The Dobrotins in the Broughtons

The Dobrotin’s in the Broughtons

The high pitched chirping caught my attention, I looked up and the large bald eagle was easily soaring high above, soon disappearing over the tree tops of a nearby island. These are the Broughton Islands where boaters slowly move up and down channels searching for an anchorage and the wakes from their boats slap up against the shore. It was not always like this; a hundred years ago the Broughton Islands were a bee hive of activity with logging, fishing, canneries set up in small coves, large communities that consisted of the workers and their families. Before that, for hundreds of years, there were the Indian tribes with their long houses, totem polls and their many traditions that defined their lives. Now this area is quiet with small marinas tucked into coves that cater to cruisers who now meander these waters searching to uncover its beauty and find its past in these gorgeous, mountainous islands. This is not the first time we have wanted to come to the Broughton Islands. Back in 2006 we tried several times but the winds down Johnstone Straight would not give us an opportunity to make the dash up this far. This time we are above Johnstone Straight, in Port McNeill, where we launched the boat and now we only have to cross Queen Charlotte Sound, a thirty-two mile run, and we will be in the Broughtons. When we wake up we are pleased because it seems to be clear outside, no fog, but as we leave the protection of Port McNeill’s inlet we see a thin fog line appear on the water in

front of us. As we get closer, it starts to swirl and puff up. At this point we decide to bring up the computer so we can use it as the chart plotter just in case we need to use the radar to check for other boats if the fog thickens. Soon we motored into the fog and it envelopes us. Now it was like looking through fine white lace; we could see, just not clearly. As we get closer the outline of the Broughton Islands come into focus; the channels appear, the high mountain tops with snow start to rise above the other islands and the islands become defined. The scenery is gorgeous and we feel satisfied that we finally made it to the Broughton’s. Boris has been looking at these charts for three years and questioning local boaters to the locations of the good anchorages, trying to be sure we hit the best spots. As we slowly motor up the channel it was interesting to see the

differences between these islands and the west side of Vancouver Island. The channels and inlets are wider and longer, they meander in and around the many inlands, much more than on the west side. Also I notice that the rock here seems to be lighter in color than the dark rock, almost volcanic looking, on the west side. We work our way back and around a small island into Laura’s Cove and drop anchor. The weather has been warm and it is warm again today. There are several boats here, most of them tied off to the trees with their anchors out in front but there is one other boater who is swinging at anchor. Soon a boater who has local knowledge said we were over a reef and at low tide we could have trouble, so we re-anchor a little closer to where the boat swinging at anchor is located. It is not long before we realize we are much closer than we would have liked. The wind picked up in the afternoon, as it seems to

everyday, and pretty soon we are dancing with this boat for hours; the boats would get very close then we would pull apart and that cycle continued all afternoon. The other captain assured us we would not hit even though I could easily see into their boat and felt like I was in their conversation because they were so easily heard. Neither wife agreed with that statement, but we stayed, primarily because there wasn’t a better place to anchor. In the late afternoon five kayakers rowed in and set up camp in this very small piece of dry land; you could see where they tied their tents to trees to get them back in as far as they could. They had to be sure they were above the high tide water line. There was no bump in the middle of the night with the other boater we were dancing with in this

small cove, thank heavens. When we woke up the following morning the water looked like glass so I grabbed my cup of coffee and sat in the cockpit to enjoy the serenity and spectacular scenery. Soon the guy in the other boat, our dancing partner, came back from a run in his dinghy. We couldn’t figure out where he had gone but turns out he had gone to pull up prawns. I asked him where he had been and he made it clear he would not reveal the spot where he drops the prawn pot, which was not what I had asked but evidently is sacred knowledge up here. As he cleans the prawns he asks if we would like some, we said sure. Today we were meeting friends and decided it would be a great appetizer. The anchor comes up and we head for Pierre’s Resort and Marina, where we have reservations for Friday and Saturday night and plan to attend their famous pig roast. As we get closer I call on the VHF radio, identify myself and ask where they want us to

tie off and they say between docks 2 & 3. The docks are about 100’ long, new wooden planks with beautiful baskets of flowers hanging on the main walkway. The size of the boats docked here are impressive, the average being 45’ feet with a couple 60’. Our boat looks so small next to these yachts, we truly look like their dinghy but everyone seems to be quite friendly and we are all here for a good time (see the red circle below.) They backed a boat up to us that was 60’, had four levels with blue lights on the eight stairs leading up to the main

