Who cares about ID when there might be contraband

When we first arrived in Ketchikan I had opted for the monthly slip rental.  The harbor staff had informed me that if we were to stay for more than 10 days it was cheaper.  My plan at that time was to be in town for about a week, effecting repairs, re-provisioning, and readying for our grand adventure through Misty Fjords, then 10 days to 2 weeks for the trip, and a week to get ready for Canada.  At over $30 per day at the daily rate I was all for cheaper.  Then because of my excellent medical adventure (pardon my sarcasm), we spent 2 weeks.  With the week long trip I had a little over a week of marina time already paid for remaining.   It felt good to finally have something go according to plan.

The first thing I did upon our return was to call the doctor’s office to procure more packing material, renew my prescription, and get a follow-up appointment.  With a date set for the next Tuesday afternoon I concentrated on the usual in-port boat stuff: groceries, liquor, incidental repairs, oil change, etc.  I also went by the post office and picked up a new supply of crosswords and some audio books (thanks, Mom) and the refund check for my utility deposit from the City of Sitka that Rik had forwarded.  It seems that they couldn’t credit my credit card and wouldn’t hold the check for my return.  At least I finally got it 4 ½ months after closing my utility account in Sitka.

On Monday afternoon while I was at the bank depositing the check I asked about getting foreign currency.  I had found out that both of the credit card companies I have cards with were going to charge me a 3-5% fee for each transaction in Canada.  Based on my monthly expenditures to this point this represents over a hundred dollars so I had decided I would spend cash while in BC.  Besides, I had heard from other cruisers that BC stands for “bring cash” although not because of credit card usury.

Anyway, the folks at Wells Fargo informed me that they held no loonies but that I could order them from their foreign currency department and that it would take 2-3 business days for the cash to arrive at the bank whereupon they would call me to pick it up.  First thing Tuesday morning I called to order the currency.  I was told it would be shipped FedEx that afternoon and I could expect the call Friday afternoon.  Furthermore there was no exchange fee, only a shipping fee of $6.75.  Since the slip was paid through Sunday at noon this would work.  I placed the order.

That afternoon I went to the doctor’s office.  I was feeling pretty good about the healing progress my wound had made since the last visit.  The antibiotics had knocked out the infection, restoring normal color around the site and judging by how much packing tape I was using, the cavity had closed to 1/3 of what it was.  The doctor examined it, painfully probed it and told me he still wanted to cut it open.  His fear was that it wouldn’t close up and that the packing process would become chronic allowing anaerobic bacteria to re-establish next to the bone threatening infection of the bone and causing loss of the leg.  He wanted to see me in a month.  When I told him I would probably be in BC or Puget Sound he instructed the nurse to copy all of my records so I could take them along.  He then half jokingly said I could get the operation done in Canada for free.  I smiled, telling him that this little medical go-around had cost me $1300 to date with over $900 of that the lab work and x-rays the hospital had done.  He was genuinely shocked and said that our medical system was broken.  Truer words have not been spoken.

The rest of the week was spent preparing for transiting Canada.  Being a true Alaskan I was armed to the teeth.  I knew they frowned severely on bringing pistols into the country so I had mailed the .44 to Rik in Valdez when I was in Ketchikan previously and mailed the .22 to Lance in Portland Tuesday.  I went online to find out what their laws were concerning ammunition, fishing, cash, dogs, food, liquor, etc.  No problem with the ammo, I was well under their limit of 5000 rounds.  Ditto the cash.  Jazz had had all his shots while we were in Sitka so he was legal.  Possession of fishing gear was no problem as long as I didn’t use it without a license.  To my dismay, I found that one of my rifles was restricted due to the barrel being ½ inch too short (the limit is 18 and 1/2 inches even though almost every short barreled rifle is 18 inches; you don’t suppose they did that on purpose?)  and couldn’t come through without me possessing a Temporary Transportation Permit.  This required a background check and a waiting period, clearly out of the question.  I would have to ship it.

I began researching shipping the rifle.  To my horror I found I had committed two felonies in mailing the pistols.  I had heard the restrictions on mailing firearms had been relaxed.  This is true of rifles.  Not so with pistols.  They could only be mailed by a Federal Firearms License holder to another FFL holder.  I was clear on the .44 as Rik said he had picked it up with no issues.  If a postal inspector found the .22, I would probably be arrested trying to clear back into the US in Washington.  I knew I was going to lose sleep until I heard Lance had received the gun.

I didn’t have a case for this rifle so off I went to the sporting goods store.  While there I asked the clerk for his advice.  He was under the assumption that the FFL routine was still required for rifles.  I told him what I had found, failing to mention my felonious behavior.  He did say that it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to simply ship the rifle in the case and that I should go next door to the freight expeditors in the mall.  They said it would be no problem, they could box it up for me, and if I were able to get it to them within the hour, it would go out that afternoon.

With the firearms taken care of I turned my attention to food and liquor.  Canadian Customs restricts some fruits, vegetables, and beef.  No problem, I was planning to take 2-3 days to get to Prince Rupert from Ketchikan and would simply not buy any more than what I would consume in that time with the idea of replenishing the larder there.

Liquor was a problem.  They restrict liquor importation to 1.5 liters total.  Blue Note is my residence.  I have both a liquor cabinet and a wine cellar onboard.  There was no way I could consume enough booze to get under the limit at least without being totally impaired during the transit and arriving with a massive hangover.  I decided I wouldn’t visit the liquor store before leaving and would explain my situation to the Canadian Customs officials throwing myself on their mercy.

Friday morning all that remained on my list was to wait for the loonies, stop at the fuel dock (this time on our way), and head for Canada.  My phone rang a little after 4.  It was the foreign currency department at Wells Fargo calling to explain that FedEx had delivered the money to the wrong address and that they wouldn’t be able to re-ship until Monday morning, meaning I wouldn’t be able to pick it up until Tuesday afternoon.  I was furious.  He explained that at least the person was honest and returned the shipment to FedEx.  I pointed out that that was fortunate for Wells but did me absolutely no good.  Further, the delay would cost me almost $120 in slip fees.  He offered to waive the $6.75 and the overnight shipping charges.  I told him to go ahead.  Even though I had more than lost what I had hoped to save I could spend the time working on the blog.  Sigh.

Saturday I called Lance and was very much relieved to hear he had gotten the pistol.

The guy from Wells called on Monday to say the shipment had gone out that morning and gave me the tracking number.  He went on to say that the previous package had actually arrived in Ketchikan on Thursday afternoon but that FedEx had delayed informing the bank of the delivery error until late on Friday.  Thanks a lot FedEx.  I apologized for my ire on Friday and we hung up on good terms.

