PREVIOUS SPREAD—Wild Places stuck with her anchor ropes tangled on a submerged boulder. With the tide ebbing she could soon be crashing on the sharp rocks. ABOVE— Up at first light to avoid strong currents against us in Wrangell Narrows.
new camp. No doubt the bear who moved us on was happily munching grass in our old campsite. May was good to us with mild weather and fair winds. June
was far less kind. Aſter Ketchikan, we started our 165 nautical-mile circumnav-
igation of Revillagigedo Island. Once again, we were traveling in anything but a straight line. However, our convoluted route held promise of many things I craved; wilderness, hotsprings, gigantic granite cliffs. We got what we bargained for, and more. Had the world forgotten Behm Canal? We were outside of
VHF range, unable to get a weather forecast for six days. Even when we got one, neither the weather forecast nor the current tables seemed to pertain to us. We seldom saw another boat. Te upper reaches of Behm Canal felt like the kind of wilderness one seldom experiences on the ocean. The trail in to Bailey Bay hot springs was rough going in
places, including a chance to walk through a waterfall. The springs provided a delightful respite and a much needed bath. Walker Cove was Yosemite-style granite in a wild setting.
Waterfalls plummeted, gushed, and free-fell from every crevasse. Fredrik expressed trepidation about finding camping in this wildly vertical landscape. My heart wanted to see this country. I assured him we would find something. Sixteen miles into our day we pulled up next to a flat rock-slab and decided to cook dinner before moving on. In hindsight, I wonder, what we were thinking? With nowhere to get off the water, our situation was basically a long crossing. We would never consider breaking for
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an hour and having dinner in the middle of a crossing. Two days of calm winds and glassy seas, and becoming accustomed to not having a weather forecast, had made us complacent. Te stove was barely lit, when Fredrik noticed small white-
caps on the other side of the bay. With no sign of a frontal sys- tem, this had to be a day breeze. Right? We decided to anchor the boat offshore on a pulley system while we ate. By the time I was in the boat trying to set anchor, I could
barely handle her alone. Te water was extremely deep, the bot- tom strewn with SUV sized boulders. A good anchor set was unlikely. I didn’t get one. I was barely back to shore when it became obvious, she was
dragging anchor and headed for the rocks. We would have to try again. We pulled in on the rope that should bring her to shore. Nothing moved. In the mayhem her landline had gotten wrapped on a rock. Wild Places was stuck. “What do we do now?” we asked ourselves and each other.
Te answer was…nothing. We finished dinner and made tea. But, we did so in our dry suits. Our moment of action was com- ing with the falling tide. Soon enough we heard her bumping bottom. It was time. In water up to my chest, I started untying ropes. Fredrik
coiled them as they came free. At one point; I held the bow line, the anchor rope, and Wild Places herself in my two hands. I needed all three, but I fully understood which one I needed most. Don’t let go of the boat! I clambered aboard and rowed hard off shore. Te bowline
SMALL CRAFT ADVISOR
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