The wildlife in Alaska is amazing, the mega fauna appear to be doing just fine in the far reaches of the north. Grizzly bears on the beach are the norm, we can watch them with binoculars from almost every anchorage. Cruising days are almost guaranteed to pass by humpback whales taking slow dives for feeding. Pacific white sided dolphins surf our bow wave and the shy harbor dolphins quietly swim past hoping we don’t see them. Rafts of otters float by, and anything that looks like a stick in the water is usually a sea otter on its back watching the boat. The bald headed eagles are constant entertainment, each pair usually has at least one clumsy, ugly adolescent in tow who seems embarrassed to be hanging out with the folks.

The salmon are here in abundance but so far elusive; totally unresponsive to any fishing equipment we put in the water; next year’s project is to figure out how to catch one. Bottom feeding fish are easier prey and make excellent bait for those extremely catchable crustaceans…crab! Large dungeness crab, not near as wily as those salmon, provide an almost daily supply for our hot crab dip, crunchy crab cakes, spicy crab curry…the options limited only by our culinary imagination. Prawns are also here, lurking in the depths; not as fun to catch since our prawn pulling equipment is powered by hand, ie. John pulling up 400+ feet of heavy line and trap off the back of the boat.

Rounding out the wildlife show are the noisy ravens, rowdy flocks of gulls, somewhat rare puffins, curious swallows, immensely large, noisy stellar sea lions, prickly porcupines, serene sea blubber jellyfish, and pokeable sea anemones. We appreciate and understand our fortunate life.

Addendum: On the last night, of our last anchorage, on my 64th birthday, we caught our first salmon, a pink! Not the king of salmon, but delicious and exciting…we can get better at this! Oh, yes!


Texans and Hawaiians trying to figure out, how close is too close to photograph a grizzly?

A grizzly cruising the shoreline of our anchorage.

John wears a size 12 boot…so does this grizzly!

Play this video with the sound on, the breathing is the best part!

A porcupine outside of a Tlingit tribal house.

Terns on bergie bits outside of Margerie Glacier.

A curious flock of swallows kept flying into the pilot house.

Adept at catching bottom fish, at least they are good for crab bait.

A blubber jellyfish, best seen from afar.

The Pacific white sided dolphins seemed to enjoy racing the boat.

Pulling up 400+ feet of lead line and trap is hard work, in hopes of payoff…


The crabs polished off this particular bait selection.

A bucket of deliciousness!

Crabbing is my favorite form of fishing; they are not selective, they like my various bait selections, and they taste fantastic!

Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 6 Comments

Glacier Bay

The Tlingit tribes had occupied a verdant valley here for centuries, possibly even thousands of years since the migrations across the Bering land bridge from Eurasia. Then in the mid 1700’s, the giant Grand Pacific Glacier began moving down on them, “at the speed of a running dog”, as their oral history recounted. Within a few years this grinding, crunching, groaning giant snout of an ice bulldozer carved out their valley with a sheet of ice thousands of feet deep, forcing them to relocate to Hoonah.

Without any written records, the only clue to corroborate their experience was a description of a “year with two winters”. Interestingly, dendrochronology showed tree rings with no growth dated to 1754, and this was also the year of two major volcanic eruptions in Philippines and Iceland. The Tlingit were climate change refugees inside of one generation.

When the familiar Captain Vancouver arrived in 1794, he described a small bay choked with ice, backed by a glacier whose ice extended as “far as the eye could see”, probably a hundred miles. Only a century later, John Muir arrived in the 1880’s to document the most rapidly receding glaciers in the world, “a mile per year”, and to romanticize the fearsome beauty of nature at work. Now the bay extends 65 miles northward between towering peaks, and is the Glacier Bay National Park, a sublime place.

Luckily, we have been cruising around this awesomeness for almost two weeks, and still have seen only half of the inlets and glaciers. This is as far North as ever for Laysan, 59 degrees N, especially high latitudes for Hawaiians. But the weather has been great, seeming more like two summers this year, and Laysan has performed admirably. Now is the time to turn around, so we will head to Petersburg, Alaska to put Laysan away in her new slip for the winter.

Hope all is well with everyone, and thanks for reading along with us.



Margerie Glacier with bergs on the beach

Kathleen is ready to fend off the bergs from Dingers the icebreaker

Laysan motoring up to Reid Glacier, taken by Christian Lloyd our cruising friend from the Pacific that showed up here with his brother and friend in a canoe.

Lamplugh Glacier is grounded, but is calving constantly into a lake of melting icebergs.

A beautiful day in front of Margerie Glacier

Laysan anchored at 59.01 degrees North

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Meanderings to Juneau

In 1792 on the voyage of HMS Discovery, Captain George Vancouver spied the Coastal Tribes in their canoes, and was fascinated by their seemingly aimless navigation style. Aimless, at least in the eyes of a rigid (and successful) Western navigator and cartographer whose linear and purposeful style was absolutely mystified by the meanderings of the magnificent cedar canoes. Even a century later, after the inevitable occupation was complete, the Western passengers on hired canoes told stories of interminable journeys punctuated by frequent stops where stories were told by the elders about the waters, the rocks, the fish, etc., and the youth would listen attentively until the story was finished and then paddle again furiously. This was “in situ” education in a culture without a written language. And no doubt, the valuable lessons learned were the result of centuries of experience and oral histories.

