Pacific NW

Expeditions

Sure enough, the tide went way out. I bolted out of bed at 0400 hours to discover that it was too late and the boat was already lodged into the clay bottom! Still one more hour of ebb. We tied the boat tight to the dock and waited. I watched the shoreline very intently and saw that the tide was still falling rapidly. At last it began to rise again. I climbed back into the boat, still hard aground, and went back to sleep. When we woke we were floating again and left that cursed dock. We headed back out into the ocean and were met with 8 foot swells and high chop. Unfortunately the wind was dying to nothing, but our mainsail kept us stabilized as we motored through the waves. Later we entered Mirror Harbor, where my Dad and I stopped on our way up. It was easier to navigate the tricky “dogleg” into the entrance this time. We were amazed to see a ridiculous huge 70 foot long mega yacht in the tiny bay! After giving it some thought, I re-anchored behind the mega-yacht. If our boat drifted into theirs it would be a $30,000 paint job. Justin and I hiked to the hot springs in the evening where we met with the maintenance crew from Gustavus. They are extremely friendly folks who, like me, do independent contracting for the Forest Service. I enjoyed talking with them and using the freshly-cleaned hotsprings! Justin agrees that nothing we’ve seen yet can top this fantastic place. Soaking in the springs (107 degrees) we watched the sun set over the ocean, and then made the row back to the boat before it got too dark. Back at anchor Justin created the most fantastic soup. I must start a “Silent Partner” cookbook so that I can re-create all of the wonderful meals my friends have cooked in the galley. This soup contained ginger, carrots, sweet potatoes, and an orange among many other things. It earned its place among the top 5 meals cooked aboard.

Upon our morning arrival in Pelican yesterday, we took to our feet and walked off the swell from the Gulf of Alaska. We explored the whole town (pop. 80 or 100, depending on who you ask) and met many interesting folks. I asked a young man about a path to the city’s reservoir, and he replied that the stairs were unsafe and the trail was in unknown conditions. Suddenly an old man in a wheelchair burst open his shutters and said “Oh for Christ sake, just go behind that building and you’ll see the ladder. The stairs are rickety, — just yell real loud when you fall–you’ll be fine!” Then the old man eyed the young one with a look of contempt, and returned to his livingroom table. He appeared to have been paralysed from the waist down. The poor guy would have climbed up there with us if he could have. His advice proved well worth taking. Justin and I climbed up the back of a 3-storey building and then straight up an extremely rickety walkway. Paralleling the ramp was an enormous wooden waterpipe, the town’s main water line. Huge sprays of water fanned out in gaps of the wood in various parts of the pipe. The pipe and the gangway led up to the top of a mountain valley, and then flattened out into a flume of great length. Eventually it ended at a home-made dam and a beautiful reservoir, high above the town. Justin and I began to feel a huge wave of relief at having crossed the Gulf. SE Alaska stretches its protected arms out in all directions. We are having trouble deciding which way to go first! There is no public shower in Pelican anymore. We walked down to the cannery and asked to use the fisherman’s shower. “Ocean sailors are OK.” said the woman in the office, and handed us the key. It was a huge honor to get the key and use the free shower! On our last evening in Pelican Justin and I visited Rose’s bar, which has somewhat of a famous reputation. Everyone has written their name and boat on the ceiling above the bar. As Justin was writing, people at the bar began to shout “HEY ROSIE, GET OUT HERE!” Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rose herself come bounding out from behind the bar, arms outstretched and ready to yank Justin’s pants down. I was drawing my arm back with a pool stick, ready to make my shot when she lunged. This small action was fortunate for Justin. Rosie turned her head to me and said “You blocked my shot, he was lucky!” Each time I turned to the bar there was another beer waiting for me, as some kind folks were buying rounds for the house. In diminishing light and drizzling rain we skipped town that night, to a Forest Service dock a dozen miles away. I am unsettled about the tides and the depth of water off this dock. Two sections of the dock that would be over deeper water are missing. We may have to depart at 0400 hours.

