We took an extra day in Prince Rupert to finish running errands and rest up. After our trip from Shearwater to Prince Rupert we were pretty much out of our favorite foods, so we restocked our food canisters for the next leg. When we lay it all out on the dock it looks like a lot to eat:

This leg is around 112 miles and will take us 7 to 10 days depending on the weather, but we also have to travel up Chatham Sound and cross Dixon Entrance. Dixon Entrance is open to the swells and winds from the Pacific, and with the wrong conditions it can have huge seas that would keep us stuck on shore.

The first day out of Prince Rupert we had to wait for the tide so we would could make it out Venn Passage. The tide didn’t start to ebb until around 12:00, which meant that once we made it out the passage we would be in Chatham Sound with afternoon winds building. But we wouldn’t be able to fight the 3 knot flood current in Venn Passage, so we just had to take our chances with the winds. We left the Prince Rupert dock around 11:00 AM, and made it to Chatham Sound around 1:00 PM. Sure enough, as soon as we started to exit Venn Passage a west wind started to blow, and before long we had 2 to 3 foot waves sweeping in front of us, plus a low swell. The shoreline was beautiful, but rocks extended way offshore and there were huge kelp beds. We had to paddle way out around each point to avoid the rocks and crashing waves. When we headed west to get off the shore we could barely make progress, but when we turned north the tide helped push us along. Even so we knew we could only make a few miles so we started looking for a beach to land on.

We first tried to paddle up to a beach behind an island called Swamp Island. We should have realized based on the name that it wouldn’t be good. As we approached the beach we could see all the water between the shore and the island would dry at low tide, and while the beach looked ok, there would be an enormous muddy shore in the morning. We turned around and paddled back out against the wind and waves to check out the next beach.

We found a great beach just past the island, and landed easily without any real surf. It was stunning. It seems every time we stop we can’t believe how beautiful it is. There was a flat spot for the tent at the back of the beach, and a breathtaking view of the Sound.

During the night the wind started to blow. When I stepped out of the tent, it didn’t seem that bad, but gusts would careen in over the rocks every once in a while and push the tent into different shapes. The good news was that it was a south wind that would push us in the direction we wanted to go. The bad news was that it was blowing over 30 knots and gusting to 40, with 6 foot seas. We can travel in 20 to 25 knot winds if it hasn’t been blowing for too long, but 30 to 40 means a day in the tent, even if it is going our way. We kept poking our heads out to check the water, and although the wind started dropping in the afternoon, the waves remained too big to go out. We watched rain clouds pass over, and a new front move in.

We considered leaving as late as 4 or 5 in the afternoon, when the wind was down to 10 or 15, but even then it looked like it would be a rough ride, so we called it a day and hoped we would still have our wind in the morning.

When we got up the next morning the wind had shifted to a west wind, but we were still hopeful we could sail once we made it around the point. We headed out and within an hour we were paddle sailing along at 3 to 4 knots. The wind held all day and we paddled and sailed 23 miles up to one of the most beautiful campsites we have found. As we approached Boston Islands we saw Humpback whales feeding in the channel between Boston island and Wales Island. We watched the whales for a while in the rain then paddled to a small sand beach. The beach crossed over the island to a small cove, and as I walked over the beach looking for a tent site a Humpback rolled between the cliffs, showing me his flukes. The tent site was at the top of the beach, and we could look out the back of the tent to the cove, or the front of the tent to the channel, watching whales in both directions. We’ve camped in a lot of cool places, but this was the coolest so far for me.

The next day we needed to get some water before getting too far, so we paddled over to Whales Island and found a creek to fill up all our dromedary bags and water bottles. It was a beautiful day, and already a little hot. We headed out past Proctor Islands and crossed the border back into the United States. It felt like we were making some real progress now that we were back in Alaska. Although it is an imaginary line we crossed, everything felt a little different. There were two fishing boats off Sitklan Island, motoring around, but not really looking like they were fishing. We wondered if they were actually monitoring the border we just crossed. The Customs office was still over 60 miles away in Ketchikan. One of the fishing boats motored over to us as we approached Lincoln Channel, and chatted for a few minutes, but the wind was blowing harder and harder in our face as if it was trying to blow us back to Canada, and we had to push hard to make it around the point and into the Channel. By the time we got some protection from the wind we were beat and started looking for a place to get off the water. We wanted to get to Fox Island, but that was not going to happen for now. We paddled all the way up Lincoln Channel looking for a beach. We didn’t find anywhere to camp, so ended up going all the way to Tongass Island to another beautiful campsite at the back of a beach, looking out the Dixon Entrance. When we woke up in the night we were treated to a full moon reflecting off the water and casting shadows over the small
islands just offshore. We were both wide awake, and we probably should have packed up and started paddling around Fox Island and up Revillagihedo Channel, but we went back to sleep.