And so, we too have been meandering the infinite coastline of Southeast Alaska, trying to learn as we go, with the benefit of charts, guide books, GPS, radar, cruising friends, and most importantly, each other: “Watch out for that rock!” Laysan is warm and comfortable as the temperatures drop into the 40’s at night, and now we see the occasional iceberg in the channels, portending of the glaciers calving constantly.

As Vancouver inched his way North, investigating every inlet, ever hopeful for a sign of the Northwest Passage, he always kept the mainland on his starboard quarters, although most geographers even then already thought that possibility was remote. Arriving in Juneau today, we also have kept the mainland to starboard until now, and will push a bit further north before beginning our turn. All good on Laysan.


Chart for the entrance to Tracy Arm

Kathleen navigating up Tracy Arm

North Sawyer Glacier in Tracy Arm

Dense blue iceberg from the base of the glacier

Dingers the Sea Pony getting us up close to the icebergs.

Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 5 Comments

900 Miles and 10,000 Years

The other day I met a man who said he had been here 10000 years, and I answered that I was just passing through. So are we all, his friend added.

The Totems appear regularly in our travels up here. Sometimes seen at abandoned villages with thousand year old shell middens, and sometimes at long house museums, they are a graceful reminder of the People, first and still here. The totems were never worshiped, as the missionaries claimed, but were instead artful statues to commemorate families, respected individuals, and occasionally to ridicule a dishonorable cur. Perhaps we will get to erect one of those in DC someday…

After cruising 6 weeks and 900 miles from Olympia, Laysan arrived in Ketchikan, Alaska in fine condition, good weather, and with a happy crew. After many nights alone at anchor, the busy harbor with four cruise ships, myriad sport fishers, and a swarm of seaplanes, gave us sensory overload as we took a slip at Bar Harbor South.

Number one is getting ready for docking next to the cruise ships.

Captain raises the Alaska flag.

Ketchikan refers to itself as the “First City” of Alaska because of it being the usual port of entry for northbound travelers over the last hundred years. Population 13,000 is more than doubled on a summer day with cruise ships that disgorge up to 4000 passengers each onto the docks and into the tiny streets. A million visitors in a hundred days. The locals are still quite honestly friendly, although there certainly is some tourism fatigue. While saying “more is better”, they prepare to build their 5th cruise ship dock. Based on my experience in Hawaii, that’s not necessarily a good thing, and I think the 10000 year old man would agree.

Ketchikan has some great boardwalks and hikes behind town.

Nothing says Alaskan July 4th like a lumberjack competition.

Situated in a rainforest with 150” rain per year, the intensity of the SE Alaska green forests is amazing. Steven and Carolyn flew in and joined us for a very nice week cruising around Revillagigedo Island, exploring the Misty Fiords National Monument. Spurred by a local grass roots campaign of environmental lumberjacks to save virgin forests and amazing scenery, this park was created in 1980 by President Carter. The glacier carved cirques and sheer granite cliffs hung over our quiet anchorages where the bears out numbered the boats. Because the water was almost as deep as the mountains were high in the fiords, anchoring would have been difficult, but we luckily tied up to the forest service mooring balls and had peaceful nights and pleasant day hikes.

Old boardwalk ascending from Punchbowl Cove.

Grizzlies met us at the shore, after our hike.

Laysan resting in Punchbowl Cove.

And did I mention the crabs? At Fitzgibbon Cove, Kathleen pulled up nine in one pot! The feast lasted for days. But, alas, no prawns or salmon are finding their way aboard except from the market. I think we need to slow down and fish more than 30 minutes.

Kathleen is a happy fisherman.

Laysan and crew enjoying the calm weather and beautiful scenery of Alaska.

Alaska really is big, and I’m from Texas, so that means a lot. Onward, the further north we go, the more I think we will stay. All the best.


Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 8 Comments

Murder Mystery on the Beach

Our first stop after rounding Cape Caution is a lovely anchorage at Pruth Bay. One of the best parts about the stop is the availability of several hiking trails developed by the BC Parks. Supposedly, Calvert Island does not have salmon streams, therefore the risk of running into a bear is less, another positive for the hiking experience.

John and I dinghied to shore and started walking through thick coastal, second growth rain forest to West Beach, a huge sand beach rivaling anything in Hawaii…except of course the temperature of the water. Continuing on, we followed the path for several miles to 1st beach, 2nd beach, and 3rd beach, never seeing another soul.

The hike.

As we dropped down the ledge onto 4th beach, huge flapping wings startled us as 2 or 3 birds flew up off the sand…then 3 more large birds flew past us towards the trees…eagles! Lots and lots of bald headed eagles! We stopped moving and sat on a washed up log watching as more eagles flew up to the trees where they perched liked vultures. Knowing a cool opportunity when we saw one, we also perched on our log and munched our lunch counting…counting over 30 eagles! The group did not seem too fussed by our presence so when we finished our lunch, we opted for a closer look.

