Author: Kathy Scott

A line from West Side Story, my favourite musical, and one that aptly describes my experience of the US so far. Well, maybe the high prices of things here are not quite so ok by me but it’s still thrilling to be here. My last visit had been way back in 1983, a trip to California that took in Los Angeles and San Francisco – places we’ll hopefully get round to seeing next year. This time we started off in Port of Friday Harbor, or ‘Friday Harbor’ as it’s popularly known. We arrived there on August 16th on a beautiful sunny afternoon after crossing the invisible border from Canada to America earlier that morning en route from Sidney Spit. The sunshine and warmth that greeted us on the approach were welcome after a chilly journey with gusts of cold wind up to 23 knots. Not so welcome was the amount of other yachts jostling for position in the bay. The position we were all after was a space to tie up on the customs dock. We also had to give low flying sea planes a wide berth before edging closer to the pontoon.

After Paul returned from showing our documents in the tiny office that you can see in the pic above, our clean, tidy and legal boat didn’t get so much as a cursory inspection, just a quick glance and a couple of questions relating to fresh produce. Paul began to explain that we weren’t sure if cheese was permitted and was interrupted with a ‘cheese is ok!’ declaration from the seemingly lone officer before she hurried on to deal with the next yacht.

Port Friday is a pretty town. We had a customary walk through its wide main streets after tying up in Port of Friday Harbor Marina (‘where Friday begins’). The shops were typical of those in most seaside places – gifts, souvenirs and artisan products displayed in creative emporiums along with plenty of ice cream parlours, bars and cafes. Spring Street was so neat and picturesque in fact that it reminded me of the manufactured high streets you find in theme parks such as Disneyland.

Naturally, the supermarket was of most interest to me, having used up all our fruit and veg to comply with entry regulations. It didn’t disappoint with its wide range of veggie products and unfamiliar but obviously popular food such as corn dogs, Twinkies, beef jerky and a staggering array of nut butters. Unfortunately it was just as, if not more, expensive as Canada had been. Some examples of basic products: a punnet of small tomatoes is £3.92; a loaf of bread is around £2.20-£4.50, a box of cereal is £4.00 and a bag of salad is around £3.50. Veggie and vegan products are even more expensive. I chose carefully. Pics below show examples of what are very high prices to me when compared with those in Asia and even in the UK, but as Paul says, the wages here are likely to be a lot higher. Luckily we have still got a lot of things we bought for the Pacific crossing which will help stretch the budget.

It was a very early start the following morning for our journey to Port Ludlow. The early morning air had us both donning our thermals with a welcome mug of hot coffee as we left Friday Harbor at 5 50 am. The sun had just risen over a mountain leaving the sky with a gorgeous pinky-orange hue and a grey seal popped its head out of the water just before we hit the open sea. I love mornings like that at sea. I saw my first ever submarine on the passage; a rather eerie, long grey-coloured tube just on the surface of the water, flanked on either side by military escorts. We assumed we were too close to it because a coastguard approached us on our port beam and warned us via a loudspeaker of its presence. We found out later that it’s normal practice for them to let all vessels in the vicinity know there’s a submarine nearby in that way.

Port Ludlow is the venue each year for a rendezvous for owners of yachts designed by Bob Perry. It’s a chance to meet and chat with skippers and crew of the same or similar boats. The leaflet pictured below outlines its aims in a more humorous manner 🙂 Paul got talking to people immediately after arriving.

Port Ludlow Marina has 300 berths and we spotted several Baba and Tashiba designs on the pontoons. There was a small shop and a covered communal area with tables and benches for event hire, which was where the live music would be on Saturday night. We joined our pontoon neighbours, Larry and his friend Monica and another couple at the outdoor seating area for a few drinks that evening until the chilly evening breeze forced us all back inside.

We went for a walk next morning along the main road to the tiny village about 30 minutes’ walk away. There was no obvious ‘sidewalk’, just a narrow lane adjoining the busy main road which was bordered on both sides by thick trees. It wasn’t the sort of walk you’d want to do in the dark. The village store was similar to petrol station convenience stores and predictably pricey. On the counter I noticed a collection box for donations to help pay the medical bills for cancer treatment of one the members of staff. It reminded me how tough it must be to receive such a diagnosis here when you can’t afford the health care.

On Saturday afternoon we joined everyone in the tented area to listen to talks from the guest speakers. I had a great time looking at and fussing the several friendly dogs in attendance. I’ve noticed that lots of US skippers have one or more dogs as part of their crew.

After the talks Paul had a chance to speak to Bob Perry and a few other guys he knew from his online Baba boat group and some of them came on board to have a look around and a chat. Later, we joined Larry and Monica on ‘Gone With the Wind’ (its fenders were labelled ‘Tara’), Larry’s beautifully fitted out Baba 35, for more drinks and chat.

All of this was very nice but I was looking forward to hearing some live music. Bob Perry is part of a six man band called ‘The Perry Rendezvous All Star Band’. Given their ages I knew the sort of music they would play was likely to be the kind I love and I wasn’t wrong. We’d all taken food contributions to the buffet, which was fabulous and plentiful, with drinks laid on for us to help ourselves. It was an extremely enjoyable evening – we didn’t dance, but we tapped our feet and sang along to some great rock, folk and country songs (or maybe that was just me – :-).

Quite a few boats had left by Sunday afternoon. We would be staying an extra day so went to have a look at the totem pole that had been erected in recognition of Native American art and culture overlooking the bay on Burner Point, and took a few pictures up there. A plaque informed us that the imposing 40-foot pole was created from a 720-year-old red cedar tree and the carved figures on it represent the history of Port Ludlow. Later that afternoon we had a visit from Karl, the solo sailor we’d met in Port Hardy. He told us about his trip along the west coast of Vancouver Island which sounded glorious, especially as he’d been lucky enough to see black bears on the way! I’m still hoping to see one before we return to the UK in October.

Our first stop in Seattle the following day was Shilshole Marina, a huge place near the Ballard district. The row of pontoons seemed to stretch for miles, and almost all of them were full.

After checking in we set off to check out Ballard. It was about a thirty minute walk from the marina but on the way we stopped at Ballard Locks, the passageway between Puget Sound and the docks in Lakes Washington and Union, which forms a barrier between fresh and salt water.  Close by is the place where the salmon can be observed on the fish ladder. We spent quite a lot of time in both these places, just watching the action. Locks have always fascinated me with their intricate machinery and construction. I did feel for the woman in charge of the lines on the boat we all stood watching from above as the lock staff issued commands to her and the captain. She must have been hoping nothing would go wrong being under such public scrutiny.

I found it a bit distressing watching the salmon attempt the seemingly impossible task of ascending the stone steps to return to the freshwater area where they had been born. The current was so strong and they had to extend so much effort to leap up onto the next rung, it looked certain they would be flushed back down by the current. We kept losing sight of the one we were watching and it made me breathless just looking at them so I left Paul to it while I looked out for seals in the bay.

Ballard has a distinct ‘new-age’ feel to it. It reminded me of places in Brighton and Hove in parts, with its lively bars and cafes and ethnic gift shops. It’s an old district, the waterfront established in the late 19th century by Scandinavian loggers and fishermen. Their heritage and culture is celebrated in a Nordic Museum which had closed by the time we walked past it at 4 30. Our main mission was to obtain a data plan for our phones, and once this was done we took a slow walk back, taking in a pub on the way – the first ‘pub’ I’d been in for a very long time and it happened to be happy hour so that was even better.

Our stay in Seattle would be a welcome break where we could be tourists for a couple of weeks and my plan was to research some of the attractions the city has to offer. I wondered if we would be brave enough (or more realistically, rich enough) to have a trip up the city’s iconic Space Needle. This is 605 feet high with a revolving glass floor on the top and a lift that shoots you up there in 43 seconds.  There is a lot to see and in the next few weeks we aimed to see as much as we could.

 

I knew we were in for some lively company when Paul called down to ask if I was decent because we had company, and I heard a rich Canadian voice loudly respond ‘can’t I wait until she’s not!’ Two young guys stumbled on board, one of them literally, cursing when he caught his foot on the side deck shackle after taking his shoes off. Down the steps and into the cabin came Keith and Frank who had been on a Friday afternoon drinking session at the marina pub before returning to their respective boats near to ours in French Creek Harbour. Admiring Sister Midnight, they’d got talking to Paul about our journey and were interested to look inside the boat that had crossed the Pacific. They proved to be entertaining company, recommended some places to visit and told us about their boats. Keith had (we think he’d inherited it) a huge motor launch that he’d been trying to sell with little success. Frank (a fisherman, his boat stern to stern with ours) told us he’d been trying to persuade Keith to keep it. He’d told him of the fun they could have on it and how it was big enough to host some great parties. These guys loved to party from the stories we heard and would have no doubt loved it if we’d hosted one then and there but sadly we had places to go. After answering all their questions about the trip and asking a few of our own regarding the nearest shops, they sloped off, presumably to sleep away the rest of the afternoon.

We’d arrived in French Creek earlier that day after three days spent in Campbell River, a fair-sized city on the east coast of Vancouver Island. Paul had developed a heavy cold so we had extended our stay until he felt fit enough to carry on. We didn’t do a lot there, apart from a walk along the waterfront and pier on our first evening, and a visit to the museum the following afternoon. The museum had plenty of information about the region’s First Nation history, as well as some exhibits about fishing and logging in the area. I particularly loved the detailed replicas of a pioneer cabin and a 19th century hotel lobby that looked as though they were straight out of a Western film set. We also watched a fascinating film of the actual blast that destroyed Ripple Rock at Seymour Narrows in 1958 in order to make it safe for crafts to pass over. As we drew closer to America we needed to use up any fresh produce on board because it’s forbidden to take any in from Canada, so I found myself making vegetable soup for the freezer on one of the hottest afternoons we’d experienced since arriving in the country. It made shopping easy though: we just stocked up with drinks and bread, having enough of everything else to last us until America.

We’d spent the night before French Creek at anchor at Hornby Island. Known as The Hawaii of the North due to its golden sandy beaches (most of the beaches here have greyish-coloured shingle instead of sand) and warm waters, it was the busiest anchorage so far. Yachties flock there to go canoeing, kayaking and paddleboarding in the calm bay and at this time of year the beach was predictably crowded with families. Neither of us felt like going ashore. Paul had bought a fresh fish in Cambell River and inspired by the smells wafting over from beach barbecues and from neighbouring boats, he decided to use the barbecue in the cockpit. We need to cook more things on it – it smelled delicious and I don’t even like fish!

Hornby Island to French Creek was only a three hour trip and we arrived there just before 2pm.  It’s another fisherman’s wharf so we had to raft up to another boat which is a simple enough thing to do, except that a guy watching us from the opposite pontoon saw fit to point out that we were breaking the rules by being three abreast (the boat we had rafted to was rafted to one next to the pontoon). The man who had helped us in told him it wouldn’t matter that much, at which the other guy threw his hands in the air and declared it was none of his business, he was merely pointing out the rule displayed on the signs. He was so insistent that it was nothing to do with him that he effectively suggested it was personal. Anyway, after he’d motored off we did in fact move so that we were only two abreast and could finally take a look around. I’ve come to prefer staying at the working fishermen’s wharves or commercial marinas as opposed to public marinas for their friendly, informal atmosphere and the hive of activity that is usually going on in them. French Creek was no different, and at the recommendation of our friends earlier, I suggested we have a drink in the pub on site. It really didn’t have much to recommend it once we were inside. Televisions were playing various sporting events all around the bar and it was crowded, noisy and soulless. We took our drinks outside and didn’t stay for another. A much more sober and quieter Frank chatted with Paul from the stern of his boat that evening. I have a feeling he asked the same questions as those from the afternoon but at least he had a chance of remembering them this time.

