Catch Up Phase Two

What a difference a week makes.  This is the third or fourth day in a row we’ve gotten June weather in October, overcast, fog horns blowing, burning off in the afternoon.  The anemometers are lazily rotating, the mercury at 59, kind of SoCal’s equivalent of a wet, sleety fall day in Valdez, the kind of day that would motivate me to tackle the mental work of composing one of these entries rather than going outside and doing chores.  However, it would be dishonest to imply the weather is my motivation.  I mean, after all this is a nice summer day in the Deez.  And I have many, many jobs I could and should be doing.  No, it’s because those jobs are not ones I really want to do and this one just happens to be a little higher on the desirability scale.

Procrastination was not on my mind on that sunny morning at the end of August in Sidney Harbour three years ago.  I was focused on several jobs among them the aforementioned refrigeration replacement as well as resolving the alternator issue.  I needed a new mainsail cover, new cockpit cushions and I was looking at installing solar panels.  In addition there were numerous maintenance items (it’s a boat, duh) I had managed to defer.  I figured to be in one place for at least a month but first I had to clear back into the US.

Years ago my parents had several close friends who retired to the San Juan Islands from California and they used to visit them either on their way to visit us in Alaska or on the way back.  Hearing about it for years and never having been, I picked Friday Harbor to reenter.  We arrived early in the afternoon.  The harbormaster directed us to a spot I was unable to locate but right in front was a dock with a huge sign that said US CUSTOMS in big red letters.  We headed there.  After tying up on the inside of the dock I collected the boat papers, passport, Jazz’ health certificate and shot records and walked the 75 feet to the kiosk that bore the customs sign.  It was locked up but there was a phone without a keypad on an outside wall.  I picked it up and it rang and rang but no answer.  I tried the posted 800 number and that person asked me where I was and took my cell number.  She called back a few minutes later to say an agent would be in the office in 10-15 minutes.  I sat down to wait.  After forty minutes of no show I called back.  She said she would check on it and get back to me.  A minute later the phone on the wall began ringing.  Another woman asked me where I was.  My first reaction was to employ some snark.  Instead I explained where I was and where the boat was.  She insisted I needed to move the boat to the outside of the dock and come to the office.  I explained I was single-handed and it would be a pain to move the boat especially since it was only 15 feet from where she wanted it.  She relented and then said her office was actually on the beach behind the harbormasters office and that I should go there.  I went.

I was crossing the parking lot when a guy in a black uniform and a black Glock came up to me and demanded to know where the boat was.  I detected an attitude but not knowing who he was and trying to be helpful I said he could see it and took a step around him to show him where it was when he barked, “Don’t move!”  I took a breath and calmly explained it was tied to the customs dock.  He then wanted to know why I hadn’t followed his instructions.  Totally puzzled at this point I said I had never seen him before and that I was simply trying to check back into the US.  Another barked, “Follow me” and he turned on his heel and strode back to the door I had seen him come out of.  Not knowing what was to come I was more than a little nervous as he deposited me in front of a woman behind a computer terminal.  She began the check in procedure and I calmed down.  Throughout this the guy was eying me closely but when he heard the name of my boat he visibly relaxed.  After looking at my passport and certificate of documentation and a few questions on ports of call and purchases, she asked me for $27.50.  She obviously had gotten my look of dumb-foundedness before as she whipped out a four-fold brochure and underlined some verbiage on an inside fold, explaining the law.  She helpfully added they took plastic.  I was silent for a beat until the guy with the Glock stiffened.  I hastily explained my wallet was on the boat as I wasn’t aware of the law and my need for payment.  I offered to get it and reached for my docs.  Apparently once The Procedure has begun the agent not only can’t release documents but must not lose sight of you because in an exasperated tone she said she would accompany me and got up off her stool.  I guess I was looking pretty shady because Glock guy jumped up too.  I attempted to notch the tension down by asking the directions to pizza, the supermarket, etc., on the walk out to the boat.  Glock guy picked right up on it, giving directions to his favorite joints and volunteering that he had mistaken me for someone on another boat.  They opened the kiosk, I grabbed my wallet.  While waiting to have my card swiped I asked if they needed to see Jazz’ stuff.  Nope.  Did they need to look at the boat?  Nope. I related the very short version of my experience with Canadian Customs, that they hadn’t looked at my passport.  Glock guy puffed up and snorted they had no idea of what was important at borders.  It took all the control I possessed to grab the docs, my new entry stamp and get out of earshot before cracking up.

The ICE idiots aside I liked Friday Harbor.  We spent two nights.  While there I made arrangements for a month-long berth in Port Angeles.  Port Townsend was my first choice but because of a tall ship extravaganza there was no room at the inn.