The scene.

The eagles.

Walking onto the exposed sand of the low tide, the first thing we spied were large animal tracks heading to the dark, grove of trees on the right; we did not follow them. Cautiously, working our way down the beach, we started seeing more and more tracks in the wet sand, running in various directions; then more and more tracks…hundreds of tracks surrounding large dug out holes. Peering closer, nudging with our feet, we discovered sand covered meat at the bottom of each pit! A crime scene, but who were the culprits besides the eagles?

Hundreds of tracks surrounding the victim.

Just below the tide line, we saw a double-man size, unidentifiable mound. Edging closer, we could tell from the smell that here lie the victim on the beach…but what was it?

The victim.

Looking up toward the foreboding wall of trees filled with eagles, we finally had the thought…maybe we shouldn’t be here? Hastily gathering our photographic evidence, hearts beating rapidly, we hurried from the gruesome scene. Hiking back to the security of Laysan, we pondered the remarkable discovery and hypothesized on its meaning. Can you solve the mystery?

One of the many culprits…size of print…6” across.


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Gear Head Preparation 2019

Before the fun started, there was the haulout in April 2019. A necessary maintenance ritual for Laysan every few years is to arrange a TraveLift capable of lifting Laysan’s dainty 35 tons, and standing her in a yard for inspection, repairs, and a new coat of bottom paint. As expected, there were some unexpected items.

First on the list of tests is a tug on the propeller for lateral play in the shaft log. More than a 1/8” movement reveals wear on the cutless bearing, and this justifies a shaft inspection, which requires rudder and prop removal. No small task this, removing a 2” diameter 8 foot long stainless drive shaft, but Hans at Osprey Boatworks did it nicely. Despite stainless steel’s impervious reputation, if it becomes starved of oxygen, e.g under an o-ring, then pit corrosion develops. So now we have a shiny new AQ 22 shaft, and the old one can be someone’s most expensive tether ball pole ever.

(Haulout: 10 $BU (Boat Units))

Next came a new set of batteries. Absorbed glass mat AGM batteries can be rotated in any position, require no maintenance, and are generally resilient for a thousand discharges to 75% before failing to hold a charge. This represents about a thousand nights at anchor on Laysan, which after our nine years of part time cruising is actually about right. (Pretty good ,eh?). Sometimes the metrics of life become visible. These four 8D batteries weigh about 150 pounds apiece, and have to be lugged from the dock down into the engine room, and back out again with the old ones. Austin and his brother from Rognlin Marine did the lifting, and even they wished for a crane. We are looking forward to another thousand nights at anchor.

(Batteries 4$BU)

Thank you, batteries!

Laysan splashed back into the water with a new coat of bottom paint and was looking almost ready to cruise. Until the GPS rollover problem. In April, all the GPS satellites reset their clocks because they had run out of weeks in their 4 bit counters. Evidently when the GPS satellites were launched in the 90’s, their computer technology used counters that ran out of combinations after 1023 weeks, or about 20 years, and they all had to reset in April 2019. “Good luck GPS receivers down on earth”, which was about all the technology manufacturers would say about their products surviving the rollover. Well, two of the four GPS devices on Laysan were “confused”, i.e. one thought it was 2099, one thought it was 1963. Unfortunately the tides and currents in 1963 are of only marginal interest in this part of the world where tides range 20’ and currents run up to 10 knots. Fortunately, genius software people solve these kinds of problems with firmware updates that can be delivered magically through the tubes of the internet directly into the devices on Laysan. It just took a week.

(Firmware update: 0 $BU)

Laysan needs her compass, and we have many: a fluxgate and a solid state gyro, which read in degrees Magnetic, which is not so stable for the autopilot. The liquid compass is notoriously difficult to compensate on a steel boat. But the best one is a double GPS unit that reads in degrees True, and it failed from water intrusion into the case and cable. Come on, it’s a boat! When we rented a car and drove to Vancouver factory with the unit to try for a repair, they also said “It’s too old!” Oh well, now we have a nice new GPS Comnav G1 antenna and all the headings are in degrees True again. Thanks to Jerry and Ryan of San Juan Electronics for helping to drag 90’ of cable through all the tiny spaces enroute to the pilot house.

(Antenna: 2 $BU)

Now if only my liquid compass would read something other than 190 M, which coincidentally is the heading home to Hawaii. Maybe Laysan is trying to tell us something. However, I say: “Not yet, Laysan, not yet.”

Question: “How many captains does it take to change a light bulb?”

Answer: “One, but he has to climb the mast twice.”

Halfway up, and both the mast and the captain are panting.

Our anchor light is at the top of the 45’ mast, which has nice ladder steps, but it always seems like a long way down to the deck. And I have learned that tools and parts dropped from that height invariably do not pass the “will it float?” game. Kathleen dutifully tailed the halyard winch on my harness as I wove my way through the rigging to the top, and failing to fix it, (a broken ground wire), I came down and went up again with a new one a few days later. Thanks Amazon for sending an exact replacement LED fixture to a marina of my choosing.

