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CWF Salish Sea Expedition Uncategorized

Inside Passage Notes

This is a series of blogs from Jordan Hanssen.

Jordan Hanssen April 11 Photo by Andrew Latreille
Jordan Hanssen April 11 Photo by Andrew Latreille

Blog 4, April 15
I am constantly struck by the concept of time at sea, perhaps all trips.  Four days ago, we left Vancouver, really only two full days on the water.  The launch in Vancouver feels like weeks ago, but rowing, living and working on this boat makes the minutes and hours ripple by.  The first day out we had some seasickness, less than before for Rick although he felt terrible, and surprisingly none for Markus or me.  Adam wrote about how he felt yesterday.  Bits and pieces of our steering system broke, the aluminum threads in our steering car crumbled out.  We had some spare blocks and managed to jury rig the system and it seems to work somewhat better than before.

Little in the way of wild life saves the extraordinary bioluminescence of Taxed Island last night.  It was as if our oars were great big matches and each stroke was the slow ignition of ghostly green fire.  To Markus they looked like dandelions in the wind.  Six auks flew low by us early in the morning, too fast to take a picture.

From the top of Texada we have firm two foot waves almost behind us and are making consistent time over three knots.  Spirits are high for now, as to be expected in these conditions, this keeps up and will be at Campbell River by five or six this afternoon.  Slack tides at eight around the entrance to Johnstone Strait and if all goes well we might be picking up a fifth passenger for a bit.  More on that as it develops.

Blog 5, Evening, April 15th
Today Rick battled with the sea and won.  He said the waves in the Strait of Georgia were twelve feet high.  I was in the stern fighting a losing battle with the computer so I’m really in no position to contradict.  Regardless it felt like a rough ride and for Rick to feel as good as he did was a huge victory for him and all of us.  All our health is each others business.  You can’t help someone who’s seasick, only support them.

The morning started flat and calm with a building breeze.  By noon the waves had kicked up enough to give me confidence that we could indeed make it Campbell River by five.  Our passenger is Wendy Wacko, a painter, gallery owner and adventuress.  She is coming on board to do art, and has in fact started a few watercolors already-but more on that later.

Wendy came via C-Tow (thank you!) to the mouth of Johnstone Strait bearing baked goods, salmon, smoked and cooked and fresh vegetables.  It’s not like we have had a huge amount of time from civilization but I think even the thought of deprivation made the treats that much more sweet.

Johnstone strait is roughly 160 miles of fjord between Vancouver and various other islands.  Less than ten miles away is Seymour narrows known for ripping currents and whirl pools that even cruise ships time their passing through.  Our timing was perfect.  We would hit the narrows about 45 minutes before slack and could make it to a few safe anchorages shortly after it.

April 16th, blog six
I was happy when I woke up– very well rested, although I was a bit stiff as the first part of the night was spent on deck with Markus and Wendy sleeping between the tracks wrapped in wool blankets.  I was happy when I got outside and started rowing.  I was less happy after we anchored and spent six hours out on deck in the rain and the wind.

Wendy did get to see some stars last night, about twenty minutes worth.  From that point on it was a relatively steady rain.  Alright when you are rowing, but awful with inaction.  This is what makes Wendy’s ordeal quite unique.  She came onboard knowing she had to stay on deck, and she came prepared, seven layers worth.  Even so inactivity in this weather, no matter how insulated can make you very cold.  She braved it all without a hint of complaint.

After we anchored Rick troubleshot our incredible amount of electronics while Adam wrote blogs.  Our place of shelter was Humback Bay-very small and shallow.  Markus and I sat on deck with Wendy until it became apparent that the only way to fight the cold, even in our Kokatat rain gear, was the following:  dance party, drink hot coco, dance party, drink hot tea, repeat.  It’s been a joy to have Wendy on board.  She has agreeable and flexible (her requirement for coming on) and been a champ for enduring the cold.

The hills and mountains are weathered in clouds and the sun has come out, sometimes with rain and now as we approach Kelsey Bay to drop Wendy off it’s beautiful.  No rain, calm water and strong current.  Soon we will be on our way again and through another night.

Blog 6, April 16th, Evening
Kelsey Bay is little more than a small marina with a low floating turquoise breakwater and seawalls made of the rusted hulks of old steel barges.   In our short stop we met a group of loggers heading out filling a stout thickly welded aluminum boat with large bits of machine and cases of beer.  This and fishing seem to be the existence for this little hideaway, and as one of our new friends on the dock said “the hardware store left town awhile ago.”  The captain of the sturdy boat gave us a look and nodded towards Johnstone Strait.  “You lucked out.  One of the trickiest parts of the strait and its dead calm.  Good thing you did it in April.”  This was the first time anyone has said this.  According to the folks who work this water, April’s winds, although generally unpredictable, seem amicable to the mix of tides and geography.  August, the month I would think best for this seems to have the consistent winds that make for steep waves in the now placid waters off Kelsey Bay.

We left.  Tide with us.  Still northward.  Afternoon sun had torn apart the mornings rain clouds and the ragged puffs floated around the still snow capped mountains that ran down to the water.  We clipped along over three knots, sometimes four with little effort.  I could not help but feel a Nordic stirring of the blood rowing our long ship meets V2 rocket love child through this fjord.  We blew the conch, and the sunset.

Blog 7, April 17, Mid day to afternoon
Port Hardy was less than twenty-five miles away.  It was clear from the weather that even with a conservative estimate we would be there by four, and beat Greg Spoooner (Rower)who was coming into town at seven.  By afternoon twenty to twenty-five knots of breeze was behind us and we were surfing down four to six foot waves.  Sitting down in our little boat puts our heads about four feet above the water and as the grey blue walls flecked in foam roll behind and under us.

A set of three islands juts out from Hardy Bay.  The wind was blowing us right too them meaning that to safely get around them we had to row just off the downwind waves.  Going beam and going downwind in this boat is relatively easy.  Splitting the difference with our current steering system is very hard.  Rick gave up rowing to use his hands to manhandle it into position while Markus rowed until Adam and I relived them.  I remember these conditions on the ocean and was amazed at the muscle memory that came back.  By jamming my left foot under me I could work the steering system with my right.  It’s not a perfect system and will have to be addressed before the next trip but I could work it–and it was fun.  Rick hopped in the cabin to check the charts one last time.  Looking down in the cabin as the short six-foot waves brought back the seasick, and he spent the rest of the time on deck taking in the horizon.  Markus filmed it all, and smiled.

We aimed the boat as close as we dared to the shore to minimize the time we would have on beam seas before the windbreak that the islands would provide.  A mile later we were in placid waters of the south side of Hardy bay next to fishing boat and set of nets protecting what I assume were salmon on their way to maturity.  A hundred auks and a dozen seagulls floated next to us.  Seven eagles circled and one dove down to catch fish.  Lazy sea lions followed suit and swam lazily around the pen occasionally coming up with the tiny slivers of silver fish.

On our way to shore a large barge sat at anchor off the government wharf where we moored.  Apparently they come in when the weather is too rough.  Here we stay for a few days, and wait for our weather window, exchange Markus for Greg.