S.V. CAMBRIA

Alphabet Photography Project | J is for Jib

Wednesday, November 25, 2015TheCambrians

Welcome to another installment of the ‘Alphabet Photography Project’ a blog-hop sponsored by PODcast where each week I’ll post a picture that represents a letter of the alphabet and write a short blog about it. This week’s letter is ‘j’ and there were a lot nautical words to choose from.

Coming in at the top of my list was “jetsam” because I have a great picture of David fully clothed and dripping wet right after I helped pull him out of the water. While it’s true I didn’t toss him overboard myself, therefore disqualifying him from officially being jetsam, it’s a fond memory and one I’m happy to share (at his expense).

The story’s actually pretty sweet. We were anchored in Roscoe Bay four years ago (honestly, where does the time go?) and were going to paddle around in our kayaks. David was already in his when he leaned over to help keep mine clear of the dinghy and ended up falling into the water (at a stretch, it could work – he was “thrown” in because of me, but the truth is he’s just a klutz). While it was no Sir Galahad moment, I thought it was pretty nice of him. And then, of course, I made him stand there cold and wet while I laughed and took his picture . . . at least I waited until I pulled him out.

Jessie from The Red Thread (a great blog about a young Seattle couple sailing down to Australia) came up with a few good suggestions (juggle, jagged, Jervis Inlet, jacklines, jam, jib, jut, jetty). In the end, I chose “jib”.

From the Merriam-Webster Dictionary: (in sailing):

a triangular sail set on a stay extending usually from the head of the foremast to the bowsprit or the jibboom; also : the small triangular headsail on a sloop.

I don’t really have a story to go along with this picture other than to say it was one of those rare summer days when there was enough wind to take us up Pryce Channel on our way to Walsh Cove Marine Park. It wasn’t a fast ride but, as anyone who sails the Inside Passage will tell you, any day you can fly your jib is a good one.

Alphabet Photography Project Glacier Bay

There's More to Us Than Meets the 'I'

Thursday, November 19, 2015TheCambrians

David told me once, “You need to find a hobby.” I don’t remember the context of the conversation, but I imagine I was appropriately offended at the time. Still, I took his advice to heart and over the years discovered several things I enjoy doing: knitting, kayaking, hiking, writing and, most recently, sketching.

My interests wax and wane. I love knitting but there are only so many hats, sweaters and scarves one person can own. Kayaking and hiking are my favourite things in the world to do, but the weather doesn’t always cooperate. Writing is a great release but can be a real chore sometimes. And sketching . . . well, I’m still working on that one.

There’s one interest, though, that has stayed with me for more than thirty years – photography. It’s not something I’m serious about in a “technical” way. I don’t know the inner workings of a camera and have no idea what some of the functions on my digital SLR do (launch nuclear missiles?). But I know what I like and when I see it, I take a picture. Whether it’s the iPhone, a point-and-shoot or my digital SLR, I keep a camera with me most of the time. Why? Because I believe David and I live an interesting life and I have a strong need to document that.

So? What’s that got to do with Cambria and this blog post? Not much but it does have something to do with me.

S.V.Cambria started out as a journal of sorts to let our friends and family know what we’re up to and its main focus has always been the boat and our cruising season, but there’s more to us than sailing or the sailboat we’ve called home for the last 12 years. Besides, writing only about boaty things can get a little . . . well, boring. And, since it’s my blog, I see no reason why I can’t expand the platform a little.

I was reading The Cynical Sailor the other day (great blog, by the way, I highly recommend it!) and she mentioned that “blog hops” are a good way to be more active in the blogging world and “meet” other people with similar interests. I decided to take a look around for myself and came across this one: Alphabet Photography Project. Every Wednesday (yes, I know I’m a day late) you find a photograph that represents the letter and write a short blog about it. It already started, so I’m jumping in mid-alphabet but I’m looking forward to not only sharing photos from our time on (and off) the water but seeing how other people view the world as well (if I do this correctly, you’ll find links to their blogs at the end of this post).

I hope you enjoy this little foray into the non-boating world but, have no fear, I think it would be fun to post pictures that have something to do with the cruising lifestyle and sailboats whenever I can. Next week is the letter ‘j’ so I’m already searching for jibs, jetties, jetsam, etc. If you have any suggestions for the remaining alphabet, I’d love to hear them!

