Greetings from British Columbia!

It is hard to believe that two weeks has already slipped by since we rested atop a trailer in Hammond, Oregon, ready to be returned to the water after our repair odyssey of twenty-three days. That time seems distant, etched among our fondest memories. Our relaunch was attended by many of the new acquaintances we made, those folks who literally helped Rikki-tikki get back on his claws again, and those who shared their cars, homes, and friendship with us. We hope to return one day, for it is people like those in Ilwaco, Hammond, Warrenton, and Astoria who make our journey worthwhile. The day following our immersion, we were treated to a visit to Mount St. Helens by car. What a grand and awesome sight! It was a beautiful, clear day for viewing the smoking volcano from Johnston Ridge Center. Thank you Karen, Roy, and Gerty for your generosity and company. We were hoping the Columbia's incessant winds would die down for our departure out the mouth of The Great River. They did, replaced with a thick fog. The water was flat with negligible swell as we followed a fishing vessel over the bar, losing sight off him in the mist. A large freighter was stopped in the eastbound lane blasting one long and two shorts on his horn, meaning, "Restricted in ability to maneuver." We were very glad for our radar. It took us eight and a half hours to reach Westport Marina in Grays Harbor, WA. The wind was very light, the water smooth, so we were able to spot three mola-mola, or sunfish, as Rikki made tracks under power. Molas are so funny– flapping their pointed fins just at the surface with apparent lack of direction. We passed a sailboat slowly sailing along and read the name– "Imagination". We thought, someone has told us about that boat... We passed it again (how'd he do that?) as we entered Grays Harbor. I thought that it must've been Dave on "Juniata" who told us about "Imagination", as the boat looked like a Crealock 37. There would be an older sailor aboard singlehanding, I bet Clark. It was crowded in Westport; the transient dock appeared full. We circled while the Harbormaster searched for a spot to put us. Several people on the dock yelled over that we could pull inside between a red sailboat and a big charter fishing boat. Looked pretty tight, but with people to help, we headed over. Clark put Rikki-tikki right up to the dock & I tossed our docklines over to the growing crowd. As we were secured, one fellow yelled, "I saw your boat on the internet!" Our reputation (?) precedes us. John had been told we were on our way into the harbor by his friend, Jenny, who is captain of the MV "El Matador", a ferryboat, passing us on its way out. He threw on some shoes and hot-footed it to the marina just in time to catch Rikki's dockline. They are rebuilding another trimaran, a Searunner 37. "Imagination" was coming in too, conversing over the VHF. The harbormaster put him several docks over and I ran over to help him tie up. He looked very tired and declined our offer for dinner on RTT, opting for a long nap after two days at sea. I told him we'd watch for him in BC, wishing him a safe journey. I spotted some interesting photo subjects lit by the late afternoon sun and went back for my camera while Clark put supper together. Fog again– very, very thick fog. Fishing boats blasted by unseen until they were upon us as we tried to follow our track back out of the harbor early next morning. We could hear the bell buoys but could not see them. The small boats fanned out toward their fishing spots and the fog lifted slowly as Rikki-tikki-tavi gllded northward. The snowy peaks of the Olympic Mountains were revealed slowly and I napped in the sun. A long gray bank of cloud slowly descended to hide the mountains again. A humpback whale sounded very close to Rikki-tikki. Ten-and-a-half hours later we tied up at La Push, a Makah Native American settlement, on the Quillayute River. This river entrance has to be one of the most spectacular on the West Coast, if not the world. Several people told us it was too tight for us. Yes, it was a squeeker, but, wow, it was so exciting and beautiful. A large rocklike island (think Morro Rock) guards the river's mouth, while a rock jetty is close to starboard. The approach is to pass the island on your port (left) side, head straight for the beach over the building swells, then make a hard left turn when even with the river's mouth. Then ride the waves between the rock and the hard place into the shallow water, and immediately make a hard right turn upriver, all the while watching the depth like a hawk. Once in the tiny marina, it doesn't get any more roomy. We spotted a place inside a double-wide slip that housed only a small runabout– room enough. We backed in, got tied up and were summarily advised that the owner was on his way in after three days out fishing. We'd have to move, but where? The only spot we could see