The Pictures You Miss, And a Visit to Glacier Bay

Posted August 16 from Ketchikan, AK

I’m thinking about all the moments I’d like to share that I can’t illustrate; the pictures you don’t get to take in the wild. So many are indelibly imprinted in my mind.

The other day, we passed a big sea otter on our way in to Elfin Cove. Patrick pointed it out or I would have missed it completely. It was so close to us I could see individual whiskers on its sweet, funny face. It floated on its back, calmly dining on a huge, fluorescent-orange anemone of some sort that rested on the otter's stomach, overflowing the plate, as it were. As we passed by, the otter spared us a mildly-interested glance before returning to his squirmy repast. And me with no camera!

This afternoon we’re anchored in a little bay in the midst of a group of small islands. A huge sea lion colony lives on the rocky shorelines not far away. I find their antics endlessly amusing. I sit in the sunny cockpit with Simon the Cat for hours, cockpit canvas open, watching them fish, swim around Tenacious, and just generally horse around the bay. 

In the background, the Steller sea lion opera is in full swing. Hundreds of sea lions with their basso profundo voices, growl, grumble, roar and belch, hour after hour, day and night. When the wind direction is right, I’m treated to the aroma of Eau de Sea Lion, and it’s remarkably unpleasant. Maybe that what they’re always complaining about. The shot that I miss? The look on Simon’s face when a sea lion pops it’s head out of the water about 5 feet from our hull and gives a loud, cough-like bark, then dives. The funny thing is Simon doesn’t even twitch. His eyes get huge and he watches that expanding circle of bright water for minutes, waiting to get another glimpse of this noisy, dog-faced sea creature.

We will never forget the two humpback whales that breeched side by side. We didn't even know humpbacks were nearby when they erupted, like twin geysers, from the water. Or the instant the sun peeks out from the clouds, suddenly surrounding us with an ocean of blazing diamonds before it disappears once more. Or the staggeringly enormous, glorious majesty of the mountains and glaciers that surround us. A camera can never really capture that sense of awe and smallness.

And so these “pictures that I missed” will remain in my heart and in my mind … at least, for a few more years! 

On The Way -- To Glacier Bay!

By the time we work our way through Peril Strait (which has, ironically, a big old dog-leg turn right in the middle) and in to Sitka, we are ready for a little relaxation. We spend a few days there, soaking up the Native and Russian history and culture, enjoying huge Dungeness crabs bought right off the boat in the harbor (so much much easier than trapping them ourselves--and just as delicious) doing laundry, and grocery shopping to fill in our fresh produce supply before going farther north.

The weather continues to be unbelievably good and it looks as if it’s going to hold a while longer. We decide to shoot for Glacier Bay National Park, via the west coast of Chichagof Island —the Pacific side. We don’t take outside passages lightly, so Patrick has planned a series of inlets and anchorages where we can duck into if conditions become uncomfortable. We are excited about the prospect of visiting an abandoned mining town, and another anchorage with beautiful waterfalls, but the seas are so flat and the day so beautiful for a run that we decide to continue north. We choose the little town of Pelican on Lisianski Strait as our target for the night. What a charming boardwalk village! 

At the General Store I find this t-shirt irresistable -- it says, "Do Not Feed the Giant Hamsters," with a picture of a grizzly bear. It really cracks me up, which probably says a lot about how long we have been at sea ...

We're eager to learn more about Glacier Bay from our well-met new dock neighbors who are tied up behind us. Over beers, they share their experiences (they just came out of the Park) of anchorages and wildlife there. I take notes on our charts so we'll know some places we'll be sure to go.

We enjoy pizza at Rose's Bar and Grill. Word on the dock is that at one time it was a rather notorious spot for fishermen to blow off a little steam, if you know what I'm sayin'. 

We apply for a permit to enter Glacier Bay National Park. Only 25 boats are allowed in the park at any one time; the maximum stay is seven days. We are thrilled when our application is approved for entry two days from now.

Glacier Bay: July 29 - August 4

We enter the park and check in at the Ranger Station, staffed with young men and women who are just adorable and so sincere in their love of this place and it's care. (More about them later.) We steer a course for our first anchorage, and begin seeing whale spouts and groups of sea otters all around us. We slow down to watch the show for a while. The otters just make me smile. Although we see some swimming around solo, often they are in groups as small as two and up to hundreds. What looks, at a distance, like a single otter, often turns out to be two or three that snuggle and paddle in a tight group. Moms and babies are my favorite video subject!

