Ocean beach in northern Canada

This adventure soon ends; was it comedy, tragedy, romance, mystery, metafiction or realism?  Did the narrator create scene, crises, plot and anticipation or just boredom for the reader?  Maybe a bit of each.  For certain, the protagonist took a journey and many strangers came to town, the two universal basic plots of all story.

Venturing home slowly and in joyful sun worship, already the woes, work and responsibilities that await have needled their way back into my psyche.  I continue to breathe and force awareness of each glorious moment, not “what’s next?” but “what’s now!”.  

A pretentious, yet truthful quote from Michael Ondaatje's, The Cat's Table: "There is a story, always ahead of you.  Barely existing.  Only gradually do you attach yourself to it and feed it.  You discover the carapace that will contain and test your character.  You find in this way the path of your life."  

Marinas

All tied up in a row, safe harbor is welcome after harrowing or long days.  Marina scenes tend to be very social!

Challenges can be looked at as evil, negative events, with a mind full of fear or as obstacles worth celebrating, especially when conducted with complete success.  Such was this day, all of Tim's planning executed with perfection, took us through many troubled waters with stomach-clenching fear but excitement and relief as the passages were left behind.  It took two but truly Tim was my hero again, Allusion too, as we pause  in Comox for a day of rest.

Stormy weather provisions, good with butter and honey when the seas are wild.

Orcas Warning

Warning us to keep our distance

There were two small Orcas between the adults

One last warning!

Who What When Where.....Why?

Who: Allusion and crew
What: Sort-of-update
When: July 22, 2017 (day before Tim's 71st birthday!!!!!)
Where: Lagoon Cove in the Broughton Islands
Why: So you know that we are OK, still dancing, laughing and alive, more or less making the very most of this adventure.

Yup, heading south, the weather is, umm, well, ok, so, actually,  it sucks.  We both need sun so we will most likely see everyone sooner than later unless the Sunshine Coast is indeed, very sunny!

Tomorrow is challenging, wish us luck as we navigate tide rips, rapids, gale force winds ( no joke), diminishing supplies of coffee with no replenishment for days, potential of 36 hours of nonstop rain, fog, logs and assorted scary things in the water.

Lagoon Cove sun beginning to fade

Shearwater to outside

Spent an evening in the marina, heading out this morning to islands on the coast again and hope to cross Cape Caution tomorrow.

Sun, sun, sun and more sun!  Hooray!

July 15

Neither maxim has proved true this summer, neither “red sky in the morning” nor “red sky at night”, we just can't seem to count on that old mariner’s quip.

We departed much too late, by the time we left Newcombe Bay, the winds were wild and the seas even more so.  Hours later, after crossing Laredo Sound and venturing along the coast of Princess Royal Island, realizing that a major gale was brewing that we couldn't avoid, we took precious time to seek harbor in several remote indentations along the southerly west coast, but to no avail.  Though the exploration was exciting, we couldn't find anything to anchor in. The winds up to 20 knots and gusting, wave chop and sea swell of six feet, we turned back north to fight the storm for an hour more before we made it into Surf Inlet’s last bay, Penn Harbor.  Seven miles in we found perfect anchorage and settled down to an evening of boat-shuddering winds.  Gratefully, the waters remained civilized but the wind sheared with downdrafts until morning.  Sleep was fitful, monitoring the anchor, Allusion moaning and complaining, morning arrived with a hasty departure in finally calm conditions.  We’re having fun, right?  

Side note: We watched another tail slapping whale off Campania Island.  It’s underside was completely white, top side black.  When the sun reflected off, it was a brilliant blast of light atop dark seas and we could see it for miles as we sailed past.

July 14

Salmon-silver to aqua -green seas keep our boat home afloat. Water color varies from passage to passage, cove to cove.  We had a perfect day, motoring then sailing, blue sky sun, cotton puff cumulous, misty rain, all of it such a drama.  

We discovered Dunn Passage and followed it into Weinburg Bay on the west coast of Campania Island, another world of myriad tiny islets, so much so, we became disoriented when exploring in our dingy.  We anchored at the head in blue water amid waterfowl and peacefulness.  Peering over the edge of Allusion, I noticed a curious jellyfish approach, then gracefully dance along the starboard side seeking passage around us.  

Later, crab pot baited and set, Tim took off outside to fish.  A few hooked, none caught, however a close encounter with a whale made it worthwhile.

Crab dinner on deck,  the guitar retrieved, Tim practiced for a while, a game of Farkle, then exhaustion takes over.   9:00 PM it’s still bright but the colors are already gathering in the west.

Awaking a few hours later, a bewitching reflection motivated me to capture the glory of the sun and clouds, crimson and magenta.  “Red sky at night, Sailors’ delight.”

