We launched "Sparque", our new Golly Wobbler 38, in June 1997. She has met or exceeded all of our hopes for performance and aesthetics. We have spent many weekends cruising around the lower and central Puget Sound and have had the opportunity for one extended trip during the summer. Sparque has truly become a home away from home for us. We plan to spend many hours aboard while we are still employed, and hope to enjoy future extended periods of time cruising on her after our retirement.

The time we spent in design development and later construction was exciting and our anticipation grew as the launch date approached. When Sam Devlin announced the berth date of June 5th, we rushed over to the launch ramp after work while Sam and his crew waited for us to show up. Sparque had been placed on a large flat-bed truck which was going to be backed into the water.

In one hand, Manfred had his video camcorder to film the launch and in the other, a sandwich for a quick bite. I (Barbara) decided to climb up on Sparque with Sam to experience the slip into the water. At the very last minute, Manfred asked me to take his jacket and handed up his coat and the camcorder at the same time. In the excitement, I didn't notice what these objects were. At the moment of the launch, I turned to wave to Manfred to capture this event and realized as I saw him standing there munching his sandwich and waving back enthusiastically, that this moment was not going to be recorded on tape for posterity.

After some initial in-the-water testing, Manfred took the helm and was thrilled to find how well Sparque handled as he piloted her just before dark to Percival Landing in downtown Olympia where friends and family were waiting. It had been a long day. -- Barbara

Alaska at Eight Knots

Summer 2002

The idea of cruising to Alaska in my own boat nested in my mind sometime in the seventies. During the spring of 2002, Sam Devlin, the builder of my 38' pilothouse trawler motor, SPARQUE, invited me to follow him up to Ketchikan. He was delivering his newest boat, the JOHN D. BOSLER, a 42' Sockeye pilothouse trawler. Sam had done the trip before and was accompanied by his fourteen year old son, McKenzie and a couple, Dan and Anita, who were the owners of BOSLER's sister ship that was then under construction in Olympia. I felt that with my boating experience, I could do the trip if I found two people to go with me. My wife Barbara did not wish to go, but made sure SPARQUE was well provisioned. Bill and James, both with boating experience agreed to join me. Their schedules allowed them time for the way north only, however. Once in Ketchikan everybody, except me would fly home. My son Stephan and Phil, a cruising acquaintance would fly up to help me bring SPARQUE back. The JOHN D. BOSLER would remain in Ketchikan to wait for its owner to cruise in Alaska for the summer. Looked at on a poster map, the Inside Passage winds its way north mostly in relatively protected waters, except for Georgia Strait, Queen Charlotte Strait and Dixon Inlet. These open-water crossings are from 42 to 44 nautical miles in length. Our cruising speed was to be eight knots.

We left Olympia on the 20th of June 2002 at six in the morning and caught some of the outgoing tide to help traverse the Tacoma Narrows. It was a clear balmy day with little wind. A brisk northerly wind came up around noon, however, and made for some chop and spray off Edmonds. The water calmed in the lee of Whidbey Island as we pushed north into Saratoga Passage. We left Oak Harbor to port and reached Deception Pass at the north end of Whidbey Island by about an hour after slack. We passed without difficulty with three knots of current running against us and crossed Rosario Strait while having dinner to tie up to a mooring buoy at Spencer Spit in the San Juan Islands just as the sun was setting. It had been a long run of 96.7 NM in thirteen and one half hours. Subsequent daily runs turned out to be shorter, although we regularly got up at five and left at six to take advantage of calmer sea conditions.

Aboard SPARQUE we worked out a routine of each person taking the helm for two hours at a time, while the next person navigated. The third person could read, snooze, cook or attend to housekeeping chores. We had a complete set of paper charts and made extensive use of GPS and electronic charts on my laptop computer. We worked out the route for the next day's run each evening with the skipper of our companion boat and I got all of our charts ready. The second day took us to Sidney, BC to clear Canadian customs and then to a little island where we stopped to visit Bill Garden, the renowned northwest naval architect whom Sam knew. We marveled at the large wood shop full of projects of this creative and still active man who lived on a piece of granite rock off Schwartz Bay. After an hour we resumed our journey north through Sansum Passage on the west side of Saltspring Island to arrive at Dodd Narrows over an hour after slack tide. We calculated a three-knot tidal current against us and decided we had enough power to traverse it. I felt a little anxious and asked Sam to lead the way, and for the price of a beer he did. Two-thirds through the dogleg a whirlpool spun BOSLER to port, but Sam quickly recovered and suddenly we were through. We topped off our fuel tanks and spent the night at the downtown marina at Nanaimo. While the crew of Bosler went out to eat, Bill cooked us a delicious meal, as indeed he did daily for the rest of the journey, while James or I washed up.

