| VANCOUVER ISLAND TO GLACIER BAY
By Bob Compton
When
I left the slip at Port McNeill in the afternoon of June
14, 1999, I was finally underway after nine months of
planning and preparation. I would be single handing until
I met my first shipmate, Ken, who
was to fly in and meet me at Ketchikan on June 19th. My boat
was Sea Legs, a Blackman
26 Outerbanks. My destination was Glacier Bay. I had owned
Sea Legs just two months and had been at the helm twice.
I had much to learn about the boat and the waters upon which
I would spend the next six weeks.
This
is the travel tale of my trip through the glacier-cut
fjords
and islands covered
with dense rainforests that define
the west coast of Canada and Southeast Alaska. It is written
from a boater’s perspective, with an emphasis on preparation,
routes and facilities in case any of my fellow Blackman owners
are looking north.
Preparing for the Trip
The
trip had been in the talking stage with a good friend
and fishing
buddy for
about four years. We planned to make
the trip in my Skipjack 25 Sport Cruiser. Our experience
in the Northern waters was limited. He had grown up on the
Olympic Peninsula and was familiar with the Juan de Fuca
Strait. I had fished in Alaska with a charter outfit, and
had fished salmon in the Juan de Fuca Strait with my boat.
We had a friend who had made the trip in the early 80s. Two
of his pictures stuck in my mind. One was of his boat sitting
in mud over on its chine after the tide went out in an anchorage.
The other was of deadhead: a log floating vertically—just
the end sticking up. My friend passed on in 1998. I decided
that fall to make the trip the following summer. I set June
1 to August 1 as the target dates and planned my work accordingly.
In
late fall I read an ad in the Log for a buddy boat to
make the
trip I was planning.
I called and spoke to a fellow
from Orange County who had a 25-foot Bayliner and a friend
who would make the trip with him. He had spent several months
on the Inter-coastal Waterway on the East Coast and sounded
like an old salt. We were in general agreement on leaving
the first of June, although not on our itinerary in Alaska.
We decided to launch in Bellingham, WA the first of June
and travel up and back together. We would split up in Alaskan
waters. As time progressed, I could tell that his preparation
was not keeping pace with mine, so I was not surprised when
two weeks before the start date he told me that he and his
buddy had decided that "This is not the year".
Not a problem, I would leave from Port McNeil, which had
been my preference from the start.
When I made my decision to go, I gave no thought to getting
another boat. My entire focus was on what I had to do to
get the Skipjack ready. I knew I would have to have a no-sweat
range of 200 miles, and the Skipjack would have to be re-powered
with diesel to obtain it. I planed to have guests on the
trip. I needed to modify the cabin to add a refrigerator,
additional water capacity, water heater, space heater and
enclosed head with shower. I wrestled with re-powering and
the other modifications much longer than I should have. By
January I concluded that such an extensive remodel was not
practical, so my attention turned to finding a boat that
would meet my basic requirements for the trip: Range, cabin
helm, enclosed head/shower and adequate storage. Research
revealed several west coast boats that met these criteria,
and the Outerbanks in the enclosed head/shower configuration
was at the top of the list.
By early February I had brochures and prices from Blackman,
but there was not enough time to produce and outfit a new
boat for a June 1 start. I was close to buying a Sea Sport
in Bellingham, WA, when I got a call from Steve Blackman.
Steve said there was an Outerbanks for sale in the Seattle
area that had my name written all over it. He gave me the
telephone number of the owner, who emailed specs and pictures.
Steve was right; it was turnkey. The owner was a part-time
fishing charter captain, and the boat equipment showed it.
It was a 1992 inboard with a Volvo KAMD 42, Hurth transmission
with trolling valve, bow thruster, enclosed head/shower,
40 gallon water tank, Webasto diesel furnace with ducts to
both cabins, 1600 watt inverter, custom swim platform with
fish hold, tilt-back tower, enclosable cockpit bimni and
spares galore: prop, shaft, starter, raw water pump, hoses,
belts, filters, etc. It was outfitted for the Northwest.
We closed the deal in Portland April 16th. I took a short
cruise on the Columbia River and left the boat in a marina.
I measured and sketched the storage compartments. I arranged
for the engine to be serviced, new batteries to be installed,
a haul out for fresh bottom paint and an equalizer hitch
to be installed on the trailer. I had lists of charts, books
and equipment I would need. I went on a shopping spree.
I purchased books and charts from Bellingham Chart Printers
Division of Tides End Ltd. in Friday Harbor, Washington.
The Canadian charts were original issue, a complete set covering
the area from the Strait of Juan de Fuca to Dixon Entrance.
I chose two-thirds size black and white reproductions for
Southeast Alaska at about one-third the cost of originals
(The U.S. allows its charts to be copied; Canada does not.).
Southeast Alaska was covered by four roll up portfolios that
included all charts of the area. The reproductions are compact
but much harder to read than originals. Since I would require
hard copy charts in any event, I decided to forego electronic
charts. The original owner had equipped the boat with a laptop
computer (which did not come with the boat) and electronic
chart software. Before the trip was over, I would wish that
I had done the same.
My equipment shopping focused on safety gear I would need
for the trip. I bought an 8 1/2 foot dingy that I could carry
inflated in the cockpit, a Northern Airborne Technologies
GPIRB with built in GPS receiver and hydrostatic release,
extra flares, ditch bag, radar reflector and a swim step.
