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!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
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!
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Time to Fly...
We just got into Prince Rupert today. Prince Rupert is the last Canadian port before we reach the US border. It will take a minimum of three days to get to the customs office in Ketchikan. There is weather coming in on Sunday, so we need to leave right away tomorrow to get to a safe anchorage before it hits. Therefore, I will have to defer some of my other stories until after we find moorage in Ketchikan. So much has happened to us since I last posted anything, so please check back in a few days for new postings. I'll try to catch you up to date then...
The Case of Muscle v. Mussel
One day a little over a week ago, Brad and I went kayaking in a lovely, secluded anchorage called Troup Cove. The shoreline rocks were simply covered with mussels. Brad decided to eat one so he pried one off a rock, broke open the shell, and popped it in his mouth. He proclaimed it delicious! And yes, it was raw, folks. Just like what Bear Grylls and Les Stroud would do. (These are two survivalist types that have programs on the Discovery Channel, our favorite cable station.) If they can do it, why not Brad??? Real cave man stuff. Brad offered to get me one too, but I declined. I prefer muscles of the OTHER variety!
A few hours later, I went to bed, but stayed up late reading Stephen King, and drinking beer. He came to bed about 1:00 a.m. (I found the incriminating beer cans the next morning in the trash). And this behavior from a guy who has been rationing his beer and my wine consumption so that we wouldn't run out before the next chance to restock.
Not only did he come to bed late, but he started hiccuping violently and continuously. Between the shuddering hiccups which caused the bed to rock annoyingly and his buzz saw snoring, I simply could not sleep. I tried rolling him over to no avail. I then tried to go sleep in the aft stateroom but the mattress had been removed over the engine (to make the engine checking process easier) and the second bunk was filled to the gills with a couple of huge sails, a shotgun, numerous charts, and other heavy stuff (not to mention if I moved them, where could I possibly put them?) so I gave up on that idea as well. I eventually put on my clothes and some heavy socks, found an afghan in a storage locker, grabbed my pillow and retired to the salon setee. Not exactly comfortable, but if I pulled my knees up into a fetal position, it wasn't all that bad. At least the setee didn't bounce and roll with each hiccup and Brad's snoring was somewhat muted by the door between us. Finally, I was able to sleep a few hours.
In the morning, Brad tried to act as if all was well, but it quickly became apparent that all was NOT well. (At least I knew I was feeling extremely sleep-deprived.) Brad was STILL hiccuping. It wasn't long after leaving our anchorage that Brad had his first puking bout! (Thank God he made it to the galley sink before losing it.) He slept nearly the entire day (and all that night) while I drove to our next destination. (So much for me doing my P90X regimen which has become my custom while we are en route.) He looked like hell all day, couldn't eat anything, and vomited at least three times that I saw. His discomfort certainly gave me a little joy. It served him right after his night of debauchery! By evening he was still feeling puny and he even had a degree of fever. I started feeling a little sorry for him. (Not much, but a little.)
By the next morning, there was no change in his situation. Still hicupping, but not non-stop now. He still couldn't eat and again slept most of the day. By the end of the second day, I started to think it might not be a hangover. I surreptitiously pulled out the Wilderness Medicine book that my dear sister, Lyn, gave me for Christmas a few years ago and read up on shellfish toxicity while Brad slept. What I found was not good and not encouraging. A significant portion of those ingesting non-farm-raised mussels (whether cooked or raw) die within a few days! So I started getting worried. Brad still had a fever, still wasn't able to each much, and now his vision had gotten blurred. We started recording his vital signs and symptoms in case I had to call for his emergency evacuation. (Oh my God! Do they deliver a new captain when they haul the old one away???)
Fortunately, Brad started to be able to eat some cold foods on the third day, but coffee still made him want to hurl. (Can you imagine? Coffee is his favorite beverage!) By the fourth day he could eat hot foods in small quantities and was feeling a lot more normal. By the fifth day, he was back to normal but roughly 10 pounds lighter. (He calls it the mussel diet but doesn't recommend it.) He has sworn off mussels and any other form of shellfish for the time being.
The jury on this case was hung so no monetary or punitive damages were awarded to either party. Half of the jury thought it was a very mild case of PSP (paralytic shellfish poisoning) while the other half thought it was SAP (self-inflicted alcohol poisoning). You be the judge...
A few hours later, I went to bed, but stayed up late reading Stephen King, and drinking beer. He came to bed about 1:00 a.m. (I found the incriminating beer cans the next morning in the trash). And this behavior from a guy who has been rationing his beer and my wine consumption so that we wouldn't run out before the next chance to restock.
