Morning Has Broken The Brothers Islands Fredrick Sound, Alaska The rain drums a sweet wet rhythm upon the sea as my bow parts the dark waters. The clouds drape the mountains and hover low over Pybus Bay. Clusters of needles and leaves float upon the water mixed in with torn off pieces of kelp and sea weed. The tattered remnants of a vast storm that raged for days hurling fierce wind upon this vast kingdom of spruce and hemlock, kelp and sea. Gusts wailing to 50! Thankfully now for the moment the storm mistress sleeps leaving the land and sea still quivering in her wake. Behind me I hear the drone of Jeff's diesel engine fade as he hurries off to the crabbing grounds. I turn to see his fishing boat, my taxi, disappear into the mist and fog. Hopefully two weeks from now we will reconnect. The map calls this place Admiralty but in respect to the Tlingit people I choose to use their name Kootznoowoo, Fortress of The Bear. Kootznoowoo located in southeast Alaska holds the largest population of brown bears in the world. An estimated 2500 bears live on the island, far outnumbering the mere 650 people. I turn and look ahead and allow the weight of the last couple months roll off my soul. I have lost a couple friends recently. One from a slow moving disease and another suddenly in a fishing accident. Friends whom I have known for a long time and will miss dearly. I have also struggled with an inner ear infection that gave me such vertigo that I had to leave my beloved kayaks on the rack for most of the spring. In fact I have paddled less this year than any of my many years in Alaska. Add this grief and illness to the usual stress of my work and my soul hangs heavy like the water soaked spruce bows in the forest about me. I stop and let the kayak glide in the dark water. 7:30 pm and the heavy clouds and dark forest make the world seem solemn and yet in the aftermath of the storms of nature and life it offers me peace. I breathe it all in with my eyes and my soul. Out here the phone will not ring, nor will there be any mid night knocks at the door. My soul can settle as the sea around me has settled from the storm. I check my map and head North West towards a Forest Service cabin. I have reservations there for the next several days but wonder if I might find someone there, a refugee from the storm. I dont want to kick anyone out but neither do I want to be looking for a campsite this late in such wet circumstances. I am willing to share if need be. A solitary whale blows in the distance its hot breath contrasting with the cold midst. A warm welcome for my soul. I check my compass and head into the midst and rain. The weather radio claims it will clear up but I wouldnt bet on it. I cross close to an island and drift for a moment in the shallow waters. Clear and clean I see the kelp and barnacles pass silently below my boat. I feel a deep sense of sadness. Far far away, in the Gulf of Mexico oil spews unchecked into pristine waters. Sea life perishes in a foul black goo. I remember the Exxon Valdez and the devastation it caused for sea and land, animals and fishermen. I think of Jeff and his livelihood of fishing. We talked on the way up about the plight of the fishermen in the Gulf and of how all their years of hard work are now laid to waste. Jeff talked fearfully of these waters suffering the same fate if a fuel barge broke loose or a cruise ship hit the rocks. All he has build and worked for would come to naught. With two wonderful boys looking someday to head to college so much rests on the health of the sea and harvest it yields. In the fog and mist I see this bay in bits and pieces. A point here and an island there. Placing the clues upon the map I keep a handle on my position. At this late hour I prefer not to get lost. I find a jagged little island just beyond a small point. I turn South and hopefully head into Donkey bay. Where did that name come from? Even the craziest of prospectors wouldnt bring a donkey into bear territory. Speaking of names it is always good not only to know where you are but how to pronounce it. Years ago the Coast Guard got a mayday call from a kayaker whose boat had been swept away by the tide. Panicked he said he was on an Island outside of /Poo bus/ Bay It took a while for the CG to realize he meant /Pie bus/ Bay. I round the point as the mist and rain deepens, as does the chill in my bones. I search for the cabin without success. The growing cold makes me anxious to get set up for the night. Finally I spot the top of the "A" frame roof through the trees. Weathered and old the cabin is not much too look but at least it will provide shelter from the rain. I open the tattered door and notice that all the rafters have lots of nails for hanging things. Then a mouse scurries from under a bunk, stops and stares for a second then