It was time to get serious about going back. We were definitely on the downhill slope of the trip and picking up speed. And while I was in an ever deepening state of mourning, I could tell that the rest of the family was quite the opposite. Spencer was the worst. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was ready to go home. And Jack, while he was working at hiding it, I could tell that he was looking forward to getting his butt back in a bike seat. Donna, bless her heart seemed detectably troubled that we were going back but also, she was sensitive to Jack and, more acutely, Spencer's feelings. Of course I didn't want to hear any of it. I just flat out didn't want to go back and kept coming up with schemes of how we could do this permanently, or at least long enough for me to get sick of it. Unfortunately, the fact that we had to go back could not be denied any longer.
After leaving Selby Cove, we turned right to go down the channel on the way to our next stop. We decided to shake things up this time and actually make a decision as to where we were going before actually starting out. We had chosen an island park called Sidney Spit. It provided an easy spring board to get to the U.S. customs office in Roche Harbor the following day and seemed like a very practical choice..
Sidney Spit was a sand spit (is there any other kind?) at the end of a clump of trees (see pictures below). It was one of the furthest, if not, the furthest, south of all the Gulf Islands. It sounded pretty interesting in the books and on the maps however once there, I have to confess that it was kind of a boring place. I don't have any interest in going back.
After making that fateful right turn toward the U.S. from Prevost Island, it was mostly a long, straightish, shot between a bunch of smaller islands to get to Sydney Spit. There was all kinds of vessel traffic of various shapes and kinds. There were big ole ferries and tiny little sailboats being piloted by a single person. It really did seem like the closer we got to the U.S., the more traffic there was. It wasn't just our imaginations. We joined up with the ferry route from Tsawwassen to Schwartz Bay so there was lots of ferry traffic. These were the biggest ferries too so they were quite impressive as they went by. It was very difficult NOT to take pictures of them and I don't think I successfully restrained myself even once. I just loved the ferries.
We finally reached Sydney Spit. It was a low lying island. So much so that we could see the masts of the moored boats on the far side of the island as we approached. There were a lot of mooring bouys and it seemed absolutely certain that we would be able to use one. This trip, when not at a dock, we didn't get to use a mooring bouy even once. They were always all taken. We had to anchor each time we stayed somewhere. Actually, this wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. Anchoring had always been portrayed to me as this incredibly difficult thing with all these perils. In addition there were signals from the person dropping the anchor to the person at the helm and visa versa. It just always seemed like a fire drill. I have been racing for decades in San Francisco Bay but in all that time, I don't think I have ever had to deal with anchoring. However, in spite of all the stories... We didn't have any problems at all. I guess that in these conditions, it was a snap. I'm sure that it can be dicey. But that's true of anything on a sailboat. The only bad parts were pulling the anchor up until I figured out the anchor windless clutch thingy (it has to be screwed down or the capstan will just spin when you turn it and you're stuck holding the anchor... and the boat). Before I figured that out (after about six days into the trip), I had to use only my feeble arm strength to pull the anchor up. Anyway... I was looking forward to just driving up to a bouy and tieing a bow painter to it, then going back to the cockpit to have a beer before Spencer put me to work on something. But then as we rounded the point, the dreadful reality hit... All (or most) of the bouys had boats on em. AND... the water was really shallow so we couldn't really go in and grab any of the open bouys that we did see. Hmmmmm.... Well I throttled back big time and glued myself to the depth sounder. I was NOT going to embarrass myself in front of this huge audience by getting stuck in the mud.
Here's a good place to carry on a little bit about my new relationship with powerboats. Up until this trip I had always been pretty live and let live with the powerboaters. I just didn't care about them. We share the water. I sometimes even go out in powerboats (although not often). They've always been just sort of "there"... part of the whole boating scene. However... this trip has changed everything. Throughout the trip, we had been aced out for dock space by faster powerboats racing ahead of us, buffeted around by powerboaters who were completely oblivious to the impact of their wakes, had to listen to their motors and generators all evening and into the night as their color televisions ran with no one watching (in Princess Louisa Inlet of all places... that is actually criminal if you ask me), listen to their stereos, and so much more... you get the idea. And now... when we're moving toward a bouy (our last mooring bouy opportunity of a whole two week trip!), this powerboat with all these water toys lashed to it's bow comes out of nowhere... carves out a wake right in front of us to snatch "our" bouy. They didn't even acknowledge us as poor Sail La Vie wallowed in the wake they had thrown up. No exageration, we were less than a swimming pool's length away (less than 25 yards) when they did the dirty deed. So there is no way they didn't see us. What should I do? Flip em off? Ram em? Yell obscenities?... Donna shot me her, "Don't be an idiot" look that she sometimes uses when she thinks that I'm about to flip someone off on the road. Of course I couldn't do any of these evil things to the offending powerboater. I had my kids on board so I had to try to set a good example. And I was driving someone else's boat. I know that ole Mark and Carla would not understand if I drove their bow pulpit into the side of a power boat as I tried to board them. So... I just had to suck it up and keep my dignity. In the end I turned a very humiliated Sail La Vie around and headed for an out of the way spot to anchor. These bouys are overrated anyway. No big deal. Real men anchor... Harrumph! Incidently, the "out of the way" place that I chose to anchor ended up being on the path of the people ferry that came from Sydney By the Sea every hour... I just couldn't get a break today!
After settling in (making sure the anchor was holding and had an appropriate amount of scope), we all piled into the dinghy and went ashore. Jack had been torturing Spencer so Spence was getting madder by the minute. The shore excursion didn't have success written on it at all. But we tried it anyway. After a quick hike around the island trail, we checked out the view of the United States from the other side of the island and then all piled back into the dinghy for the ride back to the boat. Later I guess the boys made up cuz they took the dinghy back to shore and built a sand castle on the beach as the sun set. It was fun for Donna and me to watch them in the distance. They are all boy... our boys.
The sunset was glorious. Of course I took way too many pictures as it went down. I think I was concerned that looking at those pictures might be a life changing event for someone and I didn't want them to miss a minute.
Uneventful night... Jack was able to sleep outside again. The mosquito threat seemed to have subsided. The next morning we tried to leave as early as possible. I wanted to make sure that we got across to customs early to avoid as much congestion as we could. Besides, we had a long day ahead of us after that. We had no idea where we were going to be that night.
After breakfast, we were off to deal with the folks at Homeland Security.
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