S.V. CAMBRIA

Punchbowl Cove (Misty Fiords National Monument)

Saturday, June 27, 2015TheCambrians

All good things must come to end. I don’t actually believe that, but we did need to move on from Walker Cove eventually so we dropped the mooring Friday morning and rode the tide down Behm Canal to Punchbowl Cove in Rudyerd Bay.

I’m not sure what’s more breathtaking – the approach to Punchbowl Cove or the actual bay itself – but I know we’ve never seen anything quite like it, at least not in an anchorage: A sheer wall of dark granite, stained by waterfalls, that towers more than 3,000 feet above.

Once again, we found ourselves alone and were able to tie up to the solitary mooring. It was a hot afternoon, so we launched the kayaks and floated around, seeking shade underneath the overhanging trees and dipping our feet into the cold water while taking in the view. As beautiful as it is, Punchbowl Cove isn’t a place that we were able to lose ourselves in for hours like Walker Cove. It’s not as warm and inviting, and I found myself ready to move on less than 24 hours after arriving.

But we stayed.

Saturday morning I heard someone calling hello outside. It was a crew member from an 80-odd-foot motor yacht that was anchored across the bay – a small cruise ship for 14 or so guests. He came bearing gifts (a bottle of Washington red and some nut bread) by way of apology for taking over the anchorage. They were launching their kayaks and skiffs and were afraid they were going to disturb us – an unnecessary but appreciated gesture. Can you believe it?

They didn’t disturb us. Not even close. But they reminded us how fortunate we are: We don’t have to sail to a schedule. We can sit back, relax and truly enjoy our surroundings. We can take the time to see where the sun rises in the morning and how that changes as the days pass. Or how the rain and mist can completely change an anchorage while bringing out the deep smell of wet earth. We’re lucky. They’re rushed. So, no. They didn’t disturb us. Not at all.

Our last days in Misty Fiords couldn’t live up to the first.

We left Punchbowl Cove Sunday morning and continued up Rudyerd Bay for a look around before leaving the inlet. The floatplanes were out in full force and it’s no exaggeration to say that it felt like sailing on an airstrip. At any given time there were five or six small planes buzzing around – two or three in the air and an equal amount on the water either taking off or floating nearby. It was crazy but worth the aggravation. Both David and I agree – Punchbowl is an awesome sight, but Rudyerd Bay is the real attraction.

The barometer started falling on Thursday and, despite the sunny sky, a change in the weather was on its way. When we entered Behm Canal, the wind was blowing from the south for the first time in more than a week and we had to bash our way down to Shoal Water Bay, just off the canal, for the night.

On the way, we passed New Eddystone Rock, Misty Fiord’s most recognizable sight: a 230-foot pillar that sits alone in the middle of Behm Canal. From what we’ve read, it’s the core of an ancient lava conduit that that was left behind (they’re resistant to erosion) when the glaciers dug the canal 12,000 years ago. Vancouver named it after a rock off Plymouth,

England

where there’s a lighthouse because it reminded him of the famous landmark. We’re not sure if he was right or not but will give him the benefit of the doubt.

Shoal Water Bay was nothing more than a stop in the road so on Monday we moved down to Smeaton Bay – the last of the great inlets in Misty Fiords. The forestry service doesn’t maintain a mooring there and anchoring was difficult because of the steep-to bottom. The holding was good, but we found ourselves hovering over 5 metres (17 feet) at high tide after anchoring in 30 metres (100 feet) so we tried again and had to be happy with 50 (165 feet) under our keel. Compared to Rudyerd Bay and Walker Cove, Smeaton was fairly ordinary so we cut our losses and left early the next morning, making our way down to Alava Bay at the southern mouth of Behm Canal for the night and setting ourselves up to make Ketchikan the next day.

Our time in Misty Fiords, sadly, was over.

Note: This blog entry was written Tuesday, 02 June 2015.