At 0345 we steamed from Yakutat harbor. The storm of the previous two days had dissipated, yet a groundswell remained. Some of the swell was quite large. In the afternoon all clouds burned off and revealed the mountains. The Fairweather-St. Elias mountain range is second to none in the world. It is the tallest coastal mountain range on planet earth. Today we witnessed the awesome sight of the 19,000 foot tall peaks in all their glory. Mt. Logan shot straight up out of the sea. For the last several thousand feet it becomes nearly vertical, and the summit appeared to be hovering in outer space. Nowhere else can one see mountains rise from the sea level to the heights achieved in this range. Viewed from the heaving swells of the Gulf of Alaska, Justin and I felt extremely privileged just being there on such a day. We had sunshine and mountains the entire way to Pelican, 180 nautical miles away. The remainder of the crossing seemed short compared to our passage to Yakutat. Our weather window wouldn’t permit a visit to Lituya Bay this time, but we got a good view of it from the ocean. We have finally sailed to a point far enough south that we got our first taste of “night”. At 2200 hours a big red sun slowly sank into the ocean. As the boat heaved in the swell, the sun appeared to bob up and down below the horizon, and I saw it “set” about 30-40 times. A giant first quarter moon also set at midnight, and we observed Mars on the horizon. We saw our first stars of the trip since April! All the friendly constellations appeared, and we saw a shooting star: a good omen. I even saw faint Northern Lights, in columns and pillars of soft white light, shimmering above the massive Fairweather range. We were greeted into SE Alaska in March with our first Northern Lights, and now we were once again led back into them. Coming back into SE Alaska felt like coming home for me. Some places are in my blood, and this is one of them. I was too excited to sleep. I have been planning for this crossing for so long, and now here was “Silent Partner” coming into port after successfully crossing the Gulf of Alaska twice. The silty waters of Glacier Bay spill out into the ocean through Cross Sound. As we entered the Inside Passage the whole sea turned the exact color of Silent Partner’s decks, a phenomenon I had observed in Glacier Bay 2 years before. “Silent Partner” became one with the ocean, and I steamed proudly back to Pelican on a huge adrenaline rush.

Everyone we met in Yakutat asked us why and how we had gotten there, and those with boats offered congratulations and came down to admire the boat and ask of our crossing. Immediately we were met by Les, who invited us up to his house for dinner and offered us bikes, showers, laundry (the village has none). A fisherman held up a huge fish to us and said “Do you like ling-cod?” I reluctantly had to refuse, as we already had more fish given to us than we could eat. Justin returned later from the head of the dock with a huge halibut steak, given to him from the pilot boat. We cannot believe the hospitality offered to us everywhere we go! Everybody we meet has been going out of their way to help us, and expect nothing in return except for our story. Not many boats make the Gulf crossing, and Yakutat rarely sees visiting boats in the harbor. Justin and I spent our two days exploring town, resting and preparing for the second part of the crossing. We hitch-hiked to the gas station to fill our jerry cans. Each way the first car picked us up, we really didn’t even need to stick out our thumbs. Justin found Yakutat to be one of the strangest places he’s ever been. It is an extremely remote coastal village where a gallon of milk costs $9.25. An unexpected window of weather appeared in the forecast, and we quickly prepared for sea. The good people of Yakutat have once again treated us kindly, and I will have fond memories of this strange mid-gulf stop-over.

