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Published: August 10th 2006
Saying our goodbyes at Bartlett Cove
The "orange" paddlers with our new friend Jonathan Lemberg, a Glacier Bay rangerGreetings from Ketchikan! It has been a long time since we’ve been able to update, but finally, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has arrived: the next installment!
It has been a long journey, filled with pleasant and unpleasant surprises that have dramatically affected the course our trip has taken. But, as the old adage says, it truly is about the journey, and not the destination. Sometimes we need to remind ourselves of this.
We left Gustavus on July 9, late in the evening. We had waited most of the day for strong winds to subside, and almost thought we’d have to wait another day to launch, but by 6:30 pm we were able to load our boats and launch from the public dock area. We crossed Icy Passage to Pleasant Island, and paddled around to the south side, where we happened upon the Lesh Cabin- a beautiful little cabin maintained by a Gustavus family that is open for anyone to use. We took a little water in the boats in some small surf, as we came in for a landing, but it was well worth it to spend the night indoors, warm and dry, reading by the
Prepping for an evening launch from Gustavus
Katie White, a local kayak guide with Glacier Bay Sea Kayaks, helps us move gear and wishes us well light of some stubby old candles we found inside. The next day dawned beautifully- calm, clear, and sunny all the way across Icy Strait. We waited until an hour before high slack tide, and launched around 11. The 6 mile paddle over was unexpectedly calm, and warm enough to complete in a T shirt, rather than the drysuit I had expected to wear for that crossing. About halfway across, strange, ethereal sounds floated up to us through the water: whalesong! We were paddling directly over a pod of humpback whales, who surfaced from time to time to feed and breathe, and to sing to each other. One came within about 20 yards of our boats- not quite too close for comfort, but almost. We took a very long time to make the crossing because we kept getting distracted by the whales, but eventually we made it over to Point Adolphus and set up camp at “Main Camp”- a cobbled beach complete with cleared tent sites in the woods, normally used by local outfitters. Luckily for us, it was unoccupied for the day, and we moved right in.
We spent the rest of that sunny day and all of the
The Lesh Cabin, Pleasant Island
What an awesome way to spend our first night out of town! evening watching the resident pod of humpback whales as they swam east to west past our camp, feeding, and at one point coming within 20 feet of the beach where we sat. If we were a little braver, we could have gotten into the water to swim with them. We finally tore ourselves away from watching them at midnight, and retired to our forested campsite. All night, we were awakened at intervals by breaching and trumpeting whales, and the sound of what we thought were pine cones raining down on our tent. Surprise #1. We woke up in the morning to find that the pine cones that were hitting our tent were actually fish bones, guts, scales, and other various and sundry parts. Our tent was literally covered with the best bear bait imaginable. Since we were on Chichagof Island, which is reputed to have at least one grizzly bear per square mile, we realized that camping in our tent was no longer possible. We decided to paddle 17 miles to Hoonah, where we could find cleaning solution and a hose to remove the smell.
The day’s paddle started off sunny, and progressed toward a gray day. We fought
Candellight dinner in the cabin
A wee bit o' romance, expedition style tide and wind virtually all day, but at least we had several whales swimming by to keep us company. We turned south into Port Frederick around 5:45 pm, and had to fight some pushy current at the entrance. As we snacked and prepared to cross Port Frederick toward the harbor, we spotted a skiff pulling a longline of halibut out of the water. We approached the fishermen, and met the Hill family: Raino, Coleen, their daughter Cheyanne, and their niece Stormy. They gave us directions to the best pull-out point in the harbor, and invited us to wander up into town and find them if we would like dinner and a place to stay. We made it into the harbor about an hour later, and out of sheer coincidence ran into Raino helping some people launch their boat. He immediately helped us pack up our gear and stow our boats and took us home for hot showers and a hot meal.
The next day we spent in Hoonah, mostly focused on cleaning our fishy tent and talking to people to get information about the Tenakee Portage, our planned route. We didn’t hear anything particularly inspiring about the portage route-
Pleasant weather on Pleasant Island
Couldn't resist the pun... enjoying tea and waiting for high tide in the sunshine before crossing Icy Strait mostly that it was a mile and a half schlep through swampy, buggy muskeg, in an area that was absolutely crawling with grizzly bears. It didn’t take much else to convince us that we’d rather paddle out of Hoonah and south through Chatham Strait. As we sat down by the harbor poring over our charts and deciding where to camp our first night out of Hoonah, we happened to meet Maggie as she paddled past. She invited us to visit the Whale Song, the 52-foot long-distance cruiser, used as a kayaking mothership, where she lived and worked. We finished our planning, and wandered down to visit later in the afternoon.
