Am I in the way if I stand here?
It doesn’t make any difference. I can’ see a thing.
We were southbound in the fog in Grenville Channel; we could see the shore, about 200 feet away, but nothing else. I got to toot the air horn and look for “alligators” (boat- eating vagrant logs) as well as other boats. We took turns scooting below to check the radar screen. The fog didn’t last long this time and we cruised out of Grenville without incident, crossed Wright Sound and headed up Verney Passage with its polished rock mountains, 3500 feet high, and glacier-carved bowls. (I’ve been reading the cruising guides again.) It is beautiful country and worthy of the hype.
We spent that night in Kitsaway Anchorage with a logging camp on one side. By the time we were deep enough in the bay to anchor, (searching for depths of less than 60 feet) we could no longer see the camp, AND the bug indicator was only 6 on a scale of 10. Yahoo! (We talked to a lady who asked us if we had encountered problems with “white-sock flies”. Huh??? You know, the little black flies with white feet. Who looks at their FEET?
We were boarded by the POOLICE! As Windwalker motored up Devastation Channel the next morning, we saw a handsome boat steaming up the channel behind us. (We have been fascinated on our trip by the place-names. This channel was named for a ship. Who would set sail on a ship named Devastation?) An inflatable detached itself from the mother ship (the M/V INKSTER – named after a former head of the RCMP), we stopped, and it and came alongside. Two handsome RCMP men greeted us. May we come aboard? No. We’re really not ready for company, and we don’t know you. Of course, Welcome aboard.
Windwalker passed her inspection with flying colors. She got to show off her flares and other safety equipment, as well as her vaccination certificate and adoption papers. She was very pleased with herself. Since her owners were apparently not members of a Taliban sleeper cell, we were allowed to go on our way.
We crossed the channel to Waweenie Hot Springs where the Kitimat Scuba Diving Club (really) had put two mooring buoys in the very small very deep bay. We dinghied ashore with our soap and towels. What a treat! There was a tub (a.k.a. concrete box) for scrubbing and a larger tub for soaking. We did. The sun was shining, the water did not smell like sulphur, and we no longer smelled like boaters.
Devastation Channel emptied into Douglas Channel, which became Kitimat Arm as we progressed north. We got to steer “0” degrees, which I thought was fairly exciting, until the enormous aluminum plant came into view. Kitimat is a company town, built by ALCAN and recently sold to EUROCAN. We knew it was now owned by EUROCAN because we could read the lettering on one of the many large buildings from miles away.
MK Marina, which both of our cruising books assured us is one of the best on this part of the coast was a bit of a puzzlement to Windwalker’s crew. Maybe the books meant the best marina on the coast of Kitimat Arm. Why am I whining? The store, which was well stocked with marine equipment, books, and canned goods, HAD NO ICE CREAM. It had no dairy products of any sort. We could understand the lack of alcohol, because the marina is part of Kitimat Village, a First Nations Community, but NO ICE CREAM???
We did stay to do the laundry and to change Windwalker’s filters and bodily fluids. ‘Sounds easy. In reality (which is where we are still operating, in spite of indications to the contrary) changing filters and fluids takes tricky body contortions, and we Have To Pay Attention. That is the hard part. The fuel filters and oil filter are in places we can barely see, much less reach. At lest we have not pumped hot oil into the aft cabin. Yet. The job description for that guardian gets longer.
Bishop Bay Hot Springs the next day was lovely, but the hot springs were full of tipsy fishermen off of a charter boat. We spent a restful night rafted to a handsome 52-foot wooden trawler. The morning light revealed a large former-tree-now-turned-navigation-hazard attempting to snuggle its long limbs around Windwalker’s rudder. It chortled as we tried to push it away with our spindly boat hook. The skipper of the trawler revved up his engine, and the prop wash from his 52-inch propeller sent the rudder-molester out into the bay. Windwalker appreciates her big brothers and sisters.
That night we anchored in our favorite depth: 90 feet. Allegra, Windwalker’s hero from the morning, was the only other boat in the bay until…the QE2 arrived, complete with helicopter on deck and a “garage” at the stern where they kept the jet skis and other small water toys. We dinghied around the bay, terroizing a seal, a herring ball, and a flock of apparently flightless birds.
Sunshine all the way to Klemtu the next day. We journeyed to Klemtu to find the crew of White Bear Rescue, the Coast Guard volunteer boat that had responded to our call for HELP! from Fjordland back in July. We saw the boat at a dock and asked around town for the skipper. Our knock on Jim’s door brought no response, so we left our note and big bag of dark chocolate on his boat, carefully protected from the ravens.
Klemtu is on Swindle Island, directly south of Princess Royal Island, the home of the Spirit Bear. The village has an impressive Big House (it was not open) and has discovered eco-tourism. A hotel had just opened the week we were there, and a boat takes visitors on daily excursions to Princess Royal Island in hopes of seeing these white bears that have become a symbol of the coast. (For those of you who are aware of our intent to change Windwalker’s name to Spirit Bear, we have altered course. Windwalker has been working with us on the new name. We’ll let you know when we know.)
More sunshine and calm seas across Milbanke Sound that had given us such a rough ride on the way north. At Shearwater, we finally saw the crew of Ghost Rider. She is a 50-foot older fiberglass trawler out of Cathlamet. We first saw her at anchor in Montague Harbor in the Gulf Islands. No sign of people on board for two days. Our next sighting was on the dock at Ocean Falls. The curtains were drawn all day. No people. The final manifestation was on our way north off of Grenville Channel. She came into the bay, and quickly, quietly departed. Very ghost-like, and much in keeping with our conclusion that there were only phantoms on board. No, they turned out to be actual people. We didn’t touch them, but they did talk, and you could not see through them. We kinda’ liked the phantom ship idea….
Green Island Anchorage moved onto our ‘favorites” list the next day. I lowered our star crab trap over the stern and waited for crabs to crawl on board. I don’t know if it was the rocky bottom or the lack of appeal of our turkey bait. No critters. We loaded the star trap, the 45-day old bait, and our rain-gear-clad selves into Ratty and went on an explore (in the rain) to find the Home of the Crabs. Rock is the surface of choice in this part of the world. ‘Tis difficult to find sandy places with crab-habitat eel grass. At the end of the adjoining inlet, we spotted a tiny lagoon and rowed in across the shallow mouth on the incoming tide. Do you anticipate a problem with this?
We floated around the lagoon and lowered the star-trap. With our rain-booted feet draped over the sides of the little boat, we floated and snoozed in the warm rain, dreaming of crabs pig-piling on top of each other to get at our turkey. When I pulled up the trap, the turkey looked a lot like it did when it went down. Doug started up Taku and we motored to the mouth of the lagoon, where Taku had be shut off; Doug tilted his little ass up so his blades would not touch bottom. Instead of Toshiba 3.5 hp, we now had Doug-sitting-on-the-floor-of- dinghy with tiny oars hp. The incoming current and the Doug hp were almost equal forces. Almost. We slowly made our way out of the current, and Taku took a crab-free Ratty and his crew back to Windwalker.
Doug and I have different tolerance levels for many things in life. I had carefully researched the closest possible, safest possible anchorage choices for our rounding of Cape Caution. It also had to be a place we could get weather reports. We could get weather reports in Green Island Anchorage. It was very safe. It was miles north of my tolerance level. HOWEVER, the weather report the next morning predicted 15-25 knots in the morning, diminishing to 15-20 in the afternoon. The “sea state’ at West Sea Otter Buoy (can you tell that I just LOVE all of these names?) was 1.2 meters. We were good to go up to 1.5 meters. We headed for Cape Caution. Slowly. The only way we go anywhere.
