June 4: Day 1: Departure from Maple Bay

The Day Lil’ Ollie Went Missing (And Found Herself)

On June 4th, the weather couldn't have been more perfect. A warm, brilliant sun followed us as we set out around 12:30 PM from our home port in Maple Bay. We had a beautiful, easy sail over to Kin Beach Anchorage in Chemainus, dropping anchor in the calm waters.

It was the kind of summer afternoon that makes you forget about the clock. We met our friend Iris at the beach, hopped into her car, and headed into town for ice cream. One good thing led to another, and she and Will invited us back to their place for a lovely dinner. By the time Iris dropped us back off at our dinghy, the day had quietly slipped away. We’d been gone about six hours, and the soft purple hues of dusk were settling over the water.

Then, the relaxed evening took a bit of a detour.

Shadows and Scenarios

Because we hadn’t planned on staying out so late, we were without our headlamps. In the fading twilight, we scanned the extreme left of the beach where we had tucked Lil’ Ollie away.

Nothing. Just empty water.

A heavy silence settled between Greg and me. Your mind plays tricks on you in moments like that—we immediately started wondering if someone had stolen her, or if she had quietly washed up somewhere along the rocky shore.

Just as the worry began to peak, we spotted a silhouette far out in the open water, straight ahead from the boat ramp. It looked like a sailboat, but it was just sitting there, completely dark and solitary. It felt out of place for that time of evening. I squinted through the gloom, trying to recognize her lines. There was a curious white shape on the bow, but the light was too low to be sure.

Hoping for the best, we scrambled into the dinghy and set off across the glassy water.

A Very Slow-Motion Rescue

As we drew closer, the mystery dissolved into a wave of relief. That white shape on the bow? It was the open anchor locker door, with the anchor hanging straight down. Then her solar panel came into view on the stern. Even though her canvas enclosure blended almost perfectly into the dark silhouette of the island behind her, there was no mistaking it—that was our Lil’ Ollie.

While we motored out, Greg gave the Coast Guard a quick call. They kindly checked their AIS screen and confirmed her exact coordinates. It gave us peace of mind, though I’m still a bit amazed that a ghost ship drifting with its anchor down hadn’t prompted a call from a passerby!

Reaching her turned out to be an exercise in patience. In our "calm panic" to leave the beach, we had completely forgotten to flip up the dinghy's wheels. Dragging those through the water, powered only by our little 2.5-horsepower electric motor, meant we were moving at a crawl. But the slow pace gave us time to breathe. The sky was still bright enough to navigate, she was safe, and nobody had run off with her.

Home Sweet Home

Climbing back aboard was a beautiful feeling, even if we were greeted by the steady, frantic chiming of the anchor drag alert, which had likely been sounding for hours.

We were incredibly relieved, though Greg was still carrying that lingering, frustrated sting that every boater feels when a mistake happens. To give you a taste of his immediate reaction, here is the much more animated entry he left in Lil’ Ollie’s logbook that night:

From the Log Book: "Upon getting back to the Kinsmen boat launch… NO boat! It had slipped anchor and drifted away with Artemus on board! We could just spy a sail boat to the NE that seemed to be just sitting without any lights. We headed for it. Slow electric dingy! Along the way I tried to see LO on ship finder - no dice. Called Coast Guard by phone. They could see LO on AIS: confirmed she was in open water & no danger. AND that we were headed to the right boat! Back aboard we raised the “hanging” anchor and motored back to Kinsman beach cove to try again. Way! Too! Much! Excitement!"

You won't find any photos accompanying this post. When you're in the middle of a mild nautical crisis in the dark, the camera is the last thing on your mind.

It was a little more excitement than we bargained for, but it ended with a safe boat, a valuable lesson, and a story we'll be telling for a long time.

• Comments are Welcome! Please feel free to chime in—just make sure to hit PUBLISH when you are done. If you aren't signed into a Google account, your comment will show up as "Anonymous," so please type your first name and last initial in the comment box so I know who I'm replying to! (If you are signed into Google, your name will show up automatically.)

• Check Back for Updates: I quite often write and update this blog as the day goes by. If you want to catch the whole story, be sure to check back and refresh your browser! I've also been known to add details after the day is over—or even days later if I suddenly remember something I forgot to include.