Bear Blanc and Beachcombed Treasures, August 31, 2014

Princess Royal Island – August 23, 2014

This morning begins for me with more tentative rain showers spattering the hatch cover over the bed. Patrick is already up and on the morning Net – the Great Northern Boaters Net that begins at 7:30 each morning and helps cruising ham radio operators stay in touch. It’s a dawn low tide today and he is watching the shoreline for bears. When the Net is finished I know it’s my turn to crawl out from under the warm covers and take over shore watch. Princess Royal Island is home to the rare, and even more rarely seen white bear the local First Nations people call the Spirit Bear. We have come here in hopes of seeing one.

I pour a second cup of coffee and with my latest paperback novel in hand, get comfortable in the cockpit, scanning for bears at the end of each paragraph. I have only turned a page or two when I see something moving along the rocky bank before me. For a second or two I am frozen in place, not believing the evidence of my own eyes. I snatch up the binoculars and glass the rugged shore below the trees at the high tide line. Yes, a white bear is walking over the rocks in our direction.

In my excitement I have to remind myself not to shout and startle the bear. Thank goodness Patrick has already dropped the dinghy from the davits and has it tied up alongside Tenacious, all ready to go. My voice is shaking when I duck down below to tell Pat what is out there. I scramble below, trying to think of what I’ll need to take: video camera, warm jacket over my pajamas, life vest…anything else??? Yes—we must call our friends Noreen and David, anchored nearby, on the VHF radio and alert them to the sighting. It is amazing to be lucky enough to see one of these bears, let alone to be able to share it with good friends.

Quietly, so as not to frighten the bear back into the woods, our two dinghies slowly putt toward the shore, ahead of the bear. He stalks along calmly in our direction. Full-grown and healthy, in the prime of his life, his thick, lush fur is the color of heavy cream with rusty-toned highlights. His paws are muddy and his claws are long. He walks pigeon-toed. After a few minutes he is close enough that we can determine, with certainty, that he is, indeed, a he, and he seems to have a plan in mind, and knows where he is going.  He grazes on sedge grass for a bit, then continues along the rocks. At one point he ducks down and twists his head to reach under a fallen log for a tempting cluster of black mussels. He tears off a few mouthfuls. We can hear him chewing as his strong jaws make short work of his crunchy, juicy treat. He moves up into the forest and Patrick points out that he is just taking a shortcut across a point of land. We re-position our dinghies for when he comes out the other side. He pops back out as predicted and we continue to gaze at this beautiful creature, moving sure-footedly over the seaweed-covered rocks. The Spirit Bear is a genetic variant, not an albino, of the American black bear, known as ursus americanus Kermode, or Kermode (Ker-MO-dee) bear, for the man who identified the sub-species. I still prefer “Spirit Bear.”

The white bear stops, looks around, poops, then yawns widely before continuing toward the top of the bay where the salmon are jumping. He walks up the creek and finally disappears into the woods.

We are completely enchanted. Our first Spirit Bear!!!

Video (about 4 minutes):  http://youtu.be/Wbp4gs7oaOs

                              Beachcombed Treasures: West coast, Haida Gwaii, August 17, 2014

Sea lions check us out as we head toward SGaang Gwaai

Patrick has just dropped me off at the head of a long, narrow inlet on the Pacific coast of Haida Gwaii. This is “the outside,” wild and largely uncharted. We have wanted to get out here since we came over to Haida Gwaii but didn’t have good enough weather to try it before. Even today we had to brave 6-foot seas (with Jake The Cat feeling the need to ride it out on deck instead of safely down below, probably shortening my life in the process…)  We have heard this is a good year for beachcombing, and for years my dream has been to find one of the beautiful old hand-blown glass fishing floats from Japan. they haven't been used there since the early 1970s when they were replaced by plastic and Styrofoam ones. We have met fellow cruisers who have found glass floats out here. Today will be my chance.

 

Even from our anchorage, far from the shoaling flats, we could see colorful plastic fishing floats washed up along the tide line, so my hopes are high. Ever since we dropped anchor I have been itching to go beachcombing.
 