The third day brought a change in weather, as a low-pressure system was moving south and across Vancouver Island. It was still pleasant, however when we left early as usual to cross Georgia Strait. There is an area of several square miles just outside and northeast of Nanaimo Harbor, which is used as a training ground for torpedo warfare by the Canadian and US Navy. This area "Whiskey Gulf" lies right in the way of travelers crossing Georgia Strait and was going to be 'active' that day. Fortunately we were safely three quarters across by eight o'clock when operations would start and were not disturbed by any patrol boats. We turned north into Shearwater Passage between Lasqueti and Texada Islands. The latter is a long wooded mountain island with steep-to sides. We seemed to have run ahead of the changing weather, though it turned cloudy as we stopped at Refuge Cove in Desolation Sound to buy some supplies and a fishing license. For the night we anchored rafted up to Bosler at the head of Teakern Arm near a waterfall. McKenzie caught two red snappers, but we did not catch anything.

Day four started cloudy as we headed to Yuculta Rapids, which is really a series of rapids including Dent and Greene rapids over a distance of a mile. We entered an hour early with the ebb tide pulling us initially, then turning to flood and opposing us, pushing our speed down to 2.8 knots at one point. Many seals were hunting in the whirlpools, bobbing up and down and giving us curious glances. Soon we were through and entered Cordero Channel heading west. The weather had become noticeably cooler and the skies more cloudy with some drizzle and southerly wind. For the rest of the day we encountered a lot of floating logs, steering carefully around them like in an obstacle course. At one point we ran into a log, which gave SPARQUE a noticeable jolt, but no damage. We subsequently entered Johnstone Strait and saw our first cruise ship. At six o'clock we entered Alert Bay, a community largely of native fishermen. We refueled and spent the night at the marina. Students had apparently just graduated from high school and a line of honking cars full of young people paraded back and forth along the waterfront. A second low-pressure front hung over the west side of Vancouver Island and the weather forecast promised high winds over Queen Charlotte Strait. Our fourth day started with a relatively short run to Port Hardy as a jump-off point for the trip across 44 miles of Queen Charlotte Strait the following morning. There was no moorage available as the government docks were crowded with fishing vessels. We were able to tie up to a float belonging to a fish-processing plant for the night after talking with a manager of the plant. Large and small commercial fishing vessels came and went throughout the evening bringing their catch. Sam bought some lingcod at the plant, which he shared with our crew. At our regular 'skippers meeting' we determined the location of a small cove called 'God's Pocket' at the beginning of Queen Charlotte Strait. Strong southerly winds were predicted and this tiny secure anchorage would serve as a fall back position if wind and wave conditions should prove too risky. Since I am prone to get seasick, I applied a scopolamine patch behind my ear.

Our fifth day began early as before and promised to be a watershed day in my mind. After a last-minute check of the weather forecast we set off. I was admittedly anxious, but there seemed safety in the consensus reached by both crews as to the timing of the front and the predicted wave conditions. As it turned out, the crossing was not that dramatic, if somewhat wearying with winds of 20-25 knots and following seas of six to seven feet. We were glad to reach Fury Cove, however, to raft up to BOSLER and let out shrimp and crab pots. Sam rowed over to a fishing boat in the evening, struck up a conversation and bought a plastic bag full of large shrimp, which he generously shared with our crew for a delicious supper. As before, we didn't catch anything and pulling in three hundred feet of line of the shrimp pot the next morning reminded me that "living off the sea" was hard work and required skills that I did not necessarily have.

The sixth day was gray and cool, moderately windy with drizzle. We headed northwest through Fitz Hugh Channel for a nearly 52 mile run through scattered mild fog to Shearwater Marina near Bella Bella, a First Nation settlement, where we topped off our fuel and water tanks and spent the night. A mature bald eagle, looking severe and regal, though a little bedraggled in the rain, sat on a snag right next to the ramp to the docks for a good part of the day, unconcerned about people walking within twenty feet of him.

