Home, not-very-sweet home!

Thursday, January 25

Having had a very quiet 74th birthday on Wednesday (which I’d celebrated with a piece of the panettone we’d purchased in Snug Cove on Tuesday, chased by hot chocolate topped with marshmallows and stirred with a candy cane), I did not anticipate the challenges we were to encounter as we attempted to re-enter the United States from Canada!

Most of the five-hour motoring trip we made from the Burrard Yacht Club in Vancouver to the Point Roberts Marina was uneventful, despite moderate headwinds and the waves into which we slapped and splashed. As we approached the shelter of the marina in mid-afternoon, however, the rain on the windscreen kept us from reading the not-well-positioned “DO NOT ENTER” sign near the marina’s mouth until Braesail’s keel had squished into the muddy bottom of the channel! Using the bow thrusters and reverse gear, Walt rocked the boat free, we back-tracked to the correct marina entrance, and approached the US Customs dock. Walt had tried to use the official Customs check-in app much earlier, but it would not work on either of our smartphones, so he decided to tie up at the Customs dock and get clearance for our return to the States once we had docked.

We saw that the bow of a small boat was protruding from the water’s surface at the Customs dock, and a little oil slick was also noticeable, so that left little room for our 46-ft. boat to dock safely. Nevertheless, we made several attempts, but each was unsuccessful–a strong current was shoving the boat away from the dock and Walt could not maneuver the boat close enough to allow me to slide off safely with the dock lines. We saw no one on the shore who might help, so we motored around and around, and finally decided to try to tie up at the fuel dock, which displayed a prominent CLOSED sign. Here, at least, we would have sufficient mooring room and would not be in anyone’s way.

Here again, however, the currents pushed us away from the dock, so once more we were swept past it at too great a distance and speed to allow me to slide off our deck, land safely, and begin to tie up the boat. At last, I decided to try casting a loop of dock line around one of the cleats to try to slow the boat and pull it toward the dock. There were, however, small pieces of line attached to all but two of the mooring cleats, making it difficult to lasso one of them. At LAST, I caught one of the cleats, and we managed to secure the boat after a soggy, frustrating time!

I called the marina manager’s office to announce our arrival and ask about the nonfunctional Customs app while Walt continued to attempt to use it on his phone. She confirmed that the app is terrible, and most arrivals have to hike up to the office to try to get it to work, which one is not supposed to do (one is supposed to use the app to check in while moored at the Customs dock). She very kindly came down to the fuel dock to give us our marina key card, slip assignment, and an informational brochure about Point Roberts, for which we were grateful.

Walt finally reached a Border Patrol Agent by phone and told him what had happened and where we were docked. He reacted quite negatively and insisted that we move the boat to the Customs dock. Walt explained that we could not do so safely because of the sunken boat, and the safety of a boat and crew is, by law, of paramount importance! Walt was finally told to walk up to the marina office to check in, while I stayed on the boat and tried to dry off a bit after making my docking maneuvers in the rain.

At last we received permission to re-enter the US, and we untied the boat from the fuel dock and moved her into the shelter of our assigned slip. Once she was secured, Walt and I warmed up with some hot tea and cookies, and then took much-needed naps!

Before supper, while there was no rain and there was still a little light, I walked for about a mile around the nicely-kept marina to get some exercise and observe our surroundings. I enjoyed my stroll very much and took the following photos:

Because heavier winds and rain were forecast for Friday, Walt and I decided to make the five-hour trip back to the Anacortes Marina in time to moor Braesail before the arrival of the storm. We ate some supper, did some more packing, and made our way to our comfortable aft-cabin bed as more raindrop fingers began drumming on the roof.