Quixotic Quest

When the Spanish author Cervantes wrote the first great novel, Don Quixote, in 1605, Alaska indigenous people had not yet seen western contact, and were enmeshed with the cycles of this wilderness. The Russians would not arrive imperially in Alaska until the 1700’s and then despite the availability of salmon, they “sold” the place in 1867 when the trappers ran out of sea otters. What does all this mean, you may ask? In a word, fishing.

Rocinante was the horse of Don Quixote, and well, Spawn is a quest of its own.

Don Quixote read of the medieval knights until he went mad, and then set out on his famous quest, romantically obsessed and unstoppable, furtively trying to joust his way to a higher chivalric consciousness; tilting at windmills, hallucinating all the way. This treatise on delusional obsession resulted in an original etymology of the word “quixotic”, or an endless struggle to achieve an imaginary goal, which is what I think of “fishing.” Once you start, you cannot stop. Quixotic.

These whales are bubble netting, a cooperative fishing method. Another mammal that loves fishing.

And so, the months of summer here in Alaska have progressed from occasional idle casting to furious hours-long episodes of jigging, mooching, trolling, prawning, and crabbing. Success with crustaceans has led us to landing coho and pink salmon, rockfish and lingcod, and the mighty halibut hauled up from the depths. Now we know that the real utility of our freezer on board is not for chicken and ice cream. Oh no, it is for fish!

“Thank you, crab!”

“Thank you, prawns!”

“Thank you, coho!”

Me too, coho! (although smaller than the master fishwoman.)

Bonus! Salmon and caviar!

Eggs on eggs, now that’s a fisherman’s breakfast.

Pupu’s from the sea

In the endless quest for fish, we have encountered competition from hungry bears at water falls, voracious sea lions taking our fish from the hook, and other like minded humans in close quarters. We have met our intellectual equals in the most elusive of salmon species, the sockeye, which neither bites lure nor bait, no matter how it is offered. So the real Alaskans just take it home with a dip net, which is an option not made available to us transients. Oh well. Food for thought, that.

Hey there, plenty for both of us.

A bit close, and probably not a green salad guy after all.

Sockeye, sockeye everywhere, but not a bite to take.

Lingcod, a new favorite.

His

And hers, halibut.

Man, I love fishing.

Good times here on Laysan, and summer’s almost over with temperatures dipping into the 40’s at night. So we will be shutting down and winterizing the boat before heading out to visit children and relatives across the country awhile. A significant part of our luggage will be, you guessed it, fish.

All the best,

John

Laysan at anchor, Baranof Island, August 2023.

…so long, and thanks for the fish!

Let me just say, thank you “kids” for coming and hanging out with a couple of 68 year olds, hastily moving us out of our slow boat routine and putting us out there with the bears and the fishes!

Instead of our usual, arriving at an anchorage and having tea, cookies and a nap, no! It’s post haste launch the dinghy, throw out the kayak, head for shore, bushwhack up to the muskeg forests, search out the lake over the rise, drop the lines and jig for rockfish, load up for the one beer cruise and a beach fire! Catch our breath…kayak 10 miles to the next anchorage, drop the prawn trap in 300’ of water, set the sails, push thru the Sitka alder in search of berries, fry up some katsu, whip up glacial cocktails, greet the morning with yoga on the deck, contemplate the long twilight hours carving block prints, check out the local Sitka dive bar…

All quiet now, everyone’s gone back to their most interesting lives; I’m a bit tired and I can have my cup of tea and nap…but I do miss the youthful energy, boundless enthusiasm, constant seeking and curiosity.  Thank you….

PS. Upon your departure we went fishing with the bears, perhaps we need supervision…

k

Spot prawns, hauled up by hand from 300’.

Hiking in the scary, bear woods, we discover “hot tracks”, imprints created by brown bears repeatedly walking the trail.

Connor’s glacial cocktails, made with Oaxacan mezcal and ice from the Sawyer Glacier, collected in Tracy Arm.

Exploring the tidal reaches of North Arm Dundas Bay; found bear poop on top of this rock, they must like the view too!

Crab dip by Chef John, jalapeño poppers stuffed with crab, smoked peppered salmon, pickled peppers and green olives make for an excellent pupu dinner.

Morning yoga exercise led by yogi instructor Julia…occasionally difficult balance when the boat is rocking.

Julia’s daily icy challenge in 54 degree water, John was the only one to accept the challenge.

Sarah salmon jigging from the kayak.

Everyone is a winner, two silvers and a pink all in one day!

Too busy…no time to make beds.

Setting sail on the way to a new anchorage.

Block print art capturing everyone’s favorite moment.

One beer cruise for the evening beach fire.

General route for the two week trip in SE Alaska.

The kids are gone now so let’s go fishing…

Fixin’ to get ready

There is much to do in preparation for a voyage, and our Texas roots are laid bare sometimes with a colloquialism that seems appropriate: “fixin’ to get ready”. Which does not mean that you are ready, or actually getting ready, but rather that you are preparing to get ready, and fixing things is often the first step. Usually we begin thinking about fixin’ to get ready months before we even arrive in Alaska; I believe that is fixin’ to start fixin’ to get ready, but I digress into semantics, sorry.

Lots of luggage, more than half of which is parts and food from home.

On a clear May afternoon, we land in Petersburg on the only northbound jet of the day. Laysan looks great at the dock, and we settle in, wading through the boxes of parts sent from my dreamy winter lists of boat projects, some essential and some elective. But first, it is time to party in Petersburg; the annual Norwegian Festival brings out the locals with Viking parades and contests and feasts! Burly men and strong women wearing animal skins toss fish, drink beer, and enjoy salmon bakes at the beach, us among them with friends Kurt and Marcia on Alpenglow, and Don and Natala on their seaplane. Stories were told and fun was had, we all partook, which definitely slowed down the get ready part.

100% Viking

Petersburg Proud

Team Laysan entered a foot race, in it to win it we did not come in last! (almost)

J & K, Marcia & Kurt, Natala & Don, plus Drake the wonder dog!

Alpenglow and Laysan, sister ships at the dock in Petersburg

Flying with Don over Le Conte Glacier

Cessna 182 on floats, a fantastic Alaskan Vehicle

Work crew begins

Grease and clamp day, an annual favorite

Boat yoga, installing a new autopilot

And a new water heater

Two weeks later, provisioned and watered up, projects mostly complete and systems of importance operational, we loose the dock lines and back away from the slip, heading out for a summer of crabbing, fishing, and general wilderness immersion. Our only schedule is to be in Juneau by July when all three kids will join us for a two week cruise. This is going to be great.

Finally out there, a happy fisherwoman

Dinghers pushing through the ice towards Baird Glacier

The one-beer cruise, with a cold souvenir

All the best, my friends, take care.

John

Outside to Inside

Waking up in fog, we at least appreciate the calm wind. Today we move to Baker Cove along a circuitous route of narrow channels and poorly marked shoals. Again, we see no other boats and we are alone in the anchorage. Deer and brown bear meander along the beach, neither seems very fussed by the other.

