After our migration to Icy Strait, our weather problems changed a great deal. The weather cycles that hit us regularly on the outside coast continued, but their impact diminished a great deal with the absence of the coastal ocean swell. A blow that would shut us down for 3 days on the Outside as we waited for the seas to calm would only take one day Inside, then back to nice waters and fishing again. Granted the fishing wasn’t quite as good; rather spotty schools of coho resulting in lower daily averages than out in the Sound, but the trade off seemed worth it. It seemed that the larger fish were to be found about an hour and a half across Icy Strait from Hoonah, on an empty stretch called Homeshore. Most of the fish taken from Icy Strait this summer were hooked along this section of coast, and it continued to produce fish as the summer ended. Unfortunately, there is no protected anchorage along the coast if it blows, so the alternatives are the run back to Hoonah, or try to find a spot Northwest in Excursion Inlet.
We were tired of the small fish and low numbers on the Hoonah side, so we went to Homeshore when conditions were right. On September 13, the forecast was for wind - East 25 knots shifting to Northeast 30 knots overnight, with 5 foot seas and continuing winds on the 14th. This meant the Hoonah side would be unfishable, but the Homeshore side, while rough, would have enough shelter to make it possible. If any last runs of fish were to be had, it would be under these conditions. The thought of a possible rough night on anchor if the wind shifted just a tad Southeast bothered me, but so did the thought of another day tied to the dock at Hoonah, not fishing. Tensions were high on our boat as we discussed the options (read “yelled at each other!). Kirk and Troy had opted to stay at Hoonah; Steve was going across to look for fish. We finally decided to go for it and follow Steve. After the crossing, it was obvious the wind and seas were picking up. Four or five other boats were anchored in the small spot that usually provided protection. Only the Ebb Tide and the True North were fishing in the short, ugly chop. By dark, we had four fish on board, hardly worth the effort.
As we passed the anchored boats for the last time, I was cleaning the last fish in the pit. I carefully cut the entrails into small portions and threw them overboard every 30 seconds or so. Clouds of hungry seagulls swarmed out to the boat, giving the illusion of me cleaning a large number of fish. I knew there were several sets of binoculars watching as we passed the boats, and I could just hear the skippers thinking “That’s a lot of gulls; boy, we missed out on the bite this evening!!” We find amusement in small ways out here…!
Steve pulled his gear in, and we headed toward Excursion Inlet in the twilight. After an hour of travelling, we could see the lights of the dormant cannery in the distance. Tidal currents from the ebbing tide swirled us one way and another – a lot of water forces in and out of this fjord-like waterway every day, so one must constantly be attentive to steering. At last we drew alongside the huge pilings for the dock. During the peak of season, a long dock area is heavily used by tenders, seiners, and trollers to offload or tie up overnight. Now, with the operation in the process of mothballing, only one section of dock remained, a piece about 60 feet long by 20 feet wide. Tidal current made the tie-up process a little tricky, but we managed to get secured to the dock, and Steve made his famous comment about sleeping better. I was a little worried about the current, so tied an extra spring line to help us stay put. We had a cup of tea, and crawled into our bunks, glad to be done for the day.
About 2 am, I was awakened by an unusual “bump,bump” noise on the hull. I groggily thought I should go out and check out the source. As I crawled out of the bunk, I just about fell over. The boat was heeled at a 20 degree angle, far greater than I had ever seen it. Wide awake now, I opened the door on a frightening scene. We were in a whitewater river of rushing water, with waves rising over the upstream side of the dock at over 5 kph by my estimation. The boats were straining their mooring ropes to an incredible tautness and were heeling over due to the water rushing against the deep keels. I immediately yelled to Lovie to don her life jacket and get clothed for action, then did so myself. As I watched, wondering what it was all about, there was a loud splintering noise from the opposite side of the dock – the water was literally ripping the huge timbers in two, tearing the dock loose from its’ mooring – and we were tied to it!
I leaped over the two foot gap of rushing water to land on the wet, slippery dock section, and ran up to Steve’s boat. I flung the door open, and screamed to him “We’ve got to go! The dock is breaking loose!” You can imagine what that does to a good sleep – but good sailor that he is, he was instantly out the door assessing the situation. He immediately started his engine, and we cast his lines loose. As he moved away, the dock completed its breaking and swung around downstream. True North was running by then, and untied except for a looped bow line. As the dock swung around, I saw that the other end was tied fairly well, and that it wasn’t going anywhere immediately. I had Lovie hold the line that held us to the dock, as it seemed prudent to remain attached to a known position rather than drift downstream while Steve tried to maneuver his way to a clear spot. As the torrent continued to move the dock around, I began to fear it would come loose and force us into shallow water alongside, possibly grounding or capsizing us. We let go, and drifted clear.
Jogging midstream in the dark, we watched Steve’s navigation lights as he searched for a suitable anchorage. He finally settled on a site about 20 fathoms deep, and set his anchor with a lot of scope (scope is the total amount of line between anchor and boat; more scope is better, if possible.) He called us on the VHF, and we carefully proceeded over to tie alongside. Needless to say, we were all a bit wired up due to the adrenaline rush, so Lovie made hot cocoa as we relived the experience. I put my GPS chart plotter tracking system on to see if our anchor was dragging, and began the watch for the remainder of the night. Steve went to catch a few winks of sleep; Lovie drowsed in and out, and I carefully watched shore lights and computer as the current slowly subsided. What was really weird – the torrent that broke the dock was rushing OUT of the inlet – at peak flood tide, when the current should be doing exactly the opposite, flooding IN to the inlet. What happened? We still don’t know, but suspect a glacier calving, small earthquake, ice dam breaking due to the heavy rains; maybe we’ll never know.
At daybreak we headed down to Homeshore, for a rousing fish score of ZERO. That was the first time this season that Steve and us both got skunked. The weather had increased, beating us up more than our lack of sleep could take. We finally pulled gear and eased our way across the Strait, a ninety minute trip of short 5 foot chop. That night, tied to a more secure dock at Hoonah, we went to bed at 7:30; at 6:30 the next morning, we awoke to a beautiful day. Kirk had analyzed the weather report and told us we had a two day window of good weather to make it back to Sitka, if we left on the morning tide change. Not a problem! We sold our puny catch, filled up with ice for ballast, and Jager and True North headed out on the 11 am flood.
We travelled the whole day and arrived at the mouth of Peril Straits at dark. In order to clear Sergius Narrows on the morning tide change, we had to continue on for another 6 hours to anchor at Goose Bay. Kirk had some floodlights that let him dodge logs, so we got right on his stern and followed. At 1:30 am, we anchored. Six a.m., off again to slide thru Sergius at about 7 knots. A 3 hour stint fishing in Salisbury in hopes of picking up a few fish to bring home resulted in a catch of 3 – so, on to Sitka.
We made it just in time; last night the weather turned – it blew gusts of 65 knots here, with seas building over 28 feet just offshore, and worse predicted for the rest of the week. A few days of preparation, and we should be able to head back to Montana. Mixed feelings. Dock should be a little more stable there, if nothing else.
Fish on.
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