"Ships are the nearest things to dreams that
hands have ever made."
-Robert N. Rose
Coordinates: 57°00.325 N 134°40.400 W, 57°05.318 N 134ׄ°48.149
"Waves are not measured in feet or inches, they
are measured in increments of fear," said Buzzy Trent. Fear is a
relative thing, have you noticed? Fear can be healthy or needless. You find
both kinds in Alaska, but I’ll tell you one thing. The size of the boat you’re
in affects the fear A LOT.
Because it was yesterday that we got in our biggest
waves yet on this trip, waves that would have inspired terror in the old 22’
Hewescraft powerboat.
But in a 42’ sailboat, it
feels a lot more like an off-balance, high-powered carnival ride. A wet one. Six
foot swells had the Star rocking and
rolling, rising and falling the height of a full grown man. With white crests
and sizable troughs, the Star would
slide into the trough, spraying the windows and sliding dishes off the shelves.
Standing up was an adventure in itself, and those handrails that had been
untouched for much of the trip found some hands hastily grabbing for purchase.
But you know what? Mom
didn’t wake up. She just dreamed the waves got big and the harbormaster made us
stay at dock. And fear? I (perhaps foolishly) never felt scared. Not that I’m
the reckless, brave sailor, because neither did Sissy or Dad feel scared as Dad
steered and we watched the sea around us in fascination. The unseen keel cut
through the waves and kept us centered, we never tipped precipitously and the
helmsman never felt out of control. But if you couldn’t tell from earlier
posts, we’re a little obsessive with safety and tides, so I think when there is
time for fear, we’ll be ready.
Besides, even though it’s sometimes rough like that in
the middle, sometimes it’s in the middle of the channel when you see an odd
splash in your wake. It could be a fluke. Or it could be a porpoise’s fluke.
Yes, it was the latter. First thing to know about
porpoises: NOT shy creatures. At all. In fact, they like it if you yell, while
they race your boat and dive beneath the keel. Their black and white backs cut
through the water like knives, and they’re fast, fast, fast.
But as friends, they don’t last. After a while, there
are more interesting things for a porpoise to see. So they all dart beneath the
water, and this time, they don’t break the surface again. You will never really
know how many were there, keeping you company for a while—two or ten, four or
six, they’re just too quick to count.
Virtually the whole day
was spent in Fredricks Sound, wide long and variable in its moods. When we
finally neared our anchorage, the sea was agate gray, and the sunlight made the
water glint like shards of a broken mirror. With the sea in such a mood, we
slowed and motored into the one and only Warm Springs Bay, the waterfall at the
end of the cove our beacon and our sign.
Other pleasure boats were
there—after all, it’s a popular spot. There are hot springs and a small dock,
too small for the likes of us. But we knew we needed extra time to anchor, so
we left the sight of the enchanting Spring Falls, and went to find what the
book said was as good as a private cove: Schooner Cove which is really just a
hidden dip in the bay shore.
It was on our short way
through the small bay that we saw the bears.
The first grizzly roamed
the shore, acting too interested in a nearby resident’s smokehouse. Said
resident soon came bursting out the door throwing rocks. Unlike the porpoises,
bears are dangerous neighbors if they get too friendly.
The last brown bear we
spotted on the rocky beach, standing immovably by a boulder, staring down the
beach as if some threatening presence was foreboding. After long minutes of
study, the second bear gave up his guard and started grazing, long strands of
grass sticking out of its snout.
They soon passed out of sight as we reached the thin,
hidden cove. Still, anchoring in such a skinny spot for greenhorns like us was
harder than it might seem. The first mate put it this way, “Like how a dog
turns around 3 times before it lays down, we have to turn around 21 times.”
We hovered over the depth finder—trying to find that
magic depth of 25 to 35 feet. On the first try we accidentally left the boat slightly in forward gear when we dropped
it, which sent us doing little spins as the chain rattled out. But we got it
figured out at last, so we could move onto other things. Like dinner and a
movie.
So spinning in ponderous circle between the rocky
shores, we put on a highly relevant, almost educational movie: Pirates of the Carribbean-The Black Pearl. The
sun was setting, and the trees were sharp and dark. We jammed three camp chairs
by the cushy bench in the salon, the light shafting through the windows,
constantly changing until the daylight glow nearly disappeared. I say nearly,
because even once we stopped the movie and climbed into our bunks, it still
wasn’t dark. Sometimes up here it’s hard to believe it ever gets dark.
The stern cabin has one double and one skinny bed,
which last night was occupied by the three girls, and we found ourselves
talking the trip over as girls are apt to do. Mostly how new everything is all
the time, new ports, new waves, new shore. The discussion included imagining
the perfect, fictional servant for the boat. Someone to vacuum and do dishes
that sleeps in the dinghy hanging off the back. It got pretty silly and ended
with us discovering the phosphorescent algae lives in Alaska and not just
Canada. Yes, we were pumping the toilet at 1 AM for entertainment’s sake. Only
wish we had pictures for ya’ll.
Only one more day to catch up on, then I’ll have to
tell you. Did we make it to Hoonah at last? Did we? Well, in the words of
Captain Jack Sparrow, “You have to wait for the opportune moment.” Which means
telling about our last day sailing will have to wait for the opportune tomorrow.
Skipper
Krystal
Photo credit: Alyssa
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