Pacific NW

Expeditions

As part of handing over the caretaker reigns, John briefed us on townsite duties as we walked all the boardwalks.  We had visited in September, but needed the winter update.  Part of the job is to manage the snow load, both on the public boardwalk and on the homeowners’ properties.  Another aspect of the job is to maintain a presence in the bay, keeping a wary eye on any suspicious interlopers.  We are the neighborhood watchdogs.  Normally, we’d be maintaining water flow to the public-use bath houses on the boardwalk, but John has shut down the water for the season.  After the run-down in town, we snowshoed up the river to reacquaint ourselves with the various pipes, both cold water (from the river) and hot water (from the natural springs).  John’s cabin has both cold water (diverted from the hydro line) and hot water that normally feeds into his hot tub, a converted fish hold.  We’re responsible for keeping the water lines flowing and the hydro power up and running.  The only year-round resident, Christine, has her own hydro operation, and we draw off her power supply.  The hydro intake sits in a fast-moving river.  Following the river, the pipe plummets some 85 feet alongside the waterfall and then moves into a smaller diameter pipe near the hydro shed.  The water is then fed into nozzles that spray a turbine.  Finally, the turbine turns a metal shaft in an electric generator and, voila, power is created.  It’s an amazingly clean and relatively simple way to harness power.

Passing by the general store, I noticed the windows were all fogged up and was a bit shocked to see martens clambering around as I peered inside.  The martens had successfully taken over the building and were finding their way into anything edible, making a real mess of things.  I don’t blame them for seeking out food and warmth!  John said that every winter the sun doesn’t come over the mountain ridge for about six weeks, turning the bay into a dark hole.  Today it made it’s first appearance!  It seems that we showed up at the right time.  Transition mode continued today, with much schlepping to and fro.  John scurried to get ready with news of an approaching storm.  He’ll have a narrow weather window to get to Sitka.  Pete and I moved into the cabin late at night, once John was well situated on his boat.  We were glad to be out of transition, off the boat and in a proper bed!

We headed up to one of the resident’s soaking tubs, French press and coffee mugs in hand, only to discover that the water was unpleasantly cold.  Unfortunately the morning wouldn’t begin with a leisurely soak!  John was making the transition out of his cabin and onto his boat, a task that he hadn’t begun in earnest due to recent bout of heavy weather and the near full-time job of snow removal.  Busy with the move, he handed over caretaker duties today and Pete set off to snow blow the boardwalks.  Meanwhile, the carting of goods back and forth began, Rubbermaid totes stacked three high on the dolly.  John and I traded off empty totes, and while he stowed things away on his boat in preparation for his sail to Sitka, I loaded up totes and moved our foodstuffs into his cabin’s deep freeze and into the outdoor coolers that would serve as our mini-fridges.  Sliding around on boardwalks of slush and ice, the journey from dock to cabin could be a bit treacherous and somewhat comedic.  While the tide was high, the job was manageable.  Low tide meant two people on the dolly and a steep climb to the top of the dock ramp, followed by a cautious trip down.  In the process of moving totes onto his boat, John’s glasses fell overboard and sunk to the bottom of the bay.  A nighttime, low tide reconnaissance mission was arranged with the aid of a pole and net contraption fashioned by Dave.  Pete joined them in the dark and driving rain, but all attempts proved futile.  Without a second pair of glasses, it seems as though John will have to sail partially blind to Sitka.  Fortunately, he’s an apt seaman and so familiar with the route that he doesn’t bother to pull out the chart anymore.  Good luck to John!

