CATEGORY: SAILING

The coast of British Columbia is riddled with inlets that are like the fjords in Norway.   At the time of our long stay in Refuge Cove (the summer I caught the Ling Cod) we had never been to the end of any of them.  The reason was because Bob was dubious of wind conditions in the inlets: not of too much wind, but of not enough wind, and also of not being able to find a place to anchor near the steep sides of cliffs.  That summer, Bob decided to sail up Toba inlet which is northeast and two islands over from Refuge Cove.

We sailed around the southern tip of West Redonda Island where Refuge cove is located, on around East Redonda Island and up the channel toward the entrance to the inlet.  We anchored for the night at the mouth of a small creek on the mainland of British Colombia.  Bob explained to me that most of the creek entrances along this coast were Indian Reservations.  However there were no Indians, or any sign of human habitation in this secluded place.  There were only a flat, green meadow valley and mountains to the east.  We had not seen another boat since we entered the channel into which this creek flowed.  Apparently, we were alone in paradise.

After dinner, we sat in the cockpit enjoying the quiet evening.  At this northern latitude the evenings in summer time stretch into long, long twilights.  The temperature was perfect and there was not a slither of wind.  The water was as smooth as a slice of opal.  It was one of those exquisite moments in eternity when nothing was breathing.  Gradually we became aware of a boat motor.  It was that deep, low, slow, thrumming sound made by large power boats: tur-huum, tur-huum, tur-huum.  It sounded as if it were very close.  We could see clear across the channel and a long way in both directions, but there was no boat in sight.  We looked up into the rigging wondering if the lines were making any sound, but they were not even moving.

We named it the “Phantom Boat.”  This was the first time we heard it.  After that, from time to time, when the air was totally still we would hear it again.  We never, never saw it or knew what it was.  Once we were in an isolated, almost deserted port late at night, and it went right past us.   The only thing we could possibly imagine was that, when everything was perfectly quiet, sound carries for phenomenal distances through the water and even through the air.