Pacific NW

Expeditions

31° CLOUDY, SNOW  30° CLOUDY   14” SNOW

We received a bona-fide snow dump last night and spent the whole day digging ourselves out.  The morning snow sky was all shades of black and white, blotting out the world outside one’s immediate surroundings.  The fluffy stuff had gone by the wayside and was replaced by the dreaded wet and heavy snow.  It was slow, arduous work shoveling camp, with loads too heavy to lift.  We’ve reached the point where the snow has built walls so high that there’s nowhere to conveniently put it without risking pain or injury.  I was reminded of the larger-scale problem Minnesota had a couple of years ago following a major blizzard and subsequent snowfalls that piled up over the course of the winter.  After turning many a parking lot into a snow dumping zone, the city had run out of places to put it!

We ate a quick lunch and then it was back to work.  Suddenly it felt like a new, improved day when the sun appeared and the snow came to a halt.  Baranof looked like the setting of a fairytale, the snow-laden gingerbread houses quaint against a thickly forested backdrop.  The trees come alive caked with snow, their enormity magnified.

The snow respite was short-lived and soon flakes started to fall unrelentingly.  Pete worked on fixing one of the snow blowers by parting out the second blower. Feeling the urgency of the task, he was back in action within a few hours.  I spent eight hours shoveling today and finished just at dark.  Somehow, I still had the wherewithal to whip up some cookies.  Pete continued snow blowing until the job was done, well after dark.  We were thankful for our conveniently located hot tub and took a not too leisurely soak on the porch.  The water temp was tolerable for a quick bath and we sure needed it today.  We crawled into bed with a VHS movie in store for the evening.  After a full day of activity, we’re totally bushed!

17° SNOW, 25° HEAVY SNOWFALL   8” SNOW

Early to rise and early out the door, we went to tackle the many inches of snow already on the ground.  Fortunately, it was light and fluffy which made for a quick job.  It was a good thing that Pete had enough gas to snow blow camp.  More ice returned to the inner bay with the changing of the tide.  Warming temperatures have turned the ice into slush and water has started to flow where it was frozen before.  On the ice sheet that encloses Privateer, upwellings have created circular formations that resemble jumbo sand dollars.

The hydro pressure looked stable today, and we were back in the cabin before noon.  From inside, we watched the snow fall heavy and fast and it looked much like pouring rain.  Since we started the job this was the first afternoon we were granted the luxury of a mid-day break.”  I worked on putting together a pot of barley soup.  Pete was feeling antsy (he was becoming one with the snow blower) but I liked being in the cabin during the day as a change.  He declared it a snow day,” referring to the days we were given off of school when an extreme Minnesotan snowfall hit.  On these days, all there is to do is watch the snow come down and play around in it.   Although we considered a snowshoe, I was feeling too nested.  Plus, it was nice to have a break from the constant physical activity.  Soon enough, though, we were back at it, and worked to lessen our snow removal for tomorrow.  We got a whopping 6” in just a few hours!

17° SNOW, 15° SNOW  COLD, CLOUDY   6” SNOW

The snow began to fall in the early morning.  Our first glimpse of the bay revealed that much of the ice in our inner bay had either dispersed or melted due to the warming temps.  The only remaining ice patch surrounded Privateer, a solid sheet extending from dock to shore.  Once we checked the status of the hydro intake and determined that our dam was in need of fortification, the next task was to obtain gas from the lodge, about a quarter mile away around a bend in the bay.  With a forecast of extensive snowfall in the coming days and dwindling gas reserves for the snow blower, we could afford to wait no longer.  Since ice, perhaps impenetrable, still crowded the outer bay, our only option was an overland snowshoe expedition using a summertime trail that crosses two log bridges.  We thought about ways to transport the jerry cans and considered using John’s external frame pack but opted to carry them.  First we slung the empty jerry cans over our backs with a stick, hobo style, but decided it was just easier to carry them.  Returning with full cans might be a challenge, but in these desperate times we’d channel some inner strength for the task.  After a steep climb up to the trail head, we were in a beautiful forest with snowy, towering trees and had occasional views of the bay along the cliff’s edge.  Snow blew all around us.  We noted deer prints and followed an animal trail through the forest.  In less than 20 minutes, we had arrived at the lodge.  What a pleasant way to travel!  The trail dumped us out amongst the outlying cabins and old-growth forest behind the lodge and I felt like we were on a stealth operation, invading a rival camp.  But, no, these were our friends and there was only goodwill here.  A heaping plate of cookies sat on the table and Dave & Anke offered coffee and warm company. Unfortunately, there was a problem siphoning the gas and, five hours later, we turned toward home empty-handed.  We had hoped to spend much of the day at the hydro intake working on our dam, but now only a few hours remained before dark.  To increase the dam’s effectiveness we used tarps to help slow the flow.  This created some areas of dead water as intended.

