Jaca Blog Entry # 4 Ketchikan to Petersburg
The first part of this entry is being written on the evening of July 5. Out the portlights the sky is a fading blue, which for us is a welcome relief from four days of rain and wind. We are tied to a sturdy small dock in a tiny cove called Loring, in Naha Bay, about 20 miles from Ketchikan. It took 160 miles to get here from Ketchikan, however, due to our decision to circumnavigate Revillagigedo Island, on which Ketchikan sits. Try to pronounce that one!
We left Ketchikan on Saturday July 2 about noon, in a lowering sky and intermittent rain. The gale had died down quite a bit, so we were game to push on. We headed for the Behm Canal, which circles all of Revillagigedo Island, mostly in the “Misty Fiords” national preserve. Our counter clockwise circumnavigation took us back down the main channel from Ketchikan, against a strong foul current, rising SE wind and sea, and increasing amounts of rain. We could finally bear off and sail up the channel, along with some whales.
Misty Fiords comes by its name honestly: there is a lot of mist, fog and rain. We are in the Tongass Forest area, which is the wettest part of the USA. After 50 miles it was getting late so we hunkered in a little cove called Manzanita (yes, the Spanish were also here early on, naming things like crazy). The next day we headed into Rudyerd Inlet, a glacial fiord which is the centerpiece of the Misty Fiord area. It is special in its grandeur, even in very limited visibility and driving rain. But some the wildness edge is taken off by the incessant roar of seaplanes taking tourists (mostly from the cruise ships in Ketchikan) on “flightseeing” trips into the fiords. It could almost be Pearl Harbor: flocks of these planes roar overhead, circle around the area and come out at low altitude, sometimes not much higher than our mast. All this in a dense low cloud cover, fog and rain. Some of them even land, let their passengers get out on the pontoons to take some pictures, and then roar off again. It was all a little unnerving, so we headed on out up the Behm Channel to the next fiord, Walkers Cove. I should say that at this point we were both bedraggled. It was raining like hell, the temperature was in the mid-40’s, and because there were the usual logs in the area someone had to stand outside in the rain to watch for them. Near mutiny in the crew- here is an excerpt from Pam’s personal log:
“I forgot to mention one of the unsung heroes of yesterday. When we packed up for this adventure we brought out an enormous duffel with all our heavy rain gear and boots. It seemed a little like overkill at the time to be schlepping that stuff across the country. But let me tell you, that bright red bunny suit with multiple layers, flaps that came up around my neck and covered my ears, a rain hat that tied under my chin, pant legs that went over my boots and a bib with suspenders that came almost to my armpits, it was the key. It was the crucial barrier between cold, wet, miserable and dry, warm, reasonably comfortable. This 4th of July I’m setting off fireworks in honor of my rain gear!”
Walker Cove is similar to Rudyerd but smaller, and we went looking for a Park Service mooring maintained in a cove most of the way in. The idea was to have lunch and press on, but when we got there, found no-one on it, and looked around at the gorgeous granite cliffs and waterfalls even in the rain and mist, we happily picked it up and called it a day. The cabin heater poured forth, and Pam made chocolate chip cookies. So all became well with the world.
In the morning the rain had eased to a drizzle, so we headed for a long power to Yes Bay, about 50 miles distant. With a fair tide, JACA made the trip at an average of 8 knots, so by a late lunch we were anchor down, again in hard rain. Yes Bay features a lovely quiet cove, with anchoring depths of about 40 feet (compared to our average of about 80 feet). Next door is a traditional family run Alaska fishing lodge (Yes Bay Lodge), which caters to folks who like to fish. It’s a nice place, and we happily signed up for what was billed as a “traditional” 4th of July dinner. At 5 all the fishing outboards come in with the guests and their catches of the day – mostly salmon and shrimp and crab from pots kept in the area. The lodge freezes them, and sends the guests back on the float planes loaded with 50-pound boxes of fish. 4th of July dinner was a barbecue: ribs, chicken, corn, mac and cheese and blueberry cobbler. We’d recommend the place to anyone who wants to fish in Alaska and have a nice home base to work from.
July 5 dawned slightly better and we headed out to Loring, about 25 miles distant, much of which was spent in a nice sail. No rain!!! Coming to the little dock at Loring was like nestling into a quiet sunny oasis. There is a long nature walk here though the old-growth forest – the sign says it takes five hours one way. So we went in for an hour, bear whistles and mace in hand. There is nothing quite like a Pacific Northwest old growth forest to make you feel humble. The trees, many of them hundreds of years old, are frequently hundreds of feet tall. Hanging moss is everywhere, and the whole place oozes water. Lots of evidence of bears, but we didn’t meet one face to face.
