The first of September was like flipping a switch; suddenly, it’s fall in the Salish Sea. Blustery winds, rain, and that characteristic damp chill in the air all came in out of nowhere to suddenly displace our idyllic August summer days.
The change hit us as we were ending our stay in Vancouver swiftly but reluctantly. We spent the better part of August there but it seemed like we barely touched the surface of that vibrant and complex city. Friends visited, we took side trips, and in the end it seemed like we caught only a few bare glimpses of the place as we were rushing around on errands. The long immersion I have often promised myself will have to wait for another year.
We left to cross the Strait of Georgia without the planning or preparation that body of water is due. We had neglected to take on provisions, made only cursory route plans, got too litle sleep the night before, and to top it off, Mandy had a terrible cold and had to stay below and in her bunk for most of the eleven hours it took us to get across. The wind was right on the nose for most of the way and while it was light and easily managed, leftover slop from strong winds the night before slowed our progress considerably. When we reached Nanaimo, our destination, it was dark, cold, and Labor Day… the anchorage was packed. I dropped the hook on the outskirts of the bay and went to bed exhausted.
By the Tuesday after Labor Day, the rain had more or less stopped, and the water had cleared of boats as if they were grease chunks and someone had up-ended a bottle of Dawn in their midst. We crawled out of our dank, dreary little cabin, motored over to the Port Authority docks, and went shopping. Properly stocked up, we motored back over to Mark Bay and took our pick of the open spots near the park docks, then conjured heat from our recalcitrant diesel heater. The wind shifted and built, but we had hot food, cold drinks, and a warm and dry cabin in which to enjoy them and endure whatever conditions nature might choose to throw at us.
Surprisingly, what she chose was sunshine, and we took advantage of it the next day to go ashore and walk the woods and beaches of the suddenly deserted Newcastle Island Park. In the pale yellow sunshine, the pine trees still gave off the warm and musty smells of summer. But scattered among the dusky evergreens, the brighter green of the maples and oaks was fading and already shot through with the early flashes of brilliant oranges and yellows of their last full measure of glory.
The mornings come later and bring chills and condensation along with them. The sun shines as hot at mid-day as ever, but in the shade, the wind is cold and shifty. When I clamber out into the cockpit for my morning coffee, fewer kayaks pass by on early morning paddles, and the boaters around us peer out from within their warm cabins instead of coming out with their own mugs and waving.
After all the chaos and expense of Vancouver, Nanaimo is a whole new mini-vacation. We don’t have any deadlines now other than a promised rendezvous with a friend in the San Juans near the end of the month; there are no great passages to be made while we skulk up and down the protected waterways of the Gulf Islands and San Juans. September is always a gamble here; sometimes it is the last, best gasp of summer, and sometimes it is just fall, no better than it should be. This is fall for sure.