Wrangell
With over 300 miles to Glacier Bay we are happy to leave Ketchikan and resume our progress northward. Low cloud and drizzle are creeping in, so we decide to leave the larger Clarence Strait, where waters can get rough, and take the less traveled route through Ernest Sound, then up through Zimovia Strait to Wrangell. Wrangell looks and feels like the wild west as the name might imply. The Tlingit Nation occupied the site for generations, before the arrival of the Russians, British and then Americans. Being situated off the delta of the Stikine River, it became the gateway to several gold rushes. We stay overnight at the dock, explore yet more totems and have bad pizza in an dark, stuffy American-style bar. All part of the experience.
Tlingit totem in Wrangell
Leaving the harbour in the morning, the water turns from icy green to murky brown, as if someone had drawn a line through the water. This is due to the silty runoff from the mighty Stikine River. These unusual sea colours are due to the fact that fresh water floats on salt water, so we are always sailing over the top layer of fresh water. We speculate that the boat must travel faster in the less dense fresh water.
Two hours later we enter Wrangell Narrows, a 22 mile narrow, twisting waterway with fast currents and turbulent rip tides made worse by the huge spring tide changes of almost 20 feet. With 66 channel
markers to negotiate, we feel we are in a real life video game of Pac Boat. As luck would treat us, we don't encounter the expected Alaska State Ferry, which occupies the entire channel on its trip through.
Negotiating the Narrows in the mist and rain
Petersburg
Facts about Petersburg. Annual precipitation is 109 inches. That's wet. In late June there are 18 hours of daylight (Pam wears a eye mask in order to sleep). Norwegian is cool. Fish rule.
Of course we arrive in the rain and set out to explore the town of 3000 people. We ask about all the Norwegian flags and are told that Norwegian settlers first came here in 1897, attracted to the very lucrative fishery. The harbour master tells us that most people who come here eventually become Norwegian. But back to fish. The town smells like fish, and fish boats come and go constantly, disgorging their catches. We set off to find fresh halibut for dinner, but find the price is $25 per pound. Huh! We left the dock without halibut. Later, we sit in the cockpit, looking at the grimy dock, taking in the scene – fishermen yelling back and forth to each other with cheerful banter, motors from the processing plants humming, the clanking and banging of tools making repairs. Is this the real Alaska?
While enjoying our glass of wine at “Yard Arm” (theoretically, the end of day drink happens as the sun passes over the yardarm but have adjusted the time drastically to suit the needs of the retired and the Alaska daylight hours), we realize that we have now passed the 1000 mile mark, which represents over 200 hours at the helm. Unlike open ocean cruising, one really does have to be at the helm at all times. Speaking tedium, we wonder what life is like in the winter in this rough-edged town, where isolation, constant rain and long dark nights must cast a gloom over the human psyche.
The following two days it rains. We bail 20 liters of water from dingy twice a day. In Portage Bay, huge 10 meter long seaweed drifts in, wrapping itself around anchor chain and rudder, requiring the use of the boat hook to unwrap the long tendrils. We decide to stay there the day, taking a “weather day” because the heavy rain makes navigation difficult. But by afternoon, the rain stops and we catch a fast current north, making 8 knots to Cleveland Passage.
Leaving there the next morning, the clouds pull back, allowing the sun to dry the sodden air. Two pair of Humpbacks feed off our port and starboard , their giant flukes gracefully sliding under the glassy water. Later, a pod of Dall Porpoises converge on us, taking turns to “ride the bow”, a playful ritual whereby they swim inches off our bow, just under the surface, then breaking out to leap out of the water. Larry dances on the bow with camera, trying to catch a photo, while Pam frantically points in all directions, trying to keep track of our fast moving friends.
A daily occurrence – the fluke of a humpback
As we enter Tracy Arm, we are greeted by large chunks of floating ice called “Growlers”, small icebergs up to house size. Tentatively, we creep closer to take a photo of the crystal green translucence of a bigger one. Hundreds of Harlequin ducks and a large group of bald eagles greet us into the anchorage at the mouth of the arm. This will be our “base camp” for the next day's 10-hour round trip into Sawyer Glacier. In Tracy Arm there are no anchorages.
We pray for sun the next day to view the glaciers, as most boaters experience heavy fog and rain. The gods bless us again - at 5 a.m. the sun streams into the cabin, gently waking us. We negotiate around a large growler to exit the anchorage.. Camera shutters click. Over the next few hours the ice pieces increase in number, including thousands of “bergy bits”, smaller than growlers, but still big enough to do serious damage to propeller or rudder. Massive rock walls rise on both sides of the channel.
Tracy Arm with M/V “Swell”, a dive boat from Nanaimo
Tracy Arm - pausing to reflect
Amidst the bergs in Tracy Arm – Sawyer Glacier
By the time we reach the fork in the channel, it is apparent that the channel to North Sawyer Glacier to blocked with ice. Melody tries a north route to get to South Sawyer and we try the south. They disappear and reappear amongst the ice. Black spots on ice floes turn out to be seals giving birth to pups. We creep closer, in awe at what we are experiencing.
Seals birthing at foot of Sawyer Glacier
Seal with new born pup
North Sawyer Glacier comes into view, as high as a 30 story building, like a crystal dragon creeping through the mountains to the water's edge. We shut off the engine and drift silently among the ice floes. It's like floating around in a giant margarita. We do not talk – there is nothing to be said.
Our two boats eventually reunite and we sit, floating, engines silent listening to the crackling of the icebergs shifting and breaking around us. We do not want to break the spell. Around the corner, not 500 meters away, the bow of a huge cruise emerges grotesque in its size in such a beautiful place. The name is Carnival Spirit. We all laugh - the spell is broken, but not forgotten.
Eagles on a cool perch
The next day, we weave around a large iceberg upon which 9 eagles are perched. Click! Click! Then another pair of humpback whales. Not wanting to arrive in Juneau in late day, we stop in Taku Harbor. Being Friday night, the dock fills up with week-enders from Juneau. It's party time at the dock. We get in the spirit, as does a brown bear, who hovers around the top of the dock ramp. What fun!
To get into Juneau we must pass under a bridge that specifies a 52 foot clearance on the chart. Our mast is 52 feet high, so we read what information we have in order to find out what this means. 52 foot clearance at low tide? High tide? Oh, but Americans calculate tides differently than we do, and for the life us we can't figure it out. A local at the dock advises that a recent survey of the bridge discovered that the clearance was actually out by 2 feet but she couldn't remember which way the error was. Alas, a sail boat arrives skippered by the just retired Juneau port manager who explains everything to us. We'll be fine at the minus tide for next morning.. Everyone groans because low tide is at 0930 so we have to leave Taku at 0600 to get there in time.
Juneau is the capital of Alaska. It's busy with fish boats and cruise ships, but otherwise drab on a rainy day. But the laundry is done, the galley restocked, the cabin vacuumed,and water and fuel tanks filled. Tomorrow we begin the last leg to Glacier Bay, with lots of time to meet our June 25th entry date.
