We went bear hunting today. With a lot of miles to make before arriving at the Anan Bear Observatory, we started from Meyers chuck at an early hour hour and made our way north under light wind, calm seas, and surrounded by islands shrouded by clouds and mist. Beautiful.
The book warned us that the Anan River Inlet was at best a temporary anchorage and that we would want to leave crew onboard to keep an eye on the boat. It also said parks dept. personel would greet us. As it turned out, the former was true, the latter was not.
Incredibly, we arrived to find no one at the anchorage. Unfortunately the inlet was loaded with crab pots, making a difficult anchorage nearly impossible. Once on shore we found an empty parks dept shelter with a guest register. We marveled that the last entry in the register was in May and resolved to change that. Regrettably the pen was dry - mystery solved.
The info board at the trailhead noted that the season for collecting fees to access the observatory starts July 5th. Feeling a little smug that we would be able to enjoy seeing the bears without paying, we started up the trail. Along the way we found ample evidence of bears: lots of fresh scat, over turned rocks, and bear tracks.
A mile or so in we came upon the vacant observatory, a large deck structure overlooking the rapids of the Anan River. One can imagine observing salmon swimming up stream, bears feeding freely, and tourists watching from above. Unfortunately the day we were there, there were no fish, no bears and no tourists. We were feeling a little disgruntled about the absence of bears, but it was a beautiful hike.
We returned to the boat and headed north again toward what promised to be a secluded anchorage, only to find that it too was full of crab pots. There must have been fifty crab pots in that anchorage. That we were able to shoehorn between several of them is less a testament to our skill than the crabbers shabby job of packing the bay with as many pots as possible.
June 19, 2016
Day 35 - Muscle Beach; Rod
Today's sail from Ketchikan to Meyers Chuck was nothing short of a romp: sunshine and wind blowing from behind at 15-25 kts. It doesn't get much better. Frederic and Jake were dying to catch a king salmon, but trolling speeds were tough. It's hard to get Quijote to slow down.
Meyers Chuck is the kind of a place that makes you wonder what keeps it going. It's a lovely little community on a cove with a population of twenty full time residents, a US post office, a public dock and a trail to the edge of town. We arrived, dropped our anchor at a suitable distance from the float plane dock, and settled in to relax.
Half an hour later, a friendly gentleman motored his skiff over to tell us that the bottom of the bay can be foul in places. He's had to help at least one boater out whose chain got wrapped up in all the garbage at the bottom. But we're already anchored and it will either come up cleanly or it won't. Why fret about problems today when you can put them off until tomorrow?
Jake did another amazing job of making dinner tonight. His skill in the galley is nothing short of phenomenal. He and Frederic harvested some muscles off the beach this afternoon in their explorations, then brought them back to the boat, cleaned and cooked them up in a garlic cream sauce And served them up for dinner. Heavenly!
Meanwhile Frederic opted to plank a salmon filet on the BBQ. Unfortunately he shortcut the soaking process and ended up with a four alarm fire in the BBQ. The salmon was saved, but not the plank. Sorry Bob!
Tomorrow promises to be a long day as we intend to stop by the Anan Bear Observatory on the way and we have a lot of miles to put in, so we'll get an early start and probably arrive at Berg Bay late in the afternoon, From there it's only a fifteen mile day into Wrangell.
Meyers Chuck is the kind of a place that makes you wonder what keeps it going. It's a lovely little community on a cove with a population of twenty full time residents, a US post office, a public dock and a trail to the edge of town. We arrived, dropped our anchor at a suitable distance from the float plane dock, and settled in to relax.
Half an hour later, a friendly gentleman motored his skiff over to tell us that the bottom of the bay can be foul in places. He's had to help at least one boater out whose chain got wrapped up in all the garbage at the bottom. But we're already anchored and it will either come up cleanly or it won't. Why fret about problems today when you can put them off until tomorrow?
Jake did another amazing job of making dinner tonight. His skill in the galley is nothing short of phenomenal. He and Frederic harvested some muscles off the beach this afternoon in their explorations, then brought them back to the boat, cleaned and cooked them up in a garlic cream sauce And served them up for dinner. Heavenly!
