Juneuary

It has been cold this June. Okay, not THAT cold. Photo of woolly mammoth taken by Karen at the BC museum in Victoria (but they used to be here.)


A definition of a nice day is: A nice day is what you make it. This year, June was in February and the real June was more like March. Hence Juneuary, the name in the Pacific Northwest for Junes like this. More gale warnings in the eastern Strait of Juan de Fuca than you can shake a stick at, but oddly enough, on the west coast of Vancouver Island where we’ve been lazing for the past 9 days, it’s been mostly overcast and chilly but no gales. It’s the kind of brooding coastal weather where, after you’ve had a good time beachcombing, fishing or hiking, or an excursion in the dinghy, you come back to the boat for a cuppa tea or cocoa or a glass of wine or beer and a snack, and it’s so snug and cozy you can’t believe you’re here and home at the same time. Let the wind howl in the rigging, the anchor’s well-set. When the sun shines and the sky’s blue, it’s almost unreasonably glorious. That’s our definition of a nice day, or series of them.

Sockdolager from the masthead. Note new 175-watt solar panel!

Here's our track so far.

Sockdolager and her crew enjoyed the ambiance of downtown Victoria at night, then sailed to the wilds of Barkley Sound.

We’ve forgotten what day it is, which was another goal. Barkley Sound has been a great place to wander among rocky islands and sugar-sand beaches. We’re in no hurry to leave. Jack the sea dog is especially enjoying the Sound of Barkley.

Transit: Sooke to Barkley Sound: We spent an extra day anchored behind Whiffen Spit in Sooke awaiting calmer winds, but caught two of the biggest Dungeness crabs ever. This photo is of the smaller of the two. Note the satisfied smile.

Jim is waiting for Karen to say she’s sick of eating crab. Good luck with that. Leaving on the ebb tide at oh-dark-thirty, we mostly motored into no wind, then light wind on the nose, and for the last third of the 16-hour, 80-mile passage, we motor-sailed into a 15-20 knot head wind and sloppy 6-foot seas.

Race Rocks Passage on a speedy 5-knot ebb. Olympic Mts are 35 miles across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

At one point between two islands enroute to our anchorage in Dodger Channel, we were surfing at 8 knots. Not bad for a 21-foot waterline! Rounding Cape Beale was surprisingly difficult and we were glad that we’d decided to stay well offshore. We found our five-mile distance off quickly cut in half by the wind and seas (and probably currents.) The weather window closed shortly after we anchored, and it got windy and foggy again.

One of six eagles flies over Dodger Channel in Barkley Sound.

On Being Visitors: We anchored between two islands, both with cabins. Because of the cabins, we didn’t venture above the high tide line, figuring the land was privately owned. But we walked and beachcombed the lower beaches, found some beautiful tide pools in the rocks, and watched the colorful critters in them. The next day a family arrived and went ashore on the other island.

Karen picks edible wild sea asparagus (Pacific samphire) and later made a concoction with fresh wild oysters, garlic and white wine. Yum.

A man on the beach waved to us, and we went in for a chat. He introduced himself as Robert, the Chief Councillor of the Huu-ay-aht Tribe. He was very kind, and told us about the history of the islands, which are owned by his tribe. Robert told us Cape Beale with all its rocks is a big graveyard for ships. This may explain the amazing beachcombing on these islands. Weathered chips and shards of blue and white Chinese pottery, red and white chips from English china plates, plus earthenware and bottle glass in every color, was all washed up on the beach along with other debris (and some trash.)

This photo shows what Karen found in less than an hour. Robert pointed across the channel to Haines Island and said, “See that grove of new greener trees? That was a village. I was born there.” He and his family were readying the now-uninhabited structures for the Tribe’s summer camping. They live mostly in Port Alberni and number around 700. They’ve lived here for ten thousand years and once numbered 7,000 or more. We hadn’t realized it was Tribal land when we first anchored (no one was there yet and we’d tiredly missed the letters “IR”--for Indian Reservation, we assume--in the cruising guide.) Karen offered her beachcombed shards back to Robert in case taking them was an offense, but he smiled and said keep them. He pointed to a whale swimming out in deeper water, and we told him that six eagles had been there just before he arrived.

