I am alive. I almost wasn't. Twice.
A few things I learned, realized, or came to a better appreciation for:
When people told me I was crazy for going alone.
When something gets wet out there, it usually stays wet.
There have been two times in my life when my attention was supremely focused on what was happening: not crashing into the rocks and flipping my kayak and the other was being shot at.
It is extremely dark at night in Misty Fiords. Black.
I can cheat at solitaire (can't do that on a computer). Not that I did. But I could.
It is eerily quiet as well. Especially when the rain stops.
Pemmican Bars are the best!
I have a wonderful singing voice. Best in the cabin.
My dry suit.
Jared from Southeast Exposure and I loaded my Kayak onto his boat (named ERV) and headed for a dock on the east side of the island. 2 choppy, butt-slamming hours later we arrived at Winstanley Island. Jared was picking up two women kayakers who had stayed a few nights. They suggested I go to Manzanita Cove as it was a very beautiful place, better than the Punchbowl. They also mentioned that three guys were in the cabin that I was supposed to be staying in. Jared and the ladies headed back and I waited for the three guys to return from their kayaking.
A couple of hours later they returned, and after realizing that they had screwed up and didn't have the night booked, I asked them if they had a tent (no), or a tarp (no). Rather than let three guys sleep in the rain under a tree, I said they could stay in the cabin and I would sleep on the beach. But I wanted my $35 reservation fee. One guy ran in an got $40 and said keep the change. Good karma that I was going to be in need of the next few days to be sure.
I set camp and enjoyed a very relaxing night after spending a considerable amount of time trying to hang my food to keep it from bears. I'm glad no one was watching.
Early the next morning I broke camp and loaded the kayak for my trek to The Punchbowl. It starts getting light a little after 4 around these parts, so by 6 I was packed and heading out. My first mistake was not wearing my dry suit, the second mistake was in not raising my outriggers to make up for the increased weight of the fully loaded boat. So they sat low in the water and I didn't figure this out until I got to the Punchbowl. The day looked promising, a few sprinkles, and the water was calm and flooding so I could paddle with the current. I paddled out of the cove and into the Behm (sounds like beam) Canal and got about a mile north when the water started getting choppy and the wind was picking up. Where I was, the canal is anywhere from 4-10 miles wide and up to 1800 feet deep. As I learned, islands and fiord arms cause all kinds of interesting current patterns.
The water quickly became very choppy and I was not paddling as fast as I was expecting to (because my outriggers were too low). The rain and wind picked up and soon I was hugging the coast trying to find some smooth water. All of a sudden a large couple of waves hit and as I leaned left into a large trough, my right outrigger was up in the air and as it slammed back down, the next wave slammed into it and spun it sideways. Now, a sideways outrigger is not a good thing because it wanted to move me sideways and that was into rocks or a wall of rock. There wasn't any place to go for safety for the next mile. I can't reach my outriggers from a seated position except with the tip of my paddle. It took all my paddling strength to keep paddling backwards, while basically dragging the turned outrigger against the waves that were trying to drive me into the rocks. Once I was back from the rocks, I was able to knock the outrigger to point forward again. I continued forward, but the waves kept spinning the outrigger if I left it in the water, so I tried to time the waves so that the outrigger was out of the water. I was leaning to my left and paddling left, then a couple paddles right, trying to move farther away from the rocks.
After about a mile or so of this, I was able to pull out at Checats Cove and after taking a much needed potty break, I tried to tighten the outrigger but I was only able to turn the knob a very small amount. I had about 4 miles to go to Rudyerd Bay so I convinced myself that the outrigger would be okay. I would take it slow.
As I got farther north, the current got even rougher and I was again being pummeled by the waves and wind, and of course it was raining like crazy. I kept having to stop and move the outrigger then start up again, losing any speed I had gained. I was tiring out very quickly and it seemed like the bay was not getting much closer. I was almost swamped against rocks just below the water as the outrigger again turned sideways and caught the rock and the kayak tried to dip down to the right and flip. Being wedged into the cockpit was a good thing or I would have flipped out of the kayak. The strength of the outrigger prevented it from breaking up and the buoyancy kept it from submerging very far. I sprung back up and with a burst of adrenaline paddled like crazy away from the rocks.
I stopped paddling to correct the outrigger again and continued north as the current got a bit easier the farther north I got. If I had flipped the kayak or broke up the outriggers, I would not have survived. There was no where for me to go and the rocks would have pummeled me.
