June 19: Day 16: Back to MacDonald Island Mooring Field

Trapper Cabins, Tuna Salads, and Shifting Mooring Buoys

We woke up early today, around 6:20 a.m., to another small accident. We are now 16 days into our trip, and Artemus has been so careful about using his box. The longest he had ever gone on a cruise without jumping overboard was 11 days, back in 2019 when he dove off the back of our stern tied 26-foot Grampian, Mistress. We had only recently adopted him that May and officially became his servants; he was just ten years old then. But that is a story for another time. Overall, we’re happy with how well he is adjusting to being away from shore for so long. Taking him to land every day usually helps, but Greg hasn’t taken him the last two or three days since we first arrived in the inlet, so perhaps he’s getting a little anxious again.

We plan to move Lil’ Ollie back to MacDonald Island later today. We will be able to take Artemus to shore again and we will be closer to the exit of the inlet when we are ready to leave AND we'll experience the sun much earlier in the morning. By 10:13 a.m., the sun still hadn’t reached us. Yesterday it hit the boat by 7:30 a.m., but because we are the very last boat in this mooring field, and we are hidden in the shadows of those wondrous mountains, we are the last to get the sun. The dock over near the falls is finally basking in it. We don't usually go to docks because Artemus loves to roam them, though he does wear an Apple AirTag on his collar now.

Since we only get out here once every three years or so, Greg decided to take advantage of the morning to do the long hike to the trapper's cabin while I stayed behind to work on the blog - brave him! After packing some energy bars, pepperoni, a chocolate bar, dates, almonds, water, his hat, and the VHF radio, he set off in the dinghy to begin his trek.

Leaving me alone always brings a stray thought: If a medical emergency strikes while I’m here, I’ll make a Mayday call on channel 16. If I’m picked up and flown to help, he might wonder where I am unless he hears my call on his handheld VHF. He might say to himself, "Bethanny, where are you? Did you go for a long swim to shore?" Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that—the water here is freezing at 66°F. Yesterday I swear it was 69°F, which is still not warm, but slightly more manageable. I absolutely hate the cold!

Before Greg left, we turned on the diesel heater because I had a deep chill even with my robe on. The cabin finally warmed up, with the V-berth reaching a cozy 23°C, so I turned the heat off just as the sun finally struck the side of the boat at 10:32 a.m.

Right before he rowed away, we spotted a tiny creature swimming across the glassy surface. It looked like a baby rat. Curious, Greg took the dinghy over to investigate, only to discover it was a fish lying upside down with an unusual growth on its belly. He could have tried turning it over, but it would have just kept flipping right back. I suppose that fish will likely become lunch for another creature soon, and that’s just the natural end of it.

With Greg away, I focused on the blog. I'm hoping to get some proper exercise later today. I took a short walk yesterday, but not much. Even without a formal hike, boat life ensures I get far more exercise than I do at home. Climbing up and down the companionway, pumping the head 18 to 25 times per use, washing dishes, and cooking meals all add up. Cooking onboard usually means breakfast, lunch, and occasionally dinner, though it’s mostly just heating things up—boiling water, making toast when we have bread, making coffee (I’ll tell you about my coffee routine in a future post), and warming up soup or leftovers. Now Greg's cooking is a different experience.  He tends to cook from scratch when he can and it's very delicious!

The laundry is also piling up in our white cotton bag. I’m hoping we can hold out until we reach a marina with proper facilities, like Powell River, Lund, or Refuge Cove. If we decide to head into Desolation Sound after this, we’ll have to plan carefully. We’re considering visiting our friends in Comox and stopping at Hornby Island’s Tribune Bay near the end of our cruise, but it all depends on everyone's schedules. We also have boating friends at Prideaux Haven right now, though I’m not sure how long they’ll be staying. Lasqueti Island, off the southwest coast of Texada, is another place we’ve never been but have heard great things about.

There are simply so many places to explore, so we will let the weather and our provisions guide us. I suppose I could always wash clothes on the boat, but I don’t want to waste fresh water. I’m not sure how effective washing with saltwater and rinsing with fresh water would be, so I'll have to look that up later. Our starboard water tank is empty now, so we switched to the port tank yesterday. The gauge still shows a full nine dots. For backup, we have two four-litre bottles of alkaline water, which I hear is quite good for you, and our ten-litre plastic camping jug.

Once the sun fully hit the cockpit, the boat warmed up immensely. The Cerbo station registered the cockpit at a balmy 22.9°C, the salon at 21.3°C, and the V-berth at a toasty 26.2°C.

Around 1:00 p.m., I made myself some lunch: a can of tuna (minus two chunks for Artemus, which I mixed into his dish). I added diced celery, onion, about half a diced apple, a few sprays of avocado oil since I didn't have mayonnaise, and the juice of a quarter of a lemon. Paired with a few Wasa and Crustina crackers, it was a perfectly lovely lunch. It has been quite enjoyable having this quiet time to myself. Artemus slept through the whole affair, only emerging from his slumber when the scent of tuna brought him out for some sustenance.

Shortly after I got back to writing, Greg appeared in the dinghy. It was a relief to see him in one piece and completely unscathed by the trail. Best of all, I finally got to see the photos of his adventure.

While the surrounding scenery was predictably beautiful—making me a tiny bit envious that I hadn't gone along—I still think I made the right choice for myself. I get to experience it through his lens. The cabin itself was a bit of a letdown; there isn't much left of it to see, and it almost looks like someone just started building it out of scrap wood. I’ll post a photo if he shares it with me.

[Photo: Greg’s photo of the trapper's cabin. It looks pretty rough—almost like someone just started piecing together scrap wood!]

With Greg back, it was time to move back to the MacDonald Island mooring buoys. It was wonderful staying at the falls last night—remarkably, there were no mosquitoes—but we prefer getting the sun earlier in the morning and keeping it later at night, which the MacDonald Island location offers.

We are back at our old stomping grounds now. A lovely breeze accompanies the hot sun beating down on the deck. We took a different buoy this time—the one closest to the tiny rock island. We’ve never seen anyone use this particular one, so we thought we’d give it a try. We are currently the only boat here, though off in the distance, the youth group is busy doing their kayak and swimming exercises. There's a lot of laughing and loud voices echoing across the water. I just heard their bell ring, so I think it might be the call for their dinner. Speaking of dinner, I think I'll get off my duff and find some freshies to go with our chicken!

[Photo: The tiny island at almost high tide—it completely disappears at high tide, hence the white pole sticking out of the top.]

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