Appleton Cove, July 2-3, 2015

Appleton Cove

 

We leave Sitka for our voyage to Juneau to fetch our younger daughter and her family.  Our anchorage on the way last night was Appleton Cove.  Kind of charming when a mama brown bear and her black baby cub poke their heads out of the woods for a brief appearance.  That was followed by another grizzly with her two nearly adult cubs. Otherwise, it is rainy and we are spoiled now by weeks of sun.  Plus, the wind picked up and our boat is swinging wildly, the shore flashing by like a movie on fast forward, and we feel ourselves drifting. 

Even with an anchor watch alarm it turns out to be an all-nighter for Jim who gets up hourly for anchor watch – I do my part and sleep through it all – hey, someone has to be alert tomorrow to operate the boat.  And now, this morning, we hoist the anchor in wind that is blowing steadily.  I am happy to leave.

 As soon as we exit the cove,  radio reception kicks in and we hear that Chatham Strait has a small craft advisory – winds of 30 mph (a gale is considered 35 mph) and 6 feet seas.  Oh, I don’t like this at all and suggest turning right back around.  But since we are already under way, Jim counters – we should continue our trek east through Peril Strait (that’s right Peril) and then check out Chatham Strait when we get there – he calls it “sticking our nose out.”  Already, we are experiencing rain, fog, white caps, the unexplained presence of some sun, and a heck of a ride.

The waves collide with our boat, drenching the pilot house - it is like being doused by a fire hose.  Two hours later, and a little woozy, before we even get to the lighthouse marking the entrance to Chatham Strait, I can see the 6 feet waves building in the distance – it looks like a two story wall of water aiming right for us.  We swerve the boat 180 degrees and hightail it out of there.

Jim searches the chart for a place to lay low until this blows over and we head for Hanus Bay, its name alone a warning.  We drop the anchor, wait for it to bite, but it just clatters across the rocks.  Maybe if we go a little closer to shore we’ll find some mud to catch the anchor.  Anchor up, anchor down – no go.

Well, there is another bay an hour farther west, Saook, so off we go, in the rain and 25 mph winds – and a rainbow.  Yes, this place looks perfect – the bay is deep so we are fairly well protected from the worst of the fetch building now in Peril Strait.  Jim braves the rain yet again to drop anchor.   Twenty minutes later, the anchor is clanging like its being dragged across a concrete parking lot.  We try another spot and repeat - anchor up, anchor down -nope. 

Rainbow in the middle of the storm

I fantasize about a sturdy dock and stable internet, maybe a little tapas and a stiff drink or two… Sitka.  But I snap out my reverie as we need to relocate.  Well, Appleton Cove is just another 3 nautical miles, and I remember it very fondly now – I loved it there!   When we get to the mouth of Appleton, it is clear and somewhat sunny, while all around us it is still windy, foggy and rainy.  We drop the anchor and it holds tight.  Ten hours after we left, we are right back where we started our day…, now, about that stiff drink.

A Calm sky outside Appleton Cove

 

Sitka, June 26 - July 1, 2015

On the way to Sitka

 

Civilization!  Lipstick!  Restaurants!  We are in a real city of 9,000 on Baranoff Island and they don’t roll up their streets at 8 PM.  On the contrary, this is quite the cosmopolitan place.  Originally settled by the Tlingit Tribe, it was stormed by the Russians in the late 1700’s, (they optimistically named it the capital of “Russia America”) and then purchased by the U.S. in 1867.  But the Russian culture remains strong here - this must be where Sarah Palin got her knowledge of Russia, reading Sitka street signs.

Whale!  Well, Whale Breathing

Whale!



Two Whales Swimming Together

Sitka, has natural beauty to spare – surrounded by craggy, pointy mountain peaks to the north, south and east and the Pacific Ocean to the west.  Its weather leaves a little something to be desired though – highs in the summer average 60.  From what we experienced, it is sunny every day and rainy every day.

Juvenile Eagle

Since Sitka is known for its fishing, Jim embarked on his own version of the Deadliest Catch -  a half day fishing trip – we will now call him “the provider” as he hauled home 4 large salmon including the very rare white king salmon.  Then I brought out my favorite kitchen tool – the  vacuum sealer - for an afternoon of sucking air out of plastic bags.  Dinners on board just improved.