Now, without further ado, I give you our first Alphabet Project post:

I is for ice

If you’ve been following our blog, then you know we spent most of the cruising season in Southeast Alaska this year. One of the major highlights of the trip was viewing the tidewater glaciers in Endicott Arm, Tracy Arm and Glacier Bay which is why ‘I’ is for ice.

Here’s a shot of Cambria approaching the most impressive of the glaciers we viewed – Marjorie Glacier in Glacier Bay.

Alaska Cabin Fever Inside Passage

Come Hell or High Water (I’m getting off the boat)

Wednesday, November 18, 2015TheCambrians

It took a couple of days for the conditions in Chatham Strait to improve, but our patience paid off and we got the break in the forecast we were looking for on Sunday. We upped anchor early, before 5 am, and made our way back out into the strait. The days are growing shorter now and we no longer have 24 hours of light but it’s still bright enough from 3 or 4 o’clock onward to see any debris in the water, even on overcast days like this one was.

With help from the current (which was supposed to be against us), we ticked 40 off miles fairly quickly and were approaching Ell Cove just as the wind started to build and the rain began to fall. It was disappointing. I’d been looking forward to getting off the boat and into the kayaks for days now. But under the current conditions, it would have to wait . . . something that’s been happening a lot lately.

As far as anchorages go, Ell Cove is pretty nice. Our favourite kind, in fact. Literally shaped like an ‘L’ it feels like it’s landlocked and whenever I look around, I struggle to find the entrance. Inside, the protection from Chatham Strait is excellent, though it would be a different story when the williwaws roar down the mountains. But for now, it’s cozy and still. It’s also popular.

With the rain keeping us inside, David and I talked about our plans for moving south. The weather is real a concern. We’ve now had 11 straight days of rain and have been hit with low after low all season long. It’s hard not to feel like we have a dark cloud following us around, especially when we heard on the radio that it was 72°F in Ketchikan. Meanwhile the barometer, which has been steady for days, is falling again so whatever fine weather we see, won’t last long.

Monday started off just like Sunday had ended – foggy, wet and cold – not what you would call prime summer conditions. My patience was wearing thin and I had to get off the boat before I killed someone (that would be David but for no reason other than he’s the only one with me). On the surface, it doesn’t sound like a difficult task, right? You want off the boat, then get off the boat – rain or shine. But there’s more to it than that. Going to shore isn’t always the best option in Alaska, not with brown bears in the area. We didn’t see any in Ell Cove, but that doesn’t mean there wasn’t one eating berries somewhere close by . . . or taking a nap (there wasn’t). More importantly though, there isn’t much shore to go to. Not here anyway.

Kayaks are our preferred method of exploration these days, but they’re inflatable and not made to handle much more than 15 knots of breeze and a ripple on the water. Regardless of what was happening in Chatham Strait, it was calm inside Ell Cove; so even if I only got to circumnavigate the half-dozen boats inside the anchorage, I was going.

Mother Nature was kind enough to offer a break in the weather in the afternoon and at one o’clock I declared my intentions to David and the world – I was getting off the boat! Hallelujah! Amen! There is a god! And all that jazz. And then it started to rain. Seriously?

It didn’t matter. Cabin fever had won out and I needed to get off. Besides, I had my foulies on and by the time I finished launching my kayak, the rain had stopped and we only had a shower or two the rest of the day.

I left David on Cambria to sort himself and his kayak out and made my way into Chatham Strait. It was flat calm so I paddled over to Kasnyku Falls, lingering off the 300-foot cascade in hopes he would show. I finally gave up and started towards Hidden Falls when saw him. He’d been chatting with a local boat (out of Petersburg, I think) who told him the weather had been rotten, or more rotten than usual, this summer – as if there were any doubt.

I carried on without him but never made it to Hidden Falls* – I’m too easily distracted for that. But I did see humpback whales breaching in the distance . . . or at least I heard the “lightening cracks” and saw the giant splashes that followed. I almost caught a salmon the old-fashion way (by having it jump straight into my kayak). And I found a lovely white, sand beach where I came under attack by seagulls protecting their young. Simply put, it was a GREAT day and went a long way to erase the previous eleven.