I wade ashore to find I am walking on the dried husks of thousands of dead velellas, the "by-the-wind sailors" brought by El Nino. Before I knew their true name I was calling them 'sailing jellyfish.' We haven’t seen them before but enjoyed sharing the seas with rank upon rank of these tiny fellow sailors as we headed south from Queen Charlotte City a week ago.  I brought a few aboard and they are beautiful! Their structure reminds me of Chautauqua and our Sunfish sailboat in miniature—an oval “boat” about 2 inches long with a low parabola of transparent “sail” that

extends fore to aft.   Some are completely transparent, with a texture like firm unflavored gelatin, and some seem to have a beautiful blue “boat” with a clear sail. Each tiny body is beautiful with concentric rings. Once they are driven ashore to dry out, they crunch underfoot. It sounds as if I am walking on potato chips. Aside from that the only sounds are those of kingfishers and tiny brown shorebirds, watching me curiously and peeping away. They are surprisingly unafraid and let me approach quite closely before they flit off to another perch just a few feet away, cocking their heads to see where I might go next.

 I see deer tracks and their scat first, then the deer themselves, also calmly browsing on the salty fronds of kelp washed ashore.  They pay no attention to the two-legged creature temporarily sharing their domain. They have boundaries however, and I find I can’t get much closer than 20 feet before they glance up from their grazing and take a few steps away. Still, I get the feeling they don’t see many humans. They have no fear of me.
Flotsam and jetsam are scattered everywhere from the waterline all the way up into the

woods far above the high tide line. As I traverse up and down the shore I find every kind of bottle; plastic ones for water, shampoo, Sriracha sauce, soda and myriad others with labels in English, Japanese and a few other languages I can’t positively identify. Surprising to me, I also find lots of glass, mostly alcohol bottles, including some very pretty ones that I think are sake bottles from Japan. I inspect each one for a message inside. I am repeatedly disappointed but hope springs eternal… I can’t help but wonder how much of this stuff was set adrift by the huge tsunami that wreaked such havoc in Japan a few years ago.

There are toothbrushes, hairbrushes, combs and medicine bottles. There are an intriguing number of hardhats, mostly yellow or white. I find two portable toilets (both sans seat), a large portable propane tank and any number of fishnets  and ropes impossibly tangled in the drift logs. I cross paths with ping pong balls, a golf ball, several still-very-bouncy rubber balls, two soccer balls and a red, white and blue basketball. I find automobile wheels – not just the tires, but entire wheels. Then I find a portable toilet seat --presumably from one of the toilets I found earlier. And a complete set of plastic shower curtain rings. A Styrofoam model of a lighthouse makes me laugh. And wedged under a log, there is a very waterlogged leather briefcase, empty but complete with combination locks and filing compartments. Someone decided to chuck civilization and return to Nature?

Then I notice how many different kinds of footwear I’m seeing. I find everything from flip-flops and sneakers to sea boots in a wide variety of sizes and brands. The sheer volume of footwear is actually fairly alarming. I really hope all of these shoes were accidentally left on beaches or something equally benign.

And everywhere, large and small, plastic and Styrofoam, some netted and some not, with or without tether, I find fishing floats. There area few big black ones that could serve as a bathtub if cut in half. There are head-sized orange ones that look like globes with latitude and longitude lines and Japanese characters, little blue ones with “ears” that look like Mickey Mouse and basketball-sized aluminum ones that are scuffed and scarred as if by battle. Floats are all over the place. We have even seen them adrift, sometimes free and sometimes mired in a floating snarl of kelp . But I am on the hunt for the older, pre-plastic glass floats.

I find my first one nestled in beach-washed kelp and the dried carcasses of sailing jellies. I pause to enjoy the moment of my first glass float find. It is a pretty shade of pale blue and the pontil mark on the bottom, where it was blown, is thick and a darker shade of blue. The glass is worn and looks almost frosted.

The second one I find is quite astonishing. It is larger than my head and still has the remnants of the knots that tethered it to its fish net many years ago. It has clearly been at sea for a very long time. A Japanese oyster has grown into the pontil mark on the glass!

