Sharphooks
Well-Known Member
Crusade is a strong word, but my trip to North Coast this past month indeed felt like a crusade.
Last summer was an arrow in my heart. Tied to a dock with a new-to-me boat, a pandemic wedged between me and my annual trip north to the Promised Land....a bitter pill to swallow for a guy who doesn’t have a huge amount of “there’s always next year” ahead of him.
So on optimistic border news I did what I had to do and was second in line at the gate on August 09, boat in tow. I was prepared to either get sent back home or get waved across. There was only one of two possible outcomes and I prepared myself for either.
Mention of a mandatory C19 test kit started things off immediately on the wrong foot. The border guy wanted to know where I’d be quarantining in my “secure” location while waiting for the government lab results. Hadn’t I read the pamphlet? It was clearly written that I had to take this C19 test and I should have been aware of that.
With zero hesitation I made the decision to pull the plug on the trip. That fast. There was no way I was going to wait for test results from any lab, much less a “government lab”, all the while cringing in some hotel with boat and trailer sulking down in an ill-lit parking lot. And I'd just handed the guy four negative test results.....wtf...
Meanwhile, going north so late in August was already a worm of worry between my ears because I knew every lost day meant the chance for crappier weather. Another four day wait was out of the question. I reached for the start button of my truck, rubber-necking for the turn-around to get me out of line so I could head on back down the highway. I was crushed, but at least I’d tried.
Without a word the guy motions me to stay put then disappears into the main office. Ten minutes later he was back and without a word he opens the gate and waves me through....you’re good, he says. Get out of here....just like that....It was like a Kabuki Play...but I was across the border on my way to the Promised Land.....yeehaw!
The next part of the crusade was dragging a large boat on a triple axle trailer through downtown Vancouver during Monday morning rush hour, the quest being to deliver my boat onto the ferry out of Horseshoe Bay with the motors still attached to the transom and the trailer frame not too bent out of shape. But bit by bit the pieces of the puzzle fell together. I felt electrically charged while standing on the deck of my ferry as it powered up for the run across the Strait of Georgia to Departure Bay in Nanaimo
But throughout the drive I couldn’t help pondering the lateness of the trip...I’d never made a move like this so late in the year. I’d already had baptism by fire in a Milbanke Sound Southeaster a few years ago and just to give me a glimpse of what the rest of this trip might look like this year, the weather guys were calling for a 30 knot blow that very evening.
Don’t even think about going around Caution today a guy told me while fueling in Port Hardy. Supposed to last for a couple of days, too, he added. So there I was, poised on the rim of Queen Charlotte Strait, ready to embark on a trip I'd waited two years for, and here was a guy beseeching me to stay put because of wind
I was too wound up to stay put in Port Hardy. I decided to bust my move and beat the storm—-I headed off across the Strait towards the mainland to a spot I’d used to hunker down and wait out storms in years past. And the way things finally turned out, waiting out that blow in that particular spot was a hugely auspicious part of my trip this year. It was absolutely the right move to make.
For two nights my boat spun on its anchor. Big wind. Relentless wind. I knew I finally had to pull it because there’d be a huge kelp ball from all the veering I’d been doing. The first thing I saw was the stainless “D” bracket between anchor and anchor swivel had jammed up into the throat of the swivel and had leveraged the two collar pieces so it looked like they were ready to split in half. It was wedged so tight I couldn’t break it free. It was at a right angle to the swivel. I cringed thinking of all the sideways torque that had been placed on that swivel. Another night of spinning could have cost me my anchor and possibly put my boat on the rocks... I broke into a cold sweat. Anchor problems, and the trip hadn’t even begun yet! And with the wind, how was I going to drift around in those tight quarters and get a new shackle attached?
But lucky me—-there was a cruiser in the bay, also waiting out the blow, and after explaining my situation to the skipper I was able to raft up along side him. And better yet, the skipper gave me a new shackle and we got it installed and the pin fastened in place with stainless wire. It’s those little bits of luck that can make or break a trip.
I realized I’d just dodged a serious bullet...if I hadn’t met the skipper and his wife and had made the run around Caution and anchored later in the trip in a remote location and that swivel had parted, that would have ended the trip. It was clear to me that first blow had been a good thing, giving me an opportunity to find the weak link in my gear before getting into the more remote locations I’d planned. ...I thanked that skipper profusely for his help.