Navigator Kathleen showing southern portion Inside Passage completed

So that’s the tech review of how we got here, and it is all settling down nicely. Laysan is running well at 7 knots on her new smooth bottom, and we are seriously heading north, despite what the liquid compass says. Six hundred miles along the Inside Passage to Alaska are behind us now from Olympia, and four hundred are ahead. We should be there by July. Thanks for reading along with us. All the best.


Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 3 Comments

Around Cape Caution

Four weeks into our cruise and we have rounded Cape Caution, British Columbia; a new milestone and the halfway point to Alaska. Even though Laysan has crossed oceans, the warnings about Cape Caution gave us pause. This is the section of the passage north without protection from Vancouver Island and 40 miles of full exposure to the Pacific Ocean swells. Various go- no go lists identified a confluence of factors including tides (flood is preferred), moon phase (pick neap, not spring), wind (less than 15 knots), waves (West Sea Otter Buoy less than 1 meter), Slingsby Channel (slack water, don’t pass on an ebb), and lighthouse reports from Egg Island (wind and wave conditions).

We spent a prepatory day at Port McNeill, a funny old town, light on tourists and heavy on character. Using WiFi (we’re not going to see that again for awhile), we confirmed that most factors, not all, seemed favorable, and opted to move up to Allison Harbour for our 0600 am departure the next morning. Allison is a remote, gorgeous anchorage that we shared with three other long distance cruising boats, also waiting to round the Cape. We set out our paravanes, not used since the Pacific crossing in 2015 with Sarah and Naomi, and lashed down the dinghy, bimini, fenders, crab traps, chairs, and stowed the outside shoes. To celebrate our pre-departure, we “rugged up” as the Aussies say, and ventured outside in the 50 degree evening with pupus and wine. Harbour seals popped up their bowling ball heads to watch us and loons sounded their eerie cries, and the half moon rose over the trees, auspicious signs for tomorrow.

In the morning, two buddy boats departed in tandem, beating us out with a cool 0500 departure. When the third boat departed, my “it’s not a race” mentality went out the window and we pulled up the anchor at 0545. As soon as we cleared the channel opening, we could feel the ocean swells, easily meeting their predicted 3 feet. Laysan made a very respectable 7.3 knots for most of the five hour crossing. When we turned to head toward the refuge of Fitz Hugh Sound, the waves on the side brought back memories of other ocean crossings that lasted not hours but weeks. Inside the Sound, the wind and waves subsided and we were immediately rewarded with a sea otter, calmly drifting by on his back inspecting our progress. In the distance, two humpback whales slapped their huge pectoral fins, sending up sprays of water. This was going to be fun!


Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 4 Comments

On Hurricane Watch…2705 Miles Away

Ensconced in the anchorage of Prideaux Haven, British Columbia, John and I watch anxiously as the hurricane creeps ever closer, ever closer…to Hawaii. Our summer northwest cruises are always safe from the vagaries of hurricanes but our home in Hawaii suffers through five months of exposure each year.  Of late, the near misses are more frequent; this year, first Hurricane Hector and then two weeks later, Hurricane Lane come within striking distance of the islands.


As Hurricane Lane becomes a more imminent threat, we opt to shelter in place at Prideaux where we have access to intermittent, weak internet through our phone service.  Each day we watch Lane get closer, first to the Big Island and then to Oahu.  Our daughter Julia provides boots on the ground reporting from Hilo which suffers from three days of flooding and an accumulated rainfall of 42 inches.


Our neighbors and friends on Oahu and Maui provide updated texts of their preparations for flood and wind as well as the interminable waiting for something to happen, or more hopefully, not to happen.

In the meantime, John and I live the cruising life.  I pursue my passion for crabbing which nets on average about two crabs a day; plenty for crab cakes and hot crab dip.  During the day, John works on the boat, painting and waxing anything with a rust stain or a corrosion bubble. We take our minds off any impending disaster by hiking through the woods to isolated lakes and munching on peanut butter and honey sandwiches discussing what we will do if the hurricane hits Oahu.  After checking in to the 5pm hurricane forecast advisory, we embark on the one beer sunset dinghy cruise trying to imagine 120 mile an hour gusts hitting our south facing house.




C599472E-43C0-4C05-A1AD-04861845D21AAfter four days of watchful waiting, when the media turns its dire predictions of catastrophe to more hopeful commentary like “whew, that was a close one”, and social media roasts the poor weatherman with weather memes…I know we are out of the woods.


Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 5 Comments

Angst and Adrift in the Haro Strait

After realizing the last couple of months have transpired in a near stream of consciousness sequence of rv camping across the great Southwest, cleaning and renovating the old family place, flying the 1965 Piper Cherokee, and visiting with family and old friends in Texas, Kathleen and I knew it was time to get on the boat because the summer cruising season was rapidly passing. Laysan had been waiting too long and the long days of the short summer in the Pacific Northwest were calling to us. After a few days of provisioning and checklists, we left the dock and made for the San Juan Islands. And that’s when it happened. There are two stories, one above decks and one below, one told by Kathleen, and one by me. Sometimes a learning experience is really unnerving.

