hitchhiking around vancouver island in north ... - Sail Magazine

CADILLAC VAN ISLE 360 RACE
Wilderness
Sailing
HITCHHIKING
AROUND VANCOUVER
ISLAND IN NORTH
AMERICA’S TOUGHEST
COASTAL RACE
BY DAVID SCHMIDT
PHOTOS BY DAVE HEATH
“
Grip the wheel
a little tighter when you
approach those swirls,”
offers Sudie Henson,
co-skipper of the Tripp 47
Navitae Juvenis, as we
near a zone of confused,
fast-flowing water. The
bow pierces a swirl, and
the wheel heaves from
side to side. I grip harder
and the helm settles
down. As we skirt the
shoreline, Navitae’s rig
is dwarfed by British
Columbia’s mainland
coastal range to starboard
and the temperate rain
forests of Vancouver
Island’s east coast to port.
The fleet raced out
of Telegraph Cove in
light air, which can be
typical of Vancouver
Island’s inside passage
The tame weather changed
as the fleet approached
Cape Scott. Here, the crew
of Capricorno prepares
for the open Pacific
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CADILLAC VAN ISLE 360 RACE
I glance around at the fleet racing toward
Hardwicke Island and realize that, in the
Cadillac Van Isle 360 Yacht Race, currents
rule. Get on their favorable side and you’re
golden; sail into bad waters and the penalty
is severe. I think back to Seymour Narrows,
where the current can run at 16 knots—
so powerful that whales are said to pass only
at slack tide.
“Watch out for that dead space,” warns
Mike Henson, Sudie’s husband, pointing at
a parking lot of boats that’s forming just past
Eden Point. The water there is void of
cat’s-paws and eddies, and the boats are utterly
stuck. I bear off to follow a private breeze,
but this too peters out, and we ghost across
the finish line some 10 minutes later.
We tie up for the night at Marine Harvest’s
Lees Bay Salmon Farm at Hardwicke
Island, whose floating metal docks enclose
large saltwater pools where salmon
are raised; tiny smolt constantly leap straight
out of the water toward the nets hanging
over their pens. I smile at the irony as the
entire fleet sits down to a massive salmon
barbeque, compliments of the fish farmers.
• • •
The Cadillac Van Isle 360 Yacht Race, a circumnavigation
of Vancouver Island, was the
brainchild of Wayne Gorrie and Steve
Knight, two wild-haired trimaraners with
Vancouver Island has a split personality:
the protected east side offers a deeply
indented coast, precipitous shorelines,
and deep waters marked by massive
currents, while the wild western shore
is exposed to the open Pacific
a penchant for adventure sailing. Vancouver
Island’s circumference is roughly 580
nautical miles and includes some of North
America’s most desolate, rugged coastline.
Yet the island has a split personality: the protected
east side offers a deeply indented coast,
craggy islands with precipitous shorelines,
tiny communities, deep waters marked by
massive currents, and pine-scented air,
while the wild western shore is exposed to
the open Pacific. The pair planned a race
that would be staged in 10 legs, but it was
canceled because sponsored sailing—an element
of their idea—was then frowned
upon in Canada. In 1999 their dream was
finally realized, and 14 boats participated
in the debut event. After 2001 it became
a biannual affair, with a careful limit on the
number of participants. Getting assistance
Bright skies and a
gentle breeze made for
a fantastic spinnaker
ride into Port Hardy
in these remote areas can require hours, if
not days, and the race organizers require
that each boat be self-sufficient.
“We can’t grow the event much more.