After exploring a nearby bay for future anchorage potential, we set out two fishing lines with herring because you never know when you might catch a halibut. While we are prepping evening pupus for wine time…zing, zing both lines go off! My line is slack, herring gone, but John has something big. Slowly he reels in the heavy line and I grab the fishing net waiting to see what we have. As the fish appears from the dark waters, we excitedly see a halibut but quickly realize our net is way, way too small. Get the gaff! a sinister device employed successfully equal to our number of failures, ie. the fish gets away. Switching places, I take the reel and maneuver the halibut up to the back swim step while John man’s the gaff. I will spare the ghoulish details but we muscle aboard and dispatch the 40 inch, 29 pound halibut, always a bit of a Tarantino experience. Net gain 14 pounds of fillet, at local prices about $450 worth of fish! Fish is back on the menu boys!

A solid 40” of halibut.

We will use this for John’s ceviche, cocoda, the best preparation with fresh halibut.

The next day, Sarah provides a weather update and our best option to make our final leg predicts a 20 knot wind and 6’ seas; not great but the best in the foreseeable future. John plots a course out Imperial Passage, into the Gulf of Alaska for about 11 nautical miles, then diving back into the shelter of Lisianski Strait and on to the small village of Pelican.

Our route for the day.

Our waters start out calm, we reach Imperial Passage and I anxiously watch through binoculars the white foam of breaking waves on the rocks either side of the passage.

Departing Imperial Passage into the Gulf of Alaska.

Soon enough we are again out in open ocean with unpleasant rolling for about two hours; our estimate is 8’ waves and we certainly see sustained winds in excess of 20 knots. We pass the green and red lateral buoy marking the turn into Lisianski. The final hurdle is a narrow passage over a 30’ bar with the ominous entry on the chart, “large standing waves with outgoing tide….up to 6’ standing waves over shallow bar”. Lucky us (…actually not luck, but specific planning), we are entering on a flood tide, so while there are no standing waves at the entry, the bar is shallow, the water is churning, the seas are now on our stern, and the rocks with breaking waves appear uncomfortably close.

Froth over the shallow bar.

But we are in! The seas immediately calm and we are once again within the protection of the inside passage.

A few hours later we tie up in Pelican, a stilt village with 60 residents who make their living on groups of mostly men, flying in for week long fishing charters. The town has no roads, just the single wooden boardwalk for the ATV’s. Slim pickings for us in Pelican; no grocery, no cafes, no fellow cruisers, not even the Harbormaster puts in an appearance. We do manage to get some free wifi sitting outside the tiny public library. The librarian complains “no one ever asked me about this”, every time the new forklift rumbles by on the boardwalk literally shaking the entire wooden structure. Well, we are back in civilization….Alaskan civilization.

Trying to connect after nine days without cell coverage.

Pelican Harbor Office…never open…

Pelican.

Kimshan Cove and the Howling (Almost) Gale

Sarah’s forecast via the Sat phone predicts a “firehose of rain” (NOAA’s terminology) and wind of 25 knots, fairly significant. We say goodbye to Chichagof, my new favorite anchorage and start to move to Kimshan Cove. The relatively short passage is a bit of a hair raiser because our electronic charts and GPS do not match where the boat actually is. The narrow passes have rocks that are in fact marked on the charts, but are more concerning when there is some doubt where they are relative to the boat. We maintain a careful lookout, proceed slowly, and repeatedly check our paper charts.

Passage in the fog.

The final turn to Kimshan is particularly disconcerting because the green Coast Guard buoy, usually a reliable marker, is not sitting atop its danger reef. While the reef is readily apparent at low tide, if it were high tide there would be no sign. We dutifully make notes on our charts for next time.

A proper green marker of a shoal.

Kimshan is a large cove, with a couple of abandoned structures on its shore, remnants of previous mining. The day is grey and overcast but no rain, so we dinghy to one of the buildings and poke around; our Douglass book says the cabin is used by kayakers and it looks like that is the case, a cozy stop if you were paddling in the elements.

Catching up on a 1992 Flying magazine in the kayakers’ cabin.

Our next exploration is another abandoned looking building, but when we peer in the windows, we see rain clothes, packages of dried fruit, a lawn chair, books…although there are no signs of life or boats, we back away without going in…creepy.

Artist rendition of Kimshan Cove.

Circumnavigating the cove, we spot a lumbering brown bear mom and cub, doing their daily shore patrol. When she catches sight of us, she slowly disappears into the forest.

Bear strolling.

The next day, the weather is so much calmer than predicted, we contemplate moving again. However, before we start the process of lifting the dinghy and pulling the anchor, the wind starts to pick up. The rain starts to fall, no silent rain as described by John Muir, rather sheets of rain, curtains of rain, a firehose of rain! The wind quickly moves past the predicted 25 knots, the boat heels and swings in the wind gusts. I watch the white caps move towards the boat, no cat paws here, the wind is picking up the ocean water and hurling it at us. 36 knots of wind! Beaufort says this is a near gale!

Video: Snotty weather at anchor.

Yikes…36 knots of wind!

The track of our swinging boat at anchor.

The day goes by listening to the howling wind, the incessant rain, the creaking anchor chain…John makes pizza, I work puzzles, we play a round of Phase 10, run the heater and wonder where are the other boats?

Lots of time to indulge in elaborate breakfasts…salmon eggs on eggs.

As the day continues and the wind blows unabated, we decide to do dinghy ops, and lift the dinghy back onto the aft boat deck. A routine, almost daily practice becomes challenging with wet decks, a rocking boat, and a swinging dinghy, we use the utmost care to finish the job and return to the warmth waiting for the weather to abate.

Dinghy ops.

Chichagof Village

Our first anchorage on the Outside is Chichagof Village, the site of an abandoned gold mine from the late 1800’s to 1930. We anchor in a very shallow 15’ of water (John doesn’t like to see single digits under the boat) directly across from the ruins of the mine. We are the only boat in the anchorage, a theme that was to persist during our entire Outside experience.

Chichagof anchorage.

We have a long view toward the head of the bay and can see an astonishing number of fish jumping…big fish…leaping, splashing, cavorting in the shallow waters…salmon! In record time, the dinghy is launched, the fishing equipment gathered; casting rods, net, pliers, rubber gloves, stringer line, buckets, gaff, knife, bucket; and we make our way into the inner bay. Fishing is not our long suit since our attention span for the activity is about 15 minutes, but it seems like a no brainer amidst this bounty of dancing fish. Sure enough, fish are caught, netting is successful (actually, the hardest part), and we feel like accomplished fisher people with our catch of pink salmon (best used as salmon burgers).

Dinghy…ing to the salmon fields.

Salmon count K 4 – JP 2.

