About that dock...

SO: we had a house built to finished lock-up ( huge milestone), but no dock. There were a number of heart-stopping moments during our application, but it was finally approved. By then the concrete platform was ready, the raft had been built of local cedar on top of fully enclosed foam floats. We had to add floats to support the weight of the lower end of the ramp. It was temporarily installed to check it would float on a 1' tide. The process took months, however, the luxury of being able to pull up to a working dock and offload materials without slipping and sliding over the rocks (and suffering many wounds along the way in the case of Nev, who did a lot of the precarious lugging), had to be experienced to be fully understood.

'Tis indeed a thing of beauty and yet another milestone.

I was so excited, I forgot to blog.

I note with horror that the last post on my blog is... er... let's just say it's old and out-of-date. An update might be in order.




You see, in 2013 we took the bull by the horns (read: maxed the mortgage) and built our house on the Seagull Republic. It was hugely exciting. And not a bit like the last post of 2012 suggested it might be. Or where. I wrote about it in Cottage Magazine at the time.

There was a barge. There was a helicopter. There was a fantastic bunch of amazing carpenters and assistants and a very high tide at exactly the right moment. Let's start at the new beginning.

Initially we were planning to build on the southern tip of our 10 acres, but in truth a seasonal dock was not what we wanted: too much work and not exactly conducive to all-year island living. We did in fact have an A-frame fabricated to go with our 50' aluminum ramp, but on a specific visit to the western side, where the bunky is, we had the aha moment looking at our channel: why aren't we building here? By that time, we had discovered the cute cabins made by Ajia in North Vancouver - pre-panelised and a lot more affordable in many ways because of that. Plus they know what they're doing when it comes to boat access properties (although by then I'd done all the homework and had all the local logistics sorted out).

I tweaked the floorplan, flipping it so the front door was where it should be, and adjusting the windows for heat gain in winter and cross ventilation in summer. And after much bobbing about in the boat taking bearings with our iPhones, and plenty of sketches and drawings and writing a management plan, and, and, and, we submitted our dock permit.

Anyone who has a dock in BC waters knows that the waiting period for the permit is long. Exceptionally long. So it was that we started building without a dock. Our old clothesline was all the crew had. With all the hard, sweaty labour that had gone into building, by hand, our little bunky, we just didn't have the heart to take it down. It got moved to a new spot instead.

Given that I wanted to fell as few trees as possible, our laydown area was limited and it was decided to build the foundations and floor so that crates could be delivered onto the subfloor. It was early March, it was wet as only our Wet Coast can be, and often it was around 3 degrees first thing in the morning. There was a lot of mud.

If you're wondering how the little machine arrived, it was dropped off by a smaller barge from a neighbouring island. It also delivered other building materials for the foundations and floor. The winch broke at one point which almost - so almost! - resulted in a pallet of concrete landing in the ocean. On another delivery, it was so overloaded that its wake damaged a neighbour's bullrails on their dock...

The morning of the main delivery by big barge/helicopter (we did the cost analysis and this worked out the cheapest way to get 'er done) was cold and clear, the Thursday before Good Friday, in fact.

Exactly 2 hours of buzz later, and we had crates of everything from metal roof to wall panels and construction adhesive planted all over. We left after an early first lunch perched on what is now our living room.

The crew must've worked liked demons, because when we went back the next morning, we had walls! The joys of pre-panelised building. The guys had also put together a great storage area under the floor to get things out of the rain.



For those three months I was so busy managing the budget, deliveries, orders and whatever else, not to mention being permanently cold and wet, I generally forgot all else, including blogging.

By then we had a house, completed to finished lock-up - looks finished from the outside, but nothing is done on the inside. Plenty more posts about all that to follow.

  

The Planning Season: an update

As I mentioned somewhere else on this blog, winter is truly the best time to plan. We've made quite some progress this winter and have a floorplan we love for our new cabin.