About 12 miles NE of Port Angeles we encountered an armada of government vessels, both Coast Guard and Navy.  One of the 40 foot aluminum high speed USCG craft came up to us, hailed us on the VHF and told us to either speed up or slow down to maintain a 1500 yard separation from the outbound nuclear sub.   Sure enough the black sail of the sub accompanied by a naval support vessel and the rest of the CG cutters could now clearly be seen.  We sped up.

It took over a week to realize picking Port Angeles was a bad choice regarding the work I wanted to do.  It has an extensive marine service industry with a wide array of businesses.  Thing is it’s geared for ships and large boats.  I couldn’t find anybody to do either the refrigeration or canvas work and the metals vendor was several miles on the other side of town.  By this time I had ordered a replacement alternator as well as the solar panels and accessories.  While waiting for them I was able do a couple of the maintenance items and contacted a small vessel refrigeration specialist in Bellingham.  We made an appointment for the following week.

In spite of my disappointment I enjoyed my stay in Port Angeles.  They have bike lanes and buses with bike racks so I was able to get around even with the long hills inland.  Sharing the marina parking lot was a bar and grill that featured live music so I could walk across the lot to get into trouble and more importantly walk back.  There’s a good pizza joint and a supermarket even if it was a Safeway.  I even had visitors.  It was great to see an old and dear friend from my earliest days in Valdez.  My cousin drove my mother over from Renton and we spent a pleasant afternoon catching up.

During the stay in Sitka, a slip neighbor had recommended a refrigeration tech in Bellingham.  Turned out to be an excellent reference.  We traveled the 57 miles across the Strait of Juan de Fuca under a cloudless sky and no wind. The naval jets out of the NAS on Whidbey Island entertained us all the way past Anacortes.  We finally got a favorable breeze in the Bay of Bellingham.

I rekindled my love for the city of Bellingham.  David, the owner operator of Sea Freeze had a last minute family emergency and had to delay our appointment until the next week.  While waiting I found a canvas shop that was able to make a mainsail cover for Blue Note.  I got to visit Bellingham Kite Boards, an outfit I had been doing business with over the net for years and, what a ya know, I bought a new 12 meter which just happened to be on sale.  Great pizza, decent fish and chips all within biking distance is always a winner with me.  The harbor staff were outstanding, even to the point of providing transportation to Freddies (Fred Meyer, a supermarket for you PNW-challenged) and back because of a recent bus rerouting deprived the harbor of service.  David came by, removed the old compressor, plumbed in the new one and came back the next day for final check.

We left that afternoon, spent the night in Watmough Bay, Lopez Island, and crossed the Strait the next day.  In roughly the same area of the sub encounter I noticed a gray boat like the orange USCG fast boats alter course to intercept us.  As it got closer it was obvious it was some sort of government vessel and when it got within hailing distance an armed uniform informed me they were Customs Enforcement and wanted to know where I was coming from and my destination.  Jazz finally woke up and went into his “who’s there?” bark.  At that sound the ICE boat altered to parallel us and the uniform wanted to know when last we had been in Canada.  Throughout this Jazz is doing his big dog bark and the uniform is conferring with the driver.  Finally they decided I wasn’t an illegal immigrant and they sped off.  Jazz got some steak scraps for his job well done.  We topped off at the fuel dock, settled with the harbormaster and tied up in our old slip for an early morning departure for Neah Bay.

By now we were back into the short-day season and even though the days were longer than in Alaska this time of year, it meant planning travel accordingly.  We were underway for an hour when a beautiful sunrise began abaft.  The 55 miles passed uneventfully mostly motorsailing in the NW wind.

Well, it’s been several weeks since I’ve worked on this so I will post it and continue the trip down the west coast later.

ap

Catch Up Phase One

It’s another in a long string of days here in goldilocks-weather land, a warm breeze out of the east at about 5 knots, 67 degrees in the shade of the dodger, pretty nice for the middle of October. Blue Note is in Channel Islands Harbor, California…still.  I say still because this morning was the 1036^th morning since arriving in the 805 (local jargon for Ventura and Santa Barbara counties referring to its telephone area code) when my plan was to be here 4-6 weeks at most.  Much has happened to the crew and boat in that time but before I relate that I should tell some tales of the trip getting here.

