Note: I’ve decided to write about our recent East coast trip out of order so if it sounds disjointed, you’re probably correct!

After visiting Alexandra,Virginia and George Washington’s estate in Mount Vernon on Friday, the first full-day of our east coast adventure, we headed 2.5 hours north to Rock Hall, Maryland. Seven years ago, we chartered from the same company so we knew what to expect and how long to plan for the drive.

Nevertheless, we didn’t anticipate grocery-shopping challenges. Rich had plotted on his GPS the location of a Wal-Mart, which he believed would have the best prices and food selection. I’m anti Wal-Mart and normally refuse to shopat one; but knowing we had limited time to get food for seven days of sailing and remembering there are few cities on our drive to Rock Hall, I relented.

As we approached the designated Wal-Mart, I began having doubts. It was in a rundown area and while it might be politically incorrect to say, Rich and I were two of the very few white people we saw out-and-about, and in cars. Nevertheless, after parking, we grabbed our shopping list and headed inside.

There was a small food section, a very small section with mostly packed and canned goods, and no fresh produce, meat or diary. Not good.

We hit the road again, this time, stopping at a Kmart because Rich thought it would be a Super Kmart with a variety of foods at amazing prices. I have a hypothesis. Anything that ends with “mart” is probably not comparable to store dedicated to selling groceries!

Quickly realizing the moderate-sized Kmart in Stevensville, Maryland (population 5,880) didn’t contain much food, we headed a few blocks to a LARGE grocery store. An hour later, we had what we needed: Milk, cereal, ham for sandwiches, chips, fig newtons, produce, fruit, frozen vegetables, pasta and sauce, frozen fish, crackers, cheese, coffee, and four gallons of water.

With darkness quickly ascending and Rock Hall at least an hour away, we opted to eat at Cracker Barrel. These often very busy establishments typically dot main freeways in southern states, and are notorious for large portions of country fare at modest prices. Associated with each restaurant is a country store, which stocks everything from large rocking chairs to packaged foods and candy, dishes, towels, books, CDs, home furnishing, silly toys and novelty items. The stores are fun to browse, and even though you realize everything is overpriced, it’s hard to resist not buying something, especially when you’re waiting to be seated in the restaurant.

With a Cracker Barrel only a few miles from our house in Austin, Texas, we went there a few times for breakfast. I had no idea what they offered for dinner, until we visited the Cracker Barrel in Stevensville, Maryland. I quickly discovered most of the entrees come with your choice of two to three “country vegetables,” including corn, green beans, baby carrots, fried apples, apple sauce, macaroni and cheese, cole slaw, steak fries, mashed potatoes, pinto beans, turnip greens, breaded fried okra, dumplings, and hash brown casserole. I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t categorize most of these items under the label “vegetable.”

Out of curiosity and hunger, I opted for “homemade chicken n’ dumplings” with two “country vegetables.” A few minutes later, the server plopped in front of me a beige plate with a pile of white blobs over a slice of tasteless chicken, and another pile of macaroni cheese. In a small beige bowl was a heap of overcooked, dull green turnip greens with specks of ham. Check out the plate above from the Cracker Barrel site, which shows their ghastly chicken and dumplings, baby carrots, breaded fried okra, and overcooked string beans.

Rich opted for a slice of pot roast with drippy cole slaw, canned corn, and a baked potato (he got three “country vegetables”). The dinner also came with four, soggy buttermilk biscuits with pats of butter and packets of honey.

I’m thrilled we won’t have any urge to visit a Cracker Barrel in the next five to ten years!

Burping and fighting indigestion, we headed to Rock Hall and were pleased when we arrived and took an initial tour of Carol Catie, a 32-foot Hunter sailboat. After chatting with a couple from New Jersey, we loaded our clothes, sailing gear, food, and linens onto the boat, unpacked, and flopped down on the bed in the aft berth. It was close to midnight when we flipped off the lights.

The next morning was rainy, which was a bit discouraging, but after pulling on rain gear and getting the “okay” to leave, we carefully backed out of the slip and started down the channel. I was driving and was told to hug the green buoys – closest to the shore — because the water was deeper there. Even though I thought I was getting chummy with these buoys, I must not have been close enough because at one point the depth was 5.5 feet and Carol Catie has a 5-foot keel. According to Rich, we “kissed the bottom” before we reached deeper water.

Fortunately, unlike the knot and wind speed meters, which didn’t work on Carol Catie, the depth meter worked perfectly, and throughout our trip, kept us off sand shoals and other shallow spots.

That night, we anchored in a quiet bay. You can see me sitting in the galley of Carol Catie at the top of this article. Notice the large books of “waterproof” maps of the Chesapeake drying out on the navigation station behind my head.  Meanwhile, Rich was above deck, taking pictures and pretending he wasn’t going to be expected to eat a “Julie first,” baked pasta:

Mix together a box of pasta, jar of spicy spaghetti sauce; one can of each of corn, mushrooms, and olives, and enough water to hopefully cook the pasta. Plunk in a baking pan. Cover with foil. Bake until pasta is soft. Pretend it tastes good. Liberally cover with ground pepper and other spices. Continue eating and then cover with additional foil, and hide in refrigerator until you run out of food or until the last day of trip. Toss in garbage can.

Early Saturday morning, half asleep, but needing to pee, I crawled over Rich, tripped over the door ledge, and skidded across the kitchen floor, creating a deep gouge in the top of head. This injury paled in comparison to Rich clunking his head numerous times on the v-berth door, and swan diving off the sea wall in Annapolis, Virginia. You’ll have to wait to hear about the latter.

Around noon, we arrived in Baltimore harbor. The weather was splendid and I was giddy with excitement. Rich chose to stay at the city docks, which have first class amenities, and are steps from everything we wanted to see in downtown Baltimore.

Our first stop was Whole Foods… for more food. Personally, I hate Whole Foods. By the time we left, Rich did too! The store didn’t have what we needed (i.e. powdered, low-calorie drink mix, etc.), and was pretentious, particular, and overpriced… and not as good as what we can buy in the Pacific Northwest like Dave’s Bread!