Right after the call, I was putzing around in the galley and accidently knocked the carafe for the coffee maker to the floor, shattering it.  Oh man, now I was in trouble!  I had just put the second most important piece of gear on the boat out of commission.  I jumped on the bike and made my way to the mall.  Neither Sears nor the appliance store carried Krupp coffee makers and I was loathe to spend over $50 for one that required paper filters.  Despondent and at a loss for what to do, I remembered I had saved the carafe and gold filter for my old Krupp machine that had bit the dust several years earlier.  I rushed back to the boat, dug it out and tried it.  It wasn’t a perfect fit but I was able to make it work by using the top from the broken carafe.  Whew, crisis averted!

Tuesday morning I saw the FedEx plane land at the airport over on Gravina Island.  I waited an hour then went online to track the package.  It had arrived in Ketchikan.  I saw that it had originated in Portland.  If I had known that I could have transferred money to Lance and he could have picked up the loonies and sent them to me via Alaska Air Gold Streak.  I would have gotten them Wednesday or at the very latest Thursday.  Oh well.

By 4, tracking indicated the shipment was on the delivery truck.  I called the bank letting them know I was expecting the package.  She told me they would call when it arrived.  I detected at bit of attitude but was feeling the system would finally work in my favor and was able to keep my temper in check.  I kept checking and at 5 the package had been signed for at the front counter.  I figured the branch closed at 5 and when I hadn’t gotten a call by 20 after, resigned myself to not getting away until Wednesday morning.

At 2 minutes before 10, I was standing in front of the bank.  The bank hours posted on the locked door indicated the branch was open from 10-6 M-F.  My blood was boiling.  At exactly 10, they opened the door.  I stormed up to the counter and asked for the shipment.  It took them almost 10 minutes to find it.  I told them I knew it had arrived at 5 the previous day and asked when they were planning on calling me.  No answer.  By this time I had the attention of the woman who had told me 2-3 business days and that of the branch manager.  I let them know I wasn’t very happy with their performance.  They began the worthless apologies but I was uninterested, turned heel and left.

The last task was to settle with the harbor master.  After looking up my account the woman told me I owed almost $400!  Choking back the words that immediately came, I told her I had already paid for a month and that I only owed for 3 days moorage and the electrical charges.  She scrolled around for a minute then snapped at me, saying my playing with my credit card was making her task more difficult.  I put the card down and as calmly as I could, lined out when I had arrived, left, and returned.  She punched numbers on her 10-key and told me $160.  Much better.  Strong emotion is contagious.

We were away from the dock at 11:30.  The weather was beautiful, warm and sunny, with a 15 knot wind blowing down Revillgigedo Channel.  Even though the start was late, at least we would have a pleasant downwind run to our anchorage.  We stopped at the fuel dock and filled up.  I was pleased to find we had only used 47 gallons for the 130 mile trip around the island.  We were underway by 12:45.

Our destination was Foggy Bay, probably the most popular anchorage for boats traveling between Ketchikan and Prince Rupert.  Even though the 37 mile trip was a bit long given our late departure, I was counting on the tail winds to speed us along our route.

Motorsailing along with the genoa and at times making almost 7 knots, I began to think that maybe the bad day had finally turned good.  Then we got to Mountain Point less than 3 miles down the Channel and the wind died.  A half a mile further it was blowing right on our nose at 15-20 knots, cutting our speed in half.  At first I though this was only temporary but when it hadn’t changed by the time we reached the other side of Bold Island, I knew we weren’t spending the night in Foggy Bay or even Kah Shakes Cove.  I listened again to the weather forecast: NW everywhere and yet here we were with SE winds.  And not only that I could see a fog bank ahead.  Terrific.

I went below to look for options.  There weren’t many, the best being Alava Bay.  Not having to anchor would save time allowing me to launch the skiff for Jazz and still be able to get away early enough in the morning for the long leg to Rupert.  I altered course.

Usually being the slowest duck on the pond is no big deal.  Over the last ten years I have gotten used to being passed by almost every other boat.  And now, with no schedule to adhere to I hardly notice it.  But after the sixth or seventh seine boat passed us and seeing them anchored everywhere, it dawned on me there was an opener the next day.  This meant that every seine boat in the southern district would be out on the grounds so as to be ready the next day at first light and that one would most likely be occupying the mooring in Alava Bay.  Sure enough, rounding the corner there were 4 boats anchored in the bight and the F/V Muzon was tied to the buoy.  Ostensibly these moorings are intended for pleasure boaters and I was beginning to wish a bad fishing day for the Muzon when I realized that I would be in the same place if the roles were reversed.  I actually tried to anchor but there was no room if we dragged.  Oh well, back to the Coast Pilot.

By now it was after 6 and with the fog bank inexorably moving up the Channel our options were narrowing considerably.  Mary Island Anchorage caught my eye on the chart and I looked it up.  Not bad but the Pilot recommended Customhouse Cove on the west side for being more sheltered and better holding.  It was over 9 miles away but we would be able to finally take advantage of the SE winds and perhaps beat the fog to the anchorage.  I picked up the anchor, raised the main and we were off.

Out in the Channel, the winds were kicking up a 4-5 foot sea, hitting us on the port bow and splashing over the dodger.  And because we were so close to the wind I couldn’t afford Otto’s sloppy helmsmanship, forcing me to steer.  I could also see three trollers already anchored in the cove.  Closer, I could see there would be plenty of room for us.  We were anchored a little before 9.  A half an hour later the fog rolled in, completely shrouding two of our neighbors from sight.  What a day!

I was beat, physically and emotionally.  There was no way I was going to launch the skiff for Jazz that night.  This presented a logistics problem.  It takes over an hour to launch the skiff, allow Jazz 15 minutes to do his thing, and then retrieve the skiff.  Jazz had been to the beach right before we left the marina.  It was 65 miles to Prince Rupert, a long day, too long to do the skiff before leaving.  And once we got there, it was probable we wouldn’t be allowed off the boat until we were cleared in, possibly not until Friday.  No way was I going to force Jazz to wait that long.  The alternative was to spend the day here and hope Canadian Customs would clear us in Friday night.  We stayed.

Thursday morning was beautiful, clear and calm.  While we were on the beach I heard the unmistakable blow of a whale.  A pod was cruising the outer edge of the cove.  We jumped in the skiff and zipped out to where I had seen them.  They continued up the channel keeping their distance from us.  We broke off the chase.  It’s one thing to view a 40 foot whale at close distance from a 37,000 pound steel boat and something completely different from a 250 pound inflatable dinghy.