We had tea and swapped stories with Maggie and Rusty, the boat’s owner and captain, and within the course of an hour, Rusty succeeded in convincing us that we needed to paddle the outside coast of Chichagof Island rather than Chatham Strait since it would be prettier and maybe even calmer. We were interested, but didn’t particularly want to paddle all the way back through Icy Strait. What really sealed the deal was when he offered to drive us to Elfin Cove. Our reply: “when do we leave?”
8 am the next morning found us loaded and settled aboard the Whale Song, enjoying freshly baked pear scones as we steamed away from Hoonah. We spent a relaxing day underway enjoying homemade pizza, hot tea, and a grilled chicken and halibut dinner, complete with freshly baked bread and salad. It was like paradise compared with the backcountry cuisine we’ve been eating lately. The food was good, but the highlight of our day came at the west side of Icy Strait, where we encountered a pod of humpbacks lazily feeding in the calm and foggy water. We cut the engines, dropped a hydrophone into the water, and went topsides to watch the show. The whales came closer and closer, and just when we thought they couldn’t possibly come any nearer, a group of five came right up to the stern of the boat, drifted by, just beneath the surface, and then dove as they reached the bow. They were so close that every minute detail of their shiny gray skin, the tiniest movements of their blowholes, and the expression of their eyes was revealed to us. We could have actually touched them if we had wanted to. There wasn’t a
When whales fly...
You're probably at Point Adolphus if you're seeing flying whales on a regular basis... from your campsite. dry eye in the house after that, as we stood in silence on the foredeck of the boat, trying in our own ways to process what had just happened. It was, to put it in Rudolph Otto’s terms, a truly numinous experience. (That’s for all you ex-edders!)
We arrived in Elfin Cove around 5:30 pm, and Maggie, Jeff and I decided to take a walk around. The best way to describe this little town, nestled between a “hurricane hole” cove and high cliffs, is that it looks and feels like an Ewok village (if you’ve seen the movie). There are no cars in Elfin Cove, rather, people travel by walking on wooden boardwalks that connect all of the buildings in the town, since there is virtually no other place to walk on the land: it drops so steeply into the water. After our brief jaunt around town, we returned to the boat and motored over to a nearby salt chuck to anchor for the evening.
We awoke the next morning to thick fog and the smell of eggs cooking. After a hearty breakfast we loaded our gear into “Bumper”, the inflatable dinghy, and went ashore, where Maggie and
Rusty watched as we demonstrated our growing skills at “boat tetris”- otherwise know as “boat loading”. After about an hour we said our goodbyes and paddled off. It was so hard to leave our newfound friends behind and paddle into the chilly morning fog. We were heading into an unknown world, and our nerves tightened as we felt the first bits of pacific swell pushing through Cross Sound. We headed west for a couple of hours, and soon turned into Lisianski Inlet, where we had to fight some confused seas and strong currents. We immediately crossed to the west side of the inlet and paddled on for what felt like ages, through cold fog and drizzle. It certainly wasn’t our finest day, and spirits were low. Eventually, we turned into Lisianski Strait, and were cheered by a brief current boost. Around 6:30 pm, we pulled ashore at the Bohemia Shelter, a US Forest Service 3-sided lean-to shelter. We met Suzi, a young woman in the process of circumnavigating Yakobi Island, and spent the evening sharing stories and advice about the outside coast. We managed to light a fire in the woodstove, made some dinner, and turned in early.
The
Steph and a halo of whale spouts
Traveling with the "core group" of humpbacks toward Hoonah next morning dawned very similar to the day before. Cold, foggy, drizzly. We were motivated to launch early to take advantage of as much of the ebb tide as we could, and hustled out of camp at an impressive rate. Suzi, who was heading in the other direction, got to have a slower-paced morning, as she waited for the tide to turn. The run down Lisianski Strait was long and boring, filled with games of “20 questions” to pass the time. After a few hours we began to feel the Pacific swell once again, as it progressed into the strait and petered out. The smell in the air changed, the water took on a new dynamic, and we saw an increasing amount of large kelp drifting in the water. We were excited to be on the threshold of the Pacific ocean- the outer coast of Chichagof Island. We wove our way through surf rocks, tall sea stacks, and tiny islands, keeping the rocky cliffs on our left, and the watery, foggy expanse on our right. Even though we were in an entirely different ocean, we gradually began to feel like we were at home, as the true open-ocean brine wafted
into our nostrils, the swell shifted lazily under our hulls, and the fog obscured our vision.