saloon that light up at night. Man did we feel small. It wasn’t long before we meet up with our friends, Fred and Sharon, who were spending the weekend here also, in their 36’, now a small boat. Most of the morning the four of us watched the marina crew squeeze all the boats, sometimes three across, into every available space. The entire weekend was orchestrated by the marina with happy hours and on Saturday night the “big pig roast”. After happy hour on Friday night, we took the shrimp that was given to us that morning over the Fred and Sharon’s boat to prepare them in butter and garlic after Sharon and I pulled the shells off; I was surprised how prickly the shells were. Sharon had a bunch of shrimp she had boiled and cooled in the refrigerated; we all feasted on shrimp that evening for dinner. Saturday was a bee hive of activity on the docks.

Our gang decided to get in the dinghies and go over to Billy Proctor’s Museum on the other side of the island. The dinghies were left at the pier across the bay and from there we walked past the school house (closed last year), down into a small wooded area, across a bridge, around the bottom end of the cove’s shoreline, through a marshy area, up a small hill where we come upon some small outbuildings. As we continue on the narrow path through overgrown grass, we see Billy’s museum. Billy Proctor was born and raised, married and brought up his children in this area. He was a fisherman who really knew his business, a hand logger, ran a boathouse, repairing fishing boats and now is watching out for the native salmon, restocking rivers.

Billy was there to answer questions, which there were many, and the museum was a walk through local history, things he had gathered along the way through his life starting at the age of five when he found a rectangular piece of jade on the beach in front of his home. We bought a book on Billy’s life and some homemade sticky buns to snack on later. Now it was time for the pig roast and pot luck dinner. After examining the pig in its special oven the feast started. The evening was staged under a large white tent with clear plastic sides, sitting on a cement floating dock that at one time was a part of the Hood Canal floating bridge. The fog rolled in fairly early so it was a cool evening. After dinner, eight of us went back to Fred and Sharon’s boat and had a great visit. In the morning it was lightly raining and foggy, just enough to make everything wet; what a difference from the day before. By the time the fog lifted everyone was starting their motors and leaving, including us. Waddington Cove is about six miles from here, where Fred, Sharon, B

oris and I will stay for a couple of days. The anchorage is lovely, quiet and well protected with a small island sitting right in the middle. Since there are several boats here Boris and I anchor close to the island, we were committed to not dancing with another boat again. We visited with Fred and Sharon most of the day and before dinner Boris and Fred went out in the dinghy and dropped a crab pot. About 2:00 am I had gotten up and since we anchored out the window coverings were off; the view was incredible. The water was so calm it looked like a mirror, all the boats had their anchor lights on reflecting off the water with an almost full moon just rising above the trees in a clear dark sky. Standing there in this secret moment of the night was awe inspiring. In the morning the sky was not clear though, it was gray with a low ceiling and cold. Very different than a few hours ea

rlier. About 9:00 we went over to Fred and Sharon’s and Fred and Boris went in the dinghy to check the crab pot they had dropped the night before. What they caught was a twenty-one leg star fish. No crab tonight. Sharon must have been psychic because she had already taken out chicken to thaw for dinner that night. Most of the day we visited because tomorrow we all go our separate ways. < Today it is overcast, gray and cold outside. Had a cup of coffee with Fred and Sharon before they left; sorry to see them go. We took the dinghy for a ride, it was low low tide, the time when the shoreline reveals its secrets. We noticed a wall of neatly stacked

rocks, obviously they did not just end up that way and realized we were looking at a weir. Weirs were used by the Indians, in times past, to catch fish. They would pile up rocks and as the tide went out the fish were caught behind the wall of rocks. We could see that they had built several weirs throughout this cove and were excited at the find. It was time for us to get a move on so we pull up the anchor and head for our next anchorage, Sutherland Bay in Drury Inlet through Stewart Narrows; a thirty-five mile day. After twenty miles we enter Stewart Narrows. It is high tide and the chart indicates rocks in the center of the narrows so we stay close to the bank of the west side. The current is strong and swirling, the boat is being pushed and shoved as the water is trying to squeezed out of this narrow passage and then we enter a large, long body of water and at the tip is Sutherland Bay. The wind has kicked up, normal for the afternoon, we drop anchor but the bay is way too large for my comfort. We are the only boat here. Most of the time I am thrilled to be the only boat but here I am not sure if the absence of boats is not telling us something. Since it is cool and gray outside we stay tucked inside the boat where we read and play cards. One night is long enough at this anchorage and by 7:15 am we are on our way out in order to get through Stewart Narrows at slack water. The narrows were calmer than yesterday