Anxious to get to Baranof after hearing of incoming weather, we weighed anchor at 0630 and ran for an hour in the dark across Frederick Sound.  All eyes were wide and straining to focus on any notable objects in the water.  The major hazards to navigation in these waters are deadheads, logs that float vertically and which lurk largely under the surface, threatening to sink your boat.  Leaving our anchorage, we saw the eerie orange glow of a fishing boat out in Frederick Sound, but it never materialized.  As expected, we encountered messy seas near Yasha Island and Point Gardner, and it was slow going against the current.  The white-peaked skyline of Baranof Island made a dramatic statement in the distance and excitement built with our destination nearing.  Turning the corner onto Chatham Strait, the current gave us a boost and we rocketed towards Baranof at 6 knots.  The sky, mountains and water of Warm Springs Bay were all shades of gray.  My camera captured what looks a black and white photo.  It appeared wintry, indeed.  By noon we were tied up to the dock at Baranof, relieved to be in the bay perhaps a few days earlier than expected.  The town was a picture perfect winter scene, snowy spruces and hemlocks dwarfing the miniature townsite strewn along the boardwalk.  Approaching the dock, we were happy to see John, for whom we’d be relief caretaking.  He invited us up to his cabin for tea and helped us through the procedure of ordering fresh food slated to arrive on a plane from Sitka.  We couldn’t pass up the opportunity and placed an order for spinach, parsley, carrots, limes and lemons.  Afternoon tea phased into dinner and the caretakers at the nearby fishing lodge joined us for the evening.  John made some excellent black bean cheesy enchiladas and Dave & Anke, our new neighbors, put together a crunchy slaw.  It was nice to have a home-cooked meal after primitive preparations on the water this past week.  Dave & Anke are a great couple who live year-round on their self-built boat cruising Southeast Alaska.  We’re looking forward to spending time with them this winter!

The announced time of sunrise was 0834 and sunset at 1534, and we cast the lines just as it was getting light enough to navigate.  We stretched the winter day to its outer limits, surprisingly even ourselves by running from 0730 until 1700, ticking the miles away and covering double the distance than anticipated.  The nautical gods shone upon us and granted us a safe, though not entirely comfortable, crossing of Sumner Strait and a wonderful day on the water.  Not long after setting out, we encountered confused, choppy seas at the Sumner confluence and it was slow going, making 2-3 knots.  A beautiful sunrise of pinks and oranges behind us, we soon headed toward a formidable, conspicuous glowing pink wall that was surely a snow cloud.  Pete asked if I was prepared to head into the teeth of winter.”  The reference made me shiver.

We passed through a snowstorm, brief yet brutal.  Enough snow blew around to cloud the dodger, cake onto Pete’s jacket and cover the cockpit in little confetti pieces.  Pete’s navigational preoccupations triumphed any physical discomforts he was feeling from the cold and the snow that blew fierce and whipped him in the face.  I made sure to liberally dispense the chocolate and hot tea and remained sheltered on the companionway stairs, under the dodger’s protection.  I gripped my hand warmers, squeezing all the possible warmth out them.  Perhaps we were both thinking about the hot springs in our future.  It was a relief to finally be in the calm, peaceful waters and unofficial wildlife refuge of Rocky Pass.  The sun came out in full force.  Shimmering flocks of birds caught our eye, darting about gracefully like schools of fish above water, their scales catching the sunlight.  This scene couldn’t be captured on film, only with the naked eye.  The day turned out to be gorgeous, certainly better than expected in the midst of all these winter storms.  Ignoring the cold and the light snow dusting on the west shore, it could otherwise have been summer.  We spotted a number of sea otters, later hearing on the radio that they have recently made a comeback on this part of the coast, though still considered an endangered species.  Optimum timing of the tides allowed the best transit we could have hoped for.  We often end up having to pause for hours waiting for a tidal change in this waterway which requires careful navigation due to shallow depths.  The full moon nearing, it was especially important to pay heed to the tides, with greater vertical movements during this moon phase.  Hitting the tides just right, we also made good speed, around 5.5 knots.  Toward the end of the day, it became a race against dark as we made our way up the Keku Strait.  Fortunately, we were headed towards a familiar anchorage, giving some reassurance as we carefully prodded our way the last mile in the near dark.  Full moon overhead and a snowstorm to cap off the day, we laid down our sleepy heads in anticipation of an early rise.

