MORE WILD PLACES Story by Nancy Pfeiffer with Photos by Fredrik Norssell


Last summer solstice, we took off from Haines, Alaska, a couple of neophyte sailors in our new Salish Voyager, a 17-foot open rowing and sailing vessel. A whole summer of adventures slipped under our hull. We wintered over as caretakers in Baranof Warm Springs Bay. On May 6th, we took off again. On a perfect springtime day,


A


we rowed across Chatham Strait, rounded Point Gardner, and sailed across Frederick Sound. At the end of the day, we camped on a white-sand beach beside turquoise water and backed by a lush green forest. I was ecstatic. We had 23 nautical miles and three crux moves behind us, and another whole summer ahead of us.


Te month of May was about observing the onrush of spring


in the north and adapting to unexpected situations. Fredrik and I have a penchant for camping on top of passes.


While technically at sea level, two 20 foot tides meet at Rocky Pass. Broad grasslands and extensive wetlands straddling the pass gave the area the wide-open feel of an alpine meadow. Te spring bird migration was in full swing. Sandhill cranes, Canada and White-fronted geese, Green-winged teals, plovers, dunlins, dowitchers and thousands and thousands of Western sandpipers


20


lifetime desire, to live a year in the wilds, to watch nature’s seasons unfold—up close and in detail—is well underway.


were there for the event. Tousands of shorebirds flashed first dark and then light as they veered and turned together in the low evening light. Tis throng of pulsating life was just what my wintered-over soul had been craving. In Sumner Strait we were desperate for a place to camp. Yet,


how many times do we have to learn not to camp on a tidal flat? At low tide, our boat, Wild Places, appeared to have settled down on the planes of Mongolia. We were stuck. We only had two chances a day to leave, and one high tide was in the middle of the night. Day aſter day the marine weather forecast promised 35-knot winds that never materialized. As a 17-foot open boat, ignoring a small craſt advisory seemed foolish. At the same time we felt like we were homesteading our muddy plot of ground. Logged within fiſteen feet of the beach, and backed by beaver dams, the only redeeming quality of “mud bay” was we discov- ered wolf tracks criss-crossing the flats. One evening we saw them. Two wolves, a grey female and a


larger wolf I took to be male. He was tri-colored, with a striking dark body, a tan and rust colored face and light paws. Tis was the first multicolored wolf I had ever seen, so I wondered for a second if I was seeing the neighbors dog. Tis was unlikely—the nearest neighbor was probably a hundred miles away. As he slowly trotted away, his graceful movements were unmistakably


SMALL CRAFT ADVISOR


Page 1  |  Page 2  |  Page 3  |  Page 4  |  Page 5  |  Page 6  |  Page 7  |  Page 8  |  Page 9  |  Page 10  |  Page 11  |  Page 12  |  Page 13  |  Page 14  |  Page 15  |  Page 16  |  Page 17  |  Page 18  |  Page 19  |  Page 20  |  Page 21  |  Page 22  |  Page 23  |  Page 24  |  Page 25  |  Page 26  |  Page 27  |  Page 28  |  Page 29  |  Page 30  |  Page 31  |  Page 32  |  Page 33  |  Page 34  |  Page 35  |  Page 36  |  Page 37  |  Page 38  |  Page 39  |  Page 40  |  Page 41  |  Page 42  |  Page 43  |  Page 44  |  Page 45  |  Page 46  |  Page 47  |  Page 48  |  Page 49  |  Page 50  |  Page 51  |  Page 52  |  Page 53  |  Page 54  |  Page 55  |  Page 56  |  Page 57  |  Page 58  |  Page 59  |  Page 60  |  Page 61  |  Page 62  |  Page 63  |  Page 64  |  Page 65  |  Page 66  |  Page 67  |  Page 68  |  Page 69  |  Page 70  |  Page 71  |  Page 72  |  Page 73  |  Page 74  |  Page 75  |  Page 76  |  Page 77  |  Page 78  |  Page 79  |  Page 80  |  Page 81  |  Page 82  |  Page 83  |  Page 84