Saturday, September 22, 2018

1926 - Two Elto Super Twins Power the Inez Mae's Next Trip

This 1926 article from Motor Boating is much better written than their last trip!  I guess they were assigned an editor this time.  I posted a full page ad for the Super Elto at the end of this story.

After the completion of our 600 mile cruise in an 18 foot open boat last year, Mrs. Bailey and I considered that we had finished the most wonderful vacation trip of our lives.  Many friends who enquired regarding the adventure seemed to question gravely the statement that we would like to repeat it the following season.  They remarked on how fortunate we were not to have met with serious accident.  So successful were we in portraying the beauty and pleasure of a vacation  trip, that finally a few of our friends with a bit of sporting blood began to sit up and pay attention to our promise of a second similar excursion. 
We had decided this year to have a greater and grander trip than before, if one is allowed to borrow from the time worn advertising of the circus.  Our proposed trip was to include a run to the Soo, and through the locks into Lake Superior.  Again, as before, we were told strange and weird tales of the dangers and discomforts to be encountered.  However, by the middle of the summer, we were quite prepared to start, and had persuaded another couple to try the cruise with us.

We had decided this year to have a greater and grander trip than before, if one is allowed to borrow from the time worn advertising of the circus.  Our proposed trip was to include a run to the Soo, and through the locks into Lake Superior.  Again, as before, we were told strange and weird tales of the dangers and discomforts to be encountered.  However, by the middle of the summer, we were quite prepared to start, and had persuaded another couple to try the cruise with us.

We embarked early in August, and left our dock at Bay City, with Norman Talbot and his sister Mary, completing the crew of four.  Just a word regarding these two new adventurers.  Born and raised in a family of fishermen, they were used to the outdoors.  Neither had ever gone on a camping trip, yet the winds and sun held no terrors for them, while a bit of sea did not upset their stomachs or temperaments.

Inez Mae, which had carried Mrs. Bailey and myself on our previous trip, was repainted and varnished so her 18 foot length looked very fine.  The earlier three horse power Elto engine had been replaced with a pair of the new four horse power Super Eltos.  These were arranged with right and left screws, so that it was quite a businesslike looking craft.  A load of approximately 1,600 pounds was carried, which included a nine by 12 foot tent, two 48 inch kapok mattresses, blankets, clothing, anchor, grocery store, ice box, life preservers, and all the usual and necessary camping equipment. 

We were to be independent of the rest of the world for several days at a time.  Our boat had been registered early in the spring, and now carried the number A 1792, showing that a proper and respectable craft of American registry, she was entitled to all considerations and courtesy.  We certainly received more than our share of both.
On the previous trip, the surplus gasoline supply had been carried in cans, while a mason jar, with a screw top was used for filling the tanks.  This makeshift answered after a fashion, but the method was both messy and wasteful.  Spilling a good share of the gasoline over the boat and into the water could not be prevented no matter how much care was exercised.  A good deal of sand also found its way into the gas tank, and eventually had to be strained out through the little screen on the gasoline line.  

In this trip a much larger tank had been arranged to fit under the seat near the stern, which held twenty-four gallons of gasoline.  An ordinary tire valve had been fitted into the top of the tank, and by using an automobile pump, it was possible to raise the gas to the engine tanks without trouble.  A quarter inch pipe was run to the stern, and a valve, long nipple, and several feet of rubber hose made a flexible connection to the engine tanks.  By filtering the gas and oil into the main tank all dirt was avoided, and it was not necessary to clean the fuel lines any time during the entire trip.  

We made our departure on a Sunday afternoon, and we were cheered on our way by a party of friends, who wished us good luck and God speed.  Our first run brought us to Point Lookout, a distance of some forty miles, with which we were quite pleased.  During this run, the engine tanks were being filled alternately so the boat never entirely stopped.  Later it was found practical to to fill them while running at full speed, and the only stops made were when making a landing.  

In previous tests, Inez Mae had made 11m.p.h. with two passengers.  We considered this very fair, considering the weight of the boat.  Now, however, loaded to the rails with baggage and four passengers, she was doing 8 1/2 miles and the results were most satisfactory.  The engines were not timed together, and ran independently just as they were shipped from the factory.  It was found advisable to clamp one engine fast, and do all the steering with the other engine.  When making landings, or beaching the boat, the one engine was cut off, while still in deep water.  This slowed the boat down, and permitted easy control of the boat, since the other engine was tilted out of the water, and did not require further watching.

A camp was set up, and a fine meal prepared on the fried chicken which the Talbot family had supplied for the first meal.    After all the baggage had been carried to the tent, we wondered where it had been stowed.  The same question had been raised before, as we looked it all over in the boat house.  Mrs. Bailey was voted a wonder in the art of packing equipment into a small space, for we had everything we needed.  

An election was held with the result that Mrs. Bailey was elected Commodore, Norman the navigator, Mary the second engineer and general adviser, while I filled the post of engineer and cook.  Norman's occupation is that of  trap-net fisherman, so he is familiar with small craft.  Turning the work of handling the boat over to him was a great help.  The work of engineer was reduced to that necessary to keeping the engines supplied with fuel. 

The only other worry on my mind was the problem of providing sufficient food for a hungry crew.  What appetites they developed before the trip was over.  A very large box containing provisions had been stowed in the after end of the boat, and covered with a heavy canvas.  This was called the grocery store, and I selected it as my seat.  The wisdom of my action was proven several times when the crew threatened to raid the gallery.  A board running between the two rear seats furnished a place for the second engineer, and we were in the engine room.  Just ahead of us sat the Commodore and navigator in what they pleased to call the pilot house, and from which we of the after end were strictly barred.

 The following Monday morning found a strong wind blowing from the southwest and threatening rain.  Breakfast was prepared early, and we were soon underway, running one motor on account of the sea, until we rounded the point and get under the lee.  Just beyond this point we ran on a reef, due to failure to watch our course.  This resulted in a sheared off drive pin in the starboard motor.  It was the work of  a few minutes to replace the pin, and while the boat slid along under one engine, it was repaired.  Both motors were merrily humming along again in ten minutes.  This was the total of repairs or replacements on the entire trip, and need not have happened had we used sufficient care.

A stop for luncheon was made, and Tawas Bay crossed early in the afternoon.  On swinging out into Lake Huron we found the seas were raising quite a bit.  We scudded along at a lively pace, with a four foot following sea behind us.  Occasionally one of these crept up over the transom and spilled a little water in the boat.  The situation was not serious, until later in the afternoon.  
During this time the girls were much annoyed with the stinging of little flies which seemed to enjoy biting through their stockings.  The Commodore finally dug about among the bales and soon came up with a fly spray.  This caused much merriment as it was used to spray the legs with fly-tox, and thus put an end to that nuisance.  The navigator and I, wearing hip boots, were quite free of this disturbance.

