Pinching Pennies on the Road: A Tour of Budgetland

In the past, I believed that I’d run out of money to finance my extravagant and luxurious lifestyle before I reached the age of 75. Traveling all over the world doesn’t come cheap, you know!

Even now, having saved a substantial nest egg, earned a decent pension from my federal employment, and been assured by a financial advisor that I can make it to age 90 (at least my bank account, if not my bones), it’s difficult to shake the starvation mentality. If I take the subway to that doctor’s appointment instead of a taxi, or even better use my bicycle, then I can take Amtrak to Charleston for Thanksgiving, or splurge on croissants aux amandes in Paris. The math may not add up, exactly, but the conscience is assuaged.

Because my brain continues to convince me saving money is a good idea, if not a necessary evil, I buy bread and cheese at local markets for lunch, and frequent the youth hostels of the globe. Just as well: I’m uncomfortable in fancy hotels and restaurants anyway, where I have to give up my faded jeans and torn t-shirts and be on my best behavior. Not to mention the anguish over when and how much to tip.

As I’ve gotten older and desired more comfort, my standards have crept upward. I took a private room at the Vancouver hostel instead of a bunk in the women’s dorm. At the airport, I hopped in a taxi without even checking the bus schedule. And…ahem…I splurged on a $11 margarita my last night. Not one to make too many radical changes too quickly, however, I still ate two meals at a $6-for-every-dish joint in Vancouver--a student hangout--and walked ½ mile to a ferry with two rolling suitcases and a backpack to save on taxi fare. And, in need of musical sustenance on my three-week sailing excursion, I bought a guitar at a Vancouver pawn shop instead of the music store two blocks away. (At least I looked in the store first.) Later, I took Greyhound back to the USA, at least as far as Seattle.

 

In the absence of hard numbers, I still find many pluses in my form of budget travel:

(1) Safety/security: this is number one, since I frequently travel alone. I am more comfortable meeting fellow travelers over breakfast in a hostel than in a hotel bar. I never fear being followed to my room (though I am careful in some of the neighborhoods where hostels are located). Though it is probably an illusion, I believe my baggage and valuables are as safe in a dorm of backpackers than in a hotel room. The roomies watch out for me, as I watch out for them, and are nearby if I need help. Yeah, sharing a room can disrupt your sleep--so I bring earplugs and a face mask.

(2) Camaraderie: Many times I have discovered fellow travelers at hostels to share rides, stories, and companionship, especially in foreign countries--such as getting a lift to Slovenia's karst region to tour the caverns. In Hawaii, the hostel sponsored  inexpensive van trips every day to places like volcanoes and secluded beaches. Though hotels offer tours too, the price and quality of companionship and fun don't come close to those offered through hostels.

(3) Pace: Studying bus and tram schedules, perusing maps, studying addresses, and figuring out  public transportation takes time. That can be a good thing! It forces me to slow down and look around, and--surprise!--talk to residents!  In Japan, people at transit stations went out of their way to help me puzzle through fares and directions while making my way to some Buddhist temples on a remote seashore. In Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, I spent a whole day finding the perfect inexpensive guesthouse after getting off a train. I was tired, but the research was fun. In Zokopane, Poland, I followed an elderly woman for ½ hour to her house in order to accept a $6/night sofa bed in her den. Now that I’m retired, I have even more opportunity to take my time and take advantages of these opportunities to save money and "do as the Romans do."

(4) Local flavor: You can't beat walking and talking for getting to know a place. On Salt Spring Island in British Columbia, I skipped the luxurious hot springs spa and headed straight for the annual Fall Festival (a mini agricultural fair, complete with goats and geese and apple pies). For $15, I got homemade blackberry pie, honky tonk music, and bleating sheep. In Japan, I spent several days watching street parades and charades, and sampling the street food, at a cherry blossom festival in a mountain town. This doesn’t work for the traveler who wants to be escorted to one sight after another and constantly entertained. Instead, it grounds you in the local scene and introduces you to its citizens. This, for me, is one of the best reasons for traveling.