Back on the boat I was delighted to find I had a cell signal.  I began calling.  While I was on the phone the first flying bug showed up.  Almost ¾ of an inch long I thought it was a bee.  While we were in Nina Cove the bees would fly into the cabin, cruise around for a minute or so and then fly out when they found nothing of interest and with no urging on my part.  This one was showing an inordinate interest in landing on my skin.  Not only that, it looked like a huge house fly.  Within minutes there were 5 or 6 buzzing around the cockpit.  Then I felt a sting and found one on my leg taking a drink.  That was it.  I went below and got a section of newspaper for fly swatting.  After an hour and dozens of fly bodies littering the deck we went below to escape the airborne onslaught.

The afternoon seabreeze kicked in a little after 3.  We reemerged to find all but a few of the most tenacious flies had left.  I busied myself with cleaning out the chain locker and troubleshooting the forward running light problem.  I was unsuccessful in getting them to work but at least had found a bunch of stuff to throw away.

My plan for Friday was to take Jazz to the beach Thursday late and secure the skiff that night to be able to get an early start.  We got back to the boat around 7:15.  I hoisted the skiff aboard and was in bed by 8, with the alarm set for 4 in the morning.

It was low overcast and calm when we left the anchorage a little before 5.  I had to rely on the radar to avoid other traffic about half the time as we motored south to Dixon Entrance.  Around 9 we began to pick up a slight breeze and I raised the main.  We crossed into Canadian waters at 11:01, and about an hour later Dundas Island came into view and then quickly disappeared into the fog.  We finally broke out of the fog for good about 15 miles into Chatham Sound.  I was relieved because even though I was prepared to transit Venn Passage using the radar and plotter I really didn’t want to.

By now the wind had picked up to about 10-12 knots just off our starboard bow.  I once again had to steer to get any advantage from it.  We were making over 5.5 knots and had been for most of the trip but I hadn’t factored the time zone change into my arrival calculations.  Now, instead of getting there around 5, it was going to be 6.  I hoped Customs would clear us in on a Friday night.

We were in Metlakatla Bay by 4:30.  The wind was out of the west at 15 knots.  I had opted to leave the main up to get as much speed out of it as I could and now it was a bother as we began the turns of Venn Passage.  The Passage is not difficult but it does require paying attention to the course and the depth finder.  I had my hands full, dealing with the sail, watching the plotter and depth finder and keeping an eye of the reckless sport fishermen roaring back to town after a day of drinking and fishing in the sun.

A little ways in, I noticed the sounder acting unlike it ever had before.  It had been installed six years ago and is on when ever the boat is underway.  For hundreds of hours it had performed flawlessly, scaring me at times but never failing to show me how deep it was under the boat.  Now, when the depth would vary from 40-50 feet, the numerical readout would disappear and the video indication would fade.  It would come back at shallower or deeper depths.  Weird.

About half way, so as not to have to deal with it, I cinched the boom amidships.  The sounder continued to act funny but we were almost through the passage.  The house batteries were fully charged by this time and I figured maybe the regulator causing the alternator to cycle on and off at almost 14 volts was giving the sounder grief.  Another thing to add to the list.

When we got into the harbour (when in Canada…) I jumped below to shut off the radar, and stereo.  I went back up to furl the sail.  When I got back behind the wheel I looked down to see what the depth was.  The sounder was blank!  Oh great, now I was going to have to see about getting it repaired which would mean staying beyond the weekend and possibly longer.  Bring cash indeed.

When Pedro, Chris and I came through Rupert in 2000, we only stayed one night.  Rather than deal with the public marina, I had asked for and had gotten a slip at the Yacht Club.  It had cost $56 for one night 10 years ago.  I wasn’t about to do that again, especially with a potentially much longer stay.  We headed for Rushbrook.

Rushbrook has six floats with only one designated for transient vessels.  Furthermore it is first come first served.  The guide book says to expect to raft up in July and August.  They weren’t lying.  In places the boats were three deep on the transient float.  Right next to that float is the Sailing Association float.  There was an open spot right on the end but there was also signage threatening life and limb if you didn’t belong.  I saw a sailboat on the transient float that looked heavy enough to have Blue Note along side and headed there.

We got along side and I was just about to toss a line around his amidship cleat when the owner popped up and waved us off.  Great, now here we were, all the way into a very narrow fairway with the wind trying to blow us into the expensive yachts on the association float and I had to either turn around or back out.  I knew with the way the boat handles in that wind that backing out would be a disaster.  I started my turn.

Fortunately, I had the foresight to put a fender out on the starboard side.  When we finally got turned around I was too close to a beautiful red sailboat and we brushed along its side for a couple of feet before Blue Note answered her helm and I was able to get her back out.  Now what?

The couple on the red sailboat was signaling me to go to the open space on the association float.  Who am I to refuse an invitation in those circumstances?  But I couldn’t get in starboard side to with the wind blowing me off the float.  I went back out and switched the dock lines and fenders to the port side.  Ten minutes later we were fast to the dock.  It was 6:20.

The next items of business were the harbormaster and Customs.  Since I couldn’t use my cell phone and Jazz was looking at me expectantly, we headed for the harbormaster’s office.  She was very friendly and got us checked in with a minimum of fuss, even letting me use her phone to call customs.

A woman answered my call and began asking questions.  I think she was trying to check us in without an onboard visit but I knew that was impossible because of the firearms.  My research had told me that the declaration forms I had downloaded needed to be signed and one of them would serve as my temporary license while we were in Canada.  After many questions she finally reached the same conclusion and instructed me to go back to the boat to await a visitation.

Two and a half hours later, a man and a woman dressed in black showed up at the boat.  The first thing they wanted was for me to get the firearms.  I complied, bringing them up on deck.  The woman began comparing my paper work with the guns.  The man instructed me to remove Jazz to the dock and for me to remain on deck while he went below.  Ten minutes later the woman was finished with her inspection.  She collected $25, signed the forms, and handed me my copy.  I could hear the guy opening and closing cupboards in my stateroom.  Finally after another ten minutes, he came up and asked me where the ammo was.  I went below, showed him, and came back up on deck.  After another five minutes, he called me down, asked me about food, liquor, tobacco, and Jazz.  Then he began quizzing me on whether I had left any firearms in Valdez, where I had shipped the restricted ones, where I intended to visit and if any of the liquor would remain in Canada.  I felt like letting him know it was none of his business what I had left in Valdez or where I shipped the guns to, but knew any rudeness would not bode well for me.  He seemed satisfied with my answers, nodded to the woman who handed me my CanPass number and they left.  They never asked for my passport, the ship documents, or Jazz’ vaccination paperwork!  But I had my number.  I was cleared into Canada.

