Sailing the Dean Channel

Old friends invited us to Bella Coola for a week of sailing on the deep water channels reaching out to the Pacific.



Our mixed group, a New Zealand yachting family on the 28' Emerge and our group of six with Janice, our Bella Colla based skipper, on the slightly larger Wind Dancer headed out on a rising tide under brilliant sunshine and glistening waters. Lessons on nautical nomenclature (genoa, cleat, head, helm a'lee) moved us into the art of feeling how to sail.





A full day of tacking into the wind gave us confidence, not so much in our new skills as in the forgiving nature of a boat designed to stay upright under a wind load of sail. While our linear progress might have appeared slow, it was hard to know if we`d actually made any "forward" movement on some tacks, Janice reminded us that in sailing you are always in the right spot where ever you are. I believe this might hold as a general rule for all boats.





Handling Wind Dancer was an ephiphany. I am unaware of an experience comparable to helming a sailboat. Watching the sails full of air, feeling the pressure on the helm as the wind varied and shifted, listening to the wind sough among the steel cables anchoring the mast and the taut ropes snapping with the sails when you let the wind get away and feeling the pitch and yaw of the boat under your feet as it quartered (ideally) across the closely spaced waves characteristic of inland waters was an exhilerating explosion for your senses.



Down below in the saloon it was more like being on a runaway express train on a roller coaster track. Joy, however, didn't seem to notice and calmly read books, prepared meals and finished off sudokos there between her stints at the helm.





Most days we were alone. But our stop in Bella Bella brought us into the main channel of the Inside Passage. Large ferries moving between Alaska and Washington state navigated the narrow channel with huge barges servicing isolated communities, float planes and fishing boats crowd the local docks.



We meet a Heiltsuk fishing crew on the docks. After a twelve hour trip they'd returned with crabs, a few black cod, some salmon and a pair of large halibut. We traded fishing stories and they gifted us a salmon for our dinner. Friendly and hospitable, Bella Bella was a delightful stop. See the Heiltsuk Tribal Council http://www.bellabella.net/aboutus.html.





In the Labouchere Channel we ran into Pacific White-sided Dolphins. Their performances were both fascinating and elegant to watch. Some leapt several times their length into the air doing backflips and all of them seemed to move in teams of anywhere from two to seven or eight in number, broaching the water's surface in beautiful simultaneous arcs alongside our boat, effortlessly cruising in the shadow of our bow and generally enjoying being water mammals feeding amid what we guessed was a big crowd of migrating salmon down below.







A few days later our path crossed with a pod of whales. In the distance we saw the sudden spume as one, then another whale blew off. We slowed and gently ran parallel but opposite course to the whales. One whale raised its tail and slapped it down on the water. We saw the splash and a second or two later heard the sound of the tail, the whale repeated the movement several more times before our separation dropped them from our sight.







Late afternoons we cruised into safe anchorages for the night. The channels are deep, apparently bottomless according to our depth finder and their sides are steep. There are few places to safely anchor your boat, a critical action where a strong wind or sudden storm can run your boat against the hard stone walls of the channel. Eucout Cove with its locally maintained hot spring pool looking out over this hidden anchorage was popular.







A nearby bay proved fruitful. We caught five Dungeness crabs there, learned how to sex them and creating what we hoped was an accurate 165 mm measure to ensure we only cooked up mature males for our jumbelia dinner(fisheries regulations protect all females and juveniles). The bay had been the site of a lumber service camp, the remains of a large raft hosting a store, fuel tanks and warehouse still floated serenely at the end of the bay, obviously still used for bbqs by passing sailors. In the evening we watched bald eagles and a family of river otters playing along the shore with a pair of seals cautiously periscoping our activities from time to time. At Cape Rattenbury there was a rare beach amongst the islets sheltering our anchorage. We enjoyed a fire, Janice played an array of fiddle tunes and we sang some folks songs - Jan and Joy, fresh off their performances at the Powell River Kathaumixw choral competition (www.kathaumixw.org) added a sad romance of ice bound whalers in Frobisher Bay.



Our own place connected more with Emily Carr and the Group of Seven.

Chilkoot Trail Again

After last August's rather damp hike over the Chilkoot, Andrew and I organized a second venture for late June. Five woman friends, all novices at backpack camping, joined us for the adventure. We discussed equipment for a couple of weeks in the spring and everyone bought, borrowed and dried the necessary tents, anoraks and food for the trip. Practice hikes with packs and a pre-trip packing session finished off our preparations and everyone had a pack weighing less than 17 kilos, not too bad.




Over the past twenty-five years I've worked and hiked on the trail there has been a considerable improvement along many sections of the route. Trail crews have added firm stone steps and chipped out foot holds on most rock slopes and creek fords. In the rock slides and up the "Golden Stairs" to the summit though, it is the same gruelling boulder scramble it has always been.