* We’d later learn from friends that if we had gone over to Hidden Falls (just to the north of Ell Cove), we could have watched the brown bears fish and play in the creek.

Note: This blog was written on Monday, 20 July 2015.

Alaska Inside Passage

Chatham Strait: Heading South for the Summer

Wednesday, November 11, 2015TheCambrians

As it turned out, we wouldn’t be able to find our way out of the rain. Not for very long, anyway.

We left Inian Cove in the morning, taking full advantage of the current (which can run over 3 knots) in North Passage and made our way back to Icy Strait and an anchorage on the northern end of Chichagof Island called Spasski Bay. The anchorage was nothing special, but it kept us away from the busy port of Hoonah which was being visited by a cruise ship. It also put us closer to Chatham Strait.

The conditions weren’t bad. Apart from a patch of fog here and there, visibility was good and the air was dry. The barometer was back on the rise, sitting at 1015 Mb by the end of the day. The next morning, it was up to 1018 Mb, promising even better weather to come. But in Alaska, the barometer lies . . . and so does NOAA.

We had a long day in store – 65 miles down Chatham Strait to Ell Cove. The forecast was favourable and so were the current predictions. If all went well, we could expect to knock the passage off in less than nine hours. But things didn’t go well . . . or at least not to plan.

It was another opening in the fishing season and we had to run the gambit of dozens of purseiners. But it’s easy to see where they have their nets so, apart from a course adjustment or two, it was a nonevent.

The wind started to fill in once we entered Chatham Strait and instead of the northwesterlies that were forecasted, we had southerlies – right on our nose. But they weren’t strong, 5 to 10 knots, and didn’t seem to slow us down much. That job belonged to the counter-current we couldn’t seem to find our way out of. Despite all the data stating we would be riding the ebb down-channel, we found ourselves slogging against 2+ knots.

But then, of course, the wind continued to build and brought the seas along with it. Our speed over ground was down to 4 knots, dipping into the 3s. At rate we were going, we wouldn’t make Ell Cove until 9:30 pm, if we were lucky. I was starting to get concerned – our time in Clarence Strait had left a lasting impression. As it turned out, David was feeling concerned as well. Not for our safety, but for our fuel levels – we were burning more than he’d calculated for and we had a long way to go before our next fuel stop.

I pulled out the cruising guide and charts to look for a place to tuck in and wait for better conditions, temporarily or overnight, but there’s nothing along that stretch of water. David wanted to go into Basket Bay but the Douglass book doesn’t recommend it. They clearly haven’t visited the inlet themselves, but the excerpt they re-published from the Coast Pilot was enough for me:

The bay is exposed to the SE, has a rocky bottom and depths of 12 to 40 fathoms, and is not recommended as an anchorage.

David was certain he could find protected anchorage inside but I put a lot of faith into the Coast Pilot.* So we agreed to turn around and go back to Tenakee Inlet – we could always fuel up there if we needed to. It wasn’t an easy decision. We had to give up more than 7 hard-earned miles, but it was a good one. The wind was beginning to steadily build. By the time we turned around, we had 20 to 25 knots behind us. And just like that, our weather wind closed.

That was two days ago and we’re still waiting for the opportunity to continue south. If it weren’t for the calendar telling me otherwise, I’d swear it was October already: The weather has been nothing but difficult lately. We have plenty of interests and jobs to keep us busy aboard but after our eight consecutive days of rain mixed with strong to gale-force southeasterlies, our patience is running thin. I’m waffling between calling it quits and heading back to British Columbia where it’s actually summer and staying in Alaska to see things through. We’ve already given up the idea of the West Coast of Baranof Island, Sitka, the El Capitan Caves. Would Wrangell and Anan Wildlife Observatory be such a big deal? After all, we’ve seen the best of the best – Tracy Arm, Fords Terror and Glacier Bay. But right now it’s a moot point. No matter what we decide to do (or not to do), we have go south and are committed to Chatham Strait.

Note: This blog entry was written Saturday, 18 July 2015.

