(For reading or deleting) Whales, Wandering and Wonder Big Creek North Kupreanof Island, Fredrick Sound, Alaska 2008 In 1898 prospectors with gold in their dreams and heavy loads on their backs sloughed up the steep Chilkot trail. Fame, fortune and adventure awaited those who hauled the heavy loads up the mountain. I groan in chorus with them as I stare at the sprawling tide flats spread before me. I gaze up at the flying gray clouds over head, remains of a big storm that blew through Southeast Alaska last week. Gray skies and minus tides, the story of my life lately! My big summer trip was planned and all set. I was on my way with three weeks worth of gear shoe horned in my boat heading toward a mystical place on the map called Coronation Island. Then the big storm blew in. She wailed against sea and land with 35 howling knot winds and screaming gusts to 45! She rode in with a wild fury and stayed around to make her point. Everything and everyone bowed before her wrath. The birds grew silent, the deer and the bear lay down upon the forest floor. Fisherman headed to port and kayakers paid their dues. Some crawled into their tents hoping their body weight could hold them down onto the earth. Others like myself retreated and sought safe harbor or in my case the sturdy walls of a Forest Service cabin as a shelter from the storm. Now the rage and passion of the storm has passed and I reclaim my time upon the sea. Today I launch on a shorter trip but one with great possibilities for wonder and dreams. I am headed to Big Creek on the North shore of Kupreanof Island to see the spectacle of great and small. Massive swarms of tiny krill flow in with the tides and bunch up on the reefs of Northern Kupreanof this time of year. Sensing a glourious feast hungry humpback whales cruise in to fatten up before their long passage to Hawaii for the winter. Despite the multitudes of whales I have seen great leviathan still hold my wonder and fascination. To see them living out their lives amid the waves and wind of the sea. To hear them breath deeply. To watch them rise and feed. And above all to experience the joy of watching them leap from the depth of the sea and hang for a splendid moment before plunging back into the water. Such dreams the horizon holds but first the reality of the tidal flats. Thankfully this morning I have a team of Sherpa. My wife Gladys and my son Martin have come to see me off and help me with the initial duel with the tidal flats. I could have launched at the waters edge at the South Harbor ramp but that meant fighting for miles or so the rapidly incoming tide of the Wrangle Narrows. The rule here is the bigger the minus tide the faster the tide. Indeed I have seen fishing boats slowed to a crawl trying to escape the Narrows. Between the lesser of the two evils I chose the carry across the tidal flats. After several trips across the flats we manage to get all the gear to the boat and load it up. A prayer and a kiss goodbye as the tide begins to swirl around our feet and I am on our way. The wind after several days of reigning in fervor and might has a gentle touch today. I rejoice warily knowing her temper can rise quickly and place my fragile craft and life in peril. I parallel the shore for a while loosening up muscles, finding my paddling rhythm and searching for the spirit of the trip. These adventures upon the water have a living and mystical quality for me. More than just points on a map or days to be checked off on a calendar. These trips have a life of their own. Hopefully along the way I will become more than I was when I began. Hopefully I will listen to the world around me and become wiser. Out here I can ponder life's deepest questions. I ponder what question will I ponder? What answers will I find on the horizon? Will moments come that cause my spirit to soar? If the sea should choose to test me will I prevail? Will I grow in strength and spirit in the ordeal? Time and tide will tell. I start this trip not by setting a bee line compass course but with a playful wandering. First I cruse to the navigation buoy at the mouth of the Narrows to visit a group of old friends. Wobbling in the water ahead the red and white buoy guides fishing boats, cruise ships and ferries away from the shallow reefs and into deeper waters. Yet for years this floating platform has served as a temptation for a rowdy gang of sea loins. As I approach I see their dark shapes sprawled about on the deck. Rain or shine they love to lounge here. As I get closer I count at least 6 sea lions taking a siesta. A couple more in the water spy hop hoping to find room to crawl up and join the sprawl. Unfortunately for the lions in the water their is