Down at the dock, I shook the boat cover free of snow.  This can be quite a time-consuming process depending on the snow load.  After I shovel off the starboard tie I crawl under the claustrophobic boat cover to lightly punch off the port side load.  There were many inches of snow down on the boardwalk by late afternoon.  They’re calling this new bout of snow part of a major winter storm” and we should expect a real dump over the next three days.  As projected, this storm is a product of that formative Yukon cold front battling warm air from the Gulf of Alaska.

8° CLEAR 12° COLD

The morning’s assessment of camp,” as we’ve come to refer to it (the term harks back to Pete’s Jawbone days), revealed a dramatic scene.  The bay was chock full of ice, with only a slight opening from the waterfall to the dock where there’s much current.  The outer bay from Chatham Strait inwards was totally frozen.  This is a rare occurrence and one which few folks have seen before.  The conditions just keep getting more extreme!

Everyday there’s new natural phenomena to behold.  Mornings are the best time to get out and see what wonders the nighttime’s plummeting temperatures have created.  Today there was spectacular hoar frost in the forest, clinging to the moss draped over spruce tree branches and forming along twigs and grass fringing the hot spring stream.  I wanted badly to go on a photo safari in this frosted wonderland but the cold was not kind to my fingers.  I did capture a few images of feathers and fungaloids,” as Pete called it, feather-like frost and free-flowing fungus side by side.  We spotted a gigantic icicle mushroom in the forest, birthed from the hydro line.  Water spouting out of small bleed holes had built up layers of ice over time to create this icicle masterpiece.  Pete took one of the icicle-laden branches, pulled it back like a slingshot, said I’ve always wanted to do this” and let the ice crystal chandelier sway wildly and shatter.  Music to our ears!

Back in the bay, paper-thin sheets of ice had been forced up by colliding sheets, forming delicate little origami figures that looked like sailboats.  While I used the Speedy Stitcher to sew foam over the sand bags where they made contact with the hull, Pete sledgehammered the dock free of ice.  The below freezing temps did not allow for nimble fingers, and the task of sewing was rather painful.  With news of an incoming storm, however, this needed to get done.  We heard a plane overhead today but, alas, it did not touch down in Baranof and was instead on its weekly run to the Hidden Falls fish hatchery.  It seemed that we were quite low on the priority list.  The frigid temps today were cause for another wood fire which brought the cabin temperature up from 50 to a balmy 60 degrees.  We’ve been snuggled up in blankets this past week, requiring lots of soup for warmth and cookies for energy to get through the days.  Given to exhaustion from all of the physical activity, we’ve also been going to bed early and sleeping a lot.

10° ALL DAY COLD, CLEAR

Another nippy day!  Skies were clear and there was a noticeable lack of wind.  A colony of ducks has established itself at the base of the waterfall and we spotted a lone seal out amongst them, he the real odd duck.  To my dismay, the platelets had dispersed and the remaining ones had joined into larger sheets.  The tide pushed the ice from our inner sanctum” into the outer bay, a sheet extending from the lodge all the way to Chatham Strait and nearly blocking entrance to the bay.  A stretch a little over a mile and a half long!  Dave & Anke reported thick ice around their dock at the lodge.  Ice still encases Privateer at the waterline, which we hope is acting as a protective barrier against any other encroaching ice.  The platelets left behind as the water receded at low tide looked like Salvador Dali clocks, a surreal image of rigid icy forms draped lazily over the rocks.

