Most winters we find ourselves tucked into a marina, out of harms way of winter gales. As the temperature dips into the low forties my mind always strays into project mode as we sit in our warm little boat. There are so many things I’d like to do, and every winter I plan on getting a few of them done. 

But because we use our floating home constantly, things wear out or break. The repairs take priority so the projects just have to wait. 

The most recent repair involved our beloved hydronic heating system. A hydronic heater heats water and then circulates it throughout the boat. Small radiators located in various spots then blow out warm air, feeling very much like a central heating system in a house.

So when our hydronic system stopped working in the middle of December, fixing it becomes the priority.

Luckily I knew enough about the unit to get it running, and I may even have found the root problem. This is not the first repair/maintenance I’ve done to the system and I’m sure it won’t be the last. So far it’s doing great, time will tell. I’ll post some specific articles on its ups and downs soon.

You may ask why don’t we just run space heaters at the dock? Well, we do most of the time, but it isn’t the same. Imagine keeping your house warm with space heaters in each room. It would work. But in the morning it's nice to just turn on the furnace and let the whole house soak it all up.

Another bonus is that the hydronic heater is diesel fired and very efficient. This means we stay warm when the power goes out during a storm. It’s also our only source of heat when on the hook.

Our system came from Sure Marine in Seattle and uses a Webasto 90ST heater core.

Just because the potable water hose you just installed looks the same as what’s already installed on your boat, it doesn’t mean it is.

I recently modified our water system to allow us to hook up to the dock water supply. What a wonderful idea, right?

Well, almost.

Everything seemed wonderful as I filled a glass at the sink to take a sip and then passed it to my wife. Wow, that was plastic flavored water at its worst. My wife grimaced and asked “Is it always going to taste like that?”

The offending hose was only three feet long so it should clear up after a day or two, right? Not a chance. We were not willing to live with that taste so I found the RIGHT hose and quickly swapped it out.

If it smells like a garden hose it will taste like a garden hose. Get the right stuff.
Happy water, happy boat, lesson learned.

We pulled into Oak Harbor with 25 knot winds and shallow water, making things very interesting. Luckily the wind was on our nose as we approached the slip so we were able to dock with little drama. The marina’s transient moorage is out on their floating breakwater, where its massive structure protects you from all sorts of nasty waves and windblown debris. That night, despite the gusty winds, we slept well.

As predicted, the winds calmed overnight and we woke to a peaceful day, perfect for our last passage of the trip south. It would also be our longest at nearly 37 nm. I plan our passages based on an average boat speed of 5 knots, and in most cases this is pretty accurate. So, with a 7+ hour trip ahead of us we pushed off the dock at 9am with coffee in hand and a following current to help us along.

The next five or so hours were uneventful. Not boring, but the busy boat traffic I had expected just wasn’t there. I realize that Possession Sound holds little interest for large commercial traffic, but we traveled for hours and encountered only three or four small boats. For such a large waterway, that’s practically deserted.

The south end of Possession Sound opens onto Puget Sound, the largest body of water we would be crossing. It would take 1.5 hours to travel over to Kitsap Peninsula, where our winter berth in Kingston was waiting.
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With our AIS busily hunting for ferries and cargo ships plying the shipping lanes, we rounded Possession Point and started across. Off in the distance I could just make out the Kingston-Edmonds ferries, and closer, one tug and barge were slowly headed south. Other than that, we were alone, and we stayed that way for the trip across. I wasn’t exactly disappointed. After all, dodging freighters isn’t on my fun-things-todo list. But none? All the way across? After all the anticipation it felt a little strange.

After an hour and a half we quietly ducked around a ferry being loaded at the Kingston dock and into Apple Tree cove. We called the marina on 66A, but no one answered, so we just as quietly found our slip and tied up. Our weeks long trip from Canada was over. Now it was time to take a look at our new home.

We were planning to travel south through the Swinomish Channel on our way to Kingston, our home port for the winter. Having never sailed south of Anacortes, I was looking forward to the experience. I had found surprisingly few accounts of traversing such an interesting stretch of water, and in general this is a good sign. People will often recount  their harrowing experiences and not bother when things go well.

Our trip through was uneventful, but I wanted to share some things about it.
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The Swinomish Channel is a 7.5nm long waterway, measured from the railroad bridge on the north end to the south exit located just west of goat island. It separates Fidalgo Island from the mainland and requires dredging every three to five years to keep it navigable. It is also one of only three ways to get between Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands.
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We timed things right and got a very nice current asset all the way through. We were not stopping in La Conner and so didn’t try to make it there at slack water, which simplified things. The available information says that the current flows south from 2.5-4 hrs before and after low tide in La Conner. By entering the channel at low tide we were guaranteed a current assist all the way. As a bonus, there was no turbulence to speak of.

It wasn’t a difficult trip but it was complex, requiring my full attention the entire way.

The complexity was due to several things.

• It was our first time through.
• It was shallow all the way.
• It was narrow, with lots of sandbars.
• It was easy to get distracted while sightseeing.
• We are a deep keel, slow moving sailboat.
• The current was strong.
• We were running between storm fronts.

Having used the iSailor navigation app for the last four years going up and down the inside passage, I’ve come to trust my little chart plotter. This was a requirement navigating the channel. 