Didn't notice my reflection in the top of the jellyfish till later

Leaving Prince Rupert, we set sailed southwest across the top of Pitt Island.  I set the mainsail, winds were 10 knots as we headed into Ogden Channel south through Petrel Channel along the inside of McCauley Island. Tim took a nap as I navigate through drifting logs, flotsam and jetsam and a tug towing a barge to PR.  Both sails full, miles gained with gusts up to 20 yet the waters were fairly calm.  It was a good omen to stay inside of McCauley today.  

This was the first day in weeks that we haven't sighted whales.  Shorebirds abound, murrelets and what we think are Dunlins scoot just over the surface near shore.  This is a very different land from any other we have yet encountered, stark, narrow and deep waterways.  The highlands jutting straight up are alpine meadows interspersed with granite slabs. Sheets of frothy runoff glissade through old growth forest to gurgle into the channel. Thousands of rocky coves and small beaches cut into the land amid piles of driftwood.

I scan the near shore with field glasses to spy on bears but none to be seen.  Maybe the salmon have already started to run up the myriad tiny waterways to the almost endless number upland lakes and they have retired upward for the main course of the summer meal.  When the salmon are gone, dessert will be berries before winter sets in again.

We have anchored in Newcombe Bay for the night, lonely as a loon on a great and vast watery wilderness.  A squall drifts in from over the island, the boat complains to the anchor.  All is good, all is well, all is wild and beautiful. 

Thursday Morning

Leaving the safety of Prince Rupert marina, laundry done, transmission oil changed, fuel, water and food provisioned, we will anchor south of Porcher Island in either Captain's Cove or Annie's Cove later today.  We hope to stay as far outside as weather permits, since anchoring will be the challenge in waters with ocean swell.  We will be off-grid again for awhile.  

The sun is breaking through after a cleansing rain last night. I am grateful for it.  Much of interior British Columbia is burning. We count our blessings to have such sweet air, mild temperatures and skies that promise a breeze to sail by. 

Around the Horn

Leaving Alaska

It took us two days to go from Hydaburg to Prince Rupert, anchoring over in Nichols Bay at the very southern tip of Prince of Wales Island.  We got caught in a poorly timed current and corkscrewed through rip tides, swells and choppy waves, grateful for the quiet bay that evening.  It was a noisy, rocky anchorage and neither of us slept well.  We awoke and departed by 4:00 AM,  better timing took us out for the 50 mile blue-water crossing in calmer seas and light winds.  Hours later, windless, we motored into aqua green, glassy Canadian waters. It is time to venture south with the last six weeks to be spent in warmer and sunnier climes.

Whale Tails

We have had so many whale experiences, yet each one is incredible.  Yesterday we watched a whale for ten minutes, hoist itself out of the water up to its eyes, tail first to slap the water with its nearly entire body, over and over and over again.  At first we thought it was fighting a predator or that it had been caught in a crab or fish line but as we neared, it was apparent that it wasn't endangered.  Then a grand finale; it torpedoed completely out of the sea, head first for a full body slam, quieted down to breathe and we sailed away.

Hydaburg, a small native village  was a worthy visit, though mostly abandoned.  We walked the road that led to the well-known totem collection and saw no one but a few ravens.

Eventually  one curious man came out on his front porch to get the scoop; who we are, why are we here, where are we going. Soon after we met one other then a pair of women just arriving from a day of coho fishing.

The only other encounter was a whale that slept next to the boat, breathing, floating, resting all through the nightly rain.

Local fisherwoman, early morning catch in her pj's!

Hydaburg Scenes

River Totem, returning salmon

Didn't like the food

The Carver's Workshop

Two Icons

Yard Art, Amazing Totem

We sight whales almost daily 

Sea Otters are everywhere in this part of Alaska

July 7, 2017

Sunshine embroidered the cabin with golden hues and water reflections.   There is no hint of bird song, all is calm in our tiny cove. I awaken to utter quiet.  Five AM must be early even for the creatures here. I love being the first to awaken, scoot out of bed and try the impossible task of quietness within a small abode. I anticipate my only cup, strong, dark roast and put the kettle on to brew two, one for me, one for Tim and take mine up to the canvased, sun-warmed helm. I am still and grateful in the moment, the satin water in the east a soothing view. I luxuriate in the heat from the sun, the cup in my hands.

6:15, we’re on our way to Craig, Alaska.  Tim pulls the sails and we catch enough breeze to put spunky speed in Allusion. Whales breach, snort, dive and glide with such calm grace.  I never tire seeing them.  The otters, too, make me chuckle. I could easily anthropomorphize their antics and expressions.  Tim has incredible distance sight, is usually the first to point them out.  

We hurry to Craig, Tim wants to call Connor, work stuff and we need cell service.  We make it in time for the appointed cellular rendezvous and business is conducted.  Already I miss the kids, Connor and Kate, Brandon and Annie.  Kate and Annie left me with great menu ideas and I have tried them out all week with success.  