and we easily slip through them, went to Claydon Bay and dropped anchor by 9:00 am. This was the kind of anchorage we were looking for; round, small, calm and quiet. There were several other boats but plenty of room. It is so still here that I can hear the swoosh of the raven’s wings as they fly by. Amazing. The sun came out after lunch warming up everything and we went for a dinghy ride. We are loving this anchorage. Another 2:00 am wake up call and again the sky is crystal clear with anchor lights reflecting on the water, a beautiful full moon; it feels magical. In the morning it is again foggy, gray and cold. Around here they do call August, Fogust. We decide to stay another day and take the dinghy across the small inlet where there are several buildings on floating docks. There is almost a western look about them when you scan in that direction. Someone is building a lovely home on an old rusted barge and next to that are several small buildings; maybe a work shop, storage shed,

a house where they live with a long dock attaching them together with a trawler and a crabber tied off in front. Later the crabbing boat comes through our part of the bay and works his crab line between the three floats covered by seaweed. Moms driving and the kids are loading and unloading the crab pots. We noticed that a lot of crabs are thrown back, undersized. After two days we say good-bye and head for Shawl Marina in Shawl Bay. Today is gray and cold, it will be a seventeen mile ride and we take it slow and easy to enjoy the scenery. We arrive around lunch time and so does everyone else. The marina is a small family run operation and the adult son helps us tie off the boat and hurries off to assist another boater. This marina makes me think of a small town you would run across on a back road if you were driving cross country. There were several small buildings on floats that attached to the floating docks but did not attached to land so there were no hikes through the woods. These small little out of the way places have their little prizes that always surprise you. At 5:00 there was happy hour, everyone bringing horalign="right" border="0"s d’oeuvre and meeting under a tent that has chairs and tables. All show up, we have a great visit and meet new friends. The owner bakes breakfast rolls, breads and pies. Of course we have to get a pie, peach; yummy. It rained hard last night, pelting the cabin top and at 5:00 am when Boris got up he stepped on the rug and it as wet. Not much sleep after that; laid in bed thinking about what it could possibly be, but didn’t lay there long. Boris got up at 6:00 to investigate the water problem and soon discovered we left a side window open and the water ran down the inside to the lowest point in the boat, moved to the center, another low point, where the rug soaked it up. We were not to happy that we left the window open but at the same time thrilled that that was all it was. All the extra towels we have for rags went on the floor to soak up the water and fortunately this marina has washers and dryers, so I took all the wet towels to the dryer. While the towels are drying, we sit down to pancakes that this marina serves every morning to their guests under the tent. V

ery nice touch. As we eat breakfast we mention that we were going to Wahkana Bay and another boater said she had heard of it but that it was quite deep and hard to anchor there. On our chart it said seventeen feet so we decided to go. I buy a freshly baked loaf of bread before we leave; quite a treat. When we leave and rain clouds are low and they block the view of the high mountains that line Tribune Channel, which is somewhat like a fjord. The color of the water has changed from dark blue to a milky aqua that come from glacier water further up the channel and high in the mountains. The mountains are over 4,000 feet, steep, the channel is narrow and the depth sounder reads 400 feet at one point. The low rain clouds drift and swirl their way up and around the different curves, peaks and valleys of these mountains, continually changing the view as the wind slowly pushes them along. Wahkana Bay is around the corner and the entrance is gorgeous. The depth sounder will not lock in so Boris goes ahead and drops the anchor with 75 feet of chain and started backing up to set the anchor. I was on the bow and told him that the anchor was just hanging straight down, no curve to it. At that point the depth sounder kicked in and said we were in 76 feet; and we decide not to anchor. We were sorry to leave this beautiful spot but leave we must. The boat is again headed south on Tribune Channel to Knight Inlet and our plan is to stay at Tsakonu Cove. Soon we found out that was not to be either because it was facing east, the same direction the wind was blowing and blowing so hard that there were a slew of whitecaps going right into this cove. We had traveled twelve miles to get to this cove but would need to travel six more to Lagoon Cove to stay at the small marina there. Boris decides to go through the BLOWHOLE, having heard it discussed a couple of nights ago, and I agree. It turns out it isn’t a blowhole as in Baja California, but just a small passage between two islands, to Lagoon Cove. I have to say it felt good to be tied up because of the wind and drizzly weather. What a sweet little marina. It wasn’t a large marina but it reminded me of a farm in Minnesota with a two story house up on the hill, gardens of vegetables, flowers lovingly trimmed, a large mowed lawn, stacks of cut wood and a view to die f

