Blog Posts - Sailing For The Soul

We're Back

6/23/2018

Princess Louisa Inlet

The trip exceeded our expectations by about a thousand.
It was amazing, and I’m not sure I can explain it.

First, the trip went well, and as planed.
It wasn’t exactly a Disney cruse. During the summer, the wind through these fjords blow inland in the afternoon, and we certainly experienced that. Given 20 straight miles of water with 2-3 thousand foot mountains on either side and 15 knot winds, and you are bound to have a bumpy ride. Odyssey handled it like the ocean boat she was designed to be.

Hour after hour we followed Jarvis Inlet, carved by glacier thousands of years ago, at times with 2000 feet of water under our keel. By late afternoon we reached Malibu Rapids, the entrance to Princess Louise Inlet.

When a water way is named, the descriptive can give a sense of just what type of water it is.
Puget Sound. Sound..that sounds pleasant.
Georgia Straight. Not too bad.
Captain Pass. Pass? Like over a mountain?
Dodd Narrows. Ok, narrows. Now that sounds a bit scary.
Malibu Rapids. Yup. Rapids. White water, whirlpools, all the scary stuff. This is like the the 11 on a scale of one to ten.
But, time it right, and it is just as calm as you could hope for.

Our timing for Malibu Rapids was spot on. It was easy. Not even a little whirlpool.

You would think the 10 hour sail deep into the Canadian Rockies would prepare you for Princess Louise, but it didn’t.

Five miles long and half a mile wide, it really isn’t a waterway as it is a cathedral. Shear granite rock climbs thousands of vertical feet, right from the waters edge. Twenty feet from shore the water can be 300 feet deep.

And the waterfalls. A thousand feet tall. Taller. And I counted at least 15 that I could see. The main waterfall at the head of the inlet, Chatterbox Falls, plunges thousands of feet from mountaintop snowfields. We stayed there, only several hundred yards form it, for ten days.

There was no electricity, no potable water, no internet, no cell coverage.

This is one of the most beautiful and pristine places in the world.

I needed to post this, to tell you of what we found. Maybe someday I’ll find the words to do it justice.

Princess Louisa Inlet

6/10/2018

Princess Louisa Inlet

Tomorrow is a big day. Not out of fear or nervous worry over weather and tides, but because of where we are going, and how long it will take. Tomorrow we head from Secret Cove, up to Agamemnon Channel, then North following a glacial cut fjord that stretches 46 miles into the heart of the Canadian Rockies. It will take us 10 hours.

We are heading to fabled Princess Louisa Inlet. The crown jewel that boaters from all over the world come to visit. The American author Erle Stanley Gardner is quoted: “It is more then beautiful, it is sacred.”

The trip is long because, after Agamemnon Channel, there is nowhere to stop. The mountain cliffs are said to plunge from glacial steps to deeper then 2000 feet of water, right at the shoreline, leaving not a single spot for a boat like ours to anchor.

We go all the way, or not at all.

To complicate things, at the entrance of this amazing inlet, is a nasty bit of water, Malibu Rapids. You must enter at slack tide to be safe. Mess up the timing and you have to wait 6 hours to try again.

Tomorrow, Malibu Rapids will be slack at 7:40 pm. It’s better to be early then late, so we’ll be leaving Secret Cove by 8:30 am after fueling up at the dock.

So many of our adventures seem to be in the big and important category. They are. Every destination is new, all routes are new, charted for the first time. We are relying on other’s information.

It should be a wonderful day of travel, filled with snow capped mountains, waterfalls, and wildlife.

Tomorrow, one of my dreams come true, we will be sailing up a fjord. I can’t wait!

Fear

5/27/2018

I’m not sure where to start.

I am an ‘analyzer’. Love it, love doing it.
If it says to turn the handle left, I want to know why. I want to know what happens when I turn it right. Will it break? Will it even turn? I’ll look it up.

Here I am, cruising full time, in foreign waters, on a sailboat. Now there’s fuel for the fire!
Weather, tides, equipment, motors, sails, marinas, wildlife.

Analyzing has become a full time occupation.

