Author: Kathy Scott

The word Monterey conjures up images (and sounds) of music due to the renowned annual jazz festival that take place there. The 1967 Monterey Pop festival is said to have coined the phrase ‘The Summer of Love’, so it seemed an appropriate destination to head for after San Francisco. We arrived at Monterey Harbour early on the morning of 6^th October to the now familiar and welcome sounds of barking sea lions. Paul’s oft-repeated assertion that it would get hotter the further south we go had never seemed to hold so true as we took our customary exploratory walk in new surroundings. The late morning sun’s heat had us shedding layers of clothing as we strolled along the boardwalk. The beach looked very inviting, with small groups of people swimming, sunbathing and surfing but it was the sound of live music coming from a nearby square that grabbed our attention.  A cultural festival was taking place on a stage in the square, honouring a celebration of languages around the world. Food and souvenir stalls lined the sides and there was a great atmosphere from the audience enjoying performances from dancers and speakers representing the countries.

My initial impressions of the town made me think of Spain. The small centre had a decidedly Mediterranean feel, with its tree-lined Spanish named streets, Spanish-style architecture and pavement cafes. Monterey has a long history of Spanish (and later on, Mexican) settlement and was California’s capital under both rules until 1850. The coastal trail is a long attractive walkway spanning the length of the bay’s coastal curve. We walked only a small part of it, planning to walk the whole trail when we visited Cannery Row. The only drawback was the profusion of cyclists using the same path and ringing bells to urge you out of their way. I found it safest to stick close to the edge and stay there in order to avoid collisions. The rocky shore is populated with a rich variety of marine life and the water was clear enough to see seals, sea lions and birds when they dived and swam under the surface. We stood for ages looking at them, and at the grand views behind us of old canning factories and the colourful Fisherman’s Wharf Pier.

Monterey’s Fisherman’s Wharf is smaller and consequently less lively than San Francisco’s – even with all the usual seafood restaurants, gift shops, candy stores and whale watching and fishing excursion tours. We ambled around this compact, quaint tourist attraction for an hour or so. Well who doesn’t like the occasional browse in shops full of tacky gifts and souvenirs! Actually some of the items on sale were of high quality and unusual enough for us to linger and examine them. We booked a table for dinner at one of the restaurants before heading back to town to do some shopping. The festival was still in full swing when we arrived there so we sat and watched the last few performances before the finale. One guy from the audience who joined in the dancing bore a striking resemblance to the man currently making a pig’s ear of being our Prime Minister. See the pic below 😉

Monterey revealed more of its history and places of interest over the few days we were there. Considering the Spanish and Latin American heritage we were surprised to find at least three of its pubs advertising their Britishness. Parts of the town centre did actually resemble old English market towns but we never discovered why the pubs were festooned with UK flags and displayed menus boasting fish and chips, Sunday roasts and sausage and mash. Always a fan of charity shops, I have grown to love the ‘thrift stores’ here in America. Some of them are like social history museums with their old crockery, kitchen appliances and toys – and as in the UK there is always a diverse selection of books to browse.  

The author, Robert Louis Stevenson resided in Monterey for a brief period in 1879. His short stay (a mere couple of months) didn’t deter Monterey from marking the occasion, however and the house he stayed in is now a museum filled with his personal artefacts along with art pieces created by his wife, Fannie. The large white house was closed when we looked at it, as are most museums on Mondays but it was enough to see it from the outside and continue on admiring the other beautiful old buildings in the town. A local information leaflet informed us that pristine, whitewashed buildings and substantial residences made of adobe bricks began to line the streets as Monterey expanded. Spanish building methods and New England architectural features combined to form the popular ‘Monterey Colonial’ style that so reminded me of the historic structures in parts of Spain.

The primary reason for our visit to Monterey was to visit Cannery Row, the place immortalised in Steinbeck’s novel of the same name in 1945. Paul had recently finished reading Steinbeck’s 1940 account of his travels with marine biologist Ed Ricketts in The Log from the Sea of Cortez, so we were both keen to see the place that profoundly influenced the men. Ricketts had a lab in Cannery Row for his marine studies and he and Steinbeck became great friends after meeting in 1930, remaining so until Ricketts was killed by a train in 1948. Cannery Row was named so by an anonymous journalist in 1919 but the area had been used for fishing as long ago as five thousand years. During the time Steinbeck lived there it had become known as the ‘sardine capital of the world’ and the colourful mix of characters working there ignited his imagination. I knew it wouldn’t look the same as it did in Steinbeck’s day, and thankfully, it wouldn’t smell the same either. Nowadays the area is focused on recreation rather than industry with luxurious hotels and restaurants and a plethora of shops for tourists. Surprisingly there was a distinct lack of bookshops when we looked to see if we could buy a copy of Cannery Row.  It wasn’t until we were browsing a huge antique mall later that day that we found some dusty-looking old editions of his books, and they were very expensive.

It was still possible to imagine the place as it was when fully functioning as a fish processing industry, thanks to plenty of information and pictures of how it used to look.  I particularly liked the large murals depicting Cannery Row’s workers painted on the wall of the recreational trail.  

We took the opportunity to go for a couple cycle rides during our five day stay in Monterey. The first one was along the Coastal Recreational Trail all the way to a place called Lovers’ Point in Pacific Grove.  It was a perfect day for a bike ride: sunny but not too hot and the seascape scenes were stunning. Along the way we spotted a plaque dedicated to the memory of John Denver who had died in Monterey Bay when the plane he was in crashed there in 1997.

With Halloween fast approaching, the houses we passed were decorated in the manner you see adorning some homes in the UK in the run up to Christmas. They are absolutely fascinating and we continue to see ever more flamboyant ones everywhere we go. The pumpkin displays in the supermarkets are pretty impressive too. I hadn’t realised there were so many varieties and colours, especially when I think back to my childhood when, if we wanted anything to carve into a Jack o Lantern we would have to make do with a turnip or a swede!

Lovers’ Point turned out to be full of squirrels as opposed to lovers. There were hundreds of them scurrying around literally begging for food from people. At first we thought they were rats because we are used to seeing squirrels in trees and these were all over the rocky beach and grassy areas but it seems they don’t need trees…and we still need to brush up on our knowledge of birds and animal types.

Our second bike ride was infinitely more challenging. We didn’t set off until midday and it was an extremely hot day. As is often the case, the distance on the map looked ‘doable’ but was in actual fact a distance that required the stamina and physique of a trained athlete! Google maps had stated that the journey from Monterey to Salinas would take around 1 hour and 40 minutes by bike, and showed a convenient cycle path almost all the way there. That might work for those of a Tour de France calibre! We hadn’t gone more than an hour when we realised we’d taken on too much of an arduous task. The heat didn’t help, and parts of the track were covered with broken glass and sharp rocks. The final straw came when we had to traverse a busy and wide freeway where cars and lorries were speeding past at an alarming rate. Paul checked the map and said we weren’t even a third of the way there. Our intention was to visit the National Steinbeck Centre and at that rate it would be closed by the time we got there. My legs were about to give up on any more pedalling and we were both sweating and tired so it didn’t take long to decide to park the bikes at the shopping mall across the road and call an Uber taxi to take us into Salinas. It hadn’t been a total waste of time and effort, however because we’d passed some stunning scenes, including a Route 66 road sign which I’d been especially thrilled to see.

The drive to Salinas made us realise exactly how much further away Salinas was and it was a relief to be in the air conditioned car for the rest of the journey instead of cooking in the sun on the bike. The Steinbeck Centre was very good. Unsurprisingly, since Salinas is where he was born and lived until he was 17, it holds the largest collection of Steinbeck archives in America. The exhibits relating to his works, life and philosophy were of genuine interest to us and we made the most of our time there. A highlight for me was seeing the actual van that Steinbeck had used for his travels across America which culminated in one of my favourite books, Travels with Charley. The house he was born and grew up in is a short walk from the centre so we had a quick look at that before catching a bus back to the mall to collect our bikes for a cool and much more comfortable early evening ride back to Monterey.

We left Monterey on Saturday 12^th October, bound for Morro Bay. This was an overnight passage and we managed to sail through the night with the wind remaining favourable enough for the duration of the passage for a change. It was foggy but there were no other vessels around and we were in no great hurry to get there so we took it slow and steady, arriving at the bay around lunchtime on Sunday. The sea life we’d been told would be all around us began to appear as Morro Bay’s three tall towers from a disused power station came into view. Sea lions, dolphins and sea otters joined us in the water as I steered us towards a mooring buoy, while pelicans flew overhead and perched on the rocky breakwater like sentries. Morro Bay is dominated by a massive dome shaped rock which is in fact a volcanic plug. First Nation tribes consider it a sacred site and it’s protected by the state. For this reason it is not permitted to climb it but a public path allows tourists to walk around its base. We could see people on the beach and trail adjacent to it once we’d tied up to the buoy. Overnight passages tend to leave us (well me at least) too tired to do much once we’ve reached our destination and we put off any excursions until the following day.

Morro Bay is proud of its charming little seaside town. An exploratory walk along the front revealed a number of signs exhorting people to keep the town clean, pollution free and using contaminants that would have negative effects on the marine life. It’s clearly paid off because the streets were pristine and the water is crystal clear. The tiny maritime museum consisted of one small square room crammed with exhibits and items for sale. It was free admission and the friendly lady inside was keen to know where we were from after hearing our accent. A good number of people in both Canada and the US have assumed us to be Australian. It must be a bit like us being unable to distinguish between the Canadian and American accent. We walked along the shop and gallery lined waterfront side of the street and discovered some high class, artisan, locally-made and unique (you get the picture) souvenirs and products for sale – all very expensive but nice to browse.

The true beauty of Morro Bay revealed itself when we visited the trail and beach near the rock. It was a gorgeous day weather-wise; completely clear with blue sky and a light that enhanced the sea and skyline. The view of the town from the rocky beach was enchanting and there were lots of cute sea otters in the shallow water to admire. It was here that we found out that the rat-like creatures were squirrels because we asked a couple who were busy feeding them at the base of the rock. It was so lovely that we considered staying longer and maybe hiring a car to drive to Los Angeles. Unfortunately, once the weather and other factors had been considered it meant we might get stuck there if we didn’t continue southward the following day. We ended our Morro Bay sojourn with an early dinner in a fish restaurant overlooking the water: chips without the fish for me, washed down with a glass of red wine 😉    

I had plenty of reasons subsequently to wish we had decided to remain there for longer. Our overnight journey to Oxnard near Los Angeles would be anything but plain sailing…  

Drakes Bay proved to be a great stopover before we hit the bright lights of San Francisco. It was here that Francis Drake is thought to have landed during his circumnavigation of the world in 1579. 30 miles from San Francisco, this stunning bay is four miles wide – and an undeniable area of outstanding natural beauty. Sheer cliffs and a long, sandy beach greeted us as we approached the bay preparing to anchor on the morning of Friday September 20^th. The weather allowed us to see it in all its glory; a clear, blue sky, warm sunshine, no wind and a flat calm sea. The view reminded me of Scottish Island coastlines, complete with crofters’ cottages dotted on distant hillsides.  We’d heard it was a great place to see wildlife too, so we wasted little time in going ashore to explore. Before we’d even reached the beach to park the dinghy I spotted a sea lion basking on some nearby rocks. Maybe it was that delightful distraction that caused me to stumble in an ungainly manner as I attempted to step out of the dinghy onto the beach with the dinghy’s painter. Luckily I managed to stay upright, I just had very wet trouser legs until the sun dried them. 

For two hours we followed the recommended trail, climbing gradually with the shoreline on our right. As high as we were, we had tremendous views of the bay. Meanwhile on our left, wildlife made an appearance in the form of a coyote stalking a deer. I was thrilled to see a coyote – the very word synonymous with North America and a creature referred to in several novels and songs. The deer didn’t seem in the least bit alarmed at being followed; it appeared disdainful if anything.

A car drew up as we were looking and we got chatting with the occupants who’d also stopped to watch the scene. Like so many, they were very interested in our plans and recommended a few places in San Francisco. The lady in the group told us she was planning a night swim in the place we would be anchoring in a few days’ time. Apparently it’s a popular pastime in the area. It’s not one that I will be in a hurry to join – walking in the beautiful Point Reyes National Seashore Park fulfilled all my exercise needs. We strolled on admiring the colourful flora and fauna and the views from one of the highest points where the wide Pacific is visible as far as the eye can see. I hope that deer lived to see another day, we saw several of them on our return journey but there was no sign of the coyote.

It was tempting to remain in such an ideal setting but we told ourselves we could always return if San Francisco was full or too busy. So early on Saturday 21^st, after clearing the anchor of all the kelp attached to it, we made our way out into the misty (as opposed to foggy) bay. Along the way we saw the captivating sights of whales, dolphins, sea lions and pelicans. Near lunchtime, the shape of the Golden Gate Bridge could be made out on the horizon and Paul’s daughter Yasmin suggested he broadcast a live stream of us going underneath it. To do this, he downloaded an app called Periscope which we all had to install in order to see the images. The sea wasn’t too choppy and it was a lovely sunny day but still awkward to operate a phone to let people know about the event at the same time as doing all the other necessary tasks…like keeping watch! Paul was at the bow with the camera and I was in the cockpit messaging my daughter about the live stream when all of a sudden Paul appeared, having run from the bow because I hadn’t heard him shouting my name. I looked up and saw a yacht under sail heading straight for our port side. It was such a shock and the skipper looked rightfully very annoyed. Paul managed to steer us away and no damage was done but I put my phone away for the duration of the journey and consigned myself to the naughty step 😉

The bridge drew closer and I steered us under it, which is a fantastic experience to remember and treasure. Then Alcatraz came into view, along with a clearer view of San Francisco’s skyline and those views caused surges of excitement in me.  It had been 1983 when I last saw these sights and I was hoping I‘d actually get a chance to visit Alcatraz this time. Aquatic Park was our destination, an anchorage beside the Fisherman’s Wharf district. There were signs warning of the need to watch for swimmers and we soon discovered there were quite a few to avoid as we entered it. We spotted Gargoyle anchored there; Carla and Kevin waved as we circled around looking for a good spot. We ended up rather close to a pier wall which seemed to get ever closer as the wind turned us. Paul dinghied over to Gargoyle while I stayed on board, worried that the anchor was dragging. It turned out to be an optical illusion. The anchor was secure but Paul admitted the wall did look a bit too close, plus we were in clear view of all the tourists strolling on the pier.

For now, though we were keen to get ashore so we parked the dinghy on a pontoon near Hyde Street Pier and set off to explore the area. It wasn’t surprising to find typical seaside resort attractions, such as ‘snack shacks’, candy floss (cotton candy), ice creams, souvenir shops and a plethora of seafood restaurants claiming to serve the best clam chowder, but it’s without doubt a vibrant, colourful and fascinating place. We called in to the famous Boudin Bakery while walking along the waterfront boardwalk. This huge establishment purports to create the best sourdough bread in California and has been in business since 1849, now with a museum attached to the premises. There’s a wide variety of bread and related products on offer in all sorts of shapes and sizes. We felt it would be rude not to try a nice (but expensive) sourdough loaf .    

Tired from the passage, and since it was beginning to get dark, we finished with a quick walk around the main square in lively Fisherman’s Wharf, with its old time Italian carousel, fortune tellers and specialist chocolate and candy shops. I thought it would be nice to have a drink in one of the restaurants there before heading back. Most of them offer ‘happy hour’ prices and we were just in time to take advantage of it. With the addition of sales tax and a tip, however, the bill didn’t make me very happy (almost £20 for two drinks – and one of them was a coke!). 

I had compiled a list of places I wanted to see in San Francisco. We planned to be there for a couple of weeks so there was plenty of time to fit them all in. The first of these was The Beat Museum in the North Beach district. We moved the boat before setting off, though – away from the wall and prying eyes. Again, there were more swimmers to watch out for and one of them clearly didn’t trust us to do this; she yelled out frequently to us (or at me since I was steering) to watch out for her when I was looking right at her. It was a cold and windy morning and must have been freezing in the water, but then they are described as ‘extreme’ swimmers. I know I would have been more than a bit short tempered if I had been in that water. The chilly start didn’t last and by midday it was very hot. San Francisco’s exceptionally steep streets are famous, and they’re attractive, but in high temperatures, it’s hard to appreciate the sights around you while you’re doubled over and sweating while getting your breath back. Needless to say we didn’t plan to take the bikes out on these streets. We did see a few cyclists valiantly pedalling up some of them, though before having to dismount when they realised the impossibility of it.  

Armed with maps and guide books we made our way to Coit Tower. Described as the exclamation point on San Francisco’s skyline, it’s a monument to the city’s firefighters. The views are supposed to be breath-taking from the top but we were keen to get to the museum before it closed. The Beat Museum is a good starting point to get the backstory of the counterculture movement San Francisco has become known for. There was an informative film about the prominent characters of the Beat movement, some fascinating pictures and articles and of course, a great bookshop. Nearby City Lights bookshop would have to wait for another time.