We were glad to run into the river at Au Sable, as we had been bouncing around rather lively for the past few hours.  Since there were no trees here to which we could secure our tent, we had to erect some stakes and grow our own trees.  The forest here had been entirely destroyed some years previously by a forest fire.  Dinner was voted a success as we fried a fresh lake trout. 

 Later as we turned in for the night it started raining.  The rain continued through the night and until noon the next day.  A shift in the wind then cleared away the clouds, so that we were ready to go on.  We filled our tank with high test aviation gas from a nearby flying field before leaving.  No difference was noticed in the operation of the engines between this and regulation gasoline, and we quickly decided that it was not worth the extra cost of twelve cents per gallon.

In making the landing  at the old wharf at Harrisville, we were thoroughly drenched.  The experience was not new, for I have never been able to make a landing there without shipping much water.  The shore is lined with large boulders, and the old wharf is falling to pieces.  It is not a fit place for even as small a craft as ours.  After the girls were finally ashore, Norman and I ran the boat to the Sturgeon Point Lifesaving Station.  Here we were met by friends with an automobile, and had dinner with them later in Harrisville.  We renewed our acquaintance with the Life Saving crew, who were greatly interested in our trip.  

Photograph courtesy U.S. Archives of Michigan (earlier photo than 1926)

We left Sturgeon Point before before dark, and while the seas were still rolling freely, the wind had died down and it looked reasonably safe to me.  It must have looked differently to the captain of the station, since he ordered the surf boat to be ready to come to our rescue if necessary.  We were entirely unaware of the anxiety we were causing as we ran up the lake.  

At ten o'clock in the evening we decided to run ashore, at what appeared to be a well wooded island just south of Thunder Bay.  It proved to be a stony reef without the least bit of shubbery on it!  It was quiet and not too cold so we decided to stay for the night and build a campfire without erecting a tent.  About the time we turned in, fully dressed except for boots, the wind began to blow from the north, and by morning it was decidedly cold.  The driftwood burned like tinder, making a great deal of heat for a few minutes.  It did not last long, and our end of the reef was well cleaned up before sunrise.

We did not stop to make breakfast, and ran on to south point as soon as it was light.  Here we cooked a hot meal, making a mental note of Stony Island, with a sincere determination to eliminate it from our list of future stops.

We crossed Thunder Bay which is twelve miles across under one engine slowed down to half speed.  The strong wind which was blowing out of the north made this necessary.  As it took nearly three hours to work our way across, we ate our luncheon on the way, and already te crew were asking to be fed five times a day.  On reaching the station at Thunder Bay Island, the life saving crew reported back to Sturgeon Point that we had crossed safely.  We knew nothing of these precautions until we were on our way home.
The weather had now moderated, and as we passed Middle Island the lake was like glass.  With both engines going at full speed we were making fine time.  We made a landing at the Piepkorn fishery in Presque Isle Harbor, and were warmly greeted by the members of the fishing crew.  We slept in the twine house of the finest fishery on Lake Huron.  During the evening Max Piepkorn offered to take us part way across Lake Huron if we wished to enter Georgian Bay via the Duck Islands.  
 Read a short tale about one of the Piepkorns -"Three Men and a Bottle".  As far as I can find, it was Fred Piepkorn, maybe Max was a nickname.
The Duck Islands had formed a prominent part of our trip last year while we were running for shelter
after being at sea for over six hours.  The Commodore and  I thought it well to change our route and visit them again.  Mr. Piepkorn told us his boat would be leaving at 6:30, and we agreed to ride with him. 

A $2.00 watch had been purchased especially for this trip.  Its main recommendation was that it was certainly a loud ticker, and when it registered 5:30, I arose to start breakfast.  Just as I was about to light the stove, Max came along and asked how soon we would be ready.  I assured him we would be ready on time, and inspecting his watch he announced it was 6:25.  There was no breakfast in sight for us then, and running back to the twine house I told the girls that the steamer was waiting for us.  In a very few minutes we were on board the steamer Ciscoe, steaming out of the harbor with Inez Mae towing along behind.  
This ad is from 1926, showing a Lake Huron fishing steamer.

I pretended not to notice the hungry look on the face of the Commodore and second engineer, but mentally decided my clock was worth what I had paid for it.  We rode on the steamer for two hours, finally getting back on board our craft just as Duck Islands loomed up in the distance.  Piepkorn estimated them to be 15 miles off, but I believed him to be short a few miles.  An east wind was blowing with rather more sea than I would have wished for, but we assured Max that we could manage and started away with one engine.

Half an hour after we left the steamer it started to rain with a cold, driving drizzle.  This was not bad in itself, except the mist began to shut out the Island and we were "surrounded by horizon" in the words of the second engineer.  As the Island disappeared from view we took a compass bearing on it, and finally decided to drive on in spite of the sea and sent the boat bounding ahead with both engines wide open.  We threw spray to the height of fifteen or twenty feet, and naturally shipped a goodly part of it until it became necessary to pump almost continually.  The other members of the crew looked back at me and grinned in spite of the streams of water which were running off them from head to foot, so I realized they were good sports in in the fullest meaning of the term.  After running at this speed for a time the rain stopped and the Island came into view.

We ran the cut between Great Duck and Outer Duck, and made a landing, both passengers and baggage being thoroughly drenched.  As it had been too rough on Lake Huron to even allow a hand-out, it seemed a long time between meals so we gave first attention to the matter of eating.  Then we took possession of an abandoned house at the old fishery and proceeded to change into dry clothing and spread everything out to dry.  

Norman and I went trolling the lake for trout, and within two hours returned with two beauties weighing over twenty pounds.  On our return we found the girls had cleaned house thoroughly.  A heavy fog settled over the lake, and after dinner we walked across the island to visit the keeper of the light and his family.  The fog horn was booming continually, and the light flashed through the fog casting weird shadows through the trees as we stumbled along the path through the woods.  We returned to our newly adopted home at 11:00, while the fog horn roared all through the night.
Great Duck Lighthouse built 1875; Photograph courtesy Library and Archives Canada
Friday morning there was no wind, but a heavy haze hung over the Lake.  We left Duck Island and made a landing in Mississagi Passage (Strait) to take a few pictures.  Ran through into Georgian Bay, and landed on Drummond Island and cooked a trout for dinner.  We had made about sixty miles in spite of a late start.

It was at this point I made the rather startling discovery that if I put a five pound trout into a kettle with about a dozen potatoes, two good size onions and a handful of salt, it was just about right to form the main course of a dinner for four.  When well flanked with the usual trimmings and topped off with two quarts of freshly picked wild raspberries, it seemed to chase the wolf from the door in a quite satisfactory manner.  

