We arrived home today. It is a bittersweet experience: glad to be home but already missing our boat and the boating lifestyle! I get to sleep in my queen-size bed tonight, and sit in my recliner and watch our big screen plasma TV. I get to shower with unlimited hot water or I can take a bath if I choose. Not to mention I can use the dishwasher and look inside a refrigerator with shelves and everything! Ah! The comforts of home.
I want to thank all of my devoted blog followers. It has been a pleasure trying to entertain you with our stories of the water. I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughts and prayers. Although we had a few close calls, I am sure your good wishes are what got us through it all. For our family and friends who have been worrying about us, YOU CAN STOP NOW. Those evil sea monsters didn't get us THIS time!
Abby went straight to the haul-out facility today. She has some keel damage from the rock we hit. We don't know how expensive it will be to fix so we are keeping our fingers crossed. She did have quite a few barnacles and even some of those evil mussels growing on all of the thru-hulls and all around the rudder. Time for a paint job!
The next task I have to do is sort through the thousands of pictures we took and the hundreds of videos and find the best ones to show you. That may take me a few days so I will send out an e-mail to let you know when they are ready for viewing. Please stay tuned...
Thanks again for reading my blog!
Love to you all,
Gay
Monday, September 12, 2011
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Snoozing Seals at Fort Flagler
Ah! To live the life of a seal! I have to wonder what that would be like. From my vantage point as we pass by Fort Flagler State Park on our way to Mystery Bay, it seems like the life of a nude beachgoer on the French Riviera, although probably not as warm as it is there, I suppose.
The sun sure is blessing the beach with the full extent of its rays and the wind is very light so there isn't much of a windchill factor on this day. Ah! Feel the heat! Seal after seal after seal laying side by side on the hot sand, just on the edge of the beach, barely out of the water (and at the ready to dive in if need be.) They snooze and ignore us as we motor by, not the least bit shy about their scandalous nudity and seemingly without a care in the world (but still ready to hit the water should the need arise). Okay, so maybe they aren't that carefree but they sure look pretty relaxed!
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| Standing-room only at Fort Flagler beach |
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| Shhhh! Keep the noise down! |
Dipping Skinny at Lucky Creek!
We anchored on the north side of Refuge Island. Anchoring there was not just lucky, but strategic, as it is the closest anchorage to Lucky Creek, which is near the entrance to Pipestem Inlet on the west side of Vancouver Island. The guide books say it is a "must see" and that you must go there an hour before high tide and also that one must leave there by no later than an hour after high tide, or you might not be able to get back to your mother ship! It sounded intriguing, like a possible "Hotel California" situation, so of course we had to check it out.
We dinghied in as far as we could go, to a short waterfall that was roughly 10' high, and wondered where to tie up. (The guide books were mum on that score.) I scrambled to the top of the waterfall in an attempt to figure it out. Clearly this wasn't the way most cruisers got to the pools above - too much climbing involved! We finally figured out an appropriate place to tie the dinghy up to: under a big tree with low-hanging branches to the right of the falls. And voila! Under this canopy we discovered a well-worn trail straight up a very steep bank. Maybe these cruisers DID have a bit of climber in them after all: lots of veggie belays (roots for hand and footholds). After a very brief, steep hike we found nirvana! Multiple pools of crystal-clear water with mini-waterfalls in between. A rope swing hung down over the largest pool and there were flattish rocks to lay on for sunning yourself like a seal on the beach. The pleasant sound of rushing water and birds flying overhead and full sun to warm you after an envigorating swim made for a wonderful afternoon. Heaven on earth!
We dinghied in as far as we could go, to a short waterfall that was roughly 10' high, and wondered where to tie up. (The guide books were mum on that score.) I scrambled to the top of the waterfall in an attempt to figure it out. Clearly this wasn't the way most cruisers got to the pools above - too much climbing involved! We finally figured out an appropriate place to tie the dinghy up to: under a big tree with low-hanging branches to the right of the falls. And voila! Under this canopy we discovered a well-worn trail straight up a very steep bank. Maybe these cruisers DID have a bit of climber in them after all: lots of veggie belays (roots for hand and footholds). After a very brief, steep hike we found nirvana! Multiple pools of crystal-clear water with mini-waterfalls in between. A rope swing hung down over the largest pool and there were flattish rocks to lay on for sunning yourself like a seal on the beach. The pleasant sound of rushing water and birds flying overhead and full sun to warm you after an envigorating swim made for a wonderful afternoon. Heaven on earth!
When we first got there, we heard a loud engine approaching so we reluctantly put on our bathing suits. After half an hour, however, no one actually materialized so I scurried over the many rocks back to the first waterfall to see if I could see anyone or any boat coming. I saw no one so I came back and reported to Brad that we had it to ourselves so we should go "au naturel"! We were playing on the rope swing when Brad yelled "PEOPLE!" Wouldn't you know it? Busted! The man and woman that were approaching were kind enough to pretend to be studying the waterfalls long enough for us to dive back into the pool and swim back to our clothes on the opposite side, and allowed us to make ourselves presentable before coming closer.
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| Biggest pool with rope swing at Lucky Creek |
The water was cold but very refreshing, so as long as the sun is out, I would definitely swim here again. This place is an enchanting, fairytale-like spot that has to be seen in person on a hot summer day to really appreciate it to its fullest.
Soothed & Relaxed at Hot Springs Cove
Hot Springs cove is a "must experience" place on the west side of Vancouver Island. The provincial park there has a wooden boardwalk that is most impressive and worth a visit even if it didn't lead to those wonderful hot springs. It is the longest boardwalk (and nicest too) that Brad and I have ever seen. It is 2km (1.3 miles) long and many of the boards have boat names and artwork carved into them from previous visitors. It's an interesting memorial in and of itself. (Brad and I wished we had known about this tradition in advance so we could have brought a board of our own.) And the forest the boardwalk wanders through is definitely worth the trip as well. I found it amazing how some of the trees there have grown up in such convoluted ways. Impressive!
The springs themselves are HOT, as advertized, and truly delightful! There are several shallow pools and a nice waterfall shower too. And the rocks surrounding the springs are solid and scrambleable. Unfortunately, since it is inside a provincial park, bathing suits are required here (unlike many of the other hot springs we visited along the way.) But the scenery here makes up for having to carry wet swimsuits back with you on your way out.
Two dogs were laying in the hot sun snoozing while we were at the springs. The did not appear to have any owners watching after them. Guess they were just enjoying the springs themselves, just like we were. (Who said you had to follow your owners anyway???) When we were drying off and preparing to leave, these two dogs, one black part Aleutian and one white mongrel, came over and watched us. Whe we left, they ran out ahead of us. After a minute or so, they would stop and wait for us to catch up. It was weird! They would run ahead and then wait for us over and over again. We were beginning to worry that they were expecting us to adopt them (or maybe it was the other way around?) Were they guide dogs who just didn't know how to take a proper vacation, or did we just look lost? Was this a park service? Several passing bsathers going in commented how much they liked our dogs. After explaining that they weren't our dogs a few times, we gave up and just started saying "Thank you!" with each compliment. (What the heck?) Kind of made us wish we had a dog of our own.
We never did find out where those two dogs came from but by the time we returned to the start of the boardwalk, they had run off for the dock and were being petted by the folks there. We suspect they belonged to one of the boats tied up there. At least we hope so...
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| Some of the many boat names along the boardwalk. |
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| Mind if I grow on top of you? Of course you don't! |
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| Brad getting a hot shower. No hot water heater required! |
We never did find out where those two dogs came from but by the time we returned to the start of the boardwalk, they had run off for the dock and were being petted by the folks there. We suspect they belonged to one of the boats tied up there. At least we hope so...
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Our 4th Monthiversary Milestone!
From "If God Made You"
By Five for Fighting (weird name I know, but the music is excellent.)
... If God made you
He's in love with me! ...
Today (8/29/11) we have completed four full months of living aboard Abby Normal. I am pleased to report that we are both very happy with our "floating hotel". She is a very comfortable accommodation. And Brad and I are getting along marvelously. It is true that you really need to pick the right partner in life or your choice will literally drive you crazy living in such tight quarters. I can't imagine being with anyone else but Brad!
By Five for Fighting (weird name I know, but the music is excellent.)
... If God made you
He's in love with me! ...
Today (8/29/11) we have completed four full months of living aboard Abby Normal. I am pleased to report that we are both very happy with our "floating hotel". She is a very comfortable accommodation. And Brad and I are getting along marvelously. It is true that you really need to pick the right partner in life or your choice will literally drive you crazy living in such tight quarters. I can't imagine being with anyone else but Brad!
Monday, August 29, 2011
Bull Harbor Jellies Come A-Knocking!
We anchored at Bull Harbour, which is on Hope Island at the northern end of Vancouver Island. I suspect the island was named as such because the mariners who named her were hoping for good weather to make a safe passage around Cape Scott the following day. (We were too.) The harbor was named as such because way back when it was full of bull seals. Not so today. We saw nary a one.
But what we DID see was millions and millions of jellyfish late in the afternoon swirling and surrounding our boat. They were fascinating to watch, what with all of their twirling and swirling, and their sheer numbers! It was like being in a thick soup of wiggling, writhing translucent sea creatures. (Thank God we hadn't tried to go swimming!) I took several videos of them that I hope to share with you after we return home. Quite an amazing sight, I assure you.
Later that evening we played some Scrabble and then turned to our respective books to do a little reading before bedtime. After a bit of reading, we both realized something was thumping on our hull. It wasn't real hard knocking, not terribly insistent, but just a bit timid. I thought perhaps one of the people from the neighboring boats was tentatively rapping on our hull to get our attention, but we couldn't see anyone out there. It stopped for a bit, several seconds or so but less than a minute, and then started again. How odd!
Brad threw on some shoes, turned on the foredeck lights, and wandered topside in search of the mysterious source of the thumping. Nothing. He came back to the stern and knelt on the swim platform, looking through the water at the rudder. Nothing amiss there that he could see.
I said, tongue in cheek, "Maybe the jellyfish are knocking. Trying to get us to come out and play? Or maybe they are trying to crawl up the side of the boat to colonize some new territory and they keep falling off and thumping as they fall???"
Perhaps I shouldn't have verbalized this thought because we both started thinking of the possibility of sinister intentions of unbeknownst sea monsters lurking below us, just waiting to "get us". (Kind of like telling ghost stories to each other when you are a kid.)
Brad said, "I'll start the engine and go forward and backward a bit to scare off whatever is doing it." I didn't like that idea and talked him out of it as I feared we might foul our prop on whatever was underndeath us.
I thought the sound had something to do with our steering linkage but as yet I couldn't prove it. Since our boat had drifted right over our anchor, (it was dead calm outside), we thought perhaps the anchor rode had wrapped itself around the rudder somehow, (either that or the sea monsters were trying to crawl up our anchor rode.) So Brad pulled up about 30 feet of rode but clearly it wasn't wrapped around the rudder. However, while he was up at the bow pulling on the rode, I was at the stern and noticed that the thumping sound was becoming more rhythmic. I asked Brad, "Did you center the wheel before turning everything off after we got here?" Through the window, I could see the wheel turning ever so slightly. Just as Brad was answering me, the autopilot started beeping and it displayed "PT". Ah! The dastardly culprit had at last revealed itself! Brad had forgotten to turn off the autopilot and our helpful buddy "Auto" was just trying to steer us ineffectually to parts unknown! Whew! The sea monsters were NOT out to get us after all. We had a hearty laugh at ourselves and went to bed.
But what we DID see was millions and millions of jellyfish late in the afternoon swirling and surrounding our boat. They were fascinating to watch, what with all of their twirling and swirling, and their sheer numbers! It was like being in a thick soup of wiggling, writhing translucent sea creatures. (Thank God we hadn't tried to go swimming!) I took several videos of them that I hope to share with you after we return home. Quite an amazing sight, I assure you.
Later that evening we played some Scrabble and then turned to our respective books to do a little reading before bedtime. After a bit of reading, we both realized something was thumping on our hull. It wasn't real hard knocking, not terribly insistent, but just a bit timid. I thought perhaps one of the people from the neighboring boats was tentatively rapping on our hull to get our attention, but we couldn't see anyone out there. It stopped for a bit, several seconds or so but less than a minute, and then started again. How odd!
Brad threw on some shoes, turned on the foredeck lights, and wandered topside in search of the mysterious source of the thumping. Nothing. He came back to the stern and knelt on the swim platform, looking through the water at the rudder. Nothing amiss there that he could see.
I said, tongue in cheek, "Maybe the jellyfish are knocking. Trying to get us to come out and play? Or maybe they are trying to crawl up the side of the boat to colonize some new territory and they keep falling off and thumping as they fall???"
Perhaps I shouldn't have verbalized this thought because we both started thinking of the possibility of sinister intentions of unbeknownst sea monsters lurking below us, just waiting to "get us". (Kind of like telling ghost stories to each other when you are a kid.)
Brad said, "I'll start the engine and go forward and backward a bit to scare off whatever is doing it." I didn't like that idea and talked him out of it as I feared we might foul our prop on whatever was underndeath us.
I thought the sound had something to do with our steering linkage but as yet I couldn't prove it. Since our boat had drifted right over our anchor, (it was dead calm outside), we thought perhaps the anchor rode had wrapped itself around the rudder somehow, (either that or the sea monsters were trying to crawl up our anchor rode.) So Brad pulled up about 30 feet of rode but clearly it wasn't wrapped around the rudder. However, while he was up at the bow pulling on the rode, I was at the stern and noticed that the thumping sound was becoming more rhythmic. I asked Brad, "Did you center the wheel before turning everything off after we got here?" Through the window, I could see the wheel turning ever so slightly. Just as Brad was answering me, the autopilot started beeping and it displayed "PT". Ah! The dastardly culprit had at last revealed itself! Brad had forgotten to turn off the autopilot and our helpful buddy "Auto" was just trying to steer us ineffectually to parts unknown! Whew! The sea monsters were NOT out to get us after all. We had a hearty laugh at ourselves and went to bed.
All Aglow with Bioluminescence
Brad has a penchant for peeing off our swim platform. A harmless hobby, I suppose, as long as one doesn't fall overboard. Were it not for this quirky habit of his, we probably never would have noticed the incredible beauty awaiting us below.
One night Brad yelled, "Come out here! Come out here!" Being the obedient wife that I am, I said "Why?" (I was comfortably ensconced on the couch, happily reading my Kindle, cozy and loathe to move.) "You just gotta see this!" he said. (Like I haven't seen him peeing before???) Okay already. So I got up and came outside. He was right. It was AWESOME!
