[Paddlewise] Into Narnia (long post)

For your reading or deleting pleasure

Bob Carter



Into Narnia

Maurelle Island Wilderness

 Prince of Wales Island

Alaska



            I felt in my bones that this day was too good to be true. Soft
gentle fog and a windless morning greeted me. The morning's paddle spent upon
peaceful seas. Now as if triggered by the pathos of cruel fate the long
forgotten wind awakens from its slumber and flexes its muscle upon the sea. I
watch as the glassy seas around me lose their calm reflection and slowly morph
into chaos. Waves obeying their great master the wind begins to rise up out of
the sea and march forth like a possessed army. The wind drives cat paws upon
the sea and flings them at me to test my heart and soul. Why did the wind have
to awaken now when I am half way through the longest open crossing of the
trip? Ah such is life in a small boat upon a big sea.

            Still I have almost reached my dream, the Maurelle Islands
Wilderness. Located six miles off the storm sieged coast of Prince Of Wales
Island the Maurelle Islands have called to me like the Sirens unto Odysseus.
Often when I have glanced at a map of Southeast Alaska my eyes have been drawn
inexplicably to this cluster of remote islands. Thrusting out into the Gulf Of
Alaska the Maurelles endure the winter wrath of the untamed Pacific storms.
Dozen of shrubby islets and tree covered islands and bare naked rocks stand
sentinel onto the sea. Something about their remoteness and tenacity calls out
to me. Something in their potential to surprise and spell bound has drawn me
here. Now if I can just make it.

            Not twenty minutes ago I left St.Phillip Island and set out upon
this five mile open crossing. I left in perfect conditions knowing full well
that Alaskan waters can lure the inexperienced and unprepared away from the
safe footing of land and into the peril of the capricious sea. Now I battle
unpredictable nature of the sea. I tuck my body forward and concentrate on my
stroke. The better the technique the less effort. Still there will be no
putting the paddle down till I am in the wind shadow of  the Maurelle some
three miles away.

            The wind picks up and begins to howl. I have my work cut out for
me. The wind churns the water on the horizon black foretelling more wind to
come. Tis the price we must sometimes pay to reach our dreams.

            "You were warned" says the Wind

            " Yes I know"

            Alas the day I was supposed to leave the morning sea was a kingdom
of wind and rain. A small but powerful low pressure system had rolled in, a
testimony that this land is ruled not by dreams but by the wind and waves. I
sat and watched and relunctantly rewrote my schedule hoping that tomorrow
would bring a better day. Thankfully it did.

            For two days I enjoyed favorable light winds and the sun playing
peek a boo among the clouds. I wove a serpentine path through the islands
watching birds and whale live their lives upon the sea. My muscles adjusted to
the gear and food laden boat. Old tendons complained then fell into acceptance
that I wasn't turning around.

            I paddle with some sadness. Martin my son was supposed to join me
for this trip before heading off to college. Unfortunately he was feeling
"rode hard and put away wet" from his summer job with the U.S. Forest Service
and he was beginning to come down with a cold. Unfortunately he just wasn't up
to the trip.

            Yet all sadness of his not being here is quickly being blown away
by this wind. As tired and sick as he was I don't think he could have handled
these conditions. Discretion is indeed the better part of valor.

            The wind flies dead in from the West and I wonder what conditions
will be like out in the Maurelles. Here I am in their shadow as they take the
blunt of the swells from the vast Pacific. I relish the power of the ocean but
I am ever mindful of my fragile nature in so small a boat upon the vast sea.

            A raven passes me as if he found a tunnel in the wind. Such ease
of flight while I labor against the wind. He croaks loudly as he passed over
my head. I wonder what he is trying to say to me. Actually the ravens have
been talking a lot to me on this trip. A raven perched in a tree over my head
and called and squawked as I packed and launched from Craig. Also each morning
I have been awakened by a raven's raucous voice in the wee hours.

            What is he saying?

            "You're such a fool to challenge the sea alone in your little
boat. Look at the great ships this sea has pulled down to her depths. Who are
you to be here now?"

            Or

            "Friend in the waves below come and see my world through my eyes.
Let me open your eyes each day to the wonders of the sea and let us both dance
upon the wind"

            Alas only the Raven knows.

            The waves build and roll, each conspiring to knock me backward and
away from these enchanted Islands. Their persistence only strengthens my
resolve. I will fulfill my dreams to paddle among those enchanted isles. Still
I am a long way from any solid land so the thought of turning back remains a
wise option.

            I look ahead to the shores of Esquibel and Anguilla Islands the
largest Islands in the Maurelles. Somewhere between them Launch Pass angles in
and becomes the gateway into the islands. Between the waves bouncing my boat
around and an equally bouncing compass needle I have only a vague idea where
the Pass opens.

            I study the shore to make sure I am getting closer. I notice a few
details I had not only moments ago. A jagged rock, a knarled group of trees, a
fishing buoy perched on a log. These growing details are an old trick I use to
tell if I am making progress.   If details begin to emerge then I am making
progress. As the details increase so does the wind. Like the white teeth of a
shark, white caps roll past making me feel like a helpless fish being
swallowed by so great a predator. I dig in a little harder. I have a lot left
but then again so does the wind.

