the reverse curve of time

~ From Nate ~

I’ve dreamt about Desolation Sound since I was 10 years old, when Coop was first invited to join sailing mentor Dick Shryock aboard Petra when Julie had to Kenmore Air home for work. In preparation for this current trip, the same dear Julie gave us recommendations, stories, and boundless enthusiasm, along with books and all the relevant paper charts – various fortunes both tangible and of that magical oral tradition kind.

Coop’s stories of sunny days meeting new boaters, rowing new boats, and sailing through legendary waterways have been canonical, foundational dreams that have, in various ways, inspired every major life choice I’ve made. Yet both times I’ve transited the Inside Passage – once north on Bunny, once south on Maks to the Moon – we’ve slipped right past Desolation Sound, opting for Seymour Narrows’ relative directness.

These last 8 days we’ve danced around the edge of the Sound, getting glimpses into the tree- and sometimes snow-lined peaks when crossing Sutil Channel to Campbell River or Heriot Bay, yet still being precisely one Cortes Islandth away from Desolation Sound. I’m a sucker for building anticipation, I guess.

As the maelstrom of the Raid subsided, we took a regroup day at the Heriot Bay Inn & Marina, where we’d already visited several times for drop-offs, fuel, general resupplying, wifi, etc. Their status as a new favorite all-in-one stop was further bolstered after long, cheap showers and industrial laundry, but it was cemented as an every-time-henceforth stop because of the friends that seemed to pop up as curiously as the seals in the bays. Over a couple days, we found ourselves posted up in the adirondacks and wicker seats facing the marina talking to an eclectic, rotating group of other visitors. Friends of Tim stayed and became ours too; Barry came to talk about his micro-troller; Ranj shared powerful stories of personal trauma while simultaneously buying us shots with her husband Calvin and shouting love at her two young boys, Lennox and Bronson, down the beach; David and Karen forewent another ferry ride to sit with us and have a beverage; Ed and Vicki shared a love of cruising after 6 years living aboard; Lindsey and Alex, the servers, shared their hopes and dreams with Julia.

And thus our social buckets were at the brim, along with water diesel gas propane batteries laundry groceries ice, we hopped back from Heriot Bay to Rebecca Spit and did the myriad tasks to ready for potential sailing. Roll the awnings, move the solar panels, unmount and stow the ladder, ready the towing bridles, secure everything on deck, clear anything heavy or breakable from the tables and counters, pull the water hose to keep the sink from overflowing, free the main and genoa sheets and furling line, check the fuel coolant oil water and wind up the Chinese Diesel to its reassuring and consistent thump. Coop hauls the newly-massive ground tackle and we drive off, letting Grasshopper off the stern quarter and slowly let out the floating and bungeed tow line, tying off on the bridle pulling through the Crow’s stern fairleads when Grasshopper is a happy distance aft of Sweetpea, who trundles along just a few yards behind the rudder.

We’re off! To Desolation Sound! The trip feels like most of the days have recently – high clouds, pleasant motorsailing and then sailing, encouraged to shut the motor off at first sight of a few wonderful spouts and flukes. And so we sailed and sailed, the islands’ hills growing larger and the blanket of D/desolation wrapping around us as we rounded Cortes’ north point and turned south toward Teakerne Arm on West Redonda Island – a favorite spot of Coop’s from both his 8th-grade sailing trip aboard Petra as well as his Inside Passage kayak trip at 19.

The magic is real in here! There are some other boats but not many, and the hills are steeper and bigger, the trees more varieties of green. We toured the three potential anchorages near the beautiful, canyon-like waterfall and chose the one with one boat instead of three and a little more real estate. A hundred feet off the shore can be 250 feet deep here, so everyone practices stern-tying. I’d done this a little before, but that was in a 1500lb, 17-foot microcruiser; no doubt life with the Crow has been continually learning what 22,000lbs of mass does and can do. We were able to find a nice spot in just 30 feet of water, dropped the big hook and chain, and I rowed the beefy stern-tie line that came with the Crow to the rocky shore. After tying it to the shoremost cedar, I rowed back out, soaking in the beauty of the Crow and Grasshopper, suspended perpendicularly to the cliffs nearby. We all took a deep breath in, and Desolation Sound helped us exhale and relax in a way we really haven’t yet done on this trip. And we’d only just arrived!

After a late night checking the anchor/stern-tie situation but accompanied by an epic moon, we slept in before hopping to the dock near the falls to hike to their origin, Cassel Lake. We all hiked the fairly treacherous trail – ropes tied up and across rock walls, for example – following the falls to their logjam then the lake. An older cruising couple, John and Jane, were there trying to get warm enough to want to jump in. We already were, and soon we were swimming and laughing below the steep rock face, the water something like 70 degrees and about as clean feeling as I could imagine.

We laughed, talked, dove, swam, laughed… it felt like a scene straight out of Bijaboji (I think it’s a combination of two of Betty’s stories). We only left because of business to attend to back at the anchorage – adjust the ground tackle for the rising tide and make BLD BLTs – that’s BLTs good enough to be breakfast lunch and dinner. They were as good we’d hoped, and now the light westerly is rocking us as we finally settle in and do the slow activities we brought and have been looking forward to but have been too overstimulated to get to: writing, watercolors, drawing, and just staring at the tree-lined cliffs.