I thought about buying survival suits, but decided against
it. I bought an oversized Bruce anchor (for a 35 foot boat)
for the bow, and utilized the Danforth and Bruce anchors
that came with the boat for stern anchors. My doctor provided
prescriptions for drugs suggested in a book on emergency
care at sea. I had a pair of electric downriggers, a 2 hp
dinghy motor, and a 9.9 hp four-stroke Yamaha trolling/get
home motor.
Equipping the boat as a home for two months was a challenge.
The Outerbanks with enclosed head does not have room for
a sink and stove in the cabin. The helm seat cushions sit
on the galley counter and the sink is in a cabinet just outside
the cabin door on the starboard. The refrigerator is below
the galley counter. The boat came with portable two-burner
butane stove. I added a microwave oven, electric grill, electric
coffee pot and toaster, all of which stowed nicely inside
the cabin. I had a propane barbeque. My wife put together
the galley pots, pans and supplies
During this period I firmed up my schedule. I would leave
Camarillo, CA on June 1st, come hell or high water. It would
take two days to pick up the boat and drive to Bellingham,
Washington. I allowed five days in Bellingham to load the
boat and install equipment. Then it would take two days to
drive to Port McNeill, launch and get underway. A friend,
Ken, would fly and meet me in Ketchikan on June 19th. We
would cruise to Sitka and Ken would return home on July 2nd.
On July 2nd, my two sons, Gary and Mark, would arrive in
Sitka for a four-day weekend. Another friend, Breeze, would
fly in on July 6th and fish with me in Sitka until July 16.
After Breeze left, I would continue north to Glacier Bay
and return to Port McNeill by August 1st.
To Port McNeill
I got away early on June 1st. The bed of my pickup was
heaped high with gear contained with tarps and netting. I
arrived in Portland the afternoon of June 2nd, picked up
the trailer and went to the marina. The boat was removed
from a cradle in the storage warehouse and loaded gingerly
on the trailer with a forklift. I then swung by the marine
store to pick up the dinghy, anchor and some other pre-ordered
items. The timing was perfect. I would go through Seattle
at night when the traffic was nil.
As
I entered Seattle just before midnight, I heard a muffled "pop" and
the trailer swerved. I had a blowout on the right side. I
eased the rig off the lane into soft dirt. I looked the situation
over, and saw that there was no way to get the jack under
the axel. I got on the cell phone, called the highway patrol
and asked for a tow truck to provide assistance. Numerous
calls to sleepy voices produced nada. Finally, about 2:30am
a highway patrol car stopped. He heard my tale of woe, and
within 20 minutes a tow truck arrived on the scene. The driver
looked at the boat, the trailer and the axel and did not
have clue what to do. Finally, after much head scratching,
he worked the truck's lift under the trailer frame and raised
it to where my jack would fit. The tire off, we went to the
spare and found it was locked on with a combination lock--a
small detail that had escaped notice. We had no tools to
cut the lock, but I remembered that I had the former owner's
telephone number. So at 4:00am a very foggy voice answered
the phone. I explained the situation, and to my surprise
he immediately rattled off the lock combination. Spare installed,
I proceeded to Bellingham.
Bellingham
was my staging area. It has a commercial fishing fleet
and an extensive
marine supply and repair community.
I checked in at an RV park and went to work Loading went
slowly. There was so much stuff that it had to be packed
and repacked to make everything fit and accessible. Installation
work went smoothly until I mounted the Yamaha. It needed
to have the lower unit extended to 30”. I carted it
to the local dealer who had parts air shipped and completed
the conversion in three days.
I had a surprise when I weighed the rig and a certified
scale pegged the weight of the trailer and boat at 10, 840
pounds. The gear was in the pickup and the boat had less
than 50 gallons of fuel. With the boat loaded, the package
would be in the 11,500 to 12,000 pound range. The trailer
was rated at 10,000 pounds. I checked the tires, and they
were load range D with a maximum rating of 2,405 pounds each.
Allowing 1,100 pounds for the hitch weight, the maximum weight
supported was 10,700 pounds. I called the manufacturer of
the trailer axels and was advised that the axels are rated
for 5,500 pounds each. So I bought five new load range E
tires, rated at 2,680 pounds each, which would support 11,800
pounds.
I left for Port McNeill on noon on June 9th. I crossed the
boarder and proceeded to the ferry terminal at Tsawwassen,
BC, a total distance of about 60 miles from Bellingham. After
about a two-hour wait, we loaded. The ferry was huge. It
swallowed up long lines of RVs and 18-wheelers, like ants
going into an anthill. The ferry offloaded at Nanaimo on
Vancouver Island. I spent the night in an RV park and headed
north at first light. The highway along the east shore is
excellent, a lot of four lane until you reach Campbell River.
The distance to Port McNeill is about 240 miles, and I arrived
late afternoon. I checked into the marina and launched the
boat. Finally! I spent my first night on the water.
Port McNeill has a population of about 2,500 people. Its
principal industries are logging and serving the aquaculture
industry (farmed salmon). The Marina is small, limited to
several hundred slips. The business district is concentrated
near the marina, and I could easily walk to complete my shopping.
The run to Ketchikan
I had planned leave the morning after arrival in Port McNeill
for Rivers Inlet, a long, narrow body of water extending
East from the entrance of Fitz Hugh Sound. It is a noted
fishing area and home to half a dozen charter outfits. The
mouth of the inlet is about 70 miles (all water distances
are given in nautical miles) North of Port McNeill, across
Queen Charlotte Sound. I had eight days to make it to Ketchikan,
which would allow for a leisurely trip. However, the weatherman
had other ideas.