From French Creek, we headed for Nanaimo on a very choppy sea with the rain pelting down and a decidedly cold wind. Poor Paul was up above the whole time. We had the sails up and the journey was extended because we had to tack a few times. It was a seven hour journey all in all and we pulled in to Nanaimo Yacht Club at 5pm, by which time the weather had improved considerably. The yacht club had been another suggestion from the French Creek guys and was much appreciated because it was cheaper and had good wifi. We walked along the prom in the evening and I saw buildings that although not quite skyscrapers, were the tallest I’d seen since Japan. The city of Nanaimo has one of the largest shorelines in Canada and is popularly known as The Harbour City with enough attractions for visitors to warrant a few days’ stay. We would only be spending one full day there so had to choose and slot in our activities beforehand. On the way back to the boat I spotted two second hand bookshops and resolved to check them out before the planned excursion across the water to Newcastle Island.

Browsing in the bookshops the next morning while Paul had a coffee in the café opposite, turned out to be a good move because by the time I emerged, the murky, overcast morning had developed into a clear, warm early afternoon; just right for a nature trail.

We caught the 2pm ferry for the short journey over the water, along with several people who were carrying an impressive array of heavy camping gear. Sporting heavy, cumbersome rucksacks, they transported their stuff down the jetty with the aid of wheelbarrows and ferry staff helped to load it on board. Newcastle Island is clearly a popular spot for camping breaks. The island is a marine provincial park, and a sacred site of the unpronounceable First Nation Snuneymuxw people, who know it as Saysutshun Island. The name Newcastle came about from the discovery of coal on the island in 1849 and took the name from the mining town of Newcastle-upon-Tyne when the British needed good quality coal from North America for their steamships. It boasts rustic and pristine beaches, playgrounds, family-friendly camping and a 22km hiking trail. We chose the shorter, outer loop trail that took in some of the coastal path. At the start of the trail was a sign warning that a cougar had been sighted a few weeks previously. As for bear-confrontations, the advice is to make yourself bigger and to roar at the animal. You most definitely should not run away. I’m all for standing up to bullies but I’m not sure I could follow that advice! Two cute raccoons were what we spotted first anyway. A group of people ahead of us were pointing upwards and there they were. First, we saw one clinging to the trunk and staring wide-eyed at us and as we got ready to photograph it, a smaller little black and white face popped out from a nearer tree as if to see what all the noise was. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a raccoon before let alone in its natural state. It still gives me a thrill to think of it now.

The walk was wonderful. Unlike our treks in Asia I didn’t have to worry about leeches or millipedes. There was no humidity or swamps and every now and then a cool breeze refreshed us from the afternoon heat. The various trees in the interior forested landscape were interesting enough in themselves. They were huge, gnarled and very tall Douglas fir, Oak and Big Leaf Maple trees. The colours were beautiful, and must be a glorious sight to behold in the autumn. We saw a deer nibbling at the leaves of a fallen tree near a beach, but we didn’t come across the cougar. At the end of the two hour walk we were going to have a drink in the bistro but it had closed a few minutes before we got there –at the early hour of 5pm! There were several families camping nearby and it seemed such a wasted opportunity for a restaurant to miss out on making money from holidaymakers and visitors at the height of the summer season. We caught the 5 15 ferry back to Nanaimo and had a slow walk back along the waterfront to the yacht club.

Prevost Island was our next stop on 13th August. This passage would take in another notorious narrow pass called Dodd Narrows. It’s the narrowest pass in the Gulf Islands and subject to swift currents according to Joe Upton, the author of my guide to the Inside Passage. He tells of the time in 1982 when he was towing a gill-netter with engine problems and failed to heed the warning to avoid passing through it against the tidal stream. He ended up swerving violently back and forth in the current while the guy he was towing had a tough time steering to stay off the rocks. Apparently he’d become so alarmed during the crossing he’d bitten his cigar in half! Needless to say Paul had done his research on the best time to go through, and when we arrived at the entrance, several other vessels were stationary, presumably waiting for the ideal time slot of midday. We heard boats from the north and south entrances on VHF broadcasting their intentions to go through and for any concerned vessels to radio back. We sped through it at 11 15! I think Paul was hoping for a bit of a ‘white water’ thrill. The gap looked very narrow from a distance and once we were going through I could see it would be tricky for wide boats to pass each other comfortably. Looking up at the holiday resort on the hill above us I noticed a bench that looked as if it had been placed for the sole purpose of watching the boats traversing the channel: a prime position to film or snap any drama. Two people were sat on it looking down as our group of boats motored past. Apart from more of a swirly sea, it was hard to know we’d gone over any rapids, although Paul said he felt the steering ‘pull’ a bit.

Annette Bay was a picturesque little sheltered bay to anchor for the night. Paul’s guide had mentioned river otters frequenting the banks but we didn’t see any. There were a couple of intriguing floating houses in the bay that I would have loved to look inside. I’d never seen anything quite like them before.

Our final place in Canada before we crossed the border to the US was Sidney Spit on Sidney Island, part of the Gulf Islands National Park. After trying unsuccessfully to anchor on the slippery kelp seabed, we picked up a mooring buoy. As it was early afternoon we launched the dinghy, parked it at the jetty and walked the length of the narrow sandy spit and back. It hadn’t looked very inspiring from the boat, being so flat and colourless but the sand was littered with enough things to delight any beachcomber. We saw all kinds of pretty shells and stones, fishing debris, unusual plants and washed-up logs, but thankfully no unsightly rubbish or plastic bottles.

We spent two nights at Sidney and on the second day we went on another nature trail. Having spotted picnic tables the day before, we took a packed lunch with us and after parking the dinghy, set off through the forest. The only wildlife we saw was a solitary deer in a classic ‘deer in the headlights’ pose in the centre of the path. It was a lovely walk though, and the tall, red-trunked cedar trees gave off a wonderful aroma. We ate our lunch near a campsite by the old brickworks. Surprisingly, from 1906 until 1915 the Sidney Tile and Brick Company operated a thriving brick making service utilising the island’s clay. There are still lots of red bricks littering the area. Children from the campsites build towers and structures with them now.

Back on the boat that evening, Paul was on the coach roof with binoculars looking at whales in the distance, their blowholes spouting water – a bit too far away to see properly but great to see nevertheless. We also saw seals diving and resurfacing in the flat calm water. I could still smell the gorgeous aromas coming from the forest on the evening breeze. No air freshener could ever capture that unique fragrance. It was a fitting evening for our last one in Canada for a while. The next day we would be travelling on to the United States.

Kathy

 

Before reporting the delights of this lovely part of Canada, here are a couple of pictures I didn’t get a chance to put on the blog during the passage – my veggie pasties and one of the better loaves of bread I baked. There was little else to photograph, with the outside being a uniform grey or off-white for most of the weeks.

After five weeks at sea, we had the best of all welcomes as we drew closer to land. It was exciting enough to see such things as trees (and there are lots of those here) and hills and buildings emerging through the fog, but when Paul described seeing ‘bear-like’ creatures lying on their backs with ‘scrunched up old man’ faces, as he put it, I knew they would be sea otters. There were lots of them, and they could be seen clearly through the binoculars in distinct little groups –diving and surfacing with their little front paws drawn together on their chests. It seems we were privileged because we haven’t seen a single one since then. Closer in, I spotted spurts of water rising some distance away near the coastline on the starboard side, like bursts of steam. Paul said it would be a whale, and sure enough, a huge black and white hulk broke the surface, then disappeared under the water, its distinct fanned tail showing for a few seconds before repeating the process. It was fascinating, especially after so long at sea without seeing any sign of life apart from birds. I wasn’t quick enough to photograph it but thankfully Paul managed to film it before it disappeared.

We spent a fabulous week at Fisherman’s Wharf in Port Hardy, named as I’d guessed, after Nelson’s Vice Admiral on The Victory, Thomas Masterman Hardy. The marina was full but this turned out to be a bonus because the pontoons at the wharf had a great community atmosphere. The place couldn’t be described as streamlined and neat but its chaotic, higgledy piggledy layout served to make it informal and welcoming. Lots of people stopped to chat. Our courtesy flag, the only one flying, indicated our visitor status and we had the story of our passage off pat after several times of repeating it to curious passers-by. People were always impressed and had lots of questions about the trip from Japan and our future plans. Karl, a solo sailor from Latvia who befriended us, expressed alarm on learning our intention to traverse the Inside Passage down to Seattle. He told us he would be far too nervous to do it. I wondered why but Paul said he was just being over cautious. It seems all that is needed is to get the timings right for when you enter each strait, passage and river along the route. I could understand Karl’s anxiety once Paul explained about the intricacies involved with the planning and tide times in order to avoid hazards. It would be akin to getting on a roller coaster, which once underway, had you committed until the ride ended. Karl was also travelling to Seattle but would be taking the Pacific Ocean route. We hope to meet up with him in Seattle and swap journey notes.

The forested landscape and coastal mountain range surrounding Port Hardy makes it ideal for outdoor pursuits and nature trails. Information in the harbour office, advertised hikes, wildlife tours, fishing trips and great surfing spots to name but a few. For our first evening back on land, all I wanted was a glass of wine and a bowl of chips. We’d had to wait on the boat for hours after arriving because of a mix up over customs, who thought we were in the city of Vancouver as opposed to Vancouver Island. By the time this was sorted out it was fairly late and the local pub had stopped serving food (last orders were at 9 30). The Inn further down the road had a 30 minute longer time limit and we sat at a table overlooking Hardy Bay watching the sun set enjoying the first meal someone else had cooked in weeks. The drink was most welcome too.

 

Naturally there were a lot of jobs to be done to get the boat looking shipshape, both inside and out, but we made time to walk and cycle around the area and got to know it quite well. One of our first excursions, to get mobile phone data led us to a popular café, which is also a bookshop and has local crafts and paintings for sale. Café Guido offers free wifi to customers and after learning of the extraordinary high prices for phone packages in Canada, we opted to use public places for internet use. A visit to the supermarket later on revealed that it wasn’t only data packages that were expensive here. Despite the gloriously wide range of choice and the intriguing products on offer there, I had to curb my enthusiasm due to the steep prices even for basic things like bread and fruit and vegetables. Still, it was nice to be able to read the ingredients on the labels and of course, to find ‘real’ bread on display.

We had to continue sleeping on the bunks in the cabin for a couple of nights because water had found its way onto the mattress during the passage. That, along with the usual clothes, bedding and towels had to be cleaned and dried. The weather was perfect for this. One of the first things I noticed on land was the contrast from the Asian climate. When it’s hot and sunny here, it’s dry and clear. There’s no humidity, and in the evenings after the sun has gone down, it’s positively chilly instead of sultry and sweaty.  During one early morning walk up to the office to use the wifi, I spotted the biggest bird I have ever seen outside of a wildlife centre perched on the railings. I didn’t know it then but it was a bald eagle and it was attracting quite a bit of attention so I guessed it wasn’t that common an occurrence. People were gathering to photograph and film it, for which it just remained still, occasionally turning its head from side to side, completely unfazed. One boy of about ten, told me he’d always wanted to see one this close. It seemed all the local wildlife was coming out in force for us then. I wondered when we’d see our first bear! Black bears live in the area, as well as Grizzlies and brown ones apparently. Not very au fait with the differences, a glimpse of any one of them would thrill me to bits – from a safe distance obviously.

We had a wonderful cycle ride along the Quatse Loop and Estuary Trail one afternoon. Info on the leaflet we had stated that resident black bears are often seen ascending from the forest to look for a salmon meal. All we saw were the gorgeous pine forests, clear babbling brooks and stunning views across the bay as we rode through its rural lanes and paths. Like most of Vancouver Island, Port Hardy was home to ‘First Nations’ indigenous communities before the coming of European explorers. The culture and history of the Kwakiutl First Nation are celebrated and told of throughout the town, in the museum, on signs along the boardwalk and trails, and in sculptures and totems on the promenade. There were countless books on sale in the shop relating the stories and histories of First Nation tribes, and much as I’d like to know more about it, it’s too vast a subject to delve into on a visit such as this. I contented myself with a guide to the Inside Passage, just to check out the experiences of others on its whirlpools, rapids and tide rips (for a ‘what could possibly go wrong’ scenario). More than anything, it will be thrilling to be passing by the locations that Captain George Vancouver encountered in his quest to find the Northwest Passage in 1792.

