Hartley Bay, BC to Ketchikan, AK

May 28 (Day 31)

We woke up around 7:30 (early by our standards) to allow MV Christina Rose to leave.

With this extra time, Dave explored the town while I cleaned some. He reported everything was closed, but people were friendly. He relayed a conversation with a man working at the wharf:

“We’ll be leaving the marina soon. How much do we owe for moorage?”

“No charge. It’s a public wharf.”

“Oh, but we’ve been using shore power for 24 hours straight.”

“Great. It’s still free.”

“Really?”

“Yup. If you really want to give back, you’re welcome to take the whole village out to breakfast.”

“Oh. Is there even a café here?”

“No.” Laugh.

Hartley Bay is something special. When the passenger ferry “The Queen of the North” sunk in 2006, Gitga’at fisherman and recreational boaters were first on the scene, saving all 99 survivors. Residents set up a rescue center in their community hall. With the approximately 58,000 gallons of fuel and 6,100 of oil dumped by this sinking, this environmental disaster wreaked havoc on North BC’s ecosystem. For this reason, the Gitga’at have been active in the fight against the Enbridge Pipeline, understanding the devastation a tanker spill would unleash. They are also currently fighting for cleaner energy options for their community. As stewards of the approximately 7,500 square kilometers of land and water surrounding their community, they fight fervently to protect them.

Hartley Bay

Hartley Bay School (sorry the pics are so dark)

Community Hall

Hartley Bay

Entering Coghlan again

   

Yesterday’s wind and rain let up, and there was sunshine! After looking at a few weather sources online, we decided it was a good time to get going again. We thought we’d take the shortcut through Coghlan Anchorage, where we stayed previously, but it did not turn out to be a shortcut after all. 

I renamed Coghlan “@!%# Passage.” The wind funneled through it as it had two nights ago, so we spent an hour or so tacking and trimming sails in many surprising directions. And we swear, the rain clouds appeared only over this passage.  

We were relieved when we made it to Wright Sound—the wind was still strong, but at least it was consistent. We decided to take the longer route north through Principe Channel rather than Granville Channel because we read Granville was too narrow to sail and crowded with commercial traffic. Later, while sailing through Squally Channel, we saw another boat we recognized from Seattle approaching from the south: the 935’ long Westerdam Cruise Ship. Westerdam turned up Lewis Passage and into Granville Channel. We overheard them on the Vehicle Traffic Services [VTS] station, coordinating with a tugboat about squeezing by its barges in one of Granville’s narrowest spots. We’re glad we avoided that!

The winds calmed in Otter Channel—surprising, as we thought they’d get stronger towards the ocean—so we unreefed the sails. Soon after, we turned north from a close haul to a beam/broad reach as we headed north up Nepean Sound to Principe Channel. Flat seas, sunny skies, and 10-15 knots on our hindquarter. It doesn’t get any better than this.

Not squally at all in Squally Channel

Wide open Principe

Around 7pm, we pulled into Monckton Inlet on the west side of Pitts Island. We chose a small, hidden cove behind Monckton Point and held our breath as we squeezed through its narrow entrance. The passageway opened to a snug, private anchorage, about 200’ wide for swinging. With 60' of depth and 240' of chain out, we were careful to hook right in the middle. We could almost reach out and touch the ferns and mossy vines around us, but strangely, the closeness made us feel safe, not anxious.

Each area we visit seems to have its own personality, almost like its own soul. And as touchy-feely as this sounds, it makes sense—the ecosystem of each forest or tideland works together as one connected organism. And in Monckton Inlet, it felt so alive. I felt a presence so loving, so warm, it seemed to envelop us. It was a feeling of pure peace. Perhaps it was just my own transference: we were, in fact, in a reassuringly safe anchorage, and the perfect day of sailing and sun could have provided a biological euphoria. Who knows. But it’s a feeling I often forget when living in the city and remember in places like this. 

Heading into Monckton Inlet

Close shores in Monckton

One of my favorite parts of this voyage is feeling connected to places. And the hardest part is leaving them. We can never write about any place with the justice or respect it deserves because we leave it too soon. And we’re regretfully ignorant about the history, real names (rather than the newer, European names on our charts), and stories of the places we visit, anchor, and pass. As a result, our blog tends to sound more like Google road directions (“first we went here, then we turned here, then we rounded this point, etc.”) rather than intimate revelations of these spaces. We can feel awe of these areas and we can let them wash over and humble us, but we can never know the souls of them. We’re sailing through areas with over 13,000 of years of established human history, and Dave and I know so little of it. It says a lot about our privilege that we’re able to be ignorant. We’re tourists.    

