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Chapter 6—Inside Passage at Last
Looking east from the Patience's bowsprit. Egg Island in background. [20mm, F2.8, ~1/100sec Kodak RG 100] By 6:30AM Amy and I decide it is time to get the hell out of Treadwell Bay. We pull up the anchor and motor out into Slingsby Channel. We are pushed along by about 2 knots of current in the channel as we head west. Once we clear the Outer Rapids, we meet some rip tides created by the ebb hitting the incoming westerly swell. There is not much wind, so the swell and the dying ebb are creating the rips. The rip tides are steep 3 – 4 foot (0.9 - 1.2M) waves. Thankfully, none are breaking, but steep enough to make for a very uncomfortable ride. We head straight out and end up taking more than a few green ones over the bow. We are prepared for the worst though, and things go fine. The rips continue for about a mile out and we are finally able to turn to starboard and get out of the rips. As I said before, I would absolutely hate to see this place with a large ebb running against a westerly swell and wind. It would be a dangerous place to get caught. I would advise extreme caution to any mariners entering Slingsby Channel during the ebb. Pay close attention to your tide tables and the wind/swell level.
Since she was feeling seasick the previous day, Amy decides to take a Dramamine tablet. Per Aim, the Dramamine “really took the edge off things”. I would concur with her assessment! She sat in the cockpit with me for a few hours looking spacey with glazed eyes. Finally, after a lot of prodding, she heads below and proceeds to pass out for a few hours while we round the aptly named Cape Caution and pass Egg Island. Egg Island, rounding Cape Caution. [80-200mm, F2.8, 1/160sec Kodak RG 100]
About an hour out of Slingsby Channel, the wind picks up from the southeast. I raise the sails and proceed to motorsail up towards Calvert Island. The BC Ferry, Queen of the North, passes us. This ferry makes the run between Port Hardy and Prince Rupert a few times a week. We become very familiar with her as she passes us several times on our way to Rupert. It is a gloomy, overcast day. As we pass Egg Island, our friends in the Hovercraft Explorer hail us on the VHF from Treadwell Bay. I give them a weather report. I don’t think they are going to attempt rounding Cape Caution, but as it turns out, they are already underway behind us. I am excited to get a good look at both Egg Island and Cape Caution, but the fog and haze make Cape Caution almost indistinguishable and Egg Island very non-remarkable. I am starting to get bored so I start reading James Patterson’s, Cat & Mouse. It is kind of a messed up book. Drying out while sailing up Fitz Hugh Passage. Calvert Island to port. [20mm, F5.6, ~1/180sec Fuji Velvia]
As we approach Calvert Island, weather conditions start to improve. The wind freshens a little and the sun actually pokes out. Amy comes out of her Dramamine induced coma and I make a lunch of grilled cheese sandwiches. We play some gin rummy and do a little reading. We continue to motorsail and are making great time—averaging over 6 knots. We pull our gear and clothes out from below and spread it on the deck to dry. The Patience looks like a floating Laundromat for a while. At one point, I am talking on the VHF to our friends in the hovercraft and Amy catches sight of two whales heading southbound down Fitz Hugh Sound. The guys in the hovercraft later tell us they saw the same whales and think they were gray whales. Amy and I are disappointed we weren’t able to hang out and watch them. Fitz Hugh Sound is a beautiful waterway that runs north/south up the inside of Calvert and Hunter Islands. The sound is about 30 nautical miles long and around 3 or 4 nautical miles wide.
