Up here in British Columbia, north of the 50th parallel, everything is bigger. The mountains are bigger. The tidal ranges are bigger.* The currents are bigger. The weather is…bigger. All this makes standing in awe very easy, but the scale of the landscape is very difficult for the human eye to measure in a photograph. Especially MY photographs.
It is now June 16, and we have travelled slowly from Rebecca Spit, northward up Quadra Island through Surge Narrows; after having serious yips about shooting through Surge and other rapids, and having gotten lots of advice and reassurance from friends who have been there, done that, GB and I successfully managed to transit not only Surge, but Upper Rapids in Okisollo Channel and Chatham Narrows at more-or-less precisely slack water. The results were optimal and without incident. Sweet. Not that this makes me relaxed and confident for the next tide-and-current challenge, but maybe the level of fret will be lower.
Anyway, from a short stay at Octopus Islands (50deg.16.74N, 125deg.13.96W) and its terrific tidepoolin’, we zipped out north and then west through Okisollo Channel and into Discovery Passage, northbound to Johnstone Strait – where if the forecast is not for a small craft advisory, it’s for a gale or storm warning.** Fortunately, we were there early enough in the morning that we had a quick passage past Chatham Point light
into the SE end of Johnstone Strait. At times, with that wonderful Johnstone ebb, we were clocking 11 knots. No; we were not sailing, nor were any of the other sailboats headed in our direction. The general idea seems to be, to sail Johnstone if possible, but get somewhere safe if/when the wind and chop pick up in the afternoon. In our case, the 20-25kph NW winds forecast for the afternoon arrived at about 11am as we passed Fanny Island, and the breeze quickly increased the chop and decreased the visibility. I took one for the team and stayed at the helm, getting a bit of a saltwater shower now and again – but it was important for one of us to stay dry under the dodger to check charts and instruments. We were close enough to Port Neville (50deg.29.56N, 126deg.05.26W) to spend no more than about an hour and a half in the worst part of the chop, so into Port Neville we ducked. We got to meet Lorna Hansen Chesluk herself*** 
while we waited for the weather to improve. Which it did — two days later. As soon as we saw other boats our size moving up Johnstone again, we and the two other boats who had ducked in to the Port Neville public dock after we had, got a move on.
Parting ways with the other two boats, we took a short hop up Johnstone, turning right at Havannah Channel to sightsee in easterly and northerly directions until using the range markers to transit Chatham Channel. It was one of those squirrely inter-island days, in which the flood current was supposed to be against us — but wasn’t. ‘Twas a fair, smooth ride. Sometimes it just works out that way north of 50. We ended the day anchored near the marina in Lagoon Cove — which we could not help but notice was predominated by large power boats flying US flags.**** The marina looks like a very nice place and all, but it didn’t seem to…fit our mood at the time. So, after introducing ourselves to Red when I bought the one chart I was missing, we left for more remote locales.
We entered Knight Inlet 
heading east (old cruising grounds of Muriel Wylie Blanchet, among others) 
and almost immediately turned left in a northerly direction up Tribune Channel, at first aiming toward legendary Kwatsi Bay, which we had heard was a very popular, not-to-be missed little fjord full of high mountains and cascading waterfalls. Difficulty: a gale warning was forecast for Johnstone Strait and the vicinity, and boats of all kinds were headin’ for the shelter of marinas. Especially places like Kwatsi Bay. And they were passing us. So, we opted instead for a nicely sheltered bay just across from Kwatsi – a place called Wahkana Bay (50deg.49.01N, 126deg.17.49W).
Only one other sailboat was there (who we later learned had circumnavigated the globe – nice company to keep); 
it took a mere second anchoring attempt to locate an area with enough non-rocky ground for our 66-lb. Bruce to bite hard. Good thing, too: the Wahkana ground – like much BC ground north of 50 – is steep-to, so the 70 feet we anchored in was kinda…close to the trees, if you get my drift. Second good thing: boy, was that forecast correct – we had gusts up to 25kph in our very protected bay; it must have been very busy indeed on more open water. Our choice of anchoring ground was a good one: the Fox swung in the gusts, and GB and I each got up periodically through the night to check on things (like the proximity of the shore as the anchor rode stretched), but the Fox held her ground. Bruce and his 200 feet of chain are our friends.
A subsequent evening was much calmer and allowed for some exploration by dinghy, as well as observations of the local wildlife, including a very noisy baby raven. Ya only gotta hear one baby raven to have true sympathy for raven parents. It’s a wonder more baby ravens aren’t put up for adoption.
After we said goodbye to Wahkana, we took a brief tour of Kwatsi Bay, and it indeed is everything everyone has told us: 
the waterfalls are spectacular, the mountains are high and steep, and the marina looks very, very inviting. And full. I’m not sure if folks like us could get in, being as spontaneous as we are; sometimes on this trip, we have not known where our destination is until we get in sight of it. Kwatsi Bay is so popular, it looks like a place that needs reservations made, even in early-season June. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’d just prepare a little better if and when I wanted to go to a destination as wonderful as Kwatsi.
Having not prepared, we pushed on northerly down Tribune Channel, and had a very nice time indeed…
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* In the Pacific NW, there are 4 tidal ranges during a typical day – two high tides of unequal height, and two low tides of unequal height. On June 15, the difference between the highest high tide and the lowest low tide was over 17 feet at our current stop, Sullivan Bay, North Broughton Island (50deg.53.34N, 126deg.49.86W). That’s some big water flow.
** I may be exaggerating a bit, but not much. Johnstone gets sporty, quickly, with its perpetual northerly ebb current and semi-perpetual northwesterly winds that pick up in the afternon, the better to make some big, uncomfortable chop. And did I mention the tide rips across the whole Strait in the vicinity of Helmcken Island?
*** The Hansen family have lived and worked at Port Neville for the last 117 years. Or so. Now it’s just Lorna – but she is -literally – the spirit of Port Neville. Say hi to her for us when you stop by.
**** As it turns out, large US-flagged boats predominate many of the marinas but few of the anchorages we’ve been in so far.
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