Tho it was a sunny day, and as always it was smooth to start, making good time. I wanted to take some glacier side-trips on my way to Juneau, but i was concerned about gas, as i'd already made 2 side trips yesterday. I'd decide at the turnoff.
Of course it got ruffer, to the point i had to slow all the way down to 7mph from my normal 17-18mph cruise. In rough water, going slow means you dont hit the waves so hard, and it's easier to maintain control going over them. Finally i felt it was just too rough. Coming up was a cove the guide book described as a common stop for cruisers, with a public dock. Wow, they mite even have gas. So i diverted into the bay, then into the peaceful little cove.
A float, but no dock. Certainly no services. A fish boat was parked, and back in the trees i could see a maintained home.
Cathy'd already checked the place out: Wikipedia reported: population: 1.
Well, nothing wrong with that, i could anchor in the cove overnite, try again tomoro. But Cathy, not knowing the wave conditions, lent words of encouragement: "you'll be in Juneau by noon."
Inspired, i tried again. Within the Bay of course it was calm and i could make full speed, but once back out on the big water, again i was back to 8mph. Again too rough for reason (cuz i'm in no hurry, right?), i diverted into the next bay, picking out a target coastal indent for an overnite anchor.
But that marginal anchorage mite have problems of its own in case of a wind direction change, and again i was struck by how calmer it got the instant i was out of the main channel. Maybe i could just duck in and out of these ~bays? It mite be nasty only rounding the points?
So once again i headed back out. Calm within the bay, but i was ready to get blasted once back out there. Instead: the wind had died, or something, the channel flat.
Worried about gas, i skipped the glacier tours (i'll catch 'em on the way back). It was cruise-speed-ahead all the way to Juneau.
I saw 2 icebergs, dolphins, & 2 groups of humpbacks, 1 of them briefly but quite close. White rugged mountain ranges were all around, including 1 with a 'hanging' glacier.
Finally i was in the last ~narrow channel to Juneau. Coming toward me was a cruise ship, but there was plenty room for both of us, no problem. And then its wake...
A couple days ago, i was catching up to a ~40' long cruising trawler. As i'v bragged. I am faster than they are. It was a long way off, but for whatever the reason it was leaving a weird wake, 3 ~large close-to-eachother waves. I was coming from behind, so me & the wake was going the same direction, and i didnt anticipate any trouble, i figured i'd just plow on over em, no problem. At this fortuitous moment i also chose to check a txtmsg.
As i crossed the wake, my boat was thrown sideways from the 1st crest into a trough, and everything on 1 side of my boat was thrown to the other.
I must be more careful.
So, with the approaching Cruise Ship wake, i was: i slowed way down, and pointed into the waves. What occurred was beyond anything i could've imagined.
Of course the bow properly rose to the 1st wave, then dropped to the trough between the 1st & 2nd waves.
With the bow so depressed, the 2nd wave broke over the foredeck, drowning my windshield! Wow. (And, bursting thru around the edge of my front hatch, which was designed for all short of submersion, it soaked my v-berth bedding and puddled the cabin floor.)
But, having remained afloat, the more immediate issue was gas. Now that i was metering in 64ths, it was down to maybe 3 of them. In the distance i could see the Cruise Ships of Juneau. Encouraging, but would i reach them?
I did. There remained *5* mega-Cruise Ships there, 4 at the piers, 1 anchored out. But where amongst them was the Fuel Dock?
I must not waste precious remaining fuel doing my usual search. I googled, then phoned the single marine fuel provider. Where are you?
What followed was great fun. Of course her 1st question was: well, where are you? She talked me in like an air-, i mean boat-traffic controller. "Turn left heading 340 degrees magnetic, maintain altitude 00-thousand feet." Finally she told me to head toward the guy on the dock waving the American Flag. God Bless Him.
"Just a suggestion," i suggested: "Maybe a big sign: FUEL?"
"I'm working on that," she promised.
As i filled, relating to the attendant how i was almost sunk by a cruise ship, i didnt pay the exquisitely close attention the tank-filling task requires, and overfill-gushed into the harbor.
He was unconcerned, "happens all the time", treated the spreading slick with spray-bottle detergent.
There's gotta be a better way.
Via radio the HarborMaster directed me to an obscure corner space in the marina, where i performed [Trigger Warning: BS] about the most masterful boat-parking job of all time. (I'm getting good at this.)
If you're like me, the very first thing you want to do when you arrive in a new, strange, exotic, foreign port after a long exhausting day of epic struggle to survive at sea is: pee.
Of course i have often been known to perform this act within the pseudo-privacy of my own albeit uncurtained boat, but this usually at nite, or in so ridiculously remote a wilderness cove that for all i know i AM the very last non-zombie human on planet earth. Finally. [My good friends: i will miss you. But you'll be zombies.]
But here it is Daylite, and a woman is fishing nearby on the dock [ha, a little away, a fishing pole lying abandoned, its cast line hung up in some sailboat stern's solar panel, now i understand why no fishing in marinas], her 3 very young children [signs ubiquitous in marinas: "Kids Don't Float"], 1 now intent untying my dock lines, wandering semi-supervised: NOT the time, not the place.
So i mount the steep variable-slope ramp to land. [Helpfully, to woman dragging luggage up the ramp: "It's easier at high tide."] Predictably, the restroom [Canadian translation: "washroom". With symbolic signs, how can we know what things are called in, like, verbal?] is locked up, for guests only.
Well, i am a guest, but i havent registered in at The Office yet.
A helpful (not!) sign points left, "Harbor Office". Looking left, there is nothing looking like a harbor office, far as the eye can see, and that's quite a ways.
Desperate, i walk, and do finally, thankfully, reach same.
The woman is nice, asks me my first, last names, which she types to the computer. "You're not in here," she reports, confused.
"I've never been here," i reply.
"well why didnt you tell me?" she (doesnt) ask.
"because you didnt ask!" i (dont) reply.
So she presents a form, upon which, as is my custom, i complete only the blanks they actually need, not all the other intrusive irrelevant ones. Usually that suffices.
Unusually, she actually looks at it. "DOB?"
"Why?" I'm being nice, really.
"Because it's on there." And she's being nice too.
I cross out the term "DOB". "There, it's not on there anymore."
She clearly isnt satisfied.
Not seeking to Fail to Change The World today. I write a DOB, tho not mine.
Now she is satisfied. She thinks we are done.
But i still need that key to the rest/washroom. Got it. Mission (soon) Accomplished.
1 comment:
I am loving this...i say keep going north!!! Couldnt get the last few days comment box to post, im not ignoring you. Just assume i said incredibly insightful and helpful things!
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