Squirrel Cove. On a recent morning, as I was relaxing in the aft sunroom, sipping my usual coffee with a splash of heavy cream. I spotted a small black-tailed doe carefully making her way up a nearby cobble beach. She was moving from the edge of the water towards the woody thickets of the forest. Her steps were cautious. Measured. Her ears twisting in all directions. Listening. Each step measured. Noiseless. Prey in a hunter’s domain. There are wolves lurking about. They watch anything going on within their territory. Waiting to take advantage of a misstep. A miscalculation. I don’t know what she was doing at the edge of the water. But it must have been important to her. To be so exposed. A moment in her life… a lifetime memory for me.
A syncopated tapping, thud, scrape, rap pattern wove its way into my early morning dreamscape. It was not a human generated sound, but an organic, slowly syncopated rhythm whose undesirable intrusions apparently conflicted with my dream theme, whatever that was. The unsolicited reverberations evoked my inner captain and determined that waking up was preferable to enduring a slow salty death. My sleeping brain is apparently entrained to entertain such images.
Leo was stretched out beside me. Close. His breath patterns were normal. He was not concerned. I was. That is how it works. I Captain. He dog. I moved the covers to the side. Carefully. Disturbing the dog is part of the equation. Disturb and feed. Preferably with cheese. I stood and made my way to the aft deck. No issue noted that I could see. Up to the bow. There was the culprit. A common tree branch was entwined in the anchor bridle… tap, tap thudding against the hull. Boat hook. Pry it loose. Push it away. Return to the galley for a bit of cheese. One bite for me. Two small bites for Leo. Before I returned to my cabin, I gazed Eastward: To bear witness to this graceful moonrise:
Any worthwhile expedition circumnavigating Cortes Island in the “Discoveries”, BC, must include a foray into Von Donop Inlet… Tiz a place where the passage of time becomes irrelevant. It can be blowing a 30 knot Northeasterly outside, and within most of the Inlet, barely a whiffle is felt. Throw in a fresh Caesar salad with freshly triturated dressing: Definitely Home. The view to port down one of the small side arms:
Running the skiff down that tiny side arm and looking back shows where I took the picture from. The tiny boat in the distance
And through the magic of telephoto:
We inhabit locations that seem to promote time dilation. How long have we harbored this place as our home? Dunno. Should we know? Even at the height of the busy season… we find most anchorages accessible, and we seem to always be able to find the rightful place we can then attach our “home” to via anchor or dock. We actually never leave home. We’ve found it less disruptive to change our home’s location rather than changing our home. It’s quite a stable relationship. We were anchored in Von Donop for more or less a week. I’d have to check the ships log to be sure. Major question to contemplate: Are we out of romaine? Oh well. On to the more stable broccoli. It is green, right? With special Caesar sauce, a few mushrooms, white onion, celery, red cabbage, grated asiago cheese, and bone in roasted chicken thighs on the side… The location easily melds into the cruising life, and small country stores at Squirrel Cove or Refuge Bay or Hariot Bay meets our provisioning needs. They are not far away.
On our way to Gorge Harbor:
We encountered a pod or Orcas (yes it’s blurry… they are a respectful distance away, and it was choppy rounding the point where we saw them):
Finally, we arrive at the swirly entrance to Gorge Harbor, our destination:
The Canadian Gulf Islands are very similar to the American San Juan Islands. The inhabitants though… are definitely Canadian. Quirky? Well… yes. For one: They are Islanders. Most people aren’t. That alone, immediately sets them apart as a group. Genetically and philosophically … they are the spawn of children of the sixties. Those sixties, 3 generations removed. Expats and artists are from: Everywhere. Secluded or busy anchorages abound. Busy and relaxed marinas are present. World class marine technicians can be hired. Diesel fuel is reasonably priced and water is plentiful. Not a Waterworld paradise you say?
Madrona Bay. A crowded anchorage close to Ganges, Salt Spring Island, Gulf Islands, BC. It can be busy, ant pile frenetic at Ganges… while Madrona Bay, a 5-minute skiff ride away is:
An evening anchored in Pender Harbor, North Pender Island, Gulf Islands, BC. Clouds mute the reflecting light and mellow the atmosphere:
05:34 AM. Sunrise. Lopez Island, Hunter Bay, San Juan Archipelago:
A final series, Princess Louisa Inlet. Springtime:
Home is wherever and everywhere the boat is. That has been our approach to living for the past seven years. These shared backdrops are what we seek out as starting points that embrace our notion of… view. At each selected anchorage, our vistas constantly shift as the wind pirouettes us gently around our anchor line. For us, it doesn’t get better than that…
Salish Sea Cruising With Blair, Les, Leo, and Bliss 