Whale Sounding
Rod Stretching
Kay Whale Whispering
July 4, 2016
Day 50 - Hiding Grizzlies; Rod
Today was a lazy day after two long days. We slept in, Vi made blueberry pancakes, we took a walk on the beach, and moseyed out of Blue Mouse Cove around mid-day. For a change we had nothing driving our departure: neither tides, nor distance, nor weather cared when we left. We even toyed with the idea of staying where we were for another night. Then I remembered the trails, showers and wifi at Bartlett Cove and decided that we should spend one night there and one night en route. So tonight we're in N. Sandy Cove (still in Glacier Bay), tomorrow Bartlett Cove (Independence Day), and we'll depart Glacier Bay, on schedule, July 5th. If this gets posted on the 4th, all will have gone according to plan.
I think I've mentioned before that it's been a running joke on the boat that there are no bears in SE Alaska. OK, maybe the one we saw on our way to Taku Harbor, but that's probably the only one and he could very well have been a ranger dressed up in a bear suit to make people think there are bears around here.
Then Vi comes on board and spots four of them in one night. First she notices a dark shape on the shore that appears to be moving. Kay and I have been looking for the elusive moving dark shape for weeks without success. The dark shape walks into the water, swims across the entrance channel and lumbers up into the trees. Cool.
A few minutes later Vi is thinking of taking pictures of the landscape. She's a picture taking machine. I sometimes think she's Jim Clinton in disguise (inside joke). So she's composing a picture in her mind and wondering about taking it from the dinghy, when she notices a Grizzly and two cubs in her composition. Soon the black bear is heading down the beach toward the grizzlies and we're wondering if the fur will fly right in front of our boat. But mama and cubs have no interest in duking it out with a large black male, so they hide in the grass and wait for the bear to pass, then mama stands up tall to get a better view of the departing bear, just to be sure it he's gone and both parties go on their way.
It makes me wonder if humans could be less violent by hiding more often. And it makes me wonder how many similar scenes have played out on this trip that we could have seen, but didn't. We do a lot of looking, but we can't be looking all the time. It just takes looking at the right time. Vi apparently has that talent, and we are beneficiaries.
I think I've mentioned before that it's been a running joke on the boat that there are no bears in SE Alaska. OK, maybe the one we saw on our way to Taku Harbor, but that's probably the only one and he could very well have been a ranger dressed up in a bear suit to make people think there are bears around here.
Then Vi comes on board and spots four of them in one night. First she notices a dark shape on the shore that appears to be moving. Kay and I have been looking for the elusive moving dark shape for weeks without success. The dark shape walks into the water, swims across the entrance channel and lumbers up into the trees. Cool.
A few minutes later Vi is thinking of taking pictures of the landscape. She's a picture taking machine. I sometimes think she's Jim Clinton in disguise (inside joke). So she's composing a picture in her mind and wondering about taking it from the dinghy, when she notices a Grizzly and two cubs in her composition. Soon the black bear is heading down the beach toward the grizzlies and we're wondering if the fur will fly right in front of our boat. But mama and cubs have no interest in duking it out with a large black male, so they hide in the grass and wait for the bear to pass, then mama stands up tall to get a better view of the departing bear, just to be sure it he's gone and both parties go on their way.
It makes me wonder if humans could be less violent by hiding more often. And it makes me wonder how many similar scenes have played out on this trip that we could have seen, but didn't. We do a lot of looking, but we can't be looking all the time. It just takes looking at the right time. Vi apparently has that talent, and we are beneficiaries.
Photo by Rod
Bear photos by Vi
Day 49 - Galloping Glaciers; Rod
Until this afternoon Quijote crew were feeling a little disgruntled about our view of Glacier Bay and the Fairweather mountain range. The weather has been anything but fair. We had a long, rough day yesterday with little to show for it, except to put ourselves into position for today's activities. This morning we woke to light rain and fog. Ugh.