For four days the Canadian Weather Service was reported
gale force winds in the Queen Charlotte Sound. I spent the
time familiarizing myself with the boat and kibitzing with
fellow boaters waiting out the weather. Finally, on the morning
of the 14th the weather report was favorable. However, time
was no longer in my favor. I would have to make a run for
it to reach Ketchikan by the 19th. I decided to move that
afternoon to Cascade Harbor, a cove on Nigei Island off the
northern tip of Vancouver Island, and then leave the next
morning for Bella Bella.
The 30-mile
run to Cascade Harbor was under travel-poster conditions.
The sky and
the water were blue and the islands
are covered with lush green forests. There were occasional
floating logs and smaller chunks of wood and brush, enough
to require close attention. I would not use the autopilot
or travel at night on this trip. After leaving Broughton
Strait, I entered Queen Charlotte Strait, ran northwest through
Gordon Channel until I cleared Greeting Point on Nigei Island.
I then turned west to the entrance to Cascade Harbor. I arrived
at dusk.Cascade
Harbor is a cove that faces north, protected by a small island
on the seaward side. Access is through a narrow
opening on the east side of this island. This opening was
jammed solid with logs and debris lined, by the current,
perpendicular to the path of entry. I eased the bow against
a log along the outer edge and applied throttle. The solid
appearing jam moved easily, and Sea Legs slipped through
and into a glass-smooth pond enveloped in greenery. I was
alone. There was a small one room building on a float on
the north side with a small boat tied to it. Both appeared
to be serviceable but unoccupied. Remembering the picture
of my friend’s boat resting on its chine, I checked
the tide table and dropped the anchor in about 30 feet of
water. I fixed dinner and enjoyed the evening in the cockpit.
Just after dark a commercial troller bumped its way through
the entrance and set anchor. I had entered the waypoints
for crossing Queen Charlotte Sound, but I had not planned
the trip beyond that. So I pulled out the charts covering
the entrance of Fitz Hugh Sound to Bella Bella and marked
a course on each chart with a dashed line. Then I hit the
sack. What a great start to the trip!
I hauled anchor at daybreak. The troller was gone. I eased
out through the entrance and headed east. I was in Queen
Charlotte Sound and the first leg would be a 35-mile open
ocean crossing. I ran into a fog bank that extended over
my plotted track, so I stopped and set waypoints for a new
course to Egg Island, a turning point before heading into
Fitz Hugh Sound. There was a moderate 6 to 8 foot long period
swell out of the Gulf of Alaska, and the sky was overcast.
I had decided to cruise at 85%, or 3350 rpm, which gave me
an average speed of 16 knots. I had no trouble maintaining
cruising speed and left Egg Island to the starboard shortly
before 10am. I was out of the shipping lanes and had seen
no boats or ships. I entered Fitz Hugh Sound about an hour
later and stopped for lunch and pictures at the entrance
to Rivers Inlet.Fitz Hugh Sound runs north-northeast for
about 40 miles. It is three to five miles wide and is protected
from the
northwest swell by Calvert Island in the south and Hunter
Island in the north. It was loaded with logs and debris from
spring rains. At the northerly end of the sound, I turned
east into Lama Passage. The passage runs east, and then turns
north along Campbell Island to the Indian village of Bella
Bella. Since Bella Bella has a fuel dock but no guest dock
facilities, I ran over to Shearwater several miles to the
east.
Shearwater is a full service marine facility, except that
it did not have fuel in 1999 (it does now). It has side ties,
a haul-out facility, mechanic, restaurant, lodging, and separate
stores for supplies and marine gear. It is the only such
facility between Port Hardy and Prince Rupert. I had noticed
that the engine batteries were not charging, so I had that
problem corrected. At dinner that night I met the crew from
a 40- foot sailboat that hailed from Channel Islands Marina
in Oxnard, CA. They had shipped the boat to Seattle and were
headed for Alaska. As was to become my practice, that night
I plotted my course for thenext day on the charts, folded
them and stacked them on the table in order. While running
solo, I would reach over from the helm, grab a chart, shake
it out and read my course on the go. When I ran off the chart,
it was dropped on the cabin sole. The next morning I fueled
at the Bella Bella fuel dock and headed north.
The next three days I ran 300 miles to Ketchikan in steady
light rain and intermittent fog. Floating logs were a constant
hazard. I cruised with the cabin door closed and the furnace
on. This not only kept me warm, but it kept the noise level
down to a comfortable level. Window fogging was a problem
despite the defrost fan. With no time to gunk hole and explore,
this part of the trip was something of a grind. The first
night I found a spot on a float at Hartley Bay, a small Indian
village and harbor on the edge of Whale Channel. I did not
re-fuel, although fuel was available. The second night I
made it to Prince Rupert and tied up at the Prince Rupert
Yacht Club. Twenty miles either side of the entrance to Prince
Rupert harbor the water was chocolate brown and laden with
floating logs and brush due to heavy runoff. The third day,
June 18th, I headed north up Chatham Sound, across Dixon
Entrance and up Revillagigedo Channel to Ketchikan, where
I arrived that afternoon.
I met Ken at the airport as scheduled on the 19th. He is
an upbeat, fun guy and I was looking forward to his company.
He arrived with a case of mixed premium wines. We looked
around town, did some shopping and picked up our fishing
licenses. My wife had bought me a new fleece- lined Levi
jacket for the trip. With the constant rain it had become
a wet dishrag. I stuffed it in the bow thruster motor compartment
were it spent the rest of the trip and picked up a diesel
smell that lasted for more than a year. I replaced it with
a Gortex outer jacket and wool inner jacket that worked well
in the rainy weather.
That afternoon we took a short trip south of Ketchikan where
I had seen some boats trolling on my way in. We picked up
our first salmon, a small King that we released. The King
salmon limit was four-- for the season. You could catch six
Coho (silver salmon) a day, with a possession limit of 12.