dashes across the floor. Now I know what all the hanging nails are about. I crawl into my sleeping bag wet and cold. I need to acclimate. In time I will but for the moment I shiver myself to sleep. Morning awakes soft and cold. Clusters of fog hang on trees and mountains. A few promising holes open in the clouds revealing a deep Alaska blue sky. A raven calls out in the mist answered by another and another. Two geese glide in through the fog and make a gentle landing on the still water. Mud flats quietly wait the rhythm of the moon and water - the cosmic dance of moon and water we call tide. Gear hung with care in the cabin I paddle North to check out the Bay. A few minutes out I see the blow of a whale erupt in the cool air like a small volcano. I watch as slowly the spouts approach my direction. Judging by the blow Id say a medium sized humpback. Again and again he surfaces. Suddenly 25 feet to my right he surfaces with a great eruption of hot breath. I turn and look behind to see if he surfaces again. I watch the tell tale wake to plot his course. Slowly he turns in a tight loop and heads back in my direction! The hair stands up on the back of my neck! I am being checked out by tons of flesh and blubber. I look down in the water and he slowly glides to a stop beside me. He hangs just a couple feet below the surface and his long pectoral fluke hovers just inches under my boat. I dont move a muscle. If I startle him he could do some damage quickly. He floats beside me just looking. My emotions flow as a mixture of astonishment, thrill and fear. I wonder what he is thinking. Normally these guys ignore me but this one shows great curiosity. Seconds tick by with him hovering beneath me. Then ever so slowly he moves onward leaving me in awe and wonder. My adrenaline still pulsing through my veins when I stop for lunch. I need to keep not only whales but bears also on my mind here. I trespass in their well defended fortress. Taught long ago by the Tlingit to talk to the bear and let them know you are there. As I walk up the beach I yell out chuk chuk! You don't want me; Im too skinny, old and scrawny, not much meat on these old bones I am greeted with a welcomed silence from the forest Following lunch I close in on the East shore I round a point and see three brown shapes moving along the edge of the forest. A mother and two cubs amble along the edge of the trees. I envy not her difficult task. She must not only find enough food to fill her own hungry belly but enough so her breasts can provide the nourishment for her the two small cubs so they can grow quickly in this harsh land. Her toughest task though will be fending off the big males who would kill her cubs in one swipe of powerful paws. Furry and a mothers protective instincts become her survival weapons her cubs depend on. I wish you well lady. I wish you well. Tonight again I wrap myself in my sleep bag and shiver from the wet cold. I ponder again my close encounter with the whale and the memory of the she bear and he cubs. Soon I drift off to sleep with warm memories of wonder. Rain comes and goes in the night. I awake to a wet but inviting world. Not much to see with the fog and mist laying so close to the earth. As close as a lover gently embraces a sleeping partner. Today becomes a listening day. A day to listen to the earth and a day to listen to my soul. I walk down to the beach tea mug in hand just to listen for a while. A raven has been calling since the dawn. I see her black silhouette against the gray sky as she flies across the bay. She makes a melodious croak as if imitating a soft dripping rain. She suddenly shutters in the air and makes a tight u turn and darts frantically to a tall spruce. As soon as her claws alight on a limb she begins screaming out a wild raucous call as if fending off a fierce threat. On and on she goes. I scan the sky but whatever threatens her world escapes my weak human eyes. Indeed living in a world of predators of land and sky her sharp eyes become her salvation. Eventually she settles down begins to call out with a gentle cooing as if to summon the assuring presence of other Ravens or even a lover. Abruptly her wild and angry cries again fill the air! I look up to see her aggressively chasing an eagle across the sky. I laugh to see this smaller bird fearlessly chasing such a larger one away. She returns and settles into a dark patch in a spruce. Ah now I know, she has a nest full of fledglings to feed and protect. Hence the cries of territory and the calling for companionship and relief from the nest. I do not envy your task mother raven. You live in the beautiful world but one that indeed can be so harsh. Keeping your young dry and warm in the midst of storms that sway your nest back and forth. Predators seek an easy meal of your children or you for