An Artist Afloat
Sailing and sketching
Spacious and inspirational, Blunden Harbour was a great anchorage. Most people stay there whilst waiting for a weather window to venture further up the BC coast, but we chose it as a destination in its own right. It was a secure anchorage with plenty of potential for art and exploration, including waterfalls, creeks and the remains of a First Nations village. As usual, my watercolour sketchbook was my companion on our dinghy adventures.
After our week of solitude it was a little strange to have to share our anchorage, but Blunden Harbour was still peaceful, with plenty of room. Even if they were only staying for the night, most people ventured ashore to wander along the midden beach. The village was inhabited until relatively recently, so some wooden house posts still remain. Huge logs protruding over the beach would once have supported a boardwalk, and bits of oxidised metal and colourful shards of glass and pottery are scattered amongst the shells on the beach. Middens are regarded as archaeological sites so digging amongst the shells is forbidden, but I find it fascinating to wander along and see what has risen to the top. I think I've written before about the way the colourful pottery fragments and bits of irridescent glass create a feeling of connection to the past, and Blunden Harbour was no exception.
The fog continued to come and go, not always behaving as forecast. Some days there would be glorious blue skies and sunshine above us, whilst the world outside the harbour remained cloaked in grey. We used the sunnny spells for our dinghy expeditions, venturing as far as we dared into the rapids at the entrance to the lagoon and paddling up river mouths which lead into the forest. Of course, my sketchbook was never far away and we'd often turn off the engine and drift as I drew. By the time I finished painting a sketch we'd inevitably be a fair distance from where I started, but I could still get the colours of the trees and water. Occasionally I used sea water to paint with, adding a little bit of the locale to the art.
Eventually we managed to drag ourselves away with promises of more beautiful anchorages and places to paint. It was a typical bipolar day- clear in the harbour, thick fog outside. I was helming us towards the entrance when Jim commented on an uncharted rock up ahead. I looked- and a plume of steam spouted up from the rock. It wasn't a strange geological phenomenon, but a humpback whale. I slowed down and we watched until she dived, then headed out into the Straights and turned South.
One of the joys of sailing is finding a spot so magical that you just want to stay as long as possible. God's Pocket Marine Park was one of those places. It contained beautiful anchorages, plenty of islets and bays to explore with the dinghy, the perfect place for a beach fire, white shell beaches and a population of wolves, sea lions, eagles, whales and resident sea otters. There was plenty for me to sketch and paint, and we'd still be there now if we hadn't run out of veggies!
Our first anchorage was in front of the Gods Pocket Resort. It was a decent spot in a South Easterly wind, though we knew we'd need to move when the wind swung round to the North West as the entrance would be totally exposed. Sailing up to the resort, we'd seen humpbacks and sea otters, and we shared the anchorage with a heron and a community of very vocal ravens. We sat in the cockpit until the rain began to fall and we retreated inside, leaving the wildlife in peace. However, not all of the wildlife was peaceful. In the night I was awoken by the howling of wolves, a primal sound which made me glad I was safe and secure on the boat.
The following day we ventured ashore. The weather was still drizzly and we were hoping we'd be allowed to pop into the resort restaurant for coffee and a biscuit. Kelly the chef invited us to join them for lunch, with toasted sandwiches and delicious soup- just what the rainy day called for. By the time we'd finished, the rain had slackened off and was good enough for me to try the walk up the hill behind the resort. I hoped that the wolves were napping elsewhere as I scrambled up the trail, rewarded by beautiful views of the clouds swirling over the neighbouring islands. It didn't take too long before the clouds swirled my way, and I descended again, muddy, damp and only munched by mozzies.
The wind was due to change, so we shifted our anchorage around the island. Our new spot, Harlequin Cove, was sheltered between two islands, with plenty of bays and islets to explore. For five nights we had the anchorage all to ourselves, with occassional fishing boats and passing the cruise ships the only sign that there was still a world outside.
Although we found the cove to be perfectly calm and settled, the huge quantities of driftwood tossed up on the beaches gave a hint of the ferocity of winter storms. One evening we took the dinghy onto a pebble beach and built a fire to cook sausages and sweet potatoes. We watched the sun set and kept warm in the glow of the embers as the sky turned peach and dusky violet.
One of the beaches was pure white, formed of bleached shells. This was a midden site, a sign that there was once a thriving First Nations community here. The totems and long houses are long gone, and these days the only permanent resident seems to be a sea otter.
Our sea otter friend was an endless source of fascination. He spent most of his time in the bay, sleeping amongst the fronds of kelp, hunting for clams and shellfish and frolicking around the anchorage to keep warm in the chilly waters. His mealtimes seemed to coincide with ours, and we often ate dinner with the percussion sounds of clams being hammered open in the background. The otter's feeding technique is to dive for molluscs or crustaceans then bring them to the surface. Crabs get wrenched apart, but shellfish present a tougher challenge and need to be smashed open. The otter places a stone on his stomach and strikes the shell until it shatters and he can get into the delicacy inside. I don't know if the otter collects a new stone each time or if he has a firm favourite that he carries around- if so, he seems like an animal in need of pockets.
After dinner was grooming time, followed by sleep, wrapped up in fronds of kelp to anchor and camoflage him. Two other otters often visited the bay during the day, but only one seemed to spend the night.
The many passes and bays invited dinghy adventures. We poked around stony beaches surrounded by cuboid rock formations and fringed with towering cedars, dripping with mosssy fronds. Crows wheeled above us and we often saw eagles, rhinoceros auks with their curious horns and enormous turkey vultures.
After a day in Port McNeill to do laundry and reprovision, we welcomed Jim's brother Bill and his girlfriend Kati onto Island Prism. They brought two extra guests with them- sea kayaks! Island Prism was going to be the mother ship on a week long sailing and paddling adventure.
August is known as the foggy month in these parts but nobody had told the fog, which was quite happy to turn up in July. It greeted us in pea-soupy fashion most mornings, before clearing away to become sunshine or drizzle. The bonus was we didn't have to feel guilty if we had a lie-in, though it did play havok with my habit of getting up early to paint!
It's been a while since I've sea kayaked. Getting into the kayaks from Prism was a bit of a learning curve, but with Kati's guidance I soon got more confident at using the paddle to stabilise the craft as I slid in from the dinghy. An unexpected swim in these parts would be chilly! The kayaks were a wonderful way to explore Village Island and its surrounding islets. The quiet paddles don't disturb wildlife, so we were able to get relatively close to harlequin ducks and wading birds, whilst seals popped up nearby undisturbed by our presence.
From Village Island we cruised to Lagoon Cove. A family friend of Kati's once owned the marina here, so we visited ashore for an afternoon, and ventured through the narrow pass of the Blowhole to see the nearby Minstrel's Cove. The marina here had seen better days and the buildings were quietly collapsing, but Kati made it round to the beautifully-kept houses on the shore and managed to get some stories of days gone by. Moored up in front of us was a fish boat, currently being hired by the government to research populations of marbled murrelets. These unpreposessing little birds are suffering a population decline. They nest in old growth forests and only lay one egg a year. Clear cutting, pollution and fishing net entanglement are taking their toll on numbers, prompting a survey of their current distribution. As fish populations are also facing collapse with many fisheries currently closed, using fish boats for research gives the fishermen an alternative source of employment.
