June 5, 2005 - Sunset Marina, North Vancouver, BC
As with childbirth, all significant cruising expeditions I've undertaken involved a substantial amount of pain at the outset. Our Alaska cruise has followed that pattern true to course. The extended nature of this cruise, planned to include the exploration of approximately 2000 nautical miles of the Inside Passage, required extensive preparations and planning. While these efforts began many months ago, and the pace of effort accelerated as departure date loomed, the day before departure still left many tasks incomplete. In addition to completing preparations for sustaining all aspects of life for nearly 3 months aboard a very compact 26 foot sailboat, the house had to be mothballed, and numerous related details handled, most at the last minute.
Probably the most painful last minute project involved rebuilding the boat trailer brakes. New calipers and master cylinder needed to be installed. Delays in the delivery of parts (I had ordered them in plenty of time, honest) resulted in this project being tackled, under the direction of my brother, a mere 2 days before departure. After numerous frustrations, we finally completed the job. We were a little worried about one of the disks, which seemed a little out of true, but thought they would be ok. Time shifts to the night before leaving, when it's time to drive down to Safeway to fill the boat's gas tanks and fuel the truck. All goes well, until I attempt to back up my steep lower driveway. The brakes lock up in reverse. The mechanism designed to prevent this has somehow failed. In addition, while driving around a bit, it seems that they're rubbing more than they should, and they're heating up. It's too late to fix the problem without delaying departure by several days. Unacceptable option. I resolve to remove them next morning and run up to Vancouver without brakes. I'm not too worried about this, since I drove most of the way around the country last year with the boat and trailer, with brakes in the same shape. My heavy duty diesel truck handles the boat fine.
Early next morning my son and I go out to remove the brakes. It's raining. Great start to our Alaska cruise, laying under the boat trailer, in the street in front of the house, removing brake calipers in the rain. Task completed, we head out around 9:30 am. So much for my hoped for early departure.
The drive into Canada went fine. Son Ken rode along with us, to perform the valued service of driving the truck and empty boat trailer back to Leavenworth, there to await another drive by dear friends Peter and Mary Ann Ringsrud, this time to Prince Rupert at the end of August, to rendezvous with us there. At the border crossing, the Canadian official questioning us asked the usual questions, and was rather surprised to learn we were going to be out for 80 days. He mistakenly thought son Ken was accompanying us for that duration, and rather surprisingly asked him what he did for a living. He figured Ken must be independently wealthy if he were out that long. We left him with that impression.
It rained most of the way up, and rained at the marina while we set the boat up. It finally eased off while we slipped her into the water. Ken began his drive back to Leavenworth around 5 pm, and we continued sorting out our mountain of gear, trying to get it all stowed on board.
It is in the nature of cruising that problems arise which must be solved. It is also in the nature of cruising that in the first few hours after getting into the water, you discover key items of equipment and gear that, somehow, inadvertently got left behind. In the case of our Alaska cruise, due in large part to the hectic departure, our list quickly grew. Problem number 1: Can't locate the Waggoner's Cruising Guide. Solution: plan to do without, since we have a couple of other similar books. Possibly purchase a replacement along the way, before cruising out of the area covered. Problem number 2 (and much more serious): can't locate the AC power cord for the lap top computer. Serious because electronic log can't be written for very long, also, electronic charts in cd form quickly become unusable. Lastly and most importantly, the collection of dvd movies we brought along will have to go unwatched unless a solution can be found. Solution: call son Ken, our saviour. He quickly fashions a fix. He calls a friend in Wenatchee who goes over to the house, enters with the key handily hidden under the door mat, and goes straight to the location of the power cord. Unexpected bonus, he also locates the Waggoners Guide, and will Fed Ex both items to the Port McNeil Harbor, which is 5 days ahead of us. With any luck, we'll be back in business with both items. Problem number 3: I can't find the charging cord for my electric razor (I seem to have a problem with electric cords. Solution, I'll let the beard grow. After all, we are on the way to Alaska. Problem number 4: we left the extra blanket to go over the sleeping bag behind. Solution: snuggle all the closer with my co captain.
June 6, 2005 - Pender Harbor, 10 pm and still light out.
A beautiful sunny day does wonders for one's spirits. The problems of yesterday quickly fade as solutions are arrived at, and the cruise actually begins. Beautiful day on the Strait of Georgia. We motored at 6 to 7 knots much of the way, motor sailed for a couple of hours when wind permitted. Got in to Pender Harbor around 4 pm, and anchored in Gardiner Bay. Lovely spot, fair amount of development in the area, but not too imposing. Nice Marine Park shoreline next to anchorage. We dinghied ashore for a walk through the park and up the road. Enjoyed dinner in the cockpit, with sun beaming in, water like glass. Cruised 42.2 miles for the day. Longer cruise planned tomorrow. Will need to start early.
Raised anchor about 7 am and left the anchorage. Conditions calm. Skies overcast. Ran up Strait of Georgia at 6 knots. Emptied 12 gal tank at Powell River (67 nm on 12 gal - 5.6 mpg). Passed through Copeland Islands near entrance to Desolation Sound. Many more homes on mainland than when here 19 years ago. Headed for Talbot Cove at mouth of Teakerne Arm, where we had anchored with Ringsruds in 1986. Large oyster farm has moved in at the mouth of Talbot Cove. I tried 4 times to get the anchor to hook. Rather deep and rocky, couldn't get it to set. We moved to a little nook to the west and I got out the hose reel with 500 feet of 3/8” poly stern tie line. While Sandy kept the boat clear of rocks, I rowed in with the line and looped around a tree, then brought the line back to the boat and tied off. I then rowed to the opposite side of the little cove and tied another line to a tree. By drawing the slack out of the two lines, we were secured in the center of the cove. Went for a short walk up the new logging road at the head of the cove. Watched 3 otters playing in the cove. Lovely sunset, but we were a little too far around the corner to fully appreciate it. Double checked the cruise guides and charts regarding timing and strategy for passing the Yuculta rapids, coming up the next day.
Day's run: 52.3 nm; total for trip: 94.5 nm
Arose early to prepare for run up to the rapids. Transferred 5 gallons to each main tank from jerry cans, which left the main tank in use nearly full. Don't want to have to switch tanks in the middle of the rapids. Also filled the oil reservoir. Overcast again, light rain to start the day. Had to be underway by 7:30 so as to arrive at Yucultas near slack around ll am. We hit the change to ebb, which worked out perfectly. We ran Yuculta in the last hour of ebb, then pulled into Big Bay to wait for Gilliard and Dent to be closer to slack. Big resort under construction at Yuculta, and much development in the area. Watched a couple of float planes bringing guests in. Finally headed on through Gilliard with the current still running, and got a boost all the way to Dent Rapids. This place has a nasty reputation, but we timed things just right. It's supposed to be much more difficult on a change to flood. We observed strong currents, but none of the famous whirlpools and overfalls. Nice run to Blind Channel Resort. Encountered strong and swirling currents in Mayne Channel, near the resort. This time the current was against us. Pulled into the resort fuel dock. Very helpful young guy took our lines and assisted with fueling. Used 21.6 gallons for 129 miles, 6 mpg average. Very good. Got a slip at the marina and went for a hike on one of their trails into the woods. Beautiful hike, accompanied by their very friendly dog. After our hike, we showered and fired up the barbque for a dock side dinner. Visited with other boat captains at marina,also heading north. Maybe we'll see them again, further along. All are leaving early (5 am), to time the Greene Point and Whirlpool rapids, and arrive reasonably early on Johnstone Strait. Johnstone is notorious for rough water in a northwesterly blow, which is typical. June 9 is forecast to have favorable conditions on Johnstone, so we will join them for a 5 am departure. We met High Time,BC, Simpatico (going to Alaska), Meu Barco (also going to Alaska), Angelena (going part way up), and Amazon - a lovely Catalina sailboat.
Long run today - 66 nm. We followed the other boats out from
Blind Channel Resort, and took advantage of the ebb current through
the rapids. No difficulties. Really enjoyed the push at Whirlpool.
The boat increased speed from 7 knots to 11 kts for a while. Entered
Johnstone, which was very tame. Decided to modify our route and
continue on Johnstone, instead of ducking back into more protected
waters. Longer way around, and it would probably have taken an extra
day, with uncertain conditions on Johnstone. Best to pass the
difficult water when the seas are calm. We cruised up the Vancouver
Island side of the Strait. Very pleasant cruise. Slowed at Robson
Bight, famous for its beach which attracts Orcas. Seems the place
has small stones that the Orcas like to rub against. Unfortunately,
none were there while we were in the area. Had to add engine oil 6
miles shy of Alert Bay. Continued on to Port McNeil, where we hoped
to find a Fed Ex package from Leavenworth, containing the cruising
guide and laptop power cord accidently forgotten at trip's start.
Pulled into the fuel dock around 2 pm and filled tanks. Fuel
consumption much lower (3.7 mpg) because of high running speeds. Ran
3500-3800 on first 12 gal, 3000 on second tank. Must keep rpm below
2500 for long distance runs.
Called the harbor master by radio
and got a marina slip. Went up to pay and was delighted to see that
the package had arrived. Way to go, Nathan and Ken. Now we're back
in business. Went for a walk around town that evening, and barbqued
at the dock. Had strawberry/ruhbarb pie at a nice little restaurant
overlooking the marina.
Total distance covered: 195 nm
Layover day in Port McNeil. Tried to do a laundry at a motel at the top of the hill (one across the street from the marina is closed). Both machines in use, and we must catch the ferry across to Alert Bay, so will do laundry later. Took the ferry over to Alert Bay, an Indian community. We visited the burial grounds near the waterfront. Beautiful park with many old totem poles marking the graves. Not allowed to walk within the grounds, so we observed from the street. We next walked the other direction, to the U'Mitsa museum. The museum is built in the form of a traditional long house, and it contains a remarkable collection of potlatch masks and other cultural artifacts. The story is a sad one with a happy ending, of sorts. In the early 1900's, the government and missionaries tried to abolish traditional lifestyle and ceremonies, including the potlatch. A law banning potlatch was passed. One tribal member ignored the law and held a big potlatch over Christmas, in 1921. Authorities got word, and ended up confiscating all the tribe's ceremonial masks, coppers, and other items. They were taken to the national museum in Ottawa. Some of the potlatch organizers were jailed. Nearly 60 years later, most of the items were returned, and the Indians built a museum to house them. They are very proud of this museum, and it is a focal point for rebuilding their cultural heritage.
There was a huge yacht anchored in the harbor while we visited. It had a helicopter and a 32 foot sailboat stowed on deck, and also contained a 30 foot power cruiser. About 15 European millionaires were its passengers. We visited with a totem pole carver near the museum, who does wonderful work. He has customers all over the world.
We had dinner at the restaurant in Alert Bay, while waiting for our ferry. After getting back to the boat, Sandy did the laundry, while I took the porta-bote dinghy apart at the dock, and stowed it on board for tomorrow's planned crossing of Queen Charolette Strait and Queen Charolette Sound. Hit the sack early, with an early start planned for next day.
Left the marina at 4:20 am. Forecast: moderate wind with seas 1 to 2 meters. Gale warnings for the next day. I decided to cross Queen Charolette Strait, and duck in to one of several available anchorages if things started looking bad. The crossing (about 18 nm) went fine, and I ran at 7 knots (3000 rpm). Raining off and on. Upon entering Queen Charolette Sound proper, the seas were substantial, so we filled the water ballast tank and proceeded. Almost no wind, so just the seas to contend with. They made for a very rough ride. Sandy felt poorly, even with Dramamine, and found that laying down in the cockpit worked best. Roughest seas were encountered off the mouth of Slingby Channel, with swells of 6 feet, occasionally higher. At the start of the rough water we got a scare when an engine alarm signal started to squeal. Too soon to need engine oil, wrong tone anyway. I dropped down into neutral and noticed the heat indicator light was on. There was still some cooling water pumping out the back of the motor. I think I was running too fast for the swells, and the lower unit was coming out of the water, sucking air instead of cooling water. I slowed down to 4 knots and things were fine. Only problem, our progress was painfully slow. It was kind of like being saddled to one of those mechanical bucking horses they have in some western taverns. Only this ride lasted almost 10 hours. We did get some relief passing Cape Caution, with seas moderating to about 3 feet, but it got rough again as we passed the entrance to Rivers Inlet. I really wish I had taken the jib sail cover off, so I could have flown a stabilizing sail. But I hadn't, so we just had to ride it out. Even though it was a rough passage, I was glad we went the whole way, since a big storm was forecast for next day. We were greatly relieved to pull into Fury Cove, a beautiful anchorage. There were 2 sailboats already at anchor, along with a big power cruiser. I had seen both during the crossing. Also saw the Alaska State Ferry Columbia steaming northward. She kicked up a big wake which really rocked us.
Layover day to rest up and recover from the challenging crossing. Overcast but calm in the morning. I assembled and launched the dinghy from the foredeck, using the new pulley system I had designed at home before the trip. It worked just great. We went for an explore ashore, cleaned up the boat, and generally kicked back and relaxed. Very pleasant day. Will decide tomorrow whether or not to move north, up to Namu. It will depend on the timing and strength of the forecast gale.
Underway by 8 am. Anchorage calm, but rough outside on Fitz Hugh Sound. Short period swells, 3 feet and capping. Jib cover off before starting this time, and we motor sailed across the sound, definitely more stable than pounding straight ahead under power. More settled on the west side of the sound. We were passed by the BC Ferry Queen of the North, and later met the southbound Alaska State Ferry Malaspina. Overcast all day, with periods of rain. Since the wind was on our nose, we motored after crossing the sound. Sandy took the helm all morning, which gave me time to look around and snap a few pictures. We landed at Namu around 2:30 pm. Fascinating old cannery, now non operational and deteriorating. Met a niced couple who are caretakers, very friendly, resourceful and hard working. They had a couple of huge dogs, part malamute and part wolf. Fortunately also friendly, although we were advised by a boating couple tied up at the dock that the dogs could be very territorial. After wandering through the ghost town cannery a while, we returned to the boat and continued another 3 miles to Fougner Bay, a secluded anchorage at the mouth of Burke Inlet. Found the red sailboat we had seen while crossing Queen Charolette Sound anchored there. She also shared the Fury Cove anchorage with us 2 days ago, but left yesterday, while we laid over. I think she travels under sail more than we do. Haven't met the folks on board yet. Maybe this evening or tomorrow. They fly the Canadian flag.
Distance on the day: 36 nm
Total for trip: 296 nm
Very welcome sunshine beamed in on our little anchorage this morning. Took our time with breakfast. Got underway around 10 am. Nice breeze coming down Burke Channel, so I raised the main for the first time. Sailed a couple of miles before the wind died down, so back to motoring. Clouds started moving in, and it turned cooler. Cruised up Fisher Channel to the entrance to Lama Passage, entered and headed west, toward Bella Bella and Shearwater. Encountered stiff headwinds and a rain squall in Lama Passage. By the time we neared Shearwater, the sun was beginning to come out again. Stopped to gas up at the fuel dock, and filled all the gas cans, since the next stretch will be one of our longest between fuel docks. Bought 24 gallons of gas. Mileage works out to 6.7 mpg since Port McNeil, which is excellent. At that rate, we would have a 260 mile cruising range. Got a slip at the marina. Wharfinger is a very nice lady who was most accomodating. We're definitely the smallest boat in the marina. We could serve as dinghy for some of the boats, but we're here and enjoying it. They have an old tree snag set up in some concrete rings which attracts a stately eagle, who poses for photos all day (the cook feeds him to attract him in.) I bought a 5 day fishing license, and we grabbed showers, did laundry and picked up some groceries. Had a wonderful dinner at the waterfront restaurant. Prices reasonable and food outstanding. Beautiful sunset. We'll try to get an early start tomorrow. The next several days should bring us through some outstanding scenery, in the area known as Fiordland.
Distance for day: 26 nm Total for trip: 322 nm
10:20 pm, anchored in placid Rescue Bay on Mathieson Channel. Vivid reds and purples of a spectacular sunset are still fading in the western sky, a half moon overhead. For the past 2 hours we were privileged to watch, from the safety of the dinghy and boat, a young grizzly grazing along the shoreline. We spotted him in the low angle evening sunlight along a grassy shore, and moved to within 200 yards of him in the dinghy, snapping digital photos as we slowly rowed toward him. He is a beautiful animal, light brown coat, with powerful dark brown forearms, a dark stripe down his back, and an interesting dark brown V on the top of his head. Earlier today, while out in the dinghy fishing, I heard a pack of wolves howling in the forest above the bay. They produced a lovely chorus.
Not all went well today, however. I fought a losing battle with the kicker motor, which I tried to use for the first time on the trip. First problem was locating the key to the lock. Finally found it and got the little 3.5 hp outboard mounted on the stern of the dinghy. I fueled the tank on top of the motor, and noticed fuel leaking from the front, just below the throttle. I cracked the case open and looked hopefully for a loose fuel line, but everything was tight. I dried up the seepage, and tried to start it. She fired up, briefly, but continued to leak. I finally had to concede defeat, drain the gas out of the motor, and hang her back up on the motor mount on back of Chinook. I'm not sure what to do about this. The leak seems to come from the throttle mechanism, but is an internal problem. I fear parts will be very hard to come by in this region.
The cruise today was very pleasant. Started around 6 am, with overcast skies. Ran down Seaforth Channel, and then turned up Reid Passage, a neat but narrow passage that enables you to avoid entering Milbanke Channel, which is open to the Pacific. We got in to Rescue Bay at noon, and had a great soup and cracker lunch. We were the only ones here when we arrived, but before long, the power cruisers began pulling in. There are 6 boats anchored in the bay, lots of room for everyone. One of the boats was at Shearwater. Nice single guy named John, from Anacortes. He cruises with his airedale named Charlie.
Distance for the day: 34 nm Total for the trip: 356 nm
The days keep getting longer. Dark around 10:30 pm. I'm getting into a pattern of waking around 5 am, turning the coffee on shortly thereafter, then preparing to get underway, with actual departure time depending on how far we plan to go for the day, and such factors as tides and currents. Try to arrive at destination by early afternoon, explore or fish a little, back to the boat for cocktail hour at 4 or 5 pm, nap afterwards, then dinner around 7 pm. Evening row after dinner, and to bed around 11. Don't know how that routine will hold as days get even longer, but that's how it is for now.
Got underway around 8 am today. A little breezy heading up Mathieson Channel, but the wind died down after an hour. The further we ran, the more spectacular the country got. Nice sunny morning, and near the start of Fiordlands Recreation Area we found our first waterfall. Lovely cascade dropping a couple hundred feet, directly into the channel. Nearing the entrance to Kynoch Inlet we could see the dramatic falls on the far side, that greets visitors to this remote and beautiful waterway. It strongly resembles Yosemite Valley if flooded. Striking granite domes and glaciated features, with snow capped peaks forming the backdrop. Waterfalls and cascades wherever you look. We cruised about 7 or 8 miles up this dead end inlet, stopping ¾ way up for a lunch break at the base of a waterfall. Sun warmed the cockpit and the air was still. We just sat there, drifting, yet hardly moving. Around the next corner was the head of the inlet and the entrance to Culpepper Lagoon. This intimate saltwater lake lies at the extreme head of Kynoch, and is entered through a narrow pass. Entrance must be made at slack water, since the narrows is a saltwater rapids during ebb or flood. Flood currents can hit 9 knots on certain tides. We arrived an hour before slack, on a change to flood (low tide). Most boats have to wait for high water, but with our shallow draft we were able to enter without difficulty. Current estimated at 2 knots about 40 minutes before slack. Once inside, it's like cruising up an alpine lake, except that there are jellyfish and seals in the water. Towering granite walls and dramatic snow covered peaks surround on nearly all sides.
We anchored near
the head of the lagoon, but it was a struggle. Deep water all the
way to the head, then rapidly shoaling to the delta at the mouth of
the river. After a couple unsuccessful tries with the plow, I
resorted to the faithful danforth, which works better in sand, which
I figured was down there. It still took a couple tries before it
hooked firmly. We went ashore for an explore, and to burn our trash.
While there, Sandy spotted a little mink rambling along the
mudflats, generally in our direction. She got her camera ready, and
he kept on wandering toward us, until he stopped not more than 15
feet away. She got a terrific picture of the little guy.
After cocktail hour, nap, and dinner, we spotted another boat, a cutter from Vancouver named Nerus II, cruising toward us. We had hoped to have the place to ourselves, but this was not to be. They also had difficulty finding a good place to anchor, but finally got set. We went for a row up the inlet river at high tide at twilight, hoping to see wildlife. Only a few birds out. Back to the boat and bed.
30 nm for the day; 386 nm total
Butedale. Fascinating place. Old, abandoned cannery, with buildings and docks in various states of deterioration and collapse. In the midst of this slow but steady decline to the forces of nature stands Lou, the delightful caretaker. I'm guessing he's in his mid 70's, and he's here by himself, one dog (only survivor of the entire litter - all others gotten by wolves) and one cat. He's slowly pulling things together. He can sell you some gas, some ice, some pop, a shower, and tie up space at his floats. He's been here 4 years, and he says it seems like yesterday. He doesn't know where the time has gone. He's gotten a water turbine power plant going by some amazing means. He produces DC power, stored in banks of batteries and converted to AC by means of an inverter. Electric wires snake around to various buildings and equipment. He can produce 1000 watts. He says you can do a lot with 1000 watts. His water system is equally innovative. I don't think the building inspector or electrical inspector gets around here very often. We're tied up at Lou's float for the night, hoping the cruise ship and BC ferry wakes won't rock us too badly.
Long run today,
but the best day weather wise thus far. Beautiful morning, and I
raised anchor at 7:30 am. Light down lake breeze, so I raised the
jib and quietly glided down the lagoon. Sandy joined me on deck for
a breakfast of oatmeal and juice, while basking in warm morning
sunlight. The breeze failed us halfway down the lagoon, so I fired
up the motor and we cruised toward the narrows. I wasn't in too big
of a hurry, since I didn't want to hit the narrows too early in the
flood tide. Got there about 40 minutes before the turn, and had no
problems getting out into the main channel. We had a stiff down
channel breeze, so unfurled the jib and motor sailed for several
miles. Finally, the winds became too erratic and so I rolled the
sail up and continued on under power. We ran back down Kynoch Inlet
to Mathieson Channel, then headed north to Mathieson Narrows and out
into Sheep Passage. The run to the narrows was against a stiff
breeze, with lots of whitecaps, but after passing the narrows we
turned southwest and again had the wind at our back. I set the jib
again, and was able to turn the motor off for several hours,
averaging 6 knots just with the jib. Down wind sailing on these
narrow channels keeps you on your toes, though, with wind direction
repeatedly shifting as we passed side canyons. As we neared
Finlayson Channel and Princess Royale Channel we picked up a
headwind, so furled the sail for the day. We motored through Hiekish
Narrows, and then proceeded up Princess Royale. This is a broad and
fairly straight passage, which is on the main cruising lane of the
Inside Passage. We were passed by the large BC Ferry Queen of the
North, second time we've seen
her. She kickes up a big wake. We were also passed by a fishing
boat and a couple of pleasure craft. Stunning day, weather wise.
First day of the trip with absolutely not one drop of rain. Glad we
made it all the way to Butedale. This will be a good jump of place
for our short run to Bishop Bay Hot Springs, where we plan to enjoy a
nice long soak in the thermally heated water.
Distance for the day: 56 nm Total for the trip: 440 nm
Kicking back on a lovely cedar plank veranda, overlooking a very choppy Bishop Bay. We're tied up at the little dock, and it was calm when we arrived. We're on the exposed side, which was fine before the afternoon breeze came up. Full fetch of the bay is hitting us broadside, and our little boat is really rocking. Which is why we're enjoying the evening, sitting in our folding chairs on this very stable open air deck, with the lovely view of rocking boats.
Started the day in leisurely fashion, to a wonderful, sunny morning. Enjoyed breakfast in the cockpit, and wandered up to the cook shack around 8:30. Found Lou up and drinking coffee. He had been up late (2am)with the two guys on the fishing boat. He told a few more stories. I asked him if he had a burn barrel where I could burn our garbage. He said bring it up. He took me over to one of the dilapidated buildings, a former dormatory. We walked down the old corridor to one of the far rooms. He pulled up a trap door cover and said “Toss her in”, and I did. The crawl space was full of trash bags. Solid waste disposal, Butedale style.
We said our
goodbyes around 9 am and shoved off. The cruise up Princess Royale
Channel was highlighted by a great show put on by a helicopter
logging operation. We spotted two big barges, one fully loaded with
logs, and the second well on its way. An old ship hull with a
dormatory style building constructed on deck was cabled to shore in a
shallow cove. On the roof of one part of the building was a
helicopter, and on the stern end was a stubby, twin opposing rotor
lifting copter. We had a ringside seat as the lifting copter took
off, flew over to the mountainside, and picked up a load of logs. He
then flew down to the barge and laid the logs down. A self loader on
the barge took over from there. He made trip after trip. The
hillside where the logs were coming from showed no signs of the
timber removal.
We crossed over to the east side of the channel. As I cruised along, about 200 yards off shore, I glanced over toward shore, just in time to see the back of a humpback whale arch clear of the surface and slowly bend back beneath the sea, about 50 yards away. I called to Sandy, and we watched excitedly as the whale came up again, headed in the opposite direction. We slowly circled around and watched, as two whales showed themselves. They tail slapped, and waved their pectoral fins at us, slowly working their way down channel. After about 15 minutes of this, we reluctantly turned back on course and continued our northward cruise.
