Winter Cruise in Prince William Sound

Early in my career as a fisherman, I'd made a week-long passage from Cape Newenham, on the Bering Sea coast, to Cordova in Prince William Sound. It was early spring, just after the sea-ice had finally gone out for the year. Along the way, the volcanic peaks and rugged glaciers of the Alaska Peninsula made me wonder what it would be like to take a boat deep into those fjords and ski the remote slopes. More years of experience taught me, however, that there were really no secure anchorages in that region that would offer adequate protection for a boat while off skiing.


But Prince William Sound was another world altogether. The sound is replete with small, well protected anchorages, many of which afford opportunity to run lines ashore to securely moor a boat. This would be essential, as the mountains and glaciers of the region generate severe, sometimes violent, katabatic winds. It just wouldn't do to be up skiing and have a williwaw blow the yacht aground, or out to sea.

The challenge would be to find secure anchorages that were not frozen over, and this was not always easy or even predictable. Although the sound lies mostly between 60 degrees and 61 degrees north latitude, small bays and sheltered anchorages here generally freeze not solely as a result of extreme cold, but more often due to the quantity of fresh water that flows out atop the seawater. That freshwater varies from season to season and from place to place. Short of chartering an airplane, the only real way to find out would be to go and have a look.

Summer brings hundreds of vessels engaged in one way or another in the salmon fishery, along with cruise ships and more pleasure boats each season. In the winter there is essentially no traffic at all in the sound, save for an occasional tug and barge or ferry. But that's exactly what I was after. I wanted the seclusion of winter, and that would be just what I would get.

Not only would I be far from the assistance possible during the summer, the very fact that it was winter added additional risk. The Coast Guard helicopter based in Cordova each salmon season wasn't even there in winter. Sea water temperature of fifty degrees in summer is dangerous enough, but thirty-seven degrees in winter would be catastrophic were I to go overboard from yacht or dinghy. The greatest risk would be in going ashore. Dinghy trips at that water temperature are inherently dangerous enough, but would be compounded by the risk of being stranded, of injury while skiing, or of avalanche.

Safety would have to trump all other considerations. The usual jack-line would be replaced by a stout line rove chest-high between main and mizzen shrouds. Not only does such a set-up permit a harness tether to be easily clipped on, but it affords greater security to begin with, as it's easy to stay inboard the line as well as use it as an additional hand-hold. And as unusual as it might be, the boarding ladder would always be deployed, even underway, in order that I would have some chance of getting back aboard without assistance.

Shore excursions and ski trips would have their own set of special rules. My rucksack would remain packed at all times with certain essentials. A 10'x12' nylon tarp that could be set up in any number of configurations, nylon twine, and a stout knife capable of cutting spruce boughs for building shelter, fire starter (cotton balls saturated with diesel fuel in a water-tight container), wind and waterproof storm matches, two compressed, vacuum-packed life-raft ration bricks and a tin of corned beef, flares, whistle and a hand-held VHF radio capable of both marine and aircraft frequencies, the antenna unscrewed, packed in a Tupperware container comprised the emergency equipment. Finally, the day's lunch, water bottle, an extra pair of heavy socks, and a thick but light parka filled out the pack.




Ample snow - of that I had no doubt whatever. While Prince William Sound is well known for the snowfall it receives each winter, this was a winter that only the oldest residents of Cordova could recall ever having been exceeded. So much snow had fallen so fast that the town needed help for the first time in its history to keep up with the shoveling. National Guard personnel were flown in to help, and the crew of the USCG Sycamore pitched in as well. I would find, on my arrival in town, that there would be plenty left for me to shovel as well.


Though it had been cleared a few times before, snow lay four feet deep on the finger-float of my slip. Clearing the dock was only a prelude to the work of carefully clearing the decks of Tamara. The plastic shrink-wrap cover that we install each fall to cover the cockpit had survived the enormous snow-load and shed some of the burden. But a solid igloo encased the boat through-out its full length. Two days work were required to clear dock and deck.

It wasn't long after all the shoveling that I was able to set up the stove pipe, commission the diesel stove, and move back aboard. She had wintered well, all things considered. Another week provisioning, topping-up fuel, and struggling with the only winter-capable water tap in the harbor, and the boat and I were ready. I was stiff and sore, but had survived my first physical test.


