Pacific NW

Expeditions

This morning I turned on the radio early, listened to the forecast, and went straight back to bed for another few hours. It was a grim one. Seas are running 20-30 feet high in the Gulf with no sign of letting up for a week. A high wind warning was issued as a Southeasterly rose to 55 knots. A series of lows are aimed at the northern panhandle. It looks like we will be hammered with storms and rain all week! Inside the inlet it was still calm, but I went out to tell the harbormaster we’d be here for a while. One of the Powder guys was strolling down the dock with backpack on. “Going for a hike today?” I asked. “Yeah, we’re gonna start climbing”. He perked up a bit when I told him the forecast and wished him the best of luck. An hour later it began sleeting and the winds and clouds shrieked down the mountains. They decided to stay, thank god. They approached me later. “So do you have one of those VHS things?” “Yes” I replied to his question about the VCR. Apparently their corporate sponsors must be pushing a timeline, for they were anxious to leave. I am grateful to be free of the burdens of corporate sponsorship. The money would be nice, but expectations and timelines of their world do not apply to reality here. Many a time have a sponsor’s expectations pushed an expedition to its death. Today Silent Partner sits patiently at the dock as the storm shrieks through the rigging. We are extremely grateful to be safe in a harbor.

Plumes of whale-spout spray wafted in slow motion and glistened in the sun as we watched the sun rise up from behind Chichagof Island. It was another calm day on the ocean and the seas were only up 5 feet or so. Shortly we re-entered on an inside route up the Lisanksi Strait into some great country. Timberline is only 1,500 feet above sea level here, and gives way to steep yellow alpine meadows, topped by another 3,000 feet of rock and snow. We got another glimpse of Mt. Fairweather today which was towering above the highest clouds. Set at the base of this scene is the town of Pelican, population 125. Pelican is the last major re-supply center before we head out into the Gulf for the big crossing. Pelican is my new favorite town in SE Alaska. There are no cars and the “street” is a boardwalk built on 25′ tall stilts. All the houses and buildings are built on pilings and attached to the boardwalk. There is a library, post office, school, church, and hospital. There’s also a small general store but the food they sell is in dusty boxes from the early 90’s. The fuel dock is only open for a few hours on friday. After figuring out what day it was we went and found Wilbur and he opened it up for us. We are now fully loaded with 78 gallons of fuel on board. It is a safety measure in case we need it in the Gulf. Further down the boardwalk we met Tom and Steve, who were in the process of loading pallets of beverages into their new store. They were in no hurry, and sat there with the pallets strewn all over the boardwalk all day. They pulled up some chairs for us and we talked with them in the hot sun for the better part of the day. Tom couldn’t even recall what month it was. He is very nice and gave me three great books on Prince William Sound. He even offered me his charts but I already have them all. Today was the one day a month that the Alaskan State Ferry hails in Pelican. A group of extreme skiers from “Powder” magazine got out and are gearing up to do a photo shoot on top of the nearby mountains. They look like they stepped straight out of some outdoor gear catalogue, and have those funny spikey little patches of facial hair that are meticulously maintained. But they all seem like really nice people. Their plan is to hike up the mountain with hundreds of pounds of gear and videocameras. Neptune and I spent the rest of the day stowing cargo and clearing Silent Partner’s decks for sea.