Contrast this kindness and understanding with the treatment we received in our brief stop at the nearby village of Bamfield, where we went a day later to reprovision. It’s hard to explain the weird vibe—no one said hello, but they stared. The fuel dock, which the guide said was open, was “temporarily closed” according to a sign, at which two men laughed. They said it had been “temporary” for three years so far. A couple of battered old boats blocked access to the water hose. The owner of the general store, where we bought groceries, would only with great reluctance answer Jim’s questions about where we might find laundry facilities, showers, internet connection, and fuel. He finally snapped that he didn’t run other peoples’ businesses. So we left that place. Often, it’s what the guidebooks don’t mention that is most telling, and the book’s treatment of Bamfield’s charms is minimal. However, they have the best climate change sign anywhere.

The 3 metal markers on this piling show sea level rises predicted-the middle mark is 2050. The lowest mark was more than 5 feet off the fixed pier. Quite sobering.

Enroute to tranquil Jacques Jervis lagoon in the Broken Group (part of the Pacific Rim National Park), we fished before we crossed the park boundary, which leads to another unbelievable story…

This is just a teaser, not the story. Slug Thingy (a sea slug) took our lure but we let it go, verrrry gingerly, after we brought it up from the depths. (Karen draws the line at recipes here.)

THIS is the story:

Get a load of that hook, huh? Was that a monster or what?

How to Instantly Amortize

Your Expensive Fishing Gear
The photo says it all. There we were, late afternoon in Imperial Channel, jigging with a weighted nausea-green squid at 170 feet. Mind you, Jim wasn’t taking any chances. He used the Big New Rod with 130-lb test line and its Herkin’ Big Reel. All was quiet until BANG! Bride of Codzilla took the bait and bent the Big New Rod nearly to the water. Holy halibut, thought Karen, that’s the Big New Rod bending, not the little one. Jim uttered something also starting with “Holy…” and began the tussle, which looked rather Hemingway-esque. He struggled for about a minute. Not quite enough time to judge our fish-powered boat speed. Then nothing. How did a fish like that manage to slip the hook under such firm pressure, we wondered as he reeled in the lure. Then we saw it. A fish that can bend the hook gets to slip it.

“Hmmm. Need bigger hooks,” grunts Jim. Uh-oh.

“Need to fish in shallower water,” says Karen.

Alright all you guitar-stringing, fish-slinging, hook-bending, line-tensioning guessers, tell us how big you calculate this fish was. We decided that one big bent steel hook, following closely on the heels of the original Codzilla, has given us a certain je ne sais quois in telling fish stories, the value of which we calculate to be about equal with the purchase price of the equipment.

How Minds Are Changed

Jacques Jervis lagoon gave us some landlocked tranquility for a few days. Karen finished the full draft of her novel and Jim went up the mast to inspect the rig.

Jim ascends to check the rigging.

Jim waaaaaay up the mast.

Author at work, using solar panel-supplied electricity.

But we missed the movement and sights of more open waters, so we left, first making a stop to fish with the aforementioned Big New gear plus two New Herkin’ Halibut Hooks and a delicious-looking slimy thing I’ll call SquidMan. No luck. We’ll try again, and you will be the first to hear about it. Now for the changing minds part.

So we sail on the genoa and a stiff westerly down to Effingham Bay, where we anchor for the night. We were planning to cook fish and chips but without fish it’s pretty hard. “It’s gruel for supper, swabbies,” announces Karen as she considers what to do with some leftover effing ham. We go ashore, and while we’re bushwhacking through a rough, wet but very fun jungle-y trail across Effingham Island to find some cliffs at Meares Bluff which never did appear, due to the trail leading us somewhere else, a big powerboat, probably 50 or 60 feet, anchors quite close to us in an otherwise nearly empty bay.

The "trail" across Effingham Island was effing difficult.

A man-eating land slug on a large log tells us this is the Pacific Northwest, and we ain't in Kansas anymore. Recipe? Don't even think about it.

Tide pools on the other side of Effingham Island were effing wonderful. Here are sea anemones and a typical starfish, which come in maroon, purple and brown as well as orange.