About this time another peculiarity made itself known.  Norman was always looking for a comfortable place to sleep, and Mary was always hungry.  It seemed she wanted to eat early and often, and I soon learned that when she groaned it was time to reach for the deadly frying pan.  I lost considerable sleep trying to figure out new ways of serving bacon and eggs, or some way to make an ordinary meal last longer than 2 1/2 hours.

Trees were a bit scarce at this camping ground, and so we decided to sleep in the open, and carrying up our mattresses and blankets we made up a wide bed on a pile of peelings from cedar posts.  It was a pretty fair bed, but the campfire we built came creeping our way in the night and set fire to the bark.  When we finally awakened it had caught one of my hip boots and the boot was merrily ablaze!  This was our first accident, and we were thankful it had not burned our feet.  The only bad feature about it was now Norman had to do all the carrying to and from the boat when we could not beach her, and of course I was not nearly as sorry as I made believe.

Saturday morning it was blowing hard, and we picked more raspberries and made pies, though to be sure I had a little more trouble getting them to taste like mother's.  Finally as the wind began to die off a little before noon we left for St. Joe Island, landing at Hilton Beach where we were welcomed by friends.  Our last trout, a seven pounder, made dinner for the gang.

Sunday was spent bass fishing around St. Joe, with remarkable success, while the girls drove around the Island with Mr. Ryan making a busy and interesting day.  The Bay is full of islands, few of them have been changed by the hand of man, so that it is far more beautiful than the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence.  (Who is Mr. Ryan? )

Monday we left Hilton after filling our gas tank and headed up the old channel for the Soo.  
It was a beautiful day, and we erected a big umbrella we carried for a sun-shade, similar to those used on the 
huckster wagon in the old days.

This boasted that we use Patton;s Sun-Proof Paint, and as we met the steamers we were causing a good deal of amusement and speculation.  
We reached the Soo, and reported to the Canadian Customs, after which we locked up through American Lock No. 2, in company with two large freighters.  Tourist lined the lock walls and called to us as we ran around in the lock, and we created considerable interest.  When they started to open the gates, we ran out ahead of the steamers and into Lake Superior for several miles, and then turned around and came back into the Canadian Lock.

  We found it necessary to report to the Lock Office, and register the same as a freighter.  I climbed over the wall and ran to the office and gave them all the facts I could about our craft.  After giving the name, home port, name of owner, and other data, the conversation ran about kike this:
     "About 15 inches." 
"Well, I'll give her three feet."  "Tonnage?" 
    "About one ton if loaded to the rail."
"Well, I'll give her four tons."
I thanked him for his generosity, but assured him we couldn't think of taking advantage of such a giving disposition, and left as soon as possible for fear he would give me the canal.

As I approached the wall a gate-tender remarked that while he had looked through many a strange craft,  this outfit beat them all.  I found they had already started to lower the water,  and Inez Mae was about twelve feet below me.  The Lock Keeper shouted it would be best to back away from the whirlpool, and as I was Engineer it was up to me.  Jumping from the wall into the boat, I landed with all the grace and lightness one might expect from an awkward 200-pounder, failing somehow to upset the craft.  
I assured them backing up is what she does best, and tightening the clamps, we had great fun running around in the lock, while they dropped us to the lower level.  Out of the lock we ran to the dock of the Soo-Falls Brewery, and after purchasing the necessary articles to re-fill our grocery store, a new pair of boots, and sending a few cards and telegrams, we stowed a couple of cases of light refreshments, and bid good-bye to our good friend Ryan, and headed down the river.

Stopped a mile or so down on the American side to refill the gas tank, and after landing had a considerable argument with our camp stove before I finally announced dinner was to be served.  At a previous stop the supply of gasoline we carried for the stove had run out, and I had filled the tank with gasoline we carry for the engine.  This was already mixed with oil, and while a Coleman stove is rather heavy in its consumption of gasoline, I must admit it is very light in its use of lubricating oil.

Tuesday we were up and away early, the stove not working any better.  As soon as we were well under way we dragged the stove back into the engine room, where Mary and I tore it apart and cleaned and rebuilt it, throwing the surplus parts into the river to the consternation of the balance of the crew.  However, I think the Coleman people must have put too many parts in that particular stove for it worked fine after we got through with it.  

It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly, and there were a good many boats on the river, and though we were not passing many of them, still we did manage to meet quite a number of them.  We played around in Potagannising Bay for a couple hours, and finally landed at Detour, again refilled our gas tank, and strolled out into  the country to the meat market to purchase steak for dinner.  The meat market is about two miles from the town, for no reason I could see except the butcher does not have to go so far to purchase his live stock.  Away again later, and met the steamer Zillah with our friend Captain Ward, and as he was a friend from home, he blew us a salute, and called his greetings, and we felt quite happy to see someone whom we knew.  We did not imagine it was to be the last trip of the Zillah, which now rest in the waters off Whitefish Point in Lake Superior.  Lake Huron was rough and as the wind increased we were finally forced ashore in Scott's Bay on the Upper Peninsula of Michigan.

The skies were dark, and it threatened to rain, although  it held off while we set up camp and cooked dinner, after which we walked up and down the beach until bedtime.  Bedtime seemed to be shortly after dark, although we did stay up one night until almost 9:30 to play cribbage.

The wind increased all through the night, and when we got up in the morning it e=seemed as if all of Lake Huron was trying to crowd into the little harbor we were in.  During the night deer had walked along the beach, and hundreds of tracks testified to their number.  We picked berries, and lay around on the beach until after noon when we went exploring, and found a little cottage a mile or so up the shore, occupied by a Professor from Ann Arbor and his wife.  Visited with them for a couple hours and returned to camp for dinner.  

Thursday morning it was still blowing and Norman's prophecy of a three days blow seemed to be well founded, but in the afternoon we decided to take a ride, and loading our outfit struck out.  Lake Huron was a smother of white, and in a couple of hours we had enough of it and landed on Gravelly Island at the Eastern entrance of Les Cheneaux Islands.

The wind whistled down the channels, and it seemed it was blowing from all directions.  It was impossible to find anyplace to find real shelter.  We did not erect the tent, as probably it would have blown out to sea, but made the best windbreak we could out of our big umbrella and the tarps, and spent the night.

Friday morning it was still rough, but we were getting a bit short of provisions, especially bread.  I hated to try feeding the crew pancakes three times a day (What!? That would be OK with me!) so we finally worked up the courage enough to embark and run to Cedarville, where we landed shortly after noon, dripping water from every joint, cold and hungry.  Lunched at the hotel and re-filled our provision supply and started away, in spite of the fact some residents warned us against it, and the fact we had some little trouble holding the boat up into the wind until we could get enough speed up to  drive against the storm.  Cedarville is only a small summer town, but it looked too thickly settled to appeal to us for we were getting wild and tough as Norman said, and need lots of room.