This large one is green, and so big that I'm not quite sure how I'm going to carry it along with me as I continue the hunt. Luckily I brought a plastic grocery bag with handles and it just fits. Subsequent finds will have to be stuffed into my pockets!

My luck continues and when I run out of beach and the tide is squeezing me between its encroaching wavelets and the treeline, I have 11 glass floats sized from about 3 inches across to the really big one, about 12 inches, in various containers and pockets about my person.

Another one of my sailing dreams has come true this summer. I love the "outside!"

 

A Grizzly Mama in Khutze Inlet, July 29, 2014

I wake up early to the sound of raindrops pattering on the plexi hatchcover just above the bed. Another rainy day in Khutze Inlet anchorage. Patrick has already suited up in his off-shore foul weather gear and taken the dinghy out to brave the rain in pursuit of our dinner. The Dungeness crab are many and quite large in Khutze Inlet, and with Patrick's skill and a little luck, we'll dine well tonight. I crawl out from under the warm covers, trying not to disturb Simon and Jake, who have each nested next to me, one under my arm against my side, and the other in the crook of my knees. I attempt to minimize jostling and they are instantly asleep again. It's time to get dressed and get out there to look for bears on shore.

Still in my flannel pajamas, I step into my sea boots, pull on my rain slicker and make my way out to Tenacious's rain-soaked teak deck, Binoculars in hand, I scan the shoreline near the waterfall to find Patrick. He is in the dinghy near the base of the falls where the big crab gather on a rising tide. There are at least half a dozen bald eagles nearby, watching him, some with the white head and tail of mature eagles, and several with the speckled brown feathers of youngsters. A couple of them seem to be having a minor argument over a scrap of fish. Another one is trying to dry his wings, reminding me of our Florida anhingas.

From the deck I scan the bay and shoreline. Between the raindrops my binocs pick up a number of harbor seals patrolling for fish, squabbling sea gulls chasing after a school of small fish and other sea birds with rain running off their feathered backs. It's just after low tide and the mud flats are wide and studded with ancient stumps, boulders and stray logs. Just behind the flats is a tidal estuary that goes on for miles, with sedge grass, clumps of trees and meadows full of wildflowers. In the distance is a mountain range, snow fields still capping several of the peaks.

Long, low ribbons of fog stream up the estuary as if powered by invisible breath. I train the binoculars along a point of muddy land that runs along the river outlet. Out of the mist I see movement. A ray of sunlight illuminates golden fur. I have spotted a grizzly bear, walking out of the fog toward the water. I can't move. I watch in awe as she calmly lumbers  toward me, when I see something moving behind her. One, two and then

three cubs are following in her giant footsteps. I grab the video camera, eager to capture their images before they move on. They seem content to linger on the flats, so I radio Patrick with the news of a grizzly sighting. He hurries back to the mother ship while I throw on jeans and waterproof sea pants. The bears will just have to see me in my
pajama top...there is no time for more.

We move nearer the bears as quietly as we can. They forage along the flats for a while, then  move up into the sedge grass to graze. The mama bear uses her paw to pull clumps of the rich, wet grass to her mouth. Mouthful after mouthful finds its way to her powerful jaws. Her cinnamon-colored fur is wet, but thick and lush. She is healthy and strong.

The cubs trundle along behind her. They are grazing too, but they are so small that often we can only catch a glimpse of little ears sticking up above the tall growth. Patrick uses a paddle to pole us along the shallows near the bears. As the morning advances, the fog dissipates. We watch them move and graze for more than an hour before they amble off deeper into the estuary. We leave them on their own. It is a magical day for us.