Our first destination along the infamous route was to be Siontula on Malcolm Island in The Queen Charlotte Strait. Before setting off we had to wait to be separated from the boat that had rafted up next to us the day before, and then headed over to the fuel dock to restock. A somewhat chillier trip than the day trips we were accustomed to in Asia, it did at least give me the chance to try out my new hot water bottle up in the cockpit. I didn’t want to miss the stunning views on either side of us by huddling down in the cabin. The sea was flat calm and we motored for all of the five hour journey.

We rafted next to a fishing boat in the small harbour, checked in and set off to check out the town. It had warmed up by then and the walk was a lot longer than I expected. We passed some quaint looking houses on the uphill road to town. One of them had a sign proclaiming the road was called ‘Raggedy Ass’! The tiny town is proud of its eccentric status. Siontula means ‘place of harmony’ in Finnish and was set up by Finnish immigrants at the end of the 19th century. Its aim was to ‘create a society where property was communal; everyone shared; everyone participated and everyone was equal, including women’ – quite a revolutionary concept for the times. Their belief in ‘sound body, sound mind’ included the banning of alcohol and the failure of this first community is apparently due to its leader being more idealistic than practical. There may be a link there ;-). Another leader took the reins and lasted for four years but financial constraints forced the island to be returned to British Colombia’s government.

The few remaining residents in Siontula formed a community with their own vision. They purchased land and turned to commercial fishing and logging by hand. Pride of place was the Co-Operative Store, built in 1909, a fascinating building which we came upon as we entered the main street. The posters and flyers attached to the walls indicate the ethos of the town is still aiming for the ‘hippy’ ideal of freedom and cooperation. It reminded me a little of Glastonbury. The focus is on green issues, protecting the environment, organic locally made produce and bringing residents together with seasonal events such as an annual Spring Bird Count, Mother’s Day Plant Sale, a Pet ‘Pawrade’ and Winter Bazaar. Here, local dogs and cats have right-of-way, so if you see one lying in the road you must let it sleep and go around it. Everyone we came across greeted us with a cheery hello or smile. There was a little deer nibbling at a hedge in one of the well-kept gardens overlooking the coast. The place was certainly living up to its Utopian goal. I couldn’t help noticing that one of the signs was for the next meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. Another, was from an outraged dog owner appealing for information about the driver who had knocked over and killed her beloved pet. She’d managed to get a detailed description of his van, but he must have been a visitor because it’s the sort of town where everyone knows each other – and he clearly wasn’t aware of the ‘pets having right of way’ rule. We (ok, I) wanted to go to the local pub which had a grand view of the bay, but as we tried the door, a lady cycling by told us it didn’t open until 4 30. It was too long to hang around, as we’d pretty much done the town by then, and a 30 minute return walk lay ahead of us. I liked Siontula.

Port Neville the following day was a tinier version of Siontula. A Norwegian man named Hansen had settled there in the 1890s. Thanks to his building log cabins there the port became a stop for Union Steamships and Hansen began trading with the local tribes and soon other settlers and loggers arrived. In 1895 he became the first postmaster there and the post office/general store carried on trading until 2010. It was this abandoned building that caught my eye from our anchorage, although I didn’t know it was deserted then. The trip there had been great, with stunningly beautiful snow-capped mountainous landscapes on either side of us. I sat on the sunny coach roof or deck-sides for the whole time watching it all. We’d hoped to spot whales on Robson Bight, an ecological preserve where orcas go to rub their bellies on the flat stones in the summer (no one knows why) but it was sadly empty.

We dinghied over to the still-standing government dock and tied up underneath it. As we got out, a lady on an American yacht that was tied to the jetty warned us that if we were walking in far, to watch out for black bears and for Grizzlies because sightings of both had been reported nearby. I wasn’t sure if I felt elated or scared! I just wanted to have a look at the empty store, which looked so much like the one from the TV programme The Waltons, it was uncanny. There were a few other dwellings but they seemed to be holiday lets. I think the area is uninhabited since the Hansen family left a few years ago. After peering in the windows of the store, which serves as a museum for pre-booked guides, we walked into the wooded area and bravely on to the spot where the woman said the bears had been seen. It was deathly silent and a bit eerie – easy to imagine one springing out from the trees. Apparently you’re supposed to make yourself look bigger, and yell loudly if confronted. I didn’t fancy putting this to the test. We returned to the dinghy to head for our next ‘must see’, the curiously-named Robber’s Nob. This is a cape where the Hansen children through generations used to go to picnic and play and is a notable beauty spot. It took ages to get there but there was plenty to see on the way. The sea was littered with huge triffid-like seaweed plants that we had to be wary of getting caught in the propeller. The buildings on this shore were more like those in teenage horror films set in summer camps, like Friday the 13th rather than the wholesome Waltons. It was decidedly creepy. Very quiet, still, empty and with an abandoned atmosphere, despite one of the buildings looking well kept up. I declined Paul’s offer to stop and explore. Looking it up later, we discovered it became something of a hippy community in the 60s, hence the deserted buildings. I guess the newer one is a holiday let or summer retreat. Ideal for an away-from-it-all break, or if you enjoy complete silence and solitude in the dark woods.

From there we journeyed on to one of the best anchorages I’ve seen so far. Called Small Inlet in Kanish Bay on Quadra Island, it was breathtakingly gorgeous. There was something to delight most of the senses: the aroma of pine and cedar, the sight of the timeless wilderness all around us (and we saw a seal here), the cries of birds and cicadas, and the fish jumping. Once we were anchored at about 2pm, it was gloriously sunny and there were only three other boats in the area. The pictures speak for themselves – it’s going to be hard to beat the tranquillity and sheer beauty of Kanish Bay. It was so still it was hard to tell we were at anchor. We enjoyed a dinghy trip and obviously took lots of pictures. The forest around us looked to me like the ideal habitat for bears, but if they were in there we didn’t see any.

We moved on to Campbell River the next day (Monday 6th August). To get there we had to cross the infamous Seymour Narrows. It’s this location that makes so many mariners anxious, but as Paul has said, it was a bit of an anti-climax when we crossed it. Not that I’m complaining. At full flood it would have been like being on a fairground log flume from his description, and I was happy enough to forego that experience! It’s safe to say I’ve fallen for British Colombia in a big way, despite the steep cost of things. Our next stop on the journey to Seattle, Prevost Island, takes in another notoriously tricky crossing; this one is called Dodd Narrows and it’s imperative to get the tide times right when going into it. Jonathan Raban describes trying to make it ‘before the flood tide turned it into a breakneck slalom run’!

Kathy

 

It was free time sailing until Thursday 24th and after a conversation with the wife of the farmer the other night I was keen to visit Sanagi, an island famous for its cats (she also told me about a rabbit island but I thought Paul might baulk at that). It was only a short journey so we left at 11 30. Unfortunately, once underway the pungent aroma of sulphur wafted over from the quarter berth and we had to empty it out again to disconnect another battery. We arrived at Sanagi mid-afternoon and tied to a wall, watched by one solitary cat. A man came over shortly after and told us we could tie to the jetty where the ferry comes in. This was a much better position and I couldn’t wait to get ashore. I had spotted more cats approaching the jetty as we sorted our lines as if word had got out strangers were in town. Cats outnumber people here, and it was no surprise to find the town deserted. There were plenty of houses (several of which were shuttered up) and well-tended gardens but we met few people on our walk. It was a charming ghost town, as if most of the residents had decided to leave en masse one day. The ferry brings visitors over at regular intervals and they bring food for the cats, who also get cared for by the island’s few remaining residents.

We spent three days there and loved it. It was a peaceful and tranquil haven with hardly any traffic or other noise pollution. We got used to the coming and going of the ferry, and the captain always greeted us if we were around as he docked. Some of the islanders came to meet ferry passengers who were bringing provisions and loaded them into vans. The one small shop we saw was closed the whole time we were there, so it could be that the island has a ‘season’ when the shuttered houses are opened to be used as holiday accommodation. When the last ferry of the day had left, taking the day trippers back, it felt good to know it was just us, the islanders and the cats who remained to spend the night there.

The cats were healthy (apart from a few who sported battle scars) and pretty much had the run of the place. They were friendly and let us stroke them (I fell for a handsome ginger one but Paul said no to my request to bring it on board ;)). Most trotted out from gardens, temples or side streets when they heard us approaching and were vocal in their acknowledgment of us. We hadn’t thought to bring any food for them but Paul left some of the fish he’d had for dinner out on the jetty for them one evening. Naturally I took lots of pictures and they’ve been posted on Facebook as well as on Paul’s blog so I won’t overload this one, but here are just a few more of our time on Sanagi and the day trip we took on the ferry to Tadotsu in the rain.

We bid farewell to Sanagi on May 24th for an early departure to the next rally port of Bella Vista. There was an anxious time during the journey when the autohelm stopped working. As with many things, you only realise what a boon it is when it’s no longer an option. Hand steering is very tiring for hours at a time and my heart sank at the prospect. Thankfully Paul managed to effect a temporary repair after an hour of trying various solutions (he always does, determined as he is not to let anything beat him). We arrived at Bella Vista at lunchtime, helped in by KC and a few others. It’s a fairly industrial environment but the sea station was nice enough. The welcome dinner that evening was a more formal affair than the previous gatherings. Tables were laid for a sit down meal and a jazz band was playing.

The food kept coming; dish after fishy and meaty dish of it. The wine kept coming too, though and I had slightly more than my own and Paul’s share that evening. Not enough to join Paul for the end of evening speech though. Paul even joined in with a group performance of Rod Stewart’s ‘Sailing’ at the evening’s finale (no video footage unfortunately).

I’m sure I wasn’t the only one with a slightly sore head the next day for the morning trip to a Zen temple. It was a beautiful day for it – like one of the best summer days when it’s not too oppressively hot, just clear, warm and bright. Once again we gathered to get the bus for 9 45 precisely for the short journey to Shinshoji Temple. We were driven through a mountainous, picturesque landscape that reminded me of Alpine villages, especially with the profusion of pretty Japanese houses that looked so much like chalets. A robed Buddhist priest greeted us at the main gate when we got off the bus. He introduced himself as a German who had been living in Japan for 17 years, and went on to tell us he would be showing us around, would give us a short introductory course on the practise and principles of Zah Zen meditation and would preside over a tea ceremony experience. He led us into the campus and we were confronted with the sight of the most beautiful gardens I have ever seen. They looked just like the ones depicted in the Chinese willow pattern design, with bridges over a river, pagodas, gorgeous trees and colourful flowers.

The meditation pavilion took some getting into. First we had to take our shoes off and put some clogs on, which once on should not touch the grass. We formed an orderly line and as instructed, when we reached the door, put our hands together near our chests, bowed once before entering the room – left foot first – and then bowed again once inside. Once we were all sitting on the futons, the priest told us about the history and meaning of Zen meditation before we had a go at it. The rules and requirements for it to work came thick and fast: back straight, legs crossed, arms folded, count breaths, focus eyes on one spot, empty the mind, and so on. I can’t empty my mind, or sit still for very long either so I knew this wouldn’t be for me. Paul says it’s because I give up too easily but I feel that time sitting like that for hours on end is time wasted. The priest told us he had to go through pain barriers for his limbs to get used to the inertia of up to 17 hours in one position, and I thought ‘why would you do that!’ He also explained that there is an option for you to signal if you feel you are losing focus and a priest will beat you over the shoulders to ‘bring you back into line’. We all fell silent for our 5 minute session and I felt the urge to giggle within a minute – along with the urge to fidget. Clearly, being told to be silent and still ignites the need to make noise and move in me. The priest moved around us correcting our postures, and striking those who opted for the stick-beating part.