Chinatown was close by so we walked there next, and since we’d built up an appetite with all that walking we had dinner in one of the many Chinese restaurants. Ticking off another item on my list, we followed the map to 29 Russell Street where Jack Kerouac wrote On the Road. In this house, Kerouac stayed with Neal and Carolyn Cassidy where they apparently lived in a ménage a trois for a short time. The guide book informed us that she frequently kicked them both out – oh to have been a fly on the wall for those conversations!

More walking the following day – to Haight Ashbury, the so-called epicentre of the psychedelic 60s where 1967’s ‘Summer of Love’ originated. It’s fondly referred to as ‘Hashbury’ these days. On the way we passed some stunning-looking houses and buildings. It’s never boring walking these streets, even if it is hard on the legs. I was keen to see the locations associated with Charles Manson and one of his followers, Susan Atkins and as they are in the same district we went there first. Janis Joplin lived there too, and the Grateful Dead House wasn’t too far away so I ended up with several pictures of me in front of various walls and front doors. These are all private houses now but I guess if you buy one, aware they were once home to such iconic characters you expect to get the odd tourist posing outside your front door.

Haight Ashbury itself didn’t disappoint. There was the distinctive smell of weed in the air, which isn’t illegal in California any more – although I suspect it would make little difference if it was. There was a great vibe in the district, with colourful and eccentric characters, some hippie-themed shops, cafes and bookshops. On one corner is a clock where the time is stuck at 4:20 which is apparently ‘International Bong-Hit Time’. We read that a local clockmaker fixed it once but within a week it was back at 4:20 – wonder why ;-). The day ended with a walk to Buena Vista Park, recommended for its views over the city which again, didn’t disappoint. My legs were begging for rest by now but I forced myself to carry on for one more short climb up the hill. As you can see, the views were worth it… we got a taxi home, though.

Worn out after all the strenuous hill climbing, we only ventured as far as a local bar on Tuesday 24^th. As Paul explained in his blog, it’s the bar where the art installation he designed the software for is on display. Fort Mason Center is only a short distance from Aquatic Park. A former shipyard and embarkation point for World War 2 soldiers, it’s now host to a cultural centre with art installations, craft shops and special scientific events. I felt in need of a drink once we got there – it was the hottest day so far. We met the director of the project in the bar and had a chat with him while we cooled off. The prices weren’t exactly happy hour in there, either.

A bus ride was in order for our next destination that day. I had read about the Californian Heritage Centre and thought it sounded like a good way to learn more about the area we were visiting. It wasn’t! Well it might have been if your interest was in pictures of abandoned railway tracks or the history of railroads in general. As good as the photos of these were, that was all it was – nothing about San Francisco or California in general. Disappointed, and $20 dollars poorer we walked to the Ferry Building on the waterfront and followed the historic pier walk from piers 1 – 40 at a slow pace, reading the information plaques about some of them at various intervals. This was a much cooler and pleasant walk, away from the steep hills and the inner city heat. Coming upon the ferry departure point for trips to Alcatraz on Pier 33, we made enquiries about dates and fares and booked it there and then for Thursday 26^th. This was to be my birthday treat from Paul and initially, the plan was that I would be going alone but I was pleased when Paul decided to come along too.

We had a weird and wonderful Wednesday before then, beginning with a visit to the delightful Musee Mecanique. We happened upon it by accident on our way to check out the berth in Pier 39 where we would be moving to on Friday. The museum is located on Pier 45 in Fisherman’s Wharf and is host to one of the world’s largest (over 200) privately owned collection of coin-operated mechanical musical instruments and antique arcade machines in their original working condition. We wandered in for a quick look as it was free and ended up staying for over an hour playing the machines, listening to the old time music and marvelling at some of the ‘attractions’ (one of them actually invited you to watch naughty Madeleine lift her skirt). These pics show just some of the machines.

Pier 39’s boat docks are famous for the some 1300 sea lion squatters who, because Californian law requires boats to make way for marine mammals, have been allocated an area where they can congregate, fight, swim and bark and scratch and jostle for space to their hearts’ content. There is always a crowd of onlookers delighting in these antics and we joined them to watch the cute and cumbersome but always fascinating creatures for a while. On the way back we passed through the seaside amusement square near Pier 39. Here you can ride an old fashioned carousel, enjoy all you can eat fast food and browse the souvenir and ‘hoodie’ shops. A wooden stage hosts performances from magicians, musicians and comedians in an open mike style fashion for voluntary donations at the end of the performance. We stood and watched a female illusionist from a balcony until our attention was diverted by the shouts of outrage about ‘rights’ and freedom coming from a  man being chased by three policeman. Not long after that we spotted a guy in a wheelchair on the promenade proudly waving a banner with the words ‘f*** Trump’ emblazoned on it. A bit further on there was an opportunity to pose for pictures with Mr Trump and Kim Jong-Un (they may well have been lookalikes though). Our wonderful Wednesday concluded with a face to face confrontation with a large raccoon sitting on a rubbish bin as we entered the walkway to the dinghy dock – I don’t know who was more startled, him or us. I just love San Francisco.  

It was a scorching hot day for our Alcatraz excursion.  All advice, however, recommended bringing warm clothing for the ferry crossing even though it’s only a 20 minute trip. Indeed, most people began pulling out jumpers and scarves five minutes into the midday journey. Once we’d disembarked, the warmth returned and a jolly ranger welcomed us all with a speech about what we could expect to see and a bit of background history. The whole trip was extremely well organised. I’d been a bit worried about how so many people would see everything if we all arrived together. Instead, everyone get a sets of headphones with an auditory tour which you can pause and play at your leisure. This means each place is spaced out so that not everyone is crowded into one spot at any one time. On the day we visited, an ex-inmate was there signing copies of his autobiography. I wondered how he must have felt travelling back to the place he had been incarcerated for so many years. It’s an amazing place to visit and naturally we took lots of pictures. The most moving thing I heard on the audio narration was a description from an inmate telling how they all used to clamour for the spot where they could hear the shouts and celebrations coming from mainland San Francisco each New Year’s Eve and if they were lucky they might see the midnight fireworks. Just some of the pics from the trip below.

Late that afternoon we returned to The Haight District to check out The City Lights Bookshop. I was particularly keen to see the upstairs room where so many poets, including Bob Dylan, had read their work. The shop itself looked exactly as it must have done it its heyday and now doubles as a museum in that it has displays and information about the shop’s origin and events.

OTHER HIGHLIGHTS

We were in San Francisco for two weeks and I managed to tick off all the places and things I wanted to see and do. I loved our few days at Pier 39 with the sea lions. On one memorable occasion, we were unable to get back on the boat because two of them had chosen our pontoon to bask on. Only the day before we had read an article about how they can be viscous if they feel threatened. One had apparently dragged a woman by the arm and forced her into the water. I had seen their teeth and there was no way I was going to attempt to pass them. Paul had a go. He clapped his hands and shouted but they growled loudly showing those huge teeth and he sensibly backed away. In the end we sought help from our neighbouring Wine Therapy tour boat. The guy on there turned the water hose on them and they reluctantly slipped into the water. We moved from there a couple of days later over to the other side of the pier because our berth was needed for a dredger. That side had fewer sea lions and was a lot busier but it was handy for all the facilities.

We finally had our celebratory birthday Indian meal on 28^th September in a restaurant in Haight Ashbury. We’d both done separate things that day. I’d gone to the cinema to see Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, his take on the Manson murders. At nearly three hours long, it was nice to enjoy it in comfortable reclining seats. Paul had spent the afternoon at the artificial ‘Treasure Island’ in San Francisco Bay, to check out their marina as a possible location to move to. He met me after the film and we had a brief look round the Financial District with its skyscrapers and the usual city centre brand name shops before getting a bus to Haight, which is even more atmospheric in the evenings.

Paul’s blog has already related our trip to Golden Gate Bridge where I was keen to get a photograph of myself in front of the bridge roughly where I had posed in 1983. Left to my own devices I would have plumped for an approximate location as long as the bridge was behind me. I was amazed by Paul’s logic and calculations to determine the exact place I had stood. It was the strangest feeling to be in the very spot I had last been on 36 years previously. There were a lot more tourist attractions and shops there than I remembered. It was also a thrill for me to locate the place where James Stewart and Kim Novak had been during the filming of Hitchcock’s Vertigo.   

We spent one afternoon at San Francisco’s Botanical Gardens. They were undeniably impressive and very well kept. It was hard to believe we were in the middle of a large city. I think we would have got more out of them if we knew a little more about plants, flowers, birds – even trees! We need to learn these things.

From there we went to the Mission District because my little guide book said it had lots of bookshops. This area had a definite ‘edgy’ feel to it. It was a lot more run-down and the advice in the guide book was to avoid after dark. This was San Francisco’s original neighbourhood – my guide explained that it was;

‘built around an 18^th-century Spanish mission where nothing seemed to grow until the Gold Rush brought boatloads of adventurers, and wild speculation took root. The Mission remains fertile ground for vivid imaginations and tall tales told over strong drink – hence mural-lined streets, pirate supplies and literary bar crawls’

It had a distinct Latino vibe and there were lots of Spanish and Mexican eateries. Things were a lot cheaper here and I bought a San Francisco hoodie I’d been after at a good price. The bookshops were great too. It was a great place to walk around after dark, flaunting the advice in the book. I had a feeling it stayed lively throughout the night, and unlike other parts of the city, places seemed to stay open much later.

As we entered the month of October we began to plan our next destination and set a date on which to leave San Francisco. We settled on the 5^th when we would travel to Monterey. Our last few days there were spent back at anchor in Aquatic Park. There is a distinct autumnal chill in the air by now and Paul keeps reminding me that the further south we go the warmer it will get. We still need the heater in the evenings and early mornings but it’s been consistently clear and bright and warm during the day. I was sad to leave San Francisco but I felt we’d definitely done it justice. Pics below of our last few days and of us going under the Golden Gate Bridge en route for Monterey.

Wednesday 11^th September.  

As we made our way towards Newport through the night, in the fog and the darkness, a strange thing happened. Not long after I had taken over the midnight watch, I went up to do the usual checks and immediately noticed that the moon was in a different place – on our starboard side instead of port as it had been 10 minutes previously. It was so unnerving that I called out to Paul and he sleepily mumbled that we must have changed course. It turned out that the autohelm had crashed and turned us 180 degrees and I hadn’t even felt the movement.  It hadn’t happened before but once we had got it back on course, I kept a more vigilant eye on it. Taking over from Paul at 4am I asked if it had crashed on his watch and it hadn’t. An hour in, while I stood on the steps looking ahead, I actually felt and then saw the wheel turn us to starboard again. At least I knew what to do this time, but why on my watch! Paul thinks I must have some magnetic device on, or emanating from, me.  The highlight of both my watches occurred at around 7am just as the sun was beginning to come up. On the horizon to port I could see what looked like several plumes of steam emerging from the water. Then I saw the unmistakeable huge black shape of a whale’s tail slap down on the surface. They were too far away to see properly, or get a picture but there were at least seven of them to gaze at for five minutes or so before they disappeared out of view.

The side to side strong swell continued for the whole passage but it was a lot milder than the previous overnighter. We had another bar to cross at the entrance to Newport and Paul remarked – somewhat casually I thought – that we would be crossing it at the most dangerous part of the day, which confirmed my suspicion that he enjoys pitting his wits against perilous challenges in a ‘gung-ho’ manner. It was a bit like riding the ‘Colorado Boat’ rapids at adventure theme parks – lots of white turbulent water and huge breaking waves on the rocky breakwaters either side of us but after the strong swells we’d experienced most of the way it didn’t seem too bad and didn’t last long. The worst part was navigating our way around a massive government dredger at the narrow river entrance. It was moving very slowly in all directions as it sucked up the mud in the shallows so it was tricky to predict its direction and the wall of the breakwater was very close by so our movement was a bit limited.  For the first time, I took the helm to motor us underneath a bridge. The Yaquina Bay Bridge forms part of US Highway 101 and the Newport Marina and RV Park is situated just below it. It always looks as if the mast is far too big to clear the bridges we’ve sailed under – an optical illusion that you never quite get blasé about. We fuelled up at the fuel dock and berthed opposite it about 4pm.   

Checking in at the office, we asked the guy what he would recommend to us as ‘must sees’ in Newport. He seemed surprised by the question and muttered something about two lighthouses, appeared to think about it for a moment and then remarked ‘but everyone’s seen lighthouses haven’t they’ – he couldn’t think of anything else worth visiting. This was surprising to us because Newport had been praised as a great and pretty resort by other cruisers we’d chatted with. That evening we decided to look it up on the internet and had an amusing hour watching online tourist board clips about the delights of Newport. Listening to the gushing promotional commentaries about what there is to see and do, it did indeed seem that the two lighthouses, a beach, promenade and seafood restaurants were its top attractions. They hedged their bets by ending all the clips with words like ‘yet there’s so much more’ without ever stating exactly what the ‘so much more’ was. The picture below might go some way to explaining why.

The park provides a courtesy bus for guests and drops them off at various locations in the town so we headed over to the office in the morning for the 10 50 departure. The driver and his handful of passengers engaged in lively interactions as they boarded and continued conversations while driving along. Obviously they all needed to raise their voices considering distance apart and the noise of the engine. For instance, an innocent enquiry about a specific location sparked off a discussion about how useless that town’s predictions and precautions about earthquakes were. The half dozen people on board (not us, naturally) all joined in, along with the driver, voicing their own opinions on the subject (basically it seems we’re all doomed if an earthquake occurs because the experts know nothing about it). Next, the poor sea lions came up for debate. One man was keen to tell us what a nuisance they were with their noise and their fighting and the crowds they attract. He scoffed at the fact they were protected from harassment because it would be great entertainment to just fling rocks onto their pontoons. Thankfully, the other passengers didn’t see fit to encourage him. We got off at the Bay Front district which at first glance resembled the typical main street of Western films, in that the buildings were wooden, low and a bit ramshackle. Here though, as we strolled along it, we passed a ‘Ripley’s Believe It Or Not’ and a Waxworks Museum, plus the usual bars, seafood restaurants, gift shops and art and craft galleries.

The unmistakeable sound of sea lions drew us to their hangout. This area has been allocated to them and they are protected from the type of harassment our friend on the bus described, by laws with hefty fines for anyone who breaks them. Just by being allowed to live in their natural environment with the minimum of human intervention (and this only to help them), they provide brilliant and free entertainment for the people who come to watch them. Their ‘barking’ didn’t bother me in the least, and we’ve heard it a lot this month. I could have watched them for hours – huge, intelligent, playful and fascinating creatures.

When I managed to tear myself away from them we walked uphill to the ‘Art Deco’ district which loosely fits its description with a few shops and buildings bearing the architectural style of the 20s and 30s, but to be fair, the mission to preserve and develop the culture of Art Deco is fairly recent so it’s a work in progress. Nye Beach, however, did live up to the praise it was given in the video clips. Coming into view in the early afternoon sunshine, it presented us with a glorious view of a long, sandy and beautiful stretch of beach which reminded me of rugged Cornish coastlines in the UK. It was largely empty too, as the pictures show.

Both in need of refreshment now, we opted to return to the Bayfront area, preferring the seaside vibe there and also so that Paul could test out the claim that ‘Mo’s’ restaurant chain produce the best seafood chowder. Discovering that the beer-battered salmon and chips came with a free bowl of chowder made it an easy choice for him. It was nice enough, he said but he’d had (and made) better. Unsurprisingly there were no vegan options in this famous seafood chain but I enjoyed my bowl of fries and ketchup nevertheless.

Next day was Friday 13^th, but despite the date and the added superstition about sailing on a Friday – across a perilous bar to boot – off we set at 8 45pm for another night passage with fog making visibility poor. The waves crashing on the breakwaters as we prepared to exit the safety of the harbour were again an alarming sight but by the time we hit the safe water area the fog had cleared and we were able to let the autohelm take over. Soon, the side to side rolling began again and by evening it was too unstable to cook anything so dinner was pre-cooked veggie sausages heated on the hob to have in sandwiches. The full harvest moon lit up surroundings for my 8 – midnight watch. By this time the wind had allowed us to put the sails up so the engine was off and I had a peaceful and uneventful four hours.

It was my 59th birthday when Paul woke me for the 4am stint. I noticed that the engine was back on and the moon was still creating a comforting silver path across the surface of the sea. Not a bad beginning to a birthday. The heating was on and I watched the sunrise on a much calmer sea while drinking my morning coffee.

We were bound for a place called Crescent City, our first stop in the state of California, and we got there at 5 30, where we were greeted with the sight of several huge pelicans both on the water and in the air. 

The berth wasn’t ideal – the pontoon was covered with broken shells and bird droppings, it was smelly and there was a super yacht with a noisy generator running directly in front of us. After a night at sea, though it was just nice to be able to relax a bit, and it was a warm, sunny evening. We walked over to chat to Mike and Sue who we had met in Newport. They had been to Crescent City before and recommended a couple of restaurants to us. We went for a walk along the waterfront first, for a chance to check out what the place had to offer, especially since we might be stuck here a while if the weather turned rough. In truth, it doesn’t have a great deal to offer. The city was virtually destroyed by four tsunamis in 1964, while more recent damage came from the tsunami caused by the 2011 Japanese earthquake when the harbour took the brunt of it.  The waterfront was pleasant though as we strolled along looking at the menus of its restaurants, before finally settling on the first one we’d looked at. It was a ‘diner style’ establishment and the food was great, so all in all I had a good birthday.