Video: Salmon mocking JP

On the second day we are at anchor, another small sport fishing boat comes in; we excitedly watch them with binoculars (boat TV), and wonder how they made it through the outside waves in such a small boat? Since this is our first sighting of human life in a couple of days, John launches the dinghy for a visit. A couple of North Dakotans out from Sitka for their summer fishing, real fishermen who generously share some prawns and coho! Score! John returns the favor with some of his homemade chocolate chip cookies, and they give us even more…some sockeye! Double score!

Enormous salmon burgers.

We are so enamored with the anchorage, we stay another two days; exploring the abandoned gold mine, more salmon fishing, touring with the dinghy to spy grizzly bear, rafts of shy otters, and noisy sea lions smashing their fishing catch on the water.

Cabin and boat ruins at Chichagof.

Bathtub in the scary bear woods…

…and here are the bears, a mom and two cubs with lots of gulls waiting for salmon handouts.

Very shy sea otters, hard to get closer for pictures.

Sarah’s daily weather report indicates that we should continue our route up the outside passage, the weather is changing and tomorrow will be a good day to move ahead of predicted 30 knot winds and 8’ seas.

Ruins of a miner’s cabin.

Departure from Sitka

As we prepare to depart Sitka, water pump replaced, we discover that unexpectedly (and without notice) our satellite phone email box (a service provided by Inmarsat for a hefty price) has been inexplicably disconnected. The satellite phone still works but we are not able to send an email weather request and then to receive the weather email forecast from NOAA. It is like your phone still has cellular service but your gmail account has disappeared.

12 year old technology…open to any offers.

What to do? Weather reporting is a key part of cruising outside; the weather report we are picking up in Sitka is only reliably good for about three days. NOAA provides a continuous weather reporting service on the VHF radio, but our experience has been it is unavailable in remote locations. What to do? Complaining about our sorry state of communication affairs to our daughter Sarah, in the process of closing up her life in Port Aransas, she offers to be our daily weather router. We can text her from the SAT phone, she will get the NOAA weather forecast for Edgecomb to Fairweather, then text us back on the SAT phone with a weather message synthesized down to 120 characters. Problem solved! (to the extent our SAT phone can connect to its satellites, not always a guarantee).

Waving to the hard working fisherpeople.

With a forecast of SW wind at 15 knots and seas of 5 feet, we decide to head up Olga Strait, then Neva Strait, turn into Salisbury Sound and out into the Gulf of Alaska. Before entering the Gulf, we stop to deploy our paravane poles in the event the sea is rougher than anticipated and we have to put our fish out (two 50 pound triangular steel plates that slow the boat’s roll). Given the difficulty in retrieving the fish, our preference is to just deal with the roll if it is not too uncomfortable.

Paravanes deployed.

Once out in the ocean swells, memories of previous crossings settle in; walking thru the boat holding onto the overhead rails, wedging into seat corners to stabilize your body, no appetite, pretty much wishing for it to be over.

Video never quite captures the roll.

Some hours later, as we approach our turn in at Khaz Bay, waves break on the rocks and the ocean swells start to flatten. Ahead a large fishing seiner blocks our entry and we can see with binoculars that he has his huge buoyed nets deployed. Deciding to pass on his starboard side to avoid the nets, we suddenly get a call from fishing vessel “Reamer” advising us to pass on his PORT side, and encouraging us that there’s “plenty of water”. John quickly steers to port, passing between some uncomfortably close rocks and Reamer; he is apparently correct about the sufficiency of water.

Reamer, a seiner working outside The Gate.

Happily inside Smooth Passage, we now face “The Gate”, a narrow channel entry into Klag Bay full of diving, huffing sea lions and roving bands of sea otters. Successfully anchored at the abandoned gold mine of Chichagof Village, we breathe a sigh of relief yet start to wonder when the weather will allow us to escape from this outside passage?

The Gate entry, the red triangle is the location of Laysan.

Complete solitude and calm.

Rainbow reward.

Venturing out into the sea…4 years later.

We make it to Sitka, with the most exciting moment traversing the Sergius Narrows in the Peril Strait (the place names alone cause stress). Currents in the Narrows can be as high as 9 knots, Laysan only goes about 6 knots, so we meticulously plan to hit such a spot at slack, the moment when the flood turns to ebb and provides an easy traverse.

A rare sunny morning, lasted about 4 hours.

Sitka is a small town facing the Pacific Ocean on the outside of Baranof Island. We were last here in Covid times, quiet, no cruise ships, no tourists; times have changed but the town still has its authenticity and when all the cruise passengers return to the ships at the end of the day, the Sitka streets are quiet again.

Sitka harbor.

Sitka National Historic Park.

From Sitka, we have two choices north; return the way we came and enjoy the relative protection of the Inside Passage waters or…venture out into the Gulf of Alaska….open ocean. The many storied inlets along the outside of Chichagof Island have always interested us, and in previous years we almost made the choice to venture out of protected waters but the weather never cooperated. This year, a small weather window pushes us to “go for it”, and we plot a course north, on the outside.

A rough outline of our route outside.

Unfortunately, our decision to depart Sitka is delayed by a day when the water pump suddenly fails (after 12 years of faithful pumping). No water pump means no water, no toilets, no washing, no showers; a deal breaker. John goes below and begins changing out the pump with his spare, a spare stowed away for 12 years just waiting for its shining moment.

John’s happy place.

We will see how our weather window looks for tomorrow.

Sister boat Shearwater encouraged us to try the outside waters.

Re-provisioning for 4 weeks, Juanita’s chips figure prominently.

Checking out the local IPA at the Pioneer Bar.

Passing the torch, there’s another doctor in the house!

It is with great pride that we announce daughter Sarah’s successful defense of her PhD dissertation in marine bio-geochemistry. Of course for this auspicious event, we all converged upon her little town on the Texas Gulf Coast, Port Aransas, the campus of the University of Texas Marine Science Institute. After her thoughtful presentation on “Extreme climate events influence on particulate organic matter quality and quantity in the Mission-Aransas Estuary”, we celebrated her 6 year journey through post graduate education. Now the doors of academia and opportunity have swung wide open as she strides into her future.

Happy family! Hawaiian leis for graduation, brought by Julia from home

Celebration at the Gaffe, with Sarah, her professor Zhanfei Liu, fellow grad students, friends and family.

Meanwhile, Kathleen and I have flown back to Alaska to continue our summer pursuit of the ever elusive fish population. In June the weather was glorious, warm and dry, with lots of crab on the menu. One day was almost 80 degrees in the sunshine, so we even went swimming in the bracing clear 58 degree waters of Gut Bay. (That’s 10 degrees colder than Barton Springs which we remembered as a good way to cool off in Austin back in the day.)

Too cold for long distance laps.

Crab dip and prawns, a winner dinner on the fly bridge.

The prawn pot has had some satisfying hauls too, but our favorite new joys have been halibut. Fishing on the bottom, and waiting, lots of waiting, then suddenly Zing, and we’re pulling up pleasing 5-10 pounders. These are called medium size “chickens”, and with all the resulting battle on the step to boat these guys, we have no interest in trying to land the big 100 pound “barn doors” everyone talks about.