            I study the shore looking for the Pass. Then I notice a group of
trees sitting in front of another. That must be the Pass angling in. I also
spot calm water resting along the shore. I aim first for this wind block to
gather my strength and rest a bit. I glide into the wind block and my muscles
sigh in unison. I lean back and my lungs grab a full breath.  I reach for my
water bottle drink as if I have just crossed a long hot desert. Then a
wonderful euphoria flows through me. I am here. Here where my dreams have
paddled long before me. Where my hopes have ventured. Where my spirit has
wandered while work and time has held my body away. The Maurelle Island
Wilderness.

            I slowly become aware that I am being watched. I look to my right
and into the peering eyes of a sea otter. He stands in the sea, his powerful
tail levitating his body above the surface. Slowly he settles back in and
rolls over on his back and moves gracefully into Launch Pass. I follow
admiring his grace and power. The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis come to
mind. Like Lucy stumbling through the wardrobe closet into Narnia, I am
entering into a magical land. Here I am miles off shore out upon the vast sea
and find myself going through an intimate narrow passage filled with
murellets, seals, otter and kelp. Wow speaking of kelp, the inlet is filled
with vast tangles of Macrocystis Kelp. I am glad I am in a kayak and not a
power boat worrying about my prop. Eagles perch in the trees overhead and a
raven squawks and the trees sway in the wind.

            Slowly the pass widens and the mystical world of the Maurelles
begins to unfold before my eyes. Like diamond thrown before the sun a myriad
of craggy rocks, bushy islets and tree topped islands spread out into the sea.
Each rocky shore bears the scars of birth and death amid the sea. Craggy rocks
which have long withstood the onslaught of the wind and waves will in time
lose the battle and dissolve into the sea.  Barnacles cling mightily to the
rocks almost daring the sea to try and remove them. So small against the sea
yet so tenacious

            Yet in this time between mighty beginnings and subtle ends
grasses, alder and spruce and cedar have gained a foot hold and flourish even
amid the weather's wrath.

            The trees of the closer islands stand out deep green against the
blue sky and sparkling sea. Distant islands rise up out of the mid day haze.
So much to see and so much to explore. I glance down at my map and try to name
the distant Islands. Wood, the Twins, Hendida, Sonora. Names that invite the
adventurous at heart. I have five days, is it enough?

            A large island lies at the end of the Pass. Judging by its shape
on the map the name is fitting; Turtle.

            Hopefully I can find shelter on this Island. It is approximately
in the center of the Maurelles and a perfect jumping off place to explore
their wonders and mysteries. I head for a gap between islands and get a quick
lesson in paddling the Maurelles. There will be few straight paths out here.
The Macrocyctis Kelp lays scattered in thick blankets in the more narrow
confines. I weave my path around the larger tangles and push across the
smaller patches. Not an easy task as the floating leaves of the kelp grab at
the hull of my kayak. I feel like I am in an old B horror movie where innocent
looking vines sudden wrap themselves around its victims and slowly pull them
down into the earth.

            While clearing one rather sticky path I hear a strange clack,
clack ahead. I look to see the sea otter off to my right laying on his back
and pounding a shell on a rock that rests on his stomach. Dinner ready in a
minute!

            Mr. Tumnus. The name appears in my head and I laugh. For those who
have read the chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis, Mr. Tumnus is a faun, who is
the first of the magical creatures that Lucy meets when she first stumbles
into the magical land of Narnia. Eventually he will become her friend showing
her the mysteries of Narnia.

            Sure enough I look beyond him to see a stone and sand beach
strewed with old logs and various kelp lines created by the tides. I paddle
over to explore. Like an unexpected gift the site begin to unveil its gifts.
The deep cove will be good for landing and departing in low tide.  The stones
smoothed by the waves bare only a few boat eating barnacles. Drift wood for
the evening fires lays every where. I step up on a layer of storm tossed logs
and at the tree line I discover piles of stones heaped up by the winter
storms. I envision the powerful waves that tossed and piled these stones like
a child piling up sand. Entering the forest I discover a remarkable flat clear
piece of real estate nestled in the trees. I know immediately this is where I
will call home for the next several days. I walk down to my boat and begin to
unload. I look back out at Mr. Tumnus and thank him for guiding me to this
camp site. He waves back, I swear.



            After dinner I sit watching the world of the Maurelles pass by.
Mr. Tumnus continues to fish gliding back and forth with his various feasts. A
small humpback whale cruises through in hurry to get somewhere. He heads to
the pass I took to get here and I wonder if the kelp will let him through. I
do not see him return so I presume he found a way. Another Sea Otter joins Mr.
Tumnus, a female with a pup curled up on her stomach.

She rolls out from under the pup and dives deep her tail flipping about the
water as she goes vertical. The poor pup screams again and again. Living his
life carried along on her belly he panics as she leaves to probe the sea bed
for food. Mom rises from the depths and the pup quickly scrambles to her side
and waddles up onto her belly. He lets out a couple more whines then calms as
mom shares her food. Over and over this scene plays out. Eventually she pulls
the well fed pup onto her belly and sails off somewhere to a kelp bed they
call home.

