Friday-Saturday, September 25-26, 2026
Soft, light rain fell throughout most of Thursday night, and Friday in expansive Drew Harbour dawned drizzly, damp, chilly, and cloud-covered. Walt and I decided that we would spend a restful, “wintry” sort of day on the boat with mugs of tea and spiced cider at hand, and leave for Roscoe Bay on West Redonda island on Saturday when sunnier weather was predicted. Walt and I chose photos for Walt’s Compass Magazine article (which was accepted for publication as expected), and he spent a good part of the day polishing the article and the photos. I published my most recent blog post, finished reading a long journal entry and theological reflection by a friend (whose two books of sermons I edited over a year ago) who is now being treated for an extremely rare and dangerous cancer (an angiosarcoma—a cancer of the cells lining the blood vessels), sent emails and photos to friends, played some online memory-boosting games, and did some cleaning on the boat’s exterior that was made easier by the rain.
It was lovely to sit in the cockpit, inhale the scent of occasional drizzles, watch the clouds and the light changing above me, and observe the rising tide as it gorged itself on the vast stretches of sandy beach around me until it was licking its chops and lapping at the large “fences” of drift-logs that lined the shores.
Logs line Rebecca Spit (why did Rebecca spit?) at high tide
The afternoon was a bit windy, and the hush-sh-sh-sh of the breezes in the rigging and the shore-side treetops accompanied the fascinating percussion of the little waves tapping at Braesail’s hull and stern and the more metallic sound of our Canadian Maple Leaf flag and its halyard flapping against the mast.
The wind wore itself out as evening came on, we enjoyed a fine supper, I climbed into the cockpit to take some photos of yet another glorious sunset,
we watched another entertaining episode of “The Marlow Murder Club” on Cascade PBS, the full moon flooded the surrounding sea with silky light, and we made our way to bed after a tranquil, cozy day.
What a different sort of morning greeted us on Saturday! Friday’s gloomy gray skies had been erased by energetic sunbeams who stretched a cerulean dome above vast Drew Harbour. By about 10:30 am, we had raised Braesail’s anchor without incident (the windlass kept the chain under proper control!), and I was at the helm as we left the water surrounding Rebecca Spit. Walt and I took turns at the helm over the next four hours, enjoying beautiful views of rocky islands, thickly wooded hills, and distant azure mountains.
Roscoe Bay on West Redonda Island is reached via a narrow channel leading to a “bar” of sand and mud above which there must be enough water to accommodate a boat’s keel (in Braesail’s case, about 6.5 ft.) when it’s passing through. We had consulted the tide guides for the area, knew when the rising tide would give our boat enough water for safe passage over the bar, and had no difficulty crossing it to enter the exquisite bay. We motored slowly around the relatively small body of water, checking the depths and noticing the many stern-tying chains attached to the rocks along the shore, and decided to anchor near another waterfall, invisible from the boat but SO sweet of sound!
We had no trouble with the windlass (Walt had used a winch handle to tighten it), and Walt was soon buzzing around the bay in Coracle with the outboard engine he’d fixed running perfectly—hooray! He came back to the boat so that I could join him, and we again toured the anchorage, from the lovely camping spots near the stream at its head, past a little waterfall above which a hose is attached so that boaters in a dinghy can bring a jug right up next to the rocks and fill it with fresh water,
Water trickles over rocks and fills a hose for thirsty sailors
and back toward the bay’s entrance over which cloud-topped mountain peaks gazed serenely.
The entrance to Roscoe Bay
Another sailboat was entering the bay, and we pulled alongside to tell the couple aboard that there were no hazards ahead and they’d have plenty of anchoring space; with only two boats in the bay, it felt very open indeed.
As I climbed back aboard the boat, I noticed a silky “moon-jelly” pumping through the water with its white parasol top pulsing gently and the four-leaf-clover design at its center expanding and contracting with every movement. These creatures fill the waters in this area, and I love to watch them swimming! There was NO wind at all,
The “upside-down” forest at evening in the mirror-smooth head of Roscoe Bay
and the only sound I could detect from my comfortable spot in the cockpit was that of the little shore-side cascade, breathing gently and babbling contentedly behind the brush.
A relaxing evening dissolved into a silent, peaceful night as the full “Harvest Moon” climbed above the hills near the bay’s entrance and spilled its shimmering beams over Braesail and the surrounding water. How could a sleep setting be dreamier?
