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Chapter 7—High Latitudes
Patience anchored in Khutze Inlet. Khutze estuary in background. [35-70mm, ~F5.6, ~1/250sec, Fuji Velvia] The next morning we thankfully wake up to nice weather. I climb out the companionway and the scenery is absolutely spectacular. I sample the water temperature and it is a chilly 52.8F (11.6C). There will be no morning swims for us. I take a roll or two of film of the boat and the area. I keep a close eye out for bears, but don’t see any. Our crab dinner! Khutze estuary in background. [20mm, F8, 1/80sec, Fuji Velvia]
After I take the pictures, I take the Avon and head over to our crab trap. We have two nice male crabs. One is 7 inches across and the other is 8 inches across. They are pretty pissed at me. I bring them back to the boat and whip out our seafood cookbook to try to figure out what the hell we are going to do with them. The cold-blooded execution method that is recommended by the book (for the “freshest taste”) seems too gory for us. We decide to boil the crabs first and then clean them.
Amy boils up about 8 quarts of water in our big black pot and then we dump them in. This is probably not very humane for our poor crab friends, but more tolerable for us. 25 minutes later I have the knife and hammer out and am breaking off claws/legs and extracting some beautiful white crab meat. We end up netting a pound or two of crab meat. I figure that this was probably US$30 – 50 worth of meat in Seattle. I did learn one lesson from my crab cleaning experience. After you pull the legs/claws off, re-drain the crab before you pop his top shell off. Our first crab emptied a bunch of gross yellow stuff all over the cockpit when I didn’t do this. I think our cookbook calls this yellow stuff “tasty crab butter”, but it makes one hell of a mess. For future reference, here are the Patience guidelines to cleaning crabs: Patience anchored in Khutze Inlet. Boxer Cliff in backgroud. [35-70mm, ~F5.6, ~1/250sec, Fuji Velvia]

1. Boil Crabs
2. Drain Crabs
3. Remove legs and pinchers and put aside
4. Re-drain Crabs
5. Pop top shell, pry right around the opening by their mouth
6. Remove meat from main body, legs and pinchers

Amy is going to make up some dip and then we are going to have the crab tonight. I can hardly wait.
While I am cleaning up the mess from the crabs, Amy makes us breakfast of cheddar cheese scrambled eggs and potatoes. Life once again is very good. There is only one other boat in the entire inlet with us, a 50 foot (15.2M) Krogen called Grand Passage, anchored in a nook about a third of a mile northwest of us. While we are eating, they stop by in their inflatable and say hello. The Grand Passage is on her way down from Ketchikan and has been out since May. They recommend Klunugget Inlet in Grenville Channel as a good stop on our way northwards. They tell us to go deep into the inlet for the best anchorages. We wish them well, and they head off to the river to do some exploring (which would have been fun to do if we had more time). After they left, I promptly forgot the name of the place they recommended and had to hail them on the VHF to get it. Khutze Inlet. The north coast of British Columbia at its best. [20mm, F8, 1/125sec, Fuji Velvia]
At about 2:00PM, we pull up anchor and head out. What a great stop! We just wish we had seen a grizzly bear and then Khutze Inlet would have been 100% complete. Amy and I vote it our favorite stop thus far. As we are departing, flies and horseflies swarm the boat. I theorize that maybe we stink due to crab cleaning. I spend about half and hour swatting flies before I have terminated the entire flock. Today we are headed to Bishop Bay Hot Springs.
We are heading northwards up Princess Royal Channel. The barometer is up and there is no rain. The sky is patched with a few clouds, but mostly sun. It is completely windless. We are hoping (once again) that the weather is up. While Amy and I are doing our exercises, I notice that motor seems to be running a little hot. I think the problem might be a semi-clogged intake—there has been a lot of crap in the water lately. I slow us down and kill the engine mid-channel. I open up the sea strainer and sure enough it is full of crap. I clean it out, restart the engine and the temperature goes back to normal. Whea! Butedale, in Fraser Reach. Note beautiful waterfall to right. [200mm, F4, 1/320sec, Fuji Velvia]
We enter Fraser Reach and pass by Butedale. At one time Butedale was a thriving cannery. As rumored, Butedale now looks very run down and there is no activity around. The nearby waterfalls are beautiful though. We surmise that the restoration efforts mentioned in both Don Douglas’ Cruising Guide and Iain Lawrence Book have fallen through. Too bad, it really is a beautiful location. Looks to me like it would be a lot of work to restore—it is a large facility and is now very run down. To pass the time, Amy I vote on our favorite album of the trip and favorite day of the trip. The Soundtrack to Grease, wins favorite album, and sailing up Fitz Hugh Sound wins favorite day.