Departure Cordova 0830 hours July 10, 2005. Our plan was to make a run to the Hinchinbrook Entrance, 55 miles away, and anchor there for the night. I spent the entire day lashing down and stowing for the Gulf crossing . Anything that we didn’t need specifically for the crossing went down below in lockers and bilges. I strapped Modulus down, lashed a knife to the mast, and prepared a black pearl necklace for Justin. By the time we reached Hinchinbrook entrance we were entirely ready for open water. The forecast looked OK, and we decided to just go for it. The atmosphere aboard “Silent Partner” was electric, as her bows rose to the swell of the Gulf of Alaska. My head became so filled with calculations and numbers that I could have written a math book. I like to spoil myself when sailing on the open ocean. I changed into a fresh pair of sweatpants and cracked open a box of doughnuts as we headed out. After awhile the Hinchinbrook entrance faded into the clouds, and it was the last land that we would see for several days. Justin and I established a watch rotation of 4 hours on, 4 hours off. In the evening the winds picked up, kicking up a large chop that was sometimes very steep. Justin was doing a great job at the helm, and I caught a bit of sleep now and then. We had failed to find storage for one egg that wouldn’t fit into the egg cases. We left it on a precarious shelf and wondered at when it would fall and where it would fall to. I was woken up when the boat slammed into a larger wave, and noticed that the egg was no longer on the shelf. I donned a Mustang suit and clipped into the harness at that point and we prepared for some exciting sailing. We charted a route that held us way south of the Cape of St. Elias and well offshore to avoid the majority of the coastal current, which flows counter-clockwise in the Gulf. We never did find any opposing current, amazingly. Perhaps the dominating westerly wind pattern this year is holding it in check? At any rate, we screamed across the Gulf, surfing down waves at speeds approaching 10 knots for much of it. In all, we averaged 6 knots all the way to Yakatat, a run of 300 miles. It was Silent Partner’s biggest day. As Justin and I headed out into the ocean the water became a deeper and deeper shade of blue, and we began to see many albatross. On one morning two enormous columns of water rose from the sea, the spouts of some huge whales. At that moment an albatross flew up to the boat, matching her speed. The bird hovered about the mast and appeared motionless. It cocked its head about and surveyed the decks and crew of “Silent Partner”. Later a pod of dolphins charged out of nowhere and kept me company for 20 minutes. Justin and I fell into a pattern of exhausted sleep followed by 4 hours of intense helm work. “Silent Partner” became the center of the universe and everything we did was for her safety and continued running at sea. I made regular inspections of the entire boat, always pleased that everything was operating and holding up just fine. Justin marvelled at the quality of light that fell upon the ocean and discovered for the first time all of the unique thoughts and experiences that one goes through in an ocean passage. Our spirits remained high throughout the crossing and the passage of time became so warped that we entered into a state of timelessness. Justin later remarked that since all concentration is spent on the boat constantly that there is no time to think about minutes, hours or days. The Gulf of Alaska treated us very kindly on our passage to Yakatat. We crossed the bar into Yakatat at 0630 hours on July 12 and drank a tot of rum, after pouring one ration into the Gulf–the Gulf always drinks first. We had a lot to be thankful for, and wished for other mariners to have the same luck that we just did. Finally we were safe in harbor by 0930 hours, July 12. I am so proud of “Silent Partner” for getting us this far! Justin and I were still in a dream-world state as we walked through town on solid land. He observed the feeling that he had no idea why he was here in such a strange place, and that the whole crossing existed seperately from the normal memories in his mind. I too shared his feelings, and they can only be experienced by doing a trip of this sort.

On one sweltering hot day almost every fisherman in the harbor was working on their nets and boats. I caught the enthusiasm and began servicing our engine. Justin headed off into town for a day of letter-writing. Soon I had every tool out and was covered in sweat and oil. And then, the inevitable happened. The rare and necessary engine part fell into the water and sank instantly. In this case it was a metal partition that held the shifter cables to the engine casing, without which the engine was useless. I borrowed magnets from the fishermen but couldn’t fish it off the bottom. Perhaps it was made of aluminum. Damn it! I biked all over town, to no avail. We were going to have to wait until next week for the part to be ordered and shipped up from the lower United States. Suddenly I became extremely determined and decided to hell with it, I would make the part myself. I looked at the engine for awhile and tried to figure out what the missing piece looked like (I hadn’t seen it until I saw it splash into the water). Then I found a piece of scrap metal. I spent the rest of the afternoon swearing, drilling, sweating and hacksawing the metal into an intricate shape with curves, notches, and holes. Finally I had something I thought would work. With two satisfying “clicks!” the piece fit in perfectly. The engine roared to life and I shouted “I don’t need any stupid piece air-mailed to me from Seattle!” To date, that moment was one of the high-points of the voyage. The fishermen clapped, and I fell into an exhausted state of relaxation as I cleaned up the boat. Justin came home after a successful day of letter writing, and I told him of the events that had transpired in my day. Later on that evening we went for a fantastic bikeride out to the hydro dam, 12 miles or so out of town. At the end of the gravel road an old iron beam crossed a raging rapids. I walked across the narrow beam, high above the rapids, giving myself a good scare. On our way back we found many salmon in the stream. They were spawning there. Their bodies were bright red and their heads were deep green. We also found one of the best restaurants in the world– an old wooden building called ” The Barn”. It was midnight. They were open and we were really hungry. Justin and I each had a double buffalo burger, and cleaned the restaurant out of the last of their organic buffalo meat. It was a perfect ending to a triumphant day. The following day we made several more grocery shopping trips and took care of the rest of the town errands. In the afternoon we had an adventure at the fuel pier. The pier is built for huge fishing boats, not sailboats. Justin fended off the pilings as large boat wakes and swell heaved the boat around. There was great danger of the mast and rigging colliding with the tall pilings. The dock attendent lowered a huge hose down to me and I began filling our jerry cans. What with the violent motion of the boat and the high volume of fuel that came from the hose, I took a nice gasoline bath in the cockpit. The hose was one that delivers a gallon per second or so. In the end, we got 58 gallons into the tanks, minus a few in the cockpit and one on my head as the hose was hoisted back up the pier. I scrambled up the ladder, paid, and jumped back into the boat and we got away from that dock ASAP. Justin did a heroic job fending the boat off. Bill and his wife from the other 27′ O’Day gave us some food for the crossing. Dennis and Pat of the Nellie Juan returned to the harbor and are headed out again, though we are taking different routes across the Gulf. We said our good-byes, and Danny stopped by to check out the boat and gave us a huge sockeye salmon to take with us. We have met so many amazing people in this town, and it feels like home. Everyone is helping us out in our preparations for the Gulf. We got to bed early on our last night in Cordova, in anticipation for the long days at sea that lie ahead.

