From Hot Springs Cove

I find that I am very much crimped in my choice of subject matter by not being able to look and see what I have already written about.

Anyway, these past few days have found us at Hot Springs Cove, north of Tofino, the prime destination of most West Coast cruisers. We're happy to get here; our luck with the weather has been not great and the sailing has been pretty lousy for the last few legs. Well, everything south of the Brooks Peninsula has been bad, really... we left the Klaskish Basin (a lovely spot, if I haven't already mentioned it) on a day that was dawning sunny and forecast to have moderate winds--just the thing for rounding Cape Scott. We were leaving early to make a long hop to our next destination, because we had already waited a couple extra days to avoid gales.

Almost as soon as we got out the entrance, though, we got into heavy fog, and a sloppy swell with hardly any wind to speak of. And that pretty much describes everything since: motoring or motor-sailing or sitting almost becalmed in a lumpy white nether-world where no one and nothing else was to be seen.

Beyond that, out of poor planning or tenacity, most of our anchorages in the interval have been marginal and rolly. We didn't mind so much, since the weather is pretty settled, but it's nice to get in here finally where not a tiny little lump of ocean swell can penetrate.

We stopped off at a place called Rugged Point which is a marine park that was pretty neat. There were miles of interesting beach to explore on the outside, and we did, walking all the way down to where a small stream comes out of the mountains and into the sea. We spent a lot of time poking around the tideline and found some (possibly) tsunami debris... plastic bottles with Japanese labels, and, more disturbing, lumber that looked like it might have at one time been the frame of a house. But strange stuff from distant lands washes up out here all the time so who is to say when and whence this came? We also found two oil barrels from Korea. Empty, fortunately or not.

After Rugged Point we jumped to the aptly named Rolling Roadstead. It's a vast, safe anchorage that is right out on the ocean, protected by a longish island but otherwise open to wind and swell. Despite that, there's absolutely nothing to hit in there and very firm holding, so we were fine for the night, despite bouncing around a bit.

We had planned to continue south for Hot Springs that day, but three things happened: one, no wind to speak of; two, solid fog (again); and three, a 0643 forecast update for thunderstorms. Not long after, I heard the first echo of thunder. So, we decided to get the heck out of Dodge and go up into Esperanza Inlet, where we stopped at Esperanza, a tiny village tucked onto the side of a mountain, and Tahsis, where we stopped last time. We hadn't planned to go there again; it's a neat little town but it's a long way out of the way and there's nothing much else along the route to see again. But, it is tucked in between two very high ridges, and seemed about the safest place you could be with lightning on the prowl.

So, we stayed a night, met another, much smaller boat also heading around the Island, and the interesting guys aboard her. So, that was worthwhile.

We did have a couple short stretches of decent sailing after that, out to the entrance to Nootka Sound, and then the next day down along the peninsula to Estevan Point. Unfortunately, at Estevan, just as we found last time, the seas were quite rough. Worse yet, just south of there, the wind died--again. So, we motored the last fifteen miles to Hot Springs, but in compensation for the wind dying off, the waves also receded, and the sun came out, so it was an otherwise good day on the water.

We'll probably stay here a few days to savor the accomplishment. The place is absolutely over-run with tourists (not that we aren't also tourists!) coming in on speedboats and aircraft between about 10am and 5pm, but before or after those hours, we pretty much have it to ourselvses. We're the only boat here now.

When we came in, there were two Dutch boats anchored out. We've heard about these guys from EVERYONE else we have talked to on the coast here... unfortunately, I can't exactly remember their claim to fame, but it has something to do with the Northwest Passage. They either came through it or they are going home that way, or something. They are supposedly very nice and extremely interesting, but, alas, they pulled out the day after we arrived and we never got a chance to meet them. Perhaps at another stop.

Anyway, we'll be heading to the bright lights/big city of Tofino next, but we're in no rush, having picked up some supplies and refilled our water tanks at Tahsis. It's been foggy here, too, but we can wait almost as long as we like for better weather, and we plan to!

Back so soon?

Back on the Internet, anyway, later the same day we left Port McNeill... well, that was unexpected!

We're in Port Hardy, which is just a few miles up the coast. We had thought we might end up here, but we had anticipated anchoring out, sans Internet access, etc, etc. It was just going to be a quick overnight stop.

