Photo: Sports fishermen in Trevor Channel, Barkley Sound.

"I hope we have some sun tomorrow," Steve had said as we got Osprey ready for the run down the coast. "I'll take clouds over fog any day," I argued. The last few trips we had made into the Strait had been in fog so dense around us we could hardly see the bow and so thin overhead we traveled in sunshine.

I was in luck. Only a light fog and low clouds greeted us the next morning. We motored out Trevor Inlet, weaving our way through a fleet of sports fishing boats thick as the fog I had feared. With so many fishermen it was hard to believe any fish could escape. We rounded Cape Beale and turned southeast -- right into a light southeasterly. We knew we had to make speed to get to Becher Bay by nightfall so we kept motoring.

By noon the wind died to nothing, the clouds burned off and we entered the Strait on an undulating sea of glass. Then a few cats' paws ruffled the water. By the time we'd eaten lunch, the wind was 12 knots behind us and it was time to raise sail.

As the afternoon wore on, the wind built to the high 20s and the sea became a field of white caps. I went forward to take the cover off the small jib to get it ready to raise, but the wind backed off to the low 20s so we kept the large jib flying. With the wind behind us, the current with us and the seas low, we were clipping along at 9 knots.

At 6:30 we were approaching Beechy Head wing-and-wing with the jib poled out. Then we entered a tide rip. Waves crashed around us, sea birds circled overhead and the wind climbed back up. Just when it was time to take the pole down, it was everything we could do just to steer the boat. We sailed past the rip into the Bay but now the wind swept down off the bluff, skittering in gusts across the water and making Osprey round up. With the boat heeling, I went forward to take down the pole. I yanked the release. Nothing happened. I yanked again, nothing. Imagining us screaming into the anchorage unable to take the jib down. I gave one last tug and this time the pole came down and the sail collapsed. Then I had to crawl back to the cockpit to crank the jib over to the other side. We were flying across the water, heeling hard. But ahead I could see quiet water between Wolf and Lamb Islands. A few minutes later, we rounded up, let the sails down and dropped the anchor. It had been a good run -- with just enough excitement at the end to make us appreciate the quiet anchorage.

I'll end this year's blog here, with the lights of Washington State just visible across the Strait. We were almost home.