Justin and I spent 5 eventful days in Cordova, as we prepared ourselves and “Silent Partner” to cross the Gulf. “Silent Partner” became somewhat of a social center and we were met by many wonderful people who came down to admire the boat. On our first morning Dolores stopped by and offered to drive us out to the Copper River Delta. It is a courtesy she extends to all world-wide cruisers. I was pleased to see that another 27′ O’Day was in the harbor next to us. In the afternoon we took the long bumpy drive out to the delta in Dolores’s truck, along with the couple from the other O’Day. It was an awesome trip. The river delta is immense, a huge sweeping expanse of country. We drove as far as the “Million Dollar Bridge”, an old railroad bridge that now goes to nowhere. We all ran across the bridge as icebergs swirled in the swift currents below us. Dolores said “After all, you have to tell people that you ran across the Million Dollar Bridge”. Near that point in the river 2 massive glaciers flowed right up to the riverbanks and cracked off icebergs into the river. We returned to the harbor late that evening and hung out with Danny on his Hans Christian. He “squared us away”, as he would say, with rum from his wet locker. After several hours the three of us became entirely squared away. By the time Deidre came home Danny told her we were just a couple of dead soldiers. “A couple of drunken soldiers is more like it” she said, and we all laughed. It was a most excellent evening. Justin took the longest pee off the dock that has ever happened. Danny and I even walked out to check on him in case he had fallen into the water, but there he was, still peeing. It must’ve been a full five minutes and I have no idea how he did it. The following day was spent sleeping in and in a state of recovery. Dolores lent us two mountainbikes and also gave us many cans of salmon, that she had caught herself and canned at the cannery down the street. Justin and I grabbed our fishing poles and rode out to the local fishing hole. Immediately into the ride Justin’s bike chain broke. We walked the rest of the way and had a discouraging time fishing. After several attempts we gave it up and began walking the bikes home, at a low point in the evening. We discovered “Hippy Cove” on our way back. 25 or so people are squatting on the land and are living in a collection of treehouses, campers, and shacks in the woods. We took a tour of the treehouses. One had fishing nets tied to trees in the woods all around the house. “Sure, just jump off” our new friend said. It was a fishing net, anyways, and looked strong. I took a leap of faith from the platform and landed in the nets below. I believe only one rope gave out while we were jumping around on them. On our way back to the boat we were stopped in our tracks. There, in the water, were jumping thousands of salmon. It was quite literally one of those places where you “can walk on their backs”. After 15 minutes Justin had caught two large salmon. We threw them in my backpack and headed home, triumphantly. Justin was so excited about his fish that he towed me on the broken bike all the way home, about 3 miles. My feet didn’t even touch the ground once and we were cheering and laughing as I leapt from the bike and onto the boat with the salmon in my backpack. It was midnight by the time we filleted the fish and 3AM by the time we were relaxing after a gourmet meal of fresh fish and salad. We put the remainder of fish on ice that the cannery gave to us. Prior to catching those salmon, we had had a discouraging time with the re-supply in town. That meal seemed to be a turning point though. The next day we repaired the chain, did the laundry, and did an initial food-shopping trip. We got creative with the labelling system on the boat. We play lots of games like that out here for some reason. Therefore, if you want to find garlic aboard “Silent Partner”, you need look no further than the sack labelled “Galactica”.

