It is 11:15 on Labour Day morning. We have been underway for about 3 hours, crossing the Strait of Georgia. We had been sitting out a gale for the last three nights in Pender Harbour, listening to convoys of boats attempt it and turn back. The weather report this morning was for a high wind warning, but no gale warning so we have intrepidly set out, in the company of about twenty other boats to make the 15 miles from the mainland back to Vancouver Island. Problem is we can't take the crossing straight on, because of the angle of the waves and swells, so we have about four hours working our way diagonally over.

Pender Harbour is like the Portofino of Canada. It's really a series of small bays, but as you entered the first you are struck by the size and architecture of the swanky homes that hug the coastline. There must be a lot of millionaires hanging around here. We set our sights for the Government Docks as our first option, but some rascal and his girl, with their Rottweiler pulled up to the last slot - obviously intended for a larger boat and lashed their hot-shot ski boat. So we turned our sights to an anchorage in Garden Bay behind us. There were about thirty boats already anchored, but we found a slot and tucked ourselves in between about a 50' Selene and a 50' ketch. We dropped the skiffed and raced back to the Dock hoping to make it to the Post Office in time to post our income tax stuff for the accountant back in Anchorage. I was delighted to hand over $70 plus to send an express mail to neighboring Alaska. More about this later - I have been giving a lot of thought to some of my reservations about the cruising lifestyle and am coming to the conclusion that is the responsibilities and drudge of the land-based obligations that can't, don't or won't go away that have been dragging down some of my enthusiasm.

Back to Pender, our first evening couldn't have been better. Rob ate his meal on the Guido deck, enjoying the sounds of Garden Bay. I tried to, but the bugs had a different plan so I retreated to the top house with my novel in hand. We woke to a raging squall and about twenty more boats around us. It was obvious with the 35 knot blow we were enduring that our hook wasn't holding as tight as need be amongst all this traffic, so we hauled it up and determined to move out a bit where we could get more swinging room. That worked for about an hour, when we noted again that we weren't in the same place we had dropped our anchor, so - hmmm, how about that marina right there with the open side tie right on the end. Even in a gale, Rob has got this docking thing down. We tied all the regular lines, and then observed the current racing by and added about three more dock-lines than usual. A bit later a fellow in about a thirty-five foot Bayliner made for the tie directly behind u s and had a heck of a time getting his boat on. I recruited some help from other boaters and eventually he and his frazzled wife stepped on the dock, minus a working searchlight which had been attached to their bow pulpit, the victim of an errant pass that met with resistance from a steel piling. Turns out there is a wicked 6 knot outgoing current from a tight little passage just above this marina that is not charted or noted in the cruising guide. We ended up spending two nights at this marina which by the way had the pub and office at the top of the Matterhorn, rising sharply above us. My first trek up was easy, I got a ride to the pub and surfed the net with my laptop for an hour or so and then headed down. The wrong road. Didn't notice that until I have given up about a thousand feet of elevation and realized I was about two hundred yards off with no way through. Back up, and then down again on the right road down to the harbor. Yowza. Then that evening, Rob wan ted to go up for a beer. I walked up backwards. He couldn't get over that - how dumb it was. He told everyone he met that I walked up the hill backwards and to a one, the women replied, I do that too, it's easier.

So here I sit, braced and getting damn good at recovering my water bottle as it rolls by. We broke one of our cardinal rules (and won't again) about putting the arms out in anticipation of lumpy waters for crossings. It was just too nice to imagine we would need them. WRONG. They sure would have smoothed things out. I'm not worried, or sick or anything, but I know how much nicer the ride would have been with the fish down. Every other wave, I can see Nanaimo out the window so it won't be long now. Maybe a half and hour and we will be smooth sailing into the harbour.