Single whales and small groups work the shoreline, leisurely scooping fish into their enormous mouths. In our Fingers Bay anchorage, they are all around us. It's always a little surprise to hear their explosive "PHHHHH-HUH!" as they blow a steamy plume of moist whale breath into still air, and inhale huge lungfuls of fresh air in a less than a second.  If you see the blow from just the right angle, it curls upward into a heart shape, because of the shape of their blowhole. Whales are everywhere, near and far And it's magical. 

Marjerie Glacier, Tarr Inlet

One of our favorite stops so far is Tarr Inlet. The depths in these inlets is usually tremendous, but thanks to a tip-off from friends, we find a little nook just south of Marjerie Glacier, with a stunning view of the Grand Pacific Glacier at the head of the inlet. We enter on a flood tide  -- a good thing for boat speed -- but the number of icebergs that accompany us on the way in is a little alarming. We anchor safely off a curved beach that is wreathed in stunning hot pink wildflowers.    

Marjerie Glacier calving (left side)

After a night of listening to the boom and crack of the glacier moving on its slow, inexorable path, we launch the dinghy in the morning haze, to get a closer look, dodging icebergs all the way. Wary, yet hopeful of witnessing it calve, we carefully approach the front of the glacier to within about a quarter of a mile. We shut off the motor and drift, all alone in this majestic space, listening to the loud CRRRACKs and BOOMs. I snap a picture of the glacier, not knowing a huge chunk of ice has just broken off! (The sound of the calving travels slower than the event itself.) I'm lucky enough to capture a series of pics as the ice falls, smashing into the water and sending up fountains of icy water. I get about 5 shots off before we start to feel the waves generated by the brand new iceberg hitting the water. A bit later, it calves again. We rock alongside our iceberg neighbors, for a long time.

 

We dodge the bergs again on the way back, stopping to pick up a "berg-y bit" for cocktail hour. 10,000 year old ice for our drinks! In the afternoon, as I relax down in the cabin, I hear a loud bubbling noise, like the sound of a large pot of water at a rolling boil. My first, panicked thought is that Tenacious's hull has somehow been punctured and I'm hearing seawater rapidly bubbling up into the bilges. I shout for Patrick and lift up a hatch in the teak-and-holly sole to see if I can see watering pouring in. Nothing! Patrick races up to the deck to see what's going on. He finds the source of the bubbling sound and calls me to the deck to see. A huge iceberg has quietly sidled up to our starboard, and huge bubbles are erupting all around it's edges, including where it's resting against our hull. We guess that it has rolled over, as icebergs do, and is off-gassing air trapped in the ice as it melts. Patrick deploys the boat hook to fend off the monstrous chunk of ice that's trying to cozy up to us. My heartbeat slowly returns to normal. What a day!

 

Wildflowers along the high tide line in Marjerie Anchorage.

 

I go ashore to bring some of the brilliant beauty aboard Tenacious

 

 

Our trip through the park continues when we leave Tarr Inlet on the ebb. The pictures will tell at least some of the story.

A curious grizzly bear checks us out as we pass by his shoreline meadow.

 

 

 

                   A mother mountain goat and her baby trot confidently along the craggy heights.

Too soon our Glacier Bay adventure must come to an end. Late on our final day, we return to the Ranger Station to "check out" of the park, tying up at the capacious wharf there.  True to character, Jake the Cat takes the opportunity to jump ship and roam the dock, making friends with staff and guests. Our business ashore complete, we fill our water tanks with delicious, icy water from the hose on the dock, and cast off to anchor overnight near the station to get ready for an early morning departure. 

We blithely set about settling the boat for the night when I notice I don't see Jake. I spin and make a quick survey of his favorite napping places. No Jake. I enroll Patrick in a more thorough search. Still no Jake. We look at each other in horror: We Have Left Jake At The Dock!!! We hurl ourselves into the dinghy, cat carrier in hand, and retrace our course. 

 

A large aluminum skiff, rowed by a young Park Ranger, is heading our way. She catches our eyes across the water, and she calls, "Are you missing a cat?" just as we are shouting, "Is there a cat on the dock?" She nods vigorously. Thank you, Ranger Holly! At the dock we find Jake huddled nervously under a dock structure, being carefully watched by Caden, the dear ranger who first noticed him there. He's making sure Jake isn't tempted to get near the ramp to land. All the staff are helping. One ranger, fishing off the dock, has generously supplied Jake with a tempting little chunk of fresh herring. (Jake declined: too nervous.) Another is standing at the bottom of the ramp, blocking access to a land-based adventure for Jake. They are darling, and sweet, and so very, very kind and concerned. We are endlessly grateful for their caring. And Jake gets loaded up in his Sherpa bag for his inaugural dinghy ride, while chalking up another unexpected adventure! (Sadly, no documentation of the dramatic rescue exists, but here are The Kitty Boyzz.) 