But the anchorage here, always marginal, was entirely crowded out with crab pots. We hunted around for a half hour or so trying to find someplace that was secure and where we wouldn't swing into a dock or a pot or a mudflat, but just couldn't get comfortable with anything.

So, we bailed out and got a spot at the Quarterdeck Marina for the night.

As it happens, this works out well, because I also discovered, inadvertently, this afternoon that the chart chip for our Garmin plotter for the "West Coast Vancouver Island" does indeed show the West Coast of Vancouver Island... but in almost no detail. Zoom down as much as you like, no contours appear, and rock and obstacle marks remain large and imprecise.

We use, in practice, a combination of the plotter and our paper charts, which means we have redundancy for the whole route. But this disturbing discovery compels us to double-check our paper chart inventory and ensure that we have all the plans for the various emergency anchorages along the route, and other updated small-scale charts that we might not have otherwise felt necessary.

The marina here has a nice little chandelry with a fairly complete chart catalog. So, come morning, we'll amble on up there and fill in any gaps that we might find going over our itinerary and inventory tonight.

Where to and when

Today is our last day in Port McNeill, probably. We're trying not to be rushed, and we'll certainly finish up all our dockside activities today, provisioning, fueling, watering, and so forth. But it's probably not all going to be done in the next two hours, and that puts us in an uncomfortable position with respect to tides... we'll be fighting a current if we leave and head north much later than that.

This is sort of a microcosm of our larger decisions in the next several days. We are, at the moment, in a pretty good weather window for rounding Cape Scott. Winds are supposed to be relatively light through Wednesday. But we would have to make pretty good time to get in a position to be around on Wednesday, and the current situation is almost directly opposite of the weather: the timing of favorable currents is terrible this week, most of them occurring very early or very late in the day.

If we wait for better current times, we're edging into nastier weather forecasts. On the other hand, we're not thrilled at the prospect of making the passage largely in the dark, considering the profusion of rocks along the route, the ever-present procession of dead--heads and other drift that may always be encountered along this coast, and the new and more ominous consideration of heavy tsunami debris which has started to pop up all along the west coast of the Island.

So, we may end up waiting a week, through the icky weather, in dreary anchorages. Or we may push through and get around early, and risk the dark.

Either way, we're certainly pulling out of the marina here in a few hours, so I have to get moving!

Wind and Windlasses

It's been breezy here in Port McNeill and I'm glad we're tied up securely at the town harbour and not out at anchor like the poor folks who showed up after we did on Saturday. Turns out it's a big weekend here, or maybe just typical of the high season... we got the second to last available spot on the dock when we pulled in around 3pm. I hadn't even been in a particular hurry; I had heard they'd expanded the docks here, and a competing private marina has gone in next door, so I figured there would be plenty of space.

We're glad to have it. We're way out on the end of the new floats, so our Internet connection is pretty marginal, but the water is good, we have power, and the showers are clean and don't charge by the minute. High living, indeed.

I spent most of my day today catching up on business and bills while Mandy trekked in to the laundromat. I found a few spare minutes to dig into the busted windlass a little more and research it online: enough to realize there's probably not much benefit in taking it further apart.

From what I can tell, it sounds most like the gears have stripped out entirely in the gearbox. Fortuitously, another blogger at Three Sheets just posted of a similar experience (with a different windlass, but of a similar type). What happened to him mirrors closely what happened to us. The pictures of the gears are most illuminating.

I then found some posts by other folks who do have the same model windlass as we do, describing the difficulty of getting the gearbox and drive shaft separated. It took a hydraulic press in a machine shop in their case. It sounds like I could get the box off the motor easily enough, and could then take it somewhere, but I think having the shaft out of the windlass would negate it's ability to work in manual. And then we'd be entirely out of luck.

So, it sounds like we're going to get a good workout for the rest of the trip, cranking the anchor assembly in by hand. Hopefully we won't run into winds like this when we do so, because the process isn't fast, and doesn't allow one of us at the helm while we're doing it (sometimes helpful to keep the boat on station--or off the rocks--while the anchor is down, but not secure). When we pulled out of Carriden Bay the other day, I did it all myself, but that was dead calm and I only had to bring it up 18 feet.

There will be a time when it is blowing twenty knots and I have to haul it up fifty feet or more, and that I am not looking forward to.

