Pacific NW

Expeditions

It was a slow day in Tenakee today. Neptune spent the morning chatting with our neighbor Mike, who lives aboard his tri-maran, while I charted our course for the next month. We were met by several extremely friendly people who gave us firewood. Greg had just stacked 5 cords of wood on the beach. He gave us good dry spruce from his “personal reserve” for which we traded him a six-pack. We hiked down the “street” with him where he introduced us to Gary, his “boss”. Greg and Gary are doing carpentry work on some summer homes. The two of them enjoyed an afternoon beer while Gary gave us some gunny sacks and loaded us up with red and yellow cedar scraps. The cedar is old-growth with really tight rings and will make for wonderful kindling. “Silent Partner” is once again packed to the gills with good firewood. We are rich! Many a warm night and pizzas to come! All day today the air was very still and a most amazing spectacle occurred. A dozen Humpback whales were feeding on the krill in Tenakee Inlet, spouting and breaching. Their breathing noises transmitted perfectly across the still water, and could be heard and seen from anywhere in town throughout the entire day. “What other place can you get up and brush your teeth while you watch the Humpbacks?” said Greg. Gary interjected “He’s not telling you he’s peeing off the dock with his other hand!” “I can only do two things at once, not three, Gary.” We all laughed and looked out at the whales spouting. Tonight, for the very first time, we turned “Silent Partner” into a movie theater! We set up the laptop on the woodstove, turned on the red lights and watched a DVD! The only thing lacking was the popcorn, but we need to have a fire to cook that. Before I closed the hatch up for the evening I listened to the whales outside the breakwater of the marina. I cocked an ear into the inky black of the night and could hear several. One of them sounds like a really low note on a tuba, the others sound like giant bellows working a fire.

Yet another crystal-clear morning. All the water–even the big water– is like a glassy mirror and the sun is warming our backs. We got our first glimpse of the St. Elias mountain range today. We even saw Mt. Fairweather herself, standing proud at 15,300 feet. Even from a distance of 100 miles away the mountains loomed over the horizon, giving us the impression that we were sailing in a huge bowl bound by sheer walls of ice. I had plenty of time to daydream and think lofty thoughts as we steamed down the glassy channel. We passed over a 2,400 ft deep abyss where the Lynn Canal merges with Icy Strait and Chatham Strait. At this point we were bombarded by another pod of dolphins, briefly. 15 minutes later I was at the helm and lost in thought when the water erupted behind me! A lone dolphin rush-attacked from behind, leaping completely out of the water at me only to submerge again below my feet and in front of the rudder. It set my heart racing. I began to think about the concept of a “normal” routine in life, and how dangerous or invigorating it can be. I am on a voyage of long duration, a definate fraction of my life. Already I have seemingly experienced a year’s worth of memories. I am not merely travelling through this land and sea, but living with it. A normal day will bring whales, sailing, exploring abandoned towns, and enjoying the sheer pleasure of warming myself by my fire. Just another day in Alaska! I have found for myself that it is truly better to have more time than money. Just as I was thinking all this I heard the cry from Neptune “Thar She Blows, 12 o’clock!” Several more humpback whales were spouting and breaching a few hundred yards off. Tonight we are safe in harbor in the town of Tenakee Springs. Tenakee is a small town that consists of one “street” (a 5 foot wide gravel path) that runs along the water for several miles. On either side are houses and shacks and a few outhouses that run out on piers over the water. The center of town is a natural hot spring, over which they have built a fantastic bath-house. Tenakee is a wonderful place filled with nice people. Neptune and I spent the afternoon hiking around town, exploring, and later on I went for a soak in the hot springs. They were very hot and issue forth from a natural cleft in the rock. I tried putting my feet down to the bottom but it was deeper than I could touch. It is good to be here in a real town, without cars, and where people actually interact with other people and only work 40 hours a month. The whole world hasn’t gone crazy after all! Hurrah for Tenakee!