We gave up fishing on Prism about five years ago, when we saw the intensive fishing industry in South East Asia. I rarely eat fish apart from as an occasional treat, and I feel a bit hippocritical when I do tuck in to a bit of halibut or smoked salmon. We made an exception for Kati's prawn trap as we were told that the prawn population in the area was healthy, and as novices we figured we wouldn't have an effect on the general populace. At Lagoon Cove we were given some tips on prawn fishing. We set the trap on a muddy bottom and left it overnight before our curiosity got the better of us. Our first haul gave us five prawns, our second four. By the end of our second day we had a collection of sixteen, who were a delicious appetiser when fried in butter.
Chatham Channel provided us with another wonderful adventure. Little islets scattered along the way harboured the kinds of old growth trees that we thought murrelets might love, and there were plenty of the little birds around. We anchored for lunch and dispatched Jim and Kati on the kayaks, whilst Bill and I birdwatched and made chocolate drop scones for Kati's birthday. When it was time to leave we found that the anchor chain had been attacked by a seaweed monster, so we all worked to dislodge the kelpy flotilla before it could cause more chaos. Kati and Jim then entered the main channel in the kayaks whilst Bill and I followed behind, carried along on the swiftly flowing current. Bill helmed us most of the way home where we cracked open a bottle of birthday prosecco.
Returning to Potts Lagoon, we set the prawn trap before finding a decent spot to anchor. Kati and I decided to explore the inner lagoon by kayak. Timing meant we had to do this at low tide, when the outflowing water from the lagoon flows over a set of boulders to create a small series of rapids. I didn't think it was passable until Kati proved me wrong, so I followed her up. Making the climb involved paddling hard, chosing a route that was relatively straight and not letting rocks or boulders snatch my paddle. Once over the rapids, the going was much easier. The current slackened and we watched kingfishers and numerous small fish, until the water became too shallow and we had to head back. Sliding back down the rapids was a lot of fun, as an incredulous and slightly nervous Jimmie watched us from the bottom.
We attempted a second kayak before we left the anchorage. We were the only craft on the little inlet we chose to explore, and we soaked up the tranquility as we chatted to ravens, watched huge schools of small fish and bright red crabs in the waters beneath us and kept our eyes open for the multitudes of darting kingfishers and occasional seal. We returned to Prism to find we had a visitor. Bill and Jim had met Terry from Australia on his boat Lonely Bird, and he'd stopped over for coffee. Our prawn trap was woefully empty, but he gifted us a bucketful, which became a delicious lunch and dinner!
On our way back to Port McNeill we stopped in the Plumper Group. This gorgeous set of islands are a marine park, and a wonderful place to kayak. The currents gave us a good work out but Kati and I saw plenty of seals, a buck on a small islet, eagles, noisy stellar sea lions, purple starfish and colourful orange anemones and sea cucmbers. We poked around between the islands before finally returning to Prism just before the heavens opened. Kati was a trooper and helmed Prism to Port McNeill, ready for their departure the next day.
Downtown Vancouver is always a fun place to anchor. False Creek lies at the heart of the city, and offers free anchorages alongside the main channel, as well as a number of full service marinas. Our preferred spot is anchored out by Stamps Landing, which is within easy walking distance to Granville Island as well as numerous shops. Downtown is just a bridge, a bike ride or a water taxi away.
We spent a few days getting things done. I had a commission to work on, internet updates to prepare and art supplies to organise before we went sailing for the summer. The Granville Island Market gave me a chance to stock up on ingredients I probably wouldn't see in the north of Vancouver Island. We met up with friends for drinks and dinner and also received some unexpected visitors.
I was down below painting whilst Jim was relaxing on deck, trying to get the get-up-and-go to get something done after lunch. My artistic flow was interrupted when he began to shout excitedly. I put down my brush and rushed up to see what he was fussing about. There they were; four orcas swimming sedately down False Creek, with a police boat keeping its distance behind them and plenty of awed onlookers. Jim thinks the cops were there to make sure the whales didn't start snacking on the local seal population and kick off a mid-afternoon massacre. I think they were probably more interested in the welfare of the whales, but I can be boringly sensible like that.
After visiting Science World at the end of the inlet and finding that the seals had scarpered, the orca returned the way they came. I took pictures as they passed Prism, surfacing in unison, then swam past artsy Granville Island. The little water taxis received a bonus whale watching experience, and I was delighted with the interruption. It took a few hours until Stamps Landing's resident seal felt comfortable popping back, however.
We left Prism at anchor for a few days to go and visit Harrison and Mission. Jimmie is now a grandpa, so we were off to see little Mackenzie and her proud parents Peter and Keelie. Cuddles were had, a barbecue was cooked and we managed to add in time for a soak in the Harrison Hot Springs and a search for sasquatch at the Sasquatch Days Festival. The beach by Harrison Lake was lined with canoes, and we sat on the wall and watched the racing.
Returning to Vancouver, we were ready to raise the anchor, catching a weather window to head north to Parksville. A break from art was necessary as we helped get Jim's Mom's house ready for sale, then we continued up the coast to Quathiaski Cove on Quadra to catch up with Jim's friend Craig and his wife Jenna. The sunsets here were glorious, and as the sun sunk in the sky I sketched and watched otters frolicking on the dock. This was very cute until they started peeing on our mooring lines; it turns out that otters are quite stinky. Apparently they also snuck on board to explore when we went to bed, though thankfully the only calling cards they left were muddy paw prints on the bottom of our upturned dinghy on the foredeck.
As we left Quadra, we saw our first humpback of the season. It was also heading north for a little while, though it vanished when we neared Seymour Narrows. I don't think I'll ever get bored with watching their blows, looking out for their tail as they dive and trying to predict where they will come up next.
Our day had been careful timed to get through the Narrows. They're best passed at slack tide, when the water is benign, though being carried through with the tide can be an exciting adrenaline rush! Getting through against the current is a risky business even with a powerboat, and would be impossible for Prism!
We made our way through without drama or incident, and anchored for the night at Billy Goat Bay. The lush kelp blocked the first entrance, but the second was passable. We found good holding with a decent amount of swinging room, and settled in to watch a pair of bald eagles adding sticks to their nest. We couldn't see any chicks, but construction and maintenance were definitely keeping the duo busy.
Our final leg took us up to Port McNeill. The currents in the Johnstone Straight made this last day a bit of a slog at times, but the moody clouds and ever-changing weather over the mountainsides meant there was always something beautiful to look at. We dropped anchor and had a day to organise last minute provisions before our friends Jacqui and Pete arrived from the UK.
With Jacqui and Pete cosily installed, we embarked on a week of exploration and whale watching. The resident Northern pod of orca were off elsewhere, but we saw plenty of humpbacks, Pacific white-sided dolphins and harbour porpoises. Many seals lived in the area, lounging on rocks, 'mermaiding' their heads and tails out of the water to avoid the cold rising tide and popping up to investigate the boat. In Farewell Bay, the two residents seemed extremely friendly, even showing up to say good bye when we raised our anchor the following morning.