OK, it's not spectacular, but it is what we want and reflects the way we live, even better than The Tree House (our home in Lions Bay). We ummed and ahed about what we wanted to build, not only because committing to something that will survive our (my!) changing whims after decades of dreaming is very hard, not only because we have a limited budget, but also because we didn't want our cabin to stick out like a sore thumb on the beautiful, wild Boulder Point landscape. We want it to fade into the rocky cliff behind it, nestle quietly in the trees... you get the idea. We also wanted something that sits lightly on the lot in order to preserve the natural habitat.

So we toyed with a two-storey build that might hide in part behind a rocky outcrop, but discarded it in favour of a long, slimlined building on piers. Since we plan to harvest rainwater, we have known for some time it would have a metal roof. The siding decision... not so easy! Window colours, well, the jury's still out pending the siding verdict. Looks like we're leaning towards CertainTeed... Maybe the dutchlap, which has uniform reveals and should make the structure look longer and leaner withough being cluttered. I also really like the idea of unprofiled cement board around the undercover BBQ area for visual interest.

The recent wind storms are a stark reminder that life on the edge of the ocean is sometimes harsh beyond human imagination. I'm talking about the dock. There is no way our dock can be in the water all year round and one of the biggest debates of late (again) is do we invest in a lift and rotate style ramp, or do we take it down and moor it elsewhere each winter? It is of course about the budget, because we know the correct answer. Even so - it's a big differential.

Although I'm still busy doing elevation and section drawings, I've done one: the south elevation, the one we'll see as we sail up to the house. There is some poetic license here - the rain chain, and the patio tomato plant in a pot, and the piers are in reality closer to the rock. But it's quite interesting to see it rendered!!

I want the colours to blend in with the rock face behind it, so have for now gone with warm greys for the siding and a plain galvalume standing seam metal roof, which should reflect summer heat to a degree as well as fade into the boulders.

Oh the angst in making this commitment!! But we're working with this for now - I can picture the interior and need to draw it so my other half can see what I see. Will post them here as they're completed!!

Fame follow-up

I realise I've been a little lacksadaisical this summer and haven't posted anything here. We have been visiting our Seagull Republic every third week... I think it's 3 trips this year thus far, or is it 4? So much to say! And at this time it's tempting never to come back to Lions Bay. Well, at least not until queen B, the good ole boys and the rest of the old clique, have relinquished their grasp.

On the last trip, we had two wonderful guests, Neil and Carolyn, and had a truly fabulous time. Then on the last full day, the clutch cable on the boat snapped (while I was driving!!) and that was it for SRS The First. There's always something. Thanks to Scott and Delia all was not lost - how great to have such awesome neighbours! Carolyn and I spent the day tootling from Linnea Farm (permaculture school, too), Hollyhock (gotta see those gardens again!!), the food co-op, museum and Manson's Landing. Life will be a lot easier now I know we don't have to lug all our food up there - the food co-op is amazing!!

And as for ways to make a living up there, that's where the oyster co-op comes into it. Even though I do not eat oysters, I'm all for sustainable seafood options, and I really like the idea of helping to create jobs on Cortes Island while making it possible for us to move there permanently. It's all about revenue streams, in the plural. And I'd like to be able to imagine our raft bobbing around up there in the pristine waters of Desolation Sound!

The reason this post is titled as it is, is because I did indeed write to the author of that book! And he replied with some additional info about the characters mentioned therein. How great is that?

We're headed up to our little paradise again next week - only hope Frank from Quadra does indeed fix The First on Saturday as promised. Even though Neil and Victoria are going to let us take their canoe on a long-loan basis, I don't think that'll work for Yukon!

Fame at last (or: how we made it into a book about Desolation Sound)

Before falling in love with and snapping up our Seagull Republic, we visited many small communities and looked at several recreational cabins that were up for sale. In the process, we got a great feel for the life we might expect, and the way these small, often isolated, enclaves of humanity function.

Although we had some predetermined criteria (see earlier posts) to guide us, we knew the place we fell in love with was going to depend on the feeling we got when we stood on it: we would know it when we saw it.

One of the places we looked at was a boat access, off the grid property on the Malaspina Peninsula. It was a little more expensive than what we had to spend, but it came complete with house, boat, daysailor sailboat and all furniture, tools, solar panels, battery bank, generator, etc. To get there, we took the ferry to the Sunshine Coast, did the famous dash to Egmont and the next ferry to Saltery Bay, and from there drove north towards Lund. At some point we took a right turn to the government dock at Okeover to meet the Powell River realtor who had the listing. One thing we remember is the Telus phone booth at the dock which was relevant because our mobiles couldn't get a signal there.

