Thursday, June 16, 2016
Cow Bay, Prince Rupert, BC
Just a little report for our cruising friends out there. We are staying in the brand new Cow Bay Marina, in Prince Rupert. The marina had a plumbing problem, so at the moment there are no toilets or showers. The power outlets are not fully installed, so if you plan to stay here, and you want power on the dock, bring a really long cord. There is no discount for the lack of service. Repair schedule uncertain. Oh, and the finger slips are pretty short too. And we are rocking pretty hard, catching a lot of wake. Just sayin'.
Catching up on some photos
Marina wi-fi basically stinks in most places, so I have been struggling to get pictures posted. Here are few of my favorites.
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| Morning, the Strait of Georgia |
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| This guy just belongs in a boat, wouldn't you say? |
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| A piece of history |
Two most amazing anchorages
For the last several days we have been motoring north, visiting the coolest, most out-of-the-way places we can find. We found some winners. Rising to the top of the list are Khutze Inlet and Baker Inlet. We picked these stops because they are wild and remote, but most especially because there is the potential to see bears. Grizzly bears, even. Big, fat 55-gallon drum grizzly bears.
Ok, so we didn't see any grizz. But we did wake up this morning to 2 of the biggest, fattest black bears we have ever seen. Rambling along the shoreline, rooting around in the grass. And we were safely cozied up in our boat, watching with binos.
Baker Inlet was especially amazing. To enter the inlet, you pass through a channel called Watts Narrows. This channel is only wide enough for one small boat to pass through, and it zig zags and has a strong current and tree branches overhanging the water. Once you enter the channel, you are committed to going through, as there is no room to turn around. If the current slams you up against the wall, well, too bad. We managed to hit the timing just right when we entered, and entered at the slack. But this morning, we faced about a 4 kt current and it was a might dicey.
Anyway, once past the narrows, the channel opens up to this serene wonderland of glossy water and trees and loons and fish and mist and, as I mentioned, bears. It is 3 miles back to the head of the inlet, where we anchored. The surrounding mountain slopes still held snow.
Near dusk, a commercial shrimp boat entered the cove and anchored near us. We were the only boats around. Frank and Collin motored over in the dingy and asked if they would like to sell us some shrimp. Sure! A big bag of still alive spot prawns was exchanged for some Canadian $$, and everyone felt good. Topped that off with some Dungeness in the crab traps and it was a successful day all around.
Ok, so we didn't see any grizz. But we did wake up this morning to 2 of the biggest, fattest black bears we have ever seen. Rambling along the shoreline, rooting around in the grass. And we were safely cozied up in our boat, watching with binos.
Baker Inlet was especially amazing. To enter the inlet, you pass through a channel called Watts Narrows. This channel is only wide enough for one small boat to pass through, and it zig zags and has a strong current and tree branches overhanging the water. Once you enter the channel, you are committed to going through, as there is no room to turn around. If the current slams you up against the wall, well, too bad. We managed to hit the timing just right when we entered, and entered at the slack. But this morning, we faced about a 4 kt current and it was a might dicey.
Anyway, once past the narrows, the channel opens up to this serene wonderland of glossy water and trees and loons and fish and mist and, as I mentioned, bears. It is 3 miles back to the head of the inlet, where we anchored. The surrounding mountain slopes still held snow.
Near dusk, a commercial shrimp boat entered the cove and anchored near us. We were the only boats around. Frank and Collin motored over in the dingy and asked if they would like to sell us some shrimp. Sure! A big bag of still alive spot prawns was exchanged for some Canadian $$, and everyone felt good. Topped that off with some Dungeness in the crab traps and it was a successful day all around.
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| Water like glass in Baker Inlet |
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| Waterfalls galore |
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| Fjords of BC |
Cape Caution
We picked up Collin in Port McNeill Thursday, and then Friday morning headed out for the biggest open water crossing of the trip - Cape Caution. Sorry Collin.
It was a long, white knuckle day. We got our butts kicked, but Captain Frank did a masterful job at the helm and got us safely to a beautiful and serene anchorage, Fury Cove. Once we got around the Cape we couldn't go the direction we wanted to go, because that put us in the trough of the waves. So Frank did a series of tacks that got us on the leeward side of some islands, where the waves were a little more manageable. Whew. When I have a better connection, I will post a video I took, before it "got rough".