that matter. Then there is my kind which threatens you with our guns, chainsaws and pollution. Indeed not only are you strong but you raise your children to be as tough as you. From frail balls of downy feathers in the nest to powerful birds who ride the winds of the storm and eek out a living amid the wildest of lands. You are more stalwart than I can imagine. Even downy chicks in the nest are more robust and brawny than I who seek the shelter of a cabin roof to protect me from the cold rain./ / Today is a listening day. A day to listen to the music of the world that still rings with the same harmony that God sang on the day the world began. /Mourning has broken/ /Like the first morning/ /Black bird has spoken like the first bird/ /Praise for the singing/ /Praise for the morning/ /Praise for them springing fresh from the Word/ I paddle close to shore. I guess I prefer the gentle embrace of trees and shore for my eyes rather than the open bay where today fog and midst swallows all things. I paddle to a small stream tumbles into the sea. I imagine the journey of a single drop of rain. Scattered into mere midst and drawn from the sea by the heat of the distant sun the water is reborn of cloud and rain falling to earth. Clutching for a moment on the tip of a spruce needle before falling again and gathering with other to from a trickle, then a stream to flow ever swiftly in its course to the sea. Fresh and clear, sweet and soft the stream tumbles gently and yet over time shapes and mountains and the earth. Cracks in rocks become gullies then valleys all shaped carved out by the ever flowing waters upon the earth. Why do you seek the sea where you sweet waters will turn salty and bitter? Indeed by the Creators hand all things have a purpose. I am witness to the miracle of flowing water. The miracle of water drawn from the sea to return again to shape this earth, to recreate the land with each falling flowing and rising drop of rain. The noise of the world is silenced by the fog but there is much that sings. A humming bird whirrs up to greet me quickly exploring the orange on my PFD. No nectar there so he disappears in a blur of wing beats. Echoing out of the deep forest a woodpecker hammers for grubs beneath the spruce bark. The spruce beetle has invaded this land destroying any many proud old trees but nature fights back in her own way. The woodpecker stops I hope to enjoy a meal of tasty beetle grubs. Today is a listening day. The wind breathes upon the sea and the rain falls on the trees and brush. Ravens banter and bicker back and forth in lively conversations. Song birds sing from the brush. Eagles swoosh overhead. I sing to the tune O Morning Has Broken /Ravens are calling from the deep forest,/ /Wild wind is singing swaying the trees./ /Praise for lifes mysteries! Praise for lifes wonders!/ /Gods Holy Spirit singing Gods song!/ I listen to the world and I listen to my own heart. I am at a turning point in my life. My body is beginning to tell me that I do not have the stamina for the big long mile after mile trips. Since recovering from Polio as a child my metabolism has been on hyper drive. Yet over the last couple of years my ever going metabolism has been slowing down. I have discovered I like to paddle sit and contemplate more than just paddle. I admit now I like the coziness of using a forest service cabin for a base camp taking day trips of exploring the world close by. I am throttling back as they say and it is just as well. I look at the map on my deck and think of the stack of maps I have at home. Some maps show where I have been and bring back the rich memories. Some maps are dreams still within reach. Some though are of places where I once dreamed of by will never go. The far flung shores of Coronation Island, and Lituya Bay. Indeed this may be my last "great trip". All other sojourns to come will probably be closer to home and with fewer miles under the seat and days at sea. I sit back and remember bits and pieces of former trips and know I am content with the joyful memories of where I have been and not be saddened by the waters I never reached. The cabin trips have begun to agree with me much more I think. I am not sure I have the "umph" for the tight schedules and long mile trips any more. I sense I am shifting down a gear so that I can still do this years from now. I treat myself to a camp fire tonight. The temps have been cool most days barely getting past 50 and most nights down in the 40's. The fire knocks off the chill and brings some warmth and light to the trip. I earned this fire. My pile of driftwood came from the opposite shore of this little bay A 200 hundred yard slosh across a boot sucking mud flat. A long carry but as I sit gazing into the fire I know it was worth it. Campfires always set me on a journey of wonder. Flames