After another day cruising with whales, we motored round to Village Island. We don't often get to raise the sails during our summer cruising in this area. The air is usually still. When there is wind, it gets funnelled between the islands and due to Murphy's Law it inevitably become a headwind.
Village Island is a beautiful anchorage. On a clear day (which is a bit of a rarity), the mountains of Vancouver Island are visible. We've seen seals, porpoises, otters and weasels swimming in the waters around the island. Low tide attracts herons and wading birds, eagles keep watch from the tops of the trees and ravens flutter about getting up to mischief. Last summer, a bear had made its home behind the remains of the indigenous village of 'Mimkwa̱mlis, and this year we saw deer grazing on nearby islets, presumably accessed at low tide. We piled into the dinghy to putter around the islands, and spent hours sat in the cockpit watching two eagles on their nest. We were also happy to see last year's chick flapping around, still in his brown plumage. Next year his head and tail will turn white as he reaches maturity.
When we finally managed to drag ourselves away from nest watch, we took Island Prism down Beware Passage to reach Potts Lagoon. GPS has made this ominously named passage straightforward to navigate, but it would have been a complicated business back in the days of chart, compass and sextant. Wikipedia suggests that the stretch of water was named after HMS Beware, but I think that the presence of Dead Point, Caution Rock, Beware Rock, Care Rock and Care Island plus numerous unnamed shoals all present a more telling story- you want to be paying attention when you're cruising round here!
We anchored twice in the passage. Our first stop was near Dead Point, at Monk's Wall. There were never any monks here, but a family of white settlers quite literally made it their home, building their house themselves from stones they gathered on the island. We took the dinghy ashore to poke around rock pools filled with clear water, and to hunt for the remains of an old house. Lengths of wall were still standing, including the sides of the main entrance. Previous explorers had discovered pottery, glass, show leather and ironwork, which had all been laid out in an informal outdoor museum. We listened to the ravens and wondered if the creator of the large pile of fresh bear poo was far away. The mosquitoes certainly weren't- they'd claimed this place, thank you very much, and all visitors were welcome to be the buffet. I managed to complete a sketch before escaping to the bug-free rocky shore, where Jim was nibbling on pungent wild leeks. Jacqui and Pete soon joined us to watch the turquoise water, and enjoy not being nibbled themselves.
At the other end of Beware Passage was Kalugwis, the site of another First Nations village. Emily Carr painted here, and old photos show striking totems and imposing long houses. Today, the village site is overgrown. A couple of roofs of more modern buildings can be seen peeking out from the mass of vegetation, but the carvings and long houses are either long gone or absolutely engulfed. We found the remains of part of the board walk on the foreshore, and strolled along the white shell beach. The shells come from the midden, the remains of centuries of seafood dinners. Rusted metal, fragments glass and shards of pottery add splashes of colour- oxidised greens and reds, and the bright patterns of the china chosen by somebody long ago. The pottery is the thing that makes me feel most in touch with the people in these places. Willow pattern, florals, bright geometric- what do the patterns say about the people who lived amongst these islands?
The plan was to anchor at Potts Lagoon for a night. It's a sheltered anchorage with a few float homes around the edge, ranging from joyfully bright to rather dilapidated. A series of islands and inlets mean there's plenty to explore, including the interior of the lagoon itself. At high tide, it's possible to take a dinghy into the shallow lagoon at the back of the inlet. At other times, the water pouring out over boulders creates a set of salt water rapids which would be impossible to navigate in our soft-bottomed inflatable dinghy. We timed the tide carefully when we set out to explore, entering shortly before slack tide. The current was considerable, but there was enough water for us to get through. As we progressed further, we stayed alert for rocks lurking below the surface. The channel made a dog leg into a pool, containing an old wharf, possibly a relic of logging in the past. The shallow water may have provided us with a challenge, but it created the perfect hunting grounds for kingfishers. There were dozens of them, plunging into the water after fish, giving shrill staccato cries as we passed.
The best wildlife viewing turned out to be from the boat. We'd barely seen a bear all week, then found that bears are like buses- you wait for ages then they all come along at once. Jacqui was thrilled to see a cinnamon-coloured bear strolling along the foreshore. It suddenly broke into a run, and dashed off the beach. Then another bear appeared on the beach. It strode purposefully along the foreshore, disappearing into the trees where the first bear had also vanished. Half an hour or so later, there was more bear activity on the shore. Another golden-coloured bear ambled across, this one with the hump and shaggy ruff of a grizzly. It rolled some rocks, searching for crunchy crabs and other critters, before traipsing off into the vegetation.
Pairs of eagles kept watch from the tree tops and a kingfisher claimed the top of a derelict wharf as its lookout of choice, occassionally plunging off to snatch passing fish. Ravens tocked and chattered and the breeze barely rippled the surface of the water.
It was a paradise but Jacqui and Pete's adventure was drawing to a close. We planned a route back to Alert Bay via Baronet Passage, a long, straight channel. As the tide was low, we kept our eyes open for foraging bears and eventually spotted one on the foreshore. We lost sight of him as he rounded the headland, but we hoped to catch up with him on the other side. Indeed we did- but we hadn't expected him to be in the water! He'd decided that this was the moment to swim between islands, and he obviously hadn't looked both ways before crossing the channel. He seemed a little disgruntled to be sharing the stretch of water with a little yellow sailboat, paddling in front of us doing the bear paddle. We kept our distance as much as the current would allow and made the most of the photo opportunity. Reaching the other side, he clambered out, gave himself a good shake and plodded off- presumably to complain about the terrible traffic these days.
Alert Bay is always fascinating. It's full of colourful houses and carved totems, with old buildings built out over the sea. It's not picture-postcard-perfect as some of the structures are slowly crumbling, but that's one of the things I love about it. Jacqui, Pete and I enjoyed a slow and pleasant morning, exploring the Umista Cultural Centre, grabbing coffee at Culture Shock and meeting Jimmie for lunch. We decided on Canadian cuisine- halibut and poutine (hot chips with cheese curds and gravy), and made the great decision to eat at Passn Thyme. Jacqui and I decided to enjoy a glass of wine with the feast. Part way through the meal, Jim pointed excitedly out the window “Look! Orcas!” We all turned quickly, as did the neighbouring tables. No, there wasn't a lunchtime cetacean cabaret. Jim just wanted to distract me so he could drink a big glug of my wine. His punishment was to helm us back to Port McNeill, where we enjoyed a farewell dinner and said goodbye to Jacqui and Pete after a fantastic week of adventures.
My sketching during the Spring was sporadic, though I painted most days. I let a temperamental scanner and weak WiFi get in the way of sharing what I did do, so here is a round up from my 8" x 10" Stilman and Birn sketchbook.
In retrospect, the size of the sketchbook got in my way. A big book is great in summer, but I do like to fill the page- or double page spread- when sketching, and in the cold this just wasn't fun. Multiple sketches on a page just didn't feel as satisfying, and so my book often languished at home. It took me 5 months to fill the thing, which is a very long time for me. Takeaway- use smaller books for the chillier months!