The sea was the worst we had encountered and when we finally reached a well wooded island just off Hessel, having been about two hours making six miles, we called it a day.   Made a landing in a rough sea among the rocks, and hurried to erect our tent before it started to rain.  The canvas was wet, and leaked considerably when it started to rain, and it rained hard all night.  We set up the stove in the tent and warmed it up a little, but could not prevent the water coming in, and all were glad when daylight finally arrived.  For the cook the joy was short-lived for a goodly part of the material necessary for breakfast was in Inez Mae.  

I put on an oilskin coat, and boots, and splashed down to the shore, and found the stern line had slipped off the rock to which it had been fastened.  Inez Mae was dancing at the end of the anchor line, about 200 feet from shore, and in nearly 50 feet of water.  Once before this had happened, but that was on our first night out, and the water in Saginaw Bay is fit to swim in.  There I was on shore, and the water was ice cold to say nothing of the fact it was still raining.  No help for it, and so stripping down to B.V.D.s I stumbled over the rocks until the water was up to my waist, and struck out for the boat.  The waves slapped me in the face, and it was decidedly uncomfortable.  When finally I crawled over the side, it was to find the anchor had become wedged among the rocks, and it was fifteen minutes before I managed to work it loose.  All the time it was getting colder.  When I finally got the boat back in position, and a shore line secured to a tree, the rest of the crew had begun to wonder about the delay, and Norman was out to look me up.  

 I wrapped a tarpaulin around me, and with my now thoroughly soaked clothes under my arm staggered back to camp.  The greeting I received was: "I'm hungry." "When do we eat?" "What took you so long?"
My teeth were chattering too loudly to make a reply, so the peace was not disturbed.  After changing into dry clothes and swallowing a cup of coffee I was as good as ever.  Am really inclined to call it accident No. 2, and it never happened again on the trip.

We decided to move along in the afternoon, as Mary said she could not get used to sleeping two nights in the same place, and packed our wet tent and baggage into the boat.  It was still raining a bit, and a heavy fog was drifting oner the lake, but the wind had died down.  We rounded Brulee Point and passed inside St. Martin's Islands.  Although they are big islands, and only half a mile from the mainland, the fog was so thick we did not see them.  

We made Jamison Bay and landed at the dock of an abandoned saw mill.  Found all the mill houses padlocked, but loosened a board on the side of the mill, and took possession.  Hungry and cold, the crew looked at me, and I knew something must be done.  I put about 1 1/2 pounds of salt pork, a pound of corned beef, 14 potatoes, 3 onions, celery, tomatoes, a can of string beans, and one of corn into a 12 quart kettle and set the the fire going.  Suggested we take a walk, and we returned in about a half an hour.  As the mulligan was hardly ready I sent the crew out on  the dock fishing.  The fish did not bite but it kept them amused for another 15 or 20 minutes. As I saw them coming I called "Come and get it!" and emptying in a half bottle of catsup, poured the coffee, cut up a loaf of rye bread, and set out cheese, crackers, cookies and jam.  We managed to make a meal of it. 

As Norman finally scraped the bottom of the kettle he gave a long sigh, and I wondered if it was from pain or satisfaction.  A pint basin of raspberries to each made dessert, and the cleaning up and dish washing caused considerable agony as for some reason the girls did not feel like working.  Another walk, and we decided to go to bed.  We were just nicely settled down when a porcupine came nosing around, and his grunts awakened the girls who asked what it could be.  I answered bears but Norman finally had to get up and chase the little fellow away, but in 20 minutes he was back.  Deciding he could not harm us, and hoping he would not eat all the grub we left out, we settled down again, only to have three dear come strolling within ten feet of where we lay.  It seems every time we finally dropped asleep some of our little neighbors came to visit us.

Sunday morning found us eating breakfast very early, in spite of the amount of dinner we had consumed, and our regular bill of fare was reinforced by a mess of mushrooms found in the mill yard.  Sky still gray, but promising to clear, we were away at 6:30 and reached St. Ignace just as the sun came through in all its glory.  It was warm and beautiful, and in ten seconds our spirits rose 100 percent, and all forgot the days of rain and wind, and the delays of the last week.  Wired home to assure the folks that we were safe following the storm which swept the entire chain of the Great lakes, and left St. Ignace passing Mackinac Island, and east of Bois Blanc.  

Sighted the light ship about four miles off starboard bow, and finally after  having luncheon en route, and shaving by the aid of a mirror tied to a nail in the handle of our umbrella, we landed at Forty Mile Point, having made a run of 9 1/2 hours without stopping either engine.  We were filling them on the run by now, and in all that time, they had never missed a beat nor faltered for a second.  A moderate breeze made a delightful ride, and we were behind schedule, and well pleased with the run.

New Presque Isle Light
We cooked dinner at Forty Mile Point, and ran down to Presque Isle Harbor, arriving in a fog.  Refilled our gasoline tank, and started out, but the fog was too dense.  The horn at the Light boomed its warning, and out in the Lake we could hear the big boats talking to one another, and deciding the need was not as great as the risk, we turned back and again spent a night in the fishery.

Monday morning came bright, and the sun and wind whipped away the fog.  We stopped at the Old Light to take some pictures, and here the third accident happened.

Old Presque Isle Light
Where ever it had been impossible to beach the boat on account of rocks or shallow water, the navigator and I had carried the girls ashore on our backs.  Since the rocks were covered with moss, and washed by the waves until they were smooth as glass, and slippery as an eel, we had several narrow escapes from dropping our loads. 

And here it happened, for when in about fifteen inches of water I stumbled and fell backwards with the second engineer riding packback.  No one was hurt, and we all enjoyed a laugh over the affair, but an attempt to note in the log that Mary fell overboard, with an account of the gallant rescue I made was ruled out.

We reached Thunder Bay at noon, and as it was blowing rather brisk from the northwest  we ran into the Bay for a distance of several miles before attempting to cross.  Again had luncheon enroute and reached Harrisville, and were told of the narrow escape on our way north, as portrayed by  the crew at Sturgeon Point.  Left Harrisville, and when we finally rounded the point, and crossed Tawas Bay, it was rough and choppy.  We were glad to get ashore at 1:00A.M.  We slept in the open with the aid of a big campfire, and dozed for three or four hours for at 5:15 we were aboard and headed out into the Lake.  The sun was shining beautifully, and I dug out the Coleman and, setting it up on the stern seat, cooked breakfast.  With a frying pan in one hand, and the tiller ropes in the other, the cook was busy.  Landed at Pt. Lookout and re-docked Inez Mae, to the surprise of everybody who could hardly believe the time we had made in our run down the Lake.

We had covered over 1,000 miles, burned 124 gallons of gasoline, consumed almost unbelievable supplies, had wonderful fishing and liver out-of-doors for sixteen days.  We were sun-burned, tanned, happy, and feeling fit, all regretting that such good times must come to an end.  Mary's nose was a brilliant red, and she was known as Middle Island as that is the only other fixed red light we encountered.  