no room at the inn. In fact the only way the mob on the buoy can all fit is to over lap heads and butts! As I near I can hear a smaller group of sea lions on the red buoy located closer to the mouth of the Narrows. I am not sure what they are growling about but it sounds like a real brawl. Too laid back to bother the sea lions on this buoy ignore the squabble of their neighbors. As I pass a few heads rise up but lay back down. Local celebrities these sea lions are used to getting their picture taken by about every type of boat that passes by. Plus if any jump in the water to investigate me they will loose their privileged spot on the buoy. Still their presence reminds me this trip is not a venture into Disney world. Real wilderness with real creature who can present real hazards lay ahead. Only a couple years ago a sea lion nicknamed Scar had to be shot in the harbor because it began harassing boaters including kayakers. Now I set my bow toward the Northern horizon and get my paddle rhythm in gear. The horizon, the place of hopes and dreams. Yet out there the best laid plans of mice and men rise and fall at the whim the weather. Whoosh! A volcanic explosion of hot air erupts 50 feet from me! Thank God my knees were locked under my thigh braces or I might have shot straight up out of my kayak! A small humpback whale surfaced out of nowhere. The Alaskan wilderness brims full of surprises and today thankfully proves no exception! The humpback surfaces again well behind me. Wherever his destination, he intends to get there quickly. Hopefully I will see many more of his kin. I make my way along a familiar shore line up to Five Mile creek. I search the mouth of the creek for signs of salmon but none appear. This year's salmon run has yet to appear causing great anxiety for both man and beast. Many fishing boats remain tied up at the dock and bears wander away from the streams hungry and frustrated. Hopefully I will avoid any dangerous encounters with these hungry bruins. Luckily the berry bushes hang heavy with their juicy fruit this year. The wind now kicks up turning ripples into a steady one foot chop. I am sure this will build through out the rest of the day. Nature's way of saying 'welcome to the sea'. I hear the wild rush of water ahead. I drift listening to the tumbling water of Seven Mile Creek. This water comes out of the deep and white snow fields of the Missionary Mountains so I know it tumbles cold and refreshing. I move on and gaze to my right casting my eyes across the rolling tides of Fredrick Sound and begin a journey of memories. Thomas Bay, Vanderput Peninsula, Cape Fanshaw. Memories of the gifts of these trips of yesterday. Moments of struggle against the wind. Life changing wildlife encounters. Moments of sheer wonder and awe. The memories and the miles roll by slowly. Solo upon so volatile a sea. I ponder the reason behind the madness. I know the answer deep within. I seek to once again be woven back into the weaving of Creation. I am like a thread pulled from a wonderful tapestry. The tapestry of the sky, the mountains and the sea. The tapestry of all that dwells within nature's realm. The whales of the wind whipped sea, the eagle of the cloudy brooding sky, the bear of the soggy forest path and wolves of the night. My modern life however has ripped me out of the rhythm of Creation. I flip a switch and hold back the darkness. I close my window and shut out the sound and feel of the wind. I turn up a thermostat and defeat the cold. I turn on the TV and lose myself in a blur of advertisements that tell me happiness is found by buying this product or that, looking young again, taking a pill to be more of a man and having the latest whatever. True I need shelter, electricity and oil to keep me warm and comfy in Alaska's cold dark winters. I know that buying and having certain things does bring some happiness. Yet for me I venture out upon the sea for something far more profound. Out here I look for understanding as deep as the waters I cross over. As many a restless soul I search for meaning. Who am I and what am I meant to be? Ancient others the early Celtic Christians and the Native American discovered the answer long ago. I am part of the sea, part of the earth and part of the sky. I am interwoven into the Creation by my Maker. Only when I immerse myself in the midst of wind and waves, quietly walk the mountain trail, sit upon the mountain top can I sense my connection with all life. Only out here where life depends upon skill and wit, presence and alertness can I begin to hear the sacred song of the wind in trees, the raven in flight, the whoosh of the whale's deep exhale. The sacred song of all Creation calling out