Wednesday – June 09, 2010, Sea Reach is sitting at anchor in Gillen Harbour, a well protected inlet on Dewdney Island, last safe anchorage on Camano Sound before entering the Hecate Strait. We are below decks, winds whistling through the rigging despite the shelter afforded by the harbour. There is a northwesterly gale charging down the strait spewing its undisciplined temper over the mountains and through every crack in the coastline’s defences. We are experiencing 25knot winds in the anchorage and await a favourable change in weather before attempting our crossing to Queen Charlotte city, 97 nm across the strait to the northwest. It will be our starting point for the long dreamed of sailing expedition along the coast of Haida Gwaii and into the mystical reaches of Gwaii Haanas National Park. The only thing between us and our dream is the dreaded Hecate Strait, a body of water, varying between 30 and 87 miles wide, separating Haida Gwaii from the mainland of British Columbia and notoriously capricious and unpredictable.
It is day 15 of our trip. We have traveled 435 nm to get this far, a slow winding journey from Squamish, up the Strait of Georgia, through the several narrows and passes that challenge the adventurer on their way north. Over the course of the past 15 days we have exchanged the rhythms of land and people for those of the sea. Sea Reach, our 42’ sailing sloop has become the centre of our universe. As her fortunes go, so go ours. Sails are hoisted with joy as the wind comes up and the dance begins, a tango between two volatile partners. Getting the sail plan right, so that the wind pushes our vessel forward with grace, is the challenge. Too much sail and the wind becomes heavy handed and overbearing pushing our vessel deep into the sea. Too little sail and /or too little wind and the dance lacks sparkle and becomes sloppy and unproductive. We are slowly being initiated into communion with the natural world; we harness the wind, move at the bidding of the current, and share the seaway with marine mammals, some such as the Dall’s porpoise, who accompany us for awhile. The nightly news has become a list of wind speeds and sea states. Last night’s broadcast was for continuing gale force winds over the next 24 hour period and then a rapid reverse in direction as a low pressure system is swirled off the dance floor to make room for equally ebullient winds from the south east. This is the direction we want the wind from but 20-30 knot winds increasing to gale force by late afternoon is not what we had hoped for. Our boat is a solid bluewater cruiser but her crew of two is still working on its seaworthiness.
Today is a day of waiting and preparation. We review the charts and draw a line of dead reckoning on our overview chart of the Hecate Strait. We know that this course is more of a position paper than an actual routing. We cast it out to the elements as a show of intent but with lots of room to manouever and negotiate our way around oppositional winds, wave and current. We also have a brand new electronic chart plotter that we will be using, which will show us where we are at all times. We’re still not sure when we will leave and debate whether a very early morning crack of dawn approach which risks a night landfall or a night crossing would be best. We will wait for the evening marine forecast before making a final decision.
We continue our preparations. John secures the anchors and hanks on some heavy weather sails. I polish the chrome and stainless steel deck fittings, and bake cornbread and bean casserole for the crossing. We go for a walk on the island in the late afternoon and notice that the wind is dying down. There is a palpable sense of calming along the shoreline, with waterfowl re-emerging from their shelters and stalking the shallows. Realizing that the wind is likely settling down for the night we start to consider starting the crossing at night. We return to the boat, have supper and make final preparations. We listen to the 2130 marine weather forecast – no change –the new system will bring southeasterly winds that will reach gale force by the afternoon and will continue for another 24 hours. This is our weather window. If we leave now we will miss the worst of the wind for most of the crossing. We pull anchor at 2145 and head out of the shelter of Gillen Harbour.