Now, add to my analytical nature a severely over-active imagination and worrisome nature, and you have someone who over-analyses everything there is to worry about, and anything my imagination tells me I need to worry about.

What will the weather do?
How strong will the current be?
If the wind kicks up will the anchor hold?
If the engine quits can we sail to safety?
Is there enough wind to sail?
And if we do get somewhere, is it a safe place to stay?

I worry allot, but I try and not let it get in the way of living.

In one of my favorite movies, the hero is, at one point, consumed with fear.
He’s afraid.
As I remember it, his love takes his hands in hers, and explains that being courageous isn’t about being fearless, it’s about having the courage to face your fears.

We have been sailing now for over a year. In that time my love has been helping me to understand and deal with my fears, and it’s paid off.

Today we transited Dodd Narrows.
This was a very big deal. BIG.

Dodd Narrows is what they call a ‘gate’. It is one of the major paths from one large area of the Canadian Islands to another.

Sounds fun.

Unfortunately, at this gate, several miles of water channel through a space only 100 yards wide and fifty feet deep. Lots and lots of water, twice a day. Boaters are warned that the current can reach 10 knots.
To put that into perspective, picture a river with enormous whirlpools, water moving so fast, that with our little engine running flat out, we would be moving backwards faster then you could run. If we tried to go with that current, we would loose all steering and be pushed into the rocks that line both sides of the Narrows.

Oh ya, big fun.

The advice given to those new to Dodd Narrows is to go through at slack tide, that magical time when the current changes direction, smooths out, allowing safe passage. How long is slack water? How long does a small boat have till the water is moving the opposite direction? In Dodd Narrows, less then six minutes.

No kidding.

If a boat misses that six minute window, does it get sucked down a vortex or crushed against the rocks? Of course not. But how about 12 minutes? 20? Is it better to miss it on the ebb or the flood? If we’re late should we try it?

See? These things keep me awake.

This morning, at 9:20, we pushed Odyssey into the Narrows. The current was against us, but should be changing soon.

We were 10 minutes early. Just 10.

At the narrowest spot, with engine at full throttle, we were making 3.5 miles an hour. A fast walk. Our sailboat has a full keel, lots of boat for the water to play over. As the current pushed us about, it took a surprising amount of force to turn the wheel. We needed to keep in the middle of the channel.

Soon we were out, the boat accelerating, clear water ahead, smiles and kisses from the crew.

Relief and a sense of pride. Not for making it, but for doing it.

Boats transit Dodd Narrows every day. During the hight of boating season, many captains, with no sense at all, make it through on a whim and a prayer. What little encouragement that brings is added to my analysis, concerns, and yes, worries.

Today’s accomplishment, for our ship, captain, and crew, is all about building confidence and courage. Knowing what we can, accepting what is, doing the best our capable crew and ship can do.

It’s been a pretty good day.

Quiet Sleep; Shrimp

5/18/2018

Yesterday's Sail

Last night it got rather pleasant after the party next door broke up. Then, with the wind dying down, the waves lost interest in slapping against the dock. The marina was quieting.

Without a ferry terminal nearby, we slept without motion. The drone of distant trucks, unfamiliar, woke me several times.

This morning, calm and quiet, we lounged, loved, ate a great breakfast. By noon it was time to explore the shopping center a block from the marina. We picked up some snacks, alcohol, and shrimp. This is the first time we have found local shrimp for sale in a market. I’ll grill them for dinner.

Tomorrow we leave Mill Bay Marina for a short trip down Saanich Inlet to Brentwood Bay and Butchart Gardens. We’ll launch a little early and see if we can sail the whole way.

I’ll let you know how the shrimp goes.

Otter Bay to Mill Bay

5/17/2018

Saanich Inlet

Leaving Otter Bay this morning was effortless, yet heart felt.
Weeks? Months? We will be back. We just aren’t sure when.
The passage to Mill Bay would take from 3 to 3 1/2 hours. Little wind was in the forecast till after 2pm or so, and then only in Swanson Channel.

Past Swanson Channel we started to pick up a following sea, with wind at 10 knots. Not in the forecast. From everything I’d read, Saanich Inlet was calm. Always. When we rounded Moses Point, the entrance to the Inlet, I expected to find a windless expanse of smooth water. Right. It just kept building.

