Cape Ommaney Ed looked frail as he walked up to me after church. I knew better; this was one tough old bird. He had spent much of his life fishing in Alaskan waters, hauling monster halibut up from the deep and flinging them onto the deck of his boat . He had survived a plane crash, and his face still showed the scars. He and his wife Jane had survived the destruction of their fishing boat when it got caught in the surf on the outer coast. They both had bravely dove into the sea and swam out to where the Coast Guard chopper could pluck them out of the cold waters. Just this past winter he had survived two emergency surgeries in three days. "I hear you^Òre going around Cape Ommaney in your kayak," he said. "Hopefully," I replied "I think you^Òre crazy!" was his retort. Cape Ommaney is the southern-most tip of Baranof Island in Southeast Alaska. There the tides of Chatham Strait meet the roaring swells of the open sea. How wild can it get? Once upon a time, a lighthouse stood on the point of Cape Ommaney, until a winter storm with 40-foot rollers wiped it off the face of the earth! Ed and Jane had plenty of stories about bucking the waves and tidal currents at Cape Ommaney and they made sure that Sunday that I heard every one. For me it was as Yogi Berra had said, "Its deja vu all over again." Pt. Gardner on Kootznoowoo Island, Cape Edgecumbe on Kruzof Island. Points where the tides, wind and waves battled for supremacy, creating wild chaotic waters. Places where a paddler^Òs skill would be tested and more. Yet, as with the other trips, this was the price to pay to reach my destination, the outer coast of Baranof. Have you ever looked at a map and seen a place that beckoned you? A spot that seemed to call out adventure and grandeur. A place that, no matter the journey to get there, you just had to see . The outer coast of Baranof was such a place for me -- wild, remote and untamed. What called me most were long glacier-carved fjords that cut into the heart of Baranof Island. The dream of being surrounded by tall mountains, granite cliffs, lush forests and cascading waterfalls as I paddled summoned me like a vision quest. To add to the spirit of adventure for the trip, I would be paddling solo. Some would say this was dangerous, others foolhardy. Yet I am neither a fool nor do I thrive on danger. It is simply this: in solitude one can listen and search one^Òs soul to a deeper level. In the intense quiet of nature when the noise of the world is silenced and the ways of technology are left behind, only then do we discover what it means to be human. One other reason that I often travel solo is that, as a pastor, my job is people-intensive, helping people each day answer life^Òs deepest questions or to cope with the problems and sufferings of their world. Now, solo in a kayak, on the remote outer coast of Alaska, this would be my time to ask my own questions and seek the answers in the wind and waves. I would begin my trip from a remote fishing village called Port Alexander, one of the rainiest and windiest places on earth. Up to 300 hundred inches of rain fall here every year and the winter storms are merciless. The hearty folk who live there brave the waves and wind to fish the sea for their livelihood. The people of Port Alexander are an eclectic bunch, who like to refer to their town as P.A. and pronounce Cape Ommaney simply as "Omni." They live out their lives with a deep respect for the sea. They have no choice; in days past some have not returned, having met their Maker amid the wind and waves. The first problem was just getting to P.A. No ferry service exists and floatplanes would not carry hard-shell kayaks. Luckily Dave, a friend of mine, fishes here every summer and agreed to haul my kayak down on his fishing boat. Ironically, he chose the longer (inside) route to avoid going around Cape Ommaney! On a Monday morning, I flew in a DeHaviland Beaver float plane out of Sitka and headed for Port Alexander. The flight gave me an opportunity to see the outer coast. What I saw confirmed what I read on the maps. The coast line was ragged and torn. There would be few landing spots, except deep inside the bays. I would have to watch the weather very carefully, lest I get caught in a storm with no place to seek shelter. As we neared Port Alexander, the plane began to be tossed by the wind. A storm was approaching from the southwest. The pilot chose to fly through Larch Bay Pass to beat the storm. Just a few years ago a plane had crashed in this area when the pilot chose the wrong pass. Thankfully this pilot made the right choice and we landed safely. The pilot was in a hurry, since if he didn^Òt get out in time he might be stuck here for days. He unloaded both the passengers and baggage very quickly. My gear was literally thrown all over the dock. I