The siren is waiting, her impressive red gown draped across the sky seductively. Her bosom swells softly in winds of 5-10 knots from the northwest as we glide into her embrace, motor sailing throughout the night under a star lit sky. It’s a beautiful night. Still, I take a gravol. I know how this beauty can go from a waltz to a foxtrot with little warning. We see only one fishing vessel heading north at a good clip. By 0700 the winds are coming from the southeast at 10-15 knots. We cut the motor, let out the jenny and are off on a broad reach in the direction of Sandspit. John sets the Hydrovane, which steers the boat on a fixed point of sail taking a good chunk of the workload off the skipper. I make tea and porridge and we sit on deck looking into the open mouth of a gray morning at sea. There is too much cloud cover to see any land mass in the distant horizon. The crimson evening dress has been discarded to reveal a shapeless petticoat underneath. We are cautiously optimistic. The night sailing was pleasant by any standard and we have made good progress but the wind has started to freshen earlier than expected. We drink our tea and are thankful that our stomachs are still receptive to the porridge.
By 0900 the winds are at 20 knots and rising. We put one reef in the main sail and roll our 140% jenny in to under 100%. We are broad reaching and the motion is comfortable but this angle is taking us more west than north so we will have to go at a run to correct our course at some stage. 1200 and winds are up to 30 knots. We put a second reef in the main and roll the jenny in further. Sea Reach is in her element charging along between 7-8 knots. Her crew is torn between exhilaration and anxiety. “Relax,” she intones, her belly humming against the waves as she carves her way through. “I can handle this.” Meanwhile the waves are building, growing choppy and steep as we approach the Laskeek bank and its shallow waters. John is perched high on the stern of the boat making adjustments o the hydrovane as I roll in the jenny completely and we veer and start running before the wind. It occurs to me to take a photo of this wild ride and I duck below decks and grab the camera. It’s the last photo before the gale hits and we are running at a flat out gallop towards the opening off Sandspit. The approach to Sandspit and Queen Charlotte city is blocked by a long shallow spit, littered with bolders and exposed at low tide. A green buoy seven miles to the north marks the safe passage.
I’m below decks gazing into the computerized charts with focused intent. The companion way is open and John is calling for the all clear to turn into the entrance. All he can see is sea and is unaware that Sea Reach is currently sailing over an area marked as 10’ at datum (low tide). A 20’ tide is working in our favour but my whole gut tells me to keep him in the blue bits of the chart even though he may well get over the green bits at this high tide. “Not yet,” I holler back at him. I grab the large paper chart, fold it and put it in a protective plastic sleeve, to go on deck and show him our position. The scene on deck is intense. The waves are coming from every direction. Our gps is reading speeds of 8+ knots. Considering that 8 knots is our hull speed we know we are on the edge of control. Sea Reach has a raised stern and is lifting her skirts to avoid the advances of a very boisterous sea. She is holding her own, like a plucky cowgirl nimbly avoiding the advances of a drunken cowboy while keeping her step on the dance floor. Occasionally she can’t get away from the lout and a lick of spray rides up her skirt and into the cockpit. John has by now neutralized the hydrovane and is westling with the steering.
“What are you talking about,” he shouts. “The point is miles away. Why can’t I turn?” I show him our position and I point to where the buoy is on the chart. He stars into the distance where a green buoy is barely visible. “That’s miles away. Can’t we get in any sooner?”
“Okay,” but do NOT turn until I tell you it’s okay.” I go back down to the cabin and look for a safe place to cross before the buoy. I call out a bearing that will keep us out of trouble and bring us in over the bar at the 3’ datum contour just shy of the green bits and well south of the green buoy. I go up to the cockpit to keep an eye on the depth sounder and watch as the sounder changes from 26ft to 18ft and then a quick dip to 12 ft as we sail over the bar close to high tide and then back into deeper water. Almost immediately, the chop becomes less agitated, the worst of its aggression siphoned into the depths of the harbour. We are now on a beam reach and the wind is still blowing hard but softened by the shoulders of headlands. With only a well reefed main sail up, Sea Reach, our plucky cowgirl settles down to 5 knots and waltzes into the entrance of the harbor. I look over my shoulder and see the Hecate foaming in the distance, stalking the dance floor in search of other partners. They’ve all gone home but the band keeps playing and Hecate swaggers with self-importance.
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