These are the Chronicles of Famous Surf Writer Ben Marcus and his trip into the Wilds of the Alaskan Frontier.
Latest Update: November 9, 2000

18:32 BC TIME ROOM 113 OF THE SEA RAVEN MOTEL

Oops I did it again.
Got stuck in the sand
And needed a hand

Shit, stuck again, but this one turned out much better than last time. It was maybe a two-hour delay, didn't cost me anything and I ended up blundering into someone living my own little fantasy.

I got stuck in the sand on the byway of a byway, on a dirt road that became a sandy road that was an offshoot of the Tlell River Road, which is an offshoot of Highway 16.

I went wandering down there trying to get a look at the coast, and maybe find the mouth of the Tlell River. I did get a look at the coast, but also ended up getting completely stuck when I tried to back out. It was stupid, of course, but getting stuck always is.

I had blundered down that way from Queen Charlotte City, hoping to get up to North Beach for one more look at those surf spots, then get back to Queen Charlotte City with enough time to take the logging roads to Rennell Sound. It was a little ambitious and pushed, but I'm going to take the ferry out of there at 23:00 tonight, and I wanted to look around.

First thing this morning I called a couple of local float plane services to see about taking an air tour of the West Coast. One place didn't have any planes, and the other place was charging $450 an hour. They said it would take at least two hours to see anything, so I didn't go for it, especially considering I had about $200 in my bank account this morning. I even had to do another emergency transfer from Joanne on www.wellsfargo.com to make sure I had enough to pay for the ferry tonight and tomorrow.

Thank you, Joanne.

I also got some e-mails from Team Sweden. Here is the e-mail from Pete, word for word:

Helo Ben! big swed writing,
Last fishing day on our tripp was god.
Orjan tok one, Tomas tok one and me my self four, i saved my name !!
we went fishing at Two creek and a river in Belkley,
I hope every thing is allrigth with you!
Have a nice day Big Peet!!
My e-mail home.pette.sandberg@telia.com

The owner of the second float plane place referred me to a local guy who was a member of an informal "surf club." One of the things Hawk wants me to do is talk to local people for the scoop and so they can show me around. I called this guy, whose name is Ken Borserio, but he wasn't there.

I checked out of Room 113 after watching some CNN. The Oriental man who owns the place told me I could come back here tonight before the Ferry leaves, which was nice of him.

So I took off, heading North along Highway 16 into a beautiful day. It was one of those post-storm, crystal clear, lonely winter days that I love so much in Santa Cruz. There were few clouds and the horizon was razor-edged. Driving along Highway 16 past Skidegate, I could see mountain peaks poking up beyond the horizon, which were either Canada or Alaska.

Again, this coastline is just amazing. I've never seen so many perfect lineups strung from one to another. Unfortunately, they were all six inches or less.

At the Tlell River I took a road that veered off to the right. I was hoping it lead down to the mouth of the Tlell, but when I tried to find it, I drove onto some private property, where a man and a woman were burning logs. I backed out of there, went past the closed Tlell River House and took a dirt path toward the beach. My tires seemed okay on what I thought was hard sand, and I parked in a spot that I thought was safe. I got out and took some photos of more perfect six-inch lefts breaking like Uluwatu. This was a very lonely, beautiful stretch of beach, with no one in sight for miles and mountains peaking up on the horizon.

Lefthand PO.

It was when I tried to get out that I ran into trouble. I couldn't back out because the tires wouldn't grab, and when I tried to drive onto the grass (again) to turn around, I dug in and got completely stuck.

Was I pissed? What do you think? I uttered oaths. I cursed the Universe and I worried about getting stuck and missing the ferry or having to pay a tow truck to get me out and not having enough money to catch the ferry. I was pissed, as you might expect.

I ran up the road and down to the house where I had seen the people burning wood. I was pretty focused on getting to a phone and calling a tow truck, so I didn't really notice what a classic set-up it was.

I talked to the woman first, or tried to, because her husband was attacking a bunch of firewood with a chainsaw. I wanted to use the phone to call a tow truck, but the man said he would help pull me out once he was finished with the wood.

There house was a on a grassy lot, right next to the Tlell River, and it was a pretty classic spot. He had a small boat and a nice Dodge Ram truck and a fifth wheel camper.

The spread.

He finished his wood chopping after about 15 minutes, and I hopped into the Dodge after thanking him up and down, and we went back to get me out. He apoloigized for the truck being messy, because he had been hunting. Compared to the van, his truck was a Swiss hospital.

He understood. He had been a logger and had been stuck many, many times in his life. He didn't think it was all that strange, although he told me what I had heard a million times before: Ford vans suck. Get a 4WD. He recommended the Toyota 4WD, because they are relatively light and float across the sand.