Good catch with friends on Alpenglow alongside

Fully licensed, and well within the rules, we have nonetheless been boarded twice by the State Fish and Wildlife authorities to check our larder. Maybe they just want to be friends, or are just curious about Laysan. Anyway, no harm, no foul, and we continue our search for marine protein.

The sergeant prepares to board us

The rains have returned and August offers better chances of salmon runs. So we now enter into competition with the bears for the fish. As usual, I defer to the bears when in close proximity. The other day we saw five grizzlies munching on grass, wondering where the salmon were.

Waiting for the salmon, like us

Eagles in the nest too, are getting ready

Kurt, Marcia, and Drake wave goodbye

After a nice rendezvous with friends Kurt and Marcia on Alpenglow, our sister boat from the Seahorse factory in Zhuhai, we are now heading through Peril Strait to Sitka. There we will enjoy the walking and the history of one of our favorite towns in Southeast Alaska. The first marine survey of Laysan is scheduled to be done there and we’re trying to make sure that there are no “deficiencies.” It is also the place to gaze out at the open waters of the Gulf of Alaska, and ponder further adventures.

Cascade Falls

Sideways sunsets go on and on.

All the best, my friends. Take care.

John

◦

The Silence of Empty Houses, Stagecoach and the Anasazi

Standing in the empty living room of my father’s house for the last time, the light filtering through the round windows he had held in place as the masons bricked up the walls around the fireplace, I hear only echoes of footsteps, and see only shadows of the past. Forty years of his dreams made true: flying from the backyard, cultivating a panoply of plants, all done with a sense of wit and irreverence known all so well to his family and friends. And so after four years of various frustrating rental schemes, we decided to relinquish the property, and move along.

Pulling away from the hangar at Stagecoach

I am reminded of the echoes and shadows as we stood in the empty rooms of the Ancestral Pueblans, the Anasazi, in New Mexico. Windows and doors staring openly at the windy sky, pot shards still lying on the ground one thousand years after the mysterious abandonment. Some say that they left due to drought, or to join more successful communities along the Rio Grande, or that they planned to return but never did. These are the terms of looking over the horizon: the past becomes the history enveloped in the present.

Bandelier National Monument

Tsankawi Mesa

Bandelier Cliff Dwellings

$6 Senior Rate Campsite

The long bumpy road to Chaco Canyon ends with spring snow!

Chaco Masonry still standing after a thousand years

Climbing up to the mesa for a different perspective

Boot view of Pueblo Bonito from the top

Black on white, just lying about.

Petroglyphs, art or instructions?

Biking up Obsidian Ridge

After a month of camping and ruminating, the southwest always reminds us of the sense of space and sky and wind that blows the cobwebs away. Lots of hikes and bikes, campfires and smiles; it has been a good spring sojourn along the paths of the Anasazi. All is well in trailer life 2022.

Take care, my friends, hope to see you soon.

John

Glacier Bay, Hoonah, and Ford’s Terror

Light that seems it should break

upon the ring of mountains shouldering against the

miles of open bay streaked with glacial silt and bergie bits.

And there stands the proud snout of Margerie Glacier

with lumpy towers of blue ice, leaning forward

like helmeted Orcs groaning before the plunge.

Margerie Glacier

Such are the mornings at Tarr Inlet in the far north of GLBA. Coffee.Ice bergs the size of station wagons approaching Laysan too closely that slowly roll and take a new heading with the unseen currents pushing against their new underbelly. We are in the midst of a natural drama with characters of bears, birds and fish interacting with mountains, water and weather.

Bergs and bits

Here the natural units are 1000 years, or 1000 miles, and even then the scale barely budges when weighing the immensity of the landscape. Consider this: some shorelines in Alaska are actually expanding due to glacial rebound after losing the incredible mass of ice. Juneau is rising at one inch per year!

The ice pack cometh

The evening one beer cruise, with a campfire

After two weeks ruminating in Glacier Bay, we headed across Icy Strait to Hoonah, a small mostly Tlingit village established in 1754 by the elders being pushed by the inexorable advancing glaciers of the Little Ice Age. Self sufficient, friendly, and shrewdly separating their cruise ship visitors miles away at Icy Point, we think Hoonah has a Molokai vibe to it. And they have a 220 ton Travelift. So Laysan had a haul out and bottom paint job while we lived on the stands with a 15 foot ladder.

Hoonah Tlingit 1800’s, Alaska State Library

Laysan tipping the scales at 40 tons, gets a ride to the yard.

Every two to three years, the accumulated growth of slime and barnacles threatens the integrity of Laysan’s hull, and requires a thorough cleaning and repainting. Steely strong as Laysan is, the ocean is a tough environment for machinery, and the bottom must be defended with barriers of epoxy and variably toxic paints. This we have done resolutely in ports from Hawaii to Washington and Alaska, always surprised at the growth seen below when Laysan hangs wet in the slings. After four days of grinding, sanding, and spot treatments, we then beam proudly as she shines smooth in the sun at the splash day back into the water.

Two coats of Ameron ABC, and we’re ready for the sea.

Splash day!

Finally, Sarah and Connor free themselves from their schedules and travel across a continent to join us in Juneau for a cruise. Julia is otherwise occupied with her botany studies in Costa Rica, so has to miss this year.

Kathleen, Sarah, and Connor at Taku Harbor

Me taking lines from F/V Frigidland, docking at Taku during the blow.

With three atmospheric rivers pointing at southeast Alaska from a gale force low in the Gulf, we were still trying to piece together an itinerary for a one week cruise with the kids. After waiting out the first blow in Taku, where even the local fish boat captain called it “rough out there”, we decided to make a run for Ford’s Terror, a landlocked bowl of granite cliffs that shields all winds. The problem with Ford’s Terror is the perilous narrow entry, which is only passable for a few minutes at high slack. Otherwise, it’s standing waves and 8 knots of current. Kayaks, maybe, Laysan, no way. Hence the name given to the place by Ford himself in 1899 after rowing in and not knowing if he could ever leave.

Even now with multiple gps navigation devices and tidal prediction tables, the flows at Ford’s Terror are vaguely influenced by rain, snowmelt, and the phases of the moon. That is to say, high slack is not guaranteed. Nonetheless, many have entered, and most have returned, so we decide to make a run for it.

Arriving at the Endicott entrance basin to Ford’s precisely 45 minutes after Juneau high tide, there is an air of anticipation amongst us all. Idling abeam the waterfall we watch the narrows with binoculars, trying to ascertain the flow: “Still flooding? Slack? There’s a line of tidal wrack coming! It’s ebbing early! Go, go now!”

Chart, waypoints, and our track through Ford’s Terror

Fortunately we have a series of gps waypoints from our friend Christian, and we dutifully follow those through the circuitous channel. Sarah and Connor on bow watch calling out the kelp patches which indicate rocks below, Kathleen watching the gps track next to me, and I am hand steering mid channel and increasing power against the now two knots of ebb current against us. In ten minutes we are free, the waters are calm and the granite walls soar vertically into the mist. Unreal.

