Bon voyage

The Black Ball Lines ferry between Port Angeles WA and Victoria BC was scheduled for 5:15. The instructions were to be there by 4:00 to check in and get in line. I got there at about 3:30. 

It wasn’t clear where I was supposed to enter the depot and I drove past it. By the time I got turned around there were three cars in the street with an official looking guy talking to the passenger in the first car and making hand gestures. The car turned and drove up to a service window. Ah, there’s where I go. My turn came and the guy asked to see my passport, looked at it briefly, then directed me to the window. 

The woman at the window asked if I had a reservation, which I did. I was expecting her to ask for identification but she only asked my name, found me on her computer and accepted my proffered credit card. She gave me a ticket and receipt and bid me a good day. 

Since the fare was for vehicles 18 feet or less I had expected them to check — maybe with high tech laser scanning or at least some old guy eyeballing it and checking with a long stick. But nope. Nothing. What? And miss an opportunity to charge me more because I was a couple of inches longer?

Just past the ticket window a guy in a safety vest and company shirt asked for my ticket. He tore off a stub, stuck the remainder under my wiper, and handed me a small form to fill out. It would be collected as I boarded. (It asked only the name, sex and birthdate of everyone in the vehicle.) Then he pointed me down one of several lanes to my place in line. I wasn’t the only early bird.

As the place filled up it became a little like a tailgate party. No one was grilling dinner or pounding down beer, but folks were out of their vehicles, wandering around, chatting in groups, rummaging through luggage and supplies, dealing with kids. As one would expect, most of the license plates were from Washington and British Columbia, but I saw some Oregon and California plates and one from Pennsylvania. I was the only one from New Mexico.

I was relaxing in the back of the Rolling Steel Tent when a big horn sounded. The ferry was pulling into port. It backed up to the dock, the ramp dropped, and vehicles started exiting. I was surprised to see a semi roll out — or squeeze out. Then another one. Oh. Okay. Sure. They use the ferry too. So overhead clearance wasn’t going to be an issue for us lesser vehicles.

I had been wondering how the loading-unloading situation worked. The ferry was unloading from the stern, with all the vehicles facing that way. Had they backed in, or had they loaded from the front through openings I couldn’t see from my vantage? Would we be backing in, or out? I guess I would find out soon.

The far lane on the right was directed to start loading. They drove on and disappeared into the darkness. There was a pause, then the next lane was waved on, then my lane. A man collected the form I had filled out earlier. A crew member pointed me toward a lane and I rolled forward to where another crewman motioned me to stop. I saw the the first cluster of cars were parked at an angle facing an opening on the side of the bow. That answered my question. On the Washington side we drive on at the back and drive off at the front. At the  Vancouver Island side they do the opposite.

We aren’t allowed to be on the vehicle deck while under way. The passenger decks were nothing fancy — sort of like the waiting room of a small airport — but they were fine for the hour-and-a-half ride. It was a little chilly for me outside, and the wind through the Strait of Juan de Fuca was stiff. The water was fairly calm except for a period when the boat rolled side to side just enough to make passengers walking around the ferry look drunk.

My past two encounters with Canadian border officials had been less than smooth. What would this one be like? Might I not have some bit of necessary documentation? Might they be suspicious of the van’s contents? Would the general level of insanity in the US mean an extra level of scrutiny for Americans? Would my old geezer status earn me some slack? Would their need to process a literal boatload of people ease the ordeal a little?

It was easy. Hand him the passport, answer the basic questions, and off I went.

Victoria is a nice looking city. Sort of a micro Vancouver but with way less traffic. The street from the ferry terminal becomes the main highway running to Lou’s sailing buddy’s place, so navigation was simple.

Today we sailed out and lovingly deposited Lou’s ashes in the sea. More about that in the next post.