Photo: Port Alberni Yacht Club Outstation, Robbers Passage.
Barkley Sound is a place for relaxing: hundreds of islands, many anchorages to choose from and short distances to sail. You can sail for an hour and somehow feel you've made a great journey.
We had an easy sail from Ucluelet to Nettle Island in light southeasterlies under cloudy skies. The next morning we had an even easier sail five miles across Imperial Eagle Channel in light westerlies and under blue skies. We sailed into Marble Cove but found it full of float homes and oyster rafts so we sailed onto Robbers Passage where we anchored off the Port Alberni Yacht Club outstation.
The name Robbers Passage probably comes from the story of an American ship that accidentally went aground near there and was set upon by the natives. Since the ship they attacked was American and of doubtful worth and the natives were just "trying to help" defend the territory of their new king, King George of England, the Victoria court let them off. Read my book, Voyages to Windward for the whole story.
The next morning we went ashore to hike the trails maintained by the Yacht Club. We walked among huckleberries and cedar trees on springy trails of soft evergreen needles and enjoyed views of foggy Trevor Channel. We stopped on our way back at the yacht club building to talk to a woman working there.
"We're a volunteer organization," she told us. "At the long weekend in May, we had 40 people here working on the trail and the building. But we're all getting old. We need more young members." The cry of all organizations these days.
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Photo: Boardwalk in Bamfield.
From Robbers Passage, we motored through the fog to the town of Bamfield. There we strolled the boardwalk, hiked to Brady's Beach, visited our artist friend Brunnehilde who lives high on a hill overlooking the sound, and ate dinner at the Hawk's Nest Pub. It was the height of the sportsfishing season and small boats zipped around the harbor and fishermen cleaned salmon on the docks. Despite the activity Brunnehilde told us they'd had a slow season that year. The economy is taking its toll.
I always find a visit to Bamfield to be bittersweet -- sweet because it's such a picturesque town and sad because with the demise of commercial fishing the town is struggling to survive. They have only two months to make a living from tourism and their main customers, sports fishermen, are not big spenders. With the economy down, things have been especially slow this year. The Net Loft, a store that once sold art made by Bamfield residents has closed. Too many artists and too few buyers.
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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.
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