Now routine, we strapped on our snowshoes and hiked up to the hydro intake.  Human feats of strength were called upon as we tried to wrestle the hydro pipe lower in the water, each working with a rock bar to move that beastly boulder.  Though the rock stayed firmly planted, we did manage to jostle the pipe and bring it down lower.

Increasing temps are in the near future and a low pressure system is forecasted to move in from the Gulf of Alaska to battle the current northern front.  There may be a wild collision of storm systems.  The major weather event” continues and the VHF warns people who work outdoors to take caution.

7° ALL DAY

We wanted true winter and, suddenly, we were in the thick of it!  Pete came back from the morning walkabout and roused me with a report that the bay was freezing over and the float plane dock was covered with eight inches of ice. What a sight this was!  The bay was choked up with pancake ice, plates of ice of various sizes with raised edges.  Waves were breaking over the float plan dock, causing additional layers of ice to form and dangerously weigh down the dock.  Pete sprung to action and, sledgehammer and goggles in tow, set out to clear the ice.  It was a cold, sweaty job and he had to be careful not to get frostbite on such a frigid day, with temps hovering around 7 degrees and a -20 degree wind chill.

A true arctic blast had come our way, the brutal, biting air a taste of the Yukon.  At least we had blue skies and sunshine in this frozen world!  Ice skirted Privateer, ringing the rudder, waterline and bow.  The poor boat was taking a beating in these conditions.  Sand bags attached to the boat cover were frozen and slamming against the hull.  The sound made me wince; something would have to be done about this.  Everything around us is frozen stiff, the forest groans and longs to be limber again.  It’s amazing to see birds still about, surviving in such a harsh environment.  Pete spotted a Rock Ptarmigan near the river donning its winter camouflage, a beautiful white coat.  We felt lucky to see this elusive bird bobbing about.

Our visit to the hydro intake revealed that the river’s water level was still a bit low and the pipe not fully submerged, but we were still maintaining good flow and generating sufficient power.  Back in town at the hydro shed, Pete turned a nozzle down on each of the two hydro wheels to increase the pressure at which the water hits the wheel.

Around noon, high tide pushed many of the cool looking Frisbee-sized platelets (as I had decided to call them) onto the shore and these crusty discs were scattered over the rocks at low tide.  With the movement of the tide and the current generated from the waterfall, the platelets gone back to sea had shifted from their original configuration, now overlapping one another.  The scene reminded me of the mating moon jellyfish that I had seen last August in Hood Bay, translucent like the ice, of similar size and drifting in such thick, milky  masses that there were little gaps between them.

The cold water pipe froze up today and we lost our supply to the cabin.  Anticipating this, we’d filled three 5-gallon jugs full of water to have on hand.  After these are empty, we’ll have to seek out the most convenient drinking water source. Fortunately, we have the option of diverting hot spring water from the hot tub into the house for washing hands or doing dishes.  To flush the toilet, we fill a bucket from the outdoor hot tub. This does the trick.  Having the hot spring source makes the situation not so desperate.  Our new reality will require a bit more work than before, but we’re glad to have such an abundance of water around us to draw from.  It’s an odd thing when you lose water but are surrounded by it.  There’s even a stream that normally flows under John’s cabin!

