low tide

Imagine someone coming from the land, new to the Ocean, arrives to the sea edge, realizes it all seems to be draining off to somewhere, wonders: "Should i tell someone?"

5/30

Quiet nite, thank goodness. Slept really well. Headed out ~6:30am.

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.

5/29

Up before 6am, but of course it's already sunny. I tested the outboard. Yes i got it to start, with difficulty. You're supposed to start it with minimal throttle, plus choke. The way i managed to finally get it started was with no choke and max throttle. Headed out 6:45. The view of the mountains to the east, which had yesterday been obscured completely by clouds, is today magnificent! AND there's a humpback whale, not close but clearly visible, doing his blow, back arch, and tail display!

First i side-tripped down to the LeConte Glacier. From far off i could see what surely must be a line of ice chunks in the water. Folks have expressed concern over ice dangers, so, concentrating on that, i almost ran potentially aground on the shallows ahead of the ~bergs. But didnt. Due to the shallows i couldnt get very close, the glacioer itself hidden around the corner, but still it was cool seeing the ice ahead, and the snow-field mountains were awesome.

Then headed north. The trip to LeConte had been quite smooth, but now the same passage was quiterough, headed upwind against steep 3' waves. Mitey splashy on the windshield. Had to slow to 12, then 10, then finally 7 it was so rough.

Finally made it to another inlet, which got me off the rough. It had 2 branches. Took the south branch first toward the Patterson Glacier, but that 1 has retreated and wasnt visible. Then the north arm to the Baird Glacier. In fact i picked out a cove on the chart where i figured i'd wait out the wind, but found a small cruise ship already parked there. I didnt want to invade their privacy, nor did i want 'em looking down on mine, so i just sidled up toward the glacier and had a look. This one was low and back from the beach. Again, uncertain shallows kept me from getting real close.

So now where to park? I can get this small boat into some real tight places. I checked 1, but the shore was all solid rock, so likely the bottom of the inlet would be likewise. Anchors like mud and sand, something to dig into. So i continued to another long narrow slit on the chart, and to my great surprise found a USFS cabin in the woods at its terminus. I anchored close, and immediately went ashore in my inflatable to check it out.

Remember the 1 other time i've used the raft, i was quite dissatisfied with the oar arrangement. This time i removed the paddle ends from the oars, and just used those, 1 to a hand, each side of the raft, and that really worked well.

No one was there, but all was tidy. There were 2 woodstoves and even air mattresses. I was hoping for a trail to hike, but clearly the cabin is accessed by boat.

So back to my boat, i had to decide whether to push on, or stay here. It was such a nice warm sunny day, and the wave situation unknowable til out there, i decided to hang out here. Which i'm ashamed to say was kinda boring.

Cathy watches over me. No cell service here up the inlet, so we have a routine that everyday i must send a check-in msg via Gadget3. Today she complained i was late. I realized it's because i'm on Alaska time, 1 hr later.

Dinner: tangerines, boiled dry lentils with garlic, and a long-leftover pack of pears from an MRE.

The boat rocks slowly side-to-side on random wavelets, various stuff hidden somewhere CLUNKing with each roll. I search for the clunker, no luck.

- -

Almost to Skagway, my thots go to: what then?

The obvious answer: turn boat around, go back to Washington, indeed by different routes to see new country.

At least at this moment, i dont feel that excited about that plan.

Truly i am seeing some amazing sights. But that was not the purpose of the trip.

I wanted to again do something really challenging.

Now i feel like i've succeeded (when i get to Skagway). To turn around and do it 1 more time in the opposite direction doesnt (today) sound very interesting.

Further there is the dread of more engine trouble (especially in some remote location), and the 2 Capes, scary the first time, was i just lucky?

I do truly feel anxious to get back home and finally finish my house, that completion work that i've put off for years.

- - So i'm sitting in the boat in my little slot cove typing this, and i hear a nearby sound like rattling sheet metal. What the hell? Then again. I look all around, hear it a 3rd time and just catch the last sight of a whale passing/blowing/breathing outside the cove.

Z

Last nite i dreamed that everyone except a few had become zombies. They look ~normal, not the horror zombies of movies, but they arent fully human anymore. Those of us who are must behave like the zombies, avoid detection. Scary.

5/28

There are 2 ways into the cabin:

• The standard access is the back door, which is a normal home sliding glass door.
• Then there's a hatch on the fore deck.

I reported a long while back that i'd accidently learned DO NOT store stuff behind the 1 seat, because if it falls down and lands in the door track, i can be locked out.

Today i learned another way disaster could occur: There's a standard little lever mechanism on the inside to lock the door, like you'd see on any sliding glass door. If this should be inadvertently bumped when the door is open, then when it shuts, the door is now locked.

OK so i've been leaving the front hatch unlocked, just in case. Except in sketchy ports, i'll lock it when i leave. AND, after that native man told me about the wave breaking over his bow, i lock it when in heavy sea, just so it isnt popped open by some breaking wave.