By the time I got there he had run out of urine and so was spraying the stern hose across the water. The surface lit up with a beautiful blue-green glow. Cool! We got out a kayak paddle and slapped the water with it, making mesmerizing, glowing splash patterns, delighting us both. We were giggling like 10-year olds! Such fun!
Now each night, I ask for a full report when Brad goes out for his pee. So far the dinoflagellates have only deigned to favor us with two nights of light shows, but we'll keep checking and hoping for more...
One night Brad yelled, "Come out here! Come out here!" Being the obedient wife that I am, I said "Why?" (I was comfortably ensconced on the couch, happily reading my Kindle, cozy and loathe to move.) "You just gotta see this!" he said. (Like I haven't seen him peeing before???) Okay already. So I got up and came outside. He was right. It was AWESOME!
By the time I got there he had run out of urine and so was spraying the stern hose across the water. The surface lit up with a beautiful blue-green glow. Cool! We got out a kayak paddle and slapped the water with it, making mesmerizing, glowing splash patterns, delighting us both. We were giggling like 10-year olds! Such fun!
Now each night, I ask for a full report when Brad goes out for his pee. So far the dinoflagellates have only deigned to favor us with two nights of light shows, but we'll keep checking and hoping for more...
Sunday, August 28, 2011
How 'bout the outside?
Yes folks, we have departed from the inside passage, as advertised. But if you had read our itinerary, you would have expected this departure from the "advertised" title of this blog. Anyway, we decided to "bite the bullet" and "go for it"! We heard that it might be a little late in the season to do the outside of Vancouver Island but we felt that if we wussed out, we would remember this opportunity and regret that we had been "pussies" so we went for it.
Let me say right off that I LOVE my QUEAZ-AWAYs! They are elastic bracelets with pressure points that go three fingers down from the first crease in your wrist. Without these, I think I would be a sick puppy! I put them on every morning after we leave our anchorage just when I first start noticiing the swells and I don't take them off till we are entering the next anchorage and well out of the full force of the swells. It doesn't mean I can read a book or knit a sweater, but I can get through 4 to 6 hours of constant turbulence without upchucking or even feeling like I might. And I have no problem eating so they are wonderful!
Yes, it is "Fogust in Tofino", as I was considering naming this piece, and yes, it is true that August is known for fog. We are living witnesses! Today we spent five full hours in full-on, heavy fog. We left Hot Springs Cove in the fog and it lasted the ENTIRE trip to Tofino. It only cleared for us literally as we entered the marina where we currently are. It was tedious. It was mind-numbing. It was stressful! We had to maintain a constant watch to ensure we didn't run into an adrift sport fishing boat, or that a high-powered, super fast powerboat didn't ram into us, or that we didn't hit any flotsam such as logs, massive kelp bunches, or sea lions having sex. (Not that we saw any boaters mid-voyage, but we did see a few at either end of our day.) And yes, we narrowly missed a pair of these amorous creatures on the surface frolicking about and completely oblivious to their surroundings or the boat (us) that was about to run them down! I was driving at the time and it really freaked me out (especially after the whale encounter last month. At least if we had hit them it wouldn't have been as catastrophic.)
It is late so I don't want to type much longer, but let me say that the water on the north end of Vancouver Island is BROWN! Just like the tannic water we've seen in lakes and rivers in many inland places, not out here in the ocean. Very disappointing! We don't know if that is normal or some weird thing or what. Bull Harbour had nice, blue-green water and when we got to Santa Gertrudis the water had finally returned to this nice blue-green state. If anybody knows the answer, we'd love to hear.
We are tired so we will retire for now, and hope to write more tomorrow. I have at least one story worth sharing but we're both just plain tired. Love to you all!
Let me say right off that I LOVE my QUEAZ-AWAYs! They are elastic bracelets with pressure points that go three fingers down from the first crease in your wrist. Without these, I think I would be a sick puppy! I put them on every morning after we leave our anchorage just when I first start noticiing the swells and I don't take them off till we are entering the next anchorage and well out of the full force of the swells. It doesn't mean I can read a book or knit a sweater, but I can get through 4 to 6 hours of constant turbulence without upchucking or even feeling like I might. And I have no problem eating so they are wonderful!
Yes, it is "Fogust in Tofino", as I was considering naming this piece, and yes, it is true that August is known for fog. We are living witnesses! Today we spent five full hours in full-on, heavy fog. We left Hot Springs Cove in the fog and it lasted the ENTIRE trip to Tofino. It only cleared for us literally as we entered the marina where we currently are. It was tedious. It was mind-numbing. It was stressful! We had to maintain a constant watch to ensure we didn't run into an adrift sport fishing boat, or that a high-powered, super fast powerboat didn't ram into us, or that we didn't hit any flotsam such as logs, massive kelp bunches, or sea lions having sex. (Not that we saw any boaters mid-voyage, but we did see a few at either end of our day.) And yes, we narrowly missed a pair of these amorous creatures on the surface frolicking about and completely oblivious to their surroundings or the boat (us) that was about to run them down! I was driving at the time and it really freaked me out (especially after the whale encounter last month. At least if we had hit them it wouldn't have been as catastrophic.)
It is late so I don't want to type much longer, but let me say that the water on the north end of Vancouver Island is BROWN! Just like the tannic water we've seen in lakes and rivers in many inland places, not out here in the ocean. Very disappointing! We don't know if that is normal or some weird thing or what. Bull Harbour had nice, blue-green water and when we got to Santa Gertrudis the water had finally returned to this nice blue-green state. If anybody knows the answer, we'd love to hear.
We are tired so we will retire for now, and hope to write more tomorrow. I have at least one story worth sharing but we're both just plain tired. Love to you all!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Glacier Bay is a Must See!
(This is a story I meant to post about a month ago and somehow it slipped through the cracks.)
Glacier Bay deserves to be on everyone's "bucket list." In summer the area is restricted to no more than 24 boats plus a few cruise ships on any given day. Considering that the park covers 3.3 million acres, that means darn little human interference in the area. The wildlife are truly free to do what comes naturally to them and the lucky few of us that are permitted entry have a feast for the eyes!
This is a favorite area to the humpback whales. They are as prevalent as mosquitos here. We were able to see breaching whales every single day we were there. And sometimes we saw them a little too close for comfort. Anchored at Blue Mouse Cove, a whale breached about 50 feet from our boat, and then headed straight for us. I said a quick prayer that it would turn sharply and/or not surface directly under us, or get caught on our anchor rode and pull us around the neighborhood. Within a minute or less, the whale surfaced again just 20 feet from our stern, and again it was coming straight for us. Screaming and excitement ensued! I videoed most of this so when we get home I hope to figure out how to post it. (We need a high-speed internet connection for that.) Fortunately, this lovely whale didn't hit us or take us on a joy ride. (Note that at this stage of our relationship with the whales, we still thought they were wonderful and enjoyed seeing them up close!) Apparently, he/she was well aware of exactly where our boat was and was quite capable of avoiding us. We also kayaked fairly close to several whales later that day. They always seemed to know just where we were and how much distance to keep between us and them.
Grizzlies are also commonplace in these parts. We have video of a nice big one in this same cove (Blue Mouse Cove) that I hope to share at the end of this great voyage. Brad and I are both amazed how the bears, the hikers, and the campers manage to coexist without any unpleasant nastiness.
There are also lots and lots of sea otters in Glacier Bay. They are just so darling (not to mention the fact that they can't eat you or crush you!) They lay on the surface doing the back float with their heads, front paws and back flippers out of the water. They often have their babies on their bellies, loving and hugging them. And they are always attentive to passing boats, periscoping their heads as high out of the water as possible to get the best look at you they possibly can. So cute!
There are plenty of waterfowl here too. Tufted puffins and horned puffins are colorful and rare. Bald eagles, like the whales, are like mosquitoes. Ravens, loud and obnoxious, are much more prevalent than seagulls here and don't seem to be afraid of humans at all.
Glaciers and mountains abound in Glacier Bay. (Okay, that was a "duh!") The icy terminus of the glaciers are mesmerizing and the creaks and snaps and pops emanating from them are eerie and fascinating. I could gaze at these glaciers for hours. I took voluminous pictures. I only whish I could come back in the winter to see this area under a blanket of fresh snow. It must be truly awe-inspiring.
As for the weather while we were there: The first two days were nice, mostly sunny days. The last five days were mostly rainy, with clouds almost reaching the water. We did break down and hike and kayak in the rain, but our favorite times were definitely the sunny ones when you could see all of the stunning mountains surrounding the bay.
The park service does a very nice job at Glacier Bay. They have good movies and videos that are on demand and several documentaries they show at periodic intervals during the day and evening and a different ranger talk each evening. The food at the lodge there was quite good. Brad and I both highly recommend this magical place!
Glacier Bay deserves to be on everyone's "bucket list." In summer the area is restricted to no more than 24 boats plus a few cruise ships on any given day. Considering that the park covers 3.3 million acres, that means darn little human interference in the area. The wildlife are truly free to do what comes naturally to them and the lucky few of us that are permitted entry have a feast for the eyes!
This is a favorite area to the humpback whales. They are as prevalent as mosquitos here. We were able to see breaching whales every single day we were there. And sometimes we saw them a little too close for comfort. Anchored at Blue Mouse Cove, a whale breached about 50 feet from our boat, and then headed straight for us. I said a quick prayer that it would turn sharply and/or not surface directly under us, or get caught on our anchor rode and pull us around the neighborhood. Within a minute or less, the whale surfaced again just 20 feet from our stern, and again it was coming straight for us. Screaming and excitement ensued! I videoed most of this so when we get home I hope to figure out how to post it. (We need a high-speed internet connection for that.) Fortunately, this lovely whale didn't hit us or take us on a joy ride. (Note that at this stage of our relationship with the whales, we still thought they were wonderful and enjoyed seeing them up close!) Apparently, he/she was well aware of exactly where our boat was and was quite capable of avoiding us. We also kayaked fairly close to several whales later that day. They always seemed to know just where we were and how much distance to keep between us and them.
Grizzlies are also commonplace in these parts. We have video of a nice big one in this same cove (Blue Mouse Cove) that I hope to share at the end of this great voyage. Brad and I are both amazed how the bears, the hikers, and the campers manage to coexist without any unpleasant nastiness.
There are also lots and lots of sea otters in Glacier Bay. They are just so darling (not to mention the fact that they can't eat you or crush you!) They lay on the surface doing the back float with their heads, front paws and back flippers out of the water. They often have their babies on their bellies, loving and hugging them. And they are always attentive to passing boats, periscoping their heads as high out of the water as possible to get the best look at you they possibly can. So cute!
There are plenty of waterfowl here too. Tufted puffins and horned puffins are colorful and rare. Bald eagles, like the whales, are like mosquitoes. Ravens, loud and obnoxious, are much more prevalent than seagulls here and don't seem to be afraid of humans at all.
Glaciers and mountains abound in Glacier Bay. (Okay, that was a "duh!") The icy terminus of the glaciers are mesmerizing and the creaks and snaps and pops emanating from them are eerie and fascinating. I could gaze at these glaciers for hours. I took voluminous pictures. I only whish I could come back in the winter to see this area under a blanket of fresh snow. It must be truly awe-inspiring.
As for the weather while we were there: The first two days were nice, mostly sunny days. The last five days were mostly rainy, with clouds almost reaching the water. We did break down and hike and kayak in the rain, but our favorite times were definitely the sunny ones when you could see all of the stunning mountains surrounding the bay.
The park service does a very nice job at Glacier Bay. They have good movies and videos that are on demand and several documentaries they show at periodic intervals during the day and evening and a different ranger talk each evening. The food at the lodge there was quite good. Brad and I both highly recommend this magical place!
A Caving We Will Go!
What luck! Brad was perusing our guide book and ran across an article about El Capitan Cave. Luckily for us, we were cruising right past it the very next day. And better yet, there was a USFS dock right there. Sweet! And even better still, there was nary a boat using it so we had it to ourselves! This turned out to be a really good thing as our boat took up the whole dock. Man, did we luck out! A free dock. No need to haul out the dinghy or the kayaks to get ashore.
El Capitan USFS volunteers give three tours per day of the cave. We got there on Saturday too late for the last one of the day and sadly, they do not give tours on Sunday. Seems our luck had just run out. We decided to climb the 370 steps to the entrance just to get a little exercise and check it out. Good thing we did. When we got to the entrance, the tour party of four was just getting ready to go in. We spent a half an hour talking to the guides while the guests caught their breath from the steep ascent. They could't take us stragglers as they had no extra hardhats and lights to give us. Besides, we weren't expecting to go in and hence didn't have on enough clothing to stay warm and dry inside. When we mentioned that we were cave divers from Florida (way back when in our past lives), one of the guides, warmed right up to us and offered to give us an "off the books" tour the next day. Super sweet!!! Our luck just got reinstated.
The next morning we were geared up and ready to go. Our guide gave us a great tour and we are forever grateful. El Capitan is the longest known cave in Alaska. We saw some nice examples of flowstone, bacon, and some neat calcium crystals. Quite a bit of swiss cheese-like holes. It looked like an awesome cave requiring a lot more exploration in the future. Sure wish we could help with mapping it out but alas, we have more adventures down the water to explore. So we had to shove off and leave this magical place for the local spelunkers to enjoy.
El Capitan USFS volunteers give three tours per day of the cave. We got there on Saturday too late for the last one of the day and sadly, they do not give tours on Sunday. Seems our luck had just run out. We decided to climb the 370 steps to the entrance just to get a little exercise and check it out. Good thing we did. When we got to the entrance, the tour party of four was just getting ready to go in. We spent a half an hour talking to the guides while the guests caught their breath from the steep ascent. They could't take us stragglers as they had no extra hardhats and lights to give us. Besides, we weren't expecting to go in and hence didn't have on enough clothing to stay warm and dry inside. When we mentioned that we were cave divers from Florida (way back when in our past lives), one of the guides, warmed right up to us and offered to give us an "off the books" tour the next day. Super sweet!!! Our luck just got reinstated.
The next morning we were geared up and ready to go. Our guide gave us a great tour and we are forever grateful. El Capitan is the longest known cave in Alaska. We saw some nice examples of flowstone, bacon, and some neat calcium crystals. Quite a bit of swiss cheese-like holes. It looked like an awesome cave requiring a lot more exploration in the future. Sure wish we could help with mapping it out but alas, we have more adventures down the water to explore. So we had to shove off and leave this magical place for the local spelunkers to enjoy.