Regardless, these places have changed us, and for the better. We’re slowing down to hear the wind, weather, and waves more…and maybe, we’re listening to something a little deeper.

Monckton

May 29 (Day 32)

Today was rainy and nearly windless, so we spent most of the day motoring. We dislike motoring, but we can’t complain. We were told we’d motor about three-fourths the way up the Inside Passage, yet that hasn’t been true at all. Not even close. Several explanations may account for this:

• We have a mostly flexible schedule that allows us to sail in light winds.
• As far as cruising boats go, Novi’s lightweight.
• We try to stick to recommendations in Taken by the Wind by Marilyn Johnson, the only cruising book for these areas primarily for sailboats.
• We’re patient with low winds (well, Dave is).
• Dumb luck

We’re pretty sure the last explanation is most likely. And that luck could change any day.

The sun came out as we rounded McCauley Island into Beaver Passage, and we anchored in a secure little nook within the Spicer Islands.

Beaver Passage

Beaver Passage

Beautiful Spicer Anchorage

May 30 (Day 33)

It’s Dave’s birthday today!

Warning: I gush about Dave and our marriage in the next paragraph. It’s like written PDA. Feel free to skip. 

Several friends have asked how we can live and travel in such tight quarters without driving one another crazy. It’s simple, at least on my end: Dave’s pretty awesome. Sailing together means trusting one another, putting one another first, and always seeing the best in one another. Dave makes this easy, and with him, it never seems like the “work” people say marriage is. Any day to celebrate Dave is a good day. 

The electronic gods did not seem to care it was Dave’s birthday, however, and his cell phone randomly started burning. His charging port melted his cord and rendered his phone nonfunctional. The issue seemed to originate from the phone rather than Novi’s electrical system, thank goodness, but it’s annoying nonetheless. Looks like Dave’s birthday gift will be a new phone in Prince Rupert.

Fortunately, the winds made up for it. We sailed in smooth seas and consistent winds through Beaver Passage, Arthur Passage, and Chatham Sound, right into Prince Rupert Harbour. Although Prince Rupert is a small town compared to our home in Seattle, we couldn’t help but feel like we were entering a big city as we sailed by all the cargo ship terminals and all the commercial traffic. Was that a train that just went by? This was a very different world than the wilderness of the last few weeks. We anchored just across the inlet from Prince Rupert in Russell Arm. Though it was open to the wake of commercial traffic, the anchorage was surprisingly calm. Man, we love these good anchorages!

Arthur Passage

Arthur Passage

Prince Rupert! So urban!

Anchored in Russell Arm, Prince Rupert in the distance

May 31-June 1 (Days 34-35)

We were about to leave the anchorage when the harbour patrol stopped by. It doesn’t matter how confident a sailor you are, seeing an authoritative vessel coming near you is unnerving. We scrambled to get ready. Did we do something wrong? Were we not allowed to anchor in Russell Arm? Will we be boarded? 

Fortunately, he was just coming by to welcome us to Prince Rupert and offer suggestions for food and moorage and later, some suggestions in Ketchikan. Oh, Prince Rupert, we think we love you. Could you imagine this happening in Seattle?

We had planned to stay at the Cow Bay Marina anyway, so we pulled up anchor and headed in. After docking in a finger slip, we learned the breakwater was $12 cheaper, so we untied the docklines to move. 

Because our initial docking was smooth, we were oblivious to the 2.5 knot current that built up in the marina; if we had paid attention, we would have waited. This means when we motored out of our slip in idle at less than a knot, we didn't reverse normally. Dave worked to do a 20-point turn while I stood with the boat hook ready to push off. And then the wind gusted through, and another man rushed to help from the dock (thank you, anonymous man!). Unfortunately, we didn’t have enough space within the marina’s fairway to pick up enough speed to counter the wind and current, so we had to push off each finger pier. The tourists on the wharf didn't hesitate to record this moment of shame, so I'm sure we're a cautionary tale somewhere on Youtube by now.    

Despite the morning’s misadventures, we enjoyed Prince Rupert. We highly recommend the Museum of Northern British Columbia and the Sunken Gardens, cared for entirely by volunteers.

Moody skies at Cow Bay

Cow Bay

BIG boat!

Museum of Northern British Columbia

Museum of Northern British Columbia

Prince Rupert

On the night of June 1^st, we prepared for the big Dixon Entrance crossing to Alaska. Preparation included calling Ketchikan customs for permission to anchor in Foggy Bay on the east side of Dixon Strait. When entering the US, a vessel is technically prohibited from anchoring or docking anywhere until they are cleared by customs. The only exception is Foggy Bay with approval ahead of time. Don’t know why that specific anchorage is allowed. Homeland Security doesn’t always make sense. But they approved our request, so the next days’ route was shortened by 35 nautical miles.