5) Comfort:  OK, I won't suggest that sharing a dorm room and bathroom in a hostel is comfortable. But try this on: taking a bus or train is easier and less stressful than flying.  Last week, I took a Bolt Bus from Vancouver to Bellingham, Washington, for $14 and a Greyhound from Bellingham to Seattle for $11. I showed up 20 minutes before the bus, personally placed my suitcase in the luggage locker and retrieved it later without delay, and climbed aboard without waiting in lines, taking off my shoes, or going through machines.  Last year I took Amtrak to Savannah, Georgia, for Thanksgiving--11 hours and $99--and was calm and relaxed when I arrived. The Greyhound seats are as comfortable as a plane, while Bolt and Amtrak are waaaayyy more comfortable than Delta or American. The delays are no worse than on airlines. The bathrooms are less accommodating; on the other hand, the buses  and trains have free wifi. Whenever the bus or train trip is less than 8 or 9 hours, the time spent either comes out way ahead of, or, at worst, is the same as the time spent in airports and airplanes. Eight hours will get me as far as Boston.

6) Fun: Budget travel is not for everyone. As for me, however, I get my kicks out of interacting more closely with people, keeping my feet on the ground, exploring the local economy, and keeping more greenbacks (or Euros or krona) in my wallet. I don't deprive myself -- while I save on some things (accommodation, transportation), I often splurge on others (food, museums). And in the end, I can go more places if I stretch my dollars along the way.

I've hung out my shingle. I am taking appointments now for consultations on how to budget for traveling inexpensively yet comfortably and enjoyably!

Pinching Pennies on the Road: A Tour of Budgetland

I’ve always believed that I’d run out of money to finance my extravagant and luxurious lifestyle before I reach the age of 75. Traveling all over the world doesn’t come cheap, you know!

Even now, having saved a substantial nest egg, earned a decent pension from my federal retirement, and been assured by a financial advisor that I can make it to age 95 (at least my bank account, if not my bones), it’s difficult to shake the starvation mentality. If I take the subway to that doctor’s appointment instead of a taxi, or even better use my bicycle, then I can take Amtrak to Charleston for Thanksgiving, or splurge on croissante almandes in Paris. The math may not add up, exactly, but the conscience is assuaged.

Because my brain continues to assure me saving money is a necessary evil, I buy bread and cheese at local markets and frequent the youth hostels of the globe. Just as well: I’m uncomfortable in fancy hotels and restaurants anyway, where I have to give up my faded jeans and torn t-shirts and constantly calculate tips.

As I’ve gotten older and required more comfort, my standards have crept upward a bit. For example, I’m in a private room at the hostel in Vancouver instead of a bunk in the women’s dorm. When I arrived at the airport, I hopped in a taxi without even checking the bus schedule. And…ahem…I splurged on a margarita last night. Not one to make radical changes quickly, however, I ate two meals at a $6-for-every-dish joint—the student hangouts in Vancouver, where a burger costs $15. I walked ½ mile to the ferry with two rolling suitcases and a backpack. And, in need of musical sustenance on my three-week sailing excursion, I bought a guitar at a Vancouver pawn shop instead of the music store two blocks away. (I did look at the store first.) I’m scheduled on Greyhound for my return to the USA, at least as far as Seattle.

In the absence of hard numbers, I still believe in the pluses of my form of budget travel:

(1) Safety/security: this is number one for me, since I frequently travel alone. I am far more comfortable meeting fellow travelers over breakfast in a hostel than being chatted up in a hotel bar. I never fear being followed to my hotel room (though I am careful in some of the neighborhoods where hostels are located). I may be under an illusion, but my instinct is that my baggage and valuables also may be more secure in a dorm of young backpackers than locked in an anonym0us hotel room.

(2) Camaraderie: Many times I have discovered fellow travelers at hostels to share rides, stories, and companionship in foreign countries. This doesn’t happen at hotels.

(3) Pace: Studying bus and tram schedules, perusing maps, calculating distances, researching attractions, and going places by public transportation takes time. In Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, I spent a whole day finding the perfect inexpensive guesthouse after getting off a train. In Zokopane, Poland, I followed an elderly woman for ½ hour to her house and accepted a $6/night sofa bed in her den. Now that I’m retired, I have more time than ever to spend finding resources and making my way to attractions.