The Eltos were both singing the same tune as at the start, and not a spark-plug had been changed in the entire trip.  Never covered since leaving home they had been soaked by spray and rain and never failed to start without delay or trouble.  The Commodore and I, who had from previous experience expected wonderful results from the engines, were delighted at the performance.   Inez Mae was a little worse for wear, but only due to the fact we had left little spots of blue and aluminum paint on rocks all along the way.

Not a serious accident to cause a moments pain or regret, not a cross word from a member of the crew, and all feeling fine in spite of my amateurish attempts at cooking, and all anxious and ready to repeat the following season.  As I write they are making plans for the year to come.  Words fail me as  try to tell of the joys and pleasures of such a vacation trip, and to anyone who loves the out-of-doors, wide open spaces, sunshine and water, such an outing is sure to appeal.

The End

The following ad was in the same issue of Motor Boating.

Saturday, September 15, 2018

1917 - Evinrudes Aid Missionary Work

Just another example of how good the Evinrude Motor Company was at getting puff pieces embedded in magazines.  How could Motor Boat resist using this article?!

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

1925 - World's Oldest (Evinrude) Outboard in Use

You find a lot of interesting odds and ends when combing old magazines.  I was hoping to find more about Mr. Craig and his motor in Altoona newspapers, but no luck.  A good photo would be sweet!  Evinrude was great at creating stories that magazines would publish that, in fact, were puff pieces and ads.

1925 and 1959: Reminiscing - Across America by Outboard.

Hogg reminisces about his two transcontinental trips which were taken 34 years apart, both with Evinrudes.  His first journey I transcribed from multiple Motor Boating magazines in which it was serialized, you can read it here, but his second voyage can be found here !

Below is an interview with Hogg (pronounced HOAG) where he goes over both trips.

Saturday, September 1, 2018

1913 - Evinrudes Used in Alaska Mining

Twelve years before Edwin Hoag enjoyed exploring the Juneau and Taku areas of Alaska, the United States Navy was checking out the coal possibilities of Alaska.  To this end they tried out the new rowboat motors, or as they called them, "Evinrude overhang engines".  They did note, as did Hoag a decade later, the inability of a single Evinrude to overcome a good opposing Alaskan wind.  They liked them though, 13 were on order from Seattle as of this writing!

The area in which they were experimenting with the Evinrudes is north-west of Juneau.  OCR was available, so I have copied the text concerning Evinrudes to include here, but if you want to read the whole paper scroll to the bottom of this post.

For some days all hands were engaged in boat building. Two different types of boats were desired; one for the use with the stern-wheel and other power boats, the other for overhang engines, a type of adjustable motor which hangs over the stern and is held in place by ordinary screw clamps and thumb screws. 

The small power boats, such as the sailing launch and dugout canoe would tow one of the former while the stern-wheel boats would handle two of them, one on each side with a spring line. In all, twenty-one boats were built, several were failures but were used at the relay stations as lighters for receiving coal; one was used as a mooring buoy.

The fleet as finally constituted was a large one, and consisted of the following:

  • 1  33-ft. regulation sailing launch, with 15 H. P. navy type motor.
  • 2  50-ft. flat-bottom stern-wheel river boats, with 50 H. P., 4-cycle heavy duty motors.
  • 1  35-ft. dugout canoe with 9 H. P. 2-cylinder motor.
  • 1  16-ft. boat with 6 H. P. 1-cylinder motor.
  • 1  24-ft. metallic life boat, with 5 H. P. single-cylinder motor.
  • 1  regulation 36-ft. steam launch.
  • 6  river boats, 2 to 3 tons capacity, each fitted with two Evinrude overhang engines.
  • 5  river boats, 6 to 8 tons capacity.
  • 2  river boats, 4 to 454 tons capacity.
  • 3  river boats, 1 1/2, tons capacity.
  • 1  river boat, 2 1/2 tons capacity.
  • 3  river skiffs for tenders.
  • 1  Peterboro canoe.
  • 2  12-ton capacity lighters.
  • 1  50-ton capacity lighter.
  • 1  80-ton capacity lighter.
  • 1  50-ft. stern-wheel flat-bottom river boat, fitted with 15 H. P. motor.

The first coal delivered at Chilkat arrived June 23, 1913. This consignment consisted of two tons transported in a large river skiff, propelled by one 2 H. P. "Evinrude" motor. This delivery demonstrated the possibility of using the Evinrude motor, whereupon six boats were designed and built for this type of engine and thirteen motors were ordered by cable from Seattle. 

The advantage of this motor was that there was no installation necessary. The sterns of the boats built for these engines were given additional stiffening by means of iron braces. The motors were set in place at the start of the run and removed and placed under cover at the end of the run. Two engines were used on each boat, not only for additional power but also for safety, as these motors proved to be unsatisfactory for the duty to which they were subjected. They lacked power to propel, the boats against the winds, while the heavy driving rains caused considerable battery trouble. The propeller gears did not stand the action of the silt and sand in the river water, and were all badly cut and worn within a few weeks; some of them were completely stripped.


(I left out a page or two...)

(2) Up-River Repair Gang.—The gang included machinists, carpenters and helpers. They repaired boats and engines. The boats received hard service and were in constant need of repairs, such as caulking, plugging, bracing, replacing crushed side-planking, repairing broken paddles on stern-wheelers and overhauling engines, particularly the Evinrude motors which were in constant trouble. 

The importance of the work of this gang cannot be overestimated. They were on the river a great deal of the time and did much repairing while the boats were under way. They were largely responsible for the maintenance of the boat schedule and the high percentage of " on time." A small repair and blacksmith shop was established at the coal depot. This gang was quartered at the Stillwater Cache camp.

(3) Operatives of the Glacier Division, which included the crews of the stern-wheel boats. These crews also were quartered at the Stillwater Cache camp.

(4) Operatives of the Delta Division, which included the crews of the motor sailing launch, three smaller power boats and the crews of the "Evinrude" fleet.  These men were quartered at Coal Junction camp.

(5) Operatives of the Lake Division, which included two crews for the steam launch and two coal handling gangs. These men were quartered at the Chilkat camp.

(6) Boat building and repair gangs, quartered at the Chilkat camp.

(7) Administration.   This included commissary, general storekeeper, accounting and medical. These men were quartered at Chilkat camp.

The equipment of floating stock on the several divisions was as follows:

Glacier Division.

2  stern-wheel power boats. (These boats were for power only, not being designed to carry a load.)

5  six- to eight-ton river boats.

1  four-ton river boat.

2  two and one-half to three-ton river boats.

Delta Division.

4 power boats for towing purposes.

6 three-ton river boats, each equipped with two overhang Evinrude motors. 