It was a long, white knuckle day. We got our butts kicked, but Captain Frank did a masterful job at the helm and got us safely to a beautiful and serene anchorage, Fury Cove. Once we got around the Cape we couldn't go the direction we wanted to go, because that put us in the trough of the waves. So Frank did a series of tacks that got us on the leeward side of some islands, where the waves were a little more manageable. Whew. When I have a better connection, I will post a video I took, before it "got rough".
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| The reward after a tough crossing. |
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Port McNeill
We had quite a lot of time to kill, waiting for a weather window and for Collin to arrive from the lower 48, so we did a series of day trips to neighboring villages of Sointula and Alert Bay.
There seems to be something in the air here, where total strangers tell you deeply personal things within 2 minutes of meeting them. The young First Nations guys who told me stories of meetings ghosts in the old school building in Alert Bay. The docent in the Sointula Museum who explained the history of Sointula along with her own personal spiritual journey through Christianity, shamanism, Finnish mysticism, and more. She was on the verge of tears throughout her tour. The attendant at the Visitors Center who briefed us on her group therapy sessions with her sister. The whole experience was weirdly fascinating.
Sointula was founded as a Finnish socialist utopia in about 1909. Like so many of those experiments, the group split apart when it became clear that their charismatic leader was a jerk. In this case, he was a guy with great communication skills and no practical survival skills - also a taste for the ladies, including married ones. The 'People's Republic of Sointula' carries on, in its own unique way, as a haven for seekers of a better way of life.
Alert Bay is a First Nations community, famous for their carvers. The worlds tallest totem pole is there. Similar to what happened in the U.S., the 'black robes' (in this case the Anglican Church) came and started a residential school (St. Michael's) for the native children, with the intent of destroying the native culture. Children were subjected to physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. The school closed in 1974, official apologies were made in 2008, but the hulking old building was a source of pain for the residents until 2015, when the old school building was finally torn down. If you can believe that any place is haunted, then that place would have to be high on the list of ghostly attractions.
We also had our first whale sighting of the trip - a juvenile humpback, put on a good show!
There seems to be something in the air here, where total strangers tell you deeply personal things within 2 minutes of meeting them. The young First Nations guys who told me stories of meetings ghosts in the old school building in Alert Bay. The docent in the Sointula Museum who explained the history of Sointula along with her own personal spiritual journey through Christianity, shamanism, Finnish mysticism, and more. She was on the verge of tears throughout her tour. The attendant at the Visitors Center who briefed us on her group therapy sessions with her sister. The whole experience was weirdly fascinating.
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| This is the school bus that brings the kids from Sointula to Port McNeill for school. |
Sointula was founded as a Finnish socialist utopia in about 1909. Like so many of those experiments, the group split apart when it became clear that their charismatic leader was a jerk. In this case, he was a guy with great communication skills and no practical survival skills - also a taste for the ladies, including married ones. The 'People's Republic of Sointula' carries on, in its own unique way, as a haven for seekers of a better way of life.
Alert Bay is a First Nations community, famous for their carvers. The worlds tallest totem pole is there. Similar to what happened in the U.S., the 'black robes' (in this case the Anglican Church) came and started a residential school (St. Michael's) for the native children, with the intent of destroying the native culture. Children were subjected to physical, sexual, and emotional abuse. The school closed in 1974, official apologies were made in 2008, but the hulking old building was a source of pain for the residents until 2015, when the old school building was finally torn down. If you can believe that any place is haunted, then that place would have to be high on the list of ghostly attractions.
We also had our first whale sighting of the trip - a juvenile humpback, put on a good show!
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| A rare sight - Johnstone Strait in calm weather |
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Dunvegan is Resurrected as Gold Star
Sitting at the dock in Port McNeill, Frank heard a boat named Gold Star on the radio call the harbor. We ran into Dunvegan (our old boat) on the docks in Bellingham a few years ago so knew her name had been changed to Gold Star. Sure enough, here comes the little tug that could!
We went over to introduce ourselves and met Jere Montague and Sue Hodges, her new owners. Their pride of ownership really shines through. It helps that Jere is handy with wood work, and that they appreciate her for the great little boat she is. They have repowered her with a new John Deere marine engine, apparently the old Ford Lehman finally went belly up.
Many thanks to Jere and Sue, may you cruise safely for many years.