Sitka Waterways from Mt. Harbor

We rented a car for a scenic drive up the twisty, narrow, gravel road to the top of Mt. Harbor, an elevation of approximately 2500 feet.  This might not have been too bad except that other people had the same idea and the road is wide enough for exactly one small car.  Each time a vehicle came the other way – usually a monster truck - we’d swerve into one of the numerous turnouts.  Unfortunately, the turnouts themselves are skinny with a sheer drop off and nothing but loose gravel between you and the bottom of the mountain.  Despite my constant screaming “we’re going to die” we made it all the way to the top where I finally pulled my nails out of Jim’s arm.  There, a parking lot and foot path leads to the summit and a breathtaking 360 degree view.   

The summit has picnic tables and grills.  We chuckled about how hard it would be to organize a picnic all the way up here and then, sure enough, we encountered a family with their dog in the parking lot unloading their picnic supplies:  charcoal, burgers, buns, and of course, a handgun -  just in case a grizzly  tries to wrestle you for the burgers.

Sitka can only be reached by boat or plane and we drove our rental car reaching the “Road Ends” signs at both the north and south side of town.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sitka Harbor at Sunset

We ate out every night and had wonderful meals, tapas style, white king salmon, and rockfish – Petersburg, can you hear me – civilization, restaurants!!

Leaving Sitka

 

Red Bluff June 23 - 25, 2015

 

Uh Oh

 
Still basking in our Zen experience from yesterday, we shove off bright and early for Red Bluff, our favorite anchorage from 2012.  Jim loved it so much he said that God must have tucked heaven right into Red Bluff Bay.  This year it may be slipping dangerously close to third place.  We will need to re-evaluate. 

Frederick Sound is again sunny and calm so we have a smooth and uneventful ride for the first two hours.  But, looming before us in Chatham Strait, is a fog bank –surely it will burn off before we get there.  Meanwhile, Jim is working down in the bilge trying to fix our waste pump – the less said about that, the better. 

Suddenly, that fog bank is on top of us, around us, and everywhere you look.  South Chatham Strait has disappeared.  No worries, our trusty radar is on the job.  Having been in these conditions many times, I feel comfortable operating the boat using only instruments.

Several miles go by when suddenly, I can’t keep our boat on course and we are doing crazy eights.  I spend a fair amount of time trying to right the situation to no avail. Now I know what they mean about pilots becoming disoriented in the fog - I could be upside down for all I know.  I do the only sensible thing - I panic and yell for backup.  Jim takes command of the navigation and proceeds to swerve all over too.  The chart states that there is a magnetic disturbance in this area …there’s a disturbance all right, but it isn’t just of the magnetic variety. 

We finally get ourselves somewhat back on course and according to the chart - there is the bay entrance, right in front of us, but we don't actually see it.  We make an executive decision to stop the boat and wait until the fog clears to enter.  A small cruise ship that has been traveling with us decides to do the same and they take this opportunity to fish.  We take the opportunity to fix the pump.

Entrance to Red Bluff

Hours go by – three hours to be exact – three hours of bobbing and fixing.  All around us the fog lifts - except at the entrance to Red Bluff.  Radio reports from inside the bay claim that it is sunny and beautiful there - boats coming out are stunned to see, well...nothing.

Finally,  the curtain rises and we proceed into Red Bluff – it is as majestic as we recalled.  Steep pine covered mountains, waterfalls cascading to the water’s edge and a brown bear grazing at the shore.  Perfect, except for the ten boats all clustered in the same place, at the head of the bay where we will now wedge ourselves too.

 

By the time we are anchored, the bear has lumbered off and the wind is howling at 25 mph.  Too windy to launch either the kayaks or the dingy.  A cruise ship and two mega yachts come in and anchor near us.  It’s like being at a boat show, still very beautiful… but not heaven.

Chapin Bay, June 23-25, 2015

Fredrick Sound

Chapin Bay is a cove we know nothing about except that it provides good protection from the seas and wind of Frederick Sound and it is on our way to one of our favorite spots, Red Bluff.