The wind blew itself out some time in the night and we awoke to crystal-clear skies and a light breeze. Neptune spent the day lounging and reading on the boat, and I went off on an expedition in Modulus. Modulus has become an old friend to me, always with me on these special trips. I have rowed her many a hundred mile. Today Modulus and I rowed out of Mirror Harbor, through a kelp forest, and across another intricate bay. In this bay I found an old cabin that was in quite a state of disrepair. But inside was left by kind folks about a week’s worth of food, and an old aluminum boat sat in the woods behind it. The boat was deformed a bit, but looked like it would still float. On the other side of the bay I found a meat cache that was in very good condition and was still being used occasionally, because there was a bit if deer fur on the floor. And finally, I located the trailhead that leads to White Sulphur Hot Springs, treasure of all treasures!! I dragged Modulus high up on the beach and tied her to an alder tree. Trees are not trees in this part of Alaska. The muskeg, the saltwater, and the wind do weird things to them when they’re growing. The trees in this bay look exactly like Dr. Seuss’s Lorax trees. Gnarled cedars and pines twisted out from yellow grass. Each time I make new landfall along this coast is like setting foot on a new and distant planet. The colors and forms are so vivid and interesting, and arranged in patterns far beyond normal perception and what I’m used to. I wouldn’t have been surprised if a three-headed bear stepped out then and meowed at me. It was a fine morning and I hiked quietly along the trail through the lorax trees and along the ocean, to the hot springs a mile away. There were fresh deer tracks everywhere, and they had been busy eating all the skunk cabbage. The buds on the trees are just on the verge of coming out, as they have been since I left Bellingham! The season remains stagnant as I head north, occasionally dipping back into winter. Today was definately spring though, and even turned mid-summer in the afternoon! Here is the scene I found myself in today: Wilderness to infinity in all directions around me. A small cabin on the beach stocked with a woodstove and handsome wood pile. A journal filled with the wonderful experiences of those who had visited in the past few years, sitting on the table. A natural hotspring right on the ocean, ringed by cedar and spruce trees, bubbling and hot. A huge bathhouse and deep pool fed by the springs, with a roof and even sliding windows that looked out onto the expanse of the ocean. And even an outhouse, with toilet paper. All maintained by the US Forest Service, and today I had the entire kingdom all to myself. Now that is real proof of my tax dollars at work! I spent the entire day walking around naked and soaking in the springs. I went beachcombing and found bottles with Russian writing on them, and I wrote in the cabin journal. Found an entry from two friends who had kayaked here years before. I read books while soaking, and screamed at some geese that were swimming in the ocean, but they didn’t care. It sure was a great day! Eventually I realized I hadn’t eaten anything yet all day and headed back to the boat just as evening was getting under way. White Sulpher Hot Springs along with the entire west coast of Chichagof Island are one of the best places in the world. A most unusual thing happened when I got back to the boat. A hummingbird flew into the cabin belowdecks! It vibrated the air inside the cabin as it hovered about in front of our faces. It manoeuvered up to a pair of neon yellow and orange whistles that were hanging in the companionway. It stuck its beak into each whistle and tried to draw nectar from them! Frustrated, it zipped out into the cockpit and perched on the mainsheet. Unafraid of us, it came back in several times to try and draw nectar from the whistles. I went for an evening row and saw a phenomenal sunset. Days are getting a lot longer now and the decreased angle of the sun’s track is making for some really nice, long sunsets. A mink swam across Modulus’s bow. It dove and emerged 10 feet away on a rock, where it shook itself and looked at me for a few seconds. Then it picked its way on up over the rock, digging around in the kelp. Then a sea otter swam by and Modulus and I glided silently back to the mothership.

A stiff Nor’easterly blew down the coast today bringing another day of sunshine. We snaked our way through an amazing series of channels, narrows, and islets in the morning. We passed abandoned Indian villages, gold-mining towns, and the occasional cabin rotting on the beach. It gets a bit eerie when every building you see sits empty in ruin. Especially on a sunny day like today. I’ll see a building in the distance, looking all nice with windows and porches. But the binoculars reveal the empty window frames, missing boards, and holes in the roof. I am at once saddened and intrigued by these places. Noon saw the wind dying off as we headed out around Cape Dearborn. The forces of the ocean could clearly be seen on the face of the cape. It is hard to fathom on a day like today, but the waves had swept the coastline clean of every speck of organic matter to a height of 125 feet above sea level. Nothing but bedrock, and that too has been scarred and deformed by the waves. The tide was much lower than I wanted for our approach into Mirror Harbor. It was a mixed blessing however because it allowed me to see more of the hundreds of submerged rocks. All we had was a hand-drawn sketch of the area, as it is uncharted. Neptune kept a good bow watch, and we creeped into the harbor at .3 knots of boatspeed. To enter the inner chamber we had to dog-leg through a 10 foot wide slot (the boat is 9′ wide) and make two 90 degree turns. Everything went A-O-K, though it was nerve-racking seeing all rock and no water around the boat. We are now in a wonderful and extremely remote and beautiful anchorage. Long “V”‘s of geese fly north high overhead. Each V contains three or four hundred geese, and their honking can be heard for quite some time before and after they come into view. We have no radio reception and are relying on the barometer and common-sense observations to predict the weather. A great sheet of high cirrus clouds is pulling its way up from the South and West, and the barometer is falling. I set the anchor well, putting the engine in full-out reverse for several minutes. We held fast, and I couldn’t help but smile as the rode became bar-tight and whirlpools made sucking noises around the rudder as the engine roared. Damned if I was going to lose any sleep due to high winds in the night if I could help it. Well, the winds did come, along with a bit of rain. And I did sleep well. I got up once to close the damper on the stove and open the hatch more to cool the boat down a bit, but that was it. Of course I also had the GPS on above my berth all night in case we dragged, but we held fast all through the night. Many landlubbers use the anchor icon as a symbol of security and comfort. Feeling the security and comfort of an actual anchor is quite a different and wonderful thing.

