Spooked In Knight Inlet 2008
It all started innocently enough. Janet, my girlfriend at the time, and I were discussing where we would venture in Jezebel this summer. I had mentioned that I had never explored the West Coast of BC between Desolation Sound, and Port Hardy on Vancouver Island. I had cruised through it many times, but always enroute to somewhere, and never really stopped. Being a bit of a land lubber, she pulled out her book on hot springs in BC and soon found that there were no known hot springs in this area, except for some that were purported to be on Knight Inlet. Bear in mind that they were only purported and their location could not be pin pointed. From the map in the handbook, it appeared they were up the valley of the Klinaklini River which flows into the head of the inlet. After scaling it off on the chart, it appeared to be about 20 miles beyond where we could reach in the sailboat. A bit of research showed us that there were logging roads along the river bank, so it might be within reach of a good hike... Well, for her maybe. I started looking at the river and thinking that perhaps we could cut 15 miles off that hike by taking my inflatable boat up the river. We Googled “hot springs in BC” and “Knight Inlet” and were a little shocked to see that it is an area that is renown worldwide for grizzly bear sightings. My interest in the 20 mile walk into grizzly country was quickly waning. Next we went to Google Earth and looked at the area. It seemed we could maybe do the whole trip up the river in the inflatable. Now we were talking my language. Further research didn’t turn up any more specifics on where the hot springs would be located.
As the day of departure approached, and I calculated how far it was to the actual head of Knight Inlet, and how much time we had. I started dropping hints that perhaps we should consider a closer inlet for our adventure. Perhaps Toba Inlet, or Bute Inlet. Sometimes when couples talk to each other, the conversation can go on and on, and neither one is really hearing what the other person is actually saying. It makes one wonder if you are in the same conversation or even if you are both in the same relationship. Hold onto that concept, it comes up later…. Needless to say, the day came when we finally cast the lines and set off, I had it in my mind that we were doing Bute Inlet, while she had it in her mind that we were still heading up Knight Inlet. The first two days we put 90 miles under the keel. No matter which destination we were heading for, this part of the trip was in common. On the second evening, as I was scanning the charts looking for a suitable anchorage for the night, she noticed that I was heading towards Toba Inlet. Then it came out! “I signed up for Knight Inlet, and that is where we are going!” she blurted out. Back to that concept of how couples can talk and not really pay attention to what the other is saying. This was blurted out in the tone of voice that said that my life would not be worth living if we didn’t get to Knight Inlet. Being a sensitive new age type guy, and a coward when it comes to standing up to a woman with her mind made up, I knew immediately, to keep my head down, don’t argue, and forget right now about any plans of going anywhere else. Knight Inlet bound we were.
Winding your way along the channels between the islands on BC’s coast is always one of the most spectacular and scenic trips one can take. Two more days of steady going, and many tidal rapids, whirlpools, and racing currents behind us, we were finally able to poke our noses into the lower reach of Knight Inlet. Some interesting things happen as one heads north from Desolation Sound. The water temperature drops from a balmy 65 degrees F in the sound to a cool 52 degrees F on the north side of the rapids. Air temperatures drop accordingly. In a matter of two days one moves from hot sunny clear weather to cold dreary wet weather. Back to the story…. As we nosed our way out into the lower reach of Knight Inlet, we were elated with the fact that after 4 days of steady going, we had finally made it. The disappointment was immediate when we turned into the reach and were hit with 30 knots of headwind and 4 foot seas on the nose. Now Knight Inlet is a uninhabited narrow channel between vertical sided mountains that creeps and winds 60 miles into the BC interior. It is by far the longest inlet on the coast and cuts the deepest into the BC interior. As with most inlets on the coast, one can expect the wind to howl either up, or down the inlet. With luck the wind is with you. Bad luck and it is on your nose. We bucked into it for two hours before the reality sank in. It was late afternoon already. The clouds were dark and hanging low in the channel. We were unsure of safe anchorages up the inlet. There would be no navigation lights. We were beyond the comfort of Marine VHF radio and the contact with the Coast Guard. Cell phone coverage was zero. There would be little if no help available if we needed it. Tackling any part of that in the dusk or dark would be foolhardy. We decided to turn and run back down to a safe anchorage at the mouth of the inlet and lick our wounds. This was not the time for comments like “We should have gone up Bute Inlet”. Maturity has taught me that comments like that are akin to suicide. With our tails between our legs, we sat and mulled over our options. The eternal optimist in us brought us to the conclusion that if we got an early start, and caught the early tide, we could make Glendale Cove and take another look at things. Glendale Cove is the world renown grizzly watching site. There was a small tourist camp located there and from the chart it appeared like a possible anchorage.