We only had to spend one full day in Crescent City as it happened. It rained pretty much all that day and soaked us both through on the walk back from a shopping trip, but the forecast was thankfully wrong about three whole days of rain. When we woke up on Monday 16^th September it was bright and sunny and though rain might fall later, Paul deemed it safe to move on. Out of the harbour by 8am, the swell caused the usual side to side rolling and Paul put the mainsail up to balance us. He said we’d soon be heading into warmer weather. The rain began not long after that. It was heavy enough to force us both down below to rely on the AIS and radar. Nothing was around but the radar kept sounding an alarm caused by the heavy rain so Paul turned it off. By 1 o’clock it was dry and bright again. The next alarm came from the coastguard who put a warning out on the radio to warn mariners to watch out for a giant water spout! I couldn’t help picturing us on the boat swirling around like a toy boat on top of that spout. Thankfully we saw no sight of it.

Tuesday 17^th September saw us arrive at Fort Bragg after a placid and uneventful (even the VHF had stayed quiet) overnight passage. We approached the inevitable bar at lunchtime and I had to ask if this one was perilous. Paul was a bit non-committal but I heard him call the coastguard to check if any warnings were in force for it. All the buoys we passed on the way in were full of sea lions – they don’t seem to mind the loud clanging bells or fog horn noises that these buoys emit at regular intervals.

The weather was finally more like you would expect in California – sunny, warm and blue skies. After crossing what I would describe as a ‘lively’ bar, we found ourselves on a narrow river. I took the helm while Paul affixed fenders and mooring lines. As the only boat manoeuvring along the river, the people sitting alongside its bars and cafes naturally stared at us and I was a little put off by a couple of guys asking if I was the Sister Midnight of the boat. It’s not easy to interact with people too far away to hear clearly while trying to keep an eye on the depth and the way ahead. It got trickier when we tried to locate our berth. The piles didn’t have letters or numbers on them so pinpointing B5 was a challenge, especially when the only person around we could ask turned out to be deaf. We entered three berths before finding the correct one. Each one was a tight fit so expert and precise manoeuvring was needed to get in and back out again.

Fort Bragg didn’t get much of a write up in my Lonely Planet guide. They describe it as nearby Mendocino’s ‘ugly stepsister’ and declare the southern end of town as ‘hideous’, while downtown is ‘scrappy’. I found it quite charming in a ‘working environment’ way…and it has resident sea lions! We heard their barking and went for a closer look at a group of them lying on the opposite pontoon. They are curious about humans and very intelligent which is why they are so easy to train (balancing balls on their noses at some attractions for instance). This gang looked at us but I got the feeling it would be sensible to keep a respectable distance.

It was Paul’s birthday the following day. Originally we had hoped to be in San Francisco for both our birthdays so we decided to have a joint celebration meal once we got there. To get diesel meant launching the dinghy and taking empty containers to a fuel dock further down the river. Paul returned from doing this and suggested I join him for a trip on the river as it had turned out to be pretty. It was very scenic and tranquil as the pictures below show. I loved the seal that seemed to be disguising itself as a log – successfully too judging by the seagulls we saw perched on it!    

The sea lions continued to provide great entertainment and I hadn’t even been too bothered by their noise in the night. During the afternoon, however, we were both shocked to hear an extremely loud explosion from one of the pontoons opposite our berth. It turned out to be a firework and obviously all the sea lions that had been basking on it disappeared into the water. They came back a couple of hours later and we heard no more during our time there so I didn’t have to call the number to report harassment as I was ready to do if there had been any more. They love lying side by side on the pontoons, and create quite a sight when they do.

We left Fort Bragg on the 19^th after Paul had carried out comprehensive checks on the weather and sea states. It had been uncertain whether we would go but he concluded that if we hadn’t left by 2 o’clock we might be stuck for days. The worst we could expect was a bit of bounciness. I took the helm again for the return journey on the narrow river. It was high tide so no danger of going aground at least. Out in the bay waves were crashing onto the breakwaters, sending up towers of white spray and the sea looked distinctly choppy. Above us, a helicopter was circling the area after a pan pan pan call had been put out about two kayakers who’d been reported missing. Paul was pretty certain he’d seen them enter the harbour as we left it and he called to say so. We could only hope it was indeed them.

We hit the swell immediately after crossing the bar and I had an anxious 30 minutes or so while Paul struggled to put the spinnaker pole up while the boat was lurching from side to side. We didn’t need it after all that because the wind died down and on went the engine for the duration of the passage to Drakes Bay – the last stop before San Francisco.

Sunday September the 1^st saw us waving goodbye to Robert and Vanessa when they weighed anchor at 9 o’clock and motored off during a break in the rain, with Ucluelet as their intended destination.

It had been a grey, drizzly start to the day but had brightened a little when we set off at 2 o’clock for the anchorage at Tofino. There, we would go ashore for provisions and begin our two day passage to America at around 8pm. God’s Pocket has no phone coverage so it wasn’t until we were well on our way to Tofino that afternoon that Paul got a message from Robert to say they’d had engine trouble and were back in the marina at Tofino, having been towed there by the nautical equivalent of the AA. It took us two attempts to anchor in the bay when we reached Tofino – the first time we inadvertently ended up alarmingly close to the location of a submarine cable on the sea bed. Naturally, our first call was to see how Robert and Vanessa were faring, so we dinghied straight over to For Good, almost running over the diver who had come to fix their problem. It turned out that the kelp that permeates the water in the area had clogged the water intake system. More expense for them, and yet another piece of boating equipment to add to the ‘to buy’ list. We commiserated, knowing only too well the frustration that accompanies broken parts and thwarted plans.

On our return from the Co-op we stopped at a viewing platform to sit and look over the bay. I spotted movement just under the roof of the huge fish processing plant near the marina which turned out to be four raccoons on a ledge at the top of the wall. They were balanced precariously and I thought they were getting ready to leap down on to the grass below, but instead they disappeared one by one into the building through a gap between the roof and the wall. They looked for all the world like a gang of robbers with their natural black eye-masked faces and their furtive backward glances before they entered the gap. It’s hard to imagine what they did in there but it seemed to us that it wasn’t their first time. One of them emerged a few minutes later, jumped down and scurried off towards the wooded area where I was heading to see if I could spot any more in the trees there. Paul managed to get a picture of it.

Before returning to Sister Midnight, we helped Robert and Vanessa turn their boat around to make it easier for them to motor off in the morning and then sat in the cockpit of For Good for a chat and another farewell drink. I could have happily stayed all evening, but time was getting on and we had to set off when the tide was best for us. Traversing shallow water on a foggy evening where rocks abound takes considerable skill and planning, not to mention nerve. Luckily, Paul possesses all of those qualities and he motored us over the initial tricky parts before I took the first watch. This was our first overnight passage for a long time, and with no moon and thick fog it was very dark. Visibility was so poor, there seemed little point in being in the cockpit much, apart from checking the engine temperature and the course. The combination of the AIS and radar for reassurance is such a boon at times like this. Even if other vessels don’t have AIS, the radar picks out anything around us. Without it, it would feel like hurtling blindly on at considerable speed at the mercy of anything that might be in our path. That is an incredibly unnerving feeling and yet I still felt compelled to go up at intervals to peer out at the darkness. The stern lights lit up the swirling fog, creating a pleasing atmospheric image and a feeling of being quite alone out there.

So began our four hours on, four hours off watch system. We tend to stick to the same pattern whereby I take the 8pm – midnight and 4 – 8am slots, mainly because I like to see the sunrise but also because it seems best suited to our sleep patterns.  If we’re not sailing it’s just a case of keeping the course by tweaking the autohelm’s dials a few degrees to port or starboard, checking the screens and horizon for vessels and making sure the engine temperature is constant. During one of my trips up to the cockpit just before dawn, I noticed a small round object on the starboard seat. It was too dark to make out what it was so I shone the torch and saw that it was a tiny yellow bird, scrunched up with its feathers blowing in the breeze. The torch beam made it twitch but it didn’t fly off, and I wondered if it was cold or exhausted, especially if it was a young one. I fetched a warm cloth from the cupboard above the engine to place next to it but as soon as I got near, it flew off and could well have stayed with us for the rest of the morning somewhere else on the boat but I didn’t see it again. The picture isn’t very clear but you get the idea.

With the fog gone by 7am, the day passed with our sleeping and watching routine as we journeyed out into the big wide open of the North Pacific. We had crossed the border between Canada and America at some point during the night, and I thought not for the first time how strange it was to do that without all the kerfuffle that is usually involved at border crossings.

On the morning of Tuesday 3^rd September more fishing boats began to appear as we neared the port of Astoria. This is where we would be clearing in and Paul had timed our arrival to ensure we crossed the Columbia River bar safely. Still slightly groggy from waking at around 10 30, I was only half listening to why it was so crucial to get the timing right for this bar. I heard him say that many boats had sunk there and how dangerous it could be but I assumed that was ‘in the old days’ or that they’d been the victims of historic pirates. All I knew was that it seemed to take ages to cross this bar. Paul was at the helm steering and I was looking out for the marker buoys and reporting their colours as well as keeping a close eye on the depth. I could see Astoria in the distance as we lurched from side to side in the swell but it didn’t seem to be getting any closer. A fishing boat contacted Paul on the VHF to chat with him about our boat, having admired it as he passed. I heard him remark that the bar shouldn’t present too much of a problem to us today, and then later he made a point of calling Paul again to compliment him on his skill at crossing the Astoria bar for the first time. It dawned on me then that there was more to this bar than I had thought. After declaring that we were through it, Paul told me it was known as ‘The Graveyard of The Pacific’, and that the unfortunate boats that had come a cropper there were in fact from recent and present times as well as from those ‘old days’. These posters from Astoria’s maritime museum convey information that I was blissfully ignorant of before we crossed it (but of course we would have to face it again when we left).

We filled up with fuel, Paul went to check us in with customs and then we tied up in our berth. I was amazed that my presence wasn’t even required for our entry to the US. Paul took my passport, answered a few questions and we were both cleared for a year’s stay in America. That’s my kind of border control.

Despite being tired from the passage we were keen to check out our surroundings, so went for a walk along the Riverfront Walk, a coastal boardwalk complete with a railway track that runs a trolley service during the day in the summer months. It was a lovely evening, clear and bathed in the pink and orange hues of the sinking sun. There was plenty to admire along the boardwalk as the pictures show. My favourite was a disused pier which had been completely taken over by an assortment of seabirds. Iconic American images kept appearing, such as railway crossing signs, fire hydrants, mailboxes and box car carriages on the railway sidings. I felt happy to be back in America.

We stopped for food and drink at a waterside establishment called Buoy Beer which is next to the Buoy Brewery that produces a wide range of ales and beers. I felt it would be rude not to try one, especially as it helps animals (see below). A viewing floor with see-through plates allows customers to watch sea lions underneath them as they swim or rest on the underwater pillars. Little did I know this would be the first of many sea lions I would have the pleasure of looking at in America.   

Next day we decided to take a ride on the ‘Old 300’ Riverfront historic trolley. We knew that it drops passengers off at the Safeway supermarket, a couple of miles along the track. It turned out to be a delightful experience. Run by volunteers, the trolley was built in 1913 and was in service until 1933 when they were deemed too slow and streetcar services ended. After time spent in various museums and several attempts at restoration, an all-volunteer group in Astoria raised funds and arranged for expert manpower to completely restore and preserve the car. It’s clear that the drivers and conductors are passionate about her. They provide a humorous and informative commentary and interact warmly with the passengers. The interior wooden carriage is gorgeous, done out in the style of the 1930s, complete with old-style adverts on the walls. Passengers get to contribute to the experience when instructed by turning the seats around by use of a lever on the side so that they face the direction of travel for the return trip. The views across the bay were glorious and we were told about the birds on the disused pier (cormorants mainly but we spotted herons and others…) as well as the sea lions who have taken over pontoons further along the track. The commentary also informed us about Astoria’s canneries and other landmarks of its fishing industry. They were particularly proud of Astoria’s place in movie history, pointing out the places that have been used as locations for several big films such as Free Willy, The Goonies and Kindergarten Cop. At intervals, the trolley bell was rung, either by the driver or anyone else who wanted to have a go, providing an iconic American sound with its ‘clanging’ refrain.

We got off at the Safeway stop for our first US supermarket shop in over a year. At least this time I knew what to expect regarding the high prices but it was still hard not to flinch when converting dollars to pounds (especially in this current political climate). The wide range of products and superior quality is just as captivating though. Before waiting for the trolley to go back we took a walk further along the track towards the sound of honking coming from the sea lions we’d been told about. A little too far away to see clearly, we could tell there were hundreds of them basking on the empty pontoons, jostling and fighting and they are never quiet. Warning – there will be a lot more sea lion reports and pictures in future blog posts.

On Thursday 5^th we got on our bikes and cycled across a long and very busy bridge to the town of Warrenton about 5 miles west of Astoria. We felt in need of the exercise after days on the boat. The bridge spans Youngs Bay and is part of US Highway 101, the 1,540 mile north-south Pacific coastal road that runs through the states of Washington, Oregon and California. Road trips have been, and still are such a major part of American culture, I hope we get to do at least one while we’re here (to Arizona and the Grand Canyon would be an ideal one). Huge lorries and fast cars sped past us on the rather narrow cycle track. It wouldn’t be a good idea to wobble or topple on this road! We stopped to look at a group of big white birds gliding across the water as one, like they were forming a living raft. We guessed it might have something to do with scooping up fish.

Our trip naturally took in a couple of shops (or stores) on the outskirts, and then we cycled through the town of Warrenton itself (pop. 5,050). It’s mainly a fishing and logging town, fairly small and neat and charming. It looked typically American to me. The ride back across the bridge was even more hairy due to its being rush hour, and the noise from the speeding traffic was literally deafening. By the time we got back we’d been out for over five hours, most of which had been cycling. I felt saddle sore and heavy-legged for a day or so afterwards.

We had a cultural couple of days after all that exercise and took ourselves off to the Astoria Maritime Museum on the 6th. It had rained heavily during the night and was damp and chilly in the afternoon so a museum seemed the ideal place to go. Unlike in the UK, museums here charge admission fees but this one was well worth the money. It was here I learned more about the notorious Columbia River bar we had crossed. Films of it formed part of the exhibits and showed it at its worse, with waves of 30 feet causing chaos and distress. There was also an A-Z list of all the boats that have been lost or destroyed on it over the years. The admission fee included a walk around a decommissioned lightship. We got the chance to see what life was like for the crew on the Columbia lightship. They had to endure long stretches of boredom, monotony and rough weather in winter that prevented supplies reaching them, as well as having to ride frequent gale-force storms when they guided ships to the bar. She was replaced by a navigational buoy in 1979, and now there are only channel markers to guide us over it. They seem to do the job, though (thankfully).

At the time of our visit there was a cruise ship docked opposite the museum which looked a lot more attractive than the typical huge cruise liners. This was the luxury paddle steamer Queen of the West and we stood to watch her being loaded with a staggering amount of provisions for her next voyage. The weather had improved when we came out so we cycled the length of the coastal track for another look at the sea lions and then into town via the inland main road to look at some of the architecture on the hilly streets there.

The Heritage Museum was our visit for Saturday. Here we spent an interesting couple of hours ambling around the exhibits reading about the town’s history and its notable events. It was surprising to discover Astoria had experienced some Ku Klux Klan intervention in the 1920s. I read later that the museum used to have a mannequin dressed in the distinctive white, hooded outfit but it’s no longer on display, presumably due to objections. We finished the day with a drink at one of the waterside pubs adjacent to the trolley track. Pics below of the day.

Our stay in Astoria was stretching into a longer one than we expected because of the need to consider tides and weather for the journey to San Francisco. It would be a 5 day passage from there, and the forecast was for lots of rain over the next few days which wasn’t a very attractive option. We decided to visit the Sunday street market and think about it later. As soon as I saw the market I knew what Paul’s opinion would be. I wasn’t disappointed – something along the lines of ‘overpriced tat and some muddy veg described as organic’ ;-). Still, I bought some of those veg and browsed the tat before we cycled to Safeway for provisions, having made the decision to leave for Newport the following day. The promised rain showed itself as a heavy downpour just as we began the ride back and it soaked through our clothes within minutes. That evening our marina neighbours invited us aboard their boat for a drink and a chat. They were going home to Portland by car in the morning and kindly gave us all their leftover fruit and vegetables.