Below decks

While crossing the Strait of Juan de Fuca in rolling 3 foot seas, I decided to transfer fuel from the side tanks to the forward operation tank, taking advantage of the rolling sloshing conditions to suspend any particulate matter in the fuel so it can be filtered out. The mechanism for fuel management is a pump and manifold of valves directing the fuel through the Racor filters. After an hour of pumping and the starboard tank almost empty, I went to the engine room to switch valves over to the port tank. There the pump was happily clicking away as the fuel moved through the manifold, and surprisingly I thought I saw air bubbling through the main engine Racor filter. Not good.

The main engine, the Iveco that had rumbled faithfully for 3000 hours, 15000 miles, across the two seas, the Pacific Ocean, and half of the Northwest, suddenly surged and stopped, right as I sat there. This kind of silence slows down the senses, and I wondered both why and what now?

Kathleen appeared at the engine room door with a look of concern, to say the least. I announced my plan to restart Iveco, thus reassuring everyone, and felt the boat settling in the troughs of the waves as we quietly drifted in the 2 knot current of the Haro Strait. Kathleen noted that the depth was 800’ and we were a half mile offshore, but that it was both downwind and down current from our position. Thus we were adrift off a lee shore, a sailors nightmare.

Wrenches to the rescue: Top off the fuel in the Racors, and prepare to prime the engine. Setting the manifold for priming, I slowly comprehended a double valving mistake, one that allowed the transfer pump to contribute air to both the transfer tanks and the engine. Argh! (Seems an appropriate time for that guttural response.) The “why”is now answered, but the “what now” is still a very real experience.

As the marine surveyor says, what’s wrong with this picture? (Answer: two valves for pump in.)

Valves all correct, bleeding the air out of a Diesel engine can be a tedious job. And now is not the time or place for tedious, as Kathleen is informing me of our ever changing position, and the related view of the picturesque rocky shoreline. Time to drop the anchor we agreed.

Engine filter spins off to release a shower of air and diesel mist, and still the manual lift pump feels empty when I furiously wiggle the handle to pump towards the injectors atop the cylinders.

A quick check of the engine technical service manual reinforces my steps thus far and reveals this foreboding quote: “ further bleeding of the high pressure side of the fuel system is both useless and extremely dangerous. Consult your technician.” Right. So I called Mark, my engine mechanic friend, who miraculously answered and absorbed my news calmly, as calmly as anybody not on the boat at that moment anyway. Tossing the “useless and dangerous” aside, he reinforced the obvious notion that the injectors must be bled with the simple procedure to loosen the B nut atop the injector with a 17mm wrench. The now familiar air and diesel mist sprayed the surroundings, me included.

Tightening everything up, I yelled to Kathleen: “Try again!”, and Iveco coughed and sputtered to life, sounding as if nothing had ever happened. Whew! And then I went above to see what Kathleen had seen. Near miss just doesn’t quite summarize the event as it continues reverberating in our conversation over the last few days. Experience is sometimes hard wrought, and a new checklist is in place.

Meanwhile, above decks in the pilot house, the story as lived and described by the ever lovely, and externally calm, Kathleen:

Above decks

Thursday was a fair day for crossing the Juan de Fuca to the San Juan Islands, moderate waves 2-4 which created a bit of a roll but not too bad.

We had chosen to go straight to one of our favorites, Westcott Bay near Roche Harbor, because winds were predicted in the next couple of days and Westcott is good holding for south west winds.  We had cleared the Juan de Fuca and were heading north up in Haro Strait when we had one of the more stress inducing events of my cruising career.

The waves had started to smooth out and we had a 2-3 knot current with us (this current almost proved our undoing later in the story). The turn for Mosquito Pass was within sight when John went below to switch tanks for refueling.  I was steering and watching at least four large commercial fishing boats that were placing nets along the shore when suddenly the engine rpms dropped, came back up, dropped, came back up, then the boat just died…total quiet (except for my interior silent scream).

We were in 800 feet of water about a half mile off a rocky shore, the ignition warning was going off and the auto steering was rumbling with the effort to keep us straight.  I ran down to the engine room, asked whether I could turn off the ignition (yes), asked what was wrong (obvious), then ran up stairs again. John came up, looked around, put us on hand steering and said he was trying to figure out the fuel problem.  Of course there was no steering to be done, we were just adrift in the 2 knot current. My initial concern was the trolling fishing boat down current of us, I was prepared to hail him on the radio to tell him we had no steerage.  Minutes passed and as the current took us parallel to the shore I watched as exposed rocks in Smallpox Bay (an apt name for a scary situation) floated by.  Every few minutes, John would holler up to try and start the engine, but to no avail. By this time we were in 200’ of water and picking up speed in the current. I started tracking our course.  The good news was, we were moving passed the exposed rocks and the fishing boat had moved out of our way, the bad news was, we were clearly drifting toward shore.