VERY Close Encounter of the Third (Humpback) Kind
I've taken slight liberty with the lyrics to "New York Minute" by Don Henley, my favorite artist because his song reminds me of our encounter:
...
In an Alaskan minute, everything can change.
In an Alaskan minute, things can get a little strange.
In an Alaskan minute, everything can change!
...
It could have changed for us a bit too permanently, but fortuately, it did not!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was one of those rare days made for sailing. You just don't get that many of them when you are cruising in the southeast Alaskan archipelago. Too much land surrounding you and often the channel is too narrow. Too much wind or too little wind. Or wind from the direction you want to go or from directly behind you, and thus not sailable. This day was a lucky exception. Plenty of wind from the right direction and a 15-mile wide strait to cross.
When the wind reached 12 knots (any less and it's just not worth it), we hoisted our sails and turned off the engine. Ah! The peace and quiet. Such a pleasant and delightful change from the unending thrum of our diesel engine. All is right with the world. Only the howl of the wind, an occasional flap of the sails as a gust hits them, the sound of waves slapping against our hull, the whirring sound of our fixed prop turning as we speed through the water, and me screaming, "Aaaah! Too much heel! Too much heel! Make it stop! Make it stop!!!"
Our heel meter indicated we were vascillating between 15 and 20 degrees. In my mind, we were about to tip over. Scary! (Can you tell I hate too much heel? Brad did not seem bothered by it in the least.) The winds were now gusting up to 25 knots, with the average between 18 to 22. I begged Brad to make the heeling stop and he did so by putting in a reef in both the main and jib. Ah! Only 10 degrees heel and I am happy. Of course, that meant our speed decreased accordingly from 7 knots to 5.6 but that was just fine by me.
We were sailing a beam reach from Red Bluff Bay on Baranof Island across Chatham Strait to Honeydew Cove off Kuiu Island. Once we got north of Kingsmill Point on Kuiu Island, the wind shifted as predicted (to match the topography) so we were able to shake out the reefs in our sails. We then would sail a broad reach until it would be time to turn south to our anchorage destination or the wind died out, whichever came first.
Shortly after we removed the reefs, we both saw a whale spout dead ahead but way out in the distance, probably a half mile or more ahead. We both watched intently, scanning ahead, to see where the whale came up next so we could determine its direction of travel. We watched and watched, scanning ahead side to side, but we didn't catch another sighting. After a few minutes, we both gave up looking. (Whales can hold their breath for up to 20 minutes so it is common to see a blow and then not see another. And sometimes they come up with virtually no spray at all so you don't have a chance of spotting them.)
We were cruising along at a nice clip, about 6 knots, which was good for our boat so we were pleased. (As you may have guessed, it's not a racer.) I spotted a large cruise ship about 3 miles to port. Other than that, there were no other visual distractions. I scanned back towards the bow and screamed "WHALE!" Not just one, but TWO humpback whales surfaced about 60 feet in front of us and just ever so slighlty to starboard. They were lolligagging on the surface, their backs perpendicular to us, taking their sweet time, heading ever so slowly to port, meaning a direct, head-on collision!
From lessons learned a few weeks ago (which I will explain later), Brad immediately started our engine so the whales could hear us. This had no effect on their behavior, and, since we were closing in on real disaster within seconds, we had to do something else - and FAST! Brad said "I'll turn!" I thought to myself, if we turn to port we might hit them if they speed up since that is the way they are headed, not to mention the fact that we will most likely jibe violently (which can break the rigging). If we turn to starboard, we will hit them for sure since we can't turn on a dime. So I yelled "REVERSE! REVERSE! REVERSE!" Brad did so without hesitation and gave it full reverse. (Note that this only slowed us down as we had full sails out.) The resulting cavitation finally got the whales attention! The dorsal fins shimmied back and forth violently and they dove in an instant, flapping their flukes just 20 feet from our bow. We sailed right over their splash ripples and bubbles. Crisis averted!
During this, there had been no time to be scared. There was only time for action. We were in survival mode. Now that it was over, we had an overabundance of adrenalin to deal with. Brad said, "Man! I need a drink!" We both did, but of course, we didn't. We were so very happy to be alive and completely unscathed from this very near miss. I couldn't help but think of my old friend Laura who is deathly afraid of being on the water and of all the sea creatures lurking below who might reach up and smite her. I could just hear her saying, "I TOLD YOU SO!"
Like the conservative, safety-conscious people we are, we analyzed the scenario. We suspect that the whales could not hear us since we were sailing. We knew noise is important for safety. Whales avoid boats and even kayaks as much as possible, but they have to be aware of your presence. We leared this from a recent incident. A couple on a sailboat very near the town of Hoonah (which was just five miles from where we had been earlier) was rescued after a whale encounter. They reported that they had turned off their engine to watch the nearby whales as they drifted. A whale punched their keel up through the bottom of their sailboat, causing it to sink abruptly. They were rescued by a passing fishing boat, but their boat was a total loss.
So why didn't turning the engine on fix the problem? We think it was because of the cruise ship that was so near. Cruise ships make an overwhelming amount of underwater noise with their massive engines and propellers. We are sure this kind of close encounter doesn't happen very often because if it did, someone would surely have invented a whale whistle for sailboats by now (like a deer whistle for cars).
Now, when we see a whale spout, we both flinch! We'd be happy if we never, ever saw another whale but unfortunately, in these waters at least, they seem to be everywhere...
P.S. NOTE: Abby Normal is a possible WHALE MAGNET. Yesterday, as we were motoring our way to Craig, Alaska, (which is where we are now) we came upon a sleeping humpback. I kid you not. It was about 70 feet away from us on our starboard side. When they sleep, they hover at the surface and take what would appear to be shallow breaths, ie. no spraying. When we first spotted it, we didn't realize it was sleeping so Brad tried the trick of full reverse so the noise made by the cavitation would jolt a reaction from it. It didn't. That's when we realized it was in a deep sleep. So at least we didn't have to worry about it swimming along and coming up underneath us. No threat. What a relief!
...
In an Alaskan minute, everything can change.
In an Alaskan minute, things can get a little strange.
In an Alaskan minute, everything can change!
...
It could have changed for us a bit too permanently, but fortuately, it did not!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was one of those rare days made for sailing. You just don't get that many of them when you are cruising in the southeast Alaskan archipelago. Too much land surrounding you and often the channel is too narrow. Too much wind or too little wind. Or wind from the direction you want to go or from directly behind you, and thus not sailable. This day was a lucky exception. Plenty of wind from the right direction and a 15-mile wide strait to cross.
When the wind reached 12 knots (any less and it's just not worth it), we hoisted our sails and turned off the engine. Ah! The peace and quiet. Such a pleasant and delightful change from the unending thrum of our diesel engine. All is right with the world. Only the howl of the wind, an occasional flap of the sails as a gust hits them, the sound of waves slapping against our hull, the whirring sound of our fixed prop turning as we speed through the water, and me screaming, "Aaaah! Too much heel! Too much heel! Make it stop! Make it stop!!!"
Our heel meter indicated we were vascillating between 15 and 20 degrees. In my mind, we were about to tip over. Scary! (Can you tell I hate too much heel? Brad did not seem bothered by it in the least.) The winds were now gusting up to 25 knots, with the average between 18 to 22. I begged Brad to make the heeling stop and he did so by putting in a reef in both the main and jib. Ah! Only 10 degrees heel and I am happy. Of course, that meant our speed decreased accordingly from 7 knots to 5.6 but that was just fine by me.
We were sailing a beam reach from Red Bluff Bay on Baranof Island across Chatham Strait to Honeydew Cove off Kuiu Island. Once we got north of Kingsmill Point on Kuiu Island, the wind shifted as predicted (to match the topography) so we were able to shake out the reefs in our sails. We then would sail a broad reach until it would be time to turn south to our anchorage destination or the wind died out, whichever came first.
Shortly after we removed the reefs, we both saw a whale spout dead ahead but way out in the distance, probably a half mile or more ahead. We both watched intently, scanning ahead, to see where the whale came up next so we could determine its direction of travel. We watched and watched, scanning ahead side to side, but we didn't catch another sighting. After a few minutes, we both gave up looking. (Whales can hold their breath for up to 20 minutes so it is common to see a blow and then not see another. And sometimes they come up with virtually no spray at all so you don't have a chance of spotting them.)
We were cruising along at a nice clip, about 6 knots, which was good for our boat so we were pleased. (As you may have guessed, it's not a racer.) I spotted a large cruise ship about 3 miles to port. Other than that, there were no other visual distractions. I scanned back towards the bow and screamed "WHALE!" Not just one, but TWO humpback whales surfaced about 60 feet in front of us and just ever so slighlty to starboard. They were lolligagging on the surface, their backs perpendicular to us, taking their sweet time, heading ever so slowly to port, meaning a direct, head-on collision!
From lessons learned a few weeks ago (which I will explain later), Brad immediately started our engine so the whales could hear us. This had no effect on their behavior, and, since we were closing in on real disaster within seconds, we had to do something else - and FAST! Brad said "I'll turn!" I thought to myself, if we turn to port we might hit them if they speed up since that is the way they are headed, not to mention the fact that we will most likely jibe violently (which can break the rigging). If we turn to starboard, we will hit them for sure since we can't turn on a dime. So I yelled "REVERSE! REVERSE! REVERSE!" Brad did so without hesitation and gave it full reverse. (Note that this only slowed us down as we had full sails out.) The resulting cavitation finally got the whales attention! The dorsal fins shimmied back and forth violently and they dove in an instant, flapping their flukes just 20 feet from our bow. We sailed right over their splash ripples and bubbles. Crisis averted!
During this, there had been no time to be scared. There was only time for action. We were in survival mode. Now that it was over, we had an overabundance of adrenalin to deal with. Brad said, "Man! I need a drink!" We both did, but of course, we didn't. We were so very happy to be alive and completely unscathed from this very near miss. I couldn't help but think of my old friend Laura who is deathly afraid of being on the water and of all the sea creatures lurking below who might reach up and smite her. I could just hear her saying, "I TOLD YOU SO!"
Like the conservative, safety-conscious people we are, we analyzed the scenario. We suspect that the whales could not hear us since we were sailing. We knew noise is important for safety. Whales avoid boats and even kayaks as much as possible, but they have to be aware of your presence. We leared this from a recent incident. A couple on a sailboat very near the town of Hoonah (which was just five miles from where we had been earlier) was rescued after a whale encounter. They reported that they had turned off their engine to watch the nearby whales as they drifted. A whale punched their keel up through the bottom of their sailboat, causing it to sink abruptly. They were rescued by a passing fishing boat, but their boat was a total loss.
So why didn't turning the engine on fix the problem? We think it was because of the cruise ship that was so near. Cruise ships make an overwhelming amount of underwater noise with their massive engines and propellers. We are sure this kind of close encounter doesn't happen very often because if it did, someone would surely have invented a whale whistle for sailboats by now (like a deer whistle for cars).
Now, when we see a whale spout, we both flinch! We'd be happy if we never, ever saw another whale but unfortunately, in these waters at least, they seem to be everywhere...
P.S. NOTE: Abby Normal is a possible WHALE MAGNET. Yesterday, as we were motoring our way to Craig, Alaska, (which is where we are now) we came upon a sleeping humpback. I kid you not. It was about 70 feet away from us on our starboard side. When they sleep, they hover at the surface and take what would appear to be shallow breaths, ie. no spraying. When we first spotted it, we didn't realize it was sleeping so Brad tried the trick of full reverse so the noise made by the cavitation would jolt a reaction from it. It didn't. That's when we realized it was in a deep sleep. So at least we didn't have to worry about it swimming along and coming up underneath us. No threat. What a relief!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Evinrude on Belay (NOT!) [story by Brad]
For the sake of a slightly more objective viewpoint, I'm writing this episode...
Gay and I decided to mount our gasoline-powered Evinrude (Evie) on our dinghy (instead of the electric Torqueedo we usually use) and play around with it. This was only the second time we had used the gasoline motor on this trip to date, as the electric one had been fine the rest of the time we had wanted a dinghy motor. We proceeded to rig the little crane that we had custom-made by Steve Sands in Seattle. It's a bit complicated but stows in a very small space. We've done this task few enough times that we still have to figure it out again each time. We did so, and were on the phase where the 68-pound motor is suspended on the crane over the water, and the next move is to swing it over above the dinghy transom and lower it. We started to swing it around and I was struggling a bit with a line that put tension on the whole assembly to swing it over to the dinghy (which I occupied at the time). Gay thought that I needed help with my line and proceeded to assist me. I may have cursed or otherwise expressed frustration when SPLASH!, Evie took a dive!! I looked over, shocked, and only saw the top of Evie even with the water's surface! I yelled WTF?!?!? loud enough to be heard back in Seattle (and the whole bay where we were anchored). Gay looked completely shocked. Quickly I asked, "What happened?" She didn't know. I then yelled, "Push the button, push the **** button!!" (Evie was still attached to our electric winch by a couple of overhead blocks (pulleys) and a line that was on the winch.) She did so, and up out of the water Evie popped from her dunking experience. I was very concerned that she had ingested sufficient quantities of salt water to hurt her, but upon mounting and fuel hookup, she fired up on the very first pull! We ran her around the bay to make sure all was well. As to Gay's dropping of the Evinrude, we don't really know what happened, or even why Evie stopped falling into the sea. I did decide, in the future, to use the term, "Evinrude on Belay!" so that Gay knows NOT to let Evie "take the big dive" again (evoking the serious climbing responsibilities of NOT dropping your partner!)!
Gay and I decided to mount our gasoline-powered Evinrude (Evie) on our dinghy (instead of the electric Torqueedo we usually use) and play around with it. This was only the second time we had used the gasoline motor on this trip to date, as the electric one had been fine the rest of the time we had wanted a dinghy motor. We proceeded to rig the little crane that we had custom-made by Steve Sands in Seattle. It's a bit complicated but stows in a very small space. We've done this task few enough times that we still have to figure it out again each time. We did so, and were on the phase where the 68-pound motor is suspended on the crane over the water, and the next move is to swing it over above the dinghy transom and lower it. We started to swing it around and I was struggling a bit with a line that put tension on the whole assembly to swing it over to the dinghy (which I occupied at the time). Gay thought that I needed help with my line and proceeded to assist me. I may have cursed or otherwise expressed frustration when SPLASH!, Evie took a dive!! I looked over, shocked, and only saw the top of Evie even with the water's surface! I yelled WTF?!?!? loud enough to be heard back in Seattle (and the whole bay where we were anchored). Gay looked completely shocked. Quickly I asked, "What happened?" She didn't know. I then yelled, "Push the button, push the **** button!!" (Evie was still attached to our electric winch by a couple of overhead blocks (pulleys) and a line that was on the winch.) She did so, and up out of the water Evie popped from her dunking experience. I was very concerned that she had ingested sufficient quantities of salt water to hurt her, but upon mounting and fuel hookup, she fired up on the very first pull! We ran her around the bay to make sure all was well. As to Gay's dropping of the Evinrude, we don't really know what happened, or even why Evie stopped falling into the sea. I did decide, in the future, to use the term, "Evinrude on Belay!" so that Gay knows NOT to let Evie "take the big dive" again (evoking the serious climbing responsibilities of NOT dropping your partner!)!