We were underway at dawn the next day, and immediately upon entering the inlet again, we were faced with 25 knots of headwind, low cloud cover, and wild head seas. Wind against tide always shortens the wave length of the waves and steepens the face of the wave. . Every second wave would come crashing over the foredeck, At any given time there would be two or three inches of water on the side decks. We were getting hammered with natures full force. If you have ever pounded into seas like that, you have some indication of the exhaustion that comes over you after six hours. Gruelling is a word that comes to mind… Glendale Cove was a welcome site! As we approached the cove, and the fetch decreased, the waves subsided considerably. At Glendale Cove, Knight Inlet heads northward. We circled the cove, and caught our breath. Looking northward, we could see sunshine and what appeared to be calm waters. It appeared good enough for us to venture out and see if we could make the head of the inlet. Barely had we cleared the cove, but the wind died off, the clouds lifted, and the sun came out. It seems that the wind funnels down the Glendale Valley, and out into the lower reach of Knight Inlet, and not down the length of Knight Inlet. Imagine our elation at receiving this reprieve from having to pound into wild head seas for another eight hours! The next leg into the inlet seemed almost magical.
The water colour had changed from the crystal clear water of Queen Charlotte Strait, to a beautiful turquoise typical of mountain streams. The cloud cover had lifted and the clear skies revealed the snow covered peaks of the mountains that towered over us. Waterfalls cascaded down the sides of the mountains. Some of them free falling thousands of feet. Some emptying out into little creeks that drained into the sound. Others collecting into small rivers. Others falling off the face of the mountain dropping hundreds of feet right into the inlet. Gravity and water in the finest marriage. Every turn and bend in the inlet provided us new vistas. New waterfalls. New delights for the eyes. The air changed. There was a uniquely alpine flavour the air. The water continued to get darker and darker turquoise blue. The peaks higher, the mountain sides steeper. We were giddy with the euphoria of the relief of tension from pounding into head seas and the new assaults on our senses. All afternoon we cruised deeper and deeper into the inlet, stopping a particularly dramatic waterfalls, and views.
As the afternoon waned, we rounded the last bend and could finally see our destination. The head of Knight Inlet. Our elated and joyous moods seemed to immediately drain from us. The head of the inlet was blanketed in low dark cloud. The waters below the cloud had a dark ominous look to it. The air temperature had dropped along with the water temperature, which was now reading only 45 deg F. The sea had now lost it’s colour of mountain turquoise to a dull dark grey… A foreboding of things to come…By the time we rounded the point into the bay where the Sim River emptied into the inlet, the clouds had enveloped us and the skies had opened up to a steady downpour. The Sim River is not a big river, but it does have it’s own delta. It empties it’s charge into the inlet less than three miles from the head of the inlet. The clouds seem to drop down to a hundred feet over the delta, blocking out most of the afternoon light. Janet had been napping in the cockpit as we approached the Sim River. When she awoke, we were just approaching the shallows of the delta. We could make out a deserted dwelling tucked back in the trees. It was obviously deserted. The branches from the trees growing around the dwelling hung over the roof and eaves. Small scrubby delta growth seemed to be growing up from the bottom and slowly devouring the house. Two symmetrical windows on the house peered out at us like gigantic eyes between the two layers of vegetation. Were we being watched by the spirits of the house? Dilapidated pilings along the shoreline. Some broken off, black fingers stretching from the sea, against a desolate shoreline. The remains of many hard hours of work, abandoned for some unknown reason. A forlorn coastline. The shallows of the delta extended well out into the bay. We slowed to a crawl as we sailed along the face of the delta. She sat quietly for the first few moments, but before long, she was uttering words like “evil” “broken dreams” “broken lives” “burial” “death”. Again, one member of a couple says something and the other does not hear it. I suggested anchoring off the delta for the night as the afternoon was wearing on, and the rock promontory on either side of the delta did offer some protection if the weather picked up during the night. “No way”, she said. “There is something wrong with this place”. I looked at her, and then looked again at her. Terror seemed to fill her eyes, as she stared at the shoreline. Her body quivered and her hands shook slightly. Janet is a very spiritual and sensitive woman. I am a male. What was she seeing? What was she feeling? Was I missing something? Was she seeing something, feeling something that was going over my head? Was there something going on here that was beyond the scope of my senses? I offered her a cup of tea to fully wake her up, and see if her sense of the place changed. Not a hope. My next response was going to be along the line that as captain of this vessel, I was going to make the executive decision and declare this bay, as our anchorage and home for the night. I knew from the look in her eyes that there was not a hope in hell of doing that. Needless to say the feelings were contagious and before long, I too was feeling them. Were the spirits welling up and gathering together to further convince us not to stay? Where the shattered dreams and sorrow of the bay reaching out for us? Within minutes we were powering off to the head of the inlet.
