Alaska June 26, 2011

We have been blessed with almost no rain, and highs in the mid-60s since Ben and Clint arrived. We finished outside projects like windows and porch roof early in their stay just in case rain arrived. We then switched to inside projects like plumbing, bathroom shower pans, stairs, insulation, drywall (until we ran out), and some door hanging. The progress has been great but also given the guys plenty of time to do many other things, like fish, hike, and kayak. Last night I think they stayed up trying to see the northern lights (midnight to two AM for darkest sky). My guess is clouds obscured the view. I won’t know until they get up.

Ben and Clint leave and the grandsons arrive in two days. With the buildup and excitement in the grandsons I am hoping we don’t show them a letdown. Moose and bear have been hard to come by this year, and even the fishing in the river has been poor. The guys only caught a few small trout. A few nights ago as we sat by the river I heard a splash and quieted everyone. The sound was a mama moose walking in the water just upriver. Clint got to see her and her twins, but Ben was in taking a shower. By the time Ben got outside he only saw one of the calves a few seconds before it disappeared into the willows. He hopes yet to see a moose over four feet tall (probably four to five weeks old). We did see one bear at a great distance while hiking to Bartlett River. It was a large black bear about a quarter mile away on the other side of the river.

The kayaks have been popular, so much that a neighbor asked his brother to bring one with him when the brother drove to Alaska from Massachusetts last week. We had been sharing ours so he offered us the use of his in return. That led to the possibility of a threesome on a kayak safari. The guys looked at a map and talked to our neighbor (the one in the kayak rental business) and they decided on a trip to the Beardslee Islands (I think you can Google Earth it. Find the archipelago in southern Glacier Bay north of Gustavus). The trick is one has to cross a shallow rocky narrows near Glacier Bay NP headquarters within thirty minutes of high tide. Once through that narrows the door of return is closed for twelve hours (until the next high tide) unless one kayaks completely around the outer edge open-channel side of the largest island. That circular route was the trip the guys chose. I was in the lousy beginning stages of a cold but decided I was not going to miss this chance. We put the kayaks in the water about 7 o’clock Thursday morning, and were waiting for high tide in the shallows a half hour later. Once on the other side the water was sheltered and smooth as a mirror as we paddled north.

The hours slipped by exploring and crossing miles of open water between islands. We observed a half dozen porpoise playing off to the side. Then landed on a gravel beach on a small dot of island we nicknamed Bird Island (A week later I learned from a neighbor this island is out-of-bounds. We try to observe the rules but the island had no indication of being off-limits). Apparently the birds find this dot of land a secluded place safe from predators, and many showed only slight fear of man.

A cruise liner passed a few miles west (photo below), oblivious of our presence, going up-bay in the main channel on the other side of Strawberry Island. The contrast between the wilderness and a modern white ship several blocks long is stark.

We lunched on the gravel without disturbing any occupants and I thought I heard the ark ark of seals in the distance. Sound travels far on the water so we had no idea how far away they were. We detoured from the planned route and proceeded toward that sound and found a rookery, perhaps eighty seals in number. We are not suppose to approach wildlife so kept our distance so as not to disturb them. Eventually all took to the water and approached us. Again we saw little fear of man. They explored us and were all around us, one coming up right between our kayaks and treading water there for a half minute while big moist eyes observed us.

I count twenty in this telephoto picture, and there were many more around us.

Note the seal head just to the right of Ben's kayak.

When we did the hypotenuse across open water to our original route whales were blowing to the north of us near Strawberry Island. By the time the sound of their blow reached us the whales were usually about out of sight, meaning the sound was traveling several miles. A few times we heard the boom of a gun-like bang as a whale beached. The concussion was the slap as 35 tons did a flop on the water. We pulled into another beach for a break. On the map we were a little over half way. I was glad I had come but feeling the distance and had a muscle cramp in my left forearm.

In the expanses of open water one sees little travel progress. There is simply the steady rhythm of paddling and occasional chatter with fellows. This allows the mind to wander away from the new sights and sounds. I mused about how to show these amazing areas to my grandsons, but realized they are too young to kayak this distance in unforgiving waters, and the area is closed to motorized travel. So I shifted to dreaming about getting three more kayaks and doing the route as a father-daughter trip :-). The tourists who think they see Glacier Bay from a cruise ship deck are ignorant of the true richness one can experience when paddling silently through the back country.

As we came around the open channel end of the last island to head south the tide was still going out. This produced turbulent water with whirlpools that swirled and wanted to take control of our kayak’s direction. With a little exertion we made it through those fifty yards. Next time (if there is a next time) I plan to try to skirt that area or catch it at slack tide. As we turned south the breeze came directly at us, which made for slower progress. I had developed a rhythm of about one paddle per second (I would mentally count one-thousand-one per stroke). The guys one third my age soon outdistanced me with their 1.5 paddles per second, so I hugged the coast in case I got in trouble while they did straight line distances across more open water. Mesmerized by the whales and wild before them they did not realize I was not with them for nearly an hour. At one point they went out into the channel to attempt whale viewing up close. But the whales were having none of it, and surfaced well behind their first position. That gave me opportunity to get abreast of their kayaks again. Kelp was thick along the edge of the island and we occasionally had to navigate through it, which wasn’t bad if one kept the paddle from getting caught in the tangle. This portion of the trip was more boring (except for the whales) with hours of steady paddling into breeze. Finally, the last point before the lodge came into welcome (for me) sight. I could hug the coast of the cove (about five miles travel) or go with Ben and Clint across open water (about three miles). I decided to try to keep up with them and did so until about the last mile. In this stretch of open water we were abreast to small wind waves; a new kayak experience. At the point where the guys were outdistancing me I chose to head for the closest point on the destination shore to get in the semi-leeward area with less wave. Their youth and invincibility went direct for the harbor. I was grateful for the sight of the truck, which Ben already was driving down to the ramp. That night we pulled out a map with a mileage legend and Clint and I did independent calculations of the distance covered. Our best estimate is 23 miles by kayak. Even if we were off a mile or two that is a considerable distance for old muscles. Would I do it again? Yes, but at a slower pace…. And not tomorrow. I went to bed at 8:30 that evening.