South to Sitka
Our park permit ends on June 30. So does the good weather. Our plans to sail west to Cross Sound and down the Gulf of Alaska coastline to Sitka are dashed by weather reports calling for 35 knot winds and 12 foot seas. We either lack courage or have abundant common sense, so turn east into Icy Strait, hoping to go down Chatham Strait and take the longer back door route to Sitka via Peril Strait. We do worry about where Peril Strait got its name though.
Whales are everywhere as we depart Bartlett Cove under grey skies and light drizzle. By mid-day the seas kick up, forcing us into Neka Bay inside Port Fredrick. The drizzle turns to hard rain. We're there for two nights, discouraged by the dire weather forecasts. By the second day, Larry is pacing the cabin. We're irritating each other and 36 feet is getting too small. The heater is on all day and the simple act of making a cup of coffee creates dripping condensation on the windows and walls.
Bedtime Stories
The crew on Melody agree to leave early on the third morning. The decision seems sound as the early morning is calm on Icy Strait and around Point Augusta, where 18 purse seiners jostle for space, trying to take advantage of a break in the weather.
Soon the south wind has picked up and we are again crashing into a head wind. The short distance between the crests of each wave is the problem. The boat rides up a wave, then dips violently into the trough before slamming into the next wave. It sounds like the boat will split in two. But the water flattens as we turn into Peril Strait and we hoist the jib to boost our speed. Many fish boats pass us, heading the other way. We wish them well – it is a hard life.
Bear Bay is a lovely anchorage, tucked away amongst small islets off the channel. Darned if Helen doesn't see a large grizzly, close by onshore, when she is up in the night. We're quite put out, as we have seen no bears up close as yet. We remain obsessed with the thought.
Bear Cubs in Peril Strait
But an hour into the next day's journey, as we head down the narrow channel, Larry jolts Pam out of her early morning fog by yelling - “there they are!” A large grizzly and three healthy cubs, picking among the rocks on the shore. This is rare – normally one of triplets does not survive. The cockpit becomes a hive of activity.
“They are so cute”, Pam calls out.
Larry thinks, “300 pounds of cute muscle and teeth. Okay!”
Momma bear dislikes our presence and leads the cubs away, but we're satisfied.
Sitka – Capital of Russia America
Sitka is a pretty town, looking west out to the Gulf of Alaska and protected by dozens of small islands offshore, one boasting an ancient volcano. The Tlingit called it “Sheet'Ka”, a place lying beside the island of Sheet. The Russians renamed the island Baronof Island around 1750. They began to systematically pillage the resources , chiefly sea otter pelts, and antagonize the natives peoples. Sitka was the capital of Russia America. Eventually, the white man's diseases did what guns could not – almost exterminate the Tlingit from the Alaska. In 1867, the resources depleted, the Russians relinquished the territory to the Americans for a song. New resources – fish, timber, gold, oil and tourists – soon made this the deal of the century for the U.S. We learned much of this, and more, at the museum in Sitka, with its beautiful and sensitive telling of the story of the native peoples of Alaska. The artifacts are stunning.
Russian Orthodox Church - Sitka
After two nights in Sitka, the boat is provisioned, cleaned and fueled. The weather promised a window for us to get down the west side of Baronof Island, across Chatham Channel and into Sumner Strait.
Sailing out into the open ocean is intimidating. The power of surging water has no equal in our terrestrial existence. Although the air is still at 0600, the rock strewn coastline is heaving long swells that carry the boat up mountains of sea water, then plunge it deep into troughs so that the horizon temporarily vanishes. Cape Ommenay lies 60 miles to the south and there is nothing to do but watch the horizon to keep sea sickness at bay.
The cat is not impressed. She passes the day glowering in the aft cabin.
Nine hours later, the water flattens as we enter Puffin Bay, anchoring back into a tiny cove boxed in by steep mountain sides. Not a puffin in sight, but we see one of these rare birds the day. The setting is majestic! We lounge in the cockpit, listening to vintage Leonard Cohen and feel spiritual.
At 0500 we rise to face another long day. Exiting the bay we are met by a wall of fog and long roller coaster swells. We marvel at how earlier sailors negotiated such waters before GPS and radar. The fog begins to thin as we round Cape Ommenay, its remaining wisps swirling around the lighthouse.
Sea conditions slowly improve as we cross Chatham Strait. Cape Decision has a bad reputation, but it lies peacefully as we round into Sumner Strait. After another 55 mile day, we anchor next to an active marble quarry to await the next day's journey down El Capitan Passage. The passage is a narrow, winding waterway of 20 miles that has been dredged in many places to give it a minimum depth of 7 feet at low water. Seven feet? Our boat draws almost 6 feet. We are not disappointed. The next day, under bright summer skies, we pass through lovely low rolling hills and wind through small rocky islands.
Sunset in Alaska
At lunch we stop at El Capitan Caves and climb the hundreds of steep stairs to the cave opening. Two Park rangers are there, with hardhats and lights, and offer us the 2 hour tour. Not knowing this opportunity would present itself and not being properly clothed, we decline. They give us the nature tour instead. We will puzzle for days as to how the U.S. Forest Service can provide this service in such a lightly traveled area.
Meurelle Islands Anchorage
The next day finds us in the Meurelle Islands, where we have to wind our way through a rocky gap to get into the islet studded anchorage. It's nerve racking, with only a few feet between the boat and jagged rocks. The next morning, DreamWeaver leads the way and we hit a large kelp bed which wraps around keel and rudder. To keep away from the rocks we drag the whole thing out to deeper water and spend 20 minutes backing up in circles to try and dislodge the mess. A coast Guard boat goes by, likely thinking - “there's something somewhat off with Canadians”.