Today we departed Sitka and sailed up the most fantastic coastline I’ve ever seen. A steady barometer and a sunny morning gave promise of another great day. We hastily took care of our remaining town chores. I made some minor repairs to the engine’s water cooling system and we were off! Blasting our new satellite radio as we steamed out of the harbor, I plotted a course off-shore so we could admire the country from the ocean on such a clear day. We went out, passing the sea otters and whales in Salisbury Sound, past the flamingo tree, and the hot sun beat down on our backs. All around us was incredible beauty, perhaps the most pleasing land and seascape I’ve ever experienced. To the west of the “Silent Partner” universe was the wide, wide Pacific ocean, a sweeping expanse of blue. To the south squatted the volcanic snow-capped crater of Mt. Edgecumbe and a series of vertical sea cliffs several thousand feet tall, the mini-Hawaii. To the north Mt. Fairweather herself and the accompanying Fairweather range soared above all else. Try to imagine a wall of ice 3 miles tall rising directly out of the sea. You can’t, nor could we believe what we were seeing. And to our east, between these two fantastic mountain features, stretched the vast and pristine wilderness west coast of Chichagof Island. High jagged peaks pushed their way out of a thick cloak of old-growth cedar and hemlock rainforest. To top it all off and what really stole my heart were thousands of small fascinating islands all along the entire coast, arranged in patterns of tight clusters and rings. My spirits rose until they were in tune with the geography, and I was giddy. I always laugh to myself when people ask me if I get claustrophobic on the boat. I will never forget the feeling that came over me as we sailed up this coast. It was extremely liberating, and my mind tracked up all the mountains, across the ocean, and through the islands as we rolled on. Our anchorage for the evening was equally as magic. Double Cove is set back in amongst the archipelagos and backed by the most striking wilderness. All the peaks and snowfields were on fire in the setting sun as we set the anchor. Neptune and I bushwacked through the rainforest to a nearby lake, which was filled with all manner of wildfowl. We found much bear scat along the way, a reminder that though we haven’t seen them yet, they are out. We returned to the boat at last light. From shore we looked out at “Silent Partner” and laughed. There she was, proudly and patiently waiting in yet another cove of indescribeable beauty. Each time I leave from the boat and come back to her in such situations brings a feeling of surprise and admiration. Sort of like coming back to the trailhead after a long hike, but in a much better and satisfactory way, because the journey is neverending. In the evening I installed a new VHF radio to replace the obsolete one I had that was made in the 80’s. We have all of the latest communications equipment aboard now. And we need it, too, for where we going. North of here lies the most remote stretch of coastline in all of North and South America. All the stars came out tonight along with the Aurora Borealis, which can now be seen every clear night. The north star is getting very high in the sky as of late. We’re on the 58th parallel now.

Neptune has taken a particular fancy to Goddard Hot Springs. It is very peaceful here and by far one of the most beautiful places and areas we have ever seen. It is a short 100 yard row to the beach and then the hot tubs are right there! In the morning we rowed to shore one reluctant last time to soak. It was low tide and we saw thousands of hooded nudibranchs, which are the weirdest looking marine organisms ever. The hot springs were all a-steam in the morning sun. Another calm day. Around 1100 hrs we steamed out of the island complex and into the Pacific ocean. We saw a whale that wasn’t a humpback– it could’ve been a grey or sperm whale. We are now back in Sitka and making repairs and improvements to “Silent Partner”. Our previous CD player bit the dust a week ago, so we bought a new one. And while we were at it we also got an antenna and satellite radio system!! Total installation time took me four hours. I blew a few in-line fuses that were too small for the new unit but was able to find new ones from the fishermen in the marina. Other than that it went without a hitch. I recently re-built my entire electrical system on the boat. I strongly feel that if you have a boat you should know how to repair and maintain every system yourself. The satellite radio is great! We have 184 channels of ad-free music of every genre– it is the cable-TV of radios. I also wired in the IPOD directly. So much music now!!

Today I soaked in the hot springs not once, not twice, but three times. Not a cloud in the sky all day and the air is mostly still with the occasional cat’s paw stirring the waters of our island kingdom. I cooked up a huge breakfast of eggs, hashbrowns, and oranges. A few bumblebees buzzed around the cockpit and came into the boat. The only sounds we could hear are the lazy humming bees and the bald eagles calling each other from various treetops around the bay. I went for a row through the archipelago tonight and was followed by several sea otters the whole way. Dusk and dawn are very long now that we are this far north. As I drifted through the islands and channels the sky darkened and I watched all the stars come out, one by one. Later we sat by the wood stove and then watched the northern lights.

Goddard Hot Springs is 13 miles south of Sitka and I wanted to make sure we made it there, and today the weather forecast was good. As I write this I am standing naked in 110 degree water in a big cedar tub. It is set up on a hill and has a roof over it and is EXCELLENT. I am looking out on “Silent Partner” anchored amongst the islands in the bay. I can hear the ocean surf pounding the outer islands beyond, but it is snug here and little surge enters the bay. We left Sitka in a calm pouring rain that cleared as soon as we got back out on the ocean. It was a short hop south to the bay. We are in hot springs paradise. The weather is calm and we had tomato soup, oysters and gorganzola cheese for dinner. I went rowing through the islets and Neptune and I hiked an old trail through the woods to an old cabin. We had a great soak in the tubs. Perfection. Minus a fishing boat that just left the bay, we have the whole place to ourselves.