When we left Tongass Island the wind was already blowing strong from the north, but the water was flat and we were able to sail on a beam reach at 6 knots until we got about half way across Nakat Bay, where we lost the wind all together. We paddled the remaining few miles to Fox Island. When we passed between Fox Island and Cape Fox, we hit the wind head on blowing out of the west northwest, and at 9:00 AM the waves were already a couple feet on top of low swells. We decided to try and tack offshore to see if we could make our way around Tree Point, where we might be able to sail close to our course. After a few minutes beating against the wind and into the waves we decided it wouldn’t be fun, so we turned and sailed downwind back to Fox Island to try again the next day. There are big beaches on Cape Fox, but we chose a small stone beach on the Island that had an old tent site carved into the woods at the top of a natural stone passageway that created a secret entrance just above the tide line.

We had the whole day to rest, eat, and read. Fishing boats came in and out through the day to offload their catch onto a larger boat anchored off the Island. A number of fishing boats came in to anchor for the night around 9:00 PM, and they were all gone when we woke up at 5:30 AM (we were supposed to get up at 3:30, but my watch fell off our gear net at the top of the tent, and I rolled over on top of it so we didn’t hear the alarm—either that or Katey put it there after I fell asleep so she wouldn’t have to get up).

We got on the water as soon as we could, around 7:45, with no idea how far we would get before the wind started to blow again. The forecast was the same as the last couple days, and the next few days, 20 to 25 knots of wind from the northwest. When we started it was calm, so we planned to paddle hard until the wind came up. There was a string of fishing boats with nets all the way up the coast. We wanted to cut across the bays, and stay out from the rocks where the swells were crashing, so we passed close to some of the boats. As we passed one boat, the fisherman hollered something at us, so I turned around to see what he said. We were surprised when he told us the Canadian Coast Guard had broadcast a notice a couple days ago looking for two kayakers that matched our description. We pulled out our VHF and called the US Coast Guard to make sure nobody was actually looking for us. We were still on track to arrive on schedule, and we hadn’t had any problems, but our Spot Messenger had not sent an update when we were on Boston Island (although it showed the message was sent successfully). We only use the check-in messages of the Spot to update our blog with our location, and so we will have a complete record of all our campsites. If it stops working, or we lose it, or we forget to do it, or it is flaky (which it is) it doesn’t mean we have a problem. If we have a real problem we are both capable of using one of our other many forms of communication to reach help. We figure that the fishing boat we talked to off Sitklan Island was probably checking on us and reported that we were fine, but every boat in the region had heard the broadcasts.

After talking to the Coast Guard we paddled, and paddled, along with the current, to continue north. The wind never did come up. Go figure. The day before it was nasty by 9:00 AM. We paddled until 1:00 PM and made it past Foggy Bay in sunshine and low swells.

As we were debating whether to continue to the next campsite the wind started to blow from the south. We set our sails and were able to sail the last 3 miles to a sand beach with developed tent sites near Kah Shakes Cove. We traveled more than 22 miles and were done in the early afternoon. We probably could have tried to continue on to a forest service cabin, but we didn’t know if the wind would hold out. We were glad we stopped. The beach was perfect to play an endless game of ball with Lil’ Bit and stuff ourselves with burritos. I also took the opportunity to paddle over to a creek to filter more water.

When we left the next day we could either go 13 miles to the cabin, or 19 miles to a campsite mentioned by someone else who paddled the Inside Passage a couple years ago. The water was flat so we took off our sail kits and started paddling to see where we would end up. After the first hour the wind started to blow again from the south. We put our sails back up and saw that we could easily sail across the opening of the Behm Canal toward the campsite now 15 miles away. We had a ripping beam reach in moderate waves, and made 4 to 6 knots. We were miles from shore, but it was a fun sail. It was nice to know we were going to make it far enough that we could make Ketchikan the next day.