Walker Cove (Misty Fiords National Monument)

Wednesday, June 24, 2015TheCambrians

Every now and then I wonder if we approached cruising the Pacific Northwest the right way – choosing to spend our time in British Columbia and ignoring Alaska for so many years. And now it’s beginning to look like we have our answer: Misty Fiords National Monument alone would have ruined us, Walker Cove in particular.

It’s one of those places that doesn’t translate well into words or pictures. Neither one can capture the stillness of this special anchorage or the overwhelming emotion it evokes. I can try. And I will. But these things are usually beyond reach.

Walker Cove is a story 250 million years in the making and David commented that he’d love to see a time-lapse video of its creation – the folding, uplifting and volcanic activity that formed the coastal mountains, the ice age that followed, and the retreat of the glaciers 10,000 to 12,000 years ago that left behind the massive fiords lined with u-shaped valleys, high glacial cirques and 3,000-foot sheer cliffs. It would’ve been something to see, that’s for sure, and further evidence of man’s brief time on this earth . . . it’s difficult not to feel insignificant when you’re in the midst of it all.

We couldn’t have come at a better time. The weather was brilliant and there were no signs of the rain or mist that named this remarkable place, giving us the chance to take it all in as we slowly motored our way up-inlet and into Walker Cove itself. The anchorage was empty when we arrived, so we picked up the park mooring while a mother grizzly and her three cubs grazed on sedge grass no more than 150 metres away. She sat down and stared at us and only went back to eating when she was convinced we weren’t a threat to her cubs. It was an amazing welcome and something I’ve been looking forward to for more than five years – our very first look at brown bears.

We sat on deck and watched them for hours, mesmerized by their sheer size and large shoulder humps. It wasn’t long before we got a feel for the personalities of the cubs and gave them nick-names: The most obvious was “Straggler”. An independent cub, likely a male, who needed space from his siblings and mother but was always quick to fall back in line when the time came. Then there was “Klinger”, a Mamma’s Boy (or girl) who refused to stray too far from his mother’s side, whether she liked it or not. And finally, “Inciter”, the one cub who couldn’t seem to keep its paws to itself and was more interested in playing with its siblings than anything else. For us, it doesn’t get much better than that.

We lingered in Walker Cove for three days, torn between wanting to stay forever and the desire to see what’s next. We weren’t always alone. A few other boats came into the anchorage, but none of them stayed long. And floatplanes from nearby Ketchikan would land two or three times a day so its passengers could catch a glimpse of the bears. I couldn’t help but wonder what they thought when they saw us sitting there . . . living in a glacial river valley with grizzly bears for neighbours. I honestly don’t know what to think about it myself.

Note: This blog was written on Thursday, 28 May 2015.

Alaska Inside Passage Misty Fjords National Monument

Fitzgibbon Cove

Tuesday, June 16, 2015TheCambrians

Alaska Inside Passage Misty Fjords National Monument

The Wrong Way Around

Saturday, June 13, 2015TheCambrians

Less than 48 hours after arriving in Ketchikan, and we were off. Our plan: circumnavigate Revillagigedo Island and spend some time in Misty Fjords National Monument on the mainland. Most people do it from south to north, but we’re not most people . . . at least David isn’t. Besides, to go south we were looking at a 42-mile passage (a seven hour run) against the current. But if we approached the park from the north, we would shorten our day to 21 miles. Not only that, but the current would be in our favour for the following legs. The decision was made: Naha Bay would be our first official Alaskan anchorage.

Naha Bay is a narrow, intimate inlet surrounded by low hills and forest near the former site of a cannery called Loring. At the head of the bay, there’s a public float where boats can tie up and access a trail to Roosevelt Lagoon. I imagine the dock is normally a busy and social place; but when we arrived Thursday afternoon, it was empty – the first time we’d been alone in two weeks. The only sounds we could hear were the birds chirping and water rushing out of the lagoon – all of which was backed by the deep, musky smell of earth. It was heavenly! And just what we needed to help put Ketchikan behind us.

