The Outside Passage Home

Leaving Alaska

The sky is layered shades of grey as we depart Craig Harbour, fog threatening to wrap its chilly arms around us. Hundreds of small islands, some mere rocks jutting from the sea, create an elaborate and tangled course. This route down the inside of Dall Island will take us through Tlevak Strait to Hydaburg, a Haida community on Prince of Wales Island.

But first we must pass through Tlevak Narrows – at slack water. We miscalculate badly, however, and we arrive at full ebb tide, with a current of over 5 knots running against us. With no secure anchorage behind us for miles, we push on, in spite of the violent rip tides and whirlpools that clutch and grab at the boat. The passage is less than a half mile long but it seems to take forever. At one point our speed slows to a half knot. Neither of us speak – it is best to leave discussion until later.

Slowly we gain speed and break free, and enjoy the rest of the trip to South Pass Cove, where we snug in for the night and update the weather. Dixon Entrance, that daunting and serious 80 mile stretch of open water from Cape Chacon to Prince Rupert, is relatively calm but with a system coming in from the Gulf of Alaska. We decide to write Hydaburg off the itinerary and make a run for the cape the next morning, where we can anchor in Nichols Bay and get an early start the day after.

The morning of the crossing, we weigh anchor at 0400. Cheery dispositions are hard to find. Pam has made a stack of sandwiches for the trip, because meal preparation in the galley during rolling seas is, well, ill advised.

                                                   

                                                 Leaving the fog to cross Dixon Entrance

The often seen fog greets us on exiting the bay, but it soon melts away and the swells start to flatten. To our amazement, the sun pokes through. Those sea-gods are with us again. With no wind, we settle in for the long crossing. This is like crossing the ocean – no scenery. How do blue water cruisers do it?

Welcome to Canada

13 hours later, Prince Rupert Harbour is a welcoming sight. We take a slip at the Prince Rupert Yacht Club and call Canadian customs. We never know what to expect from Canada Customs at ports of entry. But it's never a positive experience. This time, its a 20 minute grilling on the phone.

Vegetables and alcohol are the big thing. Larry admits that we have potatoes on board.

“How many?”, the agent asks.

“I didn't count them when I left the boat”, Larry replies, realizing that it would be better to make up a number.

“Well then, you'll have to peel them, bag the peels and deposit the bag in a dumpster”.

Not clear that he heard this right, he agrees to comply.

The conversation shifts to alcohol. Larry lists what he thinks we have on board, knowing that we exceed the limit, but adds that some are cooking wines from Canada.

“Can you prove they're from Canada?”, the lady asks.

“The wine is a B.C. Brand”, Larry responds.

“But are the labels in English and French?”, she queries.

Larry admits that he is not sure.

“How much U.S. purchased alcohol, then?”, she persists.

“About three bottles”.

“How many liters would that be?”

“About three.” He thinks his estimate is rather low.

“You do know you're over the limit of one liter each, then?”, she says, a slight sneer to her voice.

Larry knows he is probably supposed to apologize for this indiscretion. Suppressing the temptation to laugh, he asks, “Should I dump some overboard?”

She mumbles something about noting this in our file and letting it go. She moves on the pets and required papers for same. Oh, no!

The next day we do the usual port stuff – laundry, shopping, boat cleaning, showers. Larry goes to emergency at the hospital. He thinks he's dying. After some tests that extract body fluids and an xray, it is decided that he has a back muscle inflamation due to hours of bad posture at the helm. Pam is relieved there will be no more talk of imminent death.

Prince Rupert is a lovely town, but the port is an Alice in Wonderful. A major fishery is set to open and fish boats by the dozens, from small gillnetters to large seiners, pour into port to refuel. It starts at 0400, growling diesels, skippers yelling commands to deckhands, backwash bouncing our boat. When we leave the next morning, we have to join the queue for fuel. We drift in the harbour, fifth in line, for 30 minutes before we obtain a spot hanging on to a corner of the fuel dock while we fill up.

The Outside Passage

We have decided to take the “outside passage” home, getting off the beaten track and into the remote and seldom visited outer island chain that follows Hecate Strait south. We do this knowing that the weather will be more severe and many of the waterways will be poorly charted. The latter includes undiscovered navigational hazards, incorrect depth recordings, and GPS plots that can literally put a boat on the rocks.

But later in the day a forecast storm discourages us from visiting the Kitkatla Islands, so we head south down Petrel Channel. Before anchoring in Newcombe Harbour, Bob catches a 12 pound spring salmon which he shares with us. So good!

Sea Otters  Cruising By

The storm arrives the next morning, bringing heavy rain and strong winds that shriek through the rigging like banshees. Dreamweaver tosses and strains like a wild stallion at her anchor chain. It's hard to relax. We turn on the satellite radio to the “Spa” station. Soothing stuff which helps. We crank up the heat and read, ignoring what's going on outside.

