I had yet to pay the Harbormaster for the nite docked (the office was all way over to other side of town), so i called. It was Sunday. The guy said he'd run right over & meet me, it was a holiday, he had nothing to do. While i stood at the head of the dock waiting for him, tourists stopped and asked me questions and directions. The harbor guy found this really funny. "Already a tour guide."
I mentioned that Float 7 wasnt labeled. He knew that already, but it wasnt a big priority because he said usually it's full of boats that don't leave, even "rafted" which means boats tie to boat because there isnt space at the dock. It's a popular spot because the water coming out of the creek right there makes it fresh on top, so barnacles dont accumulate on hulls.
Below, mink hurried around the tide-exposed rocks. A young man cleaning someone else's boat showed me why i must keep my boat closed up: in an open compartment, a pile of mink crap. Ick.
11 am, time to get going. The day is uncomfortably warm! I say by to the folks. Then, hopefully no one watching but tourists, i get all twisted around with the last dock line; i'd considered the wind, but not the (opposite) current coming out of the creek. But i feel competent enough now that when i screw up i dont worry about it. Like in Fiji: i just know i'll be embarrassed, over & over.
Emerging from the marina, now there are *4* giant cruise ships tied up, and 1 more anchored out.
I needed fuel, so i'd asked Harbormaster for directions. But it's not like on land, ~"go 2 blocks up 1st Street, turn left." Directions given are typically over-elaborated, and refer to other landmarks that i also don't know. I stopped at 2 other docks along the way asking further advice. Finally arriving: the fuel dock was right along the main waterway, exposed to the considerable north wind that had come up. I made 3 passes before i managed to get tied up. It being holiday, no one was there. Another boat, one of those tough looking little aluminum Alaskan 'sport' fish boats that you know are run by someone taking his fishing very seriously, also bumped off the dock on his first attempt in, and i helped him on the 2nd, so i didnt feel so bad.
It was lucky he had come by. No attendant on duty, he showed me that hidden out back was a fancy machine you could run the credit card thru & select a pump#. OK, i did that, put the nozzle into my tank, but couldnt get anything to come out. Checking the pump for a button or handle to turn it on, i couldnt find anything. Again he came to the rescue, showing there was indeed a small black unlabeled nondescript button. So i turned that on, tried again, still no fuel. Correctly, as it turned out, deducing that the fancy credit card machine had timed out, i ran thru it again, and finally, fueled.
Meanwhile the helpful Alaska guy was done and gone, and a small dog was there acting like it wanted to jump aboard my boat. He'd had a same-color dog on his craft, plus 2 kids, how could the 3 of them possibly forgotten their dog?! Or maybe it was just some dog that always hung around? There was nothing i could do. Surely once they discovered it missing, they'd know where to look.
Finally away, the wind wasnt so bad that i couldnt go fast, and i made good time. Indeed conditions got better instead of the usual worse. So good that as i got closer to Wrangell, i suggested to Cathy, who was following my progress on the real-time map, that i mite just continue to Petersburg; i mean, it stays lite til like 10pm, right?
Ahead, a serious range of glacier peaks revealed.
Luckily her always good sense prevailed, because suddenly where a major side channel entered my way, the wave size much increased, became chaotic, and i had to decrease speed by half.
The water color had changed to muddy tan, the outwash from some glacier.
Miles ahead, i could see calm water. It's so weird how surface conditions change so sudden, the confluence of wind, current, depth, ... and the factors interact with eachother, for example wind blowing against a current direction greatly increases wave height.
So this time ahead i could see calm, but the opposite occurs too: Boating thru a calm area, you can look far ahead and see what quite literally looks like a low WALL of water. Disconcerting. The 'wall' is the waves. 3' waves mean 1.5' above the current water level, 1.5' below; so viewed from the side, a 1.5' ~wall.
(If the 'wall' is white: on my, don't even go there.)
So i got pushed around for awhile by the stern-quarter waves, but then it calmed and i sped on to Wrangell.
Maybe cuz o the song, i figured Wrangell'd be a cool rugged frontiersy place, and indeed i'll bet it is, but not in the way expected. Arriving after 5 on Memorial Day, investigating the main street thru the old town, i found the place empty, poor, and (fishing) industrial. There were 3 open bars, 3 open liquor stores, a little burger joint, and all else was closed or out of biz.
Finally at the far end, the Stikine Inn, and a tastey dinner.
It was a silent nite. Tired from the daily struggle to survive, I always turn in before dark. Waking once, the sky was quite lite. I figured it was still evening, not yet dark; but no, it was 2:48 am, dawn already approaching. Sun peeked over the mountain at 5:15.
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MAPS
ME
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