or. There was an original old boat house with a lot of history before the present owners bought it eighteen years ago. A small part of the boat house was set up for happy hour with a long table for everyone to display their appetizers. Every morning the owner would go out in his skiff and bring

back prawns, so on the hors d’oeuvre table was a large bowl of boiled prawns that he had caught that morning and they were delicious. We stayed two nights and the owner would tell tales to entertain us, which he did with a great deal of flair. He also told us some of the history of East Cracroft and Minstrell Islands. This used to be a large logging and fishing area, and they built boats in the boat house. It was a lot quieter now, with just the marina, a few houses for crabbers and a couple of summer homes. We took some dinghy rides and enjoyed exploring the shoreline and inlets. It was low tide so we could see all the exposed rocks that hide at high tide and the sea creatures that live on them. Last night it rained hard most of the night, so much that when I opened the back door after I woke up and the weight of by body shifted the water in the bilge, the bilge pump started pumping, which at first scared me because I thought we were taking on water; we weren’t. It was still raining when we left for Potts Lagoon, only six miles away. The anchorage is small, but the type we like; round, protected and calm. There are three other sailboats here, all rafted together so it isn’t hard to find a good spot to drop our anchor. Rain, rain, rain, go away, come back another day. We spend another day playing cards and watching the tide go up and down.

The next morning the sun was out behind a hazy sky but we will take sun however it wants to show up. Things in the boat are wet and damp and we are getting a little tired since we are from San Diego where the normal is extremely dry. Today we will visit Village Island, a place we have read and heard about for a while now. The Mamalilacua Indians lived h

ere and in many books it is fondly talked about. There is a small cove next to a broken down dock, half way leaning on its side, where we drop our anchor. The cruising guide said we could take our dinghy up to the shell beach and explore the Indians ruins. It wasn’t quite that easy. Boris is rowing from the small cove, around a point, through much seaweed to get to the beach but in front of us we only see mud flats, it is low tide. There was no way we could get the dinghy up to the shell beach. Boris rows us back to the broken down dock, we look it over to see if this is a doable alternative and decide, yes, it is. Now we slip and slide our way across the dock, moss is everywhere. When we are past the docks we come upon a big rock with a rope hanging down that you use to climb up the rock to a well used path. Soon the path becomes extremely narrow as we walked through berry bushes higher than Boris, and I put my arms above my head to work my way through the thick bushes. There were buildings, one being a hospital, that were falling down but everything was so overgrown you couldn’t get to them. We ran i

nto a couple on our way out that said the first time he was here in the 1980’s the grounds were kept trimmed, the buildings were up but not used, the Indian long house was there a

nd the totem polls were still standing. A very different scenario than what we saw but we did see what would have been part of the long house; two vertical large logs supporting a huge horizontal log that had been notched to stay in place plus another one further back. With the little we saw, we still could imagine what it might have looked like those many years ago. The thimble berries were ripe so on our way back to the dinghy we enjoyed picking the ripe ones at eye level and popping them into our mouths for a snack. That evening we spent the night at Crease Island in an east facing cove, protected by three small islets. After dinner we took the dinghy over to one of the islets, tied the dinghy off, crawled over the rocks and explored this little island. We finally found a place where we could walk, mind you this islet only had three tre

es. As the temperature dropped the rain started again and continued most of the night. Today is August 12^th and it is the last morning we will have in the Broughton Islands. Outside it is gray and overcast but at least it is not raining and I am enjoying my cup of coffee in the cockpit looking out at the magnificent scenery that lays before me trying to burn this image into my memory bank. It is time to leave and head for Port McNeill and we catch the outgoing tide that carries us along. Soon we see humpback whales in Blackfish Sound that lazily come up to the surface for air, dive again and in a few minutes we see the two of them again first by the spray, then their backs and lastly the large tail as it slips back into the water. It is always a treat to see them.

