Desolation Sound: Not so desolate

Desolate adj.
1. Devoid of inhabitants or visitors; deserted
2. Joyless, disconsolate, and sorrowful, through or as if through separation from a loved one
3. a. Showing the effects of abandonment or neglect b. Barren, lifeless c. Devoid of warmth, comfort, or hope

Mandy and I come to Desolation Sound to find, as previous generations have found, that it’s not desolate at all. As we rounded Sarah Point this afternoon in light winds and with the golden sun lighting up the waters beneath the distant green and white peaks, we were accompanied by motor and sail boats large and small. Astern of us, the Pacific Grace chugged along, looking out of place in a way she didn’t the last time we saw her. Dotting the expanse of the Sound itself and Homfray Channel beyond were numerous white triangles, darting back and forth in the rising afternoon winds. Devoid of visitors? I don’t think so.

It’s almost impossible to talk about Desolation Sound without noting the irony of the name and marveling at the stellar bad mood Vancouver must have been in when he so named it. “…not a single prospect that was pleasing to the eye”? Look closer, George! I’m not sure the appellation was such a terrible mistake as it is now seen, however. I watched the Grace cruising in under power and thought hard about the shifty winds we had experienced through the day, and the challenge of sailing our tiny, maneuverable sloop in them against tide and current and with unseen rocks all around, and I imagine the place was less idyllic for Vancouver in any number of ways than it is for the average cruiser today.

Representative of the difficulties is the lamentable tale of Dionosio Galiano and Cayetano Valdes, early Spanish explorers making their way through the area at the same time as Vancouver. Attempting to exit the very channel we were sailing into, poor combinations of wind, tides, and currents held them up for four days in a stretch that we took only hours to pass. If you want an idea what put Vancouver off his soup around here, just kill your engine for a while and see how you do in the narrow passages with, as the Spaniards put it, “…no regularity in the tides in these channels.” Paradise starts to look a little less keen when you tack for three hours only to find you are back where you started.

The last time we were here was early in the season and there were only a handful of other visitors. The weather, fortunately, was just as phenomenal as it is right now. Even now, there are more than enough anchorages, even sheltered, beautiful ones, to go around. I sit at the head of Refuge Cove as I write this, in a cozy, perfect anchorage (admittedly, one surrounded by docks and houses… that’s not a problem further into the Sound) around the corner from one of the busiest resupply stops in the area. We are the only boat anchored here; it’s quiet and serene.

Desolate, indeed.