Travel Surf Yoga is thrilled to welcome a new contributor coming to us from Kenai, Alaska, a place still clothed in white this time of year, and frequented by meandering moose.
I have been meaning to contribute to this site for a long time, and had not gotten it accomplished! I, like many of you, tend to travel around a bit and see great new things. There are many stories to tell, but when I first found this site, I knew immediately that this is the story I wanted to tell.
I have traveled a lot in the Western US and seen much of this country and many others. One of many places I hadn’t been was the Caribbean. It seemed to be one of the most glorious places on the planet.
It had been a rough year, and when my friend and old high school buddy called and said, “Hey, want to go sailing in the BVI’s and Caribbean with me?” I vividly remember saying yes! I needed a change in my life, and this was WAY outside my comfort zone. Seven people on a 40-foot sailing catamaran in a place I had never been before…I wondered about personal space, (I tend towards introvert), and how it would all work out. After a 20-minute conversation with my buddy, who would soon become the captain on our vessel, I was caught up in the idea enough to say, “How about a second week?” He only paused only for a moment before saying, “That is a great idea!” Now I was in deep.
When the appointed time in February finally came around, I flew from Montana, to Salt Lake, to Atlanta, to San Juan PR, and finally to a small airport on St. John, USVI’s. Our small crew all met at the charter company and checked out our Bareboat (term for captaining and crewing the boat, as well as getting provisions and cooking for yourselves). It might remind you of a hunting drop camp in other cool places.
We boarded our vessel and living quarters for the next week and went through the rigors of pre-cast off and sailing, which included a sailing briefing by the charter company and a big ole grocery and ice run to get us started. We stored our gear, got the food on ice, and headed out.
My friend Ty was serving as the Captain of the vessel, under the command of his dad, whom we will call the Conductor. They had sailed together for a number of years before I got involved, It takes a lot of training to become a Captain and the position is very important to your survival on the ocean. I had sailed previously with Edgar, and Ty, and was confidant in my sailing skills, but the ocean needs respect, and a Captain with plenty of skill and knowledge.
Our crew was rounded out by the Conductor’s wife, and two couples that had sailed with Ty and the Conductor years previously, one of whom was the first mate. That role belongs to the person second in charge, and he or she keeps a “weathered eye” on everything and anything that’s needed.
We were also very interested in deep-sea fishing, and the First Mate was very knowledgeable. We caught fish…..
I now will make a confession. The first fish we caught was a Big Eyed Jack. I was so excited that I took my brand new Spyderco Salt knife and started to fillet the fish. Alas a brand new knife is very sharp, and I was eager to eat my first saltwater catch. I took a chunk of my finger off in my haste, and fish dinner was put on hold.
We saw so much of the USVI’s and the Caribbean, and caught more fish. That trip turned me into a Caribbean sailor, and the rest of the story is yet to come.
In our next chapter…. I earn my rank as 1St mate, and a shark meets the dinghy. Stay tuned…..
This is part nine of our trip to Prince of Whales island. If you missed part eight, you can catch up quickly here.
The next morning we needed to leave at 5:30am to catch our ferry to Ketchikan. Brent was scheduled to drive us there in his truck. When he knocked on our door, he didn’t mince words. “You want a ride to the ferry? I need thirty five hundred dollars.” Edgar started over with a friendly, “Good morning” but Brent had clearly prepared for a fight and was determined to have it. There was a heated discussion about who was responsible for what. Edgar finally agreed to give Brent $3500, saying that he did not accept the responsibility for what happened, and the truck shouldn’t have been given to a guest, but if Brent needed the money that badly, he would help him. By the time they’d walked to Brent’s cabin and the credit card machine, Brent had reconsidered and tried to lower the amount, but Edgar told him to run it for the full $3500.
It was a strained ride to the ferry but we made it with time to spare and had a lovely three-hour ferry ride back to Ketchikan, complete with whale spotting! We had become friends with our neighbors, who had shared the awkwardness of the morning, and who were also disappointed in Brent’s actions. We spent the rest of the time catching up on other travels we’d been on, and sharing photos of our families. They kindly offered to buy us lunch, and we ate in the ferry restaurant as we eased our way back to land.
Meanwhile, the search for our wounded buck wasn’t over. The local hunter who had given us the tip on where to find the deer had also given us his phone number. We let Sam know what happened, and he was determined to go back and find our buck. He was flying a drone and sending us photos to better determine exactly where we’d fired the shot.
Once in Ketchikan, a Sourdough Cab took us to our hotel, where we checked in and dropped off our gear, and tucked sixteen pounds of Alaskan salmon into their freezer. We also dug up all our wet clothes from the day before, and created a clothesline across our room.
All three of the adventurers were tired. Excitement and very little sleep invited a short afternoon nap, followed by a city walk and sushi dinner. The salmon fisherman were still on the bridge, tourist boats still docked at the wharf. The streets bustled with people until after seven when the cruise ships left, shop keepers closed their doors and evening settled like the mountain fog over the town.