Four hours down Fits Hugh Sound, past the entrances to Rivers Inlet, and Smith Sound, Egg Island came into view, with the promise of Cape Caution beyond. Light winds and seas until we cleared the end of Calvert Island. The seas increased to a northwesterly swell on undetermined heights. The land never disappeared, so we assume they were less than two meters.
When we traveled north in June, it was very calm, and we were close enough to Cape Caution to take pictures. No pictures on this trip. We’ll rely on our imaginations. (‘Can’t rely on memory anymore.) It was a long, lumpy crossing, but not terrifying. We gave thanks.
Who ARE these people and why are they allowed out on their own??? Instead of going into Allison Harbor for the night, we traveled three hours further to Blunden Harbor a wonderful well-sheltered anchorage that is a favorite of cruising boats. We had fifteen knots of wind in the Queen Charlotte Straits. We had fifteen knots of wind in Blunden Harbor. AND there were three (3!) other boats. What kind of an anchorage is this??? We a put the anchor down in thirty feet on solid rock, dragged 90 feet of chain out behind it, and pretended like we were anchored. The wind dropped as the sun set. We were back “inside”.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
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….
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….
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Windwalker Chronicles
August 5, 2007
We are no longer headed north. We only go to Chapter 5 (out of 10) in our Exploring Southeast Alaska book, so we will have many new places to explore next summer. We left Juneau this morning and will retrace some of our steps, since the weather forecast for Chatham Strait (where we wanted to go) was snotty. Not the word the forecasters used, but they should have. It ain’t too good for Stephens Passage either, but there are more places to hide, and the sea-state prediction is for three feet instead of six.
From long-ago Wrangell, Windwalker transited the often-busy Wrangell Narrows. Virtually all pleasure boats, the Alaska Ferries, and most of the tugs and barges use this route, so when you make your transit, your eyes must be directed out the window most of the time, our cruising guide warned us. Good advice, but wasted on sailors. The book has a full page and a half dedicated to the twenty-one-mile long Narrows with its 60 navigation aids and five sets of range markers. The Gods of Small Boats were with us; our four-hour transit was noteworthy for its lack of moments of sheer terror. My kind of cruising.
(065, 081, 077) In Petersburg, our destination at the north end of the Narrows, Windwalker was assigned moorage with the big boys, the handsome seiners and gill-netters. As we came down the fairway, a sea lion was enjoying an all-you-can-eat salmon buffet, diving and throwing his sizeable body out of the water as he played with his food. And did I mention that the Sun Was Shining? We like Petersburg.
We planned to stay in Petersburg two days, but our boat maintenance skills resulted in a longer visit. Fortunately, ‘tis a nice town to shop for shower sump pumps and wait for Alaska Airlines to overnight-freight (Oh. Did you expect it the NEXT day?) two impellers from Fisheries Supply in Seattle. We had an extra impeller, but needed to use it, and that left us impeller-less. You don’t want to leave home without one. Next year we’ll bring three or four.
Our acutely impaired trouble-shooting skills have resulted in replacing things that are not actually broken. (Shower sump pump). Additionally, we have been directly responsible for some critical parts breaking. (Impeller.) I think that we may need a guardian on the next trip.
Petersburg is a Poulsbo that has remained a fishing town. We enjoyed the smoked salmon, the friendly people, the lack of cruise ships, and the bookstore, as well as the picturesque town itself and the gorgeous setting. Oh! I got my hair cut by Ellie at Locks By The Docks. You can learn a great deal about a town during a thirty-minute haircut. And, as a bonus, I don’t look like the wife in the comic strip Lockhorns. At least, not the hair.
Far-way Juneau was our goal as we headed north. We anchored the first night in what we thought was a secure anchorage. The Douglas book said nothing about the fact that on anything but a minimal tidal exchange, the current ripped across the sand spit. As the sun set, Windwalker had wind and whitecaps on her stern and a strong current on her nose. I slept with the handheld GPS so I could check our position each time I woke up. The anchor held and we headed out the next morning for more exciting adventures at sea.
(VII 094, 093, 099) Our first iceberg and two glaciers! Neither Baird nor Sundum are tidewater glaciers, but they are impressive. From talking to people, we had learned about berggie bits, the little iceberg chunketts that eat propellers, so were cautious as we approached the larger icebergs in Tracy Arm. In retrospect, approaching them was, to quote Doug, “A stupid-assed thing to do” since our depth sounder went from 400 feet to 60 feet. We were on top of part of the iceberg. We’re placing an ad in the Seattle Times for that guardian. VII 105
After spending the night at Tracy Arm Cove, the only place to anchor if you want to make the twenty-five trip up Tracy Arm to view North and South Sawyer Glaciers, we decided to continue north. The RAINRAINRAIN did not make the 50-mile round trip sound inviting. As we left the cove and headed toward the two navigation buoys making the channel to Stephen’s Passage, a Holland American ship steamed past. Those people were warm and dry!
Even with the binoculars, we could not see the green buoy (they are often dragged off-station by the ice bergs). We did see big waves, but thought it was the wake from the Holland American ship. Not so. They were standing waves at the entrance; we were in the middle of a three-knot ebb current surging down that twenty-five mile fjord and rushing through a small opening at a speed much faster than three knots. (This is a huge shallow bay with moraines on both sides, limiting the navigatable channel.) We were into the current before we realized what was happening. Doug turned Windwalker 180 degrees and we willed the GPS to tell us that we were making headway, as we watched the speed-over-ground readout. Slowly the numbers increased from 0.3 as we got into deeper water and we were able to exhale.
An hour later, we returned to the site of our indiscretion, and motored between the two now-visible buoys in calm water.
While at anchor in Tracy Arm Cove, Doug had read to me about the marinas and places of interest in Juneau, which was only a (long) day away. As we headed north in the RAINRAINRAIN I re-read the information. That guardian we’re hiring needs to be able to Pay Attention When Someone Reads To You. To reach Harris Harbor or Aurora Basin, you pass under Douglas Bridge, which has a minimum height of 50 feet. 50 feet. Windwalker does not do 50 feet. She’d be nervous at 65. What to do? There is a small boat basin on the other side of Gastineau Channel (isn’t that a great name?) but it sounded marginal. As I read this, we were passing the entrance to Taku Harbor, an anchorage that offers some of the best protection between Juneau and the south end of Stephens Passage. Hard starboard rudder and we cruised into a large bay with a State Park dock and sailboat from Juneau! Magick’s skipper advised us to go “around the corner from Juneau” (twenty miles) to Auke Bay. Local knowledge is our friend.
(134) Coming into Auke Bay the next day, we could see the Mendenhall Glacier behind the marina. Beautiful setting. Auke Bay is the largest of the facilities in the greater Juneau area. Facilities include 7,672 (not a Jean number) of open moorage space. Reservations are accepted for vessels lager than 50 feet in length. What a crazy place. The entry in our log says “Yikes!” The outside breakwater had a number of 70 to 120 foot-plus yachts on both sides. Inside were more large yachts, plebian pleasure-craft, commercial fishing boats, and a gazillion sports fishing boats. The little boats were coming and going continually, but nary a 41 food spot was available. Finally, a larger boat left, and Windwalker settled in behind two commercial fishing boats. The female skipper off one of the boats started giving us a hard time because we are yachties, but it was just a façade; they were very helpful during our stay.
We took the thirty-minute city bus to Juneau to tour the capitol as well as the city and state museums. Alaska’s history and politics are fascinating. Juneau has a more varied collection of shops on the waterfront than Ketchikan, but we were unable to find anything we needed….except my Death by Chocolate ice cream cone. A rental car the next day took us to various hardware and plumbing shops until we found a fellow who could create a new shower hose for our head. This was the second time on the trip we had to replace it. ‘Sounds like we’re really clean people, showering all the time. Maybe we’ll just opt for Baby-wipes if the new one breaks.