Because these sketches cover such a long span, I'm not going to do much commentary but will let the pictures tell the story. Here's boat life in Victoria BC, from January to May 2019!
Our sail from Broughton Archipelago to Desolation Sound was beautiful- and required some very careful timing. The current carried the boat through a succession of narrows as our speed topped ten knots (unheard of for sturdy but heavy Island Prism)! The passes we went through were only to be attempted round slack tide- whirlpools and rapids made them treacherous at other times, and the currents were too strong for Island Prism to ever stand a chance of going against them. We took turns on the helm so that I had the opportunity to sketch as we cruised, though I had to move my brush fast as the landscape passed us by.
Desolation Sound was the kind of cruising ground which could provide years of sailing all by itself. A maze of passes and islands stretch between Vancouver Island and the mainland, with the Coastal Range as a dramatic backdrop. We regularly saw humpbacks and bald eagles, and plenty of seals and sea lions cruised the waters or sprawled on the rocks along the shore.
Shoal Bay was a special little anchorage. The community there is tiny, but there is a wharf, and in the summer resident Mark opens his deck and living room as a pub. We dropped the anchor in 13 metres of water and rowed ashore for a glass of wine. The pub was full of yachties, and the communal tables create an easy way to meet people. We soon got trading stories. Tales of cruising Alaska caught my imagination, whilst bluewater-sailors-to-be Jake and Patricia listened to our stories of Polynesia and gave us some great information about local anchoring spots. We wound up on Prism with dinner and a night cap or two, and arranged to meet up again the next day in Phillips Arm.
Phillips Arm was part of the mainland, and was known to be a good spot to see grizzly bears- so much so that the local residents didn't recommend walking long distances ashore without bear bells and a rifle. We were keen to see a grizzly but preferred to do our searching from the water. We piled into Patricia and Jake's spacious tender and made our way up the Phillips River. A herd of elk were grazing in the grass just above the high tide line as we approached the river, and there was a healthy population of Canada geese. A shallow section by the river mouth, full of fallen trees, was a favoured haul out spot with seals, who 'mermaided' with nose and flippers in the air in what I always assume is an attempt to keep out of the water. Their poise and ability to maintain the pose for ages reminds me of yoga.
Salmon jumped as we continued down the river, and we saw a couple of herons keeping vigil on the riverbanks. The bears were sadly absent, but we took a stroll along the shore to talk to some researchers and volunteers who has spent the day counting the annual salmon return. The day was rounded off very nicely with an excellent dinner cooked by Patricia, and they were kind enough to gift us with a cruising guide to the area.
We next made our way to Cortes Island. Getting there was a little bit magical. Our day was carefully timed to get through the Yaculta Rapids at slack tide- the rapids would be so powerful that we wouldn't stand a chance of going against them, and we'd heard that they weren't a picnic even if we rode the tide through. Our timing meant that the experience was uneventful, and we were soon at a white sandy spit. It looked almost tropical, and was covered in sailing dinghys as there was a race meet on. The little anchorage was crowded with the sail boats and power boats that were accommodation for the competitors. We kept going as this wasn't our destination, instead approaching the steep cliff face of Cortes. Like something from Indiana Jones, as we got close the rock wall revealed a narrow opening. We squeezed through, painted rock towering above us on both sides, until the gorge opened out into a lagoon fringed with a few houses and a marina.
We anchored in front of the marina and campground, and rowed ashore. Here we found hot showers and a swimming pool. A few dollars bought us a day pass. It was late in the day, but we still had a few hours to soak- and the final hour was adults only. We had the hot tub to ourselves then, with a great view over the anchorage. When a live music performance began, we had the best seats in the house- and when the pool shut we moved to a bench to carry on listening and enjoy a dinner of local tomatoes, bread and goats cheese bought from the little store.
We enjoyed it so much that we extended our stay by another day. There was lots to do- the island has a busy art community and I enjoyed poking round the galleries and excellent farmers market at Mansun's Landing. At Jimmie's suggestion, we went oyster gathering- carefully checking that the fishery was open and safe. Jim's fishing license let us collect twelve oysters a day- and these were beauties. Between the number of oysters and the huge population of sand dollars, it was hard to find space to put our feet as we selected our shellfish. They grow them big here- and with a bucketful of a dozen oysters bigger than my hands, we returned to Prism. I helmed as Jimmie shucked them, and I was treated to a late lunch of Jim's oyster burgers (especially excellent with bacon- but then, isn't everything)?
The wildfires burning around BC were still having an effect on the air quality. There was usually a slight haze around, and the sunsets were particularly pink. Combined with the wildlife we saw, the colour combination inspired a series of paintings. The first was of one of the loons from Village Island. I selected quin rose to achieve the bright pop of pink I wanted for the sun. I found quin magenta makes beautiful greys and blacks with jadeite and perylene green, so chose these to round out my palette. I'm not normally a particularly pink person, but the effect was very harmonious and I was able to create rich, deep blacks for the loon and a huge range of soft greys and greens for the vegetation and reflections. Part of my fascination with loons comes from a version of a West Coast Native myth called How the Loon Lost her Voice. It explains how gentle loon lost her beautiful song when trying to help Raven regain the stolen sun. Raven was ultimately successful, but Loon cries plaintively every day at sunset, saying goodbye to the sun and remembering what she lost.
After my tribute to Loon, I got thinking about the elk and geese I'd seen. I wondered if they ever paid each other any attention when they share the same grassy swathes as they did in Phillips Arm. Adding a brown to my palette, I painted a meeting of species- 'Connecting'. In 'Together' I got thinking again about the close family bonds of flocks of Canada geese and pods of orca, and wanted to represent these. I snuck in Moonglow- a wonderful granulating watercolour paint which is perfect for orcas. It toned in beautifully, and I used it again for 'Exuberance'- a breaching orca of Telegraph Cove- and 'Seal Yoga'. 'Guardian' was a tribute to the bear we met in Mamalilikulla (see my previous blog post if you haven't read about that close encounter), and 'In Flight' was based on a photo I took of a great Gray Heron at Phillips Arm. 'Elementals' celebrates the Pacific white-sided dolphins and bald eagles of the Broughton Archipelago.
I found there were advantages to using a limited palette. Because the colour choices were already made, I could focus more on tone and composition. Bright colour couldn't save the day, and if I hadn't planned the picture well, nothing was going to provide a distraction. I worked on my colour mixing and my use of value (light and dark). I think the series has helped me become a better painter- and I've extended it beyond the initial series of five images I set out to create.
The original paintings from the series are currently being exhibited at Coast Collective's Gifts and Wishes show and Port Moody Art Centre's Winter Treasures exhibition.