For the first time this trip, we turned on the radar and ventured out into low visibility. Our agenda was not to be denied.
We took a spin around Reid Inlet to get a closer look at the glacier, then headed out into the fog. An hour later it was still raining, but the fog had lifted to about fifty feet off the water, enough to see other vessels if not the scenery above shoreline.
We turned down into Johns Hopkins Inlet and did a drive-by of a couple of the larger glaciers that were cool to see, but didn't display any activity. The iceberg dodging kept us alert, so there must have been some calving going on in the inlet. On the way out, we rounded the point and slid past a massive Holland America Cruise ship going the other way. Next up on our agenda was Tarr Inlet where the cruise ships go and where this one had no doubt come from. The ranger told us they only allow two in the park per day.
The Grand Pacific glacier at the head of Tarr Inlet has pushed up a lot of dirt in front of it, giving it the look of a low, dirty hill side. but the Margerie Glacier entering from the side was spectacular. It is the the calving glacier that people come to see. I saw it once from the deck of a cruise ship and as cool as it was, the experience didn't do it justice. There is something about seeing it close to the water from the deck of a small boat with no one else around that just brings out the WOW!
Shortly after our arrival, we were still jockying around the icebergs looking for a clear spot to cut the engine and drift, when we watched a massive section of the glacier unloose and calve into the bay with a roar. It came crashing down as though we had come to film for National Geographic and a gigantic wave surged outward. Kay looked back at me with something resembling panic, but we were about about a mile away so we were well beyond danger. The scale of the glacier made it look like we were a lot closer than we were. Even so, it was an impressive swell that surged under the hull and lifted us up.
In all, we were there watching the calving go on and on for about three hours. The power of the experience just never seemed to get old. A large tour boat with a deck load of tourists pulled in for about forty minutes of that, their engines droning way, drowning out the sounds of sea birds, the lap of waves against the icebergs and a light breeze on the water. Eventually they left and we had the bay to ourselves again. A pristine couple of hours followed that was in stark contrast to the experience while the other boat was there.
Inquisitive seal pups with big eyes came to check us out. What be this silent thing that watches us, but is content to drift; not swimmer and not iceberg. When seracs calved at the outer edge we could see and hear, from a couple of miles away, large waves racing along the shoreline. The glacier itself was a deafening beast. Even when there was no calving, it was constantly cracking, popping, roaring and groaning. The glacier was about a mile wide and sound arrives later than sight, so unless we happened to be looking at the right spot, we could hear a section of ice go, look over, and see nothing but splash. We learned not to rely on the sound, but to scan and catch movement out of the corner of our eyes.
As the afternoon matured, the weather slowly improved until we were watching in sunlight, which made the show all the more spectacular. Suddenly we were seeing towering snow covered mountains all around us. Wow upon wow.
For the first time this trip, we turned on the radar and ventured out into low visibility. Our agenda was not to be denied.
We took a spin around Reid Inlet to get a closer look at the glacier, then headed out into the fog. An hour later it was still raining, but the fog had lifted to about fifty feet off the water, enough to see other vessels if not the scenery above shoreline.
We turned down into Johns Hopkins Inlet and did a drive-by of a couple of the larger glaciers that were cool to see, but didn't display any activity. The iceberg dodging kept us alert, so there must have been some calving going on in the inlet. On the way out, we rounded the point and slid past a massive Holland America Cruise ship going the other way. Next up on our agenda was Tarr Inlet where the cruise ships go and where this one had no doubt come from. The ranger told us they only allow two in the park per day.
The Grand Pacific glacier at the head of Tarr Inlet has pushed up a lot of dirt in front of it, giving it the look of a low, dirty hill side. but the Margerie Glacier entering from the side was spectacular. It is the the calving glacier that people come to see. I saw it once from the deck of a cruise ship and as cool as it was, the experience didn't do it justice. There is something about seeing it close to the water from the deck of a small boat with no one else around that just brings out the WOW!