In either case, i could accidently lock myself out while the hatch is purposely locked, or when i've forgotten to unlock the hatch after it was locked on purpose.

There's so much that can go wrong.

This morn, again my engine wouldnt start. It was firing, trying, but it wouldnt catch/keep-going. Finally i sprayed in starting fluid, and after some tries it did start. This makes me very nervous.

It was blue sky when i woke, but very soon it clouded low and in fact out on the water it was almost fog, land obscured. I turned on the nav lites, and navigated by the GPS display (which for 3 days has performed flawlessly, excellent).

Partway thru the Wrangell Narrows the ~fog lifted to low solid clouds, visibility much improved.

But it was 'clear' that this was no good day to go view glaciers. Because there'd be no 'view'.

So i stopped at Petersburg, filled up fuel and sought a berth at the marina.

I radioed the Harbormaster with my request. She assigned me slip#139 in North Harbor, then gave me a very long series of location directions involving compass directions, port, starboard, building and vessel descriptions, they were no doubt exceedingly precise, and meant nothing to me. Fumbling around, i saw no numbers anywhere, til in 1 empty slip i did notice a small number plate afixed, visible only if the slip was empty. With that bit of intelligence, it was easy to work my way in the right direction.

I docked perfectly.

Unlike Wrangell, Petersburg has a productive optimistic thriving look&feel. The Harbormaster office, perched with a commanding view of its zone of responsibility, is a model of organization, efficiency, and tech. They distribute Chamber of Commerce brochures and directed me to the nearest internet cafe'.

At the museum, i watched a 20-minute film about the town. It was settled by hard-working Norwegians, who, after some false robber-baron corporate starts & failures, finally vested ownership in the fishermen and cannery workers themselves, keeping the money local instead of flowing it off to millionaires in Seattle.

(So is that capitalism, socialism, communism, or just a good idea? Looking around, it seems to have worked out. Indeed, the Harbormaster told me she's 4th generation here.)

At the cooperatively funded city & US Forest Service Visitor Center, i ~fished for information about visiting glaciers in my boat. The nice lady had fielded the question before. She told me i shouldnt do that, its dangerous. The glacier might calve, falling on me or creating a tsunami wave. The ice mite close in and trap or crush the boat. I mite strike an iceberg. Etc. I should just sign up on a commercial tour run by folks who know what they're doing. "But", she added, "you're going to do it anyway, right?"

Well, we'll see.

5/27

Breakfast at the New York Cafe. Nice relaxed place without all the damn tourists.

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.

- -

MAPS

• Real time progress.
• Route plan.

ME

• email.

5/26

Silent nite. Sky was clear for a change, i got up a couple times to look for Northern Lites, but none.

Woke ~6am, prepped, headed out. Sea surface was glassy and i'm hoping to get past Cape Fox, the 2nd true ocean contact on this epic journey.

Initially it was smooth as it could possibly be, so i risked it and took a shortcut across Portland Inlet [obviously not Portland Oregon].

It got worse & worse.

Continuing on my intended course felt dangerous, so i headed more into the waves (only 3' hi, but 'boisterous'), which felt more stable. Finally in the lee of the land...

Cathy, following progress at the real time progress map advised i would reach Alaska any minute, then the cell coverage died.

So, Portland Inlet crossed; now the question was Cape Fox, also ocean-bordering.

Compared to Portland Inlet, the rounding of Cape Fox was nothing, well, little, and i was surely bound today for Ketchikan.

It continued easy, the only ~distress a stern-quarter swell that caused an alarming vibration. An adjustment to RPM and trim, and it went away.

I saw numerous ~splashes, which i think were from dolphins or porpoises of some type which i havent previously encountered.

And then woohoo WHALES, ~5 altogether, spouting, humping, tail displays. Finally.

I'd had some trouble with the Lowrance GPS thruout, but today, as yesterday, it was flawless. And now out of Canada, i was back on NOAA electronic charts. The paper charts are like 3' x 4', very hard to deal with while trying to steer, and i have to take my glasses off to put eyeballs right up to 'em to read the fine critical print; they're extremely detailed. [Last nite i planned my anchorage behind a single ROCK shown on the chart. I truly dont know how the surveyors & cartographers achieve that level of precision. Especially when much or all of the time, what theyre showing is under water.] Easier i think to balance a laptop on my lap, adjusting the magnification with 2 fingers on the mousepad.

Approaching Ketchikan.

Where to go? I call the googled Harbormaster, who tells me call on the radio. I much prefer private phone conversations, but harbormasters prefer radio it seems, so that everyone out there can hear what an idiot i am. So we go back&forth in public, he tells me go to "float 7" in "Thomas Basin". OK can you give me some landmarks to Thomas Basin? "Well where are you?" "Coming from south, i see a giant Cruise Ship." "Which 1?"

