Our Last Sail, Smuggled Cans, and Very, Very Cold Showers

"I wanted freedom, open air and adventure. I found it on the sea."
- Alaine Gerbault

"There is nothing like lying flat on your back on the deck, alone except for the helmsman aft at the wheel, silence except for the lapping of the sea against the side of the ship. At that time you can be equal to Ulysses and brother to him."

— Errol Flynn, Actor

Coordinates: 58°062.040 N 135°266.059 W

The uncertain faint twilight of Alaska summer nights lasted through every watch as the crew of the Northern Star took turns waking to see if the anchor was holding fast. The narrow, rocky cove held its own dangers, but the First Mate loved seeing the hundred-foot waterfall luminescent in the mist throughout the night, and the Captain woke us up revving the engine. It was the beginning of our last day sailing. 

Warm Springs Bay

It had been a long time coming, so it was almost fitting that we got to sleep in a bit because the current would have been against us almost 3 knots. We had ninety more miles to traverse if we hoped to reach Hoonah before nightfall, and since we go an average of 7 knots, we had to wait until the current weakened around eight o’clock.

It was a beautiful morning as we pulled out of Schooner Cove. Our grizzly was down on the coast again (see above pic), looking grouchy and ambling moodily into the brush when our sailboat came too close.

Today we tackled Chatham Strait, but Chatham Strait was doing its best to tackle us. More big swells, three or four feet high that rocked everything from side to side and knocked books onto the floor…hitting us broadside.

Broadside…sigh. With waves, direction is everything. Boaters everywhere have learned, sometimes the hard way, that if you strike the wave with your bow, it cuts through the water. But if a wave hits your boat on the side, or broadside, it can capsize you, or in our case, make you feel like you’re sloshing around in a Coke bottle.

Angoon

But sometimes, the rollicking waves wake you up just in time to have an epiphany. See, the First Mate was napping and woke up with what we feel was a heaven-inspired realization. She realized she had packed for a trip to the Antarctic instead of Alaska. So we called a couple of friends in our Alaska hometown of Angoon, and we started to pack up all our extra canned and refrigerated food—that we hadn’t realized we had no way of getting home—and a motor we’d miraculously forgotten we had to get off the boat.

A four hours later we showed up at Danger Point, just outside Angoon. The currents in and out of Angoon can be treacherous for a slow sailboat, so whoever bailed us out had to be floating outside the point in the rough-ish water ready for us. It ended up that this time, our friends John and Cathy Quinn were up for the job.

John & Cathy Quinn

John and Cathy own Eagles’ Wing Inn in Angoon, are part of the Salvation Army and are just generally the best kind of folks. And they’re usually always there if you’re in a pinch. Which is why we’re super grateful they’d be willing to jump in their boat and meet us at Danger Point outside Angoon to transfer goods like pirate smugglers from boat to boat. We pulled out of the big swells into the protection of Danger Point where all the little powerboats were hiding out because it was too rough in the middle for them. It felt odd tossing ten garbage sacks of random—yet essential—boat food and junk over onto the Quinns’ boat. Along with an outboard motor we thought we’d need and didn’t.

Lots of folks we knew were out trolling around (some who offered to help too. Thanks Jimmy and Crystal Parkin, who we watched catch a flashing coho salmon, and who also offered their services.) We’ll have a good chat when we get into Angoon guys!

Honestly, it was a bit staggering for us when we realized everyone else in their powerboats considered the water in the channel dangerous, and it was. Just last year we would have been motoring around Danger Point too, watching the white caps and wishing for calmer seas. I don’t know if it’s logical to be more scared because we’re not scared, but it is a true phenomenon people. As we went back into the rolling swells, still hitting us uncomfortably broadside, we became aware of how much the world had changed just by steering a different boat.

Not long after we left Angoon, black dorsal fins pierced through the ocean’s waves—and they weren’t no porpoises. A pod of orcas passed straight ahead, and those killer whales are fast. Humpback whales are almost ponderous when they dive or surface, their size awe inspiring. But killer whales are much faster as they break through, and give the impression of latent power. I was super excited to see them (I sort of injured myself in my haste to get a camera for Alyssa), but if they get very close orcas make me nervous. Just saying.

The last day sailing included rainbows and rain as we passed Tenakee inlet and Freshwater Bay, then rounded the corner into Icy Strait and got our first glimpse of the inlet into Hoonah, heralded by two huge cruise ships and little figures zipping down the Icy Strait zipline (look it up, its terrifying). 

It was a bit of a blur, seeing Hoonah, after 11 days of writing Final Destination: Hoonah on the top of our ship’s log. Built onto the side of the mountain, Hoonah is a beautiful place with gorgeous views and a harbor that is almost idyllic in its safety, surrounded on all three sides—though heavily infested with noisy, opinionated crows.

Tip #1: Don’t use the showers in the Hoonah dock. Unless you’re taking the polar ice plunge, in which case, you still should find a more inspiring place to get dashed all over with glacier-cold water.

Yes, the shower—both showers—decided they were tired of being hot and turned to freezing, skin-numbing cold halfway through. We were worried people would think something awful was happening in the charge-by-the-minute womens’ showers, what with the yelps and screeches echoing from within. We had to finish Alyssa’s shower by putting her soapy hair under the tap.

Hoonah Dock

This has been a little odd, writing about our last sailing day, because it didn’t feel strange or different. It didn’t seem real that the nearly 1,000 mile journey was at an end.

But this blog isn’t quite at an end. Not yet. I think the crew wants to put out one more post before we retire the ship’s log until next summer. So to all those that might have taken the journey with us, we haven’t quite furled the sails yet. There’s still a few more knots to tie and thoughts to share.

Skipper Krystal

Photo credit: Alyssa

P.S. Fun fact: I love Errol Flynn, guys. I’d have been a fangirl back in 1940, if fangirls were a thing back then. Not only was he the best Robin Hood ever, but he also played a sea captain in The Seahawk, which is where he must have learned to love ships like he did (as you can tell by the quote above). Across the decades, I purposely went out, laid on the deck, and listened to the silence he described. Brother to Ulysses indeed, Errol.

P.P.S. Write to you all soon. It’s great, WiFi is practically common now. We don’t know what to do with ourselves.

Pirates Pride Boat