Last summer was an arrow in my heart. Tied to a dock with a new-to-me boat, a pandemic wedged between me and my annual trip north to the Promised Land....a bitter pill to swallow for a guy who doesn’t have a huge amount of “there’s always next year” ahead of him.
So on optimistic border news I did what I had to do and was second in line at the gate on August 09, boat in tow. I was prepared to either get sent back home or get waved across. There was only one of two possible outcomes and I prepared myself for either.
Mention of a mandatory C19 test kit started things off immediately on the wrong foot. The border guy wanted to know where I’d be quarantining in my “secure” location while waiting for the government lab results. Hadn’t I read the pamphlet? It was clearly written that I had to take this C19 test and I should have been aware of that.
With zero hesitation I made the decision to pull the plug on the trip. That fast. There was no way I was going to wait for test results from any lab, much less a “government lab”, all the while cringing in some hotel with boat and trailer sulking down in an ill-lit parking lot. And I'd just handed the guy four negative test results.....wtf...
Meanwhile, going north so late in August was already a worm of worry between my ears because I knew every lost day meant the chance for crappier weather. Another four day wait was out of the question. I reached for the start button of my truck, rubber-necking for the turn-around to get me out of line so I could head on back down the highway. I was crushed, but at least I’d tried.
Without a word the guy motions me to stay put then disappears into the main office. Ten minutes later he was back and without a word he opens the gate and waves me through....you’re good, he says. Get out of here....just like that....It was like a Kabuki Play...but I was across the border on my way to the Promised Land.....yeehaw!
The next part of the crusade was dragging a large boat on a triple axle trailer through downtown Vancouver during Monday morning rush hour, the quest being to deliver my boat onto the ferry out of Horseshoe Bay with the motors still attached to the transom and the trailer frame not too bent out of shape. But bit by bit the pieces of the puzzle fell together. I felt electrically charged while standing on the deck of my ferry as it powered up for the run across the Strait of Georgia to Departure Bay in Nanaimo
But throughout the drive I couldn’t help pondering the lateness of the trip...I’d never made a move like this so late in the year. I’d already had baptism by fire in a Milbanke Sound Southeaster a few years ago and just to give me a glimpse of what the rest of this trip might look like this year, the weather guys were calling for a 30 knot blow that very evening.Don’t even think about going around Caution today a guy told me while fueling in Port Hardy. Supposed to last for a couple of days, too, he added. So there I was, poised on the rim of Queen Charlotte Strait, ready to embark on a trip I'd waited two years for, and here was a guy beseeching me to stay put because of wind
I was too wound up to stay put in Port Hardy. I decided to bust my move and beat the storm—-I headed off across the Strait towards the mainland to a spot I’d used to hunker down and wait out storms in years past. And the way things finally turned out, waiting out that blow in that particular spot was a hugely auspicious part of my trip this year. It was absolutely the right move to make.
For two nights my boat spun on its anchor. Big wind. Relentless wind. I knew I finally had to pull it because there’d be a huge kelp ball from all the veering I’d been doing. The first thing I saw was the stainless “D” bracket between anchor and anchor swivel had jammed up into the throat of the swivel and had leveraged the two collar pieces so it looked like they were ready to split in half. It was wedged so tight I couldn’t break it free. It was at a right angle to the swivel. I cringed thinking of all the sideways torque that had been placed on that swivel. Another night of spinning could have cost me my anchor and possibly put my boat on the rocks... I broke into a cold sweat. Anchor problems, and the trip hadn’t even begun yet! And with the wind, how was I going to drift around in those tight quarters and get a new shackle attached?
But lucky me—-there was a cruiser in the bay, also waiting out the blow, and after explaining my situation to the skipper I was able to raft up along side him. And better yet, the skipper gave me a new shackle and we got it installed and the pin fastened in place with stainless wire. It’s those little bits of luck that can make or break a trip.
I realized I’d just dodged a serious bullet...if I hadn’t met the skipper and his wife and had made the run around Caution and anchored later in the trip in a remote location and that swivel had parted, that would have ended the trip. It was clear to me that first blow had been a good thing, giving me an opportunity to find the weak link in my gear before getting into the more remote locations I’d planned. ...I thanked that skipper profusely for his help.
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