Meanwhile Frederic opted to plank a salmon filet on the BBQ. Unfortunately he shortcut the soaking process and ended up with a four alarm fire in the BBQ. The salmon was saved, but not the plank. Sorry Bob!
Tomorrow promises to be a long day as we intend to stop by the Anan Bear Observatory on the way and we have a lot of miles to put in, so we'll get an early start and probably arrive at Berg Bay late in the afternoon, From there it's only a fifteen mile day into Wrangell.
Day 33 - Ketchikan on Foot; Rod
Ketchikan has come and gone, sandwiched between two glorious days of downwind sailing.
The town of Ketchikan has multiple personalities. On the one hand a cruise ship hub and on the other a working port for fishing and lumber. Constant floatplane traffic is coming and going. Alaskans appear to take floatplane travel for granted, like people in suburbs do their SUV's.
After running downwind for most of the day, we called the Ketchikan harbormaster on arrival and secured a slip assignment for two nights at Bar Harbor. The harbor rents out the slips of fishing boats that are out of port.
All the town was essentially within walking distance of the boat - and most importantly, showers, Safeway and laundromat.
Marta and Frederic treated the crew to a terrific seafood dinner at a nicer restaurant. The king salmon was incredible, the kind of salmon that melts in your mouth.
The following day it was time to get some exercise. Before leaving Seattle, I printed out route descriptions of various hikes along the way, including one for Ketchikan called the Deer Mountain Trail. It turned out to be an hour hike to get to the hike and even with a description it wasn't easy to find. At one point a woman called to me from a car: "Are you going to the dump?" I was clearly not dressed for a trip to the dump, wearing my sun hat and pack. She pointed me in the right direction, and I was relayed to another woman in her pajamas talking on her cell phone who finished the job of getting me there. The town is obviously used to corralling stray hikers.
The trail itself was remarkably similar to trails on the Olympic Peninsula: misty and wild with lots of skunk cabbage and moss covered trees. As I climbed up and up, I caught a brief glimpse of the town below, its cruise ships, marinas and floatplanes, before walking up into the clouds. Trees and shrubs quickly became sodden and the air, laden with moisture. The birds were overjoyed. I pressed on up, going four miles or so before turning around. It was a lovely hike.
The town of Ketchikan has multiple personalities. On the one hand a cruise ship hub and on the other a working port for fishing and lumber. Constant floatplane traffic is coming and going. Alaskans appear to take floatplane travel for granted, like people in suburbs do their SUV's.
After running downwind for most of the day, we called the Ketchikan harbormaster on arrival and secured a slip assignment for two nights at Bar Harbor. The harbor rents out the slips of fishing boats that are out of port.
All the town was essentially within walking distance of the boat - and most importantly, showers, Safeway and laundromat.
Marta and Frederic treated the crew to a terrific seafood dinner at a nicer restaurant. The king salmon was incredible, the kind of salmon that melts in your mouth.
The following day it was time to get some exercise. Before leaving Seattle, I printed out route descriptions of various hikes along the way, including one for Ketchikan called the Deer Mountain Trail. It turned out to be an hour hike to get to the hike and even with a description it wasn't easy to find. At one point a woman called to me from a car: "Are you going to the dump?" I was clearly not dressed for a trip to the dump, wearing my sun hat and pack. She pointed me in the right direction, and I was relayed to another woman in her pajamas talking on her cell phone who finished the job of getting me there. The town is obviously used to corralling stray hikers.
The trail itself was remarkably similar to trails on the Olympic Peninsula: misty and wild with lots of skunk cabbage and moss covered trees. As I climbed up and up, I caught a brief glimpse of the town below, its cruise ships, marinas and floatplanes, before walking up into the clouds. Trees and shrubs quickly became sodden and the air, laden with moisture. The birds were overjoyed. I pressed on up, going four miles or so before turning around. It was a lovely hike.