As we approached what we thought was the campsite we were still sailing fast with about 20 knots of wind on our backs. We entered a narrow channel where we thought the beach was located but we quickly passed the entire length without seeing a landing. We realized the campsite may have been in the previous bay. Our only option was to continue on or try to sail back up around the outside of the island that created the channel we just sailed down (it was too narrow and windy to sail back up the channel). We decided to try and go back upwind but as we rounded the corner of the island the current was too strong to make progress so we had to fall off and sail on. We kept watching for beaches and found a beach inside Coho Cove with g
ood protection, a few miles on. We were tired and glad to get off the water. The wind may have blown us all the way into Ketchikan, but it would have been another 13 miles and we figured that would be too long in the boats for the day. We had a great evening on the beach, but I setup the tent in a site that had been cleared by someone before us and it was far from level. It was like sleeping on the back of a giant turtle.

We slept poorly, and when I woke up at 4:30 I was happy to crawl out of the tent to make coffee. Katey wasn’t feeling great and I had to drag her out of bed, but we still got on the water by 6:50 AM (actually, Katey has become closer to a morning person after battling the afternoon winds).

We were paddling for Ketchikan, and had the current with us the whole way by leaving early. We put on our audio books and paddled in another day of sunshine. We made good time, and were entering Tongass Narrows by 10:00 AM. It was a little bizarre. There were 5 cruise ships in town, and as we got close there was a swarm of float planes, charter boats, and even snorkelers. We hadn’t seen this many people since we left Nanaimo. Even Prince Rupert seemed like a quiet town compared to the activity in Ketchikan. We found out later that during the Summer around 8000 people a day appear in Ketchikan on the cruise ships. They all pour out of the boats to explore the town and take tours, then move on to the next port.

When we paddled into the harbor at Ketchikan we had to clear customs. Even though we crossed the border days ago, we weren’t officially into the US until we cleared customs. We called the Ketchikan Customs office from Prince Rupert and told them it would take 7 to 10 days to get to Ketchikan, and they took our information and told us to call them again when we arrived. It took us 8 days. When we called in Prince Rupert, 2 officers came down, one to clear us, and one to talk to us about our kayaking trip. They were both really nice. The kayaker was planning to paddle the same direction we were going on his 3 week vacation that was coming up. He told us that we were the 10th kayakers this year who were paddling north (they don’t see the people paddling south). It is hard to believe that maybe 18 other people (if you assume the same number going south) are willing to put themselves through the pain of paddling this far. We absolutely love this trip, and haven’t felt even once that it wasn’t worth it, but it is pretty darn hard. My first trip to Alaska was a 5 month, 6500 mile, solo bicycle tour from Florida to Alaska. That was easy compared to this.

We pulled the boats up on the dock in the Marina and headed to a hotel to catch up on our sleep and resupply our bellies. We plan to leave for Wrangell on Sunday.

This was the longest stretch we will do between towns. It ended up being 219 miles and 17 days, with just a few hints at civilization along the way. 17 days is a long time to go between showers (the few people we did meet along the way, and anyone in the vicinity of the Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht club this afternoon, would agree I am sure). We did bathe when we had a chance, in ice cold creeks and waterfalls, but it’s not the same as a hot shower. We are going to stay in Prince Rupert for a couple days to catch up on email, do our laundry, and eat everything in sight.

When we left Shearwater we weren’t in a hurry. It was sunny and almost hot, which was a nice change. We packed up our boats slowly, and didn’t get on the water until after 12:00. It was a little hard to leave, but it was a beautiful day to paddle, at least for the first mile or two. As we made our way past the islands protecting Shearwater and Bella Bella, we got out into Seaforth Channel and the wind was blasting in our face at 20 knots, and our day of paddling turned into a slog. We past the Dryad Lighthouse and thought briefly about calling them up to see if they would welcome us like the Addenbroke lighthouse, but we were only 3 miles from Shearwater, so we pushed on knowing this was going to be a short day.

We paddled into the protection of Thorburne Island, and decided we would try to make it up to Odin Cove, just a couple miles away. It took at least two hours to paddle through the wind, and by the time we pulled into the cove in the heavy chop we were exhausted. We found a small islet at the bottom of the cove that was surrounded by water at high tide. We setup the tent, made dinner, then went to bed so we could get up early to try and make it down the channel before the wind picked up again the next day (a theme that would be repeated over and over on the way to Prince Rupert).

The next day the water was flat and the current was with us as we paddled down the channel to get into Reid Passage.

