Gwaii Haanas and Raising the Legacy Pole

Raising the Legacy Pole, Windy Bay, Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve, August 15, 2013

The last 36 hours have brought high winds and lashing rains to our anchorage, about 5 miles south of Windy Bay, where today, a  42-foot, hand-carved commemorative pole will be raised, the first erected in Gwaii Haanas in a long time. This morning we find the skies threatening but with patches of blue (sailors call them ‘sucker holes’…) and the winds are only 10-15 knots, down from the 20-30 knots we experienced yesterday, and that were in the forecast for today. We load up a backpack with everything from sunglasses to foul weather gear and board a Canada Parks work boat for a pounding, high-speed ride over to Windy Bay, the site of an ancient Haida village. It is quite remote and open to wind and waves of Hecate Strait; the only way in is by boat or float plane. There is a flotilla of Coast Guard, Canada Parks and private boats rocking at anchor outside; through the morning, swarms of smaller boats ferry people in from anchorages, campsites and other parts of the island.

 

We visited this village on our way south a couple of weeks ago and met lead carver Jaalen Edenshaw, and his apprentice, Tyler. They were counting down the days they had left to complete the pole even then, and today they are working feverishly to complete the final touches. We watch as they carefully shape the feathers on the eagle’s wings, finely smooth the curve the Watchmen's hat, and attach thick pieces of peacock blue abalone shell. With time running out, the carvers walk up and down alongside the pole, examining it from all angles as they make last minute refinements.

The atmosphere is thrilling. Many of the Haida wear traditional costumes. We see hats and headbands woven of cedar bark or spruce root; colorful blankets decorated with appliqued clan crests and abalone shell buttons; leggings, dance aprons, and more blankets woven of wool in the older traditional pre-contact Raven's Wing or Chilkat designs. The many Haida hereditary chiefs here to witness and participate are resplendent in long robes and headpieces decorated with crest carvings inlaid with abalone and hung with whole ermine skins. The dignitaries from the Canadian government and Canada Parks, including Justin Trudeau, son of Pierre, are dressed quite somberly in comparison. Only the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in their bright red and blue uniforms seem festive enough for the day.


I find Duck Soup, our Haida friend and Watchman who introduced us to T'aanuu village with wonderful stories of her heritage. She is working on getting the food ready. The Haida women have been cooking and baking for days. There is beef stew, seafood chowder, sandwich makings, fresh fruit and dozens of home-made pies and desserts. They have outdone themselves. I offer to help and Duck puts me to work. Noreen of Pacific Sapphire, Catherine Williams of Terrapin and I begin slicing cheese, cucumbers and desserts and arranging them attractively on serving trays. It was estimated that 300 people might be at the pole raising; I think there are more like 400-500. The logistics of feeding all of these people in this out-of-the-way place are astounding. Our extra hands are appreciated.

While ropes are attached to the pole, lunch is served to all in attendance. Bowls of beef stew are passed but we choose the seafood chowder, rich and chunky with salmon, halibut and shrimp, and garnished with plenty of herring roe on kelp -- a crunchy new treat we have found we enjoy a great deal.

On a table nearby are tubs of large live purple sea urchins in layers of kelp fronds. A Haida man chooses a nice big one out of the tub and chops it in half with a single chop from his hefty knife. I accept his invitation to try it. Following his example I gingerly avoid the sharp spines and dip my fingers into the bright gold-colored 'guts' to taste my first raw sea urchin. It is surprisingly good, though I admit to a little shudder when I am informed that what I am eating, while considered a delicacy, is still basically sea urchin gonads. I shrug, taste another dip from my fingers and add some to my chowder. I decide I am going to enjoy the intriguing new flavor without further cogitation as to its identity...

The master of ceremonies calls us to gather around the pole, and the ceremonies of the raising begin with a prayer in the Haida language. Then the trio of carvers, Jaalen, Tyler and Gwaai do their blessing, which includes a dance. They escort the matriarch who does the women's blessing of the pole. She dips a cedar spray into a bowl of water and uses it to tap the pole, up one side and down the other. Young girls, including Jaalen's daughters, follow with woven bags full of eagle down feathers. Eagle down is a traditional symbol of peace on this entire coastline. They sprinkle the down on the pole, and it blows everywhere. For a few minutes in the vicinity of the pole it appears to be snowing eagle down...