These communities can’t house more than
40 to 45 boats; there just aren’t enough resources,”
says Gorrie. “So we keep the entry
list small and require an application.When
it comes time to choose, we look at all the
applicants and ask, What will these guys
bring to the scene”
Gorrie and his wife, Janine Bell (Knight’s
organizational successor), invite a decidedly
mixed fleet of one-off racers, trimarans, and
production cruiser/racers. Some of the legs
are short, but several are long and cross potentially
rough waters, so all entrants must
rate at or below 135 PHRF to ensure that
the legs are finished in the allotted time; races
757 pilot Mark
McKim prepares
for a different
sort of take off
MAP ILLUSTRATION BY PIP HURN
Cape
Scott
LEG 7
Port Hardy
LEG 8
Winter Harbour
Brooks Peninsula
Queen Charlotte
Strait
PACIFIC
OCEAN
LEG 6
Telegraph Cove
LEG 4
Hardwicke
Island
LEG 3
Campbell River
LEG 9
Ucluelet
are scored only if half the fleet finishes. The
trimarans (pickle forks, as they’re known
locally) have a storied place in the race’s history,
with numerous capsizes and a few neardeath
experiences. “We include a few
grand-prix boats to give the race legitimacy,
but we also encourage guys who want to
have an adventure,” says Gorrie. Other interesting
members of this year’s fleet include
the 33-foot Tryst, Stuart Farrell’s Aphrodite
101; the Canadian Navy’s 102-foot HMCS
Oriole, and Richard Hedreen’s 1967 Custom
Tripp 74, Atalanta (ex-Ondine III).
I joined this fleet for 5 of the 10 legs,
racing on a different boat each day, beginning
in Campbell River, at the top end of
the Strait of Georgia, and sailing counterclockwise
around the island to Ucluelet. Racing
with more than 50 new sailors in six
days added texture to the experience of hitchhiking
around the island and made for
some exciting sailing.
Hardwicke Island to Telegraph
Cove, 40.3 nautical miles
“Head down,” advises Tony Martin, navigator
of the Farr 47 Capricorno.
“Down. Which way is that” quips Mark
Cloutier, Capricorno’s owner and driver.
The air has been still for the past three
LEG 3
Comox
VANCOUVER
ISLAND
WASHINGTON, U.S.
LEG 2
French Creek
PACIFIC
OCEAN
LEG 1
Nanaimo
(start/finish)
Strait of Georgia
LEG 10
Victoria
CANADA
U.S.
BRITISH
COLUMBIA
Vancouver
hours as we drift toward one of the many
tiny islands in Vancouver Island’s vast
fjords. Four bald eagles stand sentinel duty
over the fleet atop “deadheads” (local parlance
for dead trees) along the rocky shore.
Within minutes a series of puffs appears;
10 minutes later they matriculate into a breeze,
which builds to 10 to 15 knots. “Come back
here and drive,” Mark says to me. “This might
be the best wind we’ll get all day.” Capricorno
doesn’t disappoint, and I can’t help
but grin as the wind builds and our boatspeed
leaps into the low teens. Whitecaps
begin frothing behind us, and several
smaller boats start rounding up while others
barely hold course, their rigs clocking
from side to side, the tips of their poles and
booms taking turns kissing the water.
Soon the wind builds into the mid-
20s. I hand the wheel over to Cloutier as
boatspeed bursts through the 15-knot barrier
and Capricorno thunders down growing
seas. We tick 17.1 knots before sailing
into a deceptive dead spot. Then we are practically
tossed forward as the boat rapidly
decelerates, dropping to 2 knots in the
span of four boatlengths. It’s a reminder that
the deep inland valleys funnel the wind,
pumping strong breezes to some areas
while others are devoid of pressure.
The same fate befalls our nearby competitors;
boats on the course’s starboard shore
also lose pressure but are carried by the currents,
again confirming that currents—
not windshifts—dictate the game. Sometimes
the currents are visible only in faint ripples
that are easily masked by cat’s-paws, making
for tactically challenging racing.
Telegraph Cove to Port Hardy,
28.1 nautical miles
Sailing out of the tiny harbor of Telegraph
Cove is like looking back in time. The historic
fishing and logging outpost is now home
to some vacation houses, museums (whose
collection includes the skeleton of an orca
that was killed by a cruise ship), a general
store, and a gaudy American-owned hotel
that contrasts starkly with the surrounding
community. Standing on the
teak deck of Flattery, a lovingly restored Luffe
48, I’m amazed by the green hillsides that
appear airbrushed with early-morning fog
and clouds.