Feasting: Carnivore-style and Haida-style

Feasting Carnivore-style, Lowe Inlet,  August 25, 2013
Ever since we learned a few years ago about the fishing bears that frequent Lowe Inlet it has been one of our favorite stops. We have safely crossed Hecate Strait and transited Grenville Channel to get to Lowe. Anchored right in front of the falls where I can sit in the cockpit and monitor bear traffic, I find myself waiting and waiting. I walk out on deck through the drizzle and search the falls and surrounding beaches with the binoculars. Nothing. Not a single bear. Patrick takes me ashore in the dinghy and I see lots and lots of salmon carcasses on the beach. They are untouched except the tops of their skulls are gone and their brains have been eaten. Salmon brains are very high in fat, and so, very desirable to carnivores  needing to fatten up before the winter. Are the bears so full of salmon already that they are high-grading, eating only the brains?

I return to Tenacious and resume the bear-watch with no sightings for the second day in a row.  Another boater swings by in his dinghy and I ask him if he has seen bears. He reports that he hasn't seen any either, and that he is on his way to pick up some photographers to take them north to photograph wolves. I'm envious -- we have never been lucky enough to spot wolves in our 13 years of sailing these waters. We wish him well and he pulls up his anchor, heading toward the north end of Banks Island in search of wolves.


Wolves in the rain

I return to bear-watch position in the cockpit, accompanied by Jake the Kitty Boy and a suspense novel. Still no bears. Another trip outside in the rain with the binoculars. Nobody at the waterfall. I turn to the wide, grassy estuary on the right and see something moving near the creek. It looks like a black dog. Then a tan-colored dog trots over and nuzzles the big black one. And I am looking at three wolves, fishing for salmon in the creek.

I call Patrick to let him know and he brings the video camera. I record as they caper and jump; the tan one clearly seems to be the black alpha male's mate. She approaches him playfully and nips at his shoulder. He whirls and snaps at her. She backs off immediately. The third wolf is silver-grey and doesn't enter in to the other wolves' games, but explores the creek looking for salmon. At some point each of the three wolves catches a fish and carries it , flapping, into the grass for a snack. I can't see them eating, but I'm guessing that they are biting the skulls and eating brains.

On the VHF radio we call Pat from s/v Nirvana,  the one who was looking for wolves, and he laughs when we tell him he missed his quarry by about an hour and half. He's grateful for the tip, though. He might bring his photographers back here if they don't find any farther north.

We are thrilled with the experience of our first wolves on the north coast.

Feasting Haida Style!  Skidegate, Haida Gwaii, August 17, 2013

Hereditary chiefs in Chilkat blankets

We are still flying on the wings of eagles and ravens after the pole raising two days ago. We have brought Tenacious back north to Queen Charlotte: we have accepted the invitation to the community feast and pole-raising celebration hosted by the Haida of Skidegate. It is held in the big community center up the hill from the village. At 3PM the doors open and line of people, already wrapped most of the way around the huge building, surges into the large gymnasium space. The floor of the basketball court is covered with long tables, hundreds of places set. Each table is decorated with the bounty of nature -- sprays of graceful cedar, smooth, subtly-colored beach pebbles and sun-bleached shells are scattered artfully down the center of each table. Every few place settings there is a home-baked cake or pie on a stand, reminding us to save room for dessert.

We are fortunate to have arrived early enough to find places at one of the tables, but we have to hustle. Many others quickly fill the bleachers. We meet the people at our table and are happy to recognize Carol, the mayor of Queen Charlotte village, whom we have bumped into several times. She is charming and has helped us with information, recommendations and general enthusiasm about her lovely community. We are also with at least two of the people who "stood the line" on Lyell Island during the 1985 logging protest that resulted in the creation of Gwaii Haanas Park. They are to be honored tonight. Everyone is friendly and interesting. The event is very well planned with a wonderful MC who is also a Haida cultural steward. She explains each facet of the event, bringing the stories and traditions alive.


The bounty of the sea--including octopus balls!

We get to know the people at our table and soon the plates of food, bowls of soup and pitchers of water and soft drinks are passed. The menu is all Haida traditional foods (except the apple pies, I assume!) and the plates are heaped with smoked salmon, halibut, crab, prawns and our new favorite, herring eggs on kelp. When the octopus balls go by I put several on my plate. Hesitating only slightly I take my first bite of an octopus ball, made of ground octopus rolled into meatballs and cooked. It's delicious and I ask for seconds. It tastes a bit like chicken...