            Taking advantage of the masses of drift wood I build a warm
dancing fire. As I stare into the dancing coals somewhere out upon the water a
Loon calls. Its mysterious and wonderful voice touches my soul. The Loons
voice upon the sea brings enchantment to an already mystical world.

            I settle into my new home and dream of the magic tomorrow will
bring.

            Native legend says that the Raven calls forth the dawn. This
morning as I am awaken by the call of the raven I sense that it is I for whom
the raven calls.

            "Rise sleeper morning has broken, the day has begun. Abandon the
adventures of your sleeping dreams and live them out upon the wild sea."

            Cloudy skies greet me. Radio says tomorrow it will blow 25 so I
must make the most of this day since tomorrow I may get stuck in camp.

            Mr. Tumnus greets me out in the cove smacking a shell on a rock on
his belly. Clack, clack, clack and breakfast served!

            Whoosh!

            Behind him a young humpback sounds and quickly disappears below
the water. I do not see him again but my adrenaline begins to pump through my
veins. This is truly a special place.

            I weave through kelp and islets. My muscles protest yesterdays
wind and this morning's coolness. Rounding the tip of Turtle Island I once
again get a good look at the world of the Maurelles. My eyes are drawn beyond
the islands to the great sea beyond. Immense and powerful the waters of the
Gulf of Alaska brood wild and unpredictable. Boats large and small are easy
prey out here.

            Jeff, a friend who fishes out here on a 50 foot seine boat told me
a story of the sea going from glass calm to five foot angry swells in just a
matter of minutes and how he fought to find safe anchorage while his young
crew lost their cookies.

            I feel a humbling fear. I must weigh all decisions with caution, I
must temper enthusiasm. A friend who flew small planes once told me there are
old pilots and there are bold pilots but there are no old bold pilots. Yes I
love adventure, and I have gained skills by pushing myself to the limit. Yet
the sea could care less if I make a mistake, if I push myself too far.
Excitement must be balanced with judgment. Adventure tempered by common sense.
Time will tell if I become an old kayaker.

            Right now my toughest decision is where to go first! Like a kid on
Christmas morning I can't decide which present to open first!



            I head West toward Lambda Island for no other reason then it sits
alone.   As I approach I see more and more Sea Otters swimming in and out of
the kelp tangles. I watch as mothers grab their cute little ones as I paddle
by and watch me intently seeing if I mean well or harm to their babies.

            "Cute". I laugh at my absurd description of Otter pups. In reality
these little guys are tough as nails. My gosh look where they are raised. Out
amid the play ground of the wild storms of the sea. In the midst of the wind
and waves of the capricious Pacific ocean. They are born and live in water so
cold it would zap my strength in a matter of minutes. With my hundreds of
dollars worth of camping gear I would be lucky to survive the night out hear.
"Cute"? How about tough, resilient, the fittest of the fittest!

            Rugged storm lashed rocks rise out of the sea before me. Lambda
rocks. A place so wild and forsaken that only the gulls, cormorants and
barnacles can call it home. I pull in behind to take a break from the wind and
swells. Relentless the current tries to shove me back out into the swells.

            I pull around to test the seas. The outside waters play by
different rules. Even the smallest of waves seems to hold more power and
might. As I round Lambda I am exposed to the face of miles upon miles of the
sea. The currents waves and swells boils together like a witches brew. Throw
in an evil concoction of clapotis waves and I am tossed to and fro upon the
sea. My boat has an uncertain twitchy feel underneath me. Years ago when I
lived in Sitka I trained and played in these conditions. However in recent
years I have paddle the more protected waters of the Inside Passage.  I have
lost part of my edge on seas such as these. Over the next few days I must
regain this edge if I am to fully enjoy this trip. I concentrate and paddle
more aggressively. I force my hips to loosen up to flow with the waves rather
than fight them. I focus on my balance and watch everything happening around
me. I watch for the rouge wave that would catch me unawares. I keep a close
look out for colliding waves that would fling me air borne. I notice the
Otters frolic here as easily as they do in calm coves. In my own soul I slowly
sense joy rising above fear, skill replacing nerves.



            I point my bow towards the Twins. Once away from Lambda the seas
cease their battle with the rocks begin to calm. As explosion of white catches
my eye. Off to the West I watch as a Humpback Whale rises up out of the sea
and crashes gloriously back down. Why do you leap from your waters oh great
leviathan why do you seek the sky? An internal itch or just to see the land
where long ago your ancestors walked. For joy or for no other reason than just
to leap?

            I enter a long narrow passage between the Twins. I ease up as I
enter and escape the grasp of the wind and the waves. Whomp! A small boomer
crashes just in front of me! A strong remind to stay alert out here in midst
of this wild country.

            I paddle along this narrow passage which seems to gently embrace
me after the open sea had tossed me about. I zig and zag amid the kelp. As I
paddle by one clump I notice a community of snails living upon the leaves. I
also spot a number of small crabs scurrying about the stems and leaves. Small
fish hide amid the tangles. A whole world lives and dies in each labyrinth of
kelp.