A huge plus on this trip was that the owner, Bernard, was coming to pick us up in his boat (part of the above-mentioned package deal) instead of having to pay a hefty price for a water taxi again. When he didn't arrive, we used that phone booth to call him. We whiled away the waiting by chatting to a friendly chap called Bob from Victoria who, with his wife and daughter, were loading items, including a table, into an impossibly small boat. He told us his spot was around the point from the property we were going to view. As he puttered away, boat impossibly low in the water, we talked about how nice it would be to have a great near neighbour like Bob if we were to buy this cabin.

When Bernard arrived, we climbed into his well-used aluminum boat, rather fancy in hindsight because it offered some cover behind a split console (perfect for conveying building materials, we thought). After a short trip, we arrived at his cabin, perched on the side of a cliff. We knew the property was part of a strata (not ideal - we weren`t really keen on answering to anyone in our splendid isolation), but hadn`t known no docks were allowed. This didn`t really matter, because Bernard had rigged up a line and pulley system to anchor the boat.

From the flat rock upon which we landed, the house loomed large, with those oh-so-typical large windows facing the view. After climbing a bunch of handhewn stairs, we entered the large, open living space of the cabin. It was nice and warm inside even though there was no heat on, due to all the wintry sun coming in through those large windows.

Clearly the house had been much loved and enjoyed by Bernard and his family. The only real negatives for us were that the view did not contain any mountains, and we were pretty sure no orcas would ever pass by. But a key consideration was that it was all built... a plus on the one hand, because we would be able to start enjoying it immediately without building, but on the other hand it would for us forever be "Bernard's house" (we still refer to it in this way).

While we were wondering around I looked over the water to a cabin on the next point, and saw a small grey plume of smoke rising. I asked the realtor whether this was normal, or should we check it out. Both he and Bernard thought it was of no concern. But the plume grew larger and larger, which I pointed out to them again. At some point Bernard realised it was something serious and said he was going to check it out. He and the realtor rushed out, hopped in the boat and roared off to the source of the smoke, which by now was billowing out over the water in a furious cloud.

Alas, it was too late - the cabin on the point burned to the ground. Turned out the owner had cleaned out his fireplace, taking the ashes out onto his deck. He then went to check on his well with a neighbour and in his absence, the wind fanned embers to life, setting fire to the house. Ironically, the strata did have firefighting gear, but it was inside this very cabin. Watching from Bernard's deck, we heard several loud explosions, no doubt the propane tanks exploding. Although a bunch of oyster farm workers rushed over to try and help, it was too late.

It was all over in 20 minutes. When we passed by later, all that was left was a crumpled metal roof on a concrete slab and a very large brick chimney. Quite sobering.

Notwithstanding all this, on a return trip not too long after, over lunch at the very delightful Laughing Oyster Restaurant at the Okeover government dock, we decided to make an offer on Bernard`s house. It was conditional, based on our being able to sell The Tree House, so it never happened because we couldn't sell it. In truth maybe we weren't ready to sell at that time and there was always that niggling thought that we would always be living in Bernard's house, same as in Lions Bay we are living in Peter Zeipper's house even after living here almost 10 years!

So what about the book, I hear you yelling ever louder...

One of the Christmas gifts I gave Nev was a book called "Adventures in Solitude: What not to wear to a nude potluck and other stories from Desolation Sound" by Grant Lawrence. I happened to grab it as a ferry read - it took me 3 1/2 ferry trips on the Horseshoe Bay-Departure Bay run to finish it. It's a great ferry read especially at this time of year when one's thoughts turn to cabin stuff as Spring approaches. Much of the book and its stories remind us of our experience on our quest to be more self-sufficient and independent. This is why it's such a great read for those of us attempting the same insane task of building from scratch on a remote, boat access only piece of paradise without any electricity to boot (thank goodness for cordless tools).