Near Hakai Passage, our friends in the hovercraft pull past us doing about 30 knots. I engage in a photo shoot and we watch them head off. The rest of the afternoon proves to be very pleasant. Wow, does the sun ever feel good! Fitz Hugh sound has several “windows” to Queen Charlotte Sound—Hakai Passage, Nalau Passage, Kwakshua Channel, etc. Every time we sail by one of these passages the breeze picks up and we have fantastic sail for a mile or two. The wind blows hard through the channel, but there is very little accompanying wave action. Related to this, the wind veers direction when you pass one of the “portals” to Queen Charlotte Sound. For instance, as we near the north end of Calvert Island we are sailing dead downwind, wind from the south. As we near Kwakshua Channel, the wind clocks around until is almost on our nose. As we sail past the channel, the wind shifts from our beam, to our stern quarter and then behind us again. This really makes for fun sailing as the pattern repeats itself at Hakai Passage and Nalau Passage. Hovercraft Explorer, Northbound up Fitz Hugh Sound. [80-200mm, F2.8, unknown shutter speed, Fuji Velvia]
Conditions finally get so nice that I kill the diesel and we have a beautiful sail for approximately 20 miles up Fitz Hugh Sound. When I was planning this trip, I would have laughed if someone told me we would end up sailing up Fits Hugh Sound. Due to the generally prevailing westerly, I really expected to have to beat up Fitz Hugh sound and most of the rest of the Inside Passage.
As we get near Namu, we consider stopping for the night. However, we are having so much fun and making such good time that we decide to continue on to Bella Bella or Shearwater. Instead of stopping, we decide to start celebrating the 4th of July (U.S. Independence Day). Amy fires up the tunes and we crack open some of the wonderful Windmer Hefeweizen we have brought all the way from home. Amy plays Don MacClean’s Bye Bye Miss American Pie and a little Lynyrd Skynyrd Sweet Home Alabama as a special tribute. Life is good; very good.
Near Lama Passage, we start up the diesel again to ensure we get to Bella Bella or Shearwater before dark. Lama Passage proves to behave like another “portal to Queen Charlotte Sound” and the wind clocks around and blows from the west. We are forced to drop sail and motor into it as we head towards Bella Bella and Shearwater. As I am using Visual Navigation Suite, I notice the Canadian NDI chart I am using (Namu Harbor to Dryad Point – 378501) says “depth units unknown”. Hmmmm. Not good. Pointer Island Light, Fitz Hugh Sound. [80-200mm, F5.6, 1/200sec, Fuji Velvia]
Amy and I finally decide to overnight at Shearwater. We get in at about 9:00PM. Our hovercraft friends have already arrived and catch our mooring lines. We have logged more than 80 nautical miles today and it sure feels good. Later Amy and I go up to the Shearwater resort to use their phone. I talk to my brother Sebastian and Amy calls her mom. Unfortunately Amy gets some bad news about her friend Chris & Rachel Carlyle and we keep both in our prayers. Afterwards, we go back to the boat and fall asleep.
We wake up the next day and the weather is crystal clear. Unfortunately this quickly changes, and it starts pouring rain. This begins what turns out to be the worst day of rain we get the entire trip. The weather is so bad I don’t take a single picture all day. We are disappointed, as we had hoped the weather was “up” again.
To delay actually doing anything in the rain, Amy and I go up to the resort and have an excellent breakfast. It is the first time we have “dined out” since Stewart Island. We eat, as slowly as we can, but finally it is time to start doing errands. I change the oil and fill the propane tanks while Amy does laundry. While walking the docks Amy starts a grass roots campaign to sell Visual Navigation Suite to everyone she meets. We both make a bunch of phone calls (this was our first phone since Alert Bay). I talk to Sebastian, Jose and Ben (indirectly). They are all “on” and are planning on meeting us in Prince Rupert.