We rounded into Ursula Channel, heading northeast, toward Bishop Bay Hot Spring. The water was deep blue and rippled by a light chop, a truly lovely day, tee shirt weather. And we had the entire channel to ourselves, not another boat in sight ahead or behind, as far as we could see. As we neared the entrance to Bishop Bay, I spotted a dolphin ahead and toward shore. Sandy watched for it, and saw one making a splashy rush across the surface. First one, then another, and soon we realized we were seeing a whole school of dolphins. I slowed to an idle, and to our amazement, the school rushed in our direction. We took turns standing on the bow, watching a spectacular show. Dolphins would zoom through the water just in front of the boat. We could see them below the surface, perhaps 15 feet down. They darted, surfaced, changed direction, and disappeared, only to turn and make another rush. We concluded that they were Pacific White Sided dolphins, and were busy feeding. Very exciting show. After about 15 minutes of this, they moved off, and we continued our way into Bishop Bay.
At the head of
this bay is a very popular hot spring. I was hoping against hope
that we would have this place, on this beautiful day, to ourselves.
I rounded the corner and was pleased to note a completely empty bay,
not a single boat at the little dock near the hot spring. We had
cruised to within a half mile of the dock, when I heard the sound of
a boat motor from behind. I looked and spotted an aluminum power
boat tearing across the water, toward the dock. I continued
fendering the boat for a port side tie up, and wouldn't you know it,
this guy passed me up within 200 yards of the dock and tied up port
side. I switched fenders to the starbard side, and thus ended up on
the exposed side of the dock. The people on board turned out to be
really nice, a bit loud, but friendly, from the nearby town of
Kitimat. Soon another boat entered the bay, a sailboat, which turned
out to be the red sloop that had passed us on Queen Charolette Sound,
and shared the anchorage at Fougner Bay. We finally got to meet
them. Nice folks from Sidney, BC. While talking with them, a big
crab boat cruised into the bay. He rolled right on in, and tried to
raft to the red sailboat. His bow was almost against our stern.
Finally he decided to pull back out and wait for the Kitimat boat to
leave.
We wandered the beach to pass the afternoon, and I went for a swim, it was that hot. Once the hot spring was vacated, we went up for our bath. It was wonderful. After that, we barbqued rock cod fillets, courtesy of Lou, and watched as 3 other power boats arrived, all rafting to other boats. Really getting crowded here. Got to quit now. A log is drifting in toward our boat. Have to fend off, so will sign off.
464 miles total, 24 miles for the day.
10 pm and like a mill pond at Lowe's Inlet, a lovely alcove along the 50 mile long, straight as an arrow Grenville Channel. A real contrast with last evening, with that nasty south westerly breeze barreling down Bishop Bay, bringing with it a rough chop, right onto the dock and broadside to our boat. I had 5 fenders between me and the dock. Our mast swung a 30 degree arc at times, and seemed to almost want to jump right onto the dock when that chop hit her. It didn't begin to settle down until around 10 pm. We sat on folding chairs on the dock until then, since it was too bouncy on board.
Got started around 6 am today. Had to handline the boat around, 180 degrees, to get away, since a light breeze was still coming up the bay, and we were inside the red sailboat, with shore only 10 feet from our bow. Once we were turned around, it was no problem to get away. The bay was still rough, but the water smoothed out once we gained Uganda Passage. Big change in weather, with solid overcast and a threat of rain. We rounded the north tip of Grinnell Island and cruised down Verney Channel, and then across Douglas Channel to Hartley Bay. Hartley is a picturesque Indian village, with a very welcome fuel dock. We ran out of gas in the starboard main fuel tank a few miles short, and came in on our last 12 gallon tank, just about how I'd figured. This was our longest run between fueling, at 167 miles since Shearwater. It's Sunday and things were really quiet at Hartley, but we finally roused a guy who turned the pump on. Overall mileage for the run from Shearwater was 5.25 m/g, which is just fine. We had about a 50 mile cushion in range, and I was glad to have every extra gallon in the portable gas cans.
Got quickly
underway, and passed down Spencer Narrows and around the corner, into
Grenville Channel. While swinging into the channel, we noticed a
pretty green sailboat, also heading for Grenville from a slightly
different angle. He had his sail out, but before I could swing
around to his heading, the wind had swung to our nose, and sailing
was out of the question. We motored together up the channel, with my
speed a bit higher than his. We finally recognized him as the last
boat to come in to Bishop Bay. He was rafted on the outside of the
group at the dock, and we never got the chance to talk. Boat name is
Morning Star. A few miles up
the channel we picked up a tail wind, and we both put out our jibs
for some motor sailing. He slowly pulled ahead, but after the wind
fell, I moved back in the lead under power. As we turned into Lowe
Inlet, we met a big southbound NOAA research vessel. The inlet is in
a pretty alcove, with Verney Falls at the head. We anchored near a
grassy shore, which is known to attract black and grizzly bears,
although we have seen none today. We anchored without difficulty,
although at low tide I swing a bit closer to shallows than I'd
prefer. The bottom comes up very quickly here. We went out for a
dinghy explore in the afternoon, and examined an old Indian fish trap
on shore. A ring of barnacle encrusted rocks was created, many years
ago, across the entrance to a shallow cove, to trap fish at low tide.
It's very similar, on a small scale, to the fish traps we've seen in
Hawaii. I fished a little, hooked and lost a nice rockfish. I set
the crab trap out, but so far have only managed to trap my own anchor
line. I've got to remember to row further away before lowering the
trap. We visited with the folks from Morning Star,
who are from Sequim. They cruise up to Alaska, and then winter over.
I think they have a wood burning stove on board. Very friendly
people, and we hope we will run into them again along our way.
Tomorrow we'll run up to Baker Inlet, and then after that, should make Prince Rupert.
48 miles for the day - 512 miles for the trip.
Day started out great. First thing, I pulled the crab trap and found I'd caught my first dungeness of the trip, a real dandy which would make for a fine dinner. Decided to row back across the lagoon to try for a rock fish, and that's when things started to go downhill. About 3 minutes into the drift I snagged and lost my buzz bomb lure, and being without another, had no choice but to row back to the boat and prepare to get underway. I had planned to delay departure until about 10 am, which would work well for catching the last of the flood on the southern half of Grenville Channel, and then take advangtage of the switch in current direction midway, by getting a push from the ebb on the northern half. Good plan. Only one thing needed to put it into action. Ignition when you turn the key on. I knew I was in trouble when I found that the key had been left on the night before, after raising the motor. I hopefully turned the key and --- nothing. Not even a slight turn. Dead silence. Not a good thing, since you can't push start a MacGregor. Fortunately, while cruising, you can rely on fellow cruisers for assistance in such situations, so I rowed across to Morning Star, and told my tale of woe to the good folks we had met the day before. He grabbed his multitester and rowed over in his dinghy. I was out ahead, and pulling hard to get back first, and prepare the work area for a visitor. I must have been pulling harder than normal. In the midst of a stroke, the 4 pop rivets holding the starbard oarlock to the side of the porta-bote decided to fail. Great. Boat engine won't start, and I can't even row my dinghy. Had to get towed the rest of the way across.
We dug into the problem and quickly concluded that the problem was
indeed a weak ignition battery, the result of both leaving the key on
and some corroded terminals. Cleaning up the terminals helped, but
there was still not enough in the battery to get it started. Just
then, the fellow from Rain Shadow II rowedup in his zodiac to
see if he could help. Indeed yes. He offered to bring his igintion
battery over. We rigged up some jumper cables, jumped the battery,
and she fired right up. With sincere thanks to helpful friends, we
could now get underway. Problems weren't over, though. I carefully
monitored the voltmeter as we maneuvered out into Grenville Channel.
Igintion battery was charging just fine. The house battery, however,
didn't seem to be getting any charge. It was low and getting lower.
We turned off the chart system on the laptop, turned off the radio,
and just ran the GPS. Loss of the ability to charge one's service
power can be disconcerting, especially after the preceding events.
Nonetheless, northward we churned, through choppy waters and the
spectacular scenery of Grenville Channel. In midafternoon, we
spotted our first cruise ship, the Celebrity Cruise Lines ship
Celebrity, approaching us from behind. She is really a
spectacular sight on such a narrow channel, a virtual floating city
that looks entirely too top heavy to stay upright.
Reached the entrance to Baker Inlet in late afternoon. The entrance is very narrow, and the channel leading to the lagoon gets progressively narrower. We hit an ebb tide, and the outflowing current must have been running at 4 knots. Really love the 50 hp in such situations. Most sailboats would have had to wait 4 hours before attempting this entrance. Watts Narrows, as the entrance is known, is really beautiful, with overhanging trees, mossy rocks and ferns growing on the steep sides. I couldn't really appreciate the beauty, however, with all my attention focused on staying in the center of the channel. As recommended in the cruise guide, we blasted with the horn to announce our approach to any outward bound vessels. None were met. In fact, for the first time in the trip, we achieved our desire of complete isolation at an anchorage, Nettle Basin at the head of Baker Inlet. And this was one time that we would have appreciated some company, since we weren't completely confident of that ignition battery. We set the anchor at the head of the lovely basin, and turned the motor off. I showed a strong charge, and was quite certain things would be fine, but when it fails once, your confidence gets weakened.
Finally, things began to improve, thanks to that crab that had started the day so hopefully. We did all our cooking on the barbque, since we didn't want to run the galley stove, which uses some electric power. That crab made for a wonderful dinner.
27 miles for the day; 539 total.
Summer solstice, and the longest day of the year. I'm sitting in the cockpit in my tee shirt at 8:15 pm, tied up to a calm slip at the Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht Club marina. We've successfully completed the first leg of adventure, with 580 miles of water having passed our keel. The sun is still about 20 degrees above the horizon, and won't set until 10:19 pm here. They're having a big Aboriginal Days celebration here, and we can hear the music from the park above. Big group, having a fine time. We walked up earlier and watched some traditional dancing. Very colorful, all age groups involved and everyone enjoying themselves. There must be a dozen or more eagles hanging out around the waterfront area, providing dramatic flying demonstrations.
We got a fairly early start, in order to exit Watts Narrows fairly close to low tide slack.
We arrived there about a half hour before slack, and really enjoyed the cruise out. It was a very low tide (full moon) and some amazing sea creatures were plastered on the rock walls of the channel. We were going too fast to really appreciate them, however. The north half of Grenville Channel was quite smooth, but things started getting choppy as we entered Chatham Sound, which is really quite big water, and with a reputation for roughness. Fortunately, it never got so rough as to be uncomfortable, nothing like our crossing of Queen Charolette Sound. We made our way into Prince Rupert harbor, dodging the Alaska State Ferry Malaspina on our way in. We fueled at the fuel dock next to the marina, a place which caters to fishing boats. Entrance between the big fish boats was difficult, but we managed. It felt great to get tied up in the marina, place a call to Todd at Blue Water Yachts to pick his brain about the house battery charging problem (he had it diagnosed in ½ minute, and head uptown to see about parts. This will be a good rest and refit stop to prepare for our actual entrance into Alaskan waters.
Distance for the day: 41 nm; total for trip: 580 nm
Fueled - 17 gallons, averaging 5.3 mph since Hartley Bay
Layover in Prince Rupert, and a lot of necessary tasks accomplished. I talked with Todd at Blue Water, and arranged for the battery combiner to be mailed to Ketchikan. I then walked into town and bought parts to make a jumper with switch, between the two batteries, for a temporary fix. I also installed a fuse to the radio circuit, and I bought and installed a new bruce type anchor. I'm hopeful that this type will work better up here. Most boats I see carry them. My biggest challenge was fixing the fuel leak in the kicker motor, and getting it to run. I checked the carburator bowl, and it was full of sand and gunk, probably sucked up when I ran it into shallows last year. It cleaned up easily, and after a bit of fussing around, I managed to get it running. Hurray. Didn't even drop any parts overboard. Sandy made a shopping run up to the grocery, and I got ice for the cooler and filled the water tank. We wrapped up by early afternoon, which left enough time to walk up to the Northern BC Museum. Wonderful place, most enjoyable. We went out for a seafood dinner at Smiles, and wrote post cards while waiting for dinner. Back at the boat I managed to go on line, and caught up on e'mail, and sent Ken a message, with cruise log attachments. Finally. We finished off the evening by walking over to watch the cruise ship Mercury come into port. Chris and Bob are on that ship, and we hoped to spot them at the rail. In that we were disappointed. Couldn't see them, so we retired to the boat and a late turn in.
Today we started the next leg of our journey north. A drizzle began around 5 am, and so I rose to put up the cockpit enclosure. We quickly finished preparations to depart, and we were underway by 6. We transitted the narrow, twisting Venn Passage just before low tide, and then turned north, along an inside route up the Portland Inlet. We had a southerly breeze, which allowed us to motor sail nearly all the way up. On the basis of information gained in Prince Rupert, we decided to modify our route with a side trip up Khutzaymateen Inlet. This inlet winds about 9 miles back into rugged snowy moutains. The primary attraction of this area is the grizzly bear sanctuary, the only one in Canada. We arrived at the ranger station around 3 pm, and checked in. We paid $20 to be able to stay overnight in the sanctuary, and cruised up toward the head of the inlet. We found a good place to drop the hook, and my new bruce set right away. That's more like it. It was raining as we came in, but stopped by the time we anchored. I attached the kicker to the dinghy and we set out to explore. After a little stubbornness in running, the motor finally decided to cooperate, and we headed for the grassy delta where the river joins the inlet, determined to see our money's worth of grizzly bears. We putted nearly to the head of the inlet before Sandy spotted the first bear. He was grazing away in the tall grass, quite a distance away. I shut the motor off and started rowing. While I rowed, we started seeing bears all over. First one off to the right next to a clump of willows. Then one hanging out around a downed log. Motion to the right, a sow and two cubs hustling for cover. What an amazing place. Reluctantly, we realized it was the dinner hour, so turned back toward the boat. I decided to stop and talk with some crab fishmermen who are working this inlet. We pulled up to Johnnie Boy, and were greeted by 3 cheerful young men, Vietnamese I think. We talked a bit about crabbing (price down, fuel cost up, crabbing ok). They had about 180 on the big holding cage, suspended in the water behind the boat. They asked if we'd like some crab, and we said sure. He pulled the holding cage up, an amazing sight, and passed 3 big dungeness over to us. I tried to pay, but he wouldn't hear it. Dinner plans changed abruptly. The barbque is boiling on the stern, with half the crab in it. The other half will cook up tomorrow. Things are tough, but we'll manage somehow. On the way back to the boat with our crab we spied another bear on the grassy delta right next to where we're anchored. Cute young bear, lounging around and munching on grass. It's real cozy inside the cabin, with rain drizzling down, warm spiced cider in the mug, and crab soon to be served.
Distance for theday: 52 nm; total for the trip: 632 nm
Getting 300 miles for each gallon of engine oil
Almost 10 pm
here in Foggy Bay (11pm Alaska time), and the sun hasn't yet set.
Our first day in Alaska, and it has been a fine one. We got underway
just after 6, skies gray, ceiling very low. While I was transferring
the kicker motor to its mount on the stern of Chinook,
Sandy announced that the stove wasn't running. Bad start to the day.
I tried it again, and no go. Got underway without morning coffee.
However, shortly afterward, it started for
Sandy so all was well.
We saw no grizzlies on our way out, but we did enjoy a nice ebbing
current, which helped our speed and fuel economy. We continued to
make good progress down Steamer Passage. We were passed by a
Canadian Coast Guard cutter. Once clear of Steamer Passage, we cut
across Portland Inlet, which was our biggest open water of the day.
Nice crossing, with lazy rollers, well spaced and not too high. We
then entered a series of narrow passages between islands as we neared
the Alaska boundary. We crossed over shortly after noon, and marked
the occasion by replacing the Canadian maple leaf courtesy flag with
the Alaska state flag. I gave a blast with the conk horn and we
continued on our way. We rounded Cape Fox on the edge of Dixon
Entrance waters, and proceeded up the coast about 12 miles, to Foggy
Bay. We tried hard to spot some whales along the way,but no luck.
We did see our first sea lion. The entrance to Foggy Bay anchorage
is a bit confusing, but thanks to Douglas' cruise guide and very
accurate coordinates, we cruised right in. Beautiful place, and very
calm. We found our friends on Morning Star
pulling in shortly afterward. We went for a dinghy explore after
getting settled, and the motor ran just fine. Got back to the boat
around 5:30 pm and got ready to cook up the rest of our crab. We
spotted a beautiful, very large black bear on shore, grazing on
grass. Talked later with Rich and Laurie, and they also saw a brown
bear while entering. Crab louie dinner was outstanding. I went out
for an evening dinghy cruise, and found the most amazing clam bed,
with dozens and dozens spurting fountains of water up simultaneously.
Quite comical. Tomorrow we head for Ketchikan, to clear customs and
visit our first Alaska city. Oh yes, the weather today was
spectacular. Just as we crossed into Alaska waters, the sun came out
and it was wonderful.
Distance for the day: 55 nm; total for the trip: 687 nm.
Solid overcast, ceiling low. Underway by 6:30 am, destination: Ketchikan. 2 – 3 foot swell on the port beam to start with. As we moved into Revillagigedo Channel, the swell swung around to the stern, making steering a bit difficult at first. As we moved further into the channel, the swell diminished and steering became easier. The ceiling continued to lower, becoming a fog. Visibility ranged to a low of about a mile, but about 10 miles from Ketchikan the fog lifted, and the sun started peaking out. By the time we reached the approaches of the city the sun was out full, and feeling great. We called the harbormaster by radio and were directed to City Float. Turned out we had difficulty spotting it, and went about a quarter mile beyond before recognizing our mistake. About face, and in. Once there, we called Customs. A nice lady came down and asked for our boat registration and passports. Everything was in order, and we had no problems. We didn't like the situation at City Float, however. They had power there, but no access to restrooms or showers. We called the Harbormaster back, and were directed to Thomas Bay marina, which had access to restrooms and showers, but no power. We tied up, and went to check out the restrooms and showers. Actually, they have no such thing as part of the marina facilities. There is a commercial laundromat here, with showers and restrooms, available for use if you do laundry or pay for a shower. Since we needed both, it worked out fine. After finishing the laundry we went for a walk around town, in search of dinner and exercise. Nice walk, dinner not so great. Back at the boat we met a couple of folks who were walking the docks looking at boats. One couple were Yacht Club members, and they gave us some helpful tips on places to visit in the area. They also invited us to come to the yacht club breakfast next morning.
40 nm for the day; 727 nm for the trip
Rose to a
gloriously sunny day, hardly a cloud in the sky. My perfectly
contented frame of mind was momentarily challenged, however, with a
pronouncement from the cabin that the stove wouldn't light. Not
again. We shut it down and tried again, but no go. Didn't want to
spoil the magic of the day, so heated coffee water on the barbque and
headed into town to attend the Episcopal church service. Met some
nice folks there, and the church interior was lovely. Then we walked
over to the yacht club to join our newfound friends, Sam McQuerry and
Judith Anglin, at breakfast. They were cooking, and bisquits and
gravy with coffee, juice and eggs were on the menu. Excellent
breakfast and great company. We met a guy named Rogers who is a
retired Alaska state trooper, started out with Washington State up on
Stevens Pass. He's been a bush pilot and has lived an amazing life.
He showed Sandy a video of some of his adventures. I met a lady who
has a Macregor (Donna Ryan), who was very interested in our
modifications. I took her down to the boat to show them off. We
visited some more with Sam McQuerry, who got the charts out and gave
us some great tips on things ahead of us to check out. By then we
were eager to take advantage of the great weather, and see the
sights. We grabbed cameras and hit the trail. First stop was the
Totem Pole heritage center, which contains and exhibits a remarkable
collection of very old totem poles, which have been relocated from
historical villages. They're very well preserved and displayed in
the museum. We bought a lovely blanked with an embroidered raven
emblem, to help keep us warm on the trip. From there we walked on
paths and roads along the creek and down the Married Man's trail to
Creek Street, and on to the Forest Discovery Center, which contains
some wonderful natural and cultural history exhibits. We wandered
around the cruise ship dock shop area for a bit, and then back to the
boat for a break. We spotted Morning Star
tied up on the next dock over, so went over to visit with Rich and
Mary Jane Robbins before going out to dinner. They're the nicest
folks, and this is about the 4th time we've been in the
same place with them. They're planning on making this their
headquarters through the winter, so we probably won't be seeing them
further along. We had a memorable dinner at the Cape Fox resort and
restaurant, which is accessed by a funicular cable car, which runs up
a steep hill to the resort. Great view and excellent food,
especially the dessert. On the way back to the boat, talked with a
local who was filleting out 4 nice halibut. I got a good lesson on
technique, and now all I have to do is catch one of my own.
Layover day in Ketchikan. Blue skies, not a cloud all day. Leisurely breakfast, then a radio call to the harbormaster to see about a slip at Bar Harbor marina, which has access to showers and restrooms, and is close to the Safeway and hardware stores. Harbormaster office is there also, and I was told that my battery combiner, mailed up by Bluewater Yachts, was there in the office and waiting for me. Before heading over there, we visited with Rich and Mary Jane. They decided to walk the 2 miles over to Bar Harbor, and invited Sandy to walk with them. I drove the boat solo, just keeping pace with them on shore. Found the assigned slip, on the working boat side of the marina, easily, and tied up. We walked up to the office, paid for our 3 nights of moorage, and grabbed the combiner. Back at the boat, I installed the part, and then tore into the malfunctioning stove. I didn't really know what I was doing, but boldly attacked the thing anyway. I disconnected the power and unbolted it from the galley counter. I couldn't see anything amiss, and started pulling the thing apart. I got the burner plate off, and found the igniter, but couldn't remove it from the stove. I checked the exhaust tube and the fuel lines, finding no obvious problems. Reassembly followed, in the hope that all my jostling might have somehow persuaded the darn thing to run. After tightening the last bolt, I pushed the start switch, and sure enough, she fired right up. Hurray!
I celebrated with a beer, sitting in the shade of the bimini, since with the full sun out it was actually getting hot. I just wore swim trunks all day. In the afternoon we walked to the stores and bought engine oil, fuel for the stove, ice, and some provisions from Safeway. We got things stowed and I went back to the highway, bus schedule in hand. I wanted to catch a ride out to the Walmart to pick up a compact propane stove, in case my fix to the galley stove proved short lived. I also needed a fishing license. I took care of business and got back in time for a nice dinner back on the boat. Had a chance to talk with several crew members from the purse seiner tied up across the dock from us. Nice guys and interesting to talk with. They had caught 680 salmon that day, a modest catch. The chum salmon making up most of their catch were going for 12 cents a pound at the cannery. We turned in, satisfied that the boat was fully provisioned (except for fuel, which would be added the next day on our way out), and once again, all systems were fully operational.
I was awakened around 4:30 am to the sounds of wind flapping flags. Darn, a change in weather. Got up an hour later, as the first drops of rain began falling. I put up the cockpit surround and gazed on a totally overcast sky. If the beautiful weather had only held for one more day. We weren't in a big hurry to get underway, since I wanted to time the tide and current so as to ride the ebb southward, out of Revillagegido Channel and wind up at Point Avala at the 12:30 pm slack, as recommended by our friends from the yacht club. That would give us smoother waters clearing the point, and would also enable us to ride the flood current into Behm Canal. The strategy worked perfectly. After fueling up during a rain shower we headed down the channel. The only incident marring the day's cruise was an unnerving hot engine alarm, just like the one we experienced at the start of the Queen Charolette Sound crossing. This time there were no big seas. I slowed and put her in neutral. Cooling water was coming out just fine, and the engine sounded fine. I tipped the motor up, and saw no debris around the intake. I tipped her down and started up again, gradually increasing rpm's to 2800. She ran cool and fine for the rest of the day.
After rounding Point Avala, we picked up enough of a breeze to motor sail up Behm Canal. It rained off and on all day, and for much of the time, we were in fog which cut visibility down to a mile or two. Highlight of the cruise was another appearance of the spectacular Pacific White Sided Dolphins, which made several wild dashes across and along side our bow before disappearing. We also saw numerous salmon leaping from the water. We cruised up the narrow Shoalwater Pass and into the upper basin, which has a Forest Service cabin and mooring float. The float was in use so we anchored in the cove nearby, very nice anchorage and once again, the bruce anchor hooked solidly on first try. We're snug as you please inside our heated cabin, while it's cold, drizzly and gray outside. We plan on watching a movie tonight before it gets too late, courtesy of our well charged battery and the trusty laptop. Hope the fog lifts tomorrow, since we're sitting in the midst of some of the most spectacular scenery in Southeast Alaska, the Misty Fiords, and we'd love to be able to see at least part way up the granite walls of this place.
Rained most of the night, and was raining when I awoke at 4:30 am. Sound of rain persuaded me to sleep in till 6:30. I pumped about 4 inches of water out of the dinghy, then rowed ashore and visited with the kayakers who were staying at the USFS cabin. They had been dropped off a few days earlier, and were quite snug at the cabin. The power boat at the float was Discovery, out of Bellevue. This is the same boat we saw at Lowe Inlet, which pulled in front of Morning Star and ancored right in front of the falls. Haven't talked with them yet, but not impressed with their manners.
Got underway around 8 am. We crossed over to mid channel to view New Eddystone Rock, a unique volcanic plug which looks like an old dead snag, sticking right up out of the water. This feature was named by Captain Vancouver during his exploration of the area. We pushed along to Rudyard Bay and the Punchbowl. This area is the heart of Misty Fiords, and features spectacular granite domes and cliffs rising over 3000 feet right out of the saltwater. Countless threads of cascading water descend the cliffs and crevices. We spotted several baby seals hauled out along the shore, and also a mink and a weasel.
The beauty of the area has made it a major destination of cruise
ship passengers, who flock to the many float planes operating out of
Ketchikan. We probably saw 3 or 4 dozen flights in the few hours we
cruised the inlet. Several excursion boats appeared as well. At
times there were 3 or 4 float planes flying in formation, one after
another. It was like the aerial dogfight scenes in the movie
Aviator. The commotion took away some of the specialness of
the place. Weather did cooperate, with the rain ceasing, and the fog
lifting. We could see to the tops of most of the granite walls and
domes.