Returning to Sockdolager in our dinghy after the hike, Karen spies the big powerboat, which shall remain nameless but whose name rhymes with Dodo. She sees how huge and close it is, hears its generator, smells its exhaust, and utters a string of salty epithets about big stinky noisy fuel-hogging inconsiderate powerboats outnumbering the small sailboats and then anchoring on top of them, why those rotten bastidges, now we have to listen to their generator all night, etc etc. If you know Karen at all, you get the idea.

Jim notices they’re cleaning fish on the stern deck and decides to row over and ask them about where they went and what bait they used. First thing they do is yell, “YOU WANT SOME HALIBUT?” Whoa! Things are looking up! We yell of course we do, and they pass us a nice small chunk, enough for supper. They got it 20 miles offshore, in some fishing spot named the Rat’s Nose. As we return to Sockdolager, Karen turns to Jim and says, “I guess they’re not so bad.” At which he guffaws and she adds, “Am I that easily bought off?”

Jim drives the new dinghy. We finally went with an inflatable after researching and rejecting every other possibility for rigid dinghies, because the boat's too small to store one that's practical for daily use on deck.

But the powerboat is still too close and they know it. While dinner is cooking aboard Sockdolager, we witness a feat of brute force over prudent seamanship. First we hear the twin VROOM! VROOM! of their big engines rumbling to life. Hooray, they’re moving! But wait, nobody’s on the foredeck doing anything to bring up the anchor. The boat angles itself in an odd direction, stern away from us, but their anchor’s still on the bottom and nobody’s still on deck. Suddenly, DOUBLE LOUD VROOOOM! They gun the engines in reverse and drag their entire anchor and chain 200 feet, going seven or eight knots across the bay in reverse. The anchor drags as if through jello, but the bottom is anything but jello. Their engine rpms finally lower to idle, but the boat’s going fast, its momentum keeping them racing astern until it looks like they’ll crash into shore. Just in time, they stop, and stay there, close alongside a rock reef. Good grief. A million-dollar yacht has just re-anchored itself in the strangest, most ecologically arrogant and damaging way possible, not to mention being an example of jaw-droppingly bad seamanship. Grateful we were not in their way, Karen goes back to thinking they’re not such a good bunch after all.

Karen beachcombs at Dodd Island in Barkley Sound's Broken Group.

Wowser, it’s Wouwer!

The wind came up a bit in the night and rocked the anchorage. We decided to go visit wild Wouwer Island, where a sea lion rookery is right inside a small bay. It’s exposed to the open ocean, so the seas tossed us around a bit as we threaded between islands and rounded the rocky corner before Wouwer’s little bay. In the distance on an islet out in the ocean we could see the sea lions, but not on the rookery near us. It was exciting and fun being out there among wild rocky places in the wind and surf, but it’s no place for a small boat and was too rough for fishing further offshore, so we set sail off the wind and headed back into the maze of islands of the Broken Group, anchoring in Joe’s Bay next to Dodd Island. Bertram Levy’s beautiful Able, a Bristol Channel Cutter which he keeps on the same dock as us in Port Townsend, was anchored nearby and we invited him, his wife Bobbie and daughter Madeleine over for snacks and to play music. Bertram brought his concertina, Madeleine her fiddle, and Karen got out her guitar. Merry sounds emanated from Sockdolager’s cabin for a couple of hours as we went through Irish, folk, sea chanteys and jazz tunes together. What’s wonderful about them is that they’ve been taking these adventuresome family vacations together for years and they sail everywhere with skill and panache, including through rocky channels that would leave the rest of us quavering.

Able's crew: Bertram, Madeleine and Bobbie aboard Sockdolager for a gam.

Old-growth tree on Dodd Island.

Currently we’re in Ucluelet on the northwest end of Barkley Sound, in no hurry to get anywhere fast.

Appreciating every day
We mentioned that our beloved Jack the sea dog is along on this trip, and it has been a merry chase so far. Jack, a 10 ½ year-old Brussels Griffon, makes us laugh every day and seems to be having a blast, especially when Jim takes him for a little zoom in the dinghy. Wearing his yellow lifejacket with its black straps, which makes him look like a 15-pound bumblebee, he peers into the water and thinks he’s rearranging the critters on the bottom as he "talks" to them.