Catching the ebb tide, Tamara and I left the next morning. The sky was sealed from horizon to horizon with clouds that were as heavy and gray as lead. Soon snow was flying as thick as smoke, and the northeast wind lanced sharply through the valley from the mountains just beyond town. But I knew that as soon as we'd rounded Salmo Point and turned west down the long inlet, we'd put wind and snow on our stern. The favorable tide would shorten the time to the first anchorage, a place called Comfort Cove, where a spectacular bowl is sculpted from the mountains to the east, and perfect meadows at the head of the bay would offer excellent back-country skiing.

As I turned into the narrow entrance to the cove, the snow-laden northeast wind was as bitter as my disappointment - Comfort Cove was nearly completely frozen over! Frozen over with not just new brash-ice, but heavy shore-fast ice that supported at least a foot of snow. All that remained clear was a small part of the bay just inside the entrance. It would have to do, as time and the failing light would make proceeding on senseless.

I cruised along the ice-edge and concluded that it was securely shore-fast, solid, and not likely to go out with tide or wind, and anchored just off the ice. There could be no ski excursion here, as it was impossible to get anywhere near those alluring meadows, but it would serve as an anchorage.


Letting go nearly all of the anchor chain, I rove a light line through the chain near the bitter end, tied a shot of floating line to the first with a carrick bend, and finally tied three very small, round floats to the end. Should I be wrong in my judgment that the ice would not go out, I could easily slip the last of the chain. The floating line with the small floats offered scant resistance, and would easily be over-ridden by the ice. Tamara could then go out to sea with the ice, return and retrieve the ground tackle. As a fisherman I'd had to slip anchor like this a couple of times, and I was thankful for lessons born of experience.

Overnight the snow continued. By morning I had more snow to clear from the deck, but also got to enjoy watching a couple of coyotes as they gamboled on the ice futilely chasing ravens, bald eagles circling overhead watching the antics.


I remained a few days while the snow continued, and new brash-ice began to form from the slush created by the heavy snow falling into the sea. The air temperature dipped to 6 degrees F one morning, and the weather forecast included warnings of heavy freezing spray.


As the sky cleared, I made for Port Chalmers, on Montague Island. Not only are there spectacular mountains with open approaches accessible from the lagoon at the head of the anchorage, but Port Chalmers has a special place in the history of Euro-American exploration of Prince William Sound. George Dixon (1786) and Nathanial Portlock (1787), both of whom had been officers aboard HMS Resolution under James Cook on the Third Voyage of Discovery, had returned to the sound on their own accounts to pursue the maritime fur trade. With knowledge of the anchorage, they both used it to careen their ships, and both felled tall, straight fir trees here for use as spars.

A few years later, in 1791, George Vancouver in HMS Discovery, following up on Cook's work, was baffled by the fact the stumps from the earlier spar-gathering were several feet under water. He was unaware of the common seismic activity in the sound, and didn't understand geologic subsidence. He would have been even more befuddled were he to see those same stumps, by then well brine-pickled, returned to the surface by uplifting during the 1964 Good Friday earthquake.

I knew I couldn't stay long in Port Chalmers - it offers no opportunity for securing lines ashore. Vancouver was literally blown right out of the anchorage by violent williwaws in 1791, loosing his ground tackle. But with a favorable forecast I remained a few days, and was able to get in a good ski tour ashore.

A salmon enhancement effort, funded by assessments on their catch voted in by fishermen, is operated here by the Prince William Sound Aquaculture Corp. Forty million salmon fry are confined to net-pens much of each winter, fed hourly during daylight, and then released in the spring. Having been given a small head start, they stand an increased chance of survival during their years at sea. Then, having been imprinted by the waters of Port Chalmers, they return as spawning adults.


The PWSAC crew charged with running this salmon head-start program promised to keep a close eye on Tamara. Their boat was well secured by a huge mooring anchor, and the pens by several more. So I could go ashore with confidence, and have ample warning should the weather change. They treated me to dinner aboard as well, and a tour of their operation. It would be the only human interaction of my entire cruise; indeed I would not even see another vessel of any kind. In winter, the sound is wilderness.