dance bright and hot in the wind. I know there exists a scientific explanation for the very existence of fire but in the wilderness fire remains as magical to me now as it did when I was a child. As I listen to the Ravens carry on their conversations a flock of geese circle and land on the waters I ponder the wilderness, lifes mysteries and the horizon of my own life. 57 years ago this night my mom felt the first pangs of labor telling her I was ready to enter the world. Birthdays are best experienced in the wilderness around a campfire. In the dance of the flames I ponder my past, feel the presence and gaze to the future. Morning finds me 57 and on the water. Life doesnt get any better than this. Heavy clouds hang over head but no rain. Today becomes a heading out day. I roll slowly out of Pybus Bay with a hopeful destination in mind. The Brothers Islands, side by side twins who split the deep waters of Fredrick Sound. I have been hopeful of reaching their raged shores before only to be turned back. In the past I have approached the Brothers from the East and have futilely watched high winds thwart my attempts at the five mile crossing. This year from the West I hope to make it. As I reach Pt. Pybus I face decision time. Three and a half miles of open water to the Brothers or hung the shore and wait another day. The winds have been blustery all morning but slowly grow silent. I ponder and pray about the decision. I hear a voice in my head that says go for it! Divine wisdom or my own wishful thinking? The Lord only knows and the Lord aint telling. I turn, check my map and glance at the compass and pick up the pace. I quickly get into a smooth comfortable rhythm. Deep blue to the East and dark brooding clouds to the West. The sky hangs sharply divided. I paddle under the dividing line with the sun peeking out for a moment then rushing back behind the clouds. Either I am in for a great day or a wet soggy one. A third the way across I eye the horizon for a black line, a tell tale sign that the winds are picking up. Yet I see white not black. A huge cruise ship. A floating hotel bearing down on me! I pick up speed to cross its path before it crosses over me! It approaches fast so I pick up my pace even more! Hopefully if things get too close I can hail them on my radio. For several uptight and tense minutes I see the bow coming head on. Finally I begin to see the bow and part of the port side. The behemoth turns slowly to the West. Either they saw me or fear pushed me faster than I thought. The danger now past I get a good look at the Brothers islands. Born and raised in the midst of foul winds and tempestuous seas West Brothers Island looms in front of me rising ragged and jagged out of the sea. Twisted spruce and hemlock line the beaches and cliffs. The rocky shore line offer few landings. My kind of place. To the South I hear the grunting and barking. I have been told big colony of sea lions calls this place home but that I for anothers days exploring. I get a whiff of them. Whew! A flock of black and white guillemots fly past. As I look around I see lots more on the water. A clutch of Harlequins hide behind a rock. Ravens call from the forest deep. Come says this wild place come and you will find peace for your weary soul. Legend has it that St. Brendan left his native Ireland in a small boat to search for the thin places of the earth. Sacred places where the veil between heaven and earth lay thin and translucent to the eyes of the soul. I think I have found such a place. Now to find a place to call home, spread my table and to lay my head. I round the southern tip and see a log covered spit of gravel and stone connecting a small island to the main island. Home. The beach begins with coarse grapefruit sized rocks and gradually shrink to smooth marble sized pebbles as I walk up the beach. Tons of bleached out drift wood pile up just above the tide line. Baked and dried in the sun I can already feel this evenings hot camp fire. Still I find no place to lay my head until I drift off into the woods. I stand for a moment wondering if I have stepped through the looking glass or stepped out of the back of the wardrobe closet into Narnia. Before me spreads a picture perfect campsite. A soft moss layered fairly flat forest floor invites my tent and sleeping bag. I kneel and press my hand on to the moss. My hand sinks deep and visions of a peaceful sleep fill my mind. I explore and find rocky perches revealing the seas around. I shall indeed call this place home. Under a long summer sky I sit by a hot driftwood fire with a sweet cup of tea in hand. I watch as eagles, guillemots and harlequin fish the sea. Young sea lions cruise by like late night 50's greasers in their 57 chevys. A pair of Common Oyster Catchers claim a rock just off the island. They cry out in ear piercing shrill their objection to anything that passes by, gulls, raven, eagles and sea lions. I think the Ravens enjoy a game of let see if we can freak out the Oyster catchers. They fly by dipping in toward the Oyster Catchers causing them to explode in shrieks. The Ravens croak and banter back and forth among themselves. Whales breathe deep upon the sea. A loon calls from the sea. First I have heard on this trip. The stress of my soul pours slowly out and is carried away by the wind. /Snow on the mountains, wind on the waters,/ /Eagles soar graceful high in the sky./ /Praise for the wonder! Praise for the splendor!