Jupiter and her crew always enjoy visiting McMicking Inlet. The promise of rare birds, wilderness anchorages and white sand beaches, overseen by jurassic granite and quartz highlands, beckons each time we visit the North Coast of British Columbia.

A fair forecast of light winds, following seas and a modest Pacific swell encourage a 45 mile passage from Meyers Narrows.

Jupiter feels the slight heave of the sea in Laredo Sound and processes up Laredo Channel between Aristazabal Island—eponymous of a Spanish navigator whose surname defies pronunciation—and Princess Royal Island, home to spirit bears – black bears with honey coats and dreamy attributes.

A brief crossing of Caamaño Sound finds Campania Island with her studded belt of rocky shoals, concealing the entrance to McMicking Inlet, resembling a poorly-executed knife wound.

Jupiter enters the inlet intent on finding a vacancy within one of two small coves offering protection from wet southeasterlies dominating forecasts.

We find both roadsteads occupied by yesterday’s arrivals, and after scouting the usual poor alternatives, we opt for beauty if protection cannot be had. In 9 fathoms of water we payout 200 feet of Jupiter’s heavy chain 400 yards upwind of a wooded headland featuring attractive rock ledges.

All appears well until a brutish battalion of squalls marches up McMicking carrying enough wind to fan all the fires in Western Canada and enough rain to extinguish them.

Jupiter’s anchor digs deep, but the boat tosses her head in the gusty gale like a sour horse.

Most anchoring narratives in these pages portray a lovely lagoon large enough for only one Jupiter to swing sweetly on anchor in quiet waters reflecting fetching shores of forested highlands. And Jupiter’s crew enjoys many tranquil nights in just such places.

But not always.

McMicking Inlet offers all the out-island risks of large tides, funneled winds, currents set against wind-waves, and quickly changing weather with offshore low and high pressure systems in all the wrong places.

Jupiter’s crew spends one restless night checking the anchor alarm circle, observing the anemometer post 30-knot gusts, and re-reading forecasts. The following day we don foulies and board Jupiter’s tender, Callisto, visiting neighbors aboard their boisterous boats and surveying anchoring alternatives. We find modest improvement by repositioning 500 yards east within our own precinct.

Re-anchoring Jupiter brings modest relief from relentless winds.

Life aboard is snug and turns inward: reading, writing, correspondence, photo caching, route planning, cooking, cleaning, and small repairs. Outside belongs to the the gales.