Craig is a one night stay, as much as we would like to explore Prince of Wales Island via road.  We marina’d, walked to grocery shop, washed the boat inside and out, made taco salad and called it a day.  Tomorrow we head to a much more interesting town, Hydaburg. Our time is now captured between weather windows to cross Dixon Entrance, a 50 mile open water passage.  We hope for perfect winds, waves and current to sail south to Canada.  I want to stay but soon we leave this colossal water and island menagerie.

July 6

Every day we marvel at the immensity of Alaska yet we have touched just a speck of it. We recognize our vulnerability in this harsh, glorious, and vast frontier with renewed daily respect.   

11:57pm, 1:30am, 2:10am, 3:05am.  Enough already.  I arise leaving Tim to sleep a bit longer, make  four huge banana pancakes, remove the dew covers, brew the coffee, and by 3:40 deliver a cup to Tim.  “I'm wondering if we should leave soon, the sky is red in the east and the winds are picking up." (Red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.)  We pulled up anchor and departed twenty minutes later, pancakes eaten as we leave Port Malmsbury Bay to head south into this day.  The eastern sky glows with red, orange and lavender. Before we have exited the bay, whales blow hello and curious sea otters peek at us from their posterior kelp floats.

We sailed most of the morning south along Kuiu Island around Cape Decision and across Sumner Strait.  Perfect winds, perfect angles.  Whales breach, fish jump and eagles snatch herring as we glide motor-less and solitary throughout the morning. Our day ends in a funny little cove, “No Name” in Nossuk Bay in the northeast part of Tanowek Bay.  IWGN*, Prince of Wales Island is off to the east.  Tim re-names, “No Name”, Yodel Cove.  Yes, he yodeled and it echoed and echoed and echoed.  

We take naps, showers, I make dinner and we decide to stay the night.  Tomorrow we will marina in Craig.  Tim calls Connor on our sat phone to check in.  Might as well use it, we have it!  

*Important White Guy Name

July 5

Sunlight illuminated our watery world this morning, third day in a row. We scurried to get ready for a short excursion up the Eye of the Needle,  a five mile narrow estuary of primal overhanging hemlock, Sitka Spruce and  Alder among small islets and a journey back through time.  The water was like glass and the Zodiak noisily transported us there and back again. 

We didn't see the black grizzly so we took a short walk on his beach, curious what it may have been eating last evening.  All this fun stuff found us leaving too late.  Subsequently, we ran into heavy following seas once we reached the outside of the bay.  Three to five foot seas with wind gusts up to18 knots had us bouncing and jogging against side hitting waves.  The seals seemed to love it.  I watched them surfing off waves, and come up munching a fish.  A humpback jumped completed out of the water, up and over and plunged head first,  just off our bow.  After a few hours of failed attempts to sail, we decided to shorten our day and harbor in Port Malmsbury just north of Cape Decision.  

Along the way, a half mile off shore, I noticed a honey bee resting on the starboard side transom.  I went below to retrieve my honey jar and poured some out for her.  She went to it immediately and fed for nearly 30 minutes, later, I gave her water.  She drank then rested.  By the time we were anchored, she had left us to find her sisters.  I just hope she doesn't do a bee dance telling them to visit us soon.

Tim rowed us to shore, I picked hemlock tips and harvested beach asparagus  while Tim found a leaf fossil in mudstone.  He left it on the beach for another explorer to discover.  This island is vastly different from Baranof.  The emerald gullies remind me of the Napali Coast, the hills not so high and the snow pockets nearly all melted.  

Again, we are surrounded by those 80 pound denizens of the kelp beds, and another whale appears to be scratching itself on the shore ledge across the channel from our anchorage.  Dinner is barbecued  salmon, on the deck, full sun, oh my.

Kuiu Island

Port Malmsbury - Shelter Cove - Moonrise 

Bears

Beach Foraging

Wary Momma

We've sighted bears often, mostly from a distance. Salmon are not running yet so the diet is salad and mollusks.  We hope to see more within the next few weeks as the salmon begin to return to the rivers.

Crossing Chatham

July 4

We crossed Chatham Strait sailing southeast in a northerly on a heading for Kuiu Island.  The sun blessed us with strength and stamina, pushing away nearly all the clouds over Baranof.  It was the first time we were able to see all of the east facing ridge, some of the peaks rising 4,000 feet from the water’s edge.  

