Our sea through others’ eyes
Although Kerry was a manic Hobie Cat sailor on Lake Winnipeg, Edah was hesitant — even uncomfortable — about the prospect of living aboard a 37-foot cruising boat, let alone climbing into a kayak or dinghy. That may explain why it took so long for them to make a Campbell River pitstop on their annual spring journey home from Malaysia.
And we were worried about Edah. Would she become seasick or be too frightened to spend time on deck or in our dinghy or kayak?
She was apprehensive, at first, and we feared our efforts to make things fun might be backfiring.
But somewhere along the way, something changed. Edah gradually shed her fears and embraced the adventure with excitement, discovering the magic of cruising the Salish Sea.
Watching her transformation was certainly one of the highlights of their visit for me and Jim. Seeing these shores and waters we know so well through fresh eyes reminded us how extraordinary our cruising grounds truly are.
Desolation Sound, with only three other boats at anchor in Prideaux Haven and Melanie Cove, was quiet and impossibly beautiful. We spent our first two days there, poking around coves and shorelines, soaking in the stillness. The first week brought glorious sailing weather: sunshine, light breezes, and perfect days for dropping anchor in Ballet Bay, Smugglers Cove, and Plumper Cove, where we kayaked the shore, stretched our legs, and wandered the trails bursting with spring greenery. Sailing silently along White Islets, where hundreds of sea lions growled, barked and honked, brought childlike delight to the faces of our prairie friends.
We ended up spending more time than planned at Fisherman’s Wharf in Vancouver. But Vancouver has a way of making even delays feel memorable. We cooked fresh spot prawns bought directly from fishing boats, and hosted a small family-style Thai dinner for eight aboard. We also discovered the fun of eating Ethiopian food with our fingers at Fassil’s, and lingered over a traditional Persian lunch on Davie Street. Kits Beach buzzed with life and we couldn’t resist visiting nearby La Routa ifor their amazing Neapolitan-style pizza. The city was alive in every direction.
Then it was time for Kerry and Edah to fly home, and for us to head toward Nanaimo.
We crossed the Strait of Georgia on a day so calm it barely seemed real. The water lay flat, busier with pleasure boats than we’d ever seen making the crossing between Vancouver and the island at this time of year.
The following day, tucked into the shelter of Saysutshun Island on a mooring buoy, we wandered shoreline trails where deer bounded silently through the forest and Purple Martins swooped and sang around the docks.
Later, lying in my hammock and thinking back over the past few weeks, I realized the trip had given me something unexpected: a renewed appreciation for the shores and waters so many of us locals take for granted. Popular anchorages that many of us avoid when they become chockablock during peak season, somehow felt new again when seen through the eyes of first-time visitors in the quiet shoulder season.
The Vancouver skyline reflecting the setting sun, buildings lighting up as darkness falls, is every bit as breathtaking in its own way as the sandstone carved shores and ancient forests of Saysutshun Island.
To be able to leave behind a vibrant city in the morning and, by day’s end, stand among towering old-growth Douglas firs on an island steeped in thousands of years of First Nations history feels almost fantastical. It’s a kind of magic that never quite loses its power — no matter how many times you experience it.
The anchorages and marinas in this blog are covered in Salish Sea Pilot’s 2026 cruising guide.