Anyway... turns out it was Grant's father who established the strata that includes "Bernard the German's" lot, and all the tales about the family's time at their cabin happened around there.

And where we come into it is when the author describes the above fire, starting on page 253. He used some poetic license in describing the whole thing... for instance, there were definitely no brewskis involved, and the "friend" who pointed out the smoke was ME.

And that`s how we came to make it into the book. I intend to e-mail the author and tell him our tale!

Oh the responsibility! Oh the angst!

Now that we're seriously thinking about the design of the main house, the responsibility we have to this pristine piece of planet in our care has hit home with a large bang. As in being hit between the eyes by a puck off a Sammy Salo slap shot.

Although the lumber on The Seagull Republic was harvested at some point in time, some old-growth still remains, which is why Rick the Seller made sure there were tree covenants in place when he sub-divided the lots for sale. So OK, maybe it wasn't pristine, but the regrowth is so substantial one would hardly know it must've been naked rock out there for quite some years. Not for nothing was it called Boulder Point.

Every detail has to be considered... for example, we need a dock, but we need to make sure sunlight still reaches below it so that the starfish and seaweed et al will continue to survive under there. We need to anchor the house to the rock, but we want minimal foundations so that we don't disturb the land too much. Where does the greywater go? Or worse, the black water? After all, no point in paying some dirty diesel powered boat to come empty a tank and take it somewhere else - kinda defeats the object, doesn't it?

And how do we design a dwelling that blends into the landscape, and doesn't disturb the ridgeline? We want to do it in such a way that sailors approaching Squirrel Cove hardly notice that there's anything there? More accurately, WE don't want to see anything destroy the view WE have when we sail up to our beautiful piece of land!

Hence the angst. And the overwhelming sense of responsibility. And the hope that we will not screw it up, because whatever we do could change the land forever, or maybe not, if we tread lightly enough so that nature can take over once again when we're gone.

It's been a loooooong winter.

Looking back, I realise I never wrote an end-of-summer post to explain that we in fact finished our bunky so that it would be fully closed up before winter. So anyone looking at this blog wouldn't know we now have an actual bunky on The Seagull Republic, aka Basecamp 1, I guess.

I posted pics on facebook, but somehow I forgot the blog. I got busy, what can I say?

Delia and Scott put us onto Pierre, who lives in Squirrel Cove, recommending him highly because "he has both skills AND tools"! No mean recommendation since his tools were all cordless as well! At $20 an hour we reckoned it would be well worth getting his help to install the 2 brand new, energy efficient windows we bought at Re-Store for some minimal amount of cash (less than $50 for 2). You see, we realised we needed some ventilation, light, and a VIEW from what was originally supposed to be the outhouse (see previous postings) if life in the bunky was going to be worth living.

But most importantly, we needed to be sure the bunky was ready for the rain and winter winds.

I think the pics tell the whole story. Here's the bunky when we started the last trip - tarp on top and no windows.

And look at this cutey-pie slider!

And this is the little casement window on the other side for cross ventilation. Of course the joke is the windows are the only part of the entire building envelope that actually have any insulation value whatsoever!

While Nev and I worked on putting on siding and roof shingles, Pierre built a real door for the outhouse.

IKEA had these handy-dandy galvanised shelving units at around $10 each - the perfect size for storage down the side of the outhouse. So I valiantly squared up with the spiders (all relegated to the forest, along with the crickets, quite safely) and tidied everything up. What you can see here is canned food, gas cannisters and such items - things that can stay behind for next time. I have to say it worked out real well.

And here's the forest side of the bunky with all the siding in place.

There's even storage in the door. Small space living at its best!

Here's our bunky - all done. The section on the left below the sloped roof (the non-rain side) is where we've piled left over lumber and other building materials such as housewrap but it's designed to be a woodpile eventually. Although from what I can tell, having a cabin means having a pile of building materials on hand at all times.

