Josh and your correspondents managed to align a couple early weekdays away from work, eager to have an adventure in the sun that was baking the area late last week. The marine weather forecast was manageable, although showers wanted to make a move in. We were correctly optimistic.
On Sunday evening we set the Genoa in negligible wind, but were barely able to maintain one knot across Bellingham Bay. So, after some futile tacking and trimming, we dropped the motor in and got to Inati Bay with about an hour of daylight left.
It was our first night sleeping on the hook, but the ground under Inati was friendly. The anchor held strong; we dropped like experts between two neighbors and let our masthead light reflect eerily on the glass beneath the boat.
We took to the beach as light departed.
What followed was a myriad of laughter and relaxation. Firewood was abundant, so we filled the large pit and enjoyed the blaze for hours. A new tradition was born from our appreciation for the spectacle, as we each stood on a tall stump and made toasts and pulled whiskey.
Yr. correspondents often witness the phenomenon of
bioluminescent dinoflagellates on still nights in Fairhaven. With the movement of an oar, propeller, or even forearm through the water, microscopic plankton light up in a cloud of fluorescent blue. On Sunday night in Inati, the effect was more vibrant and magnificent than we had ever seen. Josh had never witnessed the glow. He was thrilled to be able to literally pick up handfuls of blue, or to send a mushroom of light streaming behind a long oar stroke. As we made our final return to Layla for the evening, fish were visible from at least twenty yards away and five feet down leaving long blue streamers behind them as they flew.
***
On Monday there was no decisive plan. So, as normally happens when nothing needs doing, the three of us wandered different directions along the waterfront and into the woods. Suffice it to say that solitary exploration in an unknown wilderness is about as strange to confront retrospectively as a bottle of whiskey by the fire.
When we were finished, we spontaneously set a course to
Clark Island, a reasonable distance around Lummi and across Rosario Strait, but easily reachable in only a few hours. As we approached, the alluring Sucia Island called at us from the horizon. The blue skies and pristine sandy beaches at Clark were barely able to keep us there.
In evening exploration, we encountered no inhabitants of the two large, voyaging sailboats buoyed nearby. The initial circle of the finger-like island took hours, through an array of inviting campsites, interesting beaches,
Madrone forests, swampy lowlands, caves, and even a rope swing.
Monday evening closed with another fire. Right on the sandy beach looking out on the sailboat, we cooked some noodles and enjoyed the sunset. By the time night fell the tide was at our feet; we retired early and slept heavily.
Tuesday morning brought rainfall until around noon. We relaxed until the currents were adequate for a voyage home via Hale Passage around the northern tip of Lummi. Wind was absent once again, so we motored most of the way back, in and out of light showers.
This is the longest post so far; hopefully it isn't too flowery. Clark Island was inspiring, and yr. correspondents' confidence on the water has multiplied. The true test is about a month away, when we will take our compiled funds and see how long we can last in the SJIs proper.
Note: I put a map on the bottom of the blog page that will update whenever we visit a new location.
~e.w.
