Reflections by Kirk 07-23-2013

I guess it will seem weird to see two of these together, but I really did write the last one a week or so ago. Things are still beautiful and remarkably unspoiled. We spent a night adjacent to an abandoned fish cannery that just captivated me all evening (thanks David and that is the last word). All of the buildings and docks were still there and it appeared that serious efforts were under way to rehabilitate the complex. The only signs of life were a floatplane tied to the docks and the sounds of a four-wheeler roaming around. It was easy to visualize this as a vibrant work center bustling with activity, fishing boats unloading the catch, sounds of machinery processing the fish, and even bigger boats loading up the results to take to market. But it was now just a collection of lovely docks and buildings set at the waters edge against the backdrop of a forested hillside.

Some may remember Jim McKay’s opening words on ABC’s Wide World of Sports “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.” That is how one of our days transpired except that the agony came first. The short story is fish two, Kirk zero. We had seen lots little fishing boats zooming around the mouth of Rivers Inlet and realized that there were a few fishing camps and resorts in the area, so figured it was time to break out the trolling gear and give it a try. Trolling sounds simple. You just set up a pole and drag a lure behind the boat until a fish strikes. Well it is not that simple. First, we have to figure out where to set up the pole so that it does not get tangled up in the wind generator, the dingy or the self steering wind vane equipment and we can still get to it in the event that a fish is actually stupid enough to try and eat a piece of metal or plastic. Okay, we got that worked out. Next comes the rig, which involves several pieces and lots of knots. First piece is quite an ingenious design of metal and pink plastic that results in a diving plane. In one position it is angled down to make the entire rig dive down into the water and maintain that depth until a fish strikes. When the fish strikes it trips a release that allows the plane to be easily reeled back in. Next comes a big rectangular piece of shiny metal that wiggles around in the water. This is supposed be an attractor that will get the attention of any fish in the vicinity. Last is the lure which is a piece of metal or plastic with outlandish colors and a big hook attached. All of this stuff has to be lowered into the water in just the right way so that the different pieces don’t become entangled with one another. Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Anyway, we get all of this stuff into the water trailing about 40 yards behind the boat and hopefully about 20 yards deep. We need to go slow for the “action” of all the pieces to work right. After going through this procedure, I expect a fish to jump all over it right away. No such luck. Fortunately, our next planned stop is not very far away, the day is nice and the beer is cold. We get lulled by the serenity when zing the reel sings and the rod tip is bouncing all over the place. Oh crap, we never figured out what to do if we actually caught a fish. Kris and I are bouncing around the cockpit trying to remember how to get the rod out of its special holder, get the boat out of gear, move the dingy and figure out what to do with a wriggling behemoth once we get him on the boat. I am reeling furiously and can actually see the fish when the reel stops reeling in line. I look up and see that the pink diving plane is jammed up to the rod tip. The whole rig is so long that I can’t reel in any more and the fish is still in the water trying its best to get away. Hand the pole to Kris, jump down on the swim step, grab the line and haul the fish up onto the swimstep. The celebration lasts about all of one second when the fish bounces back into the water with my lure still in its mouth. The agony of defeat. I am really bummed about having and then loosing a fine salmon as well as about $6 dollars worth of fishing gear of which I don’t have much of to begin with. But we could take solace in the fact that we actually did hook a fine fish and get him onto the boat.

Back into the tackle box to see if we have another outlandishly colored piece of metal or plastic with a big hook attached. There is one more that a thoughtful friend from our dock at Shilshole had given me before we left. So I tie a much better knot and drop every thing back into the water. It was not very long before the reel sings and the rod tip starts bouncing again. We have been through this already so it is only seconds before I am again reeling furiously and realize that this is an even bigger fish than the one that got away. All of a sudden there is no pressure on the line and I figure that this is a wily fish that figured out how to spit out the hook. But no, he is even smarter than that with his own warped sense of humor. He must be swimming towards the boat while I am reeling him in. I am surprised as I catch sight of him near the boat. He smiled at me before beginning to thrash about, spit the hook and swam away. Ok, there is a price to gaining experience.

Then comes the thrill of victory. Our destination that day was a place called Fury Cove. The place name should have scared us, but the people who wrote one of the guidebooks that we use described it as one of their favorite anchorages. After once again carefully navigating to avoid several potentially boat crunching obstacles, we go through the final narrow opening and enter Fury Cove. Wow, it is relatively big and there are what appear to be sandy beaches inside. Nearly all of the places that we choose to anchor are mostly surrounded by land that offer protection from wind and waves and we seldom see the main body of water from whence we came. This place offered views over the apparently sandy beaches and narrow rock filled passes between islets all the way across Fitz Hugh Sound to mountainous Calvert Island in the distance and yet still well protected from wind and waves As is our standard practice after we set the anchor, we just hang out for awhile, usually long enough to consume a cold beer and make sure that the boat is indeed securely anchored and remaining within the area that it should. During that time a large powerboat entered the cove, set the anchor and almost immediately lowered their dingy into the water and went to one of the sandy beaches. Soon wisps of smoke appeared and we realized that a beach fire was in the making. We both love campfires and beach fires are right at the top of the list. So we get the boat organized into anchorage mode, hop into the dingy and head for the beach, only it is not really a sandy beach. This is a shell beach. There must have been zillions of broken shells here, thousands of years of shell accumulation. Clams are here in abundance. Unfortunately the entire central and northern BC coast is closed for bivalve shellfish gathering. This area has a really, really large coastline and there is no way that the provincial government can monitor the area for PSP (paralytic shellfish poisoning), so they close them to be safe. We have talked to many people who come up here regularly and they all say that they would not take the chance of eating clams from beaches that have not been tested and we follow suit. So we wander around the beach over to the ocean side to marvel at how cool this place is before making our way to the fire. There we met grandpa, grandma and the two grandchildren who were out on the boat for a few weeks getting ready to cook hotdogs and marshmallows on the fire. Very cool. Turns out that the older two had made the crossing of Queen Charlotte Strait around Cape Caution and on into Queen Charlotte Sound 26 times before and provided us with a wealth of local lore and knowledge. They told us of friends to whom they had recommended this anchorage who had witnessed two humpback whales circling the cove for over an hour a few years ago. Again, very cool. On the way back to our boat for our own dinner, we stopped and chatted with a couple on a very handsome old powerboat. They told us that the day before three orcas had circled the cove for about half an hour. Even cooler.

The next day, we spent a few hours on a kayak tour of the surrounding area and ventured a short way out into Fitz Hugh Sound. It was a little unsettling for me to feel the ocean swells in a small kayak and watch waves break on the rocks, so back inside and back to the boat to make preparations for our own beach fire. On the way to the beach in the dingy, we saw a long double kayak enter the cove and head for the beach. We met an absolutely delightful couple that had been five weeks kayaking from Prince Rupert, 300 miles away. They caught a nice Coho salmon from the kayak that day. An offer of cold beer, led to a wonderful evening sitting around the beach fire and eating fresh salmon cooked over the coals. The thrill of victory.

That was a few days ago and we have moved on to some other very interesting places that must wait for another time to tell you about. I know it only takes a few minutes to read this but it takes me quite a bit more time to write it and we want to take a hike up to Link Lake and see the dam here above Ocean Falls.

Life is good!