gathered my gear up in a pile and headed out in search of my boat. My friend told me he would leave my boat with the local store keeper, a character named Bud. He was a character all right. He looked like he had walked straight out of a Robert Service poem about some crusty old gold miner who had not seen civilization in 20 years. Bud cussed like a sailor and drank like a fish. Despite his gruff ways, I discovered Bud loved kayakers. He immediately showed me his log book. In it were the writings of several sea kayakers who passed through and had been befriended by Bud. He lamented that someone had stolen his most treasured log book, the one Audrey Sullivan had signed. He wouldn^Òt tell me where my boat was, until he told me the story about meeting her and her trip around Baranof Island. Then made sure I wrote down my float plan in his book "for [my] safety." Eventually he showed me a storage building where my boat was and I carried it to my gear pile. I began loading my boat when suddenly I realized something was missing. My fuel bottles and my bear spray were gone! Then, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, I remembered. Due to the volatile nature of both, the float plane pilot had put them in a compartment in the floats rather than in the cockpit for safety reasons. Apparently a couple years ago a bear spray canister discharged inside a plane in flight! It was a miracle the pilot was able to land. My pilot had been in such a hurry to beat the storm that he had forgotten to unload them. Immediately I ran back to Bud^Òs store for help. He called the float plane company who radioed the pilot, but the pilot refused to turn around due to the storm. As frustrating as this was, I couldn^Òt blame him; the winds were picking up and the visibility was dropping. He would try to get back tomorrow, but gave me no guarantee. As I lamented my situation to Bud he said with a very serious look, "You weren^Òt going anywhere today, a &*^%#_at_ storm^Òs coming in." The look on his face told me that, if he had to, he would take a gun and shoot a hole in my boat before he would let me paddle around Cape Ommaney in this storm. I immediately took a liking to this guy, because in his own gruff way he was taking care of me. Bud gave me a place to stay and told me of the local one-room library where I could read until they turned off the generator and the lights went out. I knew that Bud was right but after all the months of planning I just had to paddle, so I jumped in my unladed kayak and headed out of the inlet for a romp amid the waves. The swells were big and rolling and they were fun! The only problem was staying out of the way of all the fishing boats cruising in to beat the storm. I love the energy of big ocean swells. I love how one second you are on top of the wave, seeing for miles and miles, then the next you drop deep down in the trough and the world disappears amid a wall of water. Despite all the fun, eventually the wind started to make things a bit nasty, so I headed back in. As I crawled into my sleeping bag that night, safe and dry from the wind and rain of the storm in Bud^Òs storage shack, I thought about this rough and barnacled character who offered me shelter from the storm. If ever there was a Good Samaritan, surely it was Bud. I awoke the next morning anxious to hear the sound of a plane. Thankfully the storm had passed, so there was hope. At last the plane came through the pass, landed and taxied to the dock. The first person to meet the plane was Bud, who made sure the pilot unloaded my stuff first! What a guy! I loaded my boat and finally took off . Unfortunately, I would not have the luxury of taking a few days to get used to a loaded boat. Cape Ommaney was just six miles away. My goal was to hit Cape Ommaney at slack tide, normally the safest time to hit a point. My fisherman friend Dave had warned me though that, for some unexplained reason, the current from P.A. to Ommaney always ran south on both flood and ebb tides. He also warned me that it ran fast. He was right! I found myself getting there quicker than I wanted, so I pulled out at a small rocky beach to kill time and have lunch. I was in for a treat. No sooner had I sat down to my usual peanut butter, jelly and pilot bread when two big killer whales swam by not 100 feet from shore! Judging from the tall dorsal fins my guess is they were two males. I am not sure where they were headed, but they were getting there fast. I only saw them surface twice more before they were out of sight. I got back in my kayak and started toward Ommaney. As the shore of Baranof began to turn toward the Point, I saw for the first time Wooden Island. A huge rock island rising out of the sea, Wooden Island is home to a large colony of puffins. They were everywhere, one of the largest