S.V. CAMBRIA

Juneau where we are? No, but I'll Alaska

Wednesday, September 16, 2015TheCambrians

In 2007, David and I spent the summer in England visiting his brother and family. By that time, Derek and June had lived in the same home for several decades and were part of a group of friends that had been around equally as long. We were impressed. Neither one of us had planted solid roots in our lives and didn’t have many long-term relationships, outside of family, as a result. So when David remarked to Derek about how special we thought that was, he replied, “Yes. But you have friends all over the world.” It’s true. Over the years, we’ve become friends with people who are scattered across the globe. Some we’re still able to see. Others are now pen pals. And others still have completely slipped by the wayside. Our friends, Paul and Julia, fall into a category all their own.

We met while cruising in

Tonga

twelve years ago and they’ve been stuck with us ever since . . . whether they like it or not. But our lifestyles usually have us on opposite ends of the world:

New Zealand

. Alaska. The South Pacific. The Pacific Northwest. Occasionally, our paths cross. A few times in Opua and Auckland. Once in Newport Beach. Another time in Las Vegas. And now in Juneau.

But we had to get there first.

Worn out from our long day in Tracy Arm, we slept in Monday morning and then made our way up Stephens Passage to Taku Harbor, the former site of a commercial cannery. From all accounts, it’s an interesting place to take a walk and explore. But we couldn’t even muster the energy to get off the boat, telling ourselves that if you’ve seen the remains of one cannery you’ve seen them all.

Feeling better rested on Tuesday, we continued up Stephens Passage to Auke Bay in Juneau. Along the way, we could see a humpback whale breaching a few miles off in the distance. David asked if I wanted to move in for a closer look. It was tempting, but the whale was already being followed by ten or more tour boats and we didn’t feel right about joining the frenzy. We’d soon regret that. Through the binoculars we could see that there was more than one whale and they were working together – slapping, jumping and lunging – to feed. No doubt about it, the tourists were treated to an amazing show that day and we lost out.

Auke Bay is busy. Very busy.

To add to the chaos, it’s a “first come, first served” marina which (to them) means if you see an open spot, take it. Commercial fishing season had started a few days beforehand and the floats were full of boats waiting for the next opening, so we weren’t able to find a berth when we got there. Paul and Julia’s flight wasn’t due to arrive for another two days, so we found a nice little spot to anchor in a couple of miles away where we vegged out and waited. Our time was meant to be spent more productively on things like oil changes, laundry and provisioning but, once again, we found ourselves unable to muster the energy to get off the boat. This time, though, it was because David had a cracking headache.

Thursday morning, we upped anchor just before 9:30 and made our way back to the marina hoping to find an opening so we could pick them up. As we did, Paul and Julia’s plane flew directly above us. We lurked around the floats a bit and managed to grab a spot after a boat left. By the time we’d secured our lines, gathered all our trash and started walking up the dock, there they were – a sight for sore eyes!!!

We had to wait out some weather, so we decided to stay in the marina a couple of nights. I wanted to rent a car so we could access upper Mendenhall Glacier and some of the trails but wasn’t able to plan ahead so we all piled on the city bus and went back to the airport. There was only one car available, an SUV at $125 a day, so we decided to pass and took the bus downtown. When we arrived, it was bustling with activity and didn’t take us long to discern that the downtown area was made up of the usual suspects – jewelry stores, souvenir shops, galleries – all tailor-made for the cruise ship crowd, despite the fact that Juneau, as Alaska’s state capital, is a thriving year-round city.

More interested in the locally brewed beer than window shopping, we walked to the Red Dog Saloon, a western-style sawdust-on-the-floor tavern that’s popular with locals and tourists for some Alaskan Ambers. When we arrived, the place was packed. But by four or five o’clock, it had emptied out – apparently it was buffet time on the cruise ships. After a few drinks, we went back outside in search of some dinner ourselves. The streets, like the Red Dog, were nearly deserted.

We’d all had enough of downtown and tourist attractions; so we kept things low-key on Friday and decided to take a walk through Tongass National Forest while we continued to catch up with each other in person . . . a really nice change from our regular e-mail exchange.

By Saturday, the weather had moved out and we were ready to do the same.

Finding a nice anchorage close to Juneau is easier said than done. But when we were anchored off Auke Bay, a local lady out of Haines stopped by Cambria for a chat and recommended St. James Bay in Lynn Canal, adding that you could spend a summer exploring the area. So, off we went.

