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.

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Dall Island oh my

We’re in Ketchikan and have been for over a week. It’s raining and blowing SE. James Cotton is on the stereo. Time to see if I can get this thing up to date.

We left Craig about 2:30 on Sunday the 6^th of June. As soon as we cleared the dock I raised the main, hoping to take advantage of the 10-15 knot NW afternoon sea breeze. Our destination was Hole in the Wall, a sheltered bight off Divers Bay on the west coast of Dall Island. Since it was less than 25 miles away by shortest route I decided to detour into Port St Nicholas where I could get pictures of Karl and Jeri’s gorgeous house. It was a fun downwind run to their dock and then a beat back out to Bucareli Bay. Gaining Bucareli Bay I set the genoa and turned off the engine. We beam reached all the way to Ulloa Passage making 6-7 knots. What pleasure!

It was interesting to finally see Waterfall Resort, a converted cannery. They began the conversion when I was living in Petersburg. I had done some radio work for them but never made it out to actually see it. What an operation. Besides the old cannery buildings there were 25 or so cabins and probably 30 or more aluminum high speed fishing boats tied up at their marina. The rest of the way to Hole in the Wall was unremarkable. We were anchored on the second try a little before nine.

What a pretty spot. We ended up spending two nights. I got a chance to try my new crab pot a couple times. Unfortunately all I caught was a starfish. Jazz and I explored several beaches both on the inside and out in Divers Bay.

I really wanted to go down the outside of Dall Island mainly because of its remoteness but also because it hadn’t been logged as thoroughly as the east coast. The issue was a SE gale forecasted to hit Thursday night. What it meant was that the next anchorage had to be secure enough to weather the coming gale. I took a look at the options and decided on Port Bazan about a 25 mile run down the coast. It had a mud bottom and was closer to Cape Muzon, the southern tip of Dall Island, than my second choice, Waterfall Bay. I prepared the boat for an early departure.

The skiff was aboard and the anchor up by 8:30 Wednesday. The forecast for the day called for a small craft advisory due to seas with 8 foots seas and 15 knots NW building to 20 knots in the afternoon. With the early departure and the 10 knot wind I raised the main all the way up as we motored west across Divers Bay. Once we were able to turn SE the wind was as predicted with 8-10 foot seas. Two hours later the wind had built to 20-25 knots, more than I’m comfortable with, solo sailing with an unreefed main. We had been running with Otto steering but our yaw rate was becoming dangerous. Just as I was turning off the autopilot to take the helm we suffered an accidental jibe. The boom swung across snapping the upper block on the boom vang with a loud crack. It also broke loose the two 15 gallon fuel jugs that were now shifting and rolling around the mast. We were still 30-40 minutes to the entrance to Port Bazan and shelter.

To further elevate the stress level, I wasn’t exactly certain of the location of the entrance. Finally I just trusted what the nav computer was saying and steered for the mark I had placed outside the channel. It was a huge relief to sail into the lee of the entrance when it eventually opened up. As we negotiated the channel leading into the port I spied another amphibious deer out for a swim.

Twenty minutes later we were “surveying” for a suitable spot to anchor. But it was deep everywhere it wasn’t rocky. If the bottom is mud and the weather is settled, I can sleep with a 3:1 scope, that is, 3 feet of rode for one foot of depth. I can get away with that because Blue Note’s rode is 3/8” chain and the anchor is big. But in stormy conditions I like to have at least a 4:1 or better yet a 5:1 scope. The rode is 160 feet but it has been spliced with an oversized link that doesn’t easily pass through the hawse pipe, limiting it to a little over 100 feet. I tried anchoring in a place that had 20-25 feet of water but it was rocky and the anchor shifted as the boat swung. Not good. We reanchored in about 45 feet and got a good set backing down on it. I wasn’t totally comfortable with it but the wind wasn’t supposed to pipe up for another 18-24 hours. I figured I’d check out other areas in the morning.

About 5 in the morning I was awakened by a loud gust of wind accompanied by a 15 degree roll! I leaped out of the bunk, pulled on a shirt and started the engine on my way to the cockpit. The wind was howling out of the west at 30-40 knots and we looked like we were dragging the anchor. I jumped down and flipped the nav computer on to confirm. Sure enough, we were 200 feet from our original spot and slowly but surely moving down wind. I went back topside, put the boat in gear dead slow ahead and set the autopilot to steer us into the wind while I ran back down to my cabin to put on pants and shoes.