concentrations I had ever seen! My guess is the churning tides pushed a lot of fish to the surface, offering the puffins a royal feast. Unfortunately, with Cape Ommaney coming up, I had to concentrate more on paddling than on bird watching. The seas were getting lumpy and swirls of current boiled the water. I began to wonder if there was such a thing as slack tide here! I was surprised when I first saw Ommaney. I expected to see cliffs or a mass of rock. Instead I saw a small point of low-lying rock reaching into the sea. In reality Cape Ommaney itself was only 10 feet wide. I, however, still had my hands full. As I rounded Ommaney, I faced the swells head on. They were coming from the west, left over from the storm. As the swells hit Ommaney they overwhelmed the current flowing from the east. The result was an overflow of water at the very point. Weird! It was like paddling up a wall of water or like hitting a big wave on a river! I reached up to plant my paddle near the top and pull myself over. This was one of those times when I was glad for all my white water kayaking experience. When I made it over the top, it was like looking out over a whole different world. Everything was in chaos! Waves danced and broke at odd angles and shapes. The waves were pyramid shaped and the swells rolled unabated onto the shore. This was the craziest sea I had ever seen and I had my hands full. Most of my paddle strokes were half stroke and half brace. A few times I rose up on a wave only to have it collapse under me. A couple of these landings were hard enough to jar my teeth! Despite the wild and unpredictable seas, I felt in control. Ages ago, when the Aleuts and other native Americans built the first kayaks out of skin, bone and wood, they were built for seas such as these -- wild and unforgiving. Now millenium later, in a kayak no longer made of wood and walrus skin but of plastic, yet still bearing a resemblance to those ancient craft, I rode confident upon this restless sea. For those of us who take to sea in our sea kayaks, these are the moments for which we live. Our skills pitted against the sea. Challenging enough to cause the adrenaline to flow, but not so chaotic that we fall into fear. All the years and miles of paddling honing our skills pay off in this moment, we have arrived! This was a true moment of sheer joy, a moment of feeling fully alive. I burst into song amid the waves, and the puffins didn^Òt complain that I can^Òt sing. I approached a group of islands called Eagle Rocks. I passed inside of them to get a break from the swells. Instead I found myself in the midst of the clapotis waves bouncing between the rocks. The wild seas suddenly became totally crazy, so I put on a burst of speed to get out of there! I was following an old whitewater kayak motto, "When in doubt, paddle hard!" A small group of sealions sat calmly on the rocks as I paddled by. "Stay there guys," I thought, "I don^Òt need your help." I had planned to land in Larch Bay, but as I approached I saw that plans would have to be changed . The shoreline was clogged with logs! Over the years these logs had escaped from log rafts being towed by the logging tugs. Sadly, they pile up on shoreline and are left to rot. It is a shameful waste of what were once magnificent trees. I paddled on to Little Puffin Bay and found a campsite near the head of the bay. I chose my campsites carefully, knowing that a storm could pin me in for days. If I was going to be stuck somewhere I wanted it to be a good spot. That evening after supper I felt totally drained. I guess I didn^Òt realize how hard I had paddled. I slept soundly. The next morning I woke to the sound of rain on my tent. Little did I realize that rain would be my constant companion for the rest of the trip. It would rain 11 out of the 13 days I was on this trip. Still the wind wasn^Òt bad and the tide was beginning to roll. Running with the tide would be a major factor on this trip. The flood tide in Southeast Alaska runs north and my plan was to ride with it. I knew that, thanks to Murphy^Òs Law, the wind would be against me no matter which way I paddled, so at least I could have the tide in my favor. I had been told there was a large sea lion colony somewhere on the outside of Baranof, but I had been given conflicting reports as to where. My nose gave me the first clue. Gag! Two miles away and I could smell them! Within one mile of the rock I began to hear them grunting and barking. I decided to give these rocks wide birth for safety sake. As I passed I saw the rocks were literally covered by sea lions. Hundreds of them! A biologists later told me an estimated 300 animals live on these rocks. Several big males were perched on the choice places surrounded by their harems. Each grunted and barked at the other males saying, "Stay away