A bitty cranky after our unsuccessful shopping experience, we set out for Fell’s Point, a funky area, founded in 1730, which is best known for its shipbuilding history, including the construction of the USS Constellation in 1797. The neighborhood reminds me of the Lower East Side of Manhattan where waves of immigrants have lived, and then generations later, moved to better areas. Along the waterfront are original cobblestone streets and row houses, now housing several blocks of small pubs and shops… and an old police station where the television series “Homicide: Life on the Streets” was filmed in the late 1990’s.

Walking west, away from the waterfront, we passed by row houses and shops, now occupied by people from Central and South America, the Caribbean, and Asia. In the past, this area welcomed immigrants from Europe, including an influx of Jews in the late 1800’s who worshipped at Lloyd Street Synagogue, the third oldest synagogue in the nation. Built in 1845, the synagogue is now owned by the Jewish Museum of Baltimore. To the right is a picture of the synagogue.

After Fell’s Point, we headed back towards downtown, past run-down areas, abandoned buildings, and several schools. A few decades ago, these schools were probably the pride-and-joy of residents, but are now akin to mini prisons with bars on the windows, boarded-up doors, and heavy fencing around the grimy walls and unkempt playgrounds.

Rich commented, “What’s happened to America?”

Baltimore, like Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, Washington D.C. (which we saw a week later), and other industrial cities is suffering from urban blight. The American dream is eroding into despair with access to healthcare, quality education, safe housing, and even fresh fruits and vegetables out-of-reach for those in impoverished areas.

One ethnic group that has remained in Fell’s Point is the Italians who live in and around Little Italy. I was hoping to spot a small Italian café for a cooling Italian soda on a warm day, but we only passed full-service restaurants on our trek to Inner Harbor. The latter was super busy with a music festival underway, crowds outside the National Aquarium and associated ships (i.e. submarine, Coast Guard cutter, etc.), surrounding restaurants (such as Hard Rock Café) and shops (such as Barnes and Noble), and numerous boats tied up to the seawall with partiers hopping from boat-to-boat.

When it rains in Baltimore, trash from sewers and creek-beds must wash down into the Inner Harbor. We watched an unusual trash skimmer boatsweep up hundreds of plastic and Styrofoam bottles, jugs, and cups, and other riff-raff. It has giant jaws that open and funnel the trash onto a conveyer belt, and then into a collection bin. It was fascinating to watch the skimmer below.

We enjoyed the festivities for an hour or so and then retreated back to Carol Catie to make dinner, wait out a dramatic thunder/lightening/torrential rain storm, which last about an hour, and then darting between the lingering rain drops to the marina office where we took take long, hot, sudsy showers and once again laud our good fortune of having enjoyed a great day in Baltimore.

The only outstanding issue was the need for ice cream. Refreshed, we grabbed our coats and headed back to Inner Harbor. Unfortunately, it was getting late and every time we spotted an ice cream shop it was closed! Exasperated, we put our heads together and remembered there was a CVS drugstore a short walk away.

We were on a mission!

And fifteen minutes later, our mission was achieved: A pint of raspberry sherbet for me and a pint of decadent caramel-spiked ice cream for Rich. We tripped over each other racing back to the boat, scampering into the galley, and grabbing two tablespoons.

Oh, the picture to the right is me tormenting a bull at George Washington’s Mount Vernon estate. I couldn’t resist touching it’s horn, which was wonderfully warm on a cool day.

Last weekend, Rich and I took a two-day boat handling course on a single-screw (one propeller) tugboat with the hope we’d be more prepared for our September charter on Tug Time, a 29-foot Ranger Tug. Weeks before the class, I was wrought with anguish because I’m pathetic when it comes to driving a boat. I over-steer, under-steer, get too scared-to-steer, and everything in-between.

I can visualize how to drive, dock, and pivot a boat, but when I get behind the wheel, I get so frazzled I can barely drive in a straight line in a wide channel. Nevertheless, I was hopeful that visualization would turn into marginal expertise when I got behind the wheel.

In addition, a few weeks before our class, we were told that we’d be learning on Mariah, a 42-foot Nordic Tug. Mariah is no run-of-the-mill tugboat. She features two large staterooms; two bathrooms (heads); stacked washer and dryer; large kitchen with a trash compactor, refrigerator, freezer, ice maker, and microwave; large salon with a settee that folds down to become a double bed , 20″ flat screen TV with Bose surroundnd sound … large pilothouse; and much more. Plus, the floors, cabinets, some of the walls, and molding are teak.

We also learned that we’d be joining another couple who will be chartering Mariah in July. However, they wouldn’t be staying on the boat; in the evening, we’d have the run-of-the-boat to ourselves!

Saturday morning, after a breakfast of Egg McMuffins and mochas we headed to Bellingham and San Juan Sailing. We met our instructor, Hal Thesen who hails from South Africa where his family builds boats. Hal has been on the water so much his blood is probably saltier than normal. He’s completed several transatlantic trips, been crew and captain on luxury yachts and fishing boats, and raced sailboats. He now teaches power and sailboat skill, along with overseeing the maintenance of several boats, including Mariah.

Jack and Heidi, the couple who were also in the class are from Puyallup, Washington. They used to have a boat and their passion for boating was recently ignited when they spent a week on a relative’s boat in California.

We started the day by visiting various boats in dry dock to examine the propellers, trim tabs, keels, and other features that impact the way a boat moves through the water and reacts when driven. A boat with a single screw or propeller favors one direction over the other, especially when going backwards and prop-walk comes into play. A boat with a propeller that spins clockwise will turn much easier to starboard (right) because the stern swings to port (left).

The rest of the morning was devoted to learning about the engine and systems on Mariah. After lunch, we started the engine (eck!) and motored out of the marina. Happily, the maneuvers we practiced were easy and I had few challenges executing them.

After returning to the dock, Jack, Heidi, and Hal bid us a pleasant night. Having worked up an appetite, we scampered up to the sun deck to enjoy crackers, smashed avocados with cracked pepper, and chive-flavored cream cheese.