There are two other rivers at the head of the inlet. The Franklin River was about the same size as the Sim River and it shares it’s delta with the Klinaklini River. The Klinaklini River is by far the largest of the three and it’s delta covers the full width of the inlet, close to five miles wide. We headed over towards the east side of the delta. Afternoon had turned into early evening, and with the heavy low cloud cover and vertical sided high mountains, we knew dusk would be upon us early. On the east side of the delta, was a deserted logging camp. Broken equipment turned on it’s side. Debris scattered everywhere. Dilapidated pilings littering the shoreline. Deserted mooring bouys and half sunk barges prevented anchoring anywhere close to the east side. As we sailed past it, Janet again told me that she didn’t feel right there. Had the spirits found the white man raping the land and turned it’s fury on them? In the failing light, the whole area took on the foreboding feeling that the Sim River had. Other than the logging camp there was nothing that resembled a respectable and safe anchorage, so we decided to head across the delta to check out the west side. This was where the depth sounder seemed to start acting up. It would read 30 feet, then jump to 110 feet, then 4 feet. This can be very disconcerting when one is crossing a delta. Even more disconcerting when you know there is absolutely no help available if you do run aground. The tide was falling so we knew if we went aground, that we would likely be there, fully exposed to to any fury that blew up or down the inlet, until next high tide, 9 hours away. The water was so turbid, that you could not see two inches in it and with the current from the river it seemed to swirl around the boat, mocking us. I changed course and headed away from the delta to deeper water. The GPS which had been impeccably accurate on the trip up to now, placed us on the chart such that we should be in 100 feet of water. The depth sounder continued to do the four feet to fifty feet change back and forth. We reduced speed to an absolute minimum to inch our way across the delta. I tried in vain to try to figure out what was going on with the electronics. Then it dawned on me that the chart had been last sounded in 1958, and that the river delta had grown considerably since then. Although the chart showed lots of water, reality told a different story. Also the water was so turbid, that it would send signals back to the depth sounder at the thermocline between fresh river water and the salt water beneath it. It was making sense after all…. As we approached the west shore, darkness was closing in on us. I set the anchor in what I thought was 50 feet of water. We were close enough to the base of Swampfly Peak, that I went ashore in the inflatable and tied a shoreline to hold the anchor from drifting off if the wind picked up from up valley over night. The land ashore was almost vertical, so the best I could do was to tie the shoreline around a boulder on shore. As I was tying the shoreline, I noticed that there was no life at all in the intertidal zone. No mussels, no barnacles, no oysters, no periwinkles, no seaweed, no vegetationm no birds. Nothing at all. The rocks were coated with a grey slippery silt, and that was it. The settling silt from the water of the river must suffocate any bivalve sealife or vegetation. No sealife or vegetation would equate to no birds. So after several slips and slides on the silt, I secured the line and went back to Jezebel. Even though we were at anchor the depth sounder continued to bounce around erratically. I finally dropped a weight over the side of Jezebel to do a “low tech” check on the depth. Lo and behold, we were anchored in 8 feet of water on a falling tide where we would lose 11 feet of water. Jezebel needs six feet of water to stay afloat. We would be high and dry soon if we didn’t do something. By now it was dark. The wind had piped up quite a bit from the south, drizzle had changed to horizontal rain, and we were both getting cold and tired. If there was a moon out that night, the heavy clouds obscured any light from it. We could not make out where the water met the mountains, nor where the mountains met the sky. We were in total darkness. A black out….The howling of the wind in the rigging suggested that we were in for a wild night. Visibility was now zero in the dark and the rain. Had we been blindfolded, we would not have been more handicapped in terms off relating to the environment we were in.. I raised the anchor, tied a few more lines together to lengthen my shoreline and powered out another couple of hundred feet, and re set the anchor. I checked the depth again and this time we were in 15 feet of water. Still three feet short of staying afloat through low tide. With hunger, fatigue and frustration eating away at us, we raised the anchor, tied on another couple hundred feet of line, and re set the anchor. I had, by now, used every piece of spare line that I had on board. At his point, we were out of options. Fortunately, this time we were ok. We were in 25 feet of water. The downside now, was that we were almost 500 feet from shore, and fully exposed to any weather that may blow up or down the inlet. We had run out of options. There was no plan B to fall back on. We were there for the night, whether we liked it or not. A cup of tea, a hot meal, and collapsing in bed below deck has never felt so welcome. What a long day! Up at dawn, fighting the headwinds, the rich experience of coming up the inlet, the eerie feeling at Sim River, the erratic electronics, and the anchoring experience. The wind died down before long, but the swell continued to roll in from the south all night long. Several times during the night we awoke to being tossed about in the berth from the swell, and wondering where it was coming from if there was no wind. Were the spirits trying to send us a message? The physical and emotional exhaustion we were feeling was not helping our spirits.