Local flavor:    In Japan, people at the transit stations went out of their way to help me puzzle through fares and directions. This doesn’t work for the traveler who wants to be ushered around and entertained on a schedule. However, it grounds you in the local scene and introduces you to its citizens. This, for me, is one of the reasons for traveling.

Pinching Pennies on the Road: A Tour of Budgetland

I’ve always believed that I’d run out of money to finance my extravagant and luxurious lifestyle before I reach the age of 75. Traveling all over the world doesn’t come cheap, you know!

Even now, having saved a substantial nest egg, earned a decent pension from my federal retirement, and been assured by a financial advisor that I can make it to age 95 (at least my bank account, if not my bones), it’s difficult to shake the starvation mentality. If I take the subway to that doctor’s appointment instead of a taxi, or even better use my bicycle, then I can take Amtrak to Charleston for Thanksgiving, or splurge on croissante almandes in Paris. The math may not add up, exactly, but the conscience is assuaged.

Because my brain continues to assure me saving money is a necessary evil, I buy bread and cheese at local markets and frequent the youth hostels of the globe. Just as well: I’m uncomfortable in fancy hotels and restaurants anyway, where I have to give up my faded jeans and torn t-shirts and constantly calculate tips.

As I’ve gotten older and required more comfort, my standards have crept upward a bit. For example, I’m in a private room at the hostel in Vancouver instead of a bunk in the women’s dorm. When I arrived at the airport, I hopped in a taxi without even checking the bus schedule. And…ahem…I splurged on a margarita last night. Not one to make radical changes quickly, however, I ate two meals at a $6-for-every-dish joint—the student hangouts in Vancouver, where a burger costs $15. I walked ½ mile to the ferry with two rolling suitcases and a backpack. And, in need of musical sustenance on my three-week sailing excursion, I bought a guitar at a Vancouver pawn shop instead of the music store two blocks away. (I did look at the store first.) I’m scheduled on Greyhound for my return to the USA, at least as far as Seattle.

In the absence of hard numbers, I still believe in the pluses of my form of budget travel:

(1) Safety/security: this is number one for me, since I frequently travel alone. I am far more comfortable meeting fellow travelers over breakfast in a hostel than being chatted up in a hotel bar. I never fear being followed to my hotel room (though I am careful in some of the neighborhoods where hostels are located). I may be under an illusion, but my instinct is that my baggage and valuables also may be more secure in a dorm of young backpackers than locked in an anonym0us hotel room.

(2) Camaraderie: Many times I have discovered fellow travelers at hostels to share rides, stories, and companionship in foreign countries. This doesn’t happen at hotels.

(3) Pace: Studying bus and tram schedules, perusing maps, calculating distances, researching attractions, and going places by public transportation takes time. In Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, I spent a whole day finding the perfect inexpensive guesthouse after getting off a train. In Zokopane, Poland, I followed an elderly woman for ½ hour to her house and accepted a $6/night sofa bed in her den. Now that I’m retired, I have more time than ever to spend finding resources and making my way to attractions.

Local flavor:    In Japan, people at the transit stations went out of their way to help me puzzle through fares and directions. This doesn’t work for the traveler who wants to be ushered around and entertained on a schedule. However, it grounds you in the local scene and introduces you to its citizens. This, for me, is one of the reasons for traveling.

Pinching Pennies on the Road: A Tour of Budgetland

I’ve always believed that I’d run out of money to finance my extravagant and luxurious lifestyle before I reach the age of 75. Traveling all over the world doesn’t come cheap, you know!

Even now, having saved a substantial nest egg, earned a decent pension from my federal retirement, and been assured by a financial advisor that I can make it to age 95 (at least my bank account, if not my bones), it’s difficult to shake the starvation mentality. If I take the subway to that doctor’s appointment instead of a taxi, or even better use my bicycle, then I can take Amtrak to Charleston for Thanksgiving, or splurge on croissante almandes in Paris. The math may not add up, exactly, but the conscience is assuaged.

Because my brain continues to assure me saving money is a necessary evil, I buy bread and cheese at local markets and frequent the youth hostels of the globe. Just as well: I’m uncomfortable in fancy hotels and restaurants anyway, where I have to give up my faded jeans and torn t-shirts and constantly calculate tips.