Shortly after our arrival, we were still jockying around the icebergs looking for a clear spot to cut the engine and drift, when we watched a massive section of the glacier unloose and calve into the bay with a roar. It came crashing down as though we had come to film for National Geographic and a gigantic wave surged outward. Kay looked back at me with something resembling panic, but we were about about a mile away so we were well beyond danger. The scale of the glacier made it look like we were a lot closer than we were. Even so, it was an impressive swell that surged under the hull and lifted us up.
In all, we were there watching the calving go on and on for about three hours. The power of the experience just never seemed to get old. A large tour boat with a deck load of tourists pulled in for about forty minutes of that, their engines droning way, drowning out the sounds of sea birds, the lap of waves against the icebergs and a light breeze on the water. Eventually they left and we had the bay to ourselves again. A pristine couple of hours followed that was in stark contrast to the experience while the other boat was there.
Inquisitive seal pups with big eyes came to check us out. What be this silent thing that watches us, but is content to drift; not swimmer and not iceberg. When seracs calved at the outer edge we could see and hear, from a couple of miles away, large waves racing along the shoreline. The glacier itself was a deafening beast. Even when there was no calving, it was constantly cracking, popping, roaring and groaning. The glacier was about a mile wide and sound arrives later than sight, so unless we happened to be looking at the right spot, we could hear a section of ice go, look over, and see nothing but splash. We learned not to rely on the sound, but to scan and catch movement out of the corner of our eyes.
As the afternoon matured, the weather slowly improved until we were watching in sunlight, which made the show all the more spectacular. Suddenly we were seeing towering snow covered mountains all around us. Wow upon wow.
Day 48 - Wet One; Rod
We're in Reid Inlet tonight - the northernmost anchorage of the trip and the first time we've anchored in a bay with a glacier spilling into it. There are fresh sections of blue ice on the end of the glacier where it appears to have calved recently, but it seems pretty stable otherwise. We'd dinghy over and take a closer look, but it is pouring outside and no one is very motivated to venture out into it and leave this warm, cozy cabin. We'd have to climb back into already wet rain gear and, what the heck, it looks impressive enough from here.
It was a beautiful day today with spectacular mountain-marine scenery. Glacier Bay is 65 miles or so long, so to get up to the head of the bay where the better glaciers are, we have to put some miles under the hull. The wind blew pretty hard and the rain drove into our faces the whole way. It's been a long, wet, blustery, grim kind of day; scenery notwithstanding. We did see puffins; that was pretty cool.
And we're well positioned to hit the best glaciers tomorrow and see some calving. It'll be a long day tomorrow too. We're just hoping the weather improves.
It was a beautiful day today with spectacular mountain-marine scenery. Glacier Bay is 65 miles or so long, so to get up to the head of the bay where the better glaciers are, we have to put some miles under the hull. The wind blew pretty hard and the rain drove into our faces the whole way. It's been a long, wet, blustery, grim kind of day; scenery notwithstanding. We did see puffins; that was pretty cool.
And we're well positioned to hit the best glaciers tomorrow and see some calving. It'll be a long day tomorrow too. We're just hoping the weather improves.
Dodging Cruise ships; Photo by Vi
Day 47 - Room to Swing; Rod
We left Funter Bay in a driving rain and two foot chop this morning shortly after 5am. If I've learned anything about Southeast Alaska though it's that if you don't like the weather, wait an hour or move a mile. With that in mind, I told Kay that when we got to the other side of Lynn Canal and up Icy Straight, we'd find light wind and glassy water. The state of the conditions at that moment though were rough enough that all she could do was laugh and say: "In your dreams..."
It took us a couple of hours to cross into Icy Straight, but the further we proceeded, the smoother it got, until my forecast proved true. The pendulum rarely stops swinging however. By the time we entered Glacier Bay it was raining again and the wind was rising. Thankfully we would soon be out of it and into the bay. But first we needed permission from Parks:
"Bartlett Cove, Bartlett Cove, Sailing Vessel Quijote, one-six over.