OMG as i come around the corner there isn't 1 giant cruise ship, but 3!

Anyway between his ~directions and my iPhone, i'm entering Thomas Basin, passing, as he advised, floats [their word for 'docks'] 5, 4, 3... then more but unlabeled.

Why do marinas never have good signage that can actually be read from boats? Finally i just dock somewhere in desperation, which turns out to be the right dock/float, which turns out to be labeled only with a small sign visible only from the land side.

It is a hot sunny day in Ketchikan, 3 cruise ships worth of tourists wandering, and me still in long johns, filthy from days out there, requiring bath, a proper toilet, & beer.

To my surprise i've been directed to a marina sans showers. I guess because i told em i didnt need power. That must be the code.

A young gentleman is tending his sailboat at the 'float', and helps me dock. Turns out he sailed the boat from Washington, WITHOUT A MOTOR. I think he said it took 9 weeks! With the common strong currents, he could actually lose progress in the course of a day. On final arrival here, he bot a motor.

Now he cooks at the New York Cafe, which he assured me is the "best restaurant in town", and conveniently located at the very head of the 'float' to which i'd currently committed.

Of course i had to try it. Enroute i talked to a young native man, cleaning someone else's boat, who advised me "Be sure to keep your boat closed up." Else MINK (yes i saw them slinking around later) get in and leave piles of... well you can imagine, in compartments.

At the restaurant, chowder, and the staff and i commiserated about the damn tourists. *i* look like a bum, so clearly i am not a tourist. Or something.

And it turns out that, upstairs, the restaurant building is a hotel. I need a shower. I need order, ~normalcy (tho i do really like my boating bed). They give me a deal, then an 'upgrade', either because i am very nice, or it's not yet The Season. I am all a-glow. The woman, escorting me upstairs to the room, "Are you able to handle the stairs?" "So far", i say. An incredible beautiful perfect corner hotel room, overlooking the harbor and indeed my boat, for ~US$130, includes tax. Map....

5/25

Anchor had me worried, but it held. Midway into nite the wind died totally and the bay was so quiet the sea reflected the clouds.

Early AM i snuck out, avoiding the now submerged nearby rock. To Prince Rupert for gas. The place is major industry: a coal terminal, container ships.

I think these floating apartment buildings are towed out to remote work sites, like for logging?

The fuel dock was the cleanest, most organized i've seen. The attendant appeared, turned the pump on, and that's all they do. I always must pump the gas myself, they thereby avoid customers claiming the attendant scratched something, or destroyed their beautiful hull with a gas dribble, or, worst, put diesel in their gas boat or visa versa. Or, maybe worse, created a major fuel spill into the harbor.

The system is crude. There's never any automatic shutoff on the nozzle. It goes til you let go, and the only way you know to let go is: 1)you hear it, the pitch increases; or 2)fuel squirts out the filler or vent, splashing into the ocean. There's got to be a better way.

I listen very carefully.

Then you go into a nearby booth and pay the hundreds of $C. I asked where i could get charts. The young woman was clearly confused. "You mean like 'pie charts'?"

I smiled, explained: Nautical Charts. She was clearly embarrassed but very nice, referred me to the gas attendant, who turned out to be very helpful.

I'd been to this town before, arriving by bus rather than boat. There was the museum, Safeway, the state liquor store, the fire station & casino/pub. I ~knew my way around.

Bot groceries, 2 more charts, beer.

And turned in recyclables. This was my first experience trying to claim a deposit. Before i'd always just deposited the aluminum cans in a handy recyclables bin, for some citizen to fish out.

Then i noticed Safeway pays back deposits. Inquiring, i was told to turn them in at Customer Service.

So i arrived with my sleezy used dirty black plastic bag of cans. Canadians are always polite, and it inspires politeness.

Turns out Safeway doesnt take beer cans. Because they dont sell beer. The liquor store does that. I was politely directed there.

At the liquor store at ~9am, i found the door locked. The sign said it opened at 9:30.

A passing clearly-what-in-US-we'd-call-a-homeless-man advised me it opened at 9:30.

"Thank you," i nodded respectfully.

"9:30", he repeated.

Here's something: you dont see any evidence of homelessness in Canada, that i've seen, no temp ragged tent shelters, no classic homeless trash piles, no begging, no signs at roadside, no services-for-the-homeless infrastructure, tho indeed you do see folks who seem... of that class? Why?

Back 9:30 at the liquor store, i went to the Customer Service desk. The nice polite administrator directed me to the recycling counter. There at the Recycling Counter, the sign ordered, politely as all signs in Canada: clear plastic bags only, no black plastic., "Please. Thank you for your cooperation." Etc. I'm not making fun, i think this attitude is nice.

I figured, as a naive foreigner, i mite get away with it.

No one was there, so after awhile (i am very patient), i rang the bell there which was provided for this situation.

The nice Customer Service woman that i'd seen earlier arrived promptly. Which i thot funny.

