Post # 10 - From Shearwater, B.C. Sept. 2, 2011. Final Post!

Entry # 10 – Begin at Prince Rupert, Thursday August 25, 2011

John Eide brought some good weather with him, which made it easier to provision and generally get ready for the next and final leg back to Bella Bella.  We left on the 25^th in glorious sunshine, powering our way back down toward the Grenville Channel.  But at the head of the Grenville we took a right down Ogden Canal, heading for the Petrel Channel and the Principe Channel.  This would give us a route home to the west, although not out in the open Pacific.  This area is known as the route less travelled, and so far we can vouch for that.



Prince Rupert in the sun!



There are, and have been, large logging operations in the hills and valleys here.  We passed by a large log yard by the shore, complete with its own little village to support it. But apart from that sign of civilization early on, and a small First Nation settlement a few miles further down the track, we have been in complete, quiet, spectacular wilderness.  We have even been able to sail some most every day. Our first night was spent in “Captain’s Cove”, a quiet little spot with a fairly large estuary at its head.  We saw three small outboards come from the settlement and followed them up the stream in the dinghy:  It was a couple of families fishing for the small salmon that were starting to run up the stream.  Everyone was in the act – dad, mom and kids of every age, giggling happily as a little fish would bite and get hauled in.  Except for the aluminum boats and outboards, this might have been a scene from hundreds of years ago, or something out of a romanticized painting of nature in all its perfection.  

Back down the estuary a little way a fat black bear wandered out of the woods, munching on grass and seemingly oblivious to his delighted audience.  We even tried to rouse him to look at us by whistling and calling.    He raised his head and looked at us once and then went back to work eating.

Chugging on down the Petrel Channel into the Principe, we detoured to pass through the Ala Narrows.  This narrow series of islets and rocks looks a lot like the northern lakes of Maine and Minnesota (according to John Eide), and about as far away from the wild outer coast as one could get, even though that is only a short distance away.  All is calm, quiet and cute, with the larger hills mounding up in layers behind you.  There is still snow on some of the higher peaks.

The second night we wound up in Patterson Inlet, a three-mile long slit in the land with an outflowing stream at its head.  It was another totally calm and peaceful night, with the gurgling stream noises adding to the renewed patter of rain.  More rain in the morning, so we hung out until about 10, when it stopped.  Little by little the fog dispersed, the clouds gave way to patches of blue, and we headed off to the Weinberg Inlet area, on Compagnia Island, arriving at another quiet cove there mid-afternoon.  Over went the dinghy for a shore exploration, complete with cameras, boots and bear mace.  It was warm and getting warmer, so once we’d found a suitable rock hill to scramble up, just about all the clothes came off to make the scramble.  John Wilcox lead the way up through a steep forested slope, our boots sinking in to the soft, squishy and slippery undergrowth about a foot with each step. The 45 minute upward drive was well worth it – a mostly open rocky area with lovely views of the hills, small ponds dotting the area, and the inlets and ocean in the distance.  It was sweaty and dirty work, however, so once back on the boat it was everyone into the water, then a balmy 53 degrees.  Eide demurred and took pictures of the rest of us hollering and squealing as we jumped in and out, all in the buff of course. JACA’s hot shower felt very nice thereafter. Eunice outdid herself with a wonderful schnitzel fish (sole), served in the cockpit, for the first time in perhaps two weeks.

More rain in the morning, this time more persistent, so we headed out anyway, towards the first of three nights in various parts of Princess Royal Island.  We decided on trying various anchorages on this island because here there is the largest concentration of Kermode (Spirit) bears.  These are black bears with a recessive gene, which turns their fur white, and are considered sacred by the native population.  It is perhaps a vain hope to try to find one, since they are so rare, but we figured three bites at the apple might be worth it. As I write this on August 29, we’ve seen lots of evidence of bears here but no bears yet in the flesh, of any kind.  Yesterday night we were in Chapple Inlet, a beautiful spot with a nice running stream and grassy area at the head of the inlet – perfect bear country.  John Wilcox and I went ashore, armed with mace if necessary, and found lots of fresh bear scat, bear trails, etc., but whatever bear was in the area was watching us from the woods.  Tonight we are way up in the middle of Princess Royal Island, in the Laredo Inlet (Fifer Cove), with much bigger hills and waterfalls all around us.  There is a big stream here, with salmon struggling up it even on a fairly low and falling tide.  Bears are clearly nearby: we found a freshly beheaded and gutted salmon by the stream (bears generally only eat the head and the guts, which have the most fat), lots of scat and plenty of disturbed grass and bear trails. There must have been one sleeping under a tree right nearby.  We’ll keep trying!

I am now three days away from the completion of this voyage and am having some difficulty coming to grips with that.  With nearly 2200 miles behind me, all of the hard sailing/traveling now done, and most of the really spectacular sights seen, I know I need to organize it in my mind, sort out what was really great from the merely great, and come to some conclusions about it all. Right now I’m not sure if I can!

