Trouble with the wildlife

Nay, I will; that's flat:
He said he would not ransom Mortimer;
Forbad my tongue to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla 'Mortimer!'
Nay,
I'll have a starling shall be taught to speak
Nothing but 'Mortimer,' and give it him
To keep his anger still in motion.

-Hotspur, Henry IV Part 1, Shakespeare

The sun is shining, the wind is howling out of the east strong enough to make the dock lines creak and the rigging sing.  Cool too, 50 degrees in the cockpit.  SCAs posted for the Channel so the flock is definitely in the pasture.  I’m huddled below with the radio and the heater.

So what’s with the Shakespeare quote, you ask?  Are you still catching us up on the voyage?  And the answer to the last question is, not today.  There’s a story with the first one.

The verbiage above comes in the first act when several conspirators are plotting against the king.  Hotspur is suggesting using a starling as an audio weapon in an attempt to drive him crazy.  With those words, old Will and a willing groupie with too many dollars and not enough sense unleashed a nasty pest upon the North American continent and specifically Channel Islands Harbor.  I’m talking the common starling, AKA European starling, and to those of a scientific bent, Sturnus vulgaris.  Back in the late Nineteenth Century, Eugene Schieffelin and some other mis-guided wealthy members of an organization dedicated to introducing foreign species into North America for economic reasons decided it would be cool to introduce all the birds mentioned in Shakespeare plays.  So in 1891, they released several dozen European starlings in Central Park.

I wonder if they even read the play.  I mean the plotters were proposing the bird be used as an irritant.  Maybe they thought the starling song would be a beautiful addition to our environs, totally missing the irritant thing.  Now don’t get me wrong, starlings are pretty amazing birds.  They are related to mynahs and can mimic other birds.  They are very social and gather in flocks termed murmurations that in flight are astounding to watch.  They eat insects which is almost always a good thing.

Cool vid of starling murmurations 

But they also eat fruit and that’s not a good thing for a couple of reasons.  The berry farmers around here hate them as they cause hundreds of thousands of dollars of damage to their crops.  It also causes their guano to be acidic and staining.  Municipalities have spent millions dealing with the maintenance issues caused by the birds.  Remember they are a very gregarious species so it’s never just one bird, it’s hundreds.

Which brings me to what initiated this missive.  I got back to the boat one day and found the port deck and the sail cover covered in colored bird poop.  Now I haven’t told you yet of the new paint on the boat.  It has gotten a very expensive paint job during the stay here.  So I got out the deck brush and went to work.  I realized after a few minutes that I needed greater fire power so I broke out the pressure washer.  Two hours later the boat was clean but the deck was stained in a few places.  I was not happy.  The next day same thing, port deck nailed with colored poop, two more hours with the pressure washer and another stain or two.

After the third day I was getting pretty steamed and very puzzled.  I knew it had to be a flock of birds but had no idea what they were as I hadn’t seen them.  Finally, one evening I was returning when I saw about twenty little black birds clinging to the stays and shrouds above the upper spreaders.  My first thought was, how cool is that as they engaged in pecking order games on the shrouds, chirping and…defecating.  Oh no!  It finally dawned on me.  I ran to the boat, grabbed the nearest shroud and gave it a good shake.  They all took off at once, circling and wheeling and then realighting on the rigging.  Another shake and they again took flight some deciding that maybe the neighbor’s mast might be a little more accommodating.  At that point I realized that of the fifteen or so sail boats I share this basin with the little birds only preferred 5 or 6.  Finally, all the birds, maybe 150 from my and the other boats, left the rigging and disappeared into the nearby palm trees.  It was sundown.

It took several more days to observe their arrival in groups of 3 to 5 out of the east, looking like little black missiles with wings showing up approximately 40 minutes before sundown.  Then they roost in the rigging.  And then at sundown they repair to their nests in the palms.  And they seem to prefer the taller masts nearest the trees.