The black bag didnt bother her, but she said the cans must be placed on a "flat", 24 to a flat.

Seeing the adjacent stack of low cardboard box cut-offs, i pointed, asked: "flat?"

"Flat," she answered.

I fished in the bag, stacked the cans to the flat. And feeling like the well-dressed competent administrator shouldnt have to touch my drippy semi-crushed beer cans, i counted them for her.

She paid me 10cents a can.

I've always marveled at how effortlessly stores charge a deposit, you as a customer hardly know, unless you look closely at a reciept; yet what an effort it is to reclaim it.

Safeway of Prince Rupert, tho surely happy to sell you, say, 4, 'flats' of 24-each, say, bottled water, permit you the consumer to return only 12 per day, this surely to discourage those 'citizens' i referred to, who scavenge dumpsters and recycle bins for a living.

(I heard a story that Edward Abbey, admired environmental author, advocated a long time ago that people toss their beverage cans out the window along the highway, rather than properly depositing them in a landfill, because someday the metal will be so valuable that folks will actually wander along the road picking them up. Prescient. And sad, that folks live picking up cans & bottles.)

I apologized to the Customer Service lady that i didnt know the rules. "It's my 1st time."

Polite, she replied: "For your 1st time, you did very well."

I left, glowing with pride.

Cathy had advised to stock up on supplies, in case i ended shipwrecked or otherwise stranded. Good idea.

So i loaded my daypack with empty water bottles, and went searching for a source, in vain.

I considered hitting up PRFD, me wearing a WFD at the time, but since i was attempting recycling at Safeway, i asked there 1st.

"You mean bottled water?" the customer service guy asked.

"No i just want to fill my water bottles." With my black plastic bag of rattling cans, and my typical ragged work clothes, i was a homeless caricature.

He directed me, politely, mercifully, to the "washroom", where there was a "pipe". (We'd say 'sink' or 'faucet'.)

The first time i'd asked directions to such a facility in Canada, i pre-wondered what they call them there. "Where's the ... 'restroom'?"

The local looked confused: "You mean 'Washroom'?"

- -

Gassed, groceried, charted, beer'd, watered, & recycled. I am off.

I follow 2 pro fishing boats thru the narrow winding passage out to open water, 6mph. I value their local knowledge, cuz this is complicated. It was for a zone for which i'd been inadvertently chartless. I considered doing it anyway, off my iPhone or something, but for 20C$ this chart was worth it.

At 1 point they finally veered off to 1 channel, while i was destined to go the other option.

Approaching again, the 'Big Water', there were waves, and, always, confusion. Missing buoys. Where am i? For the 1st time i have problems with the windshield fogging up. And it's not like a car where u just reach forward with a rag and wipe it; i have to stand in the aisle, ahead of the steering wheel, reaching back with 1 hand to steer behind me, reaching ahead to wipe the glass, meanwhile bounced around by the waves, and banging head to cast-iron windshield wiper motors.

Thank goodness the Lowrance GPS worked flawlessly.

Very luckily, uncertain of the course, i was going slow. The depth sounder showed unexpected decreasing depths. It was getting really shallow. Luckily i realized i'd misidentified 1 distant buoy as another. I was headed into the shoals, another impending grounding avoided.

Out now in the open, it really was rougher than i cared to deal with, and typicly as day progresses, it gets worse thru the afternoon.

So i looked ahead for an anchorage, found a couple, went there. Threw 2 anchors just cuz i can, set them well with pull from the engine. It's surely the best anchoring job i've done this trip.

All alone. Sunny. Warm inside the cabin. Windy cold outside.

I called ahead to US Customs re the impending border crossing. The nice woman took all my info, expressed incredultiy that i'd come all the way alone in a 22' boat, told me be careful across the Dixon Entrance.

So i'm typing this to you. A 1st Nations man stops by in his small open fish boat. "It was Big out there," he advises. "A wave broke over my bow."

"But you are still alive."

He asked about my fishing luck, but i don't fish. "I dont work hard like you," i said.

He noted the waves are getting bigger, even here in this protected place, which indeed i'd noticed. He advised me to move to a very nearby place, which i'd indeed considered, better protected from the wind but it was so deep there for the anchor.

"We local people," he said, "we know."

But evening, the wind died completely as it often does. Quiet nite.

Dwight Yoakam ~ "North To Alaska"

videos added to 5/19, 5/17

...And commenters: you may want to include your name if you want me to know who you are. Sometimes it shows me a name, sometimes it shows a pseudonym which i may not recognize, and sometimes it just says unknown.

- -

MAPS

• Real time progress.
• Route plan.

ME

• email.

5/24

The mechanic arrived, truly just "fiddled" with some things, tried to blame it on bad gas, switched me over to a 5-gal container he brought, and it started. He said i should have my fuel tank pumped out (80gal tank, half full), "it doesnt smell right". But me, optimist, said maybe it's ok now. We switched back to my tank & it was fine.