The day passed uneventfully, and we arrived at White Sulphur Hot Springs in the early afternoon. We pulled our boats into a narrow, sandy slot in the precipitous rocks, protected from the large swell, and began to carry gear up the long path through the woods. At the end of the path was a USFS cabin and the hot springs, and to our delight, the cabin was unoccupied for the night. We immediately set up “camp” inside, and stoked the wood stove to dry out our gear, which ranged from clammy to sopping wet. Next, it was time for a soak in the springs. First we tried the outdoor pool, constructed roughly of large rocks and logs, with a beautiful ocean view. Next, we visited the enclosed pool- a neck-deep pool formed in a cleft in some large rocks, dammed up by people who were handy with a bit of concrete, and protected by a 3 sided shelter that faced the sea. We found the outdoor pool to be much hotter, and more interesting because of its natural state. Both however, were excellent.
Hoonah harbor
Steph as we enter Hoonah's harbor after a 17+ mile day; fighting the tide the whole way. If you look closely, you can see the fishy-nastiness of our orange tent fly on her back deck. Fish Heads, Fish Heads, rolly polly Fish Heads... (Or..."Hey BEARS...come lick our tent") We stayed at the springs for two days, owing to fatigued muscles and necessary boat maintenance. During that time, we met various people as they passed through on fishing, sailing, and motor vessels. Everyone had a different story to share as we spent time sitting around the large outdoor fire pit and in the springs. Our second evening, we pulled out our charts to plan the next day’s paddle, and turned on the VHF to receive the weather report. We did not like the prediction we heard: winds and seas increasing over the next two days from 20 knots, 4 feet (annoying yet manageable) to 30 knots, 10 feet (not quite as fun). This pushed our stress level up a notch or two, since we were looking at a few more days on the outer coast, where the weather was bound to be the worst.
By the next day, the forecast had been upgraded. We regretted that we had slept in, intending to catch the afternoon tide, wishing we had just left early instead. We launched around noon, planning to make as many miles as possible before nightfall, hoping to set ourselves up in a good jumping off
Raino Hill...unofficial "Mayor of Hoonah"
If you ever make it to Hoonah (Huna if you prefer the Tlingit spelling) Look up Raino...he knows everyone and seemingly everything about the place...not to mention business, fishing, politics...you name it. position for our run down the most exposed piece of coast in the area the next day. After we paddled out into Bertha Bay, we had to choose weather to paddle outside Hill and Hogan Islands, or to paddle behind them in the protected backwaters. Originally, we intended to take the outer, shorter route, but as we neared Hill Island, we realized that although the route would be shorter, the conditions would slow us down. The swell was picking up, and there was already a small cross-chop over its surface. We aborted the original plan, turned our boats, and let the swells, steepening in the shallow water, shove us toward Dry Pass.
The moment our bows cruised off of the last swell, it was like we had entered a different world. The water was shallow, glassy, and moving swiftly in the direction we wanted to go. The channels were narrow and forested, and the air was still and quiet. Instantly, we rejoiced in our decision to take the inside route. We paddled along with ease for the next several hours, until we realized the day had slipped away. 7 pm found us at the entrance to Ogden Passage, where
Thar she blows!
The Icy Strait "core group" of Humbacks from Whale Song (en-route to Elfin Cove). Rusty has been watching one of these whales for 25 years! we decided that it would be best to start looking for a bear-free camp before reaching the outer coast again. “Bear free” around here, is a relative term, however. We settled on a tiny 50 X 100 foot island with only one pile of grizzly poop and one day bed. We figured, even though the sign was fresh, the island contained no food sources to attract a bear. Thus, it would be unlikely that he would return. We were correct, although we had a moment of doubt in the middle of the night when we heard splashing below our tent site. It turned out to be a sea lion, and not a wading bear, but we had a good scare nonetheless.
