The Dinghy Sails, 'Fogaust, Shiners, New Friends and a Fire Extinguisher that was

First Mate’s Log
August 4th to 9th
Hot Springs Cove to Tofino
Hot Springs Cove
A bath. It had been 2 months since I’d had a bath. Not bathed mind you, but soaked. Hot Springs Cove is north of Tofino, the major West side city, about 11/2 hours by water taxi. Those who enjoy the warm waters via this mode of transport have not really earned it like we had, they can only saw they’ve been there.
There is a 2 km boardwalk that takes you over the top of the island from the cove to the hot springs proper, over the dense underbrush and hilly terrain. It’s a beautiful boardwalk, built in 1996, replacing one that was made of cedar shakes. There was a lot of history though, in the previous boardwalk, as sailors who had arrived in their boats had carved their boat names in the cedar shakes. These had all been removed, to where, only the Park Service knows. The tradition has been carried on and as you see some very artistically and other crudely etched names: Invicta II, Wind walker, Bella Grand, Whitehaven, Sea Deuced, LornaDoon, Checkmate, Kestrel, Batwing, Innchanter, the Bucks, Whoosh, Silent Sound, Solstice, Winds, Northern Dancer, Rxtra Hollyday., Unforgiving, Outnumbered, Moea, Baron Rogue, Snow Dragon, Last Mango, Bella Ragazza, ZeeVogel, Full Nelson, Zypher, Resolute, Puffin, Amani. Ken took our chisel and a hammer and we too are among the counted.
Young’s Cove
On to Young’s Cove in Sydney Inlet, where Ken got inspired to turn the dinghy into a sailboat. Did you know that any boat can be a sailboat? He had made a gaff rigged sail and a mast for it, and it seemed to do well in light airs.
We also have entered the month of the year that on the west coast of BC has earned it’s own name, Fogust. Sailing in fog is a nerve wracking experience. When it’s really thick you can’t see a thing, but more that ever, one must keep a good lookout. The radar is a lifesaver, but like all electronics it requires interpretation, and sometimes it provides erroneous information which heightens my anxiety unnecessarily. The fog forms around midnight and tends to dissipate around noon, but can last much longer. Where it stays and when it goes is as ethereal as the stuff itself.
August 7th, Ahousat
Ahousat is an Indian village, and a whiteman’s ‘resort. It occupies both sides of a two headed bull of a bay, Marktosis Bay (see photo). We were again anchored under the flight path of the float planes. Nothing like being ‘touched’ by landing gear at the tip of the mast antenna. We were in for good weather, and took advantage of it to do a peat bog/rainforest hike from the bay across the island to the beach. We scrambled over tree limbs, broken branches, rows of roots ready to snag an ankle. We sunk up to our Teva straps in black peat—squishy, wet and warm, and not as gross as mud. It was a 30 minute hike but well worth the prize of a long sandy beach—no rocks! The water was clear and cold, the temperature that makes you shiver as you go in but if you stay in it long enough you get used to it—that is to say your legs go numb.
There were giant white clam shells, and scalloped brindled or calico shells, and we floated them like Frisbees out over the water until they landed with a ‘clop’ on the gentle Bay.
We met up with our new found cruisers Clark and Nine-ah (Nina) off their 43 foot olive green hulled trimaran, RikiTikiTavi. They were stretching their legs on the beach, but also had a peddle kayak for exercise. They’d been cruising these waters out of Sacramento for 3 years, and had not tired enough of the “water, rocks and trees” to head to other climes.
Clark built Riki over a 15 year period. He (Riki) is beautiful, roomy, light weight and well organized. They motor him mostly, but on our trip into Marktosis Bay they put up their Egyptian cotton colored sails.
Nina is a photographer, and graciously offered to take photos of us under sail. The wind picked up and we were healed nicely on a port tack, and she got some great photos, and gave them to us digitally and on paper.