            Movement! A blob of bodies' splash into the sea! Seals! I had
interrupted their noon siesta. Arrugh!  I hate doing that! I try to have the
least impact upon these creatures who struggle for survival out here.  Still
despite my best intent I become the bad guy. Now dozens of deep dark eyes
stare at me as I paddle by. A glance over my shoulder produces a flurry of "oh
no he's looking at me"spashes. Oh well.

            Emerging from between the Twins I set my course for Wood Island a
couple miles away.  I close in on some Marbled Murellets bobbing on the water.
I love these birds because they have been my constant companion on many a
kayak sojourn.

Beyond them I spot another group of birds which at first I think are more
Murrelets yet the bodies are too fat and the bills too thick. Rhinoceros
Auklets! Since Rhinos tend to live out on the outer Islands they are a rare
treat to see. I paddle past a floating flock of a couple dozen. They watch me
nervously as don't suppose they have seen many kayakers.

            Three heavily treed islands form the Wood Islands. I choose the
South passage. Between the swells rushing in and the knarls of kelp the
passage proves to be an adventure in its own right. A raven squawks as I pass
between the jagged Islands. "This is wild country, my country. I live wild and
free upon the wind. You may venture here when the weather is fair but you have
no place out here when the winter storms rage and the winds howl in their
glory"

            I look upon on the rocks and see huge logs tossed up by storms
like a child tossing a stick. To the raven I say, "This is a wild land and
your strength and determination to live out here impresses me. And you are
right the season is short when I may venture here and winter will see me safe
only if I am far away from this rugged land"

            Emerging from between the islands the swells waves and wind once
again

grasp my kayak and spirit. Slowly I am feeling more comfortable more confident
amid the chaos. Tide rips kick about as I move on out to Epsilon Island. Small
and craggy Epsilon stands bare to the sea. No tree or shrub has been able to
take hold. I presume that the winter swells throw too much salt water on the
rock to allow plants to survive. Covered in Cormorants, Gulls and a lone Eagle
perch on the rock to peer into the sea looking for their next scalely meal.

            The raven flies over my head and sets out upon the sea. My eyes
follow his flight and far out beyond I see Timbered Island. Rising high out of
the rouge sea, this West most Island in the Maurelles is a tempting target.
Yet four miles of open wild sea lie between me and its rocky shore. The raven
cries out "follow me to adventure" and flies on undaunted but I remain in
place. The wind is picking up and so is the sea. "not today, but perhaps
another. I am no fool upon the sea."



            I turn to retreat back through the North Passage of Woods Islands.
Only then do I notice the steep cliffs that compose the seaware face of Wood
Islands. The swells clash and crash against the cliffs knowing confidently
that one day they will pound these rocks into the sand of the sea. I time the
swells heading into the North Passage. The last thing I want to do is to get
surfed into a kelp bed. My nose buried into one of these green tangled masses
could result in being stuck for a long time.

            Emerging out of the Wood Islands I head Northeast towards Hendida
Island. Like the Wicked Witch of the West stirring her brew the wind continues
to stir up the seas. Now however I am feeling my old seas reflexes coming back
and I race across the waves toward my goal. A large seine boat heading
Northwest pounds through the waves. The surprised captain blows his horn and
shakes his head at me as if to say what are you doing out here? My heart and
spirit beat fast with its own answer.

               Waves christen white the shore and rocks of Hendida Islands.
Boomers break over a slew of submerged rocks as I cautiously approach. I cut
between the islands desperate for a pee break. I am surprised by a small sandy
peaceful looking beach filling a slight notch between two of the Islands. As I
land I notice clusters sea shells. Clam shells about an inch across are
colored in ripples of red and brown. I collect many to take home to my wife.
She tolerates my long times away from home provided I bring her interesting
shells. I enjoy this miniature paradise and pause for lunch. I wonder how this
little beach came to be out here in the middle of nowhere. Two ravens carry on
a loud conversation in the trees above me. Perhaps they argue over territory
or discuss where they should scavenge next. Either way each seems emphatic in
their point of view. Perhaps they are discussing who this strange intruder in
their territory.

            Onward! While heading out of the Hendidas once again I interrupt a
colony of basking seals. One particularly curious seal swims back and forth in
front of me. Finally he slowly sinks below the water as if inviting me to move
past and let him and his family be.

            Just past Hendidas I discover a large colony of Sea Otter fishing
amid a cluster of Bull Horn Kelp. They spot me and the fun begins. Many rise
up out of the kelp and give me a long hard look. Others cruise back and forth
never taking their eyes off me. A few pups start to swim toward me for a
better look and their moms quickly grab them and scurry them away. One or two
continues to eat not wanting to lose a meal to this strange intruder.

            Time to head home. I turn Southeast and quarter the wind and
waves. Several Humpback Whales spout here and there feeding on the riches of
krill below.

