Pacific NW

Expeditions

After so many days on the storm-beaten outer Kenai coast, it was awesome to wake up in the placid waters of Prince William Sound again. We headed for Chenega where we hoped to obtain a bit of fresh food and make some phone calls. “New Chenega” as it is called, is an extremely small native village. Old Chenega was sadly swept away by the earthquake and giant tsunami of 1964, and lies in ruin a dozen miles away. New Chenega, as it turned out, did not have any store whatsoever, and the telephone was out of order. As soon as we tied up to the dock we cast off again, somewhat discouraged. We made our calls via the satellite phone but are still wishing for fresh food. A short while later we anchored in a small cove in Mummy Bay. Several hours later a weekend yahoo and his sailboat came charging into the bay. He was screaming frantic orders to his wife as he threw out the anchor with forward weigh still on the boat. His hook must’ve set almost exactly over ours, and when he let out some scope our boats were practically smacking into each other. I’m not out here to find solitude, but this was just a dangerous situation. He wasn’t monitoring channel 16 so I couldn’t stop him when he anchored. It is extremely poor seamanship to crowd another boat at anchor and restrict her swinging room. We weighed our anchor and headed for another nearby bay, “Silent Partner” showing the puzzled greenhorn her transom. We re-anchored off a small stream in Copper Bay, 8 miles away. I went for an evening row and admired the solistice midnight sun. It is once again the longest day of the year, with no darkness whatsoever.

Today we resolved to seek the protected waters of Prince William Sound. We woke to a rare calm day on the Kenai Peninsula and used it to our advantage to travel a long distance. All day we motored through a calm out in in the Gulf of Alaska. The day was divided into 2 hour shifts at the helm. The coastal current runs in a constant counter-clockwise motion along the capes and beaches. But we found a great gyre-current about 5 miles offshore, and kept our boat speed above 6 knots all day. During my off-watch I read and finished “Around the World in 80 Days” and slept. Around the Chiswell islands I saw thousands of puffins and hundreds of sea lions, but other than that we were pretty far offshore and the watches were mostly uneventful. At “sunset” around 1 AM we were slicing our way through the black glassy waters at the entrance of Prince William Sound. Our anchorage tonight contains sea otters, a big humpback whale, and many salmon that are leaping from the water. There are also a few speedboats, a reminder that we are close to Anchorage again.

Today we failed at fishing. We anchored off a steep-to beach 10 miles from Midnight Cove that was exposed to the west wind that was now intensifying. But it was the best anchorage to get us near the lake and rivers we wished to fish in. Ryan and I found a cabin that had a lock on the door, the first I’ve seen. Generally all the remote cabins I’ve seen up here are left open in case people desperately need to use them, with a small supply of wood and canned food. It seems to be an unwritten law of the land, and people are good about leaving food and chopping more wood. Fishing poles in hand, we threaded our way through the woods for several miles to the lake. After giving several moments pause to rest by the water we exchanged distressed glances. A massive cloud of mosquitos, flies and biting gnats hovered about us. “Really bad, dude”. “This is going to factor into our fishing.” We immediately fled the lake and returned to the beach, after making one cast as the bugs flew into our eyes, throats, and bit our hands. We returned to Midnight Cove somewhat discouraged, but it was still an amazing hike anyways, good to stretch the legs and work the lungs.

The Gulf was nice and calm today, and we made a short hop over to Midnight Cove. The Kenai Coast has been extremely demanding and it feels good to tackle it in small doses, getting a bit closer to Prince William Sound every day. It was a nice day with long meals and conversation, and many games of dominoes. There was a fair bit of Southeast wind but in the evening it died down and the clouds are beginning to clear out.

The wind piped up as we exited Tonsina Inlet. We had a great little sail through a riptide as the Gulf of Alaska gave us the last of her swell and chop for now. Whales and bears are common sights on this coast, and we saw many. It was a relaxing day of exploration. We anchored in Palisade Lagoon amongst tall cliffs and trees. We walked up a river drainage and came across a cabin in the woods. It was a bit scary, because you never know who might be squatting in these places. We found the place empty and in general disrepair. The river had shifted and was eating away at the foundation, so it was possibly abandoned. There was a terrific woodpile, but no wood stove. I also found the book “Around the World in 80 Days” by Jules Verne in a pile of rotting books. I rescued it and plan on reading it. I just ran out of reading material, too! Jules Verne it is. I cut and barked a small spruce tree to use as an iceberg pole. Those aluminum ones at the marine stores are only good for picking hats out of the water, and buckle when any stress is put on them. Clouds began flying in from the South and East as we rowed back down the lagoon. We found another set of cabins–long abandoned– on the outside of the lagoon. It was an old mining operation from the 70’s. We came across several bulldozers rusting in the alders, hardhats, and a really long mine shaft. I cursed myself for not bringing the flashlight! The shaft was in great condition and went way back into the mountain. We used the camera flash and advanced 5 feet at a time. But it soon freaked us out, we expected to maybe get a nice up-close picture of a bear or something! A soft rain misted down as we rowed back to the boat. We enjoyed yet another long, peaceful evening of a drawn-out dinner followed by several games of dominoes.

