Nootka Sound to Anacortes in a Single Day – A Daisy Shot
Most people have heard of Murphy’s Law—what can go wrong will go wrong. But what do you call the opposite where all that could go right does, remarkably, go right beyond expectations? Such was the case with my single day, over 150-nautical mile run from Nootka Sound, British Columbia to Anacortes, Washington.
We awoke at 0400 hours on our stern tie in Bligh Cove, tucked up a narrow inlet that cuts into Bligh Island, Nootka Sound of the west coast of Vancouver Island. Yes, the island is named after the one and only captain William Bligh of HMS Bounty mutiny fame. He was captain Cook’s sailing master, aka navigator, in 1778 when they entered Nootka Sound in their search for the Northwest Passage. The historic Resolution Cove is on this island where Cook, with Bligh under his command, famously sheltered their ships HMS Resolution and Discovery for repairs. Captain Vancouver, whose Canadian island namesake is clearly much larger, wouldn’t arrive until 1792.
Now in the summer of 2025 I find myself sheltering on this rocky shores not unlike those intrepid Brits. But I am aboard the Aspen C100 Cat Man Do with Aspen Power Catamarans founder/owner, Larry Graf. We just spent a week bashing uphill from Victoria, BC on an epic owner’s cruise of the rugged west coast of Vancouver Island. (Look for the upcoming feature in Passagemaker Magazine. Seventeen Aspen owners originally signed up for this ambitious adventure with Graf—eight made it all the way to this northernmost point with us. Now it’s time for everyone to return to their homeports, south and east to Anacortes, Washington in our case. After all this time together, Graf and I have our early morning routines pretty dialed in. I get breakfast going as Graf brings his sleeping boat to life. He likes his eggs medium hard. No coffee, that lifegiving elixir is all for me.
Helped by a Gale
“C’mon, Daisy,” Graf calls to his loyal pooch, a black field spaniel. They head to shore on the dinghy to answer nature’s call. We’ve got many miles ahead to Anacortes and don’t plan to make the whole transit today. But if all goes well, we should get to Barkley Sound by sundown for a last night aboard. We’ll top off the fuel in Ucluelet, “Ukee” to locals, and be all set for the final dash into the Strait of Juan de Fuca and Puget Sound tomorrow.
The stern tie raft up breaks. We, and the owners who made it up here with us, exit the shelter of Bligh Island under the dark purple of predawn. A nasty-looking gale had parked itself off the coast for the last few days and finally moved off allowing our departure. It wouldn’t be pondlike in the open Pacific water, but the leftover wind and wave energy should be mostly at our backs at least as we head south.
Running downhill has its perks.
Can Man Do with her squad of fellow Aspens aim southwest and out to clear Estevan Point, then straight as can be to ole Ukee about 50 miles down the coast. It’s blustery, maybe sustained 15 – 20 knots, with swells. But it’s all at our backs and helping us. We’re surfing, surfing USA… excuse me, surfing Canaday.
We fought similar conditions getting north. Running into it made for some white knuckles and queasy stomachs. But now the ocean, once seemingly hostile, was giving us a helping hand. We excitedly watch our speed rise when riding wave crests. 20 knots! 21! Owners compare top speeds on the radio, Graf offering trim tabs tips to help them eke out a little extra. A more typical cruising speed of an Aspen C100 is 15, maybe 17 knots. For our purposes of swift passagemaking, the conditions weren’t just good. They were ideal.
Fuel Dock Luck and Flood Tide
“We’re making great time,” Graf notes as the miles fly past. I agree. We’re up and down the swells, but it’s smooth going overall. Thanks to our early rise and ideal running conditions, we arrive to refuel at ole Ukee before noon. Sometimes the fuel dock can be a real lineup, especially during the height of summer tourism season when fishing boats are as plentiful as the salmon they seek. I set fenders and prepare for a wait, but not so. We’re fueling up with the dock hands in no time.
Swell series
“Never seen so many catamarans like this,” remarks one of the fuel dock staff, surprised to see an owner’s cruise take on this wilder, western side of Vancouver Island. I run Daisy up for another nature’s call. Topped off, a new option reveals itself thanks to the ideal conditions. We could make a go for Victoria today if one critical piece to the puzzle comes together—the tide.
