrived in the Charlottes five days ago, the Skudder Point station has been “out of order”. Whenever the voice on the VHF is supposed to report the wind and barometric conditions for Skudder Point, the voice says “Skudder Point, not available”. For some reason, the crew thinks this is funny. Whenever the weather-voice says “Skudder Point”, the crew pre-empts him by saying “not available”.
There is a very light wind out of the north, not enough to sail. While the current weather conditions are beautiful, the outlook is typically ominous. The barometer has dropped about 4 millibars (0.11 in) in the last 5 or 6 hours and WX3 (which we are still receiving) is forecasting another low and winds of 20 – 30 knots from the southeast.
Besides the fajitas, the trip to Bag Harbor is relatively uneventful. Navigating between the Copper Islands and Burnaby Island requires snapping out of our good-weather induced trances, but that is about it. We arrive at about 9:55PM and drop anchor in the center of the harbor. We anchor in 30 feet (9.1M) of water, and I put out 100 feet (30.5M) of chain. The anchor sets with a resounding bang as we back down on it; we suspect a good mud bottom. Bag Harbor is large and well protected and could provide good shelter for many boats. Pleasantly for us, we are the only boat there. In fact, we haven’t seen another boat since leaving Hot Springs Island.
![The backdrop in Bag Harbor. Looking southwest from our anchorage. Note the 'ice clouds' rolling over the ridge from the west coast of the Charlottes. [20mm, ~F2.8, 1/30sec, Fuji Velvia]](./jpegs/bigimages/52_1128.L.JPG)
There are some beautiful 2,000 foot (610M) unnamed (at least on my chart & map) peaks that provide a wonderful backdrop for Bag Harbor. The peaks are about 2 nautical miles to the southwest of the harbor and rise up dramatically. Their cliff-like steepness is evident from the tightly packed elevation lines on the chart. We watch as odd fog-like cloud rolls over the mountains as the sun goes down. The clouds must have something to do with the vapor in the moisture ridden Pacific air being caught as it is forced to rapidly rise over the mountains on the west coast of the Charlottes. Later, when I am reading Ian Gill and David Nunuk’s book, I learn that this cloud is actually an ice-cold wind. Gill and Nunuk hiked to Mount Yatza (about 2.5 miles due west of Bag Harbor) and had the following to say about reaching the summit:
“As we near the top of the San Christovals, I realize I am to be thwarted in my hope of seeing clear to the west coast. In fact, fog has started to pour over the ridge like dry ice, or like a Waimea Bay—style wave on a 12—meter day. Here, on the lee side, we are hiking hot, but at the peak, I run smack into a wall of wind that almost knocks me backward. It is 40 knots at least, cold, and while there is no rain in it, wet with fog.”
The main reason we came to Bag Harbor is so that we could explore Burnaby Narrows. Burnaby Narrows is also known as Dolomite Narrows. I will refer to the Narrows as Dolomite Narrows as I like that name. Dolomite Narrows is about a ½ mile long north-south passage that allows for transit inside of Burnaby Island. On the chart, the entire passage is dark green – essentially meaning it dries at low tide. The navigational hazards were intimidating enough that I decided not to take the Patience through the passage. The passage is well known for having incredible concentrations of sealife. In the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve & Haida Heritage Site Visitor Handbook, they say:
“Over 200 species of animals have been identified in amazing concentrations [in Dolomite Narrows]. In one survey, bat stars were counted at a density of 74 per square meter; off Vancouver Island, the typical density is seven per square meter.”
Everything you read, or anyone you talk to, says Dolomite Narrows is a place worth visiting. Ian Gill and David Nunuk’s book, has a great narrative and some amazing pictures of the sealife in Dolomite Narrows. I once sat through an Art Wolfe (a noted Seattle photographer) slide show and he had some images taken in Dolomite Narrows. I remember him saying something to the extent of, “everyone who visits Dolomite Narrows has an amazing experience”.
Given this kind of foreshadowing, we are really, really excited to see the Narrows. Sebastian and I are so excited that we jet off in the Avon even though the sun is setting and it is almost 10:30PM. The Narrows are about one nautical mile away by Avon and it doesn’t take us long to get there once we coax the Avon onto a plane. The current is flowing southwards against us and we idle up through the Narrows. Unfortunately, between the lessening daylight and the high tide, we can hardly see a thing.