We sat around the hotel room discussing our trip and our lives back home. Lights were out before eleven.
Morning broke with my phone grunting out messages on the night stand. Cam, a close friend of the family, had expectedly passed away. I got dressed and went to the mezzanine to make phone calls and have a cup of coffee. Sadness was mixed with relief after a long fight with cancer.
When Edgar and Leigh were ready we went across the street for a few mementos and then had a snack, sweet roll and reindeer hot dog, before catching the ferry to the island airport.
Before we left Ketchikan, one more chat with Sam confirmed our deer could not be found. He’d covered the same paths with the drone and searched for the deer, or the ravens and bears that would surely be taking advantage of the food. He found nothing, and the search had to be abandoned….. for now. Edgar is already talking about a return trip to the island, and to the forest that the big bucks call home. As heartbreaking as it can be, it’s the memories of the ones that get away, that keep drawing us back for more.
The departure from Ketchikan went smoothly and we were soon on a flight to Seattle and the lower forty eight.
From Seattle we left for Houston, and once landed we caught the same Uber driver we’d had on the journey to the airport intially. (What are the chances?) Two in the morning and showers were completed, lights were out, as they both had to get up early and go to work.
I slept in but got productive when I got up, doing laundry and making business calls and of course playing fetch with Max, Leigh’s scruffy puppy. Leigh arrived about four and we headed toward the Blue Dolphin Marina and Edgar’s floating home. It took us three hours to go fifty miles.
We stowed our gear on the boat and went out for a pizza. Edgar brought lots of left over pizza home so I would have breakfast, lunch and dinner. We took showers and had quiet time with laptops/books.
Edgar left for work before six and I slept until eight thirty. Then I was on the phone with rental work ready to get back to it. Mid-morning I called a cab and made arrangements for transportation to the Houston airport. I headed back home looking forward to meeting a friend for dinner.
This is part eight of our trip to Prince of Whales island. If you missed part seven, you can get caught up here.
Edgar and Leigh borrowed the other guests’ truck, dropping them off at the halibut fishing boat and went hunting. I stayed at the lodge, using heat and ice to relieve the pain in my neck and shoulders.
The other hunters had given us a nice deer roast, and I put it in the crock pot with potatoes and onions and a dash of garlic. I also made some coleslaw with the leftover cabbage.
Rain started early and continued all day. My body couldn’t decide whether to be hot or cold – probably just the trauma/drama from the day before. The day crawled along slowly with my neck and shoulders screaming pretty loud. I took more Aleve and iced and hot-packed my neck throughout the day. The rotation of ice and heat worked wonders.
In the afternoon I had a text bounce in saying they had shot a monster buck and were hunting for him. With spotty phone service for all of us there was little to no communication, so it was lucky I even got that notification. Edgar and Leigh were scheduled to pick up the father and son duo from the docks around 4:30p, but the father understood there were a lot of unknowns in the day. The deal they made was if Edgar didn’t show, our neighbors were close enough to camp to walk back. When the father and son appeared on foot, I knew my hunters were looking for a shot deer. It’s one of the worst things that can happen to a hunter, to know you shot an animal and can’t find it. I walked down to the pier three times where I had a better chance for phone service, but had no messages.
During my waiting time, Brent, the lodge owner, came over and said he needed money to pay for truck repairs. I told him he would have to speak to Edgar. I was shocked that he would think we should be liable for the truck when he knew the transmission was bad considering the sticker on the dash. The truck wasn’t even damaged except for a small dent in the camper shell. He still hadn’t asked if I was OK.
My hunters arrived about 8:30p, exhausted and with no deer. They’d found a piece of bone and a few drops of blood, created a grid of the area and worked it systematically for hours, but could not find the buck.
All withstanding we had a nice deer roast supper. I told Edgar what Brent had said about the truck. I also told him that Brent had told me he was desperate for money as he couldn’t even pay his bills for the month. Edgar didn’t go over and talk to him that night. Loosing a deer and walking the mountains for fifteen hours the day after a traumatic incident was not a good time to deal with this escalating situation. I went over and talked to Brent. He said he needed $3500 for retrieving the truck and repairing the damages. I went back and told Edgar and he said it was entirely out of line. We left it alone for the night. We had a ferry to catch in the morning.
This is part seven of our trip to Prince of Whales, Alaska. If you missed part six you can catch up here.
In the early morning and Edgar and Leigh were back on the hunt – “first light” as Hemingway would say. No sun to warm them at day break, not raining just heavy cloud cover.
I made egg salad and potato soup for lunch.
They came back early, 11:15. They’d spent a chilly morning scouting, before finding a makeshift coffee stand. The owner was catching rain water from the top of his camper to feed into a cooler, and then used that for his brew. The flavor wasn’t great, but they were glad for the warmth.