Bears or no, we spent less than 12 hours, or one full tide cycle, on the island. The weather forecast had been upgraded yet again, to 40 knots of wind and 14 foot seas, and we knew that if we were going to get off the outer coast, we needed to be up early and headed toward the Khaz peninsula, full steam ahead. We were lucky to have a calm day, and even some sunshine after a few
Alaskan King Crab
This sucker was walking around earlier in the day. Yummy! hours. The paddle was absolutely gorgeous, as we slipped in and around a smattering of small islands and surf rocks, ducking in and out to maximize the boost from the current and the protection from the swell. We made good time, and were in position to start the exposed, no-landing-zone of the Khaz Peninsula by noon. We took our last bathroom and snack stop on a warm, sunny sandspit, and then shoved off again. The swells were large, but we found that although they were tall, they had such long wavelengths that we were able to rise and fall with them almost like they were large hills. We finished the section in good form, and found a sheltered sandspit to camp on near Leo Anchorage. To our dismay, as we were relaxing and feeling proud of a job well done, we switched on the weather only to find that the weather we were trying to run from so hard had been upgraded again, and was predicted to arrive sometime during the next day. This would have been fine, if we did not still have to round Pt. Leo, a major headland, and paddle through Salisbury Sound to reach the protected
“inside”.
The alarm sounded early the next morning, but bad weather is a good motivator. We were off again, paddling against wind and tide. Rounding Point Leo was the first challenge of the morning: we found ourselves in a building wind, 10 foot swells, with 3-4 foot chop running across it. To further complicate things, the waves were rebounding off of the headland and creating a messy patch of water. To make things even worse, I was hungry, but it was too rough to stop for a snack. We made it through that section, and almost immediately met our next challenge: a 20 knot headwind blowing across approximately 10 miles of fetch, creating annoying wind waves. This was the perfect recipe for a long slog. We pushed onward for another couple of hours, and finally reached Kakul Narrows, which had a USFS lean-to. We landed, snacked, and took some time to relax. We had come many miles and we were tired and nervous about the weather. We wanted to stay for the night at the lean-to, but we knew that if we did, and the weather closed in, that we would be just as stuck as if we were
on the outer coast, because we weren’t fully inside yet. All of our hard work to get here would have been wasted. Two cups of hot Tang and one hour later, we launched again, fully committed to getting through Sergius Narrows and well into Peril Strait.
Sergius Narrows is a narrow passage that marks the beginning of Peril Strait, a channel running roughly east to west separating Chichagof Island and Baranof Island. At its narrowest point, it is approximately half a mile wide (if that), yet a high volume of water needs to pass through it from Salisbury Sound on the west to Peril Strait on the east. This geographical configuration creates powerful tidal rapids through the narrows unless the tide is at slack. Most boats who are traveling through wait for slack tide- especially low-powered craft like sailboats, all human powered craft, and the very large ships such as ferries. If you are passing from west to east you wait for low slack, and if from east to west, high slack. This way, even though you must deal with powerful currents, they are running as slow as possible and in the direction you are traveling.
Thanks to
With Maggie and Rusty of the Whale Song
Getting ready to depart Salt Chuck, just south of Elfin Cove. the advice of many wise mariners, we took the “inside line”: an even narrower channel to the right of the main channel. The current was pushy, but navigating the narrows was fairly straightforward. We looked up to find the land flying by us, almost as if we had motors.
Out of the most difficult part of the narrows, we paddled along slowly, enjoying the now gentle push from the incoming tide. We were tired from the rough water of the morning and the mental strain from the rapids, but we wanted to take advantage of the favorable current and the newfound protection we felt by having walls of land on either side of us, after our run down the exposed coast. We called it a day at Povorotni Island, a tiny and bear free island at the dog-leg turn in Peril Strait, located in the middle of the shipping lane and marked by a white flashing beacon. We were exhausted, but we still found some energy to take advantage of the plentiful goose tongue and beach greens to add a much-welcome vegetable component to our dinner.