But what were they and how to dissuade them from using Blue Note as a pre-nighttime outhouse?  I only have one bird book aboard, Guide to the Birds of Alaska by R H Armstrong.  Not expecting much I dove in and after an hour the closest culprit looked to be the European starling.  The bill and the body shape were right but the ones in my rigging didn’t have spots.  More time with Wikipedia confirmed them and provided their history, behavior, habitat, etc.  I now knew who the enemy was, a strawberry-gobbling, gregarious, intelligent, fastidious, invasive bird with no known predators.

What to do?  Apparently some maintenance departments have had some success stringing nets over those items needing protection, not a solution for me.  Shiny objects strung in the rigging initially seemed to work but only for several days.  To date, the only effective method for preventing deck damage has been to stand by, waiting for a bird to land and then shaking the rigging until they fly off.  This is kept up until all the berries have been processed or sundown occurs.  Miss a day for whatever reason and two hours of fun with the pressure washer ensues.  All is not bad though as I have been providing amusement for all my live-aboard neighbors.  They understand after I explain it, but I can see the visual humor of seeing an old, fat hippie randomly jumping out and shaking a shroud.  I call it bird doody.  Thanks a lot Will.

-ap

Catch Up Phase Two

What a difference a week makes.  This is the third or fourth day in a row we’ve gotten June weather in October, overcast, fog horns blowing, burning off in the afternoon.  The anemometers are lazily rotating, the mercury at 59, kind of SoCal’s equivalent of a wet, sleety fall day in Valdez, the kind of day that would motivate me to tackle the mental work of composing one of these entries rather than going outside and doing chores.  However, it would be dishonest to imply the weather is my motivation.  I mean, after all this is a nice summer day in the Deez.  And I have many, many jobs I could and should be doing.  No, it’s because those jobs are not ones I really want to do and this one just happens to be a little higher on the desirability scale.

Procrastination was not on my mind on that sunny morning at the end of August in Sidney Harbour three years ago.  I was focused on several jobs among them the aforementioned refrigeration replacement as well as resolving the alternator issue.  I needed a new mainsail cover, new cockpit cushions and I was looking at installing solar panels.  In addition there were numerous maintenance items (it’s a boat, duh) I had managed to defer.  I figured to be in one place for at least a month but first I had to clear back into the US.

Years ago my parents had several close friends who retired to the San Juan Islands from California and they used to visit them either on their way to visit us in Alaska or on the way back.  Hearing about it for years and never having been, I picked Friday Harbor to reenter.  We arrived early in the afternoon.  The harbormaster directed us to a spot I was unable to locate but right in front was a dock with a huge sign that said US CUSTOMS in big red letters.  We headed there.  After tying up on the inside of the dock I collected the boat papers, passport, Jazz’ health certificate and shot records and walked the 75 feet to the kiosk that bore the customs sign.  It was locked up but there was a phone without a keypad on an outside wall.  I picked it up and it rang and rang but no answer.  I tried the posted 800 number and that person asked me where I was and took my cell number.  She called back a few minutes later to say an agent would be in the office in 10-15 minutes.  I sat down to wait.  After forty minutes of no show I called back.  She said she would check on it and get back to me.  A minute later the phone on the wall began ringing.  Another woman asked me where I was.  My first reaction was to employ some snark.  Instead I explained where I was and where the boat was.  She insisted I needed to move the boat to the outside of the dock and come to the office.  I explained I was single-handed and it would be a pain to move the boat especially since it was only 15 feet from where she wanted it.  She relented and then said her office was actually on the beach behind the harbormasters office and that I should go there.  I went.

