Leg 3, Liz McLoughlin, Tom Hall
From Craig to Prince Rupert, B C, via the west side of Prince of Wales Island
June 11 - June 22, 2004

Friday, June 11 (Craig to Port Refugio; 25 hours, 14,0 miles). We awoke to a brief period of sun followed by increasing clouds. A final round of chores – re-fill the water tanks, clean the head, vacuum the boat, empty the trash, pay the harbormaster and call relatives. Off at 9:30 for an upwind trip south, upwave and into the rain, in a rapidly strengthening low pressure weather system. We anchored behind a small island in the large bay but there was quite a bit of fetch to the SE winds that poured over the mountains. Our anchor set well and didn’t budge though we had gusts to 35 knots. Onward roamed back and forth on the anchor and we periodically checked several landmarks to verify that we were not dragging. Liz prepared a nice pork stirfry and rice and we got in quite a bit of reading time before sacking out. We were soon asleep, lulled perhaps by the cacophony of noises that one get’s in the forward cabin on a windy night – wind through the rigging, wind hum vibrations on the two heavy lines that snub our anchor chain, rain falling on the foredeck, and anchor chain clanking noises as we roamed back an forth on rode.

Saturday, June 12 (Port Refugio to Tlevak Narrows Cove; 1.6 hours, 8.1 miles). The night was reasonably peaceful despite the storm system and by the morning the wind had eased a bit, though the barometer had dropped quite a bit from 1011 to 1005 millibars. By 10 the rain had stopped and the wind was down to 10-15 knots so we raised anchor and headed south, hoping to make the Narrows before the currents were in full force. During our trip down Ulloa Channel the headwinds were up to 35 knots, slowing our progress to 5 knots. Fortunately with little fetch the waves never exceeded one foot. The last mile was hand-steered due to the many whirlies from the tide zipping through the narrows. Into the cove and a very peaceful location – no current and almost no wind. We spent the afternoon working on the log and pictures for the website, interrupted only once for a half hour show by a black bear and her three small cubs. The mother seemed to know we were anchored nearby but didn’t pay us any attention. She ate grass and turned over rocks to look for edibles while the cubs wandered about, ate some grass, tussled with each other, and periodically returned to their mother.

.
Sunday, June 13 (Tlevak Narrows Cove to Eek Inlet, Hetta Island; 4.1 hours, 24.7 miles). We had light rain on awakening but gradually the clouds became higher and occasionally the sun peeked through. Underway early, at 8:36, to catch slack tide through Tlevak Narrows (which can run to 4 knots at times). This prediction was 2.5 hours before the predicted high tide, which had us a bit uncertain about what we would find, but indeed the heading current was minimal when we transited the narrows. This was followed by a nice trip through open water and later, narrow channels, to Hydaburg, where we tied up in an empty slip to check out the village. Hydaburg is a native Haida settlement of about 350, some 25 road miles from Hollis, the ferry landing on the east side of the island. We inquired as to the whereabouts of the harbormaster and were assured “not to worry,” no harbormaster, no charges, and just tie up. We walked a mile to and through the village, visited impressive totem poles by the school (reminiscent of Klawock), greeted the few locals we encountered, and bought ice cream bars in the only store in town. Hydaburg is an example of the efforts now being made in several native communities to preserve their culture and traditions. Classes are held in carving, native holidays dances and costumes are used, and some instruction is given in the Haida tongue, though it is acknowledged that this will never more be used as a prime language. The community hall and school complex were impressive, most of the houses were in reasonable condition and quite a few of them had cars or SUVs parked outside. At 1:30 we cast off and headed south looking for an anchorage. About a mile south of the village we passed a Panamanian-flagged log freighter, the Koto Queen, loading up from an adjacent log pond. With many clear cuts in the area, some quite recent and on very steep (and visibly eroding) slopes, it was clear that log sales figured importantly in the native economy. Native lands are not subject to the same limitations as non-non-native forests and we saw little evidence of re-forestation. With mudslides already laying bare the underlying rock on the steeper slopes the communities may find their lands significantly degraded in the future. At 3 PM we entered lovely Eek Inlet, admired a black bear on a nearby grassy beach area, and dropped our anchor in a location that provided complete protection from winds and waves. With the barometer rising from 1004 mb in the morning to 1014 mb in the evening we had reason to expect even better weather on the morrow.