After exiting Rudyard, we cruised up to Walker Cove, which is very similar to Rudyard, but considerably narrower. We only saw 2 float planes in Walker, along with Discovery, which had followed us up both inlets. She decided to take the mooring float at the head of Walker, while we opted to press on to Fitzgibbon Cove, which was described in Douglass as a very attractive anchorage. I misread the chart and significantly underestimated the distance to Fitzgibbon, but we were committed. Didn't get in here until 8 pm, but were glad we came. This is probably the most beautiful anchorage we've visited yet. The sky is breaking up, with patches of blue here and there, offering hope of improving weather. The cruise up here was favored with both following current and wind, and we were able to sail downwind for the last 7 miles. We passed the Chickamin River, which dumps a great amount of glacial silt into the saltwater. The color change was dramatic. We've got a great chicken dinner, courtesy of Mountain House, on the stove, which graciously consented to fire up (it balked this morning and we had to heat coffee water on the new propane stove). We cross our fingers every time we push the stove start button.
Distance for the day: 62 nm; total for the trip: 832 nm
We've run 105 miles on 17 gallons, with fuel still in the tank, which means better than 5 mpg. Favorable currents, sail out when possible, and conservative throttle paying off.
Calm overcast morning. I went ashore to burn garbage; underway by around 8 am. Stopped to fish a bit at the mouth of Fitzgibbon Cove but no luck. Raised the sail briefly crossing to Whaley Point at the head of the east portion of Behm Canal, but the wind quickly died. Noticed the water temperature rapidly dropping as we neared Whaley Point. It started out at 52 degrees, but dropped to 48.9 at the point, then gradually warming back up to the mid 50's around the corner. Good beer chilling temperature in the bilge. We paused at the mouth of Anchor Pass to troll with the downrigger. This area had been recommended as good fishing, and we were seeing huge schools of fish down around 220 feet. Unfortunately, I could only reach down to about 175 feet with my downrigger, and so was not surprised to come up empty. We lunched on smoked oysters and rye crisp while drifting at the mouth of the pass, and noticed Discovery cruise on by us while we lunched. After our meal we motored up and headed for Yes Bay, our destination for the day.
Yes Bay is the location for a major fly in fishing resort, and there
is a good anchorage in the back bay. Several miles before reaching
Yes Bay we started seeing their fishing boats, trolling around. We
pushed on, since a headwind was starting to kick up. By the time we
were within a couple of miles of the entrance, we were plowing into a
heavy chop, which kept getting bigger the further we went.
Conditions were at their worst just off the mouth of Yes Bay, a
combination of wind, current, shoreline rebound, and major river
outflow. We got kicked around but good, and were glad to make the
turn into the bay. A couple miles in we spotted the resort, an
attractively sited rustic lodge with nice dock facilities. We slowed
as we passed, and made the turn into the back bay, which was deserted
except for a handsomely renovated tug named Bee, appropriately
painted with black and yellow trim. We easily set anchor in the calm
waters. I added oil to the engine, switched fuel tanks, and went
below to shut the lap top off. I noticed the low battery message on
the screen, which was out of place, since we had the computer plugged
into the inverter while motoring. I checked the voltmeter, and found
that the house battery was way down. I then checked the ignition
battery, and it was down to about 12.4, when it should have read in
the 12.8 range after a run of several hours. I restarted the engine,
and found that the voltmeter dropped with the engine running.
Needless to say, this was a shocking and very discouraging discovery.
Something was clearly wrong with the charging system. Just what,
and how difficult it would be to repair while sitting in Yes Bay, 55
miles from Ketchikan and over 1000 miles from a reliable parts source
and Nissan repair expert. Pretending that I had the slightest clue
as to what I was doing, I pulled the tool kit from beneath the table
and removed the cover to the motor. I poked around and could see no
obviously loose wires. My next move was to mount the kicker on the
dinghy while Sandy started dinner (on the new propane stove, to save
power). I ran in to the lodge in the dinghy, to see if anyone there
had any expertise in outboard motor trouble shooting. As I neared
the dock I was met by one of the dock hands, who, for the first time
in my cruising experience, took my dinghy bow line and assisted me in
tying up my dinghy. This was just a foretaste of the gracious
reception we were to receive by the folks at Yes Bay. I was
introduced to Bill Hack, owner of the resort. I explained my
situation, and he offered a couple of suggestions to check, and said
I could bring Chinook around to the dock in the morning. He
said he could charge up my batteries, and offered to have a look if I
didn't find the problem on my own. He invited me to come up to the
lodge to look around, which I did. The theme for this lodge is
“rustic elegence” and the words are very well chosen.
It's exactly how you would picture a fly in Alaskan fishing lodge.
While walking up to the main building, I watched a sow brown bear and
her 2 cubs peacefully grazing on the far side of the cove, in full
view of the lodge sitting room. While up there, I arranged
reservations for breakfast, then returned to the boat by dinghy. It
was a lovely evening, however I wasn't able to adequately appreciate
it, considering the possibilities facing us. We would most likely
have to return to Ketchikan to find repair assistance and await the
shipment of parts. The best I could do was appreciate the fact that
we had discovered the problem before getting stranded in a very
remote location, a place with very friendly people, and a place with
the only telephone within a 50 mile radius.
I awoke early, my mind working on the problem and its possible ramifications. We motored in to the resort for breakfast around 8 am. Bill greeted us and offered a couple of other ideas. Clearly, he'd been thinking about the problem too. After breakfast I tried calling Todd, but just got his recording at the shop. I left a message and said I'd try back around 10 am. We then went back to the boat, started up, and motored over to the resort. Bill came down to have a look. We tried to find a fuse connected to the rectifier, and focused on a clear plastic connector which looked like it might hold a fuse. He had a very hard time pulling it apart, and once he did, it was clear that he'd found the problem. The connector was simply a waterproof connector housing a spade connector, and it showed major evidence of heat. The plastic inside was brittle and partly melted.. He cleaned it up with his knife and pushed it back together. I started up the motor, and the voltmeter started to rise. It seemed a simple thing to install a crimped butt connector and seal it off from water. I called Todd back and got him. I explained the situation and he said to go ahead with our plan. It couldn't hurt a thing and should fix the problem. We did, and the motor started charging normally. What a relief.
In the odd free moments while this was being attended to, I had the
chance to talk fishing with one of the guides, and with Bill. Before
he came down to the boat to do the splice, he rigged up a pair of
colored spoons which he said would be particularly effective in
catching the type and size of salmon we hoped to catch. (I am not
licenced for kings, and we couldn't possibly eat our way through a
real big fish). Down at the boat, he had quietly hung the hooks of
the 2 spoons on the hatch cover, inside the boat. A very gracious
and considerate man, this Bill Hack. He also pointed a couple of
places to try trolling on our way down the Canal. Before leaving, we
took the opportunity to go for a walk up the trail leading up the
stream behind the lodge. It's a combination of boardwalk and
stepping stone trail through the rainforest. A truly beautiful
place, and we were enchanted with the walk. Back at the boat, we
lunched before pulling out. We expressed our heartfelt thanks for
their hospitality and kind assistance.
In contrast with the day before, the waters at the mouth of Yes Bay
were calm, and we crossed over to Grimsby Islandl, one of the places
Bill had suggested we try. I rigged the downrigger and set it at 35
feet, like the fishing guide had recommended. I used the green and
yellow spoon which Bill had given me. The day before I never really
felt like I was fishing, more like taking a stab in the dark. Too
many variables. This time, I really felt like I was fishing. We
hadn't trolled more than 20 minutes when, glancing over to the rod, I
spotted the tell tale jerking of the rod tip. Fish on! I shoved the
boat into neutral and grapped the pole. It felt like a good fish.
Get the landing net out, Sandy. I quickly played the fish in on my
big deep sea rod (first fish ever for that rod). I told Sandy she
would have to net it. She reached over the seat, got the net in the
water next to the fish, and the fish slid in. When she tried to lift
the net up, she almost fell over the stern. I set the pole in the
rod holder and pulled the net in. A nice, fat 7 pound silver. Just
the right species and just the right size. Bill sure knows how to
call them. Later that evening, while filleting the fish, I
discovered her last meal, a plug cut herring pilfered from one of
Bill's fishing clients, no doubt.
With fish dinner in the dinghy we motored up and headed for Naha Bay, our destination for the day. It rained, hard at times, on our way there, but eased up as we neared. Bit of wind chop and swell, but not as bad as yesterday. We found several boats tied up to the float, so opted to anchor out. Rocky bottom, and I had to try twice, but she finally hooked. The fish dinner tonight was out of this world. Sandy fixed the fillets up on lemon slices, seasoned with wine, melted butter, dill, lemon pepper,onion powder and onion salt, with the whole arrangement wrapped up in a sealed foil pouch. Barbqued for 10 minutes, and it came out perfectly. Best salmon I've ever eaten. And, the batteries are charged to the hilt. This is more like it.
Distance for the day: 23 nm; total for the trip: 882 nm
3 pm and tucked into anchorage in Helm Bay, Behm Canal. Still looking for a full day without equipment malfunctions, since the stove failed to start for the morning coffee. Also, we've been dealt our first setback in planned destination due to weather, and for the first time on the trip, we've fallen a bit behind the itinerary. Trying not to be a slave to schedule, but I need to pay attention to timetable, or we'll have to modify the planned route, so as to not have too far to go at the end, getting back.
Some patches of blue first thing this morning, at the Naha Bay anchorage, but we didn't get too excited, since we tuned in NOAA weather, and all he could say was “rain” for the next several days. Also talk of afternoon wind. We took time for a walk up to Roosevelt Lagoon before getting underway. Lovely rainforest trail, with an interesting wooden pathway, set up for dragging boats around the tidal rapids.
We lifted anchor around 9 am, and headed for Knudsen Cove and fuel. Nice passage through some attractive islands, with increasing numbers of homes (some very large) and boat traffic. Started picking up some chop going down Clover Passage. Fuel dock at Knudsen Cove is very difficult to get in to, but we finally managed. Took on 24 gallons, with all tanks filled. Mileage since Ketchikan worked out to 7.8, our best so far, and reflecting slow pace, favorable currents, and sail out from time to time. Also bought ice and donuts, filled the water tank and dumped garbage. Pulled out around noon, and attempted to cross the mouth of Behm Canal and round Caamano Point, en route up Clarance Strait to Meyers Chuck, a convenient anchorage and goal for the day. Unfortunately, we experienced a steep 4 foot beam chop, which really rocked us badly. I was hoping that once we rounded Caamano Point our turn northward would allow us to cruise more comfortably, however the swell continued big and getting bigger, capping and starting to get very confused. I made a spur decision to about face and head back into Behm Canal, on the west side. A quick glance at the chart and cruise guide showed two anchorages within reasonable distance, Smugglers Cove and Helm Bay. The first didn't work out, since it was oriented right in the direction of the swell. Helm Bay it was. We found the public mooring float filled with local power boats, so we anchored in the middle of the cove. Once anchored, we decided a nice cup of hot tea was in order. I turned the stove on, and it fired right up, but started making a funny sound (not good) and began giving off strong exhaust smells inside the cabin (even worse). I suspected I knew the source of these problems: the exhaust fitting is on the port side of the boat, the same side which was catching the brunt of the beam seas we caught while trying to round Caamano Point. Likely, there was water in the exhaust tube. I pulled it apart, and sure enough, I drained about a cup of sooty water from the tube. Once things got put back together, she ran fine.
We're sitting comfortably, with a light rain outside, and the wind occasionally gusting and rattling the dodger on my salmon pole. We'll stay here for the night, possibly watch a movie on the laptop, now that we've got lots of power, and hope for calm conditions early tomorrow. I'll try to get an extra early start and make up some lost ground, perhaps making Frosty Bay, if we can make our way up Clarence Strait.
Turned in early and watched a movie on the laptop, but not before experiencing a serious setback. After using the tennis ball container, rigged with cord, to add a certain small quantity of warm yellowish fluid to the salt water, I carelessly allowed the cord to slip from my fingers. It quickly sank beyond reach. Since we try to use the tennis ball container instead of the head, to save capacity and reduce the frequency of emptying, this was particularly disturbing. We will have to improvise, and have been evaluating all sorts of plastic containers for the best alternative. Right now, my vote goes to the bleach bottle bailer from the dinghy.
Footnote on the stove: we tried it again after getting underway, and it fired right up. Todd said that stove is particularly sensitive to battery strength. Most of our failures have occurred first thing in the morning, when the battery is at its lowest. I may try starting the boat motor and then turning the stove on. I think that just might work.
Distance for the day: 27 nm; total for the trip: 909 nm
It rained steadily all night, and when I periodically awakened, which was frequently, I could feel the boat rocking and the rigging humming due to a steady breeze, which simply refused to settle down. At 6 am I got up and tuned in the NOAA weather channel, and learned that there were small craft warnings out for our area. We wouldn't be going anywhere today. Slept in instead, and then heated coffee and had coffee and donuts in bed. I think I finally outfoxed that stove, too. I started up the boat motor before turning the stove on, and she fired right up. After a short idle, I turned the outboard off and enjoyed the fully operational stove. Progress.
Unfortunately, our success with the stove didn't extend to the weather. It has rained steadily for most of the day, hard at times. I did get out with the dinghy and set out the crab trap (no luck however), and then went ashore and met the folks from the power boats tied up to the float. They were warming themselves at the forest service cabin ashore, and I had a nice visit. They were stuck here too, and debating whether to attempt the run back across Behm Channel. They ended up deciding to go in mid afternoon. This worked out well for us, since it opened up space on the float. We pulled the anchor and tied up at the float. This made breaking the dinghy down and stowing it on Chinook much easier. We considered attempting an afternoon run of our own, perhaps as far as Meyers Chuck, but ended up scratching that idea after another listen to the weather report. Winds are supposed to ease up this afternoon, but will continue easing overnight. They will pick up again tomorrow afternoon, but with an early start, and no dinghy to worry about, we should be able to run at fairly high speed (plenty of fuel for this leg), and get past the big water before things get nasty again. At any rate, that's the plan. So we'll sit tight, warm, snug, and reasonably dry, enjoy our books and an afternoon cocktail, with a great rice/salmon dinner in the offing. Let it rain, we're fine, and with hopes for progress tomorrow.
How quickly ones fortunes can change. Stuck in Helm Bay for a day and a half, after our first forced retreat of the trip, and in a ceaseless deluge with wind to boot. A forecast with nothing in it but wind and more rain. This morning sounded like our best chance for in the foreseeable future to get free of Helm Bay and Behm Canal, so we gave ourselves every controllable advantage. Dinghy securely stowed on deck, and the earliest of possible starts. I rose at 3:30 am, already light out, lightly raining and still a breeze. We go anyway; underway by 4 am. Chop building as we exit Helm Bay and enter lower Behm Canal. Swells increase to a steep, short 3 foot chop with rain and fog. Seas start to become confused as Caamano Point, our turn around place of the day before, looms into view through the rain and fog. Will the larger Clarence Strait be even rougher? Shortly after making my northward turn I have my answer. A curious line is visible across our path in the water ahead. Beyond that line, the water behaves in a most strange fashion: short choppy spikes of water, rather like the topping on mom's lemon merangue pie, but clearly not rough. We move across the line, and the water smooths, the boat steadies and accelerates. Our day continued to get nothing but better from there.
Sandy slept
below while I tended the wheel. The rain quit, and a rather mystical
fog persisted. I spotted 2 Alaska ferries, and several pleasure
boats. One may have been the Nordic Tug we saw at Bishop Bay, the
guy who loaned me the fender. The other may have been Discovery,
heading south, couldn't tell for
sure. I also was entertained by 2 or 3 white sided dolphins, who
played across the bow for about 2 miles. Sandy arose around 10:30 am
and prepared an early lunch. Afterwards, she took the wheel and I
went below for a welcome nap. The water had become glassy smooth,
quite a contrast with conditions of the past couple days. I got up
as we approached Anan Bay, with its renowned bear observatory.
As we glided into the bay, two forest service employees waved to us from their floating cabin. We pulled up and learned that they would be going up to the observatory soon. We tied up to the float for the nearby cabin and assembled the dinghy, then rowed after the two forest service guides. We landed at the trailhead, where they gave us a brief orientation, and then off we marched, up the boardwalk trail toward the observatory. One ahead and one in back, each toting shotguns. We had our pepper spray at the ready.
The observatory is a wooden platform with an enclosed walkway,
overlooking the river and falls, which was teeming with salmon,
mostly pinks. We learned that, to our good fortune, the run was
early this year, and the bears were there to welcome the fish. Also,
because it was the 4th of July, the usual crowd of
visitors was absent; we were it. We had the whole place to
ourselves. One last piece of luck, tomorrow starts the beginning of
the required $10 per person fee rule. We could enjoy this place free
of charge.
At first there were no bears in sight. Then a small black ambles up a path behind the observatory. We watched a little longer, and another came out and went down to the river, but caught no fish. We went down to the photography blind, which is right close to the river, and had quite a show. One bear after another tried his paw at fishing. Several techniques were employeed. One placed his head under water and looked around, like he was snorkeling. Another tried swiping with his paws. The good fishermen walked purposefully to a good spot, paused, and then lunged with their heads, snapping jaws around flopping salmon. They then retreated uphill to feed. A real highlight occurred when a cub appeared, mom right behind. Mom crawled into some boulders to fish some hidden pools, caught one, and then scrambled up the hill. The little cub didn't see where she had gone and started bawling pathetically. Mom couldn't hear, and the little one nearly fell into the rapids before she reappeared. Sandy got it all on her camera, in motion pictures. The final treat was a beautiful brown bear who came down and caught one salmon after another, stripping the bellies out, and then letting them float down to the awaiting eagles. It was one of those magnificant, magical afternoons that happen sometimes.
Total distance for the day: 62 miles, total for the trip: 971 miles
5 mph for first 12 gallons – pretty good since I was running close to 3000 most of the time.
Milestones – We left home exactly one month ago. We've cruised exactly 1001 nautical miles, and now sit inWrangell harbor, at 56 degrees 30 minutes latitude north. Sunset is officially at 10:40 pm.
We slept in today, and didn't rise until around 8 am. Being up until midnight celebrating the 4th with Tavis and Greg (Tavis Forrester, Rogue River OR and Greg Wilson, Wrangell AK) the night before had something to do with it. Another rainy morning. I pulled the crab trap, just one undersized dungeness. As we prepared to depart, we watched the float planes and excursion boats begin to arrive with visitors to Anan. This parade of visitors underscored just how special yesterday was for us.
We got underway around 9 am, and took our time heading up Blake Channel. We caught the flood tide which gave us a boost all the way to the Narrows. Sandy manned the helm most of the way. It was alternately foggy and rainy, and the water was interesting to read. With a slight headwind opposed to the 2 knot current, the surface was rippled as long as we were in the current. If the surface smoothed out, we knew we were in an eddy current, and the speed of the boat dropped accordingly. Once past the narrows, the tide changed and we gained the benefit of the ebb for the final dozen miles to Wragell. The scenery was very striking, with steep forested walls along the rather narrow channel, punctuated regularly by cascading waterfalls, all running strong from the recent rains. I watched closely for whales, but didn't spot any.
We got in to Wrangell around 2:30 pm and tanked up at the fuel dock. The occasion was marked by the first appearance of sunshine in over a week. Unfortunately, it was shortlived, and was raining again soon. We looked for a spot at the transient dock and squeezed in behind a 30 foot sailboat from Seattle. Up at the harbormaster's office, I learned that we were in the 50 foot and over section, and would have to move. Rafting of boats is the norm here, since their transient facilities are limited, and so the Seattle boat and I pulled out to retie further back. He tied up first and then we rafted up to him. He'll be leaving tomorrow morning, so we'll have to go through the shuffle again then. They're nice folks, and don't mind our walking back and forth across their cockpit.
We got laundry together and headed up for showers. We ended up at a unique establishment which catered to our every need. It was a bar, which had showers (you pay the bartender $3 for use of the shower). Laundry facilities were back with the showers. And, they serve the best pizza anywhere out front. We ate dinner while the laundry was finishing. It worked out great. Afterwards we went for a stroll to work off our dinner. Wragell actually looks like a real town, much less impacted by the cruise ships than Ketchikan. We'll spend the day tomorrow exploring it in detail.
Distance for the day: 30 nm; total for the trip: 1001 nm
Mileage since Knudson Cove: 5.4 mpg
Layover day. Boat behind us pulled out, and so we lined over to a dock side tie, which enabled the boat we were rafted with to pull out easily. We walked into town for breakfast. Diamond C served up a fine breakfast. From there we walked out to the petroglyph beach, about ¾ mile from town. Nice walkway and staircase down to the beach, and with the tide still out, it was easy to wander around and view the petroglyphs. There were a dozen or so which we could locate, quite weathered which is not surprising considering their exposed location and estimated age – 1000 years or so – no one knows for sure. We then visited the museum, a very new facility which was developed by the City of Wrangell. Very impressive. Lunch was at the seafood stand near the cruise ship dock, where we had shrimp etoufee. Excellent. From there it was to the library, where I e'mailed pages of log to Ken (two days wouldn't go through for some reason.) I did a few boat maintenance chores in the afternoon, while Sandy worked on her digital pictures. For dinner we went back to the seafood stand to try their spot prawns which were the best we've ever eaten.
Another rainy morning. We pulled out arouned 8 am, with a light southeasterly breeze. We didn't want to start too early, since we needed to time the currents in Wrangell Narrows. The waters in Sumner Strait were alternately tourquoise milky, dirty brown, and again milky, due to the outflow of the Stikeen River. We crossed over to the Wrangell Narrows, and made our way up the narrow channel. I was hoping to meet a state ferry or cruise ship in the narrows, but none were passing through. The currents were quite strong, peaking at over 4 knots. I was glad we had the current at our back. A couple miles shy of Petersburg the current changed, and we opposed a 2 knot current the rest of the way. We stopped at the fuel dock to top off tanks, since we will have a long run to Juneau, our next fuel opportunity. We got a slip at the marina and tied up. This slip is right below a major fish packing facility, with lots of noises and activity. It's 7:30 pm and someone's still jackhammering up there. I wonder how late that will go on.
A pair of power boats which were moored in front of us at Wrangell arrived while we were getting ready to walk into town. They had gone to Le Conte glacier via Dry Pass on their way up here. They said the glacier was fascinating, and they had brought some glacier ice along with them. They gave us a small chunk and we made drinks with it. We looked around town a bit and then came back to the boat for a great salmon quiche, which finished up the salmon. I'll just have to catch another. Sun is peeking out this evening. Hope that is a sign of improving weather.
Mileage for the day: 40 nm; total for the trip: 1041 nm
5.5 mpg since Wrangell
Went for a nice walk last night, after dinner. Visited the Sons of Norway hall and memorial to lost sailors, where they also have on display a Viking long boat. The sun came out late, making for some beautiful views of town and the surrounding mountains. The setting for Petersburg is really striking, with snow capped peaks to the east, across Fredrick Sound.
Foggy first
thing this morning, but after breakfast it began to lift. We tied
the dinghy up in the slip and took Chinook
out on her own. Destination: the Le Conte Glacier, about 15 miles
east of Petersburg. The sound was flat, and without the dinghy to
worry about, and with a fuel dock conveniently located in town, we
opened up the throttle for the first time on the trip. She responded
nicely, getting on step at 13 knots, and we quickly crossed the sound
toward the glacier. We soon began seeing iceburgs, scattered along
the far shore and clogging the sound ahead of us. They got more
numerous and bigger, the further we went. By the time we neared the
entrance to Le Conte Bay, they were everywhere, from basketball size
to some larger than a residential lot. Most were white, but many of
the big ones displayed a characteristic deep blue color, most
beautiful. We had to slow down and navigate carefully to avoid
striking one as we worked our way into the bay. We saw an eagle
perched atop one berg, and some were covered with gulls. Inside the
bay, the bergs were much thicker, and we spotted some with harbor
seals hauled out on them. We ate a lunch in a small open area, but
it began getting nerve wracking, trying to avoid colliding with them.
As it was, I did hit 2 with the stern while turning to avoid some in
the bow. We never did get close enough to see the source of all this
ice, since the bergs were so dense that we turned back well before
getting far enough in to actually sight the glacier. We watched a
couple of big excursion boats plowing through the ice on their way
out. Apparently their hulls are tough enough to take hits from the
bergs, but I wasn't about to try that maneuver. Once back on open
water, we opened up and made another quick run across the flat waters
of Fredrick Sound. Hit 14 knots on the way back.
This evening we'll go out to dinner and then decide whether to lay over tomorrow or shove off for parts north. We have several days of nice weather forecast, and it would be nice to get into quality scenery in nice weather for a change.
Distance for the day: 35 nm; total for the trip: 1076 nm
Bought 9.5 gallons of fuel; mileage with 2 high speed runs w/o dinghy: 3.7 mpg
Color this day gray. From start to end the sky has been gray, the water gray, and the incessant rain has even made the air seem gray. The one highlight of the day's cruise involved spotting several whales. They were the only exception to the theme of gray, being not gray whales but humpback whales. We spotted two different groups, the first off Farragut Bay and the second near Cape Fanshaw. We got quite close to one in the second group.
We departed Petersburg around 9 am, just as the rain was starting. I kept the throttle around 2200 rpm throughout the day, in an effort to conserve fuel. Our speed varied between 5 and 6 knots. We were able to raise the sail for a good part of the day, which undoubtedly helped. I'm hoping that we will be able to save enough fuel to allow us to explore both Endicott Arm and Tracy Arm in the coming days.
