Cruising in BC
Volume II: French Creek to Rebecca Spit
Rikki-tikki-tavi was away from French Creek Harbor at 0930, motoring under fantastic cumulus clouds and sun, his stern lifted by long south swells, remnants of the strong winds of the previous day. The day would be a long one, a distance of over fifty-six nautical miles– a little over eight hours. We were exited to hear Valhalla and Juniata talking on the VHF when we were still south of Hornby Island– they were at Rebecca Spit, a Provincial Marine Park on Quadra Island, east of Campbell River. They didn't expect us for two more days! Our arrival would be a surprise.
The weather forecast said the low front that brought all the wind was on its way south of Nanaimo. We were headed north, most of the weather heads south, so we thought any of the nasty stuff had already passed. We enjoyed watching the fantastic cloud formations as they passed southward. Then we noticed it was raining over in Baynes Sound. We felt smug that we had chosen to pass Hornby on the Strait side instead of up that channel! Shortly after we'd passed Hornby, the skies closer to us began to grow dark and ugly. A glance behind shocked us– an ominous ragged edge of stormclouds was moving very fast toward Rikki-tikki.
Doesn't that look like the beginnings of a funnel cloud? We weren't anxious to experience a waterspout, but we were helpless in the path of the thunderstorm. Heavy rain was obscuring the coast of Vancouver Island and the sea was getting bumpy. We had been running with the jib out, motorsailing with a breeze from our stern starboard quarter. But this thing looked so frightening, we quickly rolled in the sail. We also unplugged our GPS and our computer just in case of lightning, and put on our rain gear. The wind picked up very fast and within five minutes, the storm was upon us.
A heavy pelting rain enclosed Rikki-tikki-tavi and the surface wind veered rapidly from southeast to northwest, though the storm above was moving in the opposite direction. The drenched flag was whipped around the backstay bridle and water gushed down the mast into the cockpit. We stood huddled beneath the dodger as lightning flashed and thunder sounded simultaneously– that sure made me jump! Clark reached backwards briefly to touch the metal wheel to steer only as necessary.
Earlier, we'd encountered two large tugs, each pulling a huge barge, one with a crane atop. They were crossing Georgia Strait at an angle, headed for Discovery Passage– on a collision course with us, not a very big gap between. Tugs pulling barges always have the right-of-way and we needed to adjust our course or speed to avoid them. First I tried sailing toward them which increased our speed to over eight knots with the jib out. On this course we would've had to run the gauntlet between them and that was too scary. So we chose to slow down just enough that they would pass in front of us. Problem solved. When the storm overtook us, we were following them. We soon lost sight of them in the downpour.
It was a fast-moving storm, and we were grateful for it to be over. The sun broke through and Rikki-tikki-tavi began to dry out as we turned our attention back to our goal of surprising Juniata and Valhalla. We neared our quarry parked at Rebecca Spit, which is a long, narrow arm of peninsula opening to the north with an anchorage area protected from the Strait. A small gap in the trees gave Clark a chance to spot, with our binoculars, Valhalla's roller-furling jib with its "band-aid", a patch sewn to protect the suncover. We knew what we were looking for– they were there, unsuspecting.
Just then channel 16 on the VHF radio crackled with a familiar and obviously gleeful voice, "RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI., RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI. This is Juniata." What?! How could they have seen us! We looked at each other and said, "I guess we'd better answer. We've been found out!" Once we acknowledged the call and switched to a "working channel", Dave told us he'd been sitting in the cockpit sipping a glass of wine when he just happened to look up as we passed that gap in the trees and saw a distinctive masthead. He grabbed his binocs to get a better look and, sure enough, recognized the top of Rikki-tikki-tavi's mast. He said, "It looked like something I did!" I chuckled because he did spend a lot of time helping us rig the mast, and said, "Well, we were trying to play stealth trimaran, but I guess that didn't work! Who would've thought that you would look up to gaze through the gap in the trees at at the very few seconds we passed?"
Everyone was so excited as we rounded the end of the Spit into view. They sounded an airhorn and we answered with ours. We quickly chose a spot nearby to set Rikki-tikki-tavi's anchor, throw together some food to take over for our contribution to the dinner held for our last-minute arrival, launched Darzee, and rowed over to Juniata. We made short work of Marcia's porkchops, Gerta's wine, and our greenbean sauté– after all the joyful greetings and hugs, of course. Bev and Johnie joined us and we drank even more wine, talking and laughing until ten. It was a wonderful evening, better than we had hoped. After so many years of waiting for us to arrive in British Columbia, I think Dave's elation when he spied Rikki-tikki through the trees made his day! His voice over the VHF calling "RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI." sure made ours.
