Glaciers and Icebergs

This is a sailboat, and, like any such boat, we are not sailing trouble-free. It’s not a big deal, but I’d be a lot happier if Bill could get it fixed. The wind directional control antenna on top of the mast has quit. All the instruments that indicate wind speed, direction and angle (true and apparent) don’t work. Bill’s strung up telltales on the shrouds to augment the little arrow that can be seen if you double up, duck your head over and around the steering wheel and peer out from under the bimini to the top of the mast. Does that sound rather contortionistic? It is. Having missed the all-important step of learning to sail by the seat of my pants on a small tippy boat, preferably in warm water, I’ve learned to sail by those instruments. Bill says this is a good learning experience for me. Will you find me someone who appreciates a “good learning experience”?----- I want the electronics back in operation! He goes up the mast in Ketchikan, declares the possibly loose connection fixed and we’re ready to sail.

Our actual time under sail for this trip has been far lower than we expected. About 90% of the time we have been under motor. Raising sail consistently becomes the kiss of death to any wind. To our amazement, it doesn’t just dwindle off. It just stops like somebody shut the door. Like our fishing, we optimistically hope for better, longer wind windows.

Janet and Tom Schmitt join us in Ketchikan. We have a final farewell dinner with Jane at (for once) a very good little restaurant. One thing we have noticed about the Alaskans is that, though their cooking leaves something to be desired, their friendliness and sense of humor are refreshing and fun. For the most part, they are eager to talk and engage one in conversation, and they love talking about their locale and land.

Tom, to my joy, is a fisherperson. He arrives with recently procured license, fishing pole and a collection of weights, spoons, spools and other stuff. However, this type of fishing is not what he is most familiar with so, like me, he engages any fishermen he sees in conversation. The difference is that he knows and understands what they are talking about. I do not. Next thing I know, Bill is into fish talk. They manfully discuss different weights and lures. They disappear into every fish or hardware store we pass to buy new gadgets that they know will work this time.










And they fish and fish, but they don’t catch and catch.








They keep trying and trying. Their luck has to change or their skill must improve.












Janet and I remain prepared - optimistic that the galley will be called into action.








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The attraction of this leg of our trip is Tracy Arm with its 2 glaciers at the end of a magnificent iceberg-ridden fiord. Along the way, we will stop in Wrangell and Petersburg with our final destination being Juneau.



Meyers Chuck is our first anchorage. The harbor is protected with its own natural breakwater of rocks.









We get out and explore. Columbine are blooming along the paths. Just like home! Tom eagerly engages the dockside fishermen in talk. We enviously admire their freshly caught salmon. We set out the crab trap. The guys fish in the bay. Nothing, nada, but we love our setting and are treated to a magnificent sunset.
















Saturday, June 23rd, we anchor in the early afternoon in Frosty Bay. The weather has turned cold with rain threatened. We drop the trap, and the guys fish a bit, but rain soon drives them below. In true Americano fashion, we put on a movie and make popcorn. The movie is apropos for where we are. It’s about a bear cub orphaned in the BC wilderness. Having expected to wake up every morning to bears on the shores and not having that happen, it is nice to at least watch one in film. We watch those bears catch fish. Maybe we’re going about this all wrong.


The next day we motor to Wrangell in overcast and mist. We walk out to the beach where some very old petroglyphs can be spotted at low tide. There’s a mountain formation called The Elephant off the coast. We are told we are fortunate to be able to see it as it’s usually covered in clouds or mist. Not only do we see the mountain, but the clouds have even given the fellow an eye!