Our hunger satiated, we decided to walk on the fishermen docks and speculate on the type of fish each boat was designed to catch. Many were quite decrepit and grungy with rows of hooks and lines or a large metal boat precariously balanced on the aft deck (for putting out seine nets). I can’t imagine going out for the day on a professional fishing vessel, let alone for weeks and months.

With scarcely a cloud in the sky and the sun setting, the boats were amazingly reflected in the calm water. Rich took many dramatic photographs.

Dinner was baked salmon (wrapped in foil and baked), mixed vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, red peppers, onions, garlic, and sliced kale seasoned with seasonings I brought), and instant mashed potatoes (easy to make on a boat)… enjoyed while watching a silly movie on the boat’s DVD player and large-screen TV.

We slept soundly on the cushy queen-sized bed, and were renewed the next morning when Hal, Jack, and Heidi arrived. Heidi, however, was feeling under the weather and after an hour or so, decided to lie down. The rest of us went up into the pilot house to practice maneuvers.

Periodically, Jack would check on Heidi. By the time lunch rolled around, Heidi was back on her feet, but didn’t quite seem right. She ate a few bites of chicken and a slice of cheese, and then froze up. Her fists were clenched and her body rigid.

I exclaimed to Jack, “I think Heidi is having a seizure!”

Jack remained calm, saying he’d seen her react similarly before. He concluded she’s probably taken too much of one of her medications.

Hal, the instructor, tried to figure out what to do. We were anchored in Chuckanut Bay, and in a medical emergency we could have motored to someone’s private dock and had an ambulance meet us at the dock. Jack opted to have us motor (rapidly) back to Bellingham Bay and the marina where Mariah is kept.

Seemingly, simultaneously, we cleaned up from lunch, pulled up anchor, started the engine, and headed back to Bellingham. It took 45 minutes to get back. Rich and Jack helped Heidi off the boat, who by then was able to walk, but was still very disoriented. While Rich and me “manned” the boat, Hal drove to the hospital with Jack and Heidi following in a separate car.

With the day drawing to a close, Rich and I cleaned up the boat and when Hal returned, I drove the boat to the fuel dock (and flunked the docking maneuver), and then back into its slip (super scary).

After gathering our stuff and securing the boat, we reflected on the weekend. Hal was still shaken by what had occurred. I was secretly relieved that I didn’t have to drive Mariah again! Rich would have liked to have practiced more maneuvers, but was happy with what he learned.

All three of us agreed the weather couldn’t have been more perfect with deep blue skies, fluffy clouds, and a light breeze. We had a splendid time and memorable time and I know have the confidence to be a confident first mate in September on Tug Time.

Several years ago, Rich and I spent an enchanting day at Rosario Resort and Marina. I was looking forward to an equally memorable experience this trip, but I didn’t take into consideration the unpredictability of the weather.

As we motored to Rosario, the sky cleared and the wind picked up. Perfect sailing weather if you have a functional sail. Something we didn’t have!

Before we left Friday Harbor, Rich made a reservation at Rosario. Luckily, we got a slip in spite of most of the slips having been reserved weeks before by a local boating club.

As we approached the marina, we readied our lines and bumpers. Rich was concerned it was too windy to dock. I was confident we wouldn’t have a problem. As we pulled into the slip, several men were on hand to help. I threw the bow line, which was easily caught. I then rushed to the back of the boat to coil and throw the stern line. Usually, this line is stretched out so Rich can throw it from inside the cockpit after I’ve stepped onto the dock.

There was no way; however, I could have stepped off the boat because it was drifting the opposite direction… right into another sailboat. I frantically coiled the line and threw it, missing the dock by a few inches.

Meanwhile, Rich raced to the opposite side of the boat while I grabbed a loose bumper and tried to place it between our boat and the other sailboat. Too late; the two boats tapped together. Fortunately, they were about the same height and the man on the other sailboat, Rich and myself were able to push our boats apart and created enough momentum to direct our boat back towards the dock.

I quickly coiled and threw the stern line again. Success! Two men on the dock were able to pull our boat against the dock. We tied off the lines as I seethed, embarrassed at such a horrific docking and the shock of having hit another boat (there was no damage because we “tapped” rather than “smacked”).

Overcome with shame, I dashed into the galley, stripped off my sailing gear, grabbed my purse, and Sputnik, and jumped out of the boat… raced down the dock, across the resort and up the main road. I’m not sure where I was going. I wondering if I could walk across the entire island to the ferry terminal, hop on a ferry to Anacortes, and then somehow make it to the Amtrak station in Mount Vernon to take a train back to Seattle.

I was actually hoping to find a place to sit down, have a latte, and write my feelings on Sputnik. But, Orcas Island is small and has little commerce, aside from the Rosario Resort and the stores by the ferry terminal. The latter was miles away.

After walking seemingly for hours, straight up a hill, I decided to head back towards the marina. A sign on a side street pointed towards a camping area. I’d walked a short distance, coming to a tall concrete wall with a large pipe jutting out. Having read about the Moran Mansion at Rosario, I knew that Robert Moran had directed water from “somewhere” to run the turbines, which provided electricity for his mansion and the surrounding houses and support buildings.

The sign on the concrete wall said “Danger,” which only provoked my desire to clamber to the top. The wall was shaped like a gentle “U” with the now closed, pipe towards the bottom. The top of the wall was a short hike up a path. Not very dangerous!

And on the other side was a small lake with a well-worn trail, hugging the shore. I started walked, lugging my purse and Sputnik, and wondering what possessed me to take my netbook. Did I really expect to find a wireless connection on a remote island in the Puget Sound?

Happily, as I walked, the lake grew larger, and larger, and larger! It was a huge lake! Most likely Robert Moran had directed a river or several streams to create the lake. The concrete wall created a dam and when necessary, the pipe could be opened, allowing the water to gush down the hill and power the turbines.

It was soothing walking around the lake; I wished Rich was by my side to enjoy the site. Having a camera would have been nice too!

After circling the lake, now fully calmed down and quite exhausted from walking and having eaten little since breakfast, I headed down the main road to the marina. As I got on the boat, however, my legs gave away and I landed smack into the cockpit. Rich rushed up from the galley, deeply concerned that I’d hurt myself.