Monday 9^th was another full day in Astoria due to the heavy rain which had continued throughout the night and didn’t stop until midday. I took the opportunity to do the laundry and make use of the marina’s drier while we had the chance. We finally left our mooring at 5pm on the 10^th September on a clear, bright and sunny afternoon. This time when we crossed the bar, I didn’t even realise it. I was down below making vegetable pasties! There was a pretty strong swell too. I bet there aren’t many people who can say they were cutting out circular pastry shapes and spooning filling onto them while being lurched around on a notorious killer bar. Here are the finished results anyway. Left in the oven to stay warm, they made a tasty and convenient hand-held ‘at sea’ dinner.

Before I took the 8pm watch, Paul called me up to the cockpit because he thought he’d spotted whales in the twilight. By the time I got up there they had disappeared but what I did spot, which had us both laughing, was a group of brown heads. Some curious sea lions had come to look at us – four pairs of huge round eyes with long lashes were wide open as if in outrage at such an invasion. I kept an eye out for the whales during my watch. I had the benefit of a bright moonlight path to light up the surface but didn’t spot any. Newport would our next destination as we continue our southerly voyage down America’s west coast.

Thursday 15^th August – Still in Walter’s Cove, halfway through the month and it seemed we were finally rid of Fogust’s fog. It was blisteringly hot by mid-morning when we got in the dinghy and motored over to the shore on the other side of the cove. Paul wanted to get an idea of the water’s depth for when we leave and also to have a look in the little store in the Kyuquot Native community village which we’d been looking at through the binoculars. The water is crammed with huge, sprawling seaweed plants (kelp) and I was afraid they would get tangled in the outboard’s propeller but at least the water was clear enough to see any large rocks. We tied up at the dock outside the store at the same time as a lone kayaker and had a chat with him. Hailing from The Netherlands, he had been kayaking his way around Vancouver Island for five weeks and had almost completed his journey. He told us that one night he had encountered a mother bear with cubs scarily near his tent while camping in the woods and that he often heard animal noises near him at night. We all went into the store, which was low on stock at that time but we bought cold drinks and chocolate bars and sat on the pontoon to chat some more with our new Dutch friend about our respective journeys.

An hour or so later we tied up at Java the Hutt café to make use of their wifi. The owner lives up to his description in Waggoners Cruising Guide as one of the friendliest people on the coast, who makes a point of chatting with all his customers. He told us that the building used to operate as the village school house. Overhearing this, a First Nation lady sitting at a nearby table with her family looked across and informed us she used to attend the school back in the 70s and that she hailed from the village we’d just come from.

We also learned that everyone looks forward to Thursdays as it’s the day the Uchuck III arrives with supplies for local shops and businesses. For that reason the café would be closing early so we wouldn’t be able to have dinner there as planned. We opted for a late lunch at 4pm instead so that we would be back in time to watch the Uchuck dock just along from our berth. The boat also brings guests for the resort and fishing lodges and later on we sat in our cockpit watching the bustle and activity early in the evening as passengers were met, greeted and taken off to various lodges and boats, while cargo was unloaded onto skiffs and carts to be distributed around the island.

Next day we waited for the shop to open at 1pm and stocked up with a few more provisions before leaving, along with Robert and Vanessa, at 2pm for an anchorage at Dixie Cove. There was enough wind for Paul to get the headsail out, so I made the most of the peace and the gentle motion to sit at the bow enjoying the warmth and the stunning views all around me.

For Good took the lead on this trip and were already anchored in the outer cove when we arrived at 5 o’clock. We went further in to the inner cove and just as we were setting the anchor, a motor boat sped up alongside us to warn that they were logging in the forest opposite and not to be alarmed by loud explosions. I’m glad he told us because the noise when it came about 30 minutes later was extremely loud and seemed to me to shake the whole boat! Thankfully there were no more after that one. We dinghied over to For Good with some beer to discuss the trip for the following day, getting back to ours just before it got dark. Despite the warmer weather it gets very chilly once the sun goes down, and it seemed ages before we got back into the warmth of the boat.

As discussed with Robert and Vanessa, we would be heading for Rugged Point at 10 on Saturday 17th, a short trip to a spot with some good beaches and recommended woodland trails. I was most interested to read in Waggoners that bear and cougar prints had been spotted on the beaches there. Luckily, since we planned to spend some time on these ‘spectacular’ beaches, the weather improved from cloudy to decidedly hot and sunny as the morning went on. At 11 o’clock we anchored opposite a beach with several tents pitched on it.

The four of us dinghied over to the long beach, greatly excited to see a black bear ambling along on the adjacent beach. After hauling the dinghies up the beach we discovered the trail entrances weren’t located on this particular one but I was thrilled to see that there were paw prints, which Robert and Vanessa were able to confirm were indeed bear and cougar prints. Before heading off to the next beach, they went back to their boat to pick up their bear spray!

We enjoyed almost four hours of beachcombing, walking, sitting in the sun, chatting to other visitors and taking pictures. The trails involved pulling ourselves up by ropes on some of the steeper parts! Back on the beach we were keen to find a sand dollar. A lady we spoke to had informed us she had seen one nearby. Vanessa described them to us and not long after, she found one which she was kind enough to give to us as a souvenir. Hard to believe it’s actually the skeleton of a type of sea urchin; it looks so much like someone decorated a stone with an exquisite flower. Robert said he thought one of the animal prints looked like it might be a wolf; I marvelled at the fact that we had been walking in the same habitat of so many wild creatures.

Early on Sunday morning, the fog I thought we had seen the last of, returned and caused some uncertainty about whether we should move on or not, especially as the coastguard had warned of gales in the area. Then it started to rain! Still, we concluded it was ok to go (despite Paul’s casual remark that in the worst case scenario we would just be blown onto some jagged rocks). The waves bounced us around immediately we left the shelter of the anchorage. From our skimpy beach clothes of the day before, we now had to pull on thermal layers, oilies and hats and gloves. Before long, the waves were pushing and pulling us in a side-to-side motion that was annoying but bearable and we’d certainly endured worse. I just hoped Robert and Vanessa weren’t finding it too uncomfortable. We listened to every weather forecast that came through (often too distorted to make out) and discovered it looked likely the rough conditions would continue for a few more days but would probably get no worse.

After negotiating our way through a narrow gap and avoiding the many rocks in the area, the shelter of the anchorage, as always, provided respite from the elements and by 1 30 we were settled and secure in Nuchalitz Provincial Park. It was too overcast and chilly to go exploring so once Paul had been over to see how For Good had fared on the journey, we shut the hatches and got on with the enjoyable pastime of relaxing.

Tahsis, the port of call for Monday 19^th had a very enticing description regarding facilities on offer in Waggoners. We could expect wide ‘cell’ coverage (note how I have become used to using that word instead of mobile), WiFi, shore power, water, fuel and a huge supermarket. All things we take for granted during daily life in the UK, which although are not missed terribly when they aren’t freely available, does make you appreciate them after a period of doing without their benefits. Robert and Vanessa left the anchorage at 9am but as Paul wanted to have a look at the abandoned First Nation village referred to in the book, we said we’d meet them in Tahsis. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake electing to stay on board to catch up on other things as he dinghied off to explore, especially as he was gone for quite a while. It turned out the abandoned village wasn’t much to look at but he had loved walking on the sand spit at low tide, observing the sea creatures, birds and shells.

I offered to make some toast when he returned. We’d been doing this the old fashioned way, using the grill part of the oven: you know…it involves actually having to turn the bread over to brown the other side! Halfway through, however there was a small whoomph-like explosion which kept repeating after more attempts to light it. Paul concluded later that it was broken and a bit too risky to fix. We improvised and used an oven shelf atop the flames on the gas rings. Never mind, we said, at Tahsis we could bring the toaster back into use using the shore power. There was no wind so we motored all the way, passing tiny communities nestling at the bottom of steep-sided mountains.

Just before two we could see Westview Marina in the distance and I thought then that it didn’t seem as big as I had expected. Paul called ahead to check they had room for us and they provided directions for the fuel dock. We had to look for a green building with a red roof, which to someone who is red/green colour blind isn’t a whole lot of use. Robert came to greet us as we were filling up to tell us we’d be berthing just behind them on the pontoon. It was only a short distance away. Robert took our lines and we tied up. Now for the chance to catch up on internet stuff, I thought, expecting to see the Rogers telephone signal displayed on my phone. It wasn’t there – in fact no provider was displayed, and for WiFi it seemed we’d have to go to the café, while connecting to shore power would prove too expensive just for the the luxury of toasting bread. Things didn’t improve much after that…

We arranged to go with Robert and Vanessa in the marina’s courtesy car to the supermarket at 4 30. Paul went on ahead to find the rubbish bins while I went to the restaurant to check out their menu for dinner later.  Stepping out into the bright sunlight, I spotted Paul on the bridge leading to the car park and strode out to catch up. I didn’t notice the gap between the restaurant building and the pontoon and walked on assuming I was on solid ground. I must have stumbled through the gap with my right foot, tried to regain my balance and only succeeded in tumbling back so that my right side hit the restaurant wall and then all of me sank into the water. As often reported in such accidents, it seemed to happen in slow motion but was probably very fast to the onlookers, including Paul, who rushed to grab my hands and pull me up as soon as I resurfaced from the narrow gap. I still had my bag on my shoulder and could taste salt water in my mouth. My first thoughts were about what might be in the water and did I swallow any before wondering if my phone was in the bag. Once I was back on terra firma and had assured the small gathering of people that I was ok, Paul checked my bag to confirm my phone was indeed inside it. Restaurant staff appeared with two towels to wrap round me and Paul led me away from the scene of my mishap back to the boat. All I wanted to do was wash the water off me and rinse my mouth out, remembering with horror that a fish-gutting table had been fairly near the spot where I fell in. I was aware of a vague pain in my left leg which intensified as the evening went on but it felt good to be clean again. My phone was put into what I termed the ‘intensive care bag’ (pictured below) which someone had given Paul as a gift due to his propensity for dropping tech equipment in the water. I was surprised that it had come on at all, but time would tell if any permanent damage had occurred. (Update – Paul refused to give up on it and finally managed to fix it completely on September 5^th.)

A little later than planned, we met Robert and Vanessa in the car park and piled into the 4×4 car for the short drive to the centre of Tahsis. Despite my little accident I was looking forward to stocking up on provisions and maybe finding a bar to have a much needed drink. When we got there we were all disappointed to see that the ‘supermarket’ was little more than a store with the usual hiked up prices and limited stock. We picked up some basics anyway and decided to go back to the marina’s ‘Island Attitude Coffee Café’ for a drink and something to eat once the shopping had been put away. My leg was hurting pretty badly by then but I guessed it was just bruised or strained from the bashing it had taken. We all enjoyed the food and had a great evening chatting about the day’s events and future stops before I limped back to the boat. Paul managed to get us a bit of Wi-Fi so I was finally able to make contact with family and friends.

Next morning, waking at 4 45 I felt nauseous and immediately wondered if it was due to anything I had inadvertently ingested from the sea water but Paul laughed away my concerns about parasites and worms. He did tell Robert and Vanessa we wouldn’t be leaving until I felt a bit better though and recommended they go on ahead. By midday, still limping a bit but not as queasy, we negotiated the boat out of a fairly tight spot and motored away from Tahsis, en route to Ewin Inlet.

It was a cool and cloudy day and Paul said it was cold in the cockpit. I stayed below still fighting off occasional waves of nausea. Robert called on the radio to let us know there was a black bear on our port side. I came up to look and could see it so clearly I was even able to make out the wind blowing its thick fur. They came over in the dinghy once we were all anchored and we sat in the cabin drinking and chatting late into the evening as it rained heavily outside.

We spent all of Wednesday 21^st August at Ewin Inlet in order to sit out a spell of rough weather. Looking through the binoculars early in the afternoon, we spotted that the Beneteau anchored near to us had two cats on board, playing on top of the boat’s canopy. During his kayak trip, Paul had a chat with the co captains, Carla and Kevin and returned to tell me they had invited us, along with Rob and Vanessa for drinks later that afternoon. We hitched a ride with them for the short dinghy trip over and spent a pleasant evening on board their boat Gargoyle getting to know Carla and Kevin and their delightful Devon Rex cats, Sam and Dean. I wished I had taken my other phone across to get pictures of the cats, but I’m even more wary of damaging devices now. They had such striking eyes, and were very entertaining with their playful antics. They make great boat cats I’m told ;-)…

Four boats in the Ewin Inlet anchorage planned to journey to Hot Springs Cove the following morning. One of these had arrived late the previous afternoon. The guy on board told Paul he’d been having engine trouble and had had to return to the inlet to work on the problem. Paul spoke to him before we left to check he had got it sorted and to let him know we were all leaving shortly in case he needed help. It turned out he would be heading our way too, later in the day and it seemed likely we would all meet up there at some point. It was a beautiful sunny morning but we’d heard it was quite rough further out in the Pacific. Gargoyle left first and Kevin told Paul he would let him know if conditions were rough out there. For Good were next, and we weighed anchor just after 10.

We estimated it would be a 6 or 7 hour trip and Paul was keen to get sailing so the mainsail was hoisted as soon as we had cleared the inlet. As the day went on, nice as it was to be without the noise of the engine, the waves were high enough to be causing a ‘pitching and tossing’ motion and through radio chats with Robert, it became clear they weren’t having a very good time of it on For Good. Their engine had failed and it was too choppy for them to set their sails in the strong ocean swell. Noticing they were falling further behind, we turned around to check they were ok. It was decided the best course of action would be to abandon plans for Hot Springs Cove and make for the closer destination of Hesquiat Bay. At 6pm both we and For Good anchored there while under sail. That was a first for me and I hadn’t heard Paul tell me we’d be doing it so it caught me on the hop a little. It had been a long day for all of us and it felt good to be secured for the night. We agreed to see what conditions were like before making a decision about where and when to move on.

Friday 23^rd August dawned with uncertainty about what to do. There was only a small window of opportunity weather-wise in which to leave for Hot Springs Cove even though it’s only a short distance away. Robert was still working on the engine problem so we thought it best to stay where we were for another day. We watched a black bear from the cockpit for a while but it was turning out to be a grey, chilly day. Paul took the dinghy out to explore the possibility of an alternative anchorage and I took the opportunity to make some bread as we were running low. Last time I had made bread it hadn’t turned out terribly well but we suspected it had something to do with the yeast not being fresh. This time, both loaves came out really well. We planned to give one to Robert and Vanessa that evening but they decided on an early night in preparation for the next day’s journey. We had a film night instead!  Paul discovered he had downloaded Gandhi as well as a few other films we’d forgotten about. I only lasted an hour before falling asleep, and it’s a three hour film so it looks like we’ll have to watch in in ‘episodes’.

The weather didn’t look too promising the next day; chilly, foggy and wet. Robert called at 8 30 to say they were setting off for Hot Springs Cove and would see us there. We set off at 9 and the weather had improved by 10 with rays of sunlight making the waves sparkle and it got steadily sunnier and warmer from then on. Paul pointed out that we were now leaving the wilderness behind and were heading towards more built-up and populated areas. Hot Springs Cove, however, didn’t appear to be crowded despite its description as a popular tourist destination. We did see tour boats, float planes and a few other anchored yachts, but there was plenty of room for us in its picturesque cove. We anchored near to the shore on the First Nation village side. On the other side we could see the camp site and the entrance to the park with a boardwalk leading to the hot springs.

Although it was midday, we decided to wait until late afternoon to do the 1.25 mile long walk to the springs, following the advice in Waggoners that this would avoid the summer day tripper crowds. We were glad we did when Robert and Vanessa returned from their earlier trip and said it was hard to move freely at the springs for all the people gathered there. We set off at 5 30 when the temperature was pleasantly warm after the heat of the day and the light was beautiful from the sinking sun.

The boardwalk begins shortly after entering the forest. Waggoners provides the history of this useful and artistic path. Before its construction, the route to the springs was a muddy, difficult trek or accessible only by boat, so locals and visiting boaters began contributing individual planks to create a boardwalk, originally from sections of logs on-site. Inscribed on these were the names of boats along with dates and messages. In time the original pathway had to be replaced with brand new 2×6 wooden planks but the tradition of carving words remained. BC Parks allowed people to pre carve planks and leave them with park rangers for later installation and then sold bare planks for the same purpose.  They make an impressive sight and it’s impossible to ignore the names and messages as you walk along. The boardwalk program is no longer in operation, however due to good old ubiquitous health and safety regulations.   

When not scrutinising the planks, the rainforest around us provided its own attractions. The trees were spectacular, as you’d expect in Canada. Their roots were the stuff of fairy tales, spreading out far from the base of the huge trunks to form intriguing shapes and hollows. The branches at the lower part of the trunk were as big as some of the smaller trees, and they too formed irregular and bendy shapes. In the early evening light it was truly a magical setting, especially with the heavy covering of leaves only letting chinks of light through above us – and all the better for having it mostly to ourselves. Pics below.

We knew we were near the springs when the smell of sulphur began to permeate the air and wisps of steam were visible a little way ahead. A few more people were around now, beginning to make their return trip along the boardwalk back to the camp site or hurrying to make the departure of the last tourist boat. We stopped to read a sign near the springs that explained they originate from a fault deep down in the plates, which made Paul think immediately of earthquakes.