We weren’t in any hurry to explore. In fact, just the opposite. The two days we’d spent in Ketchikan had been a rush of activity: It was time to sit back, relax and take it all in. So we did.

Naha Bay was recommended by a friend because of the trail that runs along Roosevelt Lagoon – walks are hard to come by in Alaska and Richard spoke highly of this one. The gangway from the dock must have been knocked out in a recent storm, so we launched the dinghy the following afternoon to get to shore and followed the trail to lagoon. The weather’s been beautiful lately and it was hot outside so we didn’t go very far – exploring by kayak would have been a better option, but we’d missed the opportunity to enter and exit the lagoon rapids safely. Maybe next time.

On Saturday morning, there were several visitors at the dock, one of whom brought a change of plans: A state trooper stopped by for a chat and told David about a trail leading to hot springs in Bailey Bay. He said there was a park mooring people can use and added that it wasn’t an easy trail, but it was only a mile long. David hates hiking, he doesn’t see the point, but soaking in a hot spring was too much of a temptation. So, I pulled out the Douglass cruising guide for more information. Nothing.

We decided to go based on the trooper’s word alone.

It took some doing because it wasn’t in its charted location, but we found the mooring and tied up. From the boat, we could clearly see the trail marker, but it was too late in the day for a hike. Besides, if there were any bears in the area, they’d be coming out soon. So, we decided to launch the kayaks and explore by water but, before we could do that, it started to rain.

The next morning I heard voices, so I looked outside and saw three people rowing to shore. They were from a fishing boat anchored in a bight just down from us and most likely local to the area, at least more local than we were. They were going to the hot springs and were carrying a gallon of water, a reusable grocery bag full of items, a rope and backpacks. The rope caught my eye first – what had we gotten ourselves into? It was a good question, and one I probably should have asked more than once.

We kept waiting for them to come down so we could have the pool to ourselves but finally gave up after lunch and went to shore. There was an old sign posted on the trail that read distances: Lake Shelokum – 1 mile. Shelter – 2.3 miles. Before the word shelter, somebody had lightly scratched “hot springs”. It was 2.3 miles each way.

I’ve been hiking for almost 20 years, and I absolutely love it. I’m not an expert, but I can handle just about any strenuous hike that doesn’t put me out on a ledge (I’m afraid of heights). David, on the other hand, won’t walk to the corner store if he can drive so I was surprised when he didn’t even bat an eye at the distance. Clearly a testament to the power of a good hot spring!

It wasn’t a bad trail. It had its moments but, overall, the climb in elevation was gentle and it was easy to follow with good footing. The worst of it came when we had to cross a creek lined by waterfalls on one side and a sheer drop-off on the other. But we made it through, albeit with wet feet. The real problem was that it was muggy and once we got near the lake, the bugs were out in full-force. We were dripping with sweat and covered in gnats – we must have swallowed dozens of them. It wasn’t long afterwards that we both agreed it was time to turn around – at that point, a hot soak didn’t sound the least bit appealling . . . but a cold shower did. We were probably within a half mile of the hot springs.

Later in the day, after we’d cleaned up and cooled down, David said, “The next time I have a bright idea. Don’t listen!”

I don’t think he has anything to worry about.

Note: This blog was originally written on Sunday, 24 May, 2015.

Alaska Destinations Inside Passage

Ketchikan: A Tale of Two Cities

Wednesday, June 10, 2015TheCambrians

What can I say about Ketchikan that hasn’t already been said? Not much, really. But more than I expected.

For years, all we’ve heard and read about present-day Ketchikan is that it was built to attract cruise ships and once the ships leave port, the town shuts down until the next load arrives. And in the winter months, it becomes a veritable ghost town.

It’s true. But it’s only part of the story.