Port Mac

I like Port McNeill well enough, but was hoping not to be here on this trip, for a variety of reasons at different points. Initially, we'd talked of bypassing the Island altogether and going north further along the mainland side of Queen Charlotte Strait. Then, when it became clear we didn't really have time or a purpose in doing that, we had discussed exploring the Broughtons and jumping straight over to Port Hardy, closer to the north tip of the Island, instead of back-tracking.

But too much about Port Hardy is unknown to us, and we've lost the luxury of exploring independently for now... we need a good store, fuel, moorage, and Internet, all at reasonable, or at least known, prices, and we are sure of finding all that in "Port Mac" as it's known up here.

We lost our powered windlass a couple days ago when pulling up the anchor in a place called Cypress Harbour. We're not entirely sure what happened. The motor still runs and sounds fine, and the windlass itself cranks and works properly in manual mode, but the motor is not turning the capstan when it is engaged. When it let go, it just dropped everything right to the bottom again, spinning freely, and that's what it does now. It seems that the motor is not attached to the capstan drive shaft any longer, or that the gears in the gearbox are broken, but the schematic we have doesn't go into a lot of detail on how that particular part of the system is put together.

The anchor system is too heavy to raise entirely by hand (I tried!) so we still need the windlass and I'm hesitant to take too much of it apart while that's the case. I've pulled apart the bits that are well-diagramed (basically, lifting off the capstan to check the shaft and gypsy and associated clutch parts) and it all looks to be in good condition on that end... although, of course, that isn't where the problem seems to be. Perhaps if I can find more information online while we are here I'll find enough confidence to pull the gearbox and have a look. It's likely a fairly simple worm-gear configuration so other than outright mechanical breakage I don't know either what the problem might be, or what I might be able to do to fix it.

At this point, I'm proceeding on the assumption we'll simply be doing without it until we get back home in August. It's an inconvenience but probably not a safety issue.

We're also low on just about every sort of supply (well, plenty of food left, but none of it fresh) and there are convenient and relatively cheap places to provision in Port Mac.

Then, too, we haven't been as excited about the Broughtons as we (or I, at least) had hoped to be. We were expecting something a little more remote, a little less busy, than Desolation Sound or the Gulf Islands, but it hasn't been any of that. If anything, there are more logging and fishing operations and more float homes clustered around the bays up here. Apart from the clear cuts and other industrial detritus, it's just as scenic as Desolation; however, there are fewer good anchorages, and they are generally smaller, and with as many or more cruising boats around (and float homes taking up much of the room permanently), they actually have been more crowded than what we found further south. And we hear from long-time cruisers up here that this is actually a slow year.

A lot of them seem to come up here for a more congenial, community-oriented cruising which is based largely around a handful of colorful, hospitable small marinas tucked away in nooks and hollows. We stopped off at Pierre's in Echo Bay, which was everything it was advertised to be: fun, friendly, entertaining. We went to Texas BBQ night and had some great ribs and even better beans, and great conversation with other boaters in for the night. Many of them have been coming up here for decades and are well-acquainted with the families that tend to run the marinas or live in the bays, and with other cruisers they see from year to year. The social scene around the marinas seems to be the big draw.

I can see the appeal of that but it's not really what we were looking for, and not something we're likely to be drawn into for a variety of reasons. So, I don't think either of us are feeling too bad about cutting the visit there short and skipping across to Port McNeill.

Echo Bay Deux

By my count, this is the second Echo Bay we have been in on this trip. I'm not counting too closely, though; there are Echo Bays all over the place, and who is to say that we haven't been by, in, or through several others along the way?

This particular Echo Bay is a well-known and well-liked marina in the Broughton Islands near the north tip of Vancouver Island. It's so well-liked that reservations are recommended. I don't think we needed any today (well, we didn't make them, and we're here, so I guess we didn't need them) but we spent the night nearby in Waddington Bay and got here early, just in case. It's Texas BBQ Night, one of many organized events here, and not the sort of thing you want to be late for.

We had planned to stop anyway, but we had some problems with the diesel yesterday that made us want to get to someplace with communications and, if necessary, float plane service before we dug into them. I don't recall if I mentioned it before or not, but we experienced a brief power drop a few days ago coming off Johnstone Strait where the engine would, without either of us touching the throttle, rev down about 500 RPMs or so.