Not only did he come to bed late, but he started hiccuping violently and continuously. Between the shuddering hiccups which caused the bed to rock annoyingly and his buzz saw snoring, I simply could not sleep. I tried rolling him over to no avail. I then tried to go sleep in the aft stateroom but the mattress had been removed over the engine (to make the engine checking process easier) and the second bunk was filled to the gills with a couple of huge sails, a shotgun, numerous charts, and other heavy stuff (not to mention if I moved them, where could I possibly put them?) so I gave up on that idea as well. I eventually put on my clothes and some heavy socks, found an afghan in a storage locker, grabbed my pillow and retired to the salon setee. Not exactly comfortable, but if I pulled my knees up into a fetal position, it wasn't all that bad. At least the setee didn't bounce and roll with each hiccup and Brad's snoring was somewhat muted by the door between us. Finally, I was able to sleep a few hours.
In the morning, Brad tried to act as if all was well, but it quickly became apparent that all was NOT well. (At least I knew I was feeling extremely sleep-deprived.) Brad was STILL hiccuping. It wasn't long after leaving our anchorage that Brad had his first puking bout! (Thank God he made it to the galley sink before losing it.) He slept nearly the entire day (and all that night) while I drove to our next destination. (So much for me doing my P90X regimen which has become my custom while we are en route.) He looked like hell all day, couldn't eat anything, and vomited at least three times that I saw. His discomfort certainly gave me a little joy. It served him right after his night of debauchery! By evening he was still feeling puny and he even had a degree of fever. I started feeling a little sorry for him. (Not much, but a little.)
By the next morning, there was no change in his situation. Still hicupping, but not non-stop now. He still couldn't eat and again slept most of the day. By the end of the second day, I started to think it might not be a hangover. I surreptitiously pulled out the Wilderness Medicine book that my dear sister, Lyn, gave me for Christmas a few years ago and read up on shellfish toxicity while Brad slept. What I found was not good and not encouraging. A significant portion of those ingesting non-farm-raised mussels (whether cooked or raw) die within a few days! So I started getting worried. Brad still had a fever, still wasn't able to each much, and now his vision had gotten blurred. We started recording his vital signs and symptoms in case I had to call for his emergency evacuation. (Oh my God! Do they deliver a new captain when they haul the old one away???)
Fortunately, Brad started to be able to eat some cold foods on the third day, but coffee still made him want to hurl. (Can you imagine? Coffee is his favorite beverage!) By the fourth day he could eat hot foods in small quantities and was feeling a lot more normal. By the fifth day, he was back to normal but roughly 10 pounds lighter. (He calls it the mussel diet but doesn't recommend it.) He has sworn off mussels and any other form of shellfish for the time being.
The jury on this case was hung so no monetary or punitive damages were awarded to either party. Half of the jury thought it was a very mild case of PSP (paralytic shellfish poisoning) while the other half thought it was SAP (self-inflicted alcohol poisoning). You be the judge...
A Day to Remember!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
It started out as just another fine, gorgeous day, nearly cloudless, albeit a little cold. Another day in cruising paradise, or so we naively thought. The wind was from our port stern quarter at about 15 knots so we put up our jib and motorsailed for a while. Our speed improved quite a bit. The wind picked up a bit more so then we put out our mainsail, cut the engine, and sailed wing-on-wing. We got up to 7.9 knots which is great speed for our boat so we were really pleased. Especially since sailing down these narrow channels is usually NOT an option! (Not to mention we were saving fossil fuels. Whoohoo!) A bit later the wind died down so we put the sails away.
Not more than half an hour later the wind picked back up and we put the sails back out again. (Ah, the benefits of pushbutton sailing!) The wind speed was 14 knots. We were on a beam reach. I was driving. Things were going just swell. Both sails were filled in nicely on our port side and the telltales were streaming perfectly. La dee da. Isn't life good? Then, in an instant, it all went to shit! The jib flew across the bow and slammed HARD to starboard and the boat heeled precipitously and hard. (An accidental jibe.) But the weird thing was the mainsail was still on the correct side (to port.) What the hell??? Brad's coffee, which he had placed precariously to the left of the chartplotter, flew fast and hard, and smashed against the far wall, ricocheting and spewing a full load of black coffee across the ceiling, the floor, the galley counter, both silverware drawers, the refrigerator, the steps, the tea shelf, and splattering every single once-clean plate and bowl in the cupboard. Coffee was EVERYWHERE! Of course, Brad (having been down below doing something else) was yelling at me "WTF???" adding to my distress and bewilderment.