As I’ve gotten older and required more comfort, my standards have crept upward a bit. For example, I’m in a private room at the hostel in Vancouver instead of a bunk in the women’s dorm. When I arrived at the airport, I hopped in a taxi without even checking the bus schedule. And…ahem…I splurged on a margarita last night. Not one to make radical changes quickly, however, I ate two meals at a $6-for-every-dish joint—the student hangouts in Vancouver, where a burger costs $15. I walked ½ mile to the ferry with two rolling suitcases and a backpack. And, in need of musical sustenance on my three-week sailing excursion, I bought a guitar at a Vancouver pawn shop instead of the music store two blocks away. (I did look at the store first.) I’m scheduled on Greyhound for my return to the USA, at least as far as Seattle.

In the absence of hard numbers, I still believe in the pluses of my form of budget travel:

(1) Safety/security: this is number one for me, since I frequently travel alone. I am far more comfortable meeting fellow travelers over breakfast in a hostel than being chatted up in a hotel bar. I never fear being followed to my hotel room (though I am careful in some of the neighborhoods where hostels are located). I may be under an illusion, but my instinct is that my baggage and valuables also may be more secure in a dorm of young backpackers than locked in an anonym0us hotel room.

(2) Camaraderie: Many times I have discovered fellow travelers at hostels to share rides, stories, and companionship in foreign countries. This doesn’t happen at hotels.

(3) Pace: Studying bus and tram schedules, perusing maps, calculating distances, researching attractions, and going places by public transportation takes time. In Garmisch-Partenkirchen, Germany, I spent a whole day finding the perfect inexpensive guesthouse after getting off a train. In Zokopane, Poland, I followed an elderly woman for ½ hour to her house and accepted a $6/night sofa bed in her den. Now that I’m retired, I have more time than ever to spend finding resources and making my way to attractions.

Local flavor:    In Japan, people at the transit stations went out of their way to help me puzzle through fares and directions. This doesn’t work for the traveler who wants to be ushered around and entertained on a schedule. However, it grounds you in the local scene and introduces you to its citizens. This, for me, is one of the reasons for traveling.

Bellingham Blast

How many things can one do in 24 hours in Bellingham, Washington?

Start the day with plump blueberry pancakes made with fresh berries, picked by our friends Rich and Stephanie, who moved from Washington, DC, to live in this lush region laden with natural resources and nature-focused recreation.

Stroll through the forest behind their house, complete with the massive stumps of old-growth cedars.

Visit to the Spark Museum of Electrical Inventions for the MegaZapper electricity show. That's our friend Rich inside the Farraday cage, surrounded by 4 million volts of electrical shock; notice the "Danger: High Voltage" sign lower left.

Drive out to the country for pizza and clams accompanied by craft beers at North Fork Micro Brewery and Wedding Chapel.

 



Continue the tour around Mt. Baker, where the hiking and views can't be beat, but because of the steady rain, skip the drive up and instead stop at the Nooksack River for a walk along the banks.

 

Back at the house, feast on ceasar salad and wild salmon caught by Stephanie personally, and pool our labor to make pies with more of the fresh blueberries.

 

Finish the day with a deep sigh and fall asleep to the gentle pitter patter of rain on the window.



Private Vessels Vs. The Canadian Timber Industry

An exciting day on the high seas! Today we headed through a narrow cut between two islands, called Dodd Narrows. We were on our way back to Nanaimo, British Columbia, after successfully circumnavigating (sailing all the way around) Vancouver Island over a three-week period.

The tides in this region rise and fall as much as 9 feet at a time, causing significant currents where the water races through narrow passages between islands. The currents can reach 14 knots (about 20 mph) in the Vancouver Island region. The strong currents and roiling waters can quickly drive a boat up onto the rocks; especially one like ours with a maximum motoring speed of about 8 knots. For a sailing vessel to pass through narrow channels safely, it's necessary to time the passage for "slack tide"--a short period when the tide stops flowing in or out and is in the process of turning around. Much anguish, research, and calculation goes into figuring out the exact time of slack water by sailors striving to avoid a slow descent into Davey Jones' locker.

In Dodd Narrows, between Mudge Island and Vancouver Island just south of Gabriola Island, the normal current is 6-7 knots (about 9 mph). Slack tide this morning was scheduled for 10:22 a.m.

