The log of the Midnight Sun, Valdez, Alaska, to Honolulu, Hawaii

Crossing the Gulf of Alaska.

PART 1, THE INSIDE PASSAGE 
This is a tale concerning the voyage of the sailing vessel Midnight Sun, a Nordic 44, departing Valdez, Alaska, bound for Honolulu Hawaii in 1982 with base crew of five. 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: There are a number of place names in this and it screams for a map. Unfortunately I am writing this on a sketchy internet connection which limits my creativity for such things. Instead I am offering these two links to maps of Southeastern Alaska and Western British Columbia, where you can follow if you like.

Southeastern Alaska There are others if you use Google.

British Columbia Again more on Google. You can also search individual place names.

Day 1, September 2, 1982: Departing Valdez at 0700 under overcast skies with drizzling rain and a light easterly breeze. Some four hours later approaching Goose Island in southeastern Prince William Sound, at which time the captain let the crew know he wanted to stop and catch a halibut for the voyage across the Gulf of Alaska. (I recall at the time wanting to argue recalling how long at times it had taken to catch a halibut. He asked me where to go and I said the upslope of the bottom entering from the north end of the passage between Goose Island and the mainland.) We slowed to drop a lure to the bottom and 8 minutes later reeled in a 10-pound halibut. (I don't think the boat even came to a complete stop.)

We proceeded southward toward Hinchinbrook Entrance and the open Gulf with a promising forecast of southwest winds to 20 knots, perfect for our course which was to the southeast.

17: 22: Passed Cape Hinchinbrook: Barometer 1038; speed 4.6 knots; distance made good, 57 NM

Day 2, September 3, 0124: Spotted Cape St. Elias light, sailing under a full moon, but with a ring, clear sky and stars, but clouds on the horizons. 4-5-foot swells motoring with the mainsail up with an 11 knot breeze.

Motored all through the day. For a while visited by a large pod of Pacific white-sided dolphins many of whom jumped clear of the water as they swam along with us.

Barometer 1040

Days 3 and 4, September 4 and 5: Smooth water and very little wind crossing the gulf and motored the whole way until we picked up swells at Cape Spencer at nightfall on the 4th and the engine began sputtering as we entered Cross Sound. So, instead of proceeding we raised sail and ran almost to the dock in Elfin Cove, arriving around 7 a.m. (We had breakfast at the inn there and I accidentally walked out without paying. One of the crew said he was buying but it turned out he was only buying for the captain. When I learned this later I mailed a check to the inn.)

Departed around noon and sailed Icy Strait as far as Flynn Cove once we realized we weren't going to make Hoonah in daylight.

Day 5, September 6: Departed Flynn planning for Tenakee Springs but southerly winds up Chatham Strait eventually pushed us toward Funter Bay on the eastern shore.

Then the wind died and we turned south again until 40 knot winds from the south came up and drove us into Funter Bay anyway and we anchored there.

Day 6, September 7: In the morning we set out to cross the strait and make Tenakee. Beating into a 25-30-knot wind with rain driven so hard into our faces it hurt. For some reason we started singing Kingston Trio's "MTA" and "The Tijuana Jail" at the top of our lungs. (After two hours I relinquished the helm and the captain said something about being a fair weather sailor and I reminded him of the storm I had been through the year before.) 

1400: Made Tenakee around 1400, but hung around outside the harbor playing with five humpback whales who were hanging around in the bay. We stayed the night and took a soak in the hot springs. Tenakee a beautiful place, One narrow street lined by houses which on the water side had been built on pilings over the tidal zone. Most houses had gardens. No cars. People use what they call Earth Carts. Peaceful.

Day 7, September 8, Heading south in Chatham Strait after passing the whales outside the harbor again. Motored into the wind most of the day but quiet other than that. Began learning the sextant. All day on smooth water at 5.5 knots and into the night heading for Petersburg. Lying on deck and watched the moon rise over Frederick Sound. Shortly after dark lost in reverie on the smooth water, quiet except for the low hum of the engine when a humpback rose right next to the boat and exhaled explosively. I almost jumped out of my skin. Slept for a while on a sail bag forward then took the helm running toward Petersburg in fog. Did some navigating from Sukoi Island estimated with course and speed we should reach the narrows in 35 minutes. We came abeam of the Wrangell Narrows light at 36:05 minutes. Ran into Petersburg, walked uptown for breakfast, then back to the boat and crashed.