(144) The rental car then took us to Costco (we wanted to re-provision before heading back to Canada where we found everything Very Expensive) and finally, the Mendenhall Glacier. Much more interesting than Costco. The glacier looked huge, old, and cold and not at all impressed by the people who were tromping about taking its picture. The day before (when it was sunny), we had seen if from the bus, and it looked much happier.
When we got back to Windwalker, the skipper of the sports fishing boat across from was filleting a 100-pound halibut caught by a guest who had arrived from Cincinnati that afternoon. I asked him what he was going to the next day. That’s hard to top. The fisherman shared a huge chunk of his fish with us, and hurried off to have the rest of it frozen and shipped home.
Before we left Bainbridge, Joan told me that friends of theirs were going to be in Alaska aboard their sailboat, Shingabis. Well, yes, I’m sure we’ll see them. It’s such a small area. Lo and behold. Do you suppose that is their boat? How many Shingabis’s do you suppose there are in Alaska??? We introduced ourselves to Maxine and Larry, and spent two entertaining evenings sharing stories and libations. They went “off-shore” when they were 60! and have been sailing for the last fifteen years: the Med, both the capes, Iceland, Greenland, New Zealand, and Australia. The list is long. And we thought that we were doing well to get to Juneau….
Picutres are in reverse order!!!
Still trying to get this right (Jean's sister)
August 5, 2007
We are no longer headed north. We only go to Chapter 5 (out of 10) in our Exploring Southeast Alaska book, so we will have many new places to explore next summer. We left Juneau this morning and will retrace some of our steps, since the weather forecast for Chatham Strait (where we wanted to go) was snotty. Not the word the forecasters used, but they should have. It ain’t too good for Stephens Passage either, but there are more places to hide, and the sea-state prediction is for three feet instead of six.
From long-ago Wrangell, Windwalker transited the often-busy Wrangell Narrows. Virtually all pleasure boats, the Alaska Ferries, and most of the tugs and barges use this route, so when you make your transit, your eyes must be directed out the window most of the time, our cruising guide warned us. Good advice, but wasted on sailors. The book has a full page and a half dedicated to the twenty-one-mile long Narrows with its 60 navigation aids and five sets of range markers. The Gods of Small Boats were with us; our four-hour transit was noteworthy for its lack of moments of sheer terror. My kind of cruising.
(065, 081, 077) In Petersburg, our destination at the north end of the Narrows, Windwalker was assigned moorage with the big boys, the handsome seiners and gill-netters. As we came down the fairway, a sea lion was enjoying an all-you-can-eat salmon buffet, diving and throwing his sizeable body out of the water as he played with his food. And did I mention that the Sun Was Shining? We like Petersburg.
We planned to stay in Petersburg two days, but our boat maintenance skills resulted in a longer visit. Fortunately, ‘tis a nice town to shop for shower sump pumps and wait for Alaska Airlines to overnight-freight (Oh. Did you expect it the NEXT day?) two impellers from Fisheries Supply in Seattle. We had an extra impeller, but needed to use it, and that left us impeller-less. You don’t want to leave home without one. Next year we’ll bring three or four.
Our acutely impaired trouble-shooting skills have resulted in replacing things that are not actually broken. (Shower sump pump). Additionally, we have been directly responsible for some critical parts breaking. (Impeller.) I think that we may need a guardian on the next trip.
Petersburg is a Poulsbo that has remained a fishing town. We enjoyed the smoked salmon, the friendly people, the lack of cruise ships, and the bookstore, as well as the picturesque town itself and the gorgeous setting. Oh! I got my hair cut by Ellie at Locks By The Docks. You can learn a great deal about a town during a thirty-minute haircut. And, as a bonus, I don’t look like the wife in the comic strip Lockhorns. At least, not the hair.
Far-way Juneau was our goal as we headed north. We anchored the first night in what we thought was a secure anchorage. The Douglas book said nothing about the fact that on anything but a minimal tidal exchange, the current ripped across the sand spit. As the sun set, Windwalker had wind and whitecaps on her stern and a strong current on her nose. I slept with the handheld GPS so I could check our position each time I woke up. The anchor held and we headed out the next morning for more exciting adventures at sea.
(VII 094, 093, 099) Our first iceberg and two glaciers! Neither Baird nor Sundum are tidewater glaciers, but they are impressive. From talking to people, we had learned about berggie bits, the little iceberg chunketts that eat propellers, so were cautious as we approached the larger icebergs in Tracy Arm. In retrospect, approaching them was, to quote Doug, “A stupid-assed thing to do” since our depth sounder went from 400 feet to 60 feet. We were on top of part of the iceberg. We’re placing an ad in the Seattle Times for that guardian. VII 105
After spending the night at Tracy Arm Cove, the only place to anchor if you want to make the twenty-five trip up Tracy Arm to view North and South Sawyer Glaciers, we decided to continue north. The RAINRAINRAIN did not make the 50-mile round trip sound inviting. As we left the cove and headed toward the two navigation buoys making the channel to Stephen’s Passage, a Holland American ship steamed past. Those people were warm and dry!
Even with the binoculars, we could not see the green buoy (they are often dragged off-station by the ice bergs). We did see big waves, but thought it was the wake from the Holland American ship. Not so. They were standing waves at the entrance; we were in the middle of a three-knot ebb current surging down that twenty-five mile fjord and rushing through a small opening at a speed much faster than three knots. (This is a huge shallow bay with moraines on both sides, limiting the navigatable channel.) We were into the current before we realized what was happening. Doug turned Windwalker 180 degrees and we willed the GPS to tell us that we were making headway, as we watched the speed-over-ground readout. Slowly the numbers increased from 0.3 as we got into deeper water and we were able to exhale.
An hour later, we returned to the site of our indiscretion, and motored between the two now-visible buoys in calm water.
While at anchor in Tracy Arm Cove, Doug had read to me about the marinas and places of interest in Juneau, which was only a (long) day away. As we headed north in the RAINRAINRAIN I re-read the information. That guardian we’re hiring needs to be able to Pay Attention When Someone Reads To You. To reach Harris Harbor or Aurora Basin, you pass under Douglas Bridge, which has a minimum height of 50 feet. 50 feet. Windwalker does not do 50 feet. She’d be nervous at 65. What to do? There is a small boat basin on the other side of Gastineau Channel (isn’t that a great name?) but it sounded marginal. As I read this, we were passing the entrance to Taku Harbor, an anchorage that offers some of the best protection between Juneau and the south end of Stephens Passage. Hard starboard rudder and we cruised into a large bay with a State Park dock and sailboat from Juneau! Magick’s skipper advised us to go “around the corner from Juneau” (twenty miles) to Auke Bay. Local knowledge is our friend.
(134) Coming into Auke Bay the next day, we could see the Mendenhall Glacier behind the marina. Beautiful setting. Auke Bay is the largest of the facilities in the greater Juneau area. Facilities include 7,672 (not a Jean number) of open moorage space. Reservations are accepted for vessels lager than 50 feet in length. What a crazy place. The entry in our log says “Yikes!” The outside breakwater had a number of 70 to 120 foot-plus yachts on both sides. Inside were more large yachts, plebian pleasure-craft, commercial fishing boats, and a gazillion sports fishing boats. The little boats were coming and going continually, but nary a 41 food spot was available. Finally, a larger boat left, and Windwalker settled in behind two commercial fishing boats. The female skipper off one of the boats started giving us a hard time because we are yachties, but it was just a façade; they were very helpful during our stay.
We took the thirty-minute city bus to Juneau to tour the capitol as well as the city and state museums. Alaska’s history and politics are fascinating. Juneau has a more varied collection of shops on the waterfront than Ketchikan, but we were unable to find anything we needed….except my Death by Chocolate ice cream cone. A rental car the next day took us to various hardware and plumbing shops until we found a fellow who could create a new shower hose for our head. This was the second time on the trip we had to replace it. ‘Sounds like we’re really clean people, showering all the time. Maybe we’ll just opt for Baby-wipes if the new one breaks.