That night we took in some of the sights of Ketchikan and
made ready to leave the next morning. We were headed for
Sitka, with no detailed plan on the route or how long it
would take us to get there.
To Sitka, with a Detour
We left Ketchikan about 9 a.m. and headed north up Clarence
Strait. We passed Meyers Chuck and turned northeast up Ernest
Sound. We stopped and videotaped a whale. We were headed
to Eastern Passage to go east of Wrangell Island, when Ken
suggested a shorter route up Zimovia Strait. This is a narrow
body of water about 30 miles long that runs generally North
and South and connects Ernest Sound with Sumner Strait near
the city of Wrangell. It looked good to me. We ran about
7 miles and encountered a narrow section, appropriately called
Zimovia Narrows, marked with the International Buoyage System.
We
entered the narrows at cruising speed. We approached
a wide spot in the waterway
with two islands spaced evenly
across the channel. Between and beyond the islands we could
see two buoys, green on the port and red on the starboard.
That seemed to indicate a narrow channel between the islands.
We were headed north for this narrow channel, when Ken yelled
out that the next buoy was to the starboard. It was a green
buoy, which marked the channel turning abruptly to the east
to go between the east side of the east island (Button Island)
and the east bank of the channel. I hit the brakes. The chart
showed that we were in a rocky shoal area. The depth sounder
indicated a 10 to 12 foot depth. I put the boat in gear and
idled toward the channel to the starboard. A form on the
sounder screen suddenly darted straight up from the bottom
and we heard and felt a violent crunching and grinding of
metal on rock. The boat stopped, swinging in the current
on the submerged rock. We checked for water entry--there
was none. We rocked the boat off the rock. The engine was
still idling so I slipped it into gear--nothing. After a
mild fire drill, we got the Yamaha started. By then the current
had carried us between the islands to the channel marked
by the buoys we had seen, which went from east to west across
the narrows (hence the buoys) where it turned abruptly north
near the west bank. We were about 20 miles from Wrangle,
but we had a two-knot current in our favor, which gave us
about six knots over ground. It was about 3:00 pm on a Sunday
afternoon. We had a leisurely three-hour trip to Shoemaker
Bay, a small harbor 3 miles south of Wrangle, and saw only
one other boat on the way. We had dinner, a bottle of wine
and wondered what we would see when the bottom was exposed.
Thus a lesson
in running the numerous Alaska “Narrows” was
learned on the first try the hard way, but learned well.
First, in Wrangell I purchased original charts for all of
the narrows I would encounter for the rest of the trip. The
original charts depict the navigable channel, hazards, buoys,
water and land in different colors and are much easier to
read than black and white reproductions. Second, if unfamiliar
with the narrows, you proceed slowly and do not leave a buoy
until you have positively identified the next one by number.
Use binoculars if necessary. Forget color or shape. In some
narrows numbered buoys are supplemented with gun sight markers.
These markers combine a straight pole with a circular target
behind it. The object is to steer the boat to keep the pole
lined up with the circular target until a release point indicated
on the chart is reached. From the release point, you proceed
to the next buoy or steer guided by the next set of gun sight
markers. I could have bought a laptop, navigation software
for all of the Canadian west coast and Southeast Alaska and
had money left over with what that lesson cost me to cover
the insurance deductible, hotel, etc.
The next morning we put-putted into Wrangell Harbor, which
was crammed with commercial fishing boats. Wrangell is a
classic Alaska town unspoiled by tourism. It has a population
of 1,100, supported by logging and fishing. The Harbor Master
took pity and gave us a spot to tie up for a few hours. We
walked to Wrangell Shipyard, and spoke with the owner, Gary.
He had two haul out ways, rails that extended into the water.
Both were filled and booked solid for several months. There
was no hoist in the harbor. He suggested we talk to another
fellow, who owned a hardware store and worked on small boats.
We did and he contacted a friend who had 27-foot boat trailer
that was empty.
Sea Legs
was hauled out on the trailer and parked in an empty lot
next to the Wrangell
Shipyard. The propeller was
mangled, the shaft, strut and rudder were badly bent and
there was fiberglass damage. Wrangell Shipyard pulled the
parts and took them to the machine shop. I had a spare propeller
and shaft. The rudder and strut were reworked by bending
and welding to where they would "make do" to finish
the trip. The work was completed in five days and the boat
was launched Friday night so that final shaft adjustments
could be made on the water Saturday morning.
Our time in Wrangle was enjoyable. Ken's niece is a lobbyist
and had given Ken the name of a legislator who lives in Wrangle
and suggested he look him up. He is a lawyer, one of two
in the town. His office looked exactly like one would think
an Alaska lawyers office would look like. It is decorated
with horns, hides and pictures of fish, fishing boats and
wild game. He took us under his wing and showed us around.
One of the most remarkable sights was the Wrangell golf
course. It is a nine-hole course literally carved out of
a forest. The fairways are like tunnels through solid stands
of trees and are covered with wood chips the size of a thumb.
The greens are artificial turf. I am not a golfer, but Ken
played nine holes with our host.
We chartered
a 45-foot Chris-Craft and fished for a day. It was great.
The captain's wife
served as crew and packed
a lunch. He introduced us to a jig called a “Buzz Bomb” and
we caught and released small Kings about as fast as we could
pull them up. We kept three nice fish. Just as we were calling
it a day, I dropped my buzz bomb to the bottom. When I pulled
it would not move. After an hour I landed an 86-pound halibut
on 15 lb line.