Laysan lies at anchor in Ford’s Terror

Dingers and the kayakers enjoy the quiet

Connor, Sarah, and I exploring on Dingers.

For four days we floated at anchor, laughing, eating, fishing and exploring the arms of Ford’s Terror. Eerily quiet and absolutely alone without a breath of wind, it felt timeless, but eventually we had to leave. The exit was shrouded in fog with ice bergs floating around the channel, so it was slow going for awhile. But as they say, we passed without incident, and readied for the next passage south towards Petersburg. There upon, we encountered a gale and seven foot seas, but that’s another story…

All is well here in Alaska. Hope you are fine too. Take care.

John

Bartlett Cove, Glacier Bay

Skagway: 1984 – 2021

Skagway was the jumping off point for the Klondike Gold Rush in 1896; tens of thousands of hopeful prospectors passed through Skagway on their way to the Yukon.  I didn’t get a chance to see Skagway in 1896, but 88 years later, in 1984, I visited the town for the first time with my father, Jim, and my sister, Carolyn. We arrived by Alaskan ferry from Prince Rupert, British Columbia with backpacks, tents and sleeping bags, something like the prospectors of old; only no boomtown for us, Skagway was a ghost of its former self, a historic town run by the National Park Service.  We walked the quiet streets and marveled at the fortitude of those early travelers.

Camping 80’s style.

Fast forward 21 years to 2005, and much has changed in my life; I have a husband and three children, ages 13, 11, and 9.  Still into camping, we have motored in our old RV 1,500 miles to Skagway.  Skagway has changed too; massive cruise ships disgorge thousands of passengers who roam the streets and wooden sidewalks.  During the day, the town feels more like Disneyland than a National Historic Site, but by evening, the hordes have returned to their ships and we explore the silent streets by bicycle.  The kids love riding down the middle of the street, no traffic, no stop lights, the historic old buildings make a superb backdrop to our evening explorations.  

Cruise ships loom over the Skagway Marina, 2005

Camping RV style, 2005.

Skagway after the tourists have gone back to their ships.

By my next visit in 2021, much has changed in the world; we are in covid times.  The cruise ship industry has tanked and the small towns of Southeast suffer the absence of their tourists.  While I am sorry for their loss, I am very excited about my gain…an opportunity to visit Skagway without tourists! Not only are there no cruise ships arriving, the only road in to Skagway is closed at the Canadian border…no one gets out, no one gets in.  This strikes me as the best of all times to pay Skagway a visit and to finally complete Laysan’s Inside Passage from Olympia, Washington to Skagway, Alaska.

In the cruising world, Skagway is a bit off the beaten path requiring a transit of 103 miles up the Lynn Canal, famous for its roaring, funneling winds.  The present day name of Skagway comes from the Tlingit name for the area, Skagua, “a windy place with white caps on the water”.  While our three day cruise up the canal found good weather, the ride back was very much Skagua, requiring us to duck into an early anchorage to escape the pounding.  

That’s not rain, its spray!

Arriving at the Skagway marina, we find a near empty marina with many boats up on the hard.  The Harbormaster explains that many of the boats belong to Canadians who have not been able to access their boat for 1 1/2 covid years.  Yikes! We manage a tie up after literally being blown onto the dock and set off to check out the town.  Skagway is as I remember it in 1984, quiet streets, gorgeous mountains, friendly locals who seem genuinely happy to see us, enthusiastic park rangers.  The 4th of July parade is a hoot; complete with snowball pelting of the paraders, bands with members playing cardboard cutout instruments, and the whistle of the White Pass Yukon locomotive followed by bbq and beer outside at the brewery and postcard writing in the middle of the closed down street.  Everyone knows everyone, and we have our picture taken by the newspaper editor who is thrilled that some cruisers have come to her town to celebrate.  

• 

Covid times… no cruise ships, no tourists.

Old style 4th of July parade.

4th of July activity…send a Skagway postcard…cards and stamps provided.

The next day, John and I start up the famed Chilkoot trail, maybe someday we can hike it’s length, but this year it is closed at the Canadian border.  During the gold rush days, the Canadian Mounted Police stopped each prospector at the border requiring them to prove they had 1,000 pounds of food and camping and mining equipment to last for a year.  This year not even proof of a vaccination gets you past the Mounties.  

k

The prospectors were not so lucky as to have boardwalks across the beaver ponds.

Apparently, not many of the prospectors were lucky at all.

The north end of Lynn Canal and the terminus of the 1,000 mile Inside Passage…Olympia, Washington to Skagway, Alaska. Laysan took a leisurely two years for the passage.

The Scales on the Chilkoot Trail, 1898.

Skagway camping 1890’s style.

Petersburg to Juneau: Lookout

Our first intrepid guests of 2021 are my youngest brother, Phil and his wife, Stacy.  Avid boaters in their own right, sailing the British Virgin Islands, canoeing the Rio Grande River, swamp boating for crocodiles (not sure about that one), this is their first visit to Laysan and the first trip to Southeast Alaska.  This is going to be fun! 

Hopefully, not the Titanic.

Thomas Bay hike.

Mechanicals and weather are the two driving forces in a cruise (as much as we like to say “fun is number one!”).  For this trip, the mechanicals are flawless, but the weather comes through for an exciting excursion. Right now we are holed up in Taku Harbor riding out a Southeast gale, termed “unusual” for this time of year!  John and I have a windy, wet, pajama anchor drill at 3:45 in the morning when the weather hits; despite our best efforts, somehow it is hard to always prepare fully.  This time we have to go up to the flybridge to take the bimini down since the 36 knot winds rattles the whole structure; an exercise similar to retrieving a huge kite in a windstorm. After that, we let out more chain to increase our scope on the anchor.  Phil and Stacy eventually wake up since the chain locker is about one foot from their pillow, and the noise of chain rumbling out at 3:00 am is the ominous noise of a problem.  Wind and rain continue thru the day, with the lazy day punctuated by Stacy shouting “Kathy!” when Laysan swings too close to another anchored boat; a problem when two large objects meet in a nautical Venn diagram, a second rainy anchor drill solves the problem.  

Even though the weather alters a few of our plans, we manage to have a great tour.  We spend two nights at Thomas Bay, catch crab, engage in several hikes through the bear-y woods, even some sunny weather.  At Fanshaw, we find the ruins of an old fox farm (Julia helped us make that discovery last year) and have a great fire on the beach. John and I had collected wood two weeks ago, diligently drying it in the engine room for this moment.  Sitting on the pebble beach enjoying a beer and the everlasting sunset, Stacy suddenly shouts “bear!” sending everyone scrambling to their feet.  A benign porcupine ambles toward us, looking indeed like a small bear.  Stacy is proving to be an excellent lookout! 

What we call a full rubber day.

The long sunset.