We sit at anchor
on an inside channel just north of Cape Fanshaw. The 57 foot trawler
Burnt Sand is anchored just
north of us. We were moored near her at Wrangell, and she passed us
up on the Narrows, on the way to Petersburg. We haven't talked with
them yet, but have heard them on the radio. We have another boat
sharing the anchorage, a small cruise ship named Spirit of
'98. She pulled into the
channel an hour ago and to our surprise, slowed and anchored.
Fortunately she's a good distance away, since her generator is
running, and will likely run all night.
I heard a sailboat named Tranquility talking on the radio with the Coast Guard regarding a call for help from someone in Tracy Arm. Tranquility was able to report that the problem had been resolved. I radioed Tranquility to inquire regarding ice conditions in Tracy Arm. She advised that the Arm is quite choked, South Sawyer worse that North Sawyer. She was able to work all the way in to the glacier in North Sawyer, but it sounded rather difficult. I doubt that I will subject our boat to the same risks. Our hull is much more tender than that of a 42 foot ketch.
I'm debating whether to go out in the rain to try for halibut and crab. I bought bait in Petersburg before departing, and got information that this area could be good for both. I'm quite warm and dry inside the cabin, following a very nice dinner. It will be hard to go out in the rain, to a dinghy with 4 inches of rainwater in it, and slosh around with crab and fishing gear. We shall see.
We did listen to an encouraging weather forecast this evening. They are forecasting one sunny day in the next 5, on Monday, and a couple of days on either side where rain wasn't mentioned. I don't know what we would do with 3 straight days without rain.
Distance for the day: 39 nm; total for the trip: 1115 nm; location, just above 57 degrees north.
Rocking at
anchor in Tracy Arm Cove. Another gray and somewhat rainy day. That
weatherman better be right about sun tomorrow. We weighed anchor
around 7 am and motored north in fog. The ceiling was about 20 feet
above the water and in the distance, sky merged with water as we
entered Stephens Passage. After cruising a few miles I spotted a
huge splash on the horizon, and then saw the flukes of a sounding
whale. As we approached Twin Islands we started seeing several more
whales. We got within about 200 yards of a couple as we cruised by.
We had help from the wind for part of the way, and the current also
gave us a push. We encountered more whales off the mouth of Hobart
Bay, and again on the approach to Holkam Bay, at the mouth of Tracy
Arm. We started seeing icebergs again as we got close to Holkam Bay,
the product of Tracy and Endicott Arm glaciers. Upon entering, the
water temperature started to plummet, down to 38 degrees. We were
passed on the approach by Burnt Sands,
and we saw the small cruise ship Spirit of 98
exiting the Bay as we entered. This was the same cruise ship which
had anchored across from us last night. They were gone by the time
we got up this morning.
After anchoring, we dinghied ashore and went for a short walk, which was made difficult by the slippery cobbles along the water's edge. I went out and fished a bit (no luck) and also set the crab trap out (no luck so far). I was hailed by the captain of Rainshadow, the same boat which helped us out when the motor wouldn't start. I rowed over and visited with them. They will be in Glacier Bay the day before we are scheduled there. We will likely see them up there. There are a total of 3 sail boats here, and about 5 power boats anchored as well. It should be quite a parade going up Tracy Arm tomorrow. I probably won't get very far, based on reports of ice conditions from other captains.
Distance for the day: 37 nm; total for the trip: 1152
73 miles so far on the first tank of gas, and maybe a gallon or less left. That works out to over 6 mpg. Should have plenty for this run.
We have been the very fortunate benefactors, on this trip, for receiving our very few days of nice weather in some of its most scenic locales. Today dramatically underscored that trend. After several rainy days we had a fair weather forecast and, while it wasn't a blue sky-hot sun type of day, the rains did leave us, and the clouds thinned enough to give us occasional glimpses of blue sky and sunshine. It was more than enough to highlight the many stunning beauties of Tracy Arm.
We weighed anchor around 8:30 am, shortly after Burnt Sand left the anchorage, and also shortly after a very large cruise ship entered the arm. We listened as the cruise ship talked to Burnt Sand on the radio, coordinating their passing of her. They both disappeared around the big bend corner, 5 miles to the north, as we made our turn up the arm. Clouds created dramatic and whimsical forms across the slopes, giving tantalizing glimpses of the ice bound summits. As we made the big bend turn, the clouds lifted even more, but while the sky was improving, conditions on the water were deteriorating. We began encountering an ever increasing frequency of ice bergs of all shapes and sizes. In the early stages of our passage they were easily avoided without having to slow the boat. This gave us good opportunities to enjoy the unfolding scenery, with soaring rock faces, huge domes, bowls and valleys on a gigantic scale, and everywhere waterfalls – water cascading down from the heights – gushing torrents as well as delicate, thin traces.
The arm extends back into the mountains about 22 miles, and makes a
sharp bend every couple of miles once you're past the big bend. On
our way in we had a down valley breeze and a flood tide. These
conditions combined to do strange and difficult things with the bergs
at every one of the points in the arm. Swirling wind and current
would concentrate the bergs at the points, making progress up the arm
toward the glacial source very difficult. Often we would slow to
idle speed, with frequent shifts into neutral, with speed down to 1
knot in a neutral glide, with just enough way for steerage, with
center board and both rudders down. We passed Burnt Sand as
she headed out, and I called her on the radio. Jim said he'd made it
to within 6 miles of the glacier before turning back. He scraped
some ice, but thought a boat like ours could go further.
Each point drew us further on, with relatively good water after
clearing the points. As we neared the last bend, we were confronted
with a continuous line of ice, probably caused by a current line. We
could see clear water beyond this line and decided to nose our way
through. I picked a spot where the bergie bits were smallest and
pushed the bow into them while in neutral, with very little way.
They gently slid aside and we crossed through them. A little
further, the bergs were flowing at right angles to our direction of
travel. I had to anticipate an opening upstream from our course line
and push into it.
As we neared the final turn, we spotted Rain Shadow rounding a bend behind us and working her way into the ice maze. As we proceeded, we were amply rewarded with a stunning view of the South Sawyer Glacier, 5 miles to the south. It is so massive that it only looked a mile or so distant. We were able to see the face of the glacier where it meets the see. Our immediate goal was the North Sawyer Glacier, which was teasingly tucked around the bend of a rocky canyon, with a dense collection of bergie bits standing guard. We weaved our way into the maze, picking a path toward the glacier. We felt a gentle but compelling swell from some unseen icefall into the water. Slowly, North Sawyer began to reveal itself. We finally stopped near the edge of the ice berg field, with a full view of the glacier's face. I climbed into the dinghy to get pictures of Chinook from the water. Sandy shut the motor off, and the sounds of waterfalls dominated. Periodically, sharp booms, like cannon fire, rocked the canyon, reminding us that this glacier was very active. I rowed closer in the dinghy to gain a better view and while doing so spotted a mountain goat who had come down to water's edge. He quickly scrambled up the slopes to safer ground. I rowed back to the boat, and as I drew near, Sandy said “Oh look”. I turned to see a huge section of ice crash into the water. I quickly tied the dinghy up and climbed aboard, prepared to fend off bergs jostling about in the coming swell.
Our friends on Rainshadow had stopped a hundred yards short of
our final position, and as a big cruise ship punched her way past us
both toward the glacier, I maneuvered back to Rainshadow. We
rafted up and swapped stories of the day. I fixed up bloody marys
and we toasted the North Sawyer Glacier. It was a wonderful
impromptu party, floating freely among the bergs. When time came to
depart, they offered to lead the way, and we fell in behind.
Amazingly, the passage out was quite easy, no doubt due to a down
canyon breeze for most of the day, plus an ebb tide while we made our
exit. Sandy fixed chili on the way out, since it was about 6 pm when
we finally headed out. We ate on the run, and it was a most welcome
meal. I spotted a black bear on the hillside above us, and we once
again enjoyed the marvelous shaps of the bergs and the spectacular
waterfalls as we worked our way down the arm. We set anchor again in
Tracy Arm Cove around 9:30 pm. It had taken us 6 hours to get up,
and 4 hours to return. A most memorable day.
Distance for the day: 45 nm; total for the trip: 1197 nm
Water temperature near the head of Tracy Inlet: 35.4 degrees
After the long, eventful day yesterday, neither Sandy nor I were too eager to get up this morning. We slept in till 8:30 am, a record for the trip. We made a disk of photos picturing Rainshadow maneuvering throught the ice, and I rowed it over to give to them before we left. Dot and Brian were very appreciative.
We finally got underway just before noon, and decided to head north. I did have a brief concern when I tried starting the motor. The battery acted like it was low, and it was. She started, but with little room to spare. I sure would like to know why that battery was low.
It was calm at first, and with thin overcast. I couldn't spot any whales in the area. We motored up Stephens Passage, eventually picking up enough wind to do a little motor sailing. Ahead, the overcast thickened. What looked like rain squalls ended up being a thick fog. We stayed close to the shoreline and followed the GPS. As we emerged from the fog, we started seeing numerous gill netters out setting and retrieving their gear. I kept the binoculars handy, watching where their floats and nets were located. If you're not careful, you can run right into a gill net set, which would be a major disaster, both for the fisherman and for us. I figured I was doing a good job when I heard a call on the radio: “Sailboat off the mouth of Limestone Inlet, turn hard starbard now! You're headed right for my gear.” I swung quickly to starbard and grabbed the radio to answer and ask where the gear was and how I could avoid it. He kept telling me to turn to starbard. I was practically on shore, and couldn't see any fishing floats or bouys anywhere. Finally, another sailboat captain, from a boat behind us and further out, whom I hadn't seen, radioed that he had the gear spotted and would be turning. The fisherman was talking to the wrong sailboat. I was glad I hadn't been the offending party.
From there it was a short distance to Taku Harbor, our destination
for the day. It's a pretty little harbor, with two new state floats,
which provided a handy place to tie up. A power boat captain across
the float from us gave me a couple hunks of salmon for crab bait and
told me where to try, but cautioned that the commercial crabbers had
pretty well cleaned the area out. I put the motor on the dinghy and
set the trap out anyway. On my way back in, I noticed a sailboat
entering the harbor (not the one who tangled with the fisherman). As
the boat made its turn toward our float, I realized it was
Rainshadow. They tied up at the float and we had a nice
visit. They had us over for drinks and we got better acquainted. We
made plans to meet somewhere in Glacier Bay and watch a movie
together. Wouldn't that be great.
A late dinner is on the stove. Afterwards, if it isn't raining, I may have enough gumption to go out and check the crab trap and look for bears on the shore. Tomorrow it's on to Juneau, a major destination for our cruise.
Distance for the day: 25 nm; total for the trip: 1222 nm
Sunset officially 10:50 pm. We're at 58 degrees north latitude. Only one degree north left to go.
PS: Checked the trap – just one undersized dungeness. I guess the commercial crabbers have cleaned this place out. Did see a nice black bear out on the grassy meadow.
Awakened in the wee hours to the sounds of gill netters warming up their diesels and heading out of the harbor for one more day of fishing. We got up around 7 am and, after breakfast, went out in the dinghy to retrieve the crab pot and explore the abandoned and deteriorated cannery on shore. The trap only held 3 female dungeness. The cannery buildings are in a fascinating state of decay, with collapsed wooden structures on the edge of the woods, rusting machinery on old pilings, old boat hulks on the tidal flats, and trash strewn about in the brush. Some of the structures have been salvaged as cabins by the locals. The floats here are connected to new concrete pilings which rise 40 feet into the air, testamony to the extreme tidal range in these waters.
We were the last boat to leave Taku Harbor, around 10:30 am. Juneau was just over 20 miles away, so we were in no hurry. Another overcast day, but at least it wasn't raining. We motored out into Stephens Passage, and found a nice 15 knot breeze out of the southwest, just perfect for sailing. I raised both main and jib, and we ran nicely at round 5 knots. I wanted to work across to the west side of Stephens, however, a huge Princess Lines cruise ship was coming up on our stern, so we held to the east shore until she had passed. We then angled across, just ahead of the Alaska State Ferry, also northbound up Stephens Passage. On the west side the wind strengthened, and I had to keep moving the jib from one side to another, to keep it filled and avoid backwinding from the main. Our speed max'd out at 6.4 knots, which is as fast as this little boat has ever sailed. Downwind sailing sure keeps you on your toes.
As we approached
the entrance to Gastineau Channel the wind began to drop, and so I
lowered sails and we proceeded on to Juneau under power. We had a
little difficulty locating the fuel dock (the fuel dock described in
Charlie's Charts was removed this spring, and the one we ended
up using was on the opposite side of the channel. We got a slip
assignment from the harbormaster, but getting into it was a real
challenge. The fairways in the marina are really tight, and the
slips small and narrow. Then there was that 12 knot breeze.
MacGregors maneuver in windy marinas about like a dry leaf on a windy
pond. I managed to get her tucked in, with more than a little bit of
luck. I walked up to the harbormaster's office to register, and was
frustrated to learn that no shore power was available where they had
assigned us. We could have power on the other side. Last thing I
wanted to do was change slips, but change we did, with a friendly
local gill netter lending a helpful hand with the bow line.
We walked up into town, to pick up some steaks and fixings for dinner. Nice barbque back at the slip, followed by phone calls to both boys. Things sound fine with their families, and it was really fun talking with grandson Cameron, telling him about cruising our boat among the icebergs. It's spitting rain outside, and the wind is gusty. Perfect night to be tied up in a marina, with unlimited electrical power, and the stove heater making things as warm as we wish. We will be hanging out here in Juneau for several days, and possibly taking the ferry up to Skagway for some touristy sightseeing.
Distance for the day: 21 nm; total for the trip: 1243
4 mpg since Petersburg, which was excellent – only 22 gallons to go 167 miles – we had 17 gallons of gas on board after arriving here.
Layover day in Juneau. Was strange going to sleep last night with sounds of highway traffic and jet airplanes in the air. We've grown accustomed to the croak of ravens and the chittering of eagles. It rained most of the night, but eased off in the morning. We set out to explore Juneau on foot. First stop was the State Museum, which houses a fine collection of cultural and natural history exhibits. By the time we exited it was getting on toward lunch, and we headed toward the historical downtown district, which adjoins the cruise ship docks, with their hordes of tourists. The historical district is quite attractive and interesting, apparently the only southeast downtown that never burned to the ground. Thus, many of the buildings date to the turn of the 20th century. The cruise ships tied up at their massive mooring docks at the foot of the downtown area seem grossly incongruous, like massive ultra modern elongated high rises, which completely wall off any view of the water. There is more variety in the shops than in Ketchikan, but still a high percentage of jewelry shops. By the time they leave Juneau, these cruise ship passengers must be simply bedecked with jewelry, in order to adequately support all the jewelry shops which dominate every cruise ship port of call.
We decided to
lunch at the Twisted Fish, a restaurant adjoining the cruise ship
dock. It turned out to be a big mistake. The announced 20 minute
wait turned into 30, followed by riciculuously slow service. It
took over 2 hours for a simple lunch. We finally got out of there,
and wandered back through the downtown area. Sandy checked out some
shops while I worked on reservations to take the fast ferry up to
Skagway on Saturday. We want to visit there, but don't want to run
our boat all the way up Lynn Canal and back. It's a long cruise, and
on big water with a nasty reputation for roughness. It was a
challenge, but I finally got the threads to all fit. We will take an
early morning fast ferry to Haines on Saturday, check in to a bed and
breakfast there, and on Sunday morning take an early ferry over to
Skagway. We'll ride the excursion train up to White Pass and back in
the morning, and then catch the fast ferry back to Juneau in the
afternoon. It will be more of a whirlwind trip than I prefer, but it
is the best we can manage.
I stopped at the Coast Guard Station to try and get info on crossing the Mendenhall Bar, which is a shallow water shortcut to Auke Bay marina, where we catch the ferry to Haines. They really discouraged us trying, because of the risk of running aground. I've gotten mixed stories from the locals I've talked to, so guess we'll take the long way around Douglas Island. It will add about 15 miles to the trip, but if water conditions will allow, I'll run at high speed and get there in about the same amount of time.
Dinner more than made up for the frustrating lunch. We ate at a Mexican restaurant in the downtown district. Not a single Hispanic on the staff that we could see, but the food was excellent, and the service was great. From there, back to the boat, for popcorn and a movie on the laptop.
Rained steadily all night, but stopped by the time we got up. And then a funny thing happened. The clouds thinned out, the sun started burning through, and we began to enjoy our sunniest day since Ketchikan. Hurray! I walked up town and got some stove fuel. Our friend with the gill netter, Oracle, Dave Grim, stopped by with a jar of freshly canned sockeye salmon. We've really enjoyed getting to know him.
We headed for the post office around 11 am, to post some cd's with
pictures and notes, and to mail back some of the books we've already
read, along with some souveniers picked up along the way. We can use
the extra storage space. After that we grabbed sandwiches at the IGA
deli and hoofed it down to the tram terminal. We wanted to take
advantage of the lovely weather by exploring the upper slopes of Mt.
Roberts. The tram provides a dramatic view of Juneau, Gastineau
Inlet, and the surrounding mountains. We had our lunch at a platform
next to the tram landing, and then took off up the trail. It is a
very well constructed trail, which gets lots of use. We hiked about
2 miles up the mountain, and enjoyed wonderful views of the
surrounding area. Lots of wildflowers, as well as a deer and several
marmots along the way. After that, we made one more stop at the
grocery and then returned to the boat. A guy was selling very large
dungeness crab down on the dock and I couldn't resist. $5 per crab,
so I bought two.
We had to make the run over to Auke Bay, in order to catch the ferry
tomorrow to Haines. Choices were to run the Mendenhall Bar or go the
long way around Douglas Island. I decided not to chance the shallow,
twisty bar and went around. We ran at full throttle, making between
9 and 11 knots with the dinghy trailing behind. The scenery was
stunning, with almost cloudless skies and a brilliant late afternoon
sun. As we made the final turn around Douglas Island and began
pointing toward Auke Bay, we were treated with a spectacular view of
the Mendenhall Glacier and adjoining peaks. As we neared the marina
I began worrying about whether we would be able to find a slip. The
harbormaster goes off duty at 5 pm, so we were on our own in finding
a place to tie up. We went down the first inlet of slips, and they
were jammed full. We went around to the next row, and were nearly to
the end before we found a spot. It just happened to be right across
from our friends Dot and Brian on Rainshadow. It was fun
seeing them again. We're looking forward to running into them in
Glacier Bay in a few days.
We walked up to the harbormaster's office, to see about getting out to the ferry landing. Only option is a taxi, so I called and scheduled one for 6 am. Short night, since it is now midnight.
Distance for the day: 32 nm; total for the trip: 1275 nm
Rose at 5 am, and ready to catch our cab in front of the harbormaster's office at 6. Cab was there and waiting. Beautiful sunny day, perfect for a ferry trip up Lynn Canal. The passenger load for the trip was light, and we had no problem getting front row seats, and what a view we had. Three valley glaciers pouring out of the Juneau Icefield, numerous hanging glaciers and waterfalls, even a couple of humpback whales. The Forest Service interpreter accompanying the boat was most informative, and provided excellent information on the features and scenery as we passed by. The ferry was the Fairweather, one of the Alaska Marine Highway's new class of high speed ferries. She cruises at 35 knots, which cuts the length of the trip from Juneau to Haines down to a couple of hours. Quite a contrast to our usual 6 knots.
We arrived at the Haines ferry terminal on time, and were met by Jane
Hall, owner of the B & B we were staying at. She held a sign
with our name on it, and we easily spotted her as we disembarked.
She is a delightful lady, and she put us at ease right away. Her inn
is newly constructed, with a lovely view of the canal, and the rooms
are beautifully appointed, and very comfortable. After we settled
in, she took us out for a sightseeing tour of Haines and the nearby
vicinity. She dropped us off in town, with plans to pick us up again
at 3 pm. We wandered around, taking in the town museum and the bald
eagle center, which has a great collection of mounted wildlife
specimens in diorama settings. Very well done. The local museum
volunteers were putting on a luncheon fund raiser on the lawn outside
the museum, so that's where we ate. For $10 a plate we had a choice
of fresh dungeness crab or barbqued sockeye, also very fresh.
Extremely generous portions, and great potluck salads and side dishes
to go along. Our hostess at the inn offered to prepare dinner, so
after getting picked up we were treated to a true home cooked dinner.
She fixed barbqued spare ribs, and they were outstanding.
Afterwards, she took us on a drive out to the state park in search of
bears. No luck, but it was a very scenic drive. We felt very well
cared for by Jane at her inn, and would highly recommend a stay at
the Inn on the Beach in Haines.
Another early start, with a busy day ahead. Jane had breakfast waiting for us at 6 am, and by 6:45 we were on our way down to the Haines boat harbor, for our fast ferry commute around to Skagway. We said our goodbyes and boarded the boat. Very windy out, with big swells and whitecaps. Small group of passengers. The trip to Skagway only takes a half hour, and the early morning run got us there in plenty of time for our 8:15 ride on the White Pass train. This train ride should be a highlight of anyone visiting Southeast Alaska. The railroad was constructed in 1899, during the height of the Klondike gold rush, and is today classed as one of the outstanding engineering feats of modern time. The train we rode was pulled by a1950 vintage diesel locomotive, but they do run a longer trip powered by a steam locomotive. The cars are copies of old parlor cars. The views from the train are dramatic, with glaciers above and deep gorges and rushing rivers below. You pass by the Skagway cemetery where infamous Soapy Smith is buried, and can see in places the thread of the old White Pass trail, where stampeders trudged up to White Pass. We spotted a mountain goat across the canyon on the way up, and on the way down were treated with a rare view of 4 wolves, standing on a large boulder, about 300 yards away. We were really glad we were able to take this train trip.
Back in Skagway, we had time to play tourist for a couple of hours.
We had lunch at the Red Onion Saloon, which was a historic bar and
brothel. The waitresses are all dressed appropriately as “working
girls”, and they offer 15 minutes upstairs for $5, same price
as during the gold rush. However, their services stop at providing a
tour of the brothel upstairs. Lots of fun, including a honky tonk
style piano, with a skilled player pounding away on the keys. After
lunch, we wandered the streets, taking in the city museum, located in
part of the city hall building, a huge granite block structure which
has undergone a recent renovation. Very nicely done. We also went
through a couple of National Park Service buildings, with nice
exhibits and a good film. By the end of the film it was time to
board the Fairweather for the return run down Lynn Canal. Not
as beautiful as the day we came up, but still a beautiful trip.
Spotted another two whales on the way back.
At the terminal we were met by Ron and Sue Marvin, friends who used to live in Leavenworth, but now reside in Juneau. They both work for the Forest Service, and I had been able to locate their phone number while in Haines. I had worked closely with Ron on an interpretive trail project back when I was with the City. He was excited about getting together, so after meeting us at the terminal, we went out to dinner. It was a great time to renew friendships. They brought us back to the marina following dinner. Ron has offered to take some time off work tomorrow and take us up to the Mendenhall Glacier. That should be a lot of fun, particularly since he is in charge of the visitor center there. We should get a very special tour.
Another gray morning, with rain last night, but the drops had stopped by the time we rose. We met up with Ron at the harbormaster's office at 8 am for our personal guided tour of the Mendenhall Glacier. We first toured the visitor center, a very attractive building which Ron said was the first such center built by the forest service specifically for interpretive purposes. The building dates back to the fifties, and is still in fine shape and well suited to its purpose. It sits on ground which was covered by the glacier as recently as the 1930's. The Mendenhall has been receding at a rate of 90 feet per year in recent years, but last year, with extremely high temperatures most of the summer, it retreated over 600 feet. It's still a majestic mass of ice, but one gets the sense that the current increasing rate of melt will radically alter the scene here before very long.
Ron then drove
us out to Gold Creek and the site of the first gold strike in Juneau.
There is a mining museum there, located inside one of the few
remaining buildings from the underground mining complex. Inside the
building is a huge air compressor unit, which was driven by a massive
electric motor, powered back in the mining days by a hydro plant at
the mine. It was reputed to be the world's largest air compressor
when first installed.
Ron dropped us off at the marina around noon. We said goodbyes and thanked him for his generous hospitality. The balance of the day was devoted to chores in preparation for tomorrow's departure. Sandy did laundry while I tended to boat needs. I called the National Park Service to confirm our arrival at Glacier Bay in a couple of days. They asked if we wanted to begin our visit a day earlier than scheduled, which works very well for us. I agreed to the change, and so tomorrow we will cruise about 18 miles to Swanson Harbor. This will position us well for the cruise in to Glacier Bay on Wednesday. This change will allow us to enter on the same day as Rainshadow, which will make rendezvous much easier.
For dinner I cracked and picked the two crabs we had bought off the crab boat in Juneau a few days earlier. They made for a fine meal, with enough leftovers for a crab quiche tomorrow night. Sandy had a nice visit with Brenna, who had done the interpretive work on board Fairweather on the way to Haines. She lives aboard her sailboat which happens to be moored across the dock from us. She's a very nice lady who has lived an interesting life. She's a geologist who has done geologic mapping all over the western states plus Alaska.
Up at 6 am for a planned 7 am start, which slipped to 7:45 with last minute chores. First stop – the fuel dock to fill tanks following our high speed run around Douglas Island the other day. 14.1 gallons to go 32 miles, only 2.3 mpg, worst mileage of the trip. Not surprising though, for a full throttle run while trailing the dinghy. Could only turn 4500 rpm with that load.
Sun was showing signs of breaking through as we left Auke Bay. We were treated to a wildlife spectacular throughout the morning. The dog salmon were doing their peculiar porpoising jumps, flopped onto their sides, sometimes 5 and 6 jumps in a row as we crossed Fritz Cove. As we ran past Barlow Island I spotted some whale spouts in the distance, a pair of humpbacks. A little closer to Retreat Point, more spouts, this time a cow and calf orca, the first orcas we've seen on the trip. A big excursion boat was jockeying for viewing position, so we enjoyed a couple of looks as we idled along. Another humpback spouted ahead of us and I slowed as we approached the area where the whale was heading. We were startled to see it surface 50 yards off our port beam. Too quick for a picture, but a wonderous sight.