Undeterred by the prospect of earthquakes, however, he wasted no time in getting changed and stepping gingerly down into the hot, sulphurous steamy water. The pool itself is quite small, located amid a bed of jagged rocks, but at intervals waterfalls of hot water cascade down from the upper rocks to create a natural shower. Apparently people used to bathe nude in there and wash themselves with soap and shampoo but all this is now banned and swimming attire is required. Watching him sit there enjoying the force of the hot water on his head, back and shoulders so that it felt like a massage, I wished I’d mustered the courage to join him. Still, it was pleasant enough to sit in the evening sunlight and watch pretty blue birds with distinctive black mohican crests flying around, which I’ve since found out are called Stellar’s Jay. Try as I might though I could not get a good picture of them. Instead, here are some of Paul enjoying the springs.

There was no need for an early departure the following day. We hadn’t settled on anywhere to definitely head for next so popped over to For Good to discuss destinations. Bacchante Bay was the place we decided on, and little did I know it would prove to be one of the most stunningly beautiful location I had seen so far. The three hour passage began at midday, and the weather remained clear, bright and sunny. By 1 o’clock Paul had all three sails up and we sailed peacefully through beautiful steep forested hills, where the trees displayed every shade of green you could imagine. Even though we made slow progress when the wind dropped, it hardly mattered when we could drink in those exhilarating views. Added to this was the exciting prospect that at any moment we might spot a bear.

For Good was sitting at anchor when we arrived at 3 30. Their dinghy was missing from behind the boat and we spotted it on the log-strewn beach opposite. Behind the beach was a grassy meadow, leading into lush forest – unmistakeable bear territory: Robert had clearly wasted little time in going ashore to explore the area. Looking around, once we’d secured the anchor it was easy to see why. In this secluded haven we were surrounded by thickly forested cliffs, the highest we’d seen yet. It was extremely quiet and still, with only the odd ‘plop’ of fish jumping to break the silence. A snow-capped mountain in the distance completed the breathtaking scenes. I was content to sit and stare, but for a closer view of the rocky inlets at the bottom of the cliffs, Paul got in the kayak and spent ages paddling round the shores.

The four of us finished the day sitting in our cabin drinking and chatting and swapping the results of our homemade (or boatmade) baking sessions. Vanessa brought some delicious cookies and I gave them a loaf of another successful batch of freshly-baked bread.

Monday 26^th August, a bank holiday in the UK, began for us with the delightful sight of a black bear ambling along the beach in the early morning sunlight. In such an enchanting location, with sights like that I think all of us were tempted to stay longer. We were all in need of replenishing various items for our store cupboards though so we stuck to our plan of leaving at 9 30 for Tofino so that we could hit the shops. Not long after departing, Paul took us on a short cut around an island that turned out to have some alarming shallow patches and rocks that looked a bit too close for comfort (‘we will be fine’, he said). It was worth it though because it turned out to be very pretty. Luckily we saw it before the fog descended around midday. I positioned myself at the bow to keep a lookout for buoys and boats.

We knew it would be shallow water on the approach to Tofino so we all stuck rigidly to the route mapped out on the chart. Buoys near the marina were emblazoned with the word ‘shallow’ on a bright pink surface – perhaps for those who hadn’t researched the area. For Good had called ahead and booked us a place in the marina where would be rafting together on a pontoon fairly close to that pink buoy. We would go in first to tie up so that we’d be on hand to assist Robert and Vanessa with their first rafting. Despite the three of us (not Paul, naturally) being anxious about the decreasing depth the nearer we got to the pontoon, we rafted the boats together with no hassles.  After checking in, we met at a bar in Tofino’s main street for some well-earned refreshment. The town wasn’t what I had expected at all. We’d heard it was a tourist town, prone to crowds and noise. Waggoners warn of experiencing culture shock from its commerce, loud engines, traffic and tourists. Maybe I was imagining somewhere like our busy UK seaside resorts, some of which can be garish, noisy and shabby – especially in high season. Tofino is none of these – it’s elegant, charming and picturesque, surrounded as it is by wild natural scenery and beaches; while its lakes, inlets and the ocean make it popular with surfers, kayakers and sea-life enthusiasts.  Tasteful gift shops, shops selling sporting essentials and inviting cafes and bars line the main street along with art galleries and museums. It was busy and vibrant, yet even after the tranquillity we’d come from it was pleasant and definitely not loud and rowdy as I’d been dreading. I felt sure I was going to enjoy our few days in Tofino.

We spent three days on the pontoon making the most of marina facilities, going for walks, replenishing provisions and trying out the restaurants. On the 29^th we decided to move out into the anchoring area at Duffin Passage until conditions were favourable enough to move further along the coast. The current was very strong and it took us two attempts to set the anchor. The water all around us was choppy but it was just about cope-able, and even though noisy float planes regularly took off and flew closely overhead, I was content to stay put rather than go out in that current again. Robert and Vanessa bravely chose to weigh anchor and seek a more calm location to ensure a peaceful night.

For Good ended up in a place called God’s Pocket and we met them there a couple of days later. The current was not as strong as when we anchored but we had a bit of a shock not long after we’d left the anchorage when a fisherman coming from the opposite direction warned us that there was a submerged rock to watch out for. Paul quickly located it on the chart and said we would have missed it anyway. The water was shallow and we were surrounded by whirlpools and eddies which made it impossible for the autohelm to steer so Paul had to take the helm while I kept an eye on the depth and looked out for crab pots for the hour long journey. The current got so strong at one point, that we were effectively not moving forward and Paul had to increase the revs to push us on. It was a relief to be in God’s Pocket (that’s a phrase I never though I would say) and spot For Good sitting on calm, still water in a pretty location. We spent an enjoyable last evening of August on their boat chatting for hours, since sadly they won’t be joining us on our trip down the west coast and we’d be heading off in different directions the next day. We will be keeping in touch, though and hopefully will meet up on future journeys. This turned out to be a lot sooner than we expected…          

Kathy

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Fogust is the term used by Canadians for this time of year when fog is guaranteed most days. As if to prove this, the air around us was milky white when we got up on the first morning of August. It had rained heavily through the night and the temperature had dropped. After a short discussion about whether to set off or not, we came to the conclusion that we would only be hanging around the harbour on a damp, chilly day, and might just as well be going somewhere. There was every chance the fog could clear as the day went on anyway. We left Sointula at 9 30 for the 5 or 6 hour passage to Minstrel Island, a place where Grizzlies had been spotted lots of times according to reports in our nautical guides.

We hadn’t gone far when we discovered the autohelm wasn’t working. I knew Paul could fix it but he wasn’t going to be able to do that during this passage. The fog was fairly thick around us and it got steadily colder and wetter as drizzly rain began to fall as we progressed further out. We would need both pairs of hands and eyes in these conditions, faced as we were with hours of hand steering. This brought home to me how much I have come to take the autohelm for granted. Invariably we untie from marinas, weigh anchor or slip a mooring buoy, motor out for 5 or 10 minutes, and then switch over to autohelm and relax (most of the time). It frees us up to get on with other things. I remembered a night not long after Paul had acquired Lady Stardust in 2005 on a night passage returning to Liverpool from The Isle of Mann. It was freezing cold, pitch dark, and the sea was rough enough to lurch us from side to side. We didn’t have autohelm then and took turns hand steering for four hours each throughout the night. I can still feel how chilled through I felt, and how cold my hands and feet got, despite being encased in layers of thermal gear, a full set of oilies, woollen hats and gloves etc. Staring out at the fog and rain this morning, I comforted myself with the fact that at least it wouldn’t be that bad. Such poor visibility does make you feel vulnerable, though: it was only possible to see a couple of feet ahead. This wasn’t quite how I imagined my first day back at sea would be after nine months away from the boat.

It did at least provide us with an opportunity to test out the new radar, and for me to re-familiarise myself with the AIS. I positioned myself at the chart table and studied both screens until I got the hang of how the information on the radar was displayed. Paul told me to watch for consistent shapes as opposed to ones that faded off after a couple of appearances, since that was the difference between a vessel and large pieces of debris or logs that the radar picks up.  We did 90 minute alternate stints on the steering but the cold got through to me after only half an hour and I realised I’d been hasty in thinking I didn’t need to clad myself in full weatherproof gear. Being so constantly occupied and vigilant made the 5 hour journey go very fast, however, and the fog had lifted a bit by the time we approached our destination. We tied up to a pontoon that had once been part of a thriving marina but which was now abandoned. It was an eerie looking place, with only a couple of other boats taking advantage of the free berthing. Nature has already begun to claim back part of the constructions, and Paul had heard that the place was scheduled for complete demolition sometime soon. For now, though it was a welcome break from the fog and cold. We wasted no time in putting the heater on and shutting the hatches against the wind. The rain got heavier an hour or so later.

It rained heavily all night again, and a couple of times when I woke during the night I could see flashes of lightning through the V-berth’s hatch, but we slept well despite this. It was dark and peaceful and most importantly, warm in the morning. The air didn’t feel quite as icy when I stepped out into the cockpit, and the rain had stopped. I was particularly pleased by the lack of fog. Only a few wispy strands clung to the tree tops when we motored off at 9am.

A couple of hours later it was clear, calm and dry enough for Paul to get on with the task of fixing the autohelm. Once that was working it was pleasantly mild enough to stand on deck and scour the shore for signs of life. Very few other boats were around and by 2pm we’d made such good progress Paul decided we’d motor on past our intended stop at Glendale Cove and carry on further into British Columbia’s longest fjord (70 miles long and two miles wide). This was in order to see the waterfalls that had been recommended to us. They were indeed a sight worth seeing, cascading down into the sea from mountain heights of up to 6,000 feet; a truly mesmerising sight and sound. The environment on either side of us looked ideal for bear-sightings but all we saw were hawks and eagles soaring above the water ready to pounce on their prey – a magnificent sight in itself, but I desperately wanted to see a bear.

We doubled back and returned to the anchorage at Glendale. There is a lodge and accommodation on shore specifically for Grizzly bear tours so we were definitely in the right place: our nautical guide, Waggoners, the authority for cruisers in this area, claims it has the highest concentration of Grizzly bears on BC’s west coast.  After anchoring we continued to scour the shore until evening fell but it remained disappointingly empty of life.

On Saturday 3^rd August we were up early to check on the depth as there had been a concern about our position in the shallow part. Boats and kayaks from the lodge were out and we tuned into their radio frequency, knowing they would probably communicate sightings and locations amongst each other. One passing kayaker told Paul he’d seen three bears the previous day, and if we waited long enough we were sure to spot one. Meanwhile, there was plenty around to keep us entertained as sea birds descended for the morsels to be found in the mud from the receded tide. Gulls, herons and lots of other birds that we didn’t know the names of, flew down pecking on the beach and getting aggressive with those who tried to get too close to them. They all seemed to fear the mighty eagle, though – flying off en masse whenever it swooped near them.  

Once the tide had risen again, it was time for us to be moving on. Several of the lodge boats were gathered near the shore of a beach as we began to motor out into the bay. It became clear they were watching something, so still and focused were the passengers. Paul was the first to spot that it was a bear. Grabbing the other binoculars, I could hardly contain my excitement when I saw it too. A Grizzly bear, foraging only feet from us, and not at all fazed by so many pairs of eyes staring at it. I’m not ashamed to say it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve always loved bears, and have long lamented the rough deal some of them get at the hands of humans. This one was living as it should be, going about its business undisturbed, and with cameras, not guns, aiming at it. We watched for half an hour before I could tear my eyes away. Paul got a fairly good video clip of it but mine didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped. Still, there would be more to see (hopefully).

We journeyed on through steep, thickly-forested hills on calm blue water as the day grew warmer. The whole area is uninhabited by humans. We saw a solitary fish farm with two workers busy tending the huge operation, and maybe a couple of other boats but we were largely on our own for the entire passage to Kwatsi Bay. Paul had gallantly chosen this place in preference to the other option, Echo Bay, which he’d discovered holds a pig roast every Saturday evening. He thought correctly that I’d want to give that event a miss. We arrived at 5 30 and anchored in a beautiful location.

There was only one other boat nearby, but best of all there was a black bear on the beach opposite. We sat in the cockpit with binoculars practically glued to our eyes – another amazing sight to marvel at. We heard splashing close by as we watched; dolphins were diving near the bow as if to catch our attention and pull our stare towards them instead of the bear. Every time we looked back at the bear, the splashing would start up again. It was such a peaceful place; we had eagles soaring above us and the calls and squawks of other birds coming from the forest while we sat taking it all in. I kept thinking that we were only feet away from a bear when every other time I’ve been that close to one has been in a wildlife park. It was a humbling thought and I felt privileged to witness it.

Pig roast over in Echo Bay for another week, we set off for it on Sunday 4^th. It had been misty earlier in the morning creating a picturesque image as it swirled around the trees. The skies were clear by 11, leaving us with a chilly wind but calm waters for the short hop to Echo Bay. We secured a berth there and were tied up in a charming little marina by 1 30. Keen not to miss the museum we’d come to see, we checked in at the office cum shop and asked for directions to it. Billy Proctor is a well-known character around these parts. Well into his 80s, he has filled the museum with artefacts from a lifetime in the islands. The 20 minute walk took us through a steep woodland trail which brought back memories of millipede-laden paths in Asia that had rendered me rigid with fear. No millipedes here. Instead, there were huge green slugs that looked like snakes! Despite this and the heat from the afternoon sun it was a nice walk to Billy’s dwelling.

The man himself was sitting on a bench outside chatting with two other guys when we got there. The exhibits were contained in a large shed-like building which Billy had built from lumber he’d milled himself. It seemed he had kept pretty much every item he’d grown fond of over the years from his childhood onwards. I spotted several things familiar to me from the 60s and 70s, such as egg cups, picture books and old kitchen appliances. There were hundreds of coca cola and other soft drink bottles and cans, fishing equipment, old sporting programmes, cameras, toys and far too many other miscellaneous items to mention. Billy ambled in to inform us that he’d collected a lot of stuff over the years. We nodded our agreement and praised his preservation and arrangement of so many things. He told us he’d built a log cabin out of just one whole tree, and to be sure to visit the small replica school house he’d built next to the museum which he’d filled with items from the original Echo bay schoolhouse that had closed in 2008. It was a fascinating place, a real out-of-the-way sanctuary overlooking a small dock where his and other boats were tied.

More thick fog greeted us early in the morning as we prepared to depart for the trip to Port Hardy. This would be a longer passage and we began it surrounded by swirling white mist – like being surrounded by steam in a hot bathroom, but more eerie. We had to set forth into it hoping we were not too near other vessels, rocks or logs. Once out of the marina it grew ever more disconcerting. I likened it to driving with a blindfold on and felt happier sitting at the chart table scrutinising the radar and AIS screens while Paul hand steered in the chilly cockpit.

As soon as we had cleared all the land masses the autohelm took over and I prepared some vegetables for soup that evening. The fog lingered until well after lunchtime, only clearing as we tied up in Port Hardy at 2pm. This was where we had begun our Canadian travels ten months earlier after our five week crossing from Japan. It felt good to be back in the familiar and friendly Fisherman’s Wharf. We rafted up to a boat that looked as if it had been there a while – space is always tight here – and took a walk into the centre to provision for the next week or more, as shops were likely to be scarce from now on.

After spending a lazy day in Port Hardy catching up on various tasks and internet stuff we untied from the boat we’d rafted on to early on Wednesday 7^th August. The fog had cleared by 10 o’clock and it looked like a warm day ahead. Bull Harbour was our destination and we arrived there at 12 30. Only First Nation people are permitted ashore here unless you have special permission. There were two motor boats tied on to the visitor pontoon but we chose to anchor further out in 5 metres of water. No phone coverage or internet here, and it was too chilly to be outside so we stayed in with the heating on listening to classical music while I made pastry for vegetable pasties.

I hoped Sea Otter Cove, our next port of call would live up to its name, unlike Bull Harbour where I didn’t even spot one bull. I saw a sea otter as we drifted away next overcast morning – convinced it was the same one who’d popped its head up when we arrived. The boat seems to startle them – they stare at it momentarily before flipping over to display their seal-like body and diving under the water. This passage would take us round Cape Scott. Waggoners was full of dire warnings about it, devoting almost a full page to its hazards and historical tales of disaster. It ends with this grave statement; ‘a careful skipper, fully aware that the safety of his vessel and crew truly are at risk at Cape Scott, must judge conditions and make the right choices’. Sister Midnight’s skipper insisted it would be ‘no big deal’. He did say we would be exposed to the elements once we had cleared it as we’d be in The Pacific with no shelter from islands. I set about stowing things safely, just in case.

