S.V. CAMBRIA: August 2015

Tracy Arm

Sunday, August 23, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Endicott Arm Inside Passage

The Longest Day

Thursday, August 20, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Endicott Arm Inside Passage

Fords Terror: What's In a Name?

Saturday, August 15, 2015TheCambrians

MV Island Spirit entering Fords Terror

Fords Terror is a geological wonderland . . . and one of the most beautiful places we’ve ever seen, though you wouldn’t know it by its name. The story behind the unflattering moniker is well-known by those cruising these waters, but bears repeating: In 1889, a crewmember on the US Coast and Geodetic Survey vessel the Patterson entered the fjord in a rowboat at slack water. We’d always assumed he went in to conduct a survey but, according to a sidebar in the Evergreen chart atlas, that isn’t true. He was duck hunting and got trapped by the rapids, which were grinding up icebergs on the rocks, and had to wait six terrifying hours until the next slack tide. His name was Harry Ford.

One hundred and twenty-six years later, the entrance to Fords Terror remains uncharted.

There’s a lot of good first-hand information on how to safely enter (the Douglass book included), so we left Dawes Glacier around two o’clock and made our way back up Endicott Arm to the outer entrance of Fords Terror. We weren’t the only ones. The National Geographic ship, Seabird, was already anchored and shuttling passengers into the fjord for quick tours. There was also a smaller ship, Island Spirit, and a large motor yacht, Sumdum, that were going in for the night. We took our place in the queue and waited. High tide for Juneau was predicted to be 16:16 and slack water can occur anywhere from 30 to 60 minutes later, depending on the height of the tide. For us, it was 40 minutes. We upped anchor at 16:50 and cleared the entrance at 16:55 in perfectly still waters.

The entrance is like crossing a portal into another world.

We slowly made our way up the narrow inlet, often times while standing on the deck, as layer after layer of dark vertical cliffs towered above our heads. The artistry of the glaciers that sculpted this extraordinary fjord left us speechless and in a complete state of awe – each twist and turn revealed a sight more beautiful than the last. And just when we thought it couldn’t possibly get any better, the western arm opened up in front of us and proved us wrong. The view was simply beyond words and, quite honestly, overwhelming. The fact that it was going to be our home for the next two nights made it even more so.

David and I spent most of our time in the kayaks trying to take it all in but finding it to be an impossible task: It was just too much – too beautiful, too immense, too emotional. Oftentimes, we’d find ourselves simply staring up at the powerful scenery, afraid that if we dared move, it might turn out to be a dream and disappear before our eyes.

Note: This blog was written on Saturday, June 20, 2015.

Alaska Inside Passage

Endicott Arm: Bergie Bits and Glaciers

Wednesday, August 12, 2015TheCambrians

We left Sandborn Canal at 8 o’clock Tuesday morning and weaved our way through the crab pots that filled the inlet. Our experience left me wondering if we shouldn’t just cut our losses, pack it in and move south – not solely because of this one incident, but the culmination of several disappointing anchorages and too many 50-mile days to reach them: My hope was that Tracy and Endicott Arms would change my mind.

It was another long day and the wind was blowing 25 knots as we approached the mouth of Endicott Arm. The fjord was lined with snow-capped mountains that seemed to be inviting us in for a closer look, but they’d have to wait. It’d been another long day and we were ready to anchor for the night – the closest and best option for that was Tracy Arm Cove at the mouth of (you guessed it) Tracy Arm.

It turned out to be another disappointing anchorage, open to much of the wind and chop, but at least there was a good view . . . and a few brown bears to help keep us entertained – a mother and her two cubs came out to feed at low tide and there was a solitary male on an opposite beach.

We had a big day planned for Wednesday, so I set the alarm for 6 am but knew it would be in vain: The barometer had been falling steadily and rain was forecasted to move into the area, which it did. There was no point in travelling up Tracy Arm if we couldn’t see. So, we waited it out that day . . . and then the next. Even the cruise ships were turning back, one of which was completely swallowed up by the dense fog.

But the barometer made a nice, slow rise overnight and was sitting at 1015 Mb Friday morning – a sign that the next batch of good weather might last longer than a day or two. In the meantime, our plans had changed: We would make a run up Endicott Arm first (where we didn’t need clear skies), spend a night or two in Fords Terror, and then do Tracy Arm.

We upped anchor and made our way out the channel through swirling currents and into Endicott Arm. Every now and then the clouds would break free of their hold and show us a glimpse of what they were hiding: rugged mountain tops, hanging glaciers, lush glacial valleys fed by waterfalls. But it was the ice in the water that held our attention. The larger icebergs, many of which resembled floating sculptures, reflected the most amazing shade of blue.

We reached Dawes Glacier, at the head of Endicott Arm, around one o’clock and floated around while we had lunch. It was our first tidewater glacier and we were completely overwhelmed by the experience and the raw beauty of it all.

A glacier is a river of ice that flows from a mountain ice field down to sea level, a process called “advancing”. If the glacier advances far enough, it will eventually reach the sea and become what’s called a tidewater glacier. Alaska is one of only three areas in the world where tidewater glaciers still exist (Scandinavia and

Chile

are the other two), and they’re melting faster here than anywhere else. So, despite the fact that thousands of people come every summer to view them, seeing one is rare and privileged event . . . and we felt it.