It wouldn't be a bunky without bunks... it's a real luxury to sleep in a real bed at the end of the day rather than in a tent on the ground! Makes all the difference. There's loads of storage space under the beds. When we closed up everything to leave, we put plastic over the beds - the plastic the bunks came in. We also packed the cooking gear, crockery and cutlery into the totes, as well as clothes and stuff, so the dust won't get at them. We'll see whether things got mouldy and/or dusty when we make our first trip there in the spring! We're really looking forward to making more progress this year: our main goal is to build a deck outside which will be the outdoor living area. Being off the ground, which is either wet or dusty, will make life a lot more pleasant!

Then there's the shower fund: I've been collecting loonies towards buying an instant hot water thingy from Canadian Tire so we can have decent showers. This will be the ultimate luxury!! Those showers at Squirrel Cove are too disgusting for words... eeeyooo.

I said in a previous posting winter is the time to plan and, with that in mind, we have been giving plenty of thought to the design of the main house, the dock and more. We went to the Vancouver Boat Show where we spotted our next boat (haha!) but more importantly we spoke to several companies that build docks. We're currently thinking a cantilevered dock might be a great idea so that the ramp is not damaged if a winter storm batters the floating portion of the dock.

I think I might have a way to build the main house in phases, so perhaps we build a small 1st phase in order to enjoy life on the sunny side of the Republic more quickly. But before I can start working on that, I have to finish the project in Nanaimo. And therein lies another tale, and a whole 'nother set of problems!

Hot August Days

On our latest trip to the Republic from July 30th - August 3rd, we had a number of firsts.

1. There was no rain - just hot, dusty summer days. Quite a difference! Thank goodness we had breezes most of the time otherwise I truly wouldn't have lasted - I'm not good with too much heat.
2. We had guests this time: the very brave Hetheringtons, who slept in tents and made do with our supremely limited facilities! Dave helped Neville with the roof shingles, and an extra pair of hands is always a huge help.
3. Neville got to go fishing! He, Dave and Calvin got up early one morning and headed out. Alas, no-one caught anything, however, they saw dolphins and seals and if it were me, the dolphins would more than make up for everything.
4. Although we got in the ferry line-up at Whaletown at 9.30am, we had problems getting on a ferry, finally getting onto the 3.50pm ferry... usually we are prepared for one sailing wait, but this time the busy tourist season, combined with a dangerous cargo sailing and the busiest long weekend of the year ganged up against us. Luckily we had loads of food and drinks, but the book I started reading (not a trashy novel, sadly, a good book :) just didn't grab me, so I was bored. Then I discovered I'd brought my new Dwell magazine with me and that kept me going for a few hours. Hopefully that ferry wait was a LAST as well.
5. We used the showers at Squirrel Cove. Can't wait to get our instant hot water set-up going so we don't have to do THAT again.

In the end we didn't achieve much by way of building, in fact I think the only thing that happened was half the roof is now covered in shingles (the big half). Very importantly, Nev also rigged up a clothesline for the boat, which means the boat is now happily moored no matter what level the tide is.

So what did we learn on this trip? Never go to The Seagull Republic on the August long weekend, for one, or at least don't leave on the Monday or Tuesday. But the biggest lesson is to take some time to do something nice and enjoy the island... all work is not the way this was supposed to be. Are you listening, Nibblet??

Nev working on the roof.

Dave helping out.

Looks like a squatter camp, but there were zones for every function!

Still no refrigerator... sigh...

The clothesline in the making (left) and at work (right).

Cooling off.

Inside, the bunky is getting some homely touches... an oyster shell from our beach on the nightstand and a mini chart of the area on back of the door.

The long wait for a ferry. Yukon looking very pyrenees here!

Nev reading about the man who lived with wolves.

How we came to sleep in the outhouse.

We just completed our longest visit to the Seagull Republic and (drumroll, please) we spent our first night there ever. We went up on Saturday, June 26th and came back Saturday, July 3rd. Sadly, our Simon & Garfunkel reunion concert has been cancelled, so we didn't have to rush back for that on the 3rd.

The Traveling Toilet in the motel Room, awaiting its final journey!