Yesterday, it went even lower, and died a couple times. I can't be sure as to the cause, but one of the likely suspects is clogged filters, so we stopped here to change them.

Change them we did, but not without much difficulty. Whoever put the primary filter on last time around (we haven't changed them since we got the boat; haven't racked up that many engine hours) was a gorilla. My strap wrench is for our oil filter (come to think of it, the same guy must have put that on... that's why I had to buy the wrench in the first place) and is too small to fit around the big Racor filter element.

We jury-rigged something with a nylon strap, non-skid, a crescent wrench, and a pair of needle-nose pliers which finally managed to get the thing off... and put a big dent in it at that.

As is recommended, we put the new one on only hand-tight.

Someone installed an electric bypass pump in the fuel feed line, presumably for bleeding the engine, and that was what we used it for, apparently successfully, as it then started and ran for fifteen minutes without hiccuping.

Of course, it's going to work at the dock. Only time will tell if we've addressed the ultimate problem.

I'm also not sure if we simply hadn't been letting it warm up enough; we'll be doing that more religiously in the future also. If that's what the problem was, it speaks to deeper troubles, with pistons and such, but while they are more serious and more expensive, they are less urgent. If that's the case, we can finish the summer out without doing substantially more damage.

Or maybe it was just air in the line. If so, that will hopefully have been solved by our bleeding the system today (unless we didn't find the point of the leak; but there were no obvious drips, drops, or bubbles after we sealed everything up).

Anyway, it's almost BBQ time, I'd better go. After fighting with the engine most of the day, I've got quite an appetite built up.

Cutter Cove

I'm not sure where we'll be when I post this, but I know where we are right now: Cutter Cove. I'd like to be more specific, but when I asked Mandy what island this little bay was carved out of, she standing at the helm with easy access to the chart plotter, she looked down, punched a few buttons, and shrugged. "It doesn't feel like saying."

In a fit of pique, I went below to consult the definitive reference, our Canadian Hydrographic Survey charts. They didn't have the name either. And it's not like this is a small island... it's quite large, so large, in fact, that it extends off the edge of the particular chart I was consulting. Perhaps, to save ink, they only print the name on the other end of the island, presumably on some other chart.

I could go dig that one out but I don't care much. We're only staying here for a single night, there's nothing else apparently remarkable about the place other than that it is not Blenkinsop Bay.

Blenkinsop Bay is where we spent last night, tucked into a broad bight off of Johnstone Strait. We often seem to spend nights in Blenkinsop Bay just off Johnstone Strait, usually because we have been over-ambitious and nurtured some grandeous dreams of getting all the way up to the bomb-proof anchorage of Port Neville by day's end. Port Neville is only two miles up the strait from Blenkinsop, and it is everything that Blenkinsop is not... well-sheltered, shallow, broad, picturesque.

But that dream is as unobtainable for us as Tantalus' grapes, because every single time we punt our way out of Current Passage, it seems like we hit a wall of wind and those big, choppy waves that Johnstone Strait is famous for. Two more miles might as well be half an ocean, and Blenkinsop Bay is right there, staring at us, unsmiling, with the door held open, a surly inn-keeper who knows they have they only room left in town and you're going to take it whether they are nice or not.

And, whether we sail or motor, that's the inevitable destination, and we look longingly up the channel before swinging in, alone, and setting the anchor in the teeth of winds and waves that, were they not immediately compared to the monsters roaring just outside the entrance, would immediately suggest a re-consideration of life choices.

In the nights that inevitably follow, we are pummeled about, heaved around the cabin and rolled sidelong in our berth, screeched at all the while by demons shaking the rigging overhead.

Every morning after we spend an evening in Blenkinsop Bay, we toddle past the entrance to Port Neville the next morning and watch a fleet of smarter, more prepared boats exiting single-file, looking incredibly well-rested and laid-back. We snarl and keep going.

So Cutter Cove seems pretty idyllic right now, even though a bit of a breeze is kicking up.

We had a fast sail up from Desolation. We took an uncomfortable anchorage in Frances Bay near Yuculta Rapids so we could be there easily by the recommended 0700 entry time. Not long after we anchored there, a massive explosion crashed across the bay. A plume of dust and smoke puffed up from the hillside opposite: either a mining operation or carving a new logging road into the hillside. Something similar happened the next day in Johnstone Strait; apparently industry is quite busy up here.

