The Loop.

The Loop.

We left Ketchikan to journey up Behm Channel, on the west side of Revillagigedo island, and entered Yes Bay.  We passed Yes Bay Fishing Lodge, and called them on VHF Channel 73 to deliver a “hello” from a guy who used to work there for many years. He’s now employed by our mechanic in La Conner at Steve Ibbetson Marine Services.  Small world.

We slowed down to navigate a few tiny islets and a couple of skinny passages in order to reach the best anchorage at the head of the bay. We came in on a high tide and the passage was thick with trees just touching the water line and draped with moss. The head of the bay had a mud bottom and wasn’t very deep, (good for crabbing). There was long slow shoaling at the end of the bay that included a grassy marsh area and a stream, (perfect for bear watching). The universe often gives what’s needed, not necessarily what is wanted. After two days crabbing, we pulled up the trap to find one crab. We were thrilled it was of legal size at 6 ½“.  We didn’t see another crab, male or female, after several more attempts. Very unusual for that to happen. 

And bears? No bears until the morning we left. Right before pulling up the dinghy and anchor, I got an excited call on the walkie talkie from Moon. “There’s a bear, there’s a bear! Sure enough there was our first bear sighting. We watched the bear graze on the marsh grasses for a while until he disappeared into the woods in our own wilderness zoo. 

Next stop, Bailey Bay, in hopes of snagging the US Forest Service public buoy. If we could moor to the buoy that would be helpful because the bay is deep and anchoring is problematic. Our guide book suggests not staying unless tied up to the buoy or the boat is of yacht size, which we are not. As luck would have it, the buoy was free and we slowed our speed and nabbed it for a two-night stay. 

The quiet of Bailey Bay and the early morning warmth of the sun.

There was a hiking trail nearby on the shore, which was why the US Forest Service buoy was there. The trail leads to a 1-mile hike to Lake Shelokum where a supposed canoe can be used to cross the lake where a hot spring exists. After taking “spit baths” to conserve water, the thought of a dip in a hot spring was a glorious thing.

The next day we set off for the hike, rounded the first corner and saw the trail stretching upward at an alarming angle as far as the eye could see until it faded from view. It had to be an uphill 45-degree climb, at least to me it did. Ten minutes later passing out or sitting down screaming “No mas, no mas!” to my wife seemed like my only options. I’d been sitting on my “stern” for quite a number of days while we boated through BC and into Alaska. My body was used to sitting not hiking. But as Moon and I continued my body acclimated to the climb and it seemed to get a little easier. Our trail led us through the rain forest with all the ferns and moss and natural decay found in a place that gets 160 days of rain per year.

Unfortunately, we reached a stream that was washed out, probably from all the rain and ice melt from the warm weather the last few days. We could go no further which was disappointing because there was also a raging waterfall within 50 -60 yards of the washout that sounded like a jet engine. We could see it and feel its thunder but just couldn’t get a good look at it through all the trees. No Alaska hot tub today. Walking back down the hill was a piece of cake, or maybe I didn’t notice the burning in my legs and lungs because I was giddy, thinking how good my nap was going to be on a return to the boat. Moon and I were bushed. 

The following day was a day of rest. We puttered around and cleaned up the boat. In the afternoon an old red fishing boat with a couple came alongside and the captain asked if rafting to Ruthie Jeanne was okay. Normally, two boats on a buoy aren’t a great idea because the weight of both boats strains the tackle holding the buoy to the bottom. But the forecast for the night was for calm weather so I agreed to have the boat come along side and raft up.

                                                   The Tyyne, a commercial trolling boat. 

Not sure how old the fishing boat was but it didn’t come out of the fishing boat showroom in recent history. The couple anticipated taking the same hike we’d taken. I warned them about the washout area where Moon and I were turned back. She looked around the old trolling boat with its aged wood, rust and peeling paint and said to me with a slight grin, “as you can see, we’re not afraid of adventure.”

They were in their 40s and looked to be in good shape.  She was a “burned out veterinarian”, by her own admission, from Fort Collins, CO.  He was a retired family law/criminal defense attorney turned salmon trolling boat captain from Kasaan near Ketchikan.  They met on the Alaska Marine Highway ferry from Bellingham to Ketchikan. As soon at their backpacks were loaded, they were ready for a 3-day hike. After crawling into a plastic dinghy that looked like it might have come right off the shelf at Walmart and didn’t appear to be anywhere near “barnacle-proof”, they paddled away to the shore, gave us a wave and trotted off up the hill.