We met up with some Canadians that they had sailed with before, Oliver and Lyn, on Hannibal, a 32 foot sloop, made in Ontario. Corporate dropouts, they were circumnavigating the island from their home on Gabriola Island. They had a lot of sailing experience, not only in the Pacific Northwest, but in the Caribbean and the Great Lakes as well. Oliver has made good use of that experience and is a certified sail and power boat instructor, and has his celestial navigation certification as well. Way to go Oliver. Ken was licking his chops, recalling his time in Libya teaching sailing while in the Air Force, perhaps a second career awaits him teaching the not yet initiated the finer points of staying afloat in gale force winds.
Oliver and Lyn were able to answer some of the burning questions I had about navigating and anchoring and weather, like what type of fog makes up Fogaust (advection) and why it’s important to make sharp turns and not cut corners when cruising the islands.
We thought we’d check out the native side, and dinghied over and discovered Sunken Boat Bay, or the bay where boats go to die, see photo. We met 2 boys on the dock, doing a much better job than I have done catching fish. With his hi tech equipment of a treble hook on line wrapped around a pencil, Oscar caught ‘shiners’, Silver dollar sized fish that glinted in the sunlight. He used baby mussels that he yanked off the pilings to catch a good sized sea perch, spending it’s last gill breaths just under a rusting tugboat. He dropped in his bait and moments later snagged his quarry with a whoop of excitement. In so doing he had ripped open his belly. With a strategic press of his hand he ‘liberated’ those same shiners he had used to fish with, some still alive, and tossed them back in the water. And so the cycle goes. Maybe he can teach me a thing or two about fishing, though I don’t think I could or would want to get away with snagging.
On shore we were greeted by a native couple and their 7 month old son Basil. He is a carver, and was sitting on a stump sized rough cut piece of cedar that he had drawn some soon to be carved designs on. She made very nice dream catchers, and they invited us into their home and showed us their work. I could smell the fish chowder steaming on the stove. His fingers were wrapped with electrical tape bandages.
We walked around town, met the village dog, a dirty white mellow husky type who escorted us along the one road around the island. Everyone was friendly, greeting us with “Where are you from?” with an attitude of acceptance, where we were clearly out of place. I tried to buy some homemade bread from a home based store, but their had just been a funeral for an 80 some year old woman and I think the baker was there as her door was locked.
When we got back to the dock, the sea urchin fisherman had just pulled in, and was bobbing in the water in his wet suit ‘cooling off’. He came on dock and cracked open a beautiful softball sized purple spiny urchin, offering Ken and I the roe, saying “Swallow it whole, no chewing.” I did as I had watched others do, took the liver like mass between my lips and slurped it down. Salt was the only flavor I got, and I wished I had chewed it to get the actual flavor. This traditional food was eaten in a traditional way, in one fell swoop. My experience of Ahuosat native village was one of true friendliness.
That night we ate dinner on the white man’s side, at the greasy spoon which was part of the grocery store. They served Hughie burgers, named after the long term owner of the place. Good fish and good company. It was a step back in time with 50’s era decorations and a counter with soda fountain like bar stools.
The pyrene fire extinguisher
Next to the diner, was the area grocery store, also straight out of the 50's. Auto parts next to hardware and cereal, it had all the essentials that you could need for this locale. Hughie could pinpoint anything you might need if his organizational sense didn't lend itself to obvious location.
I looked up on the wall next to the laundry soap and saw something I had never seen before. It took me a moment to figure out what it was, and even then I didn’t really understand it. It had the shape of a hot air balloon without the basket, about the size of a grapefruit. It was made entirely of glass, and was filled with a yellow liquid. An etched metal label affixed to the body said 'Break off tip' and then 'Fire Extinguisher'. Hugh said it was filled with pyrene, a gas which somehow chemically binds the available oxygen, thus depriving a fire of it's fuel. "It worked too well and they were outlawed. The fire got put out but too many people died as a result of suffocation--they didn't leave the area after they put the fire out and got asphyxiated." Hugh still has his though, said he used to have them in his house too. Not sure if he keeps it just for ambience to match the 50's decor or kept for it's intended use. (See photo)