In an attempt at quick-thinking, I considered the old advice to sheet out to lessen the power of the sails, but decided I would do better to sheet in completely and turn to windward. Just as I was sheeting in, trying to steer upwind and I realizing I couldn't figure out which way that was, another gust of wind hit us and we heeled over violently, even worse than during the accidental jibe. The top box stowed below the nav desk (which I had stowed improperly the night before in my laziness, ie. NOT on top of the anti-skid strip), exploded across the full width of the boat, slamming into the freezer on the port side, disgorging its contents of about 40 Mountain House freeze-dried meals. (Yes, in case you were wondering, they are indeed backpacking meals. We went crazy at an REI sale back in 2002 and bought a pant-load of them! And naturally since we bought our camper, Brad hasn't wanted to do a lot of backpacking. It's beneath the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed. Hence, the surplus of freeze-dried dinners. It saves me from having to cook every single day so I'm not complaining. When the seas are rough, they definitely fill the void.) And of course, the box wasn't the only casualty. The expensive stabilizing binoculars and Brad's IPad also went flying off the salon table. Brad was apoplectic! Fortunately, only the focusing knob sheared off the binocs so hopefully we can make them workable again. The IPad seems to be okay too. Thank God!
Brad was pretty pissed at me, as you might imagine. He took over driving - I was too freaked out at that point anyway - while I went below to clean up the coffee debacle. It wasn't until later that he checked the wind instrument and realized it really wasn't my fault. We had apparently been hit by a williwaw! The wind meter showed the maximum wind had been 28.1! Such a sudden change in wind velocity was a real shocker to us both, but especially to me since I was the one driving at the time. I literally didn't know what had hit me. When Brad took over, he said the windex was doing a 360 and then the wind speed died down to under 10, so he put the sails away. (There is no way anyone can sail when the wind is THAT inconsistent!)
After we anchored for the day, uneventfully I might add (whew), Brad discovered that the macerator pump (shit pump, in case you didn't know), although still running, wasn't actually pumping as it should. This occurred to him after the last use when our electronic tank gauge still showed one pixel when we were pretty sure it had to be empty. In an effort to investigate, he pulled up the carpeting in the forward stateroom (our bedroom) and removed the hatch cover to the bilge and valves below. Shockingly, there was a brown viscous substance splashed all over the place! I said, "Maybe it is mud from the anchor that didn't get washed off properly since the anchor washdown pump seized up this morning? Geez, I hope so." He reached down and scooped some of the brown stuff with his index finger, brought it to his nose, and took a tentative whiff. "No, it doesn't smell like shit. What do you think?" (Please bear in mind that the longer one smells an unpleasant aroma (read: stench!), the olfactory senses cease to find it offensive after several minutes.) "No, I don't think it smells like shit either, so maybe it IS just mud." (Hope springs eternal.) Brad sticks his head below further and says, "Uh oh. There's a BIG puddle under the macerator. And look. Here are two sheared-off bolts lying in the puddle. It is DEFINITELY shit!!!"
Imagine, if you will, the expression on Brad's face after making this discovery. It can mean only one thing: a shitty, shitty, seriously shitty repair and cleanup job, and we KNOW who has to do it! (Hint: NOT ME! I did NOT sign up for this). As Brad crawls halfway into the hole, up to his elbows in pooh, he mentions something about a sweet smelling liquid emanating from the pump, but methinks his sniffer has taken a holiday! He tells me what "good value" he is, what with him making two repairs in one day. (He had spent an hour before this little chore successfully "mcguivering" a replacement for the anchor washdown pump. Good job, Brad!) But I don't know. I think he is doing a shitty job! :-)
It's a coinkydink really, but we will be eating mujadarruh tonight. (I took it out of the freezer this morning and it's been thawing all day.) Since it looks pretty much the same going in as it does coming out, it may not seem quite as appealing to Brad after today's frolic in the bilge! Awfully appropos though, I must say!
It started out as just another fine, gorgeous day, nearly cloudless, albeit a little cold. Another day in cruising paradise, or so we naively thought. The wind was from our port stern quarter at about 15 knots so we put up our jib and motorsailed for a while. Our speed improved quite a bit. The wind picked up a bit more so then we put out our mainsail, cut the engine, and sailed wing-on-wing. We got up to 7.9 knots which is great speed for our boat so we were really pleased. Especially since sailing down these narrow channels is usually NOT an option! (Not to mention we were saving fossil fuels. Whoohoo!) A bit later the wind died down so we put the sails away.
