The Gorge

Volume X: The Gorge "The Gorge", a half-mile long, 200-foot wide passage with nearly vertical walls, frames the nearly centered entrance to a land-locked harbor, not surprisingly named Gorge Harbour. It is an impressive, protecting door, with up to a four knot current when the tide is running. As we slid by the high west wall, we failed to spot the remnants of Indian rock paintings that decorate it. On the east, the boulders are said to have formed burial caverns. SE gales were forecast, so we turned left once inside the harbor to find a spot for a snug stern-tie along the south shore. Gorge Harbour Resort was just across from where we anchored, looking very unprotected along the north shore, though there were only three boats in the slips. Music was blaring across the water as we rowed over. It wasn't from the restaurant, but from a stereo system in a house right next door, all doors and windows open. Several young people were lounging in chairs on the deck. It looked like a frat house party. We bought some wine at the tiny resort store. A passerby told us that the restaurant served excellent food. The creative selections on the menu sounded delicious, but the high prices (and the loud music) sent us paddling back to Rikki-tikki. We wondered how the restaurant proprietors felt about their neighbors. The breeze started to pick up and a small sailboat with no engine came in, also seeking shelter. The skipper, alone, worked like the devil attempting to reach the marina docks. He tacked and jibed, back and forth, again and again, but he was unable to get close enough to safely tie up and there was nobody to help. Just before it got too dark to see, he fell off downwind past the marina where he threw out an anchor. The wind died away and we slept well tucked into our little niche of rocky shore. As the sky lightened next morning, I awoke and peeked out the portlight on my side of the bed. The sky was lit up all pink and violet, with golden highlights, colors displayed on a plethora of wind-driven clouds, clouds piling up, lines of stratus clouds. I leaped out of bed and pulled on my fleece, grabbed my Lumix FZ20 and was out on the deck snapping photos lickety-split. As a rule, I don't open my eyes at dawn or leap out of bed for anything, even Clark's coffee, so this sky had to be something special. When I got out on deck, it looked like this... The sky put on a marvelous show as our side of Earth turned slowly toward the sun's brilliance. I took many photos, but these capture two of the infinite faces one sunrise can show. It was A Most Spectacular Sunrise! But, the entire time we were ooohing and aaahing at the sun's glorious introduction to our day, the sailor's ditty, "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning," was ringing in our ears. It didn't take long for the front of clouds to completely obscure the sun once again. Before we finished breakfast, the wind started up again, this time like it wasn't going to let up for quite a while. Whooshing toward Rikki-tikki from the NE, instead of SE, it raised a significantly uncomfortable chop on its way across the harbor. Rikki was being pushed sideways by the gusts, splashing up and down on the building waves. We knew it would only get worse, so we decided to move. We started the engine, double-tied Darzee, who was between the hulls, then Clark released the sternline and rolled it in as fast as he could. His stern now free, and Clark still rolling in line, Rikki swung toward the rocky shore. I used the engine to hold position, trying not to drive over the anchor. With the sternline finally secured, Clark went forward to raise the Delta. We got away clean and headed into the wind, making a beeline for the east side of the bay. We passed by The Gorge to look for an area where the wind wasn't stirring up the water. Inside a rocky peninsula, we spotted a quiet little bight and went in for a look. The water was forty-two feet deep with lots of room to let out enough scope and let Rikki swing unfettered. We crossed our fingers that this would prove to be a great spot. It did– as the winds gusted above, they barely ruffled Rikki-tikki's fur. It rained and blew, but we felt safe. Between rain showers, we rowed Darzee into the lagoon behind us to see what we could see. It was an oyster lease area and there were grids of wire nets stapled to the gravel bottom. A small stream flowed into the saltwater, creating perfect conditions for the bivalves, though there weren't many. Perhaps they'd been harvested. Out in the bay, we saw quite a few aquaculture floats, which were attended by yellow rain-slickered men in aluminum runabouts. One fellow must've been the harbor go-between (or busy-body) because he roared back and forth constantly, at top speed, from one end of the harbor to the other, all day long. After weeks of quiet anchorages, the noise was unsettling. Even from our new spot far away from the Resort, we could hear the on-going party music echoing across the water. A small, unfinished cabin enjoyed a great location on the promontory. I spotted three mergansers that looked different from the common ones we saw at nearly every anchorage. They were hooded mergansers! An eagle perched on a tree above and a beautiful loon entertained us as he dived for fish beside the boat. Our little inlet was lovely, its edges framed by handsomely arranged boulders, some of which were black obsidian. The mist-shrouded conifers and arbutus created a curtain– we could almost ignore the cacophony outside. Finally, the storm moved on, leaving only stillness, so we weighed anchor. The Gorge, mirrored perfectly in the gray morning light, framed our course down Malaspina Strait toward Texada Island. With only a day or two before the next front, this time with forecast NE winds, we thought Sturt Bay might be a good place to hide. Smooth seas, Clark & Nina