S.V. CAMBRIA

A Little Goes a Long Way

Friday, December 18, 2015TheCambrians

It’s amazing what a little sunshine can do for a person’s psyche, not to mention cabin fever. Whether it lasts one hour, one day or one week, it makes everything that came before it fade into the background. At least for me it does, but I tend to be a “the glass is half full” kind of gal. David’s a bit more practical than I am and is waiting to see what the long-term forecast holds (party pooper!), but even he can’t deny feeling more optimistic after taking a long, hot soak in the tubs at Baranof Warm Springs . . . and saying good-bye to the month of July.

August was off to a good start. There was a full moon and the tides were huge, so we hung out at the dock until noon waiting for a more favourable current, squeezing in another bath and chatting with new-found friends before we dropped our lines.

There wasn’t a breath of wind on the water, so it wasn't a day for sailing. But it was beautiful outside and we were all smiles until Red Bluff Bay came into view. The entire southeastern coast of Baranof Island was sitting under heavy, dark clouds and it was raining. Meanwhile we were enjoying mostly clear skies and the warmth of the sun. We couldn’t believe it: Did we just spend the last week sitting in the wettest spot in Southeast Alaska while waiting for the conditions to clear? Would we have found blue skies (as the barometer suggested) a mile or two out into Chatham Strait?

It’s possible, but I don’t think so. The folks we met in Warm Springs had all had similar experiences and whenever we were able to listen to the forecast on the radio, the current conditions outside our area sounded pretty grim with very few exceptions. Either way, we were headed in the right direction now.

Honeydew Cove wasn’t an anchorage that was on our list of places to see. In fact, we hadn’t heard of it until we ran into Tom, Gale and John in Red Bluff Bay. They’d just come from there and Gale won me over with her photos – boy, am I glad that she did!

We arrived close to 4:30 pm and had the place to ourselves. Within minutes of anchoring, we launched our kayaks and set out to explore. Honeydew has a west coast feel to it reminiscent of Effingham Island in Barkley Sound and just like with its counterpart, the kayaking is fantastic – I could’ve stayed there for days! Our evening was topped off with our first bear sighting in over a month and a beautiful sunset. It was, quite literally, the best day we’ve had in very a long time.

Note: This blog was written on Saturday, 01 August 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project

Alphabet Photography Project | M is for Monohull

Wednesday, December 16, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Baranof Island featured

A Record Setting July

Sunday, December 13, 2015TheCambrians

Today marks the end of a difficult week. Not difficult in the sense that we had to stand anchor watch 24/7, or that boat system after boat system broke down and need to be repaired. The problem was much simpler than that . . . but just as frustrating. The root of our evil was rain. And this past week it rained like we’d never seen it rain before.

The Inside Passage has many moods and personalities that come out during changing weather and some of its most stunning moments are cloaked in mist and fog. It’s easy to lose oneself in the beauty and mystery of the rainforest on these days: Old-growth coniferous trees rise up from thick, lush moss in more shades of green than the eye can see. Rain collects in small pools that overfill and give life to falls that roar down granite rock faces. Colours become more vivid and the world grows still. In my mind, it’s pure perfection.

Brown bears roam the shore on a foggy morning in Misty Fiords National Monument

But this was something completely different.

After listening to the updated forecast from NOAA, we decided to cut our time in Takatz Inlet short and enjoy the last day of fine weather in a new anchorage – Red Bluff Bay on the southeast coast of Baranof Island. Named after the iron deposits that colour the hills at the entrance, Red Bluff Bay is a popular spot and we regretted giving up our new-found solitude within minutes of entering the inlet. But what the anchorage lacks in privacy, it makes up for in scenery: A triangular snow-capped peak sits at the head of the bay and overlooks “Bear Meadow” while rugged mountains line the inlet and feed a large waterfall with melting snow.

I went out in my kayak to take some pictures and heard someone call my name as I was climbing back aboard Cambria. It was Tom and Gale on SV Impossible Dream. I’d seen them come into the anchorage but hadn’t recognized them because they were with another boat. The other turned out to be John, Tom’s brother, and the boat was SV Gypsy Woman – maybe leaving Takatz Inlet wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

We had dinner together aboard Impossible Dream and sat in the open cockpit sharing stories and laughter late into the evening – pure cruising heaven! It was seventh anchorage we’d shared with Tom this season, despite the fact that we’ve been on entirely different tracks since leaving Ketchikan. Something tells me it won’t be the last . . . at least we hope not.

Our reunion was short-lived and they left the following morning. Maybe we should’ve gone as well, but our plan was to hang around Red Bluff Bay for a couple of days and take our dinghy up the creek at high tide to look for bears. After that, we’d move down to Gut Bay for a night or two before making our way east and back towards Petersburg. It was a good plan; except for one thing – it started to rain and, with very few exceptions, didn’t stop.