 
Suddenly, in the woods not far from where I am standing, I hear a noise and notice a stand of small saplings shake as if a large animal was moving through them. I swing the video camera in that direction. We are all startled by the sound of a hoarse, croaking shout. Out of the woods comes a Wild Man, half naked, draped in cedar and masked. He leaps out from the trees, flailing his arms threateningly as he repeats his harsh, shouted cries.

The Haida in the crowd who know this story are screaming and shouting in fear.  Guujaaw (GOO-jow), a Haida drummer, artist and leader who was deeply involved in creating and protecting this area, seems to be trying to chase the Wild Man away by following him and beating his hand-held drum. The Wild Man continues to shout and dance. He runs and leaps, squatting and whirling, arms outstretched, reaching and grasping to frighten the crowd. Again and again he reaches down, sweeps up handfuls of dirt and flings them around in his frenzy. He gestures  menacingly at the crowd, but he repeatedly returns to the pole to slap and shout at it.

All the while Guujaaw gets closer and closer, and the beat of his drum is faster, louder, more and more insistent. The Wild Man has completed his circle around the pole and Guujaaw moves in even closer. No longer able to withstand the compelling drumbeat, the Wild Man returns to the woods, snarling and gnashing his teeth. The ceremony can continue. The crowd cheers.

Finally it is time to raise the pole. It's carved and painted creatures represent the connectedness of everything in nature, and the unique protections of Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve that include everything from the bottom of the ocean to the skies at the mountaintops. At the bottom of the pole is Sculpin, a fish representing the ocean, followed by Grizzly Bear who appears in many Haida oral traditions. Next is a Raven, one of the two Haida clan moieties. Every Haida is either a Raven or an Eagle. The Five Good People Standing Together represent those who stood up against the logging companies and the government of Canada to protect south Moresby Island, resulting in the creation of Gwaii Haanas. A supernatural Wasco is described as a sea wolf. Sacred One Standing and Moving is a supernatural being who holds the post that holds up Haida Gwaii (kind of like Atlas.) When he moves, the islands shake as they did in a major earthquake last fall. Marten is next; when Marten runs up the post holding up Haida Gwaii, he creates the sound before the earthquake to warn the people. The Three Watchmen honor all those who protect and watch over Gwaii Haanas, past and present. Finally, cresting the pole is Eagle with his copper-clad head, representing the sky and the other Haida moiety.

The ropes are attached, padded underneath with blankets to protect the painted cedar and stretched out on the ground. Two lines lead behind the pole and four are in front. An experienced pole raiser is prepared to lead the crowd of volunteers who man the ropes. First he has a group lift the prone pole from its supports and slide it a few yards, tilting it up a bit so its base rests against the side of the deep hole that has been dug.  He calls out to the rope teams, urging them to listen carefully for his instructions. If one rope team pulls too hard, or in the wrong direction, the pole could be damaged, or worse, topple before it is in position. Patrick is stationed on one of the two key center-forward ropes.

With several hundred people manning the ropes the majestic pole begins to rise. I find tears springing to my eyes. The crowd is gasping, mouths open, eyes following the progress of the beautiful carving skyward. I am not sure if it is the ropes or the pole itself, but there is a lot of loud creaking and groaning. We all hope the 7000 pound pole isn't going to crack!

Sooner than it can be imagined, it is upright. The pole-raiser eyeballs the pole from different sides and issues orders for one or another of the colored ropes to tighten or let up. He employs a large level to make sure it is straight. A few more adjustments on the ropes and he gives the order to hold steady and begin filling the hole. From 500 throats a triumphant roar rises to the skies. We have raised a pole, and we have raised the challenge to future generations to keep this uniquely beautiful and mystical place safe. The knowledge of having played a tiny role in this historic moment is immense. It is astonishingly joyful. And it is infinitely precious.

I glance over at the carvers who have been dedicated themselves to this magnificent  monument for the past year, and its design long before that. They watch the process intently, then broad smiles break out when it is safely vertical. I join them as they leap forward to begin the process of filling the huge hole with rocks and shovelfuls of dirt against the base of the pole. Once again, many hands make the work go quickly. A rock brigade forms, passing medium-sized boulders and large rocks to the hole. I throw in a few myself. Another group mans a dozen shovels while others hold long 2x4s in their hands, pounding them piston-like into the hole, compressing the dirt and rocks to support the pole for as long as it stands. It will stand long after we are all gone.

This is the first monumental pole to be raised in Gwaii Haanas in over 130 years. We are witness to history.