Day #32 - A spot of Sunshine; Rod
The passage from Prince Rupert across the Dixon Entrance into Southeast Alaska is the second of two larger water body crossings on the way north that have exposure to ocean weather and swell. (The first was Queen Charlotte Sound). We were able to put the Dixon Entrance behind us yesterday in better than forecasted weather.
The day started with a dawn departure from Prince Rupert and careful navigation of the narrow, winding, shallow Venn Passage. With Frederic keeping an eye on the paper chart (and on my steering) and Jake on bow watch looking for floating debris, we made our way through without incident. Along the way, we were often jostled by fishing boats roaring past us on their way to a day's work.
Once out in Chatham Sound, the weather cleared as the day wore on and the seas were mild in the lee of Dundas Island were most of the fishing boats had charged off to. Out in Dixon Entrance we saw one or foot chop layered on a long, rolling ocean swell of about 2-3 meters with occasional larger swells. The chop and the swell diminished as the day wore on and we inserted ourselves deeper into Revillagigedo Channel toward Foggy Bay.
I'd called the US Customs office the day before and let them know we'd be anchored in US territory for the night before clearing customs in Ketchikan the following day.
The Bay itself is reasonably well protected and has some shoreline that, while not tropical by any means, was large and dry enough to get off the boat and run off our ya-ya's.
Marta constructed an elaborate rock sculpture in the vein of Adam Goldsworthy. Emily and Jake orchestrated crab fighting in a miniature walled off arena. (For the record: the crabs don't fight - the big crabs just sit on the smaller ones, making them top dogs, so to speak.) Kay and I played desultory frisbee (running on that rocky terrain is difficult.) And Frederic documented the proceedings for posterity with his video gadgetry (think: go-pro on a telescoping selfie stick).
There was only one other boat in the bay with us and plenty of room to swing. That was fortunate, because after a terrific taco dinner cooked up by Jake and a better than average sunset, the wind and rain kicked up during the night and continues to push the boat on her anchor this morning.
The wind has clocked around from NW to SE as was forecasted, so conditions out in the channel are likely to be sporty as we make our way toward Ketchikan today. Given that, we're in no hurry to get going. Is that a spot of sunshine I see?
Sculpture by Marta, Photo by Jake
The day started with a dawn departure from Prince Rupert and careful navigation of the narrow, winding, shallow Venn Passage. With Frederic keeping an eye on the paper chart (and on my steering) and Jake on bow watch looking for floating debris, we made our way through without incident. Along the way, we were often jostled by fishing boats roaring past us on their way to a day's work.
Once out in Chatham Sound, the weather cleared as the day wore on and the seas were mild in the lee of Dundas Island were most of the fishing boats had charged off to. Out in Dixon Entrance we saw one or foot chop layered on a long, rolling ocean swell of about 2-3 meters with occasional larger swells. The chop and the swell diminished as the day wore on and we inserted ourselves deeper into Revillagigedo Channel toward Foggy Bay.
I'd called the US Customs office the day before and let them know we'd be anchored in US territory for the night before clearing customs in Ketchikan the following day.
The Bay itself is reasonably well protected and has some shoreline that, while not tropical by any means, was large and dry enough to get off the boat and run off our ya-ya's.
Marta constructed an elaborate rock sculpture in the vein of Adam Goldsworthy. Emily and Jake orchestrated crab fighting in a miniature walled off arena. (For the record: the crabs don't fight - the big crabs just sit on the smaller ones, making them top dogs, so to speak.) Kay and I played desultory frisbee (running on that rocky terrain is difficult.) And Frederic documented the proceedings for posterity with his video gadgetry (think: go-pro on a telescoping selfie stick).
There was only one other boat in the bay with us and plenty of room to swing. That was fortunate, because after a terrific taco dinner cooked up by Jake and a better than average sunset, the wind and rain kicked up during the night and continues to push the boat on her anchor this morning.
The wind has clocked around from NW to SE as was forecasted, so conditions out in the channel are likely to be sporty as we make our way toward Ketchikan today. Given that, we're in no hurry to get going. Is that a spot of sunshine I see?
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