While I was away, Rich had been helping the harbormaster bring boats into the marina. The wind had made it exceptionally difficult to dock in the narrow marina. As Rich explained, we weren’t the only boaters with docking challenges. And we certainly weren’t the worse.

While I was gone, a large powerboat tried to enter the marina. According to Rich, it was going fairly fast. Several men were at the dock, ready to grab the lines; however, instead of turning to port, it sharply turned to starboard toward the shore and a large outcrop of rock. Rich said he must have “stained his drawers because we [men on the dock] nearly did.”

Miraculously the man was able to avoid colliding with the rocks before heading back out to open water. He then decided to tie up to the seaplane dock, which is a rickety wharf at the end of a short pier. For the most part, seaplanes land on the water, glide up to wharf, tied off to a cleat, passengers get on-and-off, and the plane is airborne within thirty minutes. The dock and attached wharf are absolutely not sturdy enough to hold a large powerboat!

The owner of the powerboat felt he could drive up to the seaplane dock, have his wife swing a line with a hook on the end, snag the wharf, and then hold the line until the boat could be properly tied to a cleat.

The harbormaster and several men on the dock were yelling at the powerboat driver not to try to maneuver because if they hooked the wharf and weren’t able to slow the boat, they can detach it from the dock. Not good.

Nevertheless, the powerboat approached the seaplane dock at considerable speed, his wife was able to hook the wharf, but there was no way she could hold onto the line. The powerboat had to be quickly turned to starboard to avoid smashing into the boat in the marina. Later that night, they recovered the hook and line, using their dinghy.

Evidentially, the powerboat has two engines, one engine could be throttled down, and the other was stuck. I missed the excitement of the seaplane non-docking maneuver, but was able to watch the powerboat attempt to anchor in open water. He kept going round-and-round, perhaps because he couldn’t shut off the malfunctioning engine. Who knows? With little light left, they were finally anchored.

The couple then went ashore in their dinghy to have dinner at the resort. When they returned, their dinghy wouldn’t start! They had to get a room at the resort. The next morning, we saw their dinghy being pulled behind another dingy! We hastily left before they started up the engine(s) on their powerboat.

The lesson is boating can be very challenging; to stay sane, realize not everything you do will have the desired outcome from docking to trimming a sail.

While at Rosario, Swim

Complementing the beauty and laid-back atmosphere of Rosario are the amenities at the resort. With your slip fee comes the use of four pools! One of the two outdoor pools is by the marina. The other outdoor pool is behind the Moran Mansion and overlooks the Puget Sound. We went in this pool several years ago when the weather was warmer. It was memorable swimming in the pool while watching sailboats tack back-and-forth in the Sound.

The indoor pool is part of the Spa at Rosario with mosaic tile floors leading to the pool and old world elegance with arched ceiling, antique lights, and soft music. The pool is very warm and transports you to simpler times when people were less rushed and enjoyed being outdoors without the distraction of radios and other electronics.

In a softly lit room is a large hot tub, which could easily accommodate a dozen people. Thankfully, Rich and I were the only ones in the spa so we could relax and not worry about making conversation. Afterwards, we took steamy showers in the spacious bathrooms, complete with smelly soap and soft towels.

You can also use the resort’s sauna, workout in the exercise room, take fitness classes (for a small fee) or enjoy spa services, such as a massage, facial, waxing, manicure, pedicure, and other relaxation treatment.

After soaking the angst from our bones, we walked back to our boat to make dinner. Along the way, I pet a couple of deer, which are more like giant dogs than deer. If you bring them a carrot or apple, they’d probably roll over and beg.

The next morning brought clear weather so I talked Rich into climbing up to the lake. This time, the walk seemed shorter and the lake more magnificent. If it had been warmer, I would have been tempting to take off my shoes and wade into the water.

Memorable View Where Eagles Soar

The weather remained clear and temperate all day as we motored to Pelican Beach on Cypress Island. After securing the boat, we went ashore with the intent of hiking up Eagle Rock. It’s short, not overly strenuous hike, considering it goes from sea level to 752 feet in about a mile. The view from the top is spectacular, enabling you to see islands, passages, and mountain ranges, including the North Cascades, Coast Range of British Columbia, and the Olympics.

It being warm and sunny, we sat on the rocks, sipping water and nibbling on the dried fruit and nuts we’d brought. We watched a large barge being towed below and quite a few power boats zipped across the Sound. We tried to takes pictures of the panoramic view, but it was hazy and with the sun setting in a few hours, there were deep shadows. Here’s an amazing panorama of the view.

The only wildlife we saw were swarming bugs, but had read about eagles, raptors, deer, and other wildlife on the island. To protect nesting raptors and other wildlife with young, the trial is closed between February 1^st and July 15^th.

While admiring the view, Rich looked down at his shoe and noticed a tarnished penny (see the picture of Rich’s shoe below). He picked it up. It was an 1899 Indian head penny! We wondered how long it’d been up there and who’d dropped it. The US Geological Survey marker had been placed on the rock in the early 1900’s so the penny was older than the marker!

Before returning to our boat, we chatted with four kayakers who’d paddled over from Anacortes. Cypress Island is a popular destination for sea kayakers because of its proximity to more populated island and amenities, including pit toilets.

The next morning, we hoped for good weather. We were out of luck. The visibility was so poor that half an hour after leaving Cypress Island, we had to stop and wait until the fog lifted. With little improvement after an hour, we hung a radar detector on the mast and both sat behind the wheel, our eyes glued to the radar for other boats or obstacles in the area as we motored precariously through the Sound.

This was the last day of our charter and we’d planned on spending our last night at Sucia Island or Chuckanut Bay, and then return the boat the next morning. As we neared Sucia, however, we made a decision to simply return the boat that night.

There was no point spending another night on the boat, bundled up to stay warm only to get up early the next morning and motor a few hours back to Bellingham. With the light of day quickly diminishing, we packed our bags, cleaning out the boat’s refrigerator, wiped down the cabin, and carried our bags back to our car. Two hours later, we were heading to Mount Vernon and the end of our annual Puget Sound sailing adventure.