Simon in the cockpit: large and in charge

Jake is an extravagant sleeper

There are many, many more memorable, and yes, unforgettable moments to share than I can ever record here. I leave you with this exuberant whale we meet as we head south along the coast of Admiralty Island.

June 29, 2023 Rocky Pass, Kuiu Island and More:  Because ... Sea Otters and Bears

 Posted July 20 in Sitka, AK

Dixon NEVER looks like this!

We crossed Dixon Entrance and entered Alaska with our dear friends, Chris and Chuck (m/v Esprit d'Four) on June 9, much earlier than last year. This open water crossing can make for several long, miserable hours of dreadful swell with wind waves on top, but we lucked out with a surprisingly delightful forecast of light winds and seas "two feet or less" in NOAA weather channel parlance. The reality was even better: seas were flat and glassy on a beautiful, bright sunny day. A big, friendly Alaska welcome!

We had several fun days in Ketchikan, some excellent prawning on the north side of Cleveland Peninsula, and a quick stop in Wrangell to pick up last-minute fresh produce before heading west on Frederick Sound. Always up for something new and challenging, Captain Patrick decided we would transit the aptly named Rocky Pass, the narrow, twisty and rather shallow channel that runs between Kuiu and Kupreanof Islands.

 

Going through Rocky Pass requires solid planning, as depths and currents vary widely depending on the tide. We approach the entrance to the Pass a little early, so we drop anchor in at the bottom of the pass to await the optimal time to start.

To my delight, we find ourselves in the midst of a large raft of sea otters, eating, playing, rolling, sleeping and just paddling in the warm afternoon sunshine. I watch their antics from Tenacious's broad teak deck. they seem mildly interested in us, but cautious all the same, using their clever hind feet to paddle away if they float a little too close. 

 

 

It's time to begin this new adventure. The anchor chain rattles coming up, startling our furry neighbors. A purple starfish has hitched a ride on the chain, so I stop the windlass before it is crushed on the bow roller. I lean out over the bow pulpit (kind of through the pulpit really) and gently de-tangle its stiff arms from the chain. I wish the starfish well and return it to the sea. Another starfish saved!!

 

We enter Rocky Pass when the current is slightly against us so that we get a little resistance to steer into. Patrick planned our transit over two days. We'll do the first section this afternoon, anchor overnight and do the second tomorrow.

You can see that the course is fairly difficult. Each dot on the chart represents a turn. Each turn must be executed crisply to avoid crashing into something or going aground. Ahead lies a section of the pass called "Devil's Elbow." Oh boy. Lots to look forward to. Rocky Pass has quite a history. It has dozens of aids to navigation that mark hazardous reefs and rocks, and show where the channels runs ("Red, Right, Returning!") At one time, the Pass was considered so hazardous that the nav aids were removed to discourage use of the passage by boaters who did not have local knowledge! Eventually, the shallowest part of the channel was dredged and the nav aids updated and replaced. That's the good news. The bad news is that happened a long time ago and a good proportion of the markers are now missing or damaged. Heaven knows what happened to them. Storms? Crashes? We carefully watch both the channel and our charted course to stay safe, with our without navigation aids in place.

 

Everything is going pretty smoothly. We pass the occasional sea otter, marvel at snow-capped peaks that line our route, and use the binoculars to locate each marker ahead. We approach the Devil's Elbow saying, "This isn't so terribly bad." And that's when a big upwelling and whirlpool, probably caused by the current hitting an underwater obstruction, shoves us sideways toward a big rock reef. Right in the middle of a series of 90-degree-plus turns, difficult enough for a 50-foot vessel with a single screw and no thrusters. A couple of gasps and Patrick's steady hand on the wheel and throttle carry us safely through the Elbow. Eventually our heart rates and blood pressure return to normal. And we still have tomorrow's challenges to look forward to! 

Our overnight anchorage lies just beyond. Happily, sea otters greet us there. Cocktails with the otters tonight! And take a look at our journey tomorrow:

And yes, we made it through safely!

July 3, 2023, Appleton Cove: Morning in Alaska

I awaken early up here. It’s unavoidable, since I sleep right next to Tenacious’s pirate-ship style stern windows. It never really seems to get dark. I can read a book in the cockpit until 11pm. The light fades slowly until it’s just murky, then begins to brighten before 4am. This morning I bring my coffee and iPad up in to the cockpit to read a little Bill Bryson and see what Appleton Cove might bring to me.