Today was an Alaskan day, and a day of whales! Neptune and I began the morning with a large breakfast of eggs. We steamed out of Oliver Inlet just before highwater slack which gave us maximum water under our keel. I backtracked out exactly the way I came in and it was scary even with the extra 5 feet of water! The daylight revealed rocks, and sunken reefs everywhere. It is truly a miracle we made it all right the other night! Finally we gained the entrance and brought the boat up to speed in deep water. We motored up Stephen’s Passage in the sunshine admiring the Mendenhall Glacier to our right and the steep jagged peaks of Admiralty Island to our left. Suddenly a massive black hulk surfaced 30 feet from the boat. There She Blows!! Our first Humpback of this voyage! It was easily 50 feet long, a giant! It surfaced a few more times, sending forth plumes of spray from its blowhole each time, and eventually swam away from the boat. That was only the beginning of what was to come! Around noon we rounded the Mansfield Peninsula under sail in light winds when we saw three more Humpbacks. They were surfacing very slowly and throwing their flukes high into the air. An hour later we became surrounded by several pods of Orca whales, at least 15 total. Several of the whales made direct charges at the boat before resuming their feeding. The males had very tall dorsal fins and were swimming quite rapidly. An hour after that we sighted the plumes of three more Humpback whales, just as we were turning into our anchorage for the night. We drifted out and were approached by the pod at point-blank range. One of them set off the depth sounder as it swam directly under the boat at a depth of 10 feet. The spray issued forth from their blowholes enveloped the the decks and the crew of Silent Partner in a fine, musky mist. Several times they surfaced on their backs, bringing their mouthparts and heads out of the water. It was a spectacle the likes of which we have never seen. All we could do was laugh as they repeatedly surfaced, their mouths big enough to swallow “Modulus” whole. Just their arching backs were taller than the top of the lifelines on deck. We had the privilege of drifting among the pod for 1/2 hour until they swam slowly away. Coming into Funter Bay we were rapidly approached by a pod of 8-10 dolphins that flashed briefly by the boat. Tonight “Silent Partner” is moored to an old float in front of an abandoned gold mine. Neptune and I set to shore and explored the mines at sunset. Many of the buildings were in such disrepair that it would have been dangerous to enter, and others were dangerous to enter but we did so anyways. Huge broken timbers held back collapsing mine shafts that went deep into the mountainsides. We went a ways into one of the mineshafts, but it became flooded and the water was too deep to proceed further. Shipping crates were piled in many of the buildings and were stamped with a date of 1910. One of the buildings had a “welcome mat” presumably for the bears. It was a series of planks with nails driven through, facing up and at the base of the door, about 5 feet square. Outside we found some good dry alder, of which we cut and hauled back to the boat. “Silent Partner” has got a wood fire going now, and smells quite pleasant with the alder smoke. To the north the Aurora Borealis is giving us a grand show and the sky is riddled with twinkling stars. I stood out on the decks in my long johns for some time, breathing in the cold night air, and quite pleased with my present state of affairs.