We wouldn’t make it off the boat after that.

I’m not talking about your regular run-of-the-mill average summertime rain in the rainforest, the kind that sticks around for a day or two and then moves on. This was something else entirely: Day after day after day of torrential rain with no end in sight. Rain that was so cold and heavy, it felt more like November than the height of summer. Rain that kept us trapped inside for close to a week and left us feeling deflated, if not defeated.

Here’s what David had to say in Cambria’s log:

Thursday, 20 July 2015: Red Bluff Bay. About ten days ago I posed the question, “What do I think of Alaska?” and after yet five more endless days of sitting out in incessant rain and low overcast clouds and fog I can truthfully answer the question. I consider myself reasonably long on patience and even longer on perseverence, yet I’m done with this. It feels like October in July – hiding out from weather for days at a time. I sense no change in the weather patterns over the next days and weeks, and feel exposed when I have no access to current forecast information, and particularly access to offshore synoptic charts. So yes, tired of waiting and waiting for weather to clear. Irrespective of what the barometer predicts, the conditions seemingly do not change. So yes, I’m done. Ready to get out of here and find some sunshine – any sunshine at all – wherever that may be. And despite having seen some incredible sights first hand, my advice to anyone thinking of cruising Alaska will be, “Keep an open mind and be prepared for anything. Unless you are ready for the time, effort and number of miles involved in reaching Alaska; the possibility that, after having put in all the effort, the weather will not be sufficiently clear to enable you to truly enjoy the area and the experience, and see the real sights; the real possibility that you may spend much of the season in layers and wet weather gear, or trapped inside your cabin for days at a time, then don’t bother – it really isn’t worth the effort if the season isn’t in your favour.” And for those cruisers who have experienced the marine layer and fog banks along the west coast of Vancouver Island afloat, just be prepared for more of the same.

We needed to do something. And fast.

The situation was getting grim, mentally more so than physically, and it was time to come up with a new plan of action. Sitting around waiting for the conditions to improve so we could actually see what Gut Bay had to offer wasn’t working for us. It was time to come up with a new plan.

We were finally able to receive a VHF signal and listen to the forecast on Thursday, and it wasn’t good news. Another low was approaching the coast and would be situated off Sitka bringing more rain and rough seas: We weren’t going anywhere . . . yet. Meanwhile, it was clear in Petersburg and the possibility that we’d been sitting in the worst of the weather came home to roost. With that in mind, we decided to give up on Gut Bay and make a run east towards what we hoped would be better conditions. It was disappointing, the anchorage is supposed to be beautiful and home to abundant wildlife, but we have to find our way out of this rain.

We woke up this morning to clearing skies and a rising barometer – both good signs. After listening to the forecast, we weighed our options and decided to go back to Warm Springs for a well-deserved soak in the tubs before crossing Chatham Strait tomorrow. It felt really good to be moving again and even better to be putting the month of July behind us. We have no idea how much it rained over the course of the last 31 days, but we heard Juneau saw more than ten inches and broke a long-standing record for the month. Only time will tell what August has to offer. We just hope it’s not more of the same.

Note: This blog was written on Friday, 31 July 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project Lighthouses

Alphabet Photography Project | L is for Lighthouse

Wednesday, December 09, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Anchorages featured

Takatz Inlet: Taking It a Day at a Time

Friday, December 04, 2015TheCambrians

It was a beautiful summer day and both David and I were anxious to get off the dock and see more of Baranof Island while there was an opening in the weather. That meant saying good-bye to soaking in hot baths (something that’s easier said than done) and backtracking north to Takatz Inlet – a small fjord located off Chatham Strait that we thought would be a nice place to spend a night or two.

It was.

Takatz is a beautiful fjord lined with steep, granite hills and snow-capped peaks. A well-placed twist in the road landlocks the head of the bay and gives it an intimate and welcoming feeling that you don’t always find in inlets. Better still, we had it all to ourselves, something that’s surprisingly uncommon in Alaska, but the feeling of being anchored in a remote location continued to elude us.

When we’re cruising in Northern British Columbia, we often feel like we’re the last two people on earth – something we love and regularly seek out but have yet to experience in Alaska. We’ve been close a time or two; but even on the rare occasions that we were alone at anchor, there were other boats nearby. That doesn’t change the fact that Alaska is incredibly beautiful or that we’ve seen some amazing things along the way, because it is and we have. It simply means that (in our limited Alaskan cruising experience) the word remote seems to imply “distant” rather than “isolated”. Given the time and opportunity to get off the beaten path, my guess is that would change.

Remote or not, Takatz ranks high on our list of Alaskan anchorages.