We went over to introduce ourselves and met Jere Montague and Sue Hodges, her new owners. Their pride of ownership really shines through. It helps that Jere is handy with wood work, and that they appreciate her for the great little boat she is. They have repowered her with a new John Deere marine engine, apparently the old Ford Lehman finally went belly up.
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| Gold Star at Port McNeill, BC June 2016 |
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| Dunvegan, about 2006 |
Monday, June 6, 2016
Johnstone Strait
I woke up on a sunny, calm Sunday morning in serene Handfield Bay. To the sound of the computer-voice of the marine weather forecast. She was saying -gale warnings in Johnstone Strait. Northwest wind building to 30 - 40 knots by Tuesday, bad Wednesday and Thursday too.
Most recreational cruisers avoid Johnstone Strait as much as they can. The alternative is a long, circuitous, but beautiful route through the islands that lay between Johnstone Strait and the mainland. This alternate route involves multiple passages through tidal rapids, but as described in my previous post, if you are careful with timing, you can safely make your way. We have always gone the long way in the past, because Johnstone Strait is fearsome, and because the long route has its own rewards.
But this trip, we have a schedule to keep. We need to be in Port Hardy to pick up our son Collin who is flying up from Portland to meet us. And there is no way to avoid Johnstone Strait completely. So what the heck do we do?
Pull anchor and head for Johnstone Strait, full speed ahead, that's what!
We pulled out into the Strait to find it dead calm and only one other boat in sight. 'Cause we are the only dumbasses stupid enough to go out there in a forecasted gale? NERVOUS. An hour later, still dead calm, still NERVOUS. Four hours later, a chop builds, oh crap, here it comes. Five hours later, the chop lays down, back to calm again. Starting to relax, maybe just a teeny bit. Still hardly any other recreational boaters, and only a few commercial guys.
Eight hours later, we pull into Port McNeill, Johnstone Strait behind us. It never did get rough.
Most recreational cruisers avoid Johnstone Strait as much as they can. The alternative is a long, circuitous, but beautiful route through the islands that lay between Johnstone Strait and the mainland. This alternate route involves multiple passages through tidal rapids, but as described in my previous post, if you are careful with timing, you can safely make your way. We have always gone the long way in the past, because Johnstone Strait is fearsome, and because the long route has its own rewards.
But this trip, we have a schedule to keep. We need to be in Port Hardy to pick up our son Collin who is flying up from Portland to meet us. And there is no way to avoid Johnstone Strait completely. So what the heck do we do?
Pull anchor and head for Johnstone Strait, full speed ahead, that's what!
We pulled out into the Strait to find it dead calm and only one other boat in sight. 'Cause we are the only dumbasses stupid enough to go out there in a forecasted gale? NERVOUS. An hour later, still dead calm, still NERVOUS. Four hours later, a chop builds, oh crap, here it comes. Five hours later, the chop lays down, back to calm again. Starting to relax, maybe just a teeny bit. Still hardly any other recreational boaters, and only a few commercial guys.
Eight hours later, we pull into Port McNeill, Johnstone Strait behind us. It never did get rough.
Seymour Narrows and Handfield Bay
Leaving Campbell River, there are two choices for a northbound traveler - go north through Discovery Passage and Seymour Narrows, or south around Cape Mudge. We experienced Cape Mudge the day before, and we had enough of that fun. Heck, even the name sounds scary - Mudge - like what you are going to turn into when your boat sinks. So Seymour Narrows it was.
Seymour Narrows is a tidal rapid. Tidal rapids are narrow channels where the tidal flow creates whirlpools, boils, eddys, and overflows. It is similar to a rapid in a river, except that the direction of flow reverses when the tide changes. During the 'slack', the few minutes between the ebb tide and the flood tide, the currents in the tidal rapids may slow down to a degree that the rapids become passable.
Seymour Narrows is quite a famous example of a tidal rapid. There used to be a big, barely submerged, rock (Ripple Rock) right at the narrowest part that created so much turbulence it frequently sank ships. In 1958, the rock was blow
n up in the largest commercial non-nuclear blast in North America.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about Seymour Narrows:
"Seymour Narrows was described by Captain George Vancouver as "one of the vilest stretches of water in the world." Even after Ripple Rock was removed, it remains a challenging route. In March 1981, the Star Philippine, a freighter, ran aground in the narrows.