Rushbrook Marina, Prince Rupert dead astern

My intentions for travel through British Columbia were to minimize stays in marinas and maximize visits to remote bays and harbors.  So, after a few days of the usual resupply chores in Prince Rupert, we set off.  First stop was Kumealon Bay part way down the Grenville Channel.  Kumealon Bay has a lagoon and I wanted to explore it in the skiff.  Unfortunately there is a narrow shallow passage that becomes a waterfall which switches directions with the tides.  Slack water in the narrows does not correspond to the slack tide and I mistimed it on both attempts.  Maybe next time.

 Foiled by the flood

Next stop was Nettle Basin at the head of the Lowe Inlet off the Grenville Channel.  I remember motoring into a very thick fog bank in the Channel, so thick that at one point a tug with tow passed with less than 100 feet of clearance.  I saw him on the radar and heard him as he passed going the other way but never saw him.  Shortly after we popped out of the fog, the wind began to blow and we had a very pleasant downwind run to Lowe Inlet.

Fishers from different tribes

The Kumowdah River terminates as Verney Falls at the east end of Nettle Basin and the salmon were attempting to scale it while we were there.  With the salmon came the bears with their antics chasing the fish and the power plays amongst them when a fish was caught.  Also noteworthy was going swimming in the basin to escape the heat of the day.

We spent three days in Eagle Bay, a north-looking anchorage 12 miles south of the town of Kitimat.  There wasn’t anything that special about it other than we had it completely to ourselves the first two days unlike the previous anchorages in BC.

After a week “in the wilderness” which really meant away from the supermarket and the fuel dock, we went in to Kitimat to deal with those things.  The logistics were not easy due to the 15 kilometer separation between the marina and the town somewhat mitigated by the public transit system.  Because of the very sporadic service to the marina and burdened with multiple bags of groceries I spent an interesting afternoon riding the bus and shooting the bull with the driver.

Foredeck crew hard at work

 

Nineteen miles south in Devastation Channel is Weewanee Hot Springs.  To add to its desirability its bay has a mooring buoy.  We headed there.  The bath house is a cement building on the north shore of the moorage.  The water was nowhere near as hot as it was at Goddard but still therapeutic.

We headed to the southern end of Devastation Channel, turned right into Verney Channel, then left down Ursula Channel and finally east into Bishop Bay.  On its easternmost shore is, what else, a hot springs.  With the exception of Chena Hot Springs in central Alaska, Bishop Bay Hot Springs is the most developed wilderness hot springs I’ve been to.  It even has a floating dock.  This all makes for a very popular destination especially in a heat wave in August.  The dock was packed, the baths were packed, it was very social.  Although clothing was optional, it was family-oriented and most bathers were somewhat covered with a couple of very memorable exceptions.  It was a lot of fun.

All to ourselves

 

From Bishop Bay we traveled south to Princess Royal Channel, on to Graham Reach and into Swanson Bay.  But the spot I had picked out on the chart was occupied and after two tries at another we pressed on.  The winds picked up in the afternoon and we flew through Hiekish Narrows and into Finlayson Channel.  The winds had died by the time we got to Bottleneck Inlet where we anchored in the bay.  We had the place to ourselves until late the next afternoon.  From nobody to four other boats in two hours, I decided to leave the next day.

Two or three miles north of Keith Point on the west coast of Dowager Island motoring at six knots all of a sudden the engine jumped up a hundred RPMs and the boat sped up.  This had happened before, the last time leaving Hoonah: broken hi-amp alternator drive belt.  Not this time, inspection showed the belt intact, not good.

An explanation is in order.  Blue Note has a refrigerator powered by the house batteries.  It is very well insulated and uses an efficient cold plate assisted by sea water cooling.  The compressor motor failed before leaving Valdez and in order to have reasonably fresh food and especially cold beer I bought one of those small dorm-sized refrigerators as a temporary solution until I could get the onboard system replaced.  Because the dorm unit is powered by AC I had to run the inverter 24/7 to keep things cold, a very inefficient method.  The only way to replace the power in the batteries aside from plugging in at the dock was to charge them with the 80 amp alternator driven by the motor.  No alternator, no cold beer away from the dock.  There is a work-around.  When I rebuilt the hi-amp DC system I included the ability to parallel the large house battery bank with the engine start battery with a flip of a switch, on the theory that I could use the house battery to start the engine if needed.  Part of the start system is the 25 amp alternator used to charge the start battery.  Flipping the switch would allow the small alternator to charge the now-connected house battery with two caveats: it would take more than three times as long to charge the house battery, and it would fry the start battery after an uncertain amount of time.  I flipped the switch.

Troubleshooting the problem began after anchoring in Oliver Cove and taking Jazz to the beach.  After several hours of working below in the heat of the engine as well as the heat wave blanketing BC, it became obvious repair was beyond my capabilities.  Nearest opportunity for repair was Bella Bella.  We headed there the next day.