            As I near Turtle Island I run near the cliffs to enjoy the power
of the sea clashing with the rocks. The swells pound with an ancient rhythm
while the rocks echo the roar back out unto the sea. The symphony of life
played out upon the sea. In the midst of the chaos of swells rock and clapotis
waves I spot an Otter in a tiny cove at the base of the cliff.  He lays on his
back feasting on an urchin. His little cove is only twice his length in width
and depth. As swells pound around him and his body rises and falls quickly on
the waves he calmly delights in his food. So calm amid the chaos. Such
peacefulness amid mayhem.  Oh to be so at home upon the sea!



            My driftwood fire fanned by the wind from the sea glows hot. NOAA
radio calls for 25 plus knots winds arriving before the Raven calls forth the
dawn. The clouds gather heavy. Mr. Tumnus fishes in the cove. Do you know a
storm is coming? Do you care? Finally I am chased into my tent by the first
drops of rain. Stormy seas shall greet me tomorrow I know and the wind will
place havoc upon the sea.



            I slowly awake to no sound. No raven, no waves, no wind just
silence. I pop my head out of the tent and gaze upon a fog shrouded motionless
world. Where is the wind and waves where falls the rain? Why do they still
slumber? The morning's mystery lies as deep as the fog.

            I eat and pack for the day waiting for the winds but the fog lays
still and motionless. Somewhere in the distance loon calls to its mate. His
beautiful and mysterious voice makes the fog all the more enchanting. Mr.
Tumnus and family float quietly upon the still waters. The Raven call from a
distant island. "Come forth and celebrate this wonderful day. I rejoice in
this morning born with peaceful blessings. Slowly the fog dissipates as I roll
through the first couple miles. Islands emerge softly blue sky grows deeper.

            Today I head South along the jagged shores of Esquibel Island. I
pass Esquibel Inlet. An enticing narrow finger of water reaching deep into the
island. The falling tide however bars my entry. I will patiently wait another
day.

            I pass peaceful Otter and tangled kelp, bobbing Murellets and
Cormorants on my way to San Lorenzo Islands, the southern most in the
Maurelles. The fog disappears quickly and the world becomes bathed in rich
warm sunlight. My pace is slow as I keep stopping to lean back and allow the
sunlight to embrace me.

            Eventually on this timeless day I cruise into a passage named Hole
In The Wall. It has long served as a shelter from the storm for the local
fishing fleet. Sure enough about half way down see four small boats anchored
up in a small notch in the shore line. A fisherman waves to me as I paddle by,
the smile on his face tells me he is also enjoying the sun. I pass a number of
seals sunning on the rock, thankfully they let me pass without hitting the
panic button. Toward the end of the passage I see a disturbance in the water.
Something flails in the water. A Sea Lion maybe? No I finally realize it is an
Eagle in the water. Sometimes Eagles catch a large salmon and cannot lift it
from the water. Once its talons lock onto its prey the eagle cannot release
for a little bit. This eagle is now in the water desperately trying to flap to
shore. I face a dilemma, do I rescue this eagle and risk getting ripped by its
sharp beak or do I sit back and watch it drown. I move closer wrestling with
this decision. The eagle makes its way to shore but it is a desperate
struggle. Thankfully as I close in the eagle makes it to shore and drags it's
well earned lunch up the bank. With a tired flurry he shakes the water off his
wings gives and exhausted screech and begins his meal. I pray a blessing for
his well earned feast.

            Once through the passage I turn Northwest along the outside of San
Lorenzo.  Its rugged cliffs and coast line stand above the peaceful seas. The
water abounds with needle fish, a favorite of salmon. Coho salmon are jumping
all around. Suddenly a coho leaps beside my boat and only a quick flick of my
wrist keeps it from hitting my paddle blade. Many seine boats work the waters,
their captains and crews fishing for a living and living to fish.

            Soon I am as hot as I have ever paddled in Alaska. The temperature
climbs into the 80's. I am wearing my hydro skin top which I cannot safety
take off while on the water. Plus I need to remember that the water
temperature is only in the high 50's and if I flip that temperature will
quickly drain my strength. I grab my boat sponge and bath my head and neck in
cool water. I also plunge my hands into the sea to try and radiate off some of
the heat. I am not complaining, days such as these are too rare in this land.

            I explore Sonora Island wishing I could be here somehow safely
during the wild days of the winter winds and waves.

            I watch a few whales breach in the distance hoping they will not
come as close as the leaping salmon do.

            This day seems surreal. It was supposed to be rainy and windy but
instead the sun sparkles off the still waters. Whale sound and leap in the
sea. Otters dine on urchin, rhinos and murellets bobble in the sea. Eagles
pluck salmon from the sea. Seals gaze curiously and loons sing their
mysterious songs upon the water. I feel as if I have paddled through the look
glass or the wardrobe closet into an enchanted magical land.

            I sing. Songs of worship and praise, songs of joy and hope.  For
long dark winter hours I have dreamed of this trip, hoping for a day such as
this. These are the days I paddle the storms and winds to behold. I've paid my
dues to get here and will enjoy every moment.