(144) The rental car then took us to Costco (we wanted to re-provision before heading back to Canada where we found everything Very Expensive) and finally, the Mendenhall Glacier. Much more interesting than Costco. The glacier looked huge, old, and cold and not at all impressed by the people who were tromping about taking its picture. The day before (when it was sunny), we had seen if from the bus, and it looked much happier.
When we got back to Windwalker, the skipper of the sports fishing boat across from was filleting a 100-pound halibut caught by a guest who had arrived from Cincinnati that afternoon. I asked him what he was going to the next day. That’s hard to top. The fisherman shared a huge chunk of his fish with us, and hurried off to have the rest of it frozen and shipped home.
Before we left Bainbridge, Joan told me that friends of theirs were going to be in Alaska aboard their sailboat, Shingabis. Well, yes, I’m sure we’ll see them. It’s such a small area. Lo and behold. Do you suppose that is their boat? How many Shingabis’s do you suppose there are in Alaska??? We introduced ourselves to Maxine and Larry, and spent two entertaining evenings sharing stories and libations. They went “off-shore” when they were 60! and have been sailing for the last fifteen years: the Med, both the capes, Iceland, Greenland, New Zealand, and Australia. The list is long. And we thought that we were doing well to get to Juneau….
Picutres are in reverse order!!!
Still trying to get this right (Jean's sister)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Chronicle VI
Windwalker Chronicle VI
July 22, 2007
We are in Alaska. All of us. Windwalker. Ratty. Teddy bears. Jean and Doug. All of us. You probably thought that we had forgotten where we were headed.
We crossed Dixon Entrance on Tuesday, July 17th, spending the night in Foggy Bay just like we told the US Customs Officials we would, clearing Customs in Ketchikan on Wednesday. But, of course, we didn’t just appear here from of outer space. We had had Explores, Minor Adventures, Minor Repairs, and Time to Do Nothing along the way.
After Namu and Ocean Falls, we still had one more fally-down site to visit in BC. Butedale, (#010 and 042) with its magnificent waterfall, is the site of a huge fish cannery that was shut down in the ‘60’s. Various attempts to make it into a viable vacation community/marina have failed and it is now owned by “some rich guy in California”. Lou, the (unpaid) caretaker who lives here year-round, has used skills learned from working on the Alaska pipeline to keep a few critical parts from falling into total disrepair. He is the walking definition of resourcefulness and tenacity. The power generation system is an example of his ingenuity. #033
Lou’s teenage granddaughter is staying with him for her second summer, so he had a little company. The day we were there, we were their only visitor, but they usually have one or two boats each day. We enjoyed his stories of the history of this entrancing, decaying place. (#012)
One of our two cruising guides is Wagoner, updated yearly by Robert and Marilynn Hale after they visit the places listed in the guide. (They have correspondents to help them out. What a chore that must be.) We have been a day or two behind the Hales since we got to Dawson’s Landing and preceded us to Ocean Falls and Butedale. We’d love to meet them; Doug is sure that they are both wearing rose-colored glasses. They NEVER have anything negative to say when sharing their passionate love for the people, the coast and its history. I do think we need to learn their language. The dock,s that have been a little rough in the past, are being replaced means that one dock has been replaced. The facility is a capturing of coastal history, right before your eyes means that no maintenance has been done since 1955. But, like the Hales, we appreciate the places and the people who are trying to keep them viable.
FAST-FORWARD!!! I had planned to logically relate our journey north from Butedale, but we have just returned to Windwalker from a (hopefully) once-in-a-lifetime experience. Everyone has heard or has a story to tell about Alaska and her bears. For many cruising boaters, just spotting a bear can often be the highlight of the trip. Exploring Southeast Alaska, p. 153.
‘Wanna hear our story? We had planned to go the US Forest Service Anan Wildlife (Bear!) Observatory on our way to Wrangle, but after reading about the tenuous anchorage, decided to take a tour of the area after we got to Wrangell. As we cruised by Anan Bay, we pointed Windwalker’s nose in to take a boo. She thought that she could stay in the bay for a while by herself, so we anchored (in 125 feet!). Our spiffy red spinnaker halyard hoisted Ratty off the foredeck, we settled Mr. Tohatsu on the stern, and set out to see the bears.
The observatory has a half-mile boardwalk and then a muddy path that leads to an observation platform with a lower photo blind above a waterfall. One gazillion and thirty-six salmon were franticly heading home to have sex, and several black bears were wandering down the riverbank to snack.
From the photo blind, we watched a black bear munching on his salmon three feet from us. He/she decimated that fish and swept a big paw into the water for another, right under our screened-off feet, then disappeared into a nook in the wall to eat in private. More bears came down the hill across the river, scooped up their treats, and ambled back up to enjoy the yummy parts. We took pictures, marveled at Mother Nature, and then headed back to find out if Windwalker was still pirouetting where we left her. (170, 168)
One of the rangers had started out ahead of us, and Doug asked another rangers if we could accompany her. As we hurried to catch up with her, she motioned for us to come ahead. Well, I thought, do we have to run? No, we just have to keep walking, because there is a black bear right behind Doug. The bear wandered down to the river, and we continued with our rifle-toting guardian to a spot where three bridges cross a ravine. On the other side of the bridges was a seven-to-eight year old Grizzly the rangers have named Sea Biscuit. Sea Biscuit is a rebellious adolescent: he recently destroyed an inflatable (we were told the rangers could not be responsible for Ratty), has held people hostage in the outhouse, and has bluff-charged two people in the last week. (HOW do you know it is a bluff charge???)
We stopped, and when he advanced across the bridge, we turned and headed back toward the observation platform, about a quarter mile away, with Sea Biscuit following us. (His stride was considerably longer than mine.) As we neared the falls, he decided salmon were more fun than people, and went fishing. We stayed on the platform a few minutes and thought about Windwalker twirling around on the incoming tide.
When the rangers decided it was safe to travel, we once again set out behind this young woman, with her pepper spray and rifle (which we hoped she knew how to use). She told us that pepper spray is only effective if it gets in the bear’s eyes and nose. Just how far does it spray? I’m buying the kind with the 50 yard range.
Windwalker was in the general vicinity of where we left her, but it took considerable time to haul the 400 feet of anchor rode back on board. Mr. Windlass was very tired and we were very wet as we set out (past Blake Island!) for Berg Bay, our planned anchorage for the night. Since there two other boats in Berg Bay when we arrived, and since we had the tide with us for The Narrows, and since Wrangle was only fifteen miles away we headed for Wangle.
Did you know that fifteen miles is not a finite number? It becomes an infinite number when a small boat encounters RainRAINrain. By the time we got to Wrangle Harbor, it was almost dark and the rain had increased, something we thought was not possible. We rafted up next to an elegant Nordhaven 40. I’m sure the skipper and crew thought that the hill people had arrived.
( 020, 035, 055) NOW I remember why we do this. We’re sitting in the cockpit under overcast skies with beer, potato chips, and dip, looking out at the workboats in Wrangle Harbor (less sophisticated than other historic Southeast towns, with the feel of the Alaska frontier.). We’ve just completed our explore of Wrangle, with its totem pole sites, shops catering to the locals (cruise ships don’t stop here) and friendly people. A new museum does an excellent job of depicting the history of this area, under the rule of the Tlinglits, the Russians, the British, and finally the US. Wrangle does not have a genteel past; Wyatt Erp declined to be it’s sheriff, but agreed to serve for ten days, during which time he arrested a man he had arrested twenty years previously in the southwest. Things have changed since then.