The history, for those of you who don’t know, is that Jack was mistreated as a pup and Karen rescued him from a situation that was going nowhere. He has had a lifelong fear of strangers, which manifests itself in much barking and unpleasantness, so Karen has kept him separated from all but the most determined people who want to make friends with him. In the last 2 years Jack has developed congestive heart failure, and it is now stage 4. On Saturday night he experienced what appeared to be a serious heart attack, with first a seizure and then falling on his side and not breathing. Karen could not detect a heartbeat for about 30 seconds and feared he was gone, but his brave little heart started up again and he resumed breathing. After resting all night and the next day, he seems to be normal again with a good appetite. But we know each day with him is borrowed time, and we are appreciating every remaining minute with our little Jackety-Jack.

Jack the sea dog, kinda snoozin'.

A Meander Yonder

We’ve been out for a week and a day, and it feels like a month. Sailors take note: the sea is good for you, best savored on a small boat. The first night anchored out followed a frenzied day of last-minute to-do stuff that seemed important at the time, so we tiredly anchored in front of Port Townsend’s Northwest Maritime Center and went ashore for an evening of chantey singing. It was terrific—probably 25 or 30 people sitting in a large circle with almost as many in the audience. Our friends Steve Lewis and Mike James, both expert chanteymen, kept the songs coming as we went around the circle and each person sang one or requested their choice. People came from as far away as Seattle, Olympia and even Portland. When it was our turn to sing, Jim and I reprised our version of “I Been Everywhere,” naming 95 Canadian places in a 5-verse, 4-minute song we wrote last summer. It sounds kind of like the old commercials by the fast-talking Fed Ex guy. Not exactly a chantey, but still fun. We will perform this little number again at the Pacific Seacraft rendezvous in early August.

Currently we’re docked in front of the Empress Hotel in downtown Victoria, BC. The sound of a busker’s steel drums playing Bob Marley’s “Three Little Birds” drifts across the water and collides surreally with a bluesman’s attempt to play harmonica, guitar, drums, and a couple other instruments at the same time while a carillon dishes out classical bell tunes. All this over the whistle of a 35-knot clear gale with bright sunny skies and the deep hoot of the cross-sound ferry horn. So, you might wonder: Victoria is only 35 miles from Port Townsend, what have these two been doing?

Jack the sea dog relaxes in the cockpit with Jim.

Rhymes with Juan de Fuca:The 30 mile-wide Strait of Juan de Fuca gave us a boisterous crossing the first day out, with big westerly winds and beam seas that saw Sockdolager quickly reefed down. Our course was slightly east of north. Jack the sea dog wedged himself all the way forward into the V-berth (V in this case now meaning varmint) and Jim went down into the cabin to fetch something. Suddenly he hollered, “Water on the cabin sole!” This is not a welcome announcement at any time, but at sea it’s especially not welcome. It could mean two things: one, the bilges are full and it’s slopping into the cabin because we’re sinking; or, (much preferred) something in one of the cockpit lockers is leaking and it’s a minor matter. It was neither.

After sleuthing around we found that it was salt water dribbling out the top end of a vent tube from the newly installed dripless shaft seal. (Non-sailors just skip this part.) Jim had installed the new seal in April and, following their directions, put the top of the tube above the waterline, but not enough. The problem with a sailboat is that once the boat heels over, the waterline changes significantly, and this tube was just low enough to allow a steady dribble. So this meant mopping out the cabin sole (floor) every 20 minutes or so. Not a big deal, except trying to do that in 4-6 foot seas made Jim seasick. But soon we were at a mooring in Cypress Island State Park on the east side of the San Juans. Next day we sailed to Anacortes and purchased everything needed to fix the problem. And neither Jim nor the Turkish rug, which had its first saltwater baptism, are any worse for wear.

The Mother of All Marine Hardware Stores: About 10 blocks from the marina in Anacortes is a place that is the closest thing you’ll find to sailor’s hardware heaven this side of Davy Jones’s locker. Wooden floors, tarred marline and cordage of every size and type, big things made of bronze, archaic and modern tools, dusty shelves filled with an amazing variety of stuff that really works, and a staff that ought to serve water with their jokes. We loved Marine Supply! After a pleasant hour, Jim spotted a one-gallon can of Penetrol, a paint and varnish conditioner, high on a shelf. He photographed it. This got the helpful staff curious. The photograph on the Penetrol can is of the J.N. Carter, a Chesapeake Bay Bugeye schooner that Karen skippered back in the 80s.