The pics: a beautiful afternoon in Bar Point Harbor, goodbye Ketchikan, a humpback shows a fin in Custonhouse Cove, Dundas Island first view of Canada.

ap

What is it a Monument to?

-->

While dealing with my leg, one of the tasks I had completed along with re-marking the anchor chain and replacing the oversized link was to pay a visit to the Forest Service office to get any information they might have regarding docks, floats, and anchorages.  The friendly receptionist loaded me up with maps, brochures, and her own anecdotal information.  It seems the Forest Service, recognizing the difficulties of anchoring in the bays of the Monument due to the depth and the rocky bottom, has placed mooring buoys in many of the bays.  They are free to use on a first come first served basis.  One of the rules on their use is that only one boat may use them at a time if they are over 30 feet.  This would prove to be a difficulty.

We got away from the dock at 1.  Our first stop was the fuel dock.  It’s about 2 miles south of our berth.  This required us to go in the opposite direction to where we wanted to go.  At one point I considered reversing the direction I was planning to go just so backtracking would not be necessary.  I wanted to experience the Monument wilderness last though so I kept to my original plan.  But I hate to backtrack so I wasn’t real happy with the four mile trip to the fuel dock and back.

Then I had to decide what to fill.  A little explanation is in order.  Blue Note has 4 tanks, two 40 gallon tanks and two 35 gallon tanks, for a total of 150 usable gallons.  The problem with the way this is set up is that the venting to the tanks is inadequate.  The result is that some of the tanks are easier to fill than others.  One of the tanks that was empty was one of the more difficult ones to fill.  What happens is you squeeze the nozzle and a couple of seconds later there’s a geyser shooting up out of the fill port.  When the liquid you’re dealing with might as well be gold, this is not what you want to happen.  To add to this, when the geyser spouts, it ends up in the water, creating sheen.  When the Coast Guard has a huge facility a couple of hundred feet away from where you are refueling, this is something you really don’t want either.

An hour and a half later we were on our way.  The weather wasn’t great, overcast, 10 knots on the nose, and occasional rain squalls.  Our destination for the night was Loring, a tiny village whose draw was a dock with a free float, at least according to the Forest Service information I had.  I raised sail when we turned up Clover Pass and we motorsailed the rest of the way.

One of the things I noticed on this leg of the trip was the vast number of houses on the beach in Clover Pass.  I’m not talking cabins and resorts although there were plenty of those.  No, I’m talking houses, big houses with multiple floors, outbuildings, decks, docks with ramps and floats.  The fortunes these dwellings represent was staggering and to top it off most showed absolutely no sign of occupation.  Must be nice to have a multi-million dollar “cabin” you rarely use.

We got to Loring about 6:30.  I wasn’t happy with what I saw.  They had a dilapidated float that had no connection to the beach due to missing pilings.  The other float was brand new or at least looked it.  It was below a huge house replete with a woman standing behind a large picture window with her arms crossed over her chest and scowling at us.  Obviously not the free dock the FS was talking about.  I went below to read what the Coast Pilot had to say about an alternate anchorage.  It mentioned a dock and float in the cove at the head of Naha Bay, the bay we were in.  We headed there.

When we turned the corner I could see a couple of sailboats moored to a float.  As we got closer I could see it was jam-packed, no room at the inn for us.  I still wasn’t absolutely sure if this was the FS dock so I maneuvered close enough to gain the attention of the fellow sitting under the dodger of the nearest boat.  He confirmed that it was the FS dock and asked if we wanted to raft up.

After we got tied up and I had taken Jazz ashore I went aboard the S/V Solitude to talk to her owner Orville.  He was very kind to recommend some of his favorite places on my route.  He, his buddy Telly, and I had a pleasant couple of hours telling stories.

We were away by 10:30 the next morning.  Our destination was Klu Bay about 26 miles.  The weather was overcast with 10 knots out of the SW, putting it on the nose until we rounded Indian Point.  I raised sail and we motorsailed up Behm Canal.

Nearing Neets Bay I could see trollers everywhere.  I stopped counting when I got to fifty.  I later found out that Neets Bay was a release site for hatchery salmon.  For the most part they stayed out of my way even though they had the right-of-way.  But there’s a jerk in every crowd and the one in this one kept altering course to be in our path.  I finally gave up trying to avoid him, seeing he was a fiberglass boat.  I think he saw he would lose the confrontation with a pointy steel boat and veered off.  I smiled and waved getting the bird in response.

Approaching the entrance to Klu Bay I was disappointed to see a skiff dart out of the Bay heading for the twin falls that drain the lake above.  It probably meant there was already a boat on the FS mooring.  Sure enough, a motorcruiser sat at the ball when we rounded the corner.  I anchored across the bay but wasn’t happy with the set.  I looked at the options and decided to head to a FS mooring in Blind Pass about 10 miles away.  If it were occupied there was one up Bailey Bay another 5 miles further.  Off we went.

The sun had come out by this time and it was a beautiful motor up to Blind Pass.  I could see a large motorcruiser sitting at the mooring in Bailey Bay meaning if the one at Blind Pass were occupied we would be underway for several hours to the next one in Anchor Pass.  Fortunately it was vacant and we had no trouble tying up.  I launched the skiff and Jazz and I went ashore to explore.

Part of my procedure when scouting an anchorage is to motor around, surveying to see what the depth, bottom type and swinging room look like.  Not knowing what the Forest Service’s criteria were for placing their moorings, I saw no reason to alter my habit.  Circling the mooring before tying up, I saw we had 30 feet on the beach side, plenty of water.  Never the less, I set the alarm for 6 in the morning as we were to have a -3.1 foot low tide at 7:10.

I was awakened at 5 by a strange noise.  Getting out of bed, I could hear wind in the rigging.  As I was climbing the stairs to the cockpit I heard the noise again and saw the wheel move.  The noise was the rudder scraping in the rocks!  We were still 2 hours from low tide.  I had to get the rudder clear like right now.  I started the engine and jumped behind the wheel.  It was locked in place.  I couldn’t move it.  The wind had blown us toward the shore and Blue Note’s rudder was jammed in the bank.  I kicked it in gear and applied throttle.  At first nothing happened, then slowly we began to move off the bank.  Once free, I swung the boat around to the other side of the buoy and put it in reverse to hold us off the bank while I collected my thoughts.

The mooring in Anchor Pass was the nearest option about 11 miles away but on our intended route.  There was no way I wanted to retrieve the skiff in the 20 knot wind howling up Blind Pass so I rigged it for towing.  We slipped the mooring at 6 and were underway.

We arrived at the mooring in Anchor Pass a little after 8.  I was relieved to see it was unoccupied and sheltered from the wind blowing in Behm Canal.  This time I circled it more carefully especially with an eye toward swinging room.  Satisfied, we were fast to the buoy by 8:30.