Like most remote communities, Ketchikan’s economy has seen booms and busts over the years: Settlers built a saltery at the mouth of the Ketchikan Creek in 1883 and before long, there were 12 canneries in the area producing over two million cases of salmon a year and Ketchikan became known as the “Salmon Capital of the World.” Gold was discovered in the area in 1897, and Ketchikan became a supply center for the mining industry. Lumber production began around the same time, giving Ketchikan a three-tiered economy. Life was good.

But the mines dried up and salmon production was on the decline – overfishing nearly destroying the industry. And when timber rights with the National Forest Service expired in 1997, Ketchikan focused tourism. And they did it in a big way.

Newtown, Ketchikan’s revitalized waterfront, was built specifically to attract cruise ships and now the city of 8,313 residents plays host to one million visitors each year. On any given day the ships, sometimes four deep, tower over the length of the waterfront and the population of Ketchikan more than doubles. They arrive early in the morning and passengers disembark at their leisure. Some are bused off to excursions – flights over Misty Fjords National Monument, kayaking, bear watching, fishing – while others browse the souvenir shops that were purpose built for them.

Ketchikan has a proud and colourful history.

Wherever there was a concentration of miners, fisherman or loggers there was also an influx of prostitutes: Strong women who helped build wilderness communities. In 1903, Ketchikan’s city council voted to ban all brothels to the south side of Ketchikan Creek to an area known as “Indian Town” and soon Creek Street was born – the largest red-light district west of the Mississippi . . . where “salmon and men come to spawn.” During Prohibition, some of the brothels became speakeasies and it wasn’t long before Ketchikan was tagged the “worst pest hole in

America

” by national newspapers – there were 33 houses in operation.

Some citizens and religious leaders tried to shut Creek Street down but were unsuccessful, and prostitution remained legal until the 1950s when it was pushed underground. Today the brothels of Creek Street house souvenir shops, galleries and jewelry stores with a few private homes mixed in between. Like Newtown, Creek Street’s purpose now is to serve tourists, but it retains much of its early 20^th century charm and was added to the National Register of Historic Places last year.

The Totem Heritage Center, also on the National Register of Historic Places, is a short walk from Creek Street. Ketchikan is known for its totems and is home to the world’s largest collection of 19^th century poles. The collection is priceless and is comprised of poles that were retrieved from nearby villages that had been abandoned in the early 1900s when residents left for reasons of economy – Ketchikan was booming and offered jobs that paid well in the logging and fishing industries. It’s customary to allow poles to return to nature like a fallen tree in the forest. But vandalism and theft threatened the process, so it was decided (with much deliberation) that the poles would be removed for their protection.

There are two other totem parks near Ketchikan: Totem Bight State Park is the site of a former Tlingit summer camp and has 14 poles on display in an old-growth forest, none of which are heritage poles. And Totem Park in Saxman has 24 totems that were brought there from abandoned villages. Some were repaired and restored, while others were replicated.

The Tongass Historical Museum in Ketchikan’s historic business center tells the story of Ketchikan’s unique and interesting history from native settlements to fishing, mining and logging while the Southeast Alaska Discovery Center covers Tongass National Forest and Misty Fjords National Monument.

The rest of the story.

Today, seventy percent of Ketchikan’s economy is based on tourism with a season that runs from May through September. During the winter months, many of the jobs that are created over the summer dry up and leave some people without an income. It’s also very wet. The annual rainfall in Ketchikan is 154 inches. July, the driest month, receives more rain on average than Seattle during November, its wettest. Because of the high rainfall and lack of jobs, many residents leave during the winter months – some to work, others to play.

So, while it may be true that Newtown was built to attract cruise ships and has all the charm of a strip mall. And when the ships are gone, that section of the city truly does become a ghost town. But there’s more to Ketchikan than meets the eye: It’s a proud community with a colourful past full of friendly people who are willing to do whatever it takes to live there . . . whether it’s for six months or year-round.

Note: This blog was originally written on Friday, May 22, 2015.