The sea monster towers over everyone

The feast continues with speakers from the Haida nation, the Canada government and Canada Parks officials, partners in the pole raising. Haida songs and dances are performed in between. The rhythms of the huge coffin-like cedar drums and deer hoof rattles are compelling. The masks and dance regalia are colorful and so beautiful. The oral history of the Haida is told through the songs and dances that are performed. We shiver along with the sea monster dance. The monster's ugly, threatening carved cedar mask and hairy costume are made more terrifying by his violent pounding on the tall, rectangular box-like drum and his height. He must be on stilts; he towers over the crowd. Foam Woman, whose multiple breasts nourished the first people, dances her dance to the accompaniment of more throbbing drums. More food is served. The speakers follow one another, each more eloquent than the last, telling the stories of the Haida Nation, urging loyalty to the cause of protecting Haida Gwaii, its rich resources, and the Haida way of life. At one point the hereditary chiefs from the many Haida villages, all in their gorgeous regalia, perform the chief dance. We are told that never in memory have so many chiefs danced together. It is an awesome moment.

Foam Woman

The hours pass. Each hereditary chief speaks. Representatives from Parks Canada speak. Members of the Canadian government speak. Presidents of the Haida Nation, past and present speak. The dance leaders explaining their songs and dances speak. Luckily, the Haida culture has a long oral tradition and the chiefs are drilled from childhood to recite the stories of their clans and families. That kind of training produces mostly excellent speakers. Their messages are poignant and compelling. In the end, they are fighting to regain title (from Canada) to Haida Gwaii their ancestral lands. One speaker makes the argument that Canadian archaeologists have proven that the Haida lived on these islands for over 12,000 years. Whites have only been there for 200 years... Interesting argument!

The dances continue. The carvers of the Windy Bay pole, Jaalen, Tyler and Gwai, perform a dance signaling the completion of their responsibilities. It communicates the joy of completion of a beautiful new work of art and the relief of a long, hard job well done. Jaalen's wife sings a hauntingly beautiful song-prayer of thanks. She explains how Jaalen received word that his pole design had been accepted just two days before the birth of their son, who had some medical complications. He needed multiple surgeries in Vancouver during the course of the year Jaalen worked on the carving. Her voice is clear and full. She sings a capella. The darling boy is now strong and healthy, the pole is complete and beloved, and her song of gratitude for the blessings in their lives makes tears well up in my eyes.

Lydia in the midst of the women's dance

It is past midnight and time for the women's dance. Everyone is invited to join in and I do. It's good to get my blood moving again! Then the men dance (sans Pat.) At least 100 men crowd the wide aisle down the center of the gym, knees bent, arms outstretched, leaning forward, fingers splayed and fluttering with the rhythm of the drums. They twist and turn from side to side, spinning and swirling. The dancers wear everything from the original traditional woven Chilkat dance aprons and woven cedar headbands to blue jeans. The hereditary chiefs in their ermine-hung headdresses and colorful blankets join in. Given the contrast, perhaps the most memorable of the men's dancers is an RCMP officer in full "Mountie" dress uniform of scarlet jacket bristling with brass buttons, gleaming insignia and gold braid, navy pants with a wide gold stripe and Dudley Do-right hat, dancing with great verve and energy. What a sight!

Hereditary Chiefs

At around 2:00 in the morning we hear the final speech and are given gifts, the traditional payment for witnessing the business of the feast. Accepting the gifts means that we agree with what has transpired and obligates us to truthfully bear witness to it. It is another unforgettable experience in the beautiful land. What a day--and night!

Jake Takes A Swim, Queen Charlotte

A wet - and surprised - Jake

Jake the Kitty Boy has done it again. His first unplanned swim took place in our swimming pool at home last spring. In today's episode we piece together that he was probably jumping back on board and either missed his take-off or was distracted. There are claw marks in the bare wood of the rub rail... And so one very wet cat appears in the companionway and is towel-dried and soothed. We don't imagine that this experience will stop his interest in exploration. He is a slightly sadder but hopefully wiser cat...



 

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.