from my ladies." Young males lay at the waters edge, dreaming of the day when they could lord over their own harem. Despite paddling over a hundred yards off, the colony quickly noticed me and this set off a flurry of activity. The big bulls grunted more loudly and the females lifted themselves up by their front flippers and swayed back and forth for a better look. Several females and young males slid into the water and made a beeline for me. "What have I gotten myself into?" I thought. I felt like a slow ship with a fast torpedo coming at me! Suddenly I was surrounded by sea lions! They popped their heads out of the water, barking and grunting, their open mouths showed an impressive set of canine teeth. They were not aggressive, just a little too curious for my comfort. As long as they stayed curious at a distance I felt I would be OK. Then I saw one of the big males hit the water! It was his turn to check me out, or maybe these were his ladies surrounding me and he was coming out to settle things! I grabbed my deck knife and held on to it while I paddled. This could get serious. How do you tell a big bull that you are not interested in his ladies? "Bubba" looked like a submarine plowing through the water. He stopped about 20 feet from me and popped his head up to get a better look. Then he paced me for a hundred yards or so, then headed back to the rock. I guess he saw that I wasn^Òt a threat, so he needed to get back to his harem before one of the other males grabbed a few of his ladies. I breathed a big sigh of relief and paddled on. As I had noted from the plane, the coast line offered few spots to pull out of to seek shelter if the weather turned bad. However, seeing it on a map or from the window of a plane was different. Now I was experiencing the vulnerability of my situation. Somewhere between luck, skill and the grace of the sea I paddled on. I camped that night in Branch Bay, remembering how 30 years before man named Bill Branch first taught me how to canoe and led me down my first white water rapids. Too bad he forgot to tell me about the waterfall! The next day I would paddle past a couple of bays that I wished I had the time to explore. The down side to a trip like this is that you have to pick and choose what you explore and what you paddle past. So on I paddled and I camped that night in Sandy Bay. On those dark winter nights when I sat with my hot cup of tea looking over my maps, it was Whale Bay that fascinated me the most. A wide entrance to the bay led to two long arms -- Great Arm and Small Arm (I wish the map makers had had a little better imagination in naming the arms.) Now as I rounded Tikhaia Island, Whale Bay began to unfold before my eyes. After all the planning and dreaming I was here! Though it had rained most of the day, the sun found a hole in the clouds and the bay seemed to shine. A solitary fishing boat chugged out of the bay heading north. I doubt if the captain even saw me. As anxious as I was to paddle deep into Whale Bay, I chose to remain at the mouth of the bay. Due to the steep walls of the fjord, the map didn^Òt show much promise for finding a camping spot for at least another dozen miles and I had already paddled over a dozen miles into a not-so-gentle breeze. Also I was near the end of the flood tide and didn^Òt want to paddle against the ebb tide. I camped in a little bay called Rakovoi. The Russian fur traders were some of the first non-Natives to explore this island, so Russian names dominate the map. I awoke early the next morning, anxious to paddle up the Great Arm of Whale Bay. I listened and heard neither wind nor rain on the tent, a good sign! I poked my head out of the tent to check things out and discovered I was in the midst of a world of white. The fog was so thick I could barely see 50 feet. It engulfed everything, the land, the water, even my white kayak! Disappointed I crawled back into my tent. I wasn^Òt going anywhere for a while. What is the use of paddling up Whale Bay if you can^Òt see Whale Bay? The fog lay like a blanket upon the water all day. Bored with reading after lunch I decided to paddle around a bit. With no visibility I would have to rely on my map and compass, lest I spend the rest of my life paddling in circles trying to find my tent! Basically I hugged the shore, like Linus in the comic Peanuts hugs his security blanket. At one point I noticed something white emerging out of the fog. It was an anchored sail boat. As I paddled up to it, I saw a man standing on deck. His back was to me, so he had no idea I was there. "Hello," I said in a quiet voice. He slowly raised his head, looking around with a puzzled look on his face as if he was afraid that he was hearing voices. Finally he saw me and just stared for a couple seconds. "What are you doing here?" he eventually