Earlier when we entered the harbor, we had been directed by the harbormaster to raft up against any appropriately sized boat already there. Fortunately we spotted the boat that we had rafted next to in Prince Rupert. Its owners, Joe and Jane, have become cruising friends and helped us tie alongside. As we’re all heading north, we keep meeting in various spots along the way. After a short discussion about Wrangell restaurants, we decide to pull together a joint dinner and eat on their boat. Their 65’ trawler with full size everything in the kitchen is much more comfortable for 7 than ours. It was a fun evening which we reluctantly cut short when news is dispensed to all that the 2 captains have decided that a 4:00 a.m. wake-up call is in order for us to leave Wrangell in time to reach the Wrangell Narrows at slack. Being an old hand at this stuff now and having First Mate Tom on board, I (and Janet) cozily sleep thru the harbor exit. The Wrangell Narrows, which we reach in 3 hours, is tricky with a myriad of buoys and markers. At night with all the marker lights on, the stretch has the nickname of Christmas Tree Alley. We pull into Petersburg in the late morning and eagerly walk the town before stopping for a good Halibut Sandwich lunch.




Janet and Tom decide that they need to do a load of laundry. I add all our towels to their load. Now, the towels I have on the boat are micro fiber, the benefits of which are that they don’t take up a lot of space and they don’t grow mold. A negative is that using fabric softener on them will gunk them up, but without fabric softener, they and everything else in the wash with them stick together with static. To decrease this, I found these nubby-looking rubber balls that you throw in the dryer with the laundry, and they’re supposed to reduce static. It’s questionable, but I have them so I use them. Janet heads off to the Laundromat which, as Petersburg is first and foremost a fishing town, has about 6 rugged, young fishermen in there fumbling with their loads of laundry. Janet, who grew up at a time when mothers did not tell their children not to talk to strangers and who is also of the same congenial ilk as the Alaskans, immediately engages them in conversation. She’s having a grand time talking and learning from them when she opens the dryer door and out explode these 4 missiles. It’s the nubby rubber balls. I had forgotten to warn her about this propensity of theirs. The fishermen are aghast. What the X?X?X are those? As everyone is scrambling around the floor of the Laundromat struggling to corner 4 nubby rubber balls before they bounce out the door, Janet attempts to explain that the balls weren’t her idea really and that she has this stupid friend with micro fiber towels who……..Well, that’s the last time Janet will offer to do the laundry!



That evening, Tom walks down to the end of the dock and buys several pounds of freshly caught shrimp off the boat selling it. We feast on Shrimp sautéed in Garlic Butter. There certainly is something soul satisfying about eating
‘off the water”, whether we catch it or buy it.








After several overcast and rainy days, we wake to blue skies and sun. We leave Petersburg for the final stretch to Tracy Arm stopping by Baird Glacier along the way. An eagle welcomes us to the land of Glaciers and Icebergs.

Heading to Baird Glacier, the water turns an icy cold green from glacier run-off.











Depending upon the sunlight, the color of the water will change from a chilling green brown to a very pretty, non-threatening crystal green.








The deeper we travel into a fiord, the colder the air temperature becomes and the more layers we keep adding. Other than gloves, I am now in full regalia.





The day clouds up. With no wind and the water so very still, we feel like we are on a large mountain lake rather than the Inside Passage with the ocean only a few short miles away. As we motor into Cannery Cove for the evening anchor, the sun again breaks thru.









We wind our way thru a group of islands to enter Cannery Cove



By habit now, we drop our trap as soon as we are anchored. This time we are very hopeful. There are a ton of other crab traps out. This must be a good spot. Tom and I drop it right in the middle. Next morning, Janet and I retrieve the trap. Nothing! Absolutely nothing. We pass a man going to his traps. Janet, in a sweet voice, sadly wishes him better luck than us. He nods and says that he thinks a good many of these traps have been there for days. We climb on the boat and, as we’re securing The Dingbat, this same man motors up to the boat with 2 very nice male crabs for us. How nice that Janet will engage all and sundry in talk! The man was so taken by our plight that he offered up 2 of his. We happily accept and thank him delightedly. Two more Dungeness Crabs to add to my Fishing Tally. I realize we didn’t actually trap these guys, but if we had not been crabbing, we would not have gotten them. So the total now is 5 Dungeness Crabs.

