Back in the USA

July 24, 2008 Roche Harbor, San Juan Island

Yesterday’s jaunt from Sidney Island to Roche Harbor was exciting for me, especially after having a night of winds howling all night. When the tide is in and the wind blows the spit offers little protection. I did not fear for safety, I simply can’t sleep when the wind is howling around the shrouds, sheets and halyards and the waves are beating against the boat. Prior to that I had “cabin-fever” or having the feeling of not being able to leave the boat and walk the beach because the waves and current are such that your tender is not adequate to take you to shore. It made for a long twenty-four hours for me. Haro Strait pushed us along with its current running in our favor and the wind was less than 6 knots. An overcast sky, something that has become foreign to us, sharpened the colors of the islands that we passed or saw in the distance. It has been five weeks since we entered Canadian waters. The spring greens have transformed to summer’s dry golden browns during our passage north everywhere we look. Even the evergreen trees have lost their verdant intensity. The air is beginning to have the ‘nip’ of fall in the early morning and again in evening even with the daytime temperatures warm. We aren’t sure if it actually was warmer further north, or if the summer season is past her prime. No matter what though, it is good to be back to the USA!

Our adventure still has ten more days, with opportunities for many more memories so I won’t say the trip is over. Yet in honesty, I am very excited to know that home is closer, rather than further away. Going through Customs, here in Roche Harbor, was a pleasant experience. Pat has tried various ports for re-entry and is now convinced that this is the best. The docks are good and quiet compared to Friday Harbor, the important amenities for cruisers are easily accessible for provisioning as well as independent local artists have created a walkway of their diverse quality products. There are cafes, and restaurants, a swimming pool, tennis and walks to historical landmarks, offering something for every interest and age.

Later on this morning we are going to move over to Garrison Bay, really just around the corner. Waggoner’s says that it offers plenty of good anchorage and we can access English Camp’s historical grounds. The thought is to move over to Spencer’s Spit on Sunday. Monday we will spend a long day going down the Swinomish Channel. Pat has read the “Ports and Passes” several times, every time it looks as if we would be going against the Straits of Juan de Fuca currents which makes for a longer and harder passage. My Captain has kept us safe and planned well up to this point so I know the remaining journey will go well. The only variable is Mother Nature and he always takes that into consideration when making timelines.

July 21, 2008 Sidney Spit, Sidney Island –

“Careful what you wish for.” I did write the other day that it was high time that we should sail. Guess what? Yesterday provided us that option shortly after leaving Cowichan Bay. The wind was a blowing a steady 10-11 knots just off our nose. We can’t say enough about the ease of hoisting the mainsail with the push of the buttons! Pat at the helm points the bow just right while I raise the mainsail, stretching my neck so I can watch the sail – I have gotten it down to a science when to stop, eliminating a batten hanging up in a lazy-jack. Next I pulled out the jib from the roller furling, without breaking a sweat. Liberte’ was like a racehorse that heard the bell and the gate released! A clip of 6-7+ knots was clocked on the knotmeter in short order. She all but guided herself into the groove while Pat was grinning from ear to ear! I on the other hand was chanting the mantra we learned in ‘Cruise & Learn’, “If in doubt, let it out!” It seems like it has been forever since I had been sailing in such a manner, and honestly, I was not feeling comfortable as the rail neared the water. With the boat heeling so quickly, the loose items that I hadn’t secured for these conditions required attention in the cabin. The boat had a healthy heel which makes for an interesting descent to the cabin; the body must re-think what standing upright is and resorts to strange body angles to compensate for staying on one’s feet. After a half hour of this constant angle, I gathered a little courage and asked Pat if he could flatten her out – just a little; knowing full well that this is a conflict of a committed racer versus a neophyte cruiser. I watched Pat’s eyes on the main as he probably was thinking to himself-‘what can I do to maximize her potential for speed?’ I could feel his hands twitching in resistance as he changed the point, and adjusted the traveler to keep his ‘best mate’, ‘the Admiral’ as he calls, me comfortable. I appreciate this and really wish that the safe feeling was innate, natural and not something I must acquire over lots of time on the water. Pat set her course and Liberte’ tracked to it, requiring only an occasional touch of the wheel for a minor adjustment or avoid one of the many crab pots that are out and about all the waterways we have traveled since returning to the Gulf Islands. The last hour, the wind dropped down to 5-8 knots. Liberte’ instinct to race with the wind, allowed her hull speed to match the speed of the wind, minus one knot or less. Pat just grinned and shook his head with pleasure. All in all it was delightful passage to Sidney Spit on Sidney Island. Time was not an issue for today’s journey, making the time for multiple tacks to windward enjoyable. Perfection for me would have been to have the wind conditions in reverse; it would have allowed my sea legs to adapt gradually.

Arriving to Sidney Spit on a Sunday afternoon, at low tide was memorable. The number of boats at anchor, beached or powering around, the crowds of people playing or relaxing on the sandy beach, then looking over your shoulder the Sidney’s skyline was just on the other side of the channel. We could have been pulling into Alki Beach in West Seattle! It was mayhem and we were not impressed. The most annoying were the power boats that reminded me of limited hydroplanes. They roared onto the beach, replaced passengers with new ones and took another run through the bay and out into Sidney Channel. By 8 PM, the majority of boats on the western shoreline left, emptying the shore and allowing peace to return to Sidney Spit. At 10 PM the waning full moon shone bright thus the stars had to wait to steal the scene in the early hours of morning. In the horizon the dark hills of Sidney were outlined with a gradient of glowing orange to pink to evening shades of deep blue/black.