The rest of the day was spent reading, doing crosswords, and taking Jazz to the beach.  Oh, and deciding where to go from here.  Both Orville on the S/V Solitude and Gary on the S/V Irish Dreamer spoke of the great crab fishing in Burroughs Bay.  They also warned that the mooring was totally unsheltered from weather blowing up Behm Canal.  I decided to see what the weather was like in the morning and to choose whether to go there or continue on then.

Monday morning dawned clear and calm.  We slipped the mooring a little before 10 and motored out into Behm Canal.  The wind was light, less than 8 knots and on our stern, sadly too light to gain any advantage in raising sail.  Several miles up the Canal we were joined by a pod of Dalls porpoises.  They stayed with us for an hour playing in our bow wave.  It amazes me how much they raise my spirits.

Arriving at the mouth of Burroughs Bay, I debated whether to proceed the 5 miles up the bay to the mooring or to continue on.  The wind was still light, less than 5 knots and the sea was relatively flat.  With the thought of fresh crab dancing in my head we headed up the bay.

The Unuk and Klahini Rivers drain into Burroughs Bay.  I had read that the Unuk River was navigable by skiff over a mile up from the mouth.  My plan was to set the crab pot, tie up to the mooring, and then explore the river.  Best laid plans…

By the time we got to the mooring at 12:30, the wind had picked up to 10 knots, kicking up a 2 foot chop.  Still it wasn’t too bad if it didn’t get any worse.  It got worse.  By 3, it was blowing 15-18 with a 4 foot chop.  I figured the wind would probably die out in the evening if we could stick it out.  Exploring the Unuk was definitely out.  It was over a mile away and the seas would soak us by the time we got a ¼ of a mile.

By 3:30, it was gusting to almost 25 knots and the sea was running 5 feet.  The motion of the boat reminded me of the outside of Dall Island.  By this time the boat was banging into the buoy, losing paint in the process and chafing the line.  Time to go.

While we were sitting at the mooring, I had watched a crab fisherman pick his pots right in the vicinity where mine was set.  He pulled two out of the first one and three out of the second.  I thought at least I’d finally catch a crab.  Wrong.  When I got the pot aboard there was an 8 inch halibut in it, too small to keep.  Skunked again.

We headed for Fitzgibbon Cove, right around the corner from Burroughs Bay.  There was a spot marked 5 fathoms on the chart that looked suitable.  Wouldn’t you know the wind died about a mile from the entrance.  Sigh.

As we rounded Fitzgibbon Point, the troller that had been working the waters off Point Whaley was heading for the same bay we were.  Given my luck so far this trip, I fully expected to see him anchored in the spot I had picked.  I was hugely relieved to see him anchored in the deep basin at the head of the bay.  We proceeded to our anchorage and I dropped the hook in 30 feet.  I paid out another 60 feet of chain and it set with a satisfying lurch.  Home sweet home for the night.

Tuesday was high overcast and calm.  Our destination was the FS mooring in Walker Cove.  I was a little apprehensive in going there because if it were occupied, I wouldn’t know it until 5.5 miles into the bay, causing an 11 mile detour with the next opportunity for mooring over 20 miles further on.  We motored down east Behm Canal and turned into the cove.

Walker Cove is spectacular with granite cliffs rising straight out of the water, some to over 3000 feet.  Even if the mooring were occupied, it was worth it to see the place.  On our way in an avalanche of rocks and snow tumbled down one of the glacier-cut ravines.  Fortunately the mooring was open.  We tied up and spent a relaxing evening watching the clouds burn off and the sun disappear behind the peaks.

Wednesday was overcast again with the tops of the cliffs shrouded in mist.  It was calm deep in the bay but as we gained the main channel the wind was blowing from the mouth up the bay at 10-12 knots.  Approaching the entrance, the wind was a steady 18 knots and whitecaps could be seen out in the Canal.  We had towed the skiff since Blind Pass and were again today.  I debated turning around and going back to the mooring or at least back to find enough shelter from the wind to get the skiff secured on board.  I decided to head out into the Canal to see what the conditions were.

Rounding Ledge Point I could see the seas were 3-4 feet and the wind was still a steady 18 knots, not the best of conditions but not too bad.  The route I had plotted had us hugging the eastern shore of Behm Canal to the entrance of Rudyard Bay.  But with the weather right on our nose our speed dropped to 2-3 knots.  I decided to raise the main and tack into the wind.

Behm Canal is oriented north-south along this 15 mile stretch and with the wind out of the SSE, we were making one long leg and then one short leg across the over mile-wide waterway.  Even with a speed of 5.5 knots motorsailing with a single-reefed main our VMG was still only 3.5 knots and the ride somewhat uncomfortable.  I began to look for an alternative.

Manzanita Bay on the western shore looked like it might be one.  It was at the end of one of the long tacks, it was sheltered from the wind, and though very deep right up to the shoreline the chart showed a mooring buoy at its head.

A mile from the bay we were in the lee of the island.  I hadn’t realized how on edge I was until the waves dropped and the wind moderated.  I’m never comfortable towing the skiff and in these conditions it was worse.  I was looking forward to getting tied up and relaxing.

Clearing Wart Point (what a name) I began looking for the buoy.  All the ones I had seen so far consisted of a partially submerged float, girded by a tire serving as a fender, with a 2 foot post topped with a ring.  They had been painted white, making them not too difficult to spot.  I couldn’t spot this one.  I grabbed the binoculars and scanned the shore and still couldn’t find it.  I read the Coast Pilot and it described the bay with its mooring buoy.  Then I looked at the Forest Service map.  It did not show a mooring in Manzanita Bay.  Apparently between the time the chart had been updated 2 years ago and this season, the FS had removed the mooring.  Oh well, back out into the Canal.

Re-rounding Wart Point, I was happy to see that we were far enough south that we could make it directly to Rudyard Bay without having to tack.  About a half hour into the 2.5 mile run and with a sinking heart I spotted a motorcruiser making for Rudyard Bay.  Silently urging him to continue northward, he defied my wish and disappeared into the Bay.  At this point in my trip through Misty Fjords I was disgusted with the whole thing and contemplated simply turning south and heading back to Ketchikan non-stop.  But we had gotten this far and Punchbowl Cove in Rudyard Bay was purported to be the crown jewel of the Monument.  Jazz was cocking his head and looking at me with a funny expression as I cursed the gods sotto voce.  We continued on.