We continue up Fraser Reach. Once again, beautiful peaks surround us. Most are 2,000 to 3,000 feet (610 – 914M) high and summit less than a nautical mile away from Fraser Reach. Some are snow capped, all are rugged, barren and covered with trees. There is almost no sign of man. Nothing is developed. I probably sound like a broken record, but it is amazingly dramatic scenery. Unfortunately, a few clear cuts mar the otherwise gorgeous scenery. Unlike the West Coast of Vancouver Island, what we have seen of the northern coast of British Columbia does not seem to be too badly logged. However, when I get home to Seattle a few months later, I hear a news story that is incongruous with what our eyes tell us. Apparently the northern coast of BC (Cape Caution to Prince Rupert) is all part of what is called the Great Bear Rain Forest. Most of the forest is old growth timber. According to the news story, 60% of it has been logged. Looking west out of Fraser Reach. [200mm, F2.8, 1/400sec, Fuji Velvia]
We have seen about four other boats today and no cruise ships. It seems there is no one up here. The couple we met in the Grand Passage also mentioned noticing this. They were up in this region 10 years ago and they thought it seemed like there were a lot more boats then. Are fewer people coming up to go fishing, because fish stocks have been so depleted? Is pleasure boating a dying pastime? We don’t really know the answer, but then again, we aren’t really complaining either.
By 8:00PM we are on the final leg of today’s trip, on our way up Ursula Channel. The sun is starting to go down and the colors are dramatic. We eat our fresh crab dinner together with some garlic toast. It is excellent! Amy and I are starting to take the beauty for granted. Scarily, it is getting hard to get motivated to take a picture – “it’s just another beautiful fiord”. Terribly rough life. Our completed crab dinner. [Unknown lense & exposure, Fuji Velvia]
We arrive at Bishop Bay Hot Springs at 9:15PM. We anchor south of the actual hot springs in about 50 feet (15.2M) of water at high tide. I put out about 120 feet (36.6M) of rode. Anchoring is becoming a science. There are eight or nine boats in Bishop Bay with us, four at the dock, two on buoys (there are two buoys) and the rest at anchor. This seems highly metropolitan to us! We haven’t seen this many boats in one place since Shearwater. We figure it must be timing, because the folks in the Grand Passage said they pretty much had the place to themselves and actually tied their Krogen to the dock. Looking southeast down Ursula Channel. [20mm, F4, 1/160sec, Fuji Velvia]
After anchoring, Amy and I put on our swimsuits, grab our shampoo and soap and head for the hot springs via Avon. Amy wants to bring her shaving razor, but I tell her that might be pushing it a little bit. We tie up to the small dock (approximately 60 feet [18.3M] long, i.e. 120 feet [36.6M] of total dock space) near the springs and head up the dock. At the top of the ramp you can turn left or right onto boardwalks that lead into dense forest. Going right (what we did first) takes you to a beautiful new boardwalk that winds through the forest near the water. This boardwalk is maybe 1,000 feet (305M) long and eventually takes you to what appears to be three tent sites. Very nice, although there were no campers to be seen. Makes me wonder if people will start to replace the planks on this boardwalk with personalized ones like at Hot Springs Cove (West Coast Vancouver Island). Going left at the top of the dock takes you to the actual hot springs, about 100 or 200 feet (30.5 – 61M) away. On the way to the hot springs you pass what looks like a BBQ area/pit, still under construction. A sign says there is a toilet past the hot springs, but we didn’t venture that far. Author in the indoor tub at Bishop Bay Hot Springs. [Minolta Waterproof Camera]
The hot springs actually consist of three tubs. One big outdoors tub, one small outdoors tub (for soaping down) and a big inside tub. A wood shed covers the indoor tub. The hot water for each of the tubs comes out of black pipes that feed directly from the springs. The water is completely odorless (believe it or not!) and is warm, not hot. I would say the water temperature is around 80 – 95F (26.7– 35.0C)—although I admit I forgot to bring the “measuring devices” with me. The tubs are very nice, although we could have tolerated hotter water. Beggars can’t be choosers! The tubs are a combination of concrete and natural rock that actually create semi-natural tubs—very different than Hot Springs Cove on the west coast of Vancouver Island. Someone has done a really nice and tasteful job of building the actual tubs, deck and shelter. It still feels very natural, but is also really practical. There is a fair amount of graffiti around the tubs, but most of it is pretty tasteful. There are a number of fishing floats hanging from the ceiling in the covered tub which is kind of cool and strange at the same time. Amy and I soap off in one of the outside tubs and then go in and have our beers and cider in the inside tub. Dock at Bishop Bay Hot Springs. [35-70mm, ~F5.6, ~1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
Despite the literal bonanza of boats, we have the tubs to ourselves. I guess tub-etiquette says that only one family/couple uses the tubs at a time. There was a very small amount of clothes (hat, shirt and a towel) and trash (soap wrapper) leftovers from other people, but not bad at all. I really wish people would just pick up after themselves though. Pretty lame.