A Pacific Butt-Kicking
July 11th was an odd day. It started off with sea lions gobbling fish just a few feet - literally - from our boat as we fought our way through the 3-knot current at a very narrow cut between North and South Inian Passes. We could barely make any headway as the swirling water threatened to toss our boat against the rocky shore of the island to our south. It was a sea lion feeding frenzy! Their large, sleek bodies diving down and then shooting up out of the water, tossing fish into the air and catching them on the rebound, while sea gulls hovered overhead hoping to steal a meal. Magical! I was in awe and glad for the slow progress of our boat through this incredible passage. The sea lions didn't even seem to care we were so close.
Just half an hour later, our electrical system went south. No charging of our batteries from either of our alternators. Switching regulators didn't help either. Brad tried to troubleshoot but came up perplexed. He exhausted his abilities and then started our Honda generator, an end run around the problem. Usually our batteries are completely charged up by the time we motor to our destination but not so this day. Brad composed an email to send via SSB asking for advice and proceeded to send it. Error. Damn! Will nothing work today? That's when the alternator charging system mysteriously started working again. Don't you just hate those intermittent electrical problems??? Aaaah!
So we continued along to our next anchorage at Lost Cove. The winds were building - 15 to 18 kts - as we left Lisianski Inlet for Lisianski Strait. Brad was getting concerned but I pointed out that it might just be a venturi effect. We were surrounded by lots of tall mountains so that made sense. Things would surely calm down when we got to the coast, away from these tall peaks. (Am I optimistic, or what???) Brad was dubious and said he thought we should stop at the unexpected find of the USFS dock we had just passed. I argued to keep going. He continued to doubt but thought I just might be right as we went around a slight bend into some fairly calm winds and water. Ha! See? What did I tell you? I was feeling quite smug about this time.
When we came around the next slight bend, the wind whipped up to 18 to 24 kts and there were whitecaps even in this narrow little strait. Brad was now wishing more than ever that we had stopped at the very nice dock we passed which was by now almost an hour behind us. We forged ahead to Lost Cove only to find two boats were already tucked in there and hunkered down. It seemed that even the commercial fishing vessels in the area had given up and taken cover. There was no more room anywhere for another boat. We attempted to find another spot nearby that would afford us some protection from the wind that by now was roaring and that would be shallow enough to allow us to anchor, but there just wasn't any place. We tried three different spots with no luck.
We decided to go on to Lumber Cove, just two more miles down the coast. But that meant we had to exit the strait out into the vast Pacific Ocean and then reenter two miles further south. The mouth of the strait is littered with lots of gnarly, boat-crushing rocks, many of which are submerged. This meant I needed to be bow watch. I donned my rain coat and rain pants, not for protection from rain, but from the wind and sea spray, and got out on the bow sprit to watch for rocks and direct Brad as necessary. We got past the scariest part where the bulk of the rocks and underwater hazards were, but the wind just kept getting stronger and stronger and the sea was getting angrier and angrier.
I felt pretty safe out on the bowsprit. Even though my footing wasn't too secure (too much anchor hardware mounted up there to have enough space to plant one's feet), I was surrounded by a solid, stainless-steel lifeline "cage". And I could see the swells coming and anticipate when to bend my knees to absorb the shock. As long as I kept a death grip on the rails, riding the bow was exhilirating and fun even in the big seas! Like a rollercoaster for one. Up, up, up towards the sun and then down, down, down into the abyss! What a ride!
With all of the hazards, Brad had to steer a serpentine route to avoid them. This meant the boat was partially broadside to the waves for much of the time I was on the bowsprit. This makes the boat roll back and forth like an out-of-control tight-rope walker. Brad yelled for me to come back inside. He was going to turn around. "It's just too rough out here to be safe. We're bailing!" I said okay and started back. That's when I realized leaving the safety of the bowsprit was going to be no mean feat. Things were about to get dicey for me. You see, we weren't anticipating the severity of the situation so I had no PFD on and no harness and besides, we had no jacklines set up to attach to even if I had them on. Damn! Getting back to the mast wasn't too bad because I could hang onto the Hoyt boom (the jib's boom). (Normally, one would just walk along the lifelines along the outer edge of the boat to get back to the stern but I don't have that luxury because we have kayaks tied to either side of the bow and they take up the entire walkway.) Aft of the mast, where the "hot tub" seating section resides, is the area of the boat that has NO handholds whatsoever. I had to spider-walk back to the front of the pilothouse. (Spider-walking is where you are on all fours but your face and chest are up and your back and butt are down so that you can hopefully slow yourself down should you slide by using a little butt friction. Just imagine riding a bucking bronco in this position and you get the idea.) Once I got to the pilothouse I could hang onto the pilothouse roof edge and slide on over to the security of the walkway handles on the roof and to the lifelines along the outer edge of the walkway and at last I was back in the safety of the back porch, protected on all sides.
Once inside, Brad timed his U-turn as best he could. At some point in turns, however, the boat is completely broadside to the ocean's considerable force and fury. It just can't be helped. That's when all hell breaks loose below decks, especially when you weren't planning on any ocean travel and thus all of your gear is not properly stowed. The books flew across the pilothouse floor, the boxes of MREs and freeze-dried meals tipped over and disgorged all of their contents on the galley floor. The milk crates holding the rice and related staples went sideways. All the stuff on our respective night stands ended up either in the middle of the bed or scattered across the floor. The spices over the wineglass holder hit the deck. The fruit and water bottles were rolling back and forth on the floor. The dish drying rack landed upside down on the floor in the forward stateroom (our bedroom). The glasses (which are actually plastics, thankfully) which we keep behind the stove ended up in the stateroom as well. The cutting board above the microwave lay on the galley floor as did the tea kettle and cupcake pan. The aft stateroom mattresses were both on the floor between the bunks. The two sails were cowering underneath the mattresses. (This was MUCH worse than the momentary williwaw we encountered back in BC. The sea just kept hammering and hammering us. But at least this time the binoculars, electronics and coffee cups were stowed properly so at least THEY didn't go flying.)
I went below to secure all of the cupboards to make sure nothing else could end up on the floor. It was hard to find a bare spot on the floor for my feet as I made my circuit. I was glad for the handholds sprinkled throughout the boat! (Thank you, Bob Johnson, boat designer for being so prescient.) I was sure we were going to capsize at any moment! Brad saw our heel meter touch 30 degrees and the wind got up to 29 kts. The swells may have only been about 8 feet but the period was quite close together. I just held on for dear life. I am SOOOOOO glad our Island Packet is built tough. A lot tougher than the occupants.
We retraced our track out of the mouth back in so a bow watch was no longer needed. Then we highttailed it back (but with our tail between our legs) to that lovely USFS dock we saw an hour or so back, just hopeful there would still be space and nobody or no sign to tell us we couldn't stay there. (There wasn't. Whoohoo!) That dock never looked so good!
Two days later we ventured back out this same entrance/exit but we were prepared: everything (and I do mean EVERYTHING) was stowed and braced for impact. And no breakfast in our stomachs. It was still a rough ride but we were ready. It definitely made me appreciate the protected waters of the inside passage. The ocean can be a cruel mistress!
Just half an hour later, our electrical system went south. No charging of our batteries from either of our alternators. Switching regulators didn't help either. Brad tried to troubleshoot but came up perplexed. He exhausted his abilities and then started our Honda generator, an end run around the problem. Usually our batteries are completely charged up by the time we motor to our destination but not so this day. Brad composed an email to send via SSB asking for advice and proceeded to send it. Error. Damn! Will nothing work today? That's when the alternator charging system mysteriously started working again. Don't you just hate those intermittent electrical problems??? Aaaah!
So we continued along to our next anchorage at Lost Cove. The winds were building - 15 to 18 kts - as we left Lisianski Inlet for Lisianski Strait. Brad was getting concerned but I pointed out that it might just be a venturi effect. We were surrounded by lots of tall mountains so that made sense. Things would surely calm down when we got to the coast, away from these tall peaks. (Am I optimistic, or what???) Brad was dubious and said he thought we should stop at the unexpected find of the USFS dock we had just passed. I argued to keep going. He continued to doubt but thought I just might be right as we went around a slight bend into some fairly calm winds and water. Ha! See? What did I tell you? I was feeling quite smug about this time.
When we came around the next slight bend, the wind whipped up to 18 to 24 kts and there were whitecaps even in this narrow little strait. Brad was now wishing more than ever that we had stopped at the very nice dock we passed which was by now almost an hour behind us. We forged ahead to Lost Cove only to find two boats were already tucked in there and hunkered down. It seemed that even the commercial fishing vessels in the area had given up and taken cover. There was no more room anywhere for another boat. We attempted to find another spot nearby that would afford us some protection from the wind that by now was roaring and that would be shallow enough to allow us to anchor, but there just wasn't any place. We tried three different spots with no luck.
We decided to go on to Lumber Cove, just two more miles down the coast. But that meant we had to exit the strait out into the vast Pacific Ocean and then reenter two miles further south. The mouth of the strait is littered with lots of gnarly, boat-crushing rocks, many of which are submerged. This meant I needed to be bow watch. I donned my rain coat and rain pants, not for protection from rain, but from the wind and sea spray, and got out on the bow sprit to watch for rocks and direct Brad as necessary. We got past the scariest part where the bulk of the rocks and underwater hazards were, but the wind just kept getting stronger and stronger and the sea was getting angrier and angrier.
I felt pretty safe out on the bowsprit. Even though my footing wasn't too secure (too much anchor hardware mounted up there to have enough space to plant one's feet), I was surrounded by a solid, stainless-steel lifeline "cage". And I could see the swells coming and anticipate when to bend my knees to absorb the shock. As long as I kept a death grip on the rails, riding the bow was exhilirating and fun even in the big seas! Like a rollercoaster for one. Up, up, up towards the sun and then down, down, down into the abyss! What a ride!
With all of the hazards, Brad had to steer a serpentine route to avoid them. This meant the boat was partially broadside to the waves for much of the time I was on the bowsprit. This makes the boat roll back and forth like an out-of-control tight-rope walker. Brad yelled for me to come back inside. He was going to turn around. "It's just too rough out here to be safe. We're bailing!" I said okay and started back. That's when I realized leaving the safety of the bowsprit was going to be no mean feat. Things were about to get dicey for me. You see, we weren't anticipating the severity of the situation so I had no PFD on and no harness and besides, we had no jacklines set up to attach to even if I had them on. Damn! Getting back to the mast wasn't too bad because I could hang onto the Hoyt boom (the jib's boom). (Normally, one would just walk along the lifelines along the outer edge of the boat to get back to the stern but I don't have that luxury because we have kayaks tied to either side of the bow and they take up the entire walkway.) Aft of the mast, where the "hot tub" seating section resides, is the area of the boat that has NO handholds whatsoever. I had to spider-walk back to the front of the pilothouse. (Spider-walking is where you are on all fours but your face and chest are up and your back and butt are down so that you can hopefully slow yourself down should you slide by using a little butt friction. Just imagine riding a bucking bronco in this position and you get the idea.) Once I got to the pilothouse I could hang onto the pilothouse roof edge and slide on over to the security of the walkway handles on the roof and to the lifelines along the outer edge of the walkway and at last I was back in the safety of the back porch, protected on all sides.
Once inside, Brad timed his U-turn as best he could. At some point in turns, however, the boat is completely broadside to the ocean's considerable force and fury. It just can't be helped. That's when all hell breaks loose below decks, especially when you weren't planning on any ocean travel and thus all of your gear is not properly stowed. The books flew across the pilothouse floor, the boxes of MREs and freeze-dried meals tipped over and disgorged all of their contents on the galley floor. The milk crates holding the rice and related staples went sideways. All the stuff on our respective night stands ended up either in the middle of the bed or scattered across the floor. The spices over the wineglass holder hit the deck. The fruit and water bottles were rolling back and forth on the floor. The dish drying rack landed upside down on the floor in the forward stateroom (our bedroom). The glasses (which are actually plastics, thankfully) which we keep behind the stove ended up in the stateroom as well. The cutting board above the microwave lay on the galley floor as did the tea kettle and cupcake pan. The aft stateroom mattresses were both on the floor between the bunks. The two sails were cowering underneath the mattresses. (This was MUCH worse than the momentary williwaw we encountered back in BC. The sea just kept hammering and hammering us. But at least this time the binoculars, electronics and coffee cups were stowed properly so at least THEY didn't go flying.)
I went below to secure all of the cupboards to make sure nothing else could end up on the floor. It was hard to find a bare spot on the floor for my feet as I made my circuit. I was glad for the handholds sprinkled throughout the boat! (Thank you, Bob Johnson, boat designer for being so prescient.) I was sure we were going to capsize at any moment! Brad saw our heel meter touch 30 degrees and the wind got up to 29 kts. The swells may have only been about 8 feet but the period was quite close together. I just held on for dear life. I am SOOOOOO glad our Island Packet is built tough. A lot tougher than the occupants.
We retraced our track out of the mouth back in so a bow watch was no longer needed. Then we highttailed it back (but with our tail between our legs) to that lovely USFS dock we saw an hour or so back, just hopeful there would still be space and nobody or no sign to tell us we couldn't stay there. (There wasn't. Whoohoo!) That dock never looked so good!
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| USFS dock and shelter in Tongass National Forest |
Monday, July 18, 2011
What, me bearanoid?
I know many of you think Brad is a bit "over the top" taking a shotgun on this trip. But believe me, bears are everywhere here. Just a few minutes ago on the Sitka rock station they announced a bear alert for the Sitka Historical trail that runs past the raptor center. They said there has been an unusually high amount of bear activitiy on that trail and that any sightings should be reported immediately to the Sitka visitor center. This is a trail that the wharfinger who came by yesterday (to check our boat in) said we should be sure to do.