Message In A Bottle, Godo Beach, August 13, 2013

We are in transit today, and drop anchor for a day exploration of this ancient Haida site. While Patrick fishes in the bay outside, I go ashore and find abalone shells, beautifully rounded white quartz pebbles and kayak camps just above the high tide line. I walk behind a huge drift log and find a green glass wine bottle, the cork still snug and a note inside. A message in a bottle! Once back on board Tenacious we open it to find a note written just about a year ago by a young woman from Haida Gwaii. She released it in Laskeek Bay and it has washed up about 20 or so miles south. She asks the finder to contact her by email (and I will), to add their own note and send the message bottle on its way again. I will do both. First, I compose an email message to the young lady, to be sent when next we get an internet connection. And I begin to think about the message we'll add to the bottle. We speculate about where we will release it -- perhaps it will range farther if we turn it loose in Hecate Strait when we are heading back to the mainland.

Burnaby (Dolomite) Narrows  August 11, 2013

Beautiful Bag Harbour in the morning

For the past few days we have anchored in Bag Harbour, just south of Dolomite Narrows, locally known as Burnaby Narrows. The nights have been spectacularly clear. We have been getting up at around 2am, bundling up against the cool night air and carrying boat cushions and blankets out to the foredeck to watch the Perseid Meteor Shower. It is so dark and so clear, the Milky Way is like a broad pathway through the black-velvet sky. Here you feel that if you had the time, you just might be able to count each and every one of Carl Sagan’s “billions and billions of stars.”

                                                                   
Lying on our backs we count shooting stars and satellites. One night we get to 14 shooting stars and 6 satellites in about an hour. Last night we counted 18 meteors and only 4 satellites in about 45 minutes.
             

Today we enjoy yet another glorious sunny day, and venture out into the Narrows to view the amazing variety of intertidal life that flourishes there. The tidal flow through this shallow passage every day carries a tremendous volume of nutrients. Starfish, crabs, turban snails, sea cucumbers, anemones, clams, mussels, and many varieties of kelp and other seaweeds grow lush and colorful.

At low tide we float over the ever-changing bottom, dodging rocks and reefs and marveling at the diversity of life forms passing before our eyes. The colors are glorious. Some, like the groves of waving kelp, are muted in shades of olive and brown; sea lettuce is in an autumn palette that blends from pale green to chartreuse, through bright yellow, orange and brick red. Algae are neon bright. Bat stars and leather stars are every shade of purple, magenta and blue. They are scattered across the gravelly bottom in constellations that remind me of last night’s sky. Kelp crabs climb acrobatically along the long branches of kelp that undulate with the current. Sea anemones filter the nutrient-rich water that passes across their gently-waving translucent tentacles.

Almost as big as its mother, but still has spots.

Sitka deer browse the shoreline and seem to have no fear of people. I go ashore and take pictures of a young buck as he browses in a little glen near the water. I am close enough that I begin to think about the consequences of being butted by a buck, so I move on. A bit farther along is a doe and her fawn. They only glance up curiously, looking me over briefly at my quiet, but by no means silent, approach. Soon they return to graze the grassy verges and tender new evergreen shoots, even though I am only a few yards away.

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Back in the dinghy we float past a large bald eagle on the rocks below the tide line. He holds a fish carcass in his talons and tears chunks off with his strong, hooked beak. They say that there is more protein per square meter in these narrows than anywhere else on earth. We hear the distinctive rapid-fire call first, then see the kingfisher land on a reef near us. He gives us the full Monty while in full, chittering cry. This is our second day visiting—I could spend a month and never tire of it.

It's either "Check THIS out, baby!" or we're too close to a nest...

But with so many places to go and so much to see; it is time to move on. Patrick has been studying the Coast Pilot and has taken the dinghy through Burnaby Narrows multiple times since yesterday, both at low tide and high tide. He is prepared for our transit in the big boat. Timing is critical; we have to start when there is enough water under our keel to keep us from going aground, yet still low enough that we can still see any dangers. That means I will be standing on the bow, prepared to point out any hazards coming up. Having just read about how a 90’ vessel ran aground here in 2000, I feel the responsibility quite keenly.