One day we took a jet boat trip up the Stikeen River, a
large river that extends east into Canada. We ran to where
the river was blocked with glacial ice and saw a varietyof
wildlife, including moose and black bear. Large animal sightings
were rare on the trip as a whole due to the dense
foliage.
Gary
arrived at the boat early Saturday morning to align the
shaft and adjust the packing nut. Gary was a professor
at the University of Alaska until he grew tired of that profession
and bought the Wrangle Shipyard. He said the final shaft
alignment and packing nut adjustment had to be made in the
water the day after launching because the shape of the hull
is not the same in water as it is on blocks. Gary and his
toolbox disappeared in the “engine room” on the
starboard side. Then he disappeared on the port side. Gary
is an average size guy, and an average size guy is like a
pretzel squeezed in the space between the engine and the
hull on a Blackman 26 inboard. After he completed the adjustments,
he told me to take it out of the harbor and run it wide open.
OK. But then he crawled back down by the engine and closed
the cockpit hatch. I couldn’t believe it! I ran wide
open with him cuddled up with the engine, hatch closed, for
about three minutes. When we returned to the harbor, he packed
his toolbox and said he would figure out the bill and mail
it to me. A year later I suggested an in-water shaft adjustment
to my mechanic in California, and he looked at me like I
had sprung a leak.
We left Wrangle, headed northwest in Sumner Strait, then
turned north-northeast up Wrangle Narrows. It was June
26th. We reached Petersburg about noon, a distance
of 45 miles. We nosed around and topped off. The next fuel stop would be
Sitka, just over 200 miles. Ken had heard of a neat stopover
anchorage called Warm
Springs Cove on the East side of Baranof Island. It was about 100 miles from
Petersburg, so we decided to head for it and spend the night. Our route took
us north and then west in Frederick Sound, and then north up Chatham Strait.
We arrived before dusk.
Warm Springs Cove is the Southeast Alaska version of a
rest stop. All transportation in Southeast is by water or
by air. The cove is a picturesque place surrounded by forest
with a waterfall at the upper end. Sitka lies 20 miles west
as the crow flies on the opposite side of Baranof Island.
The cove has a long float for boats to tie to with rafting
three-deep expected. It has a seaplane float. It has large
area that provides a good anchorage. There were several unoccupied
houses that looked like vacation homes. It was there that
we first met the Ice Bear, 171-foot yacht that looked like
the Queen Mary anchored in the cove. It cruises with an entourage
of two small powerboats the size Sea Legs. It was based in
Sitka for the summer, and we saw it frequently. We rafted
up and joined a dozen or so other boats on the float.
There were purse seiners working a few miles north of the
entrance, so the next day we fished for salmon. We trolled
all day in the area of the commercial boats for nothing,
and then went in a cove at the mouth of a stream and picked
up a 36-pound King on--you guessed it--a buzz bomb. That
evening Ken bathed in the natural hot spring near the cove.
The weather was turning sour, and that was the subject of
conversation along the float.
The weather was marginal the next morning. We decided to
stick our nose out in the strait and see what it was like.
The wind was blowing. The wind waves were four to six feet
high and steep. Twice when broadside to the waves the boat
rolled to an angle that set off the Aqua-alarm bell due to
low oil pressure and rolled me off the helm seat onto the
floor. The trips off the helm seat were in slow motion and
with a controlled landing, but it made me think about a seat
belt. We decided to go and slogged north making six to eight
knots for about 20 miles until we turned the corner and headed
northwest into Peril Strait. The wind was blowing across
Peril Strait with a short fetch, which allowed us to maintain
cruising speed. We reached the entrance to Hoonah Sound and
turned southwest into a part of Peril Strait that funnels
into a 5-mile long narrow stretch of the Strait. From Peril
Strait we entered Sergius Narrows, a challenging passage
with shoals and rip currents that we had heard about since
Ketchikan. We tucked behind and followed a purse seine Captain
who seemed to know what he was doing. We left the purse seiner
in Salisbury Sound, passed through Neva Strait, Whitestone
Narrows and Olga Strait. We entered Sitka Sound and reached
Sitka in late afternoon on June 28th.
Sitka
Sitka was to be my main base of operations for fishing.
It is situated in on the west side of Baranof Island, with
Sitka Sound opening to the Gulf of Alaska. It is the main
commercial fishing and sport fishing port in Southeast Alaska.
Like most of Southeast Alaska cities, primarily commercial
fishing and logging support it. There is a tourist business,
but it is small compared to Ketchikan, Juneau or Skagway.
It has daily jet service and the infrastructure to support
the numerous charter fishing operations based in Sitka. My
shipmates could return home with frozen fish. The downside
is that with commercial and numerous charter operations,
the rockfish and halibut stocks are not as robust as in some
of the more remote areas. Charter operators have discontinued
fishing halibut in Sitka Sound, instead fishing locations
in the Gulf of Alaska or bays and coves some distance from
Sitka. The heavy fishing pressure, of course, does not affect
the migratory salmon.
We were fortunate to be assigned a slip that was vacant
during our entire three- week stay. It was a great location.
The commercial guys in neighboring slips were friendly and
very helpful. There is a bar and grill within walking distance
on a hill overlooking the marina. It has an interesting mix
of folks and a large tree beside it loaded with bald eagles.
The eagles hung out in the tree in between meals at the fish
processing plant. The commercial salmon season seemed to
open and close intermittently at the whim of the fish and
game commission. The commission would tell everybody that
the season would open in 24 hours for three days. There would
be a great commotion on the docks as the fleet made ready
to leave and left. After they were at sea, the fishing might
be extended or shortened. The cycle was repeated several
times during the three weeks I was in Sitka. It is a tough
way to make a living.