I was crossing the parking lot when a guy in a black uniform and a black Glock came up to me and demanded to know where the boat was.  I detected an attitude but not knowing who he was and trying to be helpful I said he could see it and took a step around him to show him where it was when he barked, “Don’t move!”  I took a breath and calmly explained it was tied to the customs dock.  He then wanted to know why I hadn’t followed his instructions.  Totally puzzled at this point I said I had never seen him before and that I was simply trying to check back into the US.  Another barked, “Follow me” and he turned on his heel and strode back to the door I had seen him come out of.  Not knowing what was to come I was more than a little nervous as he deposited me in front of a woman behind a computer terminal.  She began the check in procedure and I calmed down.  Throughout this the guy was eying me closely but when he heard the name of my boat he visibly relaxed.  After looking at my passport and certificate of documentation and a few questions on ports of call and purchases, she asked me for $27.50.  She obviously had gotten my look of dumb-foundedness before as she whipped out a four-fold brochure and underlined some verbiage on an inside fold, explaining the law.  She helpfully added they took plastic.  I was silent for a beat until the guy with the Glock stiffened.  I hastily explained my wallet was on the boat as I wasn’t aware of the law and my need for payment.  I offered to get it and reached for my docs.  Apparently once The Procedure has begun the agent not only can’t release documents but must not lose sight of you because in an exasperated tone she said she would accompany me and got up off her stool.  I guess I was looking pretty shady because Glock guy jumped up too.  I attempted to notch the tension down by asking the directions to pizza, the supermarket, etc., on the walk out to the boat.  Glock guy picked right up on it, giving directions to his favorite joints and volunteering that he had mistaken me for someone on another boat.  They opened the kiosk, I grabbed my wallet.  While waiting to have my card swiped I asked if they needed to see Jazz’ stuff.  Nope.  Did they need to look at the boat?  Nope. I related the very short version of my experience with Canadian Customs, that they hadn’t looked at my passport.  Glock guy puffed up and snorted they had no idea of what was important at borders.  It took all the control I possessed to grab the docs, my new entry stamp and get out of earshot before cracking up.

The ICE idiots aside I liked Friday Harbor.  We spent two nights.  While there I made arrangements for a month-long berth in Port Angeles.  Port Townsend was my first choice but because of a tall ship extravaganza there was no room at the inn.

About 12 miles NE of Port Angeles we encountered an armada of government vessels, both Coast Guard and Navy.  One of the 40 foot aluminum high speed USCG craft came up to us, hailed us on the VHF and told us to either speed up or slow down to maintain a 1500 yard separation from the outbound nuclear sub.   Sure enough the black sail of the sub accompanied by a naval support vessel and the rest of the CG cutters could now clearly be seen.  We sped up.

It took over a week to realize picking Port Angeles was a bad choice regarding the work I wanted to do.  It has an extensive marine service industry with a wide array of businesses.  Thing is it’s geared for ships and large boats.  I couldn’t find anybody to do either the refrigeration or canvas work and the metals vendor was several miles on the other side of town.  By this time I had ordered a replacement alternator as well as the solar panels and accessories.  While waiting for them I was able do a couple of the maintenance items and contacted a small vessel refrigeration specialist in Bellingham.  We made an appointment for the following week.

In spite of my disappointment I enjoyed my stay in Port Angeles.  They have bike lanes and buses with bike racks so I was able to get around even with the long hills inland.  Sharing the marina parking lot was a bar and grill that featured live music so I could walk across the lot to get into trouble and more importantly walk back.  There’s a good pizza joint and a supermarket even if it was a Safeway.  I even had visitors.  It was great to see an old and dear friend from my earliest days in Valdez.  My cousin drove my mother over from Renton and we spent a pleasant afternoon catching up.

During the stay in Sitka, a slip neighbor had recommended a refrigeration tech in Bellingham.  Turned out to be an excellent reference.  We traveled the 57 miles across the Strait of Juan de Fuca under a cloudless sky and no wind. The naval jets out of the NAS on Whidbey Island entertained us all the way past Anacortes.  We finally got a favorable breeze in the Bay of Bellingham.

