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.
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