It continues for 2 days, after which we head south again to Ire Inlet on Anger Island. Why do names like this not instill confidence? The entrance into this lovely cove is narrow and rock-infested. Our cruising book has a story of a sailboat who entered here several years ago and snagged his rigging on an overhanging tree, the rotting trunk of which fell onto the boat and did some major cosmetic damage. Bob take his dingy into to assess depth and clearances, and judges that we can make. We eye the sawed off tree trunk as we inch by.

It should be mentioned that boats always enter a difficult channel at low water, contrary to what one might think. This allows the skipper to see most hazards that might normally be submerged, and also allow a grounded boat to float off a rock on the rising tide.

The anchorage is “bombproof”, a nautical saying for an anchorage well protected from bad weather. What's bombs have to do with it? We hardly set anchor and the sun comes out and the temperature rises. We open every port and hatch to air out the boat and remove condensation, which drips from everywhere. The inflatable kayak comes out and Pam goes for a long paddle. The memory of the previous horrid weather fades. Until that night. The rains return.

After 2 more days of rain, we review our plans again. We are getting disgruntled. Bob and Helen are in no hurry to move quickly south, wanting to fish and explore. We decide that it is time to part company. It's a decision made reluctantly and it makes us sad, after over 2 months of great companionship and cruising support.

We weigh anchor, bid our farewells and exit the inlet on a high tide. The conditions are dreary - a drizzle blankets the boat and the windscreen keeps fogging up. At the entrance we discover that two large trees have apparently fallen over the channel. Thoughts flash through our mind. No saw, no radio contact, no passing boats. Interesting scenario.

We anchor the boat and Larry takes the dingy over to determine our fate. Using a weighted line he determines that there is sufficient depth to inch by the trees and establish that the submerged tree tops will not snag the keel. It's a tense moment, but like others, we laugh after it is over.

Principe Channel is calm but fogged in. We decide on a short day and go into Monckton Lagoon for the night. Another narrow entrance, but clear and fairly deep. It's a magical place. The lagoon is small, surrounded by steep rock shores and stunted old-growth spruce. The sun comes out. The water is like a mirror, which reflects perfect symmetrical images of the rocky shore. A loon calls. Underwater sea life abounds. This is pristine wilderness. Probably the nicest anchorage we have ever seen. We think we might spend the next day here.

                                               Moncktom Lagoon  - Pristine Wilderness

 

Back to the Inside

By morning the rain is back.

We adjust our plans once again and decide to go up Otter Channel to Hartley Bay. We can refuel there and more or less trace our old route home.

Hartley Bay is a Gitga'at community of 160 people which gained notoriety for rescuing passengers and crew from the B.C. Ferry that sank off Gill Island several years ago. It is a special place.

After taking on fuel we ask if we could stay at the dock overnight. No problem, he says, adding that there is no charge. Donations are accepted if you want to use the power at the dock. We give him 20 dollars.

The village is built on muskeg, so all structures are built on pilings sunk into the ground, each connected to others by a broad boardwalk. There are no cars, but most families have an ATV to get around. As we start walking up towards the simple, quaint church, a sign catches our eye - “The possession or consumption of alcohol is strictly forbidden by band by-law”. This is a “dry” community, one of many First Nations communities to take this step. Past the church, broad steps, guarded by three imposing totems, welcome us into the community hall. Inside is a large gymnasium, with polished wood floors. A friendly young man explains that all large social functions happen here, and why don't we come back next month when the village hosts the final leg of the First Nations War Canoe Journey. Everybody is welcome. Lots of food and traditional dances.

                                                               Hartley Bay Church

We walk the maze of boardwalks and poke our head into a modern cedar-clad building. The woman inside beckons us in, explaining that this is the new medical centre, and that she will give a tour. The facility is very impressive by any standard. How can such a small community have this?

We thank the staff and move on, past the water treatment plant, the sewage plant, and finally to the Band office, where we ask if there is internet we could use. We are told that we can bring our laptop to the social room downstairs, plug in and stay as long as we want. Everywhere we go, the people greet us warmly, with open smiles. This community is a model of orderliness, organization and optimism. With fishing a marginal industry, the leadership of the Gitga'at Band has obviously successfully tapped into and lobbied for every available resource.

                                                  Hartley Bay - Almost too Perfect

That evening on the dock, visiting boaters gather on dock to socialize and clean their day's catch. Because we are hopeless at fishing, we ask for some tips. They spend time with us, teaching us things, giving us hooks and gear, as well as a whole salmon. We are overwhelmed by the generosity of other on this day.

For the next three days, we push south through Fraser Reach, Princess Royal, Finlayson, and Mathieson Channels. Each day it gets worse, with fog and rain. This is the unglamorous part of long distance cruising. It isn't fun anymore. We wish you were home.

By July 28 we reach Shearwater and tie up at the dock. The docks are crowded with boats not wanting to venture into the weather. We get the last spot. We'll push on the next day. The rain is still coming down.