Day 8, September 9: After a good sleep we wandered around Petersburg, buying this and that, replenishing stores for the short hop to Ketchikan.

1700: Depart Petersburg. Motored south through the narrows heading for an Anchorage across Sumner strait in St. John Harbor.

Day 9, September 10: Departed St. John early to make the tide in Snow Passage and possibly Ketchikan in one day. After the passage ran into strong head wind, 32 knots at times and pushing boat sideways. Barely making way and propeller cavitating badly. Decided to run for Kindergarten Bay and headed in, but on the east side of Clarence Strait the wind seemed to be abating so we turned south again. Seas and wind grew and we eventually had to tun again, this time for Coffman Cove in some 40-knot gusts and seas maybe as high as 6 feet. Tough go with all hands out. Two fighting the helm, two more trying to drop the jib. The main sheet got bound up in reef ties. Roared into Coffman Cove and slick water. Dropped the sails and motored to a float at a logging camp. Exhilarating. Says the captain, no more pushing. "If it looks bad tomorrow, we stay."

Day 10, September 11, 0753: In Coffman Cove. Rain, light wind, barometer 1028.5. Ketchikan today maybe. Calm day for a change. A humpback whale and calf visited us for a while. Not much wind, tooling along toward Ketchikan, motoring through calm water all day. Pulled into Knutson Anchorage north of Ketchikan for the night, close enough to boogie down in town that night, until 3 am or so. (An infamous bar there named, as I recall the Shamrock, held many temptations and I am told I was asked to leave around 3.)

Day 11, September 12: Spending a lazy day anchored near Droopy and Rusty, friends of the captain. One crew member left to attend to business in Seattle. 

Day 12, September 13: The boat owner's son, who had acquitted himself well along the way (despite our premonitions) left to return home. About 0630 the depth alarm went off so we hauled anchor and headed for Ketchikan proper. Bought food and orcanized, then left about 1400 for Foggy Bay, in Revilla channel.(avoiding the temptation of another night at the Shamrock.) Entered the bay in the dark. Spooky.

Day 13, September 14, 0700: Departed Foggy Bay in (what else?) fog. Invented a new word here for running in Southeastern Alaska waters — naviguessing. Motored out under the last sliver of the moon and Venus, visible above the fog after Orion (which was to become our friend) disappeared. A flock of geese flew by under Venus. Several times during the day we encountered the cork line of a salmon gillnet fishing boat. Sometimes the fog was so thick we couldn't even tell which end of the cork line was attached to the boat and had to run along it until we encountered either the free end or the boat and could turn back to our original course. 

At one point our position indicated we were near a spot called Bell Island. The captain wanted to get a visual on the island so we turned toward the sound of the bell and approached slowly, watching the fathometer the whole time. We reached the point where we could hear the sound of an electrical generator running. Then we reached a point where we could hear human voices speaking in normal tones. At that point we turned, close enough. We never did see the island.

Later in the day the run rose out of the fog almost like fire coming up from the water. Then we encountered misty rays of light hitting what little land we could see. Interesting day. Made Prince Rupert, British Columbia, around 1800, ate and then once again partied at a club until late. All I recall of that was a dancer sitting on my lap for a while and falling in love.

Day 14, September 15: Left Prince Rupert early and headed south again in fog. Gradually the day turned brighter and we ran with sails before the wind in Grenville Channel. Went into Bishop Cove off McKay Reach for the night, entering in darkness. Warm springs at the head of the bay. Poor anchorage, deep. Tied off to a float at the warm springs.

Day 15, September 16, 0700: Left Bishop Cove and saw humpbacks in Ursula Channel. For the first time in a while the sun shined in a clear sky lighting up the beautiful BC waterways. Actually hot enough to proceed in a t-shirt.

Cruised down Graham Reach under the sun, our shirts off, being lazy on deck, reading "Under the Volcano" and listening to Grateful Dead. It's interesting how in a tight crew on a long voyage, some words become part of the syntax. In Under the Volcano I encountered the term "perfectamente borracho,"  meaning perfectly or comfortably drunk.