The charts showed an area ahead that was potentially shallow enough for the anchor to reach, but it was off a steep, rocky shore so the holding was uncertain.  I ran down and reported that we were now in 70’ of water and definitely drifting toward the shoreline.  John told me to try and drop the anchor while he continued to work on the engine.  While anchoring is my forte, I was not feeling confident in this situation; I ran back up top, turned on the windlass, grabbed my anchor bar, checked the depth, now 64’ and proceeded to let the anchor chain out, the anchor hit bottom, grabbed, the boat swung sharply around into the current, jerked, more chain jumped the gypsy….and then the anchor held! We stopped moving! I nearly had a religious moment!

So now we were in 60’ of water about 250’ to shore (a mere 5 boat lengths). The current was moving past the boat with purpose and I watched the shoreline like a hawk, waiting for any perceptible shift away from my spot. The anchor held. John came up again and said he had tried all that he knew to do, so he called Mark, a mechanic we know in Olympia.  Luckily, Mark answered and gave John a couple of more ideas and he disappeared down below again.  A few more hollers for me to try and start the engine…nothing.  Then on the next try, the engine sputtered to life, more throttle and the engine came to its usual full throated life! Saved by John’s awesome mechanical skills! We pulled up the anchor, luckily it was not hooked on rocks, and nervously set off again, crisis narrowly averted.  We had been without engine power for an hour and had drifted about two miles in that time.

GPS track of our drift, and then our anchoring.

John’s theory involves manifolds, fuel lines, priming, air in lines, etc., I will let him write the technical explanation.  He assures me that “it won’t happen again” and “what a great learning experience “; I needed an extra glass of wine or two that night.  So all’s well that ends well (Shakespeare must have been a mariner).

Sucia Island Sunset. All is well.

Posted in Laysan: Northwest | 8 Comments

Anasazi Trail

Anasazi, the ancestral Pueblo people, were migrants of a different epoch. Transitioning from wandering hunter-gatherers to dry land farmers, they were the settlers of the first millennium in the high desert Southwest.

Between 500-1300AD, the Pueblo people developed a complex culture and sustainable agriculture in the Montezuma valley with a population of 35000 then, compared to a modern 24000 now. Initially simple pit houses on the Mesa tops led to amazing feats of masonry to build cliff dwellings complete with spring water and ample protection from weather and other enemies.

Then between 1300 to 1500, from Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon to Bandalier, they were gradually abandoned (which in the Pueblo parlance means currently unoccupied). Probably the Pueblo people were congregating in larger villages along the Rio Grande, but unfortunately this put them in easier view for the arrival of the not so friendly conquistadors. Now only masonry, petroglyphs and questions remain. It is a very interesting area to spend some time.

Antelope Island at the Great Salt Lake

Arches National Park

Mesa Verde

Cliff dwellings that you can explore

After a great week in Salt Lake City with Connor, we trundled through southern Utah, southwestern Colorado, and New Mexico. Master Muffler (Not!) failed to fix our exhaust leak, the rv air conditioner failed exactly upon entering Texas and its 98 degree heat, and we got a flat tire on arrival in Port Aransas. 3676 miles and six weeks on the road since leaving Blaine Washington, we are happy to be with daughter Sarah at UT MSI, for some rest and repairs. All good here as we settle into Texas for awhile.

Camping on the beach at Port Aransas

All the best,


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Heading Out

Traveling out of the Pacific Northwest in our old rv these last 18 years, we have pushed into the Cascades and Rocky Mountains many times retracing the route discovered by Lewis and Clark in their Voyage of Discovery in 1804. Through the rugged Lemhi and Lolo passes they were trying in vain to follow Jefferson’s orders to search for a waterway from the headwaters of the Missouri River across the Rockies to the Columbia River and the Pacific Ocean. While their observations certainly added to the negotiations with the British for Oregon, it was the settlers that made occupation a reality and forced the British back to the 49th parallel. Finding a way that a Conestoga wagon could handle was the key, and the Oregon trail through the wide South pass in Wyoming opened the floodgates for hundreds of thousands of settlers heading west by the 1840’s. Coincidentally, that is the kind of route we need for the big old rv, our Conestoga wagon, traveling up the Columbia Gorge and across the Great Basin heading eastbound for Texas.

Birch Bay, Washington. The beginning of many great trips.

Deschutes and Columbia River confluence.

Along the way, we spent a week in Reno, “The Biggest Little City in the West”, cleaning out my father and uncle’s motorcycle garage. A sure way to meet interesting people is to advertise a tool sale on the back streets of Reno. From survivalists to mechanics to 80 year old couples with 8 bikes, guys who know a good torque wrench and want a drill press make for a fun morning.

Reno garage sale.

Boondock free-camping towards Utah, we tried to keep a low profile, which is not easy in a Winnebago. And sure enough, after an enjoyable evening watching it snow, camping on an abandoned tunnel bypass road, we were awoken at 0630 by the I80 detour crew: “You’ve got to move along, we’re rerouting all I80 traffic through your campsite!” “Right, no coffee, just drive!”

Antelope Reservoir, Oregon

Carlin Canyon tunnel bypass road, Nevada.