I rekindled my love for the city of Bellingham.  David, the owner operator of Sea Freeze had a last minute family emergency and had to delay our appointment until the next week.  While waiting I found a canvas shop that was able to make a mainsail cover for Blue Note.  I got to visit Bellingham Kite Boards, an outfit I had been doing business with over the net for years and, what a ya know, I bought a new 12 meter which just happened to be on sale.  Great pizza, decent fish and chips all within biking distance is always a winner with me.  The harbor staff were outstanding, even to the point of providing transportation to Freddies (Fred Meyer, a supermarket for you PNW-challenged) and back because of a recent bus rerouting deprived the harbor of service.  David came by, removed the old compressor, plumbed in the new one and came back the next day for final check.

We left that afternoon, spent the night in Watmough Bay, Lopez Island, and crossed the Strait the next day.  In roughly the same area of the sub encounter I noticed a gray boat like the orange USCG fast boats alter course to intercept us.  As it got closer it was obvious it was some sort of government vessel and when it got within hailing distance an armed uniform informed me they were Customs Enforcement and wanted to know where I was coming from and my destination.  Jazz finally woke up and went into his “who’s there?” bark.  At that sound the ICE boat altered to parallel us and the uniform wanted to know when last we had been in Canada.  Throughout this Jazz is doing his big dog bark and the uniform is conferring with the driver.  Finally they decided I wasn’t an illegal immigrant and they sped off.  Jazz got some steak scraps for his job well done.  We topped off at the fuel dock, settled with the harbormaster and tied up in our old slip for an early morning departure for Neah Bay.

By now we were back into the short-day season and even though the days were longer than in Alaska this time of year, it meant planning travel accordingly.  We were underway for an hour when a beautiful sunrise began abaft.  The 55 miles passed uneventfully mostly motorsailing in the NW wind.

Well, it’s been several weeks since I’ve worked on this so I will post it and continue the trip down the west coast later.

ap

Catch Up Phase One

It’s another in a long string of days here in goldilocks-weather land, a warm breeze out of the east at about 5 knots, 67 degrees in the shade of the dodger, pretty nice for the middle of October. Blue Note is in Channel Islands Harbor, California…still.  I say still because this morning was the 1036^th morning since arriving in the 805 (local jargon for Ventura and Santa Barbara counties referring to its telephone area code) when my plan was to be here 4-6 weeks at most.  Much has happened to the crew and boat in that time but before I relate that I should tell some tales of the trip getting here.

Rushbrook Marina, Prince Rupert dead astern

My intentions for travel through British Columbia were to minimize stays in marinas and maximize visits to remote bays and harbors.  So, after a few days of the usual resupply chores in Prince Rupert, we set off.  First stop was Kumealon Bay part way down the Grenville Channel.  Kumealon Bay has a lagoon and I wanted to explore it in the skiff.  Unfortunately there is a narrow shallow passage that becomes a waterfall which switches directions with the tides.  Slack water in the narrows does not correspond to the slack tide and I mistimed it on both attempts.  Maybe next time.

 Foiled by the flood

Next stop was Nettle Basin at the head of the Lowe Inlet off the Grenville Channel.  I remember motoring into a very thick fog bank in the Channel, so thick that at one point a tug with tow passed with less than 100 feet of clearance.  I saw him on the radar and heard him as he passed going the other way but never saw him.  Shortly after we popped out of the fog, the wind began to blow and we had a very pleasant downwind run to Lowe Inlet.

Fishers from different tribes

The Kumowdah River terminates as Verney Falls at the east end of Nettle Basin and the salmon were attempting to scale it while we were there.  With the salmon came the bears with their antics chasing the fish and the power plays amongst them when a fish was caught.  Also noteworthy was going swimming in the basin to escape the heat of the day.

We spent three days in Eagle Bay, a north-looking anchorage 12 miles south of the town of Kitimat.  There wasn’t anything that special about it other than we had it completely to ourselves the first two days unlike the previous anchorages in BC.

