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!)!
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
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?
 |
| Bear claw marks on tree |
 |
| Bear hair on a tree (Brad's leg in background for contrast) |
 |
| Bear paw prints in the drying mud |
 |
| 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!
 |
| 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.
 |
| Bear poo with Fresca can for sizing |
 |
| 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.
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