When I first got involved in sailing I was struck by how many terms we use in everyday life that have nautical origins. For example, if a shopkeeper says he is "shorthanded", he's actually using a sailing term that refers to having less than the optimal number of crew on a the boat. (Imagine an America's Cup boat being operated by two or three people). Sailboats usually require multiple people to handle a variety of tasks, often simultaneously. Someone needs to steer the boat, handle the jib sheets, attend to the trim of the mainsail, and so on. These jobs can often be performed consecutively rather than concurrently but the process will be less efficient.
Likewise, people use the term "singlehanded" to describe accomplishing a task by one's self. This term is actually derived from the operation of a sailboat with only one person on board. This can be tricky on any boat but particularly on a sailboat which traditionally requires at least two operators; one person at the helm and one person working the lines and sail trim. Docking and anchoring of course, is another matter.
In some ways, the concept of single handing seems at odds with the normal standards of sailing. Avid mariners tend to be a meticulous lot with scrupulous concern for detail. There are procedures and processes for everything, be it coiling ropes, trimming sails or stowing gear, and anyone taking shortcuts tends to be looked down upon. With this in mind it would seem counter-intuitive for a sailor to attempt to manage his vessel by himself when clearly it was designed for multiple hands. But as it turns out, the fastidious nature of the sailor can be overcome by an even more compelling need; freedom - and possibly solitude. Indeed, the concept of freedom and release from everyday tedium has been connected with "sailing away into the sunset" for as long as anyone can remember. And so it is that sailors will find ways to manage their vessels by themselves in order to control their own destiny and find their freedom, regardless of the added risk or inefficiency.
Single-handing has a long and rich tradition. Possibly the most famous single-handed journey ever documented is Joshua Slocum's classic account of his solo circumnavigation entitled "Sailing Alone Around the World." Slocum certainly wasn't the first to Single-hand but he may have done more to promote the practice than any other single person in history.
Today single-handing is a common practice for experienced sailors, the more eclectic of whom compete in round the world races that have generated some interesting stories of their own. But perhaps one example best illustrates the ethos of the single handed sailor, albeit taken to the extreme. In 1968 French sailor Bernard Moitessier participated in a round-the-world, non-stop solo sailing race. He was a man of the sea and in spite of innumerable storms and setbacks, he stood an excellent chance of winning the race. However Moitessier had left many personal demons behind in Europe, and the closer he came to completing the race, the more angst-ridden he became. Finally, as he was poised to finish and possibly win, he came along side a passing freighter, inserted a note into an empty 35mm film canister and sent it up via slingshot to the crew to be forwarded to the race sponsors in London. In it he announced his resignation from the race "...because I am happy at sea and perhaps to save my soul." He went on to sail to Tahiti.
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As I wrote earlier this spring, one of the enhancements we made to the boat was the addition of an autopilot. We had toyed with this for nearly a year but when I found out I was being "cast off" by my employer along with a summer sailing allowance, the autopilot moved abruptly into the "must-have" column. (In addition to steering the boat during long periods of motoring, an autopilot can take the place of the "2nd man" at the helm during critical moments such as raising and lowering the sails or tacking. In this way, it allows one person to manage all aspects of a sailboat's operation alone.) After seeing how well it worked on our sail to Princess Louisa Inlet I knew then for certain that I wanted to head out on my own.
The weather after the PLI trip was maddeningly uncooperative and I waited impatiently for the chance to head out. Fortunately after a few weeks the forecast took a positive turn. The coming weekend looked to be a beauty and I had planned a solo trip across the Strait of Georgia and into the Gulf Islands. However as my planned departure date approached the wind forecast was cause for concern. Strong wind warnings were issued for the entire weekend, with winds reaching 25kts at certain times of the day. This kind of wind is not impossible for Ge'Mara to sail in but David and I were still getting used to those conditions together so it seemed foolhardy to take them on myself. The morning of my planned departure I sat undecided in my condo and looked at the boats bobbing in False Creek, the water reflecting the brilliant sunlight and blue sky. How hard could it be?
I called an experienced sailing friend and asked his advice. Knowing my skill level he suggested I would be fine, with the obvious caveat that I reef the main. I still wasn't completely comfortable but my friend had removed the worst of my reservations so I set aside my remaining fears and prepared to leave. I had to cast off by 1pm in order to make slack tide at Porlier Pass later that evening so I had a busy morning packing and provisioning the boat.