Alaska Inside Passage

Welcome to Alaska

Sunday, June 07, 2015TheCambrians

The morning fog lifted in time to give us a clear view of Ketchikan.

There are two ways to leave Prince Rupert when sailing north: you can backtrack down the harbour and round Digby Island before turning north again. Or you can cut through Venn Passage – a shallow, narrow, winding and complicated channel with strong currents that may (or may not) have had some of its channel makers misplaced by barges under tow. Venn Passage saves 12 miles. It was a no brainer . . . and a non-event.

From Prince Rupert, it’s 85 miles to Ketchikan so we broke the trip into two stages – Venn Passage to Dundas Island on Monday and across Dixon Entrance to Ketchikan on Tuesday. Dixon Entrance, the final section of open-ocean, has a reputation for being an ugly stretch of water. But our crossing was fairly banal . . . and boring. The same could be said for our introduction to the Alaskan landscape – it was a foggy morning and the low-lying islands and islets could hardly be seen.

Ketchikan calls itself “Alaska’s First City” because everyone, and I mean everyone, has to stop in there – cruise ships, ferries and private – because it’s the first official port of entry and customs clearance center . . . and the busiest city in Southeast Alaska: There are fishing boats coming and going, floatplanes taking off and landing every five minutes, cruise ships towering over the waterfront like horizontal skyscrapers . . . not exactly what we’re used to from a cruising destination, but we knew we were going to be in for a culture shock and Ketchikan didn’t disappoint – there’s a lot going on along its two-mile waterfront.

We took a berth in Bar Harbor Marina and called customs. They were fantastic to work with, busy, but fantastic. We had to wait over an hour for someone to arrive, but Officer Wu was courteous, friendly and very welcoming. He even went out of his way to call the office and ask if the fee for our cruising permit could be waived because we had just paid the same amount when we checked out of Friday Harbor last month. We had to pay (it’s only $19) but the fact that he thought it was unfair and took it upon himself to ask was above and beyond – living up to the reputation that Alaskans are very friendly and helpful people.

On Wednesday, we became tourists and walked from the marina to Newtown and up to the Totem Heritage Center. It didn’t take us long to see what we wanted to, so we took the shuttle bus back to the Safeway for some shopping. And then it was time to get busy – weather, laundry, cleaning the boat, groceries. By noon on Thursday, we’d finished our list of jobs and rode the current up Tongass Narrows . . . less than 48 hours after we arrived in Ketchikan and we were gone.

Note: This blog was originally written on Thursday, May 21, 2015

Alaska Inside Passage

Alaska or Bust

Friday, June 05, 2015TheCambrians

Inside Passage Sum It Up Sunday

Ports and Passages

Sunday, May 17, 2015TheCambrians

Looking back, it’s difficult to believe we were in Shearwater only a week ago . . . so much has changed. Only two hundred miles have passed under Cambria’s keel, but the landscape, at least here in Prince Rupert, is entirely different – more “West Coast Industrial” than “Inside Passage”.

But I’m getting ahead of myself again.

The stretch of water along Princess Royal Channel is arguably the most beautiful and dramatic section of the Inside Passage, especially this time of year when the mountain ranges lining the channel are still capped with snow and waterfalls deliver the melt to the sea in powerful flows. In hindsight, I wish we would’ve take more time to enjoy it – Khutze Inlet, in particular, where we later learned a family of grizzlies were feeding along the shore several days in a row. But we were anxious to reach one of our favourite spots, Bishop Bay Hot Springs.

As always, Bishop Bay was a welcomed treat and we lingered several days, enjoying long, hot soaks until our fingers looked like prunes.

From Bishop Bay, we continued north to Lowe Inlet off Grenville Channel where we finally dug out our inflatable kayaks to explore the anchorage and simply laze about, soaking up the warm sun. Lowe Inlet is a beautiful spot and it was tempting to stay another day but, in the end, we decided to finish out Grenville Channel and make way for Prince Rupert on Friday. The forecast for crossing Dixon Entrance looked good for Sunday or Monday: Alaska was calling.