in witness and praise unto their Maker. Only when I slip off the comforts and protection of this modern life and become naked to natures utter wildness can I feel my self slowly being woven back into the grand tapestry of Creation. Mine is a restless soul. If I stay in one place too long my countenance falls into despair. My balm is the far horizon. What lies out there? What surprise lurks just around the next point? What will I see from the top of yonder mountain? Questions not of geography but of the soul. Yes the far horizon holds more horizons, more points of land beyond this pouint, and the mountain top yeilds more mountains. I however sojourn in search of other things. Sacred encounters with wonder, wild joy, the still small voice of God. Out here I can ponder the answers to life's mysteries, and mysteries within my own life. I can ponder my life in an uninterrupted silence. I can listen deeply for the answers. I follow in the wake of other great sojourners. St. Brendan of Ireland who launched from Ireland in a leather boat called a currach on a seven year journey. He sought to find "the Blessed land". A Holy place where the sun always shown and the land was filled with delights. Most doubt that he ever found such a blessed mystical land. On the other hand some believe his voyage took him to the shores of the New World long before the Vikings or Columbus. What he did find though was himself for long journeys upon the sea lead to longer inward journeys. He came to be known as a peregrinatio pro Christ, a wanderer for Christ. Seeking not so much a destination but a journey with God. These cold waters of Alaska saw another peregrinatio. In 1879 explorer John Muir traveled North to Alaska to study its' magnificent glaciers. A consummate scientist and explorer, he believed that glaciers had formed his beloved Yosemite. He came to Alaska in hopes of proving his theories. In the village of Wrangell he met Rev. S. Hall Young, a Presbyterian Missionary. Rev. Young told Muir a Tlingit legend, claiming that ages ago the Tlingit to the north were driven from their home by walls of moving ice. Now the ice had retreated, allowing them to return. The Tlingit called this place "the Land of Ice Mountains." Muir and Rev. Young intrigued by these stories boarded a cedar canoe along with several Tlingit and traveled north to find this mysterious land of Ice Mountains. They set out in search of a place of mythical legend and found Glacier Bay. They went forth on a voyage of wonder and discovered "the still small voice of God" in the midst the vast wilderness. They experienced the Presence of God not only amid the Alaska's grand scenery but also in the depths of their hearts and souls. Now amid my own sacred journey upon the restless sea I seek grand wonder and discoveries of the heart and the soul. I pull into Twelve Mile Creek looking to call it a day. Five Mile, Seven Mile and Twelve Mile Creeks. Tis a shame that when these creeks were being named that someone ran out of imagination. Twelve Mile Creek winds out of a broad muskeg. With the creek being a good source of fresh water initially I thought of camping here. Unfortunately the last several hundred yards of the creek lie below the high tide mark. I would have to travel pretty far up the creek just for a single sip of non brackish water. Kayakers learn to choose their creeks carefully in this country. I explore the farther up the shoreline and find a small stream tumbling out of the forest. I duck through a stand of alder and find a small but passable campsite. Like putting a square peg in a round hole I scrunch my trent into the lunpy spot. I have to duck undr a spruce limb to get in and out of the tent. Afterwards I decide to hike up the beach and stretch out my legs before I fix dinner. Near the point I see a small clearing at the edge of the woods. I hop a couple of beached logs and find a spread of crushed grass and realize someone called this place home last night. Hum, he chose a better camp site than I did. His home is flatter and easier to access to the beach then mine. So I bow to the wisdom of my fellow travelor, take down my tent and move it to this new site. I wonder who camped here and if we are on the same path or have we been two ships passing in the night. Buggy! I fix dinner with my head net pulled down and tucked into my collar. No see ums land on the fine mesh trying to get to my tasty flesh. A few manage to find there way in and chomp down with a startling sting for such a small creature. They seem to especially fond of my eyebrows! I eat dinner while walking down the beach facing into the wind hoping to out run my tiny tormentors. After dinner I build a bug defying