Low tide is the element that makes Sidney Spit a destination. Without it there would be no the long-drawn-out out “C” sandy beach. The dock that receives small ferries from Sidney would remain empty, except for those who wished to walk the small forest, or camp at the far end. It is the beach that is the focal point and there is plenty to explore on the northeast and northwest side. There are a few sections where dunes are held by swaying tall green grasses and small shrubs. An unending supply of bleached driftwood, stretching most of the length of the spit, challenges budding architects; the results are a wide variety of forts, windbreaks and huts above the high tide line. Each architect augmenting the previous addition or starts anew. This is a great beach for spending an entire day for young and old. Sand castles, running about unhindered with the concern of sharp objects, natural or manmade, and there were sections of beach rock for added diversity. The eastern side of the spit is similar with the exception of vast beds of kelp drying in the sun and filling the air with its distinctive pungent smell. A variety of shorebirds occupied this beach more than people; a flock of seagulls were seen napping, head tucked under a wing in the sticky mudflats while a lone sandpiper, chirped as if lost, running in and out of the grasses. A bald eagle sat watchful upon a rock shoal beyond the breaking water line as few boats pass in Satellite Channel.

Besides offering an expansive beach to stretch ones legs after a day of boating, the woodland walk offers a different setting. It appeared to me that this small forest had as much growing as it did varying degrees of decomposition. Perhaps a combination of shallow soil, lack of summer rain and strong winds that allows survival of the fittest. A lagoon, now restricted to all, is a bird sanctuary. It is quiet with a beautiful serene setting. We saw an eagle standing in the shallow water searching for food while Great Blue Herons took their statue like stance on the opposite shore. Sidney Island is a nice place to have visited but I’m not sure that it will call me back again soon. With a momentary grounding, as we searched for ‘our spot’ we learned that there is a high ridge in the middle of the bay and should we return, the best entrance is to come in from the northwest corner and go down the middle of the line of buoys.

Cowichan Bay: To those who enjoy smaller towns for places to provision or just stop, we recommend Fishermen’s Wharf Marina at Cowichan Bay. The town offers a bakery that taunts and teases anyone walking by with their ongoing loaves of bread that are pulled from the oven, which seem to leave the store more often than not, still warm. A couple doors down from there you are drawn into the Hilary’s Fresh Cheese Store. We walked in and immediately the pungent smell of garlic roasting had our mouths watering, salivating. The garlic soup was the soup of the day tomorrow. One of the most memorable moments in Cowichan Bay was when we walked through the Dutch door of Arthur Vickers’ Shipyard Gallery. Never have I seen art of this caliber nor his technique. Arthur was present and walked us through the gallery, he explained the story of the print and then by adjusting the lighting, his images transformed in color and/or added hidden images surfacing! There is a good chance that once we are home, we may give him a call and purchase one of our favorite serigraph print to celebrate our birthdays, Christmas and whatever other holidays are left in the year and remember the first of many cruises together.

Our bus trip to Duncan took about 30 minutes and we thought this beat walking! We got off in the heart of Duncan at 1 PM; the festivities were in full swing. Merchants were having sidewalk sales, children were waiting patiently, some unsure while others were very animated with excitement to have an artistic young woman paint their faces, transforming them into beautiful butterflies, flowers, or replicating the red tulips of an embroidered sundress one little girl was wearing onto her face. We did not see the Farmer’s Market, we may have missed that, but there was something for everyone taking the time to be out and about in Duncan. We left the downtown area and recruited Pat’s memory to locate the Native American Museum he and his friend Bob had visited 10 years ago. It was closed. Retracing our tracks back to town, we did find a sign directing us to the International Pow Wow. We are pleased that we did and walked the dusty path to the field where it was taking place. Being an international gathering it wasn’t as large a turn out as I had thought it would be. There were an equal number of participants and their family’s members as there were guests. We had a great time; this was my third time observing and Pat’s first. The ceremonial dress from the different First Nation people were quite diverse; old traditional buckskin, quill beadwork, appliqué similar to button blankets, Cowichan style sweaters, and modern adaptations representative of their traditional clothing. I only wish that rather than numbers pinned to the contestants, their Nation was stated.

We sat on the grass for several hours as men competed for the title of “Iron Man”. It began with a circle of eleven men. Our favorite, and we believe the crowd’s also, was the eldest. He looked proud, wise and definitely intent on receiving the title. His competitors were men one third to half his age. Live ‘bands’ from three different tribes played songs. To Pat & I, they sounded the same, with very little differences. The dancers knew the nuances, thus they would begin as if they were asking their Higher Power for support prior to hunting or simply variations to what I believe they call the “Two Step”. The twenty third song was half way through when we gave up; we did not have the perseverance to wait it out. We just hope the elder won or our second choice, the man, half his age; he appeared to have more purpose with his execution throughout the performance than the others. I am glad we were not the judges.