That photo is almost 30 years old and they’re still using it. When Jim told the staff the story, they had Cap’n Karen autograph the can and a print of the photo. Fifteen minutes of fame at Marine Supply—it just doesn’t get any cooler than that!

Finally, a watering place for humans. Creative people, these Anacortians. It's right outside the Marine Supply.

What more does one really need? We met our friends Don and Karla Marken for dinner aboard their 20-foot Flicka named Kira, which they’ve had for at least 20 years. Talk about having your priorities straight. These two retired, sold their house, moved aboard their boat, and spend their time traveling in a Eurovan when they’re not sailing the Salish Sea or backpacking to Peru or other exotic places. Those of you on 20 year plans take note: it might not take a full 20 years to go play if you can do without the land trappings.

Fast forward: From Anacortes we made a circuit through the San Juans, ducking into Blind Bay on Shaw Island and Reid Harbor on Stuart Island to await favorable winds. Reid Harbor has some of the best mud anywhere. To non-sailors that may sound weird, even kinky, but good mud that holds your anchor is the ticket to a decent night’s sleep. This mud is so good that when we set the anchor on a flying moor as is our preference, it spun us right around like we had brakes. Niiiiiice mud.

We sailed to Canada early in the morning on a monster ebb that gave us an extra 4 knots down Haro Strait. After anchoring in Cadboro Bay (10 miles east of Victoria) and clearing customs, we were made welcome at the Royal Victoria Yacht Club, a fine and hospitable place if there ever was one.

Our friends Kirk and Karen Palmer (pictured at a very jolly dinner for 8), whom we met last summer in the Queen Charlottes, were busy helping to run the biannual Pacific Rim Challenge (a race series) and hosting teams from Japan, Australia, New Zealand and the US. Here's the routine: Sail, eat, drink, laugh, tell stories, sleep. Repeat, adding a hike now and then. What great hosts. We did this for three enjoyable days, which helps to explain why we’re only 35 miles from Port Townsend as the crow flies, but light years from stress as the sails fly.

Dana 24 owners get together: One of the visiting Japanese sailors is a very interesting and accomplished man whom we were eager to meet. Yasuo Hayama bought a Dana 24 (same boat as ours) in 2002 and promptly sailed it solo from California to Japan—at age 66! The voyage took 79 days. He wrote a book about it, but it is in Japanese only. We enjoyed the company of Yasuo and his wife Michiko, and learned that among sailors, some things need no translation. Yasuo understood immediately our questions about his voyage, and when he and Michiko came aboard Sockdolager, almost no language barrier existed as we spoke of sailing subjects. As soon as we told him about our meeting because of owning two Dana 24s, he exclaimed, “Ah! Two singlehanders!” That’s another cool thing about sailing—some things need no translation.

Yasuo and Michiko aboard Sockdolager for a visit.

Now we await a more favorable wind that will let us sail west. So far the wind has been so strong on the nose that progress has been rather roundabout. We’ll be heading west out the Strait and to Barkley Sound and beyond as soon as we can.

Karen with Yasuo, Karen Palmer and Michiko Hayama on the lawn of the Royal Victoria Yacht Club.

Hundredth Anniversary: Esquimalt Harbour west of Victoria was packed with navy ships from several countries to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Canada's Navy. Among the many celebrations was the dedication of this charming new statue, called Homecoming.

Something special: Last time we were in Victoria we visited their famous Maritime Museum expressly to see Trekka, the small yacht built and sailed around the world by John Guzzell. On the way around, he met up with Miles and Beryl Smeeton, two more heroes of ours, and sailed with them aboard the double-ended ketch Tzu Hang. John was aboard when Tzu Hang was pitchpoled trying to round Cape Horn. His exceptional boatbuilding skills helped get Tzu Hang to Chile for repairs. So, while the beautiful Tzu Hang is no longer with us, we knew Trekka still is, and we went in search of her. The Maritime Museum staff didn't or couldn't tell us where she was on our first visit, but this time we asked them to make some calls and find her. After a walk of about a mile we found her in a large boat shed owned by a sail training organization called S.A.L.T.S. They are planning to launch her to sail in the classic boat festival, and we hope that the Maritime Museum will put her back on display where people can see and enjoy her. It took some sleuthing but we were glad to find her and share a photo of the indomitable Trekka with you. If you are not familiar with her amazing voyage, then read Trekka Round the World, by John Guzzwell. It's a fine yarn. We were privileged to have dinner last year with John and Dorothy, and to hear many of his stories firsthand. They are delightful people.