Monday, June 14 (Eek Inlet to Kassa Inlet, PWI; 3.2 hours, 20. 2 miles). A quiet night, sunlit morning, dead calm and a 4 mb rise on the barometer, to 1018! After breakfast we launched the kayaks and had a long paddle, first up to the head of the inlet and then around a rather large island at the entrance. In the course of exploring an incoming stream we surprised and “spooked” a Merganser hen and her five ducklings; three of the little ones went with her and two somehow got left behind but acquitted themselves admirably, first making fast tracks through the water and then hiding behind a boulder. The three-some alternated between riding on their mother’s back and paddling/flapping a high speed behind her. We exited the area to not upset them further. Back on the boat, we loaded the kayaks and headed south down Hetta Inlet under blue and white skies and with a mild 10-knot headwind. After rounding a headland we made a turn to the north and into Kassa Inlet, several miles long and almost a mile wide, with great protection from wind and wave. We were unsuccessful setting our anchor the first time; in idle reverse we just pulled it through the soft mud but with 200' of heavy chain out in only 25' depth we had a nice set the second time, near the end of the cove. Liz launched her kayak and made her tour around the nearby island and then back to the boat to cook a fine stew with frozen stew meat left over from the first cruise. We took turns reading the FDA thriller, A Question of Intent, and are now as addicted to it as smokers are to nicotine. The barometer continues to rise, now to 1024 mb, and the evening is perfect.

Tuesday, June 15 (Kassa Inlet to Elbow Bay, Long Island; 1.6 hours, 9.7 miles). We awoke to a beautiful, calm morning with the barometer now an encouraging 1028 mb. In time some clouds came but it soon cleared again and we had a fine day with SE winds at 10-12 knots. Tom spent much of the morning reviewing Douglass to identify good anchorages south to Prince Rupert and then SW to the islands from where we would depart for the Queen Charlottes. At 1 PM we left for a smooth crossing to Elbow Bay, a well protected cove to the SW. The area had been almost entirely clearcut a few years before except for a fringe of trees around the water’s edge. New growth was occurring but still has a long way to go. We launched the kayaks but spent much of the afternoon enjoying the ambience while using BoatZoap and lots of muscle power to remove residual winter grime. Tom had put Vaseline on much of the stainless steel to protect it from corrosion (and it worked well) but seepage down from the SS led to some stains. Now, except for the four-year dullness in the gelcoat (which we will have removed in Anacortes), the boat looks new. Liz cooked up a fine chicken, peas, wild rice and mushrooms dinner and we finished Kessler’s book, A Question of Intent, a five-star, and sobering, read about his years battling Big Tobacco when he was Commissioner of the FDA.

Wednesday, June 16 (At anchor, Elbow Bay, Long Island). Another beautiful day and the barometer a tad higher, to 1031 mb. Mid-morning we took to the kayaks and did a low tide three-mile circumnavigation of the bay. As always, a delight to travel quietly, slowly, over the shallows and next to the trees. We visited the incoming stream but the tide was too low to allow passage and then landed at a beach for shoreside explorations. On our final leg across the deep part of the bay we were surprised (and a bit spooked!) to hear, then see and soon thereafter, feel waves from a distant passing vessel. None was visible and we had seen no other vessel since encountering the trawler yacht, Molly Brown, several days earlier. The presence of numerous logs on the SE shores of the several barrier islands attested to the violent winds that must come up Cordova Bay during winter storms. Liz made another kayak visit to the entering stream at high tide and was able to pass over the reversing falls, saw the lagoon but exited promptly to make sure she wasn’t caught as was the case last summer in Joe’s Bay (BC). At that time she and Tom’s sister had to wait two hours until the tide changed and they were “released” from the clutches of a large lagoon. Tom had managed to escape in the dinghy, just barely, and then had to await the belated return of his two “Elizabeths” back from (we jest not!) Elizabeth Lagoon. During her trip she saw a marten, swimming behind her kayak and then bounding up the shore. Back on board we had a beef stew for dinner and started Patrick O’Brien’s book, The Golden Ocean, one of his novels before he started the Aubrey/Maturin series. Another beautiful evening; how long can the good weather last?