Overall, Shearwater is very nice and has excellent facilities. There is a great pub and restaurant. The pub was empty while we were there, but looks quite “industrial strength”. Amy and surmise that it has been home of a few mega-parties. The store has a great inventory of boat/mechanical supplies although the food selection is not very good. Most of the food is canned and there is no fresh meat or fruit and vegetables. It sounds like you need to go to Bella Bella for a better food selection. From what we have heard, there is a full-blown grocery and liquor store at Bella Bella. Going west through Lama Passage--Serpent Point light. [80-200mm, F5.6, 1/400sec, Fuji Velvia]
Shearwater has laundry facilities and it costs C$2.00 to wash and C$2.00 to dry. The washing machine makes a few brown streaks on our clothes, but we aren’t in much of a position to complain. Showers are C$1.00 for a minute. While they aren’t the nicest showers in the world, given our state of affairs, we appreciate them. The lady who is using the showers before us is bitching about the cost of the showers. We think this is ridiculous and dub her and her crew “the Shoestrings” since they are such tightwads. The marina has a large “T” shaped concrete wharf and is pretty busy with lots of both power and sailboats. While we don’t plug into power, other boats are plugged in. The resort seems to have a pretty substantial shipyard. Propane is available, but you have lug your tanks up by the store.
Bella Bella is about 1.5 nautical miles away from Shearwater. You can only get between the two places by boat since Shearwater is on Denny Island and Bella Bella is on Campbell Island. I ask a couple people for the scoop on Bella Bella but I don’t really get a straight answer. It sounds like Bella Bella is more of a native village. We ponder swinging by Bella Bella for additional supplies, but decide not to in order to save time.
I settle up with the marina folks (C$ 19.00/night for moorage) and we depart Shearwater at about 3:00PM. The visibility is terrible (¼ to ½ mile) and it is pouring down rain. We are once again navigating using primarily electronics. Amy is navigating while I am driving. I feel like a model for Helly Hansen, fully decked out in my foul weather gear. We have decided we are headed to Rescue Bay. Near Walker Island and German Point, where Lama Passage & Hunter Channel meet. [80-200mm, F5.6, 1/200sec, Fuji Velvia]
As we are departing Shearwater we have a somewhat funny experience. Someone hails “the Cape George Cutter departing Shearwater” on the VHF as we leave. Amy, who has never transmitted on the VHF before, tries to answer their hail. She tries several times and no one responds. We think this is a little odd as there weren’t too many other Cape George Cutters in Shearwater. In fact we are the only Cape George Cutter we have seen since the San Juan Islands. Anyway, we forget about the incident for about an hour until all of a sudden I am at the nav station and it dawns on me. When Amy tried to respond to the hail, she was using the mike for the Ham radio – not the VHF. Pretty funny considering the Ham set wasn’t even on. We laugh and then try again to raise the vessel that called us—this time using the correct radio. Unfortunately we are not able to raise them.
Given the poor visibility, the entire day is going to require some diligent navigation. After we depart the general Bella Bella area, we make a pretty straight shot out of Seaforth Channel. After transiting Seaforth Channel we enter Reid Passage which cuts a few miles off the day’s trip. Reid Passage is narrow and fun to transit. We meet a Canadian Coast Guard cutter going the opposite direction at the narrowest part of the passage, right by Carne Rock. We both slow down and there is plenty of room for both of us. As we exit Reid Passage, things get a little rolly as we take some beam seas that are coming in from the Pacific.
After about 10 minutes of rolling, we enter Perceval Narrows and literally get flushed through with the flood into Mathieson Channel. I am thankful that somehow we managed to go through Perceval Narrows with the current, as opposed to against it. The chart notes that the flood and ebb can attains speeds of up to 5 knots in Perceval Narrows. If one miscalculated and went through against the current, it could make for slow going and some potentially nasty riptides if there was a westerly blowing in from Queen Charlotte Sound. My confusion on the currents in Perceval Narrows stems from the tide and current tables for this area. Perceval Narrows is a current station, but it is based off Prince Rupert, which is a tide station. Usually secondary current stations are based off primary current stations and secondary tide stations are based off primary tide stations. The fact that Perceval Narrows is based of a tide station seems bizarre to me. I ultimately end up using common sense. I can visually see the tide is low and conclude the tide must be rising. It would make sense that the tide would flood northwards into Perceval Narrows to fill up Mathieson Channel. Looking north out of Rescue Bay. s/v Persistence to left. [Disposable panoramic camera, Kodak Gold 400]
The rain has eased up a bit, but not much. My hands look like prunes from all the rain. Amy has been below all day navigating and hasn’t seen any of the scenery. Not that there has been much to see given the conditions. Visibilty has increased to about ½ a mile, but not much more.