found his voice to ask. We talked for a while about where we had come from and where we were going and about how thick the fog was and how long we thought it would last. Boaters talk basically. It was strange, I thought as I paddled back to camp, that it didn^Òt matter what kind of boat we were in, the fog had captured us both. By the time I got back to camp the rain had settled in and was still falling as I crawled into my tent for the night. The next morning I awoke to sunshine! The sun had found a big enough hole in the clouds to burn off the fog! I took advantage of the sun, while waiting for flood tide, to dry out some of my clothes. I laid them out on the rocks and they literally steamed . Now the day I had long waited for -- to paddle the fjord! It was more beautiful than I had ever imagined. The fjord narrowed quickly and soon I was surrounded by steep mountains rising over 3000 feet up out of the water. Waterfalls big and small tumbled and crashed into the water. Ancient spruce, hemlock and cedar clung to the mountainside. Seals drifted near by, peering at me with their deep dark eyes curious but shy of this strange creature that floated upon the water. A group of harbor porpoise swam in with the tide following their fish prey. Atop a giant spruce a bald eagle sat silently, watching the water intently. Then slowly it spread its wings and launched into the air, intent on a spot in the water in front of me. It swooped down, gaining speed, then tipped up the front of its wings, extended its sharp talons and skillfully plucked a salmon from the water. With a few powerful flaps of its wings, it climbed back into the sky, bearing its prize back to a tree-top perch for a feast set for a king. After 12 miles I neared the head of the bay. The tidal flats gave way to a large grass flat. Small islands of spruce dotted the sea of grass. Eventually a wall of trees formed, signaling the beginning of the forest that climbed up the valley. A cascading stream poured down between the mountains, meeting the sea as a winding creek. A large group of Bonaparte^Òs gulls floated at the mouth of the creek, squawking loudly as they fished. I paddled up the creek as far as I could, then lined the boat till I reached one of the spruce islands. I sang loudly the entire way. Though the salmon had yet to spawn, bears had already begun to come off the mountain to check the streams. They like to snooze in the tall grasses by these streams. This grass was chest high in places and there was a great risk of stumbling onto a bear. I prefer to let sleeping bears lie! I arrived at high tide, which meant I had 12 hours to set up camp, eat, sleep and launch again. I wanted to leave at high tide to avoid the large tidal flat the map showed. Also I had enjoyed paddling in with the tide and I wanted to paddle out with it. The next morning was cloudy. The mountaintops I had viewed yesterday were now shrouded in a blanket of clouds. As beautiful as these mountains were yesterday in the sun, today they held a wonderful grandeur softly adorned in their robes of white. As I paddled I saw more eagles fishing, sometimes snagging their prey and at other times coming up with nothing but wet talons. After a dozen or so miles, I paddled out of Great Arm and headed for Small Arm. A couple of possible campsites didn^Òt pan out. I headed up Small Arm hoping I wasn^Òt committing myself to seven more miles of paddling, especially now that I was against the tide. Thankfully about three miles up the arm I found a small flat gravel bar beside a creek that tumbled off the mountain. Admittedly a gravel bar doesn^Òt sound like much of a place to camp, but this one was composed mostly of flat oval-shaped rocks. It would prove to be comfortable enough for a good night^Òs sleep. The map indicated a small tidal flat giving me more flexibility in launching tomorrow morning. Though small with not much shoreline to explore I enjoyed sharing this campsite with a roaring water fall and an inquisitive mink. Common to this area, mink like to check out the high tide line to see what has washed up for dinner. Ms. Mink and I shared dinner on the beach that evening. I dined on rice and beef stew, while she dined on some shellfish and crab. All we needed was a bottle of wine. I took things slow the next morning. I only had a few miles to go to the head of the Bay, so I waited until the high tide was rolling in before setting out. I ate lunch at the head of the Small Arm where, once again, the tidal flats merged into grasslands. When the tide eased up somewhat, I paddled out of Small Arm and started looking for a campsite. The map indicated a stream pouring into a tiny bay. My view was blocked by a large boulder, but when I paddled around it I found a small grassy knoll with adequate room for a camp. Later that