fire. First I begin with dry drift wood then once it gets going I toss in some wetter wood I found below the tide line. The smoky result keeps the bugs away. The tide begins to fall and the tidal flat grows. Tomorrow morning will birth another big minus tide so I steel myself for the big carry. A part of life out here but not one I relish. Launching on a big minus tide is all about good guessing and precise timing. Guessing where to load the boat and timing it so that as you load the last bag the water reaches the boat. This morning I blew both of them. My boat squats in the mud loaded and ready to go and the water is still 20 feet away. I sit straddling my boat waiting for the rising tide to set my boat free. I gaze up at the sky. Heavy clouds hang over the water. I am beginning to wonder if I will ever see the sun again. Then I feel the boat move beneath me and realize I have been so lost in thought that the tide swelled around the boat and we are now floating. Time to roll North. I watch the horizon hoping to see whales. Surprises though come in many sizes. I glance over at a small stream and see a pair of small dark eyes staring at me. A river otter! He slowly rises up out of the water spy hopping, investigating this strange creature in his waters. A couple other otters now join him curious and wary. I admire them. Cute but tough little guys who handle these waters year round. Slowly they swim backwards wary of me until they reach the shore then they hit the beach in a flurry of furry and scurry into the protective heart of the forest. A salmon jumps wildly in front of my boat! Normally not a big deal but this year with a poor salmon return I rejoice in finally seeing one! The crazy flopping jump tells me this is a pink or humpy salmon. In the distance I here a faint whoomp! Somewhere just over the horizon a whale has breached. I scan the water and see a couple distant blows. My heart skips a beat! Whales upon the sea! The kelp beds begin to sprawl out. I navigate around them not wishing to be caught in their tangled clutches. A frolicking sea lion suddenly leaps up out of the kelp! He leaps again and again. I wonder if he is just playing or perhaps trying startle fish out of their hiding places in the kelp. Something tells me his playing around involves the serious business eating and surviving. I begin to see a number of Marbled Murellets on the water. Mostly in pairs they scan beneath the water for salmon fry and needle fish. I pass a couple tiny Murellets and immediately I hear peeps of protest from the other side. Oops! Looks like I got between a mother and her chicks! I quickly accelerate to allow the family to settle down to the business of eating and surviving. As I pull away the chirping of the chicks quiet down and they settle in by their mother's side. I close my eyes and listen to the world around me. The wind huffs and puffs as it tosses about the sea. Small waves slap and clap against my boat. In the distance I hear a whomp! I open my eyes and scan the horizon. Somewhere out there a whale has leapt out of the sea. By the time the sound reached my ears all evidence of the moment is gone and I can only guess where so wonderful sight came to pass. I close my eyes again. I hear the splash of my paddle and the blade slings drops of water about the sea. The rustle of nylon PFD against my spray skirt echoes the rhythm of my stroke. A small stream rattles and tumbles through the rock and stills as it slides into the sea. Wind sings in the trees and they rustle in response. A loud 'croak' opens my eyes and turns my head. A dark Raven sits regal a top a dead spruce. Fully displayed in his macho pose, with "ears" raised and his neck feathers thrust out he proclaims "I am king of this world! Behold Me! Cast your eye upon me sojourner!" "I live in this world through gale and storm. In the midst of winters cruel darkness and summers eternal light. Be it the cold of winter, the wild winds of spring and the ceaseless fall rains I survive and thrive where you would perish. I dance upon winds that send you scurrying to shore. I dare the storm to feed my belly. I dine in the deep forest with the wolf and the bear. Inches from claw and teeth I feast! Go forth with my warning in your ear. This wilderness is no place for the unprepared. No place for the faint hearted. No place for the weak or fearful. Sojourn in my land if you wish but take not for granted the safety of your journey. Thought the journey ahead may yield joy it may also reward you with peril" I take seriously the warning of my brother the Raven. I paddle, my senses alert to the wind, and cautious to the horizon. My compass needle slowly turns West as I round Cape Strait. Now