And across the Bonneville Salt Flats we came. Rattled into Salt Lake City with a cracked exhaust manifold, so gratefully we can stay with son Connor while repairs are made. Nobody ever said a pilgrimage was going to be easy.

I-80, Eastbound.

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Journeys of my father

With the recent passing of my father, I am reminded of my origins and the source of my motivation to travel, and so begins our cross country RV pilgrimage back to Texas.

Due to an uncontainable wanderlust, my father left school on his 18th birthday to enlist in the Air Force and see the world.

Having already motorcycled on an AJS and a Triumph through his teens in 1940’s Alabama and the South, I think he realized the limits of experience were not contained by his hometown. Stationed in Berlin for four years, he met my mother and they explored Europe by car across Germany, France, and Spain. Then he shipped that 47 Plymouth to New York and drove cross country to Texas and started a family.

As a long time airline employee with Braniff and American, he always had our family traveling to new places in the US, Europe, Mexico, and South America. His gift to me on high school graduation was an unforgettable trip together on motorcycles through Mexico to Acapulco in 1973.

In later years my father, his brother Charlie, my brother James, and I motorcycled together and separately in the Southwest, Mexico,and British Columbia. You just think that the days will never end. But those are the memories that fuel enthusiasm for another generation.

A private pilot all the way through his 85th year, he had flown all over Texas and the Southwest. Even just a few months ago, he enjoyed flying from his grass strip behind the house and checking out his beloved local area of Lake Grapevine.

And so now, 45 years since I left home, Kathleen and I are returning via a cross country drive to Texas to stay awhile and settle his affairs. This camping trip is for you Dad; I think you would have enjoyed it.

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Walking the Camino in 13 Minutes.

While traveling the Camino, each day I would record a short 10 second video of the trail, the people, the weather, the cows, the scenery, or each other…walking. As it turns out, videoing 40 days of walking creates a rather long movie. So in the interest of modern expediency, I have edited a movie version into a svelte 13 minutes. All the clips are in chronological order to give a sense of the changing topography as we walked our 500 miles starting in St. Jean Pied de Port, France and ending at the end of the world, Finisterre, Spain. Enjoy! K


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It takes a long time to walk 500 miles.  Last stage: Pedrouzo to Santiago 22 km. 

Arrival Santiago!

Forty days and forty nights, that’s how long it takes to walk from St Jean Pied de Port, France, to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. If you wander around a bit on side trips, see the towns and museums along the way, then it accumulates over 800 km, or 500 miles for the metrically challenged. It’s definitely not a walk in the park, but with a reasonable pace of 20 km (12 miles) per day, and the nightly rooms and meals, a nice walker’s rhythm develops.

Sunrise is always behind us on the Way

These boots were made for walking, and that’s just what they did.

Kathleen’s Latin Compostela, i.e. Pilgrim’s diploma

Attempting a difficult challenge together, like navigating across an ocean or walking across a country, reminds me how fortunate I am to be Kathleen’s partner. She is perseverant, patient, and seemingly impervious to pain. I love her.

Kathleen leading the Way

The Camino was her creative idea for us after Steven finished it in 2014. And while we may have underestimated its difficulty, we started and finished together smiling. As the philosopher said, “Solvitur ambulando”. 

Plaza de Obradoiro, notice the other pilgrims flopped in the center

Now we rest in Santiago a couple days before traveling the region another week via faster means. It has been a meaningful experience for us and we have enjoyed writing our thoughts. Thanks for listening. Hope to see you soon. 


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Just a Couple of Old, Dusty Pilgrims. Arzua to Pedrouzo 19.6 km. 

My Mom, who is one of our avid blog readers, remarked that our pictures never have any other pilgrims in them, “are they on the Camino alone?” Well, I have never been very adept at getting things past my Mom and as she noted, our photos have been carefully curated to give the impression of the lonely pilgrim, struggling in solitude to a distant destination. The reality has always been that we walk with others, although up to now it has been fairly easy to maintain my bubble along a quiet pathway. However, the last 100 km of the Camino has become very crowded. Any pilgrim who “walks” the last 100 km receives a Compostela, an official certificate of completion. Since Sarria, we have noticed many new faces sporting brand new, clean tennis shoes and tiny, new day packs (their real bags are sent ahead each morning by Jacotrans bus). Pilgrim groups have sprung up like mushrooms, marching by us chattering like magpies to the click, click sound of their walking sticks with not even a “buen Camino” as they hurry past two old, dusty pilgrims.


But John and I still get our quiet moments and over a mid-morning cafe con leche we run into Gerhardt, our old Austrian friend from weeks past, and we commiserate together “how it used to be, back on the meseta”. 
Tomorrow we reach Santiago, the end of our journey; I wonder how I will feel entering the Praza do Obradoiro? 

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A king, a prime minister, and a president.  And the Celtics. Bolboreta to Azura 26 km. 