* We later learned from our friend Tom on S.V. Impossible Dream that he had anchored there overnight safely and comfortably, so this was a mistake on my part. Winds were coming strait up the channel from the south so we could have found decent protection inside along with fair holding in 12 metres NOT fathoms (according to our charts).

Alaska Gulf of Alaska Inside Passage

The Gulf of Alaska: Inian Islands

Sunday, November 08, 2015TheCambrians

Low clouds and rain moved into the Gulf of Alaska, putting a damper on our last days in Glacier Bay. The rugged, snow-capped mountains that line the inlet where no longer visible so we used our remaining time to slowly make our way south, stopping in Blue Mouse Cove and Fingers Bay as we did. Neither anchorage was remarkable under the existing conditions, but it was easy to imagine a beautiful view was hiding just behind the clouds.

It’d been five days since we’d last heard a weather report, so we stopped back into Bartlett Cove on our way out for the latest news: Unfortunately, there’s nothing but rain and southeasterly winds in the forecast for the next week. Not ideal for what we have planned but, forever the optimists, we moved 20 miles west to an anchorage called Inian Cove with two goals in mind: To explore areas of the park outside the permit zone (namely Brady Glacier) and spend a day in nearby Elfin Cove.

We wouldn’t accomplish either one of them.

With the break-neck pace of Glacier Bay out of the way and a forecast full of rain, we took a day out to catch our breath and regroup. We’d travelled 1700 miles since April and were feeling shell-shocked from the past couple of months. There was so much to assimilate – Misty Fiords, Fords Terror, Tracy Arm and now Glacier Bay. We were beginning to understand why so many people come back to Southeast Alaska year after year. Trying to cram it all in during one season feels next to impossible: If the weather conditions don’t get in the way, the miles will.

Our season up to this point has been well-planned. I spent weeks researching possible destinations and deciding where and when we would anchor. In the end, it wasn’t too difficult – what goes up, must come down. But I stopped with Glacier Bay knowing that we would need to reevaluate the rest of our season and make a decision based on how we were doing, how the boat was doing and (most importantly) what was happening with the weather.

There are a couple of options on the table: We could go down the west coast of Chichagof and Baranof Island stopping off in Pelican, Sitka and Goddard Hot Springs, Egg Harbor and El Capitan Caves along the way (to name only a few) before backtracking up Chatham Strait to Gut Bay, Red Bluff Bay and Baranof Warm Springs. Or we could take the inside route down Chatham Strait.

Our permit for Anan Wildlife Observatory (to see bears fish for salmon!) isn’t until the 7^th of August which gives us four weeks to fill before we need to be in the Wrangell area. Slowing down our pace and finding some nice anchorages along the way to explore by kayak sounds pretty appealing. A passage on the “outside” in fog, rain and unfavourable conditions does not.

In the end, we decided to skip Sitka. It just doesn’t make sense for us. We’re not “city” people and the thought of a destination that requires a couple of nights in a marina doesn’t appeal to either one of us. There are a lot of people who disagree – Sitka is a favourite for most Alaskan cruisers. But the current forecast is calling for strong to gale-force southeasterly winds which isn’t ideal for a southern open-ocean run. If we change our minds, we can always take Peril Strait (which separates the two islands) and keep to the inside waters.

In the meantime, we were anchored in a lovely spot with a west-coast feel that merited exploring while we waited (and waited and waited) for an opportunity to see Brady Glacier in Taylor Bay.

Besides, we still needed to get to Elfin Cove.

We upped anchor close to slack tide Tuesday and made our way over to Elfin Cove – a short 9-mile run that takes you into open water. It was nice to feel the swell of the ocean again but it was a rainy, cold and generally miserable day. David wasn’t really in the mood and we probably shouldn’t have made the attempt. He was a little cranky, most likely still recovering from a cracking headache he’d had the day before caused from a change in the barometric pressure (a condition we both suffer from and call “barometer head”). But everyone, when asked, had told us the same thing – Elfin Cove is a “must-do”.

We arrived shortly after the small National Geographic cruise ship, the Seabird, had anchored. While they were busy transporting passengers to shore by the dinghy-load we searched for a place tie up. There wasn’t any room at the public dock and the best anchorage had been already been taken by Seabird. Right or wrong, we gave up (way too easily) and slogged our way back to Inian Cove against a 2.5 knot current.