The entrance to the Strait of Juan de Fuca is a famously nasty place to be when the winds and tides are running in opposite directions. If these seas, helpful thus far, were to bring us into an outgoing Strait of Juan de Fuca ebb, then the two forces of nature would clash and we’d truly be in “Straits of I Wanna Puke-a” conditions. What’s more, the stretch of Vancouver Island coast from Barkley Sound to Victoria, about 90 miles, has very few places to tuck into if absolutely needed. Port Renfrew sits about halfway—that’s about it.
We turn to the tide tables, rubbing our eyes with mild disbelief and double checking. If we left Ukee now, we’d hit the Strait at slack tide right before the flood. Not only would we have these ideal running conditions at our backs, but we’d gain a few knots during a helpful tide window to boot.
“Well…” Graf says. “This is… perfect!”
“Let’s go!” I concur.
We make for the Strait, still making 20ish knots thanks to the seas at our backs, and enter the mouth in ideal slack tide conditions. As we turn to run into the Strait, the tide begins to gently and then more forcefully push us almost the whole way. The green, gentle hills of Vancouver Island sit immediately off our port while the jagged peaks of the Olympic mountains gather clouds off our starboard on America’s Olympic Peninsula. During my time on the wheel, a feeding humpback whale breaches, working the shore to get at fish not unlike how a commercial fisherman might. We slow a bit to yield and soak in the sight.
“Things are just really clicking together today,” I unwisely say aloud. Graf knocks on wood.
Fuel Holds Out and Customs Showdown
A night in Victoria would be fun. We had already come so far, much further than we originally planned for the day. But when you have the opportune conditions, it’s best to take advantage of them. However a stopover in Victoria versus an Anacortes arrival would probably be inevitable for two reasons: fuel and customs. Even if our fuel did somehow hold out, the customs office in Anacortes operates during normal business hours. We’d get there in the evening when they were closed. So it seemed Victoria would be victory enough on this magic run.
Late afternoon sees us passing Sooke and the Race Rocks Lighthouse. The tide is slacking and about to turn against us, the conditions getting choppier as the afternoon westerlies grow stronger and the water starts to ebb against it. Miraculously, our calculations show that the fuel from Ukee looks like it can hold out all the way to Anacortes. The seas are getting to be a bit less ideal, choppy, but nothing we couldn’t handle.
We are, somehow, going to make a full transect from Bligh Island, Nootka Sound to Anacortes, Washington in one day. Only one obstacle remained, the most daunting of all: bureaucracy. Clearing customs after hours.
Graf keeps on the helm as I consort my iPhone and the internet. The physical customs office in Anacortes was going to be closed, but now was as good a time as any to try out the Customs Border Patrol (CBP) ROAM app. I downloaded it despite the spotty cell service and started the digital paperwork to clear us remotely.
We bounce through choppy quartering seas past Lopez Island as I submit our information and activate the remote customs process on the app that includes a video interview with an agent. We are a duo of sunglass wearing, red faced boaty looking dudes who had just spent all day gliding over the waves like professionals. Whether or not we’d actually be able to say that we shot Nootka to Anacortes in a day, and spend the night in our own beds, was up to the discretion of this app and a customs agent on my phone.
As we entered US waters, Graf and I video chat with a friendly agent, let’s call her Melissa, within 20 minutes of submitting our request. Like the gale that pushed us along offshore, Uncle Sam was giving us a greenlight.
Now cleared by customs, we rounded the rocky face of Cap Sante Park to behold our homeport. There under the angelic golden glow of an August sunset lies Anacortes. Daisy, boat weary and in dire need of the relief of a patch of grass, animates immediately. Graf takes us to the slip easily, almost lazily. We stretch out, gather our things, and shake hands, tired after a long day and still in a state of disbelief that we made it the whole way.
If the gale didn’t leave all that helpful energy at our backs. If the fuel lineup at Ukee had been an hour longer. If the tide window for entering the Strait had been a few hours either way. If the C100 wasn’t such a fuel-efficient cruising machine. If the customs app didn’t download or Melissa wasn’t so accommodating. Perhaps, maybe, if Graf didn’t get his medium-hard eggs the way he liked them in the morning and if I didn’t get the jolt of coffee I needed. If Cook and Bligh had never set sail. Any one of these factors could’ve derailed our magic run, forcing our hands to spend the night in Barkley Sound or Victoria.
I give Daisy a last scritch behind the ears. Maybe this opposite of Murphy’s Law should be deemed a Daisy Shot? When it comes to passagemaking, I say plan according to Murphy’s Law but know when a Daisy Shot is magically unfolding before you. The best course of action is to smile and take it.
