Captain’s Coordinates: 49⁰ 10.25’ N by 123⁰ 55.82’ W to 49⁰
29.70’ N by 124⁰ 21.43’ W
When Nanaimo Port Authority put us on the pier, they gave us
a heads up that the VanIsle360 would be finishing up there on Friday (Day 19
for those keeping count and/or with a calendar…it’s still June, right?). They
knew it was coming. We knew it was coming. So why didn’t they put us on the end
of the pier in the first place instead of about a third of the way down? The
Captain would like to know. Especially since they asked him to move Raven
down—which he did by pulling her with the dock lines till she was a boat length
down—then asked if he could just “go ahead and move her down once more” after
she was all tied off. This is a 55,000 pound boat! It takes some doing! Editor’s Note: In case you’re wondering
where the First Mate and Deck Boss were when all this went down…they were at a
place that rhymes with “Charbucks” using the free WIFI. (Priorities and all.)
At any rate…back to the race. The VanIsle360 is a sailboat
race that circumnavigates Vancouver Island—it takes about two weeks—the final
leg being Victoria to Nanaimo. The boats had left Victoria around 8:00 am and
the organizers speculated that the first boats would cross the finish line
sometime around 6:00 pm. They warned us that it would be loud—as in, every time
a boat crossed the finish line, they would sound a horn (the horn was located
in a van at the end of the pier about 20 feet from our boat.) This would occur
about 40 times (40 boats/40 horns) with the final boats coming in around 4:00
am-ish. It would also be loud in that as the boats finished, they would raft up
all along the pier and the crews would then hang out, drink lots of beer, and
generally cause a “ruckus” (their words, not ours). Okay, fine. We can deal
with a little ruckus. Unfortunately, Mother Nature thought they should take
their ruckus elsewhere and did the only thing she could to spoil the party…kill
the wind. And no wind means a very, very, very slow race. It was pretty quiet
on that pier. Just us, some beer, some BB King, and a van with a horn and no
one to honk it. Yes, even the organizers had given up. Finally, at around 11:00
pm, a man with a walkie-talkie came scurrying down and we noticed lights coming
up fast through the harbor. It’s a boat! Crossing the finish line! No horn!
What? A few distant woo-hoo’s in the dark but all else silence. Still no horn.
The boat glides by us—the only accolades coming from myself, the Captain,
Otter, and BB King. They tie up behind us, fold up their sails, grab their gear
bags, and wearily head out. Wow, what a ruckus.
The next day however…it’s 6:30 in the morning and I am
awakened to frantic cries of “Come About! Come About! Come About!” I look out
the porthole just in time to see the stern of a sailboat swinging toward us;
its bow had already taken out one of the stanchions on the foredeck. I ran up
and found the Captain with his body wedged in between the two boats in an
attempt to minimize any further damage. Then I looked behind me—there were
close to 40 sailboats jammed behind us, rafted together four deep all down the
length of the pier. People scurrying about, equipment everywhere, multiple
flags fluttering on all the masts, people clambering from boat to boat. Wait,
what? Why are those guys clambering on MY boat? Guess the guys on the SS
Oops-My-Bad figured as long as they were so up close and personal with our
stanchion, they may as well tie up to our decks and haul their sails and gear
across us and over to the pier. I guess the Captain did give them permission to
do so, but you’d think they’d at least offer us some of the beer they were
drinking at 6:30 in the morning to
make up for the inconvenience of…oh, I don’t know…ramming our boat perhaps?
After that little bit of excitement, we left Nanaimo and
headed out into the Strait of Georgia. It’s roughly 100 miles long, 20 miles
wide, and a hotbed for high winds and heavy currents. One of our cruising guides
calls it a “complex geographical area”, which is a nice way of saying
“sh*tstorm”. Before we had left, the Captain checked three things: the tides,
the wind, and if the Canadian Navy was testing torpedoes that day (because what’s
a few waves when the real threat is getting blown up?) With a departure time
set according to the ebb and a green light on not dying by underwater missile,
it came down to wind. NOAA forecast that the winds would start out at 15-20
knots diminishing to 10-15 in the afternoon, i.e. about as good as you can get
for this stretch of water. And so we set out. And it was a bumpy ride. For one,
if by “diminishing” they meant “in the ballpark of” then they were way out of
the ballpark as the wind rarely dipped below 20 the whole day and gusts were
well over 24. And of course the wind was right on our nose so getting the sails
out would have necessitated constant jibing to get where we needed to be and we
needed to be there sometime this month. Secondly, the current was hitting us at
an angle so we weren’t fighting it, but it wasn’t helping us along either. So
high winds and erratic current leads to something known as “chop” and “chop”
gets a little sucky after a few hours of nothing but. Imagine chunky little waves
playing around in big rolling waves and it’s all going in different directions
but not really going anywhere at all. Then imagine trying to power through it.
Up and down and side to side and waves are breaking over the bow and the winds
are howling and sea spray is hitting your face and everything tastes like salt.
Imagine doing that for five hours. It was exhilarating, alarming, and tedious
all at the same time. Tonight we’re anchored in False Harbor to get some rest,
because tomorrow we get to do it again!
Pictured: Crew of the S/S Did-I-Do-That?
Pictured: Boats rafted up after VanIsle360
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