Overall, a very fun experience. I have experienced two type of natural hot springs in my life. The very scary, and the very cool (i.e. enjoyable). I can probably safely say, that every hot spring I have gotten to by boat has been wonderful, every hot spring I have gotten to by car has been scary. These hot springs were awesome and might actually slightly outrank the hot springs at Hot Springs Cove. At any rate, we feel much cleaner now. Amy makes me laugh by referring to the hot springs as “cesspools”, which couldn’t be further from the truth.
After soaking we head back to the boat. I bake some cookies and Aim starts up our nightly movie. Tonight the movie of choice is “Father of the Bride”—one of our favorites. While making cookies, I proclaim that, “These cookies are the first “non-raw” cookie dough that has been consumed the entire trip”. I am making reference to the fact that Amy has been sneaking snacks of raw cookie dough the entire trip. The shelter for the hot springs at Bishop Bay. [35-70mm, ~F5.6, ~1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
Cookies and movie end up being excellent. We wash the cookies down with a little Bailey’s. It is pretty amazing how late it stays light up here at 53 degrees north. On a clear night like tonight, it was really bright at 10:00PM. At 11:00PM, when we went to bed, it was still light enough to see. It starts to get bright in the mornings around 4:30AM. We head to bed around 11:00PM. Tomorrow we are headed to Lowe Inlet. We are almost to Prince Rupert.
We leave Bishop Bay the next day at 10:45AM. I have to admit, we were a little worried about Bishop Bay Hot Springs being sketchy, but they ended up being awesome. Today we are headed to Lowe Inlet. The weather is temporarily looking good. Skies are clear and the sun is out. Once again, there is no wind. The barometer reached a high of about 1039 millibars (30.68 in) yesterday afternoon and has been falling ever since. The last forecast I heard said that another high was rolling through but that is being followed by another low. Looking back (east) at McKay Reach. Note generally clear skies, although a hint of clouds coming in from the south. [20mm, F5.6, 1/125sec, Fuji Velvia]
We are currently heading due south down Ursula Channel—backtracking. Later today we will head up Grenville Channel to Lowe Inlet. The tide is flooding in until around 4:00PM. This should give us a push up to Lowe Inlet. Per Visual Navigation Suite, the maximum flood today is at noon. It runs at 1.6 knots in mid Grenville Channel. Interestingly, the Grenville Channel ebb this morning ran at a whopping 4.3 knots. Once again, currents are definitely worth paying attention to—especially if you are in a slow, deep-keeled cruising boat. The currents will really factor into the equation tomorrow as we put a fork in Grenville channel and call it done.
At about 2:00PM, a hint of wind arrives on the scene. Desperate for a sail, I unfurl the jib and we motorsail across Whale Channel and Wright Sound towards Grenville Channel. Not exactly a raging sail, but better than nothing.