In the taxi on the way to the marina I got a text from David. He was in his own taxi from the airport on his way to the office, having just returned from a business trip to Ohio. He asked what headsail was up and I told him it was the 135. We also own a 110 genoa which would be more suitable for the windy conditions. Good friend that he is, he came straight to the boat in his work clothes and helped me change the headsail (on our boat this is a two-man job).
A while later I was motoring out of English Bay towards the Point Grey bell buoy. It was a long uncomfortable slog against wind, waves and tide that offered plenty of time for reflection. Why was I doing this anyway? What was so important that was driving me to sail away by myself in uncomfortable conditions? A quote came to mind that I had read in one of my favourite sailing books*.
"He who starts on a ride of two or three thousand miles may experience, at the moment of departure, a variety of emotions. He may feel excited, sentimental, anxious, carefree, heroic, roistering, picaresque, introspective, or practically anything else; but above all he will feel like a fool."
Peter Flemming
The journey to the mouth of Porlier Pass is 20 nautical miles. I planned to anchor 2 miles the other side of the pass. Be that as it may, the quote still resonated in a way that it didn't when I first read it.
Eventually I passed Point Grey and it was time to sail. I raised my already reefed main and unfurled my genoa. Immediately the boat heeled well over and I scrambled to trim the sails to the best of my ability. This accomplished, I took over control from the autopilot and focused on holding my course of 196 degrees toward Porlier Pass. The waves were up after hours of sustained winds and I took them on the beam. This was a less than comfortable sensation given how far I was already heeled over.
After a while I set the autopilot again and sat high up on the windward side of the boat, for once in my life wishing I had more than my 235lbs to serve as rail meat. I called a close friend and checked in. She asked about the conditions. I told her a bit but the tone of my voice told the full story.
"Maybe you should turn around."
"Um, yeah maybe. I'll go a bit longer and see."
The truth was, the boat was reasonably well balanced and I wasn't sure what I feared most, continuing out into the strait or trying to turn the boat around amid the wind and waves.
"I think I'll be ok. I'll keep you posted."
"Ok. Be careful."
I spent the next hour placating myself with indecision. Even though I was sailing at 7 knots further and further from land, somehow by giving myself the option to turn around it made things easier. Point Grey was well behind me now but off in the distance to port was the control tower of Vancouver airport and still later, the loading cranes of Roberts Bank terminal stood as a reassuring landmark.
At around the halfway point across the strait I realized that I felt more comfortable and that things were going to be ok. It seemed as though the wind had calmed slightly or maybe the seas were down a bit, or maybe I was just growing used to the conditions. In any case, as the mouth of Porlier Pass came into focus I had a growing sense of relief, well being and ultimately accomplishment. This trip was going to happen and I was going to live to tell about it. As if there was ever any doubt. As with most fears, once confronted they shrink to something closer to their actual size. I looked off to starboard and saw, incredibly, a small sailing skiff less than half my size, also heading for Porlier. "Never Mind," I thought. That was his accomplishment. I was still revelling in mine.
I had arrived at Porlier a full hour early due to my speedy crossing and I hesitated to fight the still-flooding current. However a few moments later I saw the little skiff heading fearlessly in. That, and the tug towing two barges of wood chips bearing down behind me was sufficient motivation to proceed. Before long I was through and motoring into Clam Bay on the Northeast side of Thetis Island. I doused the sails, motored in and dropped the anchor at a respectful distance from the nearest sailboat that had already taken up residence. Satisfied my anchor was well set, I cut the engine and stood looking out at the bay. I'm not sure why, but standing there in the cockpit by myself I was trying hard to suppress a grin. Not for the first time since buying Ge'Mara I felt like a kid again.
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The next morning was calm and beautiful as it always is at that time of the day. I did my best to relax and enjoy the peace and solitude of being at anchor alone in the sunshine. It occurred to me that I should read a book. But eventually my itchy feet got the best of me and I weighed anchor and motored away.
The plan for today was to head south to Ganges Harbour on Saltspring Island. I had been there before by BC Ferry but never on Ge'Mara so it seemed like as good a destination as any. Also, I had made contact with the author of a book that I've already mentioned, one that I have enjoyed for many years. He lives on Saltspring and he and I had made tentative plans to meet for a beer. (I was surprised and flattered that he had agreed to do so). In the end we couldn't make it work this particular weekend but I decided to press ahead with the plan to visit Ganges regardless.
