We are now no longer in Alaska, but we had some experiences there that we haven’t recorded yet.   Lest we forget, it’s time to remember the last part of the Alaskan journey, and get it written down.  Our time in Glacier Bay was over, and it was time to make a decision:  Shall we go back the way we came, stopping at favorite spots, and some new spots, or shall we take an entirely different route on our way South?  Which choice do you think won out?  That’s right… we opted for a new experience.  Upon emerging from Glacier Bay, we decided to turn right instead of left.  As we proceeded into Icy Strait, there was strong current running.  Mike was hand steering the boat through the tide rips and whirlpools, and doing a fine job.  A large humpback swam right across our track, not far from the bow.  Always on the lookout for wildlife, we took this as confirmation that we had made the right choice.

As I have mentioned, the current was running strong in the strait, and it was also strong among these small islands which lie just on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. The current was giving us quite a speed boost as we nosed through the Inian Islands. Suddenly, we were in Wild Kingdom! On our right, we saw teeming, tumbling masses of sea lions, swimming and hunting, while on the shore other sea lions roared and growled. At the same time, on our left side, a pod of humpbacks was blowing, squealing, swimming and feeding. Following the whales were porpoises, catching the leftovers from the whales. The porpoises were followed by more sea lions. Flying above them all were the seagulls and a few puffins, also looking for an easy lunch. There was a whole food chain happening right in front of us! We could only imagine what was going on below the surface. It was thrilling!

The current pushed us out of the islands and we made our way to the quiet little town of Elfin Cove. The place is aptly named, because it is enchanting. It isn’t really town-like, but more of a long, circular trail bordering a cove. Part of the trail is through the forest, and part is boardwalk, which leads past houses and a few small businesses. Tucked here and there along the trail, and in people’s yards, are all kinds of elves. Some are large, some are tiny, some are slightly risqué. It is a surprise to come upon them while walking the path around the cove. There are fishing boats in the cove, as this is a big area for both sport fishing and commercial fishing. The store was small, and didn’t have much that we needed, but it was fun to be greeted by the friendly store dog.

Back on Voyager, we continued down the coast, while salmon were jumping like crazy all around the boat. The pinks were running, and they characteristically jump out of the water while on their migration to spawn. Some sources say that they jump to rid themselves of sea lice that attach themselves to the fish. Others say it’s to escape predators. But what it looks like is a competition to see who can jump the highest. Some jump 6 feet straight up, some go sideways 5 or 6 times like a skipping stone, some keep jumping until they obviously just can’t do one more jump. We told them that they were welcome to jump on our boat, but somehow, they managed to miss us.

Arriving in Pelican, we felt like we were truly in an old Alaskan village.  Again, there were both commercial and sport fishing boats on the docks.  In the evenings, the chartered fishing boats would return from their day, and unload the fish into wheelbarrows.  They would end up outside the hotel where they would line up all the fish on the boardwalk outside the hotel.  These men from all over the United States, who had flown in for an extended fishing trip, were standing with puffed out chests like proud schoolboys, as the pictures were taken of each man’s catch.  They stood around telling stories about the day, and the big one that got away, and the shark that tried to steal the fish…  That was one facet of Pelican.  Then there was the fish processing plant, where the commercial boats would unload their holds full of fish, fill up with fuel, and turn around to go fish again.  The hardworking fishermen don’t waste a minute of the season, and I have nothing but admiration for the way they go out in all weather conditions to work while they can.

The town of Pelican consists mainly of one wide boardwalk about half a mile long.  There is a grocery store with food staples, a post office, harbormaster’s office, a fuel station, a breakfast/lunch coffee shop, a bar/pizza parlor for dinners, a small library, and way down at the end of the dock, a K-12 school.  Last year the school had 8 students.  The few year-round residents are hearty, salt of the earth, hardworking people.  Without exception, everyone we met there said hello, looked you in the eye, and were open to friendly conversation, unless they were on a 4-wheeler, whizzing up or down the boardwalk.  Then you’d better just get out of the way!  We enjoyed our glimpse of Alaskan life, and realized that we have it pretty easy at home in Murphys.