Things were busier on the water this morning,  a half dozen sport fishing boats from who knows where, were trolling off the west coast of Kuiu.  The closest town is hours away at 40 miles an hour.  Regardless, we sailed close to one and noticed them netting a nice salmon.  Yup, took us no time to lower the sails, pull out the rods and within minutes Tim reeled in what we think was a Sockeye.  It had no teeth.  He lost two more but we netted a second within a half hour.  Two in the bucket and off we went again, sighting whales and porpoises all along the way to Tebekof Bay on the west of Kuiu.  It is within a pristine and primal wilderness area and we were the only boat in the entire bay.  We anchored in Shelter Cove surrounded by dozens of curious sea otters.  A grizzly grazed on the far shore and a whale lazed in the shallows nearby.  Tim went fly fishing and I gratefully basked in nature’s quiet and solitude.  It is my first 4th of July in over 30 years without noisy celebrations.  

Solitude in Tebekof Wilderness

Portion of north mountains of Baranof

Towing the Zodiac in following seas.

“Apparently I’m afflicted, with a fairly common score, although I’ve attempted to fight it, it’s there forever more.

The trouble is my gypsy blood, the weakness in my heart, and every attempt to fight it, has failed right from the start.”  Francis Caldwell

We hailed out of Sitka in another pea soup fog, using radar to inch out and reverse our path.  We chickened out of traveling the outside though in retrospect we realized we could have easily managed that barren and beautiful coast.  We hoisted mainsail and genoa half a dozen times to catch the wind enough to belly the sails and give us momentum. We greeted more whales, seals, and a small bevy of white sided porpoises, and drifted slowly into Cosmos Cove for the night.  We were the only humans for much of the day and all of the night. 

We covered 70 or so miles but were content to just be on the water, solitude on a vast silvery sea.  We spied two purse seiners off the coast of Admiralty Island, one of the many islands in Alaska labeled with Important White Guy Names.  Tlinglit place names are descriptive such as Taan which means sea lion, (Prince of Wales Island).

Filtered light broke through as our coffee woke us up, the deck a toasty 65 degrees from that seldom-seen orb.  Two Black Tail Sitka Deer gingerly walked the nearby beach from our anchorage seeking to enhance their diet with mollusk or seaweed.  Just as quickly, the sunlight diminished, obscured by lacy veils of fog.  

We departed late, 9:00 am and headed back to Warm Springs for Tim to fly fish in Baranof Creek.  I think he wanted to attempt beating Brandon’s trout catching of 30 (or so) last week! 

Cosmos Cove, Baranof Island

Sitka Harbor Scenes

Forgotten

Mis-named?

Contrasts

Drops of water

Ubiquitous Carrot aka Cow Parsnip

Harbor Master Wet, yet Watchful

Rain

Our boat is quiet and seems a bit bigger now that it is just Tim and me again. Morning comes early. It never gets completely dark in the summer here.  I awake and arise at 3:30 and already the harbor is alive with the fishing fleet.  Rain is falling in steady small drops.  Yesterday was a misty day, tomorrow it may be big ol’ fat rain. This is a watery world where it is typical for it to rain up to 225 inches a year.  Without this rain, there would be no snow fields, icebergs, glaciers, waterfalls, rivers, lakes, nor would the Tongass* be what it is, the last great rain forest of sitka spruce and hemlock. More than 75% of Southeast Alaska lies within the Tongass National Forest.  If I were home, it’s possible I would be grumpy but here, I am in love with the rain, the mist and fog, the natural beauty that would not exist without it. 

Yesterday, Tim and I changed the oil in the boat, discovered and repaired a leaky engine hose, provisioned up, showered up, cleaned the boat and retrieved our clean, folded laundry.  I wish we could stay one more day here to capture images but Tim wants to head south asap.  We need to time our passage through Peril Strait with the current.  I hope we see the whales again.

*I have seen it spelled both ways, with one s and with two.

"One day it started raining, and it didn't quit for four months.  We been through every kind of rain there is.  Little bitty stinging' rain and big ol' fat rain, rain that flew in sideways, and sometimes rain even seemed to come straight up from underneath." (Forrest Gump)

We have been in Sitka for several days, Brandon and Annie flew home after 6 days with us. We are preparing for a southerly journey, leaving tomorrow.

It was serendipitous to meet up with a neighbor from Sandy Hook while in town!  Cy came to our boat last evening then we went out to dinner and had a lovely few hours with him before he launched out with his boat today.  

It will be another week or so before we will be able to be online but our plans are to head down the east coast of Kuiu Island, then over to ?  We don't know.  We will take each day as it comes.

Rain defines this part of Alaska and one either gets used to it or it can defeat your mood, plans and mobility.  I think I am getting climatized, and find myself overheating in mid 50 degree misty walks.  It's about a half mile to the main part of Sitka from Eliason Harbor where we are marina'd, a busy place with fishing boats coming and going everyday; unloading, provisioning, crew changes and out again. Sitka interests me and I could easily spend much more time here but Tim wants to start south by tomorrow.  We're on the search for wolves and orcas!