We had made it inside by approximately 12 hours before the gales
Rainy day in Cross Sound
One of those days when you're ready to be done paddling the moment you begin. started. There were small craft advisories in even the inner channels for the next day, so although we chose not to paddle, we breathed a sigh of relief to be safely on the “inside,” and spent the day watching passing boat traffic and writing in our journals. Thankfully things had calmed down significantly by the next morning, allowing us to leave Povorotni Island. Our first goal was to find a stream and pump water, because we were nearly out. Streams are becoming more stressful for us these days, now that it is late summer and the salmon runs have begun. Salmon in streams means bears, and in the “ABC Islands” this means grizzly bears. We saw two grizzlies on the beach as we paddled along, but we were happy to find a large stream that was vacant, both of fish and of bears. 30 liters of water later we were on the road again, paddling through a fine mist and a low ceiling. It rained occasionally, but at least the water was calm. We ended the day in Appleton Cove, a popular anchorage in Peril Strait. We found several boats at anchor, with whom we visited, and then while looking
Bohemia Shelter
If you ever find yourself in Lisianski Strait, be sure to sleep here! Not quite inside, but at least its a roof. for a good camp, we found a USFS cabin and decided to make it home. During the evening a boat pulled up on the beach and three folks from Sitka hopped out, Nicole, Bruce, and Todd. They had been out fishing and wanted to check out the cabin for future use. They invited us aboard their boat for a beer, and sent us home with a salmon fillet and a bagful of granola bars. True Alaskan generosity.
Even though we were in a cabin that night, we did not sleep well. All throughout the night the cabin’s resident mouse scampered about the wooden floors and around our bunk, and even woke me up at one point by sitting on my forehead. That was on the inside. Outside, we heard a bear walking around, foraging in the salmonberry bushes that we had picked berries from just a few hours ago. We started the next morning around 9:30, tired and grumpy, but glad that at least for the moment, it wasn’t raining. This day was one of those days that you look up at the beginning of the paddle and see, way off in the distance in a blue haze, your
Jeff in bed
A kelp bed, that is... goal for the day. Nothing to distract you along the way but the water. These days are our least favorite, and this particular one seemed to drag on forever.
After 17 or so miles, we started looking for camp. We tried first on the Trader Islands, and found one, but it was full of bear sign. We moved on to another tiny nameless island, but there were no tent sites. We moved on again to Fairway Island, where we had similar trouble finding a place to land or build camp. We had almost completely circumnavigated the island when we decided to try landing one last time. It wasn’t perfect, but Jeff put in some hard work and was able to eke out a small “homestead” tucked under some alders in the soft forest duff. A brief exploration of the area we were camped in yielded no animal sign, but we did find the abundant remains of what used to be a fox or mink farm.
We were up early the next day, but not early enough to beat the winds that had already picked up. You know it’s going to be a tough day on the water when
White Sulphur Hot Springs
The natural outdoor pool- a warm spot in this chilly place. its already blowing hard at 7 am. We launched anyway, hoping for the best, and fought 20 knots of headwind and the tide in Chatham Strait for about 5 miles. I was making barely any headway, because my shoulder was hurting, and I had numbness extending down into my elbow and fingertips. We knew this wasn’t a good sign, especially in choppy water. We looked for camp along shore, and when we realized we weren’t going to find anything promising, we made the tough decision to turn back and wait for calmer weather. We surfed the 5 miles back to Fairway Island, and set up camp again. I took some heavy-duty ibuprofen and went back to bed. We knew that if the shoulder continued to hurt, we weren’t going anywhere until the weather was calm. The weather outlook was not good: increasing southerlies and seas (to 9 feet) in Chatham strait over the next week, with no sign of things settling down. We spent some time realistically assessing our food/water/shoulder situation, and realized that with this weather report we could not hope to make it to Kake, our next food re-supply on time, especially with a 10+ mile crossing to
Paddler's eye view
Exiting Ogden Passage get there.
What to do? We decided that the wisest thing to do was to try to get to Angoon, the nearest settlement, 10 miles across Chatham Strait from Fairway Island. The next morning Chatham Strait was feeling uncooperative, as was my shoulder. We ended up hitching a ride to Angoon with Mark, the owner of Whaler’s Cove Lodge, a sport-fishing operation located on Kilisnoo Island. It was raining and nasty, with large rollers coming from the south slapping up against the starboard windows of the boat as we motored across. After arriving at Whaler’s Cove, settling in, getting warm, dry, and fed, we assessed our ever-changing options, and decided that my shoulder needed rest before we could safely continue. The best way to achieve this was to take the ferry down to Ketchikan, so we could rest and still stay on schedule.