I always watch for whitecaps. They tell me it’s time to pay attention. Now there were whitecaps as far as I could see. The anemometer was reading a constant 12 knots, so no fear of storm winds. It is surprising what 12 knots of wind can do with several miles of fetch. By the time we approached the marina, the wind chop was creating a lot of noise. Three feet or so up against the hull. That’s when the crew said “Let’s put a sail up.”

Now, I had a PLAN for the day. That PLAN did not call for sailing. Get up, pull anchor, get to Mill Bay. Simple. Raising sails in building seas didn’t fit THE PLAN. I guess my crew hadn’t been fully briefed on THE PLAN. Doing the only thing I could think of, I mumbled something and prepared to raise a sail.

Main first. Of course it stuck on something before fully raised. It was close, but close doesn’t count. It goes up or something is wrong. After a bit we found the offending snag and fixed it. By this time I was getting into the spirit of things. We hadn’t been blown over, the wind wasn’t gusty, and there were miles of water for us to mess around in. Out came the headsail.

Odyssey started to accelerate. 5, 5.5, 6 knots. Amazing. Her hull speed, the theoretical maximum speed she can go, is 7.1 knots. We made it to 6.8 in only 13 knots of wind. We were sailing faster then we could motor (unless we kept the engine at full speed.)

It didn’t last long. We were running out of water while I was trying to guess a lay line to sail right into the marina. Sarah was amazing. Wanting so much, yet willing to do as her captain wished. A nice tack headed us right in. At some point we had to just relax, put the sails down, and motor in.

At the dock, we are facing the Saanich Inlet and the wind waves pushing against the breakwater. Looking out from the cockpit, it wasn’t the whale we had seen, or the new vistas that held my attention. I was captivated by a sailboat approaching the marina, on a familiar path. I smiled as he tacked as we had, letting the wind power him towards safe harbor.

Sarah had been talking, but stopped and smiled. We had been discussing what of today’s trip was most important to me, what captured my attention. She knew. I excused myself and headed to the bow to watch the lone sailboat’s passage.

THE Day

5/16/2018

Off the dock!

Today is the day. Finally.

Sarah and I spent last year exploring the American San Juan and Canadian Gulf islands. As Fall gave way to wintery weather we snuggled into our warm boat and protected marina, safe from all the elements. We continued to venture out in-between storms, often spending the night anchored in our little bay.

The short days and long nights provided time to plan for next year’s sailing season. Turns out we didn’t need much time to plan. The goals were simple.

Decide when to leave.
Leave the Gulf Islands.
Head North.

There was only one decision to make. When to go?
That turned out to be simple. When our winter moorage was up we would leave the marina and head North for the next 4-5 months.

Today is that day. Wednesday, May 16th.
With a warm sun and gentle breeze, we backed out of our slip, cleared the breakwater and began the first leg of our summer adventure.
15 minutes and 1700 feet later, we dropped anchor. We have an extra day, so why not spend one last night anchored in our beloved bay?

Tomorrow we head to Saanich Inlet, and with several days travel, will end up in Brentwood Bay. After spending several days exploring The Butchart Gardens by foot, and the highly touted Todd Inlet by boat, we head North to traverse Dodd Narrows, making our way out of the Gulf Islands, to the town of Nanaimo.

North we go to the Sunshine Coast and Desolation Sound.
We can’t wait!

New Photo Gallery

4/12/2018

There is a new gallery. Haul Out.
Check it out! We did so much I can't write about it all. Have a question? Just email me at jdsilwones@me.com.

A Worthy Start

4/12/2018

Out of the Bay

It rained most of the night, morning light showing everything wet, with water dripping from the solar panels and rigging. Warm coffee and breakfast helped us muster up and out, dressing the boat for passage. Off the dock by nine, the rain was taking a break, with the darker clouds holding to the South, our course this morning.
It wasn’t a long passage really, 2-3 hours. The tide would help us along. I was concerned about any lingering swells from the overnight winds, but as we headed across Swanson Channel the sea appeared languid, worn out from the night’s bravado. With shower’s dark curtains falling in the distance, we crossed quietly through Satellite and Shute Passage. Our goal, narrow John Passage, would see us free of the busy ferry traffic and safely on our way to Tsehum harbor and Van Isles marina.