Seymour Narrows is notable also because the flowing current can be sufficiently turbulent to realize a Reynolds number* of about one billion, which is possibly the largest Reynolds number regularly attained in natural water channels on Earth."
It was still better than Cape Mudge.
We timed our passage to arrive about 45 min before the slack time. The current was so fast we surfed our way there and arrived early, so we milled about for a while and then headed in. We scootched through with only a little bit of white knuckles, mostly mine.
Then it was into Handfield Bay in Thurston Marine Park for some much desired relaxing, crabbing, and general tooling around. Gorgeous, secluded anchorage and a beautiful night.
*I put in that Reynolds number stuff for any of my engineer-buddies who may be reading.
Seymour Narrows is a tidal rapid. Tidal rapids are narrow channels where the tidal flow creates whirlpools, boils, eddys, and overflows. It is similar to a rapid in a river, except that the direction of flow reverses when the tide changes. During the 'slack', the few minutes between the ebb tide and the flood tide, the currents in the tidal rapids may slow down to a degree that the rapids become passable.
Seymour Narrows is quite a famous example of a tidal rapid. There used to be a big, barely submerged, rock (Ripple Rock) right at the narrowest part that created so much turbulence it frequently sank ships. In 1958, the rock was blow
n up in the largest commercial non-nuclear blast in North America.
This is what Wikipedia has to say about Seymour Narrows:
"Seymour Narrows was described by Captain George Vancouver as "one of the vilest stretches of water in the world." Even after Ripple Rock was removed, it remains a challenging route. In March 1981, the Star Philippine, a freighter, ran aground in the narrows.
Seymour Narrows is notable also because the flowing current can be sufficiently turbulent to realize a Reynolds number* of about one billion, which is possibly the largest Reynolds number regularly attained in natural water channels on Earth."
It was still better than Cape Mudge.
We timed our passage to arrive about 45 min before the slack time. The current was so fast we surfed our way there and arrived early, so we milled about for a while and then headed in. We scootched through with only a little bit of white knuckles, mostly mine.
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| Shooting through Seymour Narrows on a spring ebb tide. |
Then it was into Handfield Bay in Thurston Marine Park for some much desired relaxing, crabbing, and general tooling around. Gorgeous, secluded anchorage and a beautiful night.
*I put in that Reynolds number stuff for any of my engineer-buddies who may be reading.
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| The inclinometer shows the degree of roll. |
Friday, June 3, 2016
The last post, again.
Yesterday we motored into Desolation Sound, which, in spite of the foreboding name, is one of the most beautiful areas along the British Columbian coast. We went to Von Donop Inlet, a long narrow islet that leads to a well protected, quiet anchorage. Ahhh, yes! Finally! Time to set the hook, launch the dingy, set some crab traps, go for a hike.
Click. Click click. Click click click. That is the sound the anchor windlass starting making, when we went to release some chain. The correct sound is a loud growling whirr. There were other sounds too, from Frank, but won't be repeated here.
Now a few words about anchors and anchor windlasses for you landlubbers. Boats are not like cars. They don't have a brake. The only way to stop them is to tie them securely to something fixed, like a dock; or to drop an anchor, essentially securing yourself to the bottom. It is more than a convenience. If you have an emergency and need to stop, say you have lost power and you are drifting into rocks, you have to be able to get the anchor down.
The anchor on Gandalf is a 44 lb. Rocna, connected to an all-chain rode (that is boater-speak for a line). It is not like the little Danforth hooks tied to a length of line that you can easily drop and retrieve by hand that you may be familiar with on small runabout boats. The anchor windlass is a machine that deploys and retrieves the anchor and chain. Yes, there are very inconvenient ways to work-around a broken windlass, but the whole scenario is not recommended.
So, we managed to get the anchor down and secured, but then it was time to do some more problem solving. No cell service in the tiny nook we were in, so out came the satellite phone.
We burned some expensive ($1.00/minute) minutes, but we found Ian from Penner Marine in Campbell River. Another angel!
This morning we headed out at 0600 HRS to cross Sutil Channel, around Cape Mudge in a southeasterly blow, and arrived in Campbell River at 0900 HRS. It is now almost noon, and Ian is packing up his tools, the windlass is fixed. Another f-ing solenoid. How many solenoids are on this boat anyhow?
Click. Click click. Click click click. That is the sound the anchor windlass starting making, when we went to release some chain. The correct sound is a loud growling whirr. There were other sounds too, from Frank, but won't be repeated here.
