So it's been over a week since I've had the chance to blog -- or sleep for that matter. Out of the blue, I received an email from another Alaska HAM who was sailing around Kodiak. He mentioned some islands to check out to see whales, where I had the pleasure of watching the 20-30 humpbacks and got the great photos of them diving under my boat. He also mentioned a nice spot to stop for halibut fishing, which as it turns out, is right where last week a 77 year old on his third annual pilgrimage to Gustavus, pulled up a 482 lb. world-record breaking halibut. Unfortunately, because the fish was so big, and the boat so small, they both harpooned it and shot it prior to bringing it aboard which voids the rules for records. I suppose, fortunately for me, I didn't have time to stop to fish for 400lb.+ halibut on my tiny little sailboat. So a big shout out to John and Kris of S/V Raynad for the great intel.

I reached Auke Bay, Juneau by the 5th but the docks were a zoo, so I had to anchor off. I finally made it in, and got to visit with some friends for several days. Two are in from Hong Kong from the Hebe Haven Yacht Club, visiting the crew of the DaividEllis who I met when I was leaving Hong Kong. The company was good, the food excellent, and the beer cold. Well, mostly cold! So my thanks for the hospitality. On Monday, I called Glacier Bay to see if there were any spots open, and managed to secure the 10-15th.

Tuesday I put out of Juneau and managed to get a second salmon on the line. The first one I hooked out of Yakutat, but was running downwind and couldn't heave-to without a LOT of work. So I dragged the poor fella across the waves at 5 knots, and he finally got off a few boat lengths away. This time I managed to get him to the net, but my tiny little net couldn't cope with my three-handed cacophony and the size of the fish, and I managed to catch the hook with the net. Bye-bye fishie. Such is fishing. As I had just made a huge pot of a much better recipe for Jambalaya, fresh salmon would have made my menu a bit over-crowded anyway. At least that's what I keep telling myself...

The run up the Mansfield Penninsula outside of Juneau had humpbacks on both sides, and some great shots of one adult breaching multiple times right in front of a high-speed ferry. I had a lovely reach in sunshine for about three hours when reaching Icy Straight, but as is typical the wind turned off and I wound up motoring into Flynn Cove once again. Motoring into Bartlett Cove in mostly sunshine on Wednesday, had me working around the whales in the North side of the cove, and two more leaving to the South. About 8-12 humpbacks appear to still be in Bartlett Cove, and I enjoyed happy hour watching them from my foredeck sitting on my liferaft. The forecast the rangers shared with me had five days of wind and only one day of rain -- which we all agreed was a complete farce. But a nice farce to believe in nonetheless.

So the rain began on Thursday morning and hasn't stopped. I expect it might taper off by Monday, and I leave on Tuesday. So needless to say, I haven't seen much of what I've been motoring or paddling by. With shallow to thick fog, mist, and rain the only things I can see are close to the boat. Such as the sea lion I passed by with a salmon in his mouth, swinging his head wildly back and forth to rend it apart while the three or four seagulls joined in the chaos with screams of pleasure at bits of fish flying by them in all directions. Sure enough my camera was only a few seconds away out of the rain, but by then it was all over and the sea lion was off for fresher meals.

I anchored just outside the Beardslee Islands, on the edge of the non-motorized restricted area in a small little cove south of Strawberry Island. I was not alone. A lone humpback was working for his meal, and continued to work his way closer all afternoon and evening. I caught just a glimpse and a shot of his eye and pectoral peeking at me from the shoreline a few times. I managed to hop in my kayak in the morning, and pump out all the rainwater before setting off to check out Secret Bay. The currents were contrary and ripping, and it was challenging to get in and out without spending five hours waiting for the tides. There were no shortage of sea otters, or harbor seals. At one point, I saw a seal pop up to my right and not wanting to be rude and stare at him, I turned to my left and found another seal right in front of my eyeline. So, once again I turned to straight ahead, and yet again found a third seal right there. Wanting to insure I didn't have seal on my brain, or permanently imprinted on my visual cortex, I glanced around and sure enough I was completely surrounded by the three harbor seals. Beyond the seals, and shoreline there was some grey trees -- I think. But given the mist, fog, and relentless rain I can't be sure.

Putting out of there for North Sandy Cove, the humpback came up once more to say goodbye, and then was gone in the mists. Sandy Cove is usually a lovely anchorage, with cliffs rising covered in trees just off the shoreline. Well, if they're still there I can't see them for all the clouds and rain. I suppose there's not much point in heading up to the glaciers and I won't be able to see them either. So I'll hang out here and wait for better weather, re-reading my John Muir and my Melville. Melville taught me all about whales and rendering whale flesh, not to mention the torment of vengeance. So I suppose if I wanted to hunt whales, Moby Dick would be a great how-to book. But not much there on the grace, beauty, curiosity or the docile nature of whales. And Muir, well, I seem to remember one or two stories about being wet and trying to light a fire on his way up one mountain or another, but most of his stories are in sunshine and the grand vistas of Glacier Bay. He does mention, "a half dozen whales, their broad backs like glaciated bosses of granite heaving aloft in the near view, spouting lustily, drawing a long breath, and plunging down home in colossal health and comfort." Which is a good start. But to know whales, then Southeast is the place to be.

It's hard to imagine they are on the endangered list, considering the amount I've seen. I saw virtually none while in Prince William Sound, but here you can hardly go from one bay or shoreline to another without another spout being in your view or your way. And yet it's a secret thrill to see the next spout, or the next whale tail, or a breach. I think I may have to start a drinking game called 'Whale Tail', where every time you see a whale tail you shout out "Whale Tail!" and take a drink. Maybe I'll work on the rules, as that sounds like a recipe for disaster! Still, there's some sort of magic in the connection with whales. Why else would people go out in the soaking rain in kayaks, our hang out for hours on deck in the cold with binoculars making sounds like, "Amazing", "Phenomenal", "Incredible", "Whoa", and "Look at the size of that thing"? I guess I'll keep looking in these great authors works to find the answers. And I'll keep going on deck in the rain with my binoculars, and making all those human sounds.

And to answer my nephew Caiden's question on the photo. Yes, it was entirely real. And it was spectacular -- as five humpbacks swam under my boat with their whale tails in perfect airfoil precision. Whale Tail!