Here we are.

Canoes to the left of us, surfers to the right, radio Hawaii full blast and 7 knots over the water, that’s how O2 headed for the open ocean with the cliffs of Kaua’i receding in the background. As we were raising anchor, we both felt some anxiety about the adventure we were about to undertake. But it took no longer than 10 minutes of smooth sailing for us to shift into tranquil passage mode. The ocean was moving in deep long swells, the sun was shining bright, and we finally got to meet The Pacific at her best behavior. Also, alarming noises warning of imminent technical breakdowns were totally absent. Instead, O2 was purring like a satisfied oversized kitten, steadily cruising along on a gentle undulating expanse of blue, sparsely dotted with fluffy white caps and animated by swooping red footed boobies. This lasted for exactly four days.

Saturday night, June 11th, the S-SW wind veered to the North and then all but died. The near full moon got blurred by gathering clouds and we had to start the engines and keep them running until Sunday late afternoon. The strategy we followed was to reach N 40 W 140 ASAP to pick up the Southwest winds which were predicted to be blowing above the NE Pacific high-pressure zone which had firmly installed itself by now. Since our motoring range isn’t that great (only 144 hours) finding wind in good time is always crucial.

On the way we had to reckon with the usual Pacific palette of flat opaque ocean, choppy ocean, crazy ocean, no wind, too much wind, wind changing direction in a blink of an eye, gusty wind, etc. etc. So, we were kept busy with raising and lowering sails, reefing sails in and reefing sails out, changing standard sails for the para sailor or the asymmetric spinnaker and back again, trimming sails, moving the boom to center, moving the boom to the left, moving it to the right and then back to the center again. A regular RYA sailing course for advanced crew. Which I would have flunked were it not for My Captain’s relentless guidance, I humbly declare.

In the meantime, the temperature was gradually dropping. Around latitude N 33, as the ocean remained amazingly blue, it was no longer possible to flash naked flesh without turning blue ourselves. Tropical flimsy outfits were replaced by sturdy fleeces, seaboots, sailing vests & overalls. And don’t forget the mittens when outside at night! 

All geared up like this, I often felt like reenacting the fun we had had with our visiting friends when we were rhythmically banging the table with our fist while hollering out the ancient sea shanty “The Wellerman” (justly made popular again by TikTok). Although we weren’t going in the right direction for “sugar, tea and rum”, we certainly were on the right track for whales again!

At the crack of dawn, Sunday June 19th around 03:30 AM we could hoist our para sailor again to start another lovely downwind run. While we were working the sails in the mist and drizzle, we suddenly heard a loud familiar sound. And then another one, and a third one. Whales! But how odd is their behavior, cruising along right next to O2 the way dolphins would do. Peering into the darkness, the nearby ocean lit by our deck lights, we suddenly perceived large streaks of white with a dark pointy shadow looming above and another big spray with a loud snort: ORCA! 

At N 44 W 140, three orcas were checking us out and we were totally awe -struck, with the ropes of our sails limp in our hands. What were they doing, so far out in the ocean!? Also, was our rudder in imminent danger of demolition now? But the rudder attacking behavior is clearly restricted to the orca pods in Portuguese & Spanish waters, thank god. Our orcas spookily kept cruising along for a while and then suddenly disappeared into the dark again. 

In the meantime, the weather situation was complicating matters with another FRONT passing by and a windless spell forcing us to adjust our route again. At N 46 W 137 we started to motor-sail which we continued for the next 3 days. All the while, keeping an eagle eye on our fuel consumption. The last thing we needed was to run on empty while still on the open ocean. An ocean notorious for its wild and dangerous whims.