Numbers for our transit, October 14, 2020
La Conner low tide 10am @ .63 feet
La Conner high tide 4:23pm @ 10.41ft 
Left Anacortes at 9:15am.
Arrived at the railroad bridge and north entrance to the channel at approximately 10:30 am.
Passed La Conner at 11am. Tide was at 1.6 feet and rising.
Cleared the south end of the channel west of Goat Island at 11:45 am.

Advice for when you go.
Go with the flow.
Pick a leap tide. This should minimize the current so if you decide to dock in La Conner, it shouldn’t be much of a problem.
Know your chart plotter and use it.
Stay in the middle of the channel.
Keep a constant watch on the depth.

If you plan ahead and then stay focused during transit, Swinomish Channel shouldn’t pose a problem for even deep keeled sailboats.

I’m a prepper.

I’m proud of that because when the anchor is set, I get to sit back with a glass of wine, cuddle my happy wife, and smile. I get to bask in her accolades of my captaining prowess while enjoying one of her excellent passage cookies. 

I can do this because I prepare! I study, I plan, I check and double check. And yes, I fret. As Captain I see this as my job and enjoy it in a love/hate sort of way. So, when it came time to head back to the states, I started early and took copious notes.

We were going to run the Canadian/US border. It’s closed of course. The world is in turmoil from covid, global warming, and all sorts of nasty crap not the least of which is the upcoming Presidential elections.

We were going to leave Canada’s quiet sanity and cross the closed border into the US, which is not a happy place right now.

Yes, we are Americans, but we have been away a long time. I called the US border office in Anacortes to get a feel for the situation. It went something like this:

Me: “Hi, we will be crossing from Canada back into the States on our boat and wonder if there is anything we should know. Can we use Nexus?”

Officer: “From Canada? You are American citizens?”

Me: “Yes”

Officer: “The border is closed, how long have you been in Canada?”

Sarah and I both agreed the best approach here was honesty.

Me: “About 14 months.”

Officer: “14 months? What have you been doing there?”

Me: “We’ve been on vacation.” 

I really don’t think he wanted to give me a hard time, he was just having trouble with the whole ‘sailing in Canada for the last year or so during a worldwide pandemic’ thing. I’m sure he knew that Canada only allows visitors to stay for 6 months at a time, but he also knew that wasn’t his concern, being US customs. After a moment he went on.

Officer: “Nexus is working fine, just check in like you are supposed to.”

Before I could say thank you, he asked about the sticker.

Officer: “Do you have your sticker?”

Damn. Honesty, remember?

Me: “No, we don’t.”

I think he was really happy to find something to correct us on.

Officer: “You need to get a sticker.”

I had no idea how to do that while in Canada, but be sure I was going to figure it out.

Me: “Thank you, I will.”

He seemed quite satisfied.

Officer: “Ok, have a good day.”

Me: “Thank you.”

The sticker was ordered and on it’s way that day.

And how did the crossing go?

It was surprisingly easy. As required, we called in the minute we crossed into US waters. They wanted our exact GPS coordinates and about every other number you could think of. We had them all ready, even the little sticker number. 

When we were given the all clear by customs I wanted a glass of wine and I mean right now, but I was still driving the boat. Instead I got a kiss and hug from my understanding wife, two passage cookies, and a promise of wine when we docked in Friday Harbor. A great ending to an otherwise stressful situation.

Home. Im not sure what that means anymore.

For us, home isn’t where we live. Our home is a sailboat and we take it with us. We sail away and then we live wherever the anchor is set and we can relax. For several years Otter Bay has not only been where we live, it has become home. Even though we leave during the summers to explore, we still return there to sit out the winter storms.

It’s hard to imagine not wintering in our safe little bay. The quiet, the rain and snow, even the winds are familiar. I’ve spent time writing from the marina pavilion, and laughing with Sarah as the wind howls through the rigging. On a calm night, the boat will rock as the last ferry sails off across Swanson Channel. All of these things we’ve come to know over the years.

We’ve come to know the people as well. I really can’t say enough about the friends we’ve made who have adopted us. Island people are the best and we will be hard pressed to find as caring souls anywhere else in our travels.

Nestled into North Pender Island, Otter Bay is the closest thing we have found to our ideal place, a bay where the anchor sets into firm mud and we are responsible for all that happens. Our home became the world around us.

But now it’s time to go. Time to leave Otter Bay, the Gulf Islands, Canada. We are heading south into the US and I’m not sure when we will get back. Wherever we go, I’d like to believe that Otter Bay will stay in our memories. And there, the bay and our friends will be waiting for us to return.

A short post. We are now in transit back to the states. This first passage may have been our most difficult due to the weather. Heavy rain and winds were forecast and they didn't disappoint.

It was wonderful to have our island friends come to see us off.

And a picture of us sailing away.

Tonight we spend in Sydney, BC. The weather is clearing, the sunset is beautiful, and tomorrow finds us in a different country.
Till then.

The ocean reflects what is, both above and below. There is no judgment nor exaggeration. It shows what is, the here and now. As captain, I see calm tides and the aftermath of a genial front soon to be forgotten.
The artist sees so much more, and I am jealous.