After a week “in the wilderness” which really meant away from the supermarket and the fuel dock, we went in to Kitimat to deal with those things.  The logistics were not easy due to the 15 kilometer separation between the marina and the town somewhat mitigated by the public transit system.  Because of the very sporadic service to the marina and burdened with multiple bags of groceries I spent an interesting afternoon riding the bus and shooting the bull with the driver.

Foredeck crew hard at work

 

Nineteen miles south in Devastation Channel is Weewanee Hot Springs.  To add to its desirability its bay has a mooring buoy.  We headed there.  The bath house is a cement building on the north shore of the moorage.  The water was nowhere near as hot as it was at Goddard but still therapeutic.

We headed to the southern end of Devastation Channel, turned right into Verney Channel, then left down Ursula Channel and finally east into Bishop Bay.  On its easternmost shore is, what else, a hot springs.  With the exception of Chena Hot Springs in central Alaska, Bishop Bay Hot Springs is the most developed wilderness hot springs I’ve been to.  It even has a floating dock.  This all makes for a very popular destination especially in a heat wave in August.  The dock was packed, the baths were packed, it was very social.  Although clothing was optional, it was family-oriented and most bathers were somewhat covered with a couple of very memorable exceptions.  It was a lot of fun.

All to ourselves

 

From Bishop Bay we traveled south to Princess Royal Channel, on to Graham Reach and into Swanson Bay.  But the spot I had picked out on the chart was occupied and after two tries at another we pressed on.  The winds picked up in the afternoon and we flew through Hiekish Narrows and into Finlayson Channel.  The winds had died by the time we got to Bottleneck Inlet where we anchored in the bay.  We had the place to ourselves until late the next afternoon.  From nobody to four other boats in two hours, I decided to leave the next day.

Two or three miles north of Keith Point on the west coast of Dowager Island motoring at six knots all of a sudden the engine jumped up a hundred RPMs and the boat sped up.  This had happened before, the last time leaving Hoonah: broken hi-amp alternator drive belt.  Not this time, inspection showed the belt intact, not good.

An explanation is in order.  Blue Note has a refrigerator powered by the house batteries.  It is very well insulated and uses an efficient cold plate assisted by sea water cooling.  The compressor motor failed before leaving Valdez and in order to have reasonably fresh food and especially cold beer I bought one of those small dorm-sized refrigerators as a temporary solution until I could get the onboard system replaced.  Because the dorm unit is powered by AC I had to run the inverter 24/7 to keep things cold, a very inefficient method.  The only way to replace the power in the batteries aside from plugging in at the dock was to charge them with the 80 amp alternator driven by the motor.  No alternator, no cold beer away from the dock.  There is a work-around.  When I rebuilt the hi-amp DC system I included the ability to parallel the large house battery bank with the engine start battery with a flip of a switch, on the theory that I could use the house battery to start the engine if needed.  Part of the start system is the 25 amp alternator used to charge the start battery.  Flipping the switch would allow the small alternator to charge the now-connected house battery with two caveats: it would take more than three times as long to charge the house battery, and it would fry the start battery after an uncertain amount of time.  I flipped the switch.

Troubleshooting the problem began after anchoring in Oliver Cove and taking Jazz to the beach.  After several hours of working below in the heat of the engine as well as the heat wave blanketing BC, it became obvious repair was beyond my capabilities.  Nearest opportunity for repair was Bella Bella.  We headed there the next day.

We pulled into Bella Bella and a fisherman recommended we travel on to Shearwater where there were more repair resources.  Arriving shortly after noon and plugging in, I went to find an alternator shop.  It being Sunday, it was closed.  Bright and early Monday I was able to talk to the mechanic who informed me he could get to it on Thursday.  I had a decision to make.  Should we stay, spending several hundred loonies to stay at the Shearwater Marina on the bet the shop would have the necessary parts to make the repair or press on to a larger town where the alternator could be replaced if the parts weren’t available?  I decided to go.