 It is amazing how much easier and more enjoyable paddling is when you are not pushing the boats against the wind. We made it through Reid Passage and stopped for lunch and a nap. When we got back in the boats the wind was blowing again, but this time from behind us. We thought about sailing on but we were beat and decided to go over to Cockle Bay to see if the cabin our book mentioned was actually there. As we paddled across the entrance to the bay we saw a perfect little cabin in the woods at the back of the bay, and we started to get excited. We paddled harder, with visions of spending the night out of the rain that was certain to come, but as we got closer we noticed something red next to the cabin, and then something tall with two legs standing on the porch. It was occupied! We were bummed for a minute, then paddled to a beautiful sand beach a couple hundred yards from the cabin and setup camp. It was a peaceful setting, until the guy in the cabin started up a generator, and left it running until late into the night. Who brings a generator? And what was he doing that required electricity all night? We thought it might have been a fisherman living in the cabin. The generator probably wasn’t that loud, but we missed the complete silence we had gotten used to—and of course we really, really, wanted the cabin.
We woke up to wet skies and a breeze out in the channel. It wasn’t the nicest day, but we figured we would end up with a tailwind, and hoped we could get some miles sailing. And we did.

We sailed most of the day. The view of the mountains as we came into Mathieson Channel were stunning. The channel leads into Fjordland if you go far enough up, but we were just going up to Jackson Passage so we could get over to Finlayson Channel. We sailed almost all the way up to Jackson Passage, then paddled into Rescue Bay for the night.

We found a nice campsite in the trees at the back of the bay.

There was a trawler anchored out, and right before we went to sleep a small sailboat pulled in and anchored as well. When we got up in the morning we picked a mug of huckleberries to add to our oatmeal, then loaded the boats.

The sailboat was long gone, pulling out before we even had our coffee made. As we paddled out of the bay we went over the trawler to say good morning. The couple onboard was super nice, and we sat in the sun on the water chatting until they handed over an amazing salmon filet and a bag of fresh-baked cookies.

We paddled through Jackson Passage to Finlayson in the bright sunshine, but were too tired to paddle up the channel to the only campsite on our map, so we decided to head to Klemtu.

Our book said that Klemtu had a thriving tourist industry, a bed and breakfast, hotel, and campground, so we thought it might be cool to see the village and camp there. We stopped outside Klemtu and made our salmon filet for lunch, then paddled into the government dock. We tied up our boats and started to wander around looking for information on someplace to stay and what there was to see in the town.

 Everyone smiled and said hi as we walked around, but nobody could help us find a place to stay. It turned out the Band office was closed, and the woman who could help us wasn’t answering her phone. We found a woman from Vancouver who spends 20 days a month in Klemtu at the clinic, and she went way out of her way to try and help us find a place, but she struck out as well. At 7:00 PM we decided to paddle on out of town to see if we could find a beach we could land on. We can camp anywhere, but the problem is getting the boats off the water on the rocky and steep shores, and finding a flat spot for the tent. The next campsite in our books was 7 miles away. We paddled hopefully, checking out each potential beach, then remembered there was a lighthouse 3 miles up, so I called them on the vhf to see if they had a place to pitch our tent. Unfortunately, the keepers who were at the lighthouse for the last 10 years had recently moved on, and there were two temporary keepers. They didn’t know the area very well, so our only option was to keep on paddling to Split Head. We had been tired about 5 hours earlier, so paddling 7 miles before dark was going to be tough. But we made it, and found a sweet tent site back in the trees.

By having to go on to Split Head, we were stuck going up Tolmie Channel rather than Finlayson. It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but the currents in Tolmie were supposed to be a little stronger. We left on the flood, assuming we would have a small amount of current in our favor, but we didn’t. The current was against us, and it stayed against us for days. It didn’t matter if the tide was going up or down, the current was against us. I couldn’t figure out why. How could 18 feet of water move into the channel in six hours and not give us a push? It was frustrating. We ended up having to hug the shore to try and avoid the current, which worked part of the time.

The rest of the time we suffered and average less than 2 miles per hour. We didn’t make it out of Tolmie Channel, but we got close. We ended up having to carve out a tent site in a small bay, then try again the next day.
The next day was more of the same. The current should have been with us, but wasn’t. We paddled hard all day, and made it about 12 miles to Flat Point. Not only did we struggle with the current, but it was our first hot day on the water. There wasn’t much wind, and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. It should have been nice, but I’m not made for sunny hot weather, and started to overheat. I thought it was brutal, but Katey (surprisingly) didn’t seem to mind it.

