June 18: Day 15: Princess Louisa Inlet
From Quiet Mornings to Roaring Waters: A Little Bit of Everything at the Head of the Inlet
We awoke to a remarkably beautiful, still morning. Deep within the inlet, the sun takes its time rising, held back by the towering granite peaks that cradle this place. The early hours carry a crisp, heavy chill, but as soon as the sunlight finally spills over the ridges, the world warms up quickly.
The youth group nearby is unusually quiet today. Looking out, we spotted them spaced out along the wooden dock and the shoreline, completely absorbed in their books. It is a peaceful, grounding sight—they seem like a wonderful group of kids.
Drawn by the quiet calm of the morning, Greg decided it was the perfect time to unroll the sail and inspect the rip. My memory had painted the tear as quite substantial, while Greg thought it was much less severe. As he unfolded the canvas, it turned out I was right—it had indeed been torn quite a bit. I took a photo to show you here, and since I didn't have a picture when it originally happened, I went back and added this same photo to the Day 4 post as well.
After Greg set up the second reef—I’ll explain what a reef is later for those unfamiliar, but I need to consult the captain first—he secured the rest of the sail on top of the boom and tied it off for future use. While the mainsail will be significantly depowered by the second reef, having a partial sail up might be better than nothing. We’ll find out later.
For our trip to Chatterbox Falls, I packed a few essentials into my backpack. The dinghy ride up was slow, but our 2.5 hp Torqeedo electric motor made it a pleasant, leisurely trip. We were traveling at 1.5 knots against the current. Because I had forgotten my phone, my white long-sleeved linen shirt, and my sunscreen, I was a bit worried the heat would make me want to shed the pullover fleece I had worn over my t-shirt, leaving me exposed to the sun.
We stopped at a small waterfall along the way and got up close. I scooped some water in my hands and took a sip, but it didn’t taste quite like I expected—perhaps I had lotion on my hands. In the process, both Greg and I caught a refreshing cold spray, which was wonderful since my fleece pullover was finally starting to warm me up.
Along the way in the dinghy, a merganser duck and her ten ducklings swam right past us. The mother was incredibly alert to any potential danger for her offspring. We noticed that the moment she gave them her sharp warning quacks, they quickly swam straight to her and scrambled to climb right up onto her back! They couldn't all quite fit, of course, but they made sure to tag as close to her as they possibly could, swimming so very quickly.
[Photo: Merganzer and her ducklings about to swim past us to get to the other side]
[Photo: All aboard! The mother merganser and her eight or nine fast-swimming ducklings.]
More photos along the way...
We continued our journey, snapping photos with Greg’s phone along the way, until we reached Chatterbox Falls and the dock a little over an hour later. We climbed out of the dinghy and headed over to the first sailboat we saw: a 1994 Beneteau named Sea Change. Initially, I found the name a bit odd; it made me think of money, like pocket change.
Later, after chatting with the current stewards, I learned the previous owner had actually chosen it. We forgot to exchange names—and of course, I didn't have my boat cards on me—but they shared a lovely history with us. Their first boat had been a Troller on the Atlantic Ocean. After selling it, they moved out west and bought this Beneteau on the Pacific. Even though they hadn’t named it themselves, they felt Sea Change was perfectly fitting for their move from one ocean to another. It was a nice story.
We had actually walked over to visit them to see if they’d experienced anything similar to our Malibu Rapids adventure. Like us, they had noticed the tide flowing in the wrong direction, estimating it would take another hour before it changed. They weren’t worried, though; their 51-foot sailboat had a whopping 110-horsepower engine. Imagine that—a sailboat with a 110-hp motor! Ours is only 35 hp. They could have easily lined up behind us and given Lil’ Ollie a literal shove through the rapids! Of course, playing bumper boats in Malibu Rapids isn't exactly standard seamanship, but all that extra horsepower would certainly give them the muscle needed to punch right through heavy currents.
After sharing stories and other pleasantries on the dock, we took a short walk up to the falls to snap some pictures and a video. Along the way, we noticed a sign pointing toward a historical cabin once inhabited by a local trapper. The sign indicated the hike was two hours one way. Since we hadn’t packed any food, we decided against it, which left Greg and me feeling like we have some unfinished business here for a future trip.
With the current aiding us, the dinghy trip back to the boat was a steady 2.5 knots. We had enjoyed the falls so much that we decided to bring Lil' Ollie back there to stay overnight. Once aboard, I started preparing a late lunch while Greg released us from the buoy and steered us toward the head of the inlet to settle into our new, spectacular campsite.
During our earlier dinghy excursion, we had noticed there was exactly one mooring buoy left. We made a line straight for it, now completely surrounded by majestic waterfalls—some tumbling down right next to the boat, others cascading in the distance. The towering mountains and lush greenery are truly breathtaking. While it isn't necessarily grander than MacDonald Island, it has its own unique allure, and the roar of the falls is much more pronounced here.
I missed playing the piano today, but it was nice to have a day off. I’ve been diligently practicing almost every day on this trip, and having a piano onboard is incredibly convenient. I recently started taking lessons last February from a fantastic semi-retired teacher who plays exceptionally well. Her studio at her Glenora home boasts two grand pianos—a Yamaha and a Steinway—alongside a smaller upright and an electric piano that closely resembles mine, a Roland FP-30X. Greg installed a special outlet to plug my piano in directly so we don't need to run the inverter, and he secured it to the stand and strapped it to the table so it won't tip over when things get turbulent.
Once we settled into the anchorage, we ate our lunch and I pulled some chicken out of the freezer for dinner and decided to sit down with my blog. By this time, the afternoon heat had warmed up the cockpit and cabin considerably, so I changed into some cooler clothes. I don't handle the heat particularly well, so I lounged on the settee with my computer, quietly battling Google Photos to get my pictures organized. It seemed to have a mind of its own! Finally, I got everything sorted out and officially published the posts for Day 3 and Day 4.
While I was typing away, Greg asked about dinner. I glanced at my watch and was shocked to see it was already 8:30 p.m. The air had cooled down considerably, but neither of us felt very hungry, so we decided to tuck the defrosting chicken into the fridge for tomorrow.
We wound down by watching an episode of The Resident. I started drifting off right there on the settee and thought about just sleeping there for the night, but after a few minutes, I thought better of it and crawled into bed.
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test again
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