Hungry bears & powerful magnets
It had been such a long day. The tension just drained into the water.
Then outside the walls of the pool, on the beach along the shore, there was the sound of rocks slapping together. Maybe company?
Jim and I craned to peek over the edge of the pool. There, staring back at us from 10-15 metres away, was a big grizzly, at least it looked “big” close up. We ducked down again, staring wide-eyed at each other.
My first thought was that we didn’t bring bear spray. Being mauled by a bruin after leaving your spray on the boat is like getting voted out on Survivor with an immunity idol in your pocket.
So, not knowing what else to do, we began to hoot and cackle and clap our hands as if that might frighten the beast away.
Our long day had suddenly become a bit longer. Or maybe a bit shorter, if you incline to seeing a hungry bear as a glass half empty.
It was Canada Day and began anchored off the community of Shearwater. We planned to again attempt to recalibrate our autopilot which had been on the fritz since we left home in May. It forced us to hand-steer to a compass while crossing back and forth to Haida Gwaii. A First World problem, no doubt, but in the cloud and fog, out of sight of land, it was inconvenient to say the least.
After breakfast, following the directions in our autopilot manual, we steered Silom around and around Kliktsoatli Harbour, painting great wide arcs. But, also, no amount of tinkering with switches and dials would make the autopilot steer reliably in a direction of our choosing.
Our friends Tim and Kerri aboard Merriweather came by to say hi and sympathize, and we promised to try to meet up in Ocean Falls or Eucott Bay. We waved as they sailed away, and set about going around again.
Then a lightbulb lit up over Jim. The fluxgate compass, the heart if not the brain of our autopilot, was sitting directly below our chart table. So he flipped open the chart table and began rooting around protractors, parallel rules and other plotting instruments, until, yes, he found it. There, in a plastic tray directly above the fluxgate compass, was a large magnet, of the sort used to snap a viewing bracket onto the back of an iPad.
Jim moved the magnet to a distant locker, repeating again and again how foolish he felt not to have thought of it sooner, and like magic we had the use of our autopilot again. We did a little happy dance and set a course for Gunboat Passage, where we investigated several anchorages for a possible future guide, dropping the hook a few times to test the holding.
At Dunn Bay we passed a lone sailor in a small multihull which he was both rowing and sailing at a most remarkable speed for such a tiny craft. We speculated, and later confirmed, that he was a dropout from the recent Race to Alaska.
Then we entered Dean Channel and were blessed by a remarkable sail to Eucott Bay on the north side of Dean Channel, near the north end of King Island.
Entering Eucott Bay, we were captivated by the surrounding mountains. We dropped the hook, for keeps this time. We had been looking forward to the hot springs, but since we could see on the northeastern shore two other groups already at the pools, we took time to enjoy appies and a gin and tonic.
Once the crowds left we jumped into the dinghy and scrambled up the muddy beach for a hot soak. The water was lovely and warm and did not have a strong sulfur smell. Our shower on Silom has become a storage locker, so we love any chance to immerse in hot water.
And we were thus deliciously marinating when we heard the stone slap on the beach, saw the grizzly and ducked down to howl provocatively and, we hoped, frighteningly, at least to a bear.
We had never confronted a grizzly before. Jim and I thought that, unlike black bears, you couldn’t frighten grizzlies away, that your presence was enough of a threat. They would just eat you and asked questions later.
One moment we were making a racket, the next scrambling around in our nakedness to put on flipflops and collect our clothes, glancing up to see from which way the bear was coming. It wasn’t coming, rather was walking away. We quickly scurried across the muddy flats to push our dinghy out to water. It was a feeling of overwhelming relief.
Back on the boat we took a solar shower and took cushions and drinks out on to the bow to watch the activity ashore. Our grizzly — at least we thought it was “ours” — appeared again near the hot pools. It came closer, walking south along the shore.
That’s when excited chatter began to emerge from a Nordic Tug anchored nearby. Next there was the buzz of a drone, and with disbelief we watched as they flew the drone across the bay to hover over the bear for a few seconds before diving down to terrorize the animal. The bear fled for cover in the forest.
I’m not sure who was more horrified, Jim or our drone-flying neighbours as I leapt up and shouted sarcastically at them: “Thanks for ruining our bear-watching experience. You do know that’s illegal, right?”
Jim, who hates to make a scene, disappeared below deck while I stayed up glaring at them and shaking my fist. I love making a scene.
By and by, Merriweather arrived in the bay, and after dinner we enjoyed fancy cocktails in lovely martini glasses aboard her while Tim and Kerri took pictures with a zoom lens of another brown or two that made appearances.
That evening, the little sailboat we passed in Gunboat Passage pulled into the bay looking for a place on shore to set up tent. Tim called the vessel on VHF, advising that the shore was overrun with grizzlies. He offered a bed and a meal, but the racer opted to remain on his vessel, anchored in the bay. We have no clue what he made for dinner or where he slept in such a small, open vessel!
The next day, horseflies were out in force, biting with a vengeance and making kayaking in the bay unappealing. So we left for Ocean Falls, where we tied to the dock near the same unnamed Nordic Tug with the lawless drone. I managed to politely hold my tongue.
Jim was so proud of me.
