In the early summer of 1792, Captain George Vancouver, commanding the HMS Discovery and accompanied by the HMS Chatham, ventured northward through the Strait of Georgia. His goal was to conduct a detailed survey of the coast, which had only been partially mapped by earlier Spanish expeditions. Vancouver aimed to determine whether there was a navigable passage through the mainland, and he sought to accurately establish the geography in accordance with the stringent requirements of the Admiralty.

As the ships moved beyond the Gulf Islands, Vancouver entered waters bordered by a long, mountainous island that was already noted on Spanish charts. As he sailed up the coast using Spanish Charts, he adopted their nomenclature, although not perfectly, and recorded a large island in his Journal as “Favida,” which also appeared on his charts as “Feveda.” This island, now known as Texada Island, loomed prominently on his eastern horizon as he explored the channels between it and the mainland. Vancouver’s use of Spanish spellings serves as a clear indication of how his voyage intersected with and refined earlier Iberian surveys.

As the expedition moved northward, it carefully followed the complex shoreline opposite Texada Island. The mainland coast looked stark and unwelcoming to Vancouver, featuring steep rocky shores rising sharply from deep water and covered in sparse stands of pine trees. Near the coast, across from what is now Powell River, he observed small streams flowing into the sea, but found little to promote anchorage or settlement. Among the islands scattered along this coast, Vancouver assigned new British names, occasionally overlooking the Spanish names found on the charts he used. One such island was named Harwood Island in honour of a naval colleague. Nearby, he named another island Savary Island, but did not provide any acknowledgment of the person for whom the name was given.

During the latter part of June 1792,  Savary Island was written on his chart as he worked north toward more complex inland waters. These acts of naming were not casual; they were assertions of order and record, anchoring British hydrography to the landscape.

By late June, Vancouver entered a broad, enclosed stretch of water that would later bear the evocative name Desolation Sound. The towering mountains, sheer rock faces, and deep, silent channels struck him as bleak rather than picturesque. Though later generations would admire its beauty, Vancouver’s impression was one of severity, shaped by the demands of navigation rather than romance.