/ /Gods joy in Heaven touching the earth!/ Five AM and a noisy Raven perches over my tent and screams who is this who dares enter my kingdom! Pine cones rain down and drum my tent. I try to ignore him but this only enrages him more and he grows louder. Finally I shout chill out dude! Silence, beautiful silence. Then all hell breaks loose! Shriller than before Crazy Ivan over head lets me have it. I never heard such cursing in all my life! Will you just leave I holler back! To my surprise I hear the whoosh of wings and the morning becomes peaceful again. Something tells me though that is not the end of the argument. Today I will explore West Brothers. Reigning over the sea this island was born in midst of storm and wind. The rocky shorelines lie ravaged by the waves and the trees stand twisted and gnarled by the wind. One day the tide and wind will swallow these stately brothers and they will surrender to the waves. Yet for this moment they stand as a testament to endurance and fortitude. The tides rush and swirl between the Islands forcing me to hug close to the shore using back eddy currents whenever I can. I enjoy the tides fun game. I round the North tip of the island where the winter northerlys rage and roll. The seas are calm and I can explore close. Huge barnacles cling to the jagged rocks. I envy their strength to hold on storm after storm. Yet that which challenges their strength also brings them substance. Sea life churned up by the storm they reach out for with their delicate branches to grasp and eat. To these creatures fierce winter storms become life giving! No wonder the biggest barnacles live in the wildest of places. Oh to be here in a storm! To perch my kayak out here on the edge of the chaos and power. To watch the big waves roll in the explode upon the cliffs. To hear and feel the clash of these fierce titans of wave and rock. To watch tide and current in their wild dance. To see gullies and harlequin feed in this chaos reminding me who is strong and who isnt. Alas a sight I will only see in my imagination. I look up at the trees hanging from the cliffs above. Their roots cannot be deep but the tenacity of their hold is to be envied. Through the cold winds of winter, the wailing winds of spring, and the heavy rain bearing winds of fall they survive and like the barnacles below thrive. I paddle away filled with admiration. I look to the North where the hot breath of whales hang poised on the horizon. A gift appears before my eyes and soul. Out of the blue sea a whale lunges up and rises as if on wings into the air. He twists and hangs for a sacred moment and then plunges with white furry back into the sea! The Whoop reverberates throughout my boat as it finally reaches me. I sit in awe. Sometime nature is harsh but other times she gives gifts of joy and rapture. I drift thankful for the gift she has just given. /Loons on the water, otter pups playing,/ /Whales leaping mighty out of the sea./ /Praise for elation! Praise for creation!/ /Gods creatures living under Gods care./ * * I begin to hear then grumbling and groaning of the local sea lion herd that calls these wild rocks and waters home. I decide to head out and see the colony of sea lions that live out here. The rookery sits on the southern point of a small island to the Southwest of the Brothers. I head for the North point to come in behind them. Suddenly my nostrils burn my eyes tear up, my stomach lurches up for my throat and my head grows woozy! Gag what a horrid retched smell! Good grief! I have been near sea lion colonies before some a lot bigger than this but none have smelled this bad! This is bloody lethal! I seriously consider turning around! However I forge on wondering if it is worth it. Ahead four young sea lions away from the colony see me and spy hop to check me out. They swim back and forth, rising up out of the water for a better look. They then turn and escort me toward the colony at times leaping in unison in front of me! Ahead I see a rock layered by the flaccid bodies of gangs of sea lions. The bulls lie lazy at the highest points of the rock. Basking in the sun surrounded by their harems these immense Bubbas have it made. Occasionally