St. James Bay is a nice, quiet anchorage with a beautiful mountain view and she treated us well during our short stay: A commercial crabber stopped by and offered us four large Dungeness (which we graciously accepted), Paul and Julia were able to get out in the kayaks where they saw a brown bear and the long, warm nights gave us all the chance to hang out in the cockpit and enjoy each others company. All and all, a brilliant two days!!!

But all good things must come to an end.

Monday morning we upped anchor and made our way back to Auke Bay in the rain. When the time came, the four of us walked up to the bus stop and took the express to the airport. We said good-bye the best way we know how – at the bar over a couple of beers. But before our glasses were empty, their flight was called.

And just like that, our weekend was over.

Note: This blog was written on June 29, 2015. Title “joke” courtesy of David and his horrible sense of humour.

Alaska Inside Passage Tracy Arm

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.

Alaska Inside Passage

Thomas Bay and Baird Glacier

Wednesday, August 05, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Inside Passage

Velkommen til Petersburg

Sunday, July 05, 2015TheCambrians

An orca fishing along the shore in Clarence Strait.

From Ketchikan to Petersburg, there really isn’t anything but miles along the way – not any destination anchorages at least. So we shouldn’t have been surprised when Exchange Cove, at the northern end of Clarence Strait, turned out to be a disappointment, both in terms of protection (which was fine but the anchorage itself felt exposed because of its large size) and scenery. Of course, the weather didn’t help its cause.

If there’s one thing we’ve learned about SE Alaska in our short time here, it’s that it knows how to rain and can pour down in sheets. That was the case on Sunday, so we stayed in Exchange Cove and used the extra time to work on our passage through Wrangell Narrows again – what the Douglass cruising guide (“Exploring Southeast Alaska”) describes as a “piloting challenge” thanks to 58 channel markers, three sets of range finders, two areas of turbulent water and a change in tidal flow.

Come Monday morning, the rain and fog had cleared so we upped-anchor and made our way across Sumner Strait to enter Wrangell Narrows. The 21-mile channel is shallow and narrow, but it’s well-marked and less of an issue than we expected after what we’d read in Douglass.

According to the guide, you should be able to transit the entire canal with favourable currents if you enter on the last half of the flood. But we were experiencing spring tides and weren’t able to find a way to avoid slogging against a 4-knot current without stopping and waiting a couple of hours at Green Point (where the current changes direction) before finishing the last seven miles. When we got there, though, we were happy with the anchorage and decided to stay overnight so we’d have a full day to explore Petersburg – a.ka. “Little

Norway

”.

In the late 1890s, a Norwegian immigrant called Peter Buschmann (along with his wife and eight children) chose a site on Wrangell Narrows to homestead because of its potential for a year-round fish processing company. Other Norwegians followed Buschmann to the area and by 1900, they’d built a sawmill, a wharf, a store, warehouses, bunkhouses and the Icy Straits Packing Company. In 1910, a city was formed and by 1920, 600 people resided in Petersburg year-round . . . today there are 3,500.

Petersburg’s economy continues to depend on fishing and its seafood processing plants but tourism also plays a role. The natural harbour is too small to accommodate cruise ships, but visitors arrive frequently during the summer months by private vessel, the state ferry and air to fish, whale watch or visit nearby Le Conte Glacier (the southernmost tidewater glacier . . . and the most active).

But we were stopping for less ambitious reasons.

We left Green Point by eight the following morning and were berthed in North Harbor within the hour. I picked up some information from the office and we set out on a historical walking tour of the city we’ve heard so much about. It turned out that there wasn’t much to see, not downtown anyway. But Petersburg has a really nice feel about it – everyone seems to know each other and is very friendly. It’s also very picturesque, particularly the stilthouses that line Hammer’s Slough.

Every now and then, we find ourselves in need of civilization – internet and phone access in particular – and this was one of those times. As it turns out, we’ve been a bit spoiled by the coastal communities in British Columbia where wi-fi is the norm. Here in Alaska, the marinas don’t provide the service and we have to use the internet at local hot spots or the library. So I left David, who isn’t much of a walker, to the computer and set out to explore the east side of Mitkof Island on foot. To do it over again, I would have rented bicycles from the office and dragged David along because the view out to Fredrick Sound was worth seeing – row after row of snow-capped mountains and high, rugged peaks providing the backdrop for a solitary humpback whale as it leisurely swam up-channel.