After rounding Retreat Point we entered the main part of Lynn Canal, whose surface was nearly like glass. Mostly sunny, and the sunlight was illuminating the big valley glaciers of the Juneau Icefield, many miles behind us. Pink salmon were leaping out of the water all around us, sometimes jumping 4 and 5 feet out of the water. A couple of boats were trolling along the shoreline, so I got out the downrigger and did the same. While putting along at 2 knots I saw numerous spouts in the distance. We idled along, and the spouts kept getting closer. At least 8 whales in this group. They swam right past us, arching to the surface and audibly spouting. After 3 or 4 blows they would dive, with flukes lifting out of the water and then sliding below the surface. I shot slides and Sandy recorded them with video clips. She got some great movies. After they passed us, they displayed two feeding patterns, with their huge heads rising out of the water.
Fishing was a
bust, so after a brief attempt at sailing we motored up and headed
for our evening tie up. Destination was Swanson Harbor, a sheltered
anchorage which also features a public float. The recommended
approach is from the south, around the far end of a 2 mile long
island. However, there is a shallow draft short cut on the north
end. We were arriving an hour after high tide, a result of our
poking along fishing, sailing, and whale watching, but it looked like
we should be ok. With Sandy standing lookout on the bow, we
approached the narrow, rock studded bar which guards the northern
entrance to Swanson Harbor. The passage shoaled to 6 feet, and we
started seeing large submerged boulders. I slowed to idle speed and
tipped the outboard up as much as possible. We were clearing the
boulders by only a few feet at best. The tense part extended for 50
yards or so, and then the bottom started dropping off. Big relief to
safely get through this skinny passage and securely tie up to the
float.
The bay is a lovely, sheltered place, with sloping, cobble beaches backed by a narrow band of tall grasses. Thimbleberry thickets extend from the grasses to the start of the evergreen forest. We have a panaramic view of the Juneau icefield peaks. We walked the beach for a mile or so, admiring the beach rocks, which are colored and banded in patterns unfamiliar to us. While we were out walking, a fishing boat came in and tied up near us. The boat is the Stonehorse out of Guemes and operated by a husband/wife team. We got our lawn chairs out and had a nice visit with them, learning a good bit about long line halibut fishing. Several other boats pulled into the bay in the evening, some tieing up to the float and some anchoring out. Before turning in, I attached our little orca wind sock to the burgee halliard, announcing to all who care that we finally spotted some orcas.
We will try for a fairly early start in the morning, in hopes of calm conditions for our run to Glacier Bay.
Distance for the day: 26 nm; total for the trip: 1301 nm.
What a great day to be alive. Clear skies and sunshine greated me when I slid open the cockpit hatch at 6 am. I'd intended on being underway by then, but the sleep was too good. I wasn't the only one. The two halibut longliners were still at the dock. One guy fired up his diesel and said “Time to go to work”. The other captain replied “I should have been out there 3 hours ago”. Within 15 minutes both boats were on their way out, followed by the big power cruiser who had also tied up to our float. We were off in 20, headed down the channel, around Sharp Ledge (aptly named) and out into Icy Strait. It was a little rough at first, but soon settled down to a smooth sea. I kept watch for whales, since the humpbacks are very attracted to this area, and after seeing several groups of fishing boats, I put a line down, for some shallow trolling. We had intended on taking the inside route, through Icy Passage, but with the water so calm, we went outside Pleasant Island and headed straight toward Gustavus Point and the entrance to Glacier Bay.
As we passed the northwest end of Pleasant Island, a huge white splash at great distance caught my eye. It must be a humpback breaching. I kept watch on the spot and soon another breach. This time I saw the whale itself. I scanned the area with binoculars and got a great look at a breach with 7.5 power magnification. The whales were playing just north of the entrance to Glacier Bay, so we speed up to 7 knots and worked our way closer. They kept breaching as we approached. We never got close enough to try photographing the action, but were entertained by more than a dozen spectacular breaches, several with the whales lauching themselves completely in the air. At a distance, it almost looked like they were leaping in slow motion, it took so long for their enormous bodies to rise from the water and then fall back again.
Nearing Gustavus Point, Sandy eyed a little round shape bobbing in the water, off the port bow. She thought it might be a sea otter, and binoculars confirmed her suspicions. He was bobbing near a small patch of seaweed, poking head and shoulders out of the water, watching us. We passed another who was floating on his back, swimming lazily backwards, propelled by hind feet and tail. We were passing over the 70 foot bar off Gustavus Point, and we could see several dozen otters in the immediate vicinity.
By the time we
reached the entrance to Glacier Bay the action had ceased. I radioed
the park headquarters and announced our intention of entering the
bay, as our permit had instructed. We were advised that we were in
whale waters (as if we didn't already know), we must keep speed under
13 knots (no problem there), stay in the center of the channel and
come in to Bartlett Cove to sign in and receive orientation. We
followed instructions and at 1:30 pm tied up to the temporary moorage
at Bartlett Cove.
After viewing the orientation film and receiving information on park rules and recommendations, we walked over to the lodge, where the information center is located. We enjoyed the visits, particularly the mounted animal and plant specimens, then took the mile long forest loop walk through the rainforest. The full sun filtered down through the dense canopy, and the air temperature, while perfectly comfortable, made our skin tingle, and it felt wonderful to breathe. Dense moss blankets covered the ground and draped over tree limbs. We saw a hornet's nest, quite active, hanging from a branch about 15 feet off the trail.
After our walk
we returned to the boat, filled the water tank and motored over to
the fuel dock. We took on 10.4 gallons for the run from Auke Bay, a
distance of 65 miles, which gave us 6.2 mpg. An afternoon breeze was
blowing into Bartlett Cove, which was raising a short chop. We
bounced out to the entrance to the cove, and then turned north, into
Glacier Bay proper. We set a jib to steady the boat and add some
speed. I could see ahead that the water was smooth to our north, so
we sailed while we could, but after a couple of miles, had to furl
the sail and proceed by motor alone. Our speed dropped
significantly, since we were fighting an ebb current. The tidal
range here in Glacier Bay can be as much as 25 feet with some tides,
and the currents run strong. We will have to be careful to time our
travels here to take advantage of this flow, if we are to have enough
fuel to properly explore the area.
We headed toward North Finger Bay, the first suitable anchorage north of Bartlett. We stayed a mile offshore, as rules require, and could see numerous whales spouting near the shore, as we passed. The plumes were backlighted and quite distinct. Sometimes 3 or 4 spouts at a time could be seen. They looked like 4th of July fountain fireworks as they erupted from the water surface. When we reached the mouth of North Finger Bay we had to turn toward shore. The bay entrance was guarded by a pair of humpbacks, and we had no choice but to head toward them. I slowed our speed to idle and we moved in. Near the entrance, sound and shape on our port side swung attention to the back and dorsal of a humpback as he arched clear of the water surface, not more than 50 feet away. We could then appreciate the true magnitude of their size.
Once inside, we saw Rainshadow riding at anchor at the head of the bay. We anchored as far away from her as possible. While taking of chores on deck, Brian rowed over to greet us and compare notes. We will likely be following similar courses, and will be able to visit at anchor, which will be fun. Since we got in late, around 8 pm, we were really hungry, and the Dinty Moore stew and wheat bagels with honey tasted particularly good.
After dinner I went out in the dinghy with fishing rod to try and
hook one of the hundreds of small salmon which were leaping all
around us. While casting I heard some loud splashing off to my
right. I looked over and saw that I wasn't the only fisherman out
there. A seal was tearing up the water surface as he pursued salmon,
with a lot more success than I. Then I heard a loud raspy sound,
which at first I took to be Sandy sliding the cockpit hatch cover
open. That wasn't the cause, and I couldn't place the sound. I
heard it a couple of times more before discovering its source. A
whale had crossed the bar and entered our cove. He was slowly rising
and blowing, about 300 yards away. I started rowing in his
direction. The air was completely still, and the sound of his spout
was remarkable. It had a hollow character, like it came from the
end of a long hollow tube. And loud, with a deep, strong quality.
The sound continued well after the whale slipped back under, echoing
off the surrounding hills. It was totally entrancing, and I couldn't
help myself as I slowly rowed toward its source. As if sensing my
presence, he gently moved off to my right, so I stopped rowing and
just sat there, silently. I heard another sound, soft and gentle. A
small group of harbor porpoise were cruising around me. Their
breathing was in stark contrast to the deep, powerful blows of the
whale. You could hear the distinct sound of their little exhalation
puff, quickly followed by an inhalation. Puff – puff. I
finally decided I needed to head back, and started to row. The whale
circled around toward the entrance of the cove and I thought he would
head out into the main bay. Instead he turned and started down the
shoreline into the cove. I stopped rowing and watched ahead for the
next spout. I was startled by the sound of a spout behind me. I
swung around in time to see the whale descending, 100 feet away.
The smallest of creatures ended my entrancement with one of the world's largest. No see ems were nipping me with vengeance just below my hair line. With reluctance I rowed back, periodicly letting go of the oars to swat at the pests. I climbed back on board at 11 pm. What an amazing place.
Distance for the day: 54 nm; total for the trip: 1355 nm
I'm sitting in the open cockpit, 7:30 am, in Reid Inlet typing this log. The inlet is near the head of Glacier Bay, and is about 2 miles deep, off the main bay. It is a classic U shaped valley, and the walls are vegetated with scrubby alder. The glacier receeded from this spot within the last hundred years. The present face of the glacier is a mile away, at the head of the inlet, and its presence is massive from where I sit. It is no longer a tidewater glacier, and extends to the highwater mark of the inlet, as if trying to decide whether to move back out onto the water or continue receeding into its carved valley. Shoreline is only 30 feet away, and steadily approaching the boat. The tidal drop from last night to 9 am today will be about 24 feet, which means a drop of 1 foot in sea level every 15 minutes.
We left North Fingers Bay yesterday around 9 am. We wanted to take advantage of the flood tide. Before leaving I grabbed the spinning rod for a few casts. The salmon were jumping very close to the boat. I hooked a fish on the first cast and reeled in a nice 5 lb pink salmon. A few more casts yielded a second pink. I filleted them out on shore and saved the heads and tails for crab bait. Filets went into a zip loc bag and on ice in the chest.
The cruise up
Glacier Bay was a continuous panarama of scenic splendour. Mountain
range after mountain range, rivaling those of the Sierra, Tetons and
northern Rockies came into view. Massive valley glaciers revealed
themselves across the bay. Exiting our bay we had to shut down
briefly, since we were surrounded by 3 humpback whales. Sea life
seemed to thin out as we moved up the bay, with the waters getting
colder and the shoreline vegetation becoming sparser and simpler in
composition. It was a gloriously sunny day. How fortunate we have
been to enjoy this place in the finest weather of the trip. We took
an inside shortcut through Blue Mouse Cove, passing over a drying bar
at near high tide. We had about 4 feet of water to work with, tight
but doable for our boat.
We were paralleling Rainshadow with the same destination in mind. We swung into Reid Inlet about 3 in the afternoon, anchored near the mouth of the inlet, and then buzzed up in the dinghy for a close up look at the glacier. We could get right up and touch it, taking pictures from every angle. It occasionally creaked and groaned, and dropped a few chunks of ice for our entertainment.
Brian and Dot invited us over to their boat for a drink afterwards.
This comfortably shifted into hors d'vours (fresh shrimp they'd
caught in their trap) and a delicious halibut dinner, courtesy of a
nice fish Brian had caught, made tasty by Dot's galley magic. We
swapped stories and enjoyed each other's company till around 10, then
rowed back to the boat. I put the crab pot out before retiring.
Today we will join Brian and Dot aboard Rainshadow for the
journey up to the head of Glacier Bay, to view the active tidewater
glaciers there. It should be an exciting day.
Distance for the day: 31 nm; total for the trip: 1386 nm
Today's theme: geology in action. No notable wildlife sightings, other than a few birds (murrelets, kittiwakes, eagles and oystercatchers) and seals, but oh, the geology. And the weather. Patchy clouds early, giving way to glorious sunshine; wonderful weather to partake of a Glacier Bay highlight. Brian picked us up in his zodiac around 9 am, and we motored out of the inlet for our exploration of the Johns Hopkins Glacier. The scenery was grand in every direction, and became even more so as we cruised toward the head of Glacier Bay and the entrance to Johns Hopkins Inlet. The mountains themselves seemed to be trying to outdo their neighbors, and the progressively blue sky added to the effect. Hanging glaciers covered nearly every peak, and the landscape seemed raw and freshly carved, which is the case. We passed a massive valley glacier (Lamplugh) which has stalled out at the high tide line, no longer a tidewater glacier but nonetheless magnificent.
Scattered
icebergs floated in the main bay, getting thicker as we rounded into
Johns Hopkins Inlet. The great glacier stretched across the full
width of the head of the inlet, and looked like it was only a mile or
so away, but the chart confirmed that it lay a good 6 miles in. On
the south side, major glaciers filled the side canyons, no longer
reaching the saltwater. On the north side, vast expanses of bare
rock and rubble in hues of brown, red, and dark gray rose, topped off
by rugged peaks. In places, the faintest hint of green colored the
slopes, where vegetation was beginning to gain a toehold. As we
motored in on glass smooth waters, weaving through the scattered
icebergs, I could hear occasional rumbles from the Johns Hopkins
Glacier, as it shifted and fractured. We closed to within a half
mile of the face and stopped the motor, drifting. The sound of the
glacier was different from the Sawyer Glacier, which sounded like
artillery. Hopkins made deep rumbles, like the crack of thunder.
Often we could only hear it, but sometimes we would see a cascade of
ice, tumbling into the inlet, quickly followed by the rumble, splash,
and wave swell. In some instances, the size of the icefall bore no
relationship to the loudness of the rumble. We sat there, entranced
by the spectacle, for several hours. We had planned on going across
to Tarr Inlet today following our visit to Hopkins, but decided to
just stay and enjoy this scene, saving Tarr and the Grand Pacific
Glacier for tomorrow.
On the way back
we sailed a little, but mostly motored, enjoying the same mountains
from a different angle, and with light falling from a different
direction. We will stay again at Reid Inlet, and plan on traveling
together on Rainshadow
tomorrow to Tarr Inlet. We hosted Brian and Dot on board our cozy
little boat for dinner this evening, barbqueing pork chops. It was a
fine dinner and a fun time. We retire tonight marveling at the
events of the day, and hoping for more of the same tomorrow.
Mileage for the day, approximately 18 nm aboard Rainshadow, crossing the 59 th degree of latitude, our furthest north excursion for the trip.
This morning the mechanical gremlins returned to Chinook. Perhaps she was trying to get back at us for abandoning her yesterday while we excursioned aboard Rainshadow. The day started inocently enough. I checked the batteries, and not surprisingly the house battery was down to 12.14 volts. Anticipating that the stove wouldn't start with the battery that low, I went out to start the motor. I turned the key and she groaned and barely turned over. No start. I turned the key off and checked the ignition battery. 12.70 volts, plenty to start the motor. Humphh. I thought it might be a corroded ground wire, and opened the cover to have a look. I spotted a suspiciously corroded ground wire. Out came the tools, and after some contortions I got the bolt off, cleaned up the connectors, and reassembled. Still no go. I went ashore to burn garbage and ponder the problem. By the time I got back, Brian had run over in his zodiac to pick us up. I explained the situation and we both scratched our heads. He went back to his boat and pulled his starting battery. We hooked it up, and I had over 13 volts. Still no start. Just a slow turning of the motor, but not fast enough to start. We decided to try the starting rope for an old fashioned pull start. Happily, she fired right up. We suspect the starter is going bad, but at least I'm confident I can get her started. With that in hand, we decided to go visit the glaciers of Tarr Inlet.
The run over to Tarr took about an hour. A big cruise ship was leaving as we entered the inlet. Sandy took Brian and Dot's offer to try out their shower while we motored up the inlet. She gave it rave reviews; unlimited hot water (they have a water maker on board) and a totally wonderful experience. I decided to take my shower on our way back.
As we neared the glaciers, we saw minute clouds of white birds,
flying above the water and in front of a cliff. Nearing, it was
clearly the kittiwake nesting area I had been told about. With
binoculars, you could see literally thousands of kittiwakes on their
nests, densely packed onto every possible ledge in the rock. The air
was filled with their cries.
You can see the Grand Pacific Glacier from a great distance away. It
lies at the head of the main arm of Glacier Bay, and it is enormous.
We estimated it to be about 2 miles wide at the face. It hardly
looks like a glacier as you get close. It's more like a series of
steep, rounded hills, almost totally covered with dark rock cobble,
rather like mine tailings. It has the appearance of having stalled
out, intent on building a huge terminal moraine. Nonetheless, the
head of the inlet is full of bergie bits, evidence of significant
calving. We soon could see the source of all this ice. Marjorie
Glacier enters the inlet from the west, very near the terminus of
Grand Pacific. She has the appearance of a classic tidewater
glacier, with a deep blue color and vertical face, deeply fractured.
We could hear her crack and rumble as we drew near, and soon were
treated to an ice fall. This was followed by 3 major cascaded of
ice, spectacular in scale and tipping out, almost in slow motion,
before tumbling into the inlet, accompanied by tremendous splashing
and sounds like a depth charge detonating. Sandy and Dot both caught
the last calving on video, which is very difficult to do. We were
all thrilled.
We got back to the boat around 6 pm. I turned the ignition key to the motor and she started right up. I let her run for over an hour, to charge up the house battery, and enable Sandy to download her pictures. A barbque steak dinner finished off another incredible day. Tomorrow we plan on moving over to Muir Inlet, to explore some new territory. We are hoping that our lovely weather (clear skies and sunny all day today) will hold.
Cruised about 16 miles aboard Rainshadow.
Sun on the boat by the time we rose, around 7:30 am. Moving day. We will head down Glacier Bay to Muir Inlet, a major branch. The glaciers there have receeded dramaticly in the last 20 years. We followed Rainshadow out of Reid Inlet and out into the main bay. The morning was calm and warm, and I was able to go shorts and no shirt for half the day. We saw large rafts of surf scoters along the shore, and a couple of tufted puffins, but nothing larger. Brian and Dot came upon a sleeping whale and almost hit it. It clouded up some in the afternoon, and shortly after we rounded Tlingit Point we were able to put up sail with a following breeze. We both sailed wing on wing for about 10 miles, with very consistent wind. We were doing between 4.5 and 5 knots. Their boat ran 6 to 7. We were heading for Goose Cove, but when Brian turned in he found a bar with 11 feet of water at the entrance. Since we were at high tide, with the tide at 17 feet, we decided we didn't want to get stuck inside, waiting for a high tide. Plan B was finding a nook in Wachusett Inlet, across the way. There were a couple of options near the mouth, and since the Park prohibits motors beyond a certain point, we would have to make do in one of them. The first was too shallow, a rare problem on these waters. The second, in the lee of a point, turned out to be marginal. We set anchors, Brian out in the middle of the small bay, and we closer in. As I write this, it is nearing low tide, 17 feet lower than when we arrived, and things sure look different. We're ok, but I'd really like a bit more water between me and the rocks.
We saw a few icebergs on the way in, which suggests that at least one
of the glaciers here is still calving. We'll check it out tomorrow.
I'm bothered by that darned motor. It's reverting to one of it's old
tricks, namely cutting out at idle speed, which makes mooring and
anchoring difficult. The starter is also marginal. It started this
morning, but barely. I expect I'll be getting some exercise with the
starter cord before this cruise is complete.
We had dinner aboard Rainshadow. Drinks were chilled with the best glacier ice yet. Crystall clear, and so hard you need a hammer to break it into usable chunks. This ice melts so slowly, when you've finished your drink you can rinse it off and put it in the cooler to use next time. Brian barbqued some ribs and Sandy made up a great beans and rice dish. The meals on this trip have been first class.
Distance for the day: 41 nm; total for the trip: 1427 nm
Change in weather, after several gloriously sunny days in a row, in some of the most spectacular country in North America. Clouds have moved in, but the barometer is still steady, with no wind. I go ashore to burn garbage, and make a few casts with the spinning rod. I land a nice 6 lb pink salmon. Crab pot is empty. Time to leave Wachusett Inlet and explore the Muir Glacier. A turn of the ignition key yields disappointing, but not surprising results. A slow, unproductive turn of the motor. I remove the motor lit, grab the starter cord and give a pull. It pulls back, hard. Sandy comes out and hits the ignition switch while I give it another pull. This time, success and a running motor. Out in the main inlet we encounter increasing amounts of drift ice, soon discovering that its source is the McBride Glacier, which feeds into Muir Inlet from the east. It has retreated into a short bay, choked with large bergs, and incapable of entry, at least at low tide. As we progress up the inlet, we run out of bergs. The Muir Glacier must no longer be tidewater. The landscape becomes more and more stark, with the right hand side surprisingly looking a bit like the mountains along the Columbia River above Rocky Reach in spring. It begins to sprinkle as we near the head of the inlet. Brian positions Rainshadow at the very head of the inlet, where the flat outwash bar drops steeply into the water. He steps ashore, to signify the extreme end of his northward progress. It is for us as well. Our position is 59 degrees 5.3 minutes north latitude, a long way from home. Sandy goes aboard their vessel so she can take pictures of me and our boat in front of the receeded Muir Glacier. Ironic that the glacier bearing John Muir's name, the man who pioneered concept of glacial behavior and carving, would now be known as one of the most rapidly receeding glaciers in Glacier Bay. With that thought, we turn southward for the start of our voyage home.
The landscape is still strikingly beautiful, but harder to appreciate
with the cloud cover. Colors are muted, mountain tops concealed. We
motor our way down to North Sandy Cove on the heels of Rainshadow.
I set anchor in the cove around 5pm and get the barbque going
quickly, salmon on the menu. We are very hungry. After dinner we
need to get out for a dinghy row. Brian hails us and we row over.
Need to get their names and address in our book, and bring them the
CD of pictures Sandy took of them and their boat. They invite us
aboard for popcorn and a movie, which we had talked about prior to
our entry into Glacier Bay. Playing on board Rainshadow is
Big Fish, which we have brought over. Brian does a great job
with the popcorn, and we spend a memorable evening at the neighbors,
watching a fine film. We have really enjoyed each others company.
Rowing back around midnight, the waters are alive with
phosphorescence, giving off sparking swirls with each dip of the
oars.
Very gray morning with a falling mist which gradually changed to rain. While out in the dinghy a black bear walked out of the forest and down the intertidal cobble. He waded out into the water and began swimming across the channel. About that time, the old fashioned cruise ship Spirit of 98 entered the channel. Her captain obviously saw the bear and stopped his ship. The bear continued its swim, finally climbing ashore on Puffin Island.
We weighed anchor around 9:30 am, stopping by Rainshadow to let them know our plans. They opted for a more leisurely start. We headed out toward South Marble Island which is a sea bird roosting site that can be approached to within 50 yards. We motor sailed across to the island and then shut the motor down, proceeding along the island quietly, with just the jib set, doing just over 2 knots. Large numbers of gulls stood on the rock face, along with groups of cormorants. Occasional tufted puffins flew by or bobbed in the water. The birds made a great racket and were lots of fun to photograph. At the south end of the island perhaps a hundred sea lions were hauled out on a couple large rounded rocks. They were very entertaining, with their barking and yowling. We definitely knew when we got downwind of them.
From there it was a steady cruise under gray skies and steady rain,
toward Bartlett Cove. I went below to take a nap while Sandy manned
the helm. While asleep, she encountered strong incoming currents at
the narrows, running over 3 knots, which really cut down our
progress. We got in to Bartlett around 3, then spent almost an hour
at the fuel dock waiting our turn to fill tanks. I took on 25.6
gallons. We moved over to the temporary tie up dock to take on
water, dump garbage, and walk up to the visitor center. While there,
Rainshadow made it in. We're now both at anchor. Dinner is
afixing here. After dinner we'll probably row over and say our
goodbyes. We plan an early start tomorrow, as we begin our outside
passage down toward Sitka.
Distance for the day: 24 nm; total for the trip: 1496
Rose at 5 am as planned, wanting to be underway by 6. Uneasy feeling early, several reasons. Parting company with Brian and Dot, with whom we had enjoyed “buddy boating” through Glacier Bay for the past week was returning us to being on our own again. I was wondering if the radio was working properly, since I hadn't been able to raise the Park Service or resort on our way in to Bartlett Cove the day before. Most significantly, I lacked confidence in the outboard reliably starting, and wondered if I would always be able to pull start in a pinch. And, given that uncertainty, I knew that, at the mouth of Glacier Bay we faced a decision point. Turn east and retreat to Juneau, where I could try to trouble shoot the starting problem. The run to Juneau could be done in a long day. Alternatively, sticking to our planned route involved cruising through some of the most isolated waters of the trip. After Pelican, there would be no towns short of Sitka, over 100 miles south of Pelican. And, the waters along the outside route would involve occasional excursions into the open ocean, with its rolling swells, exposure to storm winds, and likelihood of fog. On the other hand, the wilderness of the outside route promised striking scenery, undisturbed wildlife, remote hot springs, outstanding fishing, and some really fun cruising routes. I anxiously turned the ignition key. With hesitation, the motor unevenly turned over and started. We would go outside.
It rained on our way out. I hailed park headquarters at 6:30 am, with no reply. Maybe no one was listening yet – but perhaps my transmitter wasn't working properly. Antenna connection? Such are the things one considers. Only saw one whale on the way out, visibility limited by the rain and mostly enclosed cockpit. Breeze about 10 knots, light chop, ebb current beginning to run out, in our favor (part of the reason for our early start). Once past Point Carolus, at the mouth of Glacier Bay, I tried the radio again. This time I successfully raised park headquarters, and advised them of our departure. They thanked us, and wished us a safe trip. I kept the rpm's at 2800, doing about 5.5 knots. Funny water ahead, a rip line. Crossing the line, steering got erratic, powerful current gripping the boat. We quickly accelerated to over 10 knots. Ice Strait sure knows how to ebb. After a short run the water smoothed out, but we still enjoyed a steady 3 knot current all the way across to South Inian Passage.