The next day, our seventh, lead us in a northwesterly direction through endless fjords framed by densely forested steep-to granite ridges with occasional waterfalls. The dense tree cover came right down to the water, being neatly clipped off as it were by the high tide mark. A pod of Dall porpoises looking like tiny killer whales played across our bow for a while, shooting at great speed through the water to break the surface briefly. On this day we saw only two other pleasure boats and a tug pulling a barge. In the evening, both our vessels anchored in Klehane Inlet and lowered shrimp and crab pots and fishing lines. Our efforts produced only a large starfish and a very small crab. On the BOSLER boat, however, another scenario was unfolding. McKenzie had accidentally snagged 100 lbs halibut by the tail and with his father's help gradually worked the fish closer. Eventually the monster weakened enough to be lifted into the cockpit. Butchering the fish yielded many zip lock bags of delicious meat of which we received a generous portion to eat and freeze for later.

Day number eight began as usual with rising at five o'clock with Bill calling with artificial cheerfulness: "let's rock and roll". After turning on the diesel heater, hurriedly getting dressed, and having a nutritious breakfast, we set off. We detoured for a couple of hours into Bishops Bay for a possible dip in the hot spring. To our disappointment, the only dock was missing. It was too deep to anchor and the rock wall was too steep to climb. In the end we left 'un-dipped' and showered underway instead. Grey weather, southeasterly winds and drizzle followed us for a somewhat lumpy crossing of Wright Sound until we reached the southern entrance of Grenville Channel a sixty-some mile narrow fjord. Towering mountains densely forested with occasional evidence of clear-cutting slid by sedately hour after hour, interrupted by occasional waterfalls cascading down from the heights. A following tide aided us and we passed by Lowe inlet, our original destination, to anchor in Baker Inlet another twenty-four miles further northwest. The crew of BOSLER stopped by a fishing boat anchored near the entrance to chat and ended up swapping boat and sea stories over some bottles of wine with its owner. The BOSLER crew was in great spirits when they rafted up to us several hours later. The fisher man who was powerfully built and had enormous hands personally delivered McKenzie in a speedy Boston Whaler while BOSLER rafted up to us. After accepting of a couple of bottles of wine from Sam to replenish his supply he roared off, arms with bottles extended high, like a cowboy on a galloping horse.

On 29 June, our ninth day 'at sea', it rained again and blew from the southeast as it had on previous days. With a moderate following sea we traveled 36.6 NM to Prince Rupert where we refueled, filled our water tanks and tied up to the marina. Prince Rupert is the end of the Canadian Rail Road. We did email at Ziggy's Café and later treated ourselves to a seafood dinner out at the local pub overlooking the harbor.

On our tenth day, a Sunday, we left Prince Rupert, threading our way zigzag fashion carefully between buoys north of Digby Island then ran with a following-, later a quartering sea north across 32 NM of Dixon Inlet. Although our boats behaved very well, the constant motion caused by ocean swells with superimposed wind waves became tiring. The wind increased to 20 knots and we were happy when Sam led the way past and around rocky reefs into Foggy Bay after a trip of 44 NM. We rafted up to BOSLER and celebrated our official arrival in Alaska with hot buttered rum and a nap before dinner. We set out clocks back one hour to Alaska Daylight Time and slept well, despite the ever-lengthening days.

Next day, our eleventh, showed the same weather pattern, but the wind was milder in the morning. By eleven-thirty in the morning, we were tied up at the City Dock in the center of Ketchikan under the stern of one of the huge cruise ships. Seaplanes were noisily taking off, pick-up trucks were driving back and forth and there were occasional fire or police sirens. Three giant cruise ships were berthed just south of us and two more anchored in the harbor. Droves of tourists were sightseeing. There was a sudden franticness that set in as we washed off encrusted salt, checked batteries, fuel and water supplies and checked or changed engine oil and made various lists of needed supplies. Ketchikan had lost most of its economic base tied to logging and fishing. Tourism was the one bright star in the local economy. People poured out of the ships and into the town and its many boutiques, or set off in buses for special add-on tours. The downtown main street was built entirely over the water on pilings and the houses were built into the granite hills, which rose steeply from the water. There were dozens of bald eagles and some ravens in this city, especially near the fish-processing plants. Further south a large creek came spilling off the mountain, flanked by houses on pilings for its last quarter mile. This made up the Creek District, which was once a well-known red light district. Its walkways and houses have been restored and now contain galleries, jewelry and souvenir shops and other tourist-related businesses.