As we cruise down Mathieson Channel, Amy starts to make dinner, as navigation is pretty simple. I forget what we had, but remember it sure tasted good after all the cold rain. Mathieson Channel is a great fiord, which runs north/south for 30+ nautical miles. I imagine the scenery is beautiful, but we are denied seeing any of it. We finally arrive at the entrance to Rescue Bay at about 9:00PM. The entrance to Rescue Bay is pretty straightforward and we have no problems. There is only one other boat anchored in the large bay.
We proceed deep into the bay to anchor. Amy is watching the depth sounder and tells me we have 38 feet (11.6M) of water below us. I run forward and drop the anchor. Much to my surprise, instead of rattling out 40 feet (12.2M) of chain, the Bruce goes about 10 feet (3.0M) and then hits something solid with a thud you could almost hear. I think to myself, “oh shit”, and haul-ass back to the cockpit. I ask Amy how deep it is.
“Uhhhhh, 11 feet (3.4M).”
“I thought you said it was 38 feet (11.6M) deep?”
“Well, it was, but then it dropped like crazy to 11 feet (3.4M).”
Something is obviously very, very wrong. I run back up to the bow and pull up the anchor and back Patience down. After backing off a couple hundred feet, I reset the anchor in 50 feet (15.2M) of water. About that time I notice a gentleman from the only other yacht in Rescue Bay (Persistence hailing from Olympia, WA) rowing over towards us in his dinghy. As he gets close, he says.
”I’ve got some bad news, but you are anchoring on a drying rock.”
I laugh and reply that I think I have precisely located his rock. He tells me that he anchored in Rescue Bay a few years back and did the exact same thing. He and his wife woke up in the middle of the night healed over at a crazy angle. He makes me feel a lot less stupid by telling me the rock is “uncharted”. This makes me feel good since I am confident that I would not be stupid enough to anchor on top of a charted rock. To be cautious, I pull up the rode once again and re-anchor a good distance from the rock. To my horror, later that night I look at both the chart and the guidebooks for the area, and notice that all of them mention or show the rock. Oh well!
After the anchoring circus show, Amy I settle down to an evening of warming up. We crank up the Force 10 propane heater and play a few hands of Rummy. We try watching Apollo 13 on the VCR, but to no ones surprise, it is too damp and the VCR will not play. We settle for using up half of Amy’s container of Lubiderm® and give each other extended foot rubs/pedicure sessions. It is really fun, but I feel a little greasy afterwards. We hit the sack at 11.30PM.
The next morning, I wake up at 4:00AM unable to sleep for some reason. I don’t think I am used to getting this much sleep. I spend the early morning reading about the area and catching up on logbook entries. It ends up being a really enjoyable evening and morning. Unnamed island in the entrance to Jackson Narrows. [35-70mm, F5.6, 1/200sec, Kodak RG 100]
When Amy gets up later in the morning, she comments that our drinking water seems warmer than usual. At first, I think this is because we are cold from the rain. Later however, I check temperature of the seawater, and it is warmer than normal. The seawater is a relatively balmy 58F (14.4C) in Rescue Bay versus the normal high '40s or low '50s. The temperature of our fresh water is very sensitive so the seawater’s temperature since the tanks are right in the bottom of the boat. It is funny that we have become so accustomed to life on the boat that Amy noticed a few degree temperature change in our drinking water.
By 11:20AM, we have the anchor up and stowed, and are on our way out of Rescue Bay. Once again it is pretty socked in. Despite the fact we couldn’t see much, we really liked Rescue Bay. When I planned the trip, I had hoped to continue up Mathieson Channel through Fjordland – an area littered with waterfalls cascading down the mountains to the fjords. However, since it is so foggy we decide to cut 10 nautical miles off the trip, skip Matheison Channel and cut through Jackson Narrows.