While it is true we have only SEEN about half a dozen grizzly and black bear live and in person, and fortunately not too closely, we have seen signs of them on many of our forages into the forest. Please rest assured, it's not like Brad WANTS to shoot them, it's just that he wants that option if all of the other options fail. So if it comes down to somebody getting hurt and the choice is between us or them, we'll choose saving US every time!
One day we were delighted to find a USFS dock and shelter along the Lisianski Strait - more about that later - called Bohemia Shelter, part of the Tongass National Forest. Brad got out his trusty iPad and, using the TOPO app, found a trail to an old copper mine and beyond to the other side of Yakobi Island to the Pacific Ocean.
We geared up and headed out: me, with noisy bear deterrent in hand (a Fresca can with a few small pebbles inside which makes one heck of a rattle - It's all in the wrist!), a marine air horn clipped to the chest strap of my backpack (which emits a blast loud enough to wake the dead and deafen anyone within a 50' radius!), and bear spray at my right hip (should I need to spray it in the bear's eyes assuming I can still aim when I'm scared shitless and shaking like a spastic AND assuming I am UPWIND) and Brad, with his Pepsi can rattling system in hand, his bear spray in his coat's breast pocket, and shotgun loaded with alternating 00 buckshot and hollow-point slugs slung over his shoulder. We were armed, loaded for bear, and ready for action!
The trail was non-existent or barely visible at best in many places so it made for more of a scramble than a hike which is just the way I like it. Sadly, Brad's arthritic toes started bothering him so we only made it about halfway to the mine. On the positive side, we saw lots of bear sign on our way out. (On the way in we were too busy concentrating on finding a suitable route to notice.) We saw big paw prints in the mud, hair on a tree as the bear rubbed past it, bear scat, and claw marks on a tree. Maybe carrying a shotgun wasn't all that crazy?
A few days ago we hiked a delightful trail from Kalinin Bay to Sea Lion Cove. 5 miles roundtrip on mostly well-maintained trail. Again, we geared up for bear country with spray, shotgun and such. Holy smokes! Do these Alaskans like to build board walkways and fallen log staircases! They have the swampy bits covered by long, single-board walkways. (God forbid our boots should touch the moss and muskeg!) I think the narrow boards really piss off the bears though because we've seen several places where the bears have ripped the boards to shreds. My theory is that they just can't keep their paws on the boards as they saunter along - their hips and shoulders are just too wide - so they fall off and take it out on the boards. Geez! I think they need some anger management classes!
Sea Lion Cove faces the Pacific Ocean. It is a truly lovely sandy beach with wonderful, surfable breaking waves. I SO wished it was 30 degrees warmer so I could do a little body surfing. (I would have had to do it naked as I didn't bring a suit, but wouldn't that just be a hoot??? There was a surfer's camp there so I could have borrowed a board. Too bad.) Instead we took naps laying on a wide drift log, basking in the sun (but with ALL of our clothes on) like turtles glad to see a little sunshine.
We noticed LOTS of bear scat on this trip and found it interesting that the vast majority of it was deposited along the estuary part of the trail. When we left the lowlands and headed upslope, the frequency of deposits dropped off considerably - almost to none. Apparently bears are lazy and just not that into any gratuitous physical exertion (unlike me) unless absolutely necessary. We saw roughly about 10 deposits in 2 miles once we were up more than 20 feet in elevation.
On the way back to our boat, we decided to take a count. In the last half mile of trail (which goes along the estuary), we counted 44 separate and distinct piles of poo! The scary thing was that two of those piles were NEW ones. They were NOT there when we walked in about three hours earlier and they looked quite different from many of the others: dark purple, unconsolidated, with obvious berries in them and of course very fresh! Most, but not all, of the others were consolidated and green. They actually looked like compressed grass clippings. So definitely different bears frequent this area.
Brad was a real hoot during this section of the trail, both going in and coming out. He had forgotten to take his bear deterrent noise maker (the Pepsi can) so he was doing a lot of talking. "Damn it bears! Stop using our trail as a toilet!" he bellowed as we proceeded down the trail. On the way out he got a bit poetic as we counted scat which allowed us to not lose count but also to keep those blasted bears on notice too:
...
"40 - Oh, Lordy!"
"41 - Counting poo is fun!"
"42 - And there's more poo!"
"43 - "More poo than a person ought to see!"
"44 - "And no more."
He had the next rhyme ready to go but alas, he didn't get to use it: "45 - And we're still ALIVE!"
While it is true we have only SEEN about half a dozen grizzly and black bear live and in person, and fortunately not too closely, we have seen signs of them on many of our forages into the forest. Please rest assured, it's not like Brad WANTS to shoot them, it's just that he wants that option if all of the other options fail. So if it comes down to somebody getting hurt and the choice is between us or them, we'll choose saving US every time!
One day we were delighted to find a USFS dock and shelter along the Lisianski Strait - more about that later - called Bohemia Shelter, part of the Tongass National Forest. Brad got out his trusty iPad and, using the TOPO app, found a trail to an old copper mine and beyond to the other side of Yakobi Island to the Pacific Ocean.
We geared up and headed out: me, with noisy bear deterrent in hand (a Fresca can with a few small pebbles inside which makes one heck of a rattle - It's all in the wrist!), a marine air horn clipped to the chest strap of my backpack (which emits a blast loud enough to wake the dead and deafen anyone within a 50' radius!), and bear spray at my right hip (should I need to spray it in the bear's eyes assuming I can still aim when I'm scared shitless and shaking like a spastic AND assuming I am UPWIND) and Brad, with his Pepsi can rattling system in hand, his bear spray in his coat's breast pocket, and shotgun loaded with alternating 00 buckshot and hollow-point slugs slung over his shoulder. We were armed, loaded for bear, and ready for action!
The trail was non-existent or barely visible at best in many places so it made for more of a scramble than a hike which is just the way I like it. Sadly, Brad's arthritic toes started bothering him so we only made it about halfway to the mine. On the positive side, we saw lots of bear sign on our way out. (On the way in we were too busy concentrating on finding a suitable route to notice.) We saw big paw prints in the mud, hair on a tree as the bear rubbed past it, bear scat, and claw marks on a tree. Maybe carrying a shotgun wasn't all that crazy?
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| Bear claw marks on tree |
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| Bear hair on a tree (Brad's leg in background for contrast) |
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| Bear paw prints in the drying mud |
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| Closeup of a paw print with can for sizing |
A few days ago we hiked a delightful trail from Kalinin Bay to Sea Lion Cove. 5 miles roundtrip on mostly well-maintained trail. Again, we geared up for bear country with spray, shotgun and such. Holy smokes! Do these Alaskans like to build board walkways and fallen log staircases! They have the swampy bits covered by long, single-board walkways. (God forbid our boots should touch the moss and muskeg!) I think the narrow boards really piss off the bears though because we've seen several places where the bears have ripped the boards to shreds. My theory is that they just can't keep their paws on the boards as they saunter along - their hips and shoulders are just too wide - so they fall off and take it out on the boards. Geez! I think they need some anger management classes!
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| Claw marks from bear with issues |
Sea Lion Cove faces the Pacific Ocean. It is a truly lovely sandy beach with wonderful, surfable breaking waves. I SO wished it was 30 degrees warmer so I could do a little body surfing. (I would have had to do it naked as I didn't bring a suit, but wouldn't that just be a hoot??? There was a surfer's camp there so I could have borrowed a board. Too bad.) Instead we took naps laying on a wide drift log, basking in the sun (but with ALL of our clothes on) like turtles glad to see a little sunshine.
We noticed LOTS of bear scat on this trip and found it interesting that the vast majority of it was deposited along the estuary part of the trail. When we left the lowlands and headed upslope, the frequency of deposits dropped off considerably - almost to none. Apparently bears are lazy and just not that into any gratuitous physical exertion (unlike me) unless absolutely necessary. We saw roughly about 10 deposits in 2 miles once we were up more than 20 feet in elevation.
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| Bear poo with Fresca can for sizing |
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| FRESH bear poo - note the berries! |
Brad was a real hoot during this section of the trail, both going in and coming out. He had forgotten to take his bear deterrent noise maker (the Pepsi can) so he was doing a lot of talking. "Damn it bears! Stop using our trail as a toilet!" he bellowed as we proceeded down the trail. On the way out he got a bit poetic as we counted scat which allowed us to not lose count but also to keep those blasted bears on notice too:
...
"40 - Oh, Lordy!"
"41 - Counting poo is fun!"
"42 - And there's more poo!"
"43 - "More poo than a person ought to see!"
"44 - "And no more."
He had the next rhyme ready to go but alas, he didn't get to use it: "45 - And we're still ALIVE!"
Soaking in Sitka
We are currently in soggy Sitka, Alaska. We had 24 hours of sun (or at least non-rain) but now it is foggy and raining steadily. Feels like home! We spent the first night at anchor in Sitka Channel because there was not one single space for a boat of our size on the dock. We managed to snag a spot on the long, first-come, first-served breakwater dock this morning so now we can "take care of business" without multiple trips by dinghy. We've been reprovisioning, cleaning house (read: cleaning kayaks, dinghy, and boat inside and out. This cruising is truly a dirty business!), considering what tourist things we want to do between raindrops, and getting a few stories and pictures out online. However, I must say all this rain really makes me want to do is go back to bed!
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Leaving Skagway Tomorrow...
We are in Skagway now but will be getting up at 4:00 a.m. to try to get out of the northern part of Lynn Canal before the winds begin to really whip up and in this way hopefully minimize the amount of crap that will be beat out of us!
Glacier Bay was awesome and Skagway has been my favorite town to date. We have lots of really cool pictures and videos but we will be out of internet range tomorrow. Videos will probably have to wait until I am home and can sort through them all and deliver to you only the very best ones. (Not to mention I don't know how to accomplish this yet anyway from this IPad.)
We're having a GREAT TIME and we haven't killed each other yet! Love to you all...
Glacier Bay was awesome and Skagway has been my favorite town to date. We have lots of really cool pictures and videos but we will be out of internet range tomorrow. Videos will probably have to wait until I am home and can sort through them all and deliver to you only the very best ones. (Not to mention I don't know how to accomplish this yet anyway from this IPad.)
We're having a GREAT TIME and we haven't killed each other yet! Love to you all...
He's Coming Right For Us!
This one is from the same video footage as the jaw picture. Again, he surfaced just 20-30' from our boat near the port side of our stern so I turned the camera just in time to catch his dorsal fin heading straight for our boat as he apparently dove UNDER our boat. Very exciting and a bit scary, this one! The next time he surfaced it was in front of the boat on the starboard side. It was raining so I was filming from inside the salon looking out the port window. That's why you can see our lifeline in the picture. (Note: The reason the whale looks so small is that this is JUST the dorsal fin and a wee bit of his back. Humpbacks have tiny dorsal fins compared to the size of the rest of their bodies.)
Humpback Jaw Underside
Whales are REALLY hard to photograph. They surface but only for a second and then are gone. This time we were anchored in Blue Mouse Cove and the whale came right into our little part of the cove. Very close! This one surfaced just to the left of where I had the video camera trained. Brad yelled and I just managed to get the last bit of the humpback's breach. This is the underside of his head. We also have some nice fluke pictures but I have to wade through LOTS of footage to find the millisecond that captures the fluke. So that will have to wait for later when I have more time to find the right video footage...
Hesitant Seal Pup
This is a scared, hesitant, sleepy seal pup wondering what to do. We found her snoozing on a bergie bit in Tracy Arm as we were approaching the South Sawyer Glacier. Just moments later she slid into the drink and the worried mom came exploding out of the water wondering what the heck was going on! Mother and baby were cuddling immediately thereafter so order was restored.
Stellar Sea Lions Sunbathing
Quite a sunbathing party going on at South Marble Island in Glacier Bay. These Stellar sea lions are big, smelly and very vocal!
Grizzly Strutting His Stuff
We saw this grizzly bear in Blue Mouse Cove inside Glacier Bay for about an hour, from roughly 8:00 to 9:00 pm. He dropped back, completely out of sight, when he stepped back into the grass in the background. Totally concealed. Just think how scary it would be to be walking on that beach and not realize there is a grizzly just feet from you completely hidden! Interestingly, two nights later a group of kayakers camped here, setting up their tent RIGHT THERE where the bear had been. We got up the next morning and the first thing we did was to check to see if the tent and kayakers were still there and intact. Fortunately, they were.
Sea Otter Mom & Pup
Sea otters were floating all over the place in Glacier Bay. They seem to know it is a protected national park. Being spring, there are a lot of mothers floating about with pups on their abdomens. Just darling to watch! I know the pup is hard to see, but look closely.
South Sawyer Glacier
We were still about two miles from the glacier, the closest we got to this one due to all of the icebergs. If you look closely, you can see seal pups on many of the bergs.
Brad Rocks!
It had to happen sooner or later. At least that is what the seasoned sailors tell us. Still, it doesn't heal the pain.
We were entering North Finger Bay in Glacier Bay when Brad lost focus for just a minute and that was all it took. We had just gotten past the constriction into the bay and thought that we could relax. Wrong. We were surrounded by sea otter families floating on their backs, some munching on sea urchins, others cuddling their delightful little pups, and still others cleaning their whiskers and paws. Enchanting.
All of a sudden, the port side of the boat lurched up as we heard a hellacious thud and then the boat settled back down again. It was over in a flash. Brad's face looked stricken as he asked "What was that?" I answered, "We hit a rock!" (I wanted to add "dumb ass" but I managed to hold my tongue.) He was incredulous. He yelled "We need to check all the bilges for water right now." He started to go below so I pointed out that he needed to continue to drive the boat, so I volunteered to handle it. "Hurry! Hurry!", he blurted. I did so and found no water intrusion anywhere, but I couldn't do it fast enough for Brad's sense of urgency, believe me. (In my defense may I remind you that all of the carpeting has to be moved out of the way first in order to get to the hatches.) Shall we say a certain level of panic ensued?
In Brad's defense, we had just hit an uncharted rock about two feet below the surface in very murky waters. (Unlike most of Glacier Bay, this particular little bay had a big influx of muddy river water.) No one could have seen it, but had he been watching his depth gauge as he usually does, we wouldn't have been in that shallow of water in the first place. Those sea otters were just a little too captivating.