Morning came and the winds were still blowing fierce, forcefully rocking the boat to and fro at the dock.  I had been restless last night, waking with the loud gusts.  It was clear that the storm had yet to blow out and, tuning into the VHF radio, we learned that the forecast had been upgraded to 30kt winds + 7ft seas out in Sumner Strait.  Pete made the prudent decision to stay put until we could make a safe crossing.  We lay snug in bed, gray sky above and rain pelting the glass of the butterfly hatch.  One storm system passed, an opening of blue sky appeared midday and light flooded the cabin before the wind, rain and a bit of snow returned as another system, an arctic front.  Assessing the wind and wave activity out in Sumner through the binoculars, we could tell how well protected we were here in what feels like a little village in the backwaters.  We are so glad to have this refuge!  Tonight is relatively calm and we look forward to the Sumner crossing tomorrow.  We’re prepared for cold and snow but the forecast is promising and the winds favorable.  Our fur bomber hats are drying by the fire in anticipation of tomorrow and we’ll don our one-piece survival suits for the first time this season.  Here comes winter!

We’re stormbound again today in Point Baker!  This is not ideal given that we’re anxious to knock some more miles off of our trip and get across Sumner Strait to begin our journey through the Rocky Pass.  We must be patient, though, as we await a weather window.  I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the day cozily cooped up on the boat, the wind howling outside.  I roused from my woolen nest as Pete started the fire that would keep us warm the whole day.  Water was set to boil on the stovetop and our remaining Hempler smoked bacon and eggs on the breakfast menu.  In times like these, a hearty breakfast is called for.  I finished the last of my postcards to friends and family, making three trips to the toasty post office a few hundred feet down the dock.  Each trip was an excuse for some fresh air and a visit with Darlene, the very sweet postmistress, who I had met last summer.  Darlene has lived here her whole life and has one of the best, and one of the few, jobs in town,” as master of her post office domain.  We got to talking and she expressed her disapproval of the mismanaged bear hunting, the trophy hunting charter operations that bring clients to Point Baker and kill mama bears with disregard for their orphaned cubs.  Darlene says that the locals no longer see the black bears on the adjacent flats in the spring like they used to.

I have an affinity for small town post offices, which usually have strong personalities, and don’t mind lingering in them.  The Point B floating outpost lured me in with folk music, warmth and a friendly postmaster.  I was surprised to learn that it’s officially open four days a week, 8-5.  Although the mail plane is scheduled to come those four days, winter storms get in the way.  For such an isolated community, even theoretical mail delivery that often is pretty good service!  The locals are able to order their groceries from Ketchikan supermarkets for a fee.  Darlene’s  recently been bombarded with major Amazon orders, the locals taking advantage of this newfound good deal.

After days tied up to a dock, especially under these foul, stormy conditions, it’s somehow reassuring to see other signs of life—a boat’s billowing wood smoke, a house or two along the shore sending up smoke of their own and the soft light at the end of the dock emanating from the small but mighty post office.  These small Alaskan communities can feel like ghost towns during the winter, businesses closed down and people all but absent.  I chuckled when a quarter of the town’s supposed winter population (20 people) phantasmically    appeared all at once as I arrived back at the boat after a jaunt down to the post office, some of them in boats, others walking the dock.

Keeping us company this afternoon was the local radio station out of Petersburg broadcasting NPR.  We tuned in at just the right time to hear A Prairie Home Companion.  As forecasted, the winds kicked up in the early afternoon and built in intensity, some big gusts in the evening causing the boat to heel quite a bit.  Being tied up to the dock in these conditions, instead of swinging around at anchor, surely offers some peace of mind!

