Pacific NW

Expeditions

Neptune and I slipped the mooring lines and finally (AT LAST!) steamed out of the harbor. Our glass-eyed neighbor was surprisingly quiet about the whole affair, and it came as quite a relief to be away from him and his miserable companions. Through the rain we went, until shortly we came upon the entrance to Oliver Inlet. Only ten miles from Alaska’s state capitol and we already back in the wilderness! Neptune and I communicated on our new radios as I rowed to shore to check out the entrance. Another grim entrance reminiscent of Ford’s Terror. Even at a 5 foot tide the entire channel was choked with jagged boulders sticking 3 feet out of the foaming white water that issued from the inlet. My stomach dropped as I watched this dismal scene in the setting sun and gathering rain. “We’re going to be waiting until highwater slack at 2300 hrs” I reported to the mothership. Upon my return we cut the engine and drifted in front of the entrance for a few hours. We built a fire and Neptune cooked up some oats for dinner. Waiting for the absolute highest point in the tide was not only prudent but entirely necessary in order to clear the rocks in the narrow, choked passage. Finally we entered the foul channel. I was fully alert and very tense. Spotlights were ablaze as our depth sounder dropped to a mere 7 feet deep. I reduced speed to idle, but the current had it’s grasp on the ship and was sucking us into the narrows at 4.5 knots. A quick word on our situation: it was pitch black and the waters were uncharted, giving us no GPS or paper detail for the area. Conflicting information about the inlet and its entrance only served to reinforce my doubt that any of the claims were true. I lost steerage in the current but dared not put any more speed on, lest we smash into one of the many rocks. There was a moment where I just looked up at the heavens and resigned our fate to our guardian angels. And in that moment I felt a brief hope that we would make it. I let the strongest currents carry Silent Partner through the foul channel hoping they too were travelling the deepest route. Shaking and holding my breath, the depth sounder continued ringing out its shallow water alarm. On one occasion it read 4 feet deep. “Silent Partner” draws 4’3″. I nervously remarked “We’ll probably spend a whole day in here, because I’m never coming back through here again!” For the longest time we were in 5 feet or less of water. The current was stirring up phosphorescence on the bottom making it entirely visible. It sparkled like millions of drowned stars. Normally I would be amazed by this phenomenon, but tonight it made my stomach churn. When I shone the floodlamps into the water they created the illusion that it was only about a foot deep. My god but it was eerie. Finally the depth sounder rang out eight feet and we began to breathe, and when we reached 24 feet I let out a huge sigh of relief and wiped the sweat from my brow. At the bitter end of the inlet we dropped anchor, stoked the fire, and went to bed. I tried reading for a bit to rid my mind of the entrance but soon slipped off into an exhausted slumber.