Friday evening, June 24th, there it was! Land! The Mystical Isles of Haida Gwaii emerged from the ocean like a mirage. Still 40 miles away but looking so tantalizing close. Saturday morning it appeared before our eyes as a rather uninviting chain of dark forested hills. We had reached the southern tip of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve. Since this is NOT an official Canadian port of entrance we had to continue eastwards to Hartley Bay, where we hoped to snatch some diesel. This meant crossing the Hectate Strait, “notorious for rough water“, dixit our navigation book . But Neptune cut us some slack. Too much slack, really. We were moving at a snail’s pace and adding the engine was out of the question with only 7% diesel left and still 80 miles up north and against the wind to go. So, for 16 hours we sluggishly plodded on, at times sounding our foghorn and diligently checking our radar for close by vessels. There were none. We safely reached Cameron Cove where we dropped anchor at 04:00 AM on June 26th, after 20 days on the ocean. The rest of the day, My Captain collapsed in a stupor, oblivious of the snorts of spouting whales around us.

We had notified the Canadian Customs by sat phone about our predicament. How we came sailing from Hawaii. How we got caught in a High-Pressure zone which forced us to motor. How we were running on empty and therefore couldn’t motor straight North to Prince Rupert. How we were now heading for Hartley Bay. Therefore, could we please be authorized to do an emergency fuel stop on Canadian soil although we were not legally cleared in yet and without you guys confiscating O2? They told us to call again the moment we were tied to a Canadian dock. Any dock? The answer was rather vague, so we continued to Hartley Bay Fuels, the only place miles around where we could feed O2 some diesel. 

When O2 started screaming she was too hungry to move on, we stopped the engine and proceeded by towing her with the dinghy from Cameron Bay to our next anchorage closer to Hartley Bay where the fuel station was. Three times this nearly went horribly wrong, when instead of being towed, O2 pulled the dinghy to the side and nearly under her left hull. Each time, My Captain screamed in agony for me to undo the rope connection ASAP. Three times he was convinced I was being a fumbling idiot while he was nearly drowning. In reality I was fighting gravity, horsepower and tremendous physical forces with arthritic fingers and a non-functioning thumb. After a lot of cursing and swearing and a near divorce we reached the appropriately named Home Bay where we dropped anchor again. The first try the anchor didn’t hold and when raised again it was entangled in kilos of kelp. The next morning, My Captain took the jerrycans in the dinghy and motored 2 hours to Hartley Bay and back. When later on we showed up with O2 to decently fuel her up we were greeted with an enthusiastic “You’ve made it!” 

On our way to our 3rd and last anchorage before Prince Rupert, we finished the last goulash soup we found tucked away in a corner of our freezer and fantasized about the seafood restaurants that were awaiting us in Prince Rupert. It is said that the journey is the destination and that to travel is better than to arrive. But we sure were happy to see Prince Rupert appear around the bend. 

 After 2598 nm and 22 days on the water we are still feeling slightly disoriented. Although it was not a “doigt dans le nez” straightforward sail, the passage which we had feared the most did NOT throw terrifying gales or storms and 10-foot waves at us. Those gales and storms had been developing all around us, though.

But thanks to 1) My Captain 2) Chris Parker and 3) Neptune, we managed to dodge all nastiness. (Thrice we also had to dodge the debris of discarded huge fishing nets with floaters still attached, bobbing on the surface smack in the middle of our track. The mere thought of our propellers being caught in that junk was enough to disrupt the already small amount of sleep we had.)
1) My Captain scrutinized the weather reports we downloaded via satellite connection and matched them with Chris Parker’s superb recommendations. 2) Chris Parker, our weather router expert on shore, delivered every 5 days updates and an appropriate sail strategy, which My Captain turned into waypoints. 3) And Neptune, that grumpy old beard, agreed that our dues had already been paid and left us be. Sort of. Instead of gales, he presented us with windless spells so much so that at times it felt like being caught in the doldrums instead. Were it not for the chill in the air.

And now we are docked in Cow Bay Marina, Prince Rupert. A 15-minute telephone call with the Canadian Customs was all it took to be cleared in, our 17 bottles of wine and bear spray included.  We are now officially authorized to stay for 6 months. O2 is allowed to stay a full year. The Mexican approach will balance that one out. 

It’s high time we caught up with the world now. Brand new shores are beckoning, and we are eager to heed the call of the totem pole. Indeed, here we are.