The starting line is long—from the tip
of one peninsula to another—and the fleet
starts downwind in light air. Onboard
there is hardly any chatter among the afterguard.
“Sandy [Huntington] and I have
been sailing together for over 50 years,” explains
Dal Brynelson over a can of his favorite
libation, the wheel in his other hand,
“so he knows exactly what I’m thinking. We
have fun together, and we don’t stress out.”
Yet Flattery usually finishes well, proof
that sometimes relaxation and fun are
faster than bare-knuckle concentration.
The jokes flow freely as we pass tiny fishing
communities, lighthouses, and desolate
islands. Soon, long strands of bull kelp appear,
their grapefruit-size gas floats joined
underwater by long tentacles of ropelike vegetation;
they create terrible drag if they foul
your keel, I’m told. Dal and Sandy listen
carefully to calls from the bowman, Jamie,
as they dodge kelp, and we cross the finish
line before most of the fleet.
• • •
The island’s northern end is marked by the
Nahwitti Bar, a 1.5-mile-wide sandbar that
rises sharply from the depths of the Goletas
Channel to within a few feet of the
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CADILLAC VAN ISLE 360 RACE
surface. When the wind opposes the current,
the Nahwitti Bar is capable of kicking
up fierce standing waves. Just past the
Nahwitti Bar are Cape Scott and the Scott
Islands, the zone where boats traveling
counterclockwise around the island (as
we were) first meet the open Pacific. South
of Cape Scott lie miles and miles of vast
wilderness, with no trace of humans except
a few lonely fishing camps. Roughly halfway
down the western shore is the Brooks
Peninsula, which protects southbound
boats from strong southerly systems (and
vice versa). Locals speak of sailing south in
relatively benign conditions, only to round
the Brooks Peninsula and face funneled air
and steep seas.
During summer months the prevailing
winds usually pipe up around noon and blow
out of the northwest, making for exciting
spinnaker rides for southbound sailors.
This year, however, was an anomaly; a
massive low-pressure system had been
hovering a few miles off the island’s western
shore for weeks, kicking up big square
waves and pumping 50 knots of wind
from the south. While this translated into
fun spinnaker rides as we traveled northward
up the Strait of Georgia and Queen
Charlotte Strait, it added a cloud of uncertainty
about the outside legs.
Port Hardy to Winter Harbour,
69.4 nautical miles
While the fleet includes some big high-tech
boats, there are small boats, too, including
Jude Stoller’s trimaran, Makika, a home-built
Ian Ferrier–designed F-25c. Makika won several
line honors by huge margins, and on
the outside legs she could be seen keeping
up with the big dogs, one hull flying in the
air. “That guy’s got balls of steel,” comments
Wayne Gorrie after Makika becomes
the second boat to cross the line in the long
and lumpy ride from Port Hardy out into
the confused, choppy seas of the open Pacific,
still fueled by the persistent low.
Passing over the Nahwitti Bar is surprisingly
uneventful, given its fearsome reputation.
Cape Scott, some 20 miles southwest,
proves more formidable, and I watch big waves
explode onto the rocky spit of land that runs
out from the jagged coastline. As we round
the cape it’s obvious that we’ve crossed a Rubicon
and are now in a wilderness of sea and
land. There are no towns punctuating the
shores, only vast stretches of wilderness and
virgin beaches. I notice wind-stunted trees
growing angled away from the prevailing
winds, a testament to the western shore’s fierce
conditions.
Sitting on the windward rail of Flash,
Steve Travis’s One-Design 48, as we beat
While it rains a lot in Vancouver, the storms make for fantastic
sunsets (left); Skipper Dal Brynelson (in red) and Sandy
Huntington have been sailing together for over 50 years (right)
into 25 knots of breeze, I can’t help but
be impressed with Makika and the other
tris. Flash can point higher and take the
pounding better, but it isn’t long before
Makika pulls a horizon job during the
25-mile outside passage from Cape Scott
to Winter Harbour.