Our group took on all these challenges in good humour and, in three days of fine weather, we humped our way through the coastal rainforest and over the summit to Happy Camp. As we bedded down though, the wind began to blow and rain pelted down through the night and into the next day.











We were drenched by the time we made Lindeman City and gratefully hung up our wet kit from the rafters of the warm cabin. The rain faded in mid-afternoon and we made it to Bare Loon Lake to shorten our next morning hike to catch the train at Bennett. On the train there was rest and the beauty of Lake Bennett until we returned to a triumphant welcome at the Carcross railway station.

World Cup Sunday in Vancouver

Straight from the airport with our friends to see the show of French Impressionist sketches illustrating the liberation of French women during the late nineteenth century. There was an earnest attempt to show that women could painted as realistic, instead of metaphorical, nudes and that "sacred nudity" was one that took you beyond the mere physical. Somehow I had trouble separating this from the metaphor but I'm not an art historian. The exhibit did note however that French women didn't get the vote until 1944 when American tanks liberated French women from both Nazi occupation and conservative French men.

We drifted out of the gallery and after a moment's discussion agreed on falafels from the Babylon Palace on Robson for lunch. While ordering we noted cheering crowds just around the corner on the Granville mall. The extra time of the World Cup Final played out on a big screen up the street. Crowded with polite Vancouverites we saw young women with red yellow red bands painted on their face and Espagna t-shirts mixing aimably with fans of the House of Orange.

Vancouver is raucous in support of the public viewing of sports - likely a legacy of their recent hosting of the Winter Olympics - but they are also clearly neophytes in the devoted following of sport. One local fellow informed me that the "Orange guys are the Spanish." When I corrected him, he paused, checked my suggestion with the fellow beside him and said "I've been cheering the wrong team!" I assured him he still had time to reverse the karma in extra time cheers. He shrugged, "I am fan of Germany anyway," noting the Germans had beaten Uruguay, but he couldn't actually remember the score or whether they played extra time or not. I love that kind of sport fan - its all about now!

And then Spain scored. The square erupted in cheers, red and yellow flags shot into the air and waved frantically. Ole! Ole! Ole!

The Dawson Waterfront

Dawson waterfront in 1898.

The Dawson waterfront was for many years its connection to the outside world. Fifty-five years ago the highway made it to town but the river has lost little of its importance for the people of Dawson. Although there has been talk of building a bridge over the river and thus defacing the river landscape, cars, trucks and 2 and 4 wheelers cross all summer on the ferry. In winter there is an ice bridge with the attending excitement of being the both the first and last across it. Alison's Dad took her on the last trip over one spring, "the water was right over the tires."

Waiting for the ferry (above) and waiting for the traffic (below).

The waterfront collects people, people waiting for the ferry, people waiting for salmon, people watching the river, people guarding the river and people travelling up and downstream to their gardens, fish camps or to Moosehide or further afield to Eagle or Circle in Alaska or even floating all the way to mouth of the river on the Bering sea.

Alison's big sister brings people onto the ferry.

Johny, the mining inspector on the job and looking fiercely at a photographer.

The river front is a busy place. The Yukon Rose sits high on the bank. Brian has been working on restoring the vessel for years. The hull has dried out and he spends his days lying beneath the boat filling the cracks between the hull planks. He wants it in the water in the next couple of weeks so the wood will swell with absorbed water and become watertight.

And there are still some big ships here. The Yukon Queen II carries passengers between Dawson and Eagle every day, one of the most extraordinarily beautiful stretches of a beautiful river. The Klondike Spirit, a vessel built in Eagle, offers day trips on the Yukon for those wanting a round trip back to the City of Gold.

Making Connections on the River

Every spring one of our first river trips is with our Godchildren. This year we motored up river through the turbulence of Miles Canyon to find a sunny sandbar for a picnic. Andrew took the helm while Hen kept a close eye on the river. Hen was going to drive us home in the afternoon.



The rest of gang, bundled up for the wind, settled in for the ride. Seamus read his book in the shelter of the bow while Bronwyn and Julian took turns keeping company with Petrie, the warm dog.



We're a bit late this year. The river has started to rise so the sandbar isn't nearly as large as I remember it from previous visits. But it is still big enough for us to trace out a big ring for playing Fox and Goose. This year we even have a small island in the course.





There's plenty of action. I sit on the sandbank and take photos. Last time I played my knee was wrecked for months. We are planning a Chilkoot Trail hike later this month so I have to be careful, or lazy in the warm sun, you decide.



The obligatory photo of the boat. It gets us into a lot of great places. As we are winding down our games some of the neighbours come over to join us for a cookie and to trade some river stories. They are traveling in a lovely cedar strip canoe made by their grandpa back in the 1970s. There are lots of connections out here.