Today the winds are calm and the verdant mountains are perfectly reflected in the bay. I scan the shoreline for big animals and spot a pair of black-tail deer trotting along the bank. They appear to be a doe and her fawn, grown up enough to have lost its spots. The doe, anxiously followed by her youngster, stops every little while to let her baby catch up a little, and to scan for other danger. Within about 10 minutes they have gone all the way around from one side of this large cove to the other. Where — and why — are they going? They turn and follow a shallow creek that empties into the bay, and disappear silently into the forest.

A bright line of riffled water shows me the path of a grey-mottled harbor seal silently patrolling, hoping a juicy fish will venture a little too close. A bald eagle has a solid perch on an old waterlogged tree root ball stuck in the mud just at the tide line. I’ve watched him patiently survey his domain from that vantage point for almost an hour.

 A little farther down the water line, a group of five herons stand belly deep, each absolutely still and intently watching the water before them. A sudden thrust of a yellow beak, a brief, silvery flash, and a herring is headed, after a few gulps, down a slender feathered throat. The other four herons maintain their equanimity through the tiny drama, and continue to stare down through the shallow water. 

We are alone in this stunning anchorage, surrounded by mountains cloaked in many shades of green. Duller green areas with scattered the silver tips of dead trees show old growth areas. Long vertical bare strips show where avalanches or mudslides have stripped the thin layer of soil and carried it and its trees down the mountain, revealing naked granite. ]Long vertical steaks of bright lime green growth fill in the paths of older slides with first-growth alders and shrubs. They contrast sharply with the mass of deep forest green of cedar, spruce and hemlock.

The silence is broken by the raucous shouts of a pair of ravens, seemingly having a heated conversation. A loon’s unearthly call echoes through the valleys. A group of small brown marbled meurrelets float and dive. They chat among themselves; their little quack-ey calls are surprisingly low-pitched and have many different sounds and intonations. They sound like cranky old men having a political disagreement after a few beers. Gulls carry the top notes with their high-pitched peeps and cries.

I scan the shoreline once more, hoping to see bears. The herons have spread out along the shore. The harbor seal is still on patrol. The eagle remains perched on its snag, though now, as the tide falls, he is many yards from the water’s edge. All is right with the world here in Appleton Cove. Time for a second cup of coffee!

Ell Cove and Hidden Falls, July 8, 2023: Is It Possible to Have Too Many Bears? (Hint: No.)

Boating friends have told us that Ell Cove is a tiny, charming and protected anchorage, and it's true. At first we have it all to ourselves. Then we get new arrivals. Before the day ends there a 6 other boats anchored with us. And another one comes in and decides to move on. I meet the owner of a 252-foot yacht we saw anchored elsewhere. He and his captain, in their very sexy speed boat/tender, are scoping out the cove to see if they can bring their mega-yacht in here. Certainly not today! 

 

I think the best thing about Ell Cove (named for it "L" shape) is that it's dinghy distance from the Hidden Falls fish hatchery. At the hatchery there are thousands upon thousands of pink, chum and sockeye salmon in the bay outside, darting in large schools, milling around in the shallow, and practicing their jumping skills in the water all around us. ere, they capture the spawning salmon in a pond, collect their eggs and milt, and raise the tiny fry in tanks for about a year, until they are large enough to have a good chance of making out into the ocean to grow to full size. Depending on the species and sub-species, they'll spend anywhere from one to five years at sea, returning to their natal stream to spawn again.

 

The bears know this. The sea lions know this. The eagles and ravens know. It's a huge sashimi smorgasbord that delivers itself right to the table. And everybody wants a place at this table!

 

The second best thing about Ell Cove is that Captain Patrick caught a lovely small-ish halibut not far from the anchorage. We will feast alongside the bears! (At our own table, of course!)

 

 

(Video: 1:46)

 

We watch a series of bears march out of the forest and down to the rocks near the hatchery's fish weir and ladder. Big bears, little bears. Solo bears and families. My eyes feast on the bears while they feast on the fish. First there is a single bear, big and fat and a bit slow. He wanders around the rocks and in and out of the water for a while but never does catch a fish. Next, we're delighted to see a big mama bear and her three cubs. These cubs aren't big enough to be yearlings, but they are good-sized and curious about everything.

Another mama bear comes down with her tiny dark-furred cub. This little guy reminds me of a toddler, still a little unsteady on his feet, but wanting to do it on his own! he sticks to his mother's side pretty closely. At one point he follows her in to the water while she fishes. She gets her fish and promptly climbs out onto a big rock platform. The cub grabs her leg an)d is dragged out of the water. Mom tears open the fish and shares the bounty. 

A third mom bear comes out, this one with twins. Each has a narrow white fur ring around its neck. I wonder if they will outgrow it or carry that marking into adulthood. They are hilarious to watch. (Video: 6:04)

 

Thank you bears!