Thursday, June 17 (Elbow Bay to Hunter Bay, PWI; 2.2 hours, 13.7 miles). A quiet, warm night, with brief clouds in the early morning and then sunny all day. The barometer dropped to 1028 mb and is now prognosticating rain; it is bound to be correct, eventually! Up anchor at 8:50 for a spectacular cruise SE to Hunter Bay. No clouds, light quartering west winds, and a nine-mile straight passage right into the morning sun so lots of twinkles on the water. We set the autopilot, applied sunscreen, took our CrazyCreek chairs to the foredeck, and had fine trip across Cordova Bay. Hunter Bay required a number of course changes to avoid rocks at the entrance and further in but then presented no more obstacles. We anchored a half mile from the end in 44' of water with lots of swinging room and a good anchor set. It had better be well set; the Coast Pilot noted that the nearby peaks had caused williwaw winds recorded at up to 72.8 knots! We lowered the flotilla, had lunch and then set about exploring. Tom in the dinghy towed Liz in her kayak upwind for a mile to the entrance to Biscuit Lagoon and then both explored the area. Tom arrived just as the flood tide changed; all the kelp was streaming toward the lagoon until 2:55, 37 minutes after predicted high tide in Hunter Bay, and then, with a very brief period of confused swirls, the lagoon started the ebb. In our two craft we started flowing out of the lagoon, against a light breeze, and after brief confusion, the kelp reversed direction. The lagoon entrance was enchanting; huge cedars lined and overhung the shores; old snags, still standing, gave color contrast to the green ambience, and the occasional seal did flip flops with loud splashes and shot-like sounds. Liz kayaked back while Tom sped with the dinghy to the entrance of Klinkwan Cove, near the entrance to Hunter Bay. Rocks galore at the entrance to the cove and on the chart throughout it. Looks like a good place to explore at high tide on the morrow. After a three-course left-over dinner – all the best goodies from previous meals– we took to the kayaks again for a magical low tide evening paddle to the nearby shore and then to the end of Hunter Bay. Not a zephyr breeze to ripple the water, not a cloud in the sky, and a reflection of the shoreline that made it difficult to tell which image was real and which reflection. We had more seal splashing displays and saw a small flotilla of scoters cruising warily around us. A perfect evening, quiet night, and the dropping barometer (down 4 mb to 1024) still hasn’t fulfilled its dismal potential.

Friday, June 18 (At anchor, Hunter Bay). An absolutely perfect day, though very warm. The evening weather report indicated that high temperature records had been set throughout SE Alaska, including at Hydaburg and Craig. We spent the morning reading and working on our laptops. After lunch we went in our dinghy Homeward for about 1.5 miles to the entrance of Klinkwan Cove, our two kayaks lashed to the sides. We anchored the dinghy, kayaked through the narrow pass aided by the last hour of flood tide, and then made a near circumnavigation of the large Cove. Filled with rocks and small islands, old growth trees, snags and nurse trees (dead trees with new trees sprouting from the horizontal trunk and root knot) along the shore, hills rising nearby, it was an enchanting location. A mother duck with ducklings spotted us at some distance and soon the flock was hightailing it across a small bay, a cloud of spray in their wake. Hearing an insistent call, we spotted an eagle watching us from a tree on a small islet and noted an huge eagle’s nest in the adjacent tree. Constructed of branches, large and small, it was a most impressive “home.” From our water level vantage point we could not see if there were eaglets present but from the concerned attention directed our way from the eagle, we assume there were wee ones inside. We returned to Homeward on the start of the ebb tide for the trip back to Onward, showers, reading and a spaghetti dinner. One millibar drop in the barometer, down to 1022.