• • •
Winter Harbour, located on the island’s western
coast, is home to 14 permanent residents,
two of whom are dogs. The general
store sells a hodgepodge of groceries, so provisioning
a boat of 10 sailors isn’t feasible,
let alone a fleet of 42 competitors. A dilapidated
boardwalk wraps around the
town’s waterfront, serving as both a nature
path and the town sidewalk. Ferns, fungi,
massive conifers, and bald eagles populate
the forest’s interior; salmon, seals, whales,
and dolphins live in the harbor’s expansive
waters. Life is so abundant here that tufts
of grass grow atop pilings.
One of the race’s unique characteristics
is the nightly awards ceremonies, which
include the Turkey Award (a cap with an embroidered
turkey), given to the boat that causes
the race committee, the race organizers,
commercial traffic, or other competitors the
most headaches. Sailors breathe a sigh of relief
when they dodge this bullet, but those
who do earn a hat (or hats, as was the case
with a particular high-profile boat) should
feel lucky to be a part of the race’s heritage.
“These awards are the event’s heart and
soul,” said race organizer Janine Bell. “This
is where you hear the good stories.”
At the awards dinner in Winter Harbour,
hordes of salty sailors in sea boots stand
around in the mud under a spitting sky,
sharing beers and twisting yarns. Yacht clubstyle
racing this is not. Much like the island’s
rugged western coastline, the race
itself has grit that’s lost at most “upper-crust”
events. “It’s as much of a social event as it
is a race,” says Ray Wood of Red Heather,
an Olson 40 that broke an inner shroud
en route to Winter Harbour. “Some of
these guys have been racing together for
years, but they never have a chance to socialize.
Here they do.”
Winter Harbour to Ucluelet,
139 nautical miles
“Once you get a Transpac Race launched,
you’re self-sufficient,” remarks Dick Robbins,
owner of the Perry 65 Icon. “Here you have
a tough logistical shore-support situation.
The Van Isle is a harder race because of this.”
I consider Robbins’s words. Portions
of Vancouver Island’s road network are
rustic, and its in-port resources are limited.
The shore teams—friends and relatives
who drive the support vehicles laden with
extra sails, rigging, and provisions—often
talk of navigating logging roads to reach the
remote ports.
I look over at the setting sun and check
the time: 2200. It’s odd that I’m still wearing
sunglasses, but here the sun dips late
and rises early (0400) during the solstice.
Even in the “heat” of June, Icon’s crew is
bundled up as we watch a family of albatross
deftly skim the water’s surface. Earlier,
two humpback whales appeared about
a mile off our starboard bow. We savor these
sightings and try to stay focused as Icon
steadily creeps along, her sails barely filled.
While the fleet took a layday in Winter Harbour,
the low-pressure system finally
abated, and the winds clocked favorably
out of the west, but dropped to 10 knots.
Much like the Nahwitti Bar, the Brooks Peninsula
proves anticlimactic, with no extra wind
hiding behind it. During the 0100-to-
0400 watch we enjoy a rare Northern
Hemisphere starscape, without any light
pollution to cloak the bountiful shooting
stars. Sadly, my wishes for roaring northwesterlies
go unanswered.
Morning dawns clear as we pass gorgeous
beaches and reach toward the finish line.
My time with the fleet ends as the committee
fires the line-honors gun from their RV on
shore. I take a last glance up the coast as
we head into Ucluelet (“Ukee”). Dave
Stearns, Icon’s mainsail trimmer, reads my
thoughts. “This race is like reading a book’s
table of contents. You get to see all the stuff
you want to come back to and really explore.”
I smile at Stearns’s observation and
realize that, while the Cadillac Van Isle 360
might be just an overview, it’s still North
America’s finest wilderness sailboat race,
bar none. F
Special thanks to Lillah Martin of Capricorno’s
shore-support team for all her help.
Umbrellas and raincoats lined the docks while the racers tried to maintain concentration
in light, wet conditions (above); they may be wearing foulies, but their smiles tell all
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