Thankfully, that did not happen.
I made it to the Punchbowl entrance and realized it was two miles into the end, so I stopped and rested, floating in the calmer waters. Once my heart stopped beating a million beats a minute, and I let go of the death grip on the paddle, I realized what an awe inspiring place I was entering. When my hands stopped shaking, I took a few pictures, then proceeded down to the end of the the cove. I was told by all I spoke with that there probably wouldn't be anyone there. However, that was not so.
When I got the the end I got out of the kayak and stood on solid ground, wondering at the firmness of it all. I also saw that the gucci camp spots were taken by three tents, so I got back in my kayak and proceeded to look for another place to camp. I found three spots close, but all three had fresh bear scat. I may be dumb, but not dumb enough to camp where bears poop. And by the way, I'm not talking little black bear poop. These were grizzlies who poop the size of small dogs! So I kayaked almost all the way around the cove, and finding no suitable place to camp, I decided I would camp close to whoever was already there. I didn't have much choice, and they weren't there to object. I set up camp and hung my food and passed out.
When I awoke, I ate and heard noise from where the other campers had hung their food and stored their pots. I jumped up and looked over expecting a bear, but it was the campers who had come back from the lake up the trail. They were Forest Service folks trying to clear a land/tree/rock slide that had closed the trail. They don't use any powered tools in the Monument and were carrying a double-handled saw, large steel pikes and a stainless steel shotgun, along with other smaller tools. Very nice guys who had no problem with me being so close. Did I mention they had a shotgun? Slept very peacefully that night.
I decided to not spend so much time in Rudyerd Bay (based on the other kayaker's and Jared's advice) and headed over to Manzanita Cove one fine morning after rigging my right outrigger with string and a bungee to keep it from twisting (call me McGyver). Calm waters, no rain, decided I could do it without my dry suit. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Almost too dumb. I paddles two miles out and as I got to the canal, the weather changed to rain and wind. One thing I learned is that the weather changes in an instant here. I headed up north and for some reason I started getting wet around my pants, not too much, but something wasn't right. Of course there isn't any place to pull out, so I continue up the coast and finally pull under an overhanging tree to wait out the heavy rain and wind. I mean heavy rain. Oodles of water.
Seeing that it didn't appear to be letting up much, I ventured out again until I found a place to pull out and eat lunch. I was a little wet, but not too bad, so after lunch I headed back out and started across the Behm. Where I was going was about 6 miles in a NW direction, fighting a bit of wind and incessant rain. My skeg wouldn't drop so I had to fight the boat from trying to turn its stern into the wind (the skeg is a fixed rudder that helps prevent this). Apparently I got sand stuck in the groove it fits into when I pulled out for lunch.
There wasn't a soul around. I was alone and heading across this body of water in the rain, choppy waves and wind. This was my time. This was mine to do, alone, without any assistance or expectation of help. It is hard to explain, but this was the most alone I have ever felt in my life. I stopped in the middle of the canal and floated for a bit, letting the rain wash over me.
When the feeling of creeping wet began to make its presence known, I realized that something wasn't right and I was getting wet somehow. This inspired me to proceed apace to my destination. I paddled with a renewed intensity towards Manzanita Island and the cove directly behind it. I made it across the canal after a bit, fighting the wind and getting wetter. I rounded the island and approached the cove, feeling water in my boots. Water was running down my pants, into my boots. I was cold and wet and my gloves were soaked and my fingers were getting extremely cold. Did I mention my dry suit was tucked away nice and dry?
I looked at the map and found the place where the river dumps into the bay as I needed water and thought I could get water and camp near the source. I couldn't find anyplace to camp, as it was either too rocky, too sheer a beach or not enough room for the high tide. I kayaked all over the bay looking for a place, but nothing looked good. I was getting very cold and tired and was completely soaked from the waist down. When I started to shiver and my teeth were chattering, I knew I had to find somewhere fast and get dry or I was going to get hypothermia. And it was going to be dark soon.