The weather forecast said the low front that brought all the wind was on its way south of Nanaimo. We were headed north, most of the weather heads south, so we thought any of the nasty stuff had already passed. We enjoyed watching the fantastic cloud formations as they passed southward. Then we noticed it was raining over in Baynes Sound. We felt smug that we had chosen to pass Hornby on the Strait side instead of up that channel! Shortly after we'd passed Hornby, the skies closer to us began to grow dark and ugly. A glance behind shocked us– an ominous ragged edge of stormclouds was moving very fast toward Rikki-tikki.
Doesn't that look like the beginnings of a funnel cloud? We weren't anxious to experience a waterspout, but we were helpless in the path of the thunderstorm. Heavy rain was obscuring the coast of Vancouver Island and the sea was getting bumpy. We had been running with the jib out, motorsailing with a breeze from our stern starboard quarter. But this thing looked so frightening, we quickly rolled in the sail. We also unplugged our GPS and our computer just in case of lightning, and put on our rain gear. The wind picked up very fast and within five minutes, the storm was upon us.
A heavy pelting rain enclosed Rikki-tikki-tavi and the surface wind veered rapidly from southeast to northwest, though the storm above was moving in the opposite direction. The drenched flag was whipped around the backstay bridle and water gushed down the mast into the cockpit. We stood huddled beneath the dodger as lightning flashed and thunder sounded simultaneously– that sure made me jump! Clark reached backwards briefly to touch the metal wheel to steer only as necessary.
Earlier, we'd encountered two large tugs, each pulling a huge barge, one with a crane atop. They were crossing Georgia Strait at an angle, headed for Discovery Passage– on a collision course with us, not a very big gap between. Tugs pulling barges always have the right-of-way and we needed to adjust our course or speed to avoid them. First I tried sailing toward them which increased our speed to over eight knots with the jib out. On this course we would've had to run the gauntlet between them and that was too scary. So we chose to slow down just enough that they would pass in front of us. Problem solved. When the storm overtook us, we were following them. We soon lost sight of them in the downpour.
It was a fast-moving storm, and we were grateful for it to be over. The sun broke through and Rikki-tikki-tavi began to dry out as we turned our attention back to our goal of surprising Juniata and Valhalla. We neared our quarry parked at Rebecca Spit, which is a long, narrow arm of peninsula opening to the north with an anchorage area protected from the Strait. A small gap in the trees gave Clark a chance to spot, with our binoculars, Valhalla's roller-furling jib with its "band-aid", a patch sewn to protect the suncover. We knew what we were looking for– they were there, unsuspecting.
Just then channel 16 on the VHF radio crackled with a familiar and obviously gleeful voice, "RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI., RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI. This is Juniata." What?! How could they have seen us! We looked at each other and said, "I guess we'd better answer. We've been found out!" Once we acknowledged the call and switched to a "working channel", Dave told us he'd been sitting in the cockpit sipping a glass of wine when he just happened to look up as we passed that gap in the trees and saw a distinctive masthead. He grabbed his binocs to get a better look and, sure enough, recognized the top of Rikki-tikki-tavi's mast. He said, "It looked like something I did!" I chuckled because he did spend a lot of time helping us rig the mast, and said, "Well, we were trying to play stealth trimaran, but I guess that didn't work! Who would've thought that you would look up to gaze through the gap in the trees at at the very few seconds we passed?"
Everyone was so excited as we rounded the end of the Spit into view. They sounded an airhorn and we answered with ours. We quickly chose a spot nearby to set Rikki-tikki-tavi's anchor, throw together some food to take over for our contribution to the dinner held for our last-minute arrival, launched Darzee, and rowed over to Juniata. We made short work of Marcia's porkchops, Gerta's wine, and our greenbean sauté– after all the joyful greetings and hugs, of course. Bev and Johnie joined us and we drank even more wine, talking and laughing until ten. It was a wonderful evening, better than we had hoped. After so many years of waiting for us to arrive in British Columbia, I think Dave's elation when he spied Rikki-tikki through the trees made his day! His voice over the VHF calling "RIKKI. TIKKI. TAVI." sure made ours.
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