Then he checked the outboard. He pulled a plug to drain fuel from the carb, pulled on it, and it started.

No, he didnt understand why either worked, but i said "it's a miracle, dont argue with miracles."

I said goodbyes to the marina staff and Mr. Moore, and i was away.

Big rolling waves coming in from the harbor entrance. (Indeed last nite, even at the dock, i was getting tossed around by the wind waves.) Ahead i can see whitewater. But heck all i need to do is get to Prince Rupert, which is right around the corner.

But the waves are big. Turns out there's a gale blowing. Turn around, back to the harbor.

But i really dont want or need to stay in marina. So i anchor out, plan the next days on the computer, and next thing i know i'm headed toward the side of a docked ship.

Well that anchor didnt hold. (It was rocky.) Maybe i should just go back to the marina.

But i check it out and it's full, maybe cuz of the gale, except for the spot i'd just vacated, which, the nice security guy told me, i shouldnt be in cuz that part was for 40'+ boats.

Rather than further mess with his system, i found another anchor spot, and there now i sit, the anchor holding despite gusts, how can it be sunny & grey, same time?

5/23

Tried a lot of ideas to fix the boat, none worked. And it was cold/rainy.

I was confused about how to access the fuel tank piping. Luckily the nice security guy came by on his daily morning patrol and told me if was a trivial matter of 4 screws and the whole floor comes off.

Remember that i couldnt blow thru the fuel line, hence the experts agreed it must be blocked. So i took all the various fuel line segments apart, only to discover that there's a backflow valve built into the line, which was why blowing against it didnt work. I took the pickup line and its screen out of the tank and it looked great.

So maybe its the mechanical fuel pump? With fear and trepidation, i actually took it apart. Unfortunately, it looks fine inside. Damn. So i put it back together, fearing i'd only made things worse.

Then i put everything all back together and tried pouring fuel directly into the carb. This had worked (briefly) on the day it died; it would fire but then quit when the manually-added fuel ran out. Today it wouldnt even fire.

I'm imagining renting the slip for a month, trying to sell this non-running boat, then take the ferry or bus back to Washington. End of adventure.

But i tried another mechanic in Prince Rupert. He suggested some things i could try; i'd already tried them. To my great surprise he promised to come out (to me) tomorrow!

5/22

So AM, after delaying as seemed reasonable, i opened up the engine compartment and dove in, intent to diagnose & repair.

Finding it oily, dirty, & uncertain, i immediately withdrew & called 2 mechanics. Left msgs with both.

1 called back, he was really strange, we werent communicating, and he was booked for the next 3wks.

It was sinking in that i'd have to do this myself.

I am faced with 3 large issues:

• Main engine doesnt start, due to some fuel supply problem.
• Outboard doesnt start, for no apparent reason whatsoever.
• A new 1: i was amazed with this boat that it didnt have water in bilge. It was amazaing dry. At first. OK, out there in the sea, one can expect to accumulate some water. But now i was bilge-pumping-out 2x a day, and all i'm doing is sitting here. I suspect all the miles have opened some seams in/around the out-drive. This isnt a critical problem, but will need attention, and can only be done if it's hauled out. (Duncan had advised that at my halfway point, i get the outdrive oil changed, also requiring haul-out, so these go together. It was just occurring early.)

With regard to the 1st & biggest issue, 2 possibilities were the gas/water-separator filter was bad, and that the gas tank, despite gage claiming 1/2-full, was in fact empty. So i went next-door to Moore's to buy a siphon hose (to move gas from my outboard tank to main) and an oil filter wrench (to change the filter). Ken again was wonderful: he loaned me both! But he warned me i must return both or he'd come looking for me.

"I'll be better off if you just shot me," i admitted.

"OK, but how to dispose the body?"

I motioned to The Sea, only a few steps away.

So i transferred some gas. Since the outboard tank is only ~2.5gal, this required walks uphill to the minimart gas station. The lady who works there is a character, we get along. Today she was training a new employee. I handed the newbee my credit card for gas, the regular woman told her "he's only filling a jerry can."

"You know me so well," i said.

She smiled, "It's like you've been here a long time."

Meanwhile amongst all this i am pulling on my outboard cord to no avail. I'd meant this morn to research outboard motor starting solutions on the internet. My internet is normally via Verizon on my cell phone, but in Canada it's thru other providers who must have some reciprocal deal with Verizon, and it really works good, except i'm limited to 1/2 GB per day, which sounds like plenty, but apparently it's not, since more often than not, late in the day, i get a txt telling me my 1/2gb is gone. Then it gets slower, but it's not just slower, it practically stops.

That happened to me yesterday in midst of my engine trouble research, so i had a list of things i needed to look up for today. First thing this morn I logged-on, read a msg from Duncan, and immediately received a txt telling me i'd used my 1/2gig.

