ALASKAN SONG
ALASKA YACHT CHARTERS Since 1996
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Food, Fins and Floes
A classic yacht and a garrulous crew provide a memorable Alaska Charter.

By:  Richard Thiel, Editor-in-Chief,
Power and Motoryacht magazine
Reprinted with permission from the March 1999 issue

I've never been interested in a crewed charter.  To me, half of the appeal of being on a boat is piloting and coursemaking, so why pay someone else to have all the fun?   But last summer I decided that I wanted to do a three-generation  cruise with my father Lloyd and my daughter Rikki.  And I didn't  want us to just enjoy the scenery; I wanted us to have time to get reacquainted, and that meant focusing on family and not the boat.

I also knew where I wanted to cruise: Alaska.  I'd been there once (on a bareboat charter) and was sure Rikki and Lloyd, neither of whom had, would be awed.  And I knew what kind of yacht I wanted: not some cushy megayacht, but a salty, classic, seamanlike vessel, manned by a crew who'd entertain us with an endless supply of local knowledge and rollicking tales.  But where to find such a combination?

Fortunately, I knew Ray Vidic, who runs ABC Alaska Yacht Charters.  I had only to sketch out the basics, and Ray knew just what I wanted: EXPLORER, a wooden , double-ended, North Sea trawler built in Ireland in 1976 and refitted in 1988.  Classic? Enough to have won the silver cup as best powerboat at the Newport Wooden Boat Show.  Vidic also assured me that EXPLORER's captain, Richard Friedman, could entertain us on subjects ranging from oceanography to ornithology.  Rumor had it her cook, a Montanan named Pat Brown, was a pretty fair hand too.

As luck would have it, the four cabin Explorer was partially booked for a trip beginning July 30.  San Franciscans Susan and Chuck Sheridan were due to board in Sitka, then journey to Warm Springs Bay on the eastern side of Baranof Island, with Chuck fly-fishing for coho and king salmon and cutthroat trout along the way.  All we had to do was get to Warm Springs Bay, and in Alaska that means one thing: float plane.

So early on the morning of August 2, Rikki, Lloyd and I crammed ourselves and our gear into a single-engine, four-seater for a real look at Alaska.  As we left Juneau beneath us on a brilliant morning, the horizon came alive with towering peaks, snowfields, glaciers and the bluest water we'd ever seen.  We flew the length of Admiralty Island, which our pilot told us is home to more brown bears per square mile than anywhere in the world.  Yet although we were cruising at only 1,200 feet, we saw signs of neither animal nor man until we banked into a  shallow turn and Warm Springs Bay revealed itself.

There were only two boats in the the harbor, and it was obvious which was Explorer.   With her two big masts and green and white hull, she looked more like she was from Alaska than from the North Sea.  Our float plane  gently touched down and drifted up to the floating dock where Friedman awaited, looking just the way I'd imagined: big, bearlike, bearded and smiling warmly.  Perched on Explorer's bridge was Brown, who frankly was not exactly what I had expected as a yacht chef.  Gravelly voiced and grizzled, he reminded me more of the guys I played poker with back in my Wyoming days.   What the heck, I thought.  With this boat and this scenery, as long as he could make good coffee and a passable sandwich, we'd survive.

I was more worried about sharing a 60-footer with another couple, but being with the Sheridans turned out to be more like a reunion than a meeting.  Within moments we were all getting on like old shipmates.  They had selected Explorer's lower master suite, so my father opted for the main-deck master, while I took the ultimate risk: sharing the twin-berth starboard cabin with a 13-year-old.

Chuck, a devoted fly-fisherman, was intent on adding to his already impressive catch list, which gave us some time to explore.   Friedman recommended  the hot springs for which the area was named, only a 10-minute walk away, so off we went.   Two hours after boarding the float-plane we were soaking in a series of cascading pools, each a different temperature.  After only a few minutes our travel fatigue and jet lag had disappeared, and we were ready to see Alaska.  Topping our list: whales and icebergs.

We returned to Explorer to find lunch waiting: tomato bisque, salmon pasta salad, and fresh fruit compote.  Obviously Brown was no mere cook; he is a chef, and an accomplished one at that.  After presenting this spread, he returned to the galley to work on that night's fare: foccacia, seafood crepes Newburg, polenta with spinach pesto and Montrachet sauce, buttered peas and carrots, and a deluxe ice cream sundae.