On a day so calm the winter sun glancing off the sea made the water look dull and heavy as mercury, I pushed on from Port Chalmers, knowing such conditions seldom last long at this latitude in winter. I wanted to get up Knight Island Passage to a small land-locked notch in the southwest corner of Squire Island that I knew to be perfectly secure in all conditions. A true hurricane-hole. Though cyclonic hurricanes don't occur in Alaska, hurricane-strength winds are not uncommon. Just the prior fall, Nancy and I were delayed in our journey home by hurricane-strength winds that closed the Port of Valdez and shore-bound the ferry.


The Squire Island anchorage would let me run a web of lines ashore, and the alpine meadows all around would make great cross-country skiing. Better yet, a friend who had been in the area conducting a fishery survey just a few days before I'd left town, reported that it was ice-free.

I'd spend a couple of weeks at Squire Island, Tamara secured to trees ashore, enjoying the extraordinarily deep snow laying in the meadows and forest. Completely alone except for the eagles working the thermals of the peaks above, a couple of fat seals, and a few clowning sea-otters.

Occasional new snow, even rain a couple of times, but for the most part a persistent late-winter high pressure system yielded clear, cold, star-filled nights,Venus resplendent. The snow pack, firmed by each night's cold, made fine spring skiing in the warmth of the next day's sun.


But then, likely because of the security of my moorings at Squire Island, as well as the beautiful, calm days, I broke the vow of caution that I had professed at the outset of the cruise.

Alone, and trying to illustrate the story with photographs, I mounted the camera on a tripod , set it up in the dinghy, and rowed ashore. As if to chastise me for my smugness, the camera and tripod went overboard, just as I reached the beach. I grabbed it frantically, poured the contents of my water bottle over the camera in hopes of some salvation, and though the electronics survived, the lens was ruined. Thankfully the memory chip yielded up my prior efforts, and I still had an older, less sophisticated, camera back on board.

In ensuing days, I took Tamara deep into the mountains themselves to Seven Fathom Hole in Jackpot Bay, where I had to break a bit of thin new ice in order to carve out an anchorage, then on to the small, completely landlocked, but difficult to enter lagoon at Disk Island where I knew there to be broad meadows, frozen lakes, and gentle slopes with stunning views of the peaks to both the north and the west. Eventually we made Bass Harbor on Naked Island, and finally back to Comfort Cove. More than a month since my first attempt, the bay was now ice-free, yet the bountiful snow of this winter still covered the valley and the mountain bowl.

Across Port Gravina, beyond the entrance to the cove, the sun set low and stretched ribbons of light across the bay all the way from the western mountains to the dark slopes of the alpine bowl at the head of the anchorage. The great play-write, Thornton Wilder, wrote that, “When one is at home he dreams of adventure. When one is on an adventure he dreams of home.” I'm not so sure if that's so with me. Sometimes the presence is an enchantment even greater than the absence.

Reflections - a Look Back

After some time in the Shumagin Islands and Sand Point, it seemed our break in the weather had finally come. As we headed east towards Kodiak, along the Alaska Peninsula, we were treated to the incredible, though unfortunately rare, views of the mountains to the north. They had been totally obscured on our west bound journey earlier in the summer. Because we were enjoying such good weather, we decided to spend a little bit more time and explore the in-shore routes.



One of the traditional harbors used by the schooners that plied these waters a hundred years ago in search of cod, halibut and seals is formed by two islands just south of the Alaska Peninsula. In the days of working sailing vessels, harbors that afforded two entrances (as well as exits) were much preferred. In the event of a dramatic wind shift, the boat could escape without being trapped on a lee shore. Kupreanof Harbor, formed by Jacob and Peter Islands, fills this requirement, and has been long considered one of the finest in the region. In addition, being some distance from the very high mountains of the Peninsula, the islands are not as prone to the dangerous katabatic winds, or williwaws, common in the area.



The passage between the harbor and the mainland is known as Humpback Bay, and, as the name implies, is frequented by large whales. A great number were grazing in the bay as we transited, though as usual were invariabley too far distant for good photographs from the boat.



