Wed, Day #4. Haro Strait, Roche Harbor, Stuart Island

         The crew wants to go and see the orcas!  So again I modify the original itinerary and set a course for Roche Harbor the LONG way:  out of the narrow pass at the south end of the San Juan Channel, then northward up the west coast.  It would be about 21 nautical miles, in pretty much wide open waters, where there were NO places to go ashore until we reached Roche. 

Sailing on a cold day

       We untie from our mooring at Friday Harbor at around 8:00, to take best advantage of the tidal currents.  It's a grey overcast day, and the wind is blowing pretty good from the south.  It's a "tacky" leg with a lot of heavy heeling.  And it's really cold.  All the crew is wearing every piece of clothing they have.

Caroline our eagle-eye

      Finally we make it thru the pass and turn to the NW, and our angle of sail greatly improves.  No more wind full in our face now.  We sail past American Camp, where we hiked and lunched just yesterday. 

      As the coastline gradually curves to the north, the wind angle turns even more astern, and the ride gets more comfortable.  We now experience a "following sea", where the waves help push Escape along.

      And then we see the orcas!  Caroline, our eagle-eye whale-spotter and the primary advocate for taking this route, spots them first.  There follows much whooping and yelling from the crew; we sound like a bunch of loonies.  I turn Escape around and we zigzag for awhile.  It looked like a pod of about three whales.  Their dorsal fins would poke up, and every so often their entire body would broach the surface.  Cameras are clicking.  From our knowledge of the creatures gleamed yesterday at "Key Lime" Point, we know how to distinguish males from females. 

Orcas ho!

     We are not alone - boats seem to come out from EVERYWHERE.  Whale-watchers, sight-seers, other sailboats, you name it.  It seems they have some sort of network.  Eventually we conclude that that the whales and whale-watchers will do just fine without us, so I turn  Escape northward and we continue our trek up the coast.

Robert gives the captain a break

     The wind gets pretty breezy, and the waves get a little rough.  A couple of crew members get a bit queezy.   The sun never does come out, and it's cold as heck.  We even feel a couple of raindrops.  But no one is complaining.  I have the crew get the bimini ready to deploy, in case it starts raining and we need shelter.  Escape has a sort of poor-man's bimini (a canvas cover for the cockpit), not exactly state-of-the-art, and when deployed it blocks my view of the sails, so it's used only as a last resort.

      The wind continued to build, and now I am fighting serious "weather helm", where the boat wants to turn into the wind really bad.  Time to reef in the main.  (A "reef" is where you reduce the square footage of sail exposed to the wind.)  No one else on the crew had ever done a reef, but I talked them thru the procedure step-by-step.  It actually went quite smoothly.  And instantly, the excessive heeling stopped and Escape behaved MUCH better.  I tell you:  I am becoming quite the salty sailor at this monohull thing!

Lonely lighthouse

      And hey - how 'bout this crew!?  As recently as yesterday, they didn't even know what the traveler was (it's a beam-wise track onto which the mainsheet is attached), and now they not only can adjust the traveler, but they know how to reef!

Robert the "human whisker pole"

      A half-hour later the winds slacked off, and we go into a full-on downwind run.  Out comes the reef, and we are back to full sail.  Hmm, I wonder if we could ... Hey crew, put the jib over on the starboard side and keep the mainsail on the port side.  Set the traveler all the way to leeward.  It worked!  A wing-and-wing configuration - and without a whisker pole!  No one on the crew had ever seen this, and jaws were agape.  By golly, is there ANY sail trim option we have NOT done on this leg?!?  (Escape did indeed have a whisker-spinnaker pole, but deploying a pole is the sort of thing you must PRACTICE, and this was a rather green crew.)  But I did have Robert stand on the starboard deck, hold onto the shroud, and hold the jib out:  my "human whisker pole".

       The depth gauge starting acting funny.  It would just blink the word "LAST".  What the heck does that mean?  I tried re-booting it, everything.  We even pulled out the manual and tried to figure out what it was doing.  This is a critical navigational tool, and I absolutely could not anchor without it.  Later, it would be determined that it had exceeded its depth limit, as it started working again when we got into shallower water.  The water here in the Haro Strait was, like, over 1300 feet deep!  It seems like the gauge should show "Max depth exceeded" or "999" or something along those lines. 