Independence Day. Though we are living in a political and social dark ages, our nation still has incredible potential to do great justice for humankind. As Mark Twain says, “Loyalty to the Country, always. Loyalty to the government, when it deserves it”. On this particular 4th of July I feel perhaps freer than I have ever felt before, country-wise. The voyage has expanded out my perceptions of time and space. I feel free to blow around and encounter all the wonderful events that I pass by. We are self-sufficient aboard “Silent Partner”, and yet everyone we encounter goes out of their way to help us. On a cloudy morning Justin and I set out to the mighty Columbia Glacier. Justin handed me yet another steaming plate of eggs, and we ate breakfast while drifting amongst a pack of large icebergs. Soon however, the ice pack became impossibly thick. We were only at the moraine bar and still 15 miles from the face of the glacier when we ground to a halt. Strong currents and swirling ice made navigation a joke. This is my third attempt at this glacier, and I was only successful on the first. Over the starboard rail towered a massive iceberg. It was the size of a 4-storey office building, canted on its side, and had a bald eagle perched atop the summit. That sight alone, permanently etched in our minds forever, was enough to satisfy our Columbia Glacier experience as we headed back out into Prince William Sound. Soon the sky lowered and it became very foggy and rainy, almost a whiteout. The huge, odd-shaped icebergs emerging from the mist gave an antarctic quality to the seascape. Off Bligh Reef (where Exxon Valdez was run aground) we spotted several Humpback whales. Justin tossed a few pieces of buffalo sculpin into the water, and immediately a dorsal fin appeared. It sliced through the water, toward the boat. A shark! We could scarely believe our eyes. Just like Hollywood, only a lot cooler. Hundreds of salmon leapt vigorously into the air everywhere. I can’t believe all the salmon out here! For the better part of the day we motored through a foggy calm, all the way to Cordova. In the evening the skies cleared and we had a peaceful sunset on the water. Just before reaching Cordova we celebrated the 4th with popcorn and a beer (cooled by glacier ice) and made it into the harbor by midnight. Several fireworks erupted from the shore, a nice surprise.

