How could I resist? Waggoner, the self-appointed cruising bible of the Pacific Northwest, called the trip’s jumping-off point—Port Alberni, on Vancouver Island—”the single best saltwater trailer boat destination in the Northwest.”

In April I began seeking a really special cruise for myself and Sam, my 20-year-old nephew from Chicago, who had just finished an 18-month volunteer stint in the Israeli army. He was tired and still aching, knees and back possibly injured for life, from his zealous service, which had earned him the honor of bearing his unit’s heavy machine gun. (Eating a roasted scorpion while out on patrol showed perhaps an excess of zeal.)

As for me, I needed a treat. I had bought my first sailboat, a Montgomery 17, in November 2008, after an exhaustive Internet search. I had found a 1979 model in good condition about 100 miles east of L.A., flown down, rented a truck and towed it home to Seattle.

Then I’d spent all winter making it mine. After six months of working on Orli every evening and weekend—wet-sanding every square inch, varnishing every bit of wood and overseeing some surgery to the cabin—I launched it for the first time in May and took several enjoyable short sails. But I needed a great trip to repay my efforts.

Waggoner’s description of Port Alberni, plus the inlet leading down from it to Barkley Sound and the unspoiled Broken Group of islands off the west side of Vancouver Island, sounded perfect. Sam thought so, too—as long as the fishing there was good. Reports said it was, so in late May, he flew to Seattle.

The author, left, and his nephew Sam on Gilbert Island, in the Broken Group. Orli lies at anchor in the background

We spent two days preparing and provisioning. Sam thought a 24-can case of beer would be enough, as I don’t drink. We also brought some food.

It was a two-hour drive to Tsawwassen, B.C., and a 1.5-hour, $168 trip to Nanaimo with our Nissan Pathfinder towing Orli. (The return trip cost the same—a fact that Waggoner might have informed us about, to avoid the shock if not cause a reassessment of the entire trip.)

We launched from China Creek Marina (N49°09.129′ W123°47.611′), where no chart or description mentioned an electrical wire spanning the launch ramp and the staff could find no information on its height. After many fruitless attempts to invoke trigonometry, we decided staying safe required awkwardly raising the mast and attaching the rudder only after launching.

We tacked for 2.5 miles into the steady 15-knot SW wind that blows up the narrow 21-mile inlet every afternoon. Then we gave up and powered through the rough water with the 8-HP Nissan outboard. But I knew we’d have a fantastic run back up the inlet at the trip’s end.

Locals at China Creek told us about Green Cove Store (N48°59.239′ W124°58.971′), a small marina offering gas and some groceries, about 17.7 nautical miles down the inlet. That early in the season, we were the only guests.

The new owners, Chris and Tamara, saw us begin to prepare our freeze-dried dinner and asked whether we wouldn’t prefer some freshly caught Pacific striped prawns. They insisted on giving us a quart-sized bag of them—big chunks of delectable meat neither of us had ever tried.

Pacific striped prawns simmered in butter and garlic made for a delectable dinner.

When Chris saw we intended to sauté them in olive oil, he came down again bearing a tub of butter mounded with freshly chopped garlic. He refused offers of payment despite providing what we anticipated—correctly—would be the best meal of the trip.

The next morning we sailed into Barkley Sound, cruising southwest along the west coast of Tzartus Island, in the Deer Group of islands. As the rain began, we pulled into Port Alberni Yacht Club (N48°53.577′ W125°07.041′), which confusingly is located 30 miles SW of that town.

Situated at the northeast end of Fleming Island, the club has an indoor heated clubhouse and cooking facilities, which looked mighty nice in the cold rain. But they’re off limits to guests, which the few members present made sure we knew.

We holed up in our boat, rigged a very imperfect boom tent and spent time reciting our favorite lines from “The Simpsons,” a cornerstone of our relationship.

One club member took Sam out fishing on his motorboat the next day (no bites), and another gave us fresh Dungeness crabs that night for dinner. So we felt well-treated over all.

The next day the weather cleared, and we sailed 10 miles west across Imperial Eagle channel, finally entering the Broken Group of islands, which are part of Pacific Rim National Park Reserve. The islands are primitive and protected. Most lack even drinking water.

Orli moored at Orli at Green Cove Store, on the way to the Broken Group of islands in Barkley Sound, B.C. Sam Besser, the author's nephew, can be seen fishing from the dock.

Sam took stints at the tiller and otherwise served as navigator. He proved extremely quick and responsible, adept at learning how to use the GPS and run the boat. His army training showed in his desire to secure every moveable object with a line—always a good idea when afloat.

We anchored in Effingham Bay and went ashore in our eight-foot inflatable dinghy. We hiked across the island through dense, tangled brush in search of an ancient Indian village, which Waggoner said is marked by a large midden, but we found no trace of it. Sam met his first slug and we explored some sea caves, something neither of us had seen before.

We continued a bit west and anchored in a bay in the south side of Gilbert Island. Signs warning “Beware of Wolves!” were prominently posted at the primitive campground. Sam chose to camp solo anyway. I was too anxious to leave the boat at anchor in the still-unsettled weather, but we kept in touch with FRS radios that we left on all night.

This was Sam’s first time sailing and his first primitive-camping experience in the Northwest. He particularly enjoyed inspecting the tide pools and conquering the huge boulders and washed-up logs. We spent some nice time reading quietly on the beach. The air was clean and the quiet was restorative. We saw few other boaters.

Our ultimate destination was Wouwer Island, the westernmost of the Broken Group islands and said to be the wildest. We passed close enough to great heaps of sea lions to not only hear them but smell them. After a very short foray into the Pacific itself, just to say we did it, we began the trip home.

The author at the helm. Inconsistent winds required motoring on about half of the trip, especially among the closely spaced islets and rocky spits.

As I had anticipated, a highlight was a four-hour run, wing-on-wing, in 15 knots up the Alberni Inlet. Pure bliss.

Reflecting on our eight nights out, Sam said he’d loved the bonding experience but had mixed feelings about some aspects of the trip. The gentle rocking of the boat at night was great. Learning how to sail had been fun, the conditions ideal.

The scenery, however, was “redundant,” he said. It was beautiful, sure, but a bit . . . boring. He said he was glad he’d come, though, because it helped him decide he’d never own a sailboat. They’re just too slow.

Proof, I guess, that the sailing bug doesn’t bite everyone hard—at least not at the same age.

Dan Richman is a former Seattle P-I business and technology reporter now writing for an online daily newsletter covering the nation’s electrical grid.