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kayak

Day 1
The first day was a long day of travelling. My odessey involved flights from St. Louis to O'Hare to Seattle to Juneau, but that was only the mundane part of the journey. I met with Jim in the airport so that we could take our final flight on an air taxi service. We met our pilot and loaded into a piper with our gear and cases upon cases of beer. I had never been on a small plane like this one before, and it was an exciting flight. We had to make one stop at a salmon cannery to drop off the beer before landing in Gustavus.

Landing at the cannery. There was no airstrip, we simply landed the plane on the road out front.

Gustavus is an extremely small community that used to be a fishing town but now exists almost exclusively to support the tourism and reasearch in Glacier Bay. There are no roads to Gustavus, so like almost everywhere else in southeast Alaska, everything moves in and out by boat or air. Our outfitter met us at the airport and brought us back to his backyard to get us situated with all the gear that we would need. We were left to spend the next few hours packing all our gear into drybags and food into bear canisters. It was also a considerable challenge to devise a strategy for fitting everything into two boats.

Packing gear into the kayaks. With increased experience and decreased rations, this process got easier and easier over the course of the week.

With our gear prepared and crises involving stove fuel supplies resolved, everything was loaded on the van and we rushed to Glacier Bay National Park to catch the final park orientation of the day. If we did not attend this final orientation at 9pm, we would be unable to
depart the following morning. We rushed to check in with the ranger station in Bartlett Cove.
Bartlett Cove is the developed corner of the park. It is the only spot in the immense park with permanent structures, and is home to Glacier Bay Lodge, the ranger headquarters, the ferry dock and nothing else.
Jim and I checked in with the rangers. They wanted to know our planned itenerary and had several safety questions: what color were our boats, tents, and raingear (for identification purposes), and were we carrying any safety equipment like a marine radio or safety beacon (we weren't). We were then treated to the orientation, a video guide to park policies. Most of the guide involved bear safety, which is an extremely important topic in that part of the world, but we were also introduced to the joys of the Inter-tidal zone. In the interest of low-impact camping, bear safety, and many other factors, we were asked to contstrain most of our activity to land between high and low tide. This included cooking, eating, fires, and personal business. They wanted all evidence of us to be washed away by the Pacific.

Sunset from Glacier Bay Lodge was very late and lasted a long time at this lattitude.

By the time we were settled with the rangers, the evening was growing late. I was exhausted to the point that I struggled to put sentences together. A full day of travelling made longer by the time change (Alaska is a hour later than the west coast), had wiped me out. Dinner at the lodge sounded better than taking out the camping stove, so we dined in style before retiring to the campground for a few hours sleep before catching our ride early the next morning.

Day 2
Bartlett Cove is the only developed corner of the park, but this is because of its proximity to Gustavus. Bartlett Cove is 50-60 miles from the tidewater glaciers which are the highlight of the bay. To keep our expedition to a reasonable distance, Jim and I needed a lift further into the bay. There is a daily sightseeing tour that leaves Bartlett cove every morning, which was going to serve as our shuttlebus. We were on the dock before 7am loading our boats onto the high-speed catamaran, the Baranof Wind (actually, we were stuck with the local ferry. The Baranof Wind was under repair.)
Once underway, I start to get nervous. The park service representative is droning on about the park's history while one of the boat's crew pull the kayakers aside. Here is the situation: we tell the crew when we want to be picked up and at which of the five sites. If we are not at the site and ready to go when the boat arrives, we are out of luck. "Don't worry if you are late, we will be back in 24 hours." If you don't show up on the second day, then they will start considering that there may be an issue.
Jim and I opted for the first stop, Mt. Wright. As the boat starts toward the beach, the park service lady starts into a spiel about how the best way to see the park is by kayak, but there is no support once you are dropped. The closest road is thirty or forty miles, there are no trails .... Jim and I were celebraties on board for a few minutes.

