5/18: Cathy often monitors my progress via the SpotX real-time map, and if there's cell service, we stay in touch. As i approached a town, she recommended i take on gas. She likes to keep her tank full. BellaBella was the name of the place. "Beautiful Beautiful", she texted, "Should be good!"

In the grey morn gloom, it certainly was busy. Work boats large and small skittered about. And not a rich cruiser to be seen. Well it had that going for it.

i manuvered perfectly up to a decrepit wood dock. I always find it annoying that docks arent better marked. Some docks are private or otherwise restricted. There may be a locked gate at the end, in which case you can get out but can't get back. There may be charges. A proper harbor has a public dock with a big sign: "Visitors". More typical are tiny signs, unreadable til you're all tied up.

This one: no sign. So i tied up, planning to inquire as to its status.

An older man appeared, he had an air somehow of authority about him. I wondered if he would tell me i couldnt park there? Or was he the greeter from the Chamber of Commerce?

It turned out he was 'Stu', 1st Nation, 59yrs old, lived there all his life, worked in fisheries all his life, walked every drainage at least twice, and he had the "right last name" to be Chief, "but there's no real democracy, the same family's people always get elected." He even told me his medical history. And he smokes. "Everyone has his crutch," he said. As we talked, a bald eagle fished behind him.

As the work boats came and went he identified the boats and crew, what they fished for and how, cursed the price of fuel, the cost of licenses. The clams havent come back since the oil spill. And all the remaining boat owners are old, Stu is the youngest.

"You may be the last one," i joked, and he appreciated that, "Yes i am the 'Last of the Mohicans'", he agreed, and had a good laugh.

He'd been waiting for the Boat Taxi, saw me, wondered if i fished, hoped i might have some advice. But i dont fish.

He seemed a good wise man and i really enjoyed our conversation. He went back to his bench to catch the taxi.

A nice new small boat with a middle-aged well-off-looking white couple aboard parked beside me. They got out, actually looked nervous, asked me if i'd watch their boat while they got groceries. I declined, because i was soon going into town as well. They seemed almost afraid. Off they went.

I had just the standard ~marina stuff to do: use a proper bathroom, dump trash, fill water bottles, find last needed charts, buy beer. As i walked down the dock, i was surprised at the litter. A good Samaritan, i picked up several large pieces and added them to my garbage bag. The Asian man driving the boat taxi smiled at me.

But no wonder there was trash on the dock; in town there was trash everywhere, makeshift rubbish bins overflowing. No public facilities. No coffee shop. No liquor store. The grocery store was new & nice.

So i accomplished none of the simple tasks, and returned to my boat with much more trash than i had before. I felt foolish. It gave the Asian man's smile a new possible meaning.

It's a cultural thing. We ravage the planet but fret tsktsk about litter. Ship our single-use beverage containers half-way around the planet so we can feel good that we recycle. I burn 1000 litres of petrol and bring on climate change that much quicker so that i can see the glaciers before they're gone. Or something.

But i didnt feel at all right in BellaBella.

- -

It was a good boating day, the inland sea channels mostly glassy, vast wilderness of steep rugged slopes, impenetrable forest growing right to the tideline edge.

There was 1 spot where the route poked out to the edge of the real ocean, and that place was a confused maelstrom. Big rolling waves coming in from the ocean meet chaotic currents from inland. And everywhere white waves breaking on bare rock. Scary. The passage here was narrow, winding, and poorly marked. So i'm driving the boat and trying to match the chart to what i see around me. As i come out of one narrow passage, I am looking for another narrow "rapids" passage between a small island and the mainland. And there's where it is, i see it, the island, the mainland, except it doesnt look right: there's a line of white small breaking wave-line across where i want to go. But that must be it, it's in the right place. Except for 1 other thing: the chart shows a big rock just a bit off the mainland shore. And i dont see that. But there's many things that could explain the discrepancies. Maybe the rock is under high tide. Maybe the white wave line is just the ocean wave meeting the outflowing channel current. I am inclined to go on thru. But then suddenly i wonder: is the "island" i see actually "the rock"? So i hold back, go on a little side excursion thru the maelstromic chaos to check the other side of the "island", and indeed find: the true island and the true passage i seek. If i'd continued my original course I would've gone catastrophicly aground.

- - Prince Rupert is a good-sized Canada city. I look forward to its civilization. The rest of the way there is easy, sheltered passages thru magnificent wilderness. I anchor in a cove next to some ruined industrial operation. I want to check it out tomorrow; hence i finally put together and inflate my new raft. Evening, a cruise ship passes, then a tug pulling barge. The wind stills, silent but for birds.