And it wasn't lying about the consequences: the internet stopped.

Cathy, AI, hearing of my dilemma, immediately researched outboard starting issues and sent me truly voluminous information via txtmsg, which was not limited.

Cathy is amazing!

The only suggestion, tho, that seemed mite apply was that the problem with the outboard mite be a faulty kill-switch. When running the outboard, you're supposed to attach a special cord to your own body. If you fall out of your boat, the cord pulls out a safety-thingie on the motor and kills the engine. But if it's faulty, the engine is pre-killed & won't start.

So, desperate, i snipped the kill-wires. I actually thot this would work. It didnt. So i wired them into eachother, bypassing the switch. This also didnt work.

Back to the main engine, Duncan had suggested i try disconnecting the fuel line that comes from the fuel tank and blowing into it. So, no one watching, that's what i did. I could not blow thru it. He tells me this means it's clogged, probably inside the tank. Ken agrees. Ken says unbolt the pipe from the tank, bring it over, he'll blow shit out of it with compressed air. Duncan says if i do that it'll just get clogged again, so get a vacuum thing made for changing oil & suck the shit (and fuel) outa the tank.

I suggest to Ken that my boat issues, this and the leaky outdrive, is a really interesting problem that he should take on. I feel like he almost wants to say yes, but finally, he is really busy and he cant get competent help, all the good ones have gone off to the Coal & Container Ship & other terminals in Prince Rupert. His remaining employees are "useless".


So I paid for another 2 nites here in the marina, bussed to town for dinner cuz i felt need for a break; and i'll deal with it tomorrow.

5/21

Cathy the AI suspects i am simply outa gas, despite assurances of the gage. She could be right, and it'll cost nothing to find that out, relative to mechanic consultation.

So i have a good plan: using the outboard, putt over to the nearby gas dock, fill up. Maybe miraculously it'll start?

But the outboard doesnt start.

I pull & pull on the cord till skin coming off finger. No joy.

Meanwhile all attempts to start the main engine has depleted the batteries. I need to recharge, so i go over to the thankfully next-door marine supply/repair store for a 20/30amp adapter.

The simple device [you could in fact accomplish precisely the same task with 3 pieces of 12ga copper wire and some tape, except it would be so mickey mouse, and illegal] is over US$100! But whadya gonna do?

So i take the precious gem over to the marina panel next to my boat, plug it in. Sparks fly!

Of course i jerk it out, try another outlet, and it works, thank god, no electrocution today.

I dutifully report to the Marina that 1 of the connections in their panel is bad.

The security guy arrives soon, removes my device from its good place. "Don't plug it into the bad 1," i warn, "it'll fry my extremely expensive adapter."

He nonchalantly plugs it into the dangerous connection. Now it works fine.

I pull the outboard start cord another hundred times.

Finally i don't know what else to do. I go over to the Moore's Marine office. The clerk is there at her desk. I say: "My boat won't start. What should i do?"

I expected her to take this as a request for marine repair services. Instead she looks back in silent shock.

"You do marine repair here, right?" i ask. The boatyard outside the door is full of big fishing boats propped on dry-land supports, busy workmen.

"Well yes & no," she answers.

Eventually she refers me to Ken, "the Boss". He's a very busy man, which i acknowledge, and he doesnt have time for my job. But he stops what he's doing, gives me the names of other mechanics who might do the work, and then patiently explains in detail what i mite do to fix it myself.

Everybody is so good to me.

And then there's the good woman in the marina office. She explains that if i'll be here more than 5 days, it's cheaper to pay for a whole month.

Sitting a whole month in this perpetual grey, cold, industrially miserable scene, with the world's longest trains going close by day & nite, the clanging of the crossing, waves of passing boats, and 1 of those supersized heavy-equipment jackhammers going all day long, every day, on a road project, despite its dingy charm, doesnt appeal to me. (Also i don't get her math. 6 days, paid by the day, will cost 160C$, but she wants to charge me >300$C for a month.)

I pull on the outboard cord a few more pointless times.

- -

The 1 thing i feared most for this trip was main engine failure. And now that it's happened, i seriously consider reconsidering. The 6hp outboard truly was unsatisfactory as a propulsion source... even when it was running; and now it's not.

It's a wilderness out there, tho' it's not like, if engine quit mid-nowhere, i'd end up lost/marooned. I have communications via SpotX, and to a lesser extent cell phone & marine radio. Someone would know of me, & find me.

But it's not like some boat just hooks up & tows you in. I mean: is that what happens on land, some stranger hooks up a rope & tows your broken car home? Marine towing is most especially fraught. Boating is hard anyway. Towing: there is tremendous strain on deck hardware. So there are Pros that do such, and charge a fortune. Like most things, it all comes down to $.