They ran the ship aground and in a flurry of activity, the whole crew dropped our boats and all our gear on the beach. Before we knew what was happening, the tour was motoring off toward the horizon with retirees waving from the top deck.
The weather was beautiful for us; it was in the seventies and sunny. It was still only ten in the morning at this point and we set to packing the boats and get going on the real trip. I heard a noise coming from the ocean behind us as we packed. I regognized the noise -- it was the breath of a whale. Sure enough, a humpback surfaced not 50 yards off the beach, showing its fluke as it dived again, fishing in the channel. We were not yet in the water, and the wildlife was already putting on a show for us. We watched this enormous creature feed for a long period of time until it disappeared around the next point. Then we were ready to go.

Jim and me ready to push off for the first leg of our expedition.

We pushed off and started north, but when we turned the first corner, the whale was still blocking the narrow channel between the shore and a nearby island. As tempting as it is, people are not supposed to approach whales. Besides, the thirty-foot creatures can capsize a kayak pretty easily. So we have to wait, but not too long. The whale takes a few breaths and then disappears deep again. When it reappears, it is now behind us and remarkably close! We enjoy the encounter, but play it straight and paddle away when given the chance.
Now I can't speak for Jim, but I was a little concerned about how well I was going to handle all of the paddling I was going to face. I was in good shape and had some experience in whitewater kayaks, but had never paddled a flatwater kayak -- certainly not for hours a day for a week. This first stretch was a learning experience, and I found my stroke before too long. I was confident that I was going to be able to get this done.
We stopped for lunch before crossing the mouth of Adams Inlet. This was the longest stretch of open water we would paddle. In general, we kept close to the shore for safety and because seeing the shoreline move allows you to see some progress. This leg required that we cut across the middle of the bay. I was still struggling to keep things moving in a straight line, but made it.

Our first tide break. When we stopped, the boats were still in the water. I was standing about halfway to the water when I took the picture.

On the other side of Adams Inlet, we had to stop and wait hours for the tide. The tide tables were to be a big part of our lives during this trip. Glacier bay is a long and narrow bay, which makes for extreme tides, and substantial currents associted with those tides. We crossed the open water at high tide when there was little current, but there was going to be a significant current opposting our northward progress for the next four hours, so we waited. After our schedule of the previous two days, I think the break was welcome.
Sure, we welcomed the rest at first, but got a bit anxious after a few hours. We ran out of patience, and packed up to paddle a few more miles before stopping for dinner. Our red beans and rice used up the last of our fresh water, and there was none to be found on the beach we had chosen, so first priority after dinner was finding a stream. Finding fresh water was not supposed to be a problem, but we had a difficult time this evening. We scoured the shore and the map for quite a while before finding a stream of very clear water flowing out of the woods. By this time, the sun was setting and we were lucky to find a wonderful campsite on sealers Island. (At this point, we did not yet appreciate how difficult it would be to find good campsites.)

Jim took this shot of me as we set off in search of our first campsite

Day 3
When we awoke on day three, the day was again sunny and bright, the tide was out and coming in (perfect for heading north again), and the water was calm. We broke camp, explored iceburgs that had beached on our island in low tide, and set of into the ice that was beginning to appear in the bay.

The goal of the day was to reach and explore McBride Glacier, which was a very unique tidewater glacier. (A tidewater glaicer is a glacier that flows directly into a body of water, and consequently breaks apart and floats away at the interface) What makes McBride unique is that it receded into its own lagoon seperated from the rest of the bay by a narrow passage. When the tide is flowing in, all of the ice from the glacier is trapped in this lagoon, but when the tide flows out, the current carries all of the floating ice through this narrow channel.
On the trip to McBride Glacier, Jim and I met Bud for the first time. Bud was our mascot harbor seal for the rest of the trip. Likely an amalgum of dozens of harbor seals, Bud was extremely curious about us and could always be spotted a few yards away from our boats keeping his eye on us.
We arrived at the glacier just as the tide was beginning to flow out of the bay. I got distracted taking pictures of some birds on a berg, and when I looked up, Jim had taken off and was making a run at paddling through the narrow channel into the lagoon. We had been advised that paddling through this passage may not be a good idea. When the tide starts to flow out of the lagoon, all of the ice that had broken off the glacier tries to float through at once. The colliding, rolling iceburgs are unpredictable and will make short work of a kayak and occupant. Jim thought he saw a passage through, but that was quickly shut off by two iceburgs colliding right in front of him. He ultimately joined me on the beach.