If you're looking for an extra special Christmas gift for a loved one (or a winter treat for yourself), limited edition signed giclee prints of 'Guardian', 'Elementals' and 'In Flight' are available from my Etsy shop. I've also had a range of blank greeting cards printed, with a range of designs suitable for winter birthdays, festive messages, or just to drop a note. There are also some new original paintings and limited edition giclees in the shop! Gift wrapping and world-wide shipping are available if you want to take the stress out of Christmas shopping and give a unique gift- or give the gift of a commission for an affordable yet truly personal gift. Finally, whilst I don't run sales often, as a thank you to my readers I'm giving 10% off all original paintings between 19 and 25 November. I hope you see something special!
Our journey from Vancouver to Telegraph Cove took us through part of the Inside Passage. Our daily hops were dependent on the current, leading to some early mornings and a few long days. Mountains on both sides made it a very scenic voyage. Each night we'd find a little bay to anchor in, sheltered from the north westerlies and roaring tides.
We left Vancouver at 6 am to make the most of the tides. After a full day of sailing we stopped at Scotty Bay at Lasqueti Island. This community revels in its isolation. There's no car ferry, and life there is off the grid. I'd have loved to explore, but our visit was short and sweet- supper, sleep, then up anchor and off towards Texada. Here we had a wonderful surprise- a humpback whale. She was quite a distance away, and soon swam off on whale business. We pressed on, entering Quathiaski Cove but leaving without anchoring- the wharf looked busy and though it is possible to anchor here, the strong current rushing through made us feel that Gowlland Harbour, a few miles to the north, would be more secure.
Gowlland Harbour was very pretty, and is somewhere I'd love to go back and spend more time. There was a healthy seal population, who spent their time in pursuit of the plentiful fish. My harbour seal sightings have usually been sedate, so it was exciting to see them porpoising out of the water and splashing about. I also saw my first loon, with graphic black and white plumage. I made a quick sketch with the help of binoculars- one day it will become a larger painting! Legend says that Loon lost her voice when she tried to steal the sun back from the ice giants. Her throat was crushed as they threw her from their frozen fortress, and to this day she cannot sing but gives a haunting cry when the sun goes down. The sun was finally rescued by that trickster, Raven, whose white feathers were burnt black in the attempt. Loon appears on the Canadian dollar coin, which is affectionately known as a loonie. There seem to be less puns about this than I would have thought.
My sketch of Gowlland Harbour was hastily done, and resulted in a splodgy mess which at least captures the colours of the golden islets. These were named with a sense of whimsy- Mouse Islets being the smallest, working up through Wren and Raven to Fawn, Doe and Stag. I think a return to this lovely sheltered anchorage is in order.
On we went, through the treacherous Seymour Narrows (less terrifying in these days of GPS and tide tables). In the Johnstone Strait we met another humpback, who was in an acrobatic mood with a series of breaches and tail slaps. Then he got in motion, but didn't seem to be on a schedule. Prism ticked along at her lowest speed and we enjoyed half an hour of hanging out with the whale, who would pop up at varying distances, sometimes swimming parallel to the boat (at a nicely whale-friendly distance).
The wildlife watching continued at anchor. We stopped in lovely sheltered Billy Goat Bay, and watched seals jumping and hunting as the sun went down and the temperature dropped to the stage where I don't have enough jumpers to stay outside.
We were then able to wind down a bit. We were almost at Telegraph Cove, and had a couple of days to enjoy the area. The region around Johnstone Strait and the Broughton Archipelago is paradise for whales, and today we were not disappointed. Five humpbacks were swimming through, seeming relaxed and in no rush to be anywhere. They took turns surfacing, so there was usually someone on the surface. It was hard to tear ourselves away, but lunch was calling and we wanted to see if the orca were in Robson Bight Ecological Reserve. The pod was there- along with some fishing boats. Tourist and recreational boats are not allowed in the reserve- but purse seiners are, if they have a permit. We saw the orca hunting- then were shocked to see two purse seiners pay out their nets just a short distance away. The orca vanished and I was fuming, my sketch of the bight abandoned half way through. We turned of the engine to sit and eat and rant. We drifted a few metres over the edge of the reserve- keeping to the boundary seemed less important now that we'd seen people taking fish from the whales' mouths and I was too angry to care about regulations. But other people did- a zodiac with two wardens arrived to ask us politely to move. We moved- politely- whilst making our displeasure at the fishing known. The reserve feel like a bad joke. I abandoned my ideas of sketching orca as inspiration hit. “The race to catch the last fish” became a theme for a series of paintings- with ideas for more to come.
On our first night we found a secluded anchorage where I finally heard Loon's mournful farewell to the sun. The next day we passed the First Nations settlement of New Vancouver with its Big House and brightly painted totems. Continuing on to 'Mimkwamlis (Village Island) we stopped at Mamalilikulla. This was a walk through history. The village was abandoned by 1972, left for the forest to reclaim. Massive posts for an unfinished long house still stand, vast trilithons staring out to sea, the decorative axe marks still clear in the wood. Two standing poles have nursed new trees, the old life giving way to the new as roots grow down through the ancient trunks and aged wood splits from the pressure of the vibrant life growing within. Nearby, a fallen totem provides a home to ferns and saplings, its carvings now unrecognisable as it returns to the earth.
Jim told me of a wolf carving he remembered from younger days. I set off down a narrow trail, between the salal berries and the brambles. The trail narrowed , closing in, the blackberry-rich scat of a large bear warning me to go no further. If the wolf was indeed this way, prudence suggested I left him and his guardian in peace.
I didn't make the trek to the residential school, a relic of the days when native children were torn from their families, banned from speaking their language, barred from the dances, stories and rituals of their culture. First Nations artifacts were stolen along with the children, scattered between private collections and the museums of the world, relics of a culture being slowly strangled. I preferred to sit quietly with those huge beams being reclaimed by the forest. They gave me more hope. They belong to their people once again, and they are home to Bear and Raven through choice, part of a tradition where old things are allowed to fade and join again with the soil. The village may be abandoned but the people are nearby- with their brightly painted Big House and their colourful, confident totems carved with pride.
I painted the view, then crunched along the shell-strewn beach to the dinghy. As well as the shells, this midden was full of shards of crockery and broken glass. It's forbidden to take anything or excavate, but interesting to see what has floated to the surface and wonder what stories they could tell if they could talk. Above the beach, wooden poles are all that remain of an extensive boardwalk which would once have stretched in front of a row of longhouses.
We launched the dinghy and were rowing away when I saw something black moving on the foreshore. The bear was foraging for supper. She was big- grown fat on her summer diet of seafood and berries. She turned over hefty logs and big rocks, intent on gobbling the crustaceany goodness underneath. Sometimes she'd hear our oars and look at us, but we were of no concern to her and she continued munching her way along the pebble beach. Jim thought the water was a decent barrier between her and us and kept trying to get us close- so near that I could hear her snuffling- but I did point out that, because of the way he angled the dingy, I was closer to her than he was! With a bit of encouragement and the threat of no dinner if he didn't behave, he finally paddled us a little farther out. Oblivious to all this, the bear continued to ignore us until the beach ended and she padded off into the forest, perhaps to rustle up some berries for dessert.
The next day, Telegraph Cove was just a short skip away. We were given a berth on the fuel dock, tucked out of the way of the busy tour boats, then made the most of fresh carrot cake and the chance to catch up on laundry before we caught the bus down to Parksville to see Jim's mum and enjoy a family wedding.