Can't even do the blog properly. Verizon works via local providers up here, but unlike home, i am limited to half a gigbit or gigbyte, whatever, a day, which sounds like a lot, but it just poof is gone everyday, even tho i compress photos, etc. And, unlike home, when it's used up, it almost just stops. I think there's so much going on in the background on phone+computer, it sucks up all the bandwidth and we dont even realize it's happening.

Cathy, always concerned with safety, asks if there's some flag i can post if i am in distress, and indeed there is...

When i was a child, i think French was the most-spoken language in the developed world, not english like now. So a lot of marine phrasing derived from French. The term "MayDay", which means emergency, actually is French "m'aide'": "Help Me." The flag above displays morse code, dot-dash, for the letter "A", again French for Aide. [So why not just show an 'A'; or 'H' for Help? I dont know.]

In Fiji, Peace Corps, during Orientation we all attended a water~survival course, because: Fiji being a bunch of islands, we'd each be traveling by boats of questionable quality. It was instructed by a serious Fijian guy who worked for resorts doing boating & dives with tourists. So he showed us the distress flag. Someone asked what the dot-dash meant. Pointing to each character, he said: "It means: I'm - Fucked."

How fucked am i, or will be?

5/20

When i was 12, a Boy Scout, we the more senior members of the troop patio-boated for 3 full days i think on vast Lake Powell, the tragicly-former Colorado River in Arizona. We'd sleep ashore on huge solid rocks, and from the motion of the boat all day: you could feel the rock move.

Disconcerting maybe, but embracing it, a wonderful feeling now, often, even on land, bobbing, floating, just a little bit unstable, unknowing, unsound.

"Unwept, unhonored, unsung." - Sir Walter Scott

Un.

Good name for a boat.

Morn, consulting the manual, me, unmechanical, removed and inspected the carburetor and fuel pump filters. They looked ok, well, to ~me. Darn. Of course i tried starting it again, no miracle.

Today, Canadian holiday, Port Edward only a mini-mart and major commercial fishery, the dock shoreline is *20* amp, my new-from-Ganges power line *30*, what to do but *stare* (which i was prepared to do).

Cathy texting, like an AI, suggests: take a "bus to somewhere interesting".

brilliant! i love how she watches over me.

and: this being not USA, there is a beautiful modern bus that comes by to this very remote small town in a vast wilderness every 2hrs, even on holiday, to transport me, a mere itinerant, and others, to the cultural/economic hub of the region, for 3$C.

First-Nations man waits at the bus stop. He's worked the night shift to 2am on a container ship. [First of course i imagine him at sea, but then i realize he's working on the ship in port.] He hates working nites, but is anxious for the call he'll get to maybe do it again this nite, holiday pay, $65/hr. "You must be rich," i marvel. "No", he replies, "i have a house." He motions in a direction up the hill. Impatient for the bus. He wants a cold beer

I upload accumulated blogs&accompanying-fotos in a Starbux/Safeway.


Then some groceries. I find the shopping carts all locked together. I've never seen this before. A local shopper explains you insert a quarter, you get a cart. It's to discouraging folks from walking off with the carts, spreading them all over town. (But, he adds: there are slugs, quarter-imitations, always a way around.)

Checking out, motioning to the receipt, i ask the clerk: did i get my quarter back? Answer: you get it back when you re-lock-in the cart! Back where i got it. THIS IS BRILLIANT! Not only dont folks push-off with 'em, they actually return them to where they got em, 'stead o leaving em randomly out in the parking lot to seek/destroy cars and for an employee dedicated just to collecting carts. For a quarter, refunded: it encourages responsibility.

5/19: Awoke, thankful for the quiet nite, the sound sleep, and for Great Empty, yet not impaled upon low-tide shore.

I love to explore old historic stuff, and there ashore some old industrial structure. It would be the first try of the raft i'd bot.

Planning the trip, I knew of course i'd need a way to get to shore when anchored, either to go to town for groceries or whatever when not docked (docking costs $$ unless you come & go quick), or to explore when anchored out in wilderness. Normal cruisers do it with an inflatable 3+-person "dinghy", AKA "tender", with outboard.

If your boat is 40' long with a crane, this is most definitely the ideal alternative.

But, dude, get real. No way to store a tender half the length of my entire boat. Nor can i tow it (as many do) when i'm going 20mph (my economical cruising speed, not top speed). [My only claim to superiority over just about every other cruiser out there is i am fast: almost 2x faster than the typical cruising trawler, almost 3x a sailboat, even when it's under power; ok, i'm exaggerating, but only a little. In any case: neener neener.]

Back when i sailed Baja, i took 2 cheap little inflatables like you'd play in your pool with, 1 a "3-man" (yeah, right, like a 3-person backpacking tent), 1 a 2-man. And they were absolutely entirely adequate, hauling 40-litre fuel containers and, well, ~adequate quantities of cerveza; indeed i used 1 of them on my East Coast trip as well, til i shredded the bottom [really: shredded] dragging thru ~coral at St.Augustine, Florida.