We were unable to paddle through the entrance to the lagoon, but were still a significant distance from our destination for the afternoon. Our first plan was to hike the perimiter of the lagoon to an overlook, but it did not take much hiking to realize what a bad idea that was. We returned to our boats, unloaded them of all our gear, and carried them over the peninsula into the lagoon.

Paddling the distance proved much easier. The lagoon was teeming with wildlife, particularly harbor seals, who were very curious about our presence. We reached the overlook in no time, and climbed to the best vantage point for lunch.

After lunch, we returned to our kayaks and paddled closer to the glacier. As you can imagine, the water was significantly colder. We did not get very close, as this is again a very dangerous place for kayaks. When the glacier calves (breaks apart and falls into the water), giant waves crash against the side of the lagoon. McBride wasn't very active the day we saw her, but the thunderous cracking coming from the ice warned that closer insepction was probably still not a good idea.
Once we and our boats were back at the bay-side of the lagoon entrance, it was time for a rest. We were too proud to quit for the day, but the tide was not good to continue. I was ready to lay around for a while; I had not respected the sun's strength these first few days (remember our latitude), and exposure had me wiped out. We laid on our lifejackets for a few hours trying to throw stones to hit chunks of ice as they floated through the passage. It may not sound like much, but it was great fun.
The tide chart said it was time to go, but I wasn't convinced. Riggs Glacier was our destination for the evening. It was only a few miles north, but those miles were a chore.

Riggs Glacier is not a tidewater glacier (anymore). In front of the glacier is a long, low debris field, where we hauled out for the evening. It was not a very hospitable place. We erected a wind block to shelter us from the stiff, frigid wind that constant blew off the cold ice onto the warm water. The late dinner tasted wonderful that night. Mmmm, chilimac.
Finding somewhere to put the tent that night was very difficult. Everything was so low and rocky in the debris field, that it took me an eternity to find a nice grassy area several hundred yards from the rising tide. Once the boats were secured, and the food was stashed, I was out in no time. I didn't sleep through the night, though. At 2am, I woke up and rolled over, trying to get comfortable. Slosh! Jim must have been awake as well: "What the hell was that?" The bottom of our tent feels like a waterbed. I stick my hand outside and sure enough, we are sleeping in about three or four inches of seawater. The tide was much higher than we expected, and I am worried about our gear and boats, which were not as far from the bay as we were. So I take off into the midnight twilight, splashing through the water in my underwear. I find our gear all okay, but precariously close to the high tide line. Jim and I were able to move the tent uphill a bit. Happily, the new waterproofing on the bottom of the tent kept sleeping bags dry. We had to lay there for a while laughing at ourselves, letting the adrenanline leave our systems before falling asleep again. We promised not to let anyone know how stupid we were. oops.

Day 4
The morning was grey and cold, which was appropriate for the wasteland landscape. The water was glass-smooth and we shot up muir inlet with remarkable speed.

A good portion of the morning was occupied with the search for fresh water again. There was plenty of water flowiing from the mountains, but it was all full of glaial flour, granite ground up so fine by the ice that it takes the consistancy of wheat flour. The stuff was everywhere today, in our shoes, in our gear, and now in our water.

We were nearing the northernmost point of our journey, and the terrain around us was getting very extreme. The land here had been under the ice as recently as a few decades ago. There was no vegetation, and the evidence of the ice's destructive action was everywhere. The mountains had closed in on the bay, and now loomed over us as we paddled to Muir Glacier. Water is certainly the best route through this terrain.

We arrived at Muir Glacier, the ice flow that had filled Glacier Bay only a century earlier, now not even in the water. We had our lunch of fancy cheese and crackers while pearched on the smoothed mountianside, trying to stay out of the wind.
For the first time, it was time to backtrack. With the cold wind propelling us away from the glacier, we moved swiftly through the canyon. Even in this barren area, we saw plenty of wildlife. I identified loons by their distinctive calls. A group of white mountain goats were walking precariously on the clifs above us.