We rose at 6:30 and headed out of our last anchorage in Clam Bay, a delightfully quiet wooded cove surrounded by Thetis Island, Kuper Island (a First Nations Reserve), and a couple of tiny islands, one of them privately owned. The evening before, a member of the Penelakut tribe on Kuper paddled over in his canoe with his young son, and sold carved wooden sculptures he had made, of a salmon, raven, and hummingbird, to our crew and the crew on neighboring boats.

Heading out of Clam Bay, we sailed briefly, but were forced to add engine horsepower in order to reach our target on time. There is a grace period of 15-20 minutes before and after slack water in which the currents are still manageable, as long as you are going in the right direction.

We pulled up before the pass, along with other boats headed in the northbound direction. Thirteen boats came through from the opposite direction--a veritable flood of traffic, catching the last vestiges of southbound currents just before slack water.

As the southbound traffic cleared, we crept closer to the pass, waiting for the tide to turn. But wait, here was a strange vision--what were these piles of logs floating in our path??!!

Just ahead, beating us to the cut, were four tugboats also waiting their chance to lug/pull/push/manipulate their massive loads of timber through the tiny passage: "booms" holding hundreds of floating logs, tied together and divided into sections.

Picture a very narrow cut between rock cliffs covered with evergreens. The cut is wide enough for two boats to pass comfortably at slack tide. But a pile of logs is a barely manageable beast! Here's how it works: one tugboat latches onto a cable in front, pulling the whole contraption forward. A second tugboat races around the back and sides of the boom, pushing the sections of logs into place and keeping them from escaping or washing up on the rocks and helping to move through the center of the passage.

Still, the logs are unruly and try hard to escape, the sections swaying from side to side in the channel. Definitely not something a sailing vessel can safely pass. And our time was a-wasting! The captain of our boat frantically called the tugs on the radio, seeking guidance. Looked at his watch. Fretted and sweated.

We watched the phenomenon with awe, amazed that such an enterprise was attempted (and allowed!) in such a narrow passage with heavy traffic.

At one point it looked as though the tugs had cleared the way on the left side for boats to pass, and we started forward--but as we came aside, the tug captain shooed us back. "I woudn't try it for another 15 minutes!" he warned. So we threw the engine in reverse, retreated to a safe distance, and circled a while longer.

When the tide turned, the northbound current helped move the log booms faster through Dodd Narrows, finally opening the passage for other vessels. On the other side (where many more boats were waiting to pass), we understood why the timber industry needed to move its raw materials through this particular spot: a massive timber mill located just on the other side of the cut. A freighter loaded with logs was preparing to leave the dock-bound for overseas, perhaps?

Yes, an exciting day on the high seas. And our last day--tonight we pulled back into Stones Marina in Nanaimo, where we began our journey, safe and sound, tired but satisfied.

I Can See For Miles and Miles and Miles

Believe it or not, I posted the first part of this blog from the top of Mount Galiano, one of the highest peaks in the Gulf Islands--in a wilderness preserve!  Who woulda thought -- getting 3G at 1,000 feet with no buildings around for miles. Anchored our boat in Montague Harbor of Galiano Island, hitchhiked several miles to the trailhead, and climbed up here through beautiful mossy rain forest.

Great views of islands and sea channels from the top, including a glimpse all the way to Puget Sound in the good ol' USA. (Not so good today though; Canadians all got the news of the Navy Yard incident.)

Needed to get down the mountain pronto in order to hitchhike back to get dinghied back to the boat. Had a schedule to keep, and very very few cars on the road. A nice man offered to take us out of his way all the way to the dock. People have been like that on several islands; hitchhiking is the way to get around. Not many strangers in town!

Why so important to get back to the boat in time?  Another exciting evening in the sailing life! Who says sailing is all about boats? The onshore excursions ain't bad either. The Pub Bus (a magic school bus!) with its weird and crazy driver (www.tommytransit.com ) was due to pick us up at 6 pm -- a very fun guy; we had a blast in his bus while he cranked up some tunes, played percussion on every part of his dashboard, and handed us some spare tambourines. Getting there was 90% of the fun!