The east entrance to Jackson Narrows is very tight. In Iain Lawrence’s book, Far Away Places, he says Jackson Narrows is so narrow that fishing boats raise their trolling poles before passing through. We don’t think it feels quite that tight, but there sure isn’t a lot of room. We go through the Narrows at high tide (11.8 feet (3.6M) at Bella Bella) and experience a minimum depth of about 12 feet (3.7M). We are going as slow as we can, just barely maintaining steerage. The worst part is there are a number of kelp beds; unfortunately the kelp is floating in the parts of the Narrows that are supposed to be clear of hazards. I end up following the chart and simultaneously trying to avoid the worst of the kelp beds. After the narrows, navigating the rest of Jackson Passage is a piece of cake.
From what we have read, Jackson Passage is a beautiful passage. As we transit the passage, we occasionally experience some clearing and get brief glimpses of the beautiful scenery. I take a bunch of pictures and Amy makes grill cheese sandwiches for lunch. 1,285 feet (392M) Bell Peek, south entrance to Klemetu Passage. [35-70mm, F5.6, 1/225sec, Kodak RG 100]
The barometer has risen to 1034.5 millibars (30.55 in) and we are hopeful that the weather will improve. We finally get a VHF weather forecast (radio reception has continued to suck). For some reason all the weather forecasts sound the same. They essentially all say: “There is a weak ridge of high pressure approaching from the west, but it is being immediately followed by another low pressure system”.
We exit Jackson Passage and head for Klemetu Passage. As we are crossing Finlayson Channel the sun breaks out of the clouds and all of a sudden it is beautiful. The scenery at the south end of Klemetu Passage is wonderful. On the Cone Island side of the passage, Bell Peak rises up to a summit of 1,285 feet (392M), a mere 700 horizontal feet (213M) away from the channel. Eagles soar around the peak. We stop for about 15 minutes at the town of Klemetu to see if they have anything in the way of fresh food. Klemetu is an Indian village. The checkout lady tells us that there isn’t very much activity in Klemetu since the commercial fishermen don’t operate there anymore. She says the fishing has been poor for a number of years and most canning operations have been pulled back to hubs like Prince Rupert. The store doesn’t stock much beyond basic staples. We purchase some frozen chicken and head back to the boat. Klemetu does have fuel and water on the dock, though we can’t vouch for the quality of either. Klemetu. [35-70mm, F8, 1/320sec, Kodak RG 100]
We meet a family on the dock who is coming down from Ketchikan. They tell us that there is nothing at Butedale, but that Khutze Inlet is a nice stop. Amy and I had been thinking about stopping at Butedale but weren’t sure what was there. I guess we now know.
We pull out of Klemetu, headed for Khutze Inlet. Near the end of Klemetu Channel I hear a thud and the rig gives a good bang. It takes me a minute to figure out I have hit a log. The log hit the bobstay and gave the whole rig a good shake. Not good. I hang off the pulpit and inspect the bobstay and the bow. Everything appears in order. I commit to paying closer attention to where I am going. We pass Boat Bluff and take a few pictures. Joe Upton’s book made Boat Bluff sound very picturesque, but we feel it is a bit of a let down.
Soon we are chugging up Tolmie Channel, bucking the ebb (the ebb runs south down Tolmie). The current seems to be slowing us down about a knot. We hear a securité call on the VHF that the Queen of North is charging up Tolmie Channel northbound. We should see her behind us shortly. We have seen the Queen of the North four or five times now and are becoming quite attached. In addition to the Queen of the North, we have seen a number of cruise ships. I think our cruise ship count is up around six or seven. It is fun to see them go by, but we hate wallowing in their wakes. I am learning some new VHF verbiage from listening to the Queen of the North’s radio operator. If someone who we don’t know hails us on the VHF, we should respond by saying “station calling sailing vessel Patience, go ahead”. On the Patience, we are strong believers in proper radio etiquette. Boat Bluff, start of Tolmie Channel. [80-200mm, F5.6, 1/250sec, Kodak RG 100]
The weather has gone sour again, but it is still much better than yesterday’s torrential rains. I started the day in my foul weather gear, but have been able to get away with shorts for the last few hours. I hop under the dodger whenever it starts to rain.