It was a long day, made even longer by a dreary landscape cloaked in an overcast sky. Hour after hour, we slogged our way north: First through the wind and chop, then later through the current off the Skeena River. By the time we’d finished the 60-mile passage, we were ready to call it a day. And we did.

Come Saturday morning, we were ready to launch the dinghy and see what Prince Rupert was all about.

The truth is, on the surface, it looks a lot like any other coastal city in British Columbia: Cafés, restaurants and souvenir shops line the main road. Tourists roam around in search of the next bear or whale watching adventure. And locals go about their daily business, ignoring the rest.

What sets it apart is a world-class cultural museum, The Museum of Northern British Columbia.

But the city also boasts one of the deepest natural harbours in the world and is the fastest route to and from Asia, so it’s an important trading port for the Asian market. In fact, trade has played a central role in the economy here for 10,000 years – from the first arrivals after the glaciers melted to present day. It’s the reason the city was founded and the reason it continues to exist when so many other communities along the coast faded away.

Day after day, ships arrive to unload cargo from

Japan

and

China

which are then loaded onto freight trains bound for Toronto, Detroit and Chicago. Or placed onto barges and towed down to communities in southern British Columbia. Meanwhile, other ships are here to fill their holds with grain and coal before returning wherever it is they call home.

Like I said . . . a world apart from the solitude of the Inside Passage.

Inside Passage Ramblings From the Dockside

Lazy Days and Boat Jobs: Mixing it up in Ocean Falls

Saturday, May 09, 2015TheCambrians

We only intended to spend a couple of days in Ocean Falls but found the appeal of being tied up and plugged in too much to resist; before we knew it, two days had turned into four.

It’s difficult to say what we had to recover from – a week of being pummeled by high winds, two long days on the water listening to the constant drone of the engine, or both. But we were tired and needed some time to rest up and get some boat work done.

For me, it was a list of mundane chores – paying bills, making reservations for Glacier Bay, sorting the trash so it could be incinerated, washing the deck. For David, it was the water maker. When we were in Gorge Harbour a few weeks ago, he attempted to commission it and discovered the high pressure pump wasn’t working. We have a rebuild kit aboard, so he left the job until we reached Ocean Falls where he could have access to a workshop if he needed it. But what he was really doing was taking the time to work through the issue in his head before he attacked it.

In the end, the pump didn’t have to be rebuilt. When he took it apart, everything looked pretty good. He did think one of the valves was sticking a bit though and discovered that there was a whole set of o-rings that hadn’t been installed. So, he cleaned it up and added the o-rings and now it works better than ever. The funny thing is I’ll be surprised if we use it at all this season, but it’s good to know it’s there and working if we need it.

With the job complete, we said our good-byes and dropped our lines yesterday afternoon, making our way down to Shearwater for the night. Normally we’re reluctant to leave Ocean Falls, but not this time. Now that we’re rested up, we’re excited to reach areas we haven’t seen before. Or maybe we’re just looking forward to soaking in the hot springs in Bishop Bay; it’s a tough call.

This next section of the Inside Passage will be “dark” – no wifi or cellular signals to keep us connected. And that’s fine. We always seem to be more productive without the distraction anyway, or at least I am. So, the next time you hear from us we’ll be in Prince Rupert, the last Canadian city before the

border. Technically it’s four or five day away, but we have no idea how long it will take. That’s up to Mother Nature . . . and us.

Punchbowl Cove (Misty Fiords National Monument)

Walker Cove (Misty Fiords National Monument)

Fitzgibbon Cove

The Wrong Way Around

Ketchikan: A Tale of Two Cities

Welcome to Alaska

Alaska or Bust

Ports and Passages

Lazy Days and Boat Jobs: Mixing it up in Ocean Falls

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