Our course is charted and we begin the run. I am hanging on to my last nerve along with the bow pulpit railing with both hands as Patrick takes us into the first turn. We are running against a 2-3 knot current. I can hear the water rushing along the hull; the sound changes depending the strength of the current and where we are in the channel. We make it through the first turn and are heading for the range markers that show us the route we need to take to avoid reefs on both sides of us. Tenacious’ hull, which, compared to the rugged rock outcroppings lurking just above and below the swirling water, is looking increasingly fragile to me at the moment. The current is pushing us off course. Patrick manhandles the ship’s wheel to yank us back on course and we begin the second turn. I remain on the bow, scanning the water for rocks when Patrick shouts for me to move out of the way—he can’t see the range markers. I move aside and crouch instantly, heart pounding. I know we are clear when we turn to starboard for the last stretch of water that carries us out of the Narrows. I am shaking, but the Amazing Captain Pat is as cool as a cucumber. He prepared for the transit thoroughly and effectively, and executed his plan flawlessly. And am I ever glad it’s over!

Slim Inlet  August 9, 2013

His forehead scar clearly visible, this is a very healthy bear.

While most bays, islands, points and other geographical features up here are named for their discoverers, or more often for patrons, political cronies and nobility back in England who might be able to advance the careers of their discoverers, this little inlet seems to have been named for its shape. On the chart it looks like a narrow, pointed dagger. This morning as we are talking about where we will go next, Patrick looks out from the upper salon and calls the alert: “Bear!”

There is a large male black bear on shore. Because this anchorage is so narrow, we can see him ambling along, turning over rocks and licking up the little crabs and other tidbits that inhabit the intertidal zone. We watch him from Tenacious’s deck for a while before we launch the dinghy to get a closer look. As we approach, he looks up, clearly aware of us but quite unperturbed. He continues to forage and we drift in front of him for about 15 minutes. We are so close we can hear his claws scrabbling on the rocks and his jaws crunching on his finds. He has a large scar across his forehead, but his coat is lush and thick and glossy; his forearms are huge and he is clearly healthy and very well-fed. Patrick says he is the largest black bear he has ever seen, which is entirely possible since the sub-species that inhabits these islands, ursus americanus carlottae is the largest black bear in the Americas. He is simply beautiful.

Ikeda Cove August 8, 2013

After a rainy night we enjoy a clearing sky and light winds that keep Tenacious moving gently at anchor. Patrick is going fishing and I have boat cleaning tasks. 

(There have been a lot of requests for more kitty pictures.)

We are alone in this megaphone-shaped bay so I crank up my iPod and play my ‘favorites’ mix that includes everything from The Beatles and The Bangles to Sergio Mendes and Manfredo Fest. I dance around the boat with sponges and dust cloths; nobody is watching but the cats. When I need a break I pop up on deck and pull out the binoculars to ‘glass’ the shoreline. I find I need a lot of breaks! It’s low tide and I count at least half a dozen Sitka black-tailed deer grazing along the high tide line, their pretty light reddish-brown coats blending in against the background of dried grasses and tree trunks. A lone raccoon patrols the waterline. His bright eyes gaze out over the water, watching for predators from side to side, while his front paws busily feel the muddy bottom for a seafood treat. He looks a little bit like he’s doing a Stevie Wonder impression. Around the other side I see a pair of sand hill cranes, a first for us up here. We have read that they migrate through this area but we have never seen them. They remind me of Sarasota and home, where many spend the winter.
Patrick returns from fishing with a beautiful lingcod for dinner. We’ll sauté the sweet, mild meat in butter, I think, and serve it with lemon wedges and fresh chives from the farmers’ market in Queen Charlotte.

Ikeda Cove  August 7, 2013

It’s the best of all situations for me today—low tide occurs mid-morning, which means I can beachcomb and explore all I want without having to wake up at the crack of dawn… Patrick takes me ashore in the dinghy and I begin a tour of the head of Ikeda Cove. First stop is a point of land that has several deadfall trees on it. It’s a high place I can use to scope the area. There I find the remains of a cabin; wood floor planks and some broken window glass. Scattered around are chunks of greenish stone, suggesting that this was probably a miner’s cabin.  Copper ore was mined here in the early 1900s, and we can see bare areas and tailings on the surrounding hillsides.  