In all fairness, he was a lovely guy who answered lots of questions we put to him, and I found myself envying the ‘high’ he obviously got from the whole way of life he was devoted to. It was time for lunch after that and inside that venue, I had the first experience of sitting on the floor dining that Japanese restaurants are known for. Given the Buddhist setting I was pleased to see that the meal wasn’t completely meat and fish-based. Masa, the owner of yacht ‘Bunny’, sat with us and explained what was what. We were treated to ‘tofu miso soup’ and a variety of other traditional dishes including some that I could, for once, sample with the help of Masa’s explanations. His English was good, and his voice was as deep and rich as Morgan Freeman’s.

We were split into two groups after this (Japanese and English-speaking). One group would go to the tea ceremony venue, and the other to the light show at the art pavilion and then we would swap.

Our German priest escorted us to the building for the tea ceremony and once inside we sat against the wall while he explained the history of the ritual. Apparently it’s not about the tea (which is just as well because its taste is quite bitter). The emphasis lies in the protocol, ritual and calming atmosphere associated with the preparation. Certainly, the graceful movements of the two young men dressed in flowing black robes who set about serving us conveyed an air of ceremony. They brought us a cake, bowing to each of us as they placed the plate in front of us. The sweetness of the cake is to combat the bitterness of the tea – which was served next with more bowing and whispered greetings. It was all very interesting but I don’t think any one of us finished our drink, and a fair few cakes had only one bite out of them.

The light show we saw after that is best described as an ambient 20 minutes in a pitch dark room sitting before an infinity pool while lights ‘drop’ onto it. I have to admit it was relaxing, especially with the Brian Eno-like sounds and the huge Art Pavilion it took place in was impressive. It’s described as a ship-shaped building clad in traditional wooden shingles which appears to float over the landscape. The pic below gives a general idea (I was unable to edit it into an upright position on my mobile ?)

Continue reading “Setouchi Rally (part 2)”

The welcome briefing for the Setouchi Rally was at 3pm, so we explored our new surroundings on the bikes after lunch. Yuge is a pretty, sedate and quiet coastal town so very similar in appearance to rural seaside villages in Britain it was uncanny. The major difference is the lack of people and traffic, which made for great cycling. The beach we came upon was deserted and we sat soaking up the sun for a while and took a few pictures.

The first task for the participants had been told to us in advance via email. We were all to introduce ourselves in both English and Japanese. Knowing that we wouldn’t be able to memorise the Japanese part, I had written out a crib sheet for us to read out, and we had practised voicing the unfamiliar words for a few days beforehand. The briefing was at a venue just across the road from the sea station. From the 8 boats who were taking part, there were about 25 people; a mix of Australian, Japanese, Canadian and British. After a brief introduction and overview of the rally from KC, the organiser, the introductions began. We were first up, which was just as well, not least because I didn’t have long to be nervous about it all and bottle out. I read my one sentence introduction in Japanese, said the same in English and sat down to polite applause. Paul did the same but elaborated about the boat and our plans in English. After that, I felt put to shame by how much other people said in both languages. If we were being marked for performance there would have been a definite ‘more effort required’ admonishment. However, they all seemed like a friendly bunch, especially when we went back for the welcome party at 6pm where food and drink had been laid on for us all.   This would be the first of many parties where I couldn’t eat much of what was on offer. That isn’t a complaint, and it was always an impressive array if you like meat and fish. I knew it would be the case so I always ate before or after the events, and naturally never refused alcohol 😉 Other people find it more of a problem, and ‘worry’ about why I’m not eating, which in turn leads to a discussion about vegetarianism and so on and so on that I really could do without. We have, however, found a good phrase that usually brings a smile and a change of subject: ‘I’m veggie so Paul has my share of the food – he is teetotal so I have his share of the drink’.

On Saturday May 12th the first events took place. We all gathered at the venue and were introduced to the students we’d be taking out on our boats. From the local college, they were friendly and excited about the trip. We had three young ladies allocated to us, to Paul’s great delight (the much-posted picture shows it). It was a good morning, actually. The girls loved being out on the water and showed lots of interest in the workings of the boat. It was perfect weather for being out motoring around the bay. They loved going under the bridge, especially when they spotted their teacher on it, directly above us taking pictures.

After a short break we set off for the second event: a barbecue in a park. The students would be cooking lunch for the rally people alongside a beach a short walk away from the sea station. Luckily it was a warm, sunny day and they were able to cook and serve the food to us on the outside tables that had been set up. I was touched by their thoughtfulness when they found out I didn’t eat sausages and burgers and fish; they prepared some vegetables for me that they cooked on a separate grill. Plenty of beer, wine and soft drinks were provided too. We sat with a group of Australians who had joined a Japanese motor cruiser for the duration of the rally.

The Australian ladies explained the next event to me during the course of the lunch. Japan is famous for its onsens, and most guide books and sites recommend it as a ‘must do’ experience. The little I knew about them I’d interpreted as a hot spring/spa/Turkish bath type of thing. I had misgivings even then because hot, steamy environments make me claustrophobic but I was determined to at least try. After the detailed description conveyed to me at lunch I almost bottled out and went back to the boat. I tend to avoid anything with long, convoluted instructions and rules. The dos and don’ts for an onsen are staggering. Here’s a general idea of the most important factors – taken from guide books and sites explaining the procedure:

It’s known as ‘naked socialising’; bathing with strangers is supposed to break down barriers. However, when a foreigner visits for the first time he or she is presented with a minefield of potential faux-pas and embarrassment unless the rules are adhered to. Shoes must be removed after paying at reception. In the baths that are segregated the entrances are draped with curtains bearing the gender in Japanese characters (wait for a local if unsure which curtain to enter). Place shoes in a locker, then take all your clothes off and place in a separate locker or basket. Make your way to the washing area. This takes the form of either a shower or sinks with chairs where you can sit and pour jugs of hot water over yourself. Here you must scrub every inch of your body and rinse well because entering the shared baths bearing traces of soap or dirt is considered extremely offensive. Submerge yourself in the springs au naturel; swimwear is a no-no for the authentic experience. Sit and relax in the baths of various temperatures and afterwards repeat the scrubbing thoroughly before exiting (health and safety).

Yikes to most of that, I thought.

However, it was a long and boozy lunch so I had sufficient Dutch courage to fortify me as we walked to the health spa. I should have heeded my misgivings. I won’t disparage the procedure because it’s obviously popular and supposedly relaxing but it just wasn’t for me. I lasted less than five minutes in there before the heat and steam drove me out to the cool of the waiting area where I sat admiring the view and reading while I waited for Paul. At least I can say I gave it a try.

A bike ride was on the agenda for the following morning but it was called off due to the heavy rain. At the briefing, KC told us that the second onsen would, however, go ahead later that day. Paul surprised me by saying he would pass on it. I had already decided to sit it out but had expected him to go along. He explained that one plunge hot bath over a weekend was enough – we had plenty of hot water on board for a shower. The students were around all weekend and after they returned from the onsen, they gave out the famous Japanese lunch boxes to everyone, along with beer, tee shirts and badges.

The next part of the rally would resume the following Saturday in the town of Nio, so we were free to do as we pleased until then. One of the first things Paul got on with was fixing the boat’s heater. It took him a whole afternoon but he did it, and it warmed the boat up wonderfully on the chilliest evening we’d had so far.

Most of the other rally boats had left Port Yuge by Monday. We decided to stay on for a few days. One afternoon we went for a long bike ride around the whole island. We had to push the bikes up the steepest parts but the views were fantastic; all the rain and cloud from the previous day had disappeared to leave clear blue skies. The roads, streets and beaches we passed were largely deserted. There are no bars, cafes or convenience stores in the town and just one restaurant. Two supermarkets serve the island, and they were never crowded. All those factors, after the weekend burst of activity from the rally made the town seem even quieter. Nice for a short stay but a bit too quiet for me.

The town of Haru lies opposite the span of water separating it from Yuge. Paul had visited it in Ken and Belinda’s dinghy from Catamaran Free Spirit to see what the chandlery had to offer, and suggested we take a bike ride there across the bridges.  The views from the bridges were worth the strain on the legs from the steep parts, as was the exhilarating descent downhill. We had to get the ferry for the very short ride across the water; I think it lasted less than two minutes but they just go back and forth all day so it’s a very efficient and regular service. Haru was another charming ‘Northern Scottish’ coastal town. A little livelier than Yuge, it even had a couple of cafes and shops that were open.

By Thursday 17th May we were the only boat from the rally left at Yuge, and found ourselves among several Japanese yachts now using the sea station. One captain got chatting with Paul about respective plans and proved to be an enormous help. He recommended a yacht club for our post-rally journey that was one of the highlights of our Japan stay, and also gifted us a bottle of Saki. The kindness of people continues to touch us the longer we are here. The boat’s stainless steel had a good cleaning over the next couple of days; an ongoing task made easier, or at least more pleasurable for me by listening to books while doing it.

The next port of call on the rally was Nio, and we were up early on Saturday 19th May for the journey there. It took five hours, the only slightly stressful part being the crossing of a busy shipping lane. We’re getting used to those now though. We were the first to arrive at the marina and watched the other yachts arrive gradually during the course of the afternoon. The staff at Nio deemed it appropriate to play Kool and the Gang’s ‘Celebration’ on a loop for an over an hour, presumably as a welcome to us.  I could quite happily have sabotaged the music system after 15 minutes of it, however. The 5 30 briefing took place on the storey above the marina office. I had my first taste of Saki there, courtesy of the bus driver who would be driving us to the following day’s picnic venue. He had a huge bottle of it and was going around filling glasses. One sip was enough for me to know I would never touch the stuff again. Luckily there was plenty of wine, and Paul was happy to have my share of the food.

Later at the party, we were befriended by a lovely Japanese artist and her student daughter and chatted to them most of the evening, along with a Japanese carpenter and his wife who have a boat in the marina. The entertainment took the form of various dances with an Hawaiian theme, which were wonderfully performed using the undulating arm movements so popular in Asian dance. Paul did the speech on behalf of Sister Midnight. These speeches would be a regular event at the end of each party, along with the ‘final clap’ which signified the end of the celebrations. There would be an announcement, a countdown, and then we all clapped our hands together to create a loud noise  😉

That night we ended up with six Japanese guests on the boat. They were the carpenter and his wife, an organic farmer, an engineer and some friends of the farmer. One of them brought his home grown cooked broad beans which were delicious as a snack. We managed to converse with each other for two hours using their impressive English, Paul’s laptop, mobile phone photos, maps and facial expressions.

Sunday May 20th was the picnic excursion to Mount Shiude. Boarding the bus had the feel of a school outing, or a coach trip where you are all ushered onto the bus at the appointed time, and once seated a head count is taken. As its name suggests, Mount Shiude sits 300 metres above sea level so the bus climbed its way around steep winding roads, with stunning views across the bay during the half hour drive. We were bound for Shiue’s summit, which required a 20 minute walk up from the car park and thankfully wasn’t too strenuous, even in the heat. The lookout point, when we reached it gave us a spectacular view of numerous islands dotting the sea on one side and an island-less sea on the other. Lunchbox picnics were handed out after we’d had our fill of looking and photo-taking, and we all dispersed to eat (I’d brought my own lunch) before walking back down for the bus back at 12 45.

Back at the boat we found a bag of organic produce (pictured) had been left in the cockpit as a thank you from the farmer we’d chatted with the night before; another kind gesture and one which we were sorry to have missed receiving in person.

As it was such a nice day we went for a bike ride late afternoon and photographed more shrines, statues and the usual beautifully cultivated trees.  Next on our agenda in a break from rally events, was an island said to be inhabited mostly by cats!

Kathy

Fukuoka was to be our next destination in Japan. I have to admit here, we couldn’t stop juvenile smirks every time we uttered the word, and couldn’t resist pronouncing it with a ‘v’ at the end instead of a ‘k’. We left Miyanoura on May 1st – in the rain.