We rounded the point at the entrance to the Cove and sure enough there was the motorcuiser I had seen earlier at the mooring buoy.  To make matters worse, the tops of the sheer granite cliffs were still shrouded in clouds.  What a bust all the way around.  I still had the sail up and in the fluky winds this far back in the bay I had my hands full keeping it from gybing and luffing.  When I finally got the boat turned around I noticed the other boat was moving up the eastern shore of the cove.  The mooring was vacant!  I apologized to the gods and turned back for the buoy.

When the boat had been secured Jazz and I made our way to the beach for his business.  The ideal landing spot for these sojourns is steep enough to allow the skiff to be re-launched with little difficulty but not so steep as to make getting in and out of the skiff a wet proposition, not rocky so Jazz’ pads don’t get cut up on the ubiquitous barnacles and mussels, and not muddy so he doesn’t track it all over both the skiff and the boat.  Less than an 1/8 of a mile away there appeared to be the ideal landing spot.  We headed over there and it was the best beach we had found ever.  Perfectly sloped and free of rocks it consisted of what looked like black sand but was small grains of the surrounding granite.  It didn’t even stick to his paws.  It says something about Misty Fjords Monument when the high point is finding the perfect beach for Jazz to poop on.

After the perfect beach we motored over to the stream that drains the lake above the cove.  Now it was time for me to curse my own stupidity in not taking my camera for right on the beach next to the creek was a big grizzly sow and her 3 cubs foraging in the grass and seaweed.  We floated about a hundred yards off the shore and watch them for about 45 minutes.  They finally ambled back into the woods and we returned to the boat.

Remember I said that Punchbowl Cove was supposed to be the crown jewel of the Monument?  Well it is very pretty, kind of a Yosemite Valley if the valley floor had been flooded with saltwater.  This opinion seems to hold great sway with every float plane jockey in southern Southeast because everyone of them makes at least 3 trips through the cove daily.  On intervals of less than a minute and sometimes two at a time they roar through at low altitude.  Few things are less peaceful than the growl of a nine-cylinder DeHavilland Beaver radial or the scream of a Cessna 206 Lycoming.

Occasionally they land.  One did that Thursday morning as I was readying the boat for departure.  They are quiet at low throttle settings and this guy cruised past us on the water making for the stream where we had seen the bears.  The tourons on board all got out on the float as the plane drifted just off the beach snapping pictures and pointing.  Then they all piled back in and the pilot fired up the engine and turned the plane out to the entrance.  Then instead of taxiing back out past us he fire-walled the throttle and thundered by no more than 150 feet away.  I felt like mooning them but thought better of it as I remembered the six-inch letters emblazoned on each bow proclaiming the boat name.

We headed for Alava Bay.  I’d had my fill of the vaunted Misty Fjords.  Besides I was running low on medicine and wound packing.  But most importantly, I only had a couple of day’s worth of coffee left.  The day was sunny and the winds were light.  Rounding the point into the bay I saw a fish tender where the mooring was supposed to be.  Figures…an unhappy ending to an underwhelming trip.  As I got closer I spotted the buoy behind the fish buyer.  Yay!  After tying up and taking Jazz to the beach I had too many gin and tonics and went to bed early.

Friday I loaded the skiff on the back deck and we were underway by 8:30.  It was overcast but promised to burn off.  It did burn off but the winds were once again light and we motored the whole way.  We were tied to the dock in Bar Point Harbor by 1:30.

My recommendation for Misty Fjords National Monument: do not visit it by boat while the cruise ships are calling on Ketchikan and the float planes are flying.  Instead go over to the dark side and do what the tourons do: visit it by float plane.

The pics: one of the weekend cabins in Clover Pass, the mooring at Blind Pass the night before going aground, the Fitzgibbon Cove anchorage, Walker Cove, one of the 3000 foot cliffs in Walker Cove, the mooring in Walker Cove, the wall in Punchbowl Cove, the perfect beach, New Eddystone Rock which is the core of a volcano that rises 900 feet from the ocean floor and is 260 feet above the ocean surface, Alava Bay.

ap

Fun in Ketchikan

Back in Port Bazan I had noticed my left pant leg was wet but hadn’t paid it much attention.  When moving around the boat and doing things, this is a normal occurrence.  Then I noticed the top of my left sock was crusty.  This isn’t a normal occurrence.  I pulled up my pant leg.  The scab had come off where I had barked the shin two months earlier and the wound was oozing.  I figured it would dry up in a day or two so I swabbed it with alcohol and put a band aid on it. Then I promptly forgot all about it.

A few days later I pulled off the band aid, swabbed it again and re-bandaged it.  By the time we got to Ryus Bay, it was red, swollen, and still oozing.  Definitely infected.  I figured I’d go to the clinic, get a prescription for antibiotics and that would be that.

I debated blowing it off but thought I’d better take care of it so Friday morning I set out to do it.  After an hour of walking to several places that claimed to be clinics but didn’t have anybody that could prescribe medicine I finally got to one that could.  They didn’t have any appointments but offered a nurse to look at the wound to see if I should see a doctor.  She took one look and said I should definitely see a doctor.  Serendipitously as I was leaving the receptionist said they had a cancellation and could I be back that afternoon.

After I had described the circumstances under which I had injured it (for about the fifth time) to the doctor and he had examined it, he said he wanted to do a culture.  While he was taking the swab he said he also wanted me to go next door to the hospital to have an x-ray and a blood test.  And he wanted me to see an orthopedic surgeon.  I don’t have health insurance so I said, “Go easy on me, Doc.  This is coming out of my pocket.”  He looked up and replied, “You want to lose your leg?”  That got my attention.  He went on to explain that if the infection has gotten into the bone there wasn’t much they could do. I went next door.

Now was I pretty sure the bone wasn’t infected but that doctor had scared me.  Right after it happened while I was cleaning the wound I also checked for dents and divots in the bone.  There were none.  And if it had been broken, I would have experienced pain that would have prevented me from doing what I had done immediately after.  But I’m not a doctor.  Needless to say, the weekend wasn’t much fun.

Monday morning a nurse called to say the x-ray had been examined and there was no indication of any infection.  Whew, what a relief!

Tuesday afternoon I went to see doctor number two.  He turned out to be a pretty cool dude (the other guy had the bedside manor of Attila and the usefulness of a traffic cop).  He said the infection was a staphylococcus strain that was vulnerable to every antibiotic except penicillin, a very good thing.  He added that the hematoma I had gotten from the blow had left a cavity under the skin and that was where the infection was.  He said if it were his leg he would have it cut open, cleaned out, and let it heal from the bottom up.  The danger was once again the bacteria getting into the bone, the idea being to remove any trace quickly.  I must have looked funny because he then said, “The operation would have to be done in the hospital.  You’re looking at $6000 minimum.”  Ouch, will this roller coaster never end?  I asked if there was a plan B.  He said,”Yeah, there’s packing.”

