Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Last days as Marine Park Host


Middle East dress code in the Pacific North West...



De Courcy Island Community News board...



Brother XII - or what is left of him...


Brother XII was the infamous religious sect leader, who ruled the Island with his consort Madame Zee in a most brutal manner. After a couple of trials and judgements, he managed to flee to Switzerland with most of his booty, the remainder is said to be buried somewhere on the island.




Unidentified standing object....


A dive suit, a flag, a BBQ, and a wind generator, aligned to form this odd vision.



Pirate's Cove treasure chest. A kindly anonymous person cleaned and replenished the treasures to the delight of visiting children.



One of the many offending reefs at low tide.



Herring Cove on Ruxton Island, a popular lunch spot for swimmers, kayakers and beach combers. This little beach/reef is covered with water at high tide



South Cove on De Courcy, a safe haven in a NW blow.


The 'office' on De Courcy Island - cell phone reception hot spot.

After nearly 10 days here, volunteering as Marine Park Host, casting off again from my little 'private' floating island dock and head south 'for a rest' in Montague before the next sail...

Lazy Summer Days on De Courcy Island


Evening on De Courcy Island, Pirate's Cove



Paddling in Ruxton Passage



South Beach of De Courcy Island, with View of Herring Cove and Stuart Channel


Cedar fence on South Beach



Kayakers on South Beach



What a way to wake up....



Non judgemental onlooker to trawler grounding



Rudder, keel, barnacles - all exposed to the morning sun



Lovely wooden boat anchored not too far from the 'other reef' in the Cove.



Diesel leak plugging operation by a De Courcy resident, who happened to be a Coast Guard captain as well as a captain of an Arctic icebreaker - qualified help indeed.



Here come the Heavies.....Coast Guard & Dept of Fisheries inflatable, frigate standing by outside of Cove.



Assessing the situation....



More Heavies from Rescue Team Nanaimo.....


And here the story:

Rattling of chains travelling across the dark waters...another latecomer anchoring in Pirate's Cove. Crawled out of my cabin to cast a glance around, to see who had arrived at 22:00 in darkness under a brilliantly starry sky. A confusion of anchor lights all around from the 25+ boats already anchored...no way to tell where our latest guest to Pirate's Cove had parked for the night.
It was sufficiently clear during daybreak: right on the reef in the centre of the Cove.
07:30 in the morning. Here she sat, a pretty good sized wooden trawler, high and dry on the impressive exposed centre reef, and the tide still falling for another hour. A man in an inflatable kayak was tying a rope leading from the upper corner of the trawler's cockpit to a rock on the reef. As the boat was heeling between 30-40 degrees, a good idea to keep it from toppling over into the water.
Ever the dutiful host, I dressed and climbed into my dinghy to row over to the boat. Owner, now lazily paddling around the cove, told me he had 'just woken up and noticed the boat heeling'. Must have been a pretty good sleep, not to notice that boat was probably up there at an acute angle since a few hours...He said 'I came in with GPS guidance, and the charts did not show a reef here....'.
Hmm, funny charts....
A strong odor of diesel filled the air, and a thin layer of iridescent oil covered the waters of the Cove down-current from the stranded boat. A liquid thread of oil poured steadily from the lower side of the deck. Boat itself seemed to be undamaged. Tidal movement as they were, this slick would spread for a few hours, not a good thing in a small cove. The owner opined that he could not plug the leak, nor did he want to climb onto the leaning boat. Neither did I, nor get below the lower side to check the offending vent. Did not want to be pinned under a toppling trawler.
'I am required to report the spill' I advised. That was OK with him.
Back to my boat, and onto the Coast Guard. Reported the relevant information. The Coast Guard wanted to chat with the owner, who by now had gone ashore and disappeared somewhere.
I went - that is - rowed, in search of him.
Hailed him relaxing ashore from my dinghy, and both of us returned to my boat.
'How do I operate the microphone of the VHF', he asked (first clue). I showed him the basics. ' I have no radio license and don't know how to use a VHF'', he said to the Coast Guard.
He explained to the officials that 'a liter or so of diesel might have leaked from the fuel vent'.
'How much fuel do you carry, and how big is your tank', asked the Coast Guard man.
'I don't know, but I put 200 bucks into it', answered the owner. (second clue)
The Coast Guard man did the math and computed the boat's fuel load. A bit more officialese, and the chat was over.
I offered the owner a granola bar to tide (pardon the pun) him over the wait. Wait was all one could do for the boat to be back afloat maybe early afternoon. He commented on my 'small space' in my sailboat and then paddled off again.
A couple of other boaters came to the host dock, complaining about the fuel spill and the damage it would do to their dinghies and lines. Hey, what about that poor seal, who was just now drifting around in the spill?
'They should do something about this. They should put a containment boom around this. No swimming here today', and so on and so forth.
I rowed to shore again, to the 'office', meaning hiking to the south beach, where my Rogers cell phone would actually work, and phoned the spill emergency number - just to be sure 'they were doing something about it'.
They were already aware of the Bluebird (name of the boat) and had notified their units.
Back to rowing around and assuring people, that all had been done and authorities were informed.
Late morning one of the Island residents rowed out to the wreck, saw the thin diesel stream painting the Cove like a rainbow, and creating a smell of dirty garage, and said: 'I get back in a minute and plug it'. He came back with a rubber hammer and a plug, and a couple of bangs later - no more diesel spilling out. Meantime, owner of boat was still paddling around somewhere in the Cove.
Authorities finally turned up en masse around 11:00.
A Coast Guard frigate standing by out in Pylades Channel, a large red Coast Guard Inflatable inside the Cove. The resourceful resident, who had plugged the leak turns out to be a Coast Guard Captain himself, as well as being Captain on an arctic ice breaker...no wonder he knew exactly what to do. Inflatable crew used to be HIS crew.
Then Nanaimo Rescue boat arrived and hung around.
By noon, the spill had dissipated somewhat from heat and sun, that means, quite a bit had travelled into the farthest reaches of the Cove, where it had been pushed by the incoming tide. No one checked there.
The imposing armada left, after some consultation and inspection and helpful hints re 'getting off the reef later'.
By 14:00 boat was back on even keel, by 15:00 anchor was up. Boat motored out of the Cove.
By 16:00 PC Parks aluminum boat turned up with two rangers, all the way from Comox, to 'check up on the action'.
By 17:00 De Courcy Island Fire Chief turned up to do the same. Usually he comes by with Candycane, his big Newfoundland dog, to say hello. This time - no dog. When he had cast off to visit me, he didn't notice the dog's absence (forgotten ashore) until he was well on the water. How can one 'forget' anything as large as a NEWF in a small boat?
By 18:00 tide had turned to ebb again, and the fugitive slick was back travelling through the Cove.
Comment by one boater who visited the float today: 'They should have a warning if there are really low tides'. (third clue)
Ever heard of tide and current tables???
Well, the usual entertainment happens in the Cove apart from this particular grounding.
Another question of the day: 'Did they move the red spar buoy at the entrance, the one marking the reef to port. The entrance looked narrower today. So I came in on the wrong side of the buoy, the other side just didn't look right.'
Lucky man, high tide when he came in in a shallow draft power yacht. and no, the buoy had not been moved, neither had the rocky reef.
Something for the voyeurs. Twice this week, a trawler from Nanaimo anchored just across from the host dock, stern tying to a ring in a natural rocky cave. As soon as they were secured a couple of young pretties dinghied ashore, wine glasses in hand, and posed inside the cave, flashing bare naked boobs for a photo op for their male boat crew. Hilarious partying ensued, until they crawled into the cave for some serious graffiti art to commemorate their visit. Rowed over and suggested that 'BC Parks don't smile upon graffiti, but they could eternalize the occasion by putting a message in a pop bottle and depositing it into the kid's treasure chest ashore.'
They brushed the stuff off next day, when they were sober.
Same boat returned a couple of days later with the same guys, but different ladies. Another 'Bare Naked Ladies' show, and more hilarious extended partying - but no graffiti this time.
People ask me: 'What do you do all day, don't' you get bored?'
No no, much more riveting than reality shows on TV....



Pirate's Cove - another shift in Paradise



Back again in Pirate's Cove, tied to the volunteer host dock. Apart from one very rainy and stormy day (stormy outside the cove) all is sunshine, pleasant temperatures and calm winds. That is not to say, that the usual complement of hapless sailors does not put in an appearance.



As the tides are unusually high at present, all of the attempts of running over the reef blocking the entrance had no consequences, except that the clueless helmsmen did unfortunately NOT learn from their mistakes - yet. The daily entertainment was not short of captivating highlights, though, as getting into the cove is only part of the challenge, anchoring and stern tying is the other part.