Within minutes we were safely anchored at our intended spot, but not before Brad nearly ran us aground at the mouth of the small river that feeds into the bay. As he was making his circle in preparation to anchor, the depth gauge read 20' and then it dropped to 2' in just a few seconds. Brad's heart be still! Aground twice in less than 10 minutes?? Need I say Brad's confidence was shaken to the core? We didn't actually hit bottom this second time but it was a near thing.
All I could think of during this bad patch was "Oh, thank God I wasn't the one driving! If I had, Brad would never have forgiven me!" Truly, I was thrilled it wasn't me!
Within minutes of anchoring, Brad donned his wetsuit, mask, snorkel and fins. I tried to talk him out of it as the water was 55 degrees and the visibility was less than two feet, but he would have none of it. So down he went, all covered in neoprene, afraid of what he might find.
Fortunately, Island Packets are built like tanks. The only damage he found was a 3-foot scrape mark along the port side about two feet below the water line. No obvious dent and that rock didn't even scrape off the bottom paint entirely. Whoohoo! What a relief! The only serious damage was to Brad's psyche. I wonder how long it will be before we can once again get near the shallows without Brad on "full alert"!
We were entering North Finger Bay in Glacier Bay when Brad lost focus for just a minute and that was all it took. We had just gotten past the constriction into the bay and thought that we could relax. Wrong. We were surrounded by sea otter families floating on their backs, some munching on sea urchins, others cuddling their delightful little pups, and still others cleaning their whiskers and paws. Enchanting.
All of a sudden, the port side of the boat lurched up as we heard a hellacious thud and then the boat settled back down again. It was over in a flash. Brad's face looked stricken as he asked "What was that?" I answered, "We hit a rock!" (I wanted to add "dumb ass" but I managed to hold my tongue.) He was incredulous. He yelled "We need to check all the bilges for water right now." He started to go below so I pointed out that he needed to continue to drive the boat, so I volunteered to handle it. "Hurry! Hurry!", he blurted. I did so and found no water intrusion anywhere, but I couldn't do it fast enough for Brad's sense of urgency, believe me. (In my defense may I remind you that all of the carpeting has to be moved out of the way first in order to get to the hatches.) Shall we say a certain level of panic ensued?
In Brad's defense, we had just hit an uncharted rock about two feet below the surface in very murky waters. (Unlike most of Glacier Bay, this particular little bay had a big influx of muddy river water.) No one could have seen it, but had he been watching his depth gauge as he usually does, we wouldn't have been in that shallow of water in the first place. Those sea otters were just a little too captivating.
Within minutes we were safely anchored at our intended spot, but not before Brad nearly ran us aground at the mouth of the small river that feeds into the bay. As he was making his circle in preparation to anchor, the depth gauge read 20' and then it dropped to 2' in just a few seconds. Brad's heart be still! Aground twice in less than 10 minutes?? Need I say Brad's confidence was shaken to the core? We didn't actually hit bottom this second time but it was a near thing.
All I could think of during this bad patch was "Oh, thank God I wasn't the one driving! If I had, Brad would never have forgiven me!" Truly, I was thrilled it wasn't me!
Within minutes of anchoring, Brad donned his wetsuit, mask, snorkel and fins. I tried to talk him out of it as the water was 55 degrees and the visibility was less than two feet, but he would have none of it. So down he went, all covered in neoprene, afraid of what he might find.
Fortunately, Island Packets are built like tanks. The only damage he found was a 3-foot scrape mark along the port side about two feet below the water line. No obvious dent and that rock didn't even scrape off the bottom paint entirely. Whoohoo! What a relief! The only serious damage was to Brad's psyche. I wonder how long it will be before we can once again get near the shallows without Brad on "full alert"!
The Plague of the UFO Tuning Fork
For several weeks we were plagued by mysterious, UFO-like vibrations. The pitch, volume and frequency would change every few minutes and for short periods would cease completely. It seemed most noticeable in the evening and was so loud at times that we had troubles sleeping. The sounds were just plain spooky, like something from "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" or "The Twilight Zone".
When we were docked at Swanson Harbor, we were convinced that the generators the fishing boats use to keep their ice makers going were the culprits. And believe me, we were cursing them under our breaths. But when we returned to this very same dock a week and a half later on a weekend when the fishing boats were gone and only cruisers like us remained, the vibrations were as strong as ever.
A few days earlier I had tried to troubleshoot the problem. I'd not heard other boaters complain about these eerie sounds, so I just had to wonder. The noise was most noticeable in the head. I had an idea so I headed topside and found that our 1 1/4" stainless steel lifelines were abuzz. They quivered quite vehemently from about 6' back from the bowsprit and about the same 6' in from the stern, with the most violent vibrations coming right near the center of the boat. And the shrouds were vibrating too. But all of this emanating sound was only on the starboard side of the boat. It appeared as though half of our boat was acting as one giant tuning fork! So I had a few clues but I still couldn't figure it out. Frustrated, I gave up in disgust.
Sometimes the eerie noises were nearly mind-numbing and I almost wished I was among the hearing impaired! One night it was so bad I feared I would simply not be able to fall asleep if we didn't fix whatever it was. I finally got Brad to get up and "do something" about our "damned tuning fork". This time HE had an idea and threw on his clothes and went topside. He came back down in under two minutes. The noises had stopped entirely. "What did you do?", I asked, relieved and delighted. "I took the extra wrap off that I had put on the flag halyards", he explained. "You have got to be kidding!", I said. "It's been like that since we arrived in Ketchikan when you removed the Canadian courtesy flag??? That was weeks ago!" (In fairness, he had put the extra wraps on because we thought that we might loose the Canadian ensign in high winds. When he took down the flag, he put the extra wraps back on. Who would have guessed the unintended consequences?) Aargh. Brad, the cause and the cure!
When we were docked at Swanson Harbor, we were convinced that the generators the fishing boats use to keep their ice makers going were the culprits. And believe me, we were cursing them under our breaths. But when we returned to this very same dock a week and a half later on a weekend when the fishing boats were gone and only cruisers like us remained, the vibrations were as strong as ever.
A few days earlier I had tried to troubleshoot the problem. I'd not heard other boaters complain about these eerie sounds, so I just had to wonder. The noise was most noticeable in the head. I had an idea so I headed topside and found that our 1 1/4" stainless steel lifelines were abuzz. They quivered quite vehemently from about 6' back from the bowsprit and about the same 6' in from the stern, with the most violent vibrations coming right near the center of the boat. And the shrouds were vibrating too. But all of this emanating sound was only on the starboard side of the boat. It appeared as though half of our boat was acting as one giant tuning fork! So I had a few clues but I still couldn't figure it out. Frustrated, I gave up in disgust.
Sometimes the eerie noises were nearly mind-numbing and I almost wished I was among the hearing impaired! One night it was so bad I feared I would simply not be able to fall asleep if we didn't fix whatever it was. I finally got Brad to get up and "do something" about our "damned tuning fork". This time HE had an idea and threw on his clothes and went topside. He came back down in under two minutes. The noises had stopped entirely. "What did you do?", I asked, relieved and delighted. "I took the extra wrap off that I had put on the flag halyards", he explained. "You have got to be kidding!", I said. "It's been like that since we arrived in Ketchikan when you removed the Canadian courtesy flag??? That was weeks ago!" (In fairness, he had put the extra wraps on because we thought that we might loose the Canadian ensign in high winds. When he took down the flag, he put the extra wraps back on. Who would have guessed the unintended consequences?) Aargh. Brad, the cause and the cure!
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Buzz Cuts and Combovers
Have you ever tried to explain how to do something to someone for whom English is NOT their primary language? If so, you will understand what I mean. As you are explaining the process of whatever it is you are attempting to educate therm about, they smile broadly, nod their heads vigorously, and say "Yyyessss" in a long, drawn-out syllable. You pat yourself on the back, thinking you have adequately conveyed your message. Later, as they walk away, you realize they did not understand a damn word you said! Aaaahh! Such is the way I felt a few weeks ago...
It all started out well enough. I got out the Wahl hair trimmer that I inherited from my mom and dad. Neither Brad nor I had ever used it before. As I cut Brad's hair, I was thankful there was no big mirror on the wall for him to watch me from (as there is at all salons). I am sure he would have nagged me the whole time, nervously watching my every move, thereby ensuring that I screwed up from all of the pressure of prying eyes. (In hindsight, maybe a mirror would have been a good thing after all.) As it was, he was pretty patient and not as terribly nervous as I would have expected. So all went well and we were both quite pleased with the job.
Since that went so well, I thought why not have Brad trim mine? God only knows what I was thinking. (And no, I had NOT been drinking, thank you very much.) I switched to the #4 attachment, the longest one we have, and explained to Brad how to use it. Or so I thought. He smiled, nodded and said yes he understood. (Okay, this should have been my clue, but I was caught up in the happiness of my triumphant success on him.)
The whirring little hamsters inside his pea-brain head were undoubtedly thinking "Yeah, yeah. Wife talking. Blah, blah, blah. Just give me the damn clippers already and let me get this thing over with!"
So I am sitting patiently on an overturned bucket in the cockpit in only my panties (so as to facilitate cleanup by giving the cut hairs less to land on), calmly awaiting my new haircut, confident in the deft manner in which Brad would wield the clippers and the resultant trim job that would surely ensue. On his very first pass of the clippers, my smile turned to a shriek. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I screamed as I saw several two-inch long tufts of hair fall in front of my eyes! "What the hell are you doing????"
Brad's eyes were as big as saucers. "Oh my God! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" he vehemently declared. After the initial shock subsided, I couldn't help but laugh and I saw the relief in Brad's eyes. Laugh and cry at the same time. No, I couldn't glue it back. Oh, if I could just take that moment back. In haircuts, as in most things in life, there are no do-overs.
Suffice it to say, Brad was NOW ready to listen to my explanation as to how to orient the clipper so as to get the right depth of cut. Now he "got it", but it was WAY to late for the front of my head. I now have an inverted mohawk that fortunately doesn't run the length of my head. Instead, my furrow of quarter-inch hair goes only a few inches back. Brad the scalper. He has always claimed he had some Indian in his genes. Guess so. Thank God he didn't actually get all the way to my skin. That would have been worse. As it is, I have to either wear a cap at all times or do a modified combover to cover my nearly bare patch. The saving grace is that I will never see any of these people again. I'm hopeful that my hair will grow back and fill in by the time we return from this grand voyage. Needless to say, Brad is contrite. No pictures will follow.
It all started out well enough. I got out the Wahl hair trimmer that I inherited from my mom and dad. Neither Brad nor I had ever used it before. As I cut Brad's hair, I was thankful there was no big mirror on the wall for him to watch me from (as there is at all salons). I am sure he would have nagged me the whole time, nervously watching my every move, thereby ensuring that I screwed up from all of the pressure of prying eyes. (In hindsight, maybe a mirror would have been a good thing after all.) As it was, he was pretty patient and not as terribly nervous as I would have expected. So all went well and we were both quite pleased with the job.
Since that went so well, I thought why not have Brad trim mine? God only knows what I was thinking. (And no, I had NOT been drinking, thank you very much.) I switched to the #4 attachment, the longest one we have, and explained to Brad how to use it. Or so I thought. He smiled, nodded and said yes he understood. (Okay, this should have been my clue, but I was caught up in the happiness of my triumphant success on him.)
The whirring little hamsters inside his pea-brain head were undoubtedly thinking "Yeah, yeah. Wife talking. Blah, blah, blah. Just give me the damn clippers already and let me get this thing over with!"
So I am sitting patiently on an overturned bucket in the cockpit in only my panties (so as to facilitate cleanup by giving the cut hairs less to land on), calmly awaiting my new haircut, confident in the deft manner in which Brad would wield the clippers and the resultant trim job that would surely ensue. On his very first pass of the clippers, my smile turned to a shriek. "Stop! Stop! Stop!" I screamed as I saw several two-inch long tufts of hair fall in front of my eyes! "What the hell are you doing????"
Brad's eyes were as big as saucers. "Oh my God! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" he vehemently declared. After the initial shock subsided, I couldn't help but laugh and I saw the relief in Brad's eyes. Laugh and cry at the same time. No, I couldn't glue it back. Oh, if I could just take that moment back. In haircuts, as in most things in life, there are no do-overs.
Suffice it to say, Brad was NOW ready to listen to my explanation as to how to orient the clipper so as to get the right depth of cut. Now he "got it", but it was WAY to late for the front of my head. I now have an inverted mohawk that fortunately doesn't run the length of my head. Instead, my furrow of quarter-inch hair goes only a few inches back. Brad the scalper. He has always claimed he had some Indian in his genes. Guess so. Thank God he didn't actually get all the way to my skin. That would have been worse. As it is, I have to either wear a cap at all times or do a modified combover to cover my nearly bare patch. The saving grace is that I will never see any of these people again. I'm hopeful that my hair will grow back and fill in by the time we return from this grand voyage. Needless to say, Brad is contrite. No pictures will follow.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Alaska: Scenery & Wildlife Abound!
I thought the British Columbia part of the Inside Passage was lovely, but I must say the views and wildlife just keep getting better and better the further north we get. Alaska is awesome! Just as the Canandians said, "the eagles are like mosquitoes, they are everywhere.", so is it true here in Alaska. But not only are there bald eagles nearly everywhere you look, the whales seem to be everywhere too. In the last few days we've seen LOTS of humpback whales and finback whales. And the latest addition to our viewing pleasure has been the minke whale. The minke is a rather small whale by whale standards, with white patches on its fins. It is much harder to spot than other whales because its spray is very faint when it comes up to breathe, making a sighting that much more of a prize.
Our most intimate encounter to date has been when a group of dalls porpoises torpedoed towards our boat (Brad got a little worried there before he realized what was happening) and then cavorted in our bow wake for roughly ten minutes. Taking turns, they would come up fron behind, swimmming up alongside us a few feet away just below the surface, accelerate ahead just in front of our bow as if playing chicken with us, cross over in front of us to the other side of the boat then peel off to behind us, going deeper in the water at the back of their circling pattern and then do it all again. A few of them would make their circle in the opposite direction so we could never be sure which side of the boat to watch from. It seemed like chaos but I bet it was a cleverly choreographed dance if only we could see it from under the water. Just as they came upon us out of nowhere, they disappeared with nary a flipper wave. (We got some video of this so stay tuned for future video postings!)
TRACY ARM, THE LAND OF THE BERGIE BITS
Our most beautiful scenery to date has been in Tracy Arm, the home of the north and south Sawyer glacier. As we approached the narrows to enter the arm, I used our binoculars to see the narrows just ahead. That was when I caught a glimpse of what was to come. Literally - in one instant - I had the privilege of witnessing icebergs in the distance, a humpback whale breaching in the foreground, and a bald eagle flying overhead from right to left! This is no exaggeration folks. I saw all that in one moment in time all at the exact same time! It just doesn't get any better than that!
