(This is the seventh in a series of blog reports from former Sonoma City Manager and Index-Tribune contributor Pam Gibson, and her husband, Mark, who ran away from home to explore the West Coast in their 32-foot Nordic Tug.)
I take back all the bad things I said about crossing the Straits of Georgia.
On our trip back across, the waters were as smooth as glass and our little tug purred like a kitten. No bouncing, no toppling furniture, not even a whisper of wind. The only thing we had to worry about was getting hit by a stray torpedo.
The Canadian Navy has a substantial area east of Vancouver Island where weapons are tested. The bottom is flat and monitoring devices cover the floor.
The morning weather report said the Navy was active and advised mariners to keep their radios tuned to Channel 16, the hailing channel. Mark chose a course that skirted the edge of the zone and we never strayed, unlike a few boats who got a military escort out of the zone, or worse, a helicopter in front of their bow telling them to turn on their blankety-blank radio.
A couple of nights in Nanaimo for laundry and provisioning, then on down the Gulf Islands to anchorages in Telegraph Harbor (where private mooring balls have taken up the anchoring area), and Wallace Island (where the inlet is so narrow boats have to stern tie to rings in the rocky shoreline).
Then on to Maple Bay in a heavy wind, dodging sailboats dousing their spinnakers during a race. We finally found a space to put our hook down at the edge of a wide channel that had buoys telling you not to anchor beyond that point. When the first float plane roared in a few feet from our stern I knew why.
After a stop in Sidney to sit out a rainstorm, we headed over to Roche Harbor on San Juan Island. Back in U.S. waters, we’re about to start the last leg of this summer adventure.
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