A good night’s sleep does wonders for one’s constitution The rain had eased, but it was still overcast and quite chilly. . As we sipped coffee in the cockpit, we developed our strategy for the day. The objective would be to head as far up the river as we could, and then think about hiking the rest of the way to the purported hot springs. As we collected the gear for the trip, we could still feel an overall ominous feeling to the area. Something about this place was just not right. Snacks and food. Backpack. Warm clothes. Raingear. Hiking boots. Sea boots. Cameras. Binoculars. Air horn to hopefully scare bears if we ran into them. We debated bringing the emergency flares. There were no human beings within forty miles, to see them, but if we needed a weapon, flares were as close to a weapon that we could muster. We knew the odds were against us, if it came to hand to hand combat with a grizzly, and our only weapon was a single shot flare gun. As we climbed into the inflatable, we noticed that one of the oars had bounced out, and we only had one oar left. Our standby plan of being able to row back to Jezebel in the event of motor failure just went into the toilet. Another omen? Another sign?
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So off we set. The charts do not show the channels of the river through the delta, so we figured we would follow the west shore line until we found a channel that we could navigate. Fortunately for us, there was a a channel on the west side of the delta that we eased into. Suspecting the channel would be shallow we would drive the single oar we had left, down into the turbid water to check for depth.. We lucked out, and had obviously found one of the main channels as we could not find the bottom with the oar. As we worked our way into the river, our confidence grew. The sun came out and we could feel both our spirits lift simultaneously. Continuously we checked for depth, before we accepted the fact that we had indeed found a major channel of the river. I opened the motor up and soon we were up on a plane. Cruising through the low shrubs and grasses of the delta, soon gave way to deciduous growth with the occasional real tree showing up. Within a couple of miles we were past the vegetation of new swampy delta and into a heavy deciduous forest. We could feel the sun break through and warm our backs as it lifted our spirits. Obviously we were still in the delta as we could see little streams entering and leaving the main channel, separating small islands from each other. We cruised along, and the water changed from a placid surface to boiling eddies as the currents fought their way to the sea. I do believe there was a certain elation we felt as we crept back into the land of the living. Trees and shrubs. There was life here. Onwards we wound left and right following the channel of the river. Occassional checks of depth with the oar continued to reveal lots of water. Suddenly on our right, we could see what appeared to be a dwelling. As we approached we could see that indeed it was not only a single dwelling, but a whole community. Again another glowing feeling within our hearts that here was a sign of civilization. Hippie squatters perhaps? Left over remnants of a generation long past? Like a rush of cold air across your face, we were overtaken with a feeling that something was just not right. There were no docks nor trails down to the water, which would be the only access to the island. Not a bird in the trees. No children playing in the yards. No people walking around. Not even a dog watching us move along the river. A complete community but no sign of life… Again that eerie feeling descended upon us… Across the river from the abandoned village, we spotted a seal sitting up on a rock. The trees from the shore line reached out over him and he seemed to hover in that space between the rock and the hanging branches, peering out at as we moved upstream. All the while that we saw him, he never moved. The amazing concept is that we had to maintain a speed of approximately 10 knots just to make headway into the current. Here was a seal, four miles upstream from the last tidal influence that had swum in water that he could not see, at temperatures of 45 deg F and somehow he had been able to find food to sustain himself. The marvels of nature… Either that, or he was eyeing us for dinner, as probably the only living thing that he had seen in days…..Onwards up the river we continued.