With everything at risk of freezing, we went to rescue the remainder of our egg supply on the boat.  After already having withstood so much, we couldn’t let them fail us now.  They are a hearty bunch.  We’re preparing for a potential black out, but are now in brown out” (i.e. power conservation) mode.  The long-term forecast doesn’t show much in the way of above freezing temperatures and we figure we may be living by candlelight in the coming month.  Though the idea is romantic, the reality may be different.  It’s reassuring to have neighbors nearby, even if contact is largely radio based.  Everyone (the five of us within a one-mile radius) has banded together in a state of emergency, offering wood, generators, gasoline, assistance…whatever it takes to survive the cold times ahead.  Weather reports on the VHF radio repeatedly state marine conditions for nearly everywhere in Southeast Alaska as freezing spray” and heavy freezing spray.”  The open waters are unfriendly, no place for a boat to be right now.  Pete and I are eager to establish an overland route to the lodge for safety reasons.  Pending more snow, we’ll need to procure gasoline for the snow blower from the lodge.  Rowing may be unsuccessful in these icy conditions.  We’ve deemed 2012 The Year of Survival.” Since the beginning of January life’s been about basic needs–food, shelter and warmth.  Fortunately, we’re having fun surviving!

10° COLD!  5° CLEAR, BLOWING SNOW

An early morning call from Christine alerted us to alarmingly low power levels.  The first step was to assess the situation, so we snowshoed up to the hydro intake at first light.  The north wind was blowing hard and the air a bitter 10 degrees.  To save ourselves from multiple trips, we hiked a few tools up the line.  Lopping off branches covering the hydro pipe, we now had a clearer view of the pipe run.  At the intake, the water level was indeed getting dangerously low.  We returned with waders and rubber gloves on loan from Dave & Anke.  It seemed completely insane to get into the river under such weather conditions (even with waders on), but the critical situation called for immediate action.  We were at risk of losing power if the intake was not more fully submerged.  Our attempts to lower the pipe were foiled by a rock underneath that just wouldn’t budge.  We opted to raise the water level instead by building a rock dam with the resources at hand.  Body heat generated by lifting rocks made being in frigid waters tolerable.  My boots quickly filled with water and though the neoprene booties attached to the waders kept my feet dry, they didn’t necessarily keep them warm.  Pete was better able to plunge himself into the water with rubber halibut gloves pulled ¾ the way up his arms.  Even with gloves this tall, he was still topping them with water!  He resembled some kind of swamp monster.  My standard pair of rubber gloves limited my scouting depth and I stayed near the river’s shore.  Our work was not in vain; the dam building project had blocked flow and brought the water level up a bit.  It will suffice for now, but we know we’ll be back to continue the fight against falling water levels in the coming days, with no rain or snow in the forecast.  Back in the cabin, we made a fire which was the only thinkable thing to do after being submerged in an icy river.  Even with the diesel heater on, the house sits a little below 50 degrees during this the cold snap, so the wood heat brings the house up to a comfortable temperature.  We enjoyed the fire and a warming dinner of potato latkes and cinnamon applesauce.

18°-14° COLD! CLEAR

The other-worldly moon was the main attraction in the bay this morning, bursting with light against the cool early morning sky.  We gathered eggs off the boat and had a hearty breakfast of biscuits, eggs and sausage in lieu of the cold weather.  The thermometer dipped to 18 degrees today and continued to drop.  We continued the moving process and organized the cabin, but the day could not be wasted indoors.  The intense sun, blue skies, and crisp air brought by the high-pressure system from the north, coupled with dropping temps that had produced a hard crust of snow, made for perfect snowshoe conditions.  Another trip to the lake was in order.  We tromped around the muskeg forest, it’s snowscape striking.  With a blanketing of snow, contours of the land transformed into ski moguls, the terrain smooth and fluid.  Angularities were all but absent.  In places, the snow’s surface was pockmarked like the moon.  It was such a cool sight!  Marten tracks were present all the way up to the lake.  They must have sniffed out our tracks from yesterday.  We headed for the knob where we’re sometimes able to get cell phone reception, but had no luck.  From this vantage point we watched the extreme wind velocity at higher elevations produce spindrifts on the 3,000 foot mountain peaks all around us.  Mini-blizzards blasted us and we turned our backs to the wind and ducked for cover.  The wind sent us running home.

We made our first dinghy trip to the lodge, with hopes of doing laundry and checking internet.  Dave & Anke invited us for a dinner of biscuits and Thai soup, followed by coffee and cookies for dessert.  We rowed home through peaceful waters under a star-studded sky.  Word is that John made it to Sitka but, battling strong winds, broke his tiller just outside the Sitka harbor.  Fortunately it happened so close to port!