The wind had moderated to about 25 knots and gusty when I got up on deck. I went forward and retrieved the anchor. Now where? I was stuck with Port Bazan as the conditions outside were bound to be nasty. I decided to take a look at the extreme head of the bay. We headed there.

We rounded the point marking the entrance and immediately were in a lee, a hopeful development. We criss-crossed the head watching the video sounder for rocks, bottom type, and swinging room. I finally picked out a spot in about 18 feet and what looked to be a mud bottom. I set the boat into the wind dead slow astern and went forward to deploy the anchor. After all the rode was out I got back to the cockpit and backed down hard. The anchor set with a satisfying jerk. For better or worse we were anchored. It was 6:44 Thursday morning.

We stayed more or less in that spot for four days. The peak measured gust occurred Friday night and was 44 knots out of the SW. Most of the time it blew out of the south but there wasn’t a direction it didn’t blow from at some point. Sometimes it would stop for as much as an hour. Jazz spent most of the time sleeping. I napped in my clothes the first night waking every ½ hour or so but relaxed as it became apparent we weren’t going anywhere. I spent my time reading and doing crosswords. I ran the engine 2-3 times a day to charge the batteries and for heat since it was too windy to fire up the heater.

You would think that at least we could experience the wilderness even though the conditions were less than optimal. Wrong. Apparently the land surrounding Port Bazan is owned by a native corporation as there was an active clear cut underway, replete with the howl of chainsaws, the hoot of the horn on the highline, the growl of Jacob brakes on the logging trucks, and the angry buzz of the Hughes 500 helicopter coming daily to check on the job. This only when the wind abated enough that these sounds could be heard over the scream of the wind in the rigging. Never-the-less we did get ashore at least twice a day for Jazz, but I was loathe to stay for long with the boat unattended.

Monday dawned partly cloudy with light winds. Time to go finally. The Dixon-Entrance-to-Cape-Decision forecast was for variable winds to 10 knots but once again a SCA was posted for seas to 10 feet. We’d been there before. Our destination was Nina Cove on the east side of Long Island on the west side of Cordova Bay about 35 miles. I decided to wait until we were outside in open water to raise sail having been burned before. We were underway before 9.

For once the conditions were pretty much as predicted. The problem with the conditions was the seas. Without much wind there was no stabilizing effect of the sail. We got hammered. After two hours of violent motion and vandals I looked for shelter. I opted for Security Bay.

Once again it was with much relief when we got into the shelter of the Bay. Once again the problem was where to anchor. There really aren’t any-too deep right up to the shore line. I remembered Mike in Craig mentioning that the bight just inside and to the north of the entrance could be used for a temporary anchorage. We headed there.

After a questionable anchor set I paused to take stock. We couldn’t stay where we were, at least not with getting rest. I set about securing everything that had come loose that morning. After a little more than three hours we were ready to brave the outside once again. Before retrieving the anchor I set the main with two reefs. We got underway.

The rest of the day’s travel was very pleasant. The wind had built to 15 knots NW and the seas had moderated to 8 feet from 8-10 feet. We rounded Cape Muzon and proceeded north up Cordova Bay with 2 foot seas once we had gained the lee of Cape Muzon. The sail to Nina Cove was actually fun. We were anchored in the Cove by 8:30.

I’m going to post this and continue with the narrative tomorrow. The pics are the ¼ mile long dock to the beach in Craig, Karl and Jeri’s place, crossing Bucareli Bay, Waterfall Resort, the entrance to Hole in the Wall, the amphibious deer, our neighborhood in Port Bazan, the approach to Cape Muzon.

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Wrangell to Craig

We’re in Craig on the west coast of Prince of Wales Island. Got here a week ago last Sunday. And as usual I’m well into planning a departure and am waay behind in making this current.

We spent almost five days in Wrangell. Although I didn’t see my friend Mark, I did see George and met his wife Stephanie. It was good to see him. From that high point I’m trying to decide which event ranks next. In the running are mediocre pizza at the Marine Bar, a visit to both grocery stores, and … I’m being uncharitable to Wrangell and it isn’t justified. The weather was great and I had a blast riding the bike all over even though it’s now down to one gear.