Jim and I began to get tired and started to think about stopping for the day. The problem was that there was almost nowhere to haul out the kayaks -- so there definately were no suitable campsites. Forced to move on, we eventually left Muir Inlet entirely. The map made clear that the same cliffs that stymied our search for camp in the Inlet would continue on the West side of the Bay. We paddled across the the east shore and set up camp just south of our camp from the pervious evening. Once again, it was a rush to set up camp and perpare dinner before sunset, as late as it was.

Having steep learning curves, we weren't playing with the tides that night. We were so smart. We hauled both the boats up the rocky slopes. With significant effort, we dragged them full of gear up on top of an enromous boulder. Our tent was set up on a mossy patch of a large rock outcropping. I slept well that night after my minestrone.

Day 5
Jim and I woke up to another overcast day, and went through the now usual routine of breaking camp and packing up. Gear was starting to fit in the kayaks much easier, thanks to a little bit of experience.
First task of the day was to cross the open water again and return to explore the western shore, which we were to explore on our way out of the bay. Everything was normal as we set out, but eventually, Jim had a tough time keeping up. I will admit that he paddled faster than I did the entire trip, but he was laboring hard this morning and not moving very fast. There weren't many hours of favorable tide that morning, so it wasn't long before we had to stop. Since we were stopping at low tide, we dragged the boats far up the shore. As we tried to drag Jim's up the slope, we noticed water trickling out the stern.

The back cargo compartment was full of water. Dragging the plastic boat up on that boulder the night before had scraped away the last bit of material on the well-worn keel. The dry bags didn't do very well, but the no gear was ruined. We only lost half a lunch. I happened to be carrying some epoxy and some duct tape, so fixing the boat itself was no problem. Yup, duct tape fixed everything. We kept a close eye on the patch for a little while, but didn't have another problem from that hole the rest of the trip.
Now that we were paddling out toward open water, tides that had been favorable now worked against us. The middle of the day was of little use to us, so we set everything out to dry on the beach and waited for the tide to turn with a bald eagle keepwing watch in a tree above our heads.
We ran out of patience eventually, and packed up again. We faught the tide for the short distance to Wachusett Inlet, where we would again turn with the water.

We were probably more likely to wrestle a salmon away from a grizzly than pull one from the bay

I was frustrated and needed a change of pace. Very little ground was going to be covered that day. We decided to take out the fishing gear.
We had been excited about the idea of fishing in Alaska and knew that it was a great time of year for catching pink salmon in the park. It was a bit illicit, however, since we had not applied for a fishing lisence. Of course, that was all academic, since niether Jim nor I knew much of anything about fishing for salmon. Still, we got everything together and cast out into the ocean for a few hours, dreaming of frying a fresh catch for dinner. In the end, we ate our backup mac-and-cheese.

Evening snuck up on us, wich is odd, since the sun takes hours and hours to set at this lattitude. After dinner, we had to rush to get the boats packed and launched because we had not yet found a suitable place to camp the night. After a little incidision, we settled for a grassy beach probably half a mile further up the inlet. With only the adventageously long twilight left, we made camp with haste and precision. All this in spite of a plague of mosquitos. Alaska is famous for its mosquitos, but this was our first real problem with them. It was a warm evening, but I went through my routine in full raingear with my hands pulled into my sleeves and the hood pulled down to a small circle ove my nose. We didn't linger much that night. We sealed ourselves in the tent.

Day 6
The sun baked us out of the tent in the morning. It was a beautiful day with clear skies that we had not seen in a few days. We crossed the inlet to a source of fresh water we could see coming from the mountains on the far side. The stream entered the bay on a nice rocky beach so we lingered for a while and treated ourselves to a hot breakfast. The powdered eggs were a wonderful treat.
We didn't make it much further up the inlet. We tried to find a good vantage point to see the glacier at the end, eventually scrambling to the top of a short ridge to get a look rather than paddle the distance.