evening, as the tide went out, I realized that map underestimated the size of the tidal flat. It extended well beyond the boulder. This was going to be a fun carry tomorrow. The next morning I popped my head out of the tent and stared at the tidal flat. It stared back and smiled! This was going to be a long morning of hauling boat and gear. It may sound funny, but one of my main worries on a trip like this is not so much the sea lions or the turbulent waters, but simply slipping on seaweed. The mud flats of Southeast Alaska are rich with shell life, many of which are sharp. Mainly it is the razor-sharp barnacles I worried about most. In addition to their ability to cut, the wound can become infected quickly, due to the organic matter embedded in the shell. Add to this a literal dose of salt water and the risk is real. Infected hands whose wounds would not heal would be no fun on a trip like this. In fact, I carry surgical scrub in my first aid kit to cleanse any cuts. I very carefully carried my boat and gear out to the rising tide line. Once on the water I headed out of Whale Bay and onto Necker Bay. The wind had picked up overnight and the seas were beginning to churn. As I rounded North Cape the sea became tempestuous, tossing me around till I cleared the Cape and paddled into the Guibert Islets. From there I entered Necker Bay, but I had to wonder what would be in store for me in a couple of days when I headed back out. Wonderfully, Necker Bay proved to be just as beautiful as Whale Bay, and was actually a more interesting place to paddle. My goal was Dorothy Cove, about six miles up the fjord. However the winds were beginning to pour off the mountains and it was tough going. I pulled into a small cove for a break and discovered a beautiful campsite with a freshwater stream and a wonderful view of the mountains. An old derelict fishing boat lay half out of the water, adding a touch of charm to the scenery. I decided this was where I would camp that night, but I wanted to see the head of the fjord first. An unnamed island sat near the head of the bay, so I decided to circle it. The backside revealed several narrow passages which abounded in marine life. The water was clear and I could see many sunflower sea stars, one of the largest in these waters, spread out below me. Solitary blood stars in their brilliant red slowly moved along the bottom in search of food. Clusters of sea urchins were everywhere, and various sizes and shapes of anemone were in full bloom. Crabs scurried about and jungles of kelp waved in the flowing tide. Too shallow for a power boat, this was truly a quiet place of wonder for those who chose to travel with but a paddle and a kayak. That evening I was entertained by a family of land otters frolicking in the water. What playful creatures and what fun to watch. Though occasionally they would spy hop to make sure I was no threat, they continued to feed, wrestle and play, enjoying life in their own way. A storm was coming in, which meant a stiff southeast wind. Though this would put the wind to my back, it also meant that all the wind, tidal current and swells were hitting Cape Aspid head on. On my way to Cape Aspid I passed through the Yamani Islets. I noticed several orange buoys piled up on shore, so I paddled over to investigate. A shack made of beach driftwood stood amid a collection of boat parts and old nets. A sign with faded letters said "Here is the home of a Troll." I stepped into the trolls^Ò hut and noted that either there had never been a roof or a storm had removed it. Perhaps when the troll returned he built a new roof. Cape Aspid was in a joyful state of pandemonium, with irregular waves everywhere! The tricky part was that the swells were big enough to surf me and toss me like a toy into these erratic waves. I stayed busy. Sometimes I was backpaddling to avoid being surfed and other times paddling forward with strong strokes to keep my boat under control. At one point I saw a small boat headed my way. I wasn^Òt sure if, in the chaos, they would see me, so I moved out of their way. The boat passed close enough that I recognized a friend, Rebecca. She and another fisheries worker were on their way to Necker Bay to do a salmon count. They were so focused on getting around the Cape in these wild seas that she told me later she never saw me. A scary thought. I spent the night in Jamboree Bay, quite spent. The morning revealed rain and higher winds. I had a gut level feeling the night before that this could be such a day. I was in a good position though. the fury of the wind and sea. Plus, the wind was to my back. I paddled through Walker Channel, then through the Rakof Islands. I made the difficult decision to pass by Crawfish Inlet. This inlet was on my original schedule, but I feared this storm might pin me down