When we landed at Flat Point, we unloaded the boats and sat in the shade waiting for the sun to drop behind the mountains. We were enjoying the view when a bear came out on the beach just down from where we were sitting. We stood up to scare it off, but for the first time the bear didn’t seem to care that we were there, and actually thought it looked like an opportunity. He started toward us as if to say “what’s for dinner?” We eventually scared it off, but we didn’t like it’s attitude, so we put everything back in the boats and headed a couple more miles up to Swanson Bay.

We had enough daylight to make it to the bay and setup camp, but we were exhausted. We crawled into the tent for a fitfull sleep. First we were woken up when Lil’ Bit barked at a heron that was hunting for fish right in front of our tent. The heron shattered the dark with a long screech as it flew off. Then we were woken up by something walking past the tent. I wasn’t sure what it was until it started to howl. We left the fly open, but the wolf was on the other side of the tent so we couldn’t see it. It sounded like it was&nb
sp;standing on top of the tent. I’ve heard wolves in the distance, but this was like nothing I have ever heard before. It was amazing. And a little freaky. When I got up I found two sets of tracks just a few feet in front of the tent. When the sun came up, it was a beautiful day and Wild Kingdom was over. We enjoyed coffee and paddled out of the bay in hope of better luck with the currents.

We spent the day paddling past waterfall after waterfall.

And the sun beat down. We stopped for lunch to get out of the sun and found a wild and cold creek running through the woods behind the bay. We took the opportunity to cool down and soak off a few days of grime in the fast water.

We also took the opportunity to graze on blueberries. When we got back in the boats the current was still against us, but we chipped away at it knowing that we could make Butedale, another abandoned town. Eventually we pulled into the Butedale dock.

We met a couple at the dock who where sailing with their son. They had done a lot of trekking and kayaking, and started handing food to us—fresh vegetables, homemade jambalaya, soda, crackers…it was awesome. We also met the caretaker, who offered us showers from his solar shower bag that had been sitting out in his garden. It was still hot and felt great, even though we were limited to a couple gallons of water each out of a bucket. We set up our tent on the cement pad above the pilings, looking around at the town that was frozen in a partially collapsed state. We went to bed before dark, but Katey was woken up by Lil’ Bit woofing at some noise behind the dock. She woke me up to say the bear we saw earlier in the yard was back. We could see it through the screen in our tent in the partial darkness. I crawled out of the tent to scare it away (we were 20 feet above it while it walked on a collapsed building looking for berries). Even in the near dark I could tell it was the biggest black bear I had ever seen. It was huge and round. But like a good bear, it left as soon as I started talking to it and chucked a piece of scrap wood in its direction. Just to be safe, however, I went down to the boat to get our air horns and shotgun.

Because we snacked on our neighbors offerings the night before we didn’t make a full dinner, and we woke up starved. The bugs were bad at the dock so we loaded the boats and paddled in front of the waterfall from the creek that powered the old town (at one time there were 400 people who lived in Butedale and worked at the cannery). It was going to be a long day, and we were already tired. Fortunately, the sun stayed behind the low clouds, and we were able to paddle the 15 miles to the last bend in the Princess Royal Channel and setup camp on a beach below 3000 foot high cliffs that melted into the clouds. We were beat, relatively clean from our solar shower the day before, and decided to take a day off. It was a luxurious 24 hours, perched above the beach on a small shelf, looking out at the mountains and ocean. We could see the entrance to a small bay 3 miles away that was supposed to have a hot spring, but we didn’t have the energy to put the boats in the water and find it. Instead we made and ate an entire cheesecake and laid in the tent reading to each other while holding our stomaches.

We got up early the next day to try and beat the winds blowing down the channel and all around Wright Sound, which we had to cross to get to the Grenville Channel. We paddled the 8 miles to Nelly Point without too much effort, and when we got to Wright Sound the wind was blowing in our favor so we put up the sails. We sailed across to Gribell Island (where there is supposed to be a big population of white bears called Kermode bears—we have seen enough bears recently, however, and didn’t feel like looking for more, even if they were white), then made a beeline for the entrance to Grenville Channel, we were doing great, sailng at 5 and 6 knots, until we got about halfway across and the current from Douglas Channel and Grenville Channel joined forces to push us back. We were still slicing through the water, but the gps showed us moving steadily back the other way (yes, the GPS is useful despite what Katey says), so we turned left and headed to a bay on Gil Island a couple miles away. It turned out to be a beautiful beach, with a great tent site, so we setup camp and called it a day.