Even wet and rainy, there is always time for hot coffee!

Ferries. Big and fast. Best to stay out of their way.

Haul Out

4/5/2018

Inspection Haul-Out Oct. 2016

About a year and a half ago we purchased Odyssey. The inspection at that time told us she needed bottom paint and a cutlass bearing, neither so bad as to require immediate attention. We were eager to be off the dock, explorer our new world and learn to sail her, so we put the work off till ‘next year’.
And now it’s next year.
The winter has been unusually cold, wet and windy. Unusual for this part of the Canadian gulf islands. Tonight it’s raining and 42 F outside. Tomorrow we leave our cozy little marina, dodging in-between two storms for the big island of Vancouver and Van Isles Marina, where in two days our home will be lifted out of the water, set up in a yard, and worked on by four separate crews.
My second in command, quartermaster, ships doctor, cook, and love of my life, has encouraged me to write about this event in the hopes it may be of interest to some of you.
I was going to write about condensation…but we’ll try her suggestion first.
I mentioned four separate crews and I should explain because it really helps to define what we hope to accomplish in the week our boat will be ‘on the hard’.
The first crew, from the marina, will focus on painting her bottom. All boats that stay in the water for long periods of time use a paint designed to keep things from growing on the hull. This paint only works for 2-4 years. So yes, every so often, we have to repaint the bottom of our house.
The second crew is from the on-site boat yard. There are some things, like the cutlass bearing, that I have neither the time nor the tools to work on.
The third crew will be measuring and fabricating our new cushions. The current ones are original. 34 years takes it’s toll on anything you sit on.
The last crew, and most important, are us. We will be working on the toilet plumbing, water lines, and a half dozen other things we have the tools and expertise for.

So off we go. I’ve made a commitment to share everything I can. There will be many things to see and do.
I hope you enjoy.

Dear Brother

3/8/2018

March 5th, 2018
Im sure the last two weeks have been difficult. Things had been going relatively well, considering. We had talked just a week before it all went south. You seemed fine, still complaining about the doctors and all the ‘crap’ procedures they pushed upon you. But life had gotten quieter, less drama. Do you remember when you called me to say they were holding you hostage? Funny to look back at that. And late last year when you were sure you only had two months to live? I came down to see you, only to find it was a false alarm. I was so mad at you. It makes me smile now because it was so, well, you. I should have seen it coming.
And then you did die, and I’m sorry for that. You would be surprised how many people have spoken up for you. For all your boisterous complaining you still found a way to make it into people's hearts. Good for you!
In the last two weeks you’ve been handled, refrigerated, and cremated. I’m thinking the hardest part was the plane rides I took you on to get you up to the boat. You hate to fly, and let me tell you, the storm that met us as we landed in Canada made me hate to fly as well. Rough really doesn’t cover it, and I’m sorry for that. The ferry ride was bad, but it’s a big ferry, and very safe. That night, finally on the boat, you put up with a gale blowing in from the Southeast. Unbelievable. Almost storm force winds.
Today was the first window of opportunity for us to sail. Off the dock and out into Swanson Channel, we shut off the engine to drift along Ella Bay reef. I had thought of going into deep water, but shallower seemed better, near the light. Sarah had some flowers for you, of course. Hand picked, you know her. The container for your ashes is designed for just this, no plastic, devolving quickly.
Into the sea it quickly sank out of sight while the bouquet floated off with the tide.

Many native cultures believe that the first animal seen at a burial is that person’s spirit guide. As the flowers drifted off, a bald eagle flew over head, low and slow. What surprised me was that he stayed with the boat, circling overhead for 15-20 minutes before heading off to shore. I’ve never seen an eagle do this.
After reaching Glenthorne Pass we anchored for the night. Out came your collapsible drink cups, the one’s with the sail boats on the lids? We toasted you with Absolute Citroen on ice. The cups held together well. I wonder how many years it had been since they had been used for such a good cause.
As we sail, with each schooner or ketch sighted, I will think of you.
Fair winds and following seas my brother.