Now a few words about anchors and anchor windlasses for you landlubbers. Boats are not like cars. They don't have a brake. The only way to stop them is to tie them securely to something fixed, like a dock; or to drop an anchor, essentially securing yourself to the bottom. It is more than a convenience. If you have an emergency and need to stop, say you have lost power and you are drifting into rocks, you have to be able to get the anchor down.
The anchor on Gandalf is a 44 lb. Rocna, connected to an all-chain rode (that is boater-speak for a line). It is not like the little Danforth hooks tied to a length of line that you can easily drop and retrieve by hand that you may be familiar with on small runabout boats. The anchor windlass is a machine that deploys and retrieves the anchor and chain. Yes, there are very inconvenient ways to work-around a broken windlass, but the whole scenario is not recommended.
So, we managed to get the anchor down and secured, but then it was time to do some more problem solving. No cell service in the tiny nook we were in, so out came the satellite phone.
We burned some expensive ($1.00/minute) minutes, but we found Ian from Penner Marine in Campbell River. Another angel!
This morning we headed out at 0600 HRS to cross Sutil Channel, around Cape Mudge in a southeasterly blow, and arrived in Campbell River at 0900 HRS. It is now almost noon, and Ian is packing up his tools, the windlass is fixed. Another f-ing solenoid. How many solenoids are on this boat anyhow?
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| Ian standing in the hole he had to crawl into to work on the solenoid |
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| Entering Desolation Sound, that's the Rocna anchor under the flag |
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Guy: The Angel of Powell River
I don't even want to tell this story.
We set off from Nanaimo yesterday at 0600 HRS, as planned. Beautiful day, sunny, warm, not a breath of wind. Super easy crossing of the Strait of Georgia.
But... there was a nagging worry. It took 4 pushes of the starter button to start the engine. It should be one push and 'vroom'. This has happened before. The mechanics in Anacortes were supposed to check it out. They said nothing was wrong. But it should not be 4 pushes before the vroom.
So Frank called the mechanics in Anacortes. They said sounds like your solenoid or slave solenoid or maybe the starter. Sorry, we forgot to check it.
By this time we were across the Strait, not going back. Phone calls to many mechanics (too busy, don't do that kind of work) later, we found Guy (pronounced Ghee), in Powell River. Guy wanted photos of the engine room before he would agree to take on the project. Photos taken and sent. Guy says OK. Phew!
The marina in Powell River mostly serves commercial boats, but the wharfinger took pity on us, and gave us a berth.
An 'engine room' on a boat can often times be a misnomer. It is more like a crawl space with a giant machine wedged in there. When the boat is built, the mechanical stuff is mounted and then the boat is built around it. Access is best for yoga-practicing skinny children. I am attaching pictures of Guy (in the dark hole there) laying on his side with his arm stuck in some little hole, with Frank supervising.
Ok, so 24 hours later, Guy has removed the starter, taken it to the starter repair people (Vanderkemp Sales and Service who dropped whatever they were working on and promptly repaired the solenoid), picked it back up, brought it to us at the marina, and re-installed it.
One push and vroom.
Guy's Power and Marine, 604-485-5244 http://www.guyspowermarine.com/
Vanderkemp Sales and Service 604-485-9774
Tomorrow we expect to be off for Desolation Sound.
We set off from Nanaimo yesterday at 0600 HRS, as planned. Beautiful day, sunny, warm, not a breath of wind. Super easy crossing of the Strait of Georgia.
But... there was a nagging worry. It took 4 pushes of the starter button to start the engine. It should be one push and 'vroom'. This has happened before. The mechanics in Anacortes were supposed to check it out. They said nothing was wrong. But it should not be 4 pushes before the vroom.
So Frank called the mechanics in Anacortes. They said sounds like your solenoid or slave solenoid or maybe the starter. Sorry, we forgot to check it.
By this time we were across the Strait, not going back. Phone calls to many mechanics (too busy, don't do that kind of work) later, we found Guy (pronounced Ghee), in Powell River. Guy wanted photos of the engine room before he would agree to take on the project. Photos taken and sent. Guy says OK. Phew!
The marina in Powell River mostly serves commercial boats, but the wharfinger took pity on us, and gave us a berth.