We got up early the next morning to try and catch the current that should have been flowing up and into Grenville, but as we paddled we were pushed every direction, slowing our progress. Eventually we made it across Wright Sound and started our 50 some mile journey up Grenville, a narrow and straight channel that some people warned had few campsites.

We ended the first day just north of Hawkins Narrows, on a beach that looked good at high tide. When we woke up the next morning however, it was low tide, and the water was gone.

We had to carry the boats and all our gear over a hundred yards of barnacle rocks and slippery seaweed. It took us an extra half hour to get everything in the water and strapped down. But the crabs and slugs around the boats kept Lil’ Bit entertained while we packed.

This time, we finally got the current that we predicted, and we had a good day of riding flood currents and easy paddling. We spent over an hour at 7 knots, making us smile even in the facewind.

We ended the second day in the channel at the base of a beautiful waterfall at Saunders Creek.

There was supposed to be a campsite around in the trees, but we could find it so had to clear a space at the top of the beach. The bugs were eating heartily on us until we finally dug out our head nets (so far I have refused to put bug dope on over the layers of suntan lotion and salt water, preferring to cover up). We should have brought a weiner-dog shapped bug suit for Lil’ Bit. He wanted to be outside with us, but started to lose his walnut-sized mind nipping at and trying to get away from the biting flies. Eventually we had to cover him in our dry gear.

When we got in the tent his poor belly was covered with bites. He became neurotic, trying to spin around in circles and get away from the itchy bites that he thought were flies still biting him. We laid in the tent looking out at the water. So far on this trip we have not shared a campsite outside of towns with a single other kayaker or camper. It’s hard to believe we can camp for over 60 days and see so few people. I like it. We see a few boats or a ferry or a cruise ship every day, so we know we aren’t alone, but when the boats are gone it is the most serene and wild place I can imagine.

The next day we were going to reach the split in the channel, where the northern flood meets the southern flood, so we planned a short day getting to the split, then either waiting for the turn or camping out until the next day. We made over 6 miles in an hour and 15 minutes, then pulled into a bay near Rogers Point in the rain.

We decided to setup camp to wait out the rain rather than sit around and wait for the tide. The next morning we started early with what should have been the ebb tide heading north, but quickly found out we would not be paddling as planned. We had the current against us again at 1.5 to 2 knots, and our progress was painfully slow.

I couldn’t believe the tide was going out the south end of the channel so many miles away, so we tried every part of the channel looking for the ebb, thinking there was a strange counter current. We paddled against the current throughout the ebb and then into the flood. It was a challenge to keep my wits about me. We eventually made it to a bay south of Stuart Anchorage, and pulled out the books and maps again to try and figure out what was going on. What should have been a relatively easy paddle was a battle. Paddling in flat water, without wind or current, we can move the boats along with relative ease, probably putting 5 lbs of force into each stroke, but when we are trying to make way against the current or wind each stroke takes 15 or more lbs of force, and our core and back and shoulders and arms quickly rebel. We simply can’t paddle in those conditions for more than a couple of hours without crossing the line into real pain.

We couldn’t find an explanation for the current in our references, so just had to go to bed and hope for better results the next day. Again we got up early, hoping to catch the current and avoid the wind. It was better at first. We made it out of Grenville Channel and started across Ogden Channel, hoping to make it to McMicking Island. Prince Rupert was just a couple days away, and we were starting to feel the pull of real food. Unfortunately, the current and winds picked up and we again slowed to a stop. We ended up moving into Oona River for refuge. Oona River is a small Scandinavian Fishing village with about 30 residents, and no services. We hung out on the dock then walked down the lone road in town to stretch our legs. In about an hour we met most of the residents. As we walked past one amazing rainbow
-painted house a woman came outside and told us to go around the corner of the house to find Lutz. We weren’t sure why, but we went around the corner to find out.