The Northwest wind was still blowing but here inside the Gulf Islands it was muted. No matter, I was now heading almost directly downwind so I spent a peaceful few hours, carried South by both wind and tide at 7 knots toward Ganges. During the few languorous hours on this run I listened to CBC on my satellite radio and casually scanned the local charts along with a cruising guide that described all of the local marinas and anchorages. I was sailing with Galiano Island to port and Saltspring Island to starboard. I noticed on the chart there was a large well protected bay on Galiano called Montague Harbour. The cruising guide spoke well of the place so I decided to check in there before committing to Ganges.
Montague Harbour, it turns out, is one of the most beautiful and sought after cruising destination in the Gulf Islands. It is very well protected, to the extent that once anchored or moored it is impossible to see where you entered. The depth in the harbour is such that there is room for a great many boats to anchor without seeming overly crowded. At the north end is a marine park with numerous mooring buoys for public use. At the south end is Montague Harbour Marina. I briefly considered the mooring buoys but seeing as I hadn't brought the dinghy with me I opted to check in with the marina so I could stretch my legs.
I explained to the gal in the marina on the VHF that I was single handing for the first time and she assured me that someone would be there to meet me. She assigned me a slip that thankfully could be approached from downwind. The fellow who assisted me was effusive in his praise for my docking and it I muttered something about being lucky. When I finished tying up he stuck his hand out. "I'm Dan. I just bought this place two weeks ago."
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I went back to the boat and along the way chatted with Dan. We talked about his big step to purchase the marina and revitalize it. He pointed out his Mom and Dad who were helping him for a few days until things were under control and the local kids were available to work for the summer. "You wait," he said. "This place is going to be awesome." I thought it was pretty awesome already and told him so. There were only a few transient boats in the marina this weekend but Dan assured me as the season progressed it would be packed. I felt oddly privileged to have visited here and met Dan so early in his plans and I found myself rooting for his success. Over the time I was there I was made to feel like a friend and this congeniality added a lot to the overall experience of the trip.
I have always made fun of David for napping in the afternoon but by 3pm I was feeling tired. It seemed oddly indulgent but I took a nap on the settee. I never do this. As I listened to the sounds of the marina outside the cabin I dozed off feeling more relaxed than I could remember being in a long time.
When I woke up I decided to shower and catch the bus to the pub. The marina had no showers, owing they said, to the lack of fresh water on the island. I used the shower on the boat which was more than adequate, particularly with me being the only one aboard and therefore not sharing my water supply with anyone else. I shaved and felt refreshed for having gone to the effort.
I walked up the road to the bus stop and two guys were already waiting there. After a time we struck up a conversation and I found out they were anchored offshore on a beautiful 50ft wooden sailboat. We asked each other polite questions about each other's boats. All three of us stood with our arms tightly crossed.
Eventually an old yellow school bus came rolling to a stop near us and we stepped aboard. The Beatles song Yellow Submarine was blasting on the stereo. The driver greeted us enthusiastically and roared off to his next stop. Arrayed above him were cymbals, drums, cowbells and various other devices he used as crude instruments. A tambourine was mounted on his steering wheel. Turning the music up, he proceeded to bang away on his instruments with unreserved enthusiasm, one hand on the steering wheel, the other hand flailing with a drumstick. Shortly he reached down to his left and produced another tambourine which he promptly passed to me. "Going to put you to work!" he grinned. I banged away for a while in time with the music, feeling vaguely stupid. I could see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the other two guys and a moment later I passed my instrument to the nearest one, glad to be rid of it. Immediately another instrument was thrust into my hands.
We stopped again and there was a dozen or so older guys waiting to embark. As they stepped on, each was given an instrument of some sort. Some were clearly home-made, others were perhaps high school band rejects. Soon the whole bus was banging away to the backdrop of "I Found My Thrills" blasting on the stereo. Beside me sat a Hemingway look-alike who sullenly refused to participate. I felt sorry for him and glad that I had overcome my own self consciousness. I shook my maraca a little harder. Look at me, I thought. I knew I'd have some fun but I hadn't expected this.