When we arrived in Canada just over a year ago, sea otters were the first living things we’d seen for five weeks. They were in huge groups off the coast of Port Hardy and we were only able to view them through binoculars. The ones we’d spotted so far on this trip were lone, or in couples, and much closer to the boat. I soon learned to discern between them and birds or debris on the water. Their distinctive black flippers poking up are often the first thing I see, and a huge fluffy head bobbing opposite their feet as they lie in repose, looking for all the world like someone relaxing on an air bed. I don’t think I will ever tire of looking at them.  Once we were safely anchored in the cove I sat with the binoculars staring out to my heart’s content. I told Paul I’d been watching a sea otter and a seal playing together. He said they were more likely to have been fighting over a fish – such is the difference in our perception of things ;-). Later that evening, Rob and Vanessa came over in their dinghy from ‘For Good’ for a drink and a chat. They are on a worthwhile mission to spread awareness about environmental and conservation issues while sailing and living aboard their boat.

Winter Harbour, where we tied on to the public dock on Friday 9^th August is a small, friendly place which was formerly a commercial fishing outpost. When that closed, the docks and fuel facility were taken over by the main general store, ‘The Outpost’ and that’s where we headed to replenish our supplies of soda water and bread.

We also bought some internet, choosing the ‘48 hour for two devices’ option. Unfortunately, my phone greedily sucked up a good deal of the allowance by updating apps as soon as it connected until Paul found out how to turn it off. We sat outside the shop on the steps catching up on internet things enjoying the sun and making a fuss of the friendly black Labrador, Keeper (pictured below with Paul).

Back on the boat, we discovered that some huge mosquitoes had taken up residence in the cabin, so though I hate to kill anything, they had to be disposed of if we wanted to avoid irritating itchy bites. Out on the pontoon, Paul got chatting with two police officers who were interested in our plans and about where we had been. Learning that we would probably go to Hot Springs Cove later in the month, one of them recommended a restaurant run by his sister. Even more productive was his chat with two fishermen who had just returned from a successful afternoon’s fishing. Not only did they present him with a huge salmon that would provide him with five meals, they also gave him some fishing equipment and tips on how to catch them (watch this space ;-).

We spent another full day at Winter Harbour just taking it easy, going for short walks and taking some pictures and planning future stops along the coast. There were some great-looking dwellings on the outskirts of the forest behind the harbour. They had the look of holiday caravans and chalets but could possibly have been permanent. Just imagine spending the winter away from it all in one of those…

Robert and Vanessa arrived and berthed behind us. Their knowledge and tips about spotting wildlife is proving to be invaluable. Robert spotted a black bear on the shore opposite to us and after a while looking through the binoculars, Paul and I got in the dinghy and went over for a closer look. To my excitement and delight, two cubs came into view along with what was obviously the mother bear. I almost squealed but we let the dinghy drift closer so as not to disturb them. I was waiting for the best opportunity to take a picture but before that could happen, a fishing boat that must have spotted us staring at the spot, motored over downwind of the bears and the mother caught their scent immediately. She stood up straight, an amazing sight in itself, and the trio rushed back into the foliage behind them. They didn’t reappear unfortunately. Robert told us afterwards that the trick is to not make it too obvious that you are looking at a certain spot as it’s likely to attract attention from others.

The weather finally had finally begun to feel more summer-like so early in the morning of Sunday 11^th August, as I was making coffee, I heard loud splashing near the boat and ventured out into the cockpit to see what it was. A sea otter was just behind the stern crunching and munching on shellfish. It sounded like somebody noisily eating a packet of crisps. I tried to video it on my phone but it didn’t come out – hopefully there will be other chances. By 9am we had untied and were on our way to Klaskish in the sunshine and with fewer layers of clothing on. There was enough breeze to put the mainsail up so for a short while we were able to enjoy the silence without the drone of the engine. We were both thrilled further along to see a baby sea otter on the tummy of its mum.

Klaskish Basin is reached, in the words of Waggoners, ‘through a knockout, must-see narrow gorge with vertical rock sides overhung with dense forest’ and ‘you will be separated from the rest of the world’ once you are through.  It felt like a pretty accurate description once we were safely anchored: very peaceful and unspoilt with wild nature all around us. ‘For Good’ was anchored not too far from us and although the weather had been a bit unsettled, we took the dinghies over to the shore in the early evening sun and anchored them together to sit and share a bottle of wine. They had spotted a bear in the area earlier in the day but unfortunately none came out to show themselves. It was great to sit chatting and drinking in such a stunning setting until rain and a chilly wind after an hour or so forced us back into our respective cosy cabins.

It rained throughout the night. I heard it battering the roof at various times when I woke up and that continued until 8am. It was very foggy too and we debated what to do, since we would have to navigate round the notorious Brooks Peninsula on the next leg. It was decided we would leave at 10 and stick together as boat buddies. Waggoners doesn’t mince words describing Brooks Peninsula; it is, along with Cape Scott and the waters off Cape Cook, the most hostile area on the west coast of Vancouver Island, and marks a milestone in circumnavigation. Here is their take on it:

The peninsula itself is a mountainous, rectangular promontory that extends 6 miles out from Vancouver Island, like a growth on the side of an otherwise handsome face. Rocks and reefs guard much of the shoreline. Tangles of driftwood make beaches impassable. Cliffs rise from the beaches. At the tops of the cliffs is wilderness. (Waggoners, p. 366)

More alarmingly, its cape (Cape Cook) and the Solander Island area have been known to sink boats when conflicting currents meet accelerating wind and the cape ‘should be given the greatest respect’. Paul’s response to such caution was to state that it would be no problem on a day like today. So off we went. It looked fairly innocuous as we drew nearer to it. We were keen to see the puffins and sea lions that are reported to inhabit the rocks around the area but we only saw one as we were moving away from one of the huge rocks. It was so camouflaged by the rock and so huge, that it was only as it moved its massive head that I could tell it was a sea lion. The sea was getting rougher now and with ‘For Good’ still behind we ploughed on through the choppy waters for the next headland, Clerke Point. Waggoners reported that the pyramid-shaped waves that had been battled at Solander disappeared at Clerke Point. I hoped this would be the case as it was getting decidedly bouncy down below and I did a quick check on the stowing. It didn’t exactly get calm as the afternoon wore on but thankfully it got no worse than bouncy. Paul hand steered for a bit and then put the sails up to give us more balance.

As we approached the anchorage, (having gone through the snigger-inducing ‘Gay Passage), more rocky islands and solitary rocks appeared and I watched the numbers displayed on the depth sounder carefully. Robert and Vanessa went off to anchor in a cove between two islands while we scouted around for a suitable spot some distance away in a larger bay. We should have followed them. With Paul joking about ‘any advance on 2 metres’ as my voice grew more panicked about the rapidly dropping depth, the awful noise of ‘keel scraping bottom’ reached our ears and indeed jolted us sideways. It was so loud I was convinced it had broken through and we would see water flooding the floor. I don’t think I will ever hear that sound and think all will be well. It was of course. We tried to get off the rock by using the bow thruster and even putting our joint weight on the other side of the boat by leaning over but we ended up having to wait an hour or so for the tide to float us off.  Then we anchored properly and all was well 🙂

We were in The Bunsby islands, or more specifically, West Nook. It had been grey and drizzly when we arrived and the following morning dawned with a promise of much the same. We planned to stay for another day before moving on and were faced with a whole day to kill; the heavy showers threatening to curtail any exploring. Paul decided not to let the rain put him off and set out for a row in the dinghy. He was soon joined by Robert and while they were chatting the weather changed into a warm and sunny early afternoon, bringing out the true beauty of the place.  The pictures below show this, taken when Paul and I went for a dinghy ride that lasted for two hours. We parked the dinghy a few times to beachcomb and to go for short exploratory walks inland. It’s my favourite part of anchoring, doing this when the weather allows.

Late in the afternoon we dinghied over to see Robert and Vanessa at their anchorage and while we were chatting a sailing couple from Austria came over from their boat to chat and swap journey experiences. Turns out they are making their way to Mexico too so we will see quite a few familiar faces once we get there I hope.

Wednesday 14^th August. This morning I watched the sun come up behind the mountains after a peaceful and rain-free night. We would be setting off for Walters Cove today, a place that might have some welcome wifi for us but no chance of replenishing wine supplies because it is a ‘dry’ town. The Kyuquot Native community voted for it to be so and even the hotel and resort complexes do not sell liquor. It was only a short distance away from West Nook which was just as well because the autohelm failed again. There were lots of shallow areas and rocks to watch out for so we would have probably hand steered the whole way anyway. This time, we saw several black fins gliding slowly through the water. I’m guessing they were sharks from the speed they were going but I know some fish resemble them. The weather continued to be gorgeous; warm and clear, enhancing the stunning rugged scenes around us. We followed ‘For Good’ all the way and tied up behind them on the free pontoons. We had an hour to wait until the shop opened so followed the 10 minute woodland path to ‘Java the Hut’ restaurant for a drink and some internet catch-ups on a balcony overlooking the bay.

Walters Cove is a picturesque little village and the people we met were welcoming and friendly. It also has sea otters and we finally got to observe them up close. They tend to gather shellfish from the bottom of the sea around the pontoons and then surface to smash them open and eat the contents. Paul got some great video footage of them doing this, and later in the day they have grooming sessions. We watched them meticulously combing and cleaning their fur, diving down and coming up for another wash and brush up time after time – so close I could almost have touched them.

Laden down with bags containing our maximum allowance of 23kg each, we journeyed from West Kirby, Merseyside to Manchester Airport for a 10 30 am flight bound for Vancouver, Canada. Eight hours later we touched down at around 11 30 am on the same day, effectively avoiding any hours of darkness, or indeed, sleep! The short amount of time that we were outside before being shunted into the arrivals terminal felt warm, with clear skies and the promise of a hot day ahead. This was Vancouver, however and temperatures tend to be lower on Vancouver Island, which would be our next port of call. Before that next leg, though, we had to ‘walk the walk’. By this I mean getting in line with hundreds of other passengers to join their zombie-like shuffling, while adhering to the queue-controlling elasticated barriers that are ubiquitous at airports nowadays. They had been set out in such a convoluted, zigzagging route that it was difficult to tell where we would end up but trusted we were going towards the customs and immigration area. It took almost two hours (including descending a flight of steps to a lower floor) of inching along in this way, with the occasional command from nearby airport staff positioned along the route reminding nationals to go in one direction and foreigners in another.  We had arrived at the start of the holiday season and there was a huge amount of people to process through the building, with flights from all over the world arriving at regular intervals.

As we got nearer to the automated passport/anything to declare machines, more staff were around to direct us to vacant screens and to assist with any difficulties scanning passports or answering the series of questions on the immigration screen. The trickiest part was posing for the required photograph (well, it is tricky when you need glasses to read the instructions and then have to remove them to pose). This picture is then presented to border control officers who ask a few questions before allowing you to proceed onto baggage collection. I’m sure the staff see several comical images of bemused and confused expressions on the printouts, similar to my frowning, peering one.

We had a couple of hours to wait before our hour long flight to Port Hardy, so as it was an appropriate time on both sides of the Atlantic, I suggested we head for a bar to sit and wait once we had checked our bags in at Vancouver South, the terminal for local flights. It’s a little way out from the International Airport, and this plane was considerably smaller and noisier when we took off. Once in the air, the views below were stunning. Vancouver Island, complete with inlets, small islands and straits looked just like the ’from space’ map we have of it on the boat. Unfortunately, clouds gathered and blocked the view as we approached our destination.

The temperature was indeed a good deal cooler than Vancouver when we stepped out onto the tarmac in the early evening. Paul had booked a taxi to collect us and take us to Port McNeill, and from there we boarded the ferry for the 20 minute crossing to Sointula where our good friend Jim was waiting to drive us on the final part of the journey to the marina and Sister Midnight. On board, surrounded by our bags of stuff waiting to be unpacked and sorted, I marvelled at the fact that it was still fairly early in the evening of 24^th July.

Naturally, it took a few days to get ourselves sorted physically and mentally. There’s always lots to do on boats, and each trip to ours seems to add more ‘stuff’ to find space for on board. I’m guiltier than Paul in this regard and I could see that I would need to ‘lose’ some things in order to make room for others. Luckily there is a thrift store and a book swap facility on the island so I made good use of those during my sorting. It felt great to be back in Sointula and to become reacquainted with Jim and Ivana. They kindly invited us to dinner where we enjoyed a delicious three course meal, good wine and great conversation which was most welcome after a day of unpacking, cleaning and stowing. It was also good to meet Paul’s friends John and Fay who have a house near the marina and were kind enough to send me some ginger beer and a rose picked from their garden when they heard I was feeling under the weather with a tummy bug.

We had a week in Sointula before we planned to go bear hunting in Knight Inlet, so once I had recovered we made the most of the few days remaining by going on bike rides and for short beach and forest walks. We visited the museum and library and gradually got the boat looking ship shape, sea-worthy and stocked with provisions.  I was thrilled when I spotted the wild mink Paul had told me about. They have beautiful deep brown fur and resemble weasels as they scurry busily along the pebbly shore looking for food. Often, they venture onto the pontoons and have been known to get inside boats, so they’re obviously not very popular with boat owners. One day, noticing the guy next to us looking despondently at several parts from the interior of his mum’s boat that were laid out on the pontoon, he told us he needed to clean every item thoroughly after one such uninvited visit. Seals are frequent visitors in the harbour waters. Their grey heads, sporting huge, soulful eyes remind me of dogs’ faces when their ears are flattened. There have been lots of dogs around the marina to make a fuss of, which has been lovely for me. One of them paid me a welcome visit while I was feeling unwell. He scampered on board sporting a lime green life jacket and tentatively made his way down the cabin steps for me to stroke him. He was a bit like a Jack Russell but larger. Thankfully he wasn’t too large or heavy for me to lift up when he was ready to leave, because he was unable to negotiate climbing the steps to get out.

The museum provided a wealth of information on the development of Sointula as a community. The Finnish immigrants who settled there in 1901 wanted to create a utopian community on Malcolm Island based on the principles of equality and freedom. Their leader was a man named Matti Kurikka, described as charismatic and visionary, who along with his friend A.B. Makela gave Sointula (the location selected for their permanent settlement) its name – the word in Finnish means ‘place of harmony’. Four years later a fire, which killed eleven people, caused half the population to leave the island. Despite this and other setbacks, the community gradually realised the life the pioneers had dreamed of. Fishing was their main livelihood, and they also learned to cut and mill timber, establishing a logging company in the 1930s. To all these endeavours, the museum informed us, they brought a spirit of cooperation and a tough determination that the Finns call ‘sisu’. I like that. Today, the Co-Operative store, founded in 1909 advertises lots of events such as plays and musical performances. There is a thriving arts and crafts movement, with several galleries and studios to visit on the island…most importantly though local dogs and cats still have right-of-way here: if one happens to be sleeping in the middle of the road, drivers must go around it.

Just before we left we took up Jim and Ivana on their offer of using their car so that we could explore more of the island and venture further afield to places we’d heard were worth seeing. We took a drive along Kaleva Rd to Mitchell Bay, hoping to see the imaginatively-named Big Lake. Mitchell Bay is a lot smaller than Sointula and was very quiet and deserted the afternoon we visited. It seems the whole of Malcolm Island has been creative with their roadside sculptures, models and signs. We saw several on this road. Big Lake was almost missed as we drove back, but Paul spotted the edge of it behind the trees and we got out to take a look. According to Sointula’s tourist leaflet it’s the local swimming hole. There was a float in the centre and it was easy to imagine it full of bathers on a hot day; a very picturesque setting. Pics from the drive below.

The following day we got the late morning ferry to Port MacNeill. Once you drive on to the ferry you stay in the car for the 20 minute journey…and you only ever pay to go to Sointula – it’s free to leave. We drove to Port Hardy first to provision for our passage to Knight Inlet and I was reminded how much more expensive a supermarket shop is here than in the UK. Our pounds are worth even less than last time we were here thanks to the current fiasco taking place in UK politics.  Coal Harbour was our next stop, about 8 miles from Port Hardy. During World War 2 it was a Royal Canadian Air Force seaplane base, and the waterfront still has the large hangar, which was subsequently used as the base for busy whaling station until 1967. Now, the hangar houses the tourist seaplanes and the adjacent land is used for launching facilities and water taxis. In all, it had an industrialised, yet deserted feel to it – nothing to make us want to linger for long.

We set off for Port Alice. A sign I had noticed on the way to Coal Harbour proclaimed the route to Port Alice as the most scenic drive in the area (or something like that). Once on the road, we were surrounded on both sides of it by thick, high forest which was certainly striking, especially when the trees bowed from either side to form arches. It reminded us of roads in The Lake District. The waterfront village was charming; pretty and quiet. So far, however, Sointula has been by far the loveliest place we’ve spent time in. If we wanted to see bears and explore The Broughtons, however, we needed to bid it a fond farewell.

Kathy    

I’d been intrigued by descriptions of Princess Louisa Inlet. Who could resist these words from Erle Stanley Gardner (best known for writing the Perry Mason detective novels) in his book ‘Log of a Landlubber’:

‘There is no use describing that inlet. Perhaps an atheist could view it and remain an atheist, but I doubt it’

‘There is a calm tranquillity which stretches from the smooth surface of the reflecting water straight up into infinity. The deep calm of eternal silence is only disturbed by the muffled roar of throbbing waterfalls as they plunge down the sheer cliffs’

‘There is no scenery in the world that can beat it. Not that I’ve seen the rest of the world. I don’t need to, I’ve seen Princess Louisa Inlet’.