I still haven’t told you about The Fog Incident, Prince Rupert, crossing the Dixon Entrance, Ketchikan, or Meyers Chuck. I’ll try to be succinct. Good luck with that. OH! And Hartley Bay. And Grenville Channel. Be patient. Go get a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, or come back when you have more time….
After Butedale, we stopped for fuel and a sleepover at Hartley Bay, a tidy First People’s community with no store or other facilities, except for moorage, and very friendly people. (For some reason, my camera elected to stay on the boat when we went for our explore.) As we walked past a small house with toys and tables and chairs in the front yard, Doug noticed people at one of the tables ordering food. A restaurant! We ordered fish and chips and Cokes (Hartley Bay is a dry community.). The husband and wife took turns cooking, watching their kids, and kibitzing. Kids and families and dogs were out walking, enjoying the warm summer evening and the black flies; the home/café was the community’s gathering place. People shared the tables and talked back and forth. They were interested in where we were from and where we were going. The absence of cell phones and ipods left space. Of course, the weather and calamari helped.
We left in the almost-dark the next morning for Grenville Channel, The Ditch, which is a wide, 45 mile long highway that most of the cruise ships use. We saw the Coast Guard and numerous tugs and barges, but no big ships. Since we had the current with us, we motored almost to the end, anchoring in a lovely bay in a very unlovely eighty feet. Usually if you anchor in that depth, the advice is to take a line ashore, but shore was far away because of a shelf that dropped from about fifteen feet to our precarious depth. We had to connect our 200 feet of line to our 200 feet of chain. It worked, but it was ugly. In Prince Rupert, we found a talented man at the chain store (no, not K-Mart) who spliced the line to the chain. It woks better, but Mr. Windlass gets confused talking line and chain. He can do it, but it taxes his brain.
Heading to Prince Rupert the next day, we motored into The Fog. The Radar was employed, our little air horn saw the light of day, and I stationed myself on the foredeck to watch for alligators (big logs) and boats. The Radar lives and works in his very permanent home above the chart table. The chart table is located some distance from both the helm and the foredeck; we took turns running down to see what The Radar was seeing. We could hear an engine. Big engine. We could hear a ship’s horn. We could hear our horn. We could see nothing. AFTER the BC Ferry went by, (their wakes are much larger than the cruise ships, so we knew who it was) I scampered below to watch him on the radar. He was less than a quarter mile from us and had graciously altered course to avoid a collision. Judging from the size of his wake, how quickly it reached us, and the speed with which the blip on the radar screen moved, he was not moving at a speed that will allow you to stop in half the distance you can see. More grateful prayers. This cruising business can be a religious experience. (076, 083)
Back on the foredeck. What is THAT? Doug put the engine in neutral as we watched a form materialize out of the fog. A rock? A ghost ship? A tree? A TREE??? ‘Twas huge and had been at sea for some time, judging from the amount of bird poop on it. We were in awe. More prayers of thanks. (#VI 076 & 093)
The fog departed. Windwalker and her grateful crew proceeded to The Prince Rupert Rowing and Yachting Club, which is the only place for pleasure craft to tie up in Prince Rupert, due to all the fishing boats at the two public docks. An Eagle Harbor Yacht Club burgee greeted us from the railing.
Due to a glitch in licensing agreements, there is no cell phone reception in Prince Rupert for US customers, regardless of roaming, wandering, straying, etc. We were using the phone at the head of the pier one evening, when another yachtie stopped to talk to Doug. Look, there is an eagle sitting on your mast. That happened to me last year. ‘Broke my VHF antenna. Well, good. Welcome to Mother Nature and the Ancient Law of Tonnage wrecking havoc on our technology-laden lives. Our dock-neighbor, a skipper from Switzerland on a chartered boat with a crew of five women, had told us earlier that an eagle had broken his wind-direction indicator in Port Hardy. In our minds, the majestic bird was transformed into a rude, potentially dangerous and repair-causing piece of meat. I trotted down to Windwalker and loosened the spinnaker halyard, working it back and forth until Eagle got tired of the unreliable perch and slowly soared away in search of something more stable. All the little pieces of equipment that call the masthead their home seem to have survived the visit.
After three days in Prince Rupert (the laundry attendant and his facility are a story that I will skip), we again headed north with a favorable weather prediction to CROSS THE DIXON ENTRANCE. We’ve been listening to Dixon Entrance weather reports for years; we felt like this was a rite of passage. It was a long day, and we had beam seas in the Dixon Entrance itself, but no harrowing experiences. We were happy to anchor in beautiful, very-difficult-to-enter Foggy Bay where we were surprised to find four large yachts from the Seattle area.
Ketchikan the next day, where we cleared Customs, did laundry, encountered and cured a problem with the hot water faucet in the galley, and avoided the 9,000 (That is an actual count, not my invented number.) cruise ship visitors. We saw some of the sights, but saved most for the trip back. It did seem to us that Creek Street, which was once the red-light district and is now full of shops selling items to the 9000 cruise ship patrons, served a better purpose in its former days. (#VI 103)
(142, 143) Next stop: Meyers Chuck, a very secure bay with a public wharf and more than its share of picturesque Southeast cabins and fally-down buildings. Meyers Chuck is one of the places that Michael, the skipper of Duen way-back at Musgrave Landing, recommend to us. We thank him. Moored across the dock from us was Provider, a handsome fish and crab boat that works in Alaska in the summer and in the San Francisco area during the winter. The skipper had approximately 732 (my number) very large Dungeness crabs and a smaller number of salmon. When we returned from our explore, Morrie, the skipper of the boat behind us, was cooking two of the crab, explaining that Provider’s skipper had given them to him, and one was intended for us. Yum.
We shared wine and stories with Morrie and Catherine on board Phoebe while the crab cooked. Since they were headed south, they gave us their Important Copy of the Alaska Marine Highway 2007 Official Summer Schedule, which we didn’t even know we needed. It is more than a little useful when transiting Wrangell Narrows to Petersburg; you want to know when to expect those big blue ships.
The following day was our Bear Story at Anan Bay and the too-long transit to Wrangell.
More will follow. We’re still headed north.
July 22, 2007
We are in Alaska. All of us. Windwalker. Ratty. Teddy bears. Jean and Doug. All of us. You probably thought that we had forgotten where we were headed.
We crossed Dixon Entrance on Tuesday, July 17th, spending the night in Foggy Bay just like we told the US Customs Officials we would, clearing Customs in Ketchikan on Wednesday. But, of course, we didn’t just appear here from of outer space. We had had Explores, Minor Adventures, Minor Repairs, and Time to Do Nothing along the way.
After Namu and Ocean Falls, we still had one more fally-down site to visit in BC. Butedale, (#010 and 042) with its magnificent waterfall, is the site of a huge fish cannery that was shut down in the ‘60’s. Various attempts to make it into a viable vacation community/marina have failed and it is now owned by “some rich guy in California”. Lou, the (unpaid) caretaker who lives here year-round, has used skills learned from working on the Alaska pipeline to keep a few critical parts from falling into total disrepair. He is the walking definition of resourcefulness and tenacity. The power generation system is an example of his ingenuity. #033
Lou’s teenage granddaughter is staying with him for her second summer, so he had a little company. The day we were there, we were their only visitor, but they usually have one or two boats each day. We enjoyed his stories of the history of this entrancing, decaying place. (#012)
One of our two cruising guides is Wagoner, updated yearly by Robert and Marilynn Hale after they visit the places listed in the guide. (They have correspondents to help them out. What a chore that must be.) We have been a day or two behind the Hales since we got to Dawson’s Landing and preceded us to Ocean Falls and Butedale. We’d love to meet them; Doug is sure that they are both wearing rose-colored glasses. They NEVER have anything negative to say when sharing their passionate love for the people, the coast and its history. I do think we need to learn their language. The dock,s that have been a little rough in the past, are being replaced means that one dock has been replaced. The facility is a capturing of coastal history, right before your eyes means that no maintenance has been done since 1955. But, like the Hales, we appreciate the places and the people who are trying to keep them viable.