            By dinner time a sea fog rolls in from the West. I watch as the
islands disappear in the mist. The temperature begins to fall and I start
putting my clothes back on. I light a drift wood fire and watch Mr. Tumnus and
his family lazily drifts by with the tide. The stars come out one by one.
Finally the rising tide reaches my fire and the rock sizzle in protest. Alas
the sea wins and the last coals drown in a steamy breath.

            I wander up to the tent wondering how long this good weather will
last.



            I head North into the morning fog. It lifts quickly and another
sunny cloudless day reigns. In the distance I see a massive set of cliffs. I
know it without even looking at the map, Coronation Island. Poised at the tip
of Kuiu Island it looms as one of my dream destinations. Remote and wild it
calls to my soul. Maybe next year if I am lucky.

            For the moment though I have one goal. Fresh water. The Maurelle
Islands have no safe source of fresh water so I need to paddle over to a
bigger island where tall mountains give birth to life giving streams. The map
indicates that Heceta Island may have some small streams.

            Many smaller islands draw my attention as I head toward Heceta.
Some of the smallest prove the most interesting and beautiful. Swells from a
distant storm begin to roll in from the West. A slight breeze offers some
relief from the noon day sun. Several seine boats cast their nets into the
sea. I watch as one dumps hundreds of salmon on to her deck. The squirming
mass refuses to accept their fate and the crew scrambles to get them into the
holding tanks.

            Arriving at Heceta I discover the swells really like this beach.
They pound the   stone beach with a vengeance creating a dumping beach with
the waves breaking quickly only a few feet from shore. Tricky. I count the
wave sets. Four big swells followed by three small. I creep in slowly and keep
the count of the waves. After the last big one passes I paddle quickly in. I
ride the back of a wave and let it strand me high up on the beach. The next
wave catches me before I can exit the boat and both my boots fill full of
water and sand. On a cold day I might have complained but as hot as it is I
know they will dry quickly.

            I check the creek and it is bone dry. I search and find another
stream but it is just as dry. Finally I find a small spring up under a log
where an old stream once flowed. A half cup at a time I managed to fill my
many water bottles, enough to get me through several hot days.

            I watch the surf and realize that getting out of here could be
more interesting then coming in. My boat weighed down with precious water I
pull it as close to the waters edge as waves will allow. I hop in but before I
can attach my spray skirt rouge wave leaps onto the beach and blesses me with
a lap full of water. Oh well.

            Back at camp I lay out my wet gear on the hot rocks and watch it
slowly steam dry in the hot sun. As night falls I once again build my
driftwood fire. Winter storms have heaped so much wood up on this beach I
think I have a months worth of fire woods. As I sit meditating on the day a
mink runs across a large log and disappears in a cluster of brush. He quickly
emerges quickly and scurries down to the waters edge to see what morsels the
falling tide has gifted him. Another "cute" tough survivor.





            The morning sun brightens my tent. Unbelievable! Mr. Tumnus joins
me for breakfast. Me with my oat meal and he with his sea urchin. I have
actually eaten sea urchins, believe me I prefer oatmeal.

            I launch from my beautiful home and head out of the cove. A group
of sea otters meet me and begin hissing at me. Unusual. Wait a minute! I stare
at the otters and it slowly dawns on me. These aren't sea otters they're river
otters! In utter surprise I stare as the six river otters follow their leader
over to the rocks and quickly scurry amid the rocks an out of sight. I laugh
in amazement at the wonders of this special place.

            I head out to the Twins again. My destination though lies far
beyond. Timbered Island. Any island perched that far out in the sea has to
hold special treasurers and wonders. Still it lays far out there. Nine miles
from camp and four mile beyond the nearest island.

            The wind remains light and the sky shines clear. If this holds the
trip should go well but if the weather turns it might become a different
story. I stop in between the Twin Islands for a stretch and pee break. Wood
island will be a difficult place to land and I imagine Timbered will be next
to impossible. I cut through the North Pass of Wood Islands, As I clear the
pass I look to my left and am startled by the silhouette I see in the rock
formation. A woman, her head covered in a wool shawl bows in prayer. Prayer
for those who go out to sea that they may return? Prayers for those who never
returned? The wind begins to pick up and swells roll in from the West. I push
on saying my own prayers.

            Four miles away sits Timbered Islands. Shaped like a small pyramid
it sits alone in the sea. I pass flocks of pigeon guillemots and rhinos on the
water. The otters thin out as the waters grow deeper. Even the kelp thins out
allowing me to finally be able to paddle in a straight line.

            Looking around I notice two black shapes on the water to my right.
Orcas! They slice through the sea in search of salmon. They rise and fall in
the sea exhaling explosively and breathing deep.

            A grunting to my left turns my head. A half dozen young sea lions
bunch together and rise up out of the sea to check me out. Bobbing about they
remind me of anxious trick or treaters daring one another to ring the door
bell at the haunted house. They want to check me out closer but I stare at
them and they move away. At least I hope they stay away. Sea lions have
worried me more than any other creature I have encountered on all my trips,
even bears. They are curious, territorial and sometimes aggressive, a
dangerous combination.

            The sea lions follow me for a while then get distracted and leave.
I breathe a sigh of relief.