"Vessel calling Bartlett Cove, go one-two, over"
"Bartlett Cove, Sailing Vessel Quijote on one-two, over"
"Quijote, Bartlett Cove, go ahead."
"Bartlett Cove, Quijote, requesting park entry, we have a permit, over."
"Quijote, permission granted, proceed to the public dock for orientation at 14:00; stay center channel on entry, over."
"Roger that, Quijote monitoring one-six."
"Bartlett Cove monitoring one-six."
And with that, we were in. The orientation was nothing we hadn't already read and printed off their web site; most of it restrictions designed to protect wildlife. We were able to fill our water tank at the dock, fill our bellies at the lodge restaurant, and fill our inboxes with the park WIFI.
Our intended anchorage, the so called south bite of the north bay of Fingers Inlet is fifteen miles from Bartlett Cove, so it was after 7pm before the hook was finally set in the deepest anchorage of the trip so far: we let out 250 feet of chain in 70 feet of water. Thankfully we don't have to share the anchorage with anyone, so we have plenty of room to swing.
It took us a couple of hours to cross into Icy Straight, but the further we proceeded, the smoother it got, until my forecast proved true. The pendulum rarely stops swinging however. By the time we entered Glacier Bay it was raining again and the wind was rising. Thankfully we would soon be out of it and into the bay. But first we needed permission from Parks:
"Bartlett Cove, Bartlett Cove, Sailing Vessel Quijote, one-six over.
"Vessel calling Bartlett Cove, go one-two, over"
"Bartlett Cove, Sailing Vessel Quijote on one-two, over"
"Bartlett Cove, Quijote, requesting park entry, we have a permit, over."
"Quijote, permission granted, proceed to the public dock for orientation at 14:00; stay center channel on entry, over."
"Roger that, Quijote monitoring one-six."
"Bartlett Cove monitoring one-six."
And with that, we were in. The orientation was nothing we hadn't already read and printed off their web site; most of it restrictions designed to protect wildlife. We were able to fill our water tank at the dock, fill our bellies at the lodge restaurant, and fill our inboxes with the park WIFI.
Our intended anchorage, the so called south bite of the north bay of Fingers Inlet is fifteen miles from Bartlett Cove, so it was after 7pm before the hook was finally set in the deepest anchorage of the trip so far: we let out 250 feet of chain in 70 feet of water. Thankfully we don't have to share the anchorage with anyone, so we have plenty of room to swing.
Day 46 - Living the Dream; Rod
Tomorrow We enter Glacier Bay on the 47th day of our journey. I'm pretty excited about that.
The misty, murky passage of time has obscured my first inkling to make this trip . I do remember reading a newspaper article, a special section of the Sunday edition of the Seattle Times, that described kayaking in Glacier Bay. That kindled whatever desire I already had for making the trip in a sailboat. I taped the article with a map to the inside of my kitchen cupboard so I would never lose sight of the goal. Life has a way of throwing curves in the road and I didn't want to forget what was important to me. Over the years I would see that article every time I opened the cupboard and I'd remember: someday when I have time and a boat I'm going to make that journey.
Someday is always so far away. The mists spread as indelibly into the future as they do into the past, but our future passage into Glacier Bay looks a little clearer today than it ever has.
A lot has gone into making it happen and it's that that gives this trip its real value. All the work, the learning, and the people I've met who have helped make it happen have been exceptionally rewarding. I feel so incredibly fortunate to have had this experience. From dream to seen, Glacier Bay itself is just the tip of the iceberg.
The misty, murky passage of time has obscured my first inkling to make this trip . I do remember reading a newspaper article, a special section of the Sunday edition of the Seattle Times, that described kayaking in Glacier Bay. That kindled whatever desire I already had for making the trip in a sailboat. I taped the article with a map to the inside of my kitchen cupboard so I would never lose sight of the goal. Life has a way of throwing curves in the road and I didn't want to forget what was important to me. Over the years I would see that article every time I opened the cupboard and I'd remember: someday when I have time and a boat I'm going to make that journey.
