We left Sandborn Canal 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
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 Scandinavia and Chile
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
2 comments
So, it sounds like those 50 mile days and rough anchorages are worth it in the end? How cool to see a glacier like that!
ReplyDeleteThat's it exactly. Once you get to Stephens Passage, it starts to feel like you're really in Alaska!
Delete