The geese woke me up today. Their honking echoed off the mountains in the crisp, glassy-calm morning. I threw open the hatch and discovered Oliver Inlet for the first time in daylight. It is a hauntingly beautiful place, absolutely teeming with wildlife. Behind the inlet rises a spine of snow-clad pinnacles. Part of Admiralty Island, “Kootznoowoo”, fortress of the bears. I stood in the companionway in my long johns for awhile taking in the scenery and listening to the thousands of bird calls. Geese, ducks, herons, bald eagles, hawks, kingfishers, swans, and juncos were among the few that I could identify. There were so many more. There is endless opportunity to expand my appreciation for this vast wilderness in Alaska! Neptune and I rowed to shore to look for a tramway we’d heard about. We had received conflicting reports as to its existence and location. Upon reaching the beach we hauled “Modulus” up above the high-tide line and tied her to a tree. We struck off to the north and almost immediately found a huge old wooden shipwreck on the beach. The timbers of the hull were a foot thick! Soon after we rounded a bend a hiked up a streambed. The snow began to get very deep however and we had to abandon our search for the tram in that area. We found hundreds of wolf, deer, weasel and bear tracks in the snow! After a failed attempt at an overland expedition to find the tram we headed back to the beach and hiked south. Soon we came upon a set of rusty railroad tracks that led down into the saltwater where they disintegrated. The tram! We followed them up a rise and were met with a discovery way beyond our expectations. Two tram cars sat on the tracks, ready to go! The tracks were in good condition and led away into the woods. It was sort of like those carts that Indian Jones rode in through those tunnels. Without hesitation we leapt in and began riding the rails. One of the cars was fitted out with a hand brake, but mine was not. After a distance the rails led down a hill and around a bend and we couldn’t see very far ahead. My car picked up speed and raced toward the bend. Soon I could see that the tracks crossed a gulch on a small trestle and at the far side a steep snowbank crossed the tracks, cutting off my route! I prepared to leap from the runaway car, off the trestle and into the gully. In the end I decided it was safer to crash and derail with it into the snowbank. I held tight as the tram car plowed through the snow and came to a sudden halt in a spray of ice. Excellent! We walked the rails the rest of the way. They led through an expansive muskeg, over a few more ravines, and through a small wood where it eventually came out on Seymour Canal and the tracks once again plunged into saltwater. Seymour Canal has the highest known concentration of nesting bald eagles anywhere in the world! We found a cabin, complete with woodstove and bottle of gin on the counter. I read through the journal on the table. August 09, 2001: “Just shot a beer can off my brother’s head with my trusty 30-0-06. Ready for a bear” July 07, 2002: “Saw 10 grizzly bears from the cabin today, many humpback whales in Seymour Canal”. Back at the boat we fired up the woodstove and spent the remainder of the day reading, relaxing and snacking on fresh fruits and vegetables.

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.

More running around today. Johanna helped us bring a car load of groceries to the boat. We will continue to eat like kings aboard “Silent Partner”! We went to Johanna’s house out by the airport and she was kind enough to give us a load of spruce from her wood pile! We are truly re-stocked now which comes as a huge relief to me. The end of busyness for now. I’m looking forward to getting back out on the water! Tonight over pizzas we bid farewell to Lee, who is flying out tomorrow. It is regretful to see the old crew go but I am excited to sail with my Dad.

Today we ran around doing errands like a bunch of chickens with our heads cut off. There’s lots to do and we shopped, walked, shopped, hauled things to the boat, back and forth all day. I will spare the reader the details. Our next-door neighbor in the harbor is a raging drunk. He frequently has drunken visitors who stagger into his boat, some of whom break into it with large knives and machetes. It is sad to see the level of degradation that round-the-clock drinking brings to the human body and spirit. Our departure from this harbor will come as a relief to be rid of these lost souls. There are also many friendly people here too. The couple who lives on their boat across from us stopped by and gave us a big container of strawberries. They were fellow sailors who had sailed down the coast to Panama and the Carribean in a West Sail 32′. Tonight my Dad (whom I call “Neptune” and will refer to as such for the remainder of the journal), Lee, and Christoph drank margaritas in town. It was the official changing over of the crew. After dinner, I regretfully saluted Christoph good-bye, as he is headed back to Seattle in the morning. Lee departs on the 4th. I dismissed Christoph, bid him well on his permanent shore-leave, and Neptune and I headed back to the boat for the evening.

Last night we celebrated, walked the town, and took hot showers. And today we gave “Silent Partner” a bath. We gutted the boat and gave her a complete cleaning, stem to stern. Christoph and Lee have been such a great help on this journey, and today they went above and beyond the call of duty. Thanks again guys! “Silent Partner” sits shining in the harbor, surrounded by work boats and bald eagles. We have a very interesting next-door neighbor, who is a drunk and has, apparently, two glass eyes, which he showed to Christoph. We can’t quite figure out how he can see, but some questions are better left unanswered! Around 1400 hrs our new friend Johanna came down to the freshly-cleaned Silent Partner, and drove us to the Mendenhall Glacier. It was strange zipping around in an automobile after a month at sea. If I had been driving I probably would have had that car going no faster than 10 knots! At least for the first few minutes. At any rate, we rocketed off to the Glacier, an immense field of blue ice flowing from the expansive Juneau Ice Field. Johanna proved to be a wealth of information on all things pertaining to the plants and animals in the area. We hiked several trails in the vicinity of the glacier, which all held their own interest. One area was full of beaver dams and felled trees that had been gnawed down. We looked for a semi-domesticated wolf that frequently roams one of the trails, but he never approached us. Later in the evening Johanna drove Lee and Christoph up to the Hostel in town, and then we went out to the airport to pick up my next crewmember: my Dad! I was extremely proud to show him all of the improvements I have made for “Silent Partner” and we stayed up late, physically exhausted but too excited to sleep.