High praise indeed, so when Paul suggested I look up some places to visit as we continued along the route to Sointula, it was the first place I mentioned. The beauty of Back Eddy would be hard to beat so our expectations were high as we motored past forested, snow-peaked mountains on the foggy morning that Paul turned 60.

By the time we reached Jervis Inlet, the views had grown steadily more breath-taking, aided by the afternoon sun’s rays and a clear blue sky.

The waterfall that features in so many of the descriptions lies at the head of the inlet. Called Chatterbox Falls, it’s the result of the Loquilts River tumbling its contents 120 feet over the top of the granite-walled gorge. The noise of it grew louder as we approached the jetty; it was a truly spectacular sight – not enough to convert us to religion but certainly awe-inspiring. A bride and groom were posing for pictures as we tied our lines – the seaplane they’d arrived on, which is the only other way to access this paradise, was just in front of us. There were only three other boats apart from us but the place gets very crowded during the summer months.

We took an early evening walk along the short woodland path through thick trees covered with moss to have a closer look at the falls, and naturally took the opportunity to take plenty of photos. The fine mist created by the torrent coated us in a layer of water as we stood by the rocks at the bottom. A sign nearby warned against climbing the rocks and provided stark statistics about the number of deaths that resulted in those who had failed to heed the warning. It was made all the more chilling by the fact that the number could be easily changed if others died.  A memorial pavilion in honour of James Macdonald provides a small circular area for visitors to light a fire with facilities for barbecues and picnics.

All this was made possible by the legacy of the man who bought the land surrounding the falls in 1927. Viewing himself only as a mere ‘custodian’ of the ‘beautiful, peaceful haven’ James F Macdonald loved the place so much that in 1953 he declared his wish that it should never be commercialised. He stated that the property should be turned over to yachtsmen of the Northwest so they could carry on enjoying the beauty ‘unspoiled by the hand of man’. It’s thought that the name Louisa was in honour of Queen Victoria’s fourth daughter Louise who had spent three months in Victoria, British Columbia in 1876, but the actual source is uncertain.

We met a Canadian father and son on our way back to the boat in the dusky twilight. It was their first visit too and they told us they planned to sit on the pontoon with their portable camp fire and consume a few drinks far into the night. All in all not a bad place for Paul to spend his milestone birthday.

The following day, we were invited onto a super-yacht called ToyBox 2 by two British ladies who had clearly spent the afternoon enjoying more than a few drinks. Melanie, an ex-pat from Nottingham had won the trip, complete with captain, in an auction and as her friend Sue from Preston was on a visit with her husband, they had joined her. All the other visitors on the jetty had been invited. It was a good chance to have a peek at the luxurious interior of such a huge yacht and to chat to the other people. The drink carried on flowing and after a couple of hours it was suggested we walk to the memorial pavilion where the captain had lit a fire and we could sit and drink in the warmth of the flames. A lovely experience, especially walking through the dark wood using our phones’ flashlight to see our way. I think Paul and I remained the most sober of the whole group. On the jetty we all stopped to look at the wonderful sight of the phosphorescence in the water. It was just like fairy lights moving underwater – an amazing sight.

We went back through the picturesque Malibu Rapids to return to Egmont on the 20th September. Paul was keen to do the forest walk to the delightfully named Skookumchuk Rapids that Jim (who would be looking after Sister Midnight in the winter) had told us about when we’d met him in Egmont the previous week.

We ended up rafting up to the same boat Jim had rafted to on a drizzly, chilly afternoon that had a definite autumnal, or fall, feel to it. The rain carried on through the night and as we didn’t have to leave until 3 to see the rapids at their best, I hoped it would have stopped by then. It didn’t. We set off anyway and once under cover of the trees they provided adequate shelter. The walk was fabulous. We found ourselves in an atmospheric, fairy-tale forest that was just wonderful. The trees were tall, thick and lush, their branches covered in hanging green moss that made them look for all the world as if they’d been dressed in felt ribbons. The path was littered with fallen trunks and the intricate patterns formed by the roots were fascinating. Ferns and moss with their varying shades of green on the forest floor added to the spectacle.

A frog startled me when it leapt across our path but the only other wildlife we saw were small birds – oh and a Garter snake held by one of a group of students we met on the trail who was trying to scare one of the girls with it.

Paul had asked the guy in the shop about the risk of bears but he said that although they are in there no sightings had ever been reported in the forest. Nevertheless it was easy to imagine one in that setting. It would have been nice to walk in late afternoon sunshine but the drizzly, misty overcast weather did create a great forest atmosphere.  We emerged an hour later from the shelter of the trees onto a rock-covered shore where the rapids were in full flow. A few other people were there taking pictures and clambering over the rocks for a closer look. A lady we’d met on the way had told us that there was a sea lion leaping around in the waves and that was what I set off to look for. I spotted it almost straight away jumping around in the foamy water, searching for fish I expect. A couple of motor boats crossed the swirling mass; it was clear they needed a fair bit of power to avoid being tossed around by the force of the water.  The rain began to fall heavily as we stood and watched and people slowly drifted off until we were the only two left. The rain was starting to seep through my clothes so I waited under the trees until Paul had finished filming. By the time we reached the boat, it was beginning to get dark and we were soaked through and feeling cold. Luckily the heating had been left on so it was wonderfully warm and welcoming inside.

The rain fell all night and after a brief respite, began again late morning as we made our way to the small town of Lund. Lund reminded me of highland villages in Scotland I’d visited in the 90s, and strangely enough there was a poster advertising a ceilidh in the hotel, due to take place that night. It wasn’t long before we heard the musicians practising for it as the sound of bagpipes tuning up reached our ears. The band were all female and dressed in full Scottish regalia. It made for quite a surreal sight and sound in the tiny Canadian resort. Lund’s claim to fame is that it’s the northern terminus of the world’s longest highway. The Pacific Coastal Route (101) stretches an impressive 25,000-kilometre route along the western coasts of the Americas to its southern end in Puerto Montt, Chile. Some pics below of quaint Lund.

On we journeyed, to Prideaux Haven and Pendrell Sound via Desolation Sound, a place that definitely belies its name, which was taken from Captain Vancouver’s description in 1792: ‘Our residence here was truly forlorn; an awful silence pervaded the gloomy forest, whilst animated nature seemed to have deserted the neighbouring country.’ This had more to do with his discouragement at the number of dead-end inlets he had recently explored than the surroundings, however. We found it pleasing and pretty, with no sense of desolation in the view from our anchorage. In fact, all the anchorages we spent the night in were beautiful, as the pictures show. We explored the shore in Pendrell Sound and came across a house that had suffered from the weather at some point as half of it had collapsed. A drawer and other household items were floating in the water so it was clearly recent but there was no sign of anyone in the house. On the shore itself, there was evidence of fires from the blackened tree trunks and piles of ashes we saw.

At Teakerne Arm on the 25th September we took a stern line ashore as the water is far too deep to anchor. Two magnificent waterfalls dominate the view in this bay and we were the only visitors on a warm, sunny and clear afternoon. There was a trail leading to the top of the cliff so we were able to sit and watch the water tumbling down perched on the edge of an alarmingly sheer drop.

Our next stop was at a place called Blind Channel Resort and it soon became high on my list of the most beautiful places I have seen on my travels so far. To get there we had to cross no less than four sets of rapids and timing was crucial for each one. There was also the added hazard of huge stray logs in the water which we were keen to avoid, so I took position on deck to watch out for them. The fourth crossing was Greene Point which felt decidedly more turbulent than any of the other rapids; I felt the boat pulling away from the direction Paul was steering in quite a few times. Paul told me later that he’d forgotten to factor in that one so we’d actually crossed them at full flood!

Blind Channel,  presumably named because of the blind spots on either side of its bay, came into view about 3pm on 26th September and grew more attractive the closer we got.

We spent three great days here, making the most of the natural surroundings by strolling on the beach and following the woodland trails to look at the 800 year old Big Cedar, supposedly the largest tree in Canada with a staggering 16 foot diameter. The path winds its way through a magnificent 90 year-old second growth forest of various tall tree species, lush forest plants and babbling brooks.

Jonathan Raban had stopped here in the 90s and remarked that it looked like classic bear territory. He had walked along a forest path to look for a phone ringing his boat bell to scare them away. We had in fact acquired a couple of ‘bear bells’ by now but we still haven’t used them. Anyway the only wildlife we saw during our walks was a squirrel, a woodpecker (amazing to watch it pecking at the tree trunk), and a tiny field mouse. Later, from our pontoon we spotted a sea otter basking on the wood of the opposite pontoon and crept slowly towards it to get a better look. Paul took some great video shots of it for his blog post. I loved the peace and natural surroundings of Blind Channel and I liked the resort owners, too. It would have been easy to spend more time there, but we were aware there would be more to see further along the Inside Passage.

We anchored at Forward Bay on the 29th September on water so still it was like a mirror. A huge bird sat on a branch on the nearby shore and seemed to be watching us from the time we anchored at 3o’clock until just before sunset. I had been watching to see it fly away but typically it flew while I was otherwise occupied and I missed it. Bears have definitely been spotted in this area according to Paul’s anchorage guide; alas, we didn’t see any.

As we prepared to leave for Port Neville, the engine, which had given a few warnings of its possible failure, refused to start and Paul had to take it apart to see if he could fix the fault. My role was to pass things to him in the manner of attendant to surgeon. This was tricky when he called for things like ‘mole grips’ and ‘long-nosed pliers’ and I had no idea what they looked like. I listened to his various cries of triumph, despondency, frustration and enlightenment and wondered if we would be staying another night. Finally, three hours later than intended, we motored off in drizzly, grey, cold weather for the three hour trip to Port Neville arriving at 3pm. There is a visitor jetty there and only one boat was tied to it so with Paul instructing me, I took us slowly in and Paul jumped off to tie the lines. It’s only the second time I’ve done that bit and I was pleased it went so well. The rain was heavy by the time we were settled and the deserted shop on Port Neville looked eerie in the rainy twilight. I couldn’t help imagining what it must be like in the empty rooms. There are quite a few other dwellings on the island but all empty now the summer season is over so totally uninhabited. I think if the weather hadn’t been so awful I would have been sorely tempted to have a wander around.

Alert Bay was our final stop before Sointula and we spent a couple of nights there. I will always think of it as Raven Island although it’s actually on Cormorant Island and claims to be ‘Home of the Killer Whale’. Ravens were everywhere, and very vocal, too. Their piercing cries compete with those of seagulls and crows to create quite a cacophony of sound. Alert Bay is home to the Namgis and Kwakwaka’wakw (try pronouncing that word!) First Nation tribes and they form the largest population on the island. There are over 40 totem poles on the island and a leaflet we picked up in the visitor centre lists them all with detailed explanations. We saw a fair few of them during our walk and made a point of seeing the world’s tallest one at 173 feet high. A visit to the U’mista Cultural Centre provided an invaluable array of information about the culture, history and future of First Nation Tribes and an interesting display of traditional and contemporary masks and other artefacts. It had a great gift shop too.

The other highlight on the island was the ecological park. This is a natural swamp fed by an underground spring. Trees were killed when a dam built to store water for the cannery caused the springs to flood the area. The tall, naked trees now provide perches for bald eagles and ravens and is a paradise for birdwatchers and botanists. There is a boardwalk enabling people to walk across the swamp which made for an enjoyable excursion and a closer look at the ecosystem of the swamp.

We were in Sointula on Malcolm Island by October the 4^th where the boat will now stay until Spring next year. As I type, it’s almost time for us to leave Canada and fly back to the UK. We have grown very fond of Sointula in the week that we’ve been here. It’s been made all the more special by the warm and friendly welcome we’ve received from Jim, who will be looking after the boat during the winter, and his wife Ivana. They kindly invited us to their thanksgiving dinner last Sunday where we enjoyed a delicious feast and met two of their friends in their lovely home on the waterfront. I can honestly say I love it here and will miss it when we leave. That said, I’m looking forward to catching up with family and friends in the UK next week. It’s good to know we’ll be returning here in 2019.  I just hope I get to see a bear next time! Final pictures for this year from me below, of gorgeous Sointula.

 

We made the most of having a car for a couple of days before we left the marina in Seattle’s Elliott Bay. Our gas canisters got refilled in a place about 20 miles away which meant we got to see a bit of rural Seattle on the way. Anything else heavy and bulky was bought, loaded up or dropped off for repair, while weighty provisions were bought and stowed on the first day we had it, so that we were free to drive to Snoqualmie Falls the following day. Snoqualmie was recommended as an excursion in the ‘Mountain Getaways’ section on my Kindle travel guide. Described as a location the Native Americans regarded as sacred, the falls are 268 feet high and mark the place where the Snoqualmie River begins its descent to the sea. With breathtaking views from an observation deck and short hikes in the surrounding woodlands, it sounded very appealing.

We arrived there around noon on a hot, sunny day after driving about 30 miles east from Seattle. Again, it was a delight to drive through Washington State’s countryside, especially as we drew nearer to Snoqualmie where the forest was thick, colourful and lush and the Cascade Mountains loomed in the distance. The Falls were a tremendous sight, it was almost hypnotic to stand and watch them – a timeless and totally natural spectacle. We took a lot of pictures and read all the information boards before setting off to attempt the recommended hike to the lower observation deck. Here, we met with disappointment, however. Although Paul was lots better, he didn’t feel up to the effort the sign (pictured below) warned of, and since it was very hot by then, neither did I!

We compromised and walked down a small part of the trail until we could see just how steep the descent was – the path wound a long way down in a spiral pattern. Two ladies on their way back were getting their breath back on a bench and one look at their faces showed the trial they’d experienced. The thought of climbing that hill in the heat was off-putting and I was relieved to turn back towards the obligatory gift shop. Inside, the products on sale reminded me of the other claim to fame in the area. Nearby, the sumptuous Salish Lodge and Spa, served as the ‘Great Northern Hotel’ in David Lynch’s popular television drama ‘Twin Peaks’. I hadn’t watched it but Paul was a huge fan, so when we learned that the location for the show’s enigmatic introduction (a sign bearing the words ‘Welcome to Twin Peaks’) was a few miles away we thought it was definitely worth the trip to see it. The route took us through a quaint little town with signs advertising The Northwest Railway Museum and as it was well past lunchtime we stopped to have a bite to eat and check out the museum. The ‘museum’ was spread out along the street with some fascinating, iconic locomotives, freight cars and railroad artefacts to look at. It was possible to board a few of the trains and I loved climbing into the engine compartment of a ‘Casey Jones’ (for anyone who remembers that show) one, and several others that were familiar from vintage American TV programmes and films.

We found the exact spot where the Twin Peaks sign should have been but a bit of internet searching revealed that the sign had been removed. Like the ‘Penny Lane’ sign in Liverpool, fans kept stealing it! Still, the bend in the road was easily recognisable and we took some pictures to compare online later. Further along the road, it grew more scenic with steep, forested hills leading down to shallow streams where people were paddling and picnicking. We stopped for a while to dip our feet in the cool water and admire the pretty setting.

I had a rather ungainly entry to Port Townsend a couple of days later, when I went to jump off at the fuel dock pontoon to tie the midship line. I caught my hip on the wooden fender board on the port side and fell onto the pontoon at the feet of the guy who had come to assist us! The only injury sustained was to my pride I’m pleased to say. Port Townsend hosts a Wooden Boat Festival each year and we would be staying at Boat Haven Marina for three days to see as much of it as we could.

It was early evening and drizzling with rain on our first night there. The festival would be closing for the day but we thought it would be good to walk there and have a look around. Halfway along the long, straight road we were asked if we wanted a lift to town by an elderly lady driving a golf cart type of vehicle. We gratefully accepted, thinking it was a free shuttle laid on for the festival. She was very chatty and full of local information and questions about our plans and travels. She gave us her card and told us to call her if we needed a lift back…and then asked for the $6 dollar fee! She will do well with the festival-goers I think. The festival’s first full day was winding down when we got there so we didn’t have to pay to walk in. There was still plenty to see, and the live music tent had a band playing with a bar selling beer, wine and soft drinks. Some stalls were still open and several food shacks were serving so we had a slow amble around getting a feel for the place.

Some of the boats were open and available to look around but we thought we’d save that for daylight. We bought festival food and ate it listening to the band and watching the dancing. The atmosphere was great, despite the inclement weather and I looked forward to a full day there the next day. We walked back in the dark following the main street through the centre of town. It was lively with bars and restaurants, well-lit shops and some historic-looking buildings…and some large bookshops.