Several miles up the river from the deserted village, the river grew in width substantially. It was here that the main arm of the river of the delta and the west arm of the river split. The terrain changed from typical delta type marsh and deciduous trees to the definite shorelines with the steep sides of mountain river. We had obviously passed the point of tidal influence. We rounded the first bend in the river and a mile ahead we could see what appeared to be a bridge. Janet and I looked at each other with a feeling of bewilderment at seeing this feat of engineering after being so immersed in untouched wilderness.. As we approached the bridge, it became apparent that it was a major bridge. Not just a couple of logs hauled across a chasm. This was a seriously engineered bridge with a span of several hundred feet. The bridge must have been installed by the logging companies in years gone by, to access the timber on the north side of the Klinaklini River. The river narrowed at the bridge, and considering the volume of water downstream, we knew the water would be deep, with little chance of grounding. It felt good to open the throttle of the motor and make some good speed. The closer we got to the bridge, the more the eerie feeling crept over us. Again, it was deserted. No traffic. No life around it whatsoever. With the throttle wide open we buzzed under the bridge and tried to shake off the eerie-ness… Onwards upstream…
It wasn’t long after the bridge that the river widened considerably. On the south shore we could make out a logging road hugging the narrow flat area between the vertical face of the mountain, and the high water mark. The towering majesty of the mountains again brought us from the eerie-ness of the deserted bridge, to a sense of peace. Unfortunately this was not to be enjoyed for long. Suddenly, from seemingling nowhere, there was a big crunching sound and the boat lurched heavily. Shocked, I cut the throttle and we slowed to a crawl. We looked at each other with a befuddled look in our eyes. Slimey serpents of the deep reaching up to pull us underwater? We scanned the water ahead, beside and behind us. We were both totally prepared to encounter a sea serpent about to bear down on us breathing fire..forbidding our passage any further up stream. A keeper of the gate? To our relief we saw nothing. No hunched back creature. No boils in the water from the creature swimming around to take another lunge at us. No nothing. We looked sheepishly at each other as Janet took the oar and dipped it into the water over the side of the boat. Less than a foot of water. The river had shallowed. From there on upstream we would have to guess at where the main channel, and deep water of the river would be found. The water was still unfathomable to the eye. Educated guesses would take us to one side of the river until we hit bottom, and then back to the other side, looking for the channel. Time and time again, the motor would hit the rocks under the water. Each time we hit a rock, our stomachs would tighten with apprehension. Was it creatures from the netherworld this time? Did we damage the prop? Did we damage the motor? It was not long before we came to the realization that we could proceed no further up stream. A bit of fear crept into our minds when we started thinking about what would happen if we damaged the prop and/or motor. Ten miles upstream with no motor, only one oar, no help in sight, and absolutely no way of raising help from anyone. The concept of sleeping on shore, taking turns staying awake and fending off hungry grizzly bears was not gaining any popularity in our minds. We had reached the end of our journey. We were still at least ten miles away from the hot springs, if they even existed. The river upstream looked broad and wide, indicating that it was quite shallow. The terrain alongside the river looked formidable with undergrowth and steep banks. Walking to the hot springs seemed out of the question. It was still just early afternoon, and we were quite crestfallen at having to abandon our adventure. We sat in the boat, and considered our options when we remembered the logging road on the east shore. We just drifted downstream until we came across a spot where we could climb out of the inflatable and make our way up the bank to the road..
Armed with fog horn, flare gun, snacks, and cameras, we clambered up the bank and stood on firm ground for the first time in several days. It felt good. The sun broke through the clouds and we could feel the temperature rise ten degrees. Confidence had returned to our souls. A quick survey of the roadbed and we could clearly see that no vehicles had passed this way in some time, perhaps even years. With the sun shining down on us and our renewed spirits, we set off to the north. Walking along we noticed that the road actually did not follow the main river, but rather, it ran along the banks of a tributary creek. The creek was 25 feet below the level of the road and the branches of the trees overhanging the creek blanketed out any views of it. Janet walked along and inspected the berries, flowers and foliage along the way. No signs of any grizzlies. We were on top of the world. A couple of miles down the road the road did a sharp turn to the left and appeared to cross the creek. Sure enough, a crude bridge. From midspan of the bridge we could look down into the creek. Unlike the Klinaklini River, the water of the creek was crystal clear. We could see right down to the bottom of the creek as it meandered under the bridge. There were fish swimming upstream everywhere. A salmon run of some kind. As we stood and surveyed the scene below us we noticed a couple of wooden look out towers built on the side of the creek. Fairly well built, they would allow good vantage to someone sitting in the tower to allow them to view the comings