We crossed the narrows and made our way into the anchorage just inside. We were giddy with delight. There was a bergie bit (mini-iceberg) in the cove so we kayaked over to it and used dad's old ice pick to knock off several chunks. (We've had bergie bits in all of our cold drinks ever since. The best ice you'll ever have the privilege of using - so pure, so dense, so crystal clear.)
The next morning we awoke to perfectly clear skies. The weather gods were definitely favoring us today. (The day before had been a low overcast and even though we knew we were surrounded by beautiful, snow-capped peaks in all directions, we simply could not see a single one as we motored through Frederick Sound. The whale sightings made up for it though. My arms got tired from holding up the binoculars most of the day. Whales never surface close enough for naked eye viewing if you ask me.) What luck!
Tracy Arm is about 25 miles long. The further we motored in, the thicker the bergie bits got. By the time we got to the junction dividing the north and south glaciers, Brad was getting tired arms trying to steer around them all. After a while, you get desensitized and give up trying to avoid them all. Besides, it's just not possible. We are afraid to look at our hull next time we get her hauled out as we scraped past so much ice that we kind of went numb after a while. We managed to get below a waterfall whose flow kept the icebergs at bay, leaving a nice clear space to turn the boat around. That was as close as we could get to the glacier's terminus, roughly two miles from it. (Brad was definitely WAY past his comfort zone before we ever got to the waterfall so there was NO WAY we he was motoring any further. Thank God Melody, another boat we've gotten to know along the way, was ahead of us and found this good turnaround spot.)
As we negotiated our way through the bergs, I stood up on the bow, scanning the way ahead. I could see what looked like logs or maybe rocks on many of them. I thought this was odd, but I was too busy trying to direct Brad as to which way to steer to avoid the bigger ice chunks. That's when we came upon one of the logs up close: it was a seal pup! And his mother was not far away. She exploded out of the water, splash-landed on the iceberg, and nudged her pup into the safety of the water. Surprise! We found ourselves in the middle of a seal nursery! Those logs/rocks were sunbathing seal pups waiting for their hungry mothers return from their hunts. I caught a few on video. (Seals are a LOT easier to video than whales. Whales are elusive and always seem to surface when you have finally gotten tired of waiting, given up, and put your camera away. Not to mention they surface in a different location from where they were last spotted. Kind of like the mole game at the carnival: frustrating but exhilarating!)
The next day we docked at Taku Harbor at a nearly brand new, beautiful, long, free public dock. Sweet! We were down below preparing dinner in the galley, when we heard a lot of yelling. A bear stood at the head of the dock as though he was considering a stroll past all of the boats. Thankfully, he changed his mind and fled up the steep slope through the trees away from the dock instead. I bet the folks who were cooking fish on the dock with their big, fancy cooker were relieved! We thought we were almost going to witness a real show until the bear buggered off. We didn't get to identify whether it was a black or brown bear because it all happened too quickly.
Now we are in Juneau, the state capital, enjoying the shops and museums. There are four cruise ships docked here so there are tourists milling around everywhere. We hope to escape them tomorrow by going on a long hike up to Mount Roberts. Let's hope the weather cooperates. It seems to rain here every single day, although maybe not all day long. I am amazed at how these people even find room enough to build a city. The mountains are "in your face" behind the buildings and in the other direction the sea is "in your face" or maybe "under your feet" might be more appropriate. Just not much room to build streets and houses. I guess I'd have to call all of the towns I've seen so far in Alaska to be "strip towns". Not what I expected.
Unfortunately I again don't have the ability to upload pictures or videos of all the wonderful scenery and wildlife, but I promise to do so when I am able. The way things are going so far that may mean a month or more from now but I hope the pictures will be worth the trouble to revisit the website later. Sorry!
Our most intimate encounter to date has been when a group of dalls porpoises torpedoed towards our boat (Brad got a little worried there before he realized what was happening) and then cavorted in our bow wake for roughly ten minutes. Taking turns, they would come up fron behind, swimmming up alongside us a few feet away just below the surface, accelerate ahead just in front of our bow as if playing chicken with us, cross over in front of us to the other side of the boat then peel off to behind us, going deeper in the water at the back of their circling pattern and then do it all again. A few of them would make their circle in the opposite direction so we could never be sure which side of the boat to watch from. It seemed like chaos but I bet it was a cleverly choreographed dance if only we could see it from under the water. Just as they came upon us out of nowhere, they disappeared with nary a flipper wave. (We got some video of this so stay tuned for future video postings!)
TRACY ARM, THE LAND OF THE BERGIE BITS
Our most beautiful scenery to date has been in Tracy Arm, the home of the north and south Sawyer glacier. As we approached the narrows to enter the arm, I used our binoculars to see the narrows just ahead. That was when I caught a glimpse of what was to come. Literally - in one instant - I had the privilege of witnessing icebergs in the distance, a humpback whale breaching in the foreground, and a bald eagle flying overhead from right to left! This is no exaggeration folks. I saw all that in one moment in time all at the exact same time! It just doesn't get any better than that!
We crossed the narrows and made our way into the anchorage just inside. We were giddy with delight. There was a bergie bit (mini-iceberg) in the cove so we kayaked over to it and used dad's old ice pick to knock off several chunks. (We've had bergie bits in all of our cold drinks ever since. The best ice you'll ever have the privilege of using - so pure, so dense, so crystal clear.)
The next morning we awoke to perfectly clear skies. The weather gods were definitely favoring us today. (The day before had been a low overcast and even though we knew we were surrounded by beautiful, snow-capped peaks in all directions, we simply could not see a single one as we motored through Frederick Sound. The whale sightings made up for it though. My arms got tired from holding up the binoculars most of the day. Whales never surface close enough for naked eye viewing if you ask me.) What luck!
Tracy Arm is about 25 miles long. The further we motored in, the thicker the bergie bits got. By the time we got to the junction dividing the north and south glaciers, Brad was getting tired arms trying to steer around them all. After a while, you get desensitized and give up trying to avoid them all. Besides, it's just not possible. We are afraid to look at our hull next time we get her hauled out as we scraped past so much ice that we kind of went numb after a while. We managed to get below a waterfall whose flow kept the icebergs at bay, leaving a nice clear space to turn the boat around. That was as close as we could get to the glacier's terminus, roughly two miles from it. (Brad was definitely WAY past his comfort zone before we ever got to the waterfall so there was NO WAY we he was motoring any further. Thank God Melody, another boat we've gotten to know along the way, was ahead of us and found this good turnaround spot.)
As we negotiated our way through the bergs, I stood up on the bow, scanning the way ahead. I could see what looked like logs or maybe rocks on many of them. I thought this was odd, but I was too busy trying to direct Brad as to which way to steer to avoid the bigger ice chunks. That's when we came upon one of the logs up close: it was a seal pup! And his mother was not far away. She exploded out of the water, splash-landed on the iceberg, and nudged her pup into the safety of the water. Surprise! We found ourselves in the middle of a seal nursery! Those logs/rocks were sunbathing seal pups waiting for their hungry mothers return from their hunts. I caught a few on video. (Seals are a LOT easier to video than whales. Whales are elusive and always seem to surface when you have finally gotten tired of waiting, given up, and put your camera away. Not to mention they surface in a different location from where they were last spotted. Kind of like the mole game at the carnival: frustrating but exhilarating!)
The next day we docked at Taku Harbor at a nearly brand new, beautiful, long, free public dock. Sweet! We were down below preparing dinner in the galley, when we heard a lot of yelling. A bear stood at the head of the dock as though he was considering a stroll past all of the boats. Thankfully, he changed his mind and fled up the steep slope through the trees away from the dock instead. I bet the folks who were cooking fish on the dock with their big, fancy cooker were relieved! We thought we were almost going to witness a real show until the bear buggered off. We didn't get to identify whether it was a black or brown bear because it all happened too quickly.
Now we are in Juneau, the state capital, enjoying the shops and museums. There are four cruise ships docked here so there are tourists milling around everywhere. We hope to escape them tomorrow by going on a long hike up to Mount Roberts. Let's hope the weather cooperates. It seems to rain here every single day, although maybe not all day long. I am amazed at how these people even find room enough to build a city. The mountains are "in your face" behind the buildings and in the other direction the sea is "in your face" or maybe "under your feet" might be more appropriate. Just not much room to build streets and houses. I guess I'd have to call all of the towns I've seen so far in Alaska to be "strip towns". Not what I expected.
Unfortunately I again don't have the ability to upload pictures or videos of all the wonderful scenery and wildlife, but I promise to do so when I am able. The way things are going so far that may mean a month or more from now but I hope the pictures will be worth the trouble to revisit the website later. Sorry!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Muddied and Bloodied!
Imagine my surprise at actually getting to SCRAMBLE on this sailing adventure! I admit, it was a SHORT scramble, but a scramble nonetheless, so I was indeed overjoyed!
We motored into Punchbowl Cove on Tuesday, 6/7/11, which was supposed to be just a "hit-and-run" stop on our itinerary which called for us to anchor at Manzanita Bay. There is ONE USFS mooring buoy at this cove for people to use for an hour or so while they explore the area. As we approached, we pulled out the binoculars looking for this elusive buoy in the distance. We scanned back and forth but simply could not see it.
We had just about decided that the guide book was either wrong or that the buoy had possibly been removed. (The USFS puts buoys out at places where the bottom is so deep that most people shy away from anchoring.) That's when we realized there was a sea kayak tied up to it such that the kayak completely obscured the buoy. I was livid! What? No way am I letting a stinking little kayak hog that one and only buoy! NO WAY!
So I convinced Brad we should just attach ourselves to the buoy too and that is just what we did. About 20 minutes later, while Brad and I were wolfing down some lunch, a kayaker paddled over to us. We feared he would be upset with us but we were prepared to stand our ground. The kayaker said he was a guide and that his group would be spending the night camping out there along the shore, and that he hoped his kayak wouldn't bang our boat and bother us. Whew! It turns out that the kayak attached to the mooring buoy is their food kayak. They have to paddle out and retrieve it for every meal and then put it back afterwards. Bear protection! It all made sense now. That was a relief!
We read in the guide book that there was a short, but steep, hike that leads up to Punchbowl Lake. The kayak guide told us the trail was nearly impossible to follow now due to a whole bunch of blowdowns that have completely obliterated the trail. He didn't recommend trying it. Hmmmm! Sounds like a scramble to me, I thought. This guide also volunteered that boaters who are lucky enough to snag the buoy in the afternoon usually go ahead and spend the night. Cool! That decided it for us: we're spending the night and enjoying this beautiful place to the fullest!
After we finished lunch, we put our kayaks in the water and paddled ashore. Some of the kayakers were still there so they pointed us toward the start of the trail. That was most helpful as are no signs and lots of tall grass along the shore so finding the start was a bit difficult.
Before disembarking on the trail, we carried our kayaks, paddles and assorted safety gear about 200 feet up slope, stumbling over barnacle and mussel-covered rocks and slimy sea grasses that went pop as you stepped on them. We went all the way to where the grass (NOT sea grass) started and tied the kayaks to a log that looked as if it was partially buried in the sand. At the time it seemed perhaps a bit excessive, but we knew the trip would take a minimum of 2.5 hours roundtrip and more if we took many pictures. Since the tidal change was 17 feet, it seemed the prudent thing to do.
The guide was right. There were so many sections with blown down trees, smashed and splintered and laying like pick-up-sticks, that I simply lost count. We crawled under a few of them, and crawled over some of them, but many more required us to climb between and through them, so that we were walking, then crawling it seemed in mid-air, our feet dangling in the air when we lost our footing, hanging like monkeys by our arms. It was a blast! The evergreen branches were literally in our faces, giving us a heady aroma therapy in our noses and showers of needles on our sweaty necks, backs, arms and legs.
The slope was quite treacherously steep in one section and we were both wishing we had ice axes, but we got by with digging our fingers into the slope, watching each footstep, practicing careful weight-shifting to ensure good balance. A fall here would have ended with a very long "agony of defeat" tumble down several hundred feet to the ravine below with no doubt many broken bones.
Somewhere along the way, Brad grabbed a devil's club to check his balance and got pierced nicely by about a half-dozen of the spines (bleeding like a stuck pig, according to him) and I gouged myself on numerous protruding branches. This then is where the bloodied came in for both of us. I think the muddied you can figure out. (It rains a lot up here!)
When we returned three hours later, the sea was only five feet from the grass so we were pleased to see that our kayak-lifting efforts had not been just gratuitous weight-lifting. By now it was 5:30 and the air temperature was 75. All of the kayakers were either long gone kayaking for the afternoon or were scrambling up to the lake we had just been to, so we giddily removed our clothing and took a shower together on the swim platform of our boat. I affectionately call it skinny-showering or showering skinny, if you prefer! (I wanted to go skinny-dipping back at the lake but the shore was either too steep to climb up out of or too muddy to come out without needing another bath, so this turned out to be a fun alternative).
After getting fresh and clean, we dressed and enjoyed another lovely pre-dinner soiree on the lido deck in shorts and t-shirts. This was our second time sunbathing on the roof and the views were even more spectacular than those at East Inlet. The granite face of Punchbowl Cove made me wonder why there weren't any world-class climbers up there giving it a go! Another lovely day in cruising paradise, folks. Wishing you were here!
We motored into Punchbowl Cove on Tuesday, 6/7/11, which was supposed to be just a "hit-and-run" stop on our itinerary which called for us to anchor at Manzanita Bay. There is ONE USFS mooring buoy at this cove for people to use for an hour or so while they explore the area. As we approached, we pulled out the binoculars looking for this elusive buoy in the distance. We scanned back and forth but simply could not see it.
We had just about decided that the guide book was either wrong or that the buoy had possibly been removed. (The USFS puts buoys out at places where the bottom is so deep that most people shy away from anchoring.) That's when we realized there was a sea kayak tied up to it such that the kayak completely obscured the buoy. I was livid! What? No way am I letting a stinking little kayak hog that one and only buoy! NO WAY!
So I convinced Brad we should just attach ourselves to the buoy too and that is just what we did. About 20 minutes later, while Brad and I were wolfing down some lunch, a kayaker paddled over to us. We feared he would be upset with us but we were prepared to stand our ground. The kayaker said he was a guide and that his group would be spending the night camping out there along the shore, and that he hoped his kayak wouldn't bang our boat and bother us. Whew! It turns out that the kayak attached to the mooring buoy is their food kayak. They have to paddle out and retrieve it for every meal and then put it back afterwards. Bear protection! It all made sense now. That was a relief!
