Dire Straits: A Trooper's Tale

PART ONE LOTUS LAND

Chapter 1

She lay relaxed on one of the couches in the main salon, head on a cushion. She was fast asleep her ample chest rising and falling in rhythm with her breathing. She was black, not dark brown like some of her friends. Her hair was short, thick and shone when hit by the sun. Her shoulders were quite wide but the rest of her body was exactly as it should be in those areas that count, her eyes, when open, were a soft brown.....understanding. She’d been sleeping with him for quite some time now not that that stood very well with him. He quite liked being alone in bed......no half-conscious fights for the covers or the pillows. Her name was Gypsy but most people called her Gyp as it was so much easier.

He checked the compass heading in the binnacle and whistled her up into the cockpit for her traditional lick of the remains of his breakfast cereal. They’d left Victoria several hours earlier, cleared Race Rocks on the slack, remarking, in his log, on the stink from the sea lions as they staged prior to heading south to their breeding grounds off Mexico.

He stayed quite close to the shore as he knew he could pick up some back eddies to help him on his way. Sometimes he wondered why he’d bought a sailboat. Better than half the time, in these waters immediately off the coast of British Columbia, he was under power as the winds were either light or totally from the wrong direction. Hopefully, as he pushed out into the Strait of Juan de Fuca, the breeze would fill in although here they prevailed from the West which was exactly where he was going.

Sailing single handed you’re always worried about something, the weather, something breaking, something you forgot, commercial vessels in the traffic lanes, something anyway.

Right now, passing Pedder Bay and Pearson College, he was concerned about conserving his precious fuel. He had provisions, including dog food, for five weeks, the water tanks were full but his water maker provided more fresh water than he and Gyp could ever need. His batteries were in good shape and the wind generator would keep them charged.......once he got some wind of course.

His sole concern was fuel.......it always was. He had eighty gallons in the tanks and another twenty stored in yellow, diesel containers lashed on the deck. Plenty for what he had in mind providing the wind came up soon.

Bailey’s Ride was what is known as ‘well found.’ At 42’ she was just about as big as he could handle on his own although he could probably stretch to 55’ if properly designed. He’d bought her the year before within a couple of days of her arriving in Vancouver from New Zealand. Two young guys had sailed her over so, if nothing else, she knew the way.

Within weeks of buying her he’d replaced most of the electronics and canvas plus redesigned and had built a new navigation station.

He’d installed three new 8D batteries under the main berth in the aft cabin which changed her trim slightly so in order to offset the weight he’d installed an extra fuel tank under the V berth in the sharp end.

Whilst under power the autopilot kept her on course and as soon as the wind kicked in the Hydrovane self steering looked after business.

On deck, a canister offshore life raft plus a 9’ inflatable dinghy with outboard for exploring, doing the shopping and taking Gyp for a pee providing there was somewhere suitable to go, which wasn’t always the case. She was completely self-contained, proven seaworthy.

She was his home, his pride and joy.......complete with e-mail, sat phone, heating, TV and VCR. No point in roughing it.....getting a little old for that.

He had a plan of sorts, then again he didn’t have a plan. He was footloose. He could go wherever he wanted, when he wanted.....weather permitting..............one of the advantages of being retired and not short of money.

His security business was in good hands and, after all, he was as far away as the phone.....a pang of guilt? Footloose didn’t mean careless. He was a good sailor believing in good preparation and not taking risks if the ends didn’t justify them.

He liked being alone but never felt lonely. He liked the challenge of sailing a relatively big boat on his own in a seamanlike manner. Not much glitz but terrific ground tackle. He’d left a bit of an itinerary with a friend in Victoria but it was just a general idea which he didn’t feel particularly obliged to stick to.

As things got a little more specific he would send an e-mail, using his Sailmail and single sideband radio, to give the details. Of course anybody could look up his position and information on the boat utilizing the new Automatic Identification System, known as AIS. This broadcast his position every 10 seconds and was in the public domain. He thought it a boon to single handed sailors. Of course he always had his Iridium Satphone, plus the VHF for close in comms and the SSB which could reach out half way around the world if you knew how to use it. He never felt isolated.

He glanced at the GPS plotter at the helm. Another sixty to seventy minutes and Sooke would be coming up off the starboard bow. He flicked the radar off standby. A couple of freighters inbound over on the Washington side......nothing to worry about. That’s for tomorrow, he thought.

