Would you ever forget ordering - and eating - a $20 hamburger?
I did that. And I'll not forget.
After a couple of days in the shadow of snow - topped mountains in Princess Louisa Inlet we turned the boat back toward the open sea. On the way out of the mountain inlet we stopped at the Back Eddy Resort and Marina at Egmont on the Sechelt Peninsula of British Columbia. While the pricey burger looms large in my memory, I doubt I'll forget the difficulty of landing the boat against a three-knot current out in front of the small restaurant and marina. We were on the verge of the entry to Skookumchuck Narrows where the max current runs at 16 knots, with 8-foot overfalls that look like flowing concrete. It took three tries to get Quadra alongside the marina mooring float.
Finally tied fast and after a soothing gin and tonic, we hiked up the hill to the restaurant. I ordered the $20 burger mostly to see what it looked like. I can't remember ever spending more than $8 or $9 for a hamburger. The waitress came back later, a big grin on her face, and put a dinner plate at my place. The burger covered the plate. Completely. This is logging country so it's fair to describe it as one for a Bunyon-sized appetite.
I sliced it in half and went to work. It was deliciously juicy and adorned with all the right stuff. I found room for half and the smiling waitress brought me a box. Ellen and I shared the leftovers for lunch the next day.
Speaking of memories, how about the day we played T-Bone with a British Columbia ferry?
We were southbound in Stuart Channel, with Salt Spring Island to port and Vancouver Island to starboard. A couple of miles ahead I could see a B.C. ferry departing from a terminal at Vesuvius on Salt Spring Island. It was heading from our left to right, and we might have had the right of way. I never argue that point with ferries, however.
Ellen and I agreed that we might be on a collision course. We did this by lining up a couple of points and watching for a change in our angle toward the ferry. We could see none and that suggested trouble. However, I was running an AIS system in conjunction with Rose Point navigation software and it predicted our closest point of approach (CPA) would be about 400 yards in about six minutes. Safe enough.
I wanted to steer port, behind the ferry. But I also wanted to test AIS. I had been running the program only a couple of days and had never put it to a trial. I held fast, not touching the autopilot steering knob. Suddenly, my sense of apprehension vanished as the ferry, more than a football field distant, crossed our bow enroute to its terminal on Vancouver Island. It was a clear victory for electronics over eyeballs. I will have faith. But I won't quit doing my own calculations.
In March, while helping deliver an 80-footer to Alaska, I spent a lot of time watching AIS information on the plotter screen. It seemed every boat required to have an AIS transceiver aboard reported full information - name, length, speed, course, destination, type of vessel and etc. By early June, I sensed a change and noted that many vessels did not report data re size, destination, name and etc. In March, we talked with vessels popping up on AIS to arrange passing in narrow channels. That's hard to do when the other vessel is anonymous.
In central British Columbia, in the vicinity of Port McNeil, AIS would identify a few commercial fishing boats and, once in a long while, a yacht, cruise ship or ferry. As we moved south toward Pender Harbour, Nanaimo and Sidney, however, the listing would run as high as 20 AIS vessels. Rose Point lists them all neatly and concisely along the right side of the monitor and identifies the vessel with a narrow, wedge-shaped blue blob on the monitor. It's not intrusive. However, if it's too much to bother with - and especially if some targets are 15 miles distant - it's simple to turn off.
Judging by the anguished screams overhead on VHF 16 as we cruised southern British Columbia and Northwest Washington in early July it's apparent that a fair number of boaters still don't know/don't care that wakes created by a sport cruiser or large yacht at 16 knots are uncomfortable and possibly dangerous to craft at anchor or - like us - puttering along at displacement speeds.
I find that many come so fast and so close that I cannot turn into their wake and to avoid rolling the rails under I need to make an emergency turn away from the oncoming bruiser. I remain mute through these challenging moments - meaning I don't join the screamers on the radio - because those who haven't learned to operate a vessel safely and courteously probably don't know how to use a VHF radio.
Which reminds me of a great story told by a friend. He and friends and their young sons were on a canoe trip on a southwest river and enjoyed the quiet and isolation of the first few days on the water. On their last day, as they near a developed area, a nut in a speedboat deliberately ran through the fleet of canoes at top speed intending to swamp them. Skillfully, the paddlers avoided catastrophe and then turned to watch as the hot rod made a high speed 180 degree turn for another run at the small boats. As the speed boat turned back toward them it was caught in its own wake which overwhelmed and filled the boat. The paddlers cheered as it sank. I wait for that day.
The state of Washington requires boaters to take a boating class and to pass a test to qualify for an operator's certificate. It's being implemented gradually, with the youngest operators the first required to be certificated. I am of sufficient years that I am not required to take the class or to carry a certificate, but I'm tempted to sign up for a class just to see if they teach courtesy along with how to tow a water skier.
This odd bunch of anecdotes doesn't truly reflect why I like to cruise the Inside Passage. The scenery defies description. Snow-topped mountains slope to the shores throughout B.C. The setting sun puts a torch across the horizon nearly every night. We see wildlife - from black bears on the beach (and along trails some of us hike) to seals, whales and flocks of seabirds. Solitary eagles soar on thermals and then tip wing over and dive for a fish. Crab and spot prawns fill our traps and shellfish litter the shores. Beyond that, however, are the people - old friends, new friends and people who know people we know.
We were warmed personally by getting to know three young men who were operating a prawn boat and who shared bacon-wrapped prawns hot off the grill one evening when we stopped to chat. The next evening they brought more of the same to an exclusive pre-season potluck dinner at Greenway Sound Marine and Resort. Theirs is a tough business: this trio worked 12 to 14 hours a day - every day - hauling pots, rebaiting, dumping them back AND packing the shrimp in cartons for freezing on board. While most B.C. shrimp are frozen and sent to Japan, this young crew said their catch went to fine restaurants in the U.S.