We left on Thursday at 6 in the morning in flat calm conditions and partly cloudy skies. The early departure was predicated on reaching the tidal midpoint of Wrangell Narrows at high tide. I greatly underestimated our SOG however and we got to Green Point an hour and a half before high tide. In spite of bucking into the flood for the last hour we arrived in Petersburg by 1:30.

Little Norway Days or Mayfest as it has apparently come to be known by is a celebration Petersburg undertakes around May 17th, Norwegian Independence Day. This year the 17th fell on a Monday so whoever decides these things for Petersburg, probably the Chamber of Comix or maybe the Rotorooters, decreed the festivities begin on Thursday the 13th and conclude on Sunday the 16th. I wonder if the Norwegians celebrate their independence day by dressing up as Vikings and wander around downtown serving ‘warrants’ and imprisoning residents in a rustic compound amidst a ‘beer garden’. It was a good time, though. There was a variety of food booths and it’s always fun to be able to walk around drinking beer. I ran into several old friends at the Sunday fish cook out at Sandy Beach. Saturday was rainy but otherwise the weather was good.

The rest of the stay was spent doing chores: filling water tanks, grocery and liquor runs, laundry, etc. We finally left Wednesday afternoon. It was a beautiful three hour motor down the Narrows to Beecher Pass where we anchored up behind Keene Island.

Thursday was overcast with little wind. As we approached Duncan Canal the wind began to build out of the north to the point that when we turned south out of Beecher Pass it was blowing 10-12 knots. I waited until we were in Sumner Strait before coming up into the wind to put up the main. Miss Mercedes rested. We reached west across Sumner Strait on starboard tack until abeam Clarence Strait where the wind shifted to a reach on port tack almost all the way to Point Baker. We were tied to the state float in Point Baker before 1PM.

Point Baker is different from the other villages in Southeast I’ve visited. Tenakee, Elfin Cove, Pelican, Port Alexander, Baranof, even Funter have public uplands or boardwalks you can walk on. Not so, Point Baker. The restaurant, bar, laundry, store, fuel, post office, and fire house are all on floats and tied to the inside of the state float. There’s a rather unwelcoming sign on the gate that blocks access at the top of the ramp. Having seen Point Baker I made plans to leave in the morning.

The next morning as the engine was warming for departure I met Herb who apparently owns most of Point Baker. He’s very charming and we had a very pleasant conversation. After, as I was untying from the dock, I realized Herb probably had something to do with the sign that had such a negative effect on my impression of Point Baker.

We motored out into Sumner Strait under cloudy skies and calm wind. The track I had plotted detoured into Port Protection which is right around the corner from Point Baker. I wanted to see the village. We made a slow circle in the bight where the state float is. It didn’t have a ramp to the beach and all the other floats that did were private. Point Baker redux. We continued south. The wind was very fluky all morning never above 5 knots but predominately out of the west. There were whale spouts but they were all pretty far off.

Our destination for the night was behind the islands in Shaken Bay. My first track had us transiting Shaken Strait all the way around and anchoring in Calder Bay. This is the usual route through Shaken Bay and is recommended by the Coast Pilot. Instead we took the route between Middle and Divide Islands and anchored behind Divide Island.

By this time the wind had built to 20 knots. I was very confident of the set of the anchor but I wanted to see if there might be an anchorage more sheltered from the wind so after Jazz’s beach patrol we went exploring in the skiff. There weren’t any including Calder and by the time we got back to the boat the wind was dying.

Dry Pass at the north end of El Capitan Passage is much like Rocky Pass, narrow and shallow but much shorter. Our departure a little after 7 in the morning allowed us to transit on a rising tide and a favorable current and we arrived at the Forest Service dock below El Capitan Cave by 9AM.

I’m not a caver and didn’t know about El Capitan Cave until an acquaintance in Sitka told me about it, but it had a dock and I’m always interested in a cheap and easy means to get ashore. Jazz and I hiked up to the information kiosk-closed, and the outhouses-open. I didn’t know how far the cave mouth was so we just continued on. The trail quickly became stairs and 200-300 feet in elevation later we were standing in front of the cave mouth. I was wearing Teva sandals and had the little pen flashlight I carry in my jacket so I only ventured far enough in to where my penlight was overwhelmed, not very far.