Packing is a medical term I wasn’t familiar with so I asked.  He told me not to worry; he was going to show me.  The nurse knew what he was talking about because she quickly appeared with a bunch of stuff.  He proceeded to jam about 6 inches of this white ribbon into the wound with a single-ended Q-tip, using the wooden end.  Whoa, creepy.  And a little painful.  We were done, at least for that day; he wanted to see me again in a couple of weeks.  I left with a baggie full of “packing material” and a prescription refill.

Boy was I having fun in Ketchikan.  My plan was to be here for about a week taking care of stuff then taking off for an open-ended cruise around Revillagiggedo Island (the island Ketchikan is on) and through Misty Fjords National Monument via the Behm Canal.  The trip is about 130 miles and I figured I’d be gone up to two weeks before returning to Ketchikan to prepare for transiting British Columbia.  But this stop was proving to be very expensive.  I estimated my medical entertainment at $1k or more and I still hadn’t dealt with the nav computer issue.  I was able to resurrect the autopilot remote.  At least I didn’t have that $2k expense hanging over my head.

I decided to put off the nav computer issue and get ready for the Misty Fjords trip.  What followed was 3 days of jaunts to the grocery store, liquor store, chandlery, and several other places I’ve mercifully forgotten.  Friday looked good for departure.

More later.

I haven’t included any pics as I didn’t take any of my leg and they would be kinda gross if I had.

ap

Postscript: I forgot to mention a person who, without even knowing me went out of her way to help me with a chore I had no means of performing by myself.  Thank you, Joni.  You're an angel.

Oh yeah, I do have a couple pics to post.  These things cruise past the boat all day.  This one is named after you, Jilly.

Nina to Ketchikan

We stayed in Nina Cove for two nights. Not only the security of the Cove after the last six days of, shall we say, excitement kept us there. And it certainly is secure. Perfect anchoring properties, 360º enclosure, and geographical location all make for a very snug spot. No, beyond that it is an interesting place to explore with completely different personalities depending on the tide. At low tide it is a rock pile with broad beaches and dry washes separating the islets. At high tide it is deceptively open with navigable water around the islets, only by skiff of course. Fun!

The birds liked the place too. There were four ravens that delighted in chasing each other through the treetops and performing aerial acrobatics the whole time we were there. They didn’t much like us walking the beach though especially Jazz. One of them would follow us along the beach making a raucous racket when ever we were near a particular spot. I was awakened Tuesday morning to what sounded like a loud cocktail party. It was a flock of maybe 25 Canadian geese picking over the mud flats at low water. It was impressive to see them all leap into the air and form up in the characteristic V, flying a few feet above the water, slowly gaining altitude to disappear over the far shore. The ubiquitous alcids, mostly murres and guillemots were floating and diving out in the entrance. There was usually a pair of eagles either soaring over it all or calling to each other from the top of the trees. The only real mar to this was the active clear cut that was mercifully out of sight and far enough away that only the loudest sounds could be heard when it got particularly quiet in the anchorage.

I began to think of where to go from here. The wilderness area set aside east across Cordova Bay on Prince of Wales Island was definitely on the list. I’d had my fill of logging and clear cuts and I was certain there would be none of the former there although it was likely there would be older cuts. Equally distant to the north was the town of Hydaburg, I was running low on a few things and had been out of touch with family and friends for awhile. I figured I could take care of both things, see the town and then head south. I plotted the route and readied the boat for departure in the morning.

We didn’t get away until 12:30. The weather was overcast with a 12-15 knot wind blowing out of the NW. The 5 hour slog up Tlevak Strait seemed long with the drone of the engine and no help from the sails in the headwinds. It was nice to turn NE into South Pass and get some drive from the Dacron. We were tied to the dock in Hydaburg a little after 7.

It was a big disappointment to find that my cell phone didn’t work and no internet connection was available. So much for half of why I was here. Thursday morning I walked into town. I stopped by City Hall to let the harbor master know we were there. I asked if there was a fee for staying. He said no, not until they had performed some repairs and improvements. I chuckled to myself, thinking of the sorry condition the docks were in and that replacement not repair was what was needed. He did mention that some master carvers were working on four new totem poles and that I was welcome to go take a look. I headed there.

The red cedar aroma was detectable a block away. I followed my nose to a warehouse at the head of the cannery dock with a carving of an orca in front. Inside were two older fellows wielding tools and rendering cedar logs into amazing art. They invited me to wander around and see what they had already done. I’ll let the pictures speak.

I was able to get a couple of the items I was low on from the local market so that part of my trip to Hydaburg was successful but I saw no point in extending my stay. I made plans to leave with the tide in the morning.

Friday morning brought a partly cloudy day with light and variable winds. Motoring south in Sukkwan Strait we passed a freighter being loaded with round logs. Admittedly, I’m no expert on the finances of the logging industry but I hate to see the export of round logs. The only logging in Southeast is on native lands performed by logging companies on behalf of the native tribes that own the land and resources through their corporations. It seems to me that that is similar to eating the seed corn. Maybe the native corporations are maximizing their return by contracting the logging and exporting the round logs to Asia, but it takes more than 70 years to be able to log those lands again and some value added milling to the timber would provide a bit more employment to their members than a few long shoring jobs loading the occasional freighter. End of rant.

The winds remained light throughout our trip to Max Cove in the Southern Prince of Wales Wilderness Area. I tossed the crab pot over on our way into the anchorage. After the hook was set Jazz and I went ashore for our usual “exploration”. By this time the clouds had burned away making for a beautiful afternoon in a beautiful cove. Back on board, I fixed a G & T and relaxed in the sun on the foredeck.

I was awakened the next morning by howling and barking. The sunlight was streaming through the portlights as I made my way up on deck. The wild noises were coming from the forest right behind the beach Jazz and I were on the previous afternoon. I watched for a good fifteen minutes after the last barking bout but never saw the animals—wolves judging from the sounds. Jazz’ hackles were up the whole time.

We decided that beach should probably be left for the wild life. The correct choice as that afternoon a black bear decided to root around in the grass on it. I got a couple of pictures from the boat but it was a long shot. I jumped in the skiff and idled closer. The bear heard the motor but couldn’t see me for the sun reflecting off the water. He went back to what he was doing until I shut off the motor about 150 yards away. He could see me by this time and he turned, ambling into the forest. We didn’t visit that beach again.