After a couple of hours we are again tied up in Port McNeill and meet our friends, Bob & Barbara Evans, who happen to be traveling around Vancouver Island in their motor home. The four of us went to lunch across the street and had a great time getting caught up. It was time to leave and Boris said he wanted to go and check on the truck and trailer. Bob, Barbara and I were standing outside the restaurant and Boris came steaming by to go to the Harbor Master’s office and said he could not find the truck or trailer. It didn’t quite calculate in my head what he had said. I said that I would go and check, thinking he must not have looked in the right place and Bob came with me. Bam – it finally registers – no truck or trailer. All of us are now in high gear, adrenalin freely flowing, trying to sort out what has happened. The Harbor Master makes a few phone calls and discovers it has been impounded by the local towing company. Boris talks with the tow truck driver and he informs Boris that he only takes cash. Needless to say, we are not happy campers, we paid $52.50 for a parking permit for a month to cover ourselves, put it on the dash of the truck and were told that was what we needed to do to keep everything safe and sound. Thank heavens Bob & Barbara were here because they drove us around to find the impound area and there it was behind a locked fence. The driver arrived a few minutes after us and I was grateful there was no mean junkyard dog roaming around the premises. The driver walked up, there weren’t too many pleasantries on our side, he unlocked the gate and we showed him the permit ticket laying on the dashboard of the truck. Bob said he wished he would have gotten a picture of the driver’s face at that moment. The driver didn’t say anything, he just walked over to the gate and opened them wide, half apologizing, said something like his boss must not have seen the ticket before he hauled it off. Boris didn’t say a word, we just left and there was no money exchanged. After we got back to Port McNeill marina the Harbor Master credited out credit card for the $52.50, the amount of the parking permit and apologized profusely. Boris and I went back to the boat for awhile to try and peel ourselves off the ceiling, letting the adrenalin level come down again. At 6:00 pm we meet Bob and Barbara again for dinner. There was a restaurant just down from where we had lunch that served sea food that we decided to try. When we walked in they had table clothes and linen napkins on the tables; it had been a long time since the silverware wasn’t plastic and wrapped in a paper napkin held together with colored tape. Yes, us girls were quite happy to be here and the food was outstanding. We said good-bye to our friends and felt lucky we were able to spend time with them at the tip of Vancouver Island. The following day we drive to a couple places we would like to explore. Before we leave Boris tapes the parking ticket to the winch brace, using gray tape to cement the parking ticket we need to leave on the trailer in hopes the towing company will see that we are legal since the truck is now disconnected from the trailer.

Port Hardy is about an hours drive from Port McNeill and almost to the tip of Vancouver Island. It is a jumping off spot for boaters to cross Queen Charlotte Sound for those going up to Alaska and it brought back memories for us from our Alaska trip. Coal Harbor was another stop we wanted to make, it is much like Gold River and used mainly to launch small boats. This spot was extremely active during WWII for the Canadian Air force float planes. One of the hangers was still standing and you could see it belonged to another time. There was a small museum inside the building in a side office that had pictures of its heyday which we found quite interesting. Upon reaching Port McNeill I head for the Harbor Master’s office to pay for our stay here, since we will leave tomorrow. The Harbor Master said we did not have to pay and again apologized for the towing incident. Hiltje Binner certainly did her job well and we appreciate her help. By the way, the auto parts store next to the launch ramp has a “secure parking” area for out-of-towners. I guess that’s the place to be sure you don’t get towed, since they also are the tow company.

We pull the boat and head down to the ferry dock in Nanimo, well in time to catch the 10 A ferry. The drive down is beautiful, last tank of $4/gal gas, BUT as we pass Nanimo, the sign says: 10 AM ferry cancelled. We keep on going, get to the gate and are told: yes the 10 AM ferry is cancelled, do you have reservations? We don’t, so we’re put on standby for the 12:30 ferry, and a guarantee for the 3 PM ferry. We do make the 12:30 out of Nanimo to Tsawwassen. Just for info, there is a Washington State ferry from Victoria/Sidney to Anacortes, and their special actually made it cheaper than the Canadian ferries. This ends our journey through these spectacular cruising grounds. The planning and execution of this adventure is complete, now we will have the memories to pull up and enjoy at our pleasure. Thank you for traveling along with Journey On through the Northwest cursing grounds.