It rained all day, and visibility was poor but we had the sails up and made an average speed of 5 knots. It was too wet and cold to be in the cockpit for long (for me) but I made an exception to look at some dolphins! These were the first we’d seen in Asia and were a wonderful sight. Knowing how intelligent they are I wondered later if they’d appeared to warn us of the conditions to come. We didn’t get a storm as such; maybe ‘heavy weather’ is a more apt description. Paul put reefs in the main and the spinnaker pole in place in readiness for the wind that was forecast through gribs via the satphone. It sounded and felt very strong when it arrived and the accompanying high waves had the bow bashing down onto the water creating alarming hammer blows on the hull again. Watches were abandoned as heavy rain and wind gusting 20 knots continued throughout the night – we used Paul’s alarm to do regular checks above and relied on our trusty equipment as a third crew member.

The rough weather, poor visibility and high waves persisted the following day as we progressed up the western coast close to Nagasaki.  At one point during a watch around 4pm I looked out and it was like a dome of milky white muslin had been placed over us; I could only see a few feet ahead and hoped fervently that no fishing boats were close by (they came later).

The wind increased through the second night and Paul worked hard on the sails to keep us balanced, getting soaking wet in the process. He had a hard night’s slog actually. We were approaching Fukuoka Marina in the early hours of the morning of May 3rd and I could hear the noise of the wind whistling, rattling and banging things above. The rain had finally stopped but damp clothes and slippery surfaces made it uncomfortable up there. Protruding rocks, fishing boats and ferries had to be avoided at the same time as keeping the course and rolling from side to side. The mainsail had crash gibed and he’d had to sort out a tangled headsail and change the spinnaker pole to the other side all while I was sleeping peacefully below.

When I went up to steer us into the wind so Paul could take the main down, the wind was still gusting 20 knots and the prospect of steering into a marina in the dark in those conditions terrified me. The huge city of Fukuoka lay before us with lighted buildings and all kinds of flashing lights which made it tricky to pick out the red and green of the marina entrance. As it got shallower, waves were breaking on the surface and in the pre-dawn light created the effect that water was rushing at us like downhill rapids. I had to steer us around while Paul got the fenders and lines ready. At this point I noticed marker buoys bobbing around next to us and panicked about nets getting caught in the prop.

Needless to say it was a relief to enter the shelter of the harbour and leave behind the strong wind and swollen and billowy sea-state. Now we just had to find a berth. No one was around and we circled around a bit to check for available places.  I shone a torch onto a likely-looking pontoon while Paul expertly guided us in. At 4 30am, I was euphoric to be safely berthed and celebrated with a whisky before going to bed. We moved to a new berth later that day after had Paul checked us in.

In the light of day we could see the area we’d been motoring around in was full of marker buoys, not the few I’d guessed might be around. Paul thought they were probably lobster pots anyway so the lines went straight down instead of across. We also saw the huge ferris wheel that dominates the landscape and serves as useful marker for getting your bearings. A large outlet mall is situated next to the ‘Marinio’ complex and is as popular as any retail outlet on a public holiday (it was Golden Week there, similar to a whole week of bank holidays). We had a look around it because Paul needed new footwear after the wet passage revealed the unsuitability of his shoes. After that we walked to a supermarket and passed a soulless housing estate and a massive golf practice arena; its towering safety nets were billowing in the wind. It looked eerie on the way back lit up as it was, revealing the golfers inside and loads of white balls littering the ground.

We did a three mile walk around the town and its outskirts during our stay, which began with a somewhat incongruous view of a replica of Notre Dame Cathedral near the marina, and ended on the beach area on the other side of a bridge over one of the many rivers that run through Fukuoka.Pics below are from the long walk.

The beach held the fascinating sight of several family groups of cockle pickers working hard digging in the sand for their catch while the tide was out. The sun was setting when we reached the small resort at the end of a pretty waterside walk and we had a drink in the delightfully named Banana Bar before getting a taxi back to the boat.

Before we left Fukuoka we bought a quilt for the bed; quite a change from the single sheet we’d got used to lying under in Malaysia and the Philippines but the nights were feeling decidedly chilly and layers of blankets proved to be fiddly and inadequate. It was a triumph to find one actually because most of the beds in Japan are single, so the majority of bedding on sale tends to caters for them. It was hard to leave the warmth of that quilt the next morning, especially as it was such an early departure to the Kanmon Strait. There would be no more night passages on this last part of the journey to the start of the rally.

Back at sea, the rain fell again and visibility was just two miles, if that. It was also very cold, and Paul felt constantly chilled due to his faulty weatherproof jacket.

We anchored at the industrial town of Kitakyushu at dusk in driving rain. Smoke was coming from factories, there was low cloud, fog, a grey rough sea and an icy wind. I couldn’t help remarking that it was like Armageddon. Apparently this area was the intended target in August 1945 for the second atomic bomb, but smoke from the factories created a literal smokescreen so it was dropped on nearby Nagasaki instead.

After a restful night at anchor the day presented more challenges in the form of bridges, fog, turbulent narrow channels, buoys, and boats coming out of docks. It was all strategically planned for however and my role was to monitor the AIS screen for vessels heading towards us. Doing all this meant I became more familiar with the symbols and signs on the screens. It’s certainly worth its weight in gold in terms of navigation, and so interesting to watch.

Near our next anchorage, at Nakatsu we had marker buoys galore to watch out for while a fine, drizzly rain fell. We anchored at 2 30pm in a sheltered harbour lined with industrial buildings, piles of sand and heaps of gravel. As it was still early in the day we got on with a few jobs, the most essential of which was fitting the new starter car battery Paul had bought in Fukuoka, which served as a temporary measure until brand new ones could be bought and fitted.

More dreary weather the next day on our passage to Himeshima: looking out on the horizon in the milky white air it was difficult to determine where the sea ended and the sky began. It was a short hop in the drizzly rain to tie on to another wall at 12 30 just as the rain got heavier. The rain didn’t stop all day. Rather than sit inside, while a new place was waiting to be explored, we braved the conditions and went for a walk later in the afternoon.

Once again the small town was empty of people. The few retail establishments and one café were closed but bizarrely, a tiny tourist information place was open. We went in and spoke with the very smiley young girl, who spoke a bit of English and enthused very enthusiastically at our answers to her questions. It would be easy to assume this was disingenuous but knowing the Japanese people now, this would be an incorrect assumption. Generally, they are sincerely interested in foreign visitors and not shy about showing it. There wasn’t much she could tell us or show us about Himeshima though – she did produce a quaint map for us which looked like she’d lovingly created it herself and we’ve added it to our treasured momentos.

Our walk revealed a desolate, empty place, yet it was charmingly atmospheric with the weather creating an apt factor to the bleakness, and at least it lacked the smoky industry we’d viewed recently. The beach’s only visitors were black crows who contributed to the eeriness; their loud, repetitive caws breaking the silence. We saw less than a dozen people the entire time we were there, and that includes a visit to a supermarket. Despite this, a regular ferry service is in operation, but for the life of us we couldn’t work out the need for such a frequent service.

When Paul took us out early the next morning the weather had improved. It was bright, warm and clear. He said Himeshima looked picturesque in the early sunlight but I prefer to remember its brooding and silent emptiness. We had entered the Seto inland sea; the region from which the rally we were joining takes its name – Setouchi. We were also close to another World War 2 scene of devastation – Hiroshima.  Again, we had to bypass a visit much to my disappointment. Despite the early sun and the blue sky the day was chilly and I was glad of my thermals. Our anchorage, at a place called Matsuyama was a pleasant and secure spot but the peace was interrupted by a crow scaring device which delivered loud gunshot sounds at two-minute intervals. Even though I knew they were coming I still jumped at each one. Thankfully they stopped at sunset. We were treated to a smack (yes, that’s the collective noun for them) of jellyfish looking for all the world like they were doing a synchronised dance around the boat, so graceful are they in their movements.

Now we were only one day away from the start point of the rally, and all the hurrying could stop for a while. We approached a major bridge we had to go under and got told off by the bridge controller. We should have got prior permission, he told Paul on the VHF. He instructed us to follow the path of the huge cargo ship in front of us and then called again a few minutes later to tell us to speed up! Rules state that vessels must not do less than 4 knots, which is what we were doing. I was annoyed because Paul had to keep going down to speak to him and I had to take over the steering in tricky places, like rapids for instance, and could easily have caused more of a problem than slow speed. The second bridge was a bit more nerve-wracking. Paul had done the sums about the mast height and the bridge height but as we got closer, the familiar doubt that we could fit comfortably underneath it got both of us. It really is most disconcerting.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon by the time we reached our berth at the sea station at Yuge, and we were warmly welcomed by the rally organiser and some of the other participants. Our race to get there was over. The new challenges for me would be quite different in the weeks to come.

Kathy

 

 

We left Ishigaki on St George’s Day, beating a hasty retreat in case we became embroiled in any further argy-bargy with the coastguards. Paul tried to call them on VHF to let them know our intentions but received no reply, so at 8am we untied from the wall and I steered us out.

For me, the main thing about the night passage that followed, was learning how to deal with the steering on the wind vane. It needed lots of tweaking (much more than the autohelm) and it took me a while to get the balance right but I got there in the end. It’s just as well because that’s what we’ll be using when we cross the Pacific. We managed without the engine all the next day too and had a blissfully uneventful day until Paul said another storm was on the way. Had this one, when it arrived, been the first one we’d experienced at sea, I would have been terrified but the two we’d recently gone through were far worse so I was almost blase about it.  The radar picture shows the extent of it (although some of that is the land mass of Okinawa).

Paul got soaked through up above and it’s become clear that the brand new oily Gill jacket he bought is faulty. Very frustrating as it was expensive and from a supposedly reputable company. I carried out my usual role of shouting out radar, iPad and AIS info – we were perilously close to a couple of fishing boats at one point. I also managed to make a couple of pot noodles which was all we felt we could eat. We had to put the engine on to aid the steering but the storm abated as quickly as it arrived and by dawn we were approaching Yonabaru.

It was a chilly, murky and grey morning on the long, slow approach to the harbour. We had our thermals on and a cold rain was falling. At least the sea was calm. Berthing in the marina at Yonabaru was such a contrast to tying up at Ishigaki. The smiling man who took our lines bade us welcome to Japan and gave us unasked for useful local info and then the manager came out to extend his welcome by showing us around the facilities and explaining the gate codes etc. It made such a difference, and the marina itself was very peaceful.

Yonabaru town was fairly unremarkable but it had everything we needed. The land adjacent to the marina is reclaimed and everything has a newly-built look to it. A wide river runs through the middle of the town and it’s notably larger than Ishigaki. In the supermarket I spent a lot of time scrutinising tins and packets trying to work out what they were, or contained. I had downloaded a couple of apps before we entered Japan that were supposed to translate kanji phrases from pictures on an iPhone. I wasn’t surprised when they didn’t really work. Paul was game enough to buy something different – and it turned out to be a battered sausage on a stick! Back at the marina, Paul went to enquire about wifi at the office and returned to tell me that the manager had been in conversation with a journalist about our trip and plans and wondered if we’d be interested in being interviewed. We planned to be out all the next day visiting the city of Naha so we’d miss him unfortunately 😉

Naha, the capital of Okinawa is a big, lively city which is still home to thousands of US servicemen and their dependents after the post-war American military presence. My guide book informed me that there is a vast selection of army surplus junk such as bullet and shell casings on sale in the centre. We never saw or looked for any of that, or the ‘boisterous nightlife and busy red-light district. Our trip began with some perplexity about how to get there. A plan to simply find a bus stop and get on a bus to Naha was thwarted when we couldn’t find a bus stop! Paul asked a man who was walking nearby and after a brief conversation, he insisted on taking us there. It was so kind of him and he wouldn’t accept any money for the journey. I have a feeling he was chuffed about our plans to visit the castle there because he seemed very proud of it. He dropped us very close to its entrance, with hopes that we had a lovely day.

