How delicious it is to dream away the night in a gently rocking boat. The NW breeze blew away all the mosquitos and flies so we could sit in the cockpit and enjoy the evening darken into starlit skies. Blue Parrot is moored off the southern end of Cortes Island when a morning message announces a whale closeby near the reef. Away we go, sailing on a NW breeze out into the Strait. We’ve reefed the mainsail just in case the wind strengthens and we’re moving along at 4 knots towards Mitlenach Island, the seabird santuary in the middle of Georgia Strait. No whales in sight as we pass the reef so we continue on a beam reach out past the island. But the wind is dropping and willy-wally wooing around from NW through S. So much for my cunning plan of circling the island under sail. However we do manage to sail to the SW side of Mitlenach where 3 species of cormorants have constructed nests of sticks on ledges and crevices in the steep cliffs. The nests are large elaborate structures. They look like 40L vats. Dozens of cormorants are gurgling and grunting on the cliff while gulls wheel overhead keening and squawking. Further on 200m or so sea lions are barking and growling.
The sonorous sounds of Mitlenach’s roosting residents must be recorded without motor noise to mask them. “i’ll sail the boat so you can get sound as well as video” I say as Terry lines up the camera for a close pass by the bird rocks. A cormorant runs across the water like a “Jesus lizard” and takes flight. The light breeze swings to SE and then E as we reach the midpoint of the island. I gracelessly flap the sails through 180° as we pass sea lions in blubbery heaps piled on top of each other. “Can you manage another pass?” Terry asks. It takes 3 untidy tacks to turn around and find an approach that will take us close to the shore without landing us on it. Another round of barking and grunting and sails flapping ensues. The acrid stench of gull guano stings our nostrils. We pass signs that warn in bright red letters “Trails closed, No Visitors”. The usual island nature guides are absent because of the corona virus. But nature is far from closed. Camas lilies are in flagrant yellow bloom. Life without human visitors is leafing out in more shades of luminous green than human eyes can perceive. Effusive purple and gold blossoms nestle against myriad mosses blanketing the rocks. No whales around today but here is so much flamboyant life.
We float offshore under a blue sky enjoying the view. All around us on Vancouver Island, the mainland and the islands to the north clouds dump showers over the land. It’s no surprise that cacti grow on Mitlenach in this rain shadow where winds cross each other. We sling our sunshade, a clear plastic tarp with a floral bedsheet velcroed to it, over Blue P’s boom and bungee it to the toe rails. Aaah, shade! relief from the intense sun. Time for a snack and an afternoon snooze. It’s a short snooze though. A sailor must always have her nose to the wind. When it shifts to NW I peek around the sun shade to watch a dark line on the water approaching from a distance. “Time to take down the sunshade. The wind’s coming” I tell Terry. We quickly dismantle it, batten the hatches and start the engine just as the wind hits.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” yells Terry as the motor starts up ” Whhaaat? What’s Wrong” I stutter and kill the engine.
“The bubble boat rope’s around the propellor” Terry cries. “Oh No!” I groan as I spot the line pulled taut over the rudder and disappearing under Blue P’s stern. “Shit! We’re going to have to cut the line! I’ll get the sea snips”
“I’m going to try to unwrap it” Terry is reaching over the stern to grab the line. But the waves and wind are picking up. Blue P is on a beam reach under bare poles. The bubble boat line draws tighter.
“I’m going to cut the line” Terry yells “Get me the painter”
“Here’s the painter and here’s the sea snips. I’m going to swing us onto a downwind course to take the pressure off the rest of the line and the bubble boat.” I say as I grab the tiller and swing Blue P’s stern into the wind. The bubble boat eases along behind as Terry threads the painter through its bridle loop and secures it. He cuts the fouled polypro line pulling all the free line into the cockpit. “I think i can unwrap the other end” he says, reaching his long arms down into the waves. “Hold on!” I warn as the waves build and more wind rattles the halyards. “Got it!” Terry exclaims holding the problem line aloft. I cheer and start the engine listening carefully for any irregular rhythms in its familiar sewing machine patter. “Tick tick tick tick…. “Whew! sounds normal to me. We’ve got power.”
On a 335° compass heading, nose into the wind we take the meter high waves a quarter off our port bow. Amazing how quickly the waves build in the Strait. But quartering takes most of the pressure off the tiller and we make 2.94 knots in the 15 gusting 18 knots of wind. It’s enough to get us back to the sheltered waters behind Cortes Island where we fuel up to continue on towards home.
Now that the wind is blowing over the port beam it’s ripe for sailing again so Terry hoists the main and disappears below with his camera. I unfurl the jib and happily sail in a brisk breeze across Lewis Channel into the mouth of Malaspina Inlet. It’s a good day when you can hang out with critters AND sail.