FAIR WINDS AND MAST DESTRUCTION

ABOVE Sailing into the sunset on the final night of the voyage

THE FINAL INSTALMENT IN A FOUR-PART SERIES —Previous instalments in Passions Winter, Spring, and Summer 2020 (fairwinds.ca)—

by Rob O’Dea

Day 36 of our adventure and we awoke to dense fog and a heavy west coast rain, a problem considering that we had a Beaver float plane arriving at 11 am for a crew change and resupply.

Hopefully, the fog would lift by the time the plane arrived. We were also five miles from the planned rendezvous location due to wind and sea conditions which would have prevented the plane from landing where originally intended. As the plane had already left Tofino, we hailed the pilot on the radio with the new landing coordinates and a report on the local conditions. Twenty minutes later we heard the plane approaching through the fog and then saw it as it descended below the ceiling. The pilot taxied to a stop about 100 feet from where Ern and Odin were anchored. Success! But we would have to move fast so that the pilot could take off before the fog ceiling descended.We rowed over in the two dinghies and after a few trips back and forth we had the crew and provisions transferred. Darcy and Christian would be with us on Odin and Ern for the next week, and we said a fond farewell to Donald who had been with us for the past two weeks.

The float plane arrived for a crew change and fresh provisions, Nuchatlitz Inlet.

As the drone of the plane’s iconic De Havilland engine faded into the fog we were once again plunged into the silence.

The next morning, we had blue skies and a marine forecast that called for perfect winds for the 30-mile trip down Nootka Island to our next anchorage near Yuquot (Friendly Cove). Along the way we caught a couple of ling cod, so it was fresh fish tacos for dinner including homemade guacamole, salsa, and tortillas that we made when we arrived at anchor. Another great meal on our gourmet cruise, and with the previous day’s resupply of fresh limes, tequila, and Cointreau, the tacos were paired with margaritas. It’s medicinal! The vitamin C in the limes keeps the scurvy at bay… or at least that’s what we tell ourselves when we make margaritas.

Welcome figure at Yuquot

Sharon went for an after-dinner row in the dinghy to take a few photos of Odin and Ern at anchor. While she was busy with her camera, the dinghy drifted towards the shoreline. Unbeknownst to Sharon, a curious black bear cub came out of the woods and was standing at the edge of the water, not 16 feet from where Sharon was floating. “Sharon, TURN AROUND!” we called from the sailboats. It didn’t take her long to make a few strokes of the oars and get out of range, but she had the temerity to snap a rather close-up photo of the cub before she put down the camera and took up the oars. Who knows where the mother might have been!

from top: Sharon’s surprise bear cub at Nootka Inlet; at anchor near Yuquot, Nootka Island

After a wonderful three days in Yuquot we had a good weather window to continue our journey, so we hoisted sails for the 25-mile trip to Hesquiaht. Along the way that day we saw our first mola mola (ocean sunfish), which must have weighed over 1,000 lbs. It was feeding on the surface only about 20 feet from the boat as we sailed by. A short while later we hove-to to view Estevan Point Lighthouse, catching a couple of coho salmon, while a humpback whale surfaced nearby. If that wasn’t enough of a nature show, that evening we saw a massive elephant seal, backlit by the setting sun, surfing inside a 10-foot high peeling wave. The large mammal was easily 18 feet-long and must have weighed over 6,000 lbs. All that wildlife in just a short day of sailing. The west coast of Vancouver Island is truly a wild and magical place!

Mola mola (ocean sunfish)

Two days later we had a crew change planned at Hot Springs Cove. A water taxi out of Tofino would be bringing Georgina, Valerie, and Tom, and taking Sharon, Darcy and Christian back to Tofino on the return. We had wisely planned the crew change so that both the departing and the incoming crew had time to spend in the hot springs and the lack of hot water bathing over the past three weeks was soon forgotten! To add to the magic of Hot Springs Cove, that evening we were visited by a small pod of orcas, including a young calf who swam by the boats while we were at anchor. We also received a surprise visit from a dog who had swum a half kilometer from the local village to visit boats anchored in the cove. We learned that this was a nearly daily ritual for this particular dog. I guess he liked the snacks!

Arriving at Hot Springs Cove

For the next 10 days we explored Clayoquot Sound before Valerie and Georgina disembarked at Tofino. Now please don’t get me wrong, I love Tofino/ Ucluelet and Sharon and I take vacations there twice a year (I’m heading there again soon for a week), but after seven weeks of sailing, five of which had been spent exploring the remote coastline from Port Hardy to Clayoquot, Tofino was a shock to the senses for the two skippers. There were people, cars, and shops, and along with that came sirens, horns, and the need to remember to look both ways before crossing the street. Although we still had more than 200 miles of sailing to do before reaching home, we knew that the bulk of our fishing, surfing, exploring, wildlife encounters, and open west coast sailing was now behind us. We had been spoiled by the wild, rugged beauty and blissful serenity of northwest Vancouver Island. From here on in we would be in places we had visited many times before. We were back in cell range. Tofino signaled the beginning of the end of our circumnavigation.