FAST-FORWARD!!! I had planned to logically relate our journey north from Butedale, but we have just returned to Windwalker from a (hopefully) once-in-a-lifetime experience. Everyone has heard or has a story to tell about Alaska and her bears. For many cruising boaters, just spotting a bear can often be the highlight of the trip. Exploring Southeast Alaska, p. 153.
‘Wanna hear our story? We had planned to go the US Forest Service Anan Wildlife (Bear!) Observatory on our way to Wrangle, but after reading about the tenuous anchorage, decided to take a tour of the area after we got to Wrangell. As we cruised by Anan Bay, we pointed Windwalker’s nose in to take a boo. She thought that she could stay in the bay for a while by herself, so we anchored (in 125 feet!). Our spiffy red spinnaker halyard hoisted Ratty off the foredeck, we settled Mr. Tohatsu on the stern, and set out to see the bears.
The observatory has a half-mile boardwalk and then a muddy path that leads to an observation platform with a lower photo blind above a waterfall. One gazillion and thirty-six salmon were franticly heading home to have sex, and several black bears were wandering down the riverbank to snack.
From the photo blind, we watched a black bear munching on his salmon three feet from us. He/she decimated that fish and swept a big paw into the water for another, right under our screened-off feet, then disappeared into a nook in the wall to eat in private. More bears came down the hill across the river, scooped up their treats, and ambled back up to enjoy the yummy parts. We took pictures, marveled at Mother Nature, and then headed back to find out if Windwalker was still pirouetting where we left her. (170, 168)
One of the rangers had started out ahead of us, and Doug asked another rangers if we could accompany her. As we hurried to catch up with her, she motioned for us to come ahead. Well, I thought, do we have to run? No, we just have to keep walking, because there is a black bear right behind Doug. The bear wandered down to the river, and we continued with our rifle-toting guardian to a spot where three bridges cross a ravine. On the other side of the bridges was a seven-to-eight year old Grizzly the rangers have named Sea Biscuit. Sea Biscuit is a rebellious adolescent: he recently destroyed an inflatable (we were told the rangers could not be responsible for Ratty), has held people hostage in the outhouse, and has bluff-charged two people in the last week. (HOW do you know it is a bluff charge???)
We stopped, and when he advanced across the bridge, we turned and headed back toward the observation platform, about a quarter mile away, with Sea Biscuit following us. (His stride was considerably longer than mine.) As we neared the falls, he decided salmon were more fun than people, and went fishing. We stayed on the platform a few minutes and thought about Windwalker twirling around on the incoming tide.
When the rangers decided it was safe to travel, we once again set out behind this young woman, with her pepper spray and rifle (which we hoped she knew how to use). She told us that pepper spray is only effective if it gets in the bear’s eyes and nose. Just how far does it spray? I’m buying the kind with the 50 yard range.
Windwalker was in the general vicinity of where we left her, but it took considerable time to haul the 400 feet of anchor rode back on board. Mr. Windlass was very tired and we were very wet as we set out (past Blake Island!) for Berg Bay, our planned anchorage for the night. Since there two other boats in Berg Bay when we arrived, and since we had the tide with us for The Narrows, and since Wrangle was only fifteen miles away we headed for Wangle.
Did you know that fifteen miles is not a finite number? It becomes an infinite number when a small boat encounters RainRAINrain. By the time we got to Wrangle Harbor, it was almost dark and the rain had increased, something we thought was not possible. We rafted up next to an elegant Nordhaven 40. I’m sure the skipper and crew thought that the hill people had arrived.
( 020, 035, 055) NOW I remember why we do this. We’re sitting in the cockpit under overcast skies with beer, potato chips, and dip, looking out at the workboats in Wrangle Harbor (less sophisticated than other historic Southeast towns, with the feel of the Alaska frontier.). We’ve just completed our explore of Wrangle, with its totem pole sites, shops catering to the locals (cruise ships don’t stop here) and friendly people. A new museum does an excellent job of depicting the history of this area, under the rule of the Tlinglits, the Russians, the British, and finally the US. Wrangle does not have a genteel past; Wyatt Erp declined to be it’s sheriff, but agreed to serve for ten days, during which time he arrested a man he had arrested twenty years previously in the southwest. Things have changed since then.
I still haven’t told you about The Fog Incident, Prince Rupert, crossing the Dixon Entrance, Ketchikan, or Meyers Chuck. I’ll try to be succinct. Good luck with that. OH! And Hartley Bay. And Grenville Channel. Be patient. Go get a cup of coffee or a glass of wine, or come back when you have more time….
After Butedale, we stopped for fuel and a sleepover at Hartley Bay, a tidy First People’s community with no store or other facilities, except for moorage, and very friendly people. (For some reason, my camera elected to stay on the boat when we went for our explore.) As we walked past a small house with toys and tables and chairs in the front yard, Doug noticed people at one of the tables ordering food. A restaurant! We ordered fish and chips and Cokes (Hartley Bay is a dry community.). The husband and wife took turns cooking, watching their kids, and kibitzing. Kids and families and dogs were out walking, enjoying the warm summer evening and the black flies; the home/café was the community’s gathering place. People shared the tables and talked back and forth. They were interested in where we were from and where we were going. The absence of cell phones and ipods left space. Of course, the weather and calamari helped.
We left in the almost-dark the next morning for Grenville Channel, The Ditch, which is a wide, 45 mile long highway that most of the cruise ships use. We saw the Coast Guard and numerous tugs and barges, but no big ships. Since we had the current with us, we motored almost to the end, anchoring in a lovely bay in a very unlovely eighty feet. Usually if you anchor in that depth, the advice is to take a line ashore, but shore was far away because of a shelf that dropped from about fifteen feet to our precarious depth. We had to connect our 200 feet of line to our 200 feet of chain. It worked, but it was ugly. In Prince Rupert, we found a talented man at the chain store (no, not K-Mart) who spliced the line to the chain. It woks better, but Mr. Windlass gets confused talking line and chain. He can do it, but it taxes his brain.
Heading to Prince Rupert the next day, we motored into The Fog. The Radar was employed, our little air horn saw the light of day, and I stationed myself on the foredeck to watch for alligators (big logs) and boats. The Radar lives and works in his very permanent home above the chart table. The chart table is located some distance from both the helm and the foredeck; we took turns running down to see what The Radar was seeing. We could hear an engine. Big engine. We could hear a ship’s horn. We could hear our horn. We could see nothing. AFTER the BC Ferry went by, (their wakes are much larger than the cruise ships, so we knew who it was) I scampered below to watch him on the radar. He was less than a quarter mile from us and had graciously altered course to avoid a collision. Judging from the size of his wake, how quickly it reached us, and the speed with which the blip on the radar screen moved, he was not moving at a speed that will allow you to stop in half the distance you can see. More grateful prayers. This cruising business can be a religious experience. (076, 083)
Back on the foredeck. What is THAT? Doug put the engine in neutral as we watched a form materialize out of the fog. A rock? A ghost ship? A tree? A TREE??? ‘Twas huge and had been at sea for some time, judging from the amount of bird poop on it. We were in awe. More prayers of thanks. (#VI 076 & 093)
The fog departed. Windwalker and her grateful crew proceeded to The Prince Rupert Rowing and Yachting Club, which is the only place for pleasure craft to tie up in Prince Rupert, due to all the fishing boats at the two public docks. An Eagle Harbor Yacht Club burgee greeted us from the railing.