Having booked just two nights in the Cortes Island motel, the plan was to install the composting toilet in our now enclosable outhouse (see blog entry dd June 2nd) on day 1, and then camp in our large tent ("instant cabin") as soon as that was in. However, we ran into Scott, other half of Delia, a local couple we met 2 years back, while waiting for the tide to get high enough to launch the boat when we arrived, and he echoed an opinion we'd been offered before that camping in wolf territory with a large dog was not a great idea. Neville was still pretty gung-ho, but I think the wolfpack decided it once and for all when they set up howling and yapping while we were there on Sunday.

Judging by the noise, it's a huge pack and we heard them several times a day. Although it seems they're still in the Von Donop Inlet area on the other side of Squirrel Cove, wolves travel fast and we know they've been on our land because we have found deer bones and bits of seal on what we fondly call "The Killing Field", a flat piece of land at the highwater mark where we unload the boat.

What to do? We desperately want to be able to stay on The Republic and leave the motel with its 70's sun filter drapes and brown lino for the last time. And then it struck me: build a lean-to outhouse on the side of the already-built outhouse and sleep in the outhouse. Make sense?

So we spent Sunday sketching out a new "room" for what was to become in effect our bunky, and on Monday I "popped" into Campbell River to buy all the lumber while Nev stayed on The Republic to continue putting the cedar siding on our wee house.

Let me explain what popping into CR really means... it means getting in the ferry line up from Cortes at least an hour beforehand to make sure you get on the boat (I did), doing the usual chase across Quadra Island to catch the ferry to CR from Quatiaski Cove, and then doing the 10 minute trip across the strait. The glitch being the Quadra-CR ferry was full when I got in line, so I had to wait for the next sailing. Once in CR, I headed straight to Home Depot... yes, yes, disgusting big box store and all that, but it is on that side of town (not hard in a town like CR) and we had decided to suss out those ugle pre-cut lean-to kits in the interest of a quick build just in case it made sense. Turns out they don't sell them.

A sweet young thing helped me load up my cart with 2X6's, 2X4's, floorboards, rafters and a bunch of other items (I got their last 14 joist hangers!) and even made several cuts for me free of charge. By then I'd been there over an hour, and since they don't sell shakes/shingles, I still had to head out to the the mill to buy a bundle of shingles! So much for my dream of a quick detour at Starbucks to catch up with my inner city girl.

Get to the mill and the sign on the office door said "Office Closed - please speak to Larry in the mill". In true Canadian style, although everything was wide open, Larry and everyone else were nowhere to be found. I had almost given up hope when I spotted him shovelling wood chips. After shoving a $20 bill into his hand,  I had just enough time to race back to the ferry terminal where fortune smiled upon me when BCF staff loaded  those of us heading for Cortes first, to ensure we'd make the 5.05 from Heriot Bay to Whaletown! Phew!!

We loaded most of the lumber on the boat while the tide was high-ish on Monday evening. Our new trick is to let it slide down the ramp by itself! MUCH easier and way more fun. Guess which lazy bugger thought of that (moi).

Tuesday we started building: site clearing meant cutting a log and some scrappy selal. Once we put in two posts, we built a real quick floor system.

Then the floorboards went in, and the cedar barn board siding, which seemed like a quick fix for the non-rain wall.

Before framing up the back wall, I did the VC tile flooring which was left from our Lions Bay reno in 2005. Lesson learned: that adhesive is an utter misery to use - it sticks to everything, inlcuding skin. Then we put the composting toilet in so we wouldn't have to carry it further than necessary. You can see it's rather, er, large.

By the end of Wednesday our new throne was usable. It's pretty open to the breezes, so there's plenty ventilation. We'll probably keep it that way by closing the view ports (woops - AutoCAD term there) with bug screen.

I made it sound easy, but it wasn't. We discovered, even after all our planning, that the roof line would be too low if we installed the rafters on the vertical, so we ended up using them on the flat, which means it's still tight, but a normal size human can still sit on the WC with an inch or two to spare above their head. We also couldn't follow the existing roof line, so we used a different pitch and it looks quite nice. Another woops - somehow one of our carefully installed 4X4 posts must've been bumped and was not quite plumb - if you look you can see it in the pics. This made nailing the siding on a pain since we were using pre-cut lengths.