It’s good to be back in Point Baker, and to experience the place in the dead of winter.  It blew most of the day, with some noonday sunshine granting us the opportunity to walk the docks and check out the spacious community building stocked with firefighting equipment, photos of deceased community members (mostly fisherman), books and discarded magazines.  We kept the fire going throughout the day and calculated that one tote bag full of wood lasts eight hours.  Concerned about how our eggs had fared during yesterday’s sail and  having noticed some damp cardboard, we removed all cartons and inspected every last egg.  We put all 240 eggs in a basket and found only 1 damaged!  Replacing the cardboard and gently nestling the eggs back in their cartons, we hope they will remain unscathed for the remainder of the trip.  They are refrigerated” close to the hull with water temperatures around 40 degrees.

Since none of our food is in labeled boxes, we scrounge for whatever is most accessible, eggs and rice at the moment.  The day was spent reading, playing cribbage and relaxing.  We suspect we may be here for a few days.  If we’re going to be stuck in any town, Point B is a good place to be, tied up to the quirky floating village center that consists of community room, post office, store, defunct laundry room and cafe.  We found the Baywatch café closed, not a surprise in the least bit, but a slight disappointment.  We would have to give up on the idea of a slice of homemade pie this visit.  All the better that there are few opportunities to spend money.  The trappings of commercialism did grab hold, though.  The town store is a shack that stocks mostly canned and pre-packaged food and which opens for a couple of hours a few days a week.  Pete managed to lay down $4.15 for a box of Cheez-its, insisting that they’re a caretaking tradition.  As a visitor, it’s hard not to get a little anxious in Point B, as walking around is nearly off-limits.  The dock ramp leads to a No Trespassing” sign and any other boat accessible areas are dotted with private properties and perhaps shotgun wielding homeowners.  Our favorite thing to do here is row through the channel, but the weather did not allow this time.  So, we continued to stay snug inside next to the woodstove, curled up in our wool blankets.

The morning brought calm seas, and by afternoon the wind had kicked up and we were nose into the wind.  We knew Sumner would not be entirely kind, but she was tolerable today, sending a little salt spray our way every now and then to remind us who was boss.  Privateer performed beautifully, slicing through the waves.  We arrived at the Point Baker dock just shy of dark, glad to be safe in harbor.  To our surprise, there was someone on the dock and it happened to be one of the only people we’d met in Point Baker on our previous visit.  Jim isn’t even from Point Baker, which made the sighting even stranger.  He lives eight miles up the channel in Port Protection, but had come by boat to collect his mail from the post office.  The locals had been anxiously awaiting the mail plane, which had finally come after 17 days.  The recently announced free shipping to Alaska by Amazon.com, covering foodstuffs and dog food, among other things, has generated a lot of excitement amongst the locals.  Jim was reeling from the delivery, telling us about all the fantastic deals he’d found and showing off the loot which included flashlights and bricks of German style rye bread that he claims keep for eons.  He wished us a Happy New Year and kindly handed us a loaf, continuing to chat about this and that.  Jim didn’t remember us from the previous visit, but we sure remembered him.  Once Jim headed off into the dark channel, we tidied up the deck in the chilly nighttime air.  The moon could not be ignored, with an intense hazy, glowing ring of light around it.  Pete informed me that this was the result of refracted moonlight off ice crystals in the upper atmosphere.  Cirrus clouds, containing these ice crystals, usually indicate an approaching warm front and low pressure system.  The old sailors knew how to read the weather; lore had it that the ring was a sign of bad weather to come!

We cast the lines and set out into Zimovia Strait, excited for the arctic voyage ahead.  It had only taken four days to get the boat in order and collect the needed provisions, and we were impressed with our timely departure.  The more time we allow ourselves to get to Baranof this time of year, the better.  The sails are tucked away down below, and so we rely on the engine and Privateer’s 10,500 lbs of lead ballast to ply the waters.  Sails are meant to be hoisted on a sailboat, of course, so our current setup is less than ideal.  However, putting the sails up only to take them down, presumably wet, in a week’s time and then storing them on a damp boat for a couple of months is also less than ideal.  We won’t have shore power once we get to the Baranof dock and nothing is likely to dry below.  So, we proceed with faith in the engine’s abilities.  Pete wasted no time in celebrating our departure with a box of assorted chocolates, something that he had stealthily absorbed into his personal gift stash at Christmastime.