And that, I’m afraid, was the extent of our foray into the Gulf of Alaska. One day the sky did manage to clear enough that I caught a glimpse of Brady Glacier, but it was short-lived and we can’t afford to wait any longer for a better opportunity. A weak low-pressure system is approaching and we need to create some space between ourselves and the coast to see if we can find our way of this seemingly incessant rain.

Note: This blog was written on Tuesday, 14 July 2015.

Alaska Glacier Bay Inside Passage

Glacier Bay: The End

Monday, November 02, 2015TheCambrians

A lot about our personal lives stays in the background of the blog: Who we really are as people. What makes us tick. Along with much of the time, effort, and amount of preparation we put into every passage, every day and every season . . . especially David.

As the captain of Cambria and the one ultimately responsible for the safety of our vessel and crew, he carries a huge weight on his shoulders, one he takes very, very seriously. Regardless of what I do to help ease his load, he continues to carry the burden himself. Not because he doesn’t trust me. He does, wholeheartedly. But because he can’t let go. I accepted this fact a long time ago and I understand where it comes from: His worst nightmare is knocking on my mother’s door one day only to tell her something happened to me on his watch.

I’d love for him to relax a little more, but I can’t change how he feels. I can only go with the flow. The rare occasions the stress falls from his shoulders and the joy of his accomplishments is reflected in his eyes are amongst the happiest times for me – this is his dream, after all, one he’s worked so hard to achieve.

Alaska has given us several of those precious moments, most recently in Glacier Bay.

We were both overwhelmed by our time here, that’s true. Floating off Margerie Glacier at the head of Tarr Inlet, in particular, was a powerful and raw experience for both of us. But David, underneath his businesslike exterior, is a sensitive person. Life affects him in ways he doesn’t often show the world. When he does, it’s a wonderful sight to behold and one of the things I love most about him.

Photographs will remind me of the incredible scenery of this past week. But what I will personally remember about our time in Glacier Bay is the sight of my husband, my heart and soul, standing on the deck of Cambria with tears in his eyes because this world we roam is such a beautiful place. There’s only one word that comes to mind and that’s “priceless”.

Thank you, Glacier Bay.

Note: This blog was written on Friday, 10 July 2015.

Alaska Glacier Bay Inside Passage

John Hopkins Inlet: A Winter Wonderland

Tuesday, October 20, 2015TheCambrians

Our day was just getting started. After an amazing morning in Tarr Inlet, we reluctantly turned our stern and started south. Our season in Alaska isn’t over, but it’ll all be “downhill” from here on – 59°N was the farthest we’d be sailing. We weren’t finished with Glacier Bay, though. We still had one more major inlet to explore: John Hopkins.

The fjord is more intimate than what we’d seen in other areas of Glacier Bay. The land seems older. The rugged mountains are steep-to and capped with hanging glaciers that feed waterfalls which stream down its sides and colour the water a perfect aqua-marine. Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was the dramatic scenery. Or maybe it was a sense of familiarity. Whatever the cause, John Hopkins felt more welcoming to us than the rest of the park . . . and was my personal favourite.

We were optimistic about our chances of making it to the face of the glacier. David had spoken to Steve Hulsizer aboard S.V. Osprey (his wife wrote “Glaciers, Bears and Totems: Sailing in Search of the Real Southeast Alaska”) last night and they were able to get within a quarter of a mile. Our luck wasn’t as good, though, and we gave up a mile or two off when the ice got too thick. But there was still one more tidewater glacier to see, so we turned around and made our way back to the mouth of John Hopkins Inet and Lamplugh Glacier.

We stood off the 150-tall wall of ice for what seemed like hours watching the colours dance in the sun and making out the shapes of hoodoos while sipping from hot mugs of coffee to keep warm. It wasn’t long before the cold won out and we turned our stern once again, this time for Reid Inlet and for the night.

It had been an incredible day: One that exceeded our wildest hopes and dreams for what our cruising life would look like. One that we would like to relive over and over again . . . if only that were possible!

Note: This blog entry was written on Tuesday, 07 July 2015.