We get to the north end of the Narrows and all of a sudden the ever-faithful Susuki outboard dies. It turns out that we have run out of oil. We end up drifting back through the Narrows and then paddling back to the Patience. The trip takes about an hour and we are glad the current is going south – otherwise we might have ended back up at Hot Springs Island, sans the Patience. We get back to the boat around midnight and Ben and Jose are watching Father of the Bride. I set the crab trap, and then Sebastian and I retire and sleep outside in the cockpit once again.
After battling mosquitoes all night, we wake up bright and early the next morning to try and see Dolomite Narrows at a lower tide. The Patience cockpit looks like a battlefield; mosquito corpses are everywhere. These are undoubtedly the biggest mosquitoes I have ever seen. The weather has gone a little downhill. It is a pretty cool 49F (9.4C) and a high overcast. The water temperature in Bag Harbor is 57.8F (14.3C) and once again there are tons of jellyfish. Sebastian, Jose and I pile into the Avon with coffees and camera gear and head off for a second try at Dolomite Narrows. We have slightly overslept, so the tide won’t be a low as we hoped.
![Deer 'stranded' on a small island in Dolomite Narrows. [80-200mm, F2.8, ~1/150sec, Fuji Velvia]](./jpegs/bigimages/54_1128.L.JPG)
We motor up against the current and then kill the motor and
float back through the Narrows. As much as we want to be
impressed by the Narrows, we end up being very disappointed.
As we peer through the gray murky waters, we see hardly any
starfish, let alone the 74 per square meter that are supposed
to see. I don’t see a single fish. All we really see is a
lot of empty clamshells and a gray bottom. All in all, the
transit through Louise Narrows was much prettier. It seems
that we are the only people who have ever been disappointed
by a visit to Dolomite Narrows. In hindsight, I guess there
are a couple things that might increase the chance of having
a better experience at Dolomite Narrows. First, try to drift
through at a lower tide. We drifted through at 12.0 foot
(3.7M) and a 9.0 foot (2.7M) tides respectively (Copper
Island Tide Station), it just wasn’t low enough to really
see anything. Second, try to explore some of the tide pools
away from the central part of the Narrows. Lastly, try to
do it on a nice day. Overcast weather just makes everything
look gray and gloomy.
Despite not seeing any exciting sealife in the Narrows, we have fun. We see a deer grazing on one of the islands in the middle of the Narrows. We think he has gotten trapped on the island, until 5 minutes later we see him casually swim off. While we are watching the deer, a sailboat comes through the Narrows. To assist vessels in transiting the Narrows, there are three sets of range marks that you can line up. Outside of the course marked by the range marks, are a variety of navigational hazards; primarily ugly rocks. To further complicate matters, a good current runs through the narrows. While we were never in the Narrows at slack water, we almost always saw a 2 to 3 knot current running. To cap it off, the chart for the Narrows is almost completely useless and shows no detail. The best diagram/chart for the Narrows that we were able to find is in Don & Réanne Douglas’ book.
![Sailboat aground in the southern end of Dolomite Narrows. If you look closey, she is heeling to starboard. Looking south into the narrows. [80-200mm, F2.8, ~1/150sec, Fuji Velvia]](./jpegs/bigimages/53_1128.L.JPG)
As we watch the other sailboat come through the Narrows, I start to get get a little depressed and feel like a real checken for not taking the Patience through. This quickly changes when we suddenly hear a big crash and look around to see the sailboat hard aground and their rig quivering from the impact. They have hit a rock on the last turn at the south end of the Narrows. The current quickly swings them sideways and heels them slightly. We scoot back in the Avon to see if we can assist. Where they have run aground, the current is running particularly hard. Fortunately the tide is rising and between that and the use of his motor, they are able to free themselves and continue on out of the Narrows.
After all this excitement, we head back to the Patience. Sebastian’s eagle eyes manage to spot a black bear at the west end of Bar Harbor and we head over to observe. Unfortunately he takes off into the forest before we are close enough to get any quality shots. Back on the Patience, we prepare for departure. While the crab trap comes up empty, the anchor comes up covered with mud.