It is very hot out – 80F+ (26.7C+) and muggy. We skeptically watch some high cloud cover roll in from the south. I am not sure what type of clouds they are, but they don’t look favorable. I figure anything that comes in from the south can’t be terribly good news. Since the cloud transition is so evident, we decide to play junior weathermen. I grab Weather for the Mariner, by William J. Kotsch. After poking through the chapter on clouds, we speculate that the clouds are either cirro-stratus or cirro-cumulas clouds. Cirro-stratus clouds apparently mean that there is a front on its way in. Per Weather for the Mariner, cirro-cumulas clouds apparently don’t mean much. Looking southeast into Wright Sound. Note high cloud cover coming in from the south. This picture was taken 30 minutes after the picture above. [20mm, F5.6, 1/160sec, Fuji Velvia]
It is really amazing to watch how fast the conditions change. In the last 40 minutes we have gone from very pleasant good weather to rather foul looking weather. You can see the start of this change demostrated in the two pictures to the left, that were taken less than 30 minutes apart. I”m sure this happens all the time, but one just doesn’t notice it when you are plugging away at a desk job.
Amy has gotten bored playing junior weatherman, but I am still intrigued. I pull out Jeff Renner”s book called Northwest Marine Weather. Jeff Renner is local northwest guy who does the weather for one of the local TV stations. Based on the pictures and descriptions in Renner’s book, I decide the clouds are cirro-cumulus clouds, which reinforces one of my previous hypothesis’s. Apparently these clouds often change into cirrus. Renner also mentions in his book that if clouds come from the south-southwest and move to the north-northeast that it means strong southerly winds and lots of rain within 24 hours. Ouch, that hurts.
Both our weather books have several pictures of cloud formations. Some are pretty easy to identify, but I find the vast majority very difficult to identify. The only thing that is clear is that it appears we are in for some poor weather. Verney Falls--Lowe Inlet. [35-70mm, ~F2.8, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
By 4:00PM we have entered Grenville Channel. I unfurl the jib again (the last effort only lasted about 5 minutes) and am trying a little more motorsailing. It doesn’t look like this effort will be much more successful. We are hoping to catch the tail-end of the flood, although we are running a little behind schedule. Amy has just finished reading Street Lawyer. I am still plowing through Cat & Mouse. About an hour later, we actually get 10 – 12 knots of wind and I am able to actually sail.
We arrive at Lowe Inlet at about 6:30PM. The entrance is navigationally non-challenging. Lowe Inlet is a popular anchorage that is strategically located about half way up the 45 mile long Grenville Channel. We actually anchor in Nettle Basin (within Lowe Inlet) and set our anchor northwest of Verney Falls. Verney Falls is pretty waterfall that empties into the head of Lowe Inlet. The height of the falls varies greatly with the level of the tide. At low tide, the falls are pretty spectacular, while at high tide the falls don”t drop very far. Before dinner, I take the Avon and a beer and head into Verney Falls to check them out. While not as spectacular as the falls in Khutze Inlet, they are still beautiful and very accessible. Verney Falls--Lowe Inlet. [35-70mm, ~F2.8, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
Our cruising guides mention a good hike that starts near Verney Falls and follows the north side of the Kumowdah River past the second falls and up to Lowe Lake. Unfortunately, it is getting too late for me to explore. I head back to the boat and Amy and I hit the bunk at a reasonable time.