I traverse the North shore of Kupreanof. The incoming tide rushes into Portage Bay so I veer to the right to avoid the current. I head towards Portage Island eager for a small beach or ledge to get out and stretch my legs and relieve myself. As I near the island I hear a raucous argument erupt between an Eagle and a Raven. I am guessing this bar room bru ha ha is over territory. Or perhaps the Raven complains to the Eagle that he is lazy and needs to catch more fish for the Raven to steal. Maybe the Eagle complains that when ever he tries to sleep the mischievous Raven keeps sneaking over and pulls at his tail feathers. Now they see me and both begin screaming at me for breaking up their fun and invading their territory. As I paddle on they once again turn their attention back to one another continuing their bickering and squabbling. Tonight the coals of my driftwood fire dance and leap. At first I built the fire to keep the bugs away. Seems to be a bad year for them. Now with the bugs in search of smokeless prey I merely enjoy the warmth and contemplate the journey as the flames waltz with the wind. I like this beach, it has plenty of drift wood to feed my hungry fire. An occasional gust of wind sends sparks skittering down the beach. I watch the smoke seeing if the wind is changing her mood. Slowly she lays down to sleep. What will be her mood when she wakes tomorrow? Will she ride my back and bless my journey or will she gather before my face and challenge my sinew and grit? Only the mornings light will tell. Seals with their deep curious eyes watch me from the water. What are they thinking I wonder? "What is this strange creature who brings the light of the sun and lays it upon the beach? Will he come out to play? Can we once again chase him through the waves? Or will he come out to hunt us as many have in the past?" As the flames die out the Alaska twilight wraps itself around me. Though this shroud of night hangs cold on my shoulders my heart warms to the embrace of the magnificant wilderness. Alsa the clouds hide the secret of stars tonight. I say goodbye to the seals and wander up to the soft confines of my tent. Sprawling tide flats. The price paid by the solo traveler. Back and forth with armfuls of gear. Last but not least I heave the boat up on my shoulder and careful negotiate the slippery kelp down to the waters edge. The boat digs into my shoulder yet to put it down means I have to pick it up again so I bear my burden the full journey. 500 feet to the waters edge. 4 trips. 4000 feet. 15 feet short. I guessed wrong and once again I straddle my fully loaded boat waiting for the tide to rise and lift her free. Oh well. Today the mistress wind sleeps. The water lays quiet with only the wake of small Murellets to break the surface. A gentle fog hides the world about me and once again sound alone becomes my clue to the world about me. Murellets peep as I emerge through the fog. In the distance I can hear the thud of whales falling back into the sea. The swish of wings over head lifts my eyes to see a curious Raven circle me once them head off into the fog. I glance over my shoulder and a startled seal splashes under for the safety of deep water. A whale blows close by. His white breath blends to well with the fog for me to see. Still I listen and I hear him moving quickly North to the feeding grounds and the company of his kin. I chance upon a flock of Surf Scoters resting in the fog. My sudden appearance startles them and they beat upon the water a hasty retreat. I close my eyes and once again absorb the sound of a hundred wings slapping across the water. Massive tangles of kelp emerge out of the fog and I twist and weave my course around their intricate clutches. In this forest in the midst of the water gulls stand on trapped pieces of drift wood and seals peer out from between the broad frond leaves of the kelp. Scoters work the edge hoping to catch minnows who have strayed out of the protective tangles. By late morning the wind begins to awake and by her grace she reveals the world around me. Gulls scatter about the water as do more flocks of Scoters. A Sea Lion leaps again and again in the kelp. Strange. I wonder what he is up to till I see the other sea lions at the edge of the kelp. Now I understand. He hopes to scare fish out of the protective kelp while the other waits for an easy catch. All morning I have heard whales breaching but the fog has held them from my eyes. Scanning the horizon at last I see and explosion of white water! Like counting the seconds between the lightning and the thunder I can tell this whale breached about two miles away. As I steadily paddle on I see more and more breaches till finally