Entering Chapin Bay



Eagle Confab

Again, because Alaska is having a heat wave – which is now making the national news – I feel compelled to say it a sunny and balmy 69 degrees.  Maybe nothing to write home about in the lower 48, but here – it’s the talk of the state.   We enter the inner harbor of Chapin Bay and are confronted with a bowl of evergreen mountains – every imaginable shade of green -  this is unexpected beauty.  Our kayaks are launched for the grand tour of the harbor.  Eagles swoop by, deer on shore grazing - perfect.  

Frederick Sound

The next morning an executive decision is made to stay another day.  We also decide to kayak the outer harbor.  Celestine is the only boat in the bay and when we glimpse Frederick Sound in the distance, we realize that we are the only boat anywhere - for miles and miles all we see are the majestic mountains and a blue sky that melts into the glassy calm water – this never happens in Frederick Sound.   There are no signs of any other human life, not even any float planes.   This is so enticing that we kayak right out into Frederick Sound. 

Just me

 

The only sounds audible around us are nature’s.  Eagles, of course, are chirping, a few ravens are arguing.  Loons are singing and fishing near us.  Whales are breathing in the distance and occasionally we see their spouts - a gigantic plume of air rising like misty fog - and watch them pop up out of the water.  Sea lions are also grumbling and groaning on a nearby reef.  Suddenly, we hear the unmistakable sound of gun shots and the water  around us is splashing … and there is a seal slapping his tail on the water, creating a popping sound.  Hmmmm.

We just sit in our kayaks taking in this banquet of beauty when I hear more splashing directly behind my kayak – that seal is coming right for me.  Avenging his honor, no doubt, after our skeptical response to his ability to make gunshot sounds.  I quickly paddle away but the rest of the afternoon, I can sense him stalking me and occasionally he shoots his head up near me,  just to let me know he’s watching.

Celestine in the distance

We both feel that we’ve witnessed something profound today - our insignificance in the grand scheme of life, the power of nature’s melodic symphony and mother earth displaying her finest treasures.

 

Windfall Harbor, June 19-21, 2015

 

Windfall Harbor

After a brief stop in Petersburg for cell and internet connections, we are going to Windfall Harbor located at the end of Seymour Canal because:  1) it is beautiful and last time we only saw it in the rain and fog;  and 2) Pack Creek Bear Observatory is here and in 2012 we watched a mother grizzly teach her two young cubs to dig for clams on shore just yards from our boat. 

Today, the sun is shining and we are surrounded by snowcapped mountains that we didn’t see last time as they were enshrouded in a torrent of rain.  After anchoring we arranged by radio (no cell phone coverage here) with the Tongass National Forest Ranger to go on shore tomorrow morning at 9 AM. Then it was time to launch our dinghy and putter the periphery of the tree lined bowl in search of wildlife.  Eagles are everywhere, perched in the trees, their white heads bobbing like golf balls driven into the forest.  On shore, we immediately spot a grizzly but I don't have my camera.  No matter, this is a good omen and we'll see plenty of bears tomorrow.

We are the sole boat here and the only other people are the three rangers who live in tents on the small island adjacent to us – 10 days on, 4 days off back in Juneau - and we revel in the silence when suddenly gun shots ring out.  We see splashing in the water and conclude the rangers – who surely are bored with no cell phone or internet, are shooting their rifles into the water for entertainment.  We hail them on the radio and a ranger answers but we lose the connection.  The shooting stops after one more round.  So much for solitude in the middle of nowhere.

The next day we motor to shore and tie the dinghy to a pulley system.  Once we are out of the boat  the line is let out to keep the dinghy away from shore and the bears.  No food is allowed onto shore either – this is a hardship for me.   The rangers, two gals in their 20’s with said rifles, lead us to a large grassy viewing area from which to watch the bears.  We ask them about the shooting last night and they deny any shooting ever occurred  (good, admit nothing) stating that the splashing was seals in the bay and the pops were the seals’ tails hitting the water.  Yeah right, and when we hear gun shots in Detroit or Seattle, that’s just me cracking my gum. 