I looked around and saw a spot I hadn't been to yet and said to myself that this would have to work. I couldn't wait any longer. I was getting tired, and just wanted to rest in my kayak for a minute. But I knew I couldn't do that. So i paddled over and as I got closer, I saw a sand bar and thought that I couldn't go any further that way and now what do I do? But then I saw that the sand bar didn't completely cross where I wanted to go, so I kept going. As I got closer I noticed something that looked man-made, then I remembered that the other kayakers said that there was a lean-to somewhere on the island. My spirit soared as I got closer and saw that it indeed was a three sided lean-to that was dry. I rammed up on the beach and dragged my kayak up the beach with what was left of my strength and got it above the tide line. My boots were sloshing from the water inside as I grabbed the bags containing my dry clothes and dry boots. I stripped down and dried off, then pulled on thermal underwear, pants, shirt, dry socks and boots, coats, thermal hat and gloves. I wanted to crawl into my sleeping bag but couldn't decide if that was the right thing to do. I knew I couldn't go to sleep if I was getting hypothermia. But I couldn't think straight, and I was so cold still. Why wasn't I warming up? I started walking back and forth, talking to myself, stomping my feet, clapping my hands. All the while just wanting to lie down in my sleeping bag. I wanted to get my camp stove out to light it and use the heat but I couldn't remember what bag it was in.
Finally, I started to get warm as I kept moving around. I opened all the bags and found the stove and made some warmish coffee to drink. Didn't really care what it tasted like, just wanted something warm inside me. Love that JetBoil! It heats up water in a couple of minutes flat.
I got warmer and warmer and remembered I should eat and oh yeah, I have to tie up the bags afterwards. Warm oatmeal later was to die for! I survived another bout of stupidity. I decided to spend a couple of days here and learn from my mistakes.
The next day I put on my dry suit and hung all of my wet stuff up in a pathetic attempt at drying them out. I headed off to where I thought the river was and got halfway across the cove before I realized I was really out of it last night because the river was not where I thought it was (in relation to my camp). It was actually just around the corner, although I still had to kayak to it. Once there, I kayaked close to where the river spilled out, then pulled the kayak up far enough so the flooding tide didn't get it while I was getting water. I had to walk through 2-3 foot grass, then down a short embankment to be far enough in to get fresh water and not a seawater/fresh water mix. As I was bent over pumping water from my filter into a bottle (20 pumps per 20 ounces) I realized that this is when the voice-over of the movie says: "and this is where he made the mistake of getting water at a place where the bear trails end, and the noise of the river drowns out his sounds. He bends over, then raises up and startles the bear." Fade to black.
Let me tell you, I was singing, yelling, banging a bear bell, all the while trying to pump water and not slip on the moss covered rocks. I'm glad no one was watching this either. Pucker factor of 100, I made great haste to get 2 gallons of oh so fresh water and got the heck out of there as fast as I could. Once I got back in the kayak and out on the water, I relaxed and had a pleasant kayak around this most gorgeous bay. In the rain, off and on, but I didn't care, I had my dry suit on. I was dry. Dry. Not wet. Warm. Not cold.
Time to head back to Winstanley Island with a stop at New Eddystone Rock. This rock is, as wikipedia relates: is a pillar of basalt. Sometime during the last 5 million years, the basalt came from fractures in the floor of Behm Canal. When in its molten state, the basalt was very liquid, so that it spread out over a large area, like pancake batter on a griddle. These flows cooled from both the top and the bottom forming the hexagonal columns which are visible on several of the islands surrounding New Eddystone rock. After the basalt flows covered the floor of Behm Canal, another glacial advance scoured away much of the flow, leaving behind New Eddystone Rock and some of the islands to the northeast.
This is a very cool place. I headed out to it arriving at low tide so that I could get out and walk around. At high tide there is maybe a tent size piece of real estate to walk on. The north side of the island was very rough seas, so I headed around to the south side to very calm waters and went ashore. After walking about, I headed south to Winstanley Island.
I saw a couple of Forest Service Kayak Rangers by the island and chatted with them for a bit, then headed around to the cove. I pulled in and talked with a lady whose family was staying at the cabin for the night. They thought they had the cabin the following night (here we go again). I told her that I had it for the next three nights and asked her if she had a tent. She said she did and that they would move out tomorrow and use the tent. So I camped in my favorite spot, hung my food bags, and got to use the outhouse. Its amazing how wonderful an outhouse is after crapping in a hole I had to dig for the last few days. All relative I guess.
The next day arrived and the other kayakers decided they didn't want to stay any longer so two of them tried to kayak over to the ranger barge/camp on the north side of the island, but were driven back by the rain and rough seas. Luckily, the boat that dropped them off was coming by after dropping someone else off elsewhere, and they flagged her down and got her to haul them away. I now had the cove all to myself, and more importantly, the wood stove. Oh, and my vhf radio was dead. Somehow I turned it on when packing it back at Manzanita Cove and it drained the battery.