for a few days. Though I had 17 days worth of food packed for a 14 day trip, I felt I owed it to my wife to arrive as close to schedule as possible. (Since she was willing to endure my solo adventures the least I could do was to avoid being overdue.) The name Crawfish was somewhat of a mystery. There are no crawfish in Alaska, so what it is named for I haven^Òt a clue. The map indicated Windy Passage was ahead and I soon found out that this place was named quite correctly. The southeast wind screamed through this passage, churning the seas white. Between the wind and the following seas, I felt I was being flung out of a slingshot, a wet sling shot at that! Waves broke all around me and over me! With my hood up to keep the waves from crashing down my back of my neck, I had to rely on feeling the waves beginning to break. After a few near broaches, I got the feel of things and started to enjoy the experience. Still I knew I was nearing my limits, so I moved closer to shore, in case I had to run for shelter. I was glad to see Kliuchef Peninsula. This meant a bay of calmer water was ahead and better yet it was called Hot Springs Bay! I coasted into the bay and ahead of me was Goddard Hot Springs. The springs are named for a Dr. Goddard who believed the springs contained healing minerals. In the 1930^Òs he built a hospital here and would bring patients from Sitka to bathe in wooden tubs overflowing with the soothing hot waters. Today several small shelters house wooden tubs where the water is piped in. The water temperature is about 120 degrees, too hot for most, so a small pipe of cold water from a nearby pond allows one to adjust the temperature. Ah! After 10 days of wind, rain and frenzied seas, floating in a hot tub felt like a gift from above! Scientists may dispute the healing powers of these springs, but I am a believer. Unfortunately the ground is permeated with the springs, so it proved to be a soggy place to camp. I wound up sleeping in an abandoned shack where the old floor boards kept me dry. Instinct is an important sense when one is on a long kayak trip. The next day I had a decision to make, to paddle or not to paddle. After looking at the wind and the waves, my instincts, honed from years of seakayaking, said I should stay put. The conditions were just too dangerous and might push beyond my skill level. Actually the wind had died down to about 10mph and the seas were quite calm. What really honed my instincts was the fact that I was floating in the hot tub once again! Reluctantly, the next morning I packed up my gear and headed out. Soon I would be in familiar waters. I had often paddled down this far out of my home in Sitka. Yet the sea still was full of surprises. I had dropped into a steady rhythm, cruising along with the tide. I passed by Frost Reef and headed towards Redoubt Bay, wondering if the sockeye salmon had begun their run. "Whoop!" Out of nowhere a humpback whale breached 100 feet directly behind me! I nearly breached out of my kayak! That was close, too close for comfort! Now the whale was back underwater and I wasn^Òt sure where. I sat there waiting, hoping if he breached again it would be a safer distance away. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he surfaced for a breath a couple of hundred yards off, heading out to deeper water. Would a whale breach onto a kayak? I did not want to be the first to know or, for that matter, the last one either. Now I passed Povorotni Pt., one of my favorite play spots. I had often paddled out there after storms when the winds had died down yet the swells were still rolling. With many rocks and reefs, this area becomes a circus of waves and breakers. I loved to shoot between rocks, timing the waves that break amid them. One of my favorite tricks was to paddle on the seaward side of the bigger rocks and watch the big swells crash onto them . I loved this awesome experience of power. Paddling just beyond where these waves broke, I could feel the sheer energy of the sea being liberated. Out here I had honed my skills for such a trip as this, so it was fitting that the final hours of this trip would be spent here amid the rocks and waves that had taught me so much. I turned the corner of Cape Burunof and my home of Sitka came into view. Just past the Eckholm Rocks I saw a fleet of fishing boats trolling for salmon. This presented a unique problem. The fleet was fishing back and forth in long oval patterns. The problem was that I needed to cross their paths to reach Sitka. It was like having to cross a freeway on foot. Often these fisherman are working their lines off the back deck and not paying much attention to what was happening in front of them. So basically I had to sprint, and wait, then sprint and wait again and again. I kept looking for my friend Ed to let him know