Not more than half an hour later the wind picked back up and we put the sails back out again. (Ah, the benefits of pushbutton sailing!) The wind speed was 14 knots. We were on a beam reach. I was driving. Things were going just swell. Both sails were filled in nicely on our port side and the telltales were streaming perfectly. La dee da. Isn't life good? Then, in an instant, it all went to shit! The jib flew across the bow and slammed HARD to starboard and the boat heeled precipitously and hard. (An accidental jibe.) But the weird thing was the mainsail was still on the correct side (to port.) What the hell??? Brad's coffee, which he had placed precariously to the left of the chartplotter, flew fast and hard, and smashed against the far wall, ricocheting and spewing a full load of black coffee across the ceiling, the floor, the galley counter, both silverware drawers, the refrigerator, the steps, the tea shelf, and splattering every single once-clean plate and bowl in the cupboard. Coffee was EVERYWHERE! Of course, Brad (having been down below doing something else) was yelling at me "WTF???" adding to my distress and bewilderment.
In an attempt at quick-thinking, I considered the old advice to sheet out to lessen the power of the sails, but decided I would do better to sheet in completely and turn to windward. Just as I was sheeting in, trying to steer upwind and I realizing I couldn't figure out which way that was, another gust of wind hit us and we heeled over violently, even worse than during the accidental jibe. The top box stowed below the nav desk (which I had stowed improperly the night before in my laziness, ie. NOT on top of the anti-skid strip), exploded across the full width of the boat, slamming into the freezer on the port side, disgorging its contents of about 40 Mountain House freeze-dried meals. (Yes, in case you were wondering, they are indeed backpacking meals. We went crazy at an REI sale back in 2002 and bought a pant-load of them! And naturally since we bought our camper, Brad hasn't wanted to do a lot of backpacking. It's beneath the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed. Hence, the surplus of freeze-dried dinners. It saves me from having to cook every single day so I'm not complaining. When the seas are rough, they definitely fill the void.) And of course, the box wasn't the only casualty. The expensive stabilizing binoculars and Brad's IPad also went flying off the salon table. Brad was apoplectic! Fortunately, only the focusing knob sheared off the binocs so hopefully we can make them workable again. The IPad seems to be okay too. Thank God!
Brad was pretty pissed at me, as you might imagine. He took over driving - I was too freaked out at that point anyway - while I went below to clean up the coffee debacle. It wasn't until later that he checked the wind instrument and realized it really wasn't my fault. We had apparently been hit by a williwaw! The wind meter showed the maximum wind had been 28.1! Such a sudden change in wind velocity was a real shocker to us both, but especially to me since I was the one driving at the time. I literally didn't know what had hit me. When Brad took over, he said the windex was doing a 360 and then the wind speed died down to under 10, so he put the sails away. (There is no way anyone can sail when the wind is THAT inconsistent!)
After we anchored for the day, uneventfully I might add (whew), Brad discovered that the macerator pump (shit pump, in case you didn't know), although still running, wasn't actually pumping as it should. This occurred to him after the last use when our electronic tank gauge still showed one pixel when we were pretty sure it had to be empty. In an effort to investigate, he pulled up the carpeting in the forward stateroom (our bedroom) and removed the hatch cover to the bilge and valves below. Shockingly, there was a brown viscous substance splashed all over the place! I said, "Maybe it is mud from the anchor that didn't get washed off properly since the anchor washdown pump seized up this morning? Geez, I hope so." He reached down and scooped some of the brown stuff with his index finger, brought it to his nose, and took a tentative whiff. "No, it doesn't smell like shit. What do you think?" (Please bear in mind that the longer one smells an unpleasant aroma (read: stench!), the olfactory senses cease to find it offensive after several minutes.) "No, I don't think it smells like shit either, so maybe it IS just mud." (Hope springs eternal.) Brad sticks his head below further and says, "Uh oh. There's a BIG puddle under the macerator. And look. Here are two sheared-off bolts lying in the puddle. It is DEFINITELY shit!!!"
Imagine, if you will, the expression on Brad's face after making this discovery. It can mean only one thing: a shitty, shitty, seriously shitty repair and cleanup job, and we KNOW who has to do it! (Hint: NOT ME! I did NOT sign up for this). As Brad crawls halfway into the hole, up to his elbows in pooh, he mentions something about a sweet smelling liquid emanating from the pump, but methinks his sniffer has taken a holiday! He tells me what "good value" he is, what with him making two repairs in one day. (He had spent an hour before this little chore successfully "mcguivering" a replacement for the anchor washdown pump. Good job, Brad!) But I don't know. I think he is doing a shitty job! :-)
It's a coinkydink really, but we will be eating mujadarruh tonight. (I took it out of the freezer this morning and it's been thawing all day.) Since it looks pretty much the same going in as it does coming out, it may not seem quite as appealing to Brad after today's frolic in the bilge! Awfully appropos though, I must say!
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