We are gone from Bag Harbor by 10:00AM. On our way out, we see three kayakers in the south end of Barnaby Strait. It is still gray and overcast and the 10 knot wind from the southeast is making the weather seem cooler than it really is. We head east out of Skincuttle Inlet. When we get near Bishop Rock, I decide it is too rough to leave the outboard on the Avon. We pull up near the lee of the rock and I hop in the Avon to un-attach the motor and attach the lifting bridle. Things get a little dicey when the current pushes us a little too close to the reef and Sebastian and Ben have to do some quickfooted maneuvering to get us into clear water. Finally both the outboard and I are safe on the Patience and we continue on. The wind is still from the southeast and has increased. We have a steady 15 knots, with gusts to 25. The seas are choppy, but not too bad. The worst of the chop was near Bishop Rocks were the ebb sets up against the southeasterly.
We are headed to Rose Harbor, the southernmost safe anchorage in the Charlottes. Rose Harbor will be our jumping-off point for the trip home. The trip south along Moresby Island is fairly uneventful until we get near Garcin Rocks. Both the chart and the Sailing Directions have the following rather dire warning about the passage inside of Garcin Rocks:
“Caution – The inshore passage W of Garcin Rocks, Huff Rocks and Langtry Island is subject to considerable tide rips, eddies and overfalls and should not be attempted without local knowledge.”
In addition, the chart is littered with the symbols that indicate tide rips and notation of up to a 4 knot flood and ebb. Given the ebbing tide setting up against the 20 knot southeasterly and the grim warnings, I decide to be prudent and take the outside passage. I set a course that will take us well east of Garcin Rocks, theoretically outside the tide rips. Much to our collective displeasure, we soon find ourselves in the middle of some foul looking rip tides. All of a sudden the waves are very steep and some are breaking. Life is suddenly unpleasant and I am worried about the Avon, which we are towing.
Surprisingly enough, it looks like the passage inside of Garcin Rocks is relatively rip tide free. Things are getting fairly miserable east of Garcin Rocks, so during a break in the waves, I swing us 180 degrees and head in to try the un-recommended “inshore passage”. It turns out that our eyes were not fooling us, and the passage inside of Garcin Rocks (outside of Huff Rock) is substantially less turbulent that the passage outside. It is funny how wrong the charts and Sailing Directions can sometimes be.
As we head towards Houston Stewart Channel, we watch as a dark rainsquall rolls in towards us from the south. The warnings in the coast pilot about Houston Stewart Channel are even grimmer than the ones we just read about Garcin Rocks:
“Houston Stewart Channel E of Horby Point should be attempted only during daylight hours and at slack water by vessels less than 60.9m (200 ft.) in length with a draft of not more than 6.1m (20ft.)… The E current sets through Houston Stewart Channel at a velocity of 3 to 5 knots and from 2 to 4 knots in the opposite direction. At times the velocity of 5 knots is experienced at the E end of the channel. Heavy overfalls occur over the shoals S of Point Langford when strong SE winds are in opposition to the flood.”
![Rainstorm over Heater Harbor. [35-70mm, F8, ~1/160sec, Kodak RG 100]](./jpegs/bigimages/69_1119.L.JPG)
About the only thing we have going for is that it is daylight, and thank God for that. Everything else is against us: we are not longer than 200 feet (61.0M), we have missed low water slack (slack was at about 3:30PM and it is now 4:00PM) and the wind is blowing from the SE in opposition to the flood. Things do not look good. We decide to head in towards Langford Shoals and hope the Sailing Directions are as wrong about this as they were about Garcin Rocks. If conditions get hairy, we figure we can always bail and head for Heater Harbor, which would not require entering Houston Stewart Channel.
We continue on and skirt around Langford Shoals. Fortunately we do not see any of the overfalls mentioned in the Sailing Directions – probably due to the fact that we are crossing the shoals very close to slack water. As we enter Houston Stewart Channel we start to buck against the flood. Despite the fact that slack water was only about a half an hour ago, the current is already boiling out of the channel at a good clip. While the channel is still easily navigable, it is easy to see the potential dangers. The east end of the channel is completely open to the southeast and at full flood the tide rips would probably be dangerous.
