Chronicle VIII

Chronicle VIII
Monday, August 6
Taku Harbor, Alaska to Lowe Inlet, BC

We have to leave tomorrow, if at all possible, I told Doug as I came back aboard Windwalker.

We were waiting out some “icky weather” at an Alaska State Park dock at Taku Harbor. Our neighbor on the dock when we arrived on Sunday was a sports fisherman who had dip-netted fifty (50) sockeye salmon the day before. (Yes, that is legal in Alaska.) He generously gave us a fat gallon baggie of bright red fish, which joined our remaining fat gallon baggie of halibut. An abundance of riches.

Monday morning, the predicted high winds arrived along with a gill-netter from Sitka. On board were the skipper, his girlfriend, and the skipper’s Jack Russell puppy, Deeohgee. D-O-G. I get it. (Cindy had only been fishing for three weeks. It was hard to tell if she was in love with fishing, the skipper or the dog. Probably all of the above.) As we were standing in the rain, talking and playing with Deeohgee, they told me they were going fishing the next morning and would be back in the afternoon. They’d bring us a fish. NO! Not more fish! They were so pleased at the thought of being able to share with a yachtie, that I didn’t have the heart to tell them our frig and our tummies could not hold any more fish. I didn’t want to be there when they returned. Hence my comment to Doug at the beginning of this epistle.

Later in the day, the skipper mentioned to Doug that he’d like to catch a halibut. Don’t bother. We were able to off-load our halibut baggie and were left with about two pounds of cooked halibut and the salmon. A yachtie giving fish to a commercial fisherman. Could this be the definition of irony?

We did leave the next morning in the RAINRAINRAIN, that did not stop until we anchored in Snug Cove, after hours spent in our red (Jean) and yellow (Doug) raingear. The sun came out, and we dried out. Snug Cove is large and lovely, but it took Windwalker more than an hour to wind her way into it. Secure anchorages are not to be taken for granted in this part of the world.

Humpbacks all around us, and SUN! in Fredrick Sound the next day. The critters were not close to the boat, but what they lacked in proximity, they made up for in numbers. Their tails are the best! In Petersburg, we got to tie up with the big boys (seiners) again, but most of them had gone fishin’. We stayed a day to do laundry and eat ice cream, calamari, and Korean take-out. For us, that is gourmet dining in Alaska.

Wrangell Narrows on the 10th. Sunshine again! Our chart plotter decided we didn’t need it, since the 60 nav markers were clearly visible. He’d wake up for a while and then doze off, usually at a most confusing moment. Not acceptable behavior for any piece of equipment on a small boat. He continued napping and popping up until we anchored in Exchange Bay. I don’t know which was the most irritating: having the little icon disappear, the beep-beep-beep that warned us that we had a problem, or the message that appeared the screen: You’re on your own, sucker.

Our plans for an early departure the next morning were revised when we looked out the companionway and could not see stern of the boat, much less the sides of the narrow bay. Three hours later, the fog dissipated enough for Windwalker to carefully make her way out into Kashevarof Passage, where an untold number of little islands offered us a naviguessing challenge. Mr. Chart Plotter had apparently not slept well, and continued to nap/wake up/nap/wake up. Most (but not all) of the islands, reefs and rocks had names on our paper chart, but not a one of them had a sign on the shore. Who are you??? Where are we??? We got out the hand-held GPS, the dividers, and the parallel rules, and started making little marks and course lines on the chart. Sailboats do not have useable chart tables. Nautical charts are sized for naval vessels and large ships and measure about three by four feet. We were quiet a sight, trying to “walk” the parallel rules over to the compass rose on the chart, using the cockpit seat for our table. (We have done this before. This trip is our first experience with a chart plotter.) We finally stopped the boat until we could establish precisely where we were and plot a course for a safe passage. As soon as we got clear of the numerous islands, Mr. Chart Plotter gave one last yawn, shook his little plastic body, and looked around, all chipper and ready to work. Well, aren’t you sweet? We’ll be having a little chat when we get back.

