Mothership Meanderings:"Discovering" Howe Sound

December 2002 - January 2003

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.
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by Alan Wilson

Gambier Island - a good place to wait for winds to change. Laurie MacBride photo.

In the last issue I outlined the first part of our trip this summer: crossing Georgia Strait to the mouth of the Fraser River to visit the historic cannery town of Steveston. After touring the Gulf of Georgia Cannery National Historic Site and paddling through a salmon opening on the river, we entered Vancouver's magnificent harbour and cruised up nearby Indian Arm. In this issue, I outline our frustrations with contrary winds and our "discovery" of Howe Sound.

Reluctantly leaving Indian Arm - a veritable jewel so close, yet so seemingly distant from the urban world of nearby Vancouver - we timed our transit of Vancouver Harbour in order to slip under the Lions Gate Bridge and through First Narrows with the ebb tide. We cruised out through English Bay, leaving the city behind, making our way back to Georgia Strait.

It was a gorgeous, calm day but knowing how the weather can change, I suggested we carry on up the Strait toward our goal of Jedediah and Lasqueti Islands while the winds were favourable. But Laurie had never spent time in Howe Sound and wanted to see what it had to offer, so we hung a right at the Point Atkinson lighthouse. As we did, we saw before us the spectacular mountain vista which Europeans first encountered in 1792, exactly three hundred years after Columbus stumbled on the new world.

© This map is from "Kayak Routes of the Pacific Northwest Coast," by Peter McGee, one of the best guidebooks to the coast, written on behalf of the BC Marine Trail Association, published by Greystone Books. ISBN: 1-55054-615-5. Used with permission of the BCMTA.

Howe Sound is shaped something like a "horn of plenty", emptying out of the Coast Mountains into Georgia Strait, spewing islands out of its mouth, the remains of long-past glacial actions.

The Sound's steep wall of ragged, "recent" mountains, shapely islands and beautiful waters are remarkably close to Vancouver but, like Indian Arm, they're also a world apart. Swept by sometimes sudden inflow and outflow winds, with steep shores and deep waters, most of the Sound is like the other fjords that cut into the BC coast, relatively uninhabited. The bulk of the residential development is on the east side of the Sound. Much of the west side, as we later discovered, is the preserve of the pulp and paper industry.

Laurie and I have such goal-oriented habits that boating holidays can easily fall into an "agenda" if we're not careful. It's easy to become preoccupied with logistics -time & distance equations, complex variables of tide and current. That's all very diverting in its own right but falls short of our real goal, which is just to meander ("to wander aimlessly or casually without urgent destination"). Sometimes that becomes a bit daunting, like trying to clear your mind of the hubbub of daily activity when you want to sleep.

So this year we planned a relaxed circle trip that would include Howe Sound, Jervis Inlet, Jedediah and Lasqueti Islands. No great expedition, just a plan to anchor, kick back, swim, paddle and generally pursue communion with the marine environment.

But like a lot of boaters this August, we were faced with implacable opposition to northward progress. The day after we turned into Howe Sound for a look-see, the "good weather" northwesterlies started churning Georgia Strait into a no man's land of whitewater. Each day after that, as we headed out to carry on up the Strait, we were brought up short by powerful winds and waves which set our elderly boat pitching and rolling with bone-rattling thuds.

Twice we set out from Gibsons only to see a horizon of rolling white seas foaming down the Strait - no place for an aging vessel likes ours - forcing us to turn tail and surf back in to the relative safety of Howe Sound. Each time we assumed the winds would blow themselves out, and we'd be on our way the following day. In such weather, the long-fingered hand of Gambier Island provided shelter for numerous boaters, and its shoreline offered diverting paddling while we waited out the weather. There are few anchorages other than Gambier at the mouth of the Sound so it was here we kept returning between attempts to head north. And it was here we watched the calendar and saw our precious holidays relentlessly passing, day by day.

Nevertheless we enjoyed our times at Gambier: a couple of nights at Port Graves, anchored off Camp Artaban at the head of the bay,and a couple of nights in Center Bay, stern tied to shore in a little nook on the west side, sharing the space with others similarly afflicted by the winds. We paddled, swam, and read books. It was tough.