Next stop, Sooke, then Barkley Sound as soon as the wind moderates.

Attention on deck: They're off. Really.

When the shore feels like Velcro: Last year Karen waxed poetic about sailing off into the briny blue, the vasty deep, the billowy acres etc, but this year after all the delays, the latest one being a little bout of food poisoning for Jim, we are just grateful to be going out to busta wave. So we will keep in touch periodically as civilized towns with wi-fi cafes present themselves, but our intent is to get good and lost in the wild again. Here's a little free-verse poem. Happy Spring.

Our boat's green bow is a plow.

The slippery sea-loam chuckles,
delighted to be cleaved
and tossed aside all a-shimmer, tickled
that the crop it raised
on this sunny, wind-scudded day
is quiet joy.


How do you like our new look for Sockdolager? (kidding, kidding.) This is the Lady Washington during her "battle sail" with the Hawaiian Chieftain in Port Townsend Bay last week. Cannon fire, hearty huzzahs and piratical utterances of "Arrrrgh!" were the order of the day. It's very cool to be outnumbered by square-rigged ships bent on each others' mock destruction. Cannon fire was fun and deafening.

Here's another view of the sails and rigging close up.

And for comparison, here's our rig. 3 sails. Simple, huh?


Jim is hooked on fishing. Beyond redemption, actually. Last summer he invented a new technique. I am not making this up. With an expert flick of his wrist he managed to hook a salmon rig onto the out-of-reach float line of our crab trap and drag it to the boat where, viola! we pulled it in. We must have saved 100 calories on that one. In the session pictured below, he managed to catch one pillowfish, a LAMPrey, and a WALLeye. We're gonna eat gooooood this summer.

Actually, Jim is just winding up some 130-lb test fishing line on his hew herkin' rig, which replaces the old, nice, civilized, more delicate rig that had a puny 40 lb test line. After hooking Codzilla two weeks ago and watching the entire boat being held still in a current, (see below) we ain't takin any more chances. Not nohow, uh-uh. Next fish lands in the oven. Note the prehensile toes. Very handy for clinging to the boat.

No slacking in the off-season

Jim here. Before we leave, just so you don’t think we were totally slacking in the off-season here’s a little synopsis of the work we did on the boat over the winter and spring:

Electrical upgrade: new inverter/charger (Magnum MMS 1012), new battery monitor (Magnum) and remote control panel, new solar panel (SolarWorld 175 watts), new solar charge controller (Morningstart MMPT TrackStar) and remote control panel, new galvanic isolator, replaced all wire from batteries to inverter/charger, added new “always on” fuse block for bilge pump and other things that should never be turned off, added several new big fuses to protect all the new stuff, installed two big buss bars to connect everything , ran wire and installed a fuse block in the starboard hanging locker for 12v receptacle and future expansion, wired and installed two other 12v receptacles, replaced 2 flooded group 24 batteries with two group 31 Odyssey AGMs (200 amp hours total), removed old battery selector switch, ran new wire from batteries to starter and added an on/off switch, added new plug for tiller pilot in cockpit, added high bilge water alarm and raw water too hot alarm, added new nav light switch panel to free up breakers on main panel, added a new main on/off breaker on the AC panel, added strip LED light to galley, replaced 4 interior incandescent bulbs with LEDs, installed new bilge pump float switch and rewired bilge pump, installed new main switch for bilge pump, built protective (plexiglass) wall in port cockpit locker to protect new electronics. The photo is a composite of four photos taken on my iPhone (taken before protective wall was built).

Other: added refrigeration to existing ice box (Isotherm ASU) including new special thru hull , removed rudder and replaced prop shaft and coupler, replaced stuffing box with dripless shaft seal, replaced cutlass bearing, resealed the joint between the cap rail and the hull, rebuilt the propane locker and installed new hose from locker to the stove, removed old leaky fuel tank and installed new custom built tank.

Things done by others: New dodger, cockpit awning and sail cover. New arch for solar panel.

Time to go sailing.