Lutz was the local kayaker. They had identified us by our bright yellow dry gear as kayakers, and Lutz took us to his open air shop to show us his boats. He had two Baidarkas (traditional Aleutian Kayaks) without their skins hanging from the ceiling, and four or five other boats hanging about the shop. Lutz explained that he would kayak around the point to a friends for coffee, and had done numerous solo kayak trips around the Inside Passage. I asked him about the currents we were experiencing, and he said he had only been there for 15 years, and he probably couldn’t explain it. He related similar stories to ours, which made me feel better, and told us the Skeena River changes everything. The Skeena dumps into the ocean above Grenville, and flows south and east through the various passages. One of our books says the Skeena is the third largest undammed river in the world. Even the fisherman at the dock in Oona River couldn’t give us a definite plan for favorable currents across the various passages to Prince Rupert. Lutz took us to the old school (which is now a community building) and told us we could spend the night there if we wanted. We went back down to the dock to check the wind, waited about 20 minutes to see if anything was going to change, then paddled to the school to spend the night.

The next morning we got up and thought we might be able to paddle to the north end of McMicking, then sail over to Kitson Island, 12 miles from Prince Rupert. Again, it started out ok, making the first 4 miles easily, but by 11 AM the wind picked up to 15 to 20 knots blowing straight down the channel we were trying to paddle up. We paddled hard for a while, to get within 3 miles of the end of the island, but decided it would take too long and the wind and water would get too big to be able to sail across to Kitson, so we turned into a bay at the south end of McMicking, and setup for the night on a beautiful beach. We decided we would have to try again the next day.

The next morning we woke up at 5 AM for the umpteenth time (anyone who knows Katey can imagine how hard it is to get her moving at 5 AM—she has to be coaxed out of bed with coffee and constant badgering). I think someone knew that if we didn’t get a good day of paddling in we may never have the motivation to leave Prince Rupert, so everything went right. We crossed over to Gent Island with favorable current, then to Kitson with the first part of the ebb from the Skeena, and on up the channel into Prince Rupert with the beginning of the flood. We were even able to sail the last 5 miles into town in bright sunshine. We sailed into the Prince Rupert Rowing and Yacht Club and dragged our boats onto the skiff dock in search of food and a soft bed for a couple of days.

We left Port Hardy on Thursday to cross Queen Charlotte Strait and start heading up around Cape Caution. Cape Caution is aptly named because everyone we have met or talked to about our trip who knows the Inside Passage has asked how we were going to get past the open water around Cape Caution, and cautioned us about the dangerous seas in stormy weather.

We crossed Queen Charlotte Strait on Thursday and landed in Secure Bay. On Friday we paddled against a light wind to Skull Cove. And on Saturday we paddled and sailed 32 miles around Cape Caution and landed in Rivers Inlet.

The weather around the Cape was probably as good as it could be, 20 knots of wind and 3 foot swells. The shoreline is amazing! It is beat into submission by massive waves most of the year. There are incredible rock shores, with trees and vegetation blown into crazy twisted sculptures. We were told the original Egg Island lighthouse, located about six miles north of the Cape, was washed away by a wave. It sat 75 feet above sea level! It was really cool to see that part of the shoreline, and really nice to get it behind us.

The winds continued to help us out, but we got a late start on Sunday and decided to call the Addenbroke Lighthouse on the VHF to see if there was a place to camp on their grounds.

What a great idea! Dennis, the lighthouse keeper, is an amazingly generous and nice guy. He pulled our kayaks up on his dock with a crane,

gave us a room to sleep in, and has been feeding us all kinds of delicious food. His stories from 25 years as a lighthouse keeper, and raising three girls on the island, have kept us entertained while we stand out on the deck and watch an endless parade of humpback whales feeding, breaching, and slapping the water. What an amazing place to spend a day! But we are going to force ourselves to leave tomorrow morning and continue on to Bella Bella, which should only be 4 or so days away.

We’ve made it to Port McNeill!! It’s been a long two weeks of gail force head winds that have left us days behind schedual and exhausted.

Random Pictures

The owner of Spirit of the West kayak adventures invited us to stay at his beautiful camp that was probably the coolest place we’ve stayed so far with an artistically rustic hot water shower overlooking beautiful ocean views and tents perched on cliffs above the sea.  We were woken in the late evening to a whale feeding just off the shore not 100 feet from our tent.  They also had the most picturesque wood fire hot tub, that unfortunately was not set up for the season yet…

   Doug is getting skinnier and his hands are freakishly tan, we both are looking ever more alien by the day…

Port Neville and the Deer Stalker

We spent three weather days huddled in Port Neville trying to get out of the wind. It was a beautiful setting, a homestead plopped in the middle of nowhere with an old store and giant manicured lawn. Although the amenities of store and post office had been shut down last year due to an aging owner that had to move back to town the lawn was recently cut and made for an ideal campsite. In the mornings we sat on the old store porch looking out over the water and mountains, with coffee in hand we would watch the sun rise in the sky and talk about how it wouldn’t be so bad to live in a place like this.

