Day 49 (8/06) Finish Line!!!

Familiar peaks in Katchemak Bay

Approaching Hones lagoon

Gotago welcoming Darwind home

Tied up to the Seldovia docks, the voyage is officially over.

Today, the final day of the voyage, I woke up after a restless night anchored up at Qikutulig Bay, (I know, probably the hardest place name on the map)which was one of my first memories of ever anchoring out on the first major voyage of my life on Northern Passage in 2012. Also, with Seldovia only a day's sail away if all went well, his was where I realized for the first time the significance of what I had accomplished over the summer. Anyway, the night was a bit rough, with the only groundswell we had experienced at anchor so far, and some gusty winds up to around 15 or 20 knots during the night, but Darwind swung to her anchor with no problem, and by morning, the chart plotter, which I had left on overnight as a precaution showed a perfectly smooth arc, with no signs of dragging. Impressive considering we were anchored in over 7 fathoms with only our short chain and light rode. Anyway, that morning as we motored out past the distinctive grassy islets at the head of Qikutulig Bay, I felt profoundly content and excited that this day would bring us home, up the familiar channel and through the breakwater to the worn, wooden docks of Seldovia Alaska, from which I had sailed to and from so many times, though never had I tied up to the worn wooden floats at the end of a voyage quite like this one. By 8:00am, slightly ahead of schedule, we raised the double reefed main and soon swung around to the West, with the wind blowing 25 knots dead astern. We had a fast ride all the way into the entrance to Chugach strait, where the wind began to abate ever so slightly, until I had the number 2 jib up as well, and in the lee of the Chigach Islands, it was smooth sailing for anoth half hour. Then, up ahead and crossing the entire strait was what at first looked like a hoal or reef, with lump, crashing waves and white water in a jumbled mess, but I knew that there was nothing like that anywhere near here, and that it was only a massive tide rip, which we had been planning to miss, but the fast sailing and a slightly eager start in the morning had us arriving an hour before slack instead of at slack. As we approached the line and I searched for a stretch relatively clear of logs and debris on the suddenly crazed wavetops, It looked as if we were standing on a line between storm and calm, with over a mile of the craziest seas I had ever encountered menacing of my leeward bow.
At last I found a clear spot, and bracing up against the cockpit seats, I gripped the dodger with one hand and plunged Darwind's bows into that raging mess. It seemed like I was battling the tiller for hours and hours, as the still significant 20 knots of wind crashed into an opposing 3.5 knot current, with our little cork boat caught in the middle of the crossfire. for the longest time, we made almost no progress, often under 1 knot of speed made good, while I struggled to win every foot from the treacherous current, amidst steep,  crashing seas that were constantly spilling water over the coamings and lazarete, swirling away down the drains, only to be replaced by another bucketful as the bows plunged and rolled another weirdly lumped wavecrest passed under the keel. However, after around an hour, the waves started to die down, as the current abated, and we started to move forward again, but unfortunately along with the opposing current, our favorable wind died out to be replaced by a thick fog and rain over a glassy sea. It appeared that Alaska wasn't letting us go home without one last demonstration of her ever so bewildering weather. As it was now smooth sailing under power for a few hours, I switched places with mom, and ducked below to catch around an hour of sleep and rest after the ordeal of the tide rip.
The rest of Chatham passage passed uneventfully, with only on other tide rip to deal with, though this one was much more benign as there was no wind to really pick up any nasty chop like the first, and we just plowed through under power, rolling like a drunken pig. However, just past Chatham Harbor, as we began to swing north around Arthur point at the tip of the Kenai Peninsula, we sailed out of the fog bank into a clear, sunny sky, with some light, teasing zephyrs and over three knots of current to help us along. It was lazy sailing as we stripped off wet foul weather gear and hung wet bedding and clothes out on the rigging to dry.
And as we continued the huge U-turn around the Kenai peninsula, the geography, harsh and dramatic on the south side of the peninsula, softened and resolved itself into the intensely familiar setting of Katchemak Bay. Near Fourth of July Creek, once the farthest extent of my voyages as skipper of the  Lynx and the Capri, we passed a line of over two dozen fishing boats, both commercial and sport, and soon after that we picked up fresh breeze blowing from the southeast, so the main and number to went up, the engine was silenced, and we hardened up on a hard reach towards Seldovia Bay and the finish line.
As we approached the channel, Gotago, or as she is now called, Uka, my dad's old 36 foot Columbia that over 20 years before, he had sailed with my mom exactly the same voyage as I had just completed, and the first sailboat I had ever been on and where I spent a large part of my childhood summers cruising around south central Alaska. It was fitting to be thus escorted to the finish line and to top it off, Camile, our good friend and captain of the the fast ferry, which was just leaving the harbor hailed us over the VHF and loudspeaker to welcome us home.
Finally, I hailed the harbormaster, and after a tricky and somewhat humiliating docking, right across from the Linwood Bar and Grill deck (of course), jumped onto the familiar planks and wrapped Darwind's docklines around the worn timbers. We did it.