With a 15-knot northerly wind behind us and the tide with us, we decided to head across Clarence Strait for Meyers Chuck instead of Ratz Harbor, our selected anchorage. There are so many new places we want to go next year; we were reluctant to go back to a place we’d already seen, but we were in “spring tides” again (large tidal exchanges and strong currents) and needed to carefully plan our routes and departures to take advantage of the currents. Meyers Chuck rewarded us by presenting a stunning sunset.

Ketchikan the next day, and then on to Foggy Bay, positioning ourselves to cross the Dixon Entrance. We got to Foggy Bay early in the afternoon and had time to take Ratty on a sunny explore of Very Inlet. Friends of ours, who shall remain un-named, actually took their actual boat into this intricate, many-armed body of water. We had fun in our toy boat, but turned around in the first narrows, because we were concerned about the narrows becoming rapids if we tarried too long on the strong ebb tide…and because the large whirlpools and overfalls were too strong for our little 3.5 hp Taku to make any progress… and because Ratty was virtually uncontrollable. Good decision. We had a great time and the Terror Component was nil.

Shortly before sunset, another sailboat came into the bay and Doug, invited the crew of Chablis, to come over for clam chowder. They had made the seven-hour transit from Ketchikan, and were more than happy to find a small café open at that hour.

We crossed the Dixon Entrance early next day in calm seas, then the wind picked up to fifteen knots on our nose. The usual direction when we have wind. We turned left for Venn Passage, the short cut to Prince Rupert, since we were at the entrance at high tide; it would cut off two hours of very uncomfortable travel. We traded those two hours for what seemed like two days, and more than a few anxious words. If I go there, I’ll be on the beach. What buoy? What do you suppose these marks on the chart mean? Am I really supposed to take that buoy down our starboard side??? Not a pleasant transit. We learned later that the log boom tugs actually move the buoys to make room for their tows. One sports-fisher skipper had a $250 repair to his prop to prove it.

Back to Grenville Channel the next day. We headed for a new anchorage, Lawson Harbor, but opted out when we looked out to sea and saw miles of northerly facing water. Winds of fifteen knots from the northwest were predicted, so Windwalker hauled her sleek, but slow little self out into the favorable current and arrived at Kumealon Inlet two hours later where the no-see-ums and black flies were awaiting our arrival. Yum-Yum: Delicious Doug and Lean Jean are on the menu. Sharpen up your stingers boys, and lay in a fresh supply of blood-dissolving toxins. Those two old people will have inflamed itchy red welts for at least a week. We’re havin’ fun now!

Powerboat skippers get a gold star. (Your know who you are.) As we approached Kumealon Inlet, a Wall-of-Water 45’ was heading toward the anchorage from the opposite direction. Often, such boats will invoke the Ancient Law of Tonnage, and power past pokey sailboats. He hung back at the entrance, and waited for us to toddle into the bay and select our spot to anchor before he came in. An officer and a gentleman.

Okay. We will be advertising for that guardian. He or she will need to know how to figure out the currents southbound in Grenville Channel. (Windwalker flew along at nine knots on our trip north.) We spent part of today making between two and three knots against the opposing current. We were in company with Chablis and another sailboat, so we weren’t the only ones who read the tide tables wrong. Wanna’ hear the good news? The rain didn’t start until we were an hour from Lowe Inlet, where we anchored now in front of Verney falls, and the Rain stopped. Life is good.

A 60-70 foot blue-hulled (our favorite color) powerboat anchored beside us; he got underway about the same time we did the next morning and we watched his anchor chain being hoisted effortlessly, magically, into the side of the bow, like a steamship. We heard a swishing sound and saw water pouring out of the bow, over the chain. He had a power wash-down system to clean the chain and anchor as it came up. That is disgusting. This is what I hear through my Toys R Us headset when Doug is on the bow cajoling the anchor windlass to keep turning: There is another *&%*## starfish on the chain. I think I’ll see what happens if he goes through the bow-roller. Ah! He fell off. I think he may have lost a leg, but he had at least twenty. And then, of course, we often have muck and mud from the chain on the deck. We usually let the rain take care of that.

If I get to heaven, I’ll have a boat with an automatic wash-down-system on the foredeck. If I go to hell, it might look a lot like our style of cruising…but I kinda’ like it….