I begin to spot their spouts. Farther on I can see their black backs rising out of the sea. I parallel the shore not wanting to see a breach too close! Adventure is one thing, dying beneath a whale is another. I close my eyes and listen. I begin to note a big variety in their sounds. One snorts like a bull ready to charge a matador. Another growls like an angry junk yard dog. A third pipes like a ministerial playing before a king. Then I hear a familiar voice. Out of the memories of my childhood I hear the thrill whistle of the coal trains rumbling up and down the tracks blowing their whistle as they approached the crossing. Hootie! A whale I have heard many times before on my journeys upon these waters. Hello old friend good to hear you again! Hootie responses with her train whistle call. I place my paddle across my deck and lean back. I drift to listen and watch these giants of the sea. So huge and graceful. Such drama and surprise. They sound deep and the water grows quiet. I scan the water with only a wild guess as to where they will appear next. A whoosh and a steam of hot breath blasts upon the surface. A sharp fin cuts to the surface, wet and black it catches the sun and flashing bright upon the sea. Again and again the drama plays out until the leviathan arches her back and lifts her magnificent tail to the sky. Slowly the great beast sinks deep leaving only a small patch of swirling water in her wake. Sojourners such as Brendan and Muir write of encountering "thin places upon the earth". Places where the realm of Heaven touches the earth and becomes Holy Ground. In this moment as whale rise and fall into the sea I sense my soul, my kayak drifts upon Holy Waters. I drink from this well of life for the fleeting moments in which it lasts. Thirty I came for a moment such as this and now I drink my fill till at last my life and my soul abide refreshed and renewed. Eventually the moment passes and I am left drifting in the sea. Slowly I give a tug at my paddling gloves, pick up my paddle and look for a home for the night in this splendid wilderness called Alaska. I paddle a short ways up Big Creek. I see no sign of salmon. Two years ago when I was here it was full! I look up at an eagle perched on a limb. He looks hungry, ragged and disheveled. He stares at the stream with a weary look. No salmon, no food, only fleeting hope. I wish for his sake that the salmon will come soon. His life and the life of many other creatures depend upon it. I pull into shore and walk up the sloping beach looking for a place to lay my head for the night. As always I look for bear tracks but I am surprised instead by the tracks of a child. I look around to find the reassuring tracks of an adult and the evidence of a child at play. A small fort of drift wood sits guarding the mouth of the creek from fierce dragons and ferocious sea monsters. A pile of stones lies ready for the attack. Miniature sand castles dot the beach as does playful etchings in the sand. These artifacts bring back warm memories of when Martin was little and tide pools and sand beaches became great kingdoms of play and imagination. I will miss those days of imagination and innocence. Those moments when all we needed was a soft sand beach and the love between father and son. Twas a good evening for a fine fire. The flames dance to life amid the gathering of drift wood. A lesser yellow legs works the retreating shore line for his evening meal. Eagles criss cross the sky heading to and fro. A Raven in the forest occasionally cackles. The sky smiles down with at long last patches of pale blue amid the gray clouds. The whales have moved off shore and sound in the deep waters of mid channel. As a gracious gift the wind carries their voices to me. Occasionally I hear a boom as a whales reaches for a moment into the sky. Tomorrow I will venture into their waters to share their world. I cozy up to the fire not so much for warmth but just to be closer to his miracle of heat and light. I join the ancients for whom fire was no luxury but meant the difference between life and death in this rugged land. I toss on another log and the sparks fly up to the heavens dancing upon the wind in their brief but fiery moment of life. All is well with my soul. I lay tucked into my sleeping bag listening. The whales slumber not. Instead I hear whales sounding with explosive breath. The night air fills with the thud of tail lobbing and the thunder as they breach from the sea. I begin to name the whales by their sound. My friend Hootie sounds her train whistle in the night. Growler rumbles. Warner, named for the Warner railroad train that went rumbling by the house as a child, roars in the night. Whalezilla