The coal boats of the Glacier Division were routed through the Delta Division to Coal Junction, while the Evinrude fleet was occasionally routed through to the coal depot on Stillwater Creek.

and more...

These photos are from the Naval Institute Proceedings, Volume 39, United States Naval Institute, 1913.  It is sort of interesting reading.

Friday, August 31, 2018

1925 - Part 2 - Among the Glaciers of Alaska With an Evinrude Kicker

This installment in the June 1925 Motor Boating is filled with photos compared to the last issue!   I have  to admit, there really wasn't much mentioned of the Evinrude.  But, as you read,  just remembering that it is their motor makes you respect the older outboards! 

Only boats of very shallow draft can get up Taku River to Twin Glacier Camp.  There is plenty of water in the river for boats drawing five or six feet of water, but they cannot get over the bar that the river has deposited near its mouth in Taku Inlet.  

Even with the little Ikigihk, which can run almost anywhere that's a little damp, we were churning mud and sand for several miles before we finally got over the hump and into the river channel beyond.  Then we had to fight a strong current and dodge a miscellaneous assortment of icebergs before we accomplished the several miles up the Taku River to the landing at Twin Glacier Camp.  

Even with the long hours of summer in Alaska, the day was about gone when we arrived.  Our hostess, of course, had no knowledge of our coming, there being no telegraph or telephone communication between there and Juneau.  A pack of howling malamutes greeted us at the boat landing.  We were delighted, however, to find Mrs. Gray, a buxom lass with a perpetual smile, and a dialect that was as difficult to understand as it is to read Bobby Burns.  She welcomed us into the great log house , which is the main chamber of the hunting lodge, and in about twenty minutes we were thoroughly warmed before a great log fire in a huge fireplace.  Then the dinner gong was sounded, and we sat down to a meal of planked moose steaks, with all the trimming from soup to nuts. 

That meal is another memory.  The moose meat had been furnished by Dr. W. D. Sinclair, surgeon of the Chichigoff Mines, who'd come over from Chichigoff Island  with a fifteen-foot boat and an outboard motor, for a week of moose hunting along the Taku River.  He'd brought in 1,200 pounds of moose meat that morning.  The remaining guests of the camp were two reputed millionaires from Tennessee.  They claimed to be hunters, but in a month's stay around the camp they had killed nothing but about six cases of bourbon and gin that they'd brought down out of Canada - making the journey by canoe down the Taku River from Atlin Lake.  

The Colonel, who seemed to be the big money bag of this precious pair, wasn't a half bad sort of fellow. He broke out a square-face of bonded bourbon, and after sampling it, we were ready to concede that these mighty hunters were probably enjoying life in their own way.  The Taku River country is perhaps about as nearly the sportsman's idea of paradise as can be fond on this earth.  It is an uninhabited wilderness of towering snow-clad mountain peaks, virgin forests, boundless muskegs (marshes), and jungles of underbrush such as one expects to find in the tropics.  Within a two-hour traveling radius of the camp, chiefly by motor boat, one may find every kind of game commonly known in Alaska - moose, black and brown bears, uncountable deer, caribou, bighorn sheep, white mountain goats, and feathered game galore.  

Moose hunting had been one of Wiedley's ambitions from boyhood, so on our second day at Twin Glacier Camp, he took Ikigihk, Tommy Shorty, one of Dr. DeVighne's Indian guides, and one of my high powered rifles, and set out up the river.  In four hours he was back in camp with a fine head, and half a ton of moose meat.  I went fishing that day - took Dr. DeVighne's motor boat The Mud Hen, and went down the river into Turner Lake, a fresh water glacier pool that looks like Yosemite Valley with the floor covered with water.

The first toss of the fly into the lake, and it was swallowed - seemingly by a bucking horse.  Half an hour later, after an indescribably thrilling struggle, I landed a rainbow trout 27 inches long.  I caught three more more fish of similar size before noon, and then quit fishing because I couldn't imagine any possible use for more than 25 pounds of fish a day.

The same day Mrs. Gray went moose hunting in the muskeg over across the river.  She came back late that evening, scratched, bruised, mosquito bitten, and her clothing in tatters.  She told a lurid tale about trying to stalk a moose, and stumbling smack dab upon a huge brown bear.  There is no denying that these bears are perhaps the largest and most ferocious animals on earth, and according to Mrs. Gray's story, the bear promptly wheeled around and chased her up the tallest spruce tree she could find in the muskeg.  The Colonel looked across the table and winked.  Nobody else winked, but the looks of all present signified that the story was accepted with a grain of salt.  

The following day, however, I went moose hunting in the same area with Taku Jim, one of the Indian guides.  Far out in the muskeg we found a  huge spruce tree with monstrous bear tracks in the mud all around it.  Jim suggested we had better climb the tree and comb the muskeg with our field glasses.  

Thereupon I began going up the tree.  About twenty feet from the ground, I observed several branches from which the bark had been peeled as if by someone climbing with hob-nailed boots.  I climbed perpendicular for about 120 feet, and found the same marks all the way up.  It was impossible to climb higher.  

I was reaching for my field glasses when I found a bright scrap of scarlet woolen yarn sticking on a mass of resin that oozed from the tree trunk.  It was a fragment of the red sweater Mrs. Gray was wearing at the time of her reported encounter with the bear. 

Jim and I killed no game that day, but at the dinner table in camp that evening I told the story of the spruce tree in the muskeg, with the bear tracks all around it.  I told about the marks on the branches, and then as a final summing up before the jury, produced the piece of scarlet yarn found in the tree top.  Mrs. Gray's story was verified beyond a reasonable doubt.  As a reward I got a third piece of apple pie.

I learned later that brown bears have no friends among the Alaskans.  Dr. Sinclair told of at least a dozen men he had known who had been devoured by them, and of a score of others he had tailored and repaired after the bears had left them for dead - surgery he had performed while on duty at the Chichigoff Mines.  Moreover, at Twin Glacier Camp, men are not permitted to venture off the premises without being heavily armed, and women and children never leave the camp without being accompanied by an armed male escort.  These Alaskan bears seem to be incredibly numerous.  They attain enormous size - often sixteen hundred to eighteen hundred pounds.  They are reputed to be the only animals on the American continent that will attack a human being without the slightest provocation.

After several wonderful days in the Taku River Country, an opportunity presented itself for me to return to Juneau aboard a fast motor boat.  I had no purpose in making the trip virtually back to our starting point, except I was anxious to se the result obtained in the numerous photographic negatives I'd exposed.  There, a resident photographer graciously extended to me the courtesies of his laboratory.  I had photographs of glaciers, icebergs and what not.  Everything came through the hypo about one hundred percent of anticipations.  When the local photographer saw my negatives, he picked out about two dozen of them and asked if I cared to sell them.  I had no desire to sell them, and told him so, but he insisted.   Finally he said: "If you will just sell me those negatives - name your price, and I'll pay cash." 