One obviously rooky sailor anchored his boat in the cove entrance, then rowed his dinghy ashore with a rats-nest of line, tied it to a ring ashore, and rowed back direction stern of boat. Line too short, people on board helpless.By that time I had rowed over as well and pointed out that they effectively plugged the narrow entrance for any traffic, including the infrequent float plane. They hoisted their hook and motored 'further in', and went to the same process of shore tying again, rats nest still intact.



I offered to take care of the bundle of line and row it back to his boat, whilst the retrieved his wayward dinghy and got back on his boat. Meanwhile yours truly was fighting with the rat's nest, which I untangled foot by foot and rowed the resulting line towards the waiting boat, Of course, the 'string' was a few yard short of sufficient. The boat crew looked at a loss, I suggested they lengthen their anchor chain a bit and meet me for the rest of the distance. Done, but still a bit short. The 'ladies' aboard had settled down to take the sun, the captain observed alertly but inactive...what now brown cow? Another easing of lines, and a strong suggestion that they lean over the stern or get into the dinghy to get hold of their string which I was still straining to deliver to their boat. Oh, finally, the penny dropped. One barefooted cutie climbed into her dinghy and relieved my of the stern tie string. Every neighbouring boat was getting out their fenders to prepare for the actual tie up scene - I fled.



Next morning, with the wind at 24 knots outside the Cove, the very same boat decided to head out into the tempest. (Most everyone else had battened down the hatches and stayed in the calm cove to await fairer winds). Off they headed for the exit, where they threw their boat in full steam reverse. They kept it in reverse for about half a mile, until reaching my host dock.



'How do we get out, it's only seven feet deep?' they asked, their dollar store table cloth, doubling as an ensign, fluttering in the strong breeze. 'What do you draw', I asked.



'Six and a half feet', was the answer.



As tide was almost at highest flood level, that was as high as it was going to get....



I gave them the cruising guide step by step explanation, cautioned dead slow....and off they crept, in forward this time. Plenty of depth in the entrance, if one knows where to go....



Bit of a clash between three boats, two trawlers and a sailboat, each with it's own characteristic:



Trawler one, almost hysteric with fear of anchoring...wife looked terrified. Suggested they anchor in most unobstructed part of cove. Took some time, as husband rigged an anchor marker (looks like a crab trap, and acts like a propeller trap in crowded anchorages) and set the anchor with so much scope, that his swinging room took up half the anchorage.



Trawler two, handled by three guys, two of which on the higher side of eighty, the other 'the son' of one of them. They drove way into the Cove, dropped their anchor and let out a bit of chain, and then threw their vessel into energetic reverse. Their anchor must have plowed half a mile of underwater furrow into the mud below (maybe Arkansas Farmers in retirement???) without the anchor grabbing hold. Then they stopped the boat, got into the cockpit and got out the gin bottles.



Sailboat - last of the arriving trio - enters cove at a good clip, charges past the host float towards the shoals and rocks beyond at full speed. I shout to them just in time for them to reverse...and they decide to anchor between the two 'interesting' trawlers. Not an easy undertaking, which was accompanied by a lot of spousal yelling and gesturing, and a sailboat whipping around a well set anchor, when finally peace set in. At least for a while..



Then the three boat crews got into a turf war, in other words, who owns what piece of anchoring space. Nervous Nelly staked his claim, the inebriated trio added a few pieces of their mind, couple on sailboat got back into yelling mode (this time directed at the 'outsiders', but finally weighed anchor and stern tied beside the host float.



And so it goes....

Monday, August 29, 2011

29 August 2011 Sign of Life


And at dinner time - a lovely BBQ, when smokey aromas inundate the pure air in peaceful anchorages...
Frankly it looks and smells more like a backyard fire to get rid of garden waste.







Still afloat, still travelling....





No Internet access for the last couple of weeks, and my wondrous new I-Phone proves to be absolutely useless in the Gulf Islands. Actually it is worse than my old trusty cell-phone.



More 'No Service' notifications than ever, despite the latest technology.













Wednesday, August 17, 2011

Mid August in Conover Cove


My evening view from the cockpit of Millennium Dragon



Good Morning by Chuck and his bagpipes: Beethoven's Ninth 'Ode to Joy' on one of those at 9 a.m. is something to behold indeed.



Here is Chuck on his lovely trawler, giving a matinee.



Nordic Pug


LOA 22 inches


Beam 12 inches


Draft 4 feet


Displacement 20 lbs



Taking the sun on the dock in Conover Cove, Wallace Island



Skipper, MBYC's ranking dog. Owner: Commodore and his wife.