The castle resembled a Chinese temple more than our perception of a castle, which isn’t surprising really since a lot of the architecture and culture in Japan is hugely influenced by the Chinese. The info leaflet we’d brought stated that the original castle MIGHT have been constructed around the 14th century. The details aren’t known but for approximately 500 years it stood on the hill as a centre for politics and foreign diplomacy until it became a casualty of the Battle of Okinawa. When the islands of Okinawa were returned to Japan in 1972 a decision was made to commemorate the 20^th anniversary by restoring the castle using 18th century Shurijo as the model. I was beginning to get the idea, which was confirmed once inside with the use of words and phrases like ‘reproduced’, ‘replicas’ ‘based on’, that this was a representation of a castle rather than an original one. Some of the interior rooms looked like empty Ikea showrooms. Still, they had done a good job of reconstructing it as a whole, and the grounds were beautiful. It was worth the visit – pics below taken where we were allowed to.

Some excitement for me after that. We went on a monorail to get us to the centre of Naha. I have never been on one, apart from the ones in theme parks and airports. This one was great; so smooth, fast and efficient as it transported us high above the buildings.

We got off at a stop recommended to us by a guy we asked in a tourist office. He must have had us down as wealthy because we found ourselves in the heart of a designer mall, which was eerily deserted. We passed shop after pristine shop; Fendi, Prada, Marc Jacobs, Cartier and the like, with immaculately coiffured staff standing behind counters with nothing to do. Nothing for us there so we went in search of some lunch. A Subway inside a bookshop made for a pleasant lunch break and a chance to consult our maps and guides. Naha’s main street was recommended as a must. Named Kokusai Street, it stretches for 2 kilometres through downtown Naha and boasts restaurants, cafes, bars, souvenir shops, boutiques and department stores. It had all those and more, and reminded me of The Lanes in Brighton. We visited the huge public market too and by 4pm I was in need of sustenance in the form of wine.

Getting a bus home proved to be something of a challenge. The internet provided info regarding numbers and routes but we stood at the wrong stop for ages before we realised. Once we found the correct one a helpful lady told us the procedure for buying tickets. You take a ticket when you get on the bus and the zone you’re in is stamped on it, than as the bus travels into new zones, the price on the bus display changes. When you get off, you put the fare currently showing on the display into a machine that counts the coins. We’d never have worked all that out without her help! People really are very willing to help in Japan.

We left Yonabaru on Friday 27th April for a three day passage on the East China Sea to Miyanoura on the island of Yakushima. An uneventful passage apart from my falling down the steps and first, bashing my knee on the metal coat hooks and then when trying to right myself, with one leg still in the cockpit, slipping again and bashing it on the wooden grab rail. A few swear words were uttered at the ensuing excruciating pain. Nothing was broken but it caused me to limp for quite a while and six weeks later, still hurts at times. It showed me that no matter how complacent you feel about nimbly moving around the boat in rocky conditions, the force of a wave can unbalance and injure the most careful of people. Still, I managed my watches by moving very slowly and sitting still for as much as possible. I did my first night watch in a warm woolly hat during that passage, while the moon was three quarters full and created a shimmering golden path on the surface with a comforting amber glow all around.

Paul saw a submarine surface during one of his watches – a sight I would have loved to have seen. He said it looked like a black rectangle and seemed to follow us for a time. By chance, several of the books I was reading at the time were all sea-related and one in particular resonated with his description. Jules Verne’s ‘20,000 Leagues Under the Sea’ focuses on the fictional submarine journey of The Nautilus, a vessel used by Captain nemo to take revenge on civilization by ramming and sinking ships. The other books were ‘The Old Man and the Sea’ by Hemingway, about a man who has trouble catching a fish, basically ;), ‘Lord Jim’, a brilliant philosophical story by Conrad, which contains this apt phrase:

‘trust a boat on the high seas to bring out the Irrational that lurks at the bottom of every thought, sensation, emotion’.

Coleridge’s ‘Ancient Mariner’ is a constant reread for me; several of its lines come in to my head in the manner of an earworm, only more welcome. I also enjoyed ‘English Passengers’ by Matthew Kneale, about a voyage to Tasmania in the 19th century. On we went, alternating between port and starboard tacks. Early morning fog and mists made an appearance and reminded me of the autumnal mornings in the UK that I’ve been missing so much. As we got closer to Miyanoura, a huge oil tanker from Singapore, which according to the AIS was ‘drifting under no command’ and should have given way to us, blasted its horn 5 times which Paul explained meant ‘show your intention’ but sounded more to me like ‘get out of my bloody way!’.

Our first view of the island of Yakushima, on the morning of Monday 30^th April was through a fine drizzle of a showery rain and low-lying cloud. This made the mountainous terrain beyond the bay even more atmospheric and attractive to my eyes. Paul was togged up in his oilies and rain pattered on the hatches as we neared the wall we intended to tie to. It turned out to be too precarious for the boat once we were tied to it. There was a lip jutting out that would bash the wood at low water so Paul went off to investigate other options and we moved to the harbour wall just round the corner.

I loved Miyanoura from the moment we got off the boat. It was as if we’d landed in Alpine Europe, complete with pretty chalet-style houses.

Yakushima Island is proud of its World Natural Heritage designation, and a visit to the village information centre revealed all the pursuits and attractions on offer. There are mountain climbs, forest trails, wilderness hikes and information about the legends, nature and culture of the area. As we walked around the largely deserted, quiet town it continued to rain softly and the river, in the dusk light looked spectacular. No apologies for taking lots of pictures of misty, magical Miyanoura.

We ended our day there by stumbling upon a restaurant near the harbour in the style of a country pub, just as we’d given up hope of finding anywhere to eat in the empty town. We were its only customers and typically, it looked as if it was closed at first. The food was a bit pricey but nice enough. I would have loved to explore Miyanoura further but the start date of the rally was fast approaching and we needed to make progress to get to the venue.

Kathy

 

My first view of Ishigaki, on a grey, drizzly Tuesday morning mid-April surprised me by how big it was. Tall skyscrapers in the distance conveyed a busy metropolitan inner city, while an industrial environment dominated the foreground.

I felt colder in the cockpit that morning than I had in a long while as we approached the harbour, and Paul briefed me on what to expect. This included tying the boat against a wall – something we hadn’t done for a long time, that it would be quite shallow in the harbour, and that we would be visited by customs and quarantine officers. Our yellow quarantine flag was duly hoisted and we made ready to dock. On the way in, we passed several Japanese Coastguard boats: huge vessels and visibly well-maintained, they dwarfed any boats near to them.

It wasn’t obvious to see where we had to aim for exactly, but after some motoring around we saw a guy on a quay gesturing for us to come to him. The wall looked terribly high and it was a bit nerve-wracking but I threw the line to him and almost immediately three other officials appeared on the wall peering down at us. I put my hand out to push us away from the wall but was told not to touch anything yet by one of the men (presumably until we’d been quarantine-cleared). Unfortunately this meant that the wooden cap rail suffered some damage from rubbing against a concrete shelf that was jutting out until Paul got the fender boards fitted.

We didn’t stay there long anyway. Two guys in a coastguard dinghy escorted us to a different wall; this one nearer to the town. We were instructed to remain on the boat until our inspections had been completed. The first of these was the quarantine officer who according to Paul, fell quite drastically when he attempted to come on board because the tide had dropped so much. While he was on board, the team of six customs inspectors lined up on the wall to await their turn. The quarantine guy was keen to get away after his ungainly entrance, so as soon as his bit was done he left us with a terse command to ‘take down your flag’. Four of the customs officers interviewed Paul in the cockpit while two came down into the cabin to swab surfaces and to look inside various cupboards and lockers and swab the interiors. We’d heard about the meticulousness of the authorities and now we were seeing it in action. They were all nice and polite at the same time as being serious about their duties. Paul was asked if he had ever been to North Korea in the boat and he had to declare precise dates concerning arrivals and departures regarding the countries we’d visited so far. After customs, it was the turn of immigration. They were waiting with transport on the road above the wall, which due to the tide continuing to drop seemed even higher and looked totally inaccessible to me. In the end, I had to suffer the indignity of being pushed up from the rear by Paul while the immigration guys pulled my arms to haul me up! We were driven to the immigration building where we went through the fingerprinting, photographing and form-filling procedures now so familiar to us and were then driven back to the boat, all legal…or were we!?

Late in the afternoon we walked into town. We began from a dockside, industrial area so we saw grey, square concrete buildings and factories on the way. We also saw some of the ubiquitous drinks’ vending machines that are situated on virtually every street. The odd tree had blossoms on it but we had arrived too late to see the famous Japanese blossoms.

We had two missions to fulfil in town: finding an ATM to draw out some money, and to obtain some mobile data. Knowing beforehand that ATMS in Japan are fairly few and far between but can generally be found in Post Offices, we located a Post Office. It looked surprisingly similar to a UK Post Office inside, right down to the queueing system and packets of brown envelopes and string on sale – here, though they stay open until 7pm. In a scenario that would become all too regular, Paul’s card was not accepted in the ATM so we had to use mine. It turns out his card can only be used in machines in a 7/11-type shop called FamilyMart for some reason.  We had even less success getting mobile data. It turned out to be a convoluted and pricey business so we put that on the back burner for the time being and continued using Paul’s Malaysian data plan.

Ishigaki, away from the docks was quite charming. There were gift shops, wine shops, a colourful market street with a plethora of neon signs, but with fewer people than I expected to see (this would definitely become the norm the longer we stayed in Japan). Some of the buildings were hard to identify. They could have been a shop, a café, a bar or even a house, and it brought home to me how tricky it’s going to be to decipher things with so much of the signage in kanji.  Supermarkets are less of a problem, however, especially when you just need fresh produce and once we’d bought a few essentials we walked back to the boat, stopping on the way to have a drink and a snack in a trendy ‘eaterie’ area near to the docks.

Our mornings at Ishigaki began with the blasting of ships’ horns and tannoy announcements from the captains of the coastguard boats as they prepared to leave for duty. Our first morning, however, had the addition of another succession of visitors. The first of these was the coastguard who also needed to know precise details concerning where we would be going…and when…EXACTLY!  More turned up later and the cry of ‘captain, captain’ from the wall became a familiar refrain.  A discussion about fuel formed the basis of one visit. They wanted to know how Paul would get it into the tanks without any spillage. From my position at the cabin table I could see more legs appearing at the windows above me and a discussion going on as more joined them. One guy came on board to look at the fuel gauge, while outside some shouting was going on which sounded alarming to my ears; perhaps ‘barked commands’ would be a more apt description. The visits and questioning continued throughout the morning, with the fuel issue culminating in one of the officers threatening to revoke Paul’s licence to travel if he overfilled the tanks. In fairness, they looked and sounded more threatening than they actually were but it was still a bit unnerving after the laid-back attitudes in Malaysia and the Philippines.

After the diesel had been delivered satisfactorily  we took a taxi to the Department of Transport office where Paul had to apply for a permit to enter Japan’s closed ports (a requirement that was soon to be abolished as it turned out). That done, we went to the town library expecting to pick up some wifi there but although they didn’t have it, a helpful member of staff told us where we could get it. Ishagaki’s waterfront is lined with cafés and bars and one of them, called The Blue Cafe offers free wifi as well as wine by the glass and a host of other delights. It became a regular haunt during our time there. I had a look round the library before we left for the cafe and was impressed with its layout and comfort, even if I couldn’t work out what was what.

The battle with the port authorities continued. Paul returned from a trip to the office one morning with a story far too complicated to relate, about his efforts to change the status of the boat to make it easier to enter closed ports for our onward journey. Naturally, none of it is made easier on either side with the language barrier. The little I gleaned from these episodes is that life seems to be made a lot more complicated for all concerned due to all the bureaucracy involving rules and the associated paperwork, instead of making it more organised, which is surely the point. Paul pointed this out to the manager in a more tactful way, adding that it was almost as if they wanted to deter yachtsmen from visiting their country and he looked most offended by the criticism. Coincidence that shortly afterwards the whole system of closed ports was abandoned? Probably. Anyway, that day it took almost the whole afternoon for Paul to provide the required information. When we could finally get out, we visited the peace bell area in the town and took a few pics before heading on to the café to upload, post and research to our hearts’ content.