We read in the guide book that there was a short, but steep, hike that leads up to Punchbowl Lake. The kayak guide told us the trail was nearly impossible to follow now due to a whole bunch of blowdowns that have completely obliterated the trail. He didn't recommend trying it. Hmmmm! Sounds like a scramble to me, I thought. This guide also volunteered that boaters who are lucky enough to snag the buoy in the afternoon usually go ahead and spend the night. Cool! That decided it for us: we're spending the night and enjoying this beautiful place to the fullest!
After we finished lunch, we put our kayaks in the water and paddled ashore. Some of the kayakers were still there so they pointed us toward the start of the trail. That was most helpful as are no signs and lots of tall grass along the shore so finding the start was a bit difficult.
Before disembarking on the trail, we carried our kayaks, paddles and assorted safety gear about 200 feet up slope, stumbling over barnacle and mussel-covered rocks and slimy sea grasses that went pop as you stepped on them. We went all the way to where the grass (NOT sea grass) started and tied the kayaks to a log that looked as if it was partially buried in the sand. At the time it seemed perhaps a bit excessive, but we knew the trip would take a minimum of 2.5 hours roundtrip and more if we took many pictures. Since the tidal change was 17 feet, it seemed the prudent thing to do.
The guide was right. There were so many sections with blown down trees, smashed and splintered and laying like pick-up-sticks, that I simply lost count. We crawled under a few of them, and crawled over some of them, but many more required us to climb between and through them, so that we were walking, then crawling it seemed in mid-air, our feet dangling in the air when we lost our footing, hanging like monkeys by our arms. It was a blast! The evergreen branches were literally in our faces, giving us a heady aroma therapy in our noses and showers of needles on our sweaty necks, backs, arms and legs.
The slope was quite treacherously steep in one section and we were both wishing we had ice axes, but we got by with digging our fingers into the slope, watching each footstep, practicing careful weight-shifting to ensure good balance. A fall here would have ended with a very long "agony of defeat" tumble down several hundred feet to the ravine below with no doubt many broken bones.
Somewhere along the way, Brad grabbed a devil's club to check his balance and got pierced nicely by about a half-dozen of the spines (bleeding like a stuck pig, according to him) and I gouged myself on numerous protruding branches. This then is where the bloodied came in for both of us. I think the muddied you can figure out. (It rains a lot up here!)
When we returned three hours later, the sea was only five feet from the grass so we were pleased to see that our kayak-lifting efforts had not been just gratuitous weight-lifting. By now it was 5:30 and the air temperature was 75. All of the kayakers were either long gone kayaking for the afternoon or were scrambling up to the lake we had just been to, so we giddily removed our clothing and took a shower together on the swim platform of our boat. I affectionately call it skinny-showering or showering skinny, if you prefer! (I wanted to go skinny-dipping back at the lake but the shore was either too steep to climb up out of or too muddy to come out without needing another bath, so this turned out to be a fun alternative).
After getting fresh and clean, we dressed and enjoyed another lovely pre-dinner soiree on the lido deck in shorts and t-shirts. This was our second time sunbathing on the roof and the views were even more spectacular than those at East Inlet. The granite face of Punchbowl Cove made me wonder why there weren't any world-class climbers up there giving it a go! Another lovely day in cruising paradise, folks. Wishing you were here!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Cruising & Mountaineering Parallels
I'm realizing that cruising the Inside Passage and mountaineering are not all that different really, except for the aerobic aspects of each (or lack thereof when it comes to boating.) In both endeavors, there is a lot of think time. When you are a climbing a glacier or scrambling up a long snow slope, it is pretty much the same as motoring down a long, narrow channel. You have plenty of time to let your mind wander, but at the same time, you are always looking around for objective hazards.
On a snow slog, you are assessing the snow conditions right under your feet as well as those above and ahead of you to ensure you avoid the crevasses and minimize any risk of slipping. On a boat, you are looking at the water below and in front of you, looking for rocks, kelp, logs and deadheads, and you are checking your depth gauge at the same time.
On a snow slog, you look in the distance for rocks that might break loose from the melting ice and for cornices that might break off and mow you down, or even for clumsy climbers who might fall or drop their gear on top of you. While cruising, you constantly check the chart plotter and/or the paper charts looking for known hazards so you can avoid them.
While mountaineering, you continually monitor your health and fitness, looking for signs of frostbite, hypothermia, overheating, bonking, etc., and making adjustments by adding or removing clothing, eating and drinking as necessary, altering your stride and cadence to work different muscle groups while giving other muscles a break, and also monitoring the health and fitness of other party members. The same is true for cruising. You are continually monitoring the status of the engine by checking the temperature gauge, the oil pressure gauge, tachometer, not to mention doing periodic checks of the engine compartment, reading belt and bearing temperatures and whatnot. And their is also the health of the crew to consider as well, like warning your spouse who is down below that the boat is about to get hit by big waves so they can brace.
Mountaineering requires good navigation skills, such as when you are on an all white snow slope where you can hardly tell the ground from the sky or in the midst of a thick forest where all you can see is trees in every direction. You frequently check your compass and map to ensure you are on course. The same is true for boating. You are continually checking your chart plotter and paper charts to ensure you are where you think you are. To be somewhere else can mean running aground or holing your boat on a sharp, submerged rock.
While mountaineering, even when you are with a group, you still can enjoy the solitude and beauty of the environment around you as you share it with the rest of the group. Cruising also takes you to remote places that the general public will never see. Tranquility and nature in all its forms are all around you. You just have to still your mind and observe.
These parallels make me appreciate cruising much more than I thought I would. Although I do miss the heart-pounding challenge of 4000 feet of elevation gain, I am enjoying all of the other aspects this endeavor has to offer.
On a snow slog, you are assessing the snow conditions right under your feet as well as those above and ahead of you to ensure you avoid the crevasses and minimize any risk of slipping. On a boat, you are looking at the water below and in front of you, looking for rocks, kelp, logs and deadheads, and you are checking your depth gauge at the same time.
On a snow slog, you look in the distance for rocks that might break loose from the melting ice and for cornices that might break off and mow you down, or even for clumsy climbers who might fall or drop their gear on top of you. While cruising, you constantly check the chart plotter and/or the paper charts looking for known hazards so you can avoid them.
While mountaineering, you continually monitor your health and fitness, looking for signs of frostbite, hypothermia, overheating, bonking, etc., and making adjustments by adding or removing clothing, eating and drinking as necessary, altering your stride and cadence to work different muscle groups while giving other muscles a break, and also monitoring the health and fitness of other party members. The same is true for cruising. You are continually monitoring the status of the engine by checking the temperature gauge, the oil pressure gauge, tachometer, not to mention doing periodic checks of the engine compartment, reading belt and bearing temperatures and whatnot. And their is also the health of the crew to consider as well, like warning your spouse who is down below that the boat is about to get hit by big waves so they can brace.
Mountaineering requires good navigation skills, such as when you are on an all white snow slope where you can hardly tell the ground from the sky or in the midst of a thick forest where all you can see is trees in every direction. You frequently check your compass and map to ensure you are on course. The same is true for boating. You are continually checking your chart plotter and paper charts to ensure you are where you think you are. To be somewhere else can mean running aground or holing your boat on a sharp, submerged rock.
While mountaineering, even when you are with a group, you still can enjoy the solitude and beauty of the environment around you as you share it with the rest of the group. Cruising also takes you to remote places that the general public will never see. Tranquility and nature in all its forms are all around you. You just have to still your mind and observe.
These parallels make me appreciate cruising much more than I thought I would. Although I do miss the heart-pounding challenge of 4000 feet of elevation gain, I am enjoying all of the other aspects this endeavor has to offer.
Arrival Alaska!
Hi folks! We are, as I write this, sitting at a laundromat near Bar Harbor Marina in Ketchikan, Alaska, waiting for our two oversized loads of laundry to finish. (The party never ends!)
We arrived yesterday (Saturday, 6/4/11) after deciding to beat the bad weather that is supposedly coming by doing an extra long day Friday, skipping our planned stopover at Brundige Inlet on Dundas Island and going straight to Foggy Bay instead. This saved us a day off our "dream itinerary". Customs was the easiest we have ever experienced so that was very nice. The hardest part was just waiting for the agent to arrive at our slip! It seemed just to be a formality really. Pretty cool service, though, don't you think? (In Canada, they made us get off the boat while two of the agents searched it for god knows what. Here they didn't do anything but look at our shotgun.)
Unfortunately, we chose a marina that has no internet service so I am forced to use Brad's IPad AT&T connection. The IPad doesn't afford me the ability to upload my pictures (or if it does, neither Brad nor I know how to do it.) So please revisit this posting later (I can't tell you HOW much later, sorry) so you can see the pictures that go along with the story. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I think the pictures will make it worth a second visit.
THAR SHE BLOWS!
Yes, we've seen that distinctive spray from the whales as they surface for air. Awesome! So far we have seen orca (killer) whales, humpback whales, and finback whales. Each kind has a breaching pattern that the viewer can observe at the surface. The orcas have a very tall dorsal in that makes them very easy to identify. The humpbacks always expose their unique flukes (tail fins) as they dive back down deep after breaching. And the finbacks have very small dorsal fins (as do humpbacks) but do not raise their flukes when diving.
The last whale we spotted was right before entering Ketchikan Harbor. I was doing some aerobic dancing in place in the cockpit, jamming to ZZ Top, (part of my workout regimen) when I saw a fleeting glimpse of spray ahead of us at roughly eleven o'clock. I said to Brad, "Geez! There must be a slightly submerged rock over there because I just saw a small splash in that direction." I didn't think any more about it, but within about 30 to 45 seconds, I caught sight of a disturbance still slightly ahead of us but at about 1:30ish. That's when I realized what I was seeing: a finback whale! We cut the power to idle and watched as he resurfaced again right in front of us on our starboard side. I was amazed (and pleased) how close (but NOT scary close) he swam around us, how fast he moved, and that he obviously altered his course so as not to swim directly underneath us.
BLISSFUL TRANQUILITY
On May 31st, we anchored in a place called the East Inlet. We kayaked for about two hours and then realized that the weather had improved to the point that we could put on short-sleeved t-shirts and shorts. It was a lovely 75 degrees with NO WIND! Awesome! Just like summer! We pulled out the chaise lounge chairs and sat on the roof (which we lovingly call "the lido deck"), munched on melted brie on crackers and sipped some cold beer. Perfect! Snow-covered mountain views in the distance, lush green forests on the shore, a gurgling rapids running into the inlet from a mountain lake. Eagles and hawks, flying by, searching for their next meal. Seagulls and ducks splashing around in the water looking for small fry. Our neighbors in the sailboats anchored near us rowing out in their dinghies checking their crab traps for a possible dinner. The reflection of the forest, mountains, and sky in the nearly perfect calm surface of the water. Sarah McLachlan playing on the stereo. Tranquility.
Of course, that piece of heaven ended when the sun went behind the ridge. But it was blissful out there for about an hour before that. Since then, it has been in the 50's and raining. You have to take advantage of these precious moments when they come along. Life is short!
We arrived yesterday (Saturday, 6/4/11) after deciding to beat the bad weather that is supposedly coming by doing an extra long day Friday, skipping our planned stopover at Brundige Inlet on Dundas Island and going straight to Foggy Bay instead. This saved us a day off our "dream itinerary". Customs was the easiest we have ever experienced so that was very nice. The hardest part was just waiting for the agent to arrive at our slip! It seemed just to be a formality really. Pretty cool service, though, don't you think? (In Canada, they made us get off the boat while two of the agents searched it for god knows what. Here they didn't do anything but look at our shotgun.)
Unfortunately, we chose a marina that has no internet service so I am forced to use Brad's IPad AT&T connection. The IPad doesn't afford me the ability to upload my pictures (or if it does, neither Brad nor I know how to do it.) So please revisit this posting later (I can't tell you HOW much later, sorry) so you can see the pictures that go along with the story. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I think the pictures will make it worth a second visit.
THAR SHE BLOWS!
Yes, we've seen that distinctive spray from the whales as they surface for air. Awesome! So far we have seen orca (killer) whales, humpback whales, and finback whales. Each kind has a breaching pattern that the viewer can observe at the surface. The orcas have a very tall dorsal in that makes them very easy to identify. The humpbacks always expose their unique flukes (tail fins) as they dive back down deep after breaching. And the finbacks have very small dorsal fins (as do humpbacks) but do not raise their flukes when diving.
The last whale we spotted was right before entering Ketchikan Harbor. I was doing some aerobic dancing in place in the cockpit, jamming to ZZ Top, (part of my workout regimen) when I saw a fleeting glimpse of spray ahead of us at roughly eleven o'clock. I said to Brad, "Geez! There must be a slightly submerged rock over there because I just saw a small splash in that direction." I didn't think any more about it, but within about 30 to 45 seconds, I caught sight of a disturbance still slightly ahead of us but at about 1:30ish. That's when I realized what I was seeing: a finback whale! We cut the power to idle and watched as he resurfaced again right in front of us on our starboard side. I was amazed (and pleased) how close (but NOT scary close) he swam around us, how fast he moved, and that he obviously altered his course so as not to swim directly underneath us.
BLISSFUL TRANQUILITY
On May 31st, we anchored in a place called the East Inlet. We kayaked for about two hours and then realized that the weather had improved to the point that we could put on short-sleeved t-shirts and shorts. It was a lovely 75 degrees with NO WIND! Awesome! Just like summer! We pulled out the chaise lounge chairs and sat on the roof (which we lovingly call "the lido deck"), munched on melted brie on crackers and sipped some cold beer. Perfect! Snow-covered mountain views in the distance, lush green forests on the shore, a gurgling rapids running into the inlet from a mountain lake. Eagles and hawks, flying by, searching for their next meal. Seagulls and ducks splashing around in the water looking for small fry. Our neighbors in the sailboats anchored near us rowing out in their dinghies checking their crab traps for a possible dinner. The reflection of the forest, mountains, and sky in the nearly perfect calm surface of the water. Sarah McLachlan playing on the stereo. Tranquility.
Of course, that piece of heaven ended when the sun went behind the ridge. But it was blissful out there for about an hour before that. Since then, it has been in the 50's and raining. You have to take advantage of these precious moments when they come along. Life is short!
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