Ryan and I awoke with the dread of rounding the peninsula and Gore Point again. We lashed down Modulus and cleared the decks for sea. I put a very anal double reef in the mainsail, with extra lashings, before we even left the anchorage. Forecast: west wind 30 knots. At least it was blowing in the right direction for us, but I was extremely apprehensive about the tide rips. Out in Cook Inlet we were met by 30 knots of south wind on the nose. But the current was ebbing so strong that we never went below 6 knots. The tide rips were huge, steep, with breakers everywhere. It was ugly. Finally we rounded the base of the Kenai Peninsula and turned westward into Chugach Passage. The freight-train tide was still running with us, plus we had the wind “abaft the beam”. We were surfing down the waves at 11 knots all afternoon. Suddenly the tiller snapped in my hands with a deep-throated “crack”! I issued one or two very well-pronounced swear words as we surfed down the next wave. We were making 10.5 knots with the double-reefed mainsail, and had no tiller! Ryan immediately grabbed the spare tiller I keep by the companionway, and the tools to fix it. I ran the boat off the wind, kicked away the broken tiller, and we installed the new one in a minute. Unfortunately the stern was caught by a wave and we headed off the wind, causing an accidental jibe. Nothing came of the jibe, but it was a mark on an otherwise completely successful repair at sea. The new tiller is a bit too short and shaped improperly for the boat, but I’m sure glad we had it. From now on I’ll also keep the wrenches by the companionway with the tiller in case of another breakage. For some extremely lucky reason the tide stayed with us all the way around Gore Point. Perhaps all the west wind reversed the currents. At any rate, we sailed to and from Homer through the Chugach Passage going 10 knots both ways. We hit another tide rip off of Gore Point but it was nothing compared to the big water we’d been in recently. Putting Gore Point and the wild water to the west behind me was a huge mental relief. It is a major accomplishment for Silent Partner, and I never doubted her.

This morning we discovered that the Homer Spit doesn’t have any breakfast place in which to order bacon and eggs. Finally we walked all the way to the very tip of the spit to a hotel, where we found food more substantial than espresso and puffed bread. As we were eating we watched the Ursa Major ride the first of the ebb tide down the bay. Afterwards we headed back to the boat and caught the middle of the ebb out, which was time enough to get us to Seldovia 14 miles away. The Homer harbormaster only charged us for one day, but I still couldn’t believe the price. 26 dollars for one night! It was the most expensive marina transient rate I’ve ever seen! Ryan and I are very happy to be back out on the water. When we are in town we have to worry about all kinds of stuff, try not to forget things, do errands, etc. But when we get out on the boat we only have to deal with the materials at hand and enjoy what we can make do with. The wallets are put away and forgotten about and we can once again pee freely from the boat without worrying about judgemental eyes. Nonetheless, I was sorry to leave Homer behind. It is by far my favorite city in Alaska. In the hot afternoon we explored the village of Seldovia, which was like going back in a time warp to 1985, in some small town in Minnesota. The air had a golden tint to it, kids were picking dandelions, and I think we could hear a lawnmower off in the distance. Everyone seemed to be concerned about nothing and just enjoying the day. We stayed for four hours and then anchored out off the town for the night. I got everything stowed and prepared for an early departure into the Gulf tomorrow.