Saturday, June 19 (Hunter Bay to Judd Harbor, Duke Island; 7.8 hours, 55.5 miles). Another lovely, cloudless day, with temperatures in the 90s, reaching 98 degrees in the pilothouse by early evening and 95 in the shade. We were underway by 6:15 and had an extraordinarily beautiful low tide passage through the Barrier Islands via Eureka Channel. At the south end of the islands Tom contacted the US Coast Guard to inform them of a green nav-aid marking a rock that was almost horizontal. The initial exchange was almost unreadable until the USCG switched to a nearby repeater; it was good to know that we could reach them despite being in a very low traffic area surrounded by high mountains. Our initial destination was Nichols Bay, at the south end of Prince of Wales Island and just short of Cape Chacon, but with the weather so benign we passed it by and cruised another 10 miles to Duke Island, at the intersection of Clarence Strait and Revillagigedo Channel (the route to Ketchikan and to Misty Fjords). We were anchored by 2 PM in a snug location, so snug that there was hardly any breeze to ease the local heat wave or keep away the pesky large black deer flies. Liz stripped bare and dove off the stern for a swim, thus justifying a fresh water shower (for both of us) before a dinner of pork and onions in black bean sauce, peas and left-over spaghetti. With the heat easing and flies now absent we spent a lovely half hour watching the sun go down on the bow, a flotilla of ~15 black scoters cruising back and forth in the foreground. Another very quiet, though hot, night (what a rarity in these climes; sleeping au natural on top of our sleeping bag), with the barometer creeping down another two millibars (to 1019).

Sunday, June 20 (Judd Harbor to Foggy Bay; 2.2 hours, 13.9 miles). Yet another day of cloudless skies with a light breeze from the north. After a breakfast of pancakes we raised anchor at 8:50 for the short trip across Revillagigedo Channel to our old friend, Foggy Bay. As the first well protected harbor for boats making the trip north from Prince Rupert it gets lots of use. The outer harbor is frequented by fishing boats waiting for openers off of the Tree Point light, and the inner harbor by cruising yachts heading north to Ketchikan or south to Prince Rupert. The 85-mile trip between the two towns is not easily covered in a day for 6- to 8-knot boats so many overnight at either Foggy Bay or further south on the Canadian side of the boundary in Brundige Inlet, on Dundas Island. We have anchored in Foggy Bay three times before. (See endnote for our 2000 visit on our chartered Krogen when we lost all control of the windlass.) We arrived at 11 AM and were soon joined by a Krogen 42', Daisy (as in the movie, Driving Miss Daisy), owned by live-aboards, Gary and Jean Coard. This was the first pleasure boat to anchor in the same cove since Tom started this summer’s cruise on May 18 and only the third such boat seen underway since that date. At last, and alas, we’ll have to put on the anchor light tonight! After lunch we launched our flotilla and went by kayak about two miles north and then east into Very Inlet, a marginally navigable narrow stretch of water with three side arms to it. We arrived at the first narrows about two hours before high slack and the kayaks zipped through at impressive speed. Rather than extend our trip further and face a long return trip slog against wind and current ,or a long wait for the ebb, we retraced our passage clinging to the shore and back eddies, and then took the outer route along the barrier islands to the inner harbor of Foggy Bay. Back on Onward, we read for a hour until Jean and Gary came over per our earlier invitation for a “sun-over-the-yard-arm visit” and a fine chat about the cruising life. They have cruised extensively on the East Coast, ranging from Florida to Nova Scotia, have done the Great Loop (up from NY to Lake Eire, through the Great Lakes and then south via the Mississippi and other rivers to the Gulf), and have been living on the boat for some time. We returned with them for a tour of their boat (very well laid out and equipped, and a reminder of the inadequacies of our much older and spartan chartered Krogen back in 2000). By supper time we had been joined by three sailboats (Outlier and Calliope, from from Seattle, and Zephyr from E Hampton) in the inner bay, a veritable fleet compared to our past anchorages. We took a slow dinghy trip to the entrance of the bay, checked out the sloops, and on return, watched and photographed a beautiful sunset. The barometer continued its slow decline, now down to 1016, though the weather forecast continues to call for gentle northerly winds.

Endnote about Foggy Bay and windlass caper: Our first visit to Foggy Bay in 2000 found us on our chartered 42' Krogen. On lowering the anchor the brake would not work. Only by jumping onto the rapidly disappearing chain were we able to stop the outflow and had this not worked we might have lost all of our chain (we had no idea whether the “bitter end” of the chain was well attached to the bottom of the chain locker). If we had been in deeper water the weight of the chain might have been too much to stop by standing on it. When it came to raising the anchor, nothing happened. The windlass had “packed up,” it had no oil in the bearings. We brought in the chain manually the following morning, a few links at a time, with our weighty crew providing the necessary brake as each short segment came up. The repairs in Ketchikan required sending a new, heavy windlass by air freight, a very unwelcome expense for the boat’s owner.