Our first task was to figure out where to fish. Fortunately
the commercial guys were allowed to fish the first few days
after our arrival. We simply tagged along. Most of the action
locally seemed to be in Salisbury Sound, about 25 miles north
of Sitka, where there was a fleet of commercial and charter
boats trolling for Coho. We trolled with the fleet and had
reasonably good luck. After a few days we found a sweet spot
on the edge of Salisbury Sound that remained a reliable producer
of Coho the entire time I was in Sitka. The commercial guys
gave us locations for fishing for Kings, but we had no luck.
The locals told us that the big halibut were located in
deep water in the Gulf. After a trip to Salisbury Sound,
Ken and I pulled up to the cleaning dock. This was a municipal
float with several cleaning stations utilized by a number
of the charter outfits. That day was a particularly rough
day in the Gulf of Alaska. As we were cleaning our Coho,
a nondescript 24-foot cabin cruiser pulled alongside the
cleaning dock. The boat looked a little worse for the wear
and not particularly seaworthy. Our eyes popped as we saw
four huge halibut pulled out of the boat. Halibut weights
can be fairly accurately estimated by length. The largest
fish figured to be about 160 pounds and the total weight
of the four fish was near 400 pounds. I assumed that the
fish had been caught in the Gulf, and I asked the owner,
a local out with visiting relatives, if he had any problems
with the weather. He said that he caught the fish in Sitka
Sound. Not being a bit bashful, we asked where. He gave us
distances from two landmarks and the depth, which allowed
us to triangulate. We knew he would not direct us to his
Honey Hole, but we thought he might give us a location where
we would have a decent chance of hooking into a halibut.
That turned out to be the case.
Ken returned home on July 2nd, and Breeze arrived four
days later. He is a retired navy pilot, good company and
a good cook-- and he was eager to fish. The weather was consistently
overcast and wet. Not hard rain; just a miserable drizzle.
The cockpit bimni was invaluable, both for fishing and living
aboard. We did most of the cooking in the cockpit, which
would have been most uncomfortable without the bimni.
Mark arrived on July 8th. He and my other son, Gary, had
moved their trip back a week when we were beached at Wrangle.
Gary became ill shortly before departure and missed the trip.
Mark slept at a hotel, but spent the rest of the time on
the boat. He was gung-ho to fish and very unhappy when the
old guys voted to head back at 4:30 pm each day for a toddy
and leisurely dinner.
On one of our first runs to Salisbury Sound after Mark's
arrival we metered bait balls and salmon in Neva Strait.
We stopped and started trolling. We immediately picked up
a nice King. We continued working the narrows that day for
several hookups and another King. For two or three days we
spent a part of our time fishing Neva Strait, and picked
up one or two Kings a day on Buzz Bombs and trolled flashers
with hoochies attached. We did not see anyone else with Kings
at the cleaning dock.
Mark had been reading about fishing for halibut in Alaska
and came up with the idea of using Coho heads and guts as
bait. The technique is to anchor and let the halibut come
to the bait. Mark left before we could give it a good try,
but Breeze and I had moderate success. We cleaned the Coho
so as to leave the entrails attached to the head and refrigerated
the bait. We anchored in 150 feet of water at the spot identified
by the local guy at the cleaning dock. After soaking the
bait for 20 minutes to a half hour the halibut would come
calling.
During the last week in Sitka, Breeze and I had fair success
with Coho but caught no Kings. We fished a number of spots:
Vitskari Rocks, the Gulf, Salisbury sound, Sitka Sound and
the straits and narrows between Salisbury Sound and Sitka
Sound. Coho were caught primarily on flashers and hoochies.
They did not seem to care for other trolled lures or buzz
bombs .
Finally the time for departure from Sitka arrived. Breeze
had to return home, and I would head for Glacier Bay.
I had not yet decided what I would do after visiting Glacier
Bay. It was July 16th, and I was supposed to be home by August
1st, although I had a little wiggle room. I figured that
with good weather I could make it from Glacier Bay to Port
McNeill in seven days, averaging 110 miles a day. Add three
days by road and I would be home. There would be no time
for gunk holing, although it was likely that I would be idled
several days due to weather. An alternative would be to pick
up the truck and drive back on the Alaska Highway. Either
alternative would take about the same time. The idea of driving
the Alaska Highway through the Yukon Territories appealed
to me. I would make the decision after visiting Glacier Bay.
Glacier Bay
After seeing
Breeze off, I checked out at the marina office, returned
to the boat
and cast off. It was about 9:30 am and
overcast. My destination was Gustavus, an anchorage on the
North side of Icy Strait, about 10 miles east of the entrance
to Glacier Bay. There I would contact the Park Service for
Glacier Bay National Park and await a boat reservation cancellation
that would allow me to enter the Park. The park service only
allows 25 boats at a time in the park and takes reservations
months in advance. Under the Park Service rules a "boat" is
a boat, whether a cruise ship or a 26-foot Blackman. I had
no reservation, but I had been told that cancellations were
common so decided to take my chances. The distance was about
140 miles. I thought I could make it before dark.