We head north to the only anchorage in Tracy Arm. The wind is coming from the south. Bill decides to go thru the exercise of launching the spinnaker, and exercise it is with sheets, halyards and tackle going all different but definite directions. I don’t think of myself as 3-dimensionally challenged, but maybe I am. There will never be a time when I understand how to rig this sail, but Bill handles it neatly.







As Bill unfurls the sail, there’s a binding twist in the sheath that covers the sail, and we struggle to unsheathe the bugger. When the sail finally unfurls and is flying, it’s absolutely gorgeous. We sail smoothly on.










One pleased and satisfied Captain. Ours is the only spinnaker we have seen in the Inside Passage.


We glide along beautifully for a few hours and then we have what Janet afterward labels an “SI” – Spinnaker Incident. As we near Tracy Arm and start to take down the spinnaker, the wind rips up to 20+ knots and the bind in the sheathing really kinks. We are fighting wind and sail. The sheath to contain the sail only comes halfway down before binding. Tom turns the boat into the wind as Bill commands. The boat heels over with the force of the sail. Janet heads for higher ground with the First Mate not too far behind. The First Mate then gives herself a few good mental kicks in the posterior and, next thing you know, she’s scrambling topside to help Bill pull down the cover. Then, Janet’s out there pulling in sail. Tom’s at the helm. We’re all working together. What a team! Go Team! We get the sail in, breathe a collective sigh of relief and continue on to anchor and our donated crab dinner!

June 28 – Today is the day we go into Tracy Arm. Magically, we are under blue skies and sun. The day is even somewhat warm. Before heading into the fiord, we do a photo shoot of Avante and the icebergs. Tom and I are in The Dingbat, and Bill and Janet are on Avante as she gracefully passes by a few well-positioned icebergs. The day is so bright. The water so still and sparkling. The whole effect is surreal.















Tracy Arm – I do not have the words or the elegance to describe this place and this day. It was more of everything than any of us expected. The blue skies, the relative warmth, the iceberg fields, the steep chiseled walls, the views, the glaciers --- so very much more.



Entering Tracy Arm we find a few scattered icebergs which add to the effect.












We continue through 21 miles of gorgeous scenery.







Sunlight and water create pastel reflections.





Steep, chiseled cliffs rise above as we glide over unfathomable depths below us.







Five miles before the glaciers we encounter a minefield of bergie bits











Fending off the ice becomes impossible as the pack ice thickens







Around every corner we encounter more ice, but we continue to be able to pick our way through.









Concentration at the helm










Eventually, we spot North Sawyer Glacier, but not far ahead, the path is obstructed by thick pack ice that the wind has blown to the north end of the arm








We round yet another corner and there with the clouds upwelling like a celestial version of the Alleluia Chorus lies the blue tinged South Sawyer Glacier. Maybe you had to be there to feel it, but we all caught our breaths in awe and surprise at the sight.







A half hour later, Bill declares victory. We’re as near the glacier as is safe and feasible. We have a quick lunch while drifting with the ice. Then we begin picking our way back through all the ice. The trip back is just as much work as the trip in. The wind and the current have changed the ice positions and erased our entry path. At the end of a long, wonderful day, we thank and toast a very tired Captain.




The next day begins our final miles to Juneau. It dawns grey and settles into rain by the afternoon. We anchor early hoping to fish, but the weather drives us all under cover. It’s a bridge afternoon! We all marvel at what a difference a day can make.

June 30th, we dock in Auk Bay roughly 15 miles from Juneau. The bridge one needs to go under to enter Juneau harbor is too low for Avante's mast so Auk Bay is where the big boys go as well as a good many of the local fishing fleet. It's an interesting combination of boats and boaters. We find out that you can fish from the docks and your boat as long as you don't tangle your line in somebody's prop. Sadly, we say good bye to Janet and Tom on July 1st. Bill and I will rest and restock for the next 3 days in Juneau, and I intend to fish!

