Story and Photos by Eric W. Manchester       Nothing is good at Narvaez Bay. The fact that nearly nothing is there is what makes this anchorage so good. There are no mooring buoys, no shoreside facilities - except a lonely picnic table and pit toilet - and no camping is allowed. Boaters visiting this tranquil haven must come prepared. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *       Narvaez Bay owes its name to one of the earliest boaters to gunkhole our coast, Jose Narvaez, master of a Spanish schooner exploring the area in 1791. The bay penetrates nearly two kilometres into Saturna Island’s southeast shore, barely 100 metres across at its widest part. The area is rugged, heavily forested and has few landing spots. Only forest birds twittering and seals barking punctuate the bay’s silence. An occasional aircraft overhead is a reminder that hubs of civilization aren’t far away. The refuge provides an eerie solitude featuring surreal views of Mount Baker shimmering in the distance, and a parade of passing ships. There, windless sunny summer days can bake the finish off you and your boat, and southeasterly gales can make life afloat uncomfortable.       In April 2004, some 250 hectares along the southern shore of Narvaez Bay officially became part of the new Gulf Islands National Park Reserve - including an anvil-shaped peninsula on which stood a small cabin (now removed). Landlubbers can walk in from the gate at the road - no vehicles allowed. Mariners must land by dinghy on a small pebble beach located on the sheltered side of the peninsula, from where it is a short, steep climb to the park’s upland meadow. Presently there isn’t even an official park sign for this day-use-only area, just the rules posted near the shore (no fires, pets must be leashed, pack out your garbage); and a general information board and map on the upland.       Plans for park development and permitted use are not yet decided, although it’s likely that hiking trails will be formalized, and there might be back-country campsites sometime later, according to Meredith Reeve of Parks Canada. “We’re going to do environmental assessments, then determine the priorities for that site which will balance visitor use with preserving the ecology.”       With virtually no shoreline development, this inlet is dark and peaceful at night. It is so quiet that you’ll discover everything on your boat that slides and clangs - and the occasional mosquito’s buzz will be deafening. You can anchor at the head of bay, albeit completely exposed to southeasterly wind, rough sea and disturbance from passing ships. The best moorage is in the small recess along the shore adjacent to the park, where there is room for perhaps eight boats to anchor in depths ranging from seven to sixteen metres - with a good mud bottom. Saturna’s shoreline shape and direction prevent most ship washes from scouring the anchorage.       Once anchored, there is a lot to enjoy by doing nothing at all. Listen to breezes stir the treetops. Watch eagles soaring, and gulls scrounging their next meal. Bring your dinghy and kayak because there are nooks and bights to explore by the smallest craft. For those needing to stretch their legs ashore, there is hiking along old roadways and informal trails.       Reportedly, it is just a one-hour walk to a general store - but remember, it’s also one hour back.       The bay on the opposite side of the park peninsula contains fascinating rock formations and caves scooped out of craggy overhangs, and sheer stone walls that seem to reach the clouds. Wind-shaped trees at odd angles cling to shore, overhanging the water.       If you want to explore farther afield, there are two choices about five kilometres from the bay. The beach at Bruce Bight is a fun day-stop. In the opposite direction, there is great fishing near Boiling Reef, off the southern end of sheep-strewn Saturna Island. There, a five-knot tidal current thrusts the 200-metre depths of Georgia Strait and Boundary Pass over a reef lying barely 30 metres below the surface. The forceful upwelling of water, debris and sea creatures is an imposing display.       At 30 kilometres from Sidney, getting to Narvaez Bay presents little navigational challenge. The straight-line course along Boundary Pass is a panorama of islands and passages, ending in a sharp left turn. That’s not to imply that the route is monotonous. The four-knot confluence of Haro Strait, Boundary Pass and Swanson Channel over jagged depths ranging from 50 to 350 metres can produce strong tide rips and rough seas. current thrusts the 200-metre depths of Georgia Strait and Boundary Pass over a reef lying barely 30 metres below the surface. The forceful upwelling of water, debris and sea creatures is an imposing display.       At 30 kilometres from Sidney, getting to Narvaez Bay presents little navigational challenge. The straight-line course along Boundary Pass is a panorama of Boundary Pass, straddling the Canada and United States border, sometimes is peacefully unoccupied. Often though, plenty of commercial and recreational vessels share the waterway with its rightful owners - porpoises frolicking and racing alongside boat hulls, and Killer Whales leisurely going somewhere.       A stop at Narvaez Bay can be rejuvenating. On a lonely winter day or during a quiet summer night, the sense of being far from civilization is palpable. No ambient light conceals the nightly show of twinkling stars and occasional meteor showers. This isn’t a place for generators, boom-boxes, party boats or rip-roaring watercraft. It’s a place for quiet relaxation and reflection, where you can actually hear your pulse slowing. Because of all the things that aren’t at Narvaez Bay, the best thing you’ll find there is yourself.       Eric Manchester is a Victoria-based freelance writer and photographer. He can be reached at ewmanchester@shaw.ca ...back to 48° North title page.