Silva Bay

It's breezy here today, brisk is the best word. The high today will only be 15C, with a wind blowing at about 18 km/hr. For sailors, that's just about 10 knots, a 3 on the Beaufort scale, a gentle breeze. Those of us who have spent any amount of time under sail feel with wind differently. It doesn't just blow; it has direction, force, gusts, variability. It's a living part of the ocean, a spirit formed by the action of land, sea, and heat, or cold.

I remember the first time I truly felt the wind, the first time I adventured under sail, crossing the Straits of Georgia, now called the Salish Sea, a name change more polically correct. My Dad had given me his Reinell 26' sailboat, a craft less worthy of the term "sail" that I wished, yet more worthy than the skiff I had at home. It's design intent was to be a weekend camper on the water, a party boat, a family boat, rather than a sleek sailer. Nonetheless, it was mine; more like ours, as my children were the ever present crew, some enjoying the process more than others. Children are like that, like the wind, variable with their own personality.

I gathered my crew together, children of elementary school age, and we went down to the sea in our ship. Actually we sat in the marina for a while first, getting things organized. I had charted a course that would take us out of Howe Sound, across the straits, into Silva Bay. Charted is a bit of a joke; I had plotted a course on a BC Parks map which showed the straits in appropriate scale as well as having the unusual feature of a compass rose on what was essentially a road map, doing this work at home well before our adventure, making the rookie mistake of actually drawing lines on the map.

My pre-work meant we were pretty much ready to go once our gear was stowed. We headed out with the wind just of the nose the boat. That Reinell couldn't tack worth a tinker's damn, so we powered up the outboard hanging off the stern. We spent a lot of time like that, motoring in our sailboat, a craft which failed completely at sailing windward and was more likely to wear away than tack across. Still, we had a great time on that boat, poking our nose into coves and bays all round the Gulf Islands, building our experience for the time when I would have a "real" sailboat.

Besides laughing children, sparkling water, and pleasant breezes, there are two things I remember msot of all from that maiden voyage. First, the idea of "line of sight" navigation was pointless. I had no idea of where we were really headed beyond the path which I had charted. This didn't bother me all that much; the Straits of Georgia are completely bounded by land, most within less than 10 miles. I could see, in general, where I was going. It was just the final piloting which was problematic.

The second thing which truly struck me was how much Silva Bay reminded me of some fantasy place, perhaps in Polynesia or something like that, a hidden hurricane hole, safe from the worst of weather, fabulous on a sunny day, luxurious on a summer' eve. In the ultimate of grace, Silva Bay had a pub and restaurant up the steep foreshore edge. After climbing the hill, we could sit on the balcony and oversee all which came and went from this perfect little anchorage.

I think that was the day I truly fell in love with life on  small boat, kids and all.