Planning an early morning start one morning, we tried overnight at Plumper Cove, a provincial marine park at Keats Island across from Gibsons, right on the edge of the Strait. The wind dropped in the night, and with no wind to keep the boats headed into the swell off the Strait, we awoke to a sickening, snapping roll. Beating a hasty retreat to Gibsons, we spent the next night thankfully tied up at Gibsons' Marina. Here we recovered from nausea and regained the use of our land legs, trying out various restaurants for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If we had to be shorebound, we decided we'd enjoy it, and we did.

Gibsons is the home of Sunshine Kayaking (info@sunshinekayaking.com, 604-886-9760), and a pretty ferry ride from Horseshoe Bay. It's also the gateway to the Sunshine Coast, Sechelt Inlet, and a stepping stone to Desolation Sound. (Sechelt is the home of Pedals and Paddles: info@pedalspaddles.com , toll free: 1- 866-885-6440, www.sunshine.net/paddle.) The next day, trying the Strait again, we found ourselves again beaten back, and settled for a lovely day paddling at Pasley Island near Keats. After yet another night at Gambier, we cruised around to Bowen Island where we settled into a visitor's slip at the marina.

Bowen holds special meaning for me. My grandparents, my aunt and her family all settled here together in the 50s, so throughout my childhood, a visit to Bowen was a family event. Bowen was magic for me - the ferry ride from Horseshoe Bay, meeting my grandad at the wharf for the long trudge up the trail to their house on the bluff, and all those woods to play in!

The relatives are gone now, but I enjoyed leading Laurie up the steep trail from Snug Cove toward Dorman Bluff and Robinson Road. There, my aunt and uncle (who immigrated from Ireland) used to run Robinson Weavers, making beautiful Irish-style woven crafts for the tourist trade in the old days when cruise ships used to regularly bring visitors from Vancouver.

I was delighted to discover that the old trail is now part of a park, the cottages at Snug Cove are being restored, and the general store has been preserved as a library.

We also admired the farsightedness of Bowen Islanders who have managed to secure 650 acres of the island as parkland. Moreover, a third of the island is still undeveloped "crown land" and Bowen has an excellent trail system (but no camping so you're limited to B&Bs on the island).

We enjoyed a lovely forest tail walk to Killarney Lake, through soaring maples and cedars, along shady, fern fringed pathways to a lake festooned with lily pads and garrulous ducks.

The weather was baking hot while we were at Bowen, so we had cooling ice cream cones at the ferry dock, watching novice paddlers stream in and out of Bowen Island Sea Kayaking's dockside concession. Visitors from around the world laughed and chatted in a multitude of tongues as they returned from paddling. (BISK can be reached at 604-947-9266, www.Bowen IslandKayaking.com.)

We also enjoyed paddling out of Snug Cove, around the foot of Dorman Bluff and south to September Morn, the swimming beach of my childhood.

Next morning, listening to the staticky weather report on our VHF, we were disappointed to hear there was no end in sight to the winds, so we said to hell with it and gave up on our plan to go up the Strait. Although it can be so benign at times - like a giant's bathub on a glassy calm day - Georgia Strait was no place for our elderly boat in this weather. So we turned towards Squamish, some 25 miles away at the head of Howe Sound, and chugged off up the west side, determined to make the best of it.

Much like the experience in Indian Arm, we quickly left waterfront homes and cottages behind as the shoreline steepened. We putted up Thornbrough Channel, marvelling at our surroundings, noting the start of a glacial green tint to the water from the ice-melt of distant mountains. With no ferry or boat traffic it was like being up in one of the northern inlets we have enjoyed so much in past summers.

And then we saw a pall of smoke in the distance. Gradually as we approached, the scene resolved into a giant industrial complex on the shore where two valleys converged. Giant barges lay at the docks, log booms clustered nearby, the smoke stacks fumed. This was the Howe Sound Pulp and Paper mill, the most modernized mill on the coast.

