Up and Down Tracy’s Arm

Sunday, July 13, 2008: Wyndham Bay up Stephens Passage to Tracy’s Arm

A grand berg to greet us at the entrance of Tracy’s Arm

Early morning mists and anchor lights of fishing boats. Slowly we awake. Tea or coffee? Weigh anchor. Sunshine. Light on the water. An orca whale. Icebergs! Some like delicate lacework—almost transparent—what walls of ice lurk below the tips? Turquoise—white—sculptures—scattered. A ribbon of water down the distant mountains. Myriads of streaming ribbons. I feel the ocean. COLD.

Many birds floating—birdsong—melodies oh so sweet—whistles—shrill calls—I cannot replicate. Eagles. The planet’s wilderness sound to interpret. To listen to. To understand.

Devon and Russ got the GPs working on the electronic charts. The green X clicks forward: click, click through the channel into Tracy’s Arm. Line the markers up. Don’t rely on the red buoy. The current of four knots can drag it out of position.

“Line up the markers!” Russ calls.

“They’re aligned.” I respond. A whale! Silent, long, humpback, sound. Perfect tail glides into the powerful body of water. We’re closer to Sawyer Glacier. A sea of icebergs to weave through. Some crystal, some turquoise, some white. Uniquely sculptured: swiss cheese, sea horse, elephants, white ice bolder balanced on a crystal wedge. Two-tone white and turquoise combinations. There are too many of them now to navigate through.


Reflection on ice

Free ride

Ice perch afloat

We’re sooo close to the end of the arm! Sooooo close. But better judgement says to go no further. We will not see the mighty falls, the glacier in all its white silent mass, speaking of time unknown.

Time for celebration. Turn the engine off. Feel the silence. Float with the icebergs. Turn around. Which way are we floating? A kaleidoscope of eternally-steep rock faces and avalanches and ribbon waterfalls and mist and floating icebergs. A parade of queens and kings—broken loose from their lineage. Separated. In unison, floating on through time.

“Get the fishing net out!” Russ calls to me. What an idea!

“Devon! Scoop up a small iceberg!!” It’s a big one! The size of a jolly slate wedge.

“Help him pull it up.” Russ yells.

“I am!” I laugh. We’re all laughing. Land the crystal berg. WOW! Break it up and put it in the cooler. Crunch, crunch, crunch, stab, stab, break, break, break Devon puts his knife-throwing act to use to get pieces of crystal into the glasses. Chunks of ice from the heavens. Tiny sculptures in their own broken right. Pour on the rum, the passion fruit juice. A citrusy wedge of juicy lime delight. Toast to the God of nature!! The truly All Powerful.

Devon’s crystal catch of the day

Marilyn’s take on rum and passion with ice

The drinks on ice (us)

Time to chill out

Our time has come to chill out

Then “the boys” (Russ especially) get silly. Russ, like a jittery sailor, is after another portion of grog! Get out the vodka. More ice. Lots where that came from. Lime. Drink it straight. Ness and I look on. Silly, stupid? Laughter. More vodka. Take the bloody bottle away from them. Emotions raw. They’re suddenly invincible. Its 8:30 PM. All boats seen are out of sight on return journeys out of Tracy’s Arm.

“We’ll float with the icebergs all night.” Russ announces with vodka glee. Hmmm…I think.

Which way are we floating?” I ask. “Is it ebbing or flooding?” I ask again.

What does ebbing mean again?” Russ asks with a cloudy vodka expression.

Away from land.

“Well we’re floating toward the glacier.” Russ says nonchalantly.

Stupid bloody idea. Drunks! I grossly overstate. Tipsy. Jolly sailors.

Next, Russ has reversed Zulu into a paradise wedge in the granite wall. A three-ribbon waterfall, green rocks, wild flowers in miniscule cracks. Listen to the water flow. Free fall. Nirvana.

Russ’ niche of perfection

Symphony of sound

We try to anchor on a 65-foot ledge from a depth of 600 ft. We drag. Devon and Vanessa take the dinghy to tie to the rock face. Ness overzealously leaps onto a ledge.

“Ness is in the water Russ!!!” I call. “She’s fallen in!!!”

We see her heaving her lithe wet body with foul weather gear up into the dinghy: truly an adrenalin-rushed feat. Devon rows her back. She is shaking and shivering! Peel off the wet gear. Warm water. Dry clothes. Wool blanket and down bag. Turn the heater on. Warmth enters her sweet body. She smiles. Devon rows back. Ties us to an overhanging rock.

Grill the Copper River salmon. Serve with mashed potatoes, summer sautéed squash and broccoli. Tomato and red onion salad with blue cheese. Red wine. The Zulu restaurant in heaven: Tracy’s Arm—hanging from a rock face.

“Russ we’re swinging too close to the rock face!!” I call. He winches us in. The polypropylene line slips off the cleat. Get the boat hook. Extend it. Retrieve the line. Tie up. Winch in. The rock falls from the face!!!! Crash!!!!!

We’re floating again in the fjord shadows amongst the icebergs. It is 10:30 PM!!! A seal rests on an iceberg. It looks frozen solid. Then looks at us with an eye of wisdom as if to say: “Idiots! Ship of fools!” We float on by.

Float parade inside Tracy’s Arm

Seal on ice as we enter the night

It’s raining. Russ revived by the Zulu dinner guns the engine. Blow out the candles of the five-star. Dishes properly washed. Reality strikes.

Can’t get out of the Arm by 11:30 PM, sundown. Not good to go through the channel in the dark without lining up the markers. Holkham Bay outside sounds ominous to enter at night. Fools in motion.

I watch the green X moving on the electronic chart. I open to page 240 of the Exploring Southeast Alaska guidebook. There is a U in the Arm.

“Russ! We can pull into a temporary anchorage. A U in the Arm!” I catapult into a popout position through the hatch and cough out this notion.

I look at the GPS. Ooops, we’ve passed it already. We’ve missed it!!

“Look at the electronic chart!” Russ says.

I look. We’re pulling into it now!

Into the U of Tracy’s rainy Arm at night

All hands on the shadowy, wet deck. Call out the depths. From 400 feet to 60 ft. Drop the anchor. Wheel to starboard! Reverse!! Forward. Neutral. Call out the depth again. Shut down the engine. We hold. Temporary shelter of refuge.

Devon rows ashore to have “a moment” as Russ puts it. I crawl into my bunk. Much later full darkness has descended. I drift off wondering where he is. I hear the thud of the dinghy.

“Is Devon back?” Vanessa calls out. Footsteps on deck. Thud thud. Clump clump.

It’s a Tylenol PM night!!