In no hurry he might duck into Sooke, crappy harbour but OK if he could find a spot on the city dock. Terrific fish and chip joint just a short walk from the dock.

The steady rumble of the big diesel and the bubbling of the exhaust had an almost hypnotizing effect. His mind wondered but he knew he had to remain vigilant. In these waters logs in the water and deadheads were a great danger to small boats. Tugs still hauled huge log booms from Up Island to the mills in the south. Breakaway logs could easily hole a fiberglass hull and ruin your day.

He sat on the coach roof forward of the mast, the autopilot doing its job, letting his mind wander while keeping a weather eye on the water ahead. He thought about how he had got here, how he’d never felt as carefree as he did just now. How his wife Jennie had insisted that he live out the dreams on his bucket list while he was still fit and reasonably agile; his wife who he had met in England when she was in charge of the investigation of the murder of two of his closest friends; his wife who was now keeping an eye on the business from the manor house in Herefordshire in constant contact with his offices in Brunei and helped by his best friend and army buddy Robbie McElroy; his wife who he spoke to every day. He was going to meet her in Hawaii or Maui after he had single handed his boat half way across the Pacific..........the trip pretty high on his Bucket List.

He thought about her now, her short auburn hair blowing in the wind as he piloted his classic Austen Healey through rural Herefordshire in the south of England, how she would break out in a thousand freckles after being in the sun, how she loved his dogs and their home in Eaton Bishop. He loved everything about her unequivocally and thanked whoever was in charge for bringing her into his life. She was his second wife, his first, Judith, having been killed in a hit and run years ago now. Until Jennie had crashed into his life he had been haunted by the memory of Judith and had spent an unhealthy amount of time at her graveside. Jennie was light and laughter and he hated being apart from her, in spite of his bucket list.

The Garmin chart plotter at the steering station beeped its warning. He’d arrived at the final waypoint on the route he’d plotted. Decision time...turn into Sooke or keep on going and probably overnight in Port Renfrew. He really didn’t want to cross the traffic lanes in the dark and most of Renfrew was open to the weather. He had to do it sometime of course, get across the lanes and into Neah Bay in Washington State to top up his fuel before rounding Cape Flattery and heading out to sea.

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He turned off the autopilot, swung the oversized stainless wheel to starboard, eased his way past Secretary Island and lined up the range markers in the distance that would guide him safely into the tricky harbour. Pay attention now the tide is flooding. Line up the first set of markers. As soon as you are through the broken water in the narrow gap that takes you past Whiffen Spit line up the next set off to port. Make sure you have steerage way as moving water can cause your helm to go neutral. Now we’re through, look for the markers up behind the marina. Line them up and keep in the channel. The harbour often goes dry at low tide and this afternoon was no exception, leaving not much room for maneuvering.

Damn it.......... he could see that the marina was full. Not that it was really a marina just a few rickety docks originally built for a commercial fishing fleet long defunct. There wasn’t even any fuel. Maybe he could raft on to someone. He slipped his boat into neutral and let the flooding tide take him quietly in. He saw movement on the deck of an old wooden gill netter moored on the outside.

After asking permission, and with the knowledge that the old boat wasn’t going anywhere in the immediate future, he put out all his fenders, put the boat about and moored starboard side on making it easy for him to leave when he had a mind.....no hurry after all. As soon as everything was secure he rummaged around in a locker under the companionway steps, found Gyp’s collar, leash and a plastic bag and walked with her up the steep hill looking for a nice grassy spot for her to do her business.

From the top of the hill he turned around and looked back. He could see the expanse of Sooke Harbour plus the basin off to the left. Other than an old seiner, that looked as though it hadn’t left the dock in months, his was the largest boat there and the only sailboat. Most of the other boats were sport fisherman in the 24’ range...............Sooke being a renowned hotbed for Salmon fishing. He reminded himself to break a rod out when he left, cruised by Otter Point and headed out towards the Sheringham Point Light.