Next was route planning. From Prince Rupert, we could take the shortcut to open water through Venn Passage, shaving nearly two hours off the voyage. Strong rapids course through the shallow shortcut, so ideally, we would transit at high tide slack.

Dave: We need to enter Venn Passage at high water slack. It looks really shallow.

Me: Definitely. Whatever time that is, we go. When will it be?

Dave: <Searching tides> …4am.

Me: …

Dave: …

Me: We don’t really need to time it with high water slack, right?

Dave: Hmm...nah, it doesn’t look that shallow.  

June 2 (Day 36)

We left Prince Rupert at 8:30am, just in time to hit Venn Passage at low water slack instead. We were fine.

Out in Duncan Channel, we started to feel wind on our back, and we sailed the spinnaker in following seas for hours. We toasted at the Alaskan border--we made it! And then we toasted again because we accidentally toasted at the wrong time. And then the wind died. It wasn’t exactly triumphant, but we made it! Alaska at last!

So far, Alaska doesn’t seem different. Rugged rocks. Evergreen trees. Rain. Stunning. 

Foggy Bay’s inner harbor looked full so we ventured into the snug southeast corner of the outer bay. Like most of the best anchorages lately, it was protected by a narrow entrance. The cruising guides sing the inner harbor’s praises, so boats cram in there, sometimes rafting up if necessary. In our opinion, however, the outer harbor was excellent. 

Alaska!

Foggy Bay's Outer Harbor at low tide

Foggy Bay's Outer Harbor at high tide

June 3 (Day 37)

We're excited my (Denise’s) dad is visiting us in Ketchikan. He’s staying at the Rodeway Inn with its own small marina on the north end of Ketchikan. Moorage is cheap there, so we reserved space for Novi. Cheap, check. Close to my dad, check.

Ketchikan!

Ketchikan! So rainy!

The customary time to do this is when passing the US Coast Guard station in Tongass Narrows and ask where to tie up. Done. Customs agent arrived, looked at our passports, let us on our way. Done. Easy.

Coming into the docks at the motel was a different story. It’s not identified on any of our charts. It doesn’t advertise, so it's pretty empty. Fortunately, my dad waved to us on from the dock. He pointed to the slip with the one 30-amp power outlet and texted “port tie” to us. Dave readied fenders and lines while I eased Novi around the breakwater. My dad texted the north entrance, while narrow, was the only option. He was right: the south entrance was too shallow for our deep-keeled boat, and the middle entrance was fouled with buoys. The floating breakwater logs had drifted closer to shore, so the entrance appeared about 15 feet wide. 

But then we noticed my dad rushing to a different dock and yelling to us. We couldn’t understand him. He was pointing frantically to the immediate float as we entered, a starboard tie. We weren’t prepared with starboard fenders, so we kept going.

What he saw but we hadn’t: a line, floating but nearly completely hidden, tied across the 20-foot waterway. And I was driving Novi right up on it. Eek! Dave yelled, “Hard reverse!” and I reversed HARD. But then I was backing into the breakwater, so I put us in forward and turned to port HARD. But then of course I was going toward the dock hard. During this time, Dave was jumping over the cabin top with fenders and tying them to starboard as quick as he could. I reversed again but the momentum still carried us. Dave jumped off with the midship line, threw the stern line to my dad, and pulled. With 12 knots from our starboard side, Novi wanted to drift away from the dock, so as soon as she had slowed, I ran to throw the bow line to Dave. It took all our strength to pull Novi in sideways against the wind.

Once she was finally secured to the dock, we all took a deep breath.

“Well, welcome to Ketchikan!” my dad laughed. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Yup.   

The next day, the hotel manager returned, and my dad asked her about the floating line. Apparently, the breakwater anchor dragged out into the channel, so the motel staff tied this line between the dock and the breakwater as a temporary fix. They closed off the marina but forgot to tell the front desk staff who scheduled our visit. Further south, obstructions within marinas are usually marked with buoys, so this was a valuable reminder to stay vigilant, especially as we continue venturing north.

Stupid floating line we didn't see, mostly below the waterline

Novi, secure at the marina

We made it to Alaska!!

Despite the excitement of our landing, we’re having fun with my dad in Ketchikan. Next up: Misty Fjords!

Creek Street

Creek Street

Creek Street

Yet more Creek Street

Creek (sans street)

Thank you for reading our blog. :)