Victoria is often described as being the most English of all Canada's cities. It definitely retains a strong British colonial feel, evident in the architecture of buildings like the Empress Hotel. There is a wealth of things to sketch, but my time in Victoria was busy and my sketchbook mainly stayed in my bag. Instead I painted my way through a pair of exciting commissions, and filled in a pile of much less exciting paperwork.
I managed a couple of quick drawings of the little water taxis which ply the harbour and the stag which reclined on the front lawn. One day we cycled into the city, past lovely beaches and views across the Juan de Fuca Straight to the USA and snow-capped Mount Baker. Once upon a time Mount Rainier was visible too, but is now unsketchable- Bill said that these days it's always obscured by Seattle smog. In the heart of Victoria I made the most of a five minute break to sketch the state legislature, and grabbed time for a few quick drawings of the totems by the museum downtown. A young heron in the park modelled for me beautifully, though the older birds in the nest above made me nervous- the white state of the pavement suggested that I shouldn't linger too long.
I managed to snag a few hours to visit the annual Moss Street Paint Out. The entire length of this street is closed to traffic for the day, as cars are replaced by hundreds of artists, many of whom were painting in situ. Maybe one day I can join them!
I knew I hadn't given the city justice, but I'm sure we'll be back and perhaps then I can explore more thoroughly. After dinner with Peter, Jen, Bob and Leslie- four cruisers who we first met up in Tofino- we hauled the anchor and sailed overnight to reach Steveston, just south of Vancouver. The grand plan was to be there for breakfast with Harold and Dan, two of Jim's favourite partners in crime.
Currents provide the greatest challenge to cruising between Vancouver Island and the mainland. Vast quantities of water enter the straits between the two land masses- and then gush out again when the tide changes. It's a bit like the passes of Polynesia's atolls- if there's too much water going the wrong way, you're going nowhere fast, as demonstrated by our experience the week before near Race Rocks. Jim had checked the currents and tides before we planned our departure. But the best laid plans can go awry- we thought we'd get a nice push as we sailed out of Victoria, but the current was no help and we pottered along at our usual 5.5 knots. Shortly after entering Active Pass the current was against us, and we had to hug the shore and use back eddies to make progress. Our chances of making breakfast became increasingly slim.
Things didn't get any better as we made our way to the Fraser River. Herons, eagles and seals provided a much needed mental boost as we struggled along, rearranging social engagements and wishing we'd had more sleep. Finally we chugged into Steveston's marina, tied up and went to find Dan, Diane, Harold, Jenny and some much-needed caffeine.
Steak pie and coffee at the Buck'n'Ear soon perked me up, and Diane managed to sweet talk the waitress into bringing me a pre-birthday slice of sticky toffee pudding. The British pub grub left me feeling appropriately ship-shape and Bristol fashion, and we had a great catch up, reminiscing about the various ways Jim, Harold and Dan got in trouble back in the day (thankfully they have Diane, Jenny and I to help them behave themselves now).
Steveston was a great town, with charming buildings and lovely walking along the dyke trails. We ended up extending our stay another night so that Jim could go and get into more trouble with the boys and I could stop and sketch. The buildings were tempting but the dykes really caught my imagination, with beautiful wildlife, intensely-coloured plant life and wide blue skies. Mountains fringed the flat landscape and I was spoiled for choice of what to draw!
Casting off the mooring lines, we headed north to Vancouver. This time the tides were on our side and Prism reached 9 knots as she smoked along the Fraser River. From there we puttered through English Bay to False Creek where we would be anchored for the next few days.
Vancouver is a vibrant city. Like any place with a large population, there are places you don't want to venture on a dark night (or even a moderately gloomy day), and the signs of homelessness and drug use were heartbreaking. But Vancouver has a lot of good points. Like Auckland and Sydney, you're never far from the water and there are lots of charming, arty neighbourhoods. And art stores. Yes, I was happy. We moored Prism at Granville Island for three free hours, had lunch and found the art store.
All too soon, it was time for Jim to drag me out of Opus (an art store big enough to get lost in). We motored a little further and dropped the anchor just a short dinghy ride from the city. Perhaps not the quietest of anchorages, but the traffic noise was tolerable and we enjoyed watching the daily parades of water taxis, dragon boats, kayaks, seals and floating barbecues. It was easy to get ashore and the city has a great bus network, so our first expedition was to the Museum of Anthropology at the university. We spent hours in the Great Room alone, surrounded by incredible First Nations carvings and learning about the history of the west coast. It was a sketching paradise!
Jim's niece Katherine and two of her friends joined us for the Symphony of Fire. This is an annual competition where three countries explode things to music over three nights. We motored out to English Bay. There were hundreds of yachts already at anchor, and a number of people who thought they owned the entire bay (“You can't anchor there! Your mast will get in my photos even though I'm a huge launch and tower above your deck!”). Eventually we dropped the hook and fell back to a spot where we were not annoying the overprivileged too much. The fireworks were spectacular, ranging from exuberant to beautifully subdued depending on the music. My favourites looked almost like leaping fish, with pretty showers of glitter a close second. I've come a long way since I was a small child who used to cry at the noise!
I was also lucky enough to meet Bob Altwein. He's a local urban sketcher who had offered to show us a bit of the city- he's also a very kind and knowledgeable man, and fascinating to talk to. He introduced us to Jesse, who is 24, not at all Millenial and sailing his 19' sailboat round the West Coast. We enjoyed dim sum, then a leisurely drive around the neighbourhoods of Chinatown and Strathcona. Cantonese-style buildings made Chinatown feel like I was back in Hong Kong, and Strathcona had a great feeling of community. The residents have worked hard to regenerate this area, which is green and full of neatly painted heritage buildings. We had coffee and delicious bakery treats at the Union Market- and were amazed to find that this charming little cafe and grocery was also very reasonably priced. No wonder it was busy! Jim and Jesse talked about sailing whilst I drew the cafe and Bob drew me. We were having so much fun that we invited Bob and Jesse to help us move Island Prism over to the Vancouver Rowing Club, where we were going to enjoy two nights of hot showers and Stanley Park.
After mooring and a hasty change of attire, we met Diane for a pre-birthday dinner at Prospect Point. It was a lovely evening, the mussels were amazing and suddenly we were the last diners in the restaurant.
The next day was my birthday- the dawn of a new decade (I think I'm still in denial). We celebrated with an adventure to Whistler. The drive along the Sea to Sky Highway flew by with an endless procession of gorgeous views. In Whistler, we bought lunch from the grocery store to eat on the mountain. $58 let us explore the lofty heights by gondola and chair lift. The views from the top were stunning on such a clear day, and the suspension bridge at the peak emphasised quite how high up we were. The Peak to Peak gondola took us to Blackcomb, with a great vista of the lakes and little town nestled far below us. It's almost tempting to come back in winter- so long as I don't have to ski. Jim also wants me to tell you all about the white wine cocktail he bought me. Bright pink and in a glass as big as my head- I was merrily 'trundled' (to quote my hubbie) as we got the bus back to Vancouver.