We sit and watch for bears in the grassy knoll for 2 hours – no bears.  We do see two Sitka deer.  We hike up the mountain through a lush rain forest, dry now due to the drought, with beautiful thick undergrowth.  We see evidence of bears, lots of scat, and climb the stairs to an elevated bear watch.  No bears - but it was a great 3 mile workout.

Evening in Windfall Harbor

We spend another night anchored here just to enjoy the scenic beauty– but, no bears… and no seals slapping their tails in the water.

El Capitan Passage to Labouchere Bay June 14, 2015

 

 

 

The last several miles of our exit from El Capitan Passage is a narrow, twisty channel, bordered by rocky shoals on both sides and wide enough for exactly one boat.  We radio our Securite warning that we are sailing through and hope no one is coming the other way.  The trip requires a slow speed, maximum concentration and many sharp turns; we can barely manage this because we are oohing and aahing over the granite walls and tree covered mountains all around us.  This is by far my favorite place in Alaska.

We head for our anchorage for the night, LaBouchere Bay, itself a landmine of hidden rocks and shoals but we safely anchor.  Tonight our dinner show is courtesy of Disney – otters frolicking in the water, summersaulting, cleaning their crab supper on their stomachs and just generally being adorable. 

 

 

Labouchere Bay

 

 Mt. Calder looms over us, a 3,307 foot peak that I have fallen in love with.  Between the otters and this mountain, I have snapped approximately a thousand pictures from every conceivable angle.  If Jim hears me yell “look at this” one more time, I think he’s going to throw me overboard.  But hey, look at this…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evening in Labouchere Bay

Mt. Calder

 

 

 

El Capitan Passage and Cave, June 13, 2015

El Capitan Passage

 

Awww

El Capitan Passage is the northwest end of Prince of Wales – clearly the best is last.  The 25 mile channel, north of the aptly named Sea Otter Sound, is in fact, littered with otters.  Traversing this passage is like playing whack-a-mole, no matter which way we turn the boat to avoid them, they pop up in front of us.  When we’re not dodging them, we take in the breathtaking beauty of this cliff and forest lined passage. 

 

Our first anchorage is in a beautiful bay just northwest of the El Capitan Cave.  We are here to take a guided tour of the underground cave that was discovered in the mid-1990s.  Over 2 miles of it have been mapped by archeologists and paleontologists.  Our guides are two interns for the National Forest Service, both studying to be geologists.   Ana and Matt are very knowledgeable and since we are the only two people on the tour, we get to plumb the depths of this knowledge.

View of our boat from top of the stairs

 

 

We meet at the bottom of the 370 steps for the steep ascent through the forest to the cave.  We don hard hats with lamps and rain gear since this limestone cave weeps water.  It is a 70 degree day and when we get to the entrance of the cave, you can feel cool air pouring out.  Ana said you seldom get to feel the cave “breathing” because it is usually too cool outside to notice this temperate difference.

 

 

 

 

 

Ready to enter the cave

Upon entering, we encounter a locked gate to prevent intruders from trespassing.  Matt opens it and after we go through he pad locks it behind us for reasons unclear to me.   Matt assures us he has bolt cutters should we need them.  Suddenly, I wish we had asked to see their IDs, anyone can put on a green shirt and claim they’re a ranger.  Come to think of it, neither of them is wearing a ranger uniform or insignia.  Well, too late now – we’re locked in.

 

 

The floor inside the cave is uneven and rocky and the only light inside this tunnel is cast from our lamps and flashlights.  There are crawl spaces everywhere leading to other levels of the cave, some fan up, others down.  Our guides have spelunked some of them. 

Yikes



Our guides look so harmless now that they have unlocked the cave gate

The limestone walls are covered with mineral deposits that look like frosting.  Parts of the ceiling have hundreds of water droplets that glisten like diamonds.  These are filled with minerals that will eventually harden to become part of the stone surface.   At the head of the cave we turn off all our lights and “listen” to the cave “talk.”   I don’t hear it say a thing but I do hear some dripping water and feel a splat of it on my face.  Even though I am slightly claustrophobic, we have loved the tour and are sad when it’s  over -  but greatly relieved when the locked gate is opened.