A small yellow float plane buzzed by, flying only 20 feet above the water, and about as much below the fog ceiling. The fog hung in patchy blankets, thick and low in some places, lifting and thin in others. The dark shores of islands lay beneath the fog, like a woman's ankle peeking out from under a long dress. Without GPS, navigation would have been very difficult.
Near the mouth of South Inian Passage, where it enters Cross Sound, I again saw the yellow float plane. It was bobbing on the water, ceiling too low for safe flight. As we approached, his engine revved, and he lifted off to continue his low altitude flight. At the mouth of South Inian we encountered the swell of the open ocean. Crossing the channel entrance, these swells ran counter to the ebb current and quickly mounded up to 5 or 6 feet in height, fairly close together but not breaking. We slowed and bobbed through, reaching smoother water after a few hundred yards, then swung south toward Elfin Cove.
Elfin Cove is a
fascinating little community tucked back into a cozy, narrow cove.
Two skinny channels pass around a small island. Moorage is situated
in both the outer and inner harbor. We luckily found a spot on the
public float and tied up. I was thinking restroom, and was pleased
to see a sani-can at the head of the dock, just before you go up the
ramp. When I got there, however, I found that the door was missing.
Furthermore, there was no holding tank. Instead, the seat hole
opened directly over the harbor waters. Simple and efficient, no
doubt, but I passed up that opportunity.
Elfin itself is small, compact, and perched on slopes above the harbor waters. A network of wooden walkways ties it all together, and makes for some delightful strolling. We walked into the cafe for coffee. I ordered a slice of blueberry pie and Sandy had the carrot cake, both freshly home made and totally delicious. We caught up on the local news there, then picked up a few things at the local store before heading back out – destination: Pelican.
Got back into
ocean swells after clearing the islands just south of Elfin, gentle
sea with no wind. The mouth of Lisianski Inlet led us south into
protected waters once again. A couple of sea otters bobbed by, and
we passed a bunch of seals, hauled out on rocks. Silver salmon
squirted out of the water with entertaining regularity. As we neared
Pelican, the skies started to break, unveiling a range of dramatic
peaks rising from the western shore of the inlet, adorned with
pockets of snow and numerous waterfalls.
We cruised into Pelican and tied up in an empty slip in the marina. Very quiet place, with lots of open slips. Facilities were quite new and well constructed. I walked up the ramp and found the harbormaster. He directed me to City Hall where we could pay for moorage. Quite reasonable fees. The town itself was created in support of a cannery, now virtually defunct. Only about 100 residents remain year round. Still, very neat community. Wooden boardwalk serves as the city street, with lots of bicycles and the occasional electric cart or gas 4 wheeler. We poked into a business which houses the town liquor store/espresso bar/breakfast cafe/shower stalls/sauna. We enjoyed walking the town. Most of the buildings are built on pilings, including the high school, a fairly large, well maintained building, and the library. (We later learned that there is currently only one student in the high school, and 2 teachers, none of whom know math). We took advantage of the library's internet service to catch up on e'mail chores.
For dinner we
barbqued some of the halibut Brian and Dot had given to us. It was
wonderful. We walked dinner off, heading out on the boardwalk under
a pastel sunset, stopping on the bridge to view the hordes of pink
and dog salmon which choked the shallow river below.
Distance for the day: 43 nm; total for the trip: 1539 nm
We have enjoyed this place so much that we decided to lay over an extra day. I showered yesterday, and Sandy is taking hers this morning. We went out for breakfast, and plan on taking a walk this afternoon, if it isn't raining too hard. It rains a bit, then the sun peaks out, then it rains some more. We will mail some things off, and walk out to the end of the breakwater, where we're told the cell phone sometimes works. We may pick some blueberries. Tomorrow we'll head down Lisianksi Strait, toward the open coast and some intricate passages down toward Sitka. Our distances will be modest, and so long as the motor starts, the route should afford some delightful cruising, especially after our comfortable sojourn here in Pelican.
A day of high adventure. Rained much of the night, just gray and drippy by morning. We left our Pelican slip at 8 am, to time the ebb flowing down Lisianski Strait. This passage is a delight, with steep slopes rising above the sides of the channel. Extensive kelp beds carpet the waters on either side of a generous fairway. The waters are calm and we were thoroughly enjoying the passage, until the engine overheat alarm started screaming. Because of the two previous episodes with this alarm, I wasn't particularly concern, and slipped her into neutral, checked cooling water flow, and waited for the alarm to cease. It took a little longer than before. I tipped the motor up and spotted the cause, a blade of kelp partially covering the cooling water intake. I tilted the motor back down and ran briefly in reverse to clear the prop and intake. After the alarm and warning light went off, I slid the throttle into forward to proceed with our cruise. Problem – no rpm's. The engine proceeded at idle speed, and didn't care how far I pushed the throttle forwared. The tone changed a little, but no go, just idling along. Most troubling. Had something internal to the engine become damaged during the overheat? I tried again, but no luck. I shut down completely and restarted, still just idle speed. We couldn't get to Sitka by idling, and so with great disappointment and concern, I swung her around, pointing back up Lisianski Strait toward Pelican. I tried one more time, and the engine revved. We were back in business. Apparently the engine is smarter than I am. She won't rev up until she has become sufficiently cooled off. At least that's how it looks to me.
On we went, down Lisianski Strait. The side slopes tapered down to low hills as the strait drew us down to the Gulf of Alaska. We started feeling the swell of the open ocean. I had carefully waypointed an inside route described by our Douglas cruising guide, and we began cautiously maneuvering, point to point, through narrow passages, around rocks big and small, and past menacing kelp beds. After clearing a skinny, kelp lined channel and into a slightly more open patch of water, the overheat alarm shrieked again. Quickly, into neutral, little shot of reverse, and the alarm stopped. I glanced around at the distance separating us from the nearest rocks, and slipped her back into forward. Wonderful rpm's.
We passed out of
the rock lined passage and followed our route out into big, open
water. The swell was about 4 feet, close together, very choppy, and
coming from two directions. It was a very rough ride, and became
even more so the further out we went. We had to clear a headland in
order to gain a clear shot at Porcupine Bay, where we planned to hang
out until the evening high tide would enable us to go out again and
make our approach to Mirror Harbor. Before we made the turn toward
Porcupine, we were in rough 5 footers, with occasional higher. I
couldn't do much over 3 ½ knots heading into those seas. We
were relieved to swing our turn and run with the seas. We entered
the calm waters of Porcupine Bay right at noon. We anchored just out
from the lovely waterfall that enters the head of the bay and had a
nice soup lunch. Welcome nap after lunch, then a try at fishing (no
luck) and excursion to shore for a walk and picture taking. We fixed
a delicious halibut dinner around 6. We could have enjoyed this
place a lot more but for the fact that we still had to head outside
in order to make Mirror Harbor.
I was a bit
anxious as I pulled the anchor and we exited the protected waters of
Porcupine Bay. I kept trying to tell myself that the swells wouldn't
be so rough with high tide, and that the wind and seas had settled
some, but that wasn't really the case. No worse, but no better
either. The seas weren't too bad at first, but the further we went
out, the bigger they got. 5 and 6 foot swells dropped the bow way
down, before the next one would lift us sharply up. Waypoints only
.3 or .4 miles apart, listed as just 8 or 9 minutes to make, seemed
to take forever. We had to go out farther than planned, in order to
comfortably clear some seriously breaking rocks. Finally, we got far
enough past the rocks to pivot in, toward the tricky entranced to
Mirror Harbor. The swell was with us well into the rocky entrance
area. I was glancing at the laptop and at the diagram in Douglas,
trying to recognize landmarks. I mistook a couple of key rocks and
missed the entrance, finding myself heading toward Gull Rocks instead
of the harbor entrance. Fortunately, plenty of room to turn around
and set things right. The approach is quite narrow, and choked with
kelp. I couldn't find a route that didn't involve plowing right into
the kelp beds. With thoughts of our previous overheading incidents,
I revved the engine up and plowed forward. Sandy said it looked like
chopped lettuce coming out the back. I could feel the boat bogging
down, but the motor ran steady and we got through the tangle without
overheating. With that obstacle passed us, we only had to weave our
way through a narrow channel guarded by large boulders lurking just
below the surface. As we approached the dogleg described in Douglas,
I had trouble with the landmarks. Sandy was standing in the bow, and
she excitedly shouted “Rock!”. I jammed into reverse and
peered down at the nasty boulder, just a couple feet below the
surface. Thank goodness for the MacGregor's shallow draft. We never
touched. After that, we glided into the glassy waters of Mirror
Harbor with ease. For all the challenges in getting here, we agreed
that it was well worth it. It is an intimate little basin,
surrounded by moss draped old growth, which shows the effects of the
severe weather this place must receive. The sun beamed in at low
angle, causing the shoreline forest to glow in that magical evening
light. We anchored and jumped into the dinghy, wanting to extend and
preserve the moment. We rowed back toward the entrance and explored
a dark rust colored rubble pile along the shore. It turned out to be
the site of an old mine, now covered with a metal grating and flooded
with water. An overgrown path led to a dilapidated old cabin,
another to a huge rusting pumping machine and upright boiler.
Imagine bringing that heavy equipment into this remote place. We
returned to the boat in a cloud of no see em's, closed up the
surround, and enjoyed rum and coke, glad to be here. We will lay
over tomorrow and seek out the delightful waters of White Sulfur Hot
Springs. Hope we get some sun. All in all, a very exciting and
stimulating day.
Distance for the day: 47 nm; total for the trip: 1586 nm
A day for cleansing both the body and the soul. We began in leisure fashion, not rising until 8, and then taking time to fix a pancake breakfast. Then, while Sandy got things together for our excursion to White Sulphur Hot Spring, I hung the kicker on the stern of the dinghy and rowed ashore to burn trash. Chores complete, I ran the little outboard back to the boat (started on the second pull). By this time, Sandy had the backpack put together, and she climbed into the dinghy. I gave a pull, and another, and yet another. No start. I adjusted the choke and tried some more. I was getting a fine workout, but we were'nt getting anywhere. It finally became clear; if we were going to get over to the hot spring, I would have to row. Dinghy motor just didn't want to go there.
It was a
pleasant row, smooth water and interesting, twisting channel, only
about a mile over to the start of the trail to the hot spring. We
found the trailhead just fine, tied dinghy up, signed the trail
register, and began our mile walk to White Sulphur Hot Spring. The
trail traverses rolling terrain, frequently muddy and boggy.
However, the Forest Service has constructed wooden boardwalk,
courdorouy, and small bridges over the messiest places. Fascinating
plant life in this temperate rain forest including bog orchids, red
huckleberries, stunted lodgepole pine, skunk cabbage, devils club and
many others. By the time we reached the hot spring it was raining
steadily. There is a Forest Service cabin near the spring, and from
the plastic rain fly and assorted camping gear out in front, it was
obviously rented and occuppied.
The spring is developed in much the same fashion as at Bishop Bay. A rectangular pool has been created, housed by a cedar building. A basin outside is provided for washing clothing. Inside is a changing area, with lots of hooks to hang clothing. A 2 inch pipe delivers the water. The pool is nearly 5 feet deep, and its sides are mostly natural rock, with a concrete wall damming the lower end. Convenient steps have been carved into the rock, making entry easy. The water has a mild sulphurous smell, not overpowering or particularly unpleasant. Its temperature is perfect, feeling quite hot when you first step in, but quickly becoming very comfortable. Large picture windows provide a stunning view of Bertha Bay, and can be fully enjoyed while soaking in the steamy waters. There's even a place to soap up and rinse off, over on one side, without getting suds into the main pool. It's hard to explain how great it felt to soak in these waters, watching the rain falling out on the bay, in this wild corner of southeast Alaska.
After our bath,
we had lunch under the rainfly in front of the cabin. We visited
with the folks staying there. They're from Juneau and they come here
every year at this time, to fish and, with the August 1 opener, hunt
for deer. We then faced the unpleasant task of hiking back to the
dinghy in the rain. We were both rather wet by the time we got to
dinghy. I said some nice things to dinghy, hoping the motor would
cooperate. We were in luck, for after a couple of pulls, she fired
up.
It felt great to get back inside the boat cabin, fire up the stove, and change into dry clothes. We read and waited for the rain to quit. By the dinner hour, the rainstorm had played out. I grilled halibut again, and it was once again delicious. After dinner we went for an explore in the dinghy. I checked the tide tables, and found that the timing was perfect for poking into some of the adjoining tidal channels. The air was calm, the sky clearing. We motored through a shallow, narrow passage into the basin beyond. We ran out into the waters near Gull Rocks, where we had mistakenly started to enter with the boat yesterday. Then we circled back, and followed an intruiging channel which headed inland. The charts show an intricate network of uncharted tidal lakes behind Mirror Harbor, and we found ourselves working back into this area. This area can only be explored at high tide, and we were fortunate to have ideal tidal conditions and that magical evening light. We passed by several rock points which had been marked as staked mining claims. Some were a simple pile of rocks with an old, rotting post held up by the rocks. One was an elaborate rock wall, built out on an outcrop. This place was once the center of much work and high hopes.
The further we
went, the more magical this place became. An eagle winging up the
channel, a kingfisher noisily swooping from perch to perch, a heron
spooked from his fishing spot by the sound of our motor. We rounded
a corner and the vista opened up. We looked out onto an expansive
landscape of shallow saltwater lake, fringed by lush green meadow
grasses, with old growth rainforest framing the meadow, green peaks
beyond. The water shoaled to less than a foot. We rowed. We could
see disturbances to the water surface, caused by large schools of
salmon. Their tail fins projected above the water surface. We
headed toward the sound of falling water, and rounding a bend, could
see the tumbling cascade and rocky shoal of an inlet stream. Sandy
spotted a small animal standing on the edge of the stream. At first
we couldn't make it out. I thought it looked like a fox. She looked
through binoculars, and found it to be a spotted fawn. So tiny.
Then she gazed across the stream and announced “There's a
bear”. I looked across the steam and saw the bear. He saw us
as well, and stood up on his hind legs. Very large black bear. We
concluded that he'd have no trouble covering the 100 feet or so
separating us ( the water was only about 8 inches deep), so we slowly
rowed away. All the while the bear stood up, leaning his head from
side to side, trying to figure out what we were. We've seen lots of
bears on this trip, but this one was something special. On the way
out, the low evening sunlight lit up the moss covered trees along the
shoreline so brightly that they seemed to glow. When we got back to
Mirror Harbor, we saw our boat sitting there, in the midst of a
perfect reflection.
Theme for the day, smooth seas and wildlife. Breaks in the sky when we reluctantly left Mirror Harbor, around 8:30 am. Tide was low enough to see the dogleg rocks which guard entrance to the harbor, and we had no trouble avoiding them. Next obstacle was the kelp bed we plowed through on the way in. I had tilted the motor in hopes that it would be less likely to foul with kelp. I noticed that our speed was greatly diminished with the motor tilted. At least that was what I thought until Sandy pointed out that dinghy was being hauled behind us, stern first. The tow line had caught on the keel and she was plowing along backwards. We slowed and I straightened things out; much better. On we went, in search of kelp beds. We were pleased to find that, with the incoming tide, there was a clear channel through the kelp, and our exit was a piece of cake. I think our arrival the other day at high slack resulted in the kelp drifting aimlessly around in the channel, thus eliminating a clear channel. Our good fortune continued as we entered the ocean swell. The calm night and peaceful morning helped produce a settled sea, 3 feet or less. We easily motored out and made our turn south, toward Imperial Passage, the route back in to protected waters.
The route south
zig zags through narrow channels, into broad bays, and around small
islands. On a beach ½ mile ahead we saw a sow grizzly leading
her two cubs on a morning walk. Deer browsed little plants just
above high tide line, and one was stretching her neck to nip alder
shoots. We cruised among several groups of sea otters, some with
just a few, but two numbered at least 3 dozen. As I approached the
entrance to Ogden Passage, I saw movement in the corner of my eye and
looked ahead just in time to see a dorsal fin disappear, not more
than 10 yards in front of the boat. I saw blow spray drifting to
port. My initial reaction was dolphin. Sandy, however, focused on
the turbulence where the animal had disappeared beneath the surface.
Mystery was solved moments later when we were both amazed to see the
tail fluke of a sounding humpback, not more than 40 feet off our
starbard bow.
We pulled in to
the day's destination, Double Cove, around 1 pm. Lovely place,
simply alive with jumping salmon. We anchored, and I napped a short
while, but the urge to go fishing got the best of me, so I climbed
into dinghy and headed out. I caught a couple of small rock fish
while jigging, and kept 3 greenling for crab bait. Trolling resulted
in two small silvers, one fileted for dinner, the other released for
another day. In the late afternoon, Sandy and I went out for a
dinghy explore. We found the portage trail leading to Silver Lake
(marked by a couple of fishing floats hanging from trees). We
started down the trail, but turned back after finding a large pile of
fairly fresh bear scat.
It's a lovely evening, with bright sun lighting up the old growth forest edge. Rain showers over the mountains have graced us with the first triple rainbows we've ever seen. I'll go out fishing one more time before checking the crab trap and turning in for the night. Tomorrow we'll tackle Piehle Passage and more open ocean cruising. The weather looks quite favorable for these waters.
Distance for the day: 20 nm; total for the trip: 1607 nm
Bright sun and dead calm in Double Cove at sunrise. I pulled the crab trap, only 3 undersized dungeness attracted to my fresh salmon bait. We left the cove around 7:30 am, wanting to reach Piehle Passage and the open ocean reach while the nice weather held. It was only a 6 mile run to the entrance to Piehle Passage. I had been intruiged by this route since first reading about it in Douglass. It is a kinky route through a tangle of rocks, kelp beds, and islets, which enables a boater to extend the protected inside run by about 6 miles, before the mandatory exit to open ocean at Kahz Head. Coast Pilot doesn't recommend it, and suggests local knowledge. I figured Douglas was my local knowledge. Their guide says it's a fun route, taken with care in fair weather, best on a lower tide so the rocks and kelp can be easily seen. We had all conditions, including tide, in our favor. I had also plugged in all the turns as GPS waypoints. The passage itself was a delight. Bright sun and calm seas, scenery captivating, with scores of rocky islets, some tree covered, some just bare and jagged at the low tide. We had plenty of elbow room and navigated slowly, mostly to enjoy and prolong the experience.
We exited into
the Gulf of Alaska, which was barely wind rippled. Long easy swells
of less than 3 feet were hardly noticable. We cruised southward
along the 12 to 15 fathom curve, about a mile offshore, toward
Salisbury Sound. As we worked our way south, clouds began to build
over the mountains of Chicagoff Island and offshore, mostly to the
northwest. As we entered the mouth of Salisbury Sound I glanced out
to sea and was amazed to sight a waterspout suspended from the lower
edge of the cloud layer, about 4 miles distant. It was frail
looking, a narrow dark gray thread with a lazy “S”
profile. At it's base a violent whirling spray was clearly visible,
and even more dramatic through binoculars. We heard another boat
remark about it on the radio. We took pictures through telephoto
lens, and watched it for about 15 minutes before it faded and
disappeared. We had seen a waterspout once before, off the coast of
Florida where they are quite common. Such a sighting in these waters
is rather rare.
We followed
Salisbury Sound south, toward Whitestone Narrows. In the narrows we
had to pull way over to the side while the high speed Alaska State
Ferry Fairweather roared up
the channel. Boat traffic progressively increased as we drew near
Sitka. We stopped at the fuel dock first, and then headed for
Thomsen Harbor and a slip. Out in front of the harbor is a long
straight dock, where the charter boats tie up and clean their fish.
In the water adjacent to the cleaning stations we could see huge
swirls, and the forms of some very large creatures. After watching a
bit, we discouvered we were watching a pair of very huge sea lions,
cleaning up on the discarded carcasses of salmon and halibut. These
are the biggest sea lions I've ever seen.
We were assigned a comfortable slip, with power available, along the outer edge of the marina. A real mix of fishing boats, local recreational boats, and transient cruisers. We walked into town in search of dinner, and ended up in a Chinese place (no more halibut or salmon this night), which had very good food. Very tired afterward, so retired to the boat, feeling glad to have made Sitka.
Distance for the day: 45 nm; total for the trip: 1652 nm
Layover day in Sitka. Forecast was for strong winds and rain by evening, so we opted to do some sightseeing, while the walking weather was still good. We wandered back into town, and visited Castle Hill, sight of a Tlingit fortress, later developed by the Russians as a fort. Great view of Sitka and environs from there, with numerous informative exhibits. We lunched in a nice second floor cafe, excellent food and a nice view of the water. We walked lunch off with a stroll down to the National Historic Park, which features a very attractive visitor center as well as the historic site of the Battle of Sitka, between Baranoff and the Russians and the Tlingit Indians, fought in 1804. It's a very interesting story of a relatively small skirmish which the Indians very nearly won. If they had, the history of Alaska might have been very different. Just beyond the battlefield area, Indian Creek flows toward the bay. It was literally choked with pink salmon, on their run upstream. We were told that this year's run of pinks is turning out to be one of the heaviest in recent memory. The sight of these fish actually darkening the shallow stream with their numbers is a sight to behold.
It is a short walk from the visitor center to the Sheldon Jackson
museum, which houses an outstanding collection of Indian and Eskimo
artifacts within an octagonal concrete building, constructed by
Sheldon Jackson in the late 1800's. We caught a bus ride from there
to the grocery just above the marina, picked up some steaks for the
barbque, and returned to the boat for dinner and a movie.
I secured the boat well before turning in, and around 11 pm the forecast wind started picking up. It has been a moderate blow thus far, not too bad, but nonetheless a good time to be tied up in a slip. Tomorrow we'll organize provisions and I'll try to trouble shoot my engine starting problem.
Second layover day in Sitka. Wind blew all night, still breeze in the morning. We went on another sightseeing walk into town, visiting the reconstructed octagonal Russian blockhouse, the Bishop's house and St. Michael's Russian Orthodox Church. The Bishop's house is managed by the National Park Service, and the tour is outstanding. The house is original to the Russian period, and built between 1841 – 1843 by Finnish shipwrights. It contains many original furnishings. St. Michael's sadly burned to the ground in 1967, but has been reconstructed according to the original plans. About 90 % of the original icons and liturgical decorations were saved by the citizens of Sitka, who formed a human chain while the building burned. It's a very beautiful church, still in use. The congregation is about 3/4's Tlingit.
I spoke by cell phone with Todd at Bluewater Yachts about my starting problems. I was able to eliminate, to both his and my minds, the ignition battery as the culprit. That leaves electrical connections between battery and motor. I will try to isolate the bad connection tomorrow, but in the event that it eludes me, I bought a pair of #4 guage wires, 10 feet long, and made up with copper ring connectors which I can use to jump from the battery directly to the motor. Hopefully, that will give me an additional starting option, and I can also use them to jump from another boat.
Right now we have the whole boat torn up, with food storage tubs all over the place. We're shifting food stuffs forward, into our small working tubs, and getting at things which have been stowed out of reach. We will try to empty a few tubs and place them in the very back of the king berth stowage area.
For dinner we
finally attacked those MRE's which Dave gave us. It took us a half
hour to figure out how to set them up to heat. I don't know how our
soldiers can manage them, the first time. Mine heated up ok (I added
too much water), but Sandy followed the directions more precisely and
hers barely warmed up. Her tabasco sauce container was all dried up,
and my chewing gum was hard as a rock. I'm not rushing out to
volunteer on account of the quality of the new chow. Actually didn't
taste too bad. I found it interesting that the military found it
necessary to include a warning to not eat the heating element
package. Those troops must really get hungry.
I've been trying to arrange to get out on a charter fishing trip, but it's been frustrating. The weather is not good, and with high winds and rough seas out there, the boats are going to inside locations, where they're just catching small silvers. They can't get out to the halibut grounds. I don't know that we'll hang around here long enough for the weather to settle. Just have to see.
Third layover day in Sitka. Rained most of the day. I checked out the voltage at the motor, and it appears I have a drop between battery and motor. I couldn't locate the splices in the power cables where they run through the bilge, and so I think I'll just proceed as I have, and use the new jumper cables if need be. Sandy walked into town in the morning to do some shopping, and I reorganized and stowed the provision tubs in the king berth area. Thanks to her packing efforts last evening, we were able to empty 3 tubs, which is allowing for a much more efficient and roomy stowage layout. The extra space is a real luxury, one which typically accompanies the latter stages of an extended trip.
I walked into
town around noon and met up with Sandy, with a little help from our
little 2 way radios. Her shopping trip was a success. We had lunch
at the little upstairs cafe where we ate a couple days ago. Then,
back to the boat with purchases. In the afternoon we opted to walk
back across town to the Raptor Recovery Center. It's quite a hike
over there. Interesting place but a bit overpriced in my view.
Admission was $12 each, but after the long walk we felt obligated to
check it out. They do nice work with birds of prey there, nursing
them back to health and releasing to the wild whenever possible. The
trail on the grounds goes by the local salmon stream, which is
completely choked with pink salmon right now. I don't think I'll
ever look as small streams in quite the same way again.
Earlier today I made phone connections with a salmon charter outfit, and booked a fishing trip for tomorrow. It's a combination salmon and bottom fishing trip. I'm hoping for decent weather, and the forecast is encouraging. As long as the wind doesn't kick up I'll be happy. Hungry fish would help also.
Tonight we're going to watch a movie on board, on our laptop, and I'll try to turn in early, since I'll have to rise about 4:30 tomorrow, in order to make my fishing trip.