[And once in Baja, i rafted ashore on a too-windy day. For the return, the first big wave dumped me back to the beach and i knew i was in trouble. So i swam it back to the boat thru the surf. Holding onto it, what could go wrong? except leg cramps.]

But for this trip, did i want to be seen in the accompany of a pool toy? I think not.

I settled on the Sea Eagle, a 1-person inflatable intended for serious backcountry fisherfolk, rugged, well-made, respectable (in a fisherfolk sort of way), and, i hoped, adequately practical.

A key criteria: where can it be stored, without having to inflate/deflate every use?

• Bow? That would block my view (as of ubiquitous floating logs, whales, kayakers, random supertankers).
• Hanging astern of the stern? I already have stuff hanging off stern: outboard, outboard fuel tank.
• OK, inside the stern, i.e. what sail-ers call the cockpit? (I'm not sure what powerboaters call it. It's where they do their fishing.) Don't even go there! My essential battery-selector switch is concealed under a large hinged full-boat-width panel spanning the stern. But before you can open that to get to the essential switch, you must open the hinged engine compartment cover which then occupies the entire cockpit, thereby making fishing and anything else, like moving, impossible. So: this really pisses me off, every time: to get started in the morning: i must 1)clear everything normally stored there (2 anchors, 2 Home Depot buckets of rode, the cooler holding perishable food as it perishes, the occasional case of beer, Groover) into the cabin, and flip the red fenders to hang over the side; 2)raise the engine cover; 3)raise the stern panel; 4)activate the battery switch; 5)reverse steps 3, 2, and 1. Now suggest adding 1 more complication, a 7' long, 32-pound raft, which must be tied down to prevent it blowing away, perched atop that entire mess?
• So i'd put it on the roof. But whatever chosen must not be too heavy (i'd have to lift it up there, and i'm an old man; also i must not capsize) or too long.

Hence: Sea Eagle, manufactured in America since the 1960s.

I was very disappointed.

OK, i figured it'd barely fit me, it would be awkward getting in/out of the raft from the boat, etc. I was prepared for that.

But this i couldnt understand: they put the row lock mounts down off the top of the raft, on the ~sides, such that: every single stroke, in order to get the oars out of the water to move them ahead for another power stroke, they scrape along the top of the raft, most importantly bumping into 2 extremely hi-quality American-made carrying handles!

Not only did this make it extremely difficult to get anywhere, but, had anyone been watching, i would'v looked like a complete idiot! And i don't want anyone to know. That i'm a complete idiot.

Finally ashore: it was cool.

Of course i truly wanted to look inside. But the British Columbian forest that has grown up around this symbol of the transience of humanity is absolutely impenetrable.

So this human transient was off again for another day.

The sky was warm sun blue, the sea glassy thru the narrow passage. Ribbon waterfalls.

But emerging to a large bay where many channels came together, suddenly there were cruisers everywhere.

I'd seen very few out on the water, really (tho many in marinas). I realized that there are many routes to Alaska, but here, in this bay, they all converge to 1 last channel to the substantial town of Prince Rupert, so here had all the Cruisers converged, and now, as i'd heard, they'd perfectly timed it to ride the in-flowing tide upstream, then the out-flowing tide downstream, and i'd stumbled along and arrived at the very right time.

I out-ran them all.

- -

The headwind developed, it made me feel i was racing to Prince Rupert, the hull Dopler-staccatoed across low but frequent waves. I'd been out a long time; i anticipated the pleasures of civilization: which is to say: Internet. I had a blog to get out. (And so too, necessarily: coffee. Good coffee.) I navigated among the islands, rocks, and buoys, and there finally in the distance were the container cranes and container ships of the Port of Prince Rupert.

I wanted to find a marina, the easy life, access to the comforts, so i stopped out on the water, checked the internet, phoned ahead, arranged a slip. I was really looking forward to this.

And then the engine would not re-start.

- -

no, really, it would not start.

My first thot was i'll have to call a tow. (i get weird out there, the beauty, & motor drone that goes on & on. I'll come in for gas, the nice folks'll ask me friendly simple questions, and i feel... disoriented. Disconnected. I understand what they're saying, but no idea how to respond.)

[Sorta like when i was programming. Someone from the ~real world would arrive at my cubicle, say something intended to me, and it quite literally felt like i was, unexpectedly, slowly, indeed reluctantly, surfacing from some deep depth of abstract intellect. Disoriented.]

Then i remembered duh, this is precisely what i have the outboard for.

So i headed to the marina on outboard.

It was taking forever. Further, the outboard runs on its own little 2-gallon tank. Would i have enuf fuel to get there? Because it's still a long way.

So i made a decision and bailed to an alternate, ~close, Porpoise Harbor.

The tide was against me. I made 2mph.

I found a spot at the dock, don't know legal or not, but it's sunday, no one around, and tomorrow's holiday as well.

Halfway to Skagway, eh?