The first
leg of the trip retraced the run into Sitka from Chatham
Strait. I ran up to Salisbury Sound and hit fog bank
at the entrance to Kakul Narrows. I stopped and had an early
lunch. There was no way I was going to tackle Sergius Narrows
with poor visibility. After about a half-hour the fog seemed
to lift slightly, so I decided to stick my nose into the
entrance of Kakul Narrows to see what it was like. After
inching through the entrance a hundred yards the fog and
the overcast dissipated, and I was on my way. In Sergius
Narrows the tide was in full flow, and it caused the boat
to bob and spin. It required my full attention to keep the
boat headed the right way and make sure it was positioned
correctly between the buoys. When I emerged from the narrows
I proceeded north in Peril Strait. The sky was cloudless
and it was a delightful run. As I approached Chatham Strait
I kept a lookout for a buoy that marks a shoal area that
extends some distance from the north bank of Peril Strait.
When I cleared the buoy, I headed north up Chatham Strait.
The run
up Chatham Strait to Icy Strait is about 40 miles. At the
start it was fair
weather, blue sky and calm seas.
It was a wonderful experience with no traffic and low, rain-forested
mountains on the west shore. As I proceeded north, the wind
built and the going became slower. When I reached the north
end of Chatham Strait, I gave passing consideration to ducking
into a cove I saw on the west shore. I decided to keep going
and turned the corner to head northeast on Icy Strait. Soon
I was jogging, making no headway. The wind waves were steep
and well above the cabin. The bow got very little lift before
the waves hit, broke over the bow and swept around the cabin.
I had the cabin door and hatch closed and the heat on, so
I was dry and warm. Sea Legs shed the water like a duck.
It was exhilarating and fun, at least until a higher "rogue" wave
angled in from the starboard about 45 degrees off the bow.
I caught a glimpse of the cresting wave just before it hit
like a rodeo bull tossing a dummy. I ricocheted off of the
cabin ceiling, the table and the cabin sole. Not quite as
easy as the trips off the helm at Warm Springs Cove, and
it reminded me that I needed a seat belt. Never could figure
where the wave came from in an inland sea, unless it got
its start from a passing ship. After about a half hour the
winds began to subside. I made headway and gradually picked
up speed. It was getting dark, and it was about 30 miles
to Gustavus. I decided to divert to Hoonah, located about
25 miles southeast of the entrance to Glacier Bay on the
north shore of Chichagof Island.
Hoonah is a village of about 800 people. The people are
supported by logging and fishing. It is the principal village
of the Huna, a Tlingit tribe that has occupied the Glacier
Bay/Icy Strait region since prehistory. It has one restaurant,
Mary's Inn, which was packed the morning after my arrival
with folks standing around watching a television set that
was suspended from the ceiling. It was the morning after
JFK Jr.'s plane disappeared. The other big news was that
an elderly local fellow had caught a 58-pound salmon just
outside the harbor entrance the day before, the largest he
had ever caught.
The harbor is small but well protected. The boats were
a mix of commercial, sport fishing and transient. I suspect
that few of the sport fishing boats were locally owned. The
nearest population center of any size is Juneau, about 40
miles by boat. There are no large charter operations nearby.
It is 35 miles from Cross Sound and the Gulf of Alaska. I
was tempted to spend a few days fishing but decided that
without a freezer it would not be worthwhile. It would be
an ideal base for fishing if a person had a boat with adequate
onboard freezing capacity. There were about a dozen transient
boats. Two boats caught my eye. One was a Skipjack 25 flybridge
from the LA area. The other was a Bounty, an Outerbanks look-alike
built in Southern Oregon. A couple from Salt Lake, UT owned
it. I met these Utah folks again in Rivers Inlet when I returned
to Canadian waters in the summer of 2001.
A phone call to the Glacier Bay National Park headquarters
revealed that there was a cancelled reservation for the next
day. I could have a permit for two days, with a possibility
of an extension if another cancellation came up. I left at
daybreak on July 18th, another rare beautiful day. The trip
across Icy Strait to Bartlett Cove in Glacier Bay took about
an hour and a half. I checked in at the Park Service headquarters,
obtained a permit, watched the mandatory video and received
instructions on areas closed to motorboats. I decided to
run up to the Grand Pacific Glacier at the head of Tarr Inlet.
It is a distance of about 55 miles, and it would put me as
far North as I could go by water in my boat in Glacier Bay.
Leaving Bartlett Cove, I passed a yacht in the 100-foot class,
and that was the last boat I saw that day except for several
cruise ships and a group of kayakers near the entrance of
Tarr Inlet. The Bay was glass-smooth, so I ran some speed
trials. I ducked into coves and idled near shore. I shot
pictures and videos. Finally, I reached Russell Island at
the fork of the entrances to John Hopkins Inlet and Tarr
Inlet.
Tarr Inlet
is about eight miles in length. Near the entrance I started
encountering "icebergs" the
size of small trucks. As I proceeded into the inlet the
number grew with
smaller chunks of ice joining the larger ones. By the time
I was within a mile or so of the glacier I was creeping along
avoiding the floating ice. By the time I was within 300-400
yards of the glacier, the slush was thick. Although the boat
still moved easily, I was concerned about damage to the propeller.
I stopped, took pictures and headed back.
I thought about spending the night in a cove named Blue
Moose Cove. The setting is striking, with lush growth to
the water line. There were no other boats. The thought of
dinner at the Glacier Bay Lodge prevailed, however, so I
spent the night anchored at Bartlett Cove. I decided that
night that one great day in the Park was enough. August was
approaching, and I was a long way from home. I had fueled
when I tied up for dinner, so I marked charts for a trip
to Haines the next day. It would be a 120-mile sprint.
The
fog was so thick I could see less than 50 feet when I
awoke on July 19th.