We pulled into Bella Bella and a fisherman recommended we travel on to Shearwater where there were more repair resources.  Arriving shortly after noon and plugging in, I went to find an alternator shop.  It being Sunday, it was closed.  Bright and early Monday I was able to talk to the mechanic who informed me he could get to it on Thursday.  I had a decision to make.  Should we stay, spending several hundred loonies to stay at the Shearwater Marina on the bet the shop would have the necessary parts to make the repair or press on to a larger town where the alternator could be replaced if the parts weren’t available?  I decided to go.

Having been to Port Hardy on the way north ten years earlier, I figured it would probably have what I needed.  I began plotting courses.  To my horror I realized I had none of the small scale harbor and channel charts south of Queen Charlotte Sound on the computer.  Checking the source disk revealed the folder with the charts of southern BC was empty!  Back to the marina chandlery to see what they had.  Sadly, they didn’t have much and what they had was very expensive.  Back to the boat for more decision making.  Shearwater Marina in the middle of August is a very busy place for being a small, remote village and with the heat and the problems, I was stressed.  Looking at the charts for nearby anchorages I found Fancy Cove about 11 miles south.  We left.

It was a beautiful afternoon and motor sailing along at almost 7 knots was just what I needed to settle down and logically decide what to do.  I had seriously entertained the idea of continuing the hinterland exploration even with the jury-rigged charging system before discovering I was missing all those charts but that plus the other jobs I had postponed for Washington convinced me I needed to proceed to Washington.  Furthermore, I decided to retrace the route we took in 2000, since I was somewhat familiar with the navigational issues inherent.

It was obvious, awakening to fog the next morning the heat wave had broken.  It lifted to high overcast by the time we turned south in Fisher Channel and had almost burned off when we anchored in Fury Cove.  Spent two nights there, then two nights in Port Hardy.  It was much the same as I remembered it from ten years before.  I did manage to get both pizza and fish and chips so I remember the stop favorably.

We spent a night in Port MacNeill, a new stop.  Good timing, as they were in the middle of their annual celebration and I remember very tasty ribs from an outdoor pavilion, a cloud burst, and several Guinness’s with a couple of friendly locals in a pub.

Seymour Narrows in Discovery Channel is like Sergius Narrows in SE Alaska in that huge amounts of water are forced through a very narrow passage twice daily.  Even large powerful vessels time their passage to take advantage of favorable currents.  Favorable for us was high slack tide 10:30 the following day.  Took all day to transit Johnstone Strait and we spent the night in Otter Cove, ten miles north of the Narrows.

The following day we left for Campbell River, a 22 mile trip.  We were late getting away, hitting the Narrows after high water.  The ebb had begun and we idled along at eight knots!  The most memorable thing about the stop was the expensive moorage rates and lack of facilities.  There was a shopping mall within walking distance but only specialty food markets.  Fortunately I was well set food-wise but it did subtract from the utility of stopping there.  Needless to say I harbor no desire to return.

Motion by Mercedes approaching Cape Lazo

The approach to Comox from the north has some hazards to avoid.  First is the reef off Cape Lazo which extends over a mile offshore.  Then comes the bar in front of Union Bay.  Good thing I had been through here before because navigating this cold with only the marine atlas I had purchased in Port Hardy would have been hair raising.  There is a sea buoy at the outer edge of the reef and a range marker for the channel so it isn’t a strictly local-knowledge passage.

Comox was a must stop as this is where I took possession of Blue Note and it was kind of fun to close the ten year circle.  The harbor and town had changed little and walking around dredged up a lot of memories.  A fellow living on a boat in the harbor recognized Blue Note and we a nice time conversing about her and her previous owner.

We spent a night in Nanoose Bay and a night in Degnen Bay on Gabriola Island.  I was happy to see the small-scale charts come up on the plotter toward the last part of the passage to Nanoose.  I soon found that none of the inside waters were covered though, only the Georgia Strait.  Sigh, I wasn’t quite done with the marine atlas.

We wended our way south through the inside waters to Sidney Harbour where we spent two wonderful days and nights.  Sidney Harbour itself was OK for being a chrome anchor harbor, one populated by large yachts whose anchors have never been wet except by the hired boat cleaners’ hoses.  No, it was delightful because my friend Lou picked me up and we explored the Saanich Peninsula and out to Vancouver Island’s west coast.  I really didn’t want to leave but getting Blue Note back in shape was pressing.

I’ve been writing this account for over a day and I’d better post it and continue the tale in another post.  And I’ll post pics later as well.

ap

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.

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