Just why a professional photographer, living within a few miles of scenes that he could very easily go out and photograph himself, should want to purchase a set of negatives made by one who is an amateur to those local conditions, seemed a puzzle. I asked the man to explain.  This he did, saying," You made a number of these pictures from floating ice, didn't you?". "Yes", I replied. "Well, don't you ever do that again.  I can't make negatives like that.  Furthermore, there isn't a photographer in all of Alaska who will go aboard an iceberg to photograph anything.  It's taking your life in your hands - and with buttered fingers at that.  Any iceberg is liable to flop bottom side up at any minute without the slightest warning.  If they don't turn over they may crumble up under our feet.  In either event you're a GONER!".

He explained further that the icebergs being fresh water ice falling into salt water, begin to thaw as soon as they fall from the glaciers.  The thawing occurs from underneath, so every berg eventually gets top heavy and rolls over.  I thanked the man for his kindly advice, and compensated him for the use of his laboratory by presenting him with a number of negatives which were practically duplicates of the others.  I got back to Taku Inlet that night aboard the United States Naval Minesweeper Swallow, which was going down there to calibrate a radio compass station.

From the Twin Glacier Camp, Wiedley and I had one more ambition to realize before we shoved off for the south again.  We wanted to take Igigihk into Twin Glacier Lake, a glacial pool up the Taku, where no motor boat had ever been before.  This lake is a huge glacial scar on the landscape fed by two enormous live glaciers, which are characteristically named -  Twin Glaciers.  The lake discharges into the Taku River through the Twin Glaciers River.  The latter stream is short and swift.  It drops to lower elevations very abruptly, and in mid-summer carries almost as much ice as it does water.

We left the camp at daylight - 3 o'clock in the morning, and shoved off up the Taku, with the little motor forcing the boat up against the swift current at just about one mile per hour.  We were constantly zig-zagging back and forth to avoid oncoming cakes of ice, or treacherous whirlpools; but eventually we managed to cover the few miles of distance that lay up the Taku between the camp and mouth of Twin Glacier River.  

We swung into Twin Glacier River.  We didn't go a hundred yards before we came to a rapid where the force of the current completely neutralized the power of our motor.  Great icebergs were constantly thundering down these rapids in an endless procession.  Any one of these bergs crowding Igigihk against another, or against the shore, would have crushed her like a grain of wheat between millstones.  There was no means of avoiding disaster except by artful dodging.  Nevertheless, with the aid of two Indian guides, motor, ropes, and poles, we conquered the rapids and putt-putted out among the ice floes of Twin Glacier lake about noon.

We spent most of the afternoon exploring the ice floes, studying the myriads of waterfowl that rode on every iceberg, taking photographs, climbing over the glaciers, and listening to the constant groaning, crashing , and creaking and grinding of literally tens of millions of tons of moving ice.  

Returning to the river, the descent of the rapids into the Taku, where it had taken three hours to get up, was made in scarcely more than that number of minutes.  Tense, and almost breathless minutes those were, however - for, we shot down the stream at express train speed - half expecting every instant to feel the bottom of the boat leave us as we struck some hidden rock, or to feel the tiny craft crumpled like an eggshell if we got caught between the ice masses with which we were racing.  Tame and roomy indeed seemed the Taku when we started down it toward our camp after that dash through the rapids!

Along this salt water river it was not easy to find a campsite as the light waned.

Two weeks later, after various and sundry experiences with everything from Woolly Winds to wetting waves, and from tides to ptarmigan, we were still in Alaskan waters, but had moved down the map about three hundred miles.  Scenery, icebergs, and glaciers had become almost a drug on the market.  We'd eaten salmon until we felt we never wanted to look at another pink fish - not even in a can!  Sorely in need of some fresh meat, we took our rifles, and started out to find it.  

Some Indians with whom I talked the evening before near the mouth of the great river where we'd made camp had told us: "Cross river. Plenty moose.  Plenty beeg grizzle bear too.  Climb tree.  Moose come. Bang!".  The old chief who did the talking spoke picturesque English, but his meaning was certainly clear.  So, very early that morning we took Ikigihk across the river, and into a smaller stream that drained out of an enormous muskeg.  We ascended the stream for several miles.  There was only about two feet of water under our keel.  

Presently the stream began to grow so shallow we could barely navigate.  Then we came to a beaver dam, and lifted the boat over it.  Above the dam there was plenty of water - thanks to the beavers.  Several beaver dams made the stream navigable for us right into the heart of the muskeg, or some six miles back from the salt water.  Eventually, however, we came to the head of the navigation, and made fast to a huge spruce tree - the only tree in the muskeg.  Climbing the tree for eighty feet, we scanned the muskeg with our field glasses.  For half an hour we pawed mosquitoes and moose flies, and looked for game.  A few minutes later we saw five moose - three of them bulls with legal hatracks.  They sauntered out of the muskeg into a thicket of bush about a mile away.  We promptly shinned down out of the tree.

Now , making a sneak through the marsh for a mile after game one is badly in need of for food sounds simple and easy.  But, in Alaskan muskeg - well, it's a man's job!  Picture yourself, if you can, sloshing along in a pair of clumsy hip boots in slimy mud and water up to your knees, and in coarse grass higher than your head. The grassis like so much rope.  It is matted and tangled and full of heavy brush that's too high to climb over, too rough to be broken, and too noisy to be tampered with.  Rain is coming down in torrents.  There's a cloud of mosquitoes trailing you, and kept from carrying you off in pieces only by the kerosene coating over all exposed skin.  You paw mosquitoes and swat moose flies, and unless you are a person of greater forbearance than Job himself, you'll develop a lurid vocabulary.

You fall down every hundred yards, and come up with twenty pounds of water in each boot.  By this time you are wet from head to foot, and have ceased to care how often you fall down.

You learn to sit down in the water and empty your boots by putting your feet in the air.  Then about every two hundred yards you come to a long lagoon.  There's no going around.  It's too deep for your boots and too wide to jump.  So, you splash right in, and your teeth rattle as you go down until the water touches your chin.  You struggle into the grass again, drain your boots out, and push on.  That's moose hunting!  I'm convinced the sport's been over-advertised.

We finally worked our way up to within a hundred yards of the point where we'd seen the moose enter the thicket.  There we came to a lagoon, and in prospecting its depth, I bogged down until my hat went adrift - rifle and field glasses held high overhead as I went out of sight.  Just as I came up for air Wiedley's rifle roared out three times in quick succession.  I crawled out of the water with the exclamation: "What are you shooting at?"  "A moose." he replied.  "He's down over there."

We spent the rest of the day quartering the huge animal, and portaging the meat through the muskeg to our boat.  Moosemeat was the mainstay of our diet for the next two weeks.  The value of this food soon showed in our physical condition.  We began to gain in weight and strength, and our energy for hard labor showed an appreciable impetus.