On the way to Tracy Arm, Phil and Stacy see humpback whales and Pacific White Sided dolphins ride the bow, a crowd pleaser!  We stop at a spot a friend calls Halibut City and fish in 200+ feet of water. While no one catches a halibut, Phil catches a large rockfish and John gets a very ugly sculpin (we have to look it up on google to see if it is edible, it is); both fish make delicious fried fish for dinner! 

Rockfish from 200’.

A sculpin from the depths.

Crabbing off the Taku Harbor dock.

Setting up for Tracy Arm, a glacier cruise that takes a solid day up and back, bad weather reports dampen our hopes.  To make up for it, we take a one beer cruise out to visit huge icebergs, collect 100 year old ice for glacial cocktails, and visit a yacht friend for pupus and wine. The next morning is so gorgeous, we abandon our initial thoughts of moving to a protected weather anchorage, and instead have an excellent day up Tracy Arm to the Sawyer Glacier.  Momma seals and babies lay on the ice floes, icebergs float by, we turn off the motor and just float for lunch watching the glacial scene…truly incredible.  On the way back out of the Tracy Arm fjord, I spot two black bears on the beach, so we get to check that one off!  A 13 hour cruise to Taku Harbor assures us a safe anchorage for the approaching gale and we are within a one day run to Phil and Stacy’s drop off in Juneau.  Favorite quote of the trip from our awesome lookout, Stacy, “ well, that was a hard day cruising!” 

k

Icebergs in Tracy Arm.

Glacial ice for 100 year old cocktails.

Sunny day for cruising up to the Sawyer Glacier.

A glacial landscape complete with harbor seals.

Sideways Sunsets

Latitude affects attitude

The approach to Petersburg is low and slow.

Vikings are nearby.

Only the equator and the tropics get to have the sun perpendicularly directly overhead. Whereas near the Arctic Circle, the suns rays are glancing lower over the horizon, and making the sunrise and sunset go sideways. But man, does it go on and on, like watching a slow moving cloud reflected off the curved hood of your 56 Chevy. (I remember this, but I digress about my idle youth.)

Civil twilight with the sideways sunrise and sunset means Alaska actually gets 40 minutes more average annual daylight than the lower 48. And that’s even after considering the long dark of winter. So you can imagine how long the days of summer are here. This summer solstice on June 21, Petersburg will have a slow coffee sunrise at 3:59 am and a long dinner sunset at 9:48pm, and twilight adds an extra hour to both ends; 20 hours daylight, amazing, wish you were here.

Evening at the dock

Reflections in Chapin Bay

Laysan had a cold winter layup and even showed a little ice damage to a paravane pole that had accumulated water. Not a problem we’re familiar with in Hawaii. But after a couple weeks of provisioning, maintenance, system checks, and 500 gallons of fuel, we were ready to cruise. Not bad for two seniors who like to take an afternoon nap.

April snows brings ice damage woes.

Ice can rupture a thick aluminum pole

Quality time in my happy place

Low tide means a serious incline on the gangway.

Cascade Creek at Thomas Bay

Friends Kurt and Marcia with our sister ship, Alpenglow, made the long run up from Washington through Canada’s COVID embargo and visited with us in Petersburg. Dry foot/dry foot, US to US; these are strange times indeed. At least we’re all vaxxed, healthy, and raring to go this summer.

Two Seahorse Diesel Duck Sedans side by side, remembering their days at the factory in Zhuhai

Hauled up prawns from 300’

Crabs and prawns, but no halibut yet. Eagles and whales, but haven’t seen a bear so far. All is well with Laysan and crew. Take care, my friends.

John

Elfin to Dundas, and then a gale

After sadly sending our kids back to their productive endeavors “Outside”,(which is what Alaskans call the rest of the world), Kathleen and I resume our slow cruise in the wilderness. Appropriately provisioned, and satisfyingly stocked with spares, we shove off from Juneau heading out Icy Strait towards the purportedly isolated village of Elfin Cove.

Mount Fairweather, 15000 feet, is usually only seen in, well, fair weather

The one-beer cruise for whale watching in Icy Strait

Our Seahorse friends, Dave and Dorothy, have assumed temporary identities as Harbormaster and Postal Mistress there in Elfin Cove for 18 long months. Elfin has a population of 200, but last winter it shrank to two, Dave and Dorothy, living on their boat. Like I said, long months. So we had masked drinks and pupus on the dock, and told stories of our adventures at sea. Very nice.

Sister ships from Seahorse, Laysan and DavidEllis, at the inner harbor of Elfin Cove.

We spent one day helping Dave offload 11000 gallons of diesel for his fuel dock.

Weather in the Gulf of Alaska began to turn against our plans to venture out into the open ocean for a run to Sitka, (seas 7’, maybe we’re getting soft), so we reversed and went to Dundas Bay, a remote part of the National Park. For 5 days we roamed the back bays and never saw anyone or any boat. Eerie and beautiful, and it was our 36th wedding anniversary!

A celebration of 36 wonderful years.

Notably theses bays have a history of glacial outbursts, a sudden flood of ice and water that sounds rather disturbing. These summertime geological events occur when a melt basin up in the glacier, full of icebergs, suddenly breaks loose and rushes down the glacial valley taking trees and no doubt a few surprised mammals with it. Would not want to be there that day.

Brady Glacier where John Muir had his adventure with the little dog, Stikeen

Next up: a gale pushing into SE Alaska. Yikes.

Keeping a mariner’s eye to the weather, we see a deepening storm force low developing in the Gulf with a gale front arrival in a few days. Choosing a safe harbor for a gale requires wind and especially wave protection, so we select Pavlof for its surroundings, mud bottom for anchor holding, and shoreline barrier to the south, the forecast wind direction. Plus, there’s a waterfall with jumping salmon and lots of bears.

Snugly anchored in 40’ of water, with 275’ of chain rode down, the wind began to build throughout the day to a steady 35 knots with gusts to 47. This lasted all afternoon (I much prefer daytime gales), and still kept us awake that night gusting to 35. We held fast, but another boat in the anchorage dragged and had to reanchor five times during the storm. Unfortunately he was upwind of us, which added to our anxiety.

Wind howling, Laysan heeling in the 47 kt gusts, we get satellite email weather updates.

Our anchor watch track (yellow) during the gale showing Laysan swung but did not drag.

The next day, storm had passed, but the outside channels were still churning up steep 4’ waves, so we just stayed and watched the bears. Grizzlies are amazing animals that lope around the waterfall grabbing salmon like a snack, while I fish for days and never catch anything. Oh well.

Grizzly fishing in the falls

Grizzly mom and cubs meandering the shoreline

So that’s the news from Laysan in the upper Southeast Alaska. Not sure that we will ever leave, but Kathleen has heard that winter’s coming, and that is when many Alaskans go “Outside.”

All the best, my friends, and take care.

John

No matter where you go, there you are.