They’d also talked to a local hunter out in the timber who told them where the seasoned bucks were congregating. “I wouldn’t tell you this if you were locals,” he’d said. “But since you’re visiting, I’ll let you know where I’ve found the largest bucks.” They had devised a plan. We had a quick lunch and headed out.
The turnoff road was not far from the lodge. We then drove about three miles on the gravel and turned into a narrow trek for about another three miles. We came to an impassable creek. Edgar parked by the creek on a slight incline and he and Leigh got out of the truck to check the availability and distance to turn around. The plan was to turn the truck around, park it there, and walk farther up into the forest.
As they were looking over the situation I noticed the truck had began to very slowly roll backward. They must have noticed it at about the same time as I did. They were both standing right in front of the truck and I saw the shock on their faces as Edgar started trying to catch the truck as it picked up speed going downhill. Of course it was impossible; there was nothing they could do but watch and pray. The truck was rolling backward downhill faster and faster. I leaned up over the front seat to throw the gear shift into park in case it wasn’t. But the shift was already in park and wouldn’t budge. There was hardly enough time to become terrified, but I was praying that the bottom wasn’t too far away, the ride wouldn’t become too rough, or it would all end quickly. It’s amazing how much thinking a person does in such a short time. Then BANG! It all stopped. My prayers had been answered and one of God’s angels in the form of a tree stump had stopped the trucks’ descent. I was shaken and banged around. My head had hit the back window pretty hard, but I was okay.
Edgar climbed down and helped me out of the truck and back up to the road. The only choice we had was to get our gear out of the truck and walk out. We had no cell phone service where we were.
About halfway out Leigh got phone service and called Brent, letting him know what had happened. We kept walking. My achy spots were surfacing and I couldn’t quite stop thinking about the “what ifs”. Strange thoughts and not good. I was alive and fine. It was a crazy feeling.
After we had walked about four and a half miles Brent showed up. We all got in his camo four by four and headed back to the truck. I felt very uncomfortable getting into his vehicle and driving back in there, and to make matters worse he drove about three times as fast as Edgar had when we drove in. I wished I had just sat along side of the road in the rain and waited for them to come back.
Brent was angry with Edgar for driving back in there—which I’m pretty sure he would have done himself if he were hunting. Edgar was upset with Brent for sending people out in a truck with a slipping transmission. (There was a note on the dash which warned that sometimes the truck would not start in park and had to be in neutral.) I guess in hindsight we should have realized this and set the emergency break or refused to drive an unsafe vehicle.
No matter what, who, or how the truck was off the road needing a plan to get back up on it. The truck wasn’t badly damaged; it just needed to be winched back up to flat ground so it could be driven out. Brent had brought a chain saw winch with him which they used to try to pull the truck up, but to no avail. The truck needed to be lifted up and and then pulled forward, and the winch was pulling it down instead.
We all went back to the lodge and Brent found someone to go out and try to get the truck the next day. He formed a plan for morning but said he didn’t want Edgar to go along and help.
We had a pretty early night. I utilized Aleve and lineament, but still tossed and turned all night with discomfort.
On day eight, I get an exciting text from the field, and then radio silence.
This is part six of our journey to Prince of Whales island. If you missed out on part five, you can catch up in quick fashion here. It also happens to be our 100th post on TSY. We want to pause to say thank you to all of our readers, and hope you’ve enjoyed our many adventures! We’re always interested in hearing about your travels also, so feel free to share in the comments anytime.
Edgar and Leigh left the lodge early in a light rain and cool temperatures. I stayed back, not in a hurry to get out of bed but still up by six thirty. In Alaska time, that counts as sleeping in. I cooked the rest of the salmon that was in the fridge so I could make a quick salmon patty supper, roasted the two remaining apples and made Bisquick biscuits, as the bread was nearly gone.
The son of the father/son hunting team next door gave me four little strips of his deer already cooked. I said I should wait until we shot our own, but he insisted. In addition to my thanks, I gave him the remaining vegetable soup and two huckleberry pancakes. He invited me to go halibut fishing the next day. I wasn’t sure how much movement we’d get at sea, and if I’d get sea sick, but it sounded fun. I wanted to ask Brent, the lodge owner, how far the boat they were taking would go out. I was really entertaining the idea.
Edgar and Leigh came back for lunch around 1pm. I served them bacon and eggs and fresh biscuits. Nice for a change.
After the warm meal we went back to the hunt. They were walking a lot of rough miles, and seeing a lot of does, but no shootable bucks. The terrain varies drastically from soggy, muskeg bottoms, to deep rain forest, clear cuts, and tall pine forests. It is hard hunting; there are thousands of acres and bucks that stay hidden, especially this time of year. After giving it our best effort all day, we pulled into the lodge at dark again, exhausted and empty-handed.
Dinner was mac and cheese with broccoli and leftover bacon bits with salmon patties, and baked apples for desert. We were all in bed shortly after ten.
On day seven we got an insider’s tip on where the big bucks were hiding, but getting there proved quite the adventure.
Recent Comments