Albergue Bolboreta, our country manor for the night

Spain’s king, Felipe VI, is a worldly young man (49), and perhaps a calming influence on the escalating tensions between the prime minister of Spain and the president of Catalonia. The two latter elected officials are duking it out here for their political lives, when the ultra cool and very tall ex-Olympian king strides onto the scene and tells Catalonia: shut up and sit down. This kind of parenting is frowned upon these days but maybe it will work.

Buying bread on the Way from the roving Panaderia truck

Anyway, that’s the news from Galicia, which is an astoundingly beautiful, green region of Spain. Originally settled by Celtic tribes around 500 BC, and the last region of Hispania conquered by Rome, it retains a separate dialect and sometimes looks like the other Celtic landscapes in Ireland. There’s even some pagan and animistic cultural history persisting here. You have got to love the Irish. 

Galicia, the Celts were here.

Stone bridge; Oh so danger!

Lunch on the Way.

Kathleen’s requisite cow picture.

John’s requisite jamon picture

We walked a big day and arrived at our usual 4 pm. The Hostal has a restaurant renowned among the pilgrims, which can mean either quantity or quality, so hopefully both. All good. 

​​​Habla Espanol?

Blogger to Bloggee tip: click on last photo for video. Bonus points to Bloggees who find three previous videos. 

Still having fun,


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Walking the Camino is the Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done, Except for Crossing the Pacific in a Boat and Having Three Babies. Ventas de Naron to Remonde 20.4 km. 

A horreo, a Galician grain storage.

After a month plus walking, John and I have a real rhythm that is not dominated by talk of how much “—–or —-” hurts. I know my backpack and it’s thin contents intimately; every piece of equipment has its place and I never have to search. Cafe con leche is my go to morning drink, lunch is best when we can picnic with chorizo, queso, olives and bread, and dinner is usually a lively affair with fellow pilgrims from afar. Our walk starts when it is light at 8:30, and by 3:30, I have put in my 20+ km and I want to stop.I know when I get to my albuergue a shower, short siesta, hand washing of the days outfit and a cerveza are the proper order of things. This is the rhythm I have learned after 37 days of walking. 

Cereveza, 1.20 Euro!

The daily rituals are not just habits,  but survival mechanisms in the face of constantly changing environments, situations, and people. The Camino has been one of the hardest things I have ever done. But as with the other hard things in my life, a little perseverance and good humor gets me through and I wouldn’t trade any of those experiences. Three days to Santiago. -k

Horreos come in all sizes!

Giant ants! More aggressive than the local farm dogs.

The farm dogs are ultimate chill.

My requisite daily cow picture.

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Did Caesar walk here? Morgada to Ventas de Naron, 23km (100 km to Santiago!)

The 100 km marker, 690 down and 100 to go

It is said that when Caesar was in Spain and saw the statue of Alexander the Great he wept. Supposedly this was because Alexander had accomplished so much before his death at 33, and Caesar was only a Roman official in Spain at the same age. He then left for Rome and greater things, e.g. becoming Emperor. Gazing upon history can be very inspirational.

As has happened before on the Camino, we came across an archeological surprise or two today. First was the abandoned underwater town of Portomarin, where they flooded a medieval village to make a lake in 1963. Fortunately, the drought has lowered the water level to see the old foundations. (The knightly fortress church was moved to higher ground brick by brick.)

Portomarin 1, Medieval

Portomarin 2, transplanted

Picnic lunch at church square, my favorite

Castromaior, Roman city from 200 BC-100AD

Secondly, Castromaior, one of the important excavations of Roman towns in Spain, was along the Way today in an unassuming little dairy cow village. I deviated from the path to see this remnant from 200 BC to 100 AD, and wondered, did Caesar walk here?

“Et tu?”  

Reviewing days pictures at the albergue bar

 Hasta la vista,


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We Love Galicia!Pintin to Morgade 22 km. 

We are approaching the last 100 km…amazing! Tonight we are at a country albuergue and had a lovely dinner with a fellow from Spain. As it turns out, he is a kayak tour guide on the river Rio Mino. Two plus or minus bottles of wine later, I am only posting some pictures. That’s the way it goes. Ciao! -k

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Translation lost. Fonfria to Pintin 22km

Misty morning

Clear afternoon. Kathleen loves Galicia

What’s a person who can speak 3 languages? Trilingual. What’s a person who can speak 2 languages? Bilingual. What’s a person who can speak 1 language? American. Haha. 

The challenge and excitement of traveling is always enhanced by the translation experience. Unless the second language approaches fluency and our thoughts occur spontaneously in that context, we’re always just translating. This may not provide the information needed, or produce the expected results. Even with Google translate on my phone I am puzzled. 

Google not getting it

Yesterday we had to interpret Spanish tv advice on the wildfires. Inflammatory (pun) and not particularly helpful. Today I called a Hostal and requested un cuarto para dos personas, and arrived with their expectation that I had reserved four rooms for eight people. Lo siento mucho. 
Hiking down the mountains of Galicia, Kathleen remarked that this was her favorite path of the trip. Needless to say, rain all night means no fires, no smoke, and beautiful views. 

Amazing Galicia

Aloha to all our friends and family.
Hasta pronto 


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