Heading north once more to round Chichagof Island and make our way down the east side, we studied the guidebook as we contemplated making the passage through Rocky Pass to get to our route.  The book described Rocky Pass as a shallow, rocky passage, marked by buoys to guide boats through a winding route, containing a section of dredged, narrow channel to go through.  Then we heard from other boaters that some of the buoys were missing, or misplaced!  In addition, the Coast Guard does not recommend this passage, and has made a statement that they won’t come rescue you if you run aground there. Basically, if you’re brave or foolhardy enough to go that way, you’re on your own!  I was a bit nervous about this.  But Mike was confident that with our charts and our depth finder, we’d be able to navigate the challenging passage.  That man does love a challenge! 

Our plan was to go through the passage, then cruise around the West side of Prince of Wales Island.  We would be able to take inland passages most of the way, but there would be some “outside” time in the ocean, and we would end up with a longer big-ocean passage at the end, when we made the run from the tip of the island to Prince Rupert, where we would enter Canada.  I was trusting that we would have some good weather for that crossing (another challenge).

As we approached Rocky Pass, we found the first buoy, and up ahead we spotted the second one:  Red buoys on the left, green buoys on the right.  Taking a big gulp, off we went.  We did find that some buoys were missing from their broken-down platforms.  We did find that the dredged passage was narrow and shallow.  We did see rocks sticking out everywhere just to the sides of our “path.”  But in the end, we did just fine, taking it slow, checking our charts, watching the depth finder, and me on deck keeping a bow watch at times.  We made it!  Then we looked at each other and said, “I’ve seen worse…”  I guess that’s what a little experience will do for you.

We entered El Capitan passage on a rainy day, with clouds obscuring the scenery.  It is named El Capitan because of its similarity to Yosemite, and the big cliffs there.  We were sorry to not see any of it, but we did stop and hike 370 stairsteps up to the entrance to El Capitan Cave.  This cave is the deepest cave in Alaska, and we had never heard of it.  Tours are given by arrangement, but not on the day we were there, so we just poked our heads inside.

Eventually, we rounded the tip Prince of Wales Island.  The next morning was calm, and so we left as the sun rose, at 4:30 in the morning, waking a sleeping humpback whale as we left the cove.  Our crossing was safe and uneventful.  As we checked in to Prince Rupert, Canada, we began to get the feeling that it was time to go home!

-beth

This should be a title that gets some attention.  I can’t think of a more fear inducing picture than being stuck at sea in a storm.  Remember the Perfect Storm?  How can I forget?  There is part of me that wants to see the movie again, but I already have recurring nightmares of the tiny boat against a very big, raging ocean.  George Clooney and his mates all died…

In case you are just joining us, we are a couple of rookies at retirement and on a boat. Part of the fun has been the learning curve.  Well, most of the time.  We’ve covered the waterfalls, wildlife, and sunsets, but in this installment, let’s talk about the scary stuff – storms.   While we’ve gained important experience, we really have very little.  Since having been aboard this year for 85 days and considering the territory we’ve covered, a storm or two, even though it is summer, would be normal.  We have had two significant overnight storms.  They both were predicted well in advance and for us, they occurred at the same location – one on the way up the north coast of British Columbia and one on the way south. 

Just to clarify, we are not ‘at sea’.  On the Inside Passage to Alaska, there is always a place to anchor, whether it’s a real port or just a small cleft out of the wind, waves and current.  The cliché, “any port in a storm” maybe true if you are out at sea, but a good seaman still has a lot to consider about what ‘port’ to choose…  In both of these storms, I didn’t do so well.  These were tense all-nighters watching as the 47mph gusts buffeted us about.

