We moved carefully through the islets and jagged rocks that formed the channel into Walters Cove. Running aground in this remote corner on the northwest coast of Vancouver Island would be a disaster.
As raindrops dripped from the brims of our foulie hoods, we passed modest homes dotting the craggy shoreline, shrouded in a swirling mist. The air was dead still and we had yet to see anyone outside. The sturdy government pier, built to service commercial fishing vessels, emerged into view, its linear dock mostly vacant. We dug deep in a lazarette for the fenders and mooring lines that had sat unused during our recent nights at anchor.
The conjoined communities of Kyuquot Village and Fair Harbour, home to several hundred people, are a remote outpost of hardscrabble modernity in these parts. But for us, it felt like a welcoming metropolis.
By this point in our 2022 circumnavigation of the great island, we had hopscotched our Passport 40 sailboat, Rounder, through the Gulf Islands, Desolation Sound and the Broughtons. As we headed farther north, traffic on the water dwindled and any concerns about finding space in good anchorages disappeared—there was always enough room to swing.
We had weathered the dangers of Cape Scott and the Brooks Peninsula, then spent several days at anchor nestled in a cove in the Bunsby Islands, a peaceful place shaped by the caprices of nature over centuries. Alone, remote and wonderful. But now, we were ready to enjoy the company of people.
For some cruising boaters, the goal is to get away from it all. To be the only boat in a remote anchorage. To feel alone, finally, and find peace in this bustling world. For others, it is the lure of waterfront towns and cities that call to them. Those cruisers love to discover new communities, explore attractions and enjoy local watering holes and restaurants.
For Deborah and me—and I suspect a lot of other cruising boaters—we like to balance both.
For the past 20 years, we’ve sailed the Salish Sea, our cruising grounds growing along with our boats and our confidence. Those trips have almost always been shaped by a desire to experience both the wonders of nature and the amenities and local culture of towns.
Walters Cove provided just the kind of comfort we had been craving. We discovered a place that felt both familiar and welcoming, but also unlike anywhere else we’d been. Kyuquot Village is a First Nations settlement of about 300 people. Fair Harbour, on the other side of the cove, has a few homes and a rustic fishing resort along the shore, and an inn with cabins and a cafe in an old building overlooking the water. Accessed by a path through the woods, the cafe doubles as a community gathering space that offers a slow but welcome public WiFi connection to the outside world.
After securing our boat to the wharf, we trudged up the steep ramp in our sodden foulies to the small store/post office/harbormaster office. We were told to make ourselves at home and that we were welcome to moor at the government dock for a few nights. We were in luck, since one of the handful of old freighters that make regular calls to the scattered communities in Barkley, Nootka, and Kyuquot sounds had just departed and left a fresh delivery of fruits, vegetables, and other groceries.
We only grabbed a head of lettuce, a bag of cherries, and some half and half, recognizing that these foodstuffs were meant for the local population, not waterborne travelers with fridges of provisions aboard.
Years earlier, the first time I took Deborah on an overnight cruise, we visited Blake Island in central Puget Sound. Though the downtown Seattle skyline was clearly visible from the beach, the island made it feel like we were somewhere much farther from home. With the city glimmering just across the water and miles of forested trails to explore on a tranquil island reachable only by boat, it felt like the best of both worlds.
Since then, over cruises that have taken us from Olympia to Southeast Alaska, some of our best moments aboard have been in isolated anchorages. Swinging on the hook, watching wildlife swimming and flying around us as the summer sun slowly sets, is infinitely more entertaining and engaging than any film or TV show.
Early in our cruising couple life, we left our home base in Seattle to sail for the distant shores of… Tacoma. We probably never would have spent a weekend in Tacoma if we were traveling by car. But by boat, Tacoma was a delight. We had a blast visiting museums, walking through the downtown core and enjoying a few pints at a local pub.
When we headed off at the end of the long weekend, I commented that almost any town is a charming seaside village if you arrive by boat. I was half-joking, but that observation has proven true over many other stops through the years.
This summer we are staying closer to home, departing in late June for a meandering cruise through the San Juans and southern B.C. Friday Harbor was an ideal place to spend my birthday visiting with friends and celebrating with great food and drinks. A few days later, the Fourth of July fireworks at Roche Harbor, where we rafted up with five other boats for the festivities, were outstanding.
But when we broke up our floating island of friends on July 5th, we were definitely ready to downshift and recover from the revelries. So we pointed the bow south to Garrison Bay, where we settled in for three peaceful days at anchor, enjoying trips ashore each day to hike through the national park and nearby trail system.
We plan to continue that balance between bustle and quiet, between communing with nature and kicking back in a fun town, for the next few weeks. The ability to enjoy both is, for us, what makes all the work and expense of owning a boat in the Pacific Northwest worthwhile. These are some of the best cruising grounds in the world, in part because nature and communities are so tightly intertwined.
By the time we were ready to leave Walters Cove, the rain had lifted and the mist had cleared. The taste of a delicious sandwich at the cafe still lingering in our mouths, we shoved off from the government dock, stowed the lines and fenders back in the lazarette, and picked our way back through the channel into the rolling seas of the island’s west coast. We’d met some friendly and interesting people, enjoyed a meal not cooked on the boat, and got a taste of daily life in a small and unique community.
Now we were bound for Nootka Sound and the chance, once again, to be on our own, alone, in this remote and wonderful corner of the world.
Marty McOmber is a Pacific Northwest sailor, writer, and strategic communications professional. He is currently working on refitting and improving his 1984
Passport 40, Rounder, for continued cruising adventures near and far.