howls. Fog Horn warns ships of his presence. Eventually their voices begin to fade. After feeding for 18 to 20 hours they take a moment to slumber. I picture them bobbing slowly up and down in the sea somehow in their sleep timing each breath. Slowly sleep over takes me and I drift off into my dreams. An unholy Howl invades my dreams and wakes me with a start! Whalezilla close by blasts a series of fiery startled breaths! A loon wails in protest and the other whales stir and breathe deep. A couple whales lob their tails and or flippers in protest. What the hell is going on out there? I crawl out of the tent. 4am and darkness covers the sea. The high tide and the whales are in close. Did they drift into shallow water while sleeping? Did a pod of Orca pass close by? The darkness holds the secrets from my eyes. I look up and see a heaven full of stars. Could it be? A clear sky! I scan the heavens till I find the big dipper and let it point me to Polaris, the North Star almost overhead. I pick out a few other constellations and feel a kinship with ancient mariners who looked to these same stars for direction and assurance. I craw bag into my warm sleep bag and curl up trying to warm up. The whales now in deeper water slowly settle back into their sleep. I slowly join them. The morning greets me with blinding brilliance. After the weeks of clouds and rain it takes my eyes some minutes to adjust to all the light! Blinded by the light I do not see the deer standing nearby on the beach till he snorts in protest to my presence! Soon the temperature begins to rise and I strip down to my briefs just to feel that rare commodity this year. The touch of the warm sun upon my body! I paddle westward toward a horizon filled with grand leviathian. A bigger pod must have moved in early this morning. Whales spout everywhere! Maybe they are trying to touch the sun, maybe it has something to do with the feed but whales breach far and wide! One whale leaps from the sea and others join as if playing follow the leader or trying to one up one another. Some flop sideways with a graceful spin landing on their broad backs sending white water flashing across the sea. Suddenly in the distance a whale rises up out of the sea and hangs suspended in mid air. As if standing on the water he remains above the water longer than have ever seen a whale hang in the air. Finally he crashes mightily into the sea. None try to match his feat instead choosing to get down to the real business of the day, feeding. I watch all morning as whales form small bubble nets to corral the krill then rise up from below with mouths agape for the feast. Sea gulls dive in a screaming panic into the net escaping by a mere feathers length before the mighty jaws. I cruise along the kelp tangles trying to avoid the hungry jaws. I am joined by a group of sea lions who play in the sea. One leaps from the sea doing a complete flip flop in the air. Another leaps and spins while the rest porpoise along. I am not sure if they are playing or courting or chasing fish. Wary seals huddle in the kelp trying to watch both these mischievous sea lions and this other strange creature, me. Wonder, amazement and laughter upon the sea. Uh oh! The Sea Lions have spotted me. They spy hop for a second trying to figure me out then they dive and make a bee line for my boat. All I can think is 'here comes trouble'. They pop up to my left with rasping breath and fangs exposed. "Alright guys chill out!" Ignoring my warning they spy hop either side of me and grunt in protest. "O.K. you want to play well lets go!" I take a couple quick strokes to get up the speed and the chase is on! I can hear them right behind me but I keep my eyes straight ahead. Then I quickly turn my head around and eye a couple off my stern. Sploosh! They dive for cover! On and on we cruise playing this game of hide and seek. Finally they tire of me and go off in pursuit of tasty fish. I enjoyed the game while it lasts but I remain wary of these sea beasts. Nature can be unpredictable and more than one local fisherman has been bitten by hungry sea lions. Today becomes a wandering day. I have no real place to go accept to see whales. I plan to camp where I did last night and tomorrow head back home. Not far away I watch as a mother and calf swim past. The mother wise and regal swims steadily on while her calf leaps and throws himself out of the sea in awkward lurches. No style but he will learn. I drift and contemplate the journey. Whales abound and Sea Lions play. Seals stare and Ravens croak. A salmon leaps from the sea and glistens for a second in the bright sunlight. Hope for creatures of the sky and sea. Eagles dive for the first salmon and Gulls