We finally get into Rose Harbor at about 4:30PM. As noted on the chart, there are three buoys. All of the buoys are currently occupied by sailboats, with several boats rafted. The anchorage/moorage is pretty tight and surrounded by rocks. Besides the buoys, there might be room for a boat or two to anchor, but there would not be much swinging room. The land around Rose Harbor is the only land in the South Moresby National Park that is privately owned. It sounds like the Canadian Parks Service is anxious to buy the land from the people who have settled there.
A gentleman on one of the boats moored to a buoy motions for us to raft with him. We are in no mood to argue and are rafted up in no time. The boat we have rafted with is called the Aorama (I am not sure on the spelling). She is crewed by a nice couple who hails from Port McNeill, Vancouver Island. They have been out for 5 weeks and are heading home after they visit Anthony Island tomorrow.
Almost immediately after we get moored, a deluge of rain begins. Any thoughts of exploring Rose Harbor are quickly erased. We settle down in the salon and play some Hearts. Later, I make the remainder of our chocolate chip cookies and Sebastian makes a great dinner of vegetable chicken wraps. After dinner, I bring a plate of chocolate chip cookies over to our neighbors on the Aorama to thank them for letting us raft with them. They invite me in, and we listen to the weather forecast together. Their VHF weather reception is much better than ours. The weather sounds pretty good. We are currently in a weak low. Once the low rolls over us, we are expected to have light southwesterlies, switching later to northerwesterlies.
It is decision time. On our way home from the Charlottes, I
had originally planned to go offshore outside of Vancouver
Island the whole way home. This would be expedient as we
could sail through the night. Unfortunately, complicating
matters, my brother Sebastian needs to be home for work in 2
days. I see no way we can even make Tofino (southwest coast
of Vancouver Island) in 2 days. The only compromise seems
to be to cross Queen Charlotte Sound and make a landfall
in Port Hardy (northeastern Vancouver Island) where Sebastian
can probably find a flight back to Seattle to get him to
work on time. Given the lack of alternatives, we decide to
leave the following morning (weather permitting), cross
Queen Charlotte Sound and
male landfall in Port Hardy. Queen Charlotte Sound is a
large exposed body of water. Our passage is going to be
over 160 nautical miles and will take us over 24 hours.
We will spend the night at sea in the middle of Queen
Charlotte Sound.
After we drop off Sebastian, Jose, Ben and I will proceed down the inside of Vancouver Island at full speed, headed for home. Unfortunately this means we will also miss visiting Anthony Island. Anthony Island is the most famous of the ancient Haida settlements on the Charlottes. The island is a highlight for many people who visit the islands. Anthony Island is a mere 12 miles to the west of us, but it would require a full day to get there and back given the currents and distance to cover. Unfortunately, this is a day that we don’t have. It is disappointing to be so close, yet be unable to visit the island. Oh well, I console myself that there will be other trips.
Since it is still pouring rain outside I decide to fire up our weatherfax software and see if I can get any further weather information. I have tried to use this software (WeatherFax for Windows, by Coretex) on several previous occasions, but never had any luck. Tonight however is my lucky night. I am able to get excellent images from San Francisco (12730kHz) and semi-decent images from Vancouver Canada (4268.0kHz). The images from San Francisco are clear, but cover the entire Pacific. The images from Vancouver are of much poorer quality, but very specific to our region. The broadcasts from both stations do not appear to follow the schedules I have (even after accounting for UMT). San Francisco seems to broadcast continuously while Vancouver stopped transmitting for a while. If you are not a radio techy (I am not), here are a couple hints I learned the hard way while trying to get weatherfax software to work:
I finally get burned out on playing with the computer and the radio and start to get the boat ready for sea. I lash down everything that can be lashed down. We deflate the Avon and lash it down on the foredeck. After 2 or 3 hours, we are about as ready to go as we will ever be. We retire at midnight.
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Adventures in the Charlottes was written by Tim Whelan.
All pictures and text ©Tim Whelan 1998-1999.
For useage, please see my
copyright notice.