On the second of July, my crew, Bill and James, packed and left to fly home, leaving a big gap on SPARQUE. I kept busy sightseeing and cleaning up the boat and once walking in the rain to the other end of town to do laundry. Ketchikan gets close to 200 inches of rain a year. Sam called an acquaintance who lives in the area and owns a small Devlin boat. Mac kindly drove us around for a sightseeing tour of the town. We ended the day eating in a Mexican restaurant. A funicular leads up to the Cape Fox Hotel where Dan and Anita had moved to allow Sam and McKenzie to clean up BOSLER for the owner. We had breakfast there with a splendid view of the harbor on the third of July. The clouds had vanished and a glorious sunny blue sky greeted us.

On the fourth of July, the clouds and the rain were back. Sam and McKenzie said goodbye and Mac drove them to the ferry that crosses the harbor to connect to the airport for their 2 - 3 hour flight back to Seattle. I was now anxious for Phil and Stephan to arrive the following day. Around noon, there was a large Fourth of July parade moving along the waterfront with much honking, sirens, music and shouting. Probably every local civic, business, athletic and military organization was represented. In addition, there were three trucks loaded with members of high school reunions from 1952, 1982 and 1992; the elderly occupants of the first one just smiling and waving and the occupants of the other two tending to be more raucous and lubricated. One of the trucks had a large malamute dog lazily stretched out on top of the cab. Youngsters of the swim team rode on the back of a truck in swimsuits in the 59-degree temperature. Several politicos waved from convertibles. Alaskans seem to take this holiday very seriously, judging by the noise emanating from one of the local bars up on land. There were to be fireworks from a barge right off our marina that night. I don't know when since it seemed to stay light here most all the time I was awake. The fireworks had not started by eleven, so I put in earplugs and went to bed and slept soundly.

The Return Trip

Return trips always evoke distinctly different feelings for me: a little sadness, less excitement and fear of the unknown and a more sober appraisal of things. 5 July was the day my new crew was to arrive. Mac offered me a ride to the ferry that connects the city to the island where the airport is located. Phil and Stephan were not on the first ferry after the plane landed and I was relieved when they finally walked off the second ferry. We all shared a brunch in a restaurant before Mac dropped us off at the City Dock and I oriented Phil and Stephan to the boat. After a walking tour of Creek Street and the waterfront Stephan bought us three crabs from a near-by fishing boat and treated us to a great dinner. Later, during the trip, he surprised us with such culinary creations as 'Good Morning Potato Soup', 'Grenville Passage Bread Pudding', 'Improv Ginger Cookies-in-Swells', and 'On-the-Move Seven AM Soup'. Because Stephan had to be back at work on the 22 of the month we set off early the next morning to retrace our way to Olympia. I had carefully marked the route north on my charts since we would not have the luxury of my mentor or a companion boat on the way back. The weather was now sunny with clear skies and light wind. We had an easy forty-mile run to Foggy Bay while we worked out our routines for running the boat. Finding the right inner harbor of Foggy Bay was a bit confusing, however. After backing out, or turning around, several times to get out of tight little bays in the rocks, we finally put down our anchor in the cove that looked and felt right.

The following day we crossed the international boundary, advanced our clocks, and left Alaska behind. We sighted a humpback or gray whale to starboard and entered Prince Rupert Harbor via the same circuitous rock-strewn channel we had used on the way 'up'. This time, at least sixty fishing boats came toward us at full speed out of the passage. It was the beginning of fishing season and they were racing to their fishing grounds. In spite of their wakes, we were relieved, for they showed us the way into Prince Rupert Harbor. As we left the following morning, we found that our knot-meter was not working. Inspection of the impeller showed that a dozen little shrimp-like 'sea bugs' had taken up residence in the impeller casing during the night. They were easily evicted. The monotony of our lengthy journey through Grenville Channel was broken by a pod of four Orcas traveling south. We continued to have one nice day after another as we put into Lowe Inlet for the night. I had hoped to see bears on this trip, but never sighted one. We also were unsuccessful in catching any fish worth keeping, even though Stephan tried.

From Fury Cove, we crossed the open waters of Queen Charlotte Strait on our seventh day with light northerly winds. Toward the end of this passage, we suddenly heard alarming thumping and vibration aft. Taking the engine out of gear and into reverse showed that a tough long fibrous strand of cedar bark had gotten entangled in our propeller. To our great relief, it floated away and we had no further recurrence.