We were underway by 11. The clouds had pretty much left by the time we made the turn to the south at Aneskett Point. The winds were calm for the remainder of the Passage but abeam Tenass Pass they were 8-10 knots SSW. It came and went as we wove our way among the islands northeast of Sea Otter Sound. It was still sunny in Tuxecan Passage but the wind freshened to 20 knots on the nose and low clouds blanketed the south. We were under the clouds when we got to our anchorage in Kaguk Cove. We were only partially sheltered from the winds but the water was flat and the anchor was deep in the mud.

Sunday morning was drizzly and calm. It remained calm until we turned south behind Harmony Island where the wind picked up to 6-8 knots out of the south of course. By the time we were behind Culebra and Saint Phillip Islands breaks in the clouds began to appear and the run through San Christoval Channel and across San Alberto Bay was under the sun. We were tied to the dock in Craig by 3:30.

We’ve been here two weeks. It doesn’t seem possible it has been that long. I did reconnect with my friends Karl and Jeri. They had me out to their beautiful house for a delicious salmon and venison dinner. Karl introduced me to a couple of his harbor buddies and one of them took us out to Noyes Island one afternoon. I’ve met several sailboaters both local and transient. The days have flown by.

One of the reasons for the delay in leaving has been the weather. We’ve had gales on the outside (where I intend to go) kicking up 12-15 foot seas all last week. We got some of the wind and a little of the rain but for the most part the weather here at the dock has been pleasant.

Another of the reasons for the departure delay is that this area is very attractive physically. The geography is clumps of wooded islands, small and large, separated by open bays and sounds making for very interesting and scenic boating. One drawback is the extensive logging that has scalped a lot of the hills. Still, it’s a pretty spot and I’ve been having some difficulty deciding where to go.

So, where to? My plan is to go down the outside of Dall Island, hook around Cape Muzon, and head northeast through Cordova Bay, then down and around Cape Chacon, up the east side of Prince of Wales and over to Ketchikan. How long? Weather and whim will tell. One thing is certain and that’s that cell and wifi are sparse to non-existent so I’ll be out of touch for a while.

The pics: some residents of Wrangell, Mayfest 2010, sailing in Sumner, the sign in Pt Baker (I think this guy got the same dictionary as the fellow in Sitkoh Bay), a couple of Pt Baker, a deer swimming from Divide to Middle Island, Dry Pass, El Cap Cave, the stairs to the cave, ¼ mile long dock Craig north harbor, south harbor.

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Chatham and Keku

What a run up Chatham Strait! We left Port Alexander under mostly cloudy skies and light winds. The seas were 2-3 feet with the occasional 4 footer out of the south. The forecast was for northerlies to 15 knots. My plan was to make for Warm Spring Bay 55 miles away depending on the conditions. I figured if the winds didn’t cooperate we could put in to any one of a number of good anchorages on the way.

Coming abeam Point Conclusion the winds were out of the northwest at about 5 knots. The batteries were low after almost two days at the dock in PA so I didn’t mind the light winds and Miss Mercedes grinding away. But wind is wind and these winds weren’t on the nose. I set the main and got almost a knot. As we moved past Port Conclusion the wind backed to the ENE. I let Otto steer and trimmed the main to the shifts. It proved to be the predominate pattern, with the wind more northerly as we approached one of the deep fjord/canyons indenting the east coast of Baranof Island, then shifting to the east as we went past.

To take advantage of the flood current and minimize the wind shifts I altered course out towards the middle of the Strait. Blue Note has two speed indicators: one is a paddlewheel under the hull, the other is the GPS. The GPS shows SOG, Speed Over Ground, which is the speed you are realizing along the track. The paddlewheel or more properly the speed log shows the speed of the hull through the water. The difference between the readings indicates the effect current is making on your progress. At the peak of the flood, the speed log was 1.5 knots below SOG, indicating a knot and a half boost to our forward progress.