Stanley Park was our only real disappointment. On our previous visit I'd loved the totems and we'd spent a great day exploring. It seems like summer at 10 am is not the time to go- the tourist hordes had descended with selfie sticks in hand and all atmosphere had vanished. We cycled away from the crowds, but you're not allowed to pull over on the cycle path and take photos, even if no other bikes are coming (really- I got yelled at by a custodian when I tried). We didn't want to cycle the whole of the park but the entire cycle system is one way. Eventually we braved the custodian's wrath and peddled the wrong way to the Aquarium and its beautiful Bill Reid Killer Whale, before making our escape back to Prism and returning to the relative calm of anchoring at French Creek. At least the only people yelling at us there were the geese. A visit to the art gallery to spend a few hours gazing at Emily Carr's beautiful paintings was a good antidote to park insanity, and soon it was time to begin our journey north, up to Telegraph Cove.
Our sail from Ucluelet to Tofino was more of a motor trip. We peered through the thin shroud of fog as Prism rolled over the Pacific swell. Amphitrite Lighthouse was glowing away, a reassuring supplement to the clanking navigation aid and our trusty GPS. As visibility improved, we could see the stretches of golden sand that form a series of surf beaches, separated by rocky headlands. Mist hung about them even as the sky cleared- the spray tossed up by the rolling breakers obscures these beaches slightly no matter how bright the day is.
I was hoping to see a sea otter, but Jim told me this was very unlikely, These shy creatures were slowly building up their population on the west coast, but didn't venture as far south as Tofino. We turned away from the Pacific to begin our approach, past the lovely Chesterman Beach, where houses cling to rocky peninsulas, perfectly placed for storm watching in the winter season. I saw something in the water. A seal? Or a sea lion? It looked pretty big. Jim passed me the binoculars- the long whiskers, golden sideburns and characteristic incredibly cute floating-on-its-back pose were unmistakable. It was a sea otter! It watched us as we motored into the island-filled inlet leading us to the town.
We'd been assured that there would be space on the public dock, but this turned out to be rather optimistic. Once again we needed to raft up to another boat. The visitor's pier, E dock, housed two other sail boats and a flotilla of small craft. Slowly cruising past, we confirmed that there were indeed no spaces, but some of the small boats didn't appear to move much- we could raft up to the cruising yacht at the end of the dock, move a small barge and create enough space for Prism to fit in, out of the currents in the channel. I checked the depth sounder and started to turn. Nothing happened.
Jim told me I was stuck- but the depth sounder showed 2.5 meters of water beneath us. We draw less than two meters so there shouldn't have been a problem- but Jim was right. Whatever the depth sounder was telling me, I wasn't going anywhere.
Jim tied a line from Prism to the dinghy, hoping that we could pull Prism off the sand bank. Rowing gave him a great workout, but Prism couldn't be persuaded to leave her nice comfy sandbank. There was nothing to do but wait a few hours for the tide to finishing ebbing. Slowly and gently, Prism laid down, much to the entertainment of everyone on the dock. Cooking became interesting as we heeled over. The rice worked fine, but as the gradient of the stove grew steeper, I found myself having to hold the frying pan to stop it slipping off- and even then it was impossible to get an even heat. It was not my most successful curry ever, but thankfully it was vegetarian, and eventually I decreed it to be warm enough to eat.
Time passed, the tide changed, and we slowly worked our way back to an upright position until we were finally afloat. I was glad it was dark, though I'm sure my cheeks were glowing as we took Prism in to the dock. The other liveaboard residents were waiting to help us with our lines, and to share stories of their encounters with my little sandy hillock. Thank you Bob, if you read this, for helping my poor bruised ego!
Safely moored on the public wharf, we were able to set about exciting things like taking warm showers (at $1 for 2 minutes, I may have achieved a new personal best for speed showering). The weather was wet, but this isn't unusual on the West Coast, and the town and its surroundings were still beautiful. I was excited to find that Tofino now has an art supply store, and once I'd purchased some much-needed paper I wandered around the downtown galleries to absorb some creative inspiration.
Built out of cedar, the Roy Henry Vickers Gallery is an olfactory experience as well as a visual one. The rich, warm scent of the wood greets you as soon as you open the doors. Inside, benches and sunken seating throughout the long house invite visitors to linger amongst the artwork, and massive wooden carvings enhance the indigenous setting. My favourite paintings are Vicker's sunsets, often complete with his magical 'shadow images'- shimmering designs which appear as the viewer walks past. These shadows often depict native imagery, and add a spiritual side and a sense of history and culture to the wonderful land and seascapes. Just down the street, the Mark Hobson Gallery delights in realism, full of hunting eagles, luminous waves and twisting seaweed. Photographing the work is encouraged, and Mark was there, apron on and paints set up, hobnobbing genially with visitors.
Tofino is relatively bike friendly, and when the sun came out we decided to make use of the multi-purpose path that heads out of town to the Botanical Gardens. Around the cafe are pretty cottage-style flower beds and a community garden, along with a beautiful lily pond. The garden path soon enters woodland, full of native trees and plants. As the forest grows denser, the trail becomes a boardwalk, full of little side paths with views over the Clayoquat Sound. The tide was out, but the sun had transformed the mudflats into an expanse of sparkling silver, with stripes of vibrant green seaweed and blue water. We found a pebbly beach to enjoy the vista whilst hummingbirds and dragonflies buzzed round us. Finally hunger set in, so we returned to the cafe and munched croissants whilst listening to a talented jazz pianist.
Jim's brother Bill drove out to join us on Prism. His car gave us all the chance to explore further, so we made expeditions to Chesterman Beach, Wickanninish, Combers Beach and the suitably named Long Beach. Bill and I walked along the sand whilst Jim rode around on his little fold up bike, which worked really well on the hard sand close to the water. The ocean spray cast its usual magic, reflecting the sunshine and creating a light mist across the golden sand. We strolled the length of the beach and crossed the headland to poke around the bustling tide pools of Combers Beach, which were full of darting scalpins, lumbering crabs and a host of colourful starfish and anemones. We could have stayed there all afternoon, but hunger set in so we drove to Ucluelet for a late lunch.
After five blustery days, the weather calmed. We provisioned up and took Prism out to spend a few days on Flores island. We motored through swirling mists and thick fog, thankful for our GPS which let us know exactly where we were. Strong currents ran through the maze of channels. They played havoc with our speed, accelerating us to six knots before slowing us down to four. It didn't matter- the sun was slowly increasing the visibility and we were too busy watching the jaunty flocks of rhinoceros auks and looking out for sea otters to mind a little bit of a slog.
Five otters later, we turned into the long inlet which cuts into Flores Island. A few small fishing boats whizzed past us and a sea plane buzzed overhead. We passed the little village of Ahausat, with its century-old general store, and poked about the various arms of the inlet until we found a place to anchor. It was a secluded spot- away from any signs of habitation. The ravens greeted us with a chorus of 'ki tok's, and the bald eagles seemed to be giggling about something, as bald eagles often do. Our hopes of seeing bears at low tide were not rewarded, but a seal came to visit and one of the eagles gave us a display of how to fish bird style.