The weather was quite strange and variable today, calm and cloudy at the outset, followed by a gusty spell and a bit of rain and ending with an afternoon of sunshine and a massive rainbow spread out before us.  We were grateful for a such a day and clipped along to our destination, St. John Harbor.  It’s the only haven along this stretch of Sumner Strait, a large bay of little note apart from the curious ship wreck on shore.  Anchor set, we struck a match to a pile of kindling we had prepared that morning.  One of the safety measures followed during this arctic sail is to have a fire ready to light at a moment’s notice, particularly in case hypothermia strikes.  No matter the conditions, though, it is January and an insta-fire” is appreciated once we drop the hook.  During this primitive voyage, Privateer is functioning more like a barge than a sailboat, hauling things from one place to the next.  We can hardly move down below, the bed taking up half the salon and our food boxes the other.  Though we may long for fresh food this winter, we won’t starve!

Once the fire fizzled out last night, we relied on our Hudson Bay blankets and body heat to keep warm.  Fortunately, we had done our best to contain the woodstove heat by closing the main salon off from the rest of the boat, shutting the door to the v-berth and putting up our canvas shield” that faces aft.  Quarantined in this warm cubby of a space, we kept fairly warm until the morning’s chill.  The first order of the day was to locate someone from the harbor office who’d unlock the dock’s power box.  It seemed as though the locals were slow to get working after the holiday.  Once plugged in and the heater blasting, we set about completing a litany of errands.  The beauty of doing errands in Wrangell is that the town has virtually everything one might need (granted you might have to dig around a bit) and that all businesses are within walking distance of the harbor.  If a particular item is nowhere to be found, we take the approach of  Wrangellizing,” (or jerry-rigging).  A French cruising couple once informed us that Wrangell has the cheapest moorage the world over, and we suspect they especially liked the good internet connection down at the dock as well.  For a small town, the amenities surprise and delight.  Pressured to untie the dock lines as soon as possible and make progress towards our destination, the convenience and accessibility would make our job a whole lot easier.  We wove our way through nearly every establishment in town…the post office, library, hardware store, drug store, grocery store, etc., while narrowing down our to-do list.  The town seemed an especially pleasant place during the winter, operating at a slower pace and with the locals approachable and in good spirits.  During our visit to the Napa, old-timers told tales about the longstanding rivalry and hi-jinx between kids in Wrangell and Petersburg.  I spotted the Tuesdays Organics truck set up in the empty parking lot that it claims once a week.  I certainly didn’t expect the operation to be running in the dead of winter and, boy, did I feel in luck!  In this converted old milk truck space dictates that while one person shops the produce displayed in the back end of the truck, awaiting customers huddle near the driver’s seat.  It’s an intimate experience, and a whole lot more satisfying than shopping at the supermarket, even if these veggies too come up on the barge.  I zealously selected potatoes, parsnips, apples, lemons, broccoli, kale, garlic, onions and dates, filling a box so full and heavy that I barely, and quite awkwardly, made it the three blocks to the grocery store where the provisioning continued.  Four fully stocked carts later, and having become a fixture in the store, I was checking out and the employees were boxing up the goodies for boat delivery.  The day’s only disappointment was discovering that we weren’t eligible to apply for the Permanent Dividend Fund, the Alaskan citizen’s yearly gift” of money from the oil companies in exchange for resource extraction on Alaskan turf.  Unfortunately our residency became official (last May) just after the deadline.  The good news is that we’ve got everything in order for next year’s application!  Those checks will come in handy for future cruising expenses.