In the first episode, it was just a poor second choice anchor spot – exposed and against the lee shore.  In the second storm, having learned from the first, we picked a better place, but didn’t anticipate how the wind would so severely drive us into the shallows.  Imagine with me heading to bed knowing you are well prepared, thinking the storm really was exaggerated in the forecast.  And after just drifting into REM sleep, a splash of water from a window six feet away hits your face.  Oh, I am awake now!  The wind is in fact blowing and the boat has one foot of water under the keel!  It is midnight and we have to pull up the anchor, move to deeper water and reset the thing.  As if the darkness and the driving storm aren’t challenge enough, four other boats have taken refuge nearby. With Beth at the helm keeping us into the wind and off the shore, I was on the bow raising the seaweed fouled chain and anchor.  We simply don’t run at night because it is so disorienting.  But since we have done this routine many, many times we both knew what to do.  “I could do this in the dark”, is an expression I won’t be saying anymore since I may actually have to at some time.  Needless to say, we did it!  It could have been an episode of ‘Deadliest Catch’, full of drama and adrenaline.  (We did meet the camera guy for the famous crab boat show earlier this summer before his fall filming further north in the Bering Sea).  The rest of the night was spent watching to see if the newly placed anchor would hold…

Sorry. There are no pictures of the storm…

What are some ‘lessons learned’ here? Without being too detailed, there are some big take aways.  For example: I don’t think we would have done very well without the ability to communicate.  Beth simply could not see. Outside I was able to tell where we needed to go, but even in the howling wind and rain we could speak in a ‘normal’ voice because we use headsets. And we trust each other. Then when it really matters – have an anchor you can trust.  Our boat came with one, but we upsized.  It is too big most of the time, but on these two nights it was just the thing. 

A friend of ours gave us a picture she had thoughtfully put together as we set off on the boat.  Kathy must have known that a good anchor would be needed.  In life, is there an anchor you can trust?  Storms are inevitable.  Planning and preparation are essential and like us in the night, we all do our best.  (Adrenaline helps too…) But when it your turn for ‘sleepless in The Storm’, trust in the One who said, “I will never leave or forsake you”.  I might have missed some sleep in the storm, but hearing and knowing that everything will be okay is the main thing.

In the Eye of the Storm. Do you know this song? We’ve been humming it the past few days… If you’re interested, you can go to YouTube and listen. It’s by Ryan Stevenson.

Take Care

-mike

The dawn sky marked a waypoint in our summer this morning.  Though we have been traveling southward for the past week, today is the day that we will actually leave Alaska and cross into Canadian waters.  Our current anchorage is about 12 hours away from Prince Rupert Harbor, where we will check in with the Canadian Customs office. This will be an open ocean crossing, and we are grateful to be making the voyage on a very good weather day.  Alaska holds such a place in our hearts that it’s hard to leave.  On the other hand, home and family are even dearer to us, and we look forward to being back.  How fortunate we are to have two places to call home!

On our way out of the bay this morning, I think we woke up a snoozing humpback whale. Our first indication was a glistening mass of whale back, moving away from the bow of the boat, followed by a magnificent display of flukes as he took a deep dive right in front of us! We gave thanks for the gift, and found ourselves fully awake.

As we proceeded, we saw some porpoises splashing in the distance, and wished that they would come escort us. And guess what? A couple of them broke from the group to come swim in our bow wake. Whales and porpoises all in the first hour! A good day ahead…

We have been out of cell coverage areas for much of the last three weeks, which prohibits us from posting on the blog. I’ll update with a few highlights, and Mike will cover others: Glacier Bay is a place we wanted to return to, because we had such a fabulous time there in 2021. We had to stage up for a timed entrance to the park, to receive our mandatory park briefing. The day before, we had cruised to an anchorage a couple of hours from the entrance. On the way, I pointed out a patch of seaweed in the water to Mike, who was driving. Sometimes rocks and shallow patches are covered with seaweed, and we’ve learned that Alaska is so vast that the navigational charts aren’t always complete, so we are always on the lookout for uncharted hazards.