Mitrofania Island, Castle Cape, and the volcanic peaks of the Peninsula were in their full glory, the sunshine feeding our souls. This gave us an exceptionally fine passage for Kodiak.



Kodiak is starting to seem like our second home port, as it’s been a stopover the last three summers. Weather forecasts for crossing the Gulf and our return to Prince William Sound (PWS) were not very favorable upon our arrival, so the decision was made to spend a few days at Long Island near the town, awaiting good conditions and enjoying the sunny, though windy, weather. When a brief weather window appeared to be opening up, we made a quick overnight visit to Kodiak City for fuel and provisions, then headed across the Gulf for the Sound. As it turned out, it proved a good choice since the weather took a major turn for the worse. A series of southeasterly gales, some of hurricane force winds, rolled through the Eastern Gulf of Alaska for the next few weeks.



Our arrival back in PWS was greeted with another severe gale. One of our favorite anchorages, known locally as the Fox Farm, soon became crowded with salmon seine boats. Included were several friends of Mark’s, awaiting the next fishing opening and taking refuge from the weather. Our plan was to get back to Cordova by the first of September, allowing us several weeks to meander home. PWS offers so many areas to explore, and since the weather was cloudy and rainy we opted to explore the west side of Knight Island and it’s many anchorages. Part of the motivation would be to explore a little, and note where we‘d like to return for a more in-depth visit in the future.



As often seems to be the case cruising, the day we rounded the north end of the island was one of those days people spend lots of money to see - a beautiful clear day exposing the mountains and glaciers to the north and west. After a frustrating season with little fine weather, it would be our luck that both as we left the Peninsula and the Sound, all that we’d hoped for would be revealed.



One of our incentives for getting into Cordova sooner than later was to visit with two sailboats that we’d met along the way - Kim and Kirsten on s/y Sol (Danish); and Cam and Marilyn on s/y Makali‘i. Both couples had decided to leave their boats in Cordova while returning to their respective homes for the winter. Kim and Kirsten we had first met in Ushuaia, Argentina, near Cape Horn, at Christmas time, 2006. They have wintered Sol in Puget Sound the last two years and visited us at home a couple of times. Cam and Marilyn, whom we met last year on Kodiak, spent many years in the Pacific and are from Lewiston, ID. Kim and Kirsten met Cam and Marilyn in Hawaii two years ago. These are the sort of cruising networks that develop with more years and miles under the keel. So it was fun to have everyone over for dinner on Tamara before departing for our homes.



If you remember last year‘s “blog” post, September in PWS was spectacularly beautiful. Not so this year. It would pour rain for four or five days, perhaps give a break in the weather for a day, then return to pouring rain. This of course makes getting outdoor projects completed nearly impossible. Nancy would sneak away whenever it wasn’t raining to get in a brief hike, while Mark’s main concern was getting Tamara ready for winter. This lay-up would include shrink-wrapping the cockpit area, a task that requires there be no wind or rain. A day's respite from the wind and rain enabled us to get Tamara covered just before flying home.



Cordova is the primary fishing port in the sound, and is one of the leading ports in the country. This season Cordova ranked eighth in the country by volume, and fourth by value. As a consequence, environmental health of PWS is critical to the well being of the town.

Following the Exxon Valdez oil spill disaster in Prince William Sound in 1989, a complex vessel escort and spill recovery system has emerged. Integral to this system has been the formal training and organization of many of the commercial fishing vessels of the region.



Every year boats and captains that are contracted to be part of this system must participate in formal annual training and practical drills. This is also true as well for all crew members who want to participate in the system. Boats and crew are paid for both the training and the drills, and for us this can be a nice addition to the cruising kitty.



Mark first took the training last spring as a crew member on a friend’s boat, and repeated it again this spring. He also participated in a surprise drill for four days.

This Fall, Nancy underwent the training, so she too is now qualified for future drills, as well as an actual cleanup. Her group lucked out - their on the water training day was one of the few calm sunny days in September. With the escort system and the structured response plan the hope is never to have a another spill. However there have been occasional spills, including one caused by the grounding of an escort vessel on Bligh Reef, the same hazard involved in 1989, apparently caused by an inattentive pair of young maritime academy graduates text messaging and playing on computers! The system has been employed for more than just drills.