24° COLD, CLEARING W/CLOUDS   3” SNOW

Pete was up 5am, not yet morning (at least to me) this time of year.  I like to rouse when there’s at least a hint of daybreak.  We’re gaining around five minutes of daylight each day, shedding the cover of seasonal darkness rather quickly.  Easing into the day, we tuned into Sitka’s Raven Radio for news and a weather report for the other side of this big island.  As part of our daily morning routine, we walked down to the hydro shed to check the power levels.  A creamy half moon hung over the waterfall, radiating warmth against the muted morning sky of grayish blues and purples.  

Snow removal was in order, as we had a fresh 3” dusting of snow on the boardwalks.  The mail plane did not come today as projected.  In the afternoon, we gave our new snowshoes a test run, and they out-performed our expectations.  They are just the thing for the Alaskan bush, especially for excursions into the mountains.  Going uphill is a breeze with the flip of a bar under our heels.  It totally reduces any calf strain. Even on steep terrain, we felt like we were walking on level ground.  The straps on these snowshoes seem to stay secure, making the sport a real treat.  We love that with snowshoes we’re able to cover territory not possible in the summertime due to rough terrain, forest undergrowth, water, and general vegetation.  We headed up to the knob, an elevated spot with generous views of both Chatham Strait and Baranof Lake, and watched spindrifts carry snow off the mountain ridges.  This was the perfect, pristine winter wonderland we’d wished for.  No sign of man here apart from our tracks.  We headed to the hot spring grotto, a world-class spot with pools nestled in the forest, next to the raging Baranof River.  Pete is a bit averse to the fungaloids,” the slimy fungi that are thick in the pools, but I am at peace with them.  I prefer the grotto.  There are clearer, fungaloid-free hot springing options down in town to suit Pete.

January 13

34° SNOW + RAIN, 24° EVENING   2” SNOW

John sailed off before first light, attempting to make as much progress toward Sitka before the incoming weather system creates severe marine conditions.  We’re thinking about him out there, no doubt the lone sailor on Peril Strait!  We shoveled the townsite in the morning, then forced Privateer back into winter hibernation, putting the boat cover on once again.  We feel so fortunate to have the bay nearly all to ourselves, and to see Baranof in a state of slumber.  There’s usually so much activity here during the summer months that the place deserves to rest for awhile!  We prefer the winter’s quiet and solitude, the chance to settle in for awhile and savor all of the natural beauty.

The morning light illuminated the snowy mountains at the south end of Baranof Lake, bright pink peaks visible just above the waterfall.  These faraway peaks might have gone unnoticed on another day.  The water in the bay is incredibly crystal clear and appears in rich jewel tones of emerald and sapphire.  There seems to be a midden pile underneath the dock’s ramp, the white bottom making for spectacular variations on green.  I was shocked to see an intensely colorful bird against the stark white snow this morning.  It had a rosy-red head and breast, blue-gray feathers on its lower body and black wings tinged with white.  Anke, lover and drawer of wildlife, and I identified the bird as a male Pine Grosbeak, a member of the finch family.

Pete and I had painted a picture in our heads of John’s cabin as more rustic based on a brief visit last fall, but it has all the amenities one could need.  At least we think so.  It’s a well-insulated cozy cabin with a sensible layout.  There are lots of windows to bring in maximum light while being nestled in the forest.  Although there’s a wood stove, the tiny, boat-sized diesel heater that runs 24 hours keeps the house toasty and will reduce the need for wood fires.  We have a standard propane stove top and oven.  There’s a hot-spring fed bathtub” on deck if we want a quick rinse (John mentioned that the water may not be running so hot).  We’re glad to be disconnected from the internet.  The only thing that we might wish for is a phone, but we have a VHF radio to communicate with in case of an emergency.  Dave & Anke have kindly offered us use of their phone, internet, laundry and shower, all only a quarter mile row away if we crave any of the amenities.