Off across the harbour the dense forest of East Sooke Park crowded the rocky shoreline, a mixture of Douglas fir and Arbutus trees clinging to every available space. He knew there was a road in there but he couldn’t see it for the canopy of trees. Directly below him he could see the shed that housed the local rescue boat. The doors were open meaning that either someone was working on the boat or she was out somewhere. Looking out to the west he could see the clouds darkening on the horizon, the odds were good that the weather was going to change. He headed back down the hill towards the marina.

He knew the boat was safe in here, being well protected by the Sooke Hills, but you could still get a surge down the harbour. With this in mind he doubled up his bow and stern lines and checked to make sure his fenders were in the right places. For sure it was going to rain so he decided to put up his huge cockpit cover which provided shelter all the way from the mast to the backstay. Gyp liked it; they could sit outside in the heaviest rain as comfortable as you please.

Later in the day, after having fulfilled his fish and chip mission, which was everything he expected, he was sitting in the cockpit watching the rain bounce off the harbour water and thinking about his wife Jennie when the low muttering of large outboards brought him out of his reverie, the local rescue boat slipped by heading for the shed. He could see a crew of five in their bright orange suits. A tall middle aged man waved to him as they went by. George acknowledged the wave as was customary and thought about calling his wife. Bit early still, she’d still be in bed, have to wait a few hours.

The daylight was waning, getting cool and damp. Below, in the main salon, he’d turned on his bulkhead heater which took the chill and damp out of the air and created a cheery glow. His stereo system was quietly playing his favorite jazz, Diana Krall, who, funnily enough, lived not too far away as the crow flies, in Nanaimo on the other side of the Island.

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Ahoy, Bailey’s Ride, he was being hailed from the dock. He stuck his head out of the companionway. Standing on the dock was someone who looked vaguely familiar, wearing a yellow foul weather jacket, sea boots and a blue watch cap.

I was admiring your boat when we came in, thought I’d come visit. It was the guy in the rescue boat who had waved to him.

Sure come on over, he called, watch out for the decks on this old gill netter they’re a bit greasy.

The guy came over obviously at ease in and around boats. He climbed over the rail and stuck out his hand.

Commander John Irvine......my friends call me Jonny....no ‘h’.

George Mudd..... Two ‘D’s, come on below.....wanna brew?

They sat in the main salon, each nursing a beer, quietly sizing each other up.

Commander of what? asked George smiling.

I was in the navy for a long time, replied Jonny, then I got attached to CSIS which is the Canadian Security Intelligence Service. It sounds as though you’re not from here or you’re an ex-pat. You have a military look about you too.

I was in the army for a long time, he said.

Must have been good to you, said Jonny looking around appreciatively.

I was lucky, after I retired I bought into a small security company in England. It did quite well. Now we specialize in oil field security and the business has just exploded. I’m on a sabbatical.....part of my bucket list......just bumming around.

Love your boat, said Jonny standing up and looking at the navigation station, not too much plastic, obviously an ocean cruiser but heavy in the comms I see.

It’s important I stay in touch, replied George, my wife and my manager are keeping an eye on the business but you never know.

I see you’re running everything through a laptop, said Jonny his eyes crinkling in amusement.

Observant bugger, aren’t you? said George laughing, "like another beer or something stronger?

Believe it or not I actually have a decent selection of single malts tucked away courtesy of my manager who’s a Scot through and through, how about a small Bowmore?"

They spent the evening talking about the boat, retirement, Sooke and anything else that came to mind. As with most people that have a lot in common and have shared some of the same danger they got on like a house on fire, liking each other on sight but each taking note of what was not said.

You going to be here long? asked Jonny.

Dunno really. I’ve got a couple of odd jobs to do that I’d rather do at a dock if I have the choice, then I’ll be leaving. I’ll cross the Strait somewhere before Port Renfrew and then head into Neah Bay to top up the fuel tanks before heading out. I need to cross the Strait in daylight because of the traffic lanes. Those freighters keep lousy watches and they’ve got their foot hard down until they close Victoria.

What’s your final destination?

I’ll round Flattery and then head south until about 37 degrees N, which is about the latitude of San Francisco, then head west. Eventually I’ll meet my wife in Hawaii or Maui...something like that anyway.

If you’re around tomorrow evening George why don’t you come up to the house for dinner...meet my wife......you can bring Gyp, she’d love it up there. I can pick you up......no problem.

I’ll say yes right now, said George what time?