was between the dock and the parking lot berm. Once we got in there, a fellow on shore said we'd be sitting high when the tide receded. We figured that, actually, only Rikki's starboard ama would be gently residing on the mud, but we moved again. This time, we took a spot without cleats in front of a fishing boat just returned from fishing. We were advised he would NOT be going out in the morning. Creative line securement was in order. We ran ropes across the dock to the pile rings. You know, those big, fat half-circles that let the dock ride the pile up and down with the tide. I put on some orange noodle pieces so people wouldn't trip. A fellow came over with metal strapping and we nailed the docklines down. No electricity, $24 for the night!– most expensive moorage yet, but no place to on the river anchor that we knew of. We left at low tide the following morning, a USCG 47 MLB tailing us out with a helicopter to follow overhead. We turned north toward Cape Flattery– our long-awaited goal! At about two in the afternoon, Rikki-tikki's track turned east down the Strait of Juan de Fuca. It was sunny, though bumpy, no breeze, as we lifted our wine glasses to the moment. Our attempts to snap a photo with the sentinel island of Tatoosh in the background were made difficult by the choppy seas and tidal currents. We'd made it! Neah Bay, also part of the Makah lands, beckoned. This harbor is a well-used stop for both northbound and southbound boats rounding Cape Flattery. The wind picked up briskly as we entered and made our way to the fuel dock. Some succulent smoked white king salmon was high on our list to obtain while here. Leon, at the fuel dock, gave us directions to the smoker's home, then we went out to anchor in the bay. The fates wanted to give us some anchoring practice in the wind, so they threw our depthsounder into a tizzy and made it read less than five feet each time we dropped the Northill and got it set. We kept heading farther away from shore, out farther into the wind, which would make rowing in difficult. We finally decided, upon dropping for the third time, that the sounder was wrong, but that we'd have to forego the smoked salmon procurement because of the wind. Perhaps on our way South in a few years? The next morning brought more heavy fog for our trip eastward along the south shore of Juan de Fuca. Radar to the rescue, we crossed our fingers and motored along, keeping a sharp lookout for crabpots, logs, and kelp, not to mention other boats! Picture this– you can't see more than fifty feet in front of you but you are roasting in the sun from overhead. That's what it was like as we neared Port Angles about seven hours along. I was so relieved when it cleared up to see the harbor as there are ferries that come and go, plus freighters to avoid. We anchored (again twice because of a healthy crop of sea lettuce on the bottom) off Hollywood Beach, which was lined with Makah dugout canoes, assembled there for the "Journey to Elwah". Our phone began working again so we were able to tell family and friends we'd arrived. Next day, we walked our feet off looking for a place to send email without any luck. Port Angeles has much to offer and we amused ourselves for hours. I found a terrific handmade wool hat and a roomy carryall bag. We watched Makah singing and dancing, photographed canoes. There was a lovely little classic open boat at the public wharf. It was powered by an antique one-lung Everhope engine (my Uncle Bob would've loved it!). I took a photo of it while we watched the dancing. Later, as we prepared dinner, we heard the pop-pop-pop of the Everhope heading out toward Rikki. Its operator wanted to know the depth and what the holding was. I asked him where he planned to sleep. The answer was, "Aboard in my sleeping bag." We immediately offered a berth and dinner aboard RTT and he tied little Small Fry behind Darzee and passed up his kit for the night. What stories Ira told! We laughed and laughed. A treasured evening to remember. The big day had arrived for our crossing into Canada. Winds had been forecast to be gale force on The Strait for the days preceding and for this day. We were sure they were wrong– it was flat calm, no wind, nothing. We spent a leisurely morning with Ira, saw him off on Small Fry, then weighed anchor at 11:30 AM. The currents were with us and we made it to Tsehum (see-um) Harbor by 4:30 PM. I rowed in and called Canada Customs. We were instructed to bring Rikki-tikki to the Customs dock and await the inspectors. Three hours later after many questions, we were granted "status". Our lovely friends, Kent & Tracey, gifted us a special bottle of wine at our bon voyage party. We stowed it carefully, intending a celebratory end to our journey,. On August 4th, we opened that bottle of Sofia and toasted Rikki-tikki-tavi''s Big Adventure, both the one just ended and the one just beginning! Fair winds to you all, Clark & Nina