Later that evening I returned to the marina with my new friends and invited them aboard Ge'Mara for a scotch. We chatted for quite a while about all things sailing. They were gracious in their praise for Ge'Mara, considering how much nicer I knew their boat to be. When they left I put some marinated beef ribs on the barbecue and poured the remaining red wine. This was turning out better than I expected.
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As I considered this dilemma my friends from the big boat came motoring past in their dinghy and waving. They pointed to shore and I remembered they had plans to rent scooters from the Marina to explore the island this morning. On a whim I decided to join them.
Even though it was Sunday and prime time for this kind of thing, the scooter rental people were nowhere to be found. We called the cell number posted on the sign and 20 minutes later a retired man and his wife drove up in a pickup truck and introduced themselves. We took care of the paperwork for the rental, listened to the requisite briefing on the safe operation of the scooters and we were set free. In my haste I hadn't locked up the boat so I told my friends to go ahead. A short while later I donned my ridiculous looking helmet and fired up my scooter.
I have a friend who can't ride a bicycle without grinning from ear to ear. This amuses me to no end and I've always envied the joy she feels in such a simple thing. Now, as I accelerated down the smooth asphalt road and leaned into the corners, I was doing exactly the same thing.
That afternoon on the scooter was pure, unadulterated pleasure. Sure, it wasn't a Harley, or even the 500 cc street bike I rode as a teenager. But it was a blast nonetheless. And on the mostly deserted pastoral roads of Galiano, who the hell cared anyway? I stopped at the local grocery store and to my surprise found good ginger beer. I bought a few bottles and put them under the seat, already anticipating the cold Dark and Stormy I would have later that day. I came across a little book store, the kind that seems to exist on every one of the Gulf Islands. I thumbed through the new and used books and walked out with a copy of H.G. Wells' The Strange Island of Dr. Moreau. I'd always wanted to read that book. It was brand new but somehow I wished I'd have found a used copy. I put it under the seat with the ginger beer and carried on.
I found my way to the Galiano Inn and enjoyed a succulent wood-fired pizza and drank good pale ale while watching the ferries make their way through Active Pass. I flirted with a lady several years my senior who was drinking champagne and chatting me up. I was full of a sense of well being.
With a full stomach I continued my tour of the island, stopping occasionally to enjoy a lookout or walk to the ocean. I shook my head at the thought that I'd lived in BC for over 25 years but I hadn't taken the time to explore the islands like this until now. It was a fine afternoon.
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I filled my tank with diesel, said my goodbyes to Dan and family and motored away from the dock. I had calculated a 2 hour motor north into the wind to get to Porlier Pass, whereupon I would have a brisk sail home across the strait. This in fact is exactly what happened. In a little over two hours I was transiting Porlier, just in front of another sailboat. As I exited the pass I raised my mainsail, this time triple reefed in an abundance of caution. So far so good. I unfurled the Genoa and I was off. To my quiet pleasure the sailboat behind me seemed to be having trouble finding a suitable point of sail and I was putting distance between us by the minute. Eventually though, she found her way and began to gain on me.
For a while we sailed in parallel across the strait and all was good. My triple reef was probably more than necessary however and eventually the other boat pulled ahead. As the distance between us grew, I grew frustrated and decided to turn into the wind and release the reef. The plan was to change to a standard double reef but in the waves on the open ocean this proved more challenging than I and anticipated. In the end I just raised the full main and worked on getting back on course. By now the other boat had put significant distance between us. Frustrated as I was, I stopped worrying about our mock race and settled in to enjoying the reminder of my sail across the strait. Besides, now I was slightly over-canvassed and was more concerned about keeping the boat under control.
A while later my phone chimed. I had received a text from David offering to meet me at the slip. I readily accepted and put my mind to making as good time as possible. My hope was that I would turn downwind into English Bay and use my full main and genoa for a top speed run for home. Unfortunately, once past Point Grey the wind became fickle and in frustration I eventually doused the sails entirely and motored home.
Back at the slip, David and I toasted my safe return, he with his strong German beer and me with my Dark and Stormy. He had been stuck in the office and was envious of my trip but happy for me and proud of my small accomplishment. As I related my adventure to him over drinks I couldn't help but think that for all the pleasures of solo sailing, it was good to enjoy the company of a friend.
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Note to other readers: Do not read this while at work or anywhere you're not on a boat. It will ruin your day!
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