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.
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