Not only is it well-protected with plenty of swing-room, Takatz is quiet and peaceful with stunning views that beg to be explored . . . and we were willing participants. We launched our kayaks and made our way to the head of the bay which, according to the chart, ends in a mudflat. It doesn’t. Instead, we found hundreds of salmon impatiently waiting to swim upstream and could partially make out a waterfall behind a bend in the creek. Surely there were bears in the area, the fishing was exceptional. But the water was too shallow and the current from the falls was too strong for us to make it any farther so we had to content ourselves with watching the eagles on shore and the salmon swimming past, bumping the bottoms of our kayaks as they did before calling it a day and returning home to Cambria . . . we’ll try again tomorrow.

Note: This blog entry was written on Friday, 24 July 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project Desolation Sound Inside Passage

Alphabet Photography Project | K is for Kayak

Wednesday, December 02, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Baranof Island featured

Splish, Splash, Takin' a Bath

Saturday, November 28, 2015TheCambrians

There are so many things we love about cruising in the Pacific Northwest – glaciers, fjords and white sand beaches to name a few. But one thing that tops both of our lists is natural hot springs. David and I can’t get enough of them but for different reasons. I love being in the water and have been accused of being a fish a time or two in the past. The only problem is I’m more of a pool person. If I can’t see the bottom, I’m really not that interested (I blame the movie “Jaws”). David, on the other hand, could care less about swimming but loves a good soak in a hot bath.

We’ll go out of our way to visit a hot spring, which is the main reason we considered sailing down the west coast of Chichagof and Baranof Islands – there are at least two of them. But the Chatham Strait side isn’t without its fair share. We passed on the opportunity to visit the pools in Tenakee Springs even though we were anchored inside the inlet for a couple of days because it’s described as a public bathhouse with separate hours for men and women (not really our cup of tea). But we weren’t going to say no to Baranof Warm Springs – a popular layover for cruising and fishing boats.

But, once again, I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

Honestly, I felt a little sad about leaving Ell Cove. It’s a beautiful, well-protected anchorage with plenty of interesting places nearby to explore by kayak. But then again, maybe it was the forecast that had me down: Rain. Rain. And a chance of . . . (wait for it) rain! It’s one of the last things you want to hear on the first sunny day you’ve seen in over a week. But it is what it is, and we are where we’re going . . . which wasn’t very far.

One of the best things about this section of the coast is the distance between anchorages – they’re short. With only 10 miles to travel, we’d no sooner got back out into Chatham Strait before it was time to make the turn into Warm Springs Bay. It was a really nice change from the eight hour days we’d grown accustomed to over the last couple of months.

The community of Baranof.

Like so many of the small communities that were formed along the coast of Southeast Alaska, Baranof had a reputation of being wild, particularly during prohibition. But in the 1930s, life got a little quieter. Residents earned a living fishing, trapping and logging. A sawmill powered by the falls was built and then came a general store/post office, a bakery, a herring reduction plant, all of which are gone now. Today the population is made up of a dozen or more private homes that are used during the summer months and people stopping by to visit the hot springs.

There are a couple of options in Baranof: two natural hot spring pools on the hill up from the dock and a bathhouse which sits at the top of the gangway. Normally, the former would be my preference and David’s would be the latter, but this time we both agreed – the bathhouse!

The natural hot springs.

The springs are located about a half mile from the dock along a short trail that splits off from the boardwalk and leads uphill to the river. Fed by a series of hot springs upstream, the two pools sit adjacent to the outflow of the Baranof River, one of the best backdrops to a natural hot spring we’ve yet to encounter (I’d say Eucott Bay comes in a close second). But at around 125°F, I found the water to be a little too hot to enjoy.

The bathhouse.

The water temperature in the bathhouse, on the other hand, is just right. But if it’s still too warm, cold water fed from a stream can be turned on and added to the mix. There are three private rooms, each with a tub large enough for two and a beautiful view of the bay. And unlike at the natural pools, you can use soap and shampoo in the bathhouse, a really nice change for cruisers in search of something more than a navy shower (which we were).

We spent three days soaking in the tubs and enjoying life on the busy dock, meeting fellow-cruisers and getting some ideas about anchorages we should visit before we have to be in Wrangell in two weeks time. We could have stayed forever, but the latest round of bad weather had quickly cleared out and we needed to do the same – there was still so much we wanted to see and do.

Note: This blog entry was written on Friday, 24 July 2015.

Alphabet Photography Project Inside Passage Sailing

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.

A Little Goes a Long Way

Alphabet Photography Project | M is for Monohull

A Record Setting July

Alphabet Photography Project | L is for Lighthouse

Takatz Inlet: Taking It a Day at a Time

Alphabet Photography Project | K is for Kayak

Splish, Splash, Takin' a Bath

Alphabet Photography Project | J is for Jib

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.

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”.

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

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

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