On the domestic side, we had our first speedo impeller change today. Frank Kibbe warned us this would happen a lot. The little paddle controlling the boat speed indicator gets hit by all manner of flotsam and the plastic blades break off. The most common problem is logs, but for us it was a big wad of kelp that we couldn’t avoid. The repair involves removing the paddle in its through-hull fitting, which can quickly produce a fire-hose of water coming into the boat. Frank’s instructions worked just fine, and the first of what will likely be several new paddles was installed with only a short blast of very cold water in my face.
About midnight I was awakened by Pam calling me from the cockpit. I stumbled out and looked at a truly comical sight. Pam in her pajamas was waving a racquet-like bug zapper, trying to either shoo off or stun a couple of forest mice who had wandered aboard. One of them was running back and forth across the top of the leather-covered steering wheel as Pam went at him. Here is Pam’s version:
“The real excitement for the day came at the very end. We were tucked in bed and Peter was asleep, when I began to hear little noises, little scurrying noises like the sounds of the mice in the ceiling at Chappy. With more curiosity than concern, I got up and popped my head out of the companion way. Well, indeed, there were two tiny forest mice scurrying about the cockpit, standing on the compass or crawling over the wheel. It was very cute and all, but mice inside the boat would be a nightmare. My first focus was to shut the ports in the cockpit that were open. I got poor Peter up to discuss strategy. Efforts to chase them were comical but fruitless. Before I could cover the scuppers that feed directly into the aft storage compartment, one slipped in, came out and went in again. We taped shut any opening that we could think of, the chain locker, the solar powered vents, even the scuppers on the hope that the little guy was back out again. Then we went back to bed on the theory that they couldn’t get inside and when they tired of looking for something to eat on the deck, they would go back home to their cozy den in the woods.”
Too bad there are no pictures, and now several days later there has been no reappearance of anything resembling a mouse.
From Loring we made another long day of it, including a nice downwind sail up Clarence Strait, which on many occasions can be a fearsome stretch of water. Another peaceful evening in Santa Anna inlet, and then we headed to Wrangell, arriving there Thursday afternoon the 7th. Wrangell has built (in large measure due to the late Senator Steven’s pork gathering abilities) a huge new boat basin behind a rock breakwater that looks like it could stop a tornado. The docks do too, and we happily tied up alongside a largely vacant one, plugged in and went off to explore the town, which is a 15 minute walk away. The harbormistress had counseled us against tying up in the old dock facilities in the center of town – the docks are old and rough, she said, and the power is intermittent and usually insufficient. It is also probable that they are trying to drum up business for their new operation.
By this time we were enjoying a gorgeous sunny warm afternoon, and the Wrangell folks were delighting in it also. Wrangell is significantly smaller than Ketchikan, and has not yet developed into the tourist center than Ketchikan can now boast. It remains largely devoted to fishing, some boat repair and miscellaneous industrial activity, and every now and then a small cruise ship shows up. There isn’t much for those folks to see except a nice museum dedicated to Wrangell’s colorful history.
Our principal interest in making a stop at Wrangell was to see a little of what John Muir, who made Wrangell his home base during his “Travels in Alaska” during the 1880’s and 1890”s, had seen. Although most of the old town burned to the ground in the 1950’s, there still are some historical (and restored) totems, and the reconstructed clan lodge of a Tlingit Chief. All of these are surrounded by a generally dismal but friendly town, with a wide variety of people and languages, and a good dose of hardscrabble living in evidence. We did make a special point of hiking up “Dewey Hill”, which now has a beautifully crafted boardwalk all the way up and an overlook at the top. Muir had scrambled up this place in a heavy rainstorm, and built himself a big campfire fire to stay warm for the night. The townsfolk saw a big glow at the top of the hill and were alarmed by what seemed like a magical happening. Now no fires are permitted on Dewey Hill. Meanwhile we enjoyed our first glorious Alaska sunset, and headed out from Wrangell the next afternoon.
After another peaceful and quiet night, this time in St John Harbor on Zarembo Island, we got up early to catch the current through the Wrangell Narrows to Petersburg, where we arrived today. We are packed into the North Harbor marina, just about the only pleasure boat of any kind among wall-to-wall fish boats of all sizes and shapes. Canneries and processing plants surround us, making plenty of noise and the occasional sharp odor. This is a community primarily dedicated to fishing in all its aspects, and we are smack dab in the middle of it. Humans are not the only fisherman here either: we have been watching a large sea lion off our stern chase and catch several decent-sized fish. He thrashes about mightily and then throws himself upward out of the water with his big jaws snapping hard on his victim. If this activity is any indication, the fishing even in the harbor is great.
Today marks the close of the third week of the trip, and the end of our time on the boat alone together. I hate to see that part come to a close! We have already logged more than 650 miles. But tomorrow afternoon we welcome Jessica, Frank and Zia on board for the next two and a half weeks, which is a great opportunity to have some quality time with them. On to the glaciers! Meanwhile it is time for a lot of shopping, cleaning, and piles of laundry. More on Petersburg adventures in the next entry.
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