Problems with officialdom began to mount up and by April 20th had become even more frustrating. We were told we couldn’t refill our gas containers, and that due to those convoluted regulations concerning closed and open ports we were unable to check out at ishigaki’s port. Our plans to hire a car were also thwarted by a barrage of complications. On it went all morning, with Paul mulling over various options to try to override it all. Finally, he worked out a way to change the boat’s status to Japanese. In the manner of the word ‘Rumplestiltskin’ magically making everything alright with the world in the fairy tale, such was the case here. Paul said the guys wanted no more forms, no more questions to answer and we were free to go wherever and whenever we liked. Now we could concentrate on the mobile data problem!

For this, we got on our bikes. We pedalled along the coast road, intending to go to the airport where we’d been told it might be possible to get a SIM card. On the way we stopped to look at a shop called The Exciting Bookstore. Unfortunately it didn’t live up to its name but while I browsed, Paul discovered that the airport we were heading for had moved to a location ten miles away. We did, however, manage to get SIM cards in a small mobile store which were a bit pricey but worth it to have access to up to date information, especially for the weather.

On the afternoon of Saturday 21st we set off to have a look at the Yaeyama Peace Memorial Museum. It was created to construct a centre that conveys the truth about wartime malaria. Many people were forced to leave their homes under orders from the Japanese Imperial Army during World War 2 and had to settle in malaria infested areas. The museum was full of information on how they managed to eradicate the disease. It was heartening to see that the overall message was about peace.

We continued our bike ride along the coast after that. It was interesting to spot a group of children playing a baseball game in one of the parks we came upon. It’s a game that’s very popular in Japan and I was surprised to discover that it began here in 1872 – not, as I assumed, as a result of the American occupation. It’s currently one of Japan’s favourite participatory and spectator sports apparently. The afternoon was cloudy, and airless which gave the deserted beaches and resorts an eerie, rather soulless atmosphere. Great to be out on the bikes though.

Halfway through a nice, leisurely Sunday morning on our last day in Ishigaki while we were drinking coffee, catching up on news and internet stuff as you do, the pleasant silence was broken by a klaxon-like alarm emanating from my phone. The picture shows what came up on the display, and despite the word ‘drill’, it was the disaster bit that I focussed on, especially when Paul said we should probably get ready to leave the boat! We didn’t, but I was beginning to get the feeling that Japan likes to be prepared Boy Scout fashion for all eventualities. I’m still not sure why it flashed up on my phone like that, and probably wouldn’t even if it was explained to me.

It was time to provision and prepare for our next Japanese destination. The following day we would be back at sea for a couple of days, on our way to Yonabaru.

Kathy

 

As we moved further north up the western coast of the Philippines we were still enjoying the warmth of the tropics. Near Luzon, at the very tip of the islands I stood and watched the sun rise while sea birds dived into the water for their breakfast on a flat calm sea, and noted that it was scorching hot by 7am!

That evening, anchored for the night in a calm bay, the first incident involving an ongoing battery problem occurred. We became aware of a pungent, sulphurous smell and couldn’t work out where it was coming from until it dawned on Paul that one of the batteries must have failed. He was worried it was going to catch fire or explode so we had to clear out the quarter berth pretty quick so that he could get to them and disconnect the one that had failed. It was extremely hot to the touch and very heavy but posed no further danger once it had been removed. Unfortunately his prediction that if one failed, more were likely to proved to be correct.

The next morning we left early for the Batanes Islands, a small group of islands in the northernmost province of the Philippines, 162 kilometres from the mainland. It was calm and peaceful and the heat in the cockpit meant we had to keep moving around to sit in the cooler shaded parts. The highlight of the day was watching the phosphorescence in the water when it got dark. Endlessly fascinating, it was like a cloak studded with glittering diamonds being dragged along beside us.

Friday April 13th saw us making for Port Basco on the northern tip of the Batanes group, which we reached at 8am. Closing in on the shallows, we spotted cultivated hills with animals that we couldn’t identify grazing on them. With the lighthouse and rugged coastline, the whole vista reminded me of parts of Cornwall or Scotland.

Next, we had to find a sandy area to drop anchor. The first likely place was too windy and the current was pushing us towards rocks so we headed for the harbour, using the depth sounder to locate a smooth bottom. Two huge ships were tied to a nearby jetty but hardly anyone else was around. Paul had a feeling we would be called on the radio, though and sure enough we were. The harbour master called on VHF and asked Paul to come over with the boat’s documents. Thinking we’d finished with the dinghy and outboard it had all been packed away, but out it came and off he went in it.

He returned half an hour later and told me that he thought they didn’t get many visitors here but we were allowed to stay anyway. I set about preparing food for the next few days (pasty fillings, soup and roasted veggies). Paul had been poring over weather forecasts and it all seemed negative. Decisions and choices were discussed and mulled over in order to avoid the worst of the weather; stay put for a few days or leave in the middle of the night. Eventually he decided we’d leave at 5pm so I quickly finished the cooking and stowing and freezing. We’re still not sure when the roughest part will be but at least we’ll be prepared.

Paul asked me if I missed the internet. I had just remarked that the days have no distinction out here, in the way that Sundays for instance, have a certain ‘feel’ to them at home, and the only way I know what the date is, is by the previous day’s journal entry. I told him that I do to a certain extent, for family and friends’ pictures and updates, the radio and news, but I don’t miss the distractions it brings. We were near Taiwan on Saturday night, a country that had once been on our agenda to visit because that’s where the Baba was built. Unfortunately we had no time spare to go there. Night temperatures were getting cooler and extra layers were coming out of lockers and drawers to combat the chill on watch.  There wasn’t a lot to see or do on my afternoon watch, but looking out around 2pm I saw a huge amount of flying fish dance across the water, followed shortly afterwards by a flock of seabirds who descended on the scene as if from nowhere. I tried to get pics but wasn’t quick enough unfortunately.

For dinner, I was chuffed to be able to make some pasties for dinner using the pre-made filling and puff pastry sheets from our little freezer. Once cooked and cooled a little, we held them in our hands and ate them in the cockpit. We’ve noticed things are seeming to feel a lot damper inside the boat now.  Soon the days will be slightly longer as we pull away from the equator. Paul woke me at 4am clad in his oilies for the first time. Poking my head out I realised the days of sitting up there in flimsy clothing are gone. The seats were wet with damp and the breeze was cool, though not yet cold. The stars were blurred, shrouded as they were by murky cloud instead of the sparkling diamonds on a coal-black background I had come to love. There was no moon to be seen and lightning was flashing on our port side. As it began to get lighter and there was no sunrise to view, it looked like we were heading into dark, rain-filled clouds. It turned out to be a bit more than just a rainy day at sea, however. When I mentioned the darkness to Paul he said it was just the early morning light making it appear that way. We stood for a while watching a big black and white bird that had apparently been with us throughout the night, circling the boat and perching on the spreaders. By 7am rumbles of thunder could be heard and just as Paul was hoisting the Japanese flag, rain began to fall. The wind had picked up so he put the mainsail up as the thunder got louder. I wondered if this was the storm that Paul had warned would cause ‘uphill’ sailing. Our ETA changed from Sunday evening to the early hours of Monday, meaning we had another night (or at worst, 2 or 3 more) to do.

Conditions got steadily worse after 8am and all thoughts of a few hours dozing were pushed away. With the words ‘strap in, a big squall is on the way’ another period of battling against the elements began. Paul togged up and took over the steering as the rain poured down. The waves increased in height to 9 or 10 feet, creating high walls of water and we were thrown, bashed and pushed in all directions. I put my oilies on in case I was needed above but my role was to watch the radar and relay to Paul what direction to go in to get away from it. However, it seemed to hover ominously over us continually like the proverbial ‘dark cloud’. The noises were ferocious; waves banged against the hull, the wind whistled and roared, which combined with the noise of the engine meant we struggled to hear each other, and the rain pelted on the roof. For well over an hour Paul struggled above in those conditions. My heart sank when he told me he’d checked the forecast and we were in for this rough time for days! I couldn’t imagine how we’d cope with so little sleep in these conditions. Waves started to crash over the sides with alarming force.

After a while of stressing I just accepted our plight and got on with the business of adapting to it. It wasn’t dangerous and we’d just have to sit it out. Which is what we did – literally. Paul closed the hatches after making sure things were as secure as they could be and we sat in the warmth of the cabin and listened, talked and dozed. We used the AIS as a watching device and there was little likelihood of fishing boats. The force of the wind and waves first caused the boat to go nowhere and then backwards towards the Philippines. Then the birds came!

I looked up from my position on the bunk and saw a brown and white pigeon perched on the hatch peering in at us. It had a ring on its leg and didn’t fly off when we went up the steps, just shuffled around the cockpit. It was obviously intending to stay for a while. Paul put our mosquito mesh in the hatchway to prevent it coming in and flying around. I spotted another one perched on the guard rail at the stern and noticed others flying around looking for somewhere to land. In the end we had 5 or 6 pigeons and one tiny black and white bird perched at various points around the boat. The tiny bird didn’t hang around too long but the pigeons stayed and weathered the storm with us. I found some seeds and some oat-based muesli to feed them. Three huddled together in the cockpit, and two were on the coach roof. All of them had rings on, so they were clearly racing pigeons. Paul remarked that surely they were cheating by hitching a ride with us.

As it got dark, neither of us felt like eating much and the storm raged on. With the hatches battened, the birds asleep, and the equipment set up to alert us about other boats, we dug out some warm blankets and slept. It was one of the best and most memorable nights at sea for me, despite the conditions. It was cosy and warm in the cabin, and the presence of the birds sheltering with us added to the unique experience.  During the night the wind reached 25 knots so Paul braved the elements to put the wind vane into operation and we all slept really well – birds included.

In the morning, it was a lot colder and the sky was heavy with cloud but the wind had dropped and although we were still being thrown around, the sea was calmer too. At 9 o’clock while I was on look out and Paul dozed, I saw all our five birds fly away, one after the other over the starboard side.

At last, we began to make steady progress and our new ETA for Japan was Tuesday morning. Watches were resumed and chores (cleaning up pigeon droppings being one of them) were carried out as the sea got calmer. Paul said he could see Japan at lunchtime, a far-off island hard to distinguish from the clouds, but could just about be picked out with binoculars. Our last night at sea before reaching Japan was a dark one to say the least. No moon or stars and heavy cloud cover. Visibility was poor but AIS, radar and the Navionics course on the iPad could all be viewed from the chart table so all we needed to do was have look out every so often from the warmth and safety of the steps. At some point in the night, our phones had added an hour on, revealing that Japan was 9 hours ahead of GMT.  Soon, we were approaching Ishigaki, our first port of call in Japan.

At 9am on Thursday 5th April we slipped our mooring at Puerto Galera. The wind behind the main and head sails was soon propelling us along, but for the first time Paul had to use the spinnaker pole to stabilise the headsail: often a precarious and finicky job, especially in rough weather when the boat is rolling. It was great to be free from the noise of the engine but in the busy shipping lane we had to cross, the VHF radio was continually relaying interaction between vessels and the port authorities in Batangas.  Interference makes the stations crackle loudly, and when impatient captains repeat the same requests over and over, it can be an assault on the ears, but it petered out as we drew away from the Batangas area. During the afternoon the wind dropped and slowed our progress considerably, but for once it was a positive thing because due to a slight miscalculation, we would have been arriving at our destination in the early hours of the morning at the speed we’d been making. A few hours delay would hopefully have us there at the more convenient hour of sunrise instead.