How to Catch Crabs - Part 4

Jane, my childhood friend, has brought us both sun and good luck. Our first day of sail, there’s a pull on the line. Just a pull, nothing more. Bill proclaims it a hunk of seaweed. We’re adept at catching those. He reels it in. There’s no fight, no pull. We’re dismayed. As the lure nears the surface, there to our amazement is a fish. “A fish!” he exclaims with surprise and delight. “A fish?” I think with dismay and foreboding. It didn’t fight. It’s got to be sick. Our first fish, a nice legal Chinook, and it’s a sick one, I’m sure. It didn’t fight at all. It was like those Halibut I was expecting

to wait placidly at the end of the line for me to haul in. We can’t eat a sick fish. I want to ask Bill about it, but he’s already gone below to change into fish cleaning clothes. I don’t want to say anything in front of Jane for fear of alarming her, but how can we eat a sick fish? She’s gleefully taking pictures of me holding this sick fish. I get a chance to take Bill aside to query him about sick fish, and he assures me that any fish that went after a lure attached to a rod on a boat going 8 knots was a very active, aggressive and healthy fish. I’m still in doubt, but, when it’s all cut up, looking just like salmon fillets should, I feel much better.

That night we sit down to a superb dinner.

Chinook Salmon Fillets, Sautéed
Wild Rice
Asparagus with Homemade Hollandaise Sauce

Dessert is Strawberries with Powdered Sugar. Jane declares it her very favorite dinner, and we all contentedly concur.

The next day Bill gets down to jigging for Halibut. He rigs the line and sits on the end of the boat bobbing the line up and down in an attempt to imitate some kind of smaller fish for a bottom swimming Halibut to bite. Of course, like Tom Sawyer, he has intrigued us, and, the next thing you know, Jane and I are taking turns jigging while he’s below with a Scotch reading Michener’s Alaska. Our attempts don’t seem to be tempting any Halibut.

We continue to crab with no success. We fish, trolling at 7 or so knots, which we know is too fast really, but we’re hopeful of another sick fish. We try different hooks, spoons, flashers, weights. The same with the crab trap. We carefully analyze locations for dropping the trap. We discuss and use various bait from perfectly fresh to rather ripe. Nothing is working. It’s dismal……..…..until the last morning in Misty Fiords – we trap 2 large male Dungeness Crabs. We sail to the next anchorage with the crab chattering around in an orange bucket of seawater. Bill, who has now gotten into the sport (if sport it be) is as excited and delighted as Jane and I are.

Now we have the pleasant task of cooking and eating our crab. The cooking and eating of our first smaller crabs had proved to be a messy affair. There’s that whole yucky body of the crab that offers nothing edible while it drips liquid and goo all over one’s plate. There’s got to be a more appetizing way of going about this thing. “How to Catch Crabs” suggests an alternative that the author claims all the crabbers use. One kills the crab before cooking and then slices it down the middle. He suggests a shovel for this operation, but as that is not something we carry on the boat, Bill uses a chef’s knife and a rubber hammer. After the crab is sliced in half, the body shells and cavity gunk are removed. The legs are gently pulled from the body with the good body meat attached. The legs and attached meat are cooked. This method allows far more crab to be cooked in one pot. Overloading the pot doesn’t appear to be a concern we going to have to worry about, but the other benefit is that it’s a far neater and easier way to tackle the eating of crab. The body meat is easily extracted to eat, and there’s no body cavity liquid and goo all over one’s plate. We try it. It works. We’re delighted. Bill declares that the book has now paid for itself in information garnered.

Dinner is divine. The crab is tender and succulent ….the best any of us had ever had. Jane declares this her second favorite meal, and, once again, we contentedly concur.

Fishing Tally to date:

3 Dungeness Crabs
1 Rock Crab
1 Chinook

Obviously, marine life need not quake at our approach. We’re not breaking any records, but we’re having fun. Bill may have other ideas, but I, for one, intend to fish and crab our way around the world aboard the sailing vessel Avante. And, if he’ll ever let me buy a shrimp trap, I’ll shrimp too

The End and enough of “How to Catch Crabs”. Further updates, if any become available, will be included in the body of the blog.

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”.