It took him three tries and two ropes to get me out. I was stuck at an awkward angle, and he tried tying off a rope to my stern and yanking me out as a I gunned it in reverse.

Two broken ropes and two trips back to his house. On the third try, he attached a chain under the van, and got in front of me. That worked. He yanked me out of there like a bad tooth, and I went forward and put myself on the sandy road, as he got in front of me.

Push-me, pull-you.

It was a push-me, pull-you deal. He basically dragged me out of there with the rope, with me fish-tailing all over the place, coming out backward like a Nantucket Sleigh Ride.

I was just really glad to be out of there with a lot less hassle than at the Skeena. It took about an hour, and could have been a major ordeal and expense.

I drove back to the house by the river, thinking I might give him Mr. Walther or something, I was so jazzed to be out of there.

He didn't want anything. He just figured he might be stuck some day, and someone might help him. Fair enough.

He was a native of Queen Charlotte Island who had left in 1968 and came back 15 years later. He had a lot of stories about hunting and fishing and bear and tourists and logging trucks and flat-hatting around Alaska and the Yukon the way I had done.

The float garden.

I poked around the grounds as he worked, and I noticed that he had the absolute best collection of flotsam and jetsam I had ever seen. Better than Mickey Munoz. He had literally hundreds and maybe thousands of ruber bumpers and floats and Japanese glass balls that he had collected from the beach in front of his house. Hundreds of them, and he complained that a guy from Queen Charlotte had come by and stolen another hundred or so. I believe I remember this guy threatening to shoot the other guy.

A float boat.

He talked a lot about guns and shooting and he had a lot of stories about collecting these floats and said that 1983 was a particularly good year. Thinking about where I was, it was hard to believe that floats could come all the way from Japan and end up on this side of the island, but he had zillions of them.

Japanese glass floats are one of the most beautiful functional items in the world.

The more I looked at this guy's set up, the more I realized it had jumped out of my imagination and into reality. He was in a very nice corner of a very nice island. He had a simple, wood-heated house with phone and satellite dish. He had a nice garden, a wood-shed and floats and glass balls everywhere.

He had a little boat, and a bigger one in the harbor at Masset. Inside his garage he had a Suzuki 300 ATV he used for elk hunting up in the hills.

Turns out the property was his wife's-who I had met earlier-and included 60 acres of land along the river and the ocean.

"It's yours for two million," he said.

"Canadian?" I said.

"Yes," he said.

"I'll take it," I said.

It really was an ideal set-up, especially on a crisp, blue day like today. There were jets passing over going somewhere, but it was quiet at ground level and smelled like smoke. Really nice.

His name was Wayne Flood and he talked a little like Popeye. He mumbled a little so I couldn't understand everything he said, and he swore a fair bit, but this guy had spent a lot of time poking around Alaska and BC, and he had a lot of good stories.

He asked about gun prices in America and I showed him Mr. Walther. He said he wanted a Remington .370 or a .202 for hunting elk.

I should buy him one. He really saved my neck. He even fixed my front license plate while we were talking. He was that kind of guy. Everything around his place was ship-shape and Bristol fashion.

I eventually left and headed up toward Masset and North Beach. When I finally got to open ocean I saw that it was onshore and windy. There was a tanker turning around off to the north, and more mountains beyond that. Wayne Flood had explained that it was all Alaska I was seeing.

I flogged yet another coastal river a few times, then hopped in the van and headed back. Near Masset I stopped for coffee and looked in at a gift shop that sold surprisingly expensive locals arts and crafts. These guys made totem poles they sold for tens and even hundreds of thousands of dollars. They had done a custom, 40 foot Haida pole for a women in New York who paid $120,000. American.

Surprisingly expensive locals art.

I bought a lapel pin and pushed on.

On the way back I saw they were still cleaning up that diesel spill.

I got back to the hotel room and that's where I am now. I called the local "surfer" who turned out to be a kayaker who loved to ride waves with some of his friends. I talked to him for awhile and he confirmed my suspicions that the rivermouth at the top of North Beach gets really, really good sometimes, and that the east coast is mostly bad, with occasional wind swells whipping up overhead surf.

So, my last day on Queen Charlotte Island was a pretty good one, despite another driving mishap. I'm watching CNN, and Bush's lead has dropped to only 229 votes. They're debating what to do about West Palm Beach.

Here's my call. If Gore is still leading in the overall nationwide popular vote, then he should push all the way to the Supreme Court to recast the votes in West Palm Beach. Gore deserves to be president, but it's too bad that he's going to get it by scandal.

It's just unbelievable that it has come this close. It's like a high-school squabble in a super power nation.

Democracy in action. Go democracy.