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Late afternoon the following day the two of them turned off Otter Point Road and took a logging road up into the Sooke Hills. After a few minutes Jonny turned the Jeep onto an even narrower road that opened up onto a ridge. The house backed up onto the edge of the ridge with a deck cantilevered over the edge. The view was spectacular. Sooke at their feet and the snow capped Olympic Mountains rearing up just sixteen miles away in Washington State.

The house was typical West Coast, wide verandas, cedar shakes, lots of glass, the interior both modern yet cozy at the same time, obviously designed around the stunning views of mountain and ocean. Gyp was allowed to run until she was tired under the watchful eyes of George and Jonny.

We have to keep an eye on her, said Jonny, Vancouver Island has the highest density of cougar anywhere in the world; dog is very much on their diet. We see them several times a week. It’s the principal reason we don’t have a dog of our own up here.

Jonny’s wife was an attractive, slim forty year old, seemingly very active from her handshake. She obviously spent much of her time outdoors being burnt nut brown by the wind and the sun.

Chris is into gardening, Jonny explained, we have a huge garden up here. The winters are extremely mild. The only problem we have each year is water. Most people think BC is wet all the time. Round here that’s not the case. Obviously up here we’re not on any town services but we all have to be careful when it comes to water.

After dinner, sitting in the family room, one wall of which was a solid sheet of glass overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca in the distance, Chris having discreetly excused herself, Jonny stood up and warmed his rear in front of the airtight stove heating the room.

Sergeant Major George Edward Mudd, Military Medal, Retired, late of the 22 SAS and more recently a consultant to the British Anti-Terrorist Task Force a department within MI5

You have to be joking, said George, I might have to shoot you now.

Just my way of letting you know that I’m still active with CSIS. The huge coincidence is I’m friendly with your ex-boss, ‘The Commander,’ he speaks very highly of you. Tells me your wife used to be a Detective Sergeant in the police force, in fact that’s how you met. George looked at the flames flickering in the airtight.

You seem to know a hell of a lot about me in a very short space of time, what about you?

Jonny smiled.

Similar sort of career path except nothing like the SAS. I was in the Navy originally then I got seconded to Navy Intelligence and from there found myself in CSIS. Obviously I’m still active...... sort of a west coast spook, laughing. CSIS is a little different to MI5, he said, the big problem on this coast is drugs. The RCMP can’t handle it on their own and no one seems to have adequate assets to deal with the problem. If it were up to me I’d blow a couple of their boats right out of the water, the bad guys would soon get the message. Jeez the Canadian Coastguard vessels aren’t even armed at least the American boats have teeth.

"The lack of assets is actually the biggest problem. Luckily Esquimault is the Canadian Navy’s main base on this coast but they have no small cutters suited to the job. There are a few coastguard vessels here but most of the rescue function is performed by the volunteer auxiliary, which is the boat you saw yesterday. There are only three vessels here between Victoria and Ucluelet, crazy really. My function here is more one of a coordinator. I try to pull together what assets we have which would involve the Coastguard, the Navy, the Mounties and the air force out of Comox. Luckily we get tremendous cooperation from the Americans and quite often a faster response. So much of this coast is uninhabited, it’s like an open door when it comes to drug running.

We encourage people to report anything at all they deem suspicious particularly the fishermen both sport and commercial, the tug drivers even the coastal loggers, pretty demoralizing actually. Luckily it’s all offset by the fact that I get to live and work from home. You heading out tomorrow George?"

Looks like it Jonny, I got the jobs done and the forecast looks pretty good for the next few days. If there’s not much wind I might do a bit of fishing as I go by Otter point then boot across to the American side. I can get over in less than three hours, then head up to Neah Bay.

.

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Well don’t forget.....see anything suspicious call up the JRCC in Victoria, that’s the Joint Rescue Coordination Centre, you can raise them on channel 16, ask them to patch you through to me, more eyes we have on things the better.

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By the time George and Gyp got back to the boat it was close to midnight, there was a bit of a surge coming down the harbour. As was habit George checked his lines and fenders, made sure Gyp had a pee and retired below. After checking his e-mail and filling in the log for the day, he was able to put his head down for a good night’s sleep knowing he wouldn’t get much more before he landed at Neah Bay.

Anybody who has spent a lot of time on a boat knows how sensitive you get to change, a slight wind