Weird wild BC

We were hip deep in the pucker-brush, whacking away with machetes to find the lost city of the K'luqx'ha'axtl, when we stumbled upon these wild shamanistic totem poles.

We're not sure who carved them, or even if they were carved by humans. We're leaning towards Bigfoot (spotted nearby since the 60's. Coincidentally when recreational drug use became widespread in the region), or maybe Aliens.

This little nook called Potts Lagoon is probably the first place to look for us if we ever drop out of society. A peaceful little cove with floathouses. We enjoyed two nights at anchor here. Our misty morning view of these charming cottages on the sea.
Unfortunately the woods in the area weren't spared from the greedy chainsaws. Mo and Chance wondering what this giant tree looked like before they got to it.

A good sail out. This is the perfect following sea to get Oystercatcher going about 4 knots.

Chance looking a little seasick, perhaps? Naw. just dreaming of running loose on the dumpster circuit with Olive, his old girlfriend.

As Fall weirdness sets in on the crew, they've taken to knitting. Unfortunately, sometimes it's hard to stop once you've started. Maybe Bigfoot is interested in this hat (or Shrek). Check this link for some convincing footage of him. Definitely somewhere in Canada.

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We've mentioned Blain's lack of fishing luck. Still, smart locals know where to get their fish. This is the local maps of fishing closures in the area were were in. No fishing whatsoever in these red areas. None.

This is what Alaska needs to do everything in their power to stop from happening.

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Some of the cruisers we've met have been helpful, funny, informative, and generous. A few are inspiring.

We ran into Dick and his wife in Kwatsi Bay. They've been cruising summers in their "Cruisahome" for 30 years. Very self-sufficient 79-year old Dick told Mo that they don't even do laundry they whole trip. Instead, they just load up the hampers with all they have in their home closets.

The falls at Kwatsi and a short row and hike from the floats and a nice spot for lunch. This photo shows the downside of putting the camera on self-timer. We're not the only ones who have been usurped by critters. Check this link.

The Kwatsi bay docks are a low-key affair and hold a spectacular setting.

A very nice hide-out.

Viner and Bond Sounds - a bit of real Alaska in Canada

Here's what we're talking about. Old-growth forest magic. Viner and Bond Sounds.

According to Billy Proctor, the last bit of it left.

Chicken-of-the-woods mushroom bonanza. Trees dressed in gauzey sphagnum.

A wild-flowing river. Bear poop. GOOD stuff. Really really gooooood stuff - for the soul.

Actual bona-fide NATURE.

We bushwacked through the old stream channels and salal bushes. Stumbled on a huge silver salmon stuck in a tiny pool, trying to make it to the main channel.
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Some of our food harvests have been easier than others. We are keenly away of the state of Canada's fisheries, and we are in no danger of doing them in with Blain's fishing prowess, that's for sure. But we did finally find one secret shrimping place. We had been calling it starfishing - because that's all we seemed to get in the shrimp trap.

This was a nice haul. Dinner became a 'gumbo-laya' since we don't know how to make either, so we winged it and it wound up somewhere in the middle of the two.

This was another easy meal. Five minutes of digging for five pounds of clams. This hunter-gather lifestyle isn't so brutish afterall. That's a happy grimace. And a huge beach with millions of clams. It's no wonder natives along these coasts accumulated clam shell middens that measure 30 feet deep in some ancient village sites.

Our little haul.

The steaming.

OK, enough food photos. We just wanted to show that we weren't starving out here.

And to make you all go out and buy wild-caught salmon. It's really, really important where our food comes from, and particularly with seafood, because we are playing a whole-world dice game with the state our world's fisheries are in. Insist on wild-caught. Pay the extra. If your grocer sells farmed salmon - tell them why they should switch. Write a letter to your local grocery chain. Heck, if we could, we'd catch it for all our friends. Maybe our next boat should be a salmon troller.

Hiking Fun in Bear Country

Well the fishing hasn't been the greatest. Blain dragged up this Substance from the Abyss. It had the weight and texture of brains. It's a long and gross story of how Blain knows what brains weigh, so we won't go into it. Needless to say, we released this one.

So when the fishing is slow we go hiking. And luckily we have better luck there. This little blackie was happily munching grass, keeping an eye out for salmon in Viner Sound.

One hike scared up a frog. Yes! a FROG!.. Ok, good, there's the excitement.

A red-legged frog Rana aurora, (which is an awfully beautiful latin name for a frog) - this is the famous jumping frog of Calaveras County in Mark Twain's story. The little bugger could seriously jump.

The trail was built for dragging logs from the forest, and was hewn of some giant corduroy logs. It was easily 2-3 feet thick. If trail-builders in Alaska used logs this size, corduroy wouldn't have such a bad name.

The "recreation site" at the lake was somewhat suspect. If hopscotching on fallen timber to get a better view of the clearcut is your idea of reacreation potential, well you're a bit different, I guess.
A lovely couple of red-throated loons enjoyed it enough to stop, so I suppose there's some fish anyway.

And, as is with most hikes in the great bear rainforest with Chance, it ended in a dog bath. This stuff had a decidedly green tint to it, but was far better than most to wash off. We've caught him many times, as he discovers whatever it is he feels he needs to roll in, and look at us almost for permission. If we realize what it is he is thinking and yell a quick "NO!", he'll sort of lay his cheek near it and shudder, almost like he's had a run-in with the Dark side of the Force or something, and reluctantly wander away. We'll never understand what it is that drives a dog to look at something rotting and fetid, flies laying eggs in it, and say to themselves,

"Oh, my, that looks and smells utterly revolting."

"I HAVE to have that all over me."