The photographic theme of this posting, “Reflections - A Look Back” comes not only from the wonderful photographic opportunities presented by reflected light, but also because this is where this long voyage all began. It was in the fisheries not only of the Copper River and Prince William Sound, but of all of Alaska far to the Bering Sea that gave us the opportunity for the years of adventure. Not only was a good living afforded by the years in the industry, but those years provided the accumulated experience and expertise that enabled us to undertake such ambitious voyages. Antarctica and Labrador, the Bering Sea and the Alaska Peninsula are not common cruising grounds, but the years and miles under the keel that were earned here, stood us in very good stead there. The prior posting details some of those places and people along our way.



Future plans? Those are all still only being formulated. Next spring will likely see a major refit on Tamara, the first one of this extent in all the years she’s served us. Included will likely be rebuilding the engine, and other mechanical systems. Better to do it now than after the work becomes yet more difficult for Mark. Other than the refit, we will likely do a slow and easy Prince William Sound pleasure cruise, and possibly a winter ski expedition in the mountainous regions of the sound before the refit.
As usual we also intend a few lecture/slide shows that are presently booked, and will be considering a series of shows “on the road” next winter. Contact us for details.

All About The Net

The flight out of Anchorage was spectacular as we flew over Prince William Sound and made the approach over the Copper River Flats and into Cordova. Once again Nancy was treated to beautiful weather as she flew up the coast from Seattle.


The Copper River delta, known locally as the Flats, is the largest contiguous wetland in western North America. Through it’s delta, the Copper River debauches more sediment into the ocean that any other river in the world except the Amazon. Although not of great length, its frigid waters descend from the high mountains of its headlands with tremendous velocity. As a consequence, the several native species of salmon, in particular the Red or Sockeye, that spawn in the Copper are endowed with greater musculature and a higher oil content than any other in the world, making Copper River salmon firmer, and richer than all the rest. They are widely considered the finest salmon to be had.


The town of Cordova was bustling as the gillnet fleet was preparing for it’s first opening of the season on the Copper River Flats. For the uninitiated, a gillnet boat in this fishery averages 30 feet and is usually manned by 1 or 2 persons. There is a small wheelhouse and cabin on the stern, a net reel on the fore deck and fish holds each lined with special bags and capable of holding approximately 1500 pounds of iced salmon. The net is 150 fathoms (900 feet) long and the mesh size and depth varies depending on the species fished and the location of the fishery. It’s not unusual for a boat to have at least 6 nets to accommodate the different fisheries, and bags of nets are seen stored all around town, waiting for their turn aboard the boat.


Sitting on the stern of a friend’s boat enjoying barbecued moose and halibut, the conversation turned to nets. “So dude, did you try putting that lighter color panel of web in your net for Ester? I‘m telling you, I always nail them with that net.”



Alternating panels of different colors of web can increase the efficiency of the net. As the fish approaches the net it might note the obstruction, turn and swim along the net until it sees a change of color, and assume that the color change indicates the end of the obstruction. As the fish turns at the end of the perceived color panel, it turns directly into the next panel and is caught.


At an average cost of thousands of dollars, buying a new net is something one does when the old one can no longer be mended, or it is so worn as to no longer be “fishy”. And during the fishing season, nets must constantly be mended. A good net mender can earn very good money, though may have to work outdoors in the rain and cold for long hours in order to ready the net for the next fishing opening.


The web is hung on what is known as a weed line and the weed line is hung from the cork line. This leaves a space at the top of the net that permits floating weed, kelp and other nuisance junk to float over the web and not become snagged and need tedious clearing. The bottom of the net is weighted by a lead cored rope known as a ’lead line”. You can see Pat McGuire attaching the weed line to the cork line in the photo above. It helps to have nice weather, though there are indoor net lofts available to the fisherman.

As the season progresses, one net comes off and another goes on to suit the fishery.



Later in the season the focus changes to the very high volume but lower unit value pink salmon in Prince William Sound. Most of this high volume fishery is conducted by larger, much more efficient boats known as seiners. Crewed by four or five, these boats employ much more sophisticated equipment designed to handle a more elaborate net intended to encircle large schools of fish. Derived from a net designed centuries ago for use in the river of the same name in France, a seine is a very expensive net handled by a sophisticated and expensive boat that pairs up with a powerful skiff or “jitney” that deploys one end of the net. A few such boats are already being prepared, and loading the seine aboard.