I moved my stuff into the cabin, and took a sponge bath because apparently, I reeked. Things were humming along nicely until the axe broke. It had been broken previously and someone had wired it back together and added some zip ties for extra strength. So, there I was, not much wood cut small enough to fit properly in the stove. I decided to use bigger pieces of wood and keep the stove hot enough to burn them and life would be good. And that was when I fractured my finger.
Kids, don't try this while camping. I put a large piece of wood in the stove and it was just thaaaaat much too long and barely thin enough (okay a size 10 boot kick helped). Well, it wasn't going to fit, so I had to pull it out. Only now it was stuck a bit, so I was pulling on it when my right hand slipped and I slammed my right index finger against the edge of the stove door (right at the point on my finger where I had injured it and had the joint fused). So, blood, pain, spots before my eyes, and still the wood was in the stove. I wrestled the wood out with my other hand before it caught on fire then tended to my finger. I'm glad no one was watching me. It was swelling I couldn't bend it even a tiny bit without intense pain. I got the first aid kit and stopped the blood, put bacitracin and a tegaderm film patch on it (thanks Nurse Jen!) to keep the dirt out. I couldn't splint it straight because my finger has a permanent curve to it (fused joint) so I taped it to my middle finger, popped some advil and sat on the porch admiring the gorgeous view. Until it started raining. For two days. But hey, I was dry, I was in Alaska, and I was ALIVE.
PUNCHBOWL/RUDYERD BAY
Entrance to Rudyerd Bay.
Workers are camped behind me and to the right.
Panoramic shot I cobbled together showing the Punchbowl from my tent.
Walls rise over 3500 feet.
Waterfalls.
River flowing into cove. Fresh, great tasting water!
Misty in Misty Fiords.
I loved the colors and designs on the rocks walls.
Misty Fiords' Water Fountains
MANZANITA COVE
View of Manzanita Island from Middle of Behm Canal
River flowing into cove.
Lean-to that saved my arse.
Canoe for people to use.
Behind lean-to.
View to left of lean-to. You can see my yellow food bag hanging right edge of picture.
View to right of lean-to.
Fresh water stream flowing out into cove.
Low tide.
High tide. Tides are around 14-15 feet here.
These are called soda springs. Fresh water bubbling up into cove.
View from up in lean-to.
Heading out from Manzanita Cove to New Eddystone Rock.
NEW EDDYSTONE ROCK
This eagle came flying out of a crack in the rock, screeching. About spoiled my dry suit.
Barely had time to point and shoot. Go ahead, you can say it: "Nice shootin' Tex"
View east, kayak is about 2/3 over, middle of picture.
View south.
View North.
WINSTANLEY COVE
Camp site on beach.
The cabin.
View from cabin towards the loo.
Color of my water.
Low tide.
Looking east.
It slides on the wooden rails whenever they need to dig another pit.
A little red tide one morning.
Sushi.
View from tent. Sticks measure high tide.
Another view from tent.
View southwest.
HERE AND THERE
Having lunch on the way to crossing the Behm and going to Manzanita Cove.
Only about a billion of these everywhere.
Inside of tent while it pours outside.
Jared leaving.
Sitting in the middle of the Behm Canal. The only sound I hear is the huge waterfall flowing off the mountain to the east.
Loaded on ERV.
Tied down outrigger.
These seals were everywhere, but they had their pups with them so I couldn't get anywhere close to them.
Bottom of uprooted tree trunk.
Behm.
Waiting out the rain.
So there it is. I spent days in solitude, up at 4 am, asleep by 11 pm, asking many questions and pondering the answers percolating up. I am still feeling it and still sorting it out. This has been an emotional, and physically and mentally challenging part of my journey. I am a better person for it.
I carried you all with me this trip.
Especially Keely, my first love, your gentleness kept me grounded. John, your inner peace kept me calm. Pam, your inner strength kept me strong when I needed it most. Francis, your wisdom allowed me to see. Jennifer, your grace kept my spirit soaring. Deb, your moxie and can do attitude kept me going. Jamie and Corey, your love kept me alive.
Now, I have a mountain to climb. Back to Sitka to prepare and use what I have learned.
Peace to you all my friends.