 

Our family of five had not all experienced the joys (and confines) of Laysan since July of 2012, eight years ago…we were smaller people then. The plan to convene in Alaska was envisioned well before the covid disaster raised its head; so the go/no go decision became more complicated than the usual logistics of organizing arrivals from Hawaii, Illinois, and Texas. To give Alaska credit, the 14 day quarantine was lifted if a negative covid test was provided or a free test upon arrival proved negative. Each of the kids braved the covid gauntlet and despite various airplane SNAFU’s (I’m talking to you American Airlines), all crew, a functioning Laysan, and a well provisioned freezer converged in Juneau, for the start of a two week trip into the isolated, wilds of Alaska.

Our destination, Glacier Bay, a 3.3 million acre national park, accessible only by boat and limited to 25 permitted boats a day; a remote wilderness with no internet or cellular connection…perfect. From Juneau, we travel two days north and west, taking boat watch turns, scanning the waters for humpback whales that loved to lounge and roll in the tidal currents, and kids re-learning the basics of anchoring, dinghy launch, and kayak retrieval.

Anchor drills.

Dinghy ops.

The weather has been unusually rainy and cold this year, rarely getting above 56 degrees; even the locals complain that summer has passed them by. Yet, despite the ever present mist and clouds, at every anchorage, we launch the boat flotilla and make our way to shore to explore the shoreline. In the past, John and I have been leery of entering into the woods; a foreboding wall of thick trees, crammed with imaginary (and not so imaginary) grizzly bears waiting behind every Sitka spruce for our arrival. However, this year with a botanist and marine scientist in tow, we are forced to confront our fears and journey into the deep, moss covered undergrowth . Where, not surprisingly, we uncover bear skulls, bear fingers, bear poop, and bear hot tracks, it is very beary in there.

Baby bear skull.

Bear finger.

Stinky pinky confirmed it was not warm.

Literally, following in the hot tracks of bears.

After we return from shore excursions, afternoon fishing proves a popular past time. Living off the land, at least in summer, seems entirely possible; even we, as neophytes, are successful at wild berry collection, halibut acquisition, and crab trapping.

Wild strawberry picking.

Halibut is on the menu boys!

Crab cakes, crab dip, crab curry…

The pinnacles of the park are the glaciers….Reid, Lamplugh, Margerie; massive ice rivers that flow from the 12,000 foot mountains down to the sea. As the glaciers meet the ocean, the giant ice faces sheer off into the water with thunderous, explosive cracks. Watching the glacier is totally mesmerizing, the anticipation palpable; waiting, waiting for the next groaning, grinding water crash. In fine weather, it is possible to anchor within a mile of Margerie Glacier and we are lucky this year. Anchoring for two days off the glacier, we marvel at our good fortune of sunny days, well distanced ice bergs, and a remote landscape that frees us from the worries of the world.

Reid Glacier.

Lamplugh Glacier.

Margerie Glacier.

The Margerie anchorage, my favorite anywhere.

Margerie Glacier Calving Up Close

You can hide, but you can’t run

Cruising in the time of Covid19

After much consternation, and not a small amount of guilt about traveling in a pandemic world, we rationalized that our other home, Laysan, needed us as much much as we needed her. (Rationalization is a self reinforcing behavior). And so, we fled from one state with the lowest case count, to another state with the lowest case count, Hawai’i and Alaska, two places with lots of fresh air and very few people.

Getting there is not always the best part, however, especially these days because airplanes and airports are not very easy places to socially distance. After pre-testing by a space suited nurse armed with a 4” nasal probe, we were cleared to fly.

Eerily empty 12 baggage carousels at SeaTac.

Masked and coated with antiseptics, with our flights on time through empty airports like an apocalypse movie, we arrived in Petersburg, Laysan’s new home in Southeast Alaska. Whew! Let’s not do that again for awhile.

Petersburg has its Covid19 game on, with masks in the stores at 50%, (could be better), and plenty of public health messaging signs in the windows. With only 3000 people and 3 cases so far, their isolation and methods seem to be working.

Fishermen Memorial is wearing his mask.

Laysan is looking good and we start to work down the list of the mechanical wake up after a long cold winter. Actually, it still feels like winter to us tropical types, with highs in the 50’s and lows in the 40’s. And as it happens, the main mechanical problem turns out to be the diesel heater, a critical comfort item. Four days of bilge-crawling hose replacement, a new circulation pump and fuel nozzle later, and we had central heat again. Kathleen was smiling.

Shakedown cruise to Thomas Bay

Once Laysan is revved up and cleaned out, we head around the island for a shakedown cruise and add one more broken item to the “must have” systems, a depth sounder. This wonderful device pings the bottom with a 600 watt 200 kHz sonar that shows us the rocks and the fish, of which the first is really important. Unfortunately, ours has given up and must be replaced, requiring a haul out and through hull work. Not to mention another day of body twisting cable pulling up to the pilot house. Voila! Rocks and fish back on the screen!

Hauling out on the Marine Ways, old school style, we were dragged up the rails at high tide and completed the work before the next high tide for launching that night.

Ready for launch.

So after 2 weeks of preparation and provisioning, we and Laysan are ready to go deep into empty Alaska. With the Canadian border closed to northbound US cruisers, and the cruise ship industry on indefinite no sailing orders, Alaska may be a very quiet place this year.

Julia arrives just as Laysan is ready

Icebergs in Tracy Arm

Edging up to the face of North Sawyer Glacier

Dinghers encounters an iceberg

Take care, keep safe, and stay in touch.

John

Variante! The Final March into Chamonix!

TMB Day 11

7 hours

13 km (8 miles)

Total ascent 973 meters (3210 feet)

Total descent (well, read on…)

Kathleen enjoying our evening beer. This was a roadside hotel with a very active motorcycle cafe racer scene. Lots of tight leathers and great bikes. Exciting!

A nice dinner for the trekkers!

After a restful night in a private “chambre” at the Hotel du Col de la Forclaz, another delicious breakfast of coffee and toast, we step across the street through the accumulating crowd of fellow trekkers awaiting their bus out of here. But not for us. Not this day! Well, read on…

A more labor intensive method for glacial cocktails than using Dingers in Alaska.

The Bisse du Trient makes for a wonderful stroll as it was a perfectly graded aqueduct and tramway built to bring water and ice from the Glacier du Trient all the way to town in the late 18th century. Glacial cocktails were quite the rage in old Paris!

Crossing the outflow of Glacier du Trient

Beginning the morning climb.

Once we reach the glacier however, the climb begins. This is a”Variante” from the official TMB, and offers altitude, views, and adventure on the path less traveled.

The red arrow shows the Variante route from Col de la Forclaz to le Tour

Mainly we took the Variante because it avoided a 500 meter descent/ascent to cross the Trient valley and it was called the les Grands shortcut. Sounds good to me. Little did we know that a shortcut in Swiss means vertical rock.

Trail on cliff! This was not in the brochure.

Does anyone see the trail?

Clambering like Gollum over rocky outcrops and along narrow paths with bushes beginning to turn fall colors, we saw only 5 people all day. It was fabulous. The Refuge at les Grands was already closed for the season, which meant no mid morning cappuccino, and perhaps more importantly, no water either. Oops, plenty of little waterfalls though.

