When you want to see the stars, find someplace dark
A small lake above a remote bay on Kruzof Island, Alaska. A mile long hike through the rain forest and muskeg to climb to the shoreline. Rocks covered with moss and dwarf tress line the northern shore, creating vignettes any master Japanese gardener would treasure.
Small towns and settlements clustered along the water. With no roads, travel by water is the only way to reach these destinations in rural southeast Alaska. The sea provides either a highway or a runway for a float plane, making the docks the focal point of any town. This is where everyone arrives or departs, part of the life in this part of the world.
Where are we going today? The usual question, often the answer is ill defined. It is not that we do not have a plan, we do. It is simply that experience has taught us to keep the plan loose. Weather conditions, what the wildlife is doing, what we want to do. The plan can change.
Thus the plan is kept very general. There are some constraints, this year we have an entry permit for Glacier Bay National Park which specifies an entry date. Of course we do have to be back in Juneau in time to make the flight home. Beyond that? Just a general idea of where we plan to go and where we will stop.
The evening often sees my father and I with charts spread across the table and on the screen, planning the details of the next day and identifying a possible anchorage or two. We plan with a fair amount of experience, we have come to know these waters a bit. We plan with a backup in mind, we know that conditions will change, or we might linger when the whales or fish cooperate. Point Adolphus? How long do we want to watch whales. Funter Bay? Been there a few times… I can do that anchorage in the dark if need be.
Where are we going this year? I know… Perhaps here or there. We will just have to see. It has never failed to be fun.
Just getting the line down to them in their dark depths is a chore. Hauling them up from three hundred feet down is a bigger chore. But this is the challenge of the fisherman.
These are fish you don’t bring on deck until they are well and truly dead. Some will shoot them, but we just use a harpoon. Even then the fight is not over, but for some strange reason of halibut neurology a solid whack at the base of the tail will end it.
And these are small ones…
But we were happy enough.
Summer in Alaska the local flora explodes extravagantly. Taking advantage if the long days and short growing season the plants grown and bloom with a richness not often seen further south. A walk along a trail in the Alaskan forests and meadows offers plenty of opportunities to use a camera to capture the scene. Something I hope to be doing, stopping and photographing the flowers…
The Alaskan rain forest is as rich in life as any tropical rain forest. A vibrant palette of life is visible wherever you look. Water in plenty means that everything grows, at least during the summer. All the plants seem to be in a rush to accomplish the tasks of life before winter comes again.
No good fish tale is without peril, and this is a good tale. We were retrieving our crab pots across the channel from Ketchikan. There was a gale bearing down with those terrible words coming from the Coast Guard on marine radio “Small Craft Advisory, repeat Small Craft Advisory”.
This is when our alternator belt broke.
We were in trouble.
Well, maybe not that much trouble. We were in a nice safe anchorage and the worst probable fate was that we would be anchored ten miles from civilization eating crab for two days… In the rain.
Dan, as always was prepared for anything and had spare belts on board. With a little digging under the seats and other odd compartments we locate the tools and spares needed. An hour of breaking knuckles on pulleys should have us heading home. Of course the Amber Dawn’s engine is just under a cover in the middle of the open rear deck. We just have to do this job… In the rain.
A little yankee ingenuity was needed, this consists of about twenty minutes of four men chewing ideas and telling each other what won’t work. Eventually I have an idea that does not get an immediate negative from the assembled wisdom. We look at each other… “That might work”.
The parts to make it work are found; a bolt, a nut, and a three-eights open end wrench. A bracket is fashioned, using the wrench as a spacer to hold the alternator away from its mount. Start the engine… The belt holds, the alternator turns and we are under way home… In the rain.
Salmon fishing is real work, baiting the lines, setting up and dropping the downriggers, constant vigilance as you troll up and down the shore. Kelp and other flotsam gets fouled in the lines, the hooks need re-baiting often, up and down again with the downriggers with their heavy lead balls.
Halibut fishing is more my style, find a likely place, drop the anchor, drop in the pole, sit back and crack a drink and enjoy the scenery while you wait for the fish to bite. Given the choice of eating halibut or salmon I will take the halibut! Nothing against salmon, it is pretty good, just that halibut is better.
I had the binoculars and just happened to glance at the object in the water, just as Dan had changed course to avoid it. Logs are a regular navigation hazard in these waters, everyone keeps a sharp lookout ahead.
It can’t be… it is… it’s a bear.
But this channel has got to be a mile wide!
It was, we used the GPS and navigation computer to check, 1.1 miles across, assuming a straight course. We watched that bear swim the last 50 yards and climb out of the water. That was one exhausted black bear.