I sat a while and waited for it to
clear. No change. About 10:00 a.m. I decided to go. Once
clear of Bartlett Cove, the waterways were wide and clear
of hazards except for the floating kind. I proceeded out
of the Bay and southeast on Icy Strait, picking up only one
incoming boat on radar. When I was roughly north of Hoonah,
the radar picked up half a dozen boats that appeared to be
stationary in the middle of Icy Strait. Couldn’t be--sitting
out there in the fog. I maneuvered around the blips and stopped.
The fog started easing, so I moved in closer. Sure enough,
a group of boats were anchored, evidently fishing. I marked
the spot on my chart for next time. I proceeded southeast
down Icy Strait, across the north end of Chatham Strait and
turned north at the entrance of the Lynn Canal. By now the
fog had cleared, but it was cold, overcast and raining with
a 20 mph wind blowing from the south.
The Lynn Canal is between
3 and 8 miles wide, averaging about 5 miles, and it is
70 miles from its south entrance to Haines. The Canal runs
through
the Tongass National Forest. On the port side were the
snow-capped peaks of the Chilkat Range of mountains. With
the overcast
and the rain, the mountains were darkly beautiful and I
stopped several times to take pictures. At its north end
is Skagway,
about 15 miles north of Haines and in the extreme northeast
corner of Southeast Alaska. Haines and Skagway have the
only roads that connect Southeast Alaska to the outside world
via the Alaska Highway. I was going home on the Alaska
Highway.
Going Home
Haines, like Wrangell, is a real down-to-earth Alaska small
town. Skagway, I think, is the cruise liner capital of Alaska.
I had to make my way from Haines to Port McNeill, retrieve
my pickup and trailer and drive a little more than 1,900
miles back to Haines or Skagway. I figured I would be gone
five days to a week and I wanted a safe place to leave the
boat. Haines, with its small harbor and congenial Harbor
Master crew, provided that place. I checked out travel arrangements
to Port Hardy. I could fly to Vancouver and catch a puddle
hopper back to Port Hardy. Alternatively, I could take the
Alaska Ferry from Haines to Prince Rupert and catch the Canadian
Ferry from Prince Rupert into Port Hardy. Both required two
days of travel, so I chose the Ferry
I left
Haines on the Ferry the night of July 21st. My last-minute
arrangements did
not allow me to reserve a stateroom. However,
a modest tip took care of that. We were socked in with fog
from the moment we left the Lynn Canal until arrival in Prince
Rupert. We stopped briefly in Petersburg and Wrangell. Before
leaving Wrangell I had authorized the machine shop to make
a new propeller shaft, and I called ahead to make arrangements
to have the shaft delivered to the ferry when we docked.
That was a mistake. It is a heavy sucker and I had to tote
it along with my bag until I reached Port McNeill. The Alaska
Ferry is a mini (read "poor man's") cruise ship
and quite a pleasant way to travel. The food was good and
the stateroom tiny but adequate. There was slightly less
than an hour to change ships in Prince Rupert. There was
about a quarter of a mile distance between the docks, and
I had to huff and puff with my propeller shaft and baggage
to make the change.
The Canadian
Ferry is much like the Alaska Ferry. The fog was too thick
to see the
water during the entire trip to
Port Hardy. Periodically there would be a "thump" that
would send a vibration through the ship--just hit another
log. We arrived in Port Hardy just before midnight. I checked
into a motel then caught a bus to Port McNeil the next morning.
I recovered my rig, and I was on my way.
The trip from Port McNeil to Skagway took four days. After
crossing to the mainland, I traveled east and north and picked
up the Alaska Highway at Dawson Creek. The Alaska Highway
ranges from excellent three-lane Highway to narrow, shoulder-less
gravel two-lane construction detours. Much of the highway
has 25 or 30 km speed limits. It was under repair in many
sections, and loose gravel pelted the windshield. The Highway
crosses the Rocky Mountains twice before arriving in Whitehorse,
Yukon Territories. I stopped in Whitehorse to buy oil and
filters for the pickup and an additional jack, shovel, lumber
and tools for the trailer. I proceeded to Skagway, arriving
July 27th.
I spent several days getting the pickup serviced, retrieving
the boat from Haines and doing some last minute gift shopping.
Skagway had birthing for four cruise ships. Each night about
five o'clock, whistles would sound and 4000 to 6000 people
would evacuate the town and proceed to the cruise ships.
During the night the cruise ships were replaced, and in the
morning a fresh set of passengers would off load and flood
the town with new faces. The town, with its gold rush false-fronted
stores, eateries and motels, is a pleasant place to spend
a day, but it is not representative of Southeast Alaska.
I started back the morning of July 31st. It took six days
to reach Camarillo. The odometer trip meter registered just
over 3,000 miles.
In the Wake
Three weeks after my return, I was towing the boat on US
101 near my home, and a pickup overturned, slid across the
freeway on its top and smacked the boat and trailer broadside.
It totaled the trailer and put a sizable hole in the boat
amidships at the waterline. Don and Steve did a beautiful
fiberglass repair job, replaced the rudder and added a cockpit
helm and some other goodies.
I returned to Port McNeill in 2001 and cruised and fished
for a month. I was with two other boats, and we ranged north
to Bella Bella and south to Echo Bay. It was very laid back,
with our only preset objective to fish in Rivers Inlet. Salmon
fishing is generally down in British Columbia, which was
OK because we did not have on-board freezers and could only
catch what we could eat. The other two boats were very successful
with shrimp and crab traps. My sense is that ninety-eight
percent of the boaters in the waters between Seattle and
Vancouver, BC never go north of Campbell River, which leaves
the anchorages and remote fuel/supply stopovers in the north
relatively open. The weather tends to be cloudy and rainy
and sometimes windy, but it is nevertheless a spectacular
area in which to cruise and relax.
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