The rapids were uneventful and we got into some good wind as we were coming down Blind Channel into the main part of the strait, so we got the sails up and sailed most of the rest of the way. We made great time, until it got too rough, and we hung it up in Blenkinsop.

Today was easy; despite a gale warning, the sailing was light, and we didn't try to cover a lot of mileage. We're pretty well-positioned here to get up into the Broughtons tomorrow, where we'll probably look for one of the many small marinas up there to stop and connect and re-provision. I expect it will be expensive but we don't need a lot; we're still sitting on about a third of a tank of diesel, plenty of gas for the dinghy, and an awful lot of canned goods. I'm just going to take on some insurance supplies in case we spend longer in the islands than expected. Otherwise, I think our major provisioning stop will be Port McNeill, on Vancouver Island, later in the week.

Swimmingly

I've already lost track of time. How long has it been since we left Port Townsend? Not a month, surely. Three weeks? Two weeks? It seems like we are making very good time but we haven't been rushing in the least: we've had mostly good winds the whole way up.

We spent a week or so in Vancouver, anchored in False Creek, and it was pretty miserable. It rained a lot, and we were very caught up with work matters and various other preparation and outfitting that needed to be done in the city before we could continue, so we didn't enjoy it very much. We did take a day and go to visit the Bloedel Conservatory in Queen Elizabeth park, which was interesting and provided a brief diversion.

Part of the problems we were trying to address in Vancouver were with our communications. I had purchased a new, supposedly unlocked cell phone before leaving, with a view toward getting a pre-paid telephone/Internet plan from a Canadian cell phone company once we were here. There is pretty decent cell coverage along most of our route, and we can still use our US phones, but the roaming rates are usurious, so we couldn't afford to do much. A local plan would have freed us up to check in more frequently while away from marinas.

But it turns out that the phone was not unlocked after all, and would not work with the local SIM card. Nor could any of the many places I visited in Vancouver who deal with that sort of thing unlock it. I didn't have the time or Internet or equipment with me to figure it out myself. I've been in touch with some online places to see if they can get it done. Otherwise, I'm probably out of luck, at least this year. I should be able to unlock it myself when I get back to Seattle.

Without mobile Internet of any sort, we've been even more disconnected from real life than I had planned. We made it from Vancouver to Pender Harbour in one day, spent an extra day there to rest, then spent another long day motoring up Jervis Inlet to Princess Louisa. There, all the rainfall we had cursed in Vancouver proved a boon, since the many, many waterfalls lining the inlet were recharged and streaming at full bore when we arrived. Having done their job, the clouds dispersed as well, and we had two or three very clear, sunny, hot days up there.

Not hot enough to make swimming attractive, unfortunately... the water was still icy. Our knotmeter picked up some of that False Creek crud and wasn't operating properly, and we had read that the water in Princess Louisa gets warm enough to swim in, so it seemed like a good opportunity to dive in and clear it. We sent Mandy first in her wet-suit.

She didn't do any more than jump in and get back out. So, I put a mask on and went in myself, sans-suit. Frigid! It must have taken me a half-hour, in eighty-degree plus sunshine, to warm up again after I got out. But the knotmeter got cleared.

Other than gawk at the scenery, there is not a lot to do up in Princess Louisa. It is beautiful terrain, but steep and there are no reasonable trails to hike, just a small camping area near the base of the main falls. We paddled around in the dinghy quite a lot.

For some reason, when we got there, it was very quiet, despite being the Saturday of Canada Day weekend. We didn't get to anchor in the best possible spot (right in front of the falls) but we had our choice of other spots and picked one near our own, smaller, private waterfall. And it was good that we did; the next day, twelve or more boats came in! The docks were full and the anchorages got squeezed.

Late in the day, the Pacific Grace and Pacific Swift showed up and anchored next to us. They only stayed one night, oddly; but the kids aboard all seemed to have fun. They went in swimming.

We had had to motor all the way up but when we left, there was a good breeze (although right on the nose) and so we sailed some good stretch of the way back down again. It was still a very long day, exacerbated by an unsatisfactory anchorage at our first stop of the evening, Harmony Islands marine park. It was a pretty spot, but the wind funneled through unchecked, the anchorage was deep and rocky and narrow, and any stern-tie points put us broad on the wind. We sat there and had dinner then moved on to an unoccupied and unnamed cove lower in Hotham Sound, where we had a bumpy, but safe night instead.