Due to a glitch in licensing agreements, there is no cell phone reception in Prince Rupert for US customers, regardless of roaming, wandering, straying, etc. We were using the phone at the head of the pier one evening, when another yachtie stopped to talk to Doug. Look, there is an eagle sitting on your mast. That happened to me last year. ‘Broke my VHF antenna. Well, good. Welcome to Mother Nature and the Ancient Law of Tonnage wrecking havoc on our technology-laden lives. Our dock-neighbor, a skipper from Switzerland on a chartered boat with a crew of five women, had told us earlier that an eagle had broken his wind-direction indicator in Port Hardy. In our minds, the majestic bird was transformed into a rude, potentially dangerous and repair-causing piece of meat. I trotted down to Windwalker and loosened the spinnaker halyard, working it back and forth until Eagle got tired of the unreliable perch and slowly soared away in search of something more stable. All the little pieces of equipment that call the masthead their home seem to have survived the visit.
After three days in Prince Rupert (the laundry attendant and his facility are a story that I will skip), we again headed north with a favorable weather prediction to CROSS THE DIXON ENTRANCE. We’ve been listening to Dixon Entrance weather reports for years; we felt like this was a rite of passage. It was a long day, and we had beam seas in the Dixon Entrance itself, but no harrowing experiences. We were happy to anchor in beautiful, very-difficult-to-enter Foggy Bay where we were surprised to find four large yachts from the Seattle area.
Ketchikan the next day, where we cleared Customs, did laundry, encountered and cured a problem with the hot water faucet in the galley, and avoided the 9,000 (That is an actual count, not my invented number.) cruise ship visitors. We saw some of the sights, but saved most for the trip back. It did seem to us that Creek Street, which was once the red-light district and is now full of shops selling items to the 9000 cruise ship patrons, served a better purpose in its former days. (#VI 103)
(142, 143) Next stop: Meyers Chuck, a very secure bay with a public wharf and more than its share of picturesque Southeast cabins and fally-down buildings. Meyers Chuck is one of the places that Michael, the skipper of Duen way-back at Musgrave Landing, recommend to us. We thank him. Moored across the dock from us was Provider, a handsome fish and crab boat that works in Alaska in the summer and in the San Francisco area during the winter. The skipper had approximately 732 (my number) very large Dungeness crabs and a smaller number of salmon. When we returned from our explore, Morrie, the skipper of the boat behind us, was cooking two of the crab, explaining that Provider’s skipper had given them to him, and one was intended for us. Yum.
We shared wine and stories with Morrie and Catherine on board Phoebe while the crab cooked. Since they were headed south, they gave us their Important Copy of the Alaska Marine Highway 2007 Official Summer Schedule, which we didn’t even know we needed. It is more than a little useful when transiting Wrangell Narrows to Petersburg; you want to know when to expect those big blue ships.
The following day was our Bear Story at Anan Bay and the too-long transit to Wrangell.
More will follow. We’re still headed north.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Windwalker Chronicles V
July 10, 2007
We’re anchored in Windy Bay, which is not windy today. Fortunately. We rather need a day without stress.
From Ocean Falls Windwalker motored the long-way-around to Shearwater, avoiding the eight-mile shorter Gunboat Passage. We didn’t want to have to try to explain to the insurance company why we had deliberately chosen Gunboat Passage at low tide.
Shearwater is a cruiser’s Nirvana with a large boatyard, a marina with docks that don’t wobble, a pub, a five-star laundry with showers, a store with ice cream, and a post office. The boatyard and the new fishing lodge with its own airport are what actually support the area; our two-dollar showers won’t go far toward paying the bills. We spent two days there because…I’m trying to remember. Oh yes. The bilge pump kept cycling on during our first night. Instead of heading for the gas dock at seven in the morning as planned, we started tearing the boat apart looking for the source of the leak. Two or three hours later, we were satisfied that the contributing source was a lose hose clamp on the fresh water pump. We consoled ourselves that good practice dictates that those twelve though-hull values should be “worked” every twelve months or so. Good practice (and the neglect thereof) will be referenced again later in this epistle.
The sun was shining! That is another reason we liked Shearwater. We mussed and fussed and talked to people on the dock. Heinz from Avoca (Namu-land) was on the dock to take our lines when we arrived. Going anywhere in this small community was just like trying to go for a walk on the Sandspit: people are friendly and want to talk. I walked up to the marine store to buy my fishing license and was gone for forty minutes. Where have you been? Where are you going from here? Have you been to (insert name of anchorage)? Have you done any fishing?
We took the sea taxi, Shearluk, (I liked the name) across to Bella Bella where little boys jumping off the pier was the high point of our explore. Not a friendly native village. (V002 and V0003)
Three hours out of Shearwater, we were in the ocean once more. We don’t look forward to crossing Milbanke Sound again on our way south. As we rounded the classic-looking lighthouse at Ivory Island, we noticed that there were no windows on the south side of the buildings. We did not have to wonder why. Oliver Cove offered Windwalker and crew a quiet night.
Rain. RAIN. Rain. Rain all the next day as we motored to Windy Bay which would be our base for exploring Fjordland Park with its high snow-covered peaks and ridges with vertical granite ramparts rising above Kynoch Inlet. Unfortunately, the Rain, RAIN, Rain was accompanied by very limited visibility. ‘Tis hard to see the high snow covered peaks when you can hardly see the vertical granite ramparts that are a substitute for shore.
I decided to go for a row in Ratty in the drizzle. As I crabbed my way toward the little patch of beach in the bay, the inflatable from the only other boat in the bay headed toward Ratty. The skipper told me he had spent two hours the night before photographing a grizzly bear on the beach. I decided to just row around in circles, which, come to think of it, it the way I always row.
The next day was SUNNY!!! and we headed toward Fjordland Park, backtracking through Mathieson Narrows (no treacherous current) where we saw our first humpback whale and then gazillion waterfalls as we entered Kynoch Inlet. # V019, V028 We motored along in the sunshine, for five hours all the way to the end, ohhhing and ahhhing at this amazing place. Not another boat shared this spectacular place with us. In fact, we had only seen four boats in the last twenty-four hours. #V039, V037, V048
There was no wind and a slight outgoing current when the engine lost power, and I shut it down. Windwalker drifted along, heading lazily down the middle of the fjord, slowing making her way toward the wall on the right as the skipper and crew…well, we didn’t panic, but we were not stress-free. Open the lazeret to get access to our good friend Mr. Kubota. His fuel pump was hot. Doug got out the spare and figured out how to wire it. A little more trouble-shooting. Remember the earlier reference to best practices? We have two fourteen-gallon fuel tanks that Doug periodically refills from our jerry cans. You’ve already figured this out. We switched to the Full Fuel Tank, (what a concept) and the wall on our right receded to its appropriate place, along with our stress levels.
Twenty minutes later, the reduced-power-shut-down-the-engine procedure was repeated. We needed to sail. The sails and our stress levels ballooned out in the three knots of wind as we reached the main channel. Which way to go? Where the most wind? Where was any wind? No wind. There was not place to anchor. We were in 600 feet of water….right up to the walls. We saw a sailboat five miles in the distance and Doug tried to call them on the VHF. Then he called for any boat in the vicinity of Mathieson Narrows. Prince Rupert Coast Guard answered. We were amazed. We explained that we could not keep our engine running and needed to get back to Windy Bay, so we could anchor and find the problem. What is your position? Are you in danger? We are not in danger, but we can’t anchor and we can’t sail. Stand by on Channel 84. They called us back, but could not hear our response, and we lost them. Doug tried the engine again, and it ran, at about half-speed. Grateful prayers were prayed. We were able to make radio contact with the Coast Guard, and told them that we were proceeding under reduced power to Windy Bay. Windwalker out.