scream in excitement. Loons yodel and Surf Scoters splash across the surface churning the water white with their wings. Life is good out here. We live for days such as these to paddle upon the sea. The fire burns hot and the flames waltz in the gentle wind. The sky bears only distant clouds. The Whales feed ceaselessly. A gathering of Ravens croak, squawk and chortle in the trees behind my camp. Such a strange conversion of voices. Others fly in from the sea circling and calling before landing. Maybe they are telling Raven stories to one another? Perhaps they are plotting mischievous deeds to play on me? I rouse from my dreams to hear waves crashing close to my tent. I scramble out and discover that I am quite safe. I see waves white in the darkness thrashing on the beach but quite far from my tent. Seems the tide sits just right for the waves to rattle a line of small stones on the beach creating a loud deceptive thrashing sound. Once again in this dark world I look up to see the stars above. I wonder, way out there are there world with oceans? If so then maybe somewhere on one of those worlds a creature much like me kayaks in the midst of a journey upon the sea? Across the vast universe I send my greetings. Travel safe my friend, enjoy your journey. I am not used to this. The sun burns hot and the water lays calm reflecting the bright light of the sun. I dressed for the water temperature and I am sweating in my hydro skin. I need to keep plunging my hands in the cold water to radiate my heat away. I take my bandana and plunge it into the water and tie it around my neck. I am not complaining just sweating. Ahead I see a bright flash then another and anotherin sweet rymthm.. Solo upon most of my journeys I gaze upon a rare sight of another kayak coming my way. As we approach one another I laugh realizing I am on the outside of the kelp and she paddles on the inside. With a massive green slithering tangle between us we greet one another with a waves and loud voices. We both pick our way through the kelp till we are about 25 feet from one another. As far as we dare go before permanent entanglement. On the street we probably would have passed with nothing more than a nod. Yet out here sharing the sea together the conversation flows as easy as the tide. Lisa it turns out has just graduated from college with Spanish major and picked up this summer job guiding and camp sitting for a local outfitter. We talk of kayaks floating on the sea and the creatures we have chanced upon. A group of mischievous seas lions has been following me all morning so I warn her they may lose interest in me and follow her. Sure enough as I paddle off I turn to see their bobbing pointed heads just a few feet back of her boat. Sorry girl. I am about three days away from home now. Today I travel East but soon my compass will turn South till I reach home's familiar shores. If I paddle steady and the sea and winds grant me their favor then the journey will be a safe one. A solitary Humpback Whale accompanies me for most of the day as if to join me on my journey. Sea lions from time to time check me out just to make sure I don't get bored. Don't worry fellows there is enough out here to keep me excited. As I paddle homeward bound I wonder how Brendan felt when after seven years of his voyage he saw on the horizon his home shore? And what about Muir after all the months of exploration and discovery to step out of the Tlingit war canoe only to board a steamer and leave this great land of Alaska behind in its wake? Were they so tired of the wet nights, wild seas, sparse food that they welcomed the end of the journey and a place called home? Or on stormy winter's nights did they walk down to the sea and listen to the waves and the wind hoping to hear a voice call them once again out upon the waves? Once again to see the far horizon and sail away. Which sang louder, their dreams of home and its comforts or their visions of life as a sojourner upon the sea? Did good food and a warm bed dull their need for adventure and discovery? I know the answer in my own heart. Yes soon I will arrive home. I will clean and put my gear away and enjoy the comforts of food on the table, electric lights and thermostats. Yet I too will walk down to the sea and listen for its call. My dreams will fill with visions of far away shores and whales leaping from the sea. As long as my journey of life continues my need for the sojourn in the midst of wind and waves will never cease to be. It is who I am and I pray who I always will be. *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************Received on Mon Nov 24 2008 - 18:04:35 PST
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