The following day we pulled the line from the buoy and backed away from the little red fishing boat. After a great stay in Bailey Cove the next trip was through Gedney Passage where, out of the blue, we lost our autopilot and the chart plotter radar was askew. We also got a radio call from a Seaborne Odyssey helm crew that told us our AIS (automatic identification system) icon that we broadcast to show our location to other watercraft was reporting Ruthie Jeanne moving through the water backwards. Luckily, we had enough cell reception to call the Garmin Marine support line. They were helpful, but we weren’t able to fix the problem right then. With enough electronics left to navigate safely, the glitches could wait until we returned to Ketchikan. We were going to be out of cell range for 11 days anyway.

I would have to pilot Ruthie Jeanne manually which is a tiring task on a long trip. The boat never seems to track easily in one direction, which is why an autopilot comes in handy with its continuous course corrections to the heading that’s selected. Without it there is always a little wind here or a little current there to push her off a straight-line course. In the grand scheme of things, there are worse problems to have.

We cruised through Shrimp Bay to see and hear two thundering waterfalls before rounding the point into Klu Bay, our stay for the night. Our hope was to tie up to the one buoy in the bay. Our luck ran out, the buoy was taken by a 50 foot yacht named Peregrine. We headed to the far end of the bay to scope out the anchoring possibilities, and then the radio came alive with “Ruthie Jeanne, Ruthie Jeanne, this is the Peregrine”. I replied to the captain and was informed that Peregrine was leaving and the buoy was ours if we wanted it. I thanked him and we tied up when Peregrine left, safe and sound at the buoy.  A blessing to be sure. 

Klu Bay had it all. A stream coming in to the little cove we were in, a hike to a lake, an old logging road to walk and supposedly, crab and prawns. This could be heaven. It turned out to be which heaven you would be talking about. 

It was tough getting crab that were the legal size of 6 ½”. After pulling up about 30 crab we finally landed a keeper. In WA, 6 ¼“ is the limit and we could have filled the boat if that was the limit here. But we don’t want to be greedy or think of ourselves as poachers, so one keeper was better than none.

Prawns, you say? We put the prawn trap out overnight and were anticipating a big haul in Shrimp Bay. Our electric pot puller heaved up 400 feet of line to a mildly disappointing total of seven prawns. However, that was fine for a prawn cocktail before Terry’s rockfish and salmon cake dinner. 

To be truthful our hike to the lake above the waterfalls wasn’t really a hike, it was more of a climb. The trail became a washed-out creek bed in places with all the rainfall they get here. In other places it was more like a muddy bog. The man-made log bridges over the wet spots and tiny streams had disintegrated in places and it looks like whoever kept up the trail had gone on vacation and decided not to come back. We hiked to the lake, took a picture to prove we were actually there and climbed back down to the shore swearing to somehow look for more moderate hikes. Moon and I looked at each other when we reached the boat and said, “maybe this hiking thing, isn’t for us”. We were bushed, again.

The following day we took a 2 mile walk along an old logging road next to a big stream that ran into the bay. The rainforest was thick with trees. This is bear country so we made noise to make sure a bear knew we were around. We also had a whistle, an air horn and bear spray if our noisiness didn’t do the trick. The climb elevation on the logging road was approximately 27 feet which suited us just fine compared with our previous “hikes”. The rainforest was filled with second growth trees, but old first growth stumps were still there. Some of the big ones looked as if the diameter was in the 6-to-7-foot range. The new growth trees looked to have a diameter of around 2-3 feet at most. It was a pleasant hike with no bears.

While we were out exploring in the dinghy, we stopped and talked to a couple from Bainbridge Island. They were in a new 28 foot aluminum fishing boat with dual outboards. All I could think about was the amount of gasoline those engines would burn at $5 a gallon. Ouch. Their ultimate goal was Glacier Bay National Park and Preserve, roughly 300 miles away. 

It was so quiet and calm at times the water acted as a mirror image of the sky.  I took this picture over the railing, right at the water the morning before leaving the cove. You can see the beach in the top of the photo. We left our lucky buoy behind and headed to Misty Fjords and Walker Cove.

Ed out.