TAMARA is now re-supplied, fueled, cleaned and ready for departure. Our plan is to head for the Bering Sea and possibly get as far north as Bering Straits. We had shipped a new anchor and considerable supplies on a large fishing boat that was in Port Townsend last winter for repairs, and is home ported here in Cordova. Unfortunately, it’s arrival has been delayed by an engine failure, hence delaying our departure. ETD should be in the next couple of days.


In the meantime we'll enjoy the sites of Cordova, like the seagull eyeballing the fish in the paws of the seaotter in the above photo.


Gillnet boats returning from first "Opener".

On the Road: Cordova to Port Townsend

September is again becoming a month of transition for us, getting ready for the winter, securing Tamara in Cordova, Alaska and returning to our home in Port Townsend, Washington. Last year the move off the boat to land and returning to our home after ten years on Tamara was quite dramatic. But it's now becoming easier, as we're getting down the routine.

This season the normally tempestuous September weather in the Prince William Sound area was instead clear, beautiful, and calm for much of the time. All of the maintenance and lay-up work that's necessary, particularly when leaving a boat for the Alaskan winter, was made far easier by this cooperation. And of course it made walking about town, as well as hiking, a great pleasure. But this would all come to an end come October, with one of the strongest storms Mark has ever seen here in that time of year.





Once again Tamara's cockpit and after-deck was shrink-wrapped with a special industrial plastic to protect against snow and freezing. This process requires some preparation and a support structure, but the real amusement comes when wielding the enormous propane-fired tool that heats the material and induces the shrinkage. The trick is getting to the proper temperature without burning completely through the plastic. If you do, you've got to first smother the flames, then repair all the holes with a special eight inch wide plastic tape. We completed the job, but had to fix plenty of holes.

The original plan had been to leave our 1994 Chevy Astro van, which Mark had driven north in April, in Cordova. Outfitting, maintaining, provisioning and so on can be made much easier with the help of the van. But the need for a vehicle at home that can haul “stuff” for our various home improvement projects forced the revision of that plan, and it was decided that we would drive the 2,250 miles south together. That would not only get us and the considerable freight we'd amassed home, but also give us a chance to really enjoy a unique part of the world that both of us love very much. We've driven this remote route many times, starting in 1975 when Mark first went north as a legal services attorney, and it remains a favorite road trip - or as Mark calls it ,”A vehicular assault on North America.”



For the last 20 years, Cordova has attracted the more adventurous foreign cruising boats as a winter port. It's a great place to spend the season with it's ski hill and other winter activities, and the people have a genuine curiosity for fellow seamen. This year Helen and Ian on sy Kotuko from New Zealand chose Cordova to winter over. We enjoyed getting to know them, swapping cruising stories, and introducing them to some of our friends who live in town full time. In fact they secured their boat in Tamara's slip in the harbor, while we moved her to that of a friend.



The first leg of our trip was on the new high-speed catamaran car ferry, mv Chenega, from Cordova to Valdez. Our original reservation on Friday, October 1st had been canceled by the Coast Guard Captain of the Port due to very high storm force winds, delaying departure until Sunday the 3rd. We were hoping that this was not going to be a hint of things to come. But once we crested Thompson Pass out of Valdez, the sun came out and the views were incredible. The first official vista turnout gave a beautiful view of Mts. St. Elias and Wrangell. During the first day of driving, a fox, coyote and a porcupine crossed the road, all narrowly avoiding the designation “road kill”. Spotting wildlife is one of our favorite pastimes on this drive.



Being that we are officially retired, yet are set on adventuring as long as possible, cost is a major factor in all our decisions. The cost of fuel to get the van south was going to be about $500, so to keep the total cost down we planned on camping each night. The trick would be to find campgrounds that were still open, now that the summer tourists were gone and the snow was soon to come. This would also require that we stop while it was still daylight. Late in the afternoon of our first day we spotted a campground at the Tetlin National Wildlife Refuge, open and free! All the state-run campgrounds were closed, but the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service had a better understanding of the pleasures of late season outdoor activity. After setting up camp we walked around the area and observed ducks and geese, and several beavers busy getting their “house” ready for the winter, working the ice edge in the lake next to the camp.