We were tempted to move in for a closer look but decided there wasn’t much to be gained, not for the distance we were willing to concede (which was only ½ mile). There were too many small pieces of ice in the water, and they were proving very difficult to see. We weren’t surprised or disappointed. From what we’d read, Dawes Glacier calves a lot of ice and is usually difficult to approach within a couple of miles. So, after an hour, we reluctantly turned our backs and started to slowly motor down-inlet.

It’d been an exceptional day, but it wasn’t over yet. Not even close. From Dawes Glacier we slowly made our way back to the entrance of Fords Terror, a small, side inlet off Endicott Arm that many have called the most beautiful place they’ve ever seen . . . we were finally going to find out whether or not we agreed.

Note: This blog entry was written on Friday, 19 June 2015

Alaska Inside Passage

Moose, Crab Pots and Bear. Oh My!

Saturday, August 08, 2015TheCambrians

Coming out of Thomas Bay Friday morning, the wind was already blowing 15 knots out of the west (right on our nose) and we seriously considered tucking into an anchorage along the way before the seas built up. But the conditions subsided with northing, so we carried on. The 50-mile day was long . . . and boring. The clouds kept the best of the scenery hidden and the whales had no interest in keeping us entertained. Things started to improve, however, as we approached the south side of Admiralty Island and Pybus Bay came into view.

Cannery Cove is a beautiful anchorage – green and lush with steep, mountains that surround a river valley. If it weren’t for the snow-capped peaks, you could easily mistake the large bay for one in the South Pacific – the Marquises or Tahiti. But like so many places in Alaska, it keeps you at an arm’s length: Even by kayak, it wasn’t possible to get too close or personal with this stunning place.

We left Sunday morning to make our way across Stephens Passage and over to Sandborn Canal in Port Houghton. At this point, we could have gone straight up to Tracy Arm Cove for about the same amount of miles, but the anchorage comes highly recommended by the Douglass cruising guide. He writes that it’s “worth visiting even if it is out of the way for most cruising boats. We have seen more wildlife here, including bear and moose, than almost any place in Southeast Alaska. It should be protected as natural habitat and a well-sheltered anchorage.” Bear and moose? Count me in!

It was another long day but the sky was clear and we could see the rugged mountains that line Frederick Sound and Stephens Passage – they seem to go on forever, one after the other, leading way north. A pod of dolphins helped break the monotony of the trip when they came over to play in our bow, and we could see humpback whales lunge feeding a mile or two in the distance. It was a beautiful day and our excitement started to grow as we approached Port Houghton and got a taste of what was to come.

We anchored at the head of the canal off the creek where we thought we’d have a better chance of seeing wildlife but, in all fairness, the scenery would have been much better at the mouth of the inlet. That didn’t matter much to us, though: Our plan was to kayak up the creek at high tide the following afternoon, so we needed to be close.

Monday got off to a bad start and never really improved. It all began when a couple of crab boats came into the anchorage to lay pots along the shore and at the head of the bay. By the time the second boat came down to add more, there were over a dozen pots just a few feet from Cambria on both sides and at the bow (which was pointed towards the head of the bay).

David was still asleep so I went outside and called over to the crab boat, reminding them that we were anchored there and they might be pinning us in. I was told to “deal with it” and we’d be fine. Of course we’d be fine. Fine had nothing to do with it, but common courtesy did: If the wind turned to an inflow breeze (which it did), we’d be sitting on their pots (which we were) and would have to move (which we did). I wish I’d explained our position more clearly but, frankly, I was flabbergasted by his remark – “deal with it”? Only a person who’d never had a crab pot wrapped around their prop would say that . . . or a complete asshole. I’m guessing he was both.

Now, David’s a man who doesn’t take kindly to people being rude to his loved ones, particularly his wife and especially when he’s not around. So I knew he was going to be upset when he got up and I told him what had happened. Predictably, he was . . . until he saw the dozens of pots around us and then he was down-right pissed off. Here’s what he had to say about it in the Cambria’s log (which I should add showed considerable restraint compared to his actual mood):

At anchor in Sandborn Canal, Stephens Passage. Unbelievably, at approx. 8:00 AM today, a crab boat set several pots literally within feet of the boat despite our questioning and challenge. And the response? “Deal with it” – a direct and unforgettable quote. And the fact is that I would have been happy to deal with it – by cutting each and every one of the pot lines. Yes, that would deal with it. Quite nicely. And should I have taken such action perhaps there would have been a lesson or two learned by the fisherman; one being to be more sensible and respectful in setting the gear – that is if it is ever hoped to be recovered; and two, being able to recognise and understand the kind of character to whom the suggestion of “deal with it” is put forward. What ignorance! On reflection it’s quite fortunate for this character – his lucky day in fact – that I felt too tired, or lazy, or even unbefittingly considerate, to launch a kayak or dinghy to “deal with it.” On any other day . . .

In the end, when Cambria swung around and we ended up smack dab in the middle of all their pots, we pulled several metres of chain in (without the motor running) to get clear and then moved, but I think we were both a little disappointed that it wasn’t necessary to cut the lot of them free.

With the morning’s excitement over, it was approaching high tide but the deer flies were out in full-force and neither one of us felt much like battling them all afternoon so we decided to cut our losses and move on. We hemmed and hawed over where we should go and by the time we came to a decision, it was too late – the wind was already blowing out in the channel and we’d be bashing against it, so we just sat around all day stewing over crab pots and looking for wildlife that never showed up.

Note: This blog was written Monday, June 15, 2015.