The weather forecast Sunday morning was for SCA outside, 10 knots building to 20 knots in the afternoon for Dixon Entrance. Monday sounded good for Clarence Strait. I began evaluating the anchorages on the south end of Prince of Wales Island. Minnie Bay looked good on the chart but the Pilot recommended local knowledge for the entrance. Nichols Bay was closer to Cape Chacon but not as sheltered. I decided to head for Minnie Bay, taking a look at the entrance when I got there, traveling on to Nichols if it didn’t look good. I plotted the route.

The routine for getting underway from on the hook has evolved to these steps: start the engine, turn on the depth finder and autopilot, turn on the radar if it’s foggy, move the monitor to the cabin top and set up the nav program to display on both the laptop and the monitor, pull the anchor, and go. I got to the nav setup and saw that the laptop screen was dark. Arg. I determined that the LCD wasn’t working. OK, down to just the monitor. I could live with that.

The day dawned overcast and had only gotten worse as far as ceiling and visibility. But the winds were light and the sea was flat. Our route took us south in Klakas Inlet, Cordova Bay, and Eureka Channel, then southeast to Minnie Bay. The turn to the SE at Mexico Point brought us into the weather environment of Dixon Entrance and Dixon Entrance wasn’t having a particularly good day, 15-20 knots SE 5-6 foot seas. Oh, and did I forget to mention the rain squalls? Yeah, those too.

We got to the entrance at Minnie Bay about an hour before low tide. Kelp beds were everywhere. Although we were in the lee of PoW Island, the occasional 3-4 footer would roll through. I probably would have tried it if it had been after low tide but I just wasn’t willing to take a chance of having to sit on a rock for two hours in that swell. We pressed on to Nichols Bay.

The route I plotted took us around the east side of Bean Island avoiding Bert Millar Cutoff another local knowledge situation. But the conditions in the Entrance were worsening. The weather was now on our starboard bow at a steady 20 gusting to almost 30 with a short sea at 6-8 feet. I reread what the Coast Pilot had to say: 1 ¾ fathoms controlling depth, very narrow channel only 10 yards wide. But by that time the tide had been flooding for over an hour and the route cut off an hour to the anchorage including a nasty turn to the north through the trough. I decided to try it.

It was a huge relief to gain the lee of Bean Island. Short lived however. The approach to the Cutoff looked like a big kelp bed, ending in a jumble of rocks that didn’t really look passable. The scare box had rocketed up from hundreds of feet to 30 feet and shallower as we approached. Finally I could see the channel. Narrow, narrow, narrow. Narrower than the entrance to the head of Cedar Bay in Prince William Sound and definitely narrower than Boat Harbor’s in Lynn Canal. I throttled back to dead slow ahead but with the flooding current we were still making a couple of knots, certainly fast enough to bend metal. I wasn’t breathing as the bottom rose to 12 feet, then 10, then 9. It held at 7.6 for several seconds then began dropping away. I began to breathe again. We were through.

Not quite, actually. The bay on the other side was the place where the Pilot recommended local knowledge. I had carefully plotted a course around the charted rocks but soon found the chart to be woefully incomplete. At least four times I had to back down hard to avoid uncharted reefs.

Eventually we made it out into Nichols Bay and to the first of the three recommended anchorages in the Bay. There was a motor cruiser already anchored there. I wasn’t sure how big the anchorage was so I began surveying for a spot. It was deep, 10-11 fathoms. I moved closer in to the shore where the chart said it was supposed to be 6 fathoms. I couldn’t find anything shallower than 9 fathoms. I tried to anchor in a spot that the video sounder indicated was likely to be mud but the anchor wouldn’t bite. With the wind blowing through the anchorage at 8-10 knots this wasn’t going to work. I picked up the anchor and moved to the second indicated anchorage in the Bay.

As we rounded the corner I was disappointed to see yet another very large motor cruiser in the anchorage. I guess I’ve gotten spoiled having had almost all the anchorages I’ve been in the last three months to myself. This one was big enough to have as a dinghy an 18 foot aluminum speed boat with twin outboards. Again I began the search for a suitable spot and once again found it to be deep. I finally found a place near the shore in 48 feet. The anchor set but I could drag it with full throttle. However the spot was completely sheltered from the wind. It would have to do.

I was bummed to see that I had forgotten to close the forward hatch after yesterday’s sunny air out. Everything below and aft of the hatch was saltwater soaked. The next several hours were spent checking everything wet and fresh-water rinsing what could be rinsed. The sleeping bag and cushions would have to wait.

After a somewhat sleepless night I got out of bed at 6. We were underway by 7. The day was overcast but had the look that it would burn off. The winds were light as we motored down the Bay and into Dixon Entrance. I was happy to see the 1-2 foot chop instead of the eight-footers we had yesterday. The twenty-five mile run from Cape Chacon to Ryus Bay on Duke Island was uneventful. By 9:30, the clouds had burned away and by 11 there was a wind on our beam. I set both the main and the genoa but we slowed to 2 knots when I shut off the engine. I fired it back up and we motorsailed the rest of the way to our anchorage.

It was nice to get a good set on the first try. I pulled all the wet stuff from the fore peak and set it out to dry. Next was launching the skiff and getting Jazz to the beach. He wasn’t able to in Nichols Bay and I could tell from the look on his face as he peed for over a minute what he was thinking. I’m somewhat immune to guilt trips though, so his look of reproach didn’t have much effect.

Getting back to the boat I was pleasantly surprised to discover I had a cell signal. No voice-mails though. Two and a half weeks out of pocket and no one had called. I began calling friends and family to let them know I was still walking the planet.

The good weather only lasted through Monday. Tuesday was overcast and Wednesday the wind piped up from the SE, gusting to 20 in the anchorage. It didn’t let up until Wednesday night. Thursday looked good for the 30 mile run up to Ketchikan so I made the boat ready for a morning departure.

As forecast, it was dead flat calm when I got the skiff aboard. When I turned on the autopilot it began beeping and flashing gibberish on the display. Oh sh#t! The autopilot is the most important device aboard as it allows me to do things other than stand behind the wheel and steer. I turned it off then back on: same thing. I went up to find the remote sitting in a puddle, totally soaked. I took the cover off and knocked it against my hand in an attempt to get the water away from whatever it was messing with: no go. I tried turning it on with out the remote and it seemed to work. I took the remote below, blew it out with the compressor and set it open in the warm engine room to dry. Sometimes I really hate boats.

Nothing else broke and we made it to Bar Point Harbor, Ketchikan by a quarter til 2.

This is getting long and I have a bunch of pictures to post so I will finish it later.

The pics: low tide in Nina Cove, 6 hours later, exploring Nina Cove by skiff, totem carving in Hydaburg, Captain Jack Sparrow’s craft, enjoying a drink on a sunny day in Max Cove, a black bear, Bert Millar Cutoff, Ryus Bay.

ap