It’s a lonely little island, stuck out there in no-man’s land, almost but not quite in the U.S., almost, but not quite in Haro Strait. Surrounded by obstacles, it bristles like a floating porcupine, fending off all but the intrepid.

George Mercer, an ecologist with Parks Canada describes the bristling waters around D’Arcy. It’s notorious when there’s a tide. You can see it from the air. It’s just wild. You have rip tides all around, submerged rocks, and powerful tides and currents. Boaters and kayakers have to really choose their time.

Almost all publications carry cautions about approaching D’Arcy, the West Coast Paddler website is no exception, (www.westcoastpaddler.com), warning of the dangerous conditions prevailing around the island, with its intertidal rocks and reefs. There’s the Fairway Patch (north), the D’Arcy Shoals (west) and numerous rocks in Hughes Passage (south) and between Little D’Arcy and D’Arcy.

No wonder the Victoria city officials chose it then, for their nefarious purpose, branding it as an island of Chinese lepers in 1891..

It was perfect for their purposes. A virtual prison, it would have been almost impossible to escape from. Some tried, apparently, probably preferring their subsequent watery deaths to an unmarked grave on a lonely island so far away from their homeland. At least then there was some hope that their bones might find their way home. I think this 83-hectare island hasn’t forgotten.

On our first visit, we anchored our 25’ C & C in the wrong spot, in the NE corner between D’Arcy and Little D’Arcy. It was the height of summer but you would never have known it. Shaking off feelings of loneliness and an unwarranted depression we hadn’t felt earlier, we boarded our Achilles dinghy and tried to row for shore, but Little D’Arcy Island was as close as we could get. Strong currents immediately began to encircle us, pushing us away from our goal. We rowed furiously back to the ‘mother ship’, while we still could, hauled up anchor and tried again, with more success, on the western side.

It was very exposed anchorage, however. Any anchorage on D’Arcy, can only be temporary, unless your boat can be hauled ashore. No area is sheltered, anchorage cannot be trusted in the rocky bottoms, and currents can send a boat dancing around its anchor. That first time, we stayed a scant hour, haunted by concerns that our boat, Aquila, could sail away without us.

Nevertheless we returned again in May. Why? You may well ask. Because we wanted to explore more of the island, because solitude is not found in summer without some perseverance, and because we wanted to see if the same eerie feelings would encircle us once again.

Incredibly, it took us three tries to reach our nearby goal. The first time, weeks earlier, as the wind picked up and pushed the tops off the waves, incredibly the fog floated in and tucked itself firmly around D’Arcy, a firm NOT WELCOME if I ever saw one. We altered course and headed to the more welcoming San Juan island.

The second try, three weeks later, appeared auspicious. From our Sidney Spit overnight spot it was only 6 nautical miles. The currents were negligible, the sun shone weakly through clouds, the wind was light. We arrived at D’Arcy’s dark shores and I prepared to drop the hook at the same anchorage as two years previously. (See sidebar) Suddenly my partner, David, called out: Don’t drop it. We can’t go ashore. What? I looked back incredulously to see the Achilles dinghy, which has never let us down in ten years, half deflated and partially drooping underwater. When had that happened? Not when it was under tow as we would certainly have noticed the drag. We certainly hadn’t struck any rocks either. With great difficulty in the increasing winds, we hauled it on board and limped back to Sidney Spit, dispirited and defeated once again. Perhaps we were cowards, but it was too difficult to try to find the problem and correct it on a small boat in increasingly turbulent waters. Besides, the depression had overtaken us again, this time, under the circumstances, perhaps warranted. We didn’t trust D’Arcy. Who wants to go where they’re not wanted?

An hour later, firmly tied at the Sidney Spit dock, we examined the tender but could find nothing wrong. We inflated it again, smeared it with soapy water, and waited, and waited. No leaks appeared. No fittings were missing. We followed that up with several trial runs; the Achilles held firm. What was that about?

Third time lucky. The next day the sun shone, the waters were glassy, and the currents were at a rare standstill. We set off early, ebb tide with us, confident that this time the unfriendly island would permit a visit. We crept up to the same beach. I dropped the anchor. It wouldn’t grab. Up it came. Down it went again. I repeated the process, ignoring my aching back. The Danforth is a reliable anchor; up until now it has always held. The third try was one of those tentative tugs, like a nibble on a line, but it would have to do. We set the hook and rowed for shore before D’Arcy could change its mind.

There may not be ghosts on D’Arcy but it’s an angry island. Don’t take our word for it.

When film maker, Erik Paulsson, stepped off the boat at D’Arcy, he says he shivered. There to make Island of Shadows, a documentary film on the forgotten lepers, he wrote about his discomfort: I remember getting off the boat and feeling a chill run through my body.

And he’s not alone. The popular 2007 Waggoner Cruising Guide devotes a whole page to NOR’Westing editor, Chuck Gould’s experiences upon landing there. I am not sure that I believe in ghosts, but I have to believe in D’Arcy Island, he begins.I have never seen a ghost, although the summer of 2004 my wife Jan and I left D’Arcy Island baffled by some very strange experiences ashore. It was as if the island was playing with them, he wrote. There was the sound of water but no water, and the sudden appearance and disappearance of birdsong but no birds. He even gave a presentation at the Seattle Boat Show, Is D’Arcy Island Haunted?