Bill and I tried to follow a walking track through the woods. We were well-armed with bear bells, a bear horn and bear spray (which apparently ISN'T for helping to style their fur). Sounding a bit like Santa's reindeer, we jingled our way along a twisting trail which was a clamber rather than a walk. Over and under fallen trees, through swathes of sticky mud which tried to steal my boots- it felt a bit like we'd fallen into 'We're Going on a Bear Hunt'. Eventually we decided we'd had enough of scrabbling through the mossy forest and bushwhacked through to the beach. This was slightly easier going, though the muddy patches shared the kleptomaniac tendencies of their forest cousins and insisted on trying to relieve me of my footwear. We crossed the foreshore and wandered through crab-infested grass to a shallow lagoon where three herons were keeping their eyes open for afternoon tea. We called for our taxi (also known as Jim in the dinghy), and tried to wash off the worst of the mud before we returned to Prism.
The calm waters created a great place to row. Our inflatable dinghy is a little cumbersome as a row boat, but we were still able to poke around in hidden corners and paddle up to the mouth of the tumbling stream which entered the inlet. The clear water gave us a great view of the fishy denizens of the inlet- presumably it helped the eagles too. We all enjoyed the slow pace of life for a few days before returning to busy little Tofino. Once again, the sea otters were out in force. Most of them stayed away from Prism and her rumbling motor, but a few came close. One was busy tucking in to a tasty breakfast of red rock crab, and another was having his morning wash, bobbing along on his back as he scrubbed his whiskery face with webbed paws. A third surfaced a few meters in front of Prism. She was just drifting along in neutral, but the otter quickly turned tail and dove. 14 tons of sail boat was not what the little creature had been expecting.
Our return to Tofino was much less eventful than our first arrival. We tied up to the dock, offloaded crew and took on ice and vegetables. Soon Bill and his little blue electric car were speeding off towards Victoria. Jim, Prism and I were heading that way too- at a more leisurely pace and via the islands of the Broken Group and the inlet of Bamfield.
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Occasionally, you get to a place and feel like it resonates with something in your soul. Cornwall, Winchester, the Tutukaka Coast and Tofino have that effect on me. I soon felt the same way about Ucluelet. Friendly folk at the Small Boat Harbour, an artsy vibe round town and an abundance of great walks and beautiful views- it's not hard to see why the place caught my imagination.
The West Coast of Vancouver Island is known for its wet weather. It's still beautiful in the rain, with its misty greens and subtle greys, and the rain tends towards a steady drizzle. Very English, really. Mostly, though, the sun came out for me, and I made the most of it, leaving Prism at the marina whilst I hit the Wild Pacific Trail
The trail is in two sections: a loop at the very end of the peninsula and a return track further on. The loop takes in the aptly-named Inspiration Point, Amphitrite lighthouse and a fascinating section of bog, full of twisted trees, thick pillows of moss and sinister sundews just waiting for bugs to fly into their sticky clutches. I love carnivorous plants! The trail was easy, with plenty of viewpoints and lots of information about the flora and fauna. Most of the signs were close to the correct plants, so I soon learned to tell the difference between deer ferns and sword ferns, and could pick out the skunk cabbages- which thankfully had not yet reached pungent maturity.
Plenty of sketch breaks and a few side trails meant it took me a while to complete that section of the trail. The next day I got up early to complete the second section, starting with a peaceful stroll along Big Beach, where I was soon distracted by the lush seaweeds and a crow trying to smash open a tasty bivalve. Having the beach to myself, I tried painting the hazy light and vibrant golds and browns, until I'd filled a spread of my sketchbook and realised that I'd been there over an hour. Time often stands still when I'm making art.
The trail led me through a resort, to beaches strewn with enormous logs carried in by the waves and bleached to bone white- skeletons of the giants of the forest. I followed a series of Artists' Loops, with plenty of benches and viewing platforms over the pebbly beaches and pounding waves. Even on a calm day their power sent spray flying. I could see why storm watching is a popular winter pastime here- though not one I'd like to try from Island Prism!
Of course, it would have been rude not to make the most of the sketching opportunities so kindly provided, and I was keen to try and paint the wonderful light and the many shades of green. My palette holds some lovely mineral greens- green apatite, serpentine, amazonite and jadeite, but I found I was reaching for my blues and quin gold to mix my own. It seemed the best way to capture the distance, depth, light and shade; after years of being a lazy colour mixer I felt redeemed.
Time check- almost three. I completed the Ancient Cedars loop and was determined to make the Rocky Bluffs which mark the end of the trail. This was well worth it. The waves grew wilder and the vistas back down the coast were expansive and impressive. My pen was running out of ink, my water brush was down to its last dribble having already been refilled, and my water bottle was also down to its last few sips. The trail halted and I turned around, pausing only briefly to enjoy my favourite scenic spots and photograph a few banana slugs- which are indeed banana yellow and seem to get browner as they get older. Unlikely as it sounds, the native slugs are rather interesting- including the implausibly athletic-sounding jumping dromedary slug, which presumably are the ninjas of the slug world. They certainly had stealth mode enabled, as I didn't see any.
Ucluelet held indoor attractions too. The Mark Penney Gallery held some beautiful work, and Mark was happy to talk me through his latest work in progress and give me tips on how to paint realistic reflections (in the reflection, the lights are darker than object they're reflecting, whilst the darks are lighter than on the original). Wonderful First Nations creations filled the Cedar House Gallery, and next door the Den housed a studio and a small shop filled with prints, jewelry and weaving. I fell in love with a tactile weaving which was taking form in the studio, and with difficulty tore myself away from the squishy balls of locally spun wool available in the shop. Crossing the street, we moved from art to natural history and entered the aquarium. The fish are all local and everything gets released at the end of the season; fish, octopus, scallops and sea urchins all return home and the aquarium is scrubbed, cleaned and closed until the spring. The staff were all young and very knowledgeable and enthusiastic, answering my questions about sea pens and jellyfish. I watched the wolf eel devouring crabs, tickled a sea anemone (which grabbed my finger with its sticky tentacles) and stroked a starfish- it always amazes me how hard their pillow-like bodies actually are.
We spent the whole afternoon there, with Jim making the most of the well-stocked reading corner whilst I sketched and sketched and sketched. My pen ran out of ink- then committed hara kiri by throwing itself nib-down onto the floor. I managed to straighten it but it wasn't quite the same. Closing time was near, so we thanked the staff and wandered back to Prism.
The weather forecast ahead was poor, and if we wanted to make it north to Tofino we needed to leave before we faced thirty knot headwinds (no thanks). Classic Ucluelet fog and drizzle had moved in, which made the place soggier but gave it a mysterious beauty. I finished a couple of loads of laundry, splurged on a pair of slippers for my poor chilly toes and completed a watercolour sketch of a fishing boat in the mist. Then we cast off from the boat we were rafted to and motored through the thick, still, chilly air to the open ocean, once again watching the bald eagles who soared above the boat.
An Artist Afloat- Painting the world one anchorage at a time.