I had made it and I wasn^Òt as crazy as he thought, but unfortunately Ed wasn^Òt fishing that day. I passed Whale Island with its concrete bunkers, grim reminders of WWII when, after the Japanese invaded the Aleutians, it was feared that Sitka would be next. All through the war men peered out of these bunkers, searching the horizon for the enemies^Ò great ships of war. I had often sat on top of these bunkers on day trips out of Sitka, thankful that they now served as great lookout perches for whale watching, a peaceful purpose at last. As I paddled into Crescent Harbor I felt the satisfaction of having completed the journey. I had ventured forth on an odyssey and had returned. I experienced the joy of looking back at what I had accomplished. Yet I humbly knew that it was by the grace of the sea that I had passed through these waters. I also felt a degree of sadness for the journey was ended, no more rolling swells, no more chaotic capes, no more magical chance encounters with wildlife. Just the memories and the dreams of other odysseys to come. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. 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Thank you for the compliment on my writing. I am seriously considering putting these trip reports together as a book. Yet rather than writing a book that is about what I have done I want to write a book that focuses on 'why we paddle'. Why do we take an ancient craft, leave behind the machinery and technology of the modern world, and go to sea with only our physical skills, our mental abilities and our spirits. Also I want to focus on what I have learned about life, myself and the world while in a little boat in a great sea. I would appreciate any thoughts you folks would have on these two aproaches to the book...why do we paddle and what do we discover about ourselves. I have always felt that seakayaking is more than just a hedonistic hobby, but also an Odyessy of self discovery. I would love to paddle with Doug, together I think we could spin some great yarns. Bob *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
Rev. Bob said: <<<Thank you for the compliment on my writing. I am seriously considering putting these trip reports together as a book.<snip> I would love to paddle with Doug, together I think we could spin some great yarns. Bob>>> Yeah, and we could swear on a stack of bibles that every detail was true and that there were no exagerations -- though I know we've both shared our adventures on PW with validity. Well, there was that bear that tore thrugh your tent and started eating your leg; gosh, I almost started crying with dread until you told us a few lines later that you were just pulling our collective leg. Had ME going you bum!!! :-) As far as a book, I'd buy it. They can be difficult to bring to fruition though, short of self-publishing. My friend and paddling aquaintance, Doug Alderson, has had a hit-and-miss time with trying to get some of his manuscripts published. The trick might be to find a publisher who has recently realized the popularity of sea kayaking, but is bereft of any offerings. If you come along with something at the right time, it just could proove advantageous. I'd like to see a book that combines some action with the touchy-feely stuff, as long as it doesn't get too protracted. I love Chris Duff's writing for the most part, but it can get a bit thick at times and hard to not get bogged down. I'll be headed to Alaska one of these days. My father's ashes are in Ancorage after he died running to get a helicopter to drop him off on the maiden voyage of the Manhatten icebreaker. As he never made it to Alaska, mum sent his ashes there, so I'd like to combine a visit with a trip. And maybe get a yet-to-be future book of yours autographed. Doug *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
--- Doug Lloyd <dougl_at_islandnet.com> wrote: > I'd like to see a book that combines some action > with the touchy-feely > stuff, as long as it doesn't get too protracted. ************ I agree with Doug. I like the mix of action and introspection you have in the posts to PaddleWise. I would definitely buy a book like this. (My favorite section of the library - I've traveled all around the world in my armchair this way!). __________________________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? New DSL Internet Access from SBC & Yahoo! http://sbc.yahoo.com *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). You must assume the entire responsibility for reliance upon them. All postings copyright the author. Submissions: PaddleWise_at_PaddleWise.net Subscriptions: PaddleWise-request_at_PaddleWise.net Website: http://www.paddlewise.net/ ***************************************************************************
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