Although the island features several beaches, sylvan walks and wonderful views from the camping site, few ever seem to take advantage of them. Authorities say its because Sidney Island provincial park is so nearby, but is it? Many overnighters to D’Arcy have experienced the same feelings as Paulsson and Gould. Bill Wolferstan even writes in his Cruising Guide to the Gulf Islands: Visitors have reported spooky feelings here, especially at night.

The trail we first follow leads to the ruins of the caretaker’s cottage and to the steps to nowhere, marking the spot where once a building stood, apparently for the purpose of housing the white lepers, who were never sent here. So who stayed there? It’s rumoured that once bootleg whiskey was stored in some of these buildings. It’s an eerie spot. Defaced with graffiti, the caretaker building’s skeletal remains molder on a headland that to all extents and purposes, should be a beautiful outlook. Now, however, it only looks depressing. The nearby cement steps rise from the dank ground, inviting passers-by to climb them to nowhere. The effect is surreal, and our deciding not to linger has more to do with our uneasy feelings than our concerns over a possibly foiled anchor attempt. We retrace our steps and take the sparsely traveled path along to the left. (See sidebar.) All time is not created equal. It’s a long half hour trudge across the island, allowing for losing the trail a few times. Although there are markers, at critical points, they seem missing. One such place is deep into the island, where dead trees drip with moss and shadows crept across the decaying forest floor – just the place, in other words, where you DON’T want to get lost. It’s a small island; how can crossing it take so long? We are also nervous about Aquila, uncertain she’ll be there when we return. This is no doubt contributing to our feeling. Eventually, finally, we arrive at the campsite and the site of the Chinese lepers’ homestead, relieved to see the inviting beach and to substitute beautiful views and salal bushes for the peeling cedars and the dead trees; sunshine for the dreary inland dankness.

Two kayaks drawn up on shore, are bright slashes of colour on the beach and we are surprisingly happy to sight them, although their occupants are nowhere to be seen and no-one is camping in any of the ten designated sites. At the end of the beach, and above it, we see two fenced areas, the usual park sign, and little else. What do these fenced areas signify? Are they the graves of the poor lepers who died here? No sign remains of the rowhouse, containing 6 – 5x8’ rooms, each with a bed, table, chair and fireplace, according to the government sign, the lone occupant in the upper fenced area. Several other buildings were added in 1899, the sign informs us, and the colony was here from 1891 to 1924, when the Federal Government took control and moved the colony to Bentinick Island near William Head, closer to Victoria, and one hopes, closer to medical help and humanity. Is it coincidence, I wonder, that William Head is where the present prison is located?

Absolutely nothing but these fences mark the sad stories that played out here. The buildings were deliberately burnt in 1960, one year before the island became a marine park. I wonder if they thought they could still catch leprosy? Here was where a one acre garden was tended over time by 48 dying men and 1 woman, where ducks, chickens and pigs were kept. We head to a sunny rock to relax and investigate the scratches the unfriendly shrubs had early inflicted on us, when David calls me over to check out a plaque, quite inconspicuously attached to one of the boulders. Dated 2000, it commemorates the
14 who died and are buried here, mentioning them by name, along with four other unfortunates who are nameless. Victoria mayor, Alan Lowe, himself a Chinese Canadian, has dedicated this marker in honour of the bones which must lie somewhere nearby. Seeing as the dying were forced to care for the dead, they could not have carried them far, I think. Would have been too weak themselves to bury them deeply. Why are the graves unmarked? Where exactly are they?

The ill from across Canada were shipped here, the only qualifications being you needed to be a leper, and you needed to be Chinese. Four times a year, I read from the park notice, a supply boat came in, loaded with supplies, opium and coffins, a cheery cargo. I wonder what the caretaker did, safely located across the island. His must have been a sorry job indeed.

Is the wind picking up? David looks over at me, signaling, ‘can we go?’ I’m ready.

Neither of us breathes a sigh of relief, though, until we see the mast of Aquila. Still there, tugging a little but waiting. En route we meet the occupants of the kayaks. They’re from Search and Rescue, they tell us, scouting out a good place to have a rescue drill. They want a challenging, remote location. They’ve come to the right place all right.

Back on Aquila, I am surprised and startled by how quickly, cleanly and easily that Danforth comes up. I doubt we were anchored at all. D’Arcy let us get away this time. I hope you’re as lucky.

Sidebar: Anchorage
The west side is recommended if a keel boat (draw 4’ or over) 200 yards north of the D’Arcy Island light, in front of a prominent pebble beach. This is where we anchored each time. Caution: this is a steeply shelving, pebble bottom. Watch for the reef marked by kelp as you approach from the north.

George Mercer recommends that the best way, if you have a shallow draft boat, or a kayak, is through Hughes Passage, round Little D’Arcy and into the bay on the east side, where the campsite is. It’s exposed to southerlies, however. Be sure to have a good chart and at the risk of being redundant, be sure you choose your time carefully, especially if kayaking or have a small engine.