Toward late morning the wind had freshened to 8-10 then 10-15 with gusts to 20. I unrolled the genoa. As I trimmed it in the engine began to pick up speed as the sails took the load. I watched the SOG as I throttled the engine back. It dropped from 8.2 to 7.5 at idle. I shut it off in spite of the low batteries. Aah quiet. Well not really. But bliss for sure. The wind in the rigging, the burble of the wake, and the intermittent grunt of Otto’s pump moving the rudder to keep us on course combined with 7-8 knots of speed made for a wonderful three hours.

As the day wore on the wind began to die. Reaching the mid point of the joining of Chatham Strait and Frederick Sound the tide changed. We had been motor-sailing for several hours making 5-6 knots and charging the batteries. I knew that as the ebbing current increased we would be fighting it under motor alone. I tucked in close to shore to minimize the current effect. Good call. There were several pods of humpbacks fishing in the area and the clouds had gone for the most part. We were alongside the dock in Baranof by 8 PM, having averaged almost 6 knots for the run!

We spent five days in Baranof. The good weather and great company kept us tied to the float. The days were spent soaking in the spring, hiking to the lake, meeting new friends, and in general just hanging out. I had already met John on the S/V Sara. He was busy moving back into his house in Baranof. I met Dave and Anke on the S/V Slacktide. They had just finished 7 months of caretaking the Baranof Wilderness Lodge and were readying their boat, a junk-ketch-rigged sailing barge for a summer cruise. Tom on a Roberts 38 was headed up to Glacier Bay to work as a pilot boat operator for the summer. The M/V Explorer IV, a 60 foot motor yacht crewed by a bunch of fun-loving Canadians from Whitehorse passed through on their way to Skagway.

As the days slipped by I began to rethink my next route and destination. Those of you who have been following this blog know my planned route from here was the reverse of the route I took when I left Petersburg last November, i.e., back through Frederick Sound. From there I planned to go down through the Wrangell Narrows to Wrangell. When I looked at the calendar I realized that if I reversed destinations and went to Wrangell first I would be in Petersburg for Little Norway Days, a fun time to be in Petersburg.

The shortest route to Wrangell goes through Rocky Pass in Keku Strait. My 2008 edition of Charlie’s Charts, a popular inside passage cruising guide says that Rocky Pass cannot be used because the navigation aids have all been removed. But my ten year old charts and six year old Coast Pilot Vol. 8 both show and describe the Pass in close detail. All the captains I talked to in Baranof had gone through several times, Tom on the Roberts and Craig on the Explorer IV just in the last day or two. They all said the nav aids were still there and that it was no problem. I pulled out the tide book.

Rocky Pass is the narrowest and shallowest section of Keku Strait, a N-S body of water separating Keku and Kupreanof Islands and connecting Frederick Sound to Sumner Strait. It shares tidal current characteristics with other N-S narrow channels: both flood and ebb tides flow to and from a center point from each end. The trick becomes arriving at that center point at high slack. That way you ride the flood tide current to the center point then ride the ebb current out the other end. There is a downside to this plan.

According to the Coast Pilot the center point is at various points between High Island and Summit Island. If you are travelling south and arrive at the tidal center point at high tide, you are on a falling tide when you get to Devil’s Elbow, a little over 2 miles south. Devil’s Elbow is a right angle turn where the channel is quite narrow and swinging wide or cutting the corner is not advised. I wanted the cushion of a rising tide through the Elbow in case I got stuck in the mud and was willing to sacrifice having to buck the current for a couple of miles to have it.

Further research revealed Stedman Cove to be a suitable layover anchorage. I plotted a route to there: 44 miles. A check of the tide book indicated a departure of a little before noon on Thursday would allow us to ride the ebb down to Point Gardiner, then the flood all the way to Stedman, arriving before dark. A plan with a departure time set I went next door to the Explorer IV to have dinner with the Canadians.

What a good time! Bombay Sapphire G & Ts, an excellent red, and one of the best steaks I’ve had in a long time complemented great conversation. One of the guys shared a similar work history with me and pretty soon we were swapping helicopter exploits and radio stories. One thirty came in no time. Good thing the sailing board was set for noon.