The shipping lane near Manila had us negotiating our way around huge cargo and container vessels, but the AIS provided reassurance about collision likelihood. The other benefit of going slowly under sail was the huge saving on the amount of fuel we used, but best of all, no engine means no danger of fishing nets getting caught in the propeller. As darkness fell, more fishing boats appeared and we had to manoeuvre around them. One of the crew on a boat on our starboard side got quite agitated. He shone his torch at our boat in a sweeping motion, then pointed it on the surface of the water.  He probably couldn’t tell we had no engine on, but we could only guess he was worried about his nets. It was unnerving not to be sure he wasn’t alerting us about some unseen peril we were heading for, but that’s probably more to do with my overactive imagination 😉  After a dinner of veggie burgers and fried onions in buns (great al fresco fare), we began the night watch. I took the 8 until midnight one and for the first time, felt chilly enough to put a coat on. By the time Paul took over a few hours later, we were almost there. I had intended to stay awake to help with anchoring but I woke to the sound of the anchor being dropped at 3am. Paul had decided we could wait in Benanga Bay and catch up on some sleep so that we could find the marina in daylight.

It was a glorious morning to set off in a few hours later. There were the usual things to look out for, such as fishing markers, nets and boats and it was pleasant to stand on the side deck to watch for them with a cup of hot coffee in the warm, gentle breeze. We passed some picturesque views, all of which were interspersed with industrial sites of shipbuilding yards, dry docks, and construction sites.

Both the marinas Paul called were full but one said we could anchor outside the yacht club. It soon became clear why they were full when a succession of yachts came motoring out of the marina with banners and flags displaying the name of another regatta. As Paul commented, we saw more yachts in an hour that morning than we’d seen in the whole of the Philippines. The spot outside the yacht club didn’t appeal to us and was too far away from where we wanted to be. We returned to the beach area that we’d noted as a possible place to stop and were delighted to be confronted with lots of little optimist boats with youngsters from a local sailing school having a whale of a time. They used our boat as a marker to go around, which made steering a bit tricky as there were quite a few of them. We were hoping to tie to one of the mooring buoys. A guy on a nearby boat, who Paul asked whether they were for public use wasn’t sure and suggested we just use one, then check with a man at the large bar/restaurant establishment on the shore. This time, I steered us towards the buoy, the sailing school gang still sticking perilously close to us. Paul hooked it and once secured to it, dinghied over to check if it was ok to stay there. He returned with the news that not only was it was fine for us to stay, it was free too.

Researching Subic Bay online, one  site referred to the wide range of American food on sale, apparently as a result of a US base situated there after the Second World War. The only hint of this we saw, however was a profusion of fast food joints. These diners were located behind the glitzy waterfront buildings and were part of a series of square, austere concrete complexes advertising ‘fries and steak’, ‘BBQ ribs’, ‘breakfast pancakes’ as well as the usual hot dogs, burgers and pizzas. This then, seemed to be the American fare mentioned online because we found little in the supermarkets that differed from standard products we’d become familiar with.

We were in the duty free area of Subic Bay so several outlets were advertising chocolate, cigarettes and alcohol as we strolled along in air heavy with humidity. Google maps showed us the way to the next town, Olongapo which was only a short distance away, but required us to cross what looked like a border patrol and I wondered if we should have brought our passports but no one stopped us. Olongapo was a busy, traffic-choked little town  but we enjoyed ambling around it, and managed to find everything we needed to buy there.

The book I’d been reading about prisoners of war on Palawan had revealed how much the Filipino people had respected and helped the Americans during World War 2, often risking or losing their own lives to do so. The plaque in the picture is just one of several memorials to them I came across in the Philippines. The Oryoku Maru was one of the so called ‘hell ships’ used to transport prisoners and conditions on board were unbearably hard for the men crammed into the holds. It’s hard to read the inscription on the picture but this Wikipedia extract provides an adequate explanation of what happened.

The Oryoku Maru left Manila on December 13, 1944, with 1,620 prisoners of war (including 1,556 American, 50 British and Dutch, 7 Czech, 4 Norwegians and several other nationalities) packed in the holds, and 1,900 Japanese civilians and military personnel in the cabins. As she neared the naval base at Olongapo in Subic Bay, US Navy planes from the USS Hornet attacked the unmarked ship, causing it to sink on December 15. About 270 died aboard ship. Some died from suffocation or dehydration. Others were killed in the attack, drowned or were shot while escaping the ship as it sunk in Subic Bay where the ‘Hell Ship Memorial’ is located. A colonel, in his official report, wrote:

Many men lost their minds and crawled about in the absolute darkness armed with knives, attempting to kill people in order to drink their blood or armed with canteens filled with urine and swinging them in the dark. The hold was so crowded and everyone so interlocked with one another that the only movement possible was over the heads and bodies of others.

In the evening, back in Subic Bay and stocked up with soft drinks, wine and chocolate, we went out to find somewhere to eat. The bars and restaurants that lined the waterfront vied for custom with the usual food and entertainment enticements advertised outside, but the one that appealed (to me at least) had a live band on a stage. The singers and musicians were performing western pop songs Filipino style, and the dancers were great. We sat outside on what was a very humid night and watched while eating tofu (for me) and fish (for Paul) meals before heading back to plan the next passage.

Paul had worked long and hard on the schedule we’d be keeping to for the journey to Japan and had planned it so that we wouldn’t have too many night passages. The next part began this morning (7th April) with a 6 30 departure for an anchorage at Palanginan, north Philippines. The trip took 10 hours but we were able to do most of it under sail and anchored at 5pm in a bay that proved to be a lot busier than Paul expected. No less than three bancas came up to us before we’d even got the anchor set. The first one dropped their anchor very close to us and I couldn’t stop myself asking ‘do you think they could be pirates?’ This isn’t a foreign tourist destination so they were just curious to see us and the crew on most of the boats we saw gave us welcoming smiles and waves.

As darkness fell, fires were lit on the beach opposite and music began to boom out. We were beginning to get the idea that Filipino holidaymakers love to party. The music and the celebrating went on all through the night. When the flaky wifi connection let us look things up again we discovered we were opposite a place called ‘Lindamar By The Sea Resort’ on Iba Beach, a popular place for beach entertainment.  At 6am the partying was as rowdy and lively as if it was midnight. At that early hour on a Sunday morning, besides the karaoke, music and dancing going on, we spotted swimmers, people playing beach volleyball, kayakers and motor boats departing for trips across the bay. It was as if all the benefits of the resort’s activities could be enjoyed at any time during a 24 hour period. We sat in the cockpit enjoying our morning coffee and a breakfast of delicious Filipino mangoes watching it all before we left for another night passage.

By the end of the morning, however the wind was pushing us along at such a speed, Paul thought we’d arrive at midnight! We alternated between port and starboard tacks all afternoon with no engine, so that the ‘zigzag’ route slowed us down sufficiently. Very few vessels at sea until the fishermen came out at twilight, and the usual ‘eagle-eye’ lookouts went into operation. This is a lot easier with the comforting light of a full moon but it was a half-moon that evening. Fishing boats don’t tend to use AIS and a few times, Paul had to shine a torch across the water separating us to alert them to the fact we were nearby, as had been done to us previously. Apart from that the night passage and on into the following day went well. The swell and the rolling prevented us from doing much activity. In my case, it creates a kind of lethargy where it’s too much effort staying upright to move from one end of the boat to the other. I did manage to cook a tofu stir fry in those conditions however, using my legs and back to pinion my body against the wooden galley corner as I cooked.

Late in the morning of Monday 9th April we were approaching San Fernando in heat and humidity that soaks you with sweat within minutes. A banca approached with a guy sporting some strange headgear (see pic below) who offered to sell us some fish. Paul declined but asked if he could take his picture, which he was happy to pose for. He also offered to guide us to San Fernando but Paul told him we could probably find it.

Another banca appeared shortly after we had anchored, with three guys on it this time. A family,consisting of dad and his two sons, they ended up being our personal assistants for the whole of our stay and the father was a huge help. After talking with Paul, he shot off in their boat, Zamorna, on a mission to get diesel and water for us and returned very quickly with it all.

Once again, there was the ‘how much?’, ‘well, however much you think it was worth’ interaction so Paul gave generously. This might have been why they took it upon themselves to look after us so well because when we dinghied ashore later to check in, the same crew of three were there waiting to help us pull the dinghy onto the beach. No sooner had we secured it than dad ordered the boys to guard it while he led us up from the beach through the town’s fascinating backstreets. Here, we saw very basic living: rundown shacks, poor drainage, mud tracks instead of pavements, and goats, chickens, dogs and puppies mingling with the children outside the huts. Lots of people were around and though they stared at us unashamedly, they invariably smiled as our guide hustled us on through the narrow dusty lanes. Quite a few held their hands out for money, but even if we’d had a mind to give any, we wouldn’t have had time to. I would have loved to take a few surreptitious pictures but was afraid of being left behind. After a few minutes we were invited to wash our feet at the communal tap and we emerged from the village onto a patch of waste ground. This appeared to be the place for villagers to gather and socialise. It reminded me a little of areas at music festival venues. People were cooking on open fires while games of football and basketball were being played. Others were sat around chatting. It was lively, vibrant, rudimentary and brilliant.

The heat had increased by now and I felt overcome by it after rushing through the village. I hoped the immigration place wasn’t too far away. Once we were on the main road, our man pointed us in the right direction and left us to it. Not far away there was a kiosk with an official looking man in it with whom Paul double-checked we were on the right road for immigration. We were, but today it was closed for a public holiday, he informed us apologetically. Rather than return to the boat we elected to walk on into town, but via the shady back streets out of the glaring sun. Google maps showed us the way and we had another fascinating walk away from the mainstream. You kind of get used to people staring. We do look conspicuous in our sun hats, and with phones out taking lots of pictures, not to mention Paul’s height. It’s very hard to convey the combination of all we saw, heard and smelled. There were cockerels crowing, trikes and motor bikes roaring along with horns honking, the smells of fried chicken and other unidentifiable aromas –some good, some not so good. We saw turkeys, dogs, cats, cockerels and goats in the run down roads and streets, and more dilapidated houses, and tiny shops with wire frontages.  It wasn’t quite subsistence living but not far off it.

 

 

We stopped for a drink on the outskirts of town and sat at a table on a dusty roadside before walking on into the centre of San Fernando.

In a huge, old wooden building the market was located.  We went there to top up our supply of bananas and mangoes. As we walked round, traders urged us to come to their stall by calling out such things as ‘yes sir’, ‘yes madam’, ‘have a look’, ‘you try’.

 

I was captivated by it all, despite feeling exhausted from a long walk in the heat. Arriving back on a trike I was amazed to see the two boys from Zamorna waiting for us on the waste ground outside the fishing village, where people were now settling in for the evening pastimes.

They were there to guide us back through the higgledy-piggledy lanes to our dinghy. Nice as this was of them, I’d been hoping for a more leisurely walk to have a closer look at the ramshackle houses but once again we were rushed through and almost bundled into the dinghy. Paul ordered some wood from the dad once they’d escorted us back to our boat.

The sounds of Cockerels crowing, and the barking and howling of dogs greeted me when I woke early the next morning. I went above to watch the beach come to life as the sun rose. It was already hot by 7 30. Paul gathered the papers and forms ready to take to the immigration building. We decided he’d go alone and I would wait for the delivery of the wood and more drinking water from our Zamorna guys. The wood was for fender boards which would be needed for when we’d be tying up against harbour walls in Japan. While Paul was away I labelled and stowed some canned food for our Pacific crossing. Any paper labels have to be removed because they could block up bilge pumps if the boat were to flood with water for any reason. Then they have to be sealed in plastic bags to prevent rusting. We were ready to leave by 5pm after grateful farewells to Zamorna. I steered us out into the path made by the sun’s afternoon rays on the water while Paul put the main and headsails up. We were bound for Japan in earnest now and there would be night passages and overnight anchorages for the next few days. We hoped to arrive in Ishigaki, our first port of call in Japan at the weekend.