We awoke to rain this morning which soon turned to snow. At 0900 hrs we raised the jib and raced westward through Peril Strait in 20 knots of SE wind. The weather soon cleared and we had sun on our backs and whales spouting all around. So many whales! Neptune and I scarcely bother pointing them out to each other anymore, they have become as common as bald eagles! The gods smiled kindly upon my navigational skills today and we arrived at Sergius Narrows on the minute of slack water. The tide rushes into and out of the ocean at great velocity here, and today it was teeming with all kinds of wildlife. We saw our first sea otters of the trip here, followed by many more, lounging on their backs in the water. Another half-dozen Humpbacks were feeding both in the narrows and out in the ocean. I spotted a patch of trees that seemed to be afflicted with a white fungus. I was astonished when I trained the binoculars on them. There, before my eyes, was the greatest conglomeration of bald eagles I have ever seen. Hundreds upon hundreds were roosting in the branches of about 20 spruce trees and all over the seaweed and rocks on shore below them. It was surreal. Their white heads were so numerous that the trees appeared white! The boat scared them off as we passed by in the narrows and they all took to the air at once. When I say they blocked out the sun as they took flight, I mean it! All the spruce branches lifted and swayed momentarily when they were relieved from the weight of the eagles. We entered out into the swells of the North Pacific Ocean into a fantastic shoreline. I will not attempt to describe the scene, other than I felt like Dorothy coming upon the Emerald Palace in the Wizard of Oz. We turned south toward Sitka, through an incredible chain of archipelagos and narrow winding channels. We were then greeted by yet another tree loaded with birds, giving it a pink appearance in the distance. What kind was this?! Through the binoculars I spotted dozens of plastic pink flamingos! They were all carefully secured to the limbs of a giant spruce tree, all the way up to its highest branches! It was our first sign of civilization as we neared Sitka. We are now on a volcanic coast that has vast lava flows and blowholes. Several huge volcanic peaks complete with their tops blown off and craters dominate the western horizon, several miles out to sea. The combination of these volcanoes, the pink flamingos, the sun, and all these archipelagos make me feel like we’re sailing through a Hawaiian twighlight zone! I contacted the Sitka harbormaster on the VHF and received moorage for the night along the outer breakwater of the marina. I like Sitka. It has lots of ocean-going boats in the harbor, no big cruise ships, and is in the most beautiful setting (by far) of all of the SE Alaskan towns. We walked through town and watched the sun set behind the crater of Mt. Edgecumbe.

Chatham Strait was being a son-of-a-bitch today. We got thrashed, plain and simple. The humpbacks of Tenakee Inlet spouted and breached farewell to us as we turned into the strait. By noon we had rain and a moderate South wind blowing up the strait. It wasn’t more than 20 knots, but enough to send up big rollers, square waves, and swell from the ocean. The ebb tide helped us none as it amplified the steepness of the waves and further slowed our progress. Things began flying about the cabin as I worked out an emergency bail-out route. One particularly ugly wave swept the decks from bow to stern, breaking over the top of the dodger and turning it into a momentary aquarium. 20 or so gallons entered the cockpit from above, halted in mid-air, and then were thrown into the cabin as the boat plunged into the next trough. Most of it landed square on Neptune’s berth and the navigation station. I plotted a course into Peril Strait on my newly soaked charts. Our original plan was to spend the night at Baranof Hot Springs and continue southward for a circumnavigation of Baranof Island, then up to Sitka. But you must be flexible when the forces of nature insist otherwise. In short: we could’ve continued pounding into the waves making 1.5 knots for the next 10 hours, but I just got a bad feeling about it. And then I got a bad feeling about the circumnavigation, so we bailed into Peril Strait. Once inside the wind piped up but the rollers quickly subsided. I had a momentary panic-attack when breaking water erupted beside the boat. At first I thought it was a huge tree or a container from a cargo ship. It turned out to be two behemoth Humpback whales 20 feet away, surfacing on their backs to feed on the krill. I could taste the salt water on my tongue as the plumes of spray from their blowholes blew across the decks. Soon we were safe and sound at anchor in Hanus Bay. Fierce williwaws funneled into the bay from a gap to the south. But the bay was shallow and the anchor set well, and we let out a scope of 12 to 1. We made pizzas over a roaring fire after straightening up the cabin and dried things out as best we could. We are thankful for this bay and the reprieve it has brought us from the lurching waves.