I missed Thursday’s dawn but it was nice by the time I rolled out of the bunk. After saying good bye to all my new friends and readying the boat for departure we left. I raised the main as we motored upwind down the Bay. The forecast was for northwest winds to 10 knots in both southern Chatham Strait and Frederick Sound. Turning the corner into Chatham Strait we got 10 knots out of the south. The wind lasted until we got to Point Gardiner then died. We motored across Frederick Sound with the wind filling in slowly from the northwest behind us. By the time we reached Cornwallis Point it was barely enough to keep the sails full. Two hours later we were at the entrance to Stedman Cove.

There are pitfalls to using electronic chart programs. One of them is that you are rarely looking at the whole chart. I am almost always looking at a small portion centered on where the GPS has located the boat. Even when I zoom out, I’m either not looking at things like the title area or the text is too small to read. With NOAA Chart 17372, this is a mistake. Unlike almost every other NOAA chart I’ve used, the soundings on 17372 are in feet instead of fathoms.

Imagine my surprise when after getting a little off course entering Stedman Cove the scare box was showing 10 feet. I looked at the chart and the boat was next to a 6. In a flash it dawned on me that the soundings were in feet! It explained why the Coast Pilot described the anchorage depth in feet instead of fathoms. Luck jumps to the rescue of stupidity again. We lived.

It probably doesn’t need to be said that with my increased knowledge of Chart 17372, I went back over my plotted route through the Pass that night. I always plot the deepest route so I didn’t change it by much but I did gain new respect for the morning’s navigational task.

Friday started out with clouds covering most of the sky but the forecast was for partly cloudy turning to partly sunny. The anchor was aboard by 6:30 and we were on our way. I had come up with the departure time based on a SOG of 4 knots. Once we were out in the channel I realized I had underestimated the effect of the flooding current. At the usual RPM setting we were making 5.5-6 knots. I throttled back, not wanting to be going that fast if I made a wrong turn.

There were a lot of turns. The route I had plotted had 85 course changes between Stedman Cove and Eagle Island. Remembering the horror stories I used to hear when I lived in Petersburg along with the comment in the Coast Pilot about the uncharted hazards on the edges of the channel, I really wanted to stay in the channel.

After a couple of hours, I relaxed enough to not panic when I saw 12-15 feet on the box or jagged brown rocks close enough to spit on. The bird life was intense. I spotted a harbor seal and a couple of river otters but not much else. The winds were calm and the clouds were clearing.

The approach to Devil’s Elbow from the north is on an easterly course across a reef that ranges from 6 to12 feet deep at mean lower low water. We were 20 minutes before high slack water. The box was indicating 15-25 feet on the approach. The turn to the south was easy to discern from the two green daymarks and a red can and we cruised right through.

We were out of Rocky Pass by a little after ten. I put Otto to work and began looking for an anchorage for the night. Red Bay looked to be a good one so I plotted a route to its mouth. The wind had picked up to 10 knots south. I set the main and we reached across Sumner Strait.

The entrance to Red Bay was a reprise of the morning’s activities but much shorter. We were anchored in the outer bay by 3:30. I launched the skiff and took Jazz to the beach. When we got back to the boat I decided to re-anchor in the back bay. I wasn’t comfortable with the way the anchor had set and the spot was open to the westerly wind that was blowing 10-12 knots. We moved. I felt much better when the anchor set in the gray mud with a satisfying jerk. After dinner Jazz and I explored the bay in the skiff. Back on board I had a G & T and watched the sun go down from the foredeck.

Saturday morning was gorgeous, the bay a huge mirror. We had a leisurely morning getting ready for departure, our destination Wrangell, a little more than 38 miles away. By the time the anchor was in its chock the wind had picked up to about 10-12 knots. I raised the main hoping to at least motor-sail through Sumner Strait. Alas, the wind died once we were out in the Strait and didn’t really help our progress all day. But it was warm and clear with big cumulonimbus clouds hanging over the islands. We were tied to the transient float in Wrangell’s north harbor by 6 PM.

The pics are the sailboats in Warm Spring Bay, a particularly narrow spot in Rocky Pass near the Summit, looking back after transiting Devil’s Elbow, the intrepid crew enjoying the sunset in Red Bay, the huge mirror, clouds over Zarembo Island, and the approach to Wrangell.

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