We caught the much cheaper festival shuttle bus the following morning. The rain had stopped and it looked set to be a fine day. Once we’d paid the $20 admission fee we agreed to wander separately around the site and meet up later. There were a few talks on that interested Paul that wouldn’t do much for me, and I could spend as long as I wanted looking at ‘stuff’ on sale. There was plenty to look at, watch and listen to – and that was before we walked the pontoons to look at the wooden boats. It was great to see the replica of Joshua Slocum’s boat ‘Spray’, which turned out to be a lot larger than I’d imagined when reading his account of his solo round the world voyage in 1895. The rain held off until early evening which was lucky for stallholders and festival goers alike as it would have been damp, chilly and muddy underfoot as the site had few places to shelter.

On Sunday 9th, the festival’s final day, we decided we’d seen pretty much all we needed to see on the site and since it would be winding down at 3pm it seemed wasteful to pay another $20. It was cold and drizzly too, so an ideal museum-visiting day. The town’s museum was offering a discount for festival goers and even though we didn’t have proof of our attendance the previous day, the friendly staff member let us in at the reduced price. The museum was a delight, despite its small size. Housed on the main street in an old building that used to include the town jail, it was built in 1891 and had a wealth of fascinating photographs and information about the town.  I was thrilled by the fact that a favourite writer of mine, Jack London, had once cavorted drunkenly down the streets and ended up spending a night in one of the cells.

 

Several other establishments and sites had a colourful history associated with their locations. The Palace Hotel used to be a ‘rooming house’ (brothel) and The Rose Theatre, built in 1907 as a vaudeville house still hosts plays, ballets and operas and also operates as a cinema, or movie house as they are called here. Point Hudson, on the southeast corner of the town was a Native American seasonal camp and also the site of Captain Vancouver’s 1792 landing; it is now Port Hudson Marina and R V Park.

The Rose Theatre was a lovely looking old building that just cried out to be explored further. We looked at the films being shown on the display boards outside and on impulse, decided to see one later that evening called ‘Crazy Rich Asians’. Making a real night out of it, we had a drink in a bar overlooking the harbour, went for a walk along the hilly path above the town and then had dinner in a Thai restaurant before the film. The interior of the theatre was stunning. It was a real treat to sit on comfortable sofas with a glass of wine –  served in a glass, not disposable plastic – instead of the impersonal and often confusing layout of multiplex cinemas. It was even possible to stretch your legs out on the chairs and sofas. The film was good, too in an ‘Asian romcom’ way.

We both loved Port Townsend. Paul said he could happily have spent weeks there. It’s a haven for boat owners, with its specialist marine workshops and chandleries. The shops were charmingly unique and the day before we had to leave, I spent a whole afternoon browsing them and the bookshops as well as picking out the old buildings described in the museum and imagining them as they used to be.

We were back in Canada by the middle of September. Previously, we had stayed at Sidney Spit in the Haro Strait, but this time we spent a couple of days in the town of Sidney itself. Both of us found it a bit lacking in something. I think ‘manufactured’ is the best word to apply to it. We had probably been spoiled by the elegance and history of Port Townsend. It did have some very impressive bookshops though, so I can forgive its characterless gift shops and uninspiring hotels and restaurants. The Haunted Bookshop was an especially wonderful place. On the showery morning I visited, the shopkeeper and I were the only people inside, but unfortunately I didn’t see a ghost.

For my birthday on the 14th, we moved to Tsehum Harbour for a stay in Van Isle Marina. It’s a pleasant, family-owned operation with a restaurant, an office, a few workshops and little else since Sidney Town is less than a mile away. Luckily the restaurant had a good menu and we booked a table for the evening. Paul enjoyed a seafood meal and they kindly adapted the vegetarian option into a vegan curried squash and lentil meal which was delicious. We ate with a view overlooking the marina just as the sun set.

Our next port of call was the intriguingly named Pirate’s Cove – straight out of an Enid Blyton story! No pirates spotted, just more rain and a warning in our ‘Best Anchorages of The Inside Passage’ guide that it would be a tricky and challenging task to anchor, involving tying a stern line to the shore. Other deficiencies mentioned were: an entrance guarded by a long narrow reef with a rock that juts out which has grazed the hull of many boats, strong NW winds that could make for an uncomfortable night and oozy mud that causes many boats’ anchors to drag. Thankfully, the ‘charismatic occult leader’, Brother XII who set up a commune on DeCourcy Island in the 1930s, and who used to shoot anyone who dared venture near his island uninvited is no longer in residence. He apparently deserted his followers, after having liberated them from their money and gold (in true pirate fashion) and took off for a life Switzerland. Anchoring was unproblematic and there was no NW wind to trouble us. We did tie a stern line to the shore, but gratefully accepted the help of a neighbouring yacht owner, who saved us the task of getting the dinghy out. The rain continued all evening, so with the heating on and the temperature dropping we had an autumnal meal of burgers, mash and beans and a cosy evening in.

From Pirate’s Cove we motored to an anchorage at Boho Bay via Dodd Narrows and from there to Back Eddy Resort, watching the surroundings grow evermore picturesque as we drew closer to the mountains. Initially intending to stop just to get fuel, Back Eddy turned out to be such an attractive place we decided to stay the night. The tiny village of Egmont was a short walk away and the lady who checked us in told us it has the smallest Post Office in Canada so naturally, that had to be checked out. It was a clear and sunny afternoon after the recent rain, and the light was beautiful as we walked around the harbour. As always, the photos don’t quite capture the beauty of the place but they give a good idea.

Paul’s birthday was the next day, but as we planned to be at anchor, we had his birthday meal in the pub/restaurant opposite the pontoon.

Our journey along the Inside Passage would continue with stops at more destinations with storybook names. We were bound for one which has several claims to be the most beautiful setting of them all: Princess Louisa Inlet.

 

Fishermen’s Terminal was always going to be our first place to visit in Seattle. Locations mean so much more after you’ve read about them and had your interest ignited. We’d both read Jonathan Raban’s book about travelling to Juneau, Alaska along The Inside Passage, when his journey had begun at Fishermen’s Terminal in the late 1990s. We set off early on Tuesday morning August 21st on our bikes. Seattle is great for cyclists; it has designated cycle paths and there were only a few hills on the route to Elliott Bay. We called in to Elliott Bay Marina on the way, to book a berth there for two weeks. It’s another huge one with a great view of the Seattle skyline. We stopped for lunch in the restaurant there, trying not to grimace too much at the cost for a bowl of clam chowder, a portion of chips and a coke and glass of wine (we didn’t eat there again).

 

Fishermen’s Terminal looked like a great place to stay. Paul had enquired about a berth there but there was a huge demand this year and they were totally booked up; preference is naturally given to commercial vessels. We had a look at the memorial and read the information boards about its history. The bronze and stone memorial commemorates over 500 people who lost their lives while fishing in Alaska. Flowers and hand-written tributes are sadly constantly in place relating to most recent losses.

The port is home to the huge boats that have featured in documentaries such as ‘Deadliest Catch’. Jonathan Raban was here in the month of April and he watched boats being fitted out for their spring migration. He described the hive of activity involved in the work, with generations of families taking part and concludes that the place felt older than the city itself. I could understand that and also what he meant about the past being ‘alive and usable’, when looking at the old and well-used vessels around me; all their modern navigational aids were hidden from view below. Wooden tables and chairs outside the main building were in use by people eating food from the kiosks and drinks from the bar, enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Nearby were a couple of seafood restaurants and a shop selling organic produce and artisan gifts – all predictably expensive.

Cycling on, we arrived at the outskirts of Seattle, getting ever closer to the Space Needle. It was a hot afternoon and the hills were steep in the city centre. I was flagging badly on one extremely steep one as we pushed the bikes up so Paul did the gentlemanly thing and pushed both of them to the top. The Museum of Pop Culture is right next to the Space Needle (which, after looking up at it and then checking the admission fee of over £70 for the two of us, we unanimously decided to omit from our itinerary).

The museum, however, was a definite on my list of places to visit. Knowing it would be too late to enter and do it justice, we went in to have a quick look around. There was plenty of information about what was on, including a recently opened exhibition celebrating 80 years of Marvel comics and one on the music and gigs of Pearl Jam. These, and a lot more were all available to see for the princely sum of £22. The museum promptly went on Paul’s list of things he could do without seeing ;-). I resolved to return another day on my own. We had a drink in the venue’s café before cycling along the waterfront to find a store called Fred Meyer, one of the US’s ‘everything under one roof’ shops. It was here that Paul began to feel the pain of the infection that he described in an earlier blog post. It had been a long day of cycling around and we put it down to that at the time, little realising it was the beginning of another visit to a hospital in a foreign country. Pics from our cycle ride round Seattle below.

Despite the pain and discomfort, Paul felt up to moving on the next day. We left Shilshole Marina late in the morning for the hour’s journey to Elliott Bay. It was hazy when we left with what we thought was fog but later discovered to be smoke from all the fires on Vancouver Island.  Entering our new marina, I was thrilled to spot several seals basking on the rocks at the bottom of the breakwater (hard to spot in the pics but they are there).

Once settled in the berth, Paul gave in to the need to rest and as time went on, it became clear that moving around for any length of time was painful and uncomfortable for him. We decided to wait until after the weekend and seek advice if he was no better. In the meantime, I made any necessary trips to the marina office or the shops.

I liked Elliott Bay. The Seattle skyline was a delight to see at night when it was clear enough, and it was very peaceful there. Walking the pontoons I often saw seals popping their heads up, and several large pink and purple starfish could be seen in the clear water, clinging to the metal under the pontoons. On Saturday, Paul felt up to a trip to Pike Place Market on Seattle’s waterfront. An Uber taxi dropped us there and we had a slow amble around as Paul was finding walking painful by then. Pike Place Market was established in 1907 when citizens, outraged by the middlemen hiking up prices for fresh produce, demanded a solution, which came in the form of a public market. Over the years, it’s grown into a vibrant place with lots of homes above the storefronts – the majority of whom are low-income elderly people or people living with disability. As well as the usual market stall there are speciality shops, artists and craftspeople, buskers and an abundance of cafes and restaurants. It was predictably busy on a summer Saturday, especially as visiting cruise ships had disgorged passengers into downtown Seattle, and although the historic buildings and winding alleys were attractive and intriguing, we didn’t want to risk Paul feeling worse by walking too much.

We sought out a coffee bar to check whether Seattle’s reputation as a coffee capital is justified. The first ever Starbucks, which opened in 1971 is located at Pike Place but I’ve never been a fan of the chain so we found an independent one in a side street and shared pumpkin cake to go with it (both very nice).

From there it was a short walk to the city public library, a huge, shimmering glass and steel building which has 11 levels. It was a very impressive library and I was pleased to see it was well attended on all the floors. Level ten was a viewing floor with great views across the city, and was also the reading room where we spent a pleasant half hour reading books about Seattle’s music and history and looking at old photos of the city.

A short cycle ride was necessary the next day to buy a part for the electricity shore power connection, having been told off for not having the correct fitting earlier in the day. That short ride confirmed that Paul was getting no better and first thing on Monday morning we set off to seek medical advice. The hospital experience was very fast and efficient and it was such a relief when the experts diagnosed and prescribed treatment, as opposed to our guess work and online research. The cost of the medicine nearly gave me health problems of my own when the chemist told me the amount! The pills, along with days of rest would at least ensure his recovery, albeit not a quick (or cheap) one.

I took myself off to the centre of the city a couple of days later for the promised visit to the Museum of Pop Culture. As well as the Marvel and Science fiction exhibitions, there was one entitled ‘Scared to Death: The Thrill of Horror Film’. I sat and watched clips of the 100 scariest films in a setting with blood on the floor and ‘bodies’ hanging in a serial killer’s lair. Among the exhibits, I was particularly thrilled to see what is claimed to be the actual axe Jack Nicholson used in one of my favourite films, ‘The Shining’. I browsed the grunge music section to my heart’s content and looked at the clothes, instruments and memorabilia of Seattle’s Jimi Hendrix, then finished off with an entertaining look at the ‘Fantasy: Worlds of Myth and Magic’ room. Some pics of the visit below.

It wasn’t until a week later that Paul felt up to venturing into Seattle. We had a list of places we wanted to see and the first of these was The Klondike Gold Rush Historical Park. It was located in the historic district of the city; picturesque Pioneer Square which, as location of the heart of the gold rush era had some fantastic old buildings. The museum tells the story of the late 1890s stampede to find gold in the Yukon and after watching a short film outlining the timeline of the period we both enjoyed a slow walk through the exhibits, reading and listening to fascinating first-hand accounts about the event and looking at old photographs. All for free, too!

The Elliott Bay Book Company was next. It was our intention to walk there, but the map I’d used turned out to be completely out of scale and was way too far to walk to. We were in Chinatown by the time this was discovered but didn’t have time to linger long there. We did stop for a while to watch a guy playing an instrument similar to a violin while a couple had fun playing pavement chess.

An Uber taxi took us to the book store. He dropped us right by the Jimi Hendrix statue, which ticked off another attraction on the list.

Elliott Book Company’s claim to be ‘a must for bibliophiles’ was spot on. A huge store, on two levels with an obligatory coffee shop, it sold a mix of new titles along with a sizable section of ‘reduced in price’ stock. I had a long browse while Paul sat in the café. Next door I’d spotted a likely bar/restaurant for a late lunch and we walked through its door just after three. The hours between 3 and 5 was ‘Happy Hour’, the guy who greeted us explained. Unfortunately this didn’t translate to any discounts or two for one, as other establishments offer during these hours, it meant that they only served some of what was on the full menu so that they could concentrate on getting ready for dinner service. As he went on to explain the permutations in further detail I couldn’t help thinking they had overcomplicated things: I had to keep asking for clarification until he produced a little slip of paper listing what was on offer. A somewhat dubious interpretation of Happy Hour in my opinion. Still, the bowl of chips and glass of wine for me and meatball sandwich and coke for Paul were welcome refreshments.

We strolled through a small city centre park after that, en route to get the Seattle Center Monorail. This mode of transport provides a fast route between downtown and central locations, and along with several other Seattle landmarks, was built for the 1962 World’s Fair.

The Space Needle, where we got off was another one and we sat on the grass for a while watching it whisk people up to its top observation deck and down again at stomach-lurching speed. This was Labor Day weekend, the equivalent of Britain’s May Day Bank holiday weekend, and alongside the park a festival called Bumbershoot was taking place. This is a three day event when performers from all over the world converge for concerts, theatre productions, independent film screenings and literary events. Apparently it’s permitted to smoke pot in there and we watched a queue of people having their bags searched, presumably for weapons or drugs that weren’t cannabis, before entering the gates to join in the fun.  I mention weapons because signs on the doors of quite a few premises bear the words ‘no firearms or weapons permitted inside’ – words that are somehow simultaneously worrying and reassuring.

With Paul now well on the road to recovery we decided to brave another bike ride on Labor Day Sunday. Paul had found a park that he said didn’t look too far away or too strenuous. At least it wasn’t far away! It’s a shame that the steep hills hadn’t shown show up on the map, however. It had started off well; a cool breeze, long empty roads, interesting upmarket neighbourhoods with pretty and unique houses to look at as we cycled effortlessly along. Further on, we had to ascend in order to reach Discovery Park. It had got hotter by then and the hills were much too steep to cycle up. We ended up pushing them for most of the way – I thought the hills would never stop coming (I think I may even have whined about that a little bit ;-)).  The park was well worth the effort, though. It was fascinating. I knew little about it until afterwards but we came upon such beautiful, big, empty cream-coloured houses as we rode through. They looked like the sort of houses used for American movies, particularly in supernatural ones, such as The Amityville Horror. The pictures show what I mean. There were several of them but none seemed to be occupied. I would have dearly loved to look inside. Signs indicated they were military-owned but it wasn’t until I looked online that I found out they were part of the US Army’s Fort Lawton base. Apparently some of the territory had been sold to the city but part of the park is still used for training and officers’ accommodation. I spent an inordinate amount of time just staring at those enigmatic houses in the late afternoon light.

We took a slight detour on the way back, to visit Fishermen’s Terminal for refreshments at the pub there. I love sitting on the high stools in American bars where they place a coaster in front of you on the counter with a flourish before you’ve even ordered a drink. To our left were three guys who had clearly been there for quite some time. When we took our seats, one of them moved his belongings from the one next to us and we had a polite and humorous interaction about it being ok to sit there. At least, I hope it was polite and humorous because I couldn’t make out what he was saying to me due to the background noise and the less than sober words he spoke – but he chuckled a lot so I took that as a positive sign. Paul tried the pub’s clam chowder and we shared some fries with ranch and barbecue sauce (a new one to us, and very tasty). As we ate, the conversation between two of the three guys next to us gradually changed from a tone of amiable chat to one of goading confrontation.  I could hear it building up beside me, with phrases like ‘I’m just stating my opinion – didn’t intend to cause offence’, and ‘we’re having a discussion, it shouldn’t need to turn into an argument’. Thankfully the third guy, who I guessed was the captain of the fishing boat they had come from managed to calm the situation before it turned into a classic bar room brawl.

No doubt there was plenty more of Seattle that we would have loved to see if we’d had more time and, more crucially, money but we felt we had seen the parts we wanted to and had definitely soaked up the vibrant atmosphere of the city. The car we had booked for the next couple of days would allow us to explore locations further afield.