and goings on both the creek and the deserted logging road. A gatepost of some kind? Further searching along the shore line, revealed a small Atco type trailer at the base of the bridge. Who could resist going down to check it out? Down we went… As soon as we left the road, that old foreboding feeling came over both of us again. What was it about this place that kept drumming up these feelings in us. We knocked on the door, and no answer. This just deepened our feelings of unease. I tried the door knob. Lo and behold it was not locked. I slowly pushed it open a bit. Now when your sense of foreboding is running strong in your psyche, you always think the worst. A dead body inside? A very upset grizzly bear that had inadvertantly locked himself inside? A family of racoons living in there and suddenly angered at our intrusion? A mad man coming at us with an axe? Flare gun at the ready, I pushed the door wide open. Nobody. Nothing. Well nothing as in “alive”. Inside were several stainless steel benches and a big sink. Books and papers were piled high on the counter tops. It looked like a small laboratory. Upon closer inspection we established that it must be a counting station for the fisheries department, where they counted the fish swimming upstream. The mechanical handcounters were sitting on the countertop. It all came together when we remembered the lookout towers on either side of the creek. Still we could not shake the eeriness of the place. The tabulation sheets were still attached to the clipboards that the counters would have used. There were memos and documents from two years before we were there. The place looked as if it had been in full use, when suddenly, it was evacuated for some unknown reason. After a day and a half of the foreboding feeling residing front and center in our minds, our thoughts wandered.. About this time, the sky clouded over and we could feel the temperature drop. The hair on the backs of our neck was standing up. Try as we might, we could not pinpoint the cause of this anxiety within us. There were spirits or something that was sending us signals not to proceed any further. There was something that was just not right….. Were there spirits here? Were the gods of the forest letting us know that there was imminent danger ahead if we proceeded? Self doubt and an uneasy psyche told us it was time to turn around. This time, we were not crestfallen that we had reached the end of our journey. . The logging road beyond the bridge sank to the floor of the forest and disappeared into the darkness, but there was absolutely no desire in either of us to follow it any further. We closed the door, scrambled up the bank, and began trudging back down the way we had come. Constantly as we walked we would get the feeling that something was watching us. We tried not to acknowledge that feeling that as we walked, but we would both be constantly looking back over our shoulder. We were not alone. We knew it. Something was out there. There was no dilly dally on our walk back. The inflatable boat tied to the willows was a welcome sight. I think we may even have quick stepped the last half mile to the boat. Down the bank, untie the boat and cast off from shore. We sat in the boat, looked morosely at each other, and just caught our breath… We are both mature adults. We both know we had not seen anything concrete to warrant these feelings. We both knew we were feeling the foreboding. We were spooked, and spooked beyond anything we had ever felt before. As we drifted down stream we gathered our thoughts and tried to settle down. Only when the motor started and we were whisking downstream did we begin to feel a bit better. With the current we were moving quickly. In no time the bridge loomed ahead of us, with it, the renewed feeling of foreboding. We did not slow down at all as we whizzed under it, glad to have it behind us. The deserted village whizzed by, and with it the reinforcement that something was wrong here. At the fork in the river we took the main channel out, rather than the north arm. Again, in the delta of the river, the fear of the swamp folk and the swamp beasts came over us. Out onto the flats of the intertidal zone. Finally the open end of the inlet and we could see Jezebel. We were over a mile from shore before we decided we could cut across the low water of the intertidal zone of the delta to Jezebel. Immediately we were out of the channel, and the motor hit bottom again and again on underwater logs and debris. We were determined. We were taking the shortest route back to Jezebel as we could. We were on a mission to get the hell out of there. Over and over again the creatures of the deep tried to snag our prop and motor. Finally we were in deep water. Jezebel only a half mile away. We knew the relief and safety that Jezebel would offer. When we had climbed back on board we sat with a cup of tea in the cockpit, and discussed briefly the feelings we had running through our minds. We agreed wholeheartedly that we had explored as far up the Klinaklini River as we were going to. We had gone as far as our hearts and haunted souls would allow us. We had no desire to go back and explore further. I suggested that we move across the delta, and that tomorrow, we head up the Franklin River. I have to admit that this idea did not seem to light the fire of adventure in Janet. As we sat in the cockpit with our tea, we could look north and see the dark low cloud over the delta. To the south, the sun had broken through. We could make out several water falls down the inlet, glistening in the sunshine. We both looked at each other. Looked north again. South again. There was no doubt about it. Dark, glum, foreboding north or sunny south. Within minutes we had the Jezebel ship shape, engine warmed up, anchor up and we were heading for sunshine and relief from the foreboding…