Day 2: It was obvious that winter was approaching, as many of the small ponds were beginning to freeze and there was a dusting of new snow on the mountain tops. Another beautiful, sunny day as we drove through Kluane National Park, Yukon, Canada. That night we had a Yukon provincial campground, thirty kilometers south of Whitehorse, all to ourselves. There was lots of fire-wood ready and stacked for camper's use, and excellent CBC programming was on the radio. What more could we need! We awoke in the morning to a light dusting of snow on the ground, which made the scene all the more beautiful.

Day 3: As we pulled out of the campground and headed south, Mark noticed that the alternator was not charging. We immediately turned around and headed back toward Whitehorse, hoping that we'd find an auto-parts store before the battery failed and all electrical systems shut down. And of course we hoped an alternator would be readily available and we'd not have to wait as one was ordered. Mark always has tools in the vehicle for such emergencies. Luck was with us, an alternator found, space made available for the repair, and after a two hour delay we were back on the road. Highlight of the day: a herd of elk crossing the road.





Destination for the night was the Provincial campground at Boya Lake on the northern end of the Steward-Cassiar Highway in western British Columbia. It's a beautiful spot and one we've stayed before, and this diversion from the original Alaska Highway is more remote and much less traveled. This road, only constructed in the 1980's primarily to serve a large mining complex, runs north and south along the inshore side of the coastal mountain range that borders western Yukon and the Alaska coast.

Day 4: Nancy had been looking to spot a moose for over a month. After not seeing any moose while on the Copper River Flats outside Cordova, she was determined to see one on the drive south. Unfortunately the only sign of moose she saw were on all the moose crossing signs along the road, and the in the pickups of hunters on the road, until …

In the morning, as we took a walk around the campground, we encountered the only other campers in the park. They had been out hunting moose for their winter's meat, and were in the process of butchering the previous day's kill. Nancy got her up close and personal look at a moose, head and hoofs still in the back of the pickup, but it wasn't exactly the image she'd had in mind.



The first hint of the weather ahead was a truck heading north with snow on it's hood. By noon it was snowing hard, and it continued on and off for most of the afternoon. At the same time the fall colors were in full display, and the contrast between the dark gray sky, dark green conifers, and the bright yellow-orange leaves was stunning. Another beautiful day, in a spectacular part of the world—and we've seen a fair part of it.





We were hoping to camp at the south end of the Steward-Cassiar Highway, but the campground was closed , as was the next just east of the junction with Highway 16 (out of Prince Rupert). So we were forced to stay in a motel ($85!) and catch up on TV. Combined with the price of the alternator, our low cost budget was shot!

Day 5: Once off the Stewart-Cassiar Highway civilization increased dramatically as we continued to head south through the ranch country of northern British Columbia, a place we've always admired very much. Another stunning day – what can we say. And luckily, a campground was open outside of Lac la Hache, attracting four other campers for the night. Payment at the campgrounds required an attendant to collect, yet no one had been available to pay at any of our stops. This good fortune helped offset the cost of the motel - at least a bit!

Day 6: An easy day back over the border into the US and a ferry crossing to Port Townsend. The house looked great – thank you Chuck!

October has brought beautiful fall weather to Port Townsend as well. The weather forecast for this La Niña winter in the Pacific NW is for it to be wetter and colder. Yet yesterday the record high for the date in Seattle was broken at 74°! All this good weather has allowed Nancy to get caught up on her outdoor yard and house projects.

Our slide show and lecture in Cordova, sponsored by the University of Alaska Sea Grant Marine Advisory Program and the Prince William Sound Community College, was very well received, and we were asked to repeat it. We will do so in the spring. On Sunday, December 5th we will present the show at the Northwest Maritime Center (click on Events in the upper right hand corner), here in Port Townsend, and again, in shortened form, at the Winter Wanderlust program in the theater at historic Fort Warden State Park February 16th. Anyone wishing to attend may contact us directly, and we can reserve tickets.