The food at the Hummingbird Pub wasn't bad, either. The whole (current) crew of the sailing vessel Archer. Captain Dave at left, wife on the other side. Next to Dave, Mark who joined us at Tofino. And of course, Amber and Pope.

Killer Whales, Screeching Roosters: Getting to Know the Fauna (and Folks) of the Gulf Islands

Well, folks, I’ve been trying for days to get you a photo of whales breaching. Finally got a photo, sort of, of a pod of orcas (killer whales)—our first orca sighting! The whales we saw a few days ago were humpbacks, though we were deep in the heart of orca country. The orcas were just off the coast of the Saanich peninsula of Vancouver Island, a short way north of Victoria. See photo below.

We didn’t stop in Victoria except to drop off a crew member, Scott, as we had picked up another crew member, a second Mark, in Tofino. Victoria Harbor was crazy—cruise ships, schooners, sailboats, fishing boats, tour boats, water taxis, and seaplanes sharing a narrow corridor in and out of town! Yellow buoys mark the center line. Traveling into town? Keep right. Out of town, keep left. Boats hug the buoys, because seaplanes lay claim to the outer “lane.” While waiting in line at the fuel dock, maneuvering to avoid other vessels, a tour boat blatantly cut in front of us! A transport officer motors around, trying to keep order. Pert little houseboats line the docks. (See photo.)

 

Got out of Victoria fast, and up the coast. Anchored all alone in placid Saanichton Bay in 25 feet of water.  Next morning, leaving the bay for a tour of the Gulf Islands, we encountered a pod of six orcas cavorting, gliding, and diving. Put on a great show for about 15 minutes. Only one other boat there to watch, and a couple of kayakers, who fled the area as the whales approached—puzzling! Who wouldn’t want to watch the orcas put on a show? Then we realized, maybe people in small boats were uncomfortable getting up close to thousand-pound leviathans! 

 

But the adventure wasn’t over yet!!  We anchored at Salt Spring Island and headed on over to the island’s county fair. I’ve wanted to visit this island since I saw it from a ferry many years ago, when attending a yoga retreat on a nearby island.

At the Salt Spring Island Fall Fair (think mini state fair), the country music was rockin’ and rollin’, the local blackberry pie was delish, and the corn on the cob was…well, not as sweet as the east coast. The longest zucchini went down in the record books at 23 inches. The largest pumpkin, 647 pounds.

The highlight of the day was Pope’s participation in the rooster-calling contest! Having grown up on a Maryland farm, he er-er-errrred his way through two rounds, staying right in there with a local farmer, a 4-year-old, someone’s dad, and a Washington State girl. When the judges finally booted him out of the ring, the emcee suggested he run along back home now … and, by the way, say “hey” (or is it “hay”?) to Obama!

Our Home on the High Seas -- for a Month

 

Staying aboard our little boat back home was a lot like camping: jugs of water, miniature gas stove, portable toilet. The boat we chartered for the Vancouver Island trip is a luxury yacht. It has been eminently comfortable for living aboard for an extended period. It has a propane refrigerator--with freezer compartment! Counter space for preparing food. Comfortable bunks, even if they’re a bit cozy. A decent sized marine head—toilet, sink, and mini shower area. Roomy seating in the indoor cabin and outdoor cockpit--for working, plotting courses, and enjoying the boat ride, as well as for meals and happy hours. (Those all-important happy hours, essential for developing crew cohesivenss...)

 Operating the boat’s amenities depends on a functioning engine and replenishment of the fuel and water periodically. Comfort, however, depends on a lot more than that. It depends also on cooperation, cleanliness, and maintenance. Someone has to take the smallest berth, clean the toilet, cook the noodles, and wash the coffee cups. Once in a while, the subtle scents on board call out for a visit to a shower and laundromat.

 

Here are just a few images of life aboard: the good stuff, at least.

 

 Our 43-foot Bavaria sailboat, "Archer," anchored in fog.  

 

 Captain Dave at the helm and his wife, Joanne, in the galley.

 

Four of the five crew: Amber, Pope, Dave, Joanne

 





 

Pope and Mark starting happy hour; sometimes the Jameson whiskey comes first; sometimes the beer.

 

It takes half of the crew to figure out how to raise an anchor when it's tucked under a rock, and the other half of the crew to plot a course.