In the interests of getting the thing built as quickly as possible, the designer on site (moi) had to drill, saw and hammer whenever a tool became available, ie when the construction manager was doing something else. For the first time ever. Sometimes I impress myself. No wonder it rained on Thursday.

Ah - Thursday! Canada Day! We packed up all our belongings and left the motel for the last time.After unloading everything on The Republic, the first thing we did was hang the Maple Leaf and I sang O Canada. It was a very still, grey day, unlike the previous two days when we had some serious SE wind (which is the winter wind). It was surreal. Who'd have thought, when we arrived here almost 10 years ago, that we'd be the very lucky owners of not one, but two beautiful pieces of BC? We are sooo blessed.

After that it was back to work even though we were so tired it was hard to move. And before dark Nev got reaquainted with an old camping tradition: manually pumping up the airbed with a beer in hand. He hasn't had to do that since I bought the new mattress which comes with 12V pump! No such luxury on The Republic yet though. Yukon had never seen the pump before and did not know what to make of it! I think he thought he needed to protect Neville from the new wierd beast.

To use a realty term, our little bunky turned out real COSY. The mattress took up the entire floor, which meant Yukon got to sleep with us, which he's never done before, and he's now 135lbs of dog!!

Notwithstanding the cosiness, it was pretty chilly, so I struggled to get to sleep... and when I finally did, I was woken by Nev who'd gone to check on the boat (no dock, so we have to be sure it's floating with the tide as per lessons learnt last visit). "I think the boat is sinking," he said. My first thought was, "what on earth did we do wrong THIS time??". Although I didn't think it that politely. The F word was in there somewhere. Fortunately by the time we got back down there, the boat was floating, bilge pump going like crazy and all we can think is that the boat got caught up on a rocky ledge, starting filling with water, and then dropped off whatever it was caught on and righted itself. Phew again!!

This is how we left it till next time; next time we hope to finish the roof.

For those of you who haven't nodded off while reading this blog, I can tell you, in closing, that we did manage to have a little down time while we were there, with Rick stopping by and us stopping to say hi to Scott and Delia who were at Nan's place putting in a new deck for her. Very civilised and a wonderful  taste of visits to come.

We have decided to build a larger cabin next year (don't get excited, it'll only have a 400sf footprint), and are seriously researching putting in a dock. On our next visit on the August long weekend, we intend to install two bunks in the bunky so Yukon has place to sleep on the floor. And we hope to finish the roof and do away with the tarp!

One could almost call it civilised! 

Big beautiful sky after the windy days.

SRS The First loaded and ready for the Traveling Toilet's last voyage.

His Royal Cuteness staring anxiously after Neville at the govt. dock. Cute from any angle!

Water like glass.

Why the three-legged stool model of sustainability is a load of BS

If ever there was a wake-up call to those who like to spout off about sustainability being a three-legged stool, the devastating oil spill in the Gulf is it. Only because it's topical and top-of-mind, because there are plenty other signs that have been ignored.

Back to the spill. Here's a prime example of how people and their economy cannot exist without the environment, although the environment would be hugely better off without either.

Experts have been stating for years that the biggest threat to mankind is global warming - crops failing, flooding, droughts leading to wildfires. What does it take to get the message through that, without a healthy planet on which to live, humankind is doomed? With or without money and jobs. Doesn't matter - you kill the environment and humankind dies, too, no matter how much money you have.

So much to learn...

Our first trip to The Seagull Republic this year did not start well. Firstly, it was supposed to happen over the Victoria Day weekend, but in the end it happened the weekend after. Work and ferry reservations didn't work out.

With so much work and a milestone birthday in this particular week, I scrambled to get everything packed the day before, mainly food since we were booked into Cortes Island Motel for this trip and so we didn't need to pack camp gear (which is the easy part since it's mostly prepacked). Needless to say, this didn't work out so well. Lesson 1. Plan and prepare properly... no garlic for Nev's famous BBQ acorn squash is a major no-no. Never mind other essentials such as a spare pair of jeans (it was raining), the right boots for wading, you get the drift. It was way too cold still for my ATS's (All Terrain Sandals) which the locals certainly commented upon more than once. I'm sure we're the wrong kind of legends already.