Military ship in Haro Strait

     Speaking of depth, it was absolutely astounding how deep these waters were.  The water was NEVER less than a hundred feet deep unless we were a stone's throw from shore.  Depths way up in the hundreds of feet were very common. 

      Finally the long sail is over and we pull into Roche Harbor.  It, too, was very lovely, probably a bit more upscale than Friday Harbor.  The usual flotilla of kayaks and dinghies were everywhere.  Here, the lanes between the docks were a LOT wider than at Friday.  We get some diesel fuel, some more gasoline for the dinghy, and again top off the water tanks.  How the heck is it that we consume so darn much water?

     At the dinghy dock, Mitch and I see a dinghy approaching with two little old white-haired people aboard, a man and woman.  We walk up with plans to take their lines and assist them as they disembark.  But the next thing I know, the little old lady VAULTS out of her dinghy, in one graceful move, up onto the dock!  Ooooo-kay.

Hotel do Haro in Roche Harbor

    We eat a quick lunch at a lovely waterside restaurant, grab a few provisions (mainly beer and ice), and we're off to Stuart Island, just a couple of miles north of Roche.

     Upon arrival at Stuart Island at about 7:00, we head into Reid Harbor.  There is only one word to describe Reid Harbor: paradise!  It's a long, narrow bay, maybe a mile long and a couple hundred yards wide.  It's surrounded by high hills and rocky cliffs, and there is a small beach at the end.  Lots of good wind protection. There are maybe a couple dozen boats here, at anchor or tied up to small docks hither and yonder.  We pick a spot and drop anchor.

Reid Harbor, from up on the hilltop

      A few words about anchoring:  In my sailing career, I have not done a great deal of anchoring, although I've read much about it.  Experienced sailors describe it as somewhat of an art.  (Capt. Fatty Goodlander, circumnavigator and prolific sailing author, has a book out called "Creative Anchoring.")  Tying up to a mooring ball, of course, is MUCH easier and more secure, assuming of course that the mooring itself is structurally sound, which is not an issue in these parts.  But in a somewhat crowded anchorage such as this, anchoring is a serious challenge.  You must get the boat to stop just where you want it, not too deep, not too shallow, not too close to other boats or the shoreline.  And you must consider TIDES (which you can pretty much ignore in the Gulf of Mexico and the Caribbean).  But I'm getting better.  Robert, my trusty "bow man" who had never before handled an anchor, is becoming rock solid!  And a lot of it is good communication between the bow man and the helmsman.

     Michelle and I hop into the kayaks and go exploring.  It turns out that all these small docks - there are three or four of them - are available to recreational boaters on a first-come first-served basis, courtesy of the Washington State Parks System.  The sign says there is a 3-day limit.  On the docks are picnic tables.  It looks like about six boats our size could tie up there.  It's late afternoon, and all the boaters are cooking supper - the air is filled with delicious aromas.  Everybody has a drink in hand.

      At sunset, this guy stands up on his foredeck and starts playing bagpipes!  A crowd gathers around, in lawn chairs, on the dock, on boats, dinghies, kayaks, everywhere.  He goes thru all the bagpipe classics.  A young girl, maybe 7 or 8 years old, is up the dock dancing the traditional Scottish thing.  Wow - what a happening place!

     Michelle and I go ashore and meet Craig and Michaela, and strike up a conversation about boating in these parts.   Later, Craig, in his dingy, finds Escape (via the two bright orange kayaks tied to the stern), and invites us all over for wine at his boat Ohana after supper.

     Ohana is a 56 ft luxurious motor yacht that they booked thru Anacortes Yacht Charters, just like us.  The thing is a veritable floating palace.  As we arrive via dinghies and kayaks, I am climbing out of the kayak onto Ohana's swim platform, but lose my balance and fall into the water.  What an entrance!

Crew of Ohana rescue's David

      Craig and Michaela and their crew rush to my assistance.  I'm Ok, but all my clothes are soaked.  Not to worry, Michaela says, we have a washer and dryer aboard and plenty of clothes and towels.  Anyway, we have a wonderful evening of wine, beer, and stories about sailing and whale-watching.  They give us a tour of the boat; clearly, no expense was spared in building this floating Taj Mahal.

      Afterwards, upon returning to Escape, this time it is Mitch who loses his balance while attempting to climb directly from the dinghy into a kayak.  Yes, that water is indeed cold.

       Long day.  Great day.