S.V. CAMBRIA

Glacier Bay: Bartlett Cove

Sunday, September 27, 2015TheCambrians

Sailing to Glacier Bay National Park on your own boat can be a bit of an officious experience: Permits are required to enter the park from the first of June through the 31^st of August, and you can’t apply for one more than 60 days before the date you arrive. There are only ten permits issued by reservation available, and they go quickly. Reservations have to be confirmed by phone 48 hours before the scheduled entry date or they’ll be cancelled. Before crossing the border into the main park area, you have to call the ranger station by VHF to check in and receive instructions. And you’re required to attend a mandatory orientation that doesn’t exactly inspire or inform. In other words, you end up doing something most of us try our best to avoid – sailing to a schedule.

But it’s worth it.

We approached the park boundary close to 2 o’clock Sunday afternoon and David radioed in to receive permission to continue. The ranger on the other end instructed us how to proceed within whale zones and advised us that we were required to keep our speed under 20 knots – no problem there. With permission granted, we made our way up to Bartlett Cove, the only developed area within the park boundaries and the park headquarters.

Our orientation wasn’t scheduled until 5 o’clock, so we tied up to the dock and walked up to Glacier Bay Lodge and Visitor Center in hopes of finding a television to watch the Women’s US Soccer Team play

Japan

in the World Cup Finals. There was none to be found, so we browsed the displays in the Visitor Center about the history of Glacier Bay (it was only 235 years ago that the spot we were standing on was under ice) and walked along the trails to see ‘Snow’, a humpback whale that was killed by a cruise ship in 2001, and Tlingit Indian tree carvings.

The orientation lasted no more than a half an hour, but it was scheduled late enough in the day that we’d missed slack water at Sitakaday Narrows and had no chance of bucking against the 6-knot current that was already flowing. So, we called it a day and went out to anchor, spending our first night in Glacier Bay in Bartlett Cove.

Glacier Bay Timeline:*

Circa 1600: Glacier Bay was a valley with active salmon streams and had been the ancestral home of the Tlingit Indians for thousands of years. At the end of the Little Ice Age, the glaciers began to advance and drove the Tlingit 30 miles south to Huna.

1750: Glaciers begin to retreat.

1778: Captain James Cook arrived on the H.M.S. Resolution and named Mount Fairweather. George Vancouver and William Bligh were part of the Resolution’s crew.

1794: Captain George Vancouver returns aboard the H.M.S. Discovery and describes Glacier Bay as a “compact sheet of ice as far as the eye could distinguish.”

1879: John Muir enters Glacier Bay in a dugout canoe guided by Tlingit Indians from Wrangell. The ice has retreated 40 miles since 1794.

1925: President Calvin Coolidge establishes Glacier Bay National Monument.

1939: President Franklin Roosevelt doubles the size of Glacier Bay National Monument.

1953: The first modern cruise ship arrives.

1966: Glacier Bay Lodge opens.

1980: Glacier Bay is given national park status and preserve lands are added.

Present day: Approximately 500,000 people visit Glacier Bay National Park each year, most of them by cruise ship, which are limited to two ships per day.

Note: This blog was written on Monday, 06 July 2015.

* Information from The Fairweather Visitor Guide published by the Alaska Geographic Association.

Alaska Inside Passage Juneau

Mendenhall Glacier: What were we thinking?

Wednesday, September 23, 2015TheCambrians

Cambria was too quiet after our friends, Paul and Julia, left and we needed to do something drastic to change things up: So, we decided to become tourists and take the city bus to Mendenhall Glacier.

When we got there, the scene was pretty much what we’d expected: Hundreds of people aimlessly milling about with cameras in their hands, cruise ship ID tags around their necks and fanny packs around their waists. In other words, a pretty depressing sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And (apparently) we were desperate, so we joined the frenzy and tried our best not to look smug and blend in. I don’t think we did a very good job.

We walked to a photo outlook and Nugget Falls, working our way around the masses of people taking selfies or pictures of their loved ones in front of the glacier. It felt contrived and a little cheesy – a bit like Disneyland (complete with a park map pointing out the attractions). For a couple who’s used to arriving places on their own keel, it was too much: We needed to rejoin the non-vacationing world . . . and fast!!!

So, we went to Costco.

David likes to joke that shopping’s a sport in my family. But because we live on a boat and I don’t have the room to hoard piles of useless junk, I limit my addiction to provisioning. And, for me, there’s no better place to get a fix than Costco. Surely that would help improve our moods . . . or at least mine. Besides, we were out of beer.

As it turned out, filling a cart with hundreds of dollars of comfort food did make us happy (until we had to pay for it). But there was no way we could lug everything we’d bought on the bus (let alone back to the bus stop), so we called a cab and “Doug” came to pick us up.

Twenty dollars later and we were back in Auke Bay carting everything down to the boat when we noticed a couple walking towards us on the dock. The man looked familiar, but we couldn’t place him right away. It turned out to be Tom, a single-hander we’d met back in May. The first time we saw him was in Bishop Bay then Lowe Inlet, Prince Rupert, Ketchikan and, now, Juneau. The funny thing is, since Ketchikan, we’ve been moving in completely different directions.

We still had three days to kill before we’re allowed into Glacier Bay and lots to do before we could leave Juneau: The engine oil needed to be changed. I needed to buy fresh provisions. The laundry needed to be done. The diesel tanks needed to be topped up. David needed to go up the mast. But most importantly, we needed to visit the Alaskan Brewing Company.

With a forecast of 25 to 35 knot winds out of the southeast for Thursday, we weren’t going anywhere. And neither were Tom and Gale on Impossible Dream*. So we took care of boat jobs on Wednesday and made plans with them to take the bus to the brewery the following afternoon.

It was the best $5 we’ve ever spent.

First off, it’s not a tour. It’s a tasting (with information about the history of the company thrown in for good measure). For the price of admission, you get six 4 ounce tasters and a souvenir glass (we may have had more like 8 or 9 and possibly ended up with extra glasses in all the beer-drinking chaos). But, if you’re feeling really cheap, you can skip the souvenir glass and belly up to the bar for three free tries at what’s on tap. Secondly, it’s a major social event and more like being at a party where you don’t know anyone but are having fun getting to know each other than a boring brewery tour: I really don’t think we could have found a better way to pass the time on a cold, rainy, windy afternoon (for the record, I thought "Gold Creek" was really nice but we both agree, "Alaskan Amber" is beer of choice).

The weather was much better on Friday and we should have been on our way, but it was still too windy to go up the mast. A couple of days before, an eagle had landed on our wind vane and left it dangling like a broken limb. Before we could go, David needed to assess the damage to the anemometer and either fix it or replace it (we have a spare aboard). So, I called Glacier Bay and told them we wouldn’t be in until the 5^th – losing one of our precious days inside the park – and used the time to finish up some boat jobs.

By Saturday morning, the sun was up and the wind was down, so I hoisted David to the top of the mast for a look. Fortunately, the eagle had only bent the wind vane and he was able to bend it back into shape, fixing it on the spot – I think it’s fair to say we lucked out there.

With the last of the chores completed and David safely back on solid ground, it was time to get moving again – Glacier Bay, after all, was waiting!

*Tom’s boat, Impossible Dream, has an interesting pedigree. It was originally owned and named by Roy Disney when they were developing the first feature-length animated film (Fantasia). People told him and his brother, Walt, that it would be “impossible”.

Note: This blog entry was written on Friday, 04 July 2015.

Alaska Inside Passage Juneau

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.