Justin and I excitedly wolfed down an egg breakfast and prepared to explore the abandoned resort. Broad daylight reveals that it has been in disrepair for several years! On our row to shore we investigated one of the larger blue icebergs in the bay. It was grounded out in 30 feet of water and relatively stable, about the size of several semi trucks. Justin listened to his inner-calling and couldn’t resist the urge to climb onto the berg. He looked ridiculously small as he climbed about on the iceberg, and I rowed out a ways to capture the full magnitude of it on film. All we could do was laugh hysterically at the situation. The resort consisted of 8 or 9 very nice log buildings, some of them quite large. We went through the whole place, building by building, and found many treasures inside. A large dining area had been all boarded up with plywood, and a bear had ripped a few sections of it out to gain entrance. While the buildings were still nice, they were in a rapid state of decay and neglect. Some of the rooms in the buildings were quite eerie. It is strange what people leave behind in these places out here. Shivers went up my spine as we explored children’s bedrooms and opened up doors to the deep-freeze rooms. In the large industrial kitchen we found an electric can opener on the floor. I’ve been needing a can-opener for the boat, and here one was! I claimed law of the sea and made off with this new treasure. We had great fun investigating the old resort and hiking around on its grounds. Though there wasn’t a soul around for a hundred miles, we spoke to each other in whispers and felt surges of adrenaline upon entering each building. We carried my axe in the case of encountering a bear or a strange human. The afternoon turned hot, sunny and still. My new can opener didn’t work when I plugged it in. Justin fished from the boat while I worked feverishly all afternoon taking the can opener apart and putting it back together again. Belowdecks became a mess of tools, sprockets, gears, and plastic pieces, and I became covered in grease. It was perhaps a perfect way to spend a lazy afternoon! Alas, just as the can opener whirred to life, Justin caught a fish! The buffalo sculpin had really hooked onto Justin’s line, so we couldn’t release it alive. With a quick prayer and a blow to the head we dispatched the fish. It was so tough that we had to chop it apart with the axe, and we used the pieces for bait. In the evening we went for a row, trolling with Justin’s sculpin. In the distance we sighted a noble-looking mountain and immediately set off to climb it. By the time we finally landed on the beach it was 20:30 hours. We had no water or “hiking” clothing or food and didn’t care. Just as axe, a knife, and the desire to summit the mountain. We tied Modulus to a tree and charged into the brush. Immediately we became drenched in sweat and in many places we had to climb hand over hand, grasping tree branches, in order to pull ourselves up the cliffs. It was as awesome hike! Toward the top it opened out and we spotted 3 deer running to the summit! We must’ve scared them up to there from the lowlands. Finally we gained the summit, which turned out to be the tallest pinnacle on Glacier Island. A spectacular panorama stretched out all around, simply amazing to behold. Below lay a view of almost the entire Prince William Sound, impossible to describe. Atop our mountain we found a seismographic station and many swarming mosquitos. I shook the metal boxes–it may have registered on the richter scale. Far out across the Sound we could see out the Hinchinbrook Entrance, with the wild blue Gulf of Alaska beyond. That is where we will be sailing out into next week. At that moment I began to mentally prepare for “the big crossing” and felt once again a deep respect and awe for these treacherous waters. The mosquitos only permitted us several minutes on the summit. The light was fading slowly anyways. We ran down the mountain and back to Modulus. We never did find any suitable water to drink on our hike, and had become quite dehydrated. We immediately rowed out to the nearest iceberg and chopped off a large chunk of ice. Justin should have become a stonecutter. He placed an axe blow to the iceberg such that it cracked to pieces and flipped over, nearly capsizing Modulus! The ice was very cold on our teeth, but nonetheless we ate a quantity of it to quench our thirst for the long row back to the boat. Once back aboard the mothership we changed into dry clothing and started a blazing fire in the woodstove. We ate a huge meal, stretched our muscles, and went to bed to the sound of crackling and popping logs.

Several sea urchins clung to the anchor rode as I pulled it up in the chilly morning. Everywhere in the ragged clouds above lurked the massive and towering glaciers that spill forth from almost every mountain valley here. Justin was snug in his berth, waking up slowly and pleasantly on this peaceful morning. I was totally content at the helm, enjoying the glaciers in the morning light and weaving the boat through a thin field of icebergs and brash ice. As Justin woke he began to clatter around in the the galley for an hour or so. By the time we arrived to the face of the “Surprise Glacier” (an active tidewater glacier) I was handed a steaming plate of a delicious egg breakfast. We dined in the cockpit and enjoyed watching the blue towers of ice collapse directly in front of us. We were lodged in a thick pack of ice, and drifting amongst large rafts of sea otters and seals. Occasionally a curious seal will swim near the boat, its face emerging through the piles of chipped ice that clog this part of the ice pack. When we made a sudden movement their eyes would get really wide and with a snort they kerplunk their heads back under the ice and disappear. With several percussive cracks a giant arch of blue ice crumbled into the deep waters below. The wave it sent forth rocked the boat in such a way as to land Justin’s eggs on the floor, sunny side down where they slowly made their way to the bilge. We remained at the glacier until 1400 hours, and then set out into Prince William Sound. We did a long-haul run all the way to Glacier Island, in the top and middle of the Sound. As we motored through narrow Ester Passage salmon leapt into the air all around the boat. We tried trolling, unsuccessfully. After that it began to rain with a brisk east wind on our nose. Dusk began early because of the already dark clouds and rain, and nervousness crept in with it. We were navigating through a channel several miles wide that had many icebergs in it. With a low sky and limited visibility our world became a gray and wet one. The stark contrast of the bright white and blues of the icebergs against the gray sky and black water was absolutely amazing. Finally we entered Elder Bay, on Glacier Island. On our way in we spotted a resort on the beach. Closer inspection revealed that the resort may be abandoned! Our spirits are soaring at the potential for exploration it offers. For the meanwhile, we are snugly anchored inside the bay. Several large icebergs the size of semi trucks are drifting about, but the water is calm. We warmed up by the woodstove and cooked a big skillet of fried rice over its fire. It was a long day today, and I am feeling good about the distance we covered.