Having been to Port Hardy on the way north ten years earlier, I figured it would probably have what I needed.  I began plotting courses.  To my horror I realized I had none of the small scale harbor and channel charts south of Queen Charlotte Sound on the computer.  Checking the source disk revealed the folder with the charts of southern BC was empty!  Back to the marina chandlery to see what they had.  Sadly, they didn’t have much and what they had was very expensive.  Back to the boat for more decision making.  Shearwater Marina in the middle of August is a very busy place for being a small, remote village and with the heat and the problems, I was stressed.  Looking at the charts for nearby anchorages I found Fancy Cove about 11 miles south.  We left.

It was a beautiful afternoon and motor sailing along at almost 7 knots was just what I needed to settle down and logically decide what to do.  I had seriously entertained the idea of continuing the hinterland exploration even with the jury-rigged charging system before discovering I was missing all those charts but that plus the other jobs I had postponed for Washington convinced me I needed to proceed to Washington.  Furthermore, I decided to retrace the route we took in 2000, since I was somewhat familiar with the navigational issues inherent.

It was obvious, awakening to fog the next morning the heat wave had broken.  It lifted to high overcast by the time we turned south in Fisher Channel and had almost burned off when we anchored in Fury Cove.  Spent two nights there, then two nights in Port Hardy.  It was much the same as I remembered it from ten years before.  I did manage to get both pizza and fish and chips so I remember the stop favorably.

We spent a night in Port MacNeill, a new stop.  Good timing, as they were in the middle of their annual celebration and I remember very tasty ribs from an outdoor pavilion, a cloud burst, and several Guinness’s with a couple of friendly locals in a pub.

Seymour Narrows in Discovery Channel is like Sergius Narrows in SE Alaska in that huge amounts of water are forced through a very narrow passage twice daily.  Even large powerful vessels time their passage to take advantage of favorable currents.  Favorable for us was high slack tide 10:30 the following day.  Took all day to transit Johnstone Strait and we spent the night in Otter Cove, ten miles north of the Narrows.

The following day we left for Campbell River, a 22 mile trip.  We were late getting away, hitting the Narrows after high water.  The ebb had begun and we idled along at eight knots!  The most memorable thing about the stop was the expensive moorage rates and lack of facilities.  There was a shopping mall within walking distance but only specialty food markets.  Fortunately I was well set food-wise but it did subtract from the utility of stopping there.  Needless to say I harbor no desire to return.

Motion by Mercedes approaching Cape Lazo

The approach to Comox from the north has some hazards to avoid.  First is the reef off Cape Lazo which extends over a mile offshore.  Then comes the bar in front of Union Bay.  Good thing I had been through here before because navigating this cold with only the marine atlas I had purchased in Port Hardy would have been hair raising.  There is a sea buoy at the outer edge of the reef and a range marker for the channel so it isn’t a strictly local-knowledge passage.

Comox was a must stop as this is where I took possession of Blue Note and it was kind of fun to close the ten year circle.  The harbor and town had changed little and walking around dredged up a lot of memories.  A fellow living on a boat in the harbor recognized Blue Note and we a nice time conversing about her and her previous owner.

We spent a night in Nanoose Bay and a night in Degnen Bay on Gabriola Island.  I was happy to see the small-scale charts come up on the plotter toward the last part of the passage to Nanoose.  I soon found that none of the inside waters were covered though, only the Georgia Strait.  Sigh, I wasn’t quite done with the marine atlas.

We wended our way south through the inside waters to Sidney Harbour where we spent two wonderful days and nights.  Sidney Harbour itself was OK for being a chrome anchor harbor, one populated by large yachts whose anchors have never been wet except by the hired boat cleaners’ hoses.  No, it was delightful because my friend Lou picked me up and we explored the Saanich Peninsula and out to Vancouver Island’s west coast.  I really didn’t want to leave but getting Blue Note back in shape was pressing.

I’ve been writing this account for over a day and I’d better post it and continue the tale in another post.  And I’ll post pics later as well.

ap