After departing from Tofino, we sailed to Barclay Sound to explore the Deer Group of islands before the two-day slog down Juan de Fuca Strait… in the fog! Victoria was a welcome sight for our last crew change. Skipper Arnt’s nephew (also named Arnt) and father, Lloyd, joined the boats. On board we now had four

Exploring islands by dinghy, Barclay Sound

Arntzens comprising three generations. Being a very musical family—they actually have a jazz band that includes four generations—the next week was filled with live music as we made our way from Victoria and up through the Gulf Islands before a planned overnight on Mayne Island to visit friends. To the surprise of the two skippers, there was a big party planned to celebrate the successful circumnavigation and many of the crew from the past nine weeks had come to partake in the festivities. It capped off the entire trip!

Ern and Odin in Victoria’s Inner Harbour

Alas, it was time to go home. Odin and Ern left Mayne Island with just the two skippers and no other crew. We were now in our home waters and had planned to do the last two days of sailing alone. We had a leisurely sail up to the north end of Galiano Island where we anchored for the night to await the morning’s slack current at Porlier Pass. The two boats were rafted together and Arnt and I spent the evening recounting the many adventures while retracing our route on the charts and looking at photos we had taken. In the past 63 days and nights we had travelled over 900 nautical miles (1,600 kms). We had been extremely lucky with fair and following winds over most of the trip and had been able to sail for all of it except for two days when we needed to use the motor due to lack of wind. It had truly been an epic trip for Arnt and me, and on this last night we went back and forth between nostalgia of the trip that had been, and excitement for the ones yet to come. The BC coast is a sailor’s dream and our two fine boats had proven that we could do just about anything. It was time to go home and start planning!

Slack current the following morning was at 0645 and from there it was only 26 miles to get home. We awoke to sunshine and not a cloud in the sky. The winds were a light 12-15 knots from the northwest and the seas were a 2' choppy wave. Arnt decided that with the northwest wind and Odin’s gaff rig, he preferred to head towards Richmond and then tack his way up to Point Grey and into Vancouver Harbour. Ern, with her Bermuda rig, was fine with a more direct line, so I decided that I would head straight for Point Grey. We would meet at the dock in five hours.

The sun was already baking so I set the auto steering for a few minutes to go below for water, sunscreen, and a wide brimmed hat. I had only just stepped off the companionway ladder and into the cabin when Ern was rocked hard to starboard, then even harder to port, before going way over to starboard again. I looked up through the hatch and with that last lurch to starboard, I watched as Ern’s 60 year-old wooden mast unzipped along the glue line and with the resulting lack of structural integrity, broke off just below the boom and the whole rig went into the water; 40 feet of mast, the 18-foot boom, mainsail, headsail, sheets, halyards, and shrouds and stays (eight stainless steel cables that support the mast and connect it to the hull)… all of it was in the water!

Now for those readers who have followed this story over the previous three instalments in Passions magazine, you might remember that Odin had been dismasted, just south of Port McNeill, on the second week of the trip. Now it was Ern’s inglorious turn.

I stood there looking up at the empty sky and I think I was experiencing “phantom rig syndrome.” The rig wasn’t where it was supposed to be, but my mind could not believe what my eyes were seeing. My initial shock and disbelief did not last for more than acouple of seconds when I heard the gut-wrenching sound of something hit the wooden hull. Thud! Then two seconds later, louder. THUD!!! I was shaken from my stupor as I realized that Ern’s mast had become a battering ram and the boat was being smashed against it with each wave. I was at serious risk of having my hull caved in right below the waterline.

Any good sailor keeps a set of bolt cutters on board so that in case of an emergency they can cut the steel shrouds and stays and set the rig free. I ran below to retrieve Ern’s bolt cutters but I had only made it halfway through the cabin when I realized that if I cut the rig free, I might not be able to retrieve it and in that case I would never be able to reproduce the same rig on my old wooden boat. History was at stake! But could I save the boat and the rig?

I would try!

I went back up on deck, grabbing my boarding ladder and a knife from the galley along the way. I tied the bitter end of the jib sheet around my waist, installed the ladder, put the knife in my teeth so that my hands were free to deal with the tangled web of rope and cables in the water, and I stepped over the lifelines to make the plunge. “Jump!” my mind said. “No!” replied my legs.

I had to forcefully will myself into the water, a difficult task when you are the only person on board. Once in the water I quickly cut away the two sails and shoved them up onto the deck with the boom still attached. I climbed back on board, maneuvered the mast alongside Ern, and I lifted it out of the water and up to the deck where I lashed it to the stanchions and rails. I have no idea how I did it alone from the deck except for pure adrenaline… it took three grunting men to carry it the next day when I was back at the dock. I coiled up the shrouds, stays, halyards, and sheets, and two hours after my drama had started, the water was clear of lines and I could start the motor for the slog home.

As with Odin, Ern would get a new mast, and because I had managed to save the old one, the insurance company was able to inspect the rig and determine that it was a “catastrophic glue failure.” We received a settlement and over the winter we built a new mast but that is a story unto itself and more appropriate for a woodworking or wooden boat publication.

And with that ends the story of our great Vancouver Island circumnavigation adventure. We had shared the voyage with a total of seventeen crew members, through seven crew changes… laughing, eating, learning, singing, surfing, and loving, strengthening friendships and forging some new ones along the way. There had been countless adventures, and a few misadventures, which only added to the story. We are planning another for next summer, if the pandemic lets us; and Haida Gwaii is also on the radar. I’ll make sure to let your editor know of any future trips and maybe we will meet again on these pages. Until then, fair winds, and long may your big jib draw!

Disaster! The broken mast lashed to the rail

Disaster! The broken mast lashed to the rail