Rusty machinery with foxgloves in the background

I continue around toward the head of the cove; following meandering deer trails up into the forest, then back out to the shoreline. There are huge old-growth trees. The forest floor is covered with hundreds of years-worth of fallen pine needles and topped with a thick layer of bright green moss. It’s like walking on a trampoline. Little sunlight penetrates the cedar, spruce and hemlock branches high above my head.  Bits of antique-patterned china and worn purple glass at the waters edge tell the tale of human habitation, long in the past. I  am surprised to come upon a large, sunny clearing and see what looks like a big garden. I have found the remains of another cabin. I imagine that this miner brought his wife with him, and she must have asked him to cut down the surrounding trees so she could have a garden. The spikes of purple and white foxglove that have gone wild are taller than I am! Below the clearing and above the high-tide line I find rusted machinery, the last few remaining pilings of a wharf and what looks like the logs and thick planks of a barge.

 

Culturally Modified Tree (CMT)

I cross the meandering creek bed that winds down from the head of the bay and climb back up into the forest on the other side. I find several bark-stripped trees, the scars grown over. This was a resource site where the Haida gathered cedar bark for weaving. 

I walk back down to the beach to call Patrick on the walkie-talkie to tell him about my find. He comes up on deck to see where I am and says, “Stay where you are! There is a mother bear and her cub just around the next point of land from you!” He hops in the dinghy to pick me up from the shoreline and from the safety of the water we watch the dark, furry pair amble back into the woods.

 

Later, Patrick tells me that he could see the mother bear sniff the air from my direction (I was upwind of her) and send her small cub ahead into the woods. He said she looked prepared to defend her little one, and he was quite worried for me. I am a little regretful that I did not get to meet her on the beach.

 

SGang Gwaay or Ninstints Village, August 5, 2013

Today we visit the southernmost of the Haida Watchmen sites, UNESCO World Heritage Site. It's western name was Ninstints, a mispronunciation of the name of the chief at the time of first contact. It is now known by its Haida name, SGang Gwaay. I have been trying to learn Haida pronunciation. They have only had a written language for a relatively short time and the way a word is written gives clues as to pronunciation. When a "G" (or other consonant) is underlined, it is pronounced from the back of the throat, almost swallowed.

All that is left here are mortuary poles, shorter than house posts or memorial poles. The rest of the ones that used to be here were either sold, looted or sent to museums for preservation, with the permission of the Haida in 1957. Mortuary poles are carved with the root end of the tree pointing up. The top needed to be wider in order to support the bentwood mortuary box that contained the folded body of the personage honored by the pole. Our Watchman guide, James, explains that because this was (and still is) a matrilineal society, it was the responsibility of the chief's eldest sister's son to commission the carving of the mortuary pole, and it had to be within two years of the chief's death, otherwise the next in succession could claim the esteemed position.

 

James explains the carved images. They are not gods or religious symbols, but rather they tell stories of the owner's clan affiliations and honors. They remain here, slowly decaying (though there are some minor mitigation measures being taken here, such as removing moss on some poles..) The Haida believe when the pole finally returns to the earth from which it came, the spirit of the chief is freed to continue its journey. The feeling of this place is very special, and we linger as long as we can before heading back to Tenacious.

Gandll K'in Gwaay.yaay or Hotsprings Island,

August 3, 2013

From Windy Bay we continue south to Hotsprings Island, historically one of the most popular destinations in Haida Gwaii for its beautiful pools of geothermally heated water for soaking. Last fall a magnitude 7.7 earthquake just about 30 miles from Haida Gwaii somehow closed off the water source for the pools. We have heard there is one small pool near the tideline that is beginning to fill again. By radio we call David, the Watchman at Hotsprings, and he confirms that he has indeed built a pool just big enough for two and we are welcome to come in. We tie up at the mooring buoy just in front of the site, land the dinghy in the rock-cleared channel and wade the rest of the way ashore. David welcomes us and explains about the earthquake's affect on the hotsprings. Since there is no fresh water source on this island it is speculated that the hotsprings water comes from Lyell Island through an underground channel, and that either the channel was partially closed or the water drained farther down on Lyell. The thinking is that the water levels underground are beginning to rise again, creating low pool. It is hoped that if the water levels continue to rise, the other pools located higher up on the island will fill again, too.

We change into swim suits and clamber down to the beach, marveling at the rock clams that bore holes through the solid rock along the shoreline. How do they do that?? We dip our toes into the water only to find that it is too hot for us. Patrick estimates it is 120 degrees F. We end up sitting just below the hot water pool where its a bit cooler. It's a lovely end to another beautiful day. We hope the water is back next time we come!