If tides are an important factor in the navigation of ships through the salt water rivier, they are of far greater importance to the navigator of a low powered craft such as ours over the same route.  A little experience soon proved to us that we could take our little boat from Alaska to Seattle virtually without power, or that we could detonate a day's supply of gasoline with Igigihk moving backwards like a crayfish.   

The sad error of underestimating the force of an opposing tide was illustrated to us one day after we passed out of Alaskan waters, and got down the coast of British Columbia into Canada.  Passing through a wide strait which we assumed to be almost tide free, we rounded a rocky point, and encountered a fog as thick as the  proverbial bowl of pea soup.  Our charts showed 50 miles of clear sailing dead ahead, so we took our course from the charts and the compass, and forged ahead with the motor churning full throttle.  For six hours we kept going, which at our normal cruising speed should have moved us about fifty miles down the map.  Along toward mid-afternoon the fog lifted, and to our dismay, there we were churning the water absolutely abeam of of the identical point where we'd encountered the fog.  We'd shot five gallons of gasoline and half a day getting nowhere.  A few minutes later the tide turned, and we began going with it at a prodigious rate of speed.  By watching the charts, and logging various points on the shore as we came abeam of them, we found ourselves flying down the salt water river at a speed of approximately 22 knots.  About 8 knots of this was boat speed.  The rest was tide.

Actually, it is "Sidney", British Columbia 

Late that afternoon we sighted an Indian in a motor boat fishing for halibut.  The boat was about half a mile off our starboard bow when we sighted it, and about that moment the Indian hooked a huge fish.  We could see him struggling with the monster, very distinctly through our field glasses.  We altered our course, thinking to get a better view, and possibly a photograph.  To our dismay, however, we soon discovered that the Indian's boat was at anchor in an 18 knot tidal current.  In spite of our best efforts Ikigihk went astern of the Indian's craft by just about half a mile, our best motor speed being useless for trying to get closer.  Sweeping on down the strait we could see the Indian still struggling with the fish.  We went out of sight behind a distant low-lying island without our being able to see whether he ever got the fish aboard or not.

Due to the lateness of the season, and the amount of time we'd spent in Alaska, we encountered much unfavorable weather.  For a week we sailed, or putt-putted in downpours of rain.  We hunted and fished in the rain, camped in the rain, and literally lived in the rain, until we almost forgot what it felt like to be dry.  When the sun did shine it was usually accompanied by high winds that took Igigihk southward under reefed sail like a migrating gossamer.  (a migrating what?)  If the rain stopped, and the wind blew, we were wet just the same - the only difference being that we were wet with salt spray instead of the rain.

For the sake of greater safety, and to help us keep our bearings through the seemingly interminable labyrinth of lace pattern waterways, we followed the commercial steamship lanes much of the time.  But, when our charts showed we could save  many miles of travel by taking short cuts back of islands, or through channels where only small boats could pass, we usually took the short cuts.  In exploring some of these diminutive passages, however, where we found our charts none to accurate, we got lost so often that we lost so often that we lost all track of the number of times.  Sometimes we'd be lost for a day or two, but we almost managed to turn up in the steamer lanes again - and invariably with a saving of many miles.  There was a great thrill to getting lost occasionally, and picking our way through titanic water-canyons - many of them utterly unexplored, and off the beaten trail where travelers never get.  

Ivory Island Lighthouse at the northwest entrance to Seaforth Channel

One experience in Seaforth Channel was typical of many others.  We had been lost for about three days, and on the third day,  without knowing exactly where we were on the map, we had jogged along for about 60 miles through a very narrow water-canyon  where the walls of perpendicular rock rose to ice-capped heights some eight to ten thousand feet almost over our gunwales.  A strong tide with which we'd been moving gave assurance we'd eventually pop out into the open waters again  And, we did.

The narrow channel suddenly terminated into a monstrous bowl-like lake of salt water.  Seventeen different water-canyons opened out of this lake like the spokes of a wagon wheel away from the hub.  We wee racking our brains over the charts, trying to figure out which of the water trails we should take, when a steamer came bounding out of one of the holes on the north side of the lake.  It was one of the Canadian Pacific passenger boats, and was going south.  The steamer ate up the distance across the lake like a buzz-saw eats through a board.  We shut down our motor, hove to, and watched the steamer.  It got to the other side of the lake, and dived into one of the water-canyons, and out of sight, like a rat going home.  We followed the ship and soon had our position verified on the charts.

Twenty days after we'd passed out of Alaskan waters we sped down the east coast of Vancouver Island on a mill race tide, rounded Fear Island Light House, and slipped into Victoria, provincial capital of British Columbia.  We spent a week ashore there in this picturesque city, which is a bit of England set down in the new world.  We had many friends there, and a glorious time.  The Canadian Government liquor stores supplied the drinks - and it didn't taste like horse liniment or varnish remover either!!  (Prohibition was still on in the US!)  It was a wicked temptation to try to smuggle a few bottles of this stuff with the Canadian seals all over the corks, across the sounds into Seattle; but out of respect for American law we sailed from Victoria with Igigihk as alcoholically dry as old man Volstead himself.
Can you read the little note in the bottom corner? :-)
We took nothing aboard but 20 gallons of gasoline, a few groceries, and shoved off into the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  The strait was lashed to a foam by an inshore breeze that was sweeping in against an outflowing tide.  Bobbing around like a cork, and getting thoroughly soaked (with salt water) we finally hove into the lee of the San Juan Islands, and camped  on American soil for the first time in two months.

The following day we sailed down the Washington shore to Seattle, and tied up at Colman Dock.  It was within twenty minutes of time for the Federal customs House to close for the day.  We hailed a taxi, and hurried thither to report our yacht in.  When the necessary papers had been signed, e clerk said: "I'll phone Mr. Burton, one of the inspectors on the dock, and tell him you're on your way.  If you hurry, you'll be able to get your boat cleared yet today."

Returning to the dock, the tide had reached low level, and Igigihk was riding about 25 feet below the deck of the wharf against a spider-legged assortment of tarry, oil-soaked pilings.

 "Where's the yacht?" he exclaimed. "Where'd you come from in that peanutty little sea louse?" 
 "From Skayway, Alaska", we responded "and in from Canadian waters today."

This officer was diplomatic.  He didn't come right out and ask me what relation I might be to Ananias - but, the look I got! Oh! That look!  

The inspector then crept to the edge of the wharf, and took a squint down the greasy piliing which seemed to be the only route for making a closer inspection of the Igigihk and our cargo.  
"What have you got in those bundles?" he asked. 
"Just camping out", we replied.  
"No booze, no drugs, no Chinamen?" queried the official.  "Well, run along then."  That doesn't look like a smuggler's outfit to me!"

The End