We wake up the next morning and depart Lowe Inlet for Prince Rupert. By the way, if you are like us, and are not locals, it’s good to know that Prince Rupert is referred to as “Rupert” by the locals and cool cruisers. Anyway, we catch the flood northwards for first couple hours and really rock up Grenville Channel. We average 8 or 9 knots until we get to Klunugget which is where the tide meets; tide floods into both ends of Grenville Channel and meets at Klunugget. While the weather is high overcast, it doesn’t mar the beauty of the landscape around Klunugget. The area is barren and rugged. Peaks are cragged and snowcapped, with no sign of man anywhere; truly beautiful scenery. I wish we had time to go in and explore Klunugget Inlet. Top of Verney Falls and the first lake behind the falls. [35-70mm, ~F2.8, 1/100sec, Fuji Velvia]
Instead, we continue northwards; we have a schedule to keep. We fight the flood for about 2 or 3 hours and it really slows us down. Amy reads the rest of Cat & Mouse out loud to me since I have to pay attention to our course in the relatively narrow Grenville Channel. By late afternoon, we have completed our transit of Grenville Channel and are entering the waters east of Porcher Island and Chatham Sound. Navigation is now more complicated than the dead straight, rock-free Grenville Channel. Near Kennedy Island we see a cruise ship from Japan. We wave, but everyone must be inside devouring gourmet meals. As we continue on I am a little nervous that the winds in Chatham Sound might combine with the outflow from the Skeena River to make for some rough water. Despite the foreboding looking conditions, my fears prove unfounded. Instead of steep seas and riptides, we see tons of logs and other crap floating in the water from the out-flowing Skeena. Looking back (south) at Grenville Channel from Klewnuggit. [200mm, F8, 1/500sec, Kodak RG 100]
We slowly get near Rupert. The entrance seems to drag on forever. We pass one freighter terminal after another. I keep expecting to see the warm glow of the Prince Rupert Yacht Club, but it seems to continually be “just around the corner”. Time seems to have gone into slow motion. Despite our perceived crawl, the entrance to Prince Rupert is pretty dramatic. I have never seen the famous Rock of Gibraltar, but have read many sailing books that reference it. For some strange reason, the entrance to Prince Rupert reminds me of it. Mountains above Kumealon Inlet, looking east from Grenville Channel. [200mm, F5.6, 1/640sec, Kodak RG 100]
In between the first and second freighter terminals a strange thing happens. I happen to take a look behind us and there are 30+ boats roaring up behind us in the distance. You can practically see the low-lying cloud of soot rising up from their revved up diesels. For those that hail from Seattle, it reminds me of being on Lake Washington right after Seafair hydroplane races end, and everyone races for the locks. Instead of Ski-Nautiques loaded with sun-burnt, hung-over partiers, these are Prince Rupert based gill-netters headed in due to their season closing at 9:00PM. As we continue on into Prince Rupert Harbor they continue to roar by and we wallow in their wakes.
Finally, I see the Alaska State Ferry Terminal and I know we have arrived. Cow Bay and the highly recommended Prince Rupert Yacht Club follow shortly after. The yacht club is about half way down the Prince Rupert waterfront in a bay called Cow Bay. We stand off from the yacht club for about half an hour as the fish boats continue to roar by. There is no breakwater around the Prince Rupert Yacht Club. As such, the marina is in a massive state of motion due to the wakes from the fish boats. The tightly packed pleasure boats are yawing up and down, with dock floats often yawing up and down in opposite directions. You can literally hear mooring lines straining, fenders grinding and people yelling. It is a pretty scary site and not a good time to try and dock. Mountains southwest of Griffon Point, Grenville Channel. [200mm, F8, 1/250sec, Kodak RG 100]
While we are waiting for the commotion to die down, we hear a boat called the White Satin (moored at the Prince Rupert Yacht Club) get on VHF channel 16 and hail the Canadian Coast Guard. White Satin tells the Canadian Coast Guard (and everyone else listening in on channel 16) that the situation is utterly ridiculous, his boat is in serious danger of getting damaged and his dock lines are breaking. The Coasties pass the buck to the harbor patrol who ask White Satin to record names of fish boats exceeding the 5 knot harbor speed limit. Amy and I figure White Satin has a tough job ahead of them since we don’t see a single fish boat that is doing less than 10 or 12 knots, let alone 5 knots. However, it seems the fishermen must have at least heard the conversation on the VHF and appear to slow down a little. The outer dock ('Breakwater') at the Prince Rupert Yacht Club. Patience in background on right. Cow Bay, Prince Rupert. [20mm, F11, 1/125sec, Kodak RG 100]
Finally, things die down enough for us to dock. It is 10:15PM when we tie up to the frighteningly exposed outer wharf of the Prince Rupert Yacht Club. We made it! Despite the gloom of Treadwell Bay and Cape Caution, and the always-present chance of mechanical problems, we made it. Amy and I head up and have a few beers at Breakers Pub to celebrate. We have a great time, but they shut the bar down on us at a meager 12:00 midnight. We are ready to roll late into the night. We head back to the boat and fall asleep praying that another fishing ground wont be closed in the middle of the night.





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Adventures in the Charlottes was written by Tim Whelan.
All pictures and text ©Tim Whelan 1998-1999.
For useage, please see my copyright notice.