August 30, 2011: WE SAW THE SPIRIT BEAR!!  In the morning we headed back down Laredo Inlet, in a moderately nice day, and stuck our nose back into Alstons Cove.  Suddenly John Wilcox got agitated on the bow, with the binoculars.  We all trooped up to see, and there, in the distance but clearly visible through the lens, was a white bear ambling along the beach toward the woods.  Within a few seconds the bear was gone, but we all did have a chance to see it.  No chance to get a decent picture, but at least we have four witnesses.  Then, along the beach came two smaller gray/black spotted animals that looked like big dogs.  Sure enough, they were wolves, and they wandered in and out of the woods along the shore for quite a while as we watched them.  What a morning! That night we found ourselves in the third Princess Royal anchorage, another long inlet called Alexander.  We anchored at the head, near what appeared to be a large stream leading to a big interior lagoon. It was dead high tide, so up we went in the dinghy, barely squeezing under some overhanging logs, and meandered about its mossy trees for a while.  On the way out, the current had turned, and we were swept along in a terrific rush, big rocks suddenly showing up underneath us. A few hours later we went back: there was a large cascading waterfall over a series of large boulders in the inlet, right where we had been.  The tide had gone down about 12 feet and the lagoon was pouring itself out with a vengeance.  Timing is everything. The pictures tell the story…

The morning route led us by the First Nation settlement of Klemtu.  It was a glorious day, with a clear blue sky and a slowly vanishing ground fog that came and went as we powered out Alexander Inlet and into the wider channels.  Klemtu is a nice town, with a small harbor, and an even smaller public dock but there was room for us for a while.  There are two salmon streams flowing there, and the largest salmon we’d seen jumping yet were throwing themselves out of the water in the harbor in a frenzy. Both bridges over the streams were lined with kids and men trying to hook one – but they weren’t biting very much.  One boy hooked a big one in the belly, and the fish would have none of it.  We wandered off before the end of that story.

There is a lovely lake in the hills behind Klemtu, which feeds one of the streams, and so we had to hike up to it on a small, wet woods trail.  It turned out to be the water supply for the town, so no swimming allowed, even in the warm sunlight and water! At points along the hike there were salmon pools, with fish in various stages of exhaustion and listlessness swimming around, waiting to die and complete the cycle.

 From Klemtu, we powered across Finlayson Channel into Jackson Pass, going through the gnarly narrows at slack high water, and then popped out into Mathieson Channel at Rescue Bay.  By now there was a nice breeze blowing, so up went the sails and we sailed back and forth in the channel until the wind was dying and we ghosted back into Rescue Bay for the night. It was fitting: this was our first stop at the beginning of the trip, and our last.  More swimming and nude hilarity in the 54 degree water. The final picture was taken from the cockpit in Rescue Bay late in the day, a fitting end to this amazing adventure.



Rescue Bay as it should look!



Now we are back in Shearwater, preparing to leave the boat and turn it over to the Kibbes.  A few preliminary thoughts about this caper overall:

1)      You could spend decades exploring this huge area and never see the same place twice.  The vastness is mind-boggling, and the utter loneliness of much of it is unsettling. The scenery is unfailingly spectacular and varied. You need to be self sufficient, and it is great to have a crew that keeps you in cheerful company.

2)      You don’t come here for the weather unless you like cold and wet.  Most of the locals we’ve encountered say that this has been a particularly wet summer, but the Kibbes’ logs of prior trips bear me out.  The number of truly sunny days can be counted on two hands.  A “good” day in this area is overcast, some small patches of blue, and no rain.  Those can be counted on three hands. Normal weather is some daily intermittent rain, interspersed with two-to-three day periods of heavy driving downpours, sometime accompanied by gales.  After a while you ignore it, and when the sun comes out it is an added bonus. The temperature averages in the 50’s during the day, and a little cooler at night.

3)      While we have done some great sailing, about 88% of our traveling has been under power and power-sailing.  No wonder sailboats are few and far between! Having a sturdy, comfortable, warm and dry boat is an absolute necessity, as well as a reliable engine, and a good electronic chart  system.

4)      Despite reasonable efforts, I (we) have not been able to burrow into the local communities very much at all.  Unlike Newfoundland, where we were local celebrities whenever we pulled up to a dock, the folks here are busy fishing and otherwise living their lives.  They are pleasant enough, and even helpful if asked to be, but they are not the slightest bit interested in a bunch of folks showing up in a sailboat.

5)      The wildlife of all types does live up to its billing, and is an endless source of beauty and fascination.

6)       I’ll come back for more. There is a kind of “last frontier” feeling about the place that is hard to resist.

A few statistics:

1)      Nautical miles traveled: 2277

2)      Places visited (coves and towns): appx  80 

3)      Nights at anchor:54

4)      Nights tied to a dock: 21

5)      Hours spent under power: 360

6)      Hours spent sailing: 51

7)      Average seawater temperature:  49 degrees F.

8)      Average daily run: 36 miles, which excludes days tied up in towns or waiting out gales.

A very happy camper!

END