Charter fishing day. Rained most of the night, but no wind. Prospects good for getting out for halibut today. Up at 4:30, up to the top of the harbor access ramp by 5:15 to meet my ride over to Sealing Cove, departure point for Reel Affairs Charters. My shuttle driver, October (her name), pulls in with her ubiquitous white 9 passenger van with the fishing rod for antenna, at the agreed upon 5:20 am. She stops to pick up a couple more fishermen at a nearby motel, and then drives over the bridge to Sealing Cove harbor. The deck hand is on board the boat to greet me (apparently bait boys – what they called deckhands the last time I went charter fishing – have gotten promoted, and are now referred to as deck hands). Young fellow from Idaho named Jessie, he readily confessed that this was only his third day as a deck hand, and he was having problems with sea sickness. The previous one recently quit, and Jessie got shifted from the fish processing line. Skipper Jeremy showed up next, followed up by the other two fishermen Lee and his 15 year old son Corrie, from Boca Raton Florida. The boat is a 27 foot Seasport, well set up for our small fishing party.
Engines fire up a little after 6 am and we head out, in search of coho, and perhaps a stray king. We run south for almost a hour at over 20 knots, mostly inside little islands but occasionally pounding past openings to the open ocean, with their attendant swells. The salmon fishing spot is close in to a small island with a steep cliff face which drops right in to the water. Two other Reel Affair boats are there, either trolling or mooching. With only 3 fishermen aboard, we troll, one rod baited with whole herring, the other with flasher and hoochie (plastic squid), both on downriggers at either 50 or 75 feet of depth. I hook up first, with what initially seems like a king, but ends up being a nice, big ling cod. Unfortunately, season is closed for ling, so he gets shaken off the hook. Nice coho start hitting, and we rotate pulling in the fish. They run between 4 and 9 lbs, most around 6 lbs. Limit is 6 each, and we have our 18 by 9:45 am. Very good fishing. We pick up a couple of pinks as well, which we save for halibut bait.
Conditions sound
good out on open water for halibut. It's been too rough the last
couple days to try, and I'm fortunate to be out on the first decent
day. By decent I mean wind at 7 knots, swell around 4 feet, later
settling to 2 feet. Sounds great until you've rolled around in it,
at anchor, for 4 hours, with the air periodicly flavored with the
scent of halibut bait (translate: bloody salmon guts). The deck
hand does fine until he has 2 of the 3 rods baited, and then he
starts turning white, then green, and his breathing becomes labored.
A real trooper, he hangs in there until all rods are baited and
fishing. We wait about a half hour before the first bite. Corrie
cranks up the first halibut, a nice 30 pounder. Big job bringing one
of these fish up from 360 feet down. The bite is fairly steady
thereafter, but we miss many hits. We end up with 5 halibut, one shy
of the limit, and for a bonus, catch 5 yellow eye, a type of snapper
which run about 8 lbs a piece. One shy of a limit for yellow eye as
well. Excellent day of fishing, and it turns out that our boat did
the best of the Reel Affairs boats. Poor Jessie has had a tough time
of it, and can only look forward to another day of it tomorrow.
Jeremy promises that he'll get accustomed, and things will get
better. Jessie wants to believe, but I don't know if he really buys
it.
We're back to the dock by 4 pm. October meets me there for the ride back to Thomsen Harbor. Sandy is not at the boat, so I assume (correctly) that she's up at the laundry. I walk up and find her there. She's already taken her shower, but just before I get to the door a scruffy old timer grabs the one shower in the place. 45 minutes later I'm still waiting for him to finish up. When he finally leaves I notice the big plastic bag he's hauling out, and I conclude that he likely did his laundry in the shower room sink.
We grab dinner at (yuk) McDonalds and then pick up on last minute groceries. Getting tired by the time we get things stowed and ready for the sack. It's still raining. I'm placing my hopes on a rumor of sun tomorrow.
Sitting on a rocky point, overlooking Hoonah Sound at sunset, Chinook securely riding at anchor in the calm waters of Nismeni Cove, a few hundred yards behind my perch. Hardly a breath of wind. Salmon jump out of the water and fall awkwardly back in, sounding like stones being tossed into a pond and looking like the cartoon images of jumping fish. Maybe the cartoons got it right. Midway in the channel, humpbacks blow. Their spouts are small at that distance, but backlit by the setting sun, they remind of clam squirts on a smooth beach. A pair move in closer, and the hollow sound of their spouting carries across the channel. It is so loud that you would think they are right in front of you, but the delay in the arrival of sound betrays the actual distance. Slowly the sunset develops, slipping between patchy layers of cloud.
This was travel day, after a most enjoyable 5 days in Sitka. Despite
the mostly rainy weather, we enjoyed this attractive, historic
Southeast Alaska city. As if to provide us with a cheerful farewell,
the sun shone brightly in the morning. I took the surround panels
down to dry, and lowered the bimini for the first time in a week. It
felt great to sit in the open cockpit for a change. We took our time
getting things ready to leave, and left our slip around 10 am. We
backtracked north, through Whitestone Narrows and Neva Strait.
Initially we had the current in our favor, however as we approached
Kakul Narrows things changed significantly. We fought the current
through these narrows, but that was just a hint of conditions in
Sergius Narrows. The current there can run at 8 knots, and it must
have been doing near that as we entered. I hadn't bothered to figure
out optimum times for traversing this place, and we paid the price.
At one point I had the engine up to 4000 rpm and we were only doing
1.5 knots over ground. This suggests an opposing current of nearly 8
knots. The tide was near slack, so there must be a delay between
current and tide. Fortunately, with the 50 hp outboard we were able
to proceed contrary to current, and worked our way up into Peril
Strait.
Shortly after clearing Sergius Narrows, a charter boat approached and
passed us in the opposite direction. I waved as he charged by, and
kept my attention on the water ahead. Sandy looked back and said
“He's turning around. It looks like he wants to talk with us.”
Then she recognized the occupants from the pictures I'd taken on yesterday's fishing trip. Amazingly, it was Jeremy in his Reel Affairs charter boat, with Lee, Corrie and Jessie. They'd said they were going crabbing and shrimping today, but I didn't know where they planned to go. Apparently, they had been keeping an eye out for us. We had a fun conversation when they pulled along side. Lee asked if we'd like some crab. That's like asking a fish if he likes water. Corrie pitched a plastic bag with some freshly caught and cooked crab, which made for a very tasty dinner. I passed them our boat card, and we took pictures of each other. I expect we'll be e'mailing them some of the pictures I took during the fishing trip. They'll enjoy receiving them, I'm sure.
The weather has improved greatly, and the extended forecast sounds very encouraging for the next several days. We are looking forward to some sunny days for a change.
Distance for the day: 41 nm; total for the trip: 1673 nm
Oh, to rejoice over a sunny day. Sunny and almost perfectly calm, under cloudless sky, from start to finish. Probably the finest weather day of the trip. We left our anchorage around 8:30 and glided out into Peril Strait. The fishing boat which had shared the anchorage was long gone by the time we had gotten up. We motored easily along the south shore. A small group of whales were spouting a mile or so ahead, and a little farther out. We slowly cruised up on them. I had the jib out for a little light air motor sailing, and when we got within a quarter mile of the whales I cut the engine, and we proceeded along, silently, at 2 knots. There were 4 whales in the group. They appeared to be resting, and would lay at the surface, casually spouting. Every 5 minutes or so, they would arch their backs and sound, with their tail flukes rising into the air before gracefully sliding into the water. They would stay down for about 10 minutes, and each time they reappeared, we had sailed a little closer. We were startled when the massive, dark form of a humpback surfaced and blew within 50 yards of the boat. They moved off, in the opposite direction we were going. It was a thrilling experience.
Around noon we
reached the mouth of Peril Strait, and turned south down Chatham
Strait. Chatham is a very large body of water, probably 10 miles
across and extending in a north/south orientation from open ocean to
the approaches to Juneau, a distance of well over 100 miles. We had
the rare privilege of cruising down this Strait in perfectly calm
conditions, not a ripple marring the surface all the way across, and
as far down as the eye could see. And throughout the expanse of
mountainous shoreline, no evidence of development to be seen, except
for the rapidly greening over forms of past logging activity.
Baranoff Island, which forms the western shore of Chatham, quickly
becomes extremely rugged and mountainous, the peaks glistening with
snowfields and hanging glaciers, waterfalls cascading down steep
faces and ravines. And everywhere the salmon jump. We tucked into a
snug little anchorage called Ell Cove around 3 pm. I threw the
kicker on the dinghy and headed out for a little fishing while Sandy
enjoyed the peace, quiet (except for bird serenades), and sunshine of
our cove. I trolled the mouth of the cove, and missed a couple of
strikes, then broke my whole trolling rig off on a fish. He must
have been huge. The ones that get away always are. I switched
tactics and dropped off a jig for a little bottom fishing, and was
quickly rewarded with a couple of nice rock fish, just perfect for
dinner. I buzzed back to the boat and we enjoyed fresh fish fillets.
After dinner we went out for a dinghy cruise in the evening light.
We explored the mouth of a little salmon stream, with pink salmon
congregating at the mouth, waiting for the right time to go upstream.
Distance for the day: 35 nm; total for the trip: 1708 nm
Bright sunny morning, slight swell sneaking into our protected anchorage from outside. I ran out in the dinghy first thing to pull the crab trap. Only thing I caught was 3 sun stars. Back in the cove we went for a dinghy explore along the shoreline at low tide. Wonderful sea life was visible from dinghy in very clear water. We pulled anchor around 9:30 am and cruised out onto Chatham Strait. Light breeze out of the north. I unfurled the jib and raised the main. We shut the motor off and sailed south along a spectacular shoreline. The east shore of Baranoff Island is very mountainous, and indented with frequent inlets. Glacier covered peaks are visible above the inlets. The breeze pushed us along, wing on wing, at 4 knots for about 5 miles before slacking off. We continued sailing at reduced speed all the way to the entrance to Warm Springs Bay. I removed the whisker pole and we turned into the bay. We sighted the beautiful falls at the head of the bay, and the public float where we tied up, next to a big motor cruiser. We grabbed swim suits and walked up the trail to Baranoff Hot Spring. This spring is the most wonderful we've visited thus far. It is a series of 3 pools located immediately adjacent to a raging river. The first pool is extremely hot, a reported 120 degrees. The next pool has a flow of cold river water piped in, and is 105 degrees, perfect for soaking. A lower pool has river flow into it, and is too cold for soaking at this river stage. We luxuriated in the middle pool, and I managed to get into the upper one for a little while. The setting for this hot spring is magnificent.
After our soak we walked back to the little store located just above the float. They have a few locally made gifts, plus ice cream. They also have internet, so I'm typing this up quickly, so I can e'mail it out from the remote location of Warm Springs Bay, Baranoff Island, Alaska. Ain't technology amazing!
Distance for the day: 11 nm; total for the trip: 1719 nm
August 8, 2005 – continued
I hurried with
yesterday's notes, so I could take advantage of satellite e'mail at
Baranoff before the store closed, around 5 pm. After sending log
entries off to Ken via techno magic in the wilderness, I walked back
down the boardwalk toward the boat. I noticed a guy down below, at
the edge of the bay, near where the river at the base of the falls
enters the saltwater. He had a fly rod. I thought, boy is he
wasting his time. I walked a bit further and threw a haughty glance
back, only to spy him playing a salmon. I stopped and watched. Big
schools of pinks were cruising the shoreline, and whatever he had on
the tip of that fly line was getting results. Time and again he
would hook and release 3 to 5 pound pinks. He was having a ball. I
thought about that backpack fly rod stowed in the boat, and the
automatic fly reel with floating line. I also thought about my
heavily stocked fly box which had inadvertently gotten left at home
in the flurry of packing up. I gave up thoughts of joining in with
the fly rod.
Back at the boat I struck up a conversation with the Kake Indian fishing guide, attached to the megayacht Revelation, which was tied up to the float. He showed me the kind of fly the fisherman was using: a red headed jig. My old fly fishing instincts got the best of me, and after dinner I pieced together the little 4 piece fly rod, attached the reel, and poked into my tackle box for anything I could cast with a fly rod, which might attract a salmon. I came across a packet of plastic hoochies, little squid imitations, which my old friend and savvy outdoorsman, Don Johnson, had given me. Inside was a little tiny hoochy, with a pair of small hooks and leader already rigged up. It was green, instead of red, like the guy was using, but I tied it on anyway, and trooped down to the water's edge. I fished next to the guide, who had come down for some evening fun as well. He started hooking fish with regularity, laughing aloud with every hookup. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. I cast and cast, and finally started getting some hits, and then I hooked up. On a light fly rod a 4 pound pink salmon puts up a strong fight. I caught two before calling it an evening.
I rose to another beautiful day, thin high overcast to start with, which quickly burned off in favor of clear blue sky. While eating breakfast, Sandy and I were entertained by a river otter who cruised around the float, and even climbed up onto the floatplane dock, looking for goodies. After breakfast, we walked out along the boardwalk to get pictures of the falls in full sunlight. I just happened to have my fly rod along for one last fling at those salmon, and my efforts were duly rewarded. We finally pulled out around 9:45 am, and found Chatham Strait rippled with a light breeze. After making our turn south I found enough wind to warrant raising the main for some motor sailing. As we proceeded, the wind picked up, a north wind at our backs, so I set the jib, rigging the whisker pole to allow us to sail wing on wing without running the engine. Our speed initially was about 3 knots, but soon we were doing 4, then 5. By this time we had a pretty good trailing sea running, so it was a bit bouncy. The wind was also quite chilly, and the sails blocked out the sun. Sandy went below for relief from the bounce of the boat and to warm up. The wind continued to strengthen, and we started surging ahead, at times at speeds better than 6.5 knots. Sailing downwind at this speed was quite taxing, since the wind kept shifting a few degrees, back and forth, and also because I needed to maintain a heading to clear a point up ahead. The main was out to the port side, and the wind kept backing to port. With the whisker pole set, a controlled gybe to bring the main over to starbard, and jib to port, was a bit of a task. I felt relieved when the wind shifted a little to starbard as I neared the point, and I was able to maintain a comfortable distance offshore. I had sailed about 15 miles wing on wing, constantly checking the wind directional vane at the top of the mast and watching the main for luff, left hand on the main sheet to quickly haul in if she started to gybe.
We were within a mile of the entrance to Red Bluff Bay, our destination, when it happened. Bang! With no advance warning an abrupt wind shift caught the main and she gybed across. Major problem, doing 6 knots with a 4 foot following sea, and both sails full out. I cut both sheets, started the engine, and came about, into sea and wind. Sails flapped loudly, uncontrollably luffing. Of course, Sandy was rudely startled by this abrupt turn of events, and rushed into the cockpit. I handed her the wheel and quickly dropped the main. I then turned attention to the jib. With all the chaos, the jib had jerked the whisker pole free from the mast, but was still attached to the sail. I retrieved it, unclipped it from the sail and passed it back to Sandy. With the pole removed it was a simple matter to roll the jib up. We turned back on course and motored the last bit into Red Bluff Inlet.
I thought we had escaped this incident unscathed, but later, when getting ready to put the whisker pole away, I noticed that the plastic tab for the spring clip which holds it in place on the mast was missing. Apparently when it broke loose, the tab tore out. I hope I can get a replacement part, but in the meantime, we will be sailing without benefit of that pole.
We were grateful to reach the shelter of Red Bluff Inlet, which is
described in Douglas as one of the scenic highlights of Southeast
Alaska, combining rugged peaks, snowfields, and waterfalls in a most
spectacular fashion. As usual, Douglas was right on the mark. We
marveled at the landscape as we followed the narrow passage into the
inlet. We proceeded in to the recommended anchorage, near the head
of the inlet. It is a well protected nook. A fishing boat attached
to the excursion yacht we passed on the way in was there, and the
young guys aboard were having a ball fly fishing for pinks. The
water in this cove was simply crawling with fish. Huge schools
milled around, fish jumping everywhere. The more we looked, the more
fish we saw. After anchoring we went out in dinghy for an explore.
This inlet holds more fish than I knew existed. Massive schools,
revealed by incessant jumping. At times it looks like popcorn
popping in hot oil, every pop a fish. I fished some, and caught
some, but mostly we just watched the spectacle. Typing this at well
past 10 pm, I can still hear them outside the boat, jumping and
splashing. I wonder if they ever rest.
Distance for the day: 22 nm; total for the trip: 1741 nm
In a trip marked by unique and extraordinary experiences, today stands out, for somehow we have managed to sail completely out of Alaska and into the tropics. Allow me to explain.
Last night I decided on an early departure, knowing that we must make a crossing of Chatham Strait, which is 13 miles wide at our projected course. After our hectic experience of the previous day, I didn't want to get caught out in the middle in a freshening breeze, with the swell right on our beam. So I awoke at 5 am, and was underway by 5:20. Sunlight was just lighting up the rock walls of Red Bluff Inlet, the water calm, those pinks still jumping. In fact, they jumped non stop all night. Chatham looked to be in good shape when I reached the mouth of the inlet. Light northerly breeze, sea surface rippled. I headed out on a GPS waypoint course for Cornwallis Point, on the far side. A few miles out the breeze picked up a little, and a small swell rocked us slightly, but not enough to check our speed, which was the usual 6 knots. Just past half way, however, something unusual and strange occurred. Instead of accelerating, the wind started to die. Ahead I could see oil slick smooth water. The rising sun, which had been right in my face at the start of the crossing, climbed higher into a cloudless sky. We motored through breathless air, and the clothing layers started coming off. By the time we anchored in Honeydew Cove it was starting to feel hot. Clearly we were no longer in Alaska, but had somehow, out in the middle of Chatham Strait, entered into the tropical doldrums. By way of evidence, I cite the merciless sun, breathless air (which remained so the entire day), and squadrons of biting flies which compelled us to deploy our surround bug netting, which had specifically been made for use in the Everglades. We didn't question this strange turn of events, but simply dressed for the weather and marveled at the day. Heck, maybe this actually is the real Alaska after all, and all that rain and gloom back in June and July was merely a figment of our imagination.
Honeydew Cove is
a lovely, intimate place, actually more of a side channel protected
by small islands and kelp beds. The land form here is very different
than we have experienced on mountainous Baranoff Island, consisting
of low limestone hills and tilted sedimentary layers forming reefs
offshore. Rock and elements have combined to create features more at
home in Utah than Alaska, including a pedestal rock and a large
natural arch. We just sort of hung out here for the day. I went out
fishing for a few hours and caught several black bass (released them
all since we need a break from our fish diet right now). I also
caught a headache from too much sun. I'm avoiding listening to NOAA
weather radio, and I've stopped sneaking peaks at the barometer.
Rather, I choose to believe that this tropical weather will simply
continue for the rest of the trip.
Distance for the day: 23 nm; total for the trip: 1764 nm
Dawn of another beautiful day. Heavy dew in the cockpit. We can feel the hints of fall, with chill nights and the earliest tints of red on the vine maples. We got underway at 7:30 on a glass smooth sea, weaving our way through an intricate maze known as the Keku Islands. We passed a low rocky island, where several dozen harbor seals were hauled out. We headed across the channel toward the Indian village of Kake in search of fuel, ice, and a few groceries. I radioed ahead and confirmed that the fuel dock was open. If not, I would have tied up there until they did, since we couldn't go much further without filling the tanks. The guy at the fuel float had a friendly smile and helped us with gas. I asked him if we could buy ice anywhere nearby, and he said there was a store a half mile down the road. He then offered us the loan of his car to go to the store. Very generous, and after thinking about lugging 20 lbs of rapidly melting ice a half mile, we accepted. We drove to the post office to mail picture cd's to Ken, and then located the store where we got groceries and ice. Just about everyone we passed gave us a wave. Very friendly place, this Kake. We pulled away from the fuel dock at 11 am and headed south, toward Rocky Pass.
Now, Rocky Pass
is a place which caught my eye last winter, when I first began
studying charts and reading in Douglas. It is a tight, twisty
passage through the very middle of Kupreanof Island, and it lives up
to its name with all the rocks, boulders, reefs, and small rocky
islets along the way. It could also be called Kelpy Pass, since the
often shallow channel is loaded with bull kelp. I had the route
waypointed well, and I knew it would be a fun passage. As we
approached I noticed a trawler cruising toward the entrance off our
starbard bow. He entered ahead of us, and we followed at a distance,
but slowly gaining. He hailed us on radio and we exchanged greetings
and cruising plans. As we got further into the pass the air grew
still, and the dark rocks all around us began radiating solar heat.
The air temperature rose to 86 degrees. The warm air was fine; what
wasn't fine were the 6 legged, winged hordes which started swarming
the boat. Because of the hazards of the passage, we had to proceed
slowly, which was just fine for the horseflies, and they became
almost unbearable. I stood on the bow, watching for rocks and
pointing out kelp. Sandy ran the boat with one hand, and swatted
horseflies with the other. She finally put her mosquito net shirt
on, and found some relief. We finally picked up a headwind south of
the Devil's Elbow (a particularly tight, rockbound turn), and left
some of the pests behind.
We talked by
radio again with the trawler LaBella,
and decided to go on through to the south end of Rocky Pass and
anchor in the same area. We set the hook and boarded dinghy to motor
over and properly meet these new friends. I had taken some pictures
of their boat with the digital camera, and Sandy had put them on a
cd, which we brought with us. Robert and Stacy very much appreciated
them. They invited us aboard and we enjoyed a very pleasant visit.
They have sold their house and purchased this 36 foot trawler, which
is now their home, and their dinghy is their car. They plan to
winter in Petersburg and continue their explore of Alaska next
summer. We had a good time exchanging boating experiences and
information on places visited. After socializing, we motored back to
our boat for an evening steak barbque.
Distance for the day: 38 nm; total for the trip: 1802 nm
How do you place a value on a day like this? It is certainly unreasonable to think that any efforts of mine have been sufficient to earn or merit such a day. It is simply a gift, and for that I am grateful.
The sun rose early over the low timbered horizon of Tunehean Creek Bight. We enjoyed coffee and donuts, then got underway. We said goodbye to our friends Robert and Stacey, then motored down the southern entrance to Rocky Pass and on toward Sumner Strait. The horseflies attempted to renew their assult, however, a light breeze and good speed from the outboard helped us outrun them. I suffered a minor setback while taking a swipe at a horsefly who was attempting to hitch a ride. The fly swatter slipped from my fingers and went overboard. I instantly went into the “man overboard” drill, punched the MOB button on the GPS, and swung in a tight circle, however, the unfortunate swatter was nowhere to be seen. We paused to say a few appropriate words, then carried on.
Out in the open
water we slowed and I set out the downrigger and fired up the kicker
motor for a little trolling. We had the time and the water was calm.
We putted along at 1.5 knots and watched sea otters and whales, but
alas, hooked no fish. We were passed by Robert and Stacey, who were
trailing a colorful kite behind LaBelle.
It seemed to be a day for play.
I pulled in the fishing gear and motored up for the crossing of 5 mile wide Sumner Strait. We cruised into a modest headwind, with light chop. The air was a bit chilly, and by the time we had crossed over to the mouth of Port Protection it was lunch time, so I pulled in close to shore, out of the wind, and turned the motor off. We sat in protected water, 100 feet or so from the rocky shore, protected from the breeze and comfortable in the bright sunshine. The cup of soup Sandy fixed was the ideal lunch. Before leaving, I tried jigging for bottom fish, and caught several black bass.
A small fleet of purse seiners were busily setting and retrieving their nets right off the point, and so it seemed a good place to try trolling again. I deployed the downrigger again, and fired up the little kicker. It had a tough time keeping us pointed in the breeze, but before I gave up, I managed to catch a 5 lb salmon.
We were only 5 miles away from our day's goal, an intruiging place
known as Hole in the Wall. Douglas had given this place a most
enticing description, and the long narrow entrance, leading to a
sizeable lagoon, looked very inviting on the chart. We passed by
rugged limestone bluffs, pocked with small caves and craggy hollows.
Nearing the entrance to Hole in the Wall, I studied the numerous
rocky points, trying to identify the one which commanded the narrow
entrance. From beyond one such point I glimpsed a faint, verticle
puff of vapor, and a few moments later, saw it again. It actually
looked like a whale spout, but it came from an impossible place. We
rounded the point and found ourselves looking right down the narrow
slot entrance to Hole in the Wall. I told Sandy there might be a
porpoise close to the left hand shore. The mystery was soon solved
as a humpback whale spouted and arched his back clear of the water.
The opening where he swam was no more than 80 feet across, and we
were not more than 100 feet away. The whale was feeding in this
entrance, so we backed off and slowly circled, amazed at what we were
seeing. We could see streams of bubbles, followed by a spout and
arch of the whale's back. Sometimes we could see the whale's upper
jaw break clear of the surface. He showed his tail flukes several
times. He worked the entire entrance, passing on one occasion
through a kelp bed right along the rocks. He rose with kelp draped
all over his back. Our cameras were in overdrive, and it was a
miracle that we didn't drift onto the rocks while watching. After
about 20 minutes, the whale finally swam for open water, thus
permitting us to enter Hole in the Wall.
The passage into the lagoon is one of those really fun things one can
do in a boat. Gliding along on smooth water, past vertical walls
adorned with mosses, ferns, cedars and devils club, and peering ahead
to the vista of the lagoon as it opened for us was a delight. The
lagoon was deserted, so we had our pick of places to anchor. We
chose well, and hooked just inside the lagoon, on the south side.
The view, terrific. There were a few horseflies nosing around, so we
set up the bug netting over the cockpit and forward hatch, which
enabled us to savor the light breeze and perfect air temperature.
Cocktail hour, and never more enjoyable. Sandy fixed a quick but
tasty dinner, and then we went out in dinghy to explore our lagoon.