Now we're at a marina in Powell River, spending a couple nights to do laundry, take on water, go shopping, and catch up with our correspondence. We'll probably duck straight up into Desolation Sound after this. The weather continues to be warm and breezy and sunny, very nice for this time of year.

And that's a good thing... just after we pulled in, I was helping with the lines of another boat that came in after us. They were having some trouble bringing it in, and, just as the captain finally got it drifting in toward the dock, his wife tripped over something on the side deck and fell right in between the boat and the dock. Fortunately, another guy was also down on the dock with me getting the lines, and we each grabbed one arm and pulled. She only lost a shoe. But she said the water wasn't cold at all.

Forgot to Spot

Yeah, I forgot to Spot check-in last night. But we made it to Vancouver, after a long and sloppy day out on the Straight of Georgia. Anchored now in False Creek, likely staying a few days. The weather report is pretty miserable, and it sounds good to just stay in one place with the heater on and no particular need to go outside. Or, if we do go outside, to have someplace indoors to go... say, Starbucks, or the Vancouver Public Library.

Or any of a number of museums we have never managed to make it to on previous visits.

We need to hustle back to the boat (at a Starbucks now) and pump out (which necessitates a move; False Creek is a no-discharge zone) and get back to our spot before the weekend crowds show up. We're just off Charleson Park, fairly well-sheltered, and centrally located... probably quieter than just off Yaletown, where we have seemed to end up routinely in years past.

I'll also go to a Rogers store sometime today or tomorrow and see about getting a SIM card for some mobile Internet. More on that later.

ECHO Echo echo

That's right, we're in Echo Bay at Sucia Island right now. I think I posted something here this morning, but that seems like a long time ago and I forget what it was already. So I'll just fill you in from Port Townsend onward.

We left yesterday around noon and mucked around in light winds and contrary tides for an hour or so until we finally cleared Point Wilson and met the filling westerly coming off the Strait. It stayed somewhat light until we got up around Partridge Bank... a large and comfortable-looking trimaran breezed past us there, the only other recreational boat we saw during the crossing. But shortly afterward, the wind built to around twelve knots and steadied and we shot up to Cattle Pass at 7.5 knots under blue skies. The ride was smooth and stable... not that there was much chop. Still, it's nice to have a boat that will do seven and a half knots in twelve knots on the beam, and stay as steady as if we were only in five knots.

We ducked in around Cattle Point and spent the night near a small Coast Guard cutter in Griffin Bay. It's not a commonly used anchorage and no one else stopped in that night.

Mandy slept in this morning but took the first shift dealing with light and flukey winds up through San Juan Channel. I failed to buy a tide and current book, thinking that the tiny free one we had would get us up to Canada, and that we could buy the Canadian tables more cheaply there and wouldn't get much use out of the American ones. Besides, I imagined I could easily rely on my cell phone to look up such references as we needed until we got to a chandlery in BC.

But T-mobile has no service in the lower part of San Juan Channel (and very little here in Echo Bay!) so I mostly just had to guess. But guessing, or luck, or whatever, served us well enough, and we sailed all but the last forty-five minutes or so of the route today.

The weather report gave us a little concern with our chosen anchorage this evening... this morning they were calling for winds gusting to 40 knots from the southwest tonight. Echo Bay (where we've never been before) is well-protected against the seasonally more-common northwesterlies, but looked as if it might do in a southwesterly as well. But all day today, what were supposed to be southwesterlies manifested as southeasterlies or just plain easterlies, both of which have a fearsome reputation for shaking up the oft-crowded Echo Bay anchorage.

We found as likely a spot as we could to guard against that possibility, but the forecast has altered since both to reflect the actual wind direction (they are grudgingly allowing that it might blow from the south, after all) and a lower magnitude. Right now, it's dead calm out. But we got a good set on the anchor and a six to one scope out all the same.

Those southerlies should help whisk us north to Vancouver tomorrow if all goes well.

Quickly Now

Thought I'd post a quick update here as we drift along San Juan Channel, fading in and out of cell service... we finally left Port Townsend! And we're in the San Juans... uneventfully. Still heading north, though not too swiftly from the sound of things overhead here.

More to follow, if we park someplace that T-mobile actually services later this evening.