One morning we were making coffee and I looked up and saw a deer chasing the caretaker’s cat up a tree. It stood looking up at the branches while it pranced around the tree. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of it and chalked it up to a coffee deprived morning hallucination. But as we walked around the porch the deer got site of lil’ bit and began to stalk him. I scooped lil’ bit up and the deer would lose interest, but as soon as I set him down the deer would come charging from across the lawn and stop about five feet from us looking with curiousity at lil’ bit, sniffing the air cocking it’s head, shifting it’s ears, blinking giant black eyes. Lil’ bit wasn’t sure whether to bark or whine and decided eventually just to sit in ambivialence and ignore the deer…untill it started to run, then his predetory instincts kicked in and before we could stop him he started the chase. The deer ran halfway around the yard before turning to face lil’ bit, the bravado seeped out of our little dog and he cowered, began to yip in increasingly higher octaves and turned tail to run with the deer in hot persuit. He ran back to us and the deer pranced around within arms reach for a few minutes before baiting lil’ bit back out by bounding just far enough away to incite the chase. Maybe it was playing? Maybe it thought lil’ bit was a rogue fawn that needed to be corralled? But after a morning of it we tied lil’ bit up and resigned ourselves to having a deer stalker that occasionally circled us curiously at an uncomfortably close distance.

Easy Rider Kayaks

I talked with my mom the other day and she said, “you know dad’s old kayak was an easy rider.” it’s strange how things come around. I remember my dad teaching me as a kid how to wet exit in that boat. We went down to the local gravel pit in the middle of a hot Fairbanks summer. He waded into the water waist deep with me and the kayak in tow. “Ok on three I’ll flip you, ready?” he’d say. I remeber the water being a shock but also how suprisingly easy it was to pull the skirt, exit the kayak, and pop back to the surface. My dad has had that boat ever since I can remember. He must have bought it in the 70’s. Easy Rider kayaks is a relatively small operation whose owner personally took the time to go over our boats (which we bought used on craigslist) before we left on this trip. It is a fitting, sentimental coincidence that the boat that I learned how to kayak in was the same small brand as the ones we are now piloting up the inside passage.

Stupid C
urrent

Today is a current day. We are in an exceptionally narrow passage way right now that in order for the ocean to squeeze it’s voluptuous mass through it must rush at astounding rates of speed, creating currents that make you feel as if you are on the world’s largest treadmill. Yesterday we paddled…and paddled, pushing against the current with all our strength, but little paddles and mere human muscle are no match against the sea. So today we will wait untill the sea is on our side and try to outrun the daylight.

Lil’ Bit and the Hobo Boat

Lil’ bit is sleeping in a ball at my feet. He likes the tent. He especially likes my sleeping bag. As soon as I take my sleeping bag out of it’s stuff sack lil’ bit instantaneously is there prodding it’s surface for the most comfortable spot. I have to lift him off to get in the bag myself and he puts up a fight of passive resistance, relaxing to complete jelly so it takes two hands to move him and as soon as I set him down, before I even have time to get a leg in he is back on my bed prodding it’s surface indignantly. He is not so fond of the kayak. He puts up with it but always looks a little anxious when we are out on the water. I have been trying to think of ways to make the experience more comfortable for him and had an epiphany when I saw a milk crate washed-up on shore. I tied this to the front of my kayak, broke out one end as a dog door and padded the bottom with fleece. I figured this is how he loved riding on my bicycle so maybe it would feel more familiar and secure. I stepped back to look at my boat. It had bags tied on the stern, a pile of junk on the outrigger, an overflowing deckbag, small items carabined to every open spot on deck, and now a faded half broken milk crate lashed to the front…it looked like a boat owned by a hobo. But lil’ bit seems more comfortable and if passing yachts think I’m a hobo maybe they will take pity and cook us eggs (the food I would sell half my soul for right now).

On Hygiene

After over a week without showering, I tried to freshen up with spruce bows this morning and scratched the begeesus out of my armpits.