May 17th, 2016
It is 6.25 AM. Jennifer and Hilary are sleeping.
Jennifer was up with me at 5.30 discussing whether to leave then. We looked at the tide and realized that there is not enough water for us to make it through the passage we used to enter this small pool of water. In two hours there will be enough.
A problem is a storm moving that will bring 40 knot winds into the open water near by. If we stay ‘‘inside,’’ the high hills and island will hide us from the wind, but there is one place where we may be exposed to the waves.
When Jennifer wakes up, around 7.30, we’ll discuss this.
Jennifer says not to worry, we’ll be hidden from the wind.
There is more air than ever in the fuel lines, but after bleeding, the engine turns over easily and starts.
We travel under power for twenty miles or so, completely hidden from the wind. When we do come to the exposed place, there is little wind and no waves.
We make a right turn traveling north on the flood current, though the flood tide has peaked and arrive at Klemtu, and indian village with cellular service a fuel dock and store.
At the dock, another boat is waiting for the attendant who is late returning from lunch.
Jennifer discovered, while we were waiting, that above us is a fish processing plant for the ‘‘aqua-culture’’ (fish farms) we have passed along the way. A larger boat at the dock has a 18-inch diameter hose running to the processing plant.
The driver of the boat ahead of us knows Ingmar from Shearwater. He tells us that he himself has planted two million tress (to Ingmar’s one) and that the man with him on the boat has planted almost three.
The attendant, Rob, is a barrel-chested First Nations person, who was 0nce a ‘‘faller’’ – he fell trees. He and the driver tell us that eco-logging is now the fashion, which seems to comprise two parts: logging where it is less visible, especially to cruise liners, and logging only a certain percentage of the forests.
While we speak, a plume of fish blood rises next to the dock.
Rob explains that the drain from the plant used to end in the middle of the channel, but a seiner net caught on the pipe and opened the connection. It has never been fixed.
By the time we’re done it has been an hour.
The wind has come ashore and it is blowing. The first place we pick to anchor a mile south of Klemtu, does not hold, so we try again two hundred yards north.
This time the anchor grabs and sets hard.
The wind comes with full force and the boat shakes the anchor rode back and forth like an unbroken horse trying to shake the bit in its mouth. But the anchor is well set and holds.
I make some soup because we haven’t much and speak to a dear dear friend who has just texted me that she has inoperable brain cancer. Her doctor has wasted some months looking in the wrong place.
The wind has stopped. All is quiet. I put some bread into the oven. Later in the evening, Jennifer and I eat the entire loaf with butter and Cheddar cheese.
We’ll start traveling in the morning after I make plane reservations to see my friend.