After a day of sunny weather, spent in the Butchart Garden, we woke to overcast skies and the top of the boat was wet from drizzle. We pulled on our rain gear to keep dry and headed to Finlayson Arm, a narrow channel, which according to our sailing guide, was teeming with seals, sea lions, otters, eagles, and an occasional orca whale. Ha!

We saw one seal and little else. The most interesting part of the jaunt was a picturesque storybook house that could have been built by seven dwarves for a woman with snow white skin, jet black hair, and ruby red lips. You can see the house below.

Our next scheduled stop was Princess Margaret (Portland Island) to anchor for the night and spend the day hiking around the island. The entire island is a nature park with several trails and a sandy beach. I quickly concluded it would an unfulfilling experience so I talked Rich into going to Sidney Island, a funky-shaped island with a large sandy spit on the north end. In addition, a brick factory once flourished on the island.

Rich programmed the wave points and an hour or so later, we dropped our speed to a few knots as we made our way towards a row of mooring balls on the sandy end of the island. As we always do, we watched the depth meter to ensure we didn’t hit shallow water. As we got closer so did the bottom of the bay… really close… like seven feet in depth!

Rich’s knuckles were white as he clinched the wheel, trying to figure out what direction to turn to get into deeper water. We saw a few boats already moored so we knew the bay was deep in various places. The problem was we were at low tide and in a sailboat with a deep keel. It felt like hours, but it was probably only half an hour before we navigated to a mooring ball in fifteen feet of water.

There were quite a few people tied up to the stationary dock; they appeared to be locals from Vancouver Island, who’d motored over for the day to enjoy the sunshine and the wide, sandy beach.

We initially headed towards where the brick factory once stood. As we walked on the sandy path, we occasionally saw a broken brick and I thought “Oh, that’s interesting. A few bricks are left.”

After a few minutes of walking, we came to several large, grass-covered depressions. It was very picturesque. Reading the sign, we learned the area had once been hilly, but had been excavated to extract the clay for bricks.

We walked further and saw several foundations and twisted metal, the remains of the Sidney Tile and Brick Company buildings, brick-making equipment and furnaces. The company operated between 1906 and 1915 and employed hundreds of men to cut and haul wood for the furnaces, mine clay, work in the factory, and load ships bound for cities in need of building materials.

To our delight, as we wandered through the ruins, we listened to classical guitar music, played by a man on a picnic bench. Under a large tree, we found a fallow deer horn, which I picked up and stuffed into my backpack. It was probably illegal to take the horn, but I couldn’t resist! It cleaned up nicely with bleach once we got home and is now next to the deer horns we found in Texas, and goat jawbone from the British Virgin Islands.

The closer we walked to the shore where the brick factory had been located, the more bricks we saw. At the waterline, there wasn’t a trace of sand. Only broken bricks. It was surreal to see so many bricks, sprawled across the beach and into the water.

After getting our fill of the historical site, we circled back and headed to the opposite end of the island. With the tide rising, Rich was insistent we not dawdle. Sure enough, as we got to the far end of the island, we had to take off our shoes, roll up our pants and walk across a rivulet of swiftly flowing water, which fifteen minutes earlier, had been a trickle.

The sand was so soft and white that I didn’t want to leave, but the sun was setting and the water rapidly rising. Begrudgingly, I got into the dinghy for the ride back to our boat.

After a satisfying day, we went to sleep with the hope the next day would bring great weather for our trip across the Haro Straits to Lime Kiln to see the orca whales that were reportedly in the area.

Our luck ran out on Thursday morning.

We woke to rain, cold, wind, and misery. As we approached San Juan Island, the weather got worse. “Oh please,” I begged the weather gods, “I want to see the orca whales.” Obviously they didn’t hear me because the winds seemed to be growing stronger by the minute. As we got close to Roche Harbor, Rich turned into the bay and headed straight towards the customs dock to check back into the United States.

Several people on the dock grabbed the lines I threw as Rich gunned the boat into the dock. With strong winds, you can’t be meek about docking. Once tied up, a custom officer approached our boat to inform me one of the bumpers I tied onto the boat was too low, and she noticed we narrowly missed hitting a large cleat on the dock. Groan.

I just wanted to cry because I’d waited an entire year to sail down the Haro Straits to see the whales! And now I had to wait another year. Even more distressing, there were three pods of orcas in the area, which is very unusual.

At the end of our trip, I bumped into my instructor from my bareboat sailing course. She’d been out with a group of students and said there were orca whales everywhere… and they were even chasing after their boat!

While I was chatting with the custom officer on the dock, Rich went into the custom’s office with our passports. The officer came out to verify that I was the only passenger. Of course, I was still on a tirade about not being able to see the orcas. So the officer whipped out his cell phone and called his friend, a tour boat operator, to see if any orcas had been cited that morning. Nope.

(The carousel animals are from the merry-go-round at the Butchart Gardens)

Even if we wanted to go back into the Haro Straits and brave the weather, chances were that we wouldn’t have seen any whales until later in the day when the tide changed direction and the salmon started swimming up the straits.

It didn’t matter because we were expected in Friday Harbor, where they were going to try to fix our sail. A few hours later, we pulled into a slip and called the charter company. A man zoomed up to our boat in a small craft (it was barely a boat). He elicited our help in taking down the sail, explaining he had less than an hour to get it to the sail loft for repair.

Friday Harbor is okay. I’m not enthused with Friday Harbor after visiting towns in the Gulf Island. Friday Harbor is the largest town in the San Juan Islands so it has a little of everything from a West Marine store to art galleries, yarn store, antique shops, realtors (lots of realtors), sizable grocery store, restaurants, bars, etc. After having our sail removed, we wandered around a bit while drinking tasty coffees.

After dinner, we decided a shower was in order, but we had no change so we spent half an hour or more trying to figure out how to get change with limited options. With it being late in the season, many of the stores closed early or were simply closed until the spring.

The marina laundromat didn’t have a change machine. A bartender in one of the few open eateries claimed he didn’t have change. Finally, we walked to the grocery store and Rich bought a pack of gum and a newspaper… and was able to get a handful of quarters.

