[Paddlewise] West Chichigof-Yakobi Island Wilderness Trip Report (Long) Pt. 1

West Chichigof-Yakobi Island Wilderness to Glacier Bay Trip Report

By Rob Gibbert

Part One: Dry Pass to Cross Sound

It was 1030PM a couple of nights before my departure to Sitka and the phone 
rang.  Bob was on the line, calling from Port Alexander at the south tip of 
Baranof Island. He was radiant with joy having made the passage from Craig, on 
the southwest coast of Prince of Wales Island, with our friend Scott. Their 
daunting 15 nautical mile crossing from Kuiu Island to Baranof was successful and 
I set aside my worries of connecting with them in Sitka, stumbled over the 
gear piled on my floor and went to bed.

Bob has paddled the Inside Passage and paddled links along the entire outer 
coast of South East Alaska. His last link is the stretch of coastline from Dry 
Pass on the exposed shores of Chichigof Island, around Yakobi, up Cross Sound 
and into Glacier Bay. I was able to make the last link and would meet my wife 
in Glacier Bay for a weeklong paddle there.

The DeHaviland Beaver steered a bumpy course along the coast and into a pass 
of the mountainous island. The NOAA weather forecasts of small craft 
advisories and gale warnings for the afternoon, through tomorrow were coming into play. 
Out of the clouds and along the peaks where the goats roam the plane rocked 
and tottered the course to the pass. The sea conditions looked fine, as we 
swung low, splashing down to a rough beach for kayak assembly and launch. A brown 
bear poked his head from the bush and fled as the DeHaviland's radial engine 
sends out a ferocious hum.

We dressed for paddling, and then assembled the Feathercrafts as a light rain 
had begun to fall. The Khatsalano has only one place for a bear canister 
loaded with food: forward of the foot braces. As we launched I knew it would be a 
space eater and the feet would sleep through the trip, but I was back in 
Alaska and didn't care. The wind picked up to a steady 15 knots from the Southeast, 
blowing slightly offshore. We stayed in close and letting the islets and 
points take the wind. 

Outside of Little Bay, where the wind rakes down the mountain passes 
uninterrupted, I fought the Khatsalano's tendency to weathercock. With a 15 pound bear 
can forward of the feet, I knew it would weigh the bow down and exacerbate 
the weathercocking, as today's breeze would come from stern quarter. There is no 
rudder on my boat, only a small skeg I glued onto the hull. Paddle, edge, 
sweep, stern rudder. A whale's spout in the distance. I paddled a bit ahead of 
Bob and Scott and 2 more whales came in from the side. These were Gray Whales, 
dorsal-less and mottled the color of cliffs through the mists.

The seas produced a bit of chop but the winds flattened the swells down to an 
easy size less than 6 feet. Around the corner at the edge of Bertha Bay a 
green forest service shelter stood over a smoking pool of sulphurous 104-degree 
water. A simple landing in a pocket beach north of the shelter and an hour 
later we were soaking in the pool. After only 4 miles I didn't feel worthy but it 
was delicious all the same.

We delayed our morning departure for a few hours as NOAA predicted the winds 
would diminish from 25-30 knots to a steady 15 knots, again from the 
southeast, slightly offshore. The swells were bigger, cresting at 11 feet. The boomers 
were positively erupting and spray sent seaward. A turquoise coil around a 
black knot at the base, curling streams of milky sea foam sent to the heavens.

We moved north, past the Porcupine islands and the tricky waters around Urey 
rocks. As the mouth of Lisianski Strait and a mile of densely packed reefs 
opened up to the Pacific we had a choice: run out to sea for a mile or so, or 
dodge more boomers and standing waves at the mouth of the strait. With the winds 
still unstable and blowing a bit offshore we opted for the boomers. Tucked 
inside a guardian reef I noticed a small current holding the incoming swells up. 
Bob came in from the sea holding diagonally on the wave face, his hair and 
beard the color of spray. Several feet of water stood over his head and several fe
et waited below. I was too unstable to snap a photo, though I wanted to so 
badly. Scott came in on a similar giant, but I resumed my fight with the hiss 
and shove of clapotis until we were inside, heading north again and back out 
into the Pacific. Our strategy is simple, use the coastline for protection and do 
not risk a rising wind blowing partially offshore. Here it worked very well 
with only a couple of places with studied pathfinding.

Cape Cross holds a small race between an offshore island and the cape. The 
swells were southerly and fired us through the pass, as a child would skim 
stones off a pond. I hide behind a rock and turn to shoot photos as my friends bore 
through. The swells and explosions off cliff and reef are dramatic, but then 
the cape holds them apart from us, as we turn northeasterly around the bend in 
the island. To lunch was a mile paddle inland to Deer Harbor and a mile back 
out. Coming out I nearly get hammered by a large breaking swell but escaped.

At the edge of the cove, where it meets the sea, we sneak through a pass 
riding a swell from behind, prepared to meet the same refracted swell in front. 
Bob goes down and is pulled out by the wave. Scott and I haul him back in, and 
as I'm the only guy with his tow rig on I ask Scott to stabilize Bob while he 
pumps out. I clip on to both and tow them to calmer seas. After a few minutes 
we collect the yard sale from the water and find all but one of Bob's rubber 
boots. It's sneakers over Gore-Tex socks from here on out for poor ol' Bob.

A *minor surgical procedure* completed the week before left me a bit out of 
shape for the paddle. After 15 miles I'm looking for exit signs and within 
another mile or two we agree to land on a beach laid cleanly with logs giving it 
the look of an amphitheater. Alas, there are three tent spots and a glorious 
view of the mountains of Yakobi. A short stroll to the point we see two brown 
bears feeding in the cove next to ours, literally 75 yards away. They catch our 
sounds and sight and bolt in the forest above.

Yakobi Island offers us long inlets or coves to duck from weather or land 
without surf. One can look for drinking water without taking a beating. Yet the 
silvered trees speared into the rocks or sand high above the tidal marks tell a 
different story. We find water on an inlet with two fine crescent beaches set 
back to back. The inshore paddling became calmer due to southwesterly swell 
and the greater protection behind us from Cape Cross. The mists lifted and the 
Fairweather range painted bronze by morning light. In the far distance, we 
could see the mountains begin with the shore breaks and rise to 15,000 feet in 
the space of a few miles.  Beyond the entrance to Cross Sound, high cliffed 
fjords jut out into the Pacific. Beyond Cross Sound we could see Glaciers dropping 
to beach level. Another trip, another time, this one is still before us.

With the swells reduced to 4-5 feet and the winds to zero we play right along 
the coastline, in and out of the reefs. The occasional boomer and clapotis 
merge and grow terrifically in front of us. The swell collides with cliff or 
rock and bounces into the swell booming over submerged rocks, Kaboosh! For the 
first time in a couple days we see fishing boats along the edge of waves. We 
drop our pace seemingly in unison as Yakobi Rock slides into view. We know it is 
the landmark heralding Cape Bingham and the end of the west coast and the 
start of our cruise into Icy Strait. I don't believe we want it to go by so 
quickly. Yet, Cape Bingham was calm enough to eat a Snickers bar with my paddle on 
my lap, so perhaps it was time to move on. Icy Strait is wicked water when the 
wind blows.
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