Not a trekker tombstone, this is the border of Switzerland with the Chamonix valley beyond. Almost there!

937 meters up and 6 hours later, we stood at the Col de Balme, the pass marking the border of Switzerland and France. There we could see down the valley to Chamonix, where we had started almost two weeks ago. Catching our breath and drinking the last of our water, we felt good, even though Kathleen had been nursing a cold all day. Amazingly she had soldiered on right to the top. I love this woman. I’m not sure that I would not have completely crumpled on this hike without her.

As we gazed at the panorama, a familiar contraption appeared to be in motion nearby, a ski lift! What? Without a word, we nodded and almost ran to the download gate. After muttering my broken French, the liftee granted us access, (20€ senior rate!), and suddenly we were magically gliding over the slopes down to le Tour. It was surreal. We could not stop smiling.

A trekker’s dream, download!

A short bus ride to the center of Chamonix, and we checked into our Airbnb for a few days of recuperation. Only one virus, no injuries, knees and ankles intact; altogether pretty good for a couple of 64 year olds after 100 miles.

The Tour du Mont Blanc was an excellent adventure, and we did almost all of it. The official route also includes a western section with the notorious 100’ steel ladders to La Flegere bolted into the cliffs. Imagine climbing those ladders with a backpack amongst other trekkers. Maybe another time, I say. No thanks, says Kathleen.

Google Earth view of our track as recorded by my phone.

Altitude profile of our track, recreated with Google Earth (Thanks Steven!).

Our cumulative gps statistics are here:

TMB days: 12, 1 lay day in Courmayeur

TMB distance: 99.32 miles (160 km), (ok almost a hundred), average 9 miles per day

TMB elevations:

Total ascent 29271 feet (8870 m)

Average 2665 feet (806m) ascent per day

Total descent 27690 feet (8391 meters)

Average 2517 feet (762 m) descent per day

(And if you’re being particular, subtract 700 meters upload day one and 700 meters download day 12.)

Maximum positive gradient trail climb 39%

Maximum negative gradient trail descent 35%

Now we’re traveling about visiting family and friends in Europe and the USA on our way home to Hawaii for the holidays. All the best to you and thanks for reading along.

Aloha

John

The Bovine Way

Trails I like, flat and scenic, mainly flat.

On day 9 of our Tour du Mont Blanc, I look forward to our next couple of days, called “the Bovine Route”. I picture bucolic pastures, frolicking cows, and a Heidi-esque stroll through the Swiss Alps. Alas, it is not to be.

The day holds 7 hours of hiking over 9.5 miles. Initially, we head down, to the tune of 2,178’…passing through forests, by glacial streams, between perfect Swiss houses with impeccably stacked firewood.

Swiss wood stacking extrordinaire.

Yard gnomes rooting us on.

It is a slow day for me, I have caught a cold from one of my fellow hikers, too much sharing of communal yogurt bowls. So, when the afternoon draws on and I am faced with a climb up of 1,732’, I start to flag. Trudging upwards to Champex Lac, all I can think about is being there.

This is no route for cows!

Cresting the final ridge, the cute Swiss town, Champex, comes into view, but I do not appreciate its cuteness. As I walk by the crystal clear lake with happy Swiss tourists eating glacé, lounging in the sun, I am not charmed. I ignore JP’s attempts at humor, pretending to fall into the lake with his backpack to cool off. I am steadfast in my resolve TO BE THERE! All I want is a hot shower and a quiet bed…and maybe a cold beer. The day finally ends at Pensione en Pleine Aire, providing a refugio respite. Tomorrow, I’m sure I’ll find the elusive, promised Bovine Route.

On day 10, my cold persists but the morning portion of the hike is good and how can you go wrong with a trail that cows’ walk?

Electric cow fences line the hike, other hikers confirmed that most are live.

Checkout the car battery hooked up to this line.

Ultimately, I’d like to see the cow that walked the Bovine Way; another day of serious hiking, 7 hours and about 8 1/2 miles.

Lunch/nap break.

Unrelenting up.

By the end of our day at Col de la Forclaz, we have climbed over 3,300’ with slightly less down. Apparently, the bovines in Switzerland are a heartier bunch than the Hawaii cows….mooooo!

Bovines!

-k

The long and the short

Refugio Bonatti, Gite de Alpage de la Peule, La Fouly

TMB 7&8

16 km & 8 km

Ascent/Descent: 988/945m & 32/507m

Climbs rewarded with views are the best.

The wonderful Refugio Bonatti behind us, with visions of the great alpinist himself still dancing in Kathleens mind, we stride purposefully ahead with every intention to hold our altitude of 2000 meters before beginning the ascent to the Grand Col Ferret. This was unfortunately not to be. Because, on the TMB, you must go down to go up, and the Val Ferret pulled us to 1700 meters. Along the way, we crossed a beautiful waterfall and bridge occupied by a cadre of campers who had decided to set up camp and wash all their clothes. Unfortunately for them, a high altitude goat farmer lived below and he was hopping mad charging toward them with his dogs. Yikes.

Campers in Italy are only allowed to stay above 2500 meters or the Italian Carabiniere will fine them on the spot. Some sort of anti gypsy thing I think, but the militaristic Carabiniere are not to be trifled with. Glad we have reservations at the Refugios ahead.

We can see the pass up ahead, the Grand Col Ferret, marking the border of Italy and Switzerland.

And then the long climb to Grand Col Ferret began. 800 vertical meters later, most of which was glacial scree above the tree line with washed out runoff diversions, we are both gasping for air. (And I don’t mean air conditioning, I mean just air.) We turn around and can see all the way back through the Val Ferret and up the Val Veny to the other border of Italy, the Col de Signe, which we had crossed in a snowstorm a week ago. High fives for walking in and out of Italy! Wow. Never done that before.

Kathleen at the pass with Italy to the left and Switzerland to the right.

Looking back to Col de Signe, which we crossed a week ago in a snowstorm

After a silent rest, a gentle descent into Switzerland took a couple of hours and the dairy farm Gite de Alpage de la Peule came into view. Actually the sounds of the cowbells were heard first and then the amazing shepherd dog was in full force, moving the herd to the milking shed.

Approaching the Swiss farm stay for the night.

With all this milk, dinner was, you guessed it, cheese! Swiss Croute on toast with ham, it was also a pig farm, was enjoyed with another interesting group of trekkers, Pete the retired Scottish psychiatrist and Lee the Australian engineer.

Waking up at a dairy farm, Gite de Alpage de la Peule

At 16 km(10 miles), that was our longest day, so after breakfast we gave ourselves a short route to La Fouly of only 8 km(5 miles), and had time to wash clothes and “re-create” ourselves, as my cousin Gisela used to say. A lovely Swiss town, everything is neat and tidy with flowers, and carefully stacked firewood for the winter to come.

Relaxing afternoon on a short day.

Another great dinner at the Refugio with a group of Danish medical students and we clambered into our bunks. The TMB is a great experience.

All the best,

John