A closer look at the surrounding mountains showed the results of massive clearcuts, the slopes shorn and replanted with various monocultural age classes. Here was the great BC tradeoff: rainforest sacrificed for jobs - the great pulp and paper plunder.

As we slipped by, we took pictures for future slideshows and discussed the state of pulp and paper regulations, especially the Liberal government's rollback of the Zero AOX legislation (Read the Next Article).

As the mill disappeared behind us, we cruised on past hills and valleys cropped and chopped, past glacially scoured and logging scarred valleys. We were impressed, however, with the startling, precipitous rise of Anvil Island, like a forested blade against the sky.

Editor's Note: the BC Ministry of Forests is considering lowering the visual quality objectives of both Gambier and Anvil Islands which would hurt the scenic values of Howe Sound. The Gambier Island Conservancy needs our help. Contact them at 604-886-8901.

Mount Garibaldi dominates the Sound. Laurie MacBride photo.

Then, turning the corner... wham! Mount Garibaldi. Stark, huge, barren against the windswept brilliant blue sky - simply mammoth. Once a fire-spitting volcano, Garibaldi is now a landmark to Whistler's international ski mecca.

As we made our way towards this dominant landform, we passed a second pulp mill, Woodfibre, belching against an otherwise gorgeous backdrop of distant peaks.

Approaching the head of the Sound, we concentrated on our chart and guidebooks, reading that the entrance to Squamish is tricky and shallow. Few boaters seem to make their way to this industrial town with its log booms and chip piles, barges, warehouses and tugs. Yet Squamish has a exquisite setting, blessed by a triumvirate of hulking monoliths - Garibaldi, the Mamquam Glacier, and the bluff sheer granite face beloved by rock climbers, Stawamish Chief.

Squamish bills itself as "the outdoor recreation capital of Canada",and they may not be far off given all the climbing, skiing, hiking, and highly competitive windsurfing on the Squamish winds which whistle down the valley from the icy heights above.

We wended our way carefully through the shallows of Mamquam Blind Channel and landed at the small, crowded public dock with the help of the friendly captain of the Ocean Light, a graceful sailing ship sporting kayaks on deck.

Captain Eric Boyum was provisioning for six weeks of charter trips up the coast but took a break to help us tie up alongside his 67' vessel. We learned he guides trips to view the white "spirit bears", whales, porpoises, and wolves in the Great Bear Rainforest and Southeast Alaska. (Ph: 604-898-5996 or cell 604-815-8382, E-mail: info@theoceanlight.com,Web: www.theoceanlight.com.)

This was the only boat we saw en route to Squamish. Note Stawamish Chief with Mamquam Glacier behind. Laurie MacBride photo.

We were also delighted to find that the public dock was only a short walk from an excellent restaurant, the Howe Sound Inn and Brewing Company, which served us a superb dinner! It's also near a series of nature trails in the Squamish River estuary, and the estuary is renowned for the huge congregation of eagles which gather there to feast on spawning salmon each fall. Although our timing was such we didn't manage to get paddling, there is a lot of paddling potential here. Squamish is home to Paula and Don Jameison's Sea to Sky Kayaking School (see our Apr/May 2002 issue) and they can direct you to challenging whitewater opportunities in the nearby tumbling rivers. (s2skayaking@direct.ca, Web: www.squamish kayak.com, 604-898-5498).

The following day we left Squamish and cruised down the east side of Howe Sound, past Britannia Beach, Porteau Cove, and Lions Bay, staring upward at the soaring peaks, and steep channels down which rainy-season torrents cascade into the Sound. I was reminded of my hiking days long ago when I stood high atop the Lions and looked down over all this from the dizzying heights.

After one last night at Bowen Island, we finally caught a "weather window" - ironically what we'd been waiting for all along, but which had eluded us in the time we had available - and crossed back across the Strait to our Gulf Island home waters.

It wasn't the holiday we'd intended, but we found that our "discoveries" had thoroughly dissolved any disappointment, leaving us refreshed and renewed. In retrospect,it had truly been much more "mothership meandering" than any of our former trips.

© Text by Alan Wilson.

 

 

 

© All photos by Laurie MacBride