In fact, it would have been worth staying an extra day to do just that but an impending change in the weather brought the return of overcast skies, making it a moot point. So we dropped our lines Wednesday morning and rode the tide out into Frederick Sound – a short, but sweet stay in one of Southeast Alaska’s most favoured coastal towns.

Farvel til Petersburg!

Note: This blog was written Wednesday, 10 June 2015.

Alaska

The Difference a Day Makes

Wednesday, July 01, 2015TheCambrians

Ketchikan was a mad rush of chores – fuel, laundry, groceries, checking the internet for a complete weather picture – and we had one goal in mind: to get out of there as fast as possible.

The forecast for Wednesday called for variable winds, 10 knots or less, becoming southeastly 20 knots late in the day with four-foot seas, increasing to 30 knots and six feet on Thursday before subsiding to 20 knots on Friday. Our plan was to take advantage of the southerlies and sail up Clarence Strait on Wednesday, ride out the worst of the weather at anchor on Thursday and move again on Friday. It wasn’t a great forecast but didn’t raise any alarms either since the wind would be from behind, the same direction as the flood current.

The only problem was that it wasn’t Wednesday. It was Thursday.

Somehow, we’d lost a day. We have a page-a-day calendar (the ones that you tear a page off every day) to help keep track, but I must have forgotten to tear it off Tuesday morning so we were behind without realizing it. It should have been an easy enough mistake to discover. All we had to do was turn on the VHF radio and listen to the recorded forecast before we left. At the very least, we would have thought they bumped it up a day. But we didn’t. We were distracted and complacent and, worst of all, in a hurry. No excuses. We messed up.

We were taken to school and are lucky that only our egos got bruised in the process. David always says, “You can’t make good decisions based on bad information.” It’s been his mantra for decades – both personally and professionally. But we did. And we paid the price for it.

At first we hadn’t a clue because the conditions were good in Tongass Narrows. The sea state started to pick up once we were in Clarence Strait, but we’d expected that because it’s open to the Pacific Ocean at the mouth. We thought it would settle down once we were well inside the channel. But it didn’t. It got worse, and before long we were seeing 2 metre seas (6+ feet), effectively 2 to 3 seconds apart, with a steady 20 to 25 knots and gusts in the 30s.

Here’s how David described the day in Cambria’s log:

Clarence Strait took me to school today, showing exactly how the sea state in these straits and channels can get ugly, very quickly. Running with the flood current and with winds well aft of beam typically in the 25 – 35 kt range but later in the run exceeding 45 – 50 kts during extended rain squalls, the strait was running short steep seas of 1 – 2 + metres, breaking occasionally and with very little time in between to settle the boat, which was itself very lively and with a very definite mind of its own when working with the quartering sea state. During the run we were consistently making 8 – 9 kts over ground, and over 10 + kts for lengthy periods.

Attempted to turn towards Thorne Bay as a revised destination during the heaviest period. Aborted the attempt within minutes when facing confused and breaking seas while making no more than 1 – 2 kts under full power and with little or no rudder/steering response due to the heavy and confused currents close to the coastline. Effectively, the boat was “in irons” while under power – a situation I’ve never previously encountered and one which caused me to question, momentarily, whether we had lost the rudder or steering.

All-in-all quite a tiring run. And closing the coast to Ratz Harbour was a bit interesting to say the least . . . poor visibility during the last 20 mins and 45 + kts dead on the beam on the turn leg to make harbour. Anchor down in Ratz Harbour at 14:15 hrs. Whew! What a day. One I hope never to be repeated. Not exactly life-threatening. At least for us. Not today. However, having said that I can easily see how a vessel could get into real difficulties in similar conditions.

It is now quite clear after reconsideration of all the facts and circumstances surrounding today’s go/no-go decision, which erroneously was based on the forecast for the prior day!! An absurd and potentially dangerous error driven by the single fact that I/we had somehow managed to “lose a day”. The conditions we encountered were almost exactly as forecast, save and except perhaps for the squall gusts exceeding 45 + kts. An unacceptable blunder; one which has never occurred before, and one which must never happen again.

Note: This blog entry was written on Friday, June 05.

Juneau where we are? No, but I'll Alaska

Tracy Arm

The Longest Day

Fords Terror: What's In a Name?

Endicott Arm: Bergie Bits and Glaciers

Moose, Crab Pots and Bear. Oh My!

Thomas Bay and Baird Glacier

Velkommen til Petersburg

The Difference a Day Makes

Welcome Aboard

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