Thormanby & Texada Islands

01/08 — Duke’s Marina (Sechelt) to Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island)

We pulled up to the ferry early, bracing for the BC Day long-weekend chaos, but the wait was short. Lately, luck seems to travel with us.

Arriving at the marina earlier than expected felt like a gift. The engine issue still nags at the back of our minds, but there’s comfort in having daylight and time on our side.

The docks were scorching, the sun pressing down with full August force. Summer in its truest form.

Changed the oil filter—it was filthy. Maybe that was the culprit. Out in the Strait of Georgia, we tested speed, and the boat surged ahead again. I held my breath, half afraid the moment wouldn’t last, but we were flying. Fingers crossed the fix holds.

By the time we slipped into Thormanby, the bay was alive—boats scattered like seashells along the horizon. We found a spot between a motorboat and a sailboat, dropped anchor, and let the day exhale. Dinner was served under a sky streaked with the last gold of the sun.

⸻

02/08 — Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island)

“Where do you feel the most at home?”

A question that has followed me through time.

Four letters that mean so much more than a tangible place. Maybe home lives in fleeting moments of love, in the beauty of nature, in the people who make us feel a little bigger inside. Maybe home carries our memories—the ones that shape us, the ones we return to. Maybe home is where the line between self and surroundings blurs, where we feel safe, loved, and grounded enough for our favourite version of ourselves to show up.

I’ve found home in many places…

In the backstreets of Marrakech with my mom, getting lost because detours have always been the best part. In the rural trails of Nepal, tired and out of breath, my guide’s stories and lessons shifting my perspectives. In the belly laughs with a friend, sweat pouring halfway up a mountain. In the dozen pairs of shoes lined up in the alley of a Caribbean apartment only my roommate and I shared. In the morning chatter of roommates in a mountain house who became family. At an off-grid camp that felt like a safe haven. In sunrises, sunsets and rainy forests. In the weightless silence of floating underwater. In the rush of a powdery descent.

And then, there were my dogs. I’ve found home in the quiet, everyday moments we shared in nature. They were my roof and walls, the grounding I carried with me, wherever we went.

And now, since Juno left, I hadn’t felt it. Not really.

Until here. Until now.

Over fifty boats crowd Buccaneer Bay. People are laughing, swimming, stringing up fishing lines. Dogs tear down the beach in happy pursuit of one another. Yachts, zodiacs, paddleboards—every kind of vessel rocking gently in the tide. Out here there’s no scroll, no feeds, no notifications. Just the bay, the people, the dogs, the ocean. Life is spilling over everywhere, and somehow in the noise of it all, I find quiet.

I find peace.

I find home again.

⸻

03/08 — Buccaneer Bay (Thormanby Island) to Anderson Bay (Texada Island)

The new fuel filter didn’t fix the speed. Waters were calm, so we cruised and trolled to the southeast tip of Texada Island. 

No one at Anderson Bay. Anchored at thirty feet and explored by dinghy.

Tall straw grass along the sandy shore. Deer grazing. Eagles overhead. A humpback tail in the distance. Spotted Otta, my otter friend again, this time with a partner and two pups. One pup was crying on the far side of the bay. Watched him swim across to find them, hoping he made it.

Back on the boat for rosé, poke, cheese, dips. Life is good when you’ve earned the downtime. Ocean boating is work, but it makes these moments especially delicious.

The mosquito net over the bimini kept the bugs away and the air moving.

Games, music, wine, bed. Tomorrow will bring wind and big knots.

⸻

04/08 — Anderson Bay (Texada Island) to Duke’s Marina (Sechelt)

Woke up early for departure. Pulled the anchor but left the dinghy to float for a while. The engine was still running slow, so we took advantage of the calm waters for the trip back to the marina.

Smooth travels with coffee in hand. Lines dropped, but no bites — we might need to rethink our fishing approach next time.

Waves started to pick up, so we brought the dinghy onboard before breakfast.

Breakfast on board, then back to the marina. Tidy up the space. Until next time, Sea Goat.