As we drew closer, the seaweed started moving, and we realized we were looking at a huge group of sea otters and their young! They often raft up together, presumably for safety. These otters wanted to know what in the world was going on, and all over the patch, they started poking their heads way up to look at us quizzically, before taking a leaping dive into the water. They looked for all the world like a child’s Whak-a-mole game. They were curious, but not taking any chances. We gave them plenty of room, and so we have no pictures to share other than little blobs in the distance. But these have to be some of the cutest mammals to watch as they carry their babies on their stomachs, or tumble over and over in the water, taking turns breathing. It was great to see such large numbers of them, and we weren’t even to the park yet. On top of that, while at our anchorage we accidentally caught a halibut!

OK, here’s the story. In our big boat, we have no means of trolling effectively. To stay at a proper speed when trolling for salmon, we wear our headsets. Mike fishes from the stern, breathing in the diesel fumes, while I am in the pilot house maintaining the slow trolling speed by putting the engine in and out of gear, to maintain speed and keep us off the rocks. Meanwhile, Mike is offering helpful instruction through the headset. This method hasn’t been very effective, I’m afraid. But while at anchor on this day, the current was running past us at 2 knots (about trolling speed). Mike thought he’d just throw out a salmon lure and fish the lazy-man way, without the aroma of diesel. Almost immediately, he had a bite, and reeled in our halibut surprise! You see, halibut are bottom fish, but we were in shallow water, so the lure got close to the bottom, and BAM, halibut for dinner!

But to get back to Glacier Bay, one fond memory from our first trip there, was sharing our anchorage with a group of whales who were so close to our boat that we could hear them breathing – all night long! It was like being a part of their family, and we hoped to see “our” whales again. Sadly, it seems they were hanging out somewhere else this year. Rather than being disappointed, we told ourselves that each visit is different, and has its own special moments. This turned out to be true. We enjoyed another of our favorites: Puffins. These sporty little birds are very colorful, but very shy, so again no pictures. With our binoculars, we searched the cliffs and found a mother mountain goat with her kid, comfortably perched right on the edge of a steep rocky crag. We’ll spare you the pictures of little white blobs on the faraway cliff. We saw bears a couple of times, and we had a whale or two in some of our anchorages, but they didn’t come near us.

One amazing feature of Glacier Bay is the array of snow-covered mountain peaks, and the variety of glaciers. This gorgeous scenery is often obscured by clouds or fog. We were fortunate to have some clear days, so we saw sights that were hidden from us on our first trip. Reid Glacier was one of these places. We were able to stay right in Reid Bay (it’s unusual to anchor near the glaciers because the water is many hundreds of feet deep, but we found a shallower cove). As we were anchoring, I was wondering what all that color was on the distant shore. The binoculars revealed a mass of gorgeous wildflowers. Being a flower lover, I could hardly wait to get the kayak down and go to shore to check them out. I couldn’t believe the variety and sizes of the flowers. Fireweed, giant lupine and Paintbrush in a variety of colors, with blossoms that were almost the size of tennis balls! There were other flowers that were new to me. It was an amazing garden! Also amazing was the bear scat I came across here and there in the garden. Armed with only a kayak paddle, prudence won out, and I reluctantly decided to return to the boat.

Reid Glacier and the mountains surrounding it were magically beautiful. This glacier featured some ice caves right at the water’s edge. They were deep turquoise and mysterious, causing us to want to see more. At low tide, we took our kayaks to the head of the bay, and trekked up the alluvial glacial deposits (another name for very fine, stick-to-everything, boot-sucking, mucky mud), and tried to get close to the caves. We weren’t quite able to cross the stream between us and the cave, so we didn’t get to shine a light inside, but we got to hear the creaking, cracking and gunshot-like bangs of the glacier compressing on its slow move down the mountain. On our way back to the boat, we fished out some small ice bergs to chip up and use in beverages. A whale was swimming in our cove when we returned. It just boggles the mind to think that we could experience a day like this – an ordinary day in Glacier Bay.

Will we ever return here, to Glacier Bay and to Alaska? These are the thoughts I have as I leave. Time will tell, but I sure hope so. If not, we will forever count ourselves blessed to have had this “up close and personal” experience.

-beth