July 10 -- Weeteeam Bay, on "Aristabal" (for some reason BC fishermen traditionally leave out the penultimate syllable). We ran all day in mist and fog, sometimes using radar; we saw radar ghosts of rocks and even a vessel or two that we never sighted by eye. The world was gray and cold, till finally we came to a snug landlocked bay, ringed by islets. There was a glimmer of light near sunset, as I recall, but when we woke the next morning there was nothing but fog.

July 11 -- Jon went off for a wander about in his kayak; I slept in a bit, then got up and stared out at the grayness. Criminy, I thought, I hope it's not going to be like this for the rest of the trip! I could see Jon's kayak, a ghostly sliver of red, pulled up on the shore a few tens of yards away.

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