About five miles from Windy Bay, we noticed a little boat off in the distance obviously fishing, and then saw a big official-looking inflatable roar up the channel and approach him. Let’s hope the people on that boat have their fishing licenses. Official Looking Boat headed toward Windwalker. The two men and the dog on board White Bear Rescue, out of Klemtu, about forty miles south, had been sent by the Prince Rupert Coast Guard to see if they could assist us. # V074 More grateful prayers. We proceeded along at a fine steady speed of three knots toward the anchorage. White Bear followed us to the entrance to Windy Bay and told us to be sure to call if we couldn’t fix the problem. You’ll be the first to know…assuming we have VHF capability. (We’re thinking dirty fuel filters at this point.)
We anchored in 80 feet of water and shared a stunningly beautiful evening with our friends, Navy Rum, no-see-ums (far too many to name), and Muskol Insect Repellent. Life is terrifying and good. #V075, V077
The next day, we changed all of the filters as well as the oil (now THAT is fun) and hoped that we had solved the problem brought on by our becoming so engrossed in the scenery and experience of Fjordland that we forgot our normal routine.
Disclaimer: The fuel gauges gauge nothing at all. They just sit there and wiggle back and forth, rather enjoying themselves. We kinda’ sorta’ know that, and just go by hour many hours we’ve been on one tank. Or not.
Also of interest: Windwalker came with a spare (used) fuel pump because the prior owner had a fuel problem, replaced the pump, and then discovered that, since he had let one tank run dry, the gluck in the bottom had fouled the filters. History (almost) repeating itself.
July 10, 2007
We’re anchored in Windy Bay, which is not windy today. Fortunately. We rather need a day without stress.
From Ocean Falls Windwalker motored the long-way-around to Shearwater, avoiding the eight-mile shorter Gunboat Passage. We didn’t want to have to try to explain to the insurance company why we had deliberately chosen Gunboat Passage at low tide.
Shearwater is a cruiser’s Nirvana with a large boatyard, a marina with docks that don’t wobble, a pub, a five-star laundry with showers, a store with ice cream, and a post office. The boatyard and the new fishing lodge with its own airport are what actually support the area; our two-dollar showers won’t go far toward paying the bills. We spent two days there because…I’m trying to remember. Oh yes. The bilge pump kept cycling on during our first night. Instead of heading for the gas dock at seven in the morning as planned, we started tearing the boat apart looking for the source of the leak. Two or three hours later, we were satisfied that the contributing source was a lose hose clamp on the fresh water pump. We consoled ourselves that good practice dictates that those twelve though-hull values should be “worked” every twelve months or so. Good practice (and the neglect thereof) will be referenced again later in this epistle.
The sun was shining! That is another reason we liked Shearwater. We mussed and fussed and talked to people on the dock. Heinz from Avoca (Namu-land) was on the dock to take our lines when we arrived. Going anywhere in this small community was just like trying to go for a walk on the Sandspit: people are friendly and want to talk. I walked up to the marine store to buy my fishing license and was gone for forty minutes. Where have you been? Where are you going from here? Have you been to (insert name of anchorage)? Have you done any fishing?
We took the sea taxi, Shearluk, (I liked the name) across to Bella Bella where little boys jumping off the pier was the high point of our explore. Not a friendly native village. (V002 and V0003)
Three hours out of Shearwater, we were in the ocean once more. We don’t look forward to crossing Milbanke Sound again on our way south. As we rounded the classic-looking lighthouse at Ivory Island, we noticed that there were no windows on the south side of the buildings. We did not have to wonder why. Oliver Cove offered Windwalker and crew a quiet night.
Rain. RAIN. Rain. Rain all the next day as we motored to Windy Bay which would be our base for exploring Fjordland Park with its high snow-covered peaks and ridges with vertical granite ramparts rising above Kynoch Inlet. Unfortunately, the Rain, RAIN, Rain was accompanied by very limited visibility. ‘Tis hard to see the high snow covered peaks when you can hardly see the vertical granite ramparts that are a substitute for shore.
I decided to go for a row in Ratty in the drizzle. As I crabbed my way toward the little patch of beach in the bay, the inflatable from the only other boat in the bay headed toward Ratty. The skipper told me he had spent two hours the night before photographing a grizzly bear on the beach. I decided to just row around in circles, which, come to think of it, it the way I always row.
The next day was SUNNY!!! and we headed toward Fjordland Park, backtracking through Mathieson Narrows (no treacherous current) where we saw our first humpback whale and then gazillion waterfalls as we entered Kynoch Inlet. # V019, V028 We motored along in the sunshine, for five hours all the way to the end, ohhhing and ahhhing at this amazing place. Not another boat shared this spectacular place with us. In fact, we had only seen four boats in the last twenty-four hours. #V039, V037, V048
There was no wind and a slight outgoing current when the engine lost power, and I shut it down. Windwalker drifted along, heading lazily down the middle of the fjord, slowing making her way toward the wall on the right as the skipper and crew…well, we didn’t panic, but we were not stress-free. Open the lazeret to get access to our good friend Mr. Kubota. His fuel pump was hot. Doug got out the spare and figured out how to wire it. A little more trouble-shooting. Remember the earlier reference to best practices? We have two fourteen-gallon fuel tanks that Doug periodically refills from our jerry cans. You’ve already figured this out. We switched to the Full Fuel Tank, (what a concept) and the wall on our right receded to its appropriate place, along with our stress levels.
Twenty minutes later, the reduced-power-shut-down-the-engine procedure was repeated. We needed to sail. The sails and our stress levels ballooned out in the three knots of wind as we reached the main channel. Which way to go? Where the most wind? Where was any wind? No wind. There was not place to anchor. We were in 600 feet of water….right up to the walls. We saw a sailboat five miles in the distance and Doug tried to call them on the VHF. Then he called for any boat in the vicinity of Mathieson Narrows. Prince Rupert Coast Guard answered. We were amazed. We explained that we could not keep our engine running and needed to get back to Windy Bay, so we could anchor and find the problem. What is your position? Are you in danger? We are not in danger, but we can’t anchor and we can’t sail. Stand by on Channel 84. They called us back, but could not hear our response, and we lost them. Doug tried the engine again, and it ran, at about half-speed. Grateful prayers were prayed. We were able to make radio contact with the Coast Guard, and told them that we were proceeding under reduced power to Windy Bay. Windwalker out.
About five miles from Windy Bay, we noticed a little boat off in the distance obviously fishing, and then saw a big official-looking inflatable roar up the channel and approach him. Let’s hope the people on that boat have their fishing licenses. Official Looking Boat headed toward Windwalker. The two men and the dog on board White Bear Rescue, out of Klemtu, about forty miles south, had been sent by the Prince Rupert Coast Guard to see if they could assist us. # V074 More grateful prayers. We proceeded along at a fine steady speed of three knots toward the anchorage. White Bear followed us to the entrance to Windy Bay and told us to be sure to call if we couldn’t fix the problem. You’ll be the first to know…assuming we have VHF capability. (We’re thinking dirty fuel filters at this point.)
We anchored in 80 feet of water and shared a stunningly beautiful evening with our friends, Navy Rum, no-see-ums (far too many to name), and Muskol Insect Repellent. Life is terrifying and good. #V075, V077
The next day, we changed all of the filters as well as the oil (now THAT is fun) and hoped that we had solved the problem brought on by our becoming so engrossed in the scenery and experience of Fjordland that we forgot our normal routine.
Disclaimer: The fuel gauges gauge nothing at all. They just sit there and wiggle back and forth, rather enjoying themselves. We kinda’ sorta’ know that, and just go by hour many hours we’ve been on one tank. Or not.
Also of interest: Windwalker came with a spare (used) fuel pump because the prior owner had a fuel problem, replaced the pump, and then discovered that, since he had let one tank run dry, the gluck in the bottom had fouled the filters. History (almost) repeating itself.
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