Shrieking winds whistled through the shrouds when we awoke. Another stiff breeze was blowing up Stephen’s Passage. Christoph prepared a batch of delicious johnny cakes for breakfast and Lee pulled up a giant hermit crab in the trap. It was one of the coolest things the trap has ever caught. I didn’t know hermit crabs could get as big a grapefruit. We eagerly donned our foul-weather gear and sailing gloves, excited for a good sail and our arrival in Juneau, where Christoph and Lee will depart from the voyage and my Dad will join on. We were met by huge rollers in Stephen’s Passage. We put up the jib and we were on our way. At 10 knots of speed over ground! “Silent Partner” loves a broad reach. She surged through the waves, and we did a 10.5 knot surf down one particularly large roller, with the jib alone. The 27′ O’day is built with a long waterline, giving her the speed of other 32-33′ boats. We sailed to Juneau in style, and I was so proud of “Silent Partner”. Her bow would lift clear out of the water all the way to the keel as she surfed across Taku Inlet. I harnessed myself to the bow and felt the sheer exhilaration of flying through the waves, my trusted crew at the helm. We were met by a white-out and thick snowstorm one mile south of Juneau, and I radioed the harbormaster for a slip in the harbor. “Hello, I’m a 27′ sail—” “Are you the Silent Partner”, she cut in. “We’ve been expecting you, waiting for you”. Two scuba divers on their boat also told us they’d heard our name on the radio and asked if we were okay. “Well, yeah” I said. Apparently the whole town was waiting our arrival! They were worried because of the high wind warnings on the radio, and the harbormaster had been trying to contact us for a week. But we had been out of radio reception range and were thoroughly enjoying the breeze! We brought “Silent Partner” into the harbor, safe and sound. Juneau! I congratulated Christoph and Lee on our successful transit of the entire Inside Passage, I couldn’t have done it without them. 1,164 nautical miles is the length of our journey thus far. We swaggered into the harbormaster’s office and she said “You guys must be the Silent Partners! You have it written all over your faces!” We wouldn’t have been able to force our smiles away if we had tried.

The southeast winds finally came today! A mixed blessing, as they bring with them the moisture, but it made for some fantastic sailing. Downwind, up the Stephen’s Passage, 25 miles to Taku Harbor we sailed. On the way we were approached by a coast guard cutter. They pulled right up to us and asked us if we were ok, which I thought was a little odd. Of course we were ok, we had our sails out and were enjoying the perfect tack! The coast guard then sped off, to god knows where or why, at 50 miles per hour. We made a tack into Taku Harbor and docked the boat under sail. Who needs a motor when the wind is blowing? Taku Harbor is a strange place frozen in time. 1984, to be exact. It started out as a cannery but now all that remains are a dozen or so abandoned houses and a state-maintained public dock. Several of the houses were missing windows or had smashed-in doors, and of course we investigated. Inside was the weirdest thing. 1984. Everything, including food in the pantry, clothing in the dressers, and magazines on the tables, had been left in the houses, intact. The wall calendars were open to 1984, the coats were still hanging on the coat racks, even an arrangement of perfumes still sat on the bedside dresser. It was the twilight zone: not a single thing was missing from the house, except for the people. They just up and left everything they had for some reason! We picked our way back to the boat amongst the ruins and rain, fired up the woodstove, and enjoyed our last evening before entering the civilization of Juneau. Anyone who has never experienced the joy of a wood stove on a boat has no idea what they are missing. I am mystified as to why people would choose any other alternative. It goes without argument that a wood fire gives out the driest, warmest, and most pleasant heat source, and gives the cabin a pleasant aroma. I always love falling asleep while listening to the rain pattering on the cabin top as the fire hisses and pops in the stove.