An 'engine room' on a boat can often times be a misnomer. It is more like a crawl space with a giant machine wedged in there. When the boat is built, the mechanical stuff is mounted and then the boat is built around it. Access is best for yoga-practicing skinny children. I am attaching pictures of Guy (in the dark hole there) laying on his side with his arm stuck in some little hole, with Frank supervising.
Ok, so 24 hours later, Guy has removed the starter, taken it to the starter repair people (Vanderkemp Sales and Service who dropped whatever they were working on and promptly repaired the solenoid), picked it back up, brought it to us at the marina, and re-installed it.
One push and vroom.
Guy's Power and Marine, 604-485-5244 http://www.guyspowermarine.com/
Vanderkemp Sales and Service 604-485-9774
Tomorrow we expect to be off for Desolation Sound.
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| That's Guy down there, in the bottom of the boat |
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| Are you kidding me? |
Monday, May 30, 2016
Adventures of Dunvegan... now Gandalf
Ginger here. In our last post, dated July 29, 2007, Frank wrote, "I will return to Alaska
Today is May 30, 2016, and for the first time since 2007, we are headed to Alaska in a boat.
As Frank said he would, he left Dunvegan in Anacortes, and eventually sold her. We bought back our 20' welded aluminum fishing boat from our son Mike, and that was our only power boat for quite a while. Frank retired, we moved from Montana to Portland, OR. Frank got a Captain's license and spent several summers driving a tour boat (on Flathead Lake Montana) and captaining for saltwater fishing charters in Alaska (at Knudson Cove and South Kaigani Harbor).
In 2013 we got the cruising itch again. It started with the annual trip to the Seattle boat show. There was a 32' Grand Banks for sale, at a price we could afford. I told Frank, let's buy it! He said, whoa, wait a minute. Huh? What?
This led to a year-long quest to find the perfect boat. In January 2014, we closed on M/V GANDALF, a 1999 37' Nordic Tug. We have been outfitting, provisioning, learning, repairing, testing, spending absolutely all our money, and scaring ourselves silly ever since. We knew that a bigger boat was going to be more expensive and of course, more comfortable. I don't think either of us expected that a bigger boat would be so much more complicated and intimidating.
And then there was a near sinking at the dock (galvanic corrosion is no joke). A son who was diagnosed with Stage 4 lymphoma and needed a year of treatment and support - now thankfully fully healthy. Never ending work demands.
The time has finally come. Yesterday we cast off from our home port of Skyline Marina in Anacortes, headed north. We made it to Nanaimo in one day - a big, tiring day.
As anyone who has attempted any kind of ambitious endeavor knows, there are about a million things that can go wrong. We are feeling a sense of accomplishment at this point, to have gotten this far. Thanks for reading, we will be posting when we can.
Today is May 30, 2016, and for the first time since 2007, we are headed to Alaska in a boat.
As Frank said he would, he left Dunvegan in Anacortes, and eventually sold her. We bought back our 20' welded aluminum fishing boat from our son Mike, and that was our only power boat for quite a while. Frank retired, we moved from Montana to Portland, OR. Frank got a Captain's license and spent several summers driving a tour boat (on Flathead Lake Montana) and captaining for saltwater fishing charters in Alaska (at Knudson Cove and South Kaigani Harbor).
In 2013 we got the cruising itch again. It started with the annual trip to the Seattle boat show. There was a 32' Grand Banks for sale, at a price we could afford. I told Frank, let's buy it! He said, whoa, wait a minute. Huh? What?
This led to a year-long quest to find the perfect boat. In January 2014, we closed on M/V GANDALF, a 1999 37' Nordic Tug. We have been outfitting, provisioning, learning, repairing, testing, spending absolutely all our money, and scaring ourselves silly ever since. We knew that a bigger boat was going to be more expensive and of course, more comfortable. I don't think either of us expected that a bigger boat would be so much more complicated and intimidating.
And then there was a near sinking at the dock (galvanic corrosion is no joke). A son who was diagnosed with Stage 4 lymphoma and needed a year of treatment and support - now thankfully fully healthy. Never ending work demands.
The time has finally come. Yesterday we cast off from our home port of Skyline Marina in Anacortes, headed north. We made it to Nanaimo in one day - a big, tiring day.
As anyone who has attempted any kind of ambitious endeavor knows, there are about a million things that can go wrong. We are feeling a sense of accomplishment at this point, to have gotten this far. Thanks for reading, we will be posting when we can.
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