My small cove within this bay (58.26.47N by 152.42.33W) is like a room within a room. Almost entirely surrounded by fir trees and rock, it has two windows. One is a low cut to the north that is mud and boulders at low water, but at the high it fills in and gives me a glimpse into Shelikof Strait. Since the morning of my arrival, Shelikof has looked itself, that is, dark water and whitecaps enough to remind one of San Francisco Bay on an August afternoon.
To the south of me is the cove’s entrance. This window is framed by fir trees on either side and looks out on the the lake-like calm water of the larger bay. An island entirely of firs can be seen in the foreground. But what really catches the eye is distant Red Peak, a pyramidal mountain of black, rusty rock with Appaloosa spots of old snow on its flanks. Two bald eagles dog fight above me. A gull calls. An otter scratches its head.
Protected as this cove is from the mess of Shelikof, it is not protected from the wind. All day and evening the boat swung as if she were the “partner round and round” at a square dance. At night I slept lightly as the wind increased, and I rose when one particular tug felt as though we had pirouetted a complete circle. We had drug anchor, though not much. I let out rode to 240 feet and sat up watching in the comfort of the pilot house until 2am.
Today’s forecast is for SW20 diminishing to SW10 in the afternoon. I will depart for the near term goal of Geographic Bay, 70 miles down strait on the mainland side. I won’t make it today as what’s ahead is a dead beat to windward. But which of the three interim options (two in Malina Bay and one in Raspberry Strait) we make is yet unknown.