            The wind picks us a little more and the swells increase. I paddle
through a tide rip running North. I paddle steady trying to conserve my
energy. As I near Timbered I encounter more Auklets. My guess is they live out
on Timbered Islands. I watch as an Auklet flies straight at me three feet
above the water. Surly he sees me, surly he is going to turn. Wings a blur he
flies head on at me. Oh no! "Turn!"

            The startled bird flurries its wings and flies straight up! I look
up to see a black body, white belly and red webbed feet. A tufted puffin! The
puffin circles me twice checking me out. Then I notice a couple other puffins
flying about. I should not be surprised. Puffins are a burrowing bird that
prefers off shore islands where land predators such as mink do not prowl.
Timbered Island surves as a perfect home for these unique birds.

            I wish I could stop and watch but the seas are getting rougher as
I approach the islands. Deep ocean currents are hitting this underwater
mountain and rise up to create havoc. I am thirsty but I dare not take my
hands off the paddle to grab a drink. The salt on my mustache doesn't help.

            Finally I come into the wind shadow of the island. I am free from
the wind but the rips still keep me on edge. I gulp half my water bottle and
inhale a power bar.

            Timbered Island sits beautiful in its ruggedness. Granite rugged
gray as it rises out of the sea. Encircled with a pearl necklace of pounding
waves. Yet as it climbs into the world of air and wind, green shrubs and grass
cling tenaciously to rock enduring storms that would bring fear to the human
heart. Hearty spruce, whose seeds have miraculously found their way to this
distant rock, crown the top of the Island giving it its name. .Shallow soil
provides a foot hold for plant roots and burrows where Puffins can give birth
and raise their young.

            The rips toss me about, I must keep moving. I start around the
Island which I am now discovering to be surrounded by a group of exposed rocks
clinging tightly to the main island.

            I begin to head toward the North end of the Island when I spot a
small group of sea lion hauled up on the rocks. I paddle past trying to go
unnoticed. No luck! One of the sea lions rises up when he sees me and bellows
the alarm. Soon all the sea lions stand up on their front flippers and sway
back and forth growling and burping at me.  I see more movement ahead and
another group of sea lions has already begun their growling menacing dance. As
I turn to along the West face of the Island the tide rips and swells hit full
force. Clapotis wave rebound off the rocks and fly back out into these
colliding violently with the incoming swells.

            Now I encounter a huge pod of sea lion on the rock and they are
not happy with my intrusion. This rumble of lions roar and growl angrily! They
sway their bodied and show their sizeable canine teeth. I have encountered
many sea lion pods in the past but this is the most aggressive display I have
ever seen! Several animals plunge into the water including a couple huge
bulls. More sea lions perch of the rocks ahead ready to protest my approach.
To make things crazier the rips swells and clapotis waves grow more intense!
I lean forward and paddle aggressively. I feel like I am on "Mr. Toad's wild
ride". I wonder do sea lions eat toads?

            I am on the edge. Part of me says "this is great", while the other
screams "what the hell am I doing out here?"

            A couple big swells roll in and pass under me, I wait to feel them
thrash into the rocks and rebound back at me. I look left and right
calculating to see if the incoming swells will meet the clapotis underneath
me. Two Puffins whiz past my ear. Watch out guys!

            More big bulls hit and water as I near the Southern point. I see a
small cut between the rocks and I make for it. Finally I reach the calm behind
the Island. Funny when I was here just moments ago it didn't seem so calm. Up
ahead two more bulls lay lazy in the sun. I am taken back by their massive
size, as big as I have ever seen in Alaskan waters. "Lay there guys, don't get
up for me."  Thankfully they choose basking in the sun over harassing me.

            I head back across the four miles of open water to Epsilon Island.
The wind blows brisk now and white caps accompany me home.  Occasionally a
wave grabs me and throws me side ways. A quick brace then forward again.
Controlled chaos.

            A mile from Epsilon I startle as I watch the sea suddenly boil in
front of me. Then I see two black objects slowly surface. What the? A humpback
whale ever so slowly rises vertically in the water his mouth open straining
the krill from the water. This is the first time I have seen whales fish so
slowly and deliberately. The whale tilts forward and breathes deep before
plunging below. He surfaces coming in my direction. I pound my deck with my
fist. I mean to say "I am here don't hit me" hopefully the whale doesn't hear
"come and get it!" Finally the whale moves on leaving me exhausted with joy.

            A cold sea fog moves in during the evening. I however sit by my
fire enjoying the heat and crackle of the fire. Islands distant and near
disappear into the white mist. Even Mr. Tumnus fades into the world of white.

            Snuggled up in my sleeping bag against the cold body tired from
the adrenaline pumping day I quickly pass from this world to the world of
fantasy and dreams.

            I paddle in world of woven with fog. The water lays still their
calm only broken by the bow of my boat. At first I am utterly alone. Then
slowly out of the fog a figure emerges. At first I think it to be a killer
whale, dorsal fin high above the water.  Yet as it grows closer I realize I am
watching a lone kayaker.In a  kayak  of skin on wood and bone an old man
padles dressed in seal skin to ware off the water. His face is old, weathered
by long journies into the winds of the sea. Yet joy remains etched in his face
as he remembers the stories of great hunts and sheer moments of survival upon
the sea.