Lesson 2 we learned or maybe didn't, we don't know. We thought we did everything right to start with. Suffice to say we got all the way to the Horseshoe Bay Ferry Terminal and then the boat trailer came off and crashed into the back of the pickup. Dinged the tailgate slightly, blew the whole canopy window out. Gave us a fright I must say, sparks all over the road and all that. But how could the trailer NOT have been on right if we got all the way down through the Village (including over the speedbumps at the school), all the way along the Sea to Sky, through the U-turn at Caulfeild, only to have the trailer come off when we were slowly cruising off the highway? We do recall there being autoglass in the prow of the boat when we bought it and now we think this has happened before. We'll never know, but we did replace the ball at Skipper's Marine in Nanaimo.

Lesson 3 was a reminder that no matter what, take everything you need plus some spares since buying on Cortes is not really an option a) because they might not have it and b) Squirrel Cove Store is even more expensive than the Lions Bay Store, which is quite an achievement. So when we got to the motel (same crappy room as last time because we have a dog) and found there was even LESS in the kitchenette than last time, life got just that much more difficult around dinner time.

Oh, and when I say take everything, I mean it - a spare watch would have meant a great deal indeed on Day 2. As the main picture shows, you gotta keep an eye on the tides, so if your watch says it's 10.03am, and when you look again it's still 10.03am and you haven't actually CHECKED on the boat with your own TWO EYES, this is what happens. That's LESSON 3 right there. It didn't really matter because we worked till late anyway. But it is an important lesson to learn. It would also help to learn it the first time since we managed to forget the boat twice (on day 4 as well). Not a problem of course when you have a dock, which we don't yet.

Good news is that everything was as we left it in September - the tarp hadn't budged (pic on left) and we did manage to get a lot done on the outhouse. Yes, I know it must be the longest building phase in the history of 6' X 8' structures, but it is perfect. We bought 3/8" sheathing so it's no longer a shed structure, but will be a complete mini-house once it's done.

We erected the three walls we had framed last year and stick framed the fourth. This provided me with the yurt (square) I have always wanted :) and a dry spot to keep lunch and other stuff.

It rained the entire day and we got pretty wet even though we used the tarp to mitigate the wet and did the roof sheathing first. Yukon was one soggy doggy indeed and he doesn't much like being wet. Once the roof sheathing was up, we convinced him to lie in the slightly dryer area inside the outhouse, but he was still so overjoyed to be leaving at the end of the day that he actually jumped into the boat ahead of us! Highly unusual although I must say on this trip he was in and out the truck and on and off the boat like he's been doing it for years.

This is what it looked like once the sheathing was on. And this is what 5 layers of clothing looks like on.

Lesson 4 was a little more serious: when we tried to leave the Republic and head back to Squirrel Cove on Saturday evening, I pushed the boat off before we got the engine started (lesson 4.1). The engine never started (lesson 4.2) and we had to row to get back to our little cove. Finally after much flooding, we did manage to get going and putter back to the Government Dock and we learned lesson 4.3 the next day, which was completely wasted work-wise because we couldn't start the boat until a friendly guy called Ben came home from work and got it going on Sunday night - wouldn't take any cash at all for helping us, which is one of the reasons we love the island.

While Neville tried to start the boat, I whiled away some moments taking pics because it was one of those beautiful silky-grey mornings with not a ripple in sight.

Of course, Sunday was the day it hardly rained, but on Monday as we headed off to resume our work, it was raining again. But we did get the roofing felt on and now we're set to finish off the door and cladding on the next trip... and get the composting toilet in, I hope, because THIS time we're going to spend the night on The Seagull Republic. Unless of course anything goes wrong. The really exciting part is we can leave all the camp gear there next time, which makes each subsequent trip SO much easier.

But the biggest lesson we learned this time is how little we really need to be comfortable on our land: a tiny bunky is our next big goal... life is so much better when one can get out of the rain and enjoy it! Of course, while we were getting ready to leave, the sun came out. What you can't see in any of our pics is the eerie sound of the wolf pack howling. Quite something to experience - it's chilling even in the middle of the day. So maybe that bunky is a prerequisite to spending the night on The Seagull Republic!