We spent the next two days at Whaler’s Cove, helping out with chores and spending time with the staff and guests. Sharon and Dick Powers, the other owners, were generous enough to give us a beautiful, well-lit room in their bed and breakfast during our stay. We could feel the relief washing over us as
we fell asleep that first night at Favorite Bay Inn. We were warm. We were dry. We were front country. There were no bears, and I could take care of my shoulder.
We hopped on the M/V LeConte on the 27th, and took it to Juneau, even though our destination was Ketchikan. As they say in Maine, “you can’t get theyah from heah”. We had a 1 day layover in Juneau, allowing us to visit with Mike, Kristen, and their new baby, Owen, and to stay with Brock, the paddler from Alaska Boat and Kayak who gave us so much good advice a month before. We had a great time in Juneau, and even enjoyed an evening of hot sun- unheard of! The next day we were again on a ferry, this time it was the Taku, headed south to Ketchikan. We boarded at 8 am and enjoyed a sunny but windy ride throughout the day. We met Cooper Wilson, a Haida artist from Massat, on the Queen Charlotte Islands, who was sitting in the sun working on his beautiful argillite carvings that he sold to support himself and his family. He shared with us information about his art
A liquid blue day, paddling on the outside
The calm waters for our exposed coast passage were actually the calm before the impending storm. and culture, and about his current project of developing a traditional Haida building that could be used as gallery and workshop space for native Haida artists. Check out the pictures of his art, and feel free to contact him if you are interested in what he is doing- he is happy to share!
In the evening, around sunset, one of the ship’s mates found us in the cafeteria, and invited us up to the bridge, where we spent the rest of the night keeping Leif and Brian company as they drove the ship. We enjoyed steaming tea, good conversation, and a beautiful moonrise as we motored south. Around 11 we wandered downstairs where we visited with Cooper again, who was still carving, and then found a corner on the floor to lay out our sleeping pads and catch a few hours of sleep before the ferry landed at 4 am in Ketchikan.
John met us at the ferry terminal, and shuttled us home, where we immediately passed out until mid-morning. Since we arrived, we’ve been spending time with John and Ivy, good Maine friends, making up for lost time since they moved to Alaska and we moved to
Minnesota. We have been working hard on washing and maintaining gear, but we’ve also been enjoying good homemade meals, a dinner out, hiking in the mountains, sitting in on John’s search and rescue class, and fishing for salmon for the past week, and now we are getting down to the business of getting our food and gear in order to head out sometime this week, provided the weather and shoulder hold out.
All in all, its been a long haul since we left Gustavus. We’ve had many surprises, good and bad, that have led to dramatic changes in plans, well beyond what we had ever expected. We are both happy and sad about this. At the end of the day though, we know we are doing our best to play the cards we are dealt and to work through the challenges as they come. We are daunted by the rain, the cold, the bears, the occasional homesickness, the miles ahead, and by the approaching fall weather that we have begun to smell on the passing breeze, but we are trying to remain optimistic as we prepare to shove off once again and pick up our journey where we left
off. Our plans are to leave tomorrow, August 10, and continue south, with our next stop at Prince Rupert, British Columbia. We'll publish some mail stop addresses sometime tonight, before we take off, for those that are interested. Thanks to those who sent letters (MOLLY) to previous stops, we appreciate little reminders of home and loved ones more than you guys will ever know.
We send all our best wishes out to our family and friends back east and all over the country- we miss you all, and think about you all the time. Enjoy what remains of the gorgeous summer weather- soak some up for us, because we haven’t seen the thermometer go over 60 in weeks! Stay tuned for the next installment, folks… not sure when that may be, since we’ll be crossing into British Columbia in week or so, but we’ll try our very best. Until then… calm seas and favorable winds to all!
P.S. We will be featured in the Ketchikan Daily News this saturday: we're not sure if they have a website, but it might be worth a look!
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sally plourde
non-member comment
fish guts on your tent???
your journals are wonderful reading...but how did the fish guts, etc., get on your tent? was it from the splashing of the whales, birds dropping them? it is very neat to read about the exciting and seemingly very strenuous trip that you're making...ah, to be young and brave!!! if you are wondering who i am, i taught with your (jeff's) mother in windham 37 years ago. they recently came to vinahaven and we had a happy long reunion. stay well and safe. come to vinalhaven when you would like a non-stressful vacation. love, sally