Millennium Dragon at the Host Dock in Conover Cove


Lazy hot summer days in the Gulf Islands - what could be more pleasant?

Saturday, August 13, 2011

13 Aug 2011 - Galiano Wine Festival

One of the 140 plus festivals happening during our BC summer. If one subscribes to folksy festivals, the Gulf Island are definitely the place to visit. The local Lion's Club, usually a venue for the Sunday Farmer's Market, opened its extensive grassy areas for a collection of tents. No vintners on Galiano, but plenty of tiny winerys on the surrounding Islands, as well as the usual collection of artisans, hobby farmers and local musicians.


For a price, one may access the 'booze' area to partake in tastings.



Welcome to the Wine Festival



A bit of Bluegrass and Blues


.


The Crafty exhibit..



Galiano Coffee



Future Garage Sale treasures...



Organic Cheese from 'Moonstruck' Jerseys



Painting, or better wood relief carving enhanced with acrylic paint



Birds-Eye view



Hollywood Galiano Style



Rush hour on Galiano



Whaler's Bay at low tide - Galiano Island


And somewhere, at a later (legal) hour, there will be wine for the tasting...


Monday, August 8, 2011

7 August 2011 - Tango at the Lake

A quick interlude ashore, just in time to join the 'gang' for a Sunday of tango dancing (yep - tango dancing) at the very western end of Cowichan Lake. It is so far west, that one almost finishes up at Vancouver Island's Pacific West Coast. Or at least at Nitinat, the infamous famous long skinny inlet, which is one of the most coveted locations for 'extreme windsurfing'. Nitinat seems to invite every gale on the west coast to roar through the narrow coastal entrance and then whip the inlet into a broiling hell of standing waves.


Well, Doug's Place, the tango venue of the day, just manages to avoid all that natural uproar, and offers nothing less than unspoiled remote mountain stillness, mirrored in the farthest corner of the crystal clear lake, in a park like setting - monument to the owner's admirable feat of sensitive landscaping on a grand scale, but without sacrificing the feel of untamed nature circling his unique Garden of Eden.


And best of all - no one but us tango chickens around!



Turn left at the end of the world....



down the meticulously groomed 'driveway'...



must be the right place....tango shoes in the wilderness....



to the elegantly sculpted fresh water fountain on the pebbly beach



past Kiki the deaf and blind (but blessed with an unequalled effective sniffer) guard dog



to the tango aficionados cooling off before the steamy Latin tango dancing...



Airing tango feet and everything else before putting on the dancing glad rags



nothing like the seedy, demi-monde, smokey dives in old La Boca, where Tango was born in Buenos Aires...


but definitely not a bad way to mature into 'grown up' Tango without limits in a wild, open but remote corner of Vancouver Island.



Here they are collected at the edge of Cowichan Lake in Doug's paradise, getting into 'the mood'



Aha, it must be time....the shoes come out of car trunks and onto eager feet.


A red plasticized sheet, fixed over a reasonably flat expanse of pebble beach, with only a scattering of divot holes and pebbly bumps to mar the shiny surface and challenge dancer's balance is ready for the onslaught.



Outdoors or Indoors - it's all about the embrace....



And the elegance



and the etiquette



and inimitable Latin style



and exquisite technique and musicality



and defying the ravages of 'old knees'



And enjoying every second between tandas (a set of four tangos until changing partners)



No one on the beach....everyone caressing the dance floor with their lake-side-fashion clad feet in tangos, valses and milongas



A little I-Phone (or something similarly technically advanced) provided nostalgic classic tango music, quietly enough to be inaudible near the water, but just right for the unusual open air dance floor.



One lone flower enjoying it's season in the summer sun on the broad pebble beach



Kiki 'perceiving' tango



Elk and Moose Burgers, compliments of Doug (he misses a few tango lessons during hunting season to stock up his larder with delicious game - no hormones, no preservatives, no feedlots for these quadrupeds, so he assures us) are browning to perfect done-ness on the beach side fire pit.



Cafe Ideal - eat your heart out! This is the Sunderland of the Great White North!



Cool evening over Lake Cowichan....beyond a diminishing camp fire.


Some dancers stayed at the Lake in tents, some brought their RV's and Campers, some just visited for the day - and a delightful day it was!


2x4 tango rhythm in a most unlikely but most pleasant venue....