 

 

The v-shaped sleeping nook in the rear of the boat (called a quarterberth) that Pope and I share with our luggage and guitar. Rain gear, life jackets and harnesses (straps we use to tie ourselves to the boat while out in the ocean) hanging up to dry at the entryway to our quarterberth.

 

 

 

 

The Deep Blue Sea at Night, in the Fog---and Relief

Pardon my absence from blogging last night, despite the availability of Internet. I was recuperating, rebalancing my nervous system, and resting my tired body. We survived two days and a night of sailing straight through gray seas, rolling swells ranging from a few feet high to 10-12 feet, and heavy fog, with visibility as low as 100 feet from the boat. We could see seabirds swimming at our side, but that was about it. (Note: pictures do not capture the size of the waves nor the grayness of our surroundings.)

 

We had motored most of the day, in fog, but sailed all night--also in fog--in order to save fuel. Needless to say, the experience was somewhat stressful.

For three of us crew members, that was our first experience with both ocean sailing and with night sailing. We took turns sleeping, steering, and keeping vigil on the boat deck--watching for other boats, floating logs and kelp, whales getting ready adds to chomp on our rudder, and other potential obstacles to a safe and successful passage.

While out in the ocean, anyone who comes outside to the cockpit or boat deck wears a life jacket and secures himself or herself to the boat with a harness--a long strap with carabiner clips at each end. Not only is this an essential safety measure in blue-water sailing--a man overboard would not be seen for more than a couple of seconds in big waves and ocean currents. In the dark and in the fog, it also adds a measure of mental stability, especially for we novices.

We had pulled off the dock at Bull Harbor, Hope Island (see previous blog) at 6 am Sunday. Hope Island is at the northern tip of Vancouver Island. We never saw the sun, though the stars were visible for a brief moment during the night. Around that time, we saw the lights of a handful of large commercial ships, including a cruise ship, probably headed for Alaska. After another 3/4 day of slogging through fog, the skies began to clear as we docked in Tofino, halfway down the west coast, at 3 pm Monday, after about 160 miles of sailing straight through.

Tofino is a pleasant tourist town and a fishing settlement; the docks are populated by charter fishing boats taking clients out for salmon and halibut, later cleaned on the docks, and Vietnamese immigrants in metal boats catching Dungeness crab.

Tofino has shops, restaurants, and coffee shops; beaches; and a trail through the rain forest.

Tofino is sunny and warm. We are all smiles. We are so content, in fact, we are staying here two nights! Onward to Victoria next.

First Glimpse of the Deep Blue Sea

We are tied up in a very quiet, peaceful, lovely cove at a dock belonging to the Tlatlaslikawa Nation (a First Nation of Canada). One of the quietest sites you can imagine, tucked inside a narrow passage that leads a harried sailor out of the wide, windswept Goleta Channel at the tip of Vancouver Island into a piece of heaven. Two residents are keeping watch, manning the business of providing shelter, docking, and sometimes fuel for visiting fishermen and cruisers. The rest of the community of 30 or so have moved back to Port Hardy for the school season, to get their children educated (and maybe enjoy the other benefits of a small town?).

 

The quiet cove, however, is one of two environments the community lives with every day. At the front of the houses, on the other side of a thin isthmus, is the Pacific Ocean! The community is sandwiched between heaven and the deep blue sea. And, of course, the accompanying winds, waves, storms, and tsunami threats--as in the one 6 months ago, when the town evacuated to a nearby hilltop.

 

The two gentlemen on watch--and maintenance duty--say they love the peace and solitude. Wolves have haunted the environs lately. I am writing this on the porch of one of the gentlemen's homes--the only house in the community that gets Internet. In turn, I invited them to dine with us on the boat. We'll see if they come!

This will be our refuge for the night, then tomorrow we round the corner and face the fears and challenges that come with an excursion onto (not into!!) the deep blue sea. In the Goleta Channel, depths were already more than 1,000 feet. Waves were only one foot. I cannot even fathom the rolling swells, the unimaginable depths, and the risk of encountering more fog out on the Pacific Ocean.

 

Stay tuned for the next chapter--unlikely to get Internet for several days. Finding here was a surprise!