We all slept in after yesterday's tribulations. The plan for the day was to head straight across the Queen Charlotte Sound to Bull Harbour on Hope Island, off the northern tip of Vancouver Island. The weather forecast for the next few days was again favorable, with predicted light to moderate NW winds and fine weather. We were both low on diesel fuel, so it was going to be necessary to sail most of the 150 miles or so. We had also determined that if we left in the mid-afternoon, we should easily make it to Bull Harbour before 18:00 on 12 Aug. We spent the day preparing meals, stowing everything away for an open-ocean crossing and organizing the watch-bill. The anchor was finally aweigh at 17:00 and we motored east out of Heater Harbour in very light wind. We cleared Lyman Point at the eastern extremity of Kunghit Island and set course for Hope Island, course to steer 103 deg. M. By 20:00, there was enough wind to sail, so we silenced the engine and set all plain sail. By 21:00, the wind was up to NW 15, so we were barreling along at 6.1 kn on a broad reach, seas 2-4 ft.
By midnight, we were at 51-46.85'N, 130-39.41'W, still sailing happily along at 6-7 kn in NW 15 wind.
This is where the watch-bill collapsed. I had been at the helm since our departure from Heater Harbour, but my relief failed to materialize, as previously agreed, at midnight. Despite my earnest urgings, neither the crew nor the Admiral could be rousted from their warm bunks; courts martial will be organized when we reach the next port. So, I had no choice but to stand the next watch, or two, on my own. John had the same problem on his boat - it is hard to get good crew these days - so we amused ourselves all night long talking on the walk-talkies and taking turns keeping watch while one and then the other went below to freshen up the coffee. It was a fine, dark night, with nary a light in sight (other than our own running lights). The wind slowly lightened throughout the night, and by 07:00, our boat speed was down to 2.0 kn. The crew finally materialized about this time and I was able to go below and get my head down for a bit. I had only just dozed off about half an hour later, when I was rudely awakened by a blood-curdling scream from the cockpit. I struggled out of my sleeping bag and vaulted into the cockpit, expecting to find the rig collapsed over the side or the Admiral overboard. Instead, all 3 were pointing behind us and wailing that a plane (apparently streaming smoke) was about to crash into us. As if there was something I could do about it; the plane was making at least 150 kn and we were making maybe 3.5 kn. I had time to mention that I would have preferred to sleep through this event before the plane flashed overhead at an elevation of maybe 200 ft. The smoke had simply been the exhaust from the turbo-prop engines. As they passed overhead, we watched as a crewman leaned out a window with what appeared to be a camera. It took me some time to get back to sleep after this incident, but I managed a couple of hours.
The wind continued light for the remainder of the day and we plodded along at an average of ~3.5 kn. The crew all retired again about 20:30, with promises to relieve me at midnight. By 23:00, the Aurora Borealis was visible to the NE. About that time, a large school of dolphins arrived to keep me company for 15 or 20 minutes. The pod included several young adolescents and they were all playful and easily keeping up with us. I hung over the side watching them, fascinated by the brilliant phosphorescent trails they left in their wakes. One of the adults actually swam up right behind the boat, turned upside down (I could easily make out his white belly) and swam along with his nose only inches behind the boat's propeller, which was stalled and trailing it's own pretty impressive trail of phosphorescence. He carried on in this way for 4 or 5 minutes, coming up for air every minute or so. I have no idea why he was doing it, but he obviously found it amusing. Once again, when the ship's clock chimed 00:00, no one appeared, although the Admiral did make me a fresh pot of coffee. So, I was in for another long, lonely night. Midnight position: 51-10.45'N, 128-25.13'W, speed 3.7 kn, CTS 103 M.
At 00:23, we were buzzed and photographed (huge, brilliant, blinding flash) by a dark plane showing no lights, who approached from dead downwind in a glide, so that I did not hear them until they were right on top of me. It scared the crap out of me and I guess, somewhere in the archives of the Canadian Air Force, there is a photo of me, mouth agape, staring straight up in horror. They repeated the process for John on "Massilia", but by then he had been warned. We had both heard the distant hum of what sounded like an airplane, but never saw any navigation lights and could not imagine what a small airplane was flying around in the middle of nowhere at this time of night. The Aurora continued it's shimmering show, mainly white lights, but with some reds and purples to the west throughout the night until around 03:00. We were also able to see loads of shooting stars. With no moon, it was too dark to see any unlit floating objects, e.g., deadheads, so I gave up shortly after dark, and merely concentrated on staying on course and looking our for any navigation lights (there were none, other than "Massilia") and checking the radar for any targets (again, there were none). By 06:00, the wind had completely died and we were down to about 0.5 kn. I determined that fuel reserves were sufficient to make it to Bull Harbour, so we started the engine and motored slowly on. John opted to go around the north side of Hope Island, but this route is about 6 or 7 miles longer, so, after consulting the tide tables and listening to the weather forecast, I decided to go straight over the notorious Nawhitti Bar. This bar can produced turbulence and overfalls when the wind is against the tide. However, we went across at 11:25, with a very light NW wind and the flood current setting to the SE at about 3 kn; there was a very small overfall and light turbulence, but nothing alarming. Shortly after crossing the bar, we motored into Bull Harbour and rafted up to "Massilia", who had arrived a few minutes before us, at 12:15. Crossing complete. Whew!!
50-55.20'N, 127-56.20'W; Log = 151.0 N-m, Sum = 776.7
We rowed ashore in the afternoon to have a stroll along the beach at Roller Bay.