Alaska Glacier Bay Inside Passage

Tarr Inlet: The End of the Line

Thursday, October 15, 2015TheCambrians

It was a different day entirely. While Monday had been sunny and bright with a heavy haze weighing down the air, Tuesday began with low clouds filling the main channel. The barometer rose back to 1017 MB overnight, promising sunshine. If we were lucky, the sky would start to clear before we reached the head of Tarr Inlet.

We were lucky.

The clouds began to lift as we slowly motored north, breaking enough to give us a view of Lamplugh Glacier. The massive wall of ice tempting us as we passed by: It would have to wait.

Motoring up Glacier Bay is like sailing back in time. The farther you move away from Bartlett Cove, the younger the scenery becomes. The landscape grows more barren with ever mile, and more vunerable . . . it’s like seeing the earth in its infancy. This is where we find its beauty – in its primitiveness.

The head of Tarr Inlet resembles a wasteland the likes of which we’d never seen. One could be forgiven for thinking a volcano had erupted and destroyed everything in its path, particularly on the northern end where the face of the Grand Pacific Glacier has been covered by landslides and rock debris, but the opposite is true: It was the melting of ice that created this new land – desolate and bleak, yet beautiful at the same time. It’s a humbling sight.

Sitting off Margerie Glacier, we passed 59°N – our highest latitude to date and the farthest north we intend to sail. It was a cold morning; one that required several layers and a steady flow of hot drinks, though the drinks may have been more about going below decks into the warmth of the cabin than anything else.

We spent an hour or so drifting off the mile-wide glacier listening to the thunderous sounds of cracking ice echo through the bay and the explosive crashes it made when hitting the water, never quite fast enough to capture the calving glacier on film.

Margerie had us completely captivated. We were awestruck . . . how could we not be?

We were reluctant to leave. In the fifteen years that we’ve been on the water this experience, this morning in particular, had been among the best . . . the most memorable. Turning our stern to it was a difficult thing to do; we could have stayed there for hours and hours just watching and listening. But the forecast for Wednesday calls for rain, so we needed to take advantage of the fine weather while we could and there was still a lot to do . . . John Hopkins Inlet, after all, was waiting.

Note: This blog entry was written Tuesday, 07 July, 2015 from Glacier Bay National Park.

Alaska Glacier Bay Inside Passage

Reid Inlet: The Anchorage

Thursday, October 08, 2015TheCambrians

It’s difficult to imagine how many anchorages we’ve stayed in over the course of the last 15 years: Hundreds, definitely. Thousands, probably not. Some of them – like the deserted islands of Tonga, Waewaetorea in New Zealand or Chief Matthews Bay in British Columbia’s most beautiful fjord – stand out. While others are distant memories, nothing more than stops along the way. But I think it’s fair to say that Reid Inlet just fell into our “most memorable” category.

Why? Because there’s a tidewater glacier at the head of the inlet that you can safely anchor off . . . one that begs to be explored.

There aren’t many opportunities to get up close and personal with the glaciers in Glacier Bay – the pack ice and the possibility of calving keep prudent boaters at a distance. But Reid Glacier is a little different from the rest . . . most of it is on solid ground now.

As far as glaciers go, Reid isn’t as beautiful or dramatic as the others we’ve seen – Dawes, North Sawyer and South Sawyer. The ice has been weathered and now holds air bubbles that diffuse the light and soften the blues that are reflected, making them appear white and cloudy like sea glass.

A glacier starts its life high in the mountains where the snow doesn’t melt and accumulates in pockets, building year after year, until it compresses and compacts from its own weight. The snow turns to ice and eventually gravity takes over and it begins to move downhill. Once the ice starts to move, it becomes a glacier.

As it moves, it drags rocks and debris along with it that carve away the bedrock and create deep glacial valleys. When the ice reaches lower elevations it begins to melt, revealing the bedrock and leaving behind the debris, called terminal moraine. Some of the moraine is still in rock form but most of it has been ground into a fine grey powder, much like talcum.

On the surface, it’s an ugly sight to behold. But it’s here that the real beauty of Reid Inlet lies – in the rawness of the new earth and the beginning of life. It’s a simple matter of looking.