Savary Island
29/08 — Duke’s Marina (Sechelt) to Savary Island
Longest voyage of the summer. In a way, the whole season has been building up to this — testing the boat, fixing the boat, testing ourselves. Each short run a rehearsal for something bigger. Now it’s time.
Full tank of gas and a reserve. Calm forecast. The last long weekend of summer. We’re headed to Savary Island.
The Strait of Georgia was smooth, sky pale blue. We passed Nelson Island when two humpbacks surfaced just ahead, their backs arcing gracefully, heading north, same as us. We held steady, careful not to alter their course.
An hour later, more whales near Texada. The sound of their exhale carried across the water, heavy and breathy like the earth sighing. Past Powell River, still more whales. Three sightings, plus porpoises cruising through the calm. At this point, we were worrying more about avoiding marine wildlife than dodging debris. The sea was alive, and we were guests moving through it.
This strait, once quiet of whales, is now a highway of life again. Humpbacks returning each year. Dolphins, porpoises, grays threading the same waters. We didn’t see orcas this year, but that’s ok. We’d been given enough.
After just two hours and about 40 nautical miles, Savary came into view. Long and low, like a ribbon of sand stretched across the water.
We passed the mooring field, followed sonar to forty feet to avoid the shoaling shallows, and set anchor. Dropped a crab cage for luck.
The sun cracked open the horizon, smoke from distant fires painting the sky red and orange. Dinner was flank steak with chimichurri and fried plantains, and a bottle of red.
Bioluminescence shimmered in the water like starlight trapped beneath the surface. A shooting star burned overhead.
Sleep was restless. Dreams of barking dogs woke me, heart pounding. But the anchor had held. Sea Goat was steady.
⸻
30/08 — Savary Island
A slow morning, coffee and breakfast on deck, then a dinghy ride over to the wharf.
Savary is built for two wheels. A sandy spine of road runs the length of the island, with trails and side paths peeling off toward beaches and coves. Up Campbell Road, we rented e-bikes from the local shop. We cruised west, meandering through sandy stretches and shaded forest trails until the road opened toward the south side. At Duck Bay, we leaned the bikes against driftwood and stopped for a cold one, specifically a yummy cider from Banditry, a local cidery on the Sunshine Coast.
Savary is unlike anywhere else. White sand beaches wrap around it, warm shallows giving it a near-tropical feel. Once a gathering place for the Coast Salish, it later became a retreat for settlers and wanderers. It still feels like a place that resists being tamed.
Back to check on Sea Goat — still holding safe beyond the shoals — then on to Mermaid Cove.
From the beach, climbed the stairs and walked a short path to the Mermaid Beach Club. Palomas with feet in the sand, but wasps chased us off before the charcuterie board. We saved that for later.
On the beach we met a couple of local sun coaster who split their time between Sechelt and Savary. She’s a flight attendant, he’s a tattoo artist. They had the cutest bear-like pup who rolled happily in the sand. I miss having a dog. We swapped stories, shared laughs, and they gave us tips about island life. I hope to see them again.
Back aboard, the sky turned gold once more. Charcuterie this time, Warren’s smoked salmon, a glass of wine.
The moon lifted over the bay, bioluminescence flickering below, and lightning flared far to the west. The sea was calm, the night alive.
Savary felt like a place we could stay longer, but the tide of the weekend was already pulling us south.
⸻
31/08 — Savary Island to McRae Cove (Qathet)
Anchor up at 8:30 am. Grey skies, low clouds. Crab trap gone. Northerly winds coming, so it was time to leave.
We cruised at seventeen knots, towing the dinghy. Then, off the starboard, two humpbacks erupted from the water, breaching high into the air before crashing back in a spray. A farewell show.
We stopped for fuel at Powell River — this trip already a full tank and more. Passed the Airbnb where we stayed with Juno last year. Seeing it from the water was bittersweet.
Waves built as we went, but Sea Goat sliced through them smoothly. We reached McRae Cove, a wide, sandy-bottomed bay. Quiet, sheltered enough for the night.
Explored by dinghy, snorkeled among oysters and crabs. A nearby islet teemed with seals and sea lions, barking and growling in chorus.
Dinner on the BBQ. I lounged, lost in the pages of Son odeur après la pluie. The words fit the silence of the cove, heavy and thoughtful, resonating with the stillness around me. Clouds thickened, lightning flashed over Vancouver Island, rain pattered on the deck. We stayed put, falling asleep to the sound.
⸻
01/09 — McRae Cove (Qathet) to Duke’s Marina (Sechelt)
Swell crept into the bay overnight, rocking us just enough to stir. We left at low tide around 8 am.
The skies were dark, winds stronger, waves on the bow. Sea Goat cut through the chop, steady and sure. Ahead, the horizon broke open — the sun piercing the clouds in golden beams.
Even in rough water, the boat carried us with confidence. After a season of short runs and small lessons, this voyage felt like proof. Proof we could go further.
We turned south, retracing our path through the Salish Sea. The marina’s familiar silhouette emerged at last. We were back where we began — proof in transit and return that even the longest voyage circles home. Summer leaves you that way… grounded, yet changed. Not everything comes back the same, but somewhere along the way, home is found again.
Footloose Diary 