Part 3: Icy Strait And On Through Glacier Bay We left Point Carolus an hour into the flood. The current really scoots into the bay at the point and noticed it funneled us quite briskly as we crossed. A pod of Stellar Sea Lions cavorted off our beams and the occasional Sea Otter ducked under the surface. A pair of Horned Puffins whistled overhead, circling us, then disappearing. As we had seen a cruise ship enter the bay at this time the morning before we anxiously scanned the horizon. Nothing. We continued directly at the far shore a distance of 5 miles. The current carried us quickly and Bob shouted to us we were cruising at 6.3 knots. Still no ship. The sun grew stronger and only a hint of fog could be seen to the western part of Icy Strait. Only the swirls and boils of current lines disturbed the otherwise glassy calm of Glacier Bay. Up bay some distance we could see the Sitakady Narrows, a wide channel between the Beardslee Island group and the west side of Glacier Bay. Max flood was predicted at over 6 knots in the narrows, yeehaw. I scan the horizon over my stern and see a distant ship barreling out of the rising mist. At a bit less than half the distance across I ask Bob and Scott if they want to sprint or make Plan B. Sprinting was really our best and only option as the currents would have carried us well into the narrows by the time we returned to the west shore. We planted our blades quickly and firmly. I undid the neck buttons on my cag to keep cool and aimed straight across. I quickly pulled out ahead, though stopping on occasion to wait for the others. Scott pulled up to request we stick together a bit more closely, which is always the wise approach to crossing areas with large ships. From the bridge of a cruise ship we would look like ducks from a 30-story office window. The ship is getting larger. The approach of the Statendam was getting a bit unnerving. We were fairly certain it would travel fairly close to point Gustavus on the eastern shore, following the deeper water and then turn in a northwesterly direction up bay. A mile off the east shore and 5 hard sprinting minutes later we were rewarded with a magnificent view of the beam turning up bay. Bob disassembled his Feathercraft K1 at the boat ramp in Bartlett Cove, while Scott and I set up tents at the campground. Bob took the taxi into Gustavus to connect with his flight back to Seattle. We were proud of Bob for achieving his last coastal link on southeast Alaska's outside coast and inside passage from Georgia Strait to Ketchikan. Finally, after much needed showers and beers I was suitable for inspection by my wife, Gabrielle, whom I met in the lobby at the park lodge. Scott agreed to accompany us at least for the first day then he would opt to solo the east arm. We left Bartlett Cove an hour into the flood and rounded the west side of the Beardslee's into Sitakady narrows. We arrived at the entrance to the narrows an hour before a predicted max of 5.5 knots. We flew past the shoreline and entered into the Beardslee islands to continuous columns of whale spouts. At least 4 whales were feeding in the area and we paddled leisurely up into the chain of islands. The main flood current in the outer Beardslee's flows in from the north of Strawberry Island and will fill the bays and coves of the island chain then in a south and southeasterly direction. A simple scan of the NOAA chart's deep-water areas provides a glimpse of where it will come from. Though we have a flood coming into the bay, paddling from the south will be in opposition to it. Alas, after 17 miles we land at a beautiful cove with a full frontal view of the Fairweather range and Humpback whales feeding at our doorstep. When choosing a campsite in Glacier Bay, we try to find a take out with deep water adjacent to land as the tidal range is typically 20 feet and will make for long portages in shallow areas. This is not always easy, though, as the geological process of uplifting is creating more shoreline and mass to the islands in Glacier Bay all the time. Uplifting is due to the retreat of the ice flows, the land is no longer under the enormous pressure from the ice and rock and is rising as much as a few inches per year. The forested shoreline has very young trees uniformly throughout the Beardslee group. Off we go, after ebb slack to ride a small current into the bays upper regions. Whales abound and the sun shines continuously. We burn quickly and soon sunscreen is covering hands, face, necks and arms. I find that my Chillcheater thermal T-shirt is even too warm, for the temps that are in the high seventies and low eighties. We begin to sweat in the coming heatwave. We idle onshore in the long evening hours photographing the whales that swim so very close to us in the coves of the islands we camp on. On many occasions the whales are no more than 20 yards from us. In the days before the summer solstice the sun does not set until 1030pm. As we progress up into Muir Inlet fewer whales break the surface. A Mountain Goat licks salt from the rocks at shoreline and flees at our approach. Later we pause at a cliffside glacial cascade to fill our water bags. We see the glaciers that are at least close to tidal areas. The Casement Glacier flows down to a valley fronting the sea but a forest has grown around its former outlet. It probably has not seen saltwater for many, many decades. The wind blows in opposition to us, erasing any small boost from the current and soaking our arms with spray. We stop to chat with the ranger patrol boat that is looking for an abandoned tent on shore that was flattened. I did not ask her why it was flattened because I was suspicious that a flattened tent would be the work of bears and the abandonment the work of scared and fleeing humans. Earlier in the month a team of National Geographic photographers were camped in the area and returned to camp to find their tents and equipment destroyed by Brown Bears. The park now discourages day tripping from your camp. We continue along our way. Our arms are bronzing and all is needed is a pitchfork to tell you what kind of tan it is. It is a long slog to the McBride Glacier and when we arrive we set up camp in a deepwater cove well to the south. The shoreline around the glacier's outlet has sedimented all but a swiftwater channel a hundred yards wide with class II+ waters. The sediment has built up a long, flat, tidal mudland on the edges. The glacier grooves down in a steep plunge to seawater and calves enormous chunks of black and blue ice. A berg the size of 3 elephants jams up the outlet stream and water is now jetting around it in a torrent. I do not want to be in front of it if it is released. Our deepwater cove is a mistake to camp in. There is a freshwater pond behind it and the source of mosquito swarms of biblical proportions. Mercifully the wind blows and they cannot eddy out behind our moving bodies. The bergs left onshore provide a welcome source of facial coolant in the warm evening sunlight. At night, rocks clatter down the face of the hill behind our tent. I do not know what made them do this. At 230 in the morning the sky is glowing red with dawn already. I could read a newspaper in the available light. In my tent I can read the instructions on my bear spray's label. I try to sleep because we will leave later in the morning and start our paddle for home. *************************************************************************** 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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