Monday, June 21 (at anchor in Foggy Bay). The longest day of the year! Up at 7:15, prompted by a brief and gentle rain shower and cloudy skies. Another millibar down on the barometer (to 1015), less heat, a bit more wind but likely another good day. All the boats but the Valiant 40, Calliope, were gone, presumably headed for Ketchikan, and an hour later we were again alone until the arrival of Magic Moments, a large powerboat. The morning was spent on the laptops, pictures and log, awaiting the right tide time to explore Very Inlet. We headed out in the dinghy with the two kayaks on either side for a half-hour trip north and east into Very Inlet, a long, narrow and multi-pronged waterway leading off of Foggy Bay. It has three narrow reversing rapids, several with significant overalls, and though much of the inlet has navigable depths, it is not recommended for boats over 35' in length. With inlets such as these one must time entry and exit at high water slack which, in effect, requires staying overnight. We entered two hours short of predicted high water for a nearby bay and had a fine ride aided by the tidal current. We anchored the dinghy in a small cove and took to the kayaks for two hours. We first checked out the rapids but with discretion the better part of valor, elected instead to wait until near slack. So, for most of the time we paddled through the islands, visited tiny covelets, and floated for 20 minutes at the mouth of a small stream while we imbibed our magnificent ancient forest surroundings. By now the tidal current had slowed so we paddled through the narrows, rounded a bend to nearby cove, enjoyed the solitude, and were pleased to retrace our route through the narrows on the initial tidal reversal, half an hour later than our printed tidal reference. Back to Onward and by now, four other power boats, we raised and tied down our flotilla, ready for an early departure tomorrow. We had a calm evening, a great sunset and a quiet night.

Tuesday, June 22 (Foggy Bay to Prince Rupert; 7.3 hours, 52.6 miles). Up at 5:50 Alaska time, up anchor 10 minutes later, and under a cloudy sky, we were the first one out of the bay. We soon encountered fog and spent much of the next four hours in it, at least one hour of during which we could see only several boat lengths ahead. As luck would have it the first several hours were prime fishing grounds so we had to thread our way through gill netters with 1000-foot nets set across our route. In most cases it was a matter of identifying the direction to boat was facing and then scanning the seas behind the boat with binoculars and radar for a orange buoy marking the other end of the net. Only once did we have a somewhat unnerving call; we saw the gill netter converging on radar on a collision course, then picked up a large bow wave as he put it in gear, we turned to starboard, he turned to port and seemed headed right to us, we reversed course to port, the radio said a short message, “You’re OK,” Tom replied, “Thanks,” and we went on our way. We were tracking him carefully and would have missed him without this pas de deux, but he wanted to make sure anyway and hence the maneuvering. On we went with light breezes, some lazy swells as we crossed Dixon Entrance, open to the Pacific, and then south in the lee of Dundas Island and a row of smaller islands leading almost to Prince Rupert. We some apprehension we decided to save an hour by going through Venn Passage rather than around Digby Island, which protects Rupert from the ocean and provides flat land for its airport. We had transited Venn Passage once last summer and it is narrow, has many shallow sand banks, and is very winding and subject to currents up to three knots. But, we took the opportunity to practice our navigation and survived the experience well, all the more pleased since our Nobeltec charts on the laptop stopped as we entered the passage and we had to cover the route by traditional navigation. Liz later managed to get the Canadian charts activated on the laptop so we trust our pre-laptop navigation skills won’t be taxed in the coming weeks. We arrived at 2 PM, two hours earlier than predicted due to tidal help throughout the day, and tied up on the windward outside of the dock at the Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht Club. This location, the only one available on our arrival, puts dock fenders to the supreme test; wind and incoming tides push the boat into the dock and the endless series of waves from passing boats and the next door fishing boat terminal bounce us up and down. We’ve had more motion and more need to hang on here than in the preceding month. But, here we are, in a familiar and fine Canadian town, and we spent the rest of the afternoon checking out our old haunts, the book store, supermarket, laundromat, marine store, and starting the substantial list of in-harbor chores pending our next cruise leg to the Queen Charlottes. Since this will be the last significant town before September, all the essentials must be done here.