The sea is smooth and the traffic is light. I head off towards the north choosing a very direct route toward Active Pass. Phoning home, I let them know that I am on my way and arrange to speak again around 5:30 p.m. when I calculate I will be entering Active Pass.
The next several hours ghost by serenely as the beauty and majesty of the Gulf Islands capture my imagination and senses. Several B.C. ferries send low, gentle, rolling swells under the bow of EspŽrance and I delight at the surge of the hull in perfect rhythm to the roll of the swells. The bow wave sends water droplets cascading dozens of feet to the side over the glassy green water. This is my first sail south of Satellite Channel and the newness of the sights and the delights of the intricate coastlines lure my consciousness into dreams of future cruises through the area. Yes, sailing at its best . . . well, motoring at its best anyway.
The arranged time of 5:30 p.m. arrives, and I phone home to let the family know that I am indeed entering Active Pass, on course and on time. I should be in Point Roberts by 8:00 p.m.
As I head toward the north entrance to the pass, I cut across toward Mayne Island. Rounding the tip of Mayne, I pass the lighthouse on Georgina Point closely and see an abundance of activity. Against the dark green background of the island, the large white tent with many people milling about looks the perfect compliment to the bright white and red lighthouse. I speculate that this must be a wedding reception and marvel at the choice of this beautiful setting.
Once clear of the lighthouse and away from the entrance to the pass, I dart below to confirm my course on my Global Positioning System chart plotter, an incredibly accurate satellite navigation system. As I scan the electronic chart, I make a mental note to add about 15° to my course to head off further east toward Lily Point rather than directly at the entrance to Point Roberts marina. This will keep me well clear of the ferry lanes and allow me a comfort zone of navigation. While noting this, I check the distance and my speed — 10.42 nautical miles to the marina, and speed over the ground, just over 6 knots (about 7 mph). A quick calculation tells me that it will take me about another hour and forty-five minutes to reach my destination. It’s now about 6:00 p.m. I will be early in Point Roberts and beat sunset by about twenty minutes.
With gloriously calm seas and no wind, I am becoming very warm in my survival suit. I decide to take it off and put on my polar fleece jacket instead. I go below and change. As I climb back up through the companionway, I look left into the aft cabin at the closet where I keep my life jackets. A thought goes through my mind and I question whether I should put one of the jackets on or not. It is a weird thought, more like a statement — something like, “Put your life jacket on; you are going to need it.” I glance out at the ocean . . . absolutely calm . . . I shrug and leave the jacket in the closet.
My gurgling stomach reminds me that I have not eaten for a few hours. I’m quite hungry, so I go back down below and take some cold soup out of the refrigerator. I don’t bother warming it up and begin eating it while taking in the serene scene before my eyes. Dusk is descending upon my little world. The sun is lowering with reds, pinks and oranges sweeping across the sky to the west. The sea is an unusually calm, dark green, undulating with the currents and the memory of the passing of the thunderstorms. The air is relatively warm, almost soft. Funny that in such a serene scene of peace, I begin to think of personal problems.