one will grunt and the other males will reluctantly raise their heads to count their ladies then give a grunt before putting their head back down. Young males swim below hoping to one day earn their place on the rock and an admiring harem. A few animals notice me but give me no heed. A fact I appreciate greatly. I discover a second small colony on the rocks ahead. I give them the same cautious distance but with far different results. One sea lion grunts and very animal raises up in alarm at my passing. Some sway back and forth on their front flippers while others nervously eye the water. Suddenly several animals hit the water at once. Are they planning to escape or to chase me I do not know? Sea lions make me nervous. Like bears most of the time they are more noise than threat but occasionally one comes along crazy and unpredictable. The difference in the reaction of these two colonies couldnt have been more different. I speed up to show I am no threat and they thankfully leave me alone. Another day and more chances to explore this wonderful wilderness. I head for East Brother today and spend the morning ducking in and out of the rocky shore line, dodging the tide and just looking around. Lots more Gullies and Harlequins. Some seals pop up looking at me with wide eyes asking the question, are you going to harass us like the sea lions do? No my friends, no. Back at camp I trade my paddle and boots and explore the island. Game trails weave through the lush knee high grasses. Otters I suppose judging from the shells left on rocks. Here and there I also find deer dropping. How in the world did they get out here? At least they dont have to worry about bears. I slowly amble up to the point of the island. I find a group of wind twisted hemlocks on a cliff overlooking the sea and covered in old man's beard moss. Long and stringy, the moss like a wizards beard, I muse as a reflection of their age and wisdom. I envision them as ancient watchers of the sea. They stand silent watching winter storms while bathing in the freshness of the wind and rain. Their ancient eyes have seen generations of whales and sea lions pass. They saw the first Tlingit cedar canoes ply the waters followed now by ships made of steel. They have watched storms and the seasons pass, and travelers come and go. What stories they could tell what ancient wisdom could they speak. Old and stately watching over the sea I call them "children of the Ents of Tolkiens Middle Earth" Later I sit by the fire watching the glowing coals and the rising tide. I have poised my fire pit by the edge of the high tide mark. I wait for the great sizzle! The sky over head hovers clear and blue. I decide to cross back over tomorrow. A small storm lurks somewhere over the horizon carrying lots of rain and wind. With no source of fresh water I dont want to get stuck out here. I feel a deep sadness tonight. As I gaze out upon sparkling waters, I think of my fellow sea kayakers in the Gulf of Mexico. Foul oil now touches the pristine beaches I mourn for the waters and the paddlers. How many of my fellow kayakers sit looking at their boats wondering when they ever will glide upon the waters of the Gulf again? Sea kayaking for many of us is more than just a physical thing. For some it becomes a way to get away from it all. A way to stay sane in this crazy world. A special time with family. Now to have that taken away is like having a chunk of your soul removed. I mourn for my fellow seakayakers. The tide comes to within 6 inches of my fire pit then slowly recedes. No sizzle tonight. Oh well. The promise of morning blue skies dies quickly to heavy rain pregnant clouds. I decide to head for Gambier Bay 14 miles away. With heavy rains predicted I hope to reach the Forest Service Cabin there and use it as a dry base camp. Fredrick Sound dances with choppy waves and testy winds. About half way across I experience a rush of joy. I experience a perfect moment upon the sea. Wind and waves become my companions. My boat glides smoothly one with my body. My paddle swings in a sweet, sweet rhythm. My senses feel quick and keen. The waves roll beneath me in an ancient dance before brisk but exhilarating winds. I sing out unto sea and sky. /So great the ocean, so wide the sea/ /In my small boat Lord I sail before thee/ /Praise for thy grace Lord. Praise for calm waters/ /Praise for my journey set before thee/ I make the cruise ship less 3 mile crossing in 45 minutes. Once on Kootzoonoowhos shores I tuck in tight to get an intimate feel for its wind ravaged, tide ripped and wave besieged shore. Exposed to the grinding stone of time the rocks bear their scars. Barnacles and sea weed share the burden of tide and waves. I am down to half a bottle of water yet so far I have found no place to replenish. I look and mostly listen. