Mothership Meanderings:Chance Encounters

August-September 2002

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
To download a pdf copy of the magazine click here: > DOWNLOAD

by Alan Wilson

My favourite photo of our boat during her 75th anniversary cruise. Photo by Alan Wilson

In early June, after a weekend of hard labour in the boatyard (our annual haulout for scraping and painting the bottom of our 35 foot converted fish boat) we escaped for a welcome week of cruising in the Gulf Islands.

At 75 years old, the Willmar II is still spritely, lively, and reliable - a real testament to her builders back in the 1920s. Her solid red cedar hull has seen a lot of water over the years.

This winter we've been a bit neglectful- it's been a busy one - so we felt she (and we) deserved a bit of a holiday to celebrate her 75th year.

I also knew Laurie was looking looking forward to a week of photographic experimentation. It would be an opportunity for her to get back into it after a hiatus due to a heavy workload.

We got the boat back into the water late afternoon on the Monday of our week off, and had to catch slack tide at Dodds Narrows within the hour, so we cruised smartly out of Nanaimo harbour making south, with Willmar dancing along on her clean bottom. June has a reputation for being wet on the coast, and school is still in session, so the boating season isn't in full swing. In the past, like the majority of boaters, we've shied away from June, but this year, it was amazingly summer-like, surprisingly warm and dry. And we basked in it after what felt like a long winter. Best of all, from our perspective, most of the anchorages we visited were nearly empty.

We were the only boat as we rounded into Ladysmith Harbour that evening for the first stop of our trip, dropping our anchor in our favourite little notch behind an islet there. After a pleasant meal and a celebratory glass (or so) of wine we were rocked asleep with lapping ripples.

Next morning we rose early, hauled anchor, and headed into Chemainus Harbour to fill our water tank. As we did, we noticed some people on the pier who kept looking our way. One of them called down: "Hey, I used to own that boat!"

It turned out this was Dave Holland, now a prawn fisherman, who operated our boat for ten years, some 20 years before. He told us stories of an even earlier incarnation with a former owner at Kyuquot Sound on the outer west coast, who for many years took her out every morning to Cape Cook on the Brooks Peninsula - one of the roughest areas of the coast. Now that's a testament to her seaworthiness!

Dave looked pleased with how we were keeping her, and we in turn thanked him for his love and attention during his 'watch'. We were also able to hand him a copy of the last issue of WaveLength with Willmar on the cover. As we putted away from the dock, we felt renewed respect for our elderly vessel, and we reminisced about other boats from our past.

We headed down through Sansum Narrows and out past the BC Ferries terminal at Swartz Bay, making for nearby Portland Island.

Portland Island, or Princess Margaret Marine Park, is and a prime destination for paddlers and boaters alike.

Laurie stopping to take yet another photo. "just a second...". Photo by Alan Wilson

It's also a photographer's treat with rocky reefs, midden beaches, wildflowers, forest trails, old orchards and meadows.

As we slipped into Princess Bay, usually quite busy in summer, we found ourselves delightfully alone. Anchoring in the middle of the bay, we launched our kayaks and set off to paddle around the island.

Laurie always likes to capture on film the beauties we see when paddling. But of course, this means stopping all along the way to take pictures. So as usual I poked around the rock gardens, checking out the intertidal life, taking a few photos myself.

For the record, I use a Pentax 90WR, a good quality, water-resistant point-andshoot with a zoom, with which I've had great success. It's certainly an easy camera to operate and although it doesn't give methe controls of Laurie's SLR, I'm not yet ready to trade it in on a new model.

Laurie's approach to photography is much more technical than mine. In fact, it's become a passion which now rivals her love of gardening and boating. In the last few years I've watched her become much more visually focused. It's proof to me that photography is a helpful way of seeing. Mind you, we've got a zillion flower closeups by now!

She uses a Canon EOS with advanced features which enable her to experiment widely as she hones her craft. She carries it when she's kayaking, tucked within her PFD and ready for instant use. In rougher seas, it's stowed between her legs in a dry bag.

Me, I'm still happy to have a camera I don't have to think about. I can wear it around my neck all the time without worrying about the wet, and snap off some goods pics when I see something interesting.

Late that day, after an enjoyable paddle and many photos, we arrived back in Princess Bay to discover we had company: a sailboat had anchored nearby. I could see its dinghy was onshore so the crew must have headed off to explore the island's trails.

As I paddled languidly toward our boat, I noticed the neighbouring vessel was a ketch rig, very much like the sturdy, 32' British boat my parents had owned 25 years ago and sailed across the Atlantic - the Admiral William. I'd spent two and a half months on it with them in the Mediterranean and had many memories of Malta, Sicily, Sardinia, and the Spanish Balearic Islands.

I'd been keeping half an eye out for it all these years in my travels, but had begun todoubt ever seeing it again. Who knew whether it was still afloat? Or still in the country? After all, it was a proven oceangoing vessel.

And this was yet another miss, I could plainly see. Unlike the Admiral William, this boat had a bowsprit.

As I paddled closer I could see the boat's name in script at the bow. What was it? Two words...

The letters began to resolve as I neared. Capital 'A', capital 'W'... and I did a double take. It couldn't be. And then a smile spread across my face in recognition and amazement. After all these years.

I called behind me with a hoot to Laurie and took off in a rush, digging my paddle blades in deeply. As I approached, I circled her closely, studying how the bowsprit hadbeen added, noting the fine condition of her hull and topsides, the new bimini top, a little swim grid added at the stern, the same self-steering vane we'd ordered in Sicily for delivery to Gibraltar.

We took a few photos (we later enlarged and framed one for my dad's 82nd birthday) and then paddled back to our boat for the night.

Early the next morning I saw a young man on board the Admiral William starting to haul anchor. I called over to him and mentioned that my parents had sailed it across the Atlantic, adding that he'd done a nice job of keeping the boat up.

'Why's she called Admiral?' he called back.

'The original owner's ancestor was a British Admiral', I replied, remembering Ron Truscott of Cowes, on the Isle of Wight, who had the boat built.

We chanced across the boat my parents sailed across the Atlantic 25 years ago. Photo by Laurie MacBride

We exchanged a few more words, and then I watched as she sailed forth into a stiffening southeaster, looking strong, fit and still quite capable of crossing an ocean again.

As we turned to our own preparations to get underway for the day, my thoughts drifted back to my now-deceased mother who all those years ago had been so reluctant to give up her home and friends in North Vancouver and take off for Europe with my father to buy a sailboat. To her credit, as the trip progressed she became really hooked on it, loved the boat, and was always sending letters home describing their exploits in foreign countries.

I recently learned from my brother's geneaological studies that our forebearers on our mother's side were in fact British seafarers, some of them captains of sailing ships traversing the world's oceans in the 1800s. In all the world, they chose Victoria, British Columbia to settle, and I'm glad they did.

How much my mother knew of all this, I'll never know. I had heard stories of the family arriving in the new world after sailing around Cape Horn, arriving in Victoria after a year at sea. But did she know the full extent of the seafaring history? I doubt it. Yet there she was, crossing the ocean in their wake.

As we headed out of Princess Bay that morning, I felt the past and present surging together as our boat bounded in the waves, eager for yet another day on the water.