Pybus Bay—‘Austria’

July 29, 2008: Warm Springs to Pybus Bay and Cannery Cove


Out into the wind in Chatham Strait

Slowly I board Zulu—her engines purr. Russ, Lucy, and Drew are ready for the 25-knot breeze out in the ubiquitous Chatham Strait. Those more cautious leave their mooring lines tied. But we have a rendezvous to keep with Sawyer Glacier.

Out into the wind. Quickly my Russian Baranof mind set changes and square on Zulu, bundled up with life jacket, I see the white chop and feel the brisk wind. A massive glacier carved this channel as it followed the course of the major Chatham fault. It is straight and the winds funnel down it a great velocity.


Coming up on Point Gardner

“Russ, why are you going toward those rocks?” I quiz.

“I’m going between the land and the rocks” he yells through the wind.

“Nooooooo, pleeeeeease no—don’t do it!” I counter.

Drew remains quiet. Russ changes course to appease my respect for the Point Gardner blow. Out from shore we point. Taking on the chop at the forward starboard quarter. Easier on the stomach than head on. We’re into the wind up Frederick Sound. I look behind to catch a glimpse at fleeting sunlight.


Fleeting ‘sunlight’ off our stern up Frederick Sound

“Whales!!” Drew yells. About 6 Orcas. No time for photographs. Just enjoy.

“Marilyn! A sea lion!” He yells in glee again.

The thick-necked, biscuit-coloured, whiskered, brown-eyed Stellar sea lion’s head is virtually within reach. He turns toward us curiously as if to say: who are you and where are you going?

“We can’t stop now.” I think warm heartedly, looking him straight in his bright brown eyes. We’re on our way to ‘Austria’. That’s what I tell Drew. Lucy sleeps below.
I call Pybus Bay and Cannery Cove ‘Austria’, because of its beautiful Admiralty Island snow-dotted mountains.

Russ brings Zulu in out of windswept Frederick Sound. In through the western channel, between the Grave Island light and Elliot Island. He threads his way through the islets avoiding the reefs and navigates his way through silent waters, and anchored boats, and the many crab pots to drop the spade as night falls and the gray mists obscure the mountains.

Early in the morning Lucy sips her coffee and proclaims: “I see Austria!”


We pull up anchor at ‘Austria’

I peek out the hatch and see the snow-dotted saddle behind the tree line—I listen for the sound of music: Edelweiss.

Pull up the anchor and retrace our steps—past the fish camp we passed in last night’s shadows, now in the morning light. Cabins, boats, a seaplane: a man’s paradise. Salmon. Crab. Halibut.

We must put the nautical miles behind us for our return to Tracy Arm.