High tide enabled us to motor clear to the head of the lagoon, along
the grassy shore. Limestone peaks formed the backdrop, eagles
patrolled the skies and broke the silence with their high pitched
chittering, occasionally harassed by pesky ravens. We explored a
saltwater inlet which meandered deep into the meadow. Large numbers
of pink salmon swirled near the mouth. We motored back out, and
poked back into the entrance channel before returning to the boat.
On the way back Sandy spotted a black bear, who was working his way
along the grassy fringe toward the big meadow.
Before retiring,I stood out in the dinghy for a few casts with the light spin pole. With salmon jumping all over the place, I hooked and released a half dozen 4 to 5 lb salmon in the space of a half hour. The sounds and smell of popcorn wafting from the boat cabin finally drew me in. What a joy to be able to share such a day with the love of my life.
Distance for the day: 25 nm; total for the trip: 1827 nm
With reluctance
we departed from Hole in the Wall, which had provided us with such
great wildlife observation memories. Shortly before 8 am we slid
through the narrow slot entrance and out into Sumner Strait. A large
humpback whale, as if monitoring the entrance, surfaced and spouted
not more than 100 yards ahead. We respectfully swung a wide arc
around him. Once again we swung south, with warming sun overhead,
but a thin belt of fog ahead. We rounded the Barrier Islands and
entered Shakan Bay, which was veiled with thin wisps of fog.
Numerous sea otters bobbed on their backs as we cruised by, and
whales spouted bursts of vapor into the air in the distance. We
cruised out of the fog and into the arc of Shakan Strait, which leads
to El Capitan Passage. At the entrance to this narrow route we
paused in a little cove and dropped anchor for a lunch break. It was
quite warm out, but a nice breeze kept the horseflies mostly at bay.
Following our soup and sandwich stop we swung out into the channel.
El Capitan is another interior passage, much like Rocky Pass, which
enables cruisers to remain in protected waters. It is also quite
interesting and fun to navigate. We entered at low tide, however, we
had plenty of water, and the rocks and kelp beds were very
conspicuous. The passage is very well marked with navigational
bouys, and has been well dredged. We kept on the lookout for El
Capitan Caves, a place which Robert had told us about. The caves are
lightly mentioned in Douglas, lacking in a specific locational
reference. We spied a float in the area where we thought the caves
might be, and our instincts turned out to be correct. We tied up,
and a guy walked down to greet us. He asked us if we were
interested in going on a cave tour. We said yes, and he told us he'd
be starting a tour in 30 minutes. We were really fortunate. It
turns out that the tours only run 4 days a week, and we'd hit one of
the correct days. Without reservations, it's first come first serve,
and we were the only ones there (2 others showed up at the last
minute), and we had just caught the last tour of the day. We grabbed
some warm clothing (it's 40 degrees inside) and headed up to the
start of the trail. We had 2 guides, Jake (from Yakima) and Dave
(Carson City NV). They gave us helmets with headlamps and off we
went, up the 370 stairs which climb to the cave entrance. The tour
descends about 600 feet into the cave, but seems much longer. The
route is completely unimproved, and requires a bit of scrambling over
rather slippery rocks. It was quite beautiful inside, with a nice
variety of flowstone features, most on the small side but still
fascinating. We felt very fortunate to have been able to just arrive
and be able to take the tour.
It was past 4 pm
by the time we got back to the boat. We still had 7 miles to go, if
we were to reach our destination anchorage in Devil Fish Bay. We
headed down the channel, which gradually widened as we headed south.
A 10 mph breeze was in our face on the way down, and followed us into
Devil Fish Bay. As we approached the narrows, I noticed the symbol
for rock, and we read Douglas for comment on which side to take. I
miscalculated on how close we were to the narrows, and looked over
the side. With dismay I saw the rock right beneath the bow. Too
late for reverse, I shifted into neutral and tilted the motor up.
With her skirts raised, Chinook
drifted right over that rock without a touch. Too close for comfort.
The anchorage location itself, at the head of the bay, looked too bumpy, due to the easterly breeze which was blowing up the bay. We looked for an indentation along the shoreline, and spotted a likely nook a mile back from the head of the bay. We are anchored there now, bobbing a bit but not like we would in the other spot. We're tight in to shore, to gain the most protection. Low tide comes at 2 in the morning. I've calculated that we have enough swing room and enough water under the boat to remain afloat all night. We shall see.
Distance for the day: 29 nm; total for the trip: 1856
The wisps of fog from yesterday congealed by this morning into a solid layer of overcast. The preceeding week of bright sun filled skies had produced a carefree attitude, kind of like one feels when going to the beach on a perfect day. This morning's leaden sky depressed spirits and focused attention on the challenging waters ahead. The weather forecast calls for deteriorating conditions for the next several days, and a return to periodic shots of rain. Of more concern, wind and sea height outside are predicted to rise through the mid to late week. Our return route to Prince Rupert brings us onto progressively more exposed waters as we work our way south, along the west side of Prince of Wales Island. In a few days we will face the open waters of Dixon Entrance, as we attempt to sneak around the southern tip of Prince of Wales Island. This dreary morning, the prospect of rounding Cape Chacon began assuming the proportions of rounding Cape Horn in our little boat. With all this in mind, we chose to pass up a planned overnight stop partway down to Craig, and go all the way there. This would give us one extra day we could use as a layover, in the event that winds and seas were too high when we reached the edge of exposed water.
We started
fairly early, anticipating the longer than usual run to Craig. Also,
we wanted to reach Tonowek Narrows during the ebb tide. Currents
there can run up to 6 knots and we wanted the current to be in our
favor. Since we had plenty of gas, I opted to run faster than usual,
around 6.5 knots and right at 3000 rpm. We had a light headwind at
the start, which died down as the day progressed. We saw a few
whales in the distance, and one big fellow close in. Sea otters in
ones and twos eyed us while floating on their backs. We cruised
through large rafts of rhinoceros auklets and common murres.
The wildlife
highlight of the day, and one of the trip, happened while cruising
close in along the east shore of Tuxecan Island. Sandy said she
thought she saw a bear. I quickly glassed the beach and saw nothing
but dark stumps. A moment later she insisted they were bears. She
had seen movement. I swung the boat toward the beach and saw what
she was talking about. A black sow was picking her way along the
cobble beach, exposed by low tide, while behind her trotted not one,
not two but 3 little cubs. Sandy zeroed in with her digital, in
video mode, while I took telephoto slides. We slowed the boat and
eased in toward shore, photographing all the way in. We eventually
got within 75 yards of the bears, watching with fascination as mother
bear poked along, nibbling in the tidal cafeteria. She turned over
rocks in search of edibles, including one slab the size of a coffee
table top. The cubs wandered along behind her, climbing over and
along logs before finally disappearing into the forest. Mom looked
over her shoulder and gave us a long stare before following her brood
into the shadows.
Around midday we decided to modify our cruise plan slightly by heading for the Indian village of Klawok for the night, instead of Craig. Klawok is only 6 miles from Craig, and according to Douglas, has some very attractive totem poles in the community park. As we crossed San Alberto Sound, the approach to Klawok, we passed numerous purse seiners busily setting and hauling their nets. Numerous sports charter boats passed us on their way in to port. We got cell phone reception as we neared town, and placed calls to family and friends. The tie up at Klawok boat harbor was simple. Being Sunday, the harbormaster was off duty, so we just picked a spot in the half empty marina and tied up.
We walked up
into town and found the totem park. It is a nicely maintained
grassy hill, adjacent to the library and school. About a dozen
totems stare out over the town. Most are quite old, and in various
stages of deterioration. Three or four are quite new, while 8 totem
locations are marked by creosote utility poles, standing about 12
feet high. The old totems have been gathered from old Indian
settlement locations in the surrounding area. They are not restored
when they inevitably succomb to the effects of exposure, as that is
the custom. Traditionally, old totems were allowed to eventually
fall and rot on the forest floor. Here, the oldest and most
deteriorated poles are removed (I'm not sure what becomes of them),
and copies are carved to take their place. They will be mounted on
the treated poles. Next week we're told that a totem raising will
take place. This will be a very huge celebration event, marked by
ceremonial dancing and an assembly of tribal groups from far and
wide. A 40 foot long Haida canoe will be paddled up from Hydaburg,
43 miles to the south, as part of the celebration. Two guys were
busy, on Sunday afternoon, pulling weeds and berry vines from the
edge of the park, as part of the effort to spruce things up in
preparation.
We dearly wish we could hang out here until next weekend. However, even a summer long cruise must have it's end. Ours comes with a calendar target in the form of friends driving our truck and boat trailer up to Prince Rupert. We've built in several cushion days to allow for weather, however, it would be unprudent to use them waiting here for the celebration. So we wandered through the park, admiring the poles there and imagining the singing, the dancing, and the community pride as new totems rise in the park.
Distance for the day: 51 nm; total for the trip: 1907 nm
Sprinkled sometime last night, and I had to crawl out of the sack to put up the cockpit surround. Rain had quit by morning. I couldn't locate the harbormaster by time for us to leave, so I left a boat card with a note to bill us by mail or e'mail, if there was a charge for the outer float. We left Klawock harbor at 9 am and motored the quiet waters of Klawock Inlet down to Craig. We stopped first at the fuel dock to fill our mostly empty tanks. We took on 31 gallons, which means we only had 7 gallons remaining. Just about as I had figured, since a good part of the run since Kake had been at higher than usual speed, with no sailing to assist (4.6 mpg – not too bad considering our speed). I radioed the Craig harbormaster from the fuel dock, and he gave directions to a slip. We found our spot, easy approach, and it turned out to be directly ahead of the big catamaran Addaggio which we first met in Glacier Bay, and had visited with in Sitka. We look like a little tender in front of this huge sailing yacht, which is nearly as wide as we are long.
I checked in with the harbormaster and then we hit the showers. After the welcome clean up, we wandered into the waterfront part of town in search of lunch. We had a great meal at Ruth Ann's Restaurant, situated on the waterfront in an old Victorian building, very nicely maintained and decorated inside. We checked out library hours and Sandy made some small (literally) purchases in a bead shop.
Back at the boat, I valiantly offered to do the laundry while Sandy
downloaded pictures onto disks for mailing to Ken. She was a bit
dubious, but went along with the plan. You see, I am unskilled in
the ways of doing a proper wash, but in the name of time efficiency
while in port, game to try. We decided it would be best if she
separated the load into cold and warm water wash groups before I took
off. I marched up the hill, determined to do produce whiter whites
and spanking clean everything else. I started off just fine,
selecting two adjacent machines. One had an eagle feather inside,
which seemed a bit strange. I decided that it was a talisman, a good
omen for a successful wash. I removed the feather, probably a
mistake. I loaded up the two machines, carefully following the
instructions on the lid. Step 1 – put clothes in; Step 2 –
sprinkle detergent on clothes; Step 3 – close lit; Step 4 –
select cycle (bit of a problem but I made my best guess); Step 5 –
insert coins, no problem for the first machine, but when I got to
machine # 2 I spotted the little slip of paper stuck in front of the
coin slot: “Out of order.” I looked down at the clothes,
with the detergent sprinkled over them. I scooped them out as
carefully as possible and stuffed them into the next machine, then
scaped as much of the loose detergent(bit of a problem since they
make these tubs with holes all over the place). I stuffed coins into
the machine and went outside to await the results. After the
appointed 25 minutes I returned and started removing the damp wash.
One of the first items I pulled out, from machine # one, was my Tilly
hat, which Sandy had had the nerve to suggest was in need of a wash.
Apparently she had taken issue with the mildew spots and other
assorted souvenier spots and smears on it. There on the brim, in a
big wet pile was fully half of the detergent intended for cleaning
the wash. That meant that both machines had had to do their jobs
with about a half a dose of detergent. Oh well, the loads were
fairly light. And, while I was removing the wash from the second
machine, I saw that the “out of order” machine was
merrily humming along with a nice load of wash. And I didn't even
see the repair man come in to fix it.
Drying fortunately went without incident, except for Sandy's nightshirt. For some reason it simply refused to get dry. I fed 2 additional quarters into this huge drier, with the nightshirt the only garment inside, and it was still damp around the collar. I decided enough was enough, and laid it on top of the rest of the laundry, which by now was neatly (sort of) folded and crammed into the canvass tote. What a great way to spend an afternoon in Craig.
I'm back at the boat, and no Sandy. I'm assuming that she has walked up to the post office to mail the photo cd to Ken. When she gets back we'll probably have a relaxing drink aboard, and the wander back into town in search of dinner. The library is open this evening, so after dinner I'll e'mail Ken the latest edition of these log notes.
Distance for the day: 6 nm; total for the trip: 1913 nm
August 15, 2005 – continued
Around 6pm we walked into town. Sandy wanted to stock up on reading material, given the prospect of being pinned down in a remote anchorage to the south while waiting for seas to settle, so we poked into a little bookstore. We then struck out for the library, where I e'mailed log entries to Ken. Errands completed, we got a window table at sunset in Ruth Ann's, and enjoyed a fine dinner. I finally was able to order king crab. The serving was enormous, and excellent. Sandy was on her dessert before I finished cracking crab legs.
While we waddled
back to the boat we discussed the prospects for getting back to
Prince Rupert in time to meet up with the Ringsruds, who plan on
arriving there August 21. NOAA weather predicts a serious storm for
Wednesday night (August 17). We had intended on taking about 6 days
to reach Prince Rupert, however, the storm forecast threatened to
throw those plans up in the air. We simply couldn't count on being
able to move when and where we wished, given the exposed waters
ahead. Our options were (1) to work our way down protected waters
and hole up for an uncertain number of days before making our
crossing or (2) make a 2 day dash for Prince Rupert, starting early
tomorrow, and beat the storm. The proper course seemed obvious, and
when we got back to the boat we prepared to make our move. We would
run to Rupert. We emptied dinghy of life jackets, lines, pump, crab
trap and land net, then pulled him (Chinook is
clearly a “her”, Small Fry is
definitely a mischievous “him”) up on the dock for
disassembly and stowage. We filled the water tank, then organized
things topside and below for departure on the last leg of our Alaska
Cruise. Hit the sack at 11 pm.
I awoke at 5 am, no alarm needed, and by 5:30 had shoved off the dock. Rosy streks lit the eastern sky (red sky in morning, sailor take warning?). I took comfort in NOAA weather's forecast, which suggested that today and tomorrow would both be good cruising days, just enough time to make Rupert if we made long miles both days. My plan was, with dinghy stowed on deck, to run full throttle the 43 miles down to Hydaburg, top off the gas tanks there, and then ease back a bit, so as to have a comfortable margin for the remaining 140 or so miles to Prince Rupert. I had talked with the Craig harbormaster and he said the only fuel between Craig and Prince Rupert was at Hydaburg. With expectation of a fuel dock ahead of me, I shoved the throttle forward and left a big wake behind, running between 9 and 10 knots across a glassy sea.
I was relaxing, enjoying the ride when, abruptly, the massive, glossy black back of a humpback whale broke the surface, dead ahead and not more than 50 yards away. I jammed into neutral as the startled whale sounded. I called for Sandy to come up, and she climbed the companionway steps just in time to see a second whale, this time a mere 10 yards ahead of our bow, quickly surface, arch and dive, flukes waving at us as we glided up. Way too close for comfort, but certainly spectacular. We idled along for a bit, then gradually throttled up to speed. We never spotted either whale again. I expect they put considerable distance between them and us before surfacing next.
That was the extent of excitement on the run to Hydaburg. As w3e approached this remote, small Indian village, the last community on our route, I followed usual practise and consulted both Douglas and Charlie's Charts for clues as to the fuel dock's location. I couldn't find a note for it in the guides, but that wasn't surprising. Such details aren't always noted, and the Craig harbormaster did say fuel was available here. We saw a large commercial ty[e dock on our approach, but could see no indication of fueling facilities. The boat harbor lies a little to the north and we swung in that direction. I tried the radio but got no response, again not surprising, in small places like this. The docks in the harbor were in poor repair, moss covered and fairly water logged. A small handful of boats of various sizes and shapes were scattered about in slips. The place was bereft of movement. We cleated off close to the ramp and I walked up, hoping to find someone who could tell us where we could buy some gas. The harbormaster's building was locked up tight. A phone number was stenciled on the wall, but with no cell service or pay phone, it was useless. I wandered up the muddy unpaved road and flagged down the first car I saw. I asked the woman behind the wheel where I could buy fuel. She just smiled and shook her head, saying “There's no gas in Hydaburg. Folks here drive to Craig or Klawock for gas. Always top off there.” I was incredulous. “You mean there's no place here where I can get some gas?” The kids in the back seat chimed in: “No gas in Hydaburg.” The lady said I might find someone down in the boat harbor with some spare gas for sale. I looked back at the deserted harbor and continued hiking up the hill. I figured on heading for City Hall, in hopes someone there would have a useful suggestion. I hailed a couple more cars, but no one could offer any help. I was halfway to City Hall before the next car came by. I waved, and told my story to the lady driver. She had a sympathetic, friendly face, and she said she thought they had 5 gallons around the house. She said Hydaburg hadn't had fuel available for a couple of years (apparently the Craig harbormaster hadn't been to Hydaburg in those couple of years). Pretty soon a teenage girl came around from the backyard, toting a faded plastic 5 gallon gas can filled with the precious liquid. I offered the lady $20 for the gas and she said that sounded about right. She said to leave the can in the yard after i had finished with it. I walked back to the boat with the gas can, feeling like I had just discovered a pocket of gold.
I had used about 13 gallons in the 43 mile run from Craig and I figured we had perhaps 150 miles to go. Without that 5 gallons, we probably had enough gas to make it, but just barely. Adverse winds, counter current or rough seas as well as unplanned retreats would easily consume any cushion. With those extra 5 gallons, I felt more comfortable about the run ahead. I held the throttle back to 2500 rpm and, thanks to more favorable currents and calm seas, we easily made 6 knots. In fact, as the current strengthened, I was able to drop back to 2200 and still average 6 knots.
The sky had been overcast all morning, but in the afternoon things began to brighten. I took the surround down and folded up the bimini. The channels began to widen, and we could see out to the open waters of Dixon Entrance. Swell from outside was barely detectable, and the sea surface was like polished stone, with nary a ripple as far as eye could see. One couldn't have asked for a better day to travel. We both felt great, and only darkness would interrupt our progess this day.
I began noticing a peculiar musty and somewhat sour odor which I at first attributed to our proximity to the open sea. It reminded me of a mudflat at low tide on a hot day. Then it hit me. I was smelling dinghy, as the algae, barnacles and other assorted marine organizisms plastered on his bottom began curing out. I hate to think what Chinook's bottom must look like.
As sunshine broke out we transited Thompson Passage, working our way
through the mase of small islands and scattered kelp beds. Narrow
Minnie cutoff, at the south end of thompson Passage, grew closer.
Douglas states that Minnie is not for the fainthearted. Well, we
certainly aren't fainthearted, and this was an ideal day for such a
passage. I had it thoroughly waypointed and we snapped pictures as
we navigated this narrow, scenic, rockbound channel. Emerging on the
other side, we entered the fully exposed waters of Dixon Entrance.
Not a breath of wind, swell barely detectable and the sun settting
behind us, illuminating the rocky shore with intense low angle light.
We passed numerous barren islets. As we approached one large, round
shaped rock, Sandy sighted a herd of sea lions, hauled out,sunning
themselves. There must have been 70 of them, sprawledout all over
the top and sides of the rock. I slowed and swung in closer while
Sandy shot video. The sea lions growled and grumbled loudly. Then,
one animal in the middle of the herd paniced and started scrambling
for the edge. This touched off something of a stampede which, for
sea lions, is a pretty amazing sight. They lunged and flopped their
way down, sometimes over each other's backs, before launching into
the water. Once in, they congregated in a tight bunch, just their
heads showing, and they continued their growling protest. I felt a
little badly ab out disturbing their afternoon relaxation. We were
no closer than the sea lions we viewed in Glacier Bay, which had
ignored us. We hadn't intended on spooking them, but once they
started, there was no stopping them. As we eased off we noticed one
particularly large bull, still perched atop the rock, obviously too
wise to be goaded into a foolish stampede.
I decided to head for nichols Bay for the night. We could make it by
6:30 or so, and it is a perfect departure point for a run to Prince
Rupert in the morning. As we closed in on the entrance, I reread the
description of Bert Millar's Cutoff. Douglas has run it, but with
strong words of caution, describing it as a “stunt passage for
anything but a high speed inflatable.” Well, Chinook is
high speed, but not inflatable. I didn't intend on taking needless
risks. However, conditions were ideal (negligable seas, light tail
wind, current in our favor). Also, by taking the cutoff we could
save at least 3 miles on our way into Nichols Bay anchorage. I eased
toward the approach and glassed the narrows, trying to see how bad
the kelp bed (reported to be dense) looked. While looking things
over, no hands on the wheel, Chinook swung to port, toward
Bert Millar Cutoff. Clearly, she wanted to show she was as capable
as any high speed inflatable. We headed in. Sandy extended the boat
hook and I got fenders ready. In anticipation of the kelp, I lowered
both rudders, but left them uncleated so they could swing up if
necessary. I hoped that the rudders would help keep kelp from
fouling the prop. I also tilted the motor up to reduce ddraft and
lessen the chance of snagging a strand of kelp. The entrance was
every bit as narrow as reported, maybe even more so, since we were
just coming off the high low tide, with tide level reading 6.5 feet
for Nichols Bay on the Garmin. With about 5 feet to spare on each
side, we chugged through. The motor sputtered due to its raised
angle, and I could feel the boat struggle as we plowed through the
kelp, but she kept running as we cleared the narrows. The screen on
the laptop showed our track as crossing the portside point,
illustrating the degree of GPS accuracy, which is about 30 feet. In
this case, it showed us about 15 feet north of actual position.
Still pretty remarkable. Sandy remained on the bow, watching for
covered rocks until we reached the deeper waters of Nichols Bay. We
dropped anchor at a quiet little nook and prepared dinner, pleased
with our day's cruise.
Distance for the day: 79 nm (longest run of the trip); total for the trip: 1992 nm
Our last morning in Alaskan waters dawned clear and bright. We got underway at 7 am, motoring slowly out of Nichols Bay. We paused to photograph Bert Millar Cutoff as we passed by. It looked impossibly skinny from this angle. The tide was low and, with 7 feet less water in it, Bert Millar can't be more than 10 feet wide. Out on open water, a light breeze rippled the surface. I weighed options for our route. We could take the traditional, more sheltered but circuitous course around Cape Chacon, up Clarence Strait, across to Duke Island, and then south inside of Dundas Island and on to Prince Rupert. Or we could strike out across the main body of Dixon Entrance on a nearly direct heading for Prince Rupert. By so doing, we could save at least 35 miles and perhaps 6 hours of cruising time, but it would mean crossing more than 40 miles of open water without any options for shelter if it were to get rough. I considered the weather forecast, our fuel status, and the length of time it would take to reach port under both scenarios, and headed straight out. At the start, wind was light and out of the west, with a light westerly swell, with clear, sun filled sky. As we got further from Prince of Wales Island, the wind picked up a little and swung into the northwest, with a two foot swell. I set the jib, which helped stabilize us in the beam sea. Gradually the wind died back and we furled the sail. We ran at 3000 rpm, with a speed of nearly 8 knots while the sail was out, but later dropping to under 7. When we got about 20 miles offshore we picked up a north wind, from our old nemisis, Clarence Strait. This brought with it a tightly spaced 3 foot swell which conflicted with the incoming westerly swell. This made for bouncy coditions and difficult steering, but fortunately it didn't last. Sandy steered for much of this passage, since steering helped her avoid feeling sick.
As we neared Celestial Reef, located midway in our passage to the
south end of Dundas Island, we heard the buzz of a plane. We looked
behind us and saw a dark blue twin engine plane, with “Canada”
and some other markings which made it look official, stenciled on the
fuselage. He flew toward us at low altitude, then banked a turn
around us, obviously looking us over, before flying on. Our radio
was on Channel 16 but we heard no radio call. It seemed very curious
at the time. Later, we picked up a US Coast Guard “Securite”
transmission warning of some gunnery practise scheduled for that
afternoon in an area 10 nautical miles west of Duke Island. I think
that plane was inspecting the general area to make sure no boats were
inadvertently heading in that direction. If we had opted to take the
more sheltered route we would have passed right through the practise
area.
We altered course slightly after passing Celestial Reef and headed
for a radio beacon south of Dundas Island. Sea conditions
occasionally got choppy, and then would settle down. We could see a
fog bank to our east, out over Dundas Island. By the time we neared
the fog it had thinned and lifted, making for a lightly over cast
sky. We were frequently entertained by a type of sea bird called
the northern fulmar, which would glide in low over the water and
circle the boat, apparently looking for a handout. We saw the
occasional humpback whale, always at a comfortable distance. As we
got closer to land we started seeing murres and gulls. We started
seeing small boats, apparently sport fishing for halibut or salmon.
After clearing Melville Island and some nearby rocks we were able to
head due east, toward the outside approach to Venn Passage, which
would lead us to Prince Rupert. We made this run with the jib filled
by a following wind, which seemed to gain strength as we neared the
entrance to Venn Passage. We kept the sail out as we followed the
bouy path to the north end of Digby Island. After rounding a small
island the wind failed, so we furled the jib for the final run,
through shallow, twisty Venn Passage. We had finally crossed our
outbound track, effectively completing our looping tour of the Inside
Passage. Sandy steered us through the passage while I busied myself
with preparations for arrival at the Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht
Club marina. I radioed ahead and confirmed availability of a slip.
We tied up and I walked over to the pay phone to check in with
Canadian Customs. I had no problems getting checked in (clearance
number 20052290776). We finished securing the boat, called the
Ringsruds to advise them of our safe, early arrival at Prince Rupert,
and then walked up to Smiles Restaurant for a nice dinner, to
celebrate the completion of our cruise to Southeast Alaska.
Distance for the day: 73 nm; grand total for the trip: 2065 nm
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