            I know not his name but I know who he is. The first to put skin
onto bone and wood and set out upon the sea. The  Ancient One, the first
kayaker.

            "Why? " I ask

            "Food" he answers with a smile

            "Food for my people. For ages we watched the seal rise and fall
upon the waves while our bellies rumbled empty. Then one night I dreamed I was
a killer whale chasing and feeding upon the seal, bringing meat home for my
wife and children and the elders of my tribe. I awoke and stretched skin
across whale and walrus bone and sat within. I took another piece of wood and
shaped it to hold in my hands. Then I journeyed out upon the sea with my spear
and fed my people with the rich meat and fat of the seal. "

            Others join him in the fog. Generations of his people who built
their own boats and followed him out in the midst of wind and waves.  Each
generation perfected the design yet all trace their ancestry back to the first
boat.

            Slowly one by one they disappear into the fog leaving me alone
with the Ancient One.

            I think of all my journeys upon the sea and all their joy and
wonder. All the  creatures I have encountered in my kayak within the waves. I
remember all the sea has taught me and who I have become on these long
journies.

            "Thank you" I say.

            He smiles and with timeles grace disappears into the fog.



            Fog still covers the world of the Maurelles as the morning comes
to life. Mr. Tumnus enjoys his breakfast as I do mine.

            Today becomes waiting day. I wait for the tide to flood Esquibel
Inlet. Anxious to get out on the water I take the long route toward the inlet
circling my home island before heading to the inlet. Tomorrow I will begin my
journey home so I check out a passage way to see if the kelp at low tide will
let me pass. Barely.

            To my surprise I see two Sitka Black Tail Deer standing in the
channel on a small rock. With hardly more than a couple of mouths full of
grass to eat the deer still waded out to this small rock for breakfast.

            Rounding Turtle Island I am greeted by a stout Southwest wind and
rolling waves. Surfs up! I aim for the inlet and surf away. I am so used to
pushing against the wind and waves with a boat loaded down with camping gear
that flying along at surf speed is exhilarating. Soon however I see rocks
ahead I have to hit the breaks.

                        The inlet proves rocky going in and narrows quickly.
After the granite gray harshness of the outer islands the lush green shores of
goose tongue and beach asparagus provide a welcome respite. It is hard to
imagine so peaceful a setting way out among these wild islands.



            The inlet squeezes to just a few feet wide. Thankfully I am
rolling with the tide. If I am patient for beginning of the ebb then I can
ride the current back out to the sea. As quickly as the inlet narrowed it
opens up again. A flock of canada geese honk on the left shore startled by my
presence in their quiet world.

            Yet I am not the only intruder into their world. A small skiff
approaches from deep in the inlet. Curious the three people motor over to me.
We exchange pleasantries. They are from a yacht anchored nearby.

            One of the women point to the back of my boat and asks, "What is
that white stuff behind you?" It takes me a minute but I realize she is
talking about my white paddle float that I keep on my deck. I explained how I
use it for self rescue.

One of the men comments,

             "We have kayaks on the boat perhaps we should have some of
those".

            It sometimes amazes me that our species survives.

            The end of the inlet protected from the waves and ravages of the
sea lies peaceful in with the soft shades of beach grasses. I pull out of my
kayak and relax. Be it rain or wind or just plain bad luck some trips fail to
meet our expectations. As I soak in the beauty and wonder of this inlet I say
a prayer of thanks for a trip that has far exceeded my dreams. I know every
thing can change by night fall but for now my soul lays at quiet peace as do
the water around me.

            I toss the last log on the fire and rest my back against a large
log. One by one the stars come out as the moon hidesfor a season. Coals pop
and sizzle. All creatures great and small fall into silence.The raven sleeps
in a tall spruce while the loon dozes upon the water. Mr. Tumnus lies in quiet
slumber wrapped up in a strand of kelp. The world rests at peace as does my
soul.

                        A silent fog covers the morning. The fog lifts as I
pack my gear into the boat. I am disappointed.  I looked forward to the fog
testing my navigation skills. Soon the sun begins to bake the beach and stream
begins to rise from the rocks.

                        I pull out of the cove and sit a while. I look one
last time out upon the outer Islands. The placid sea surrounds them in
tranquil blue. Cohos leap from the water and a humpback breaches into the sea.
A blue heron passes overhead.

                        "Well Mr. Tumnus I say goodbye to you and your magical
world. Thanks for the journey"

            I turn East and meander between small islands and twist through
kelp beds to find the opening for Launch Passage. Shore and trees narrow in
and and for the next mile I savor this last embrace of the Maurelles. Nearing
the end of the passage I prepare to leave behind this magical and mystical
kingdom. Behind me a raven laughs and I look over my shoulder to see a sea
otter rise up out of the sea. Alas the raven and Mr. Tumnus say goodbye as I
return through the wardrobe closet and back into my world.
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