Someday is always so far away. The mists spread as indelibly into the future as they do into the past, but our future passage into Glacier Bay looks a little clearer today than it ever has.
A lot has gone into making it happen and it's that that gives this trip its real value. All the work, the learning, and the people I've met who have helped make it happen have been exceptionally rewarding. I feel so incredibly fortunate to have had this experience. From dream to seen, Glacier Bay itself is just the tip of the iceberg.
Day 45 -Trucker Tricks; Rod
(some of my previous day numbers are askew; I need to go back and fix them) Day 45 was a getting out of Dodge kind of day. After saying our goodbyes to last week's gang (you guys are SO last week); Kay, Vi and I cut our lines and headed south. South?! Yes, back under the Douglass bridge and down the Gastineau Channel for ten miles before turning the corner and heading north up Stevens Passage.
The Douglass Bridge connects Juneau with Douglass Island. It's a fixed span (doesn't open), and the chart records its height at 45.5 feet. Quijote's mast is 54 feet above the waterline. Add another couple of feet of stuff on the masthead: wind-vane instrumentation, Windex, and VHF antenna.
Somehow we managed to get under that bridge. There's an old trucker's trick that allows them to go under a bridge that is a little too low: they let the air out of the tires and pump them up again on the other side.
We got under the bridge by filling the hull with water until we were almost submerged, then drifted under the bridge and pumped all the water out. Piece of cake! The seat cushions are still drying as we speak.
A smarter way would have been to wait for low tide. The bridge height listed on the chart is 45.5 feet above high tide. The tide tables are with respect to low tide. The difference is probably 14 feet or more. That means I can go under the bridge at low tide and maybe I won't hit it. Leaving nothing to chance, I Googled the Douglass Bridge and found that it's 60 feet above a zero tide. That means I just have to time it right and all is (hopefully) well.
Going under we saw a tidal gauge in place that displays the height of the bridge above the water for any depth. It looked to be more than 65 feet - plenty to spare. Going under we saw five or ten feet of clearance above the mast and proceeded to our anchorage just twenty miles away. We didn't go very far because low tide to get under the bridge was at 2pm. That didn't leave us much time under way.
We put Vi to work in the kitchen right away and she cooked up a delicious cod baked in the bbq. Nice!
The Douglass Bridge connects Juneau with Douglass Island. It's a fixed span (doesn't open), and the chart records its height at 45.5 feet. Quijote's mast is 54 feet above the waterline. Add another couple of feet of stuff on the masthead: wind-vane instrumentation, Windex, and VHF antenna.
Somehow we managed to get under that bridge. There's an old trucker's trick that allows them to go under a bridge that is a little too low: they let the air out of the tires and pump them up again on the other side.
We got under the bridge by filling the hull with water until we were almost submerged, then drifted under the bridge and pumped all the water out. Piece of cake! The seat cushions are still drying as we speak.
A smarter way would have been to wait for low tide. The bridge height listed on the chart is 45.5 feet above high tide. The tide tables are with respect to low tide. The difference is probably 14 feet or more. That means I can go under the bridge at low tide and maybe I won't hit it. Leaving nothing to chance, I Googled the Douglass Bridge and found that it's 60 feet above a zero tide. That means I just have to time it right and all is (hopefully) well.
Going under we saw a tidal gauge in place that displays the height of the bridge above the water for any depth. It looked to be more than 65 feet - plenty to spare. Going under we saw five or ten feet of clearance above the mast and proceeded to our anchorage just twenty miles away. We didn't go very far because low tide to get under the bridge was at 2pm. That didn't leave us much time under way.
We put Vi to work in the kitchen right away and she cooked up a delicious cod baked in the bbq. Nice!
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