Hlk'Yah GaawGa, or Windy Bay, August 3

Yesterday we learned more about the big pole to be raised here at Windy Bay two weeks from now. We pull in to the exposed beach and tie up to one of two mooring buoys. We call the Watchmen ashore on radio channel 6, asking permission to come ashore. In Gwaii Haanas no more than 12 people can be ashore at a Watchmen site. We are met by Gladys and Al who are just saying goodbye to their grandson. He is going up-island to join one of the two groups who will paddle big Haida canoes here for the pole raising. 

The right foot is in progress, the others awaits attention.

As they say their farewells we make our way up the steep beach toward the near-complete pole to meet carvers Jaalen and Ty. They talk about the pole as they work. The back of the log has been cut off and the center heartwood has been adzed out. Cedar tends to rot from the center so this will help keep the pole strong. There are still parts of the design penciled on the wood--details of faces, eyes, feet. Their tools are elegant, sharp and wielded with strength and grace. With each stroke, a thin layer of fragrant cedar curls and drop away. They carve in to an angle, then cut away the accumulated edges with a decisive chop.  The delightful fragrance of damp cedar is sharp in the air. 

 

Patrick, ever the engineer, discusses the considerations of water drainage off of the pole, to minimize standing water and opportunity for rot to start. Jaalen says no one has ever asked him about that before, but it is something he has learned about from his mentors. The pole design has no planes that might catch and hold water.

Al returns to take us on a beautiful and tranquil hike through the forest above Windy Bay. We find evidence of long-ago logging, many deer beds, a bold Sitka buck who poses for us, and a tree that is more than 1000 years old. We all pose for pictures. Returning to the Watchmen's cabin, Gladys lets us try on her hand-woven cedar bark hats, each of which represents many, many hours of work. Al explains how he harvests the bark for her. We enjoy paging through an album of pictures of her hats, baskets and other woven items. She is a well-known weaver and teacher of weaving; there are many newspaper and magazine articles featuring her work. We thank them and make our farewells to Al, Gladys and the carvers, still unsure if we will be back here for the raising of the pole. It all depends on the winds and waves.



T'aanuu Llnagaay or Tanu, August 2, 2013

House beams on the forest floor. Houses faced the beach.

Today we visit our first of the ancient village sites where Haida Watchmen are stationed, T'aanuu Llnagaay (TAH-new ULna-gay.) It translates to Tanu Village and we meet Duck Soup, our Haida Watchman and guide, who takes us on a tour of the site. There are no standing long houses, but the downed house posts and beams lie on the ground, mute and covered with thick moss, just where they fell many years ago. A wide path marked by large white clam shells carries us along the shoreline and through the woods so we can get a sense of how the village was laid out. Duck Soup tells us that house posts and poles at several village site have been x-rayed, revealing some that contain shot and bullets from early incidents where Spanish and English ships fired on Haida villages, sometimes provoked and sometimes not. Here, just a few days ago, an archaeologist removed for further study some metal from a post that faces the beach.





 

Duck tells us fascinating stories from her culture and of her life growing up on these islands. She encourages us to come to the raising of the Legacy Pole at Windy Bay on August 15. We're not sure if we will still be in Haida Gwaii then. 

 

Louise Narrows, August 2, 2013

Today’s first adventure is transiting Louise Narrows, a dredged channel that runs between Louise Island and Moresby Island. It “dries” on a 2-foot tide (meaning when the tide level is at 2 feet or lower, you can walk across it.) Pat reads Sailing Directions and the cruising guides to ensure that he knows the route to take. In the narrowest part the channel is only 30 feet wide. Tenacious is 15 ½ feet wide at the beam, so we will have only about 7 feet on either side of us for a little while. There is a small island in the middle of the channel and you have to pass it to port, even though the channel looks like it is wider to starboard. The wrong decision here would put us on a reef, so local knowledge is key.

 

Thinking of boarding, perhaps?

We wait until close to high water and begin our transit. I am on bow watch, ready to tell Patrick how to alter course if necessary. We enter the channel; I have to admit my heart is pounding and my nerves are on edge. I can see bottom straight down from the starboard bow and shout back to Pat to move a little to port.

That’s when we both see the bear on shore. He forages among the rocks off the port bow in the narrowest part of the narrows. We can’t stop, we can’t turn, we just have to go ahead and see what he does. He looks up as we go by, watching our passage with apparent interest. He is a youngster, maybe 2 or 3 years old and around 250 pounds. I look back at him as he calmly walks back up into the forest. Later, Patrick laughs and says the bear probably could have climbed aboard with us if he had wanted to.