Today was, as town days go, excellent. Homer is a great town. With rapidfire precision and no wasted time, we accomplished every one of our errands by 1700 hours. Jerry and Janet of the S/V “Ursa Major” were kind enough to give us a ride into town for marine supplies, groceries, mail, lunch, etc etc. The anchor rode was repaired by cutting out the bad section and splicing it back together. I don’t trust my own splices yet for the important task of the anchor rode, so I had them done by a fisherman in town. I also bought a pair of spiked logging boots at a thrift store for 17$! A very good find–they will serve me well in the future. I had to take them off in the more respectable establishments in town, however. By the afternoon Ryan and I were exhausted and sweltering in the heat of the automobile, and ready to put back to sea. In the evening Ryan and I took showers. They cost five dollars which made me wince. But I was handed a towel and shown to the bathroom. I nearly wept tears of joy when I saw that I had my own room with a real shower, toilet, and sink with a mirror above it! We hadn’t bathed since being trapped in Thunder Bay and all that rough sailing. We were covered in salt, smoke from the bar, and sweat, sand, and dirt. I’ll bet they were sorry to see the likes of me in that bathroom! Well, actually some of the spit-rats are probably much dirtier than I was. That shower ranked in the top 5 showers I’ve ever taken. Afterwards we went out to dinner and just relaxed after such a busy and successful day.

Today I lived the dream I’ve been having for 3 years. Homer at last! We began with breakfast of eggs , sausage, coffee, and cinnamon toast aboard “Creola”. At noon we broke the raft up and sailed from the inlet into Cook Inlet. We immediately put up all sail in light winds. For awhile we made 6 knots with the current and sailing wing-on-wing. It was an excellent way to approach Homer. As we neared the city I let Ryan sail, and just sat back exhausted and thought about all the work to get me to this point. It was certainly worth all! Halfway point. The trip for me thus far has gone by pretty quickly. But when I think back upon it, it seems like lifetimes have passed. It feels like 50 trips, too big and varied to think of as one. And such has been the attitude toward navigation aboard “Silent Partner”. Each day we make our way north a bit more. And we meet people and fishermen who always give lots of good advice along the way. The waters have been challenging with very demanding navigation. But we have been patient, waited out bad weather, and listened to our instincts. Our “trip odometer” reads almost 3,000 miles since we left Bellingham! Homer’s marina is tucked into the very end of a 3-mile long sandspit that juts out into the bay. “Downtown” is on the mainland, but both town and spit are considered Homer. Tonight Ryan and I explored the spit and found it to be a very interesting place. It has an odd combination of fishermen, tourists, hippies, and “spit rats”. The dozens of spit rats we encountered are all living in tents on the beach for the summer. A few of them work on the spit, and many don’t do much of anything at all except watch the tide go in and out. It is almost as if Homer Spit has captured a motherlode of human flotsam, which lies scattered about the spit in weird patterns and piles. We found a trampoline frame, RVs, a giant medieval mock-castle, a spanish galleon, and many beautiful girls on the spit. All seemingly cast up from the ocean and scattered across the sand. It was excellent to be in the company of women again after being on the boat for so long. We quickly made friends with some of the spit rats on the beach, and went up to the Salty Dawg Saloon. We entered the bar around midnight and saw sort of a sunset around one in the morning. When we left the bar around 3 the sun was brightening the already light sky, and it was fully blue by the time we went to sleep.

A lone bear was perched atop a rocky outcropping beside the boat when I poked my head out of the hatch this morning. Clouds are gathering in. We toured through more iceberg-choked passages and glacier faces of Northwestern Fjord. Some of the rocks have crazy zigzagging bands of rainbow colors on them, where the seaweeds meet the mosses, lichens, and mineral stains. We brought Silent Partner into “Cataract Cove” that had dozens of waterfalls pouring down from a cirque from a height of 3,000 feet. I maneuvred into “the grotto”, a tiny notch in the cliff, and almost touched the bows to the cliffs and waterfalls. Next we motored out to Cloudy Cape in an ominous building swell. The shoreline here rises vertically from the sea for several thousand feet and is extremely forbidding and unforgiving. The feelings it produces are of awe and fear combined with a dream-like quality. We would expect to see rock fortresses, men in chain-mail shooting bows and arrows, and unicorns. Instead there is just a vast loneliness, for the region is too hostile for human habitation. Scarcely a tree grows off of Cloudy Cape, just a low thickness of scrub alder and willow, if they can gain a perch on the high cliffs. In one sense the land seems barren. But then we see all these bears on the shore. Today we spotted a half-dozen Humpback whales and a pod of killer whales feeding off the lonely capes. We anchored in 150 feet of water off of Cloudy Cape with hopes of catching a Halibut. We got a few strikes but didn’t pull any up. The current held us broadside to the swell which we soon tired of, so we headed to Thunder Bay. So help me god, I will never return to Thunder Bay. Read on.