Heading up Graham Reach, the GPS starts acting up. It is displaying the hourglass and stair icons and has us doing 40.2 knots. I am not 100% sure what these icons mean, but have a good idea that it might be due to poor reception related to the mountains all around us. There are 2,500 foot (762M) peaks that summit one nautical mile away from the boat. We are basically sailing down a valley full of water. It is very beautiful, but we can only see a little bit of it through the infrequent sun breaks. Amazing scenery, but we continue to get screwed by poor visibility.
Since leaving Klemetu (30 nautical miles and 5 hours ago) all we have seen is a cruise ship and the Queen of the North. We haven’t seen a single pleasure boat. We see some nice waterfalls that cascade into Graham Reach and stop to take some pictures. One of these pictures ends up being our 1998 Christmas Card. We make margaritas and nachos for dinner and turn into Khutze Inlet. The gentleman we met back at Klemetu recommended that we go all the way down the inlet and anchor at the very end, under the waterfalls. While the mist makes it impossible to see the full extent of the scenery, it looks wonderful. We feel like we are motoring down a set from Jurassic Park. The mountains literally seem to go straight up from the inlet and are shrouded in mist. Looking southwest back at Princess Royal Channel. [20mm, F5.6, 1/80sec, Kodak RG 100]
The inlet goes in about 5 nautical miles. The only navigational hazard is Green Spit, about a mile in from the entrance. This spit gets very shallow, so hug the north shore, which is very deep. On both the way in and out, I am surprised how far Green Spit extends into Khutze Inlet. I read that it is possible to anchor on the inside of Green Spit, but that it doesn’t make for a very secure anchorage. At the end of the inlet there is a river and estuary. We finally end up anchoring right where the gentleman from Klemetu recommended. We anchor in about 70 feet (21.3M) of water slightly to the northwest of the waterfalls. I lay out over 250 feet (76M) of rode. This is about the deepest water I feel we can safely anchor in as we only carry 300 feet (91M) of rode. Our anchorage feels a little precarious as we are anchored on a small ledge that drops right off to over 100 feet (30.5M). Anchoring right in front of the falls seems a little shallow and it looks from the chart that there was a wreck or rocks there. Patience anchored in front of waterfalls in Khutze Inlet. [35-70mm, ~F5.6, ~1/250sec, Fuji Velvia]
I take the Avon in to shore and secure a stern line. We are anchored about 200 horizontal feet (61M) from shore. I am a little nervous tying the stern line to shore as the guidebooks mention that there are “problem” bears in Khutze Inlet. Fortunately, I don’t meet any. On my way pack to the Patience, I set our crab trap in about 30 feet (9.1M) of water, right in front of the falls. It is baited with canned cat food. Cat food always works pretty well as bait and is not too gross or smelly to keep stored on the boat.
Khutze Inlet is a beautiful, magical place. We literally have to speak up to be heard over the waterfall. The waterfall is crashing down from an invisible lake that is 3,500 feet (1,067M) above us. Amazingly, the lake is less than one horizontal nautical mile from where we are anchored – almost straight up. The lake is in mountaintops that are still snow covered. All told, I count about 10 peaks that are in the 3,000 – 4,000+ foot (914 – 1,219M) range around Khutze Inlet. None are named on the chart, but all summit about a mile from the inlet. At the southeast end of the inlet is the Khutze Estuary and outlet of the Khutze River. We read that the Khutze estuary is a valued grizzly bear habitat. To the north of us is a dramatic cliff called Boxer Cliff that rises up to a 4,400 foot (1,341M) peak.
With the daylight dwindling I engage in a photo shoot and then retire below. Amy and I watch Apollo 13—a Patience favorite!





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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.