Dixon Entrance - Mile 603

ALASKA... FINALLY

But first... oops.. you have to cross Dixon Entrance..

For mariners and fishermen in small craft, Dixon Entrance is the last open stretch of water they have to cross to get to Alaska - actually the border is right in the middle of it... As in other places, the trick is to listen to the weather and if it looks like a chance, leave early... But sometimes, you just get beat up, as I did, in my first trip to Alaska in my own boat, in April of 1972. We'd anchored the night before with friends in another boat, in a tide swept little hole with slashing wind and rain, but the morning came fair with a reasonable weather report, so we crossed our fingers and took off. We were only two hours from the shelter of Foggy Bay, just north of Tree Pt, when it got bad:

"When the wind came, it was swift, darkening the water and blowing the tops off the swells, then driving long streaks of foam downwind. At first we thought it was just a squall, then the announcer came over the radio with an emergency gale warning. We were at the last of the flood and already the seas were getting steeper. With the turn, and the rush of the tide against the wind, those seas would just about stand on end. Bruce and I both jogged for a minute there, side by side, to put our trolling poles down for better stability; we secured our hatches for what we knew must come. When the tide turned, we were a mile off a little rocky point, as lonely and forbidding a stretch of shore as there is on the coast. The tide rip started on the beach and worked out; soon we were jogging dead slow in a jumble of white water.

"So we came to Alaska on a wild and lost afternoon, caught in a tide rip off a nameless point, in failing light, far from any help. The heavy westerly swell, the dirty southwest chop, and the push of the tide on top made it all I could do just to keep way on the boat, throttling over the big ones and then diving deep into the troughs. The seas came from all directions and even at dead slow, slapped against the windows, causing the thick glass to visibly sag inward. Twice a green one came over the stern, filling the the trolling cockpit, and the boat wallowed deep in the water until it drained. Kestrel, the boat we were traveling with, was just 50 yards away, and I could see half her keel as she came out of a big one. The shore wasn't far, and I looked long and hard at it. If our engine ever quit, we'd be broadside in a minute and probably swamp. If it came to that, I'd rather pour on the coal and put the bow in the trees rather than get off out here. Even a rocky beach is better to walk home on than this crooked piece of water. Bruce came on the radio, "I broke a spoke off my wheel on that last one;" and I could feel the tension in his voice. I looked over and could hear his engine change pitch as his bow lifted into another steep sea.

"For three hours we jogged in that lonely spot, hardly making a yard. Twice it seemed to get worse, and for a time, there was nothing I could do but try to avoid the worse of the waves, and hope that everything held together and nothing came through the windows. The light began to go from the sky with still no change and it seemed like it might even get worse. After dark, when a skipper has no way of telling where the next wave is coming from, anything can happen. Bruce was off to the side and I could look out when I could and watch the seas bury his bow all the way back to the cabin.

"At very last light, the push of the tide eased off, the seas seemed to lay down a bit, and we began to creep up the beach again. We rounded the point in the black, with waves breaking heavily on the reefs on both sides, and dropped the hook in the farthest corner of Foggy Bay, Alaska. Our dog, Sam, went up to the bow to sniff the air in that new spot as dogs do, and Susanna got up to have a quiet drink with me before we started clearing up the debris. The stove had blown out with all the wind, so it was late before we finally ate and turned in. I think we went through a big one out there today. Susanna and the dog were in the bunk most of the time. I stuck my head down when I had a chance and there were some pretty big eyes looking out at me. We'd taken all the precautions we could, but sometimes you just get caught and there's nothing you can do about it."

One of the challenges of Dixon Entrance for small craft is that the tides that pour out of the long inlets to the east can create short steep seas that are very difficult to navigate safely.

Dawn Princess in Dixon Entrance, probably with a southerly wind of 30 knots - this is when you're so glad to be on a big cruise ship instead of a 32 footer!

This is a segment from my first book, Alaska Blues

Trollers in heavy weather put their poles down for better stability.