There was this feeling there were a hundred things to do and yet nothing has to be done. We spent the day like that and than ran in the dark for Shearwater, a logging camp across the channel from Bella Bella, standing on the bow watching for logs in the water. Almost hit a small rock island. We made the dock at Shearwater and ate dinner from a turkey I had been roasting for most of the afternoon. I was working on it when suddenly a face appeared in the porthole over the galley. It was a drunk who had decided he wanted to go sailing. Sticky situation. We told him no and that led to him shouting several obscenities at us including the mention of a shotgun. It was enough to worry us. Later two more drunks boarded the Serendipity, a big cruiser out of Portland. Sticky there too. A boarding alarm went off on the Serendipity and I was expecting it to happen to us as well. I dug out a golf club that was on the boat for some reason and sat in the cockpit as sort of a guard. The two left the Serendipity and walked back up the dock, but there were still those on the drum seiner Haida Maid and that shotgun mention. Eventually the lights went out, a quiet settled on the harbor so we slept as well.

Day 16, September 17: Foggy morning. Crew of the Haida Maid had gone humbly away and the Serendipity had followed. Another bright and sunny day after a bit of fog in the morning. Got fuel in Bella Bella. Another hot day, too. I sat in the stern dozing but could help wondering when was the last time I wanted to sit in the shade. We pulled into Namu and I took my first turn at docking. Sailboats, especially this size don't stop as quickly as a power boat and I managed to nudge the boat in front of us. Of course it had to be the Haida Maid. Fortunately nobody responded. We motored on the rest of the day and anchored in a place called Safety Cove.

Day 17, September 18: Left Safety in early morning fog which stayed with us across Queen Charlotte Sound. That led us to Vancouver Island and Johnstone Strait. A huge wildfire had flamed up on the island southwest of Port Hardy. As we entered the strait we saw the strangest critter that at first looked like a stump in the water. But the outline had concentric shapes too regular to be a stump. We couldn't even distinguish it with binoculars but finally decided it was a stump. About then it slipped beneath the surface. Judging wrinkles on its head we finally decided it was an elephant seal and let it go at that. Then we saw a line of splashes coming toward us between Port Hardy and Malcolm Island. Those turned out to be porpoises, 20 to 40 of them chasing fish of some sort. Some came along to ride our wake but most and then all of them moved on, slashing and jumping along their way. Smoke from the fire actually blocked the sun as it settled to the west of us past Vancouver Island. The fire caused eerie looking red and yellow reflections across the water. We pulled into Port McNeil for the Saturday night rock and roll, but that turned out to be a bust.

Day 18, September 19: Left Port McNeil in fog, standing the bow watch, wet until noon. Offered to cook breakfast to get out of it. We were racing to beat the tide at Seymour Narrows. (A rising tide enters Johnstone Strait from both ends one portion moving north the other moving south. They meet at Seymour Narrows and create powerful whirlpools that can sink a boat if not careful. Best to get there on an ebb tide or better yet slack.) On the way we rendezvoused with the Glacier Queen, a Valdez tour boat heading south for the winter. We chatted a bit and they handed us a pot of coffee. Farther on we sailed past another forest fire, this one close enough that we could feel heat on the slight breeze that blew toward us. Then small hot ashes from the fire began landing on the boat and in water around us. We brushed them off as quickly as we could, especially after we discovered they left a tar-like substance difficult to remove if it was allowed to cool on the fiberglass. We didn't make Seymour Narrows in time and anchored in Plumber Bay north of the maelstrom.

Day 19, September 20: First morning in a long time with no fog. We shot through Seymour narrows, sailed through the morning and continued all day reaching Nanaimo after dark. The captain bought dinner and then we had beers in a Kafkaesque or Fellini club. We finally agreed on Fellini and then left early.

Day 20, September 21: Left Nanaimo in morning fog and motored all day staying on the inside of the exposed islands in Georgia Strait in order to avoid heavy ship traffic. The fog barely lifted, but enough to provide some visibility. We passed into the U.S. again and raised the Alaska flag. No feeling of exhilaration, more a little depression at the end of the trip. We sighted Bellingham at 18:48 which added to the letdown. Again a long voyage and again no one to meet. So it goes. Great trip. Now facing a week here and then on to Hawaii. All day long we could smell smog and other crap in the air. Tied to the dock in Bellingham at 20:00. Distance made good: 1,373 nautical miles.

INTERMISSION

We spent the next 9 days around Bellingham and Seattle some of us going our separate ways to visit friends and tour fun places. This interlude had one high point. My first book had just been published and I met the publishers for dinner where they handed me the first copy off the press. It is a thrill I can't quite describe. "The Last Great Race" by Tim Jones. So full of myself for a moment. Fantasizing about how I was going to spend my millions.

NEXT: ON TO HAWAII

  Part 2: The Big Ocean

Messing about in boats