As we dined in Explorer's cozy saloon, Friedman guided her out of the bay and southwest, down Chatham Strait on our way to Red Bluff Bay.  The combination of 90 tons and 208 hp ensured that the passage would be leisurely - about eight knots.  But what she lacked in speed Explorer made up for in comfort.  With all that mass, a full underbody, round bilges and fin stabilizers (rarely needed), she casually shouldered through whatever seas we encountered.

Almost immediately we began to see the smoky plumes that mark the location of whales.   We also quickly discovered a big advantage of hiring an experienced captain: Friedman knew where the whales were and how to approach them without spooking or harassing them.  Over the next three days we became almost inured to the sight of huge fins, flukes and sleek bodies so close we could smell the whales fishy exhalations.

As the passage wore on, Explorer's gentle motion and softly thrumming diesel produced a narcotic effect.  As would happen every day, we each drifted off to our cabins for a little shut-eye, and before you knew it there were only Friedman at the wheel and Brown in the galley.  When I could resist the urge to nap, I joined Friedman in the pilothouse for a chat.  As advertised, he was a living Alaskan Almanac, full of information on cetology, ethnology, history, flora and fauna.  I also learned that he spent a decade fishing commercially from Santa Barbara to the Bering Sea and had once owned a 58-foot purse seiner.

A few hours later the narrow cut into Red Bluff Bay fetched up on our starboard quarter.  We motored another half hour up the long fjord, then anchored near a stream where Chuck could try his luck with the pink salmon..  Friedman and I took the aluminum skiff downbay to some traps which held the shrimp  that would be that night's hors d'oeuvres.  Back onboard , we all stuffed ourselves on Brown's fabulous creations, after which  we learned he was as good a raconteur as gourmand.  He regaled us with stories from his colorful past, but my favorite comment came when I asked him if he'd ever been married.  "Seven times," he dead-panned.   "When it comes to women, my philosophy is catch and release."

The next morning we awoke to the idling diesel.  Friedman was anxious to be underway, for we had a fairly long passage ahead: first to Yasha Island for halibut fishing, then to The Brothers, an anchorage known for its beauty, solitude, and nearby sea lion rookery.  The fishing turned out to be less than spectacular, although Rikki tagged onto one specimen that managed to part her rod's 80-pound test.     The rookery was amazing.  We heard it first, then smelled it, then finally saw the island, alive with hundreds of squally, pugnacious sea lions.  We anchored Explorer, then returned in the skiff for a closer look.  Aware that sea lions are naturally curious and frequently aggressive, we approached cautiously.  A welcoming  committee came out to greet us, but when a couple of huge bulls apparently questioned our intentions, we hot-footed it back to Explorer.  Later Rikki accepted a $20 bet  that she couldn't withstand the glacial water long enough to swim all the way around Explorer.  She did it, but spent the next hour under a hot shower, until summoned for another Pat Brown spread.

The next day provided the most abundant, close-up whale watching of the trip, as we cruised up the eastern shore of Admiralty Island.  Our destination was the entrance to Tracy Arm, another fjord that culminated in the spectacular Sawyer Glacier.  Long before we entered the arm, we encountered ice floes, some pure white, some crystal clear.   As we wove our way through them, Pat announced that the evening meal - a southwestern affair punctuated by Chayote Salad Especial, chicken and mushroom enchiladas with tomatillo sauce, and real frijoles refritos - would be crowned with a special drink: "Ten and Ten." He then dispatched three of us to retrieve some floe ice with a large net.  Later each of us - except Rikki - was presented with a Ten and Ten: 10-year-old scotch whiskey over 10,000-year-old ice.

Our fourth day was the most spectacular, for we motored all the way up Tracy Arm, avoiding more numerous and larger floes and entering  strangely aquamarine water until Explorer lay bracketed by vertical rock walls at the very foot of Sawyer Glacier.   The sight, punctuated by the calving of large ice chunks, was stunning, but more impressive were the sound, a cacophony of grinds and groans and occasional explosions as the ice writhed under the immense pressure of the glacial mass.  We could only stare dumbly at the incredible scene.

After a couple of hours we motored back out of the arm, bound for Taku Harbor and a final dinner of - fittingly - halibut and baked Alaska.  Everyone agreed that Brown's cooking would demand a severe diet back home, yet we nevertheless managed to find room for a farewell breakfast of Eggs Benedict the next morning.

And just that quick we were back in bustling Juneau and it was over.  We departed Explorer with new friendships and amazing memories, plus a few extra pounds under our belts.  For me the experience had provided a chance to be in a special place with special people  and proof that a crewed charter has unique charms - as long as you choose the right yacht and crew.