Fiords and Remembrances

When Jane first mentioned that she’d love to sail with us sometime, I emailed her our itinerary never expecting that she’d be able to make it. After all she was just returning from a 6-week trip to Ecuador that included a Habitat for Humanity build. There’s just so much traveling to and from Australia to anywhere that a body can take, but Jane emailed back with a request for the Misty Fiords' leg. You could almost hear the static of excitement going back and forth on our email waves. We’ve been friends since we were 12. Jane was in our wedding. She married an Australian doctor and moved there to set up home and raise her two girls. We’ve stayed in touch over the years first thru letters and later thru email. We’ve seen each other so very infrequently and only for short periods. Now, a whole week plus sailing, too, in this wonderful wilderness. It’s just too good to be true.

June 13th – Jane is aboard, and we set off. The early morning scattered clouds dissipate, the wind picks up, and we raise sail under a bright sun and blue sky. The big event of the day is our first fish. A Chinook. It exceeds size requirements and there’s no concern about sex. It’s ours. On ice and awaiting dinner!

Misty Fiords is our destination for this leg, but we first have to clear US customs in Ketchikan before we can cruise those waters. Ketchikan proves to be a somewhat uninteresting, struggling cruise ship town. The mega ships pull in during the day, disgorge their multitudes to shop or to go on excursions and then pull up anchor in the late afternoon leaving the place totally dead. Jane and I take a taxi to Walmart to replace my camera that succumbed to too much moisture. The taxi driver reminds me of the attitude one hears in Telluride. The guy, who had lived in Ketchikan since the 70’s, bemoaned the growth, castigated the cruise ships, and benightedly ignored the fact that he owed his living to their arrival. We eat dinner at Steamers, an establishment recommended to us as the best fish in town. We end up thinking we should have eaten on Avante.

We head off to Misty Fiords. The day again is bright blue and sunny. The mountains, pulling us like magnets into the area, are strikingly white against the blue sky. We anchor in Alava Cove. On shore, there’s a Forest Service hut that Jane and I want to explore. Knowing that he’s pushing me, Bill says that Jane and I should take The Dingbat ashore. I guess it’s now time to introduce The Dingbat. I’ve not done so before because the subject is embarrassing. The Dingbat is my collective name for both the tender and its motor. (Bill thinks of it as the name of the female driver) From our first introduction, we have been at war. It’s a seesawing battle for control, and, after more than a year, The Dingbat still has the upper edge. The thing hasn’t dumped me in the water yet, but it’s been close. I think it’s all about Physics again. Directional control is counter-intuitive to me and so is speed control. Speed control? Heck, it’s taken me a year just to find the right pull motion to get the thing started. If ever an inanimate object had a mind of its own, this is it. I speak softly, endearingly, to it. I curse it and tell it it’s going to a watery death. No matter what I say or how I act toward it, it rebuffs me. For me, it will start when it wants to start, and that’s it. For Bill, it purrs into acquiescence. I’ve learned that the safest speed for me to travel at is idle. Anything more than that and I’m a danger to myself and society. So, I putt around like an idiot, but, after barreling full force onto a pile of rocks when I meant to put it in reverse and slowly back up, The Dingbat doesn’t like me anymore than I like it.

To add insult to injury, the motor may battle me, but the boat itself is out to get me.. The non-skid on the sloping floor of the boat works for everyone but me. My feet slip and slide. I end up in a bone-bruising heap on the floor. I get so tangled up with feet and arms, I can’t tell which way is up. “Keep your center of gravity low,” Bill says. Low? It is low. I can’t stand up so how can it be anything but low? Bill and everyone else agilely climb in and out moving around with ease. My personal rule of locomotion is that 3 of my 4 appendages have to be firmly centered before I move in any direction. I look more like a crab clawing its way over unknown terrain. There is no dignity or pride left in my dealings with this thing. I do, therefore, believe that “The Dingbat” is a perfectly good name for the whole mess.

So Jane and I head off. Jane, little aware of my ineptitude, happily takes in the scenery around her thinking nothing of the very cold water just inches from her body. We drop the crab trap in a promising location and head to shore. We explore the island and head back to The Dingbat which has all of its 200+ unwieldy pounds nestled in a rock pile in the receding tide. We lug and curse the thing back into the water, trying not to scratch the bottom because that would upset The Captain.

The next morning, Jane and I discover that we had not planned enough for the tide. There’s something like a 20’ tide in our bay, and our crab trap is now on the beach. There are 2 sea gulls squawking around it waiting for the tide to recede a little more so they can get at the poor undersized crab enmeshed in the trap. Bill thinks this is hilariously inept. I do not.

We head to the Punch Bowl, a beautiful and therefore popular fiord area. Anchoring in the Punch Bowl itself will be very difficult due to its extreme depth and quickly sloping sides. Thinking we would not be able to do much more than motor in and out of the bowl, we find ourselves the only boat in the area. There’s a hefty looking mooring ball which we pick up. It’s warm, and we sit contentedly in the sun eating lunch. The steep, chiseled sides of the rock walls are impressive. The distant snow covered mountains draw our eyes. As Jane says, “Who would have thought two little girls from Rye would be doing this? We talk about our lives, our joys, our sorrows, and realize that we’ve been blessed with love and good fortune. We are at peace in the solitude of this magnificent wilderness.

















Agreeing that this location can’t get much more perfect, we decide to spend the rest of the day and evening here. We go ashore to hike to the waterfall and lake. The Park Service has a wonderful trail cut and maintained. The wooden steps and bridges remind me of the fairy kingdom from the Lord of the Rings, and I expect the whole cast of characters to appear at every turn. This is heavy rain forest vegetation, thick with shrubbery, moss and vines, brooding and mysterious. Occasional flowers bloom sprightly as if to brighten the atmosphere. We reach the waterfall with its torrent of water cascading thru the overgrowth. Bill, walking ahead of us, startles a black bear as the animal ambles across the stream temporarily deafened by the sound of the waterfall. The bear retreats, and the Great White Hunter continues on. We climb on to the lake and rest by the shore. Knowing that the way back is going to be slippery wet and moss covered, we reluctantly head back down in the late afternoon.




























Back at sea level, we find The Dingbat has itself securely beached again, but at least Jane and I have a third hand to help haul the thing.








June 17, we wake up to rain and mist --- perfectly appropriate for Misty Fiords. We journey down the long fiord arm yet again marveling at the steep cliffs. Massive trees grow impossibly out of rock ledges. Waterfalls appear at every turn.










As we continue our journey north, days are noticeably longer. Sunsets are later. Twilights seem to last for hours. This photo was taken at 11:00 one quiet evening anchored in Misty Fiords.






June 18 is our last night in Misty Fiords. We anchor in Shrimp Cove, a picturesque spot with a magnificent double waterfall. In the morning, we find 2 very large crabs in our trap. Jane can’t believe how lucky she has been. Fresh caught Wild Salmon at the beginning of her adventure, and fresh trapped Dungeness Crabs at the end.










The last night on Avante we feast on crab. The talk, the stories, the catching up continues unabated. We’re intrigued by what each of us recalls, and we add to and enhance each other’s remembrances. It was a very special week in a very special place. It will be for me the week of “Fiords and Remembrances”.