Refreshed after the shower, we looked forward to getting our sail back first thing in the morning and then sailing to Rosario.

We got our sail back the next morning, but the ripped tab was crudely sewn and the handy man didn’t have the means to retrieve the halyard from the top of the mast so he recommended that we use the topping lift and thread the sail up the mast. We gave it a try and it looked okay, but after the handyman left, Rich and I concurred that we had no faith in his jury rigged fix. We pulled down the sail, tied it to the boom and backed out of the slip…

On Monday morning, after leaving Ganges on Saltspring Island, we headed to Cowichan Bay (below), which the free visitor guide calls “a quaint, funky, seaside village.” We arrived a little before two o’clock and had to quickly tie to the dock with gusty winds determined to blow us the opposite direction. No sooner had we secured boat when the harbor master paid us a visit. He wanted to know if we were going to spend the night.

“No.”

Evidentially, after 2 o’clock, you can’t tie up to the public dock without paying the overnight fee. We asked the harbor master if we could spend 45-minutes zipping through the town and he reluctantly agreed.

The town has the expected eateries and pubs, art galleries, gift shops, docks of boats and house boats, tourist activities like whale watching, floatplanes, and sea kayaks, and charming inns and bed-and-breakfasts. What we found most interest and the sole reason why we’d return to Cowichan is the Maritime Center. This unusual museum is a series of small buildings that stretch across a dock, which was once a condemned fuel loading dock.

At the foot of the dock is a large building where boatbuilding skills are taught. Herb Rice, a Coast Salish Native Indian artist, has a studio at the front of this building where you can watch him carve, see his artwork, and even take a wood carving class.

Between this building and the dock were several small wooden boats in various stages of completion and restoration. The art of bending, shaping, and sealing wood to create a waterproof craft must take decades to master.

The galleries, along the dock, house collections of outboard engines, pulleys, lines, engines, oars, small wooden canoes and rowboats, and boatbuilding tools. Because these galleries are open on both sides and built over the dock, it’s like walking through someone’s workshop or garage.

At the very end of the dock is an enclosed building, which houses amazing 1/96 scale model ships (left) by Ewald Dwersteg, whose patience as an ear, nose and throat specialist surgeon provided him with the discipline to make extremely detailed models.

Fishing vessels, carved from a single block of wood by Harvey George, an elder native carver of the T’Souke band, are also on display. I found these boats most interesting because it’s unusual to see models of commercial fishing vessels. Unlike Dwersteg, George carves from memory and eye without referring to drawings and archeological articles.

Also in this building was china from dozens of cruise ships along with other maritime memorabilia.

Spinning in the Galley

After our whirlwind tour of Cowichan Bay, we motored a few miles to Genoa Bay to drop anchor for the night. It’d been a windy day, which escalated when we started to look for a place to anchor. We had no problem anchoring and “holding,” but with the consistent 20 knot winds, Rich was concerned that we were too close to the shore.

Up went the anchor. This time, we dropped the anchor when we were exactly in the middle of the bay and it held us in the middle… theoretically. The wind was gusting so hard that looking up from the galley to the cockpit, the scenery flashed by. It was like being on a merry-go-round.

To insure the boat wasn’t drifting, Rich used our GPS to track the movement of the boat. For half an hour or so, the GPS kept sounding an alarm until the movement of the boat was established. Meanwhile, we both contemplated staying up half the night at anchor watch. However, by the time we finished eating dinner, the wind died down and we had a restful evening.

From Cement to Flowers

Months before our sailing adventure, I’d read in several sailing books that you can grab a mooring ball near the back gate of the Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Islands. I was anticipating walking half or mile or so to the entrance of the gardens.

It was an unexpected surprise to discover the gate into the garden was within swimming distance of our boat… provided you were a seal or sea lion and could tolerate ice-cold water. It was super easy to grab a mooring ball in the protected cove (right) and then tie a stern line, 100 yards or so from the back of the boat. I’m glad Rich paid attention as to how to do this maneuver; it required he rig up a large spool of nylon line so it unrolled as he rowed to shore in our dinghy. He then had to secure the dinghy, get out, and stand on a pile of slippery rocks while tying the line to a ring in the rock face.

After this tricky maneuver was completed, we were ready to dinghy over to the dock by the garden gate. We used an intercom to order the tickets. Slipped a credit card into the machine, and voila the magic gate swung open…

In 1888, dry goods merchant, Robert Pim Butchart, began manufacturing Portland cement, using limestone deposits, which were plentiful in the area. When the limestone quarry near his home was exhausted, his enterprising wife, Jennie, conceived a plan to refurbish the bleak pit. Top soil from nearly farmers was hauled to the quarry by horse and cart. Little-by-little the quarry began to blossom into a sunken garden.

Throughout the years, Japanese, Italian, and rose gardens were added to the estate, which was opened up to the public. Each year over one million bedding plants, consisting of seven hundred varieties, are used throughout the gardens to ensure uninterrupted blooms from March through October.

In the winter, the garden is illuminated with lights and an ice ring is set up in December. In the summer, there are weekly fireworks displays. Check out these videos to see the various seasons of the garden.

The day were visited, the weather was extraordinary, considering it poured the day before and two days later. We striped down to short-sleeve shirts as we wandering through the gardens, taking nearly two hundred pictures!

The dahlias were in full bloom along with fuchsias, begonias, chrysanthemums, impatiens, marigolds, petunias, hydrangea (groan), zinnia (I usually don’t like them, but they had itty-bitty ones that resembled marigolds), salvia, and much, much more!

We spent nearly the entire day at the garden. When we got back to our boat, we watched the sunset as we sipped wine and ate cheese and crackers.

Here’s a self-portrait of us in front of a recently installed water feature at the garden. You can see the craggily rock, which is now covered with trees, and creeping plants. When Mrs. Butchart started creating the garden, there was only several large, barren pits where the lime had been removed along with several mounds of solid granite. Suspended by ropes, Mrs. Butchart would find shelves in the granite, add a handful of dirt and plant a piece of ivy, cotoneaster or other creeping plant.

Her efforts are now enjoyed by over one million visitors per year.

This is our third year chartering Wave Dancer, a 34-foot sailboat from San Juan Sailing, and definitely our most challenging adventure. First, the trip snuck up on us. A few weeks earlier, we’ve cobbled together the trip, food, clothing, linens, books, magazines, and electronics (i.e. VHF radio, GPS, Sputnick, etc.) we needed to take. 

A week before the trip, little Suki got sick, making it necessary for us to take her with us. We’d have to sneak her aboard so we could give her antibiotics and a steroid twice a day. We rushed to get a padded kitty carrier, harness and leash, kitten food, and clumping kitty litter and box, which we planned to place in a larger plastic bin that we’d carry onboard at the last minute.

Thursday morning, two days before we left, Suki passed away from renal failure, leaving us distraught and enervated when it came to packing. Nevertheless, late Friday afternoon, we threw everything we’d gathered for the trip into the back of Rich’s car and drove to Mount Vernon. The weekend before, with the help of a then energetic Suki, we’d assembled another pile of “stuff” to take, including Suki’s food, cat carrier, etc.

Seeing her thing on Friday evening brought me to tears. It’s astonishing how she much she meant to us. Rich put up a brave front, explaining we’d done everything possible to save the “little guy’s health.”

It took us less than an hour to sort everything we needed for the trip, and then stuff it in plastic bins and duffle bags. We ended up with four bins, one ice chest, one huge duffle bag (with flattened feather pillows, feather quilt, flannel linens, and towels), one double sleeping bag (to sleep on top of) and two smaller duffle bags with Rich’s electronics.

After microwaved a plate of s’mores, we saw a Pirates of the Caribbean flick. They’re so geeky, but Johnny Depp is always a pleasure to watch.

(Top is me in my beloved yellow bibs, which kept me very dry and warm. Rich is not showing how to eat a s’more, but rather demonstrating how I should “gently” press the shutter on the camera)

The next morning, Rich loaded everything into the truck while I filled up the ice chest with the food from our mini refrigerator in Mount Vernon. We then zipped to Burger King for a marginally nutritious breakfast. As we approached the driveway, one of the warning lights went off in the truck. After gobbling his breakfast sandwich (I find it humorous that fast food emporium refer to anything comprised of protein between two pieces of carbohydrate as a sandwich), Rich popped open the hood of his truck and discovered it was out of water.

Using a cup from the restaurant, he made half a dozen trips to the bathroom, filling the radiator a cup at a time. Since we were only minutes from our house, we decided to go home to both top off the radiator and make sure we hadn’t left anything behind. 

Ten minutes later, we were heading to Bellingham. After checking in at San Juan Sailing, we put our bags on Wave Dancer. As I was unpacking the cooler, I realized that we neglected to take the food out of the freezer… loaf of Dave’s bread, Dave’s Sin Dog, a mini rye bread loaf… a pepperoni stick… and possibly other food. I couldn’t remember what I’d placed in the freezer the night before.

Since we planned on having sandwiches every day for lunch, we needed to buy bread before we sailed. After the captain’s meeting, we zipped to the store, and returned not only with bread, but cookies, turkey pepperoni, and other “necessities.” 

Finally ready to go around noon, we bid Bellingham goodbye. With the bumpers put away and lines secured, I climbed below deck and started to prepare lunch. Then an alarm went off. I searched madly below deck while Rich looked above. Realizing it was coming from the motor, he switched off the engine and called San Juan Sailing. They told him to check the seacock to ensure no sea grass had gotten into the strainer. There was no sea grass, but neither was there much water. The seacock was shut so no water was flowing through the engine so it overheated.

Once the seacock was opened, we were back in business!

Happily, we made it to Echo Bay on Sucia Island, picked up a mooring ball and had a pleasant evening, including walking along the beach (right) and watching the sunset. Plus, on the way to Sucia, we saw several dolphins, their fins barely surfacing the water at they breezed past our boat.

Sunday morning, we were ready to begin our trip in earnest, hoisting the sails and catching a brisk wind. Rich was delighted, trimming the sails and gently turning into the wind to optimize our speed. Thirty minutes later, I looked up and noticed that the head (top) of the mainsail had slide several feet down the boom. Initially, we thought the halyard had loosened; however, the top of the sail seemed to be flopping.

After toying with the lines a few minutes, Rich realized the fabric tab that attached the head of the mainsail to the furling mechanism within the mast had torn (left)… rendering it impossible to use the mainsail. And because it the mainsail was self-furling, the only remedy would be to have someone replace or sew the tab, climb to the top of the mast using a boson chair, retrieve the halyard and attach the tab to the halyard. In other words, it wasn’t an easy fix and certainly something Rich and I couldn’t do.

We immediately called San Juan Sailing who recommended we go to Friday Harbor to have the sail fix. Since we were heading to Canada, we ask whether there was another option. There was. Ganges on Saltspring Island has a boat repair facility. First, however, we had to clear customs at Bedwell Bay on Pender Island.

Not knowing what to expect at customs, aside from their many restrictions on what you can’t bring into the country, such as raw potatoes and fruits with pits, I was a nervous wreck as we approached Bedwell Bay. And it didn’t help that Rich was vacillating as to what side I should place the bumpers and lines on for docking.

By the time we pulled up to the customs dock, my heart was pounding. Adding to my angst was the slipperiness of the deck and shrouds (metal) from the rain. When it came time to step over the lifelines to get ready to step onto the dock, I got flustered and I stepped off to the right of the shrouds and ended up having to tippy-toe around a stanchion in order to get a good grip of the shrouds. Knowing you have only one minute of mobility should you fall into the frigid water is unnerving. Standing on the outside of the lifelines with your heels extended off the edge of the boat, with a poor grip on the shrouds, is terrifying.

Nevertheless, the docking was flawless. I stepped off the boat, tied off the bow then caught the line to tie off the stern. After securing the boat, Rich headed to customs while I looked at several pretty pulsating jellyfish near our boat and admired the Poet’s Cover Resort & Spa on shore. This very upscale resort features lodge rooms, cottages and villas with the cheapest “package” priced at $478 for two nights in a lodge room from January – April, November or December. In July and August, the rate goes to $698 for two nights in the lodge and up to $1,138 for two nights in a two-bedroom cottage with a hot tub and view of the marina!

Until you clear customs, the only person who can leave a boat is the captain. According to Captain Rich, he simply “called” customs, using one of the three telephones in a small kiosk. They asked him a handful of questions then told him to write down a clearance number on a slip of orange paper, which he was told to display on the port (left) side of the boat. With incremental weather forecast for most of our trip, I placed the paper in a baggie and tied it to our bimini using a twist tie.

After plotting a course to Ganges, we were ready to cast off. As we negotiated out of the marina, I saw a large rust-colored, furry dog frolicking in the water. People on other boats were also watching the “dog,” which resembled less of a dog the closer we got.

It was a huge sea lion gamboling in the waves, lavishing in the attention from the boaters… several of whom got distracted and nearly crashed into each other!

The drive over to Saltspring Island, the largest (17 miles long, 9 miles wide with 83 miles of shoreline) and most populated of the Southern Gulf Islands, was uneventful. We pulled into a slip on the outer dock (top) at the Saltspring Marina, which has been managed by Lesley Cheeseman for the last twenty years.

Perhaps because it was the end of the season, the marina was quiet with few boats. Rich went ashore to pay for the slip and also inquire at the sailing shop about having our mainsail repaired. He was told to check back in the morning.

Anxious to explore the town, we grabbed our camera and coats, and trotted towards the town. I was expecting to see a couple of quaint shops, but was surprised to see numerous art galleries with expensive Native American pieces, sculptures, paintings, and other fine art. There were also many public art pieces, including two giant heads (left) that were twenty or more feet in height.

According to Wikipedia, “Since the 1970’s Salt Spring has attracted a large number of artists, and has become more and more of a tourist destination and retirement spot for the wealthy. This dichotomy of large developments for the hordes of people who want to get away from the development of the city has created a certain amount of conflict. However the island is still primarily characterized by the artists and farmers.”

With 225 farms, the island bills itself as the Organic Gardening Capital of Canada. Conversely, it has more Bed & Breakfasts per capita than anywhere else in Canada. With the cost of property on the island amongst the highest in Canada, the population has leveled off at around 13,000 people.

After touring the town and Rich getting a cone with two scrumptious flavors of ice cream, we gingerly walked along a narrow path to viewpoint. In the distance, we saw a huge ship approaching, which later tied up to the public dock. It was the 170-foot Marjorie Morningstar (top), a mega yacht, built in 2004 that can accommodate ten guests with a crew of twelve — a captain, first mate, deck hands, engineer, cook, and maid (to make the beds, clean, and wait on guests). 

From an operational point-of-view, Marjorie Morningstar (the name of the Herman Wouk book my mother was reading when my father proposed to her) holds 2,801 gallons of fuel. At $4 per gallon, it’ll set you back $11,204 to “filler up.” I have no idea whether the ship, which holds 5,284 gallons, of water can fill up their tanks using a common water hose. At a gallon per minute, it would take 88 hours to fill the water tanks!

While we were watching the Marjorie Morningstar approach the Ganges Marina, Rich asked two girls, who were sitting on a rock, why their faces were painted. They mentioned that the Farmers Institute Fall Fair was in full swing, “just up the road.” Curious, we started walking, and walking, and walking… and wondering if it was going to rain before we reached the fair and whether it was worth our effort. 

Our hesitancy increased as we passed people, walking back to their cars, in boots, muddied shoes and pants. When we finally reached the fairgrounds, our assumptions were confirmed. It was being held in a large, muddy field with a handful of buildings, tents and tromped on straw-covered paths.

Because it was the tail end of the fair, we were able to sneak in for free, instead of paying the admission fee. Seeing many of the participants packing up, we headed to the buildings to see the arts-and-crafts (very impressive), livestock (one mule, two hogs, one cow, one horse, an assortment of goats and sheep, and quite a few cages of rabbits, geese, ducks, and other birds), and 4H-like displays.

We then walked down onto a muddy field where we saw a zucchini car, but visiting the fair’s Website I now know it must have been part of the “not to be missed” zucchini race. Also in this area were some antique tractors and other curiosities.

While snapping photos of the tractors, a Canadian Mountie, in full regalia, walked by. I was completely thrown for a loop and couldn’t stop staring. I must have looked like an idiot, but until that moment, it’s hadn’t registered with me that we were in CANADA!

Even though the Fall Fair seemed miniscule in comparison to a county fair in the United States, the entry catalog for the event paints a different picture of thousands of entries from baking to bees, miniature horses, field crops, flowers, home wine/beer/cider, mechanical restoration (the tractors), needlework, pet parade, tractor pull, scarecrows, vegetables, and youth projects.

The theme of the fair (learned from their Web site) was “Gumboots and Island Roots,” which explains why I saw dozens of painted rain boots with floral arrangements inside!

With the threat of rain a reality after an hour of arriving at the fair, we hitched a ride on a shuttle (school bus) to the downtown area then scampered back to Wave Dancer to change into dry clothes and hasten to Moby’s, a funky restaurant within walking distance. Even though it was no longer on their menu, they made me a lip-smacking-good plate of smoked salmon, capers, red onions, cream cheese, and baguette slices. Rich had a fancy hamburger with a huge plate of fries. Burp.

Afterwards, we walked back downtown to replenish our food supply or more accurately, buy spur-of-the-moment foods like locally grown carrots and tomatoes, Sun Chips, chocolate chip cookies, marbled halva, and scrumptious almond tarts with rich, flaky dough and a dab of raspberry jam under a crown of almond custard.

When we went to pay for our groceries, Rich realized he left his MasterCard at Moby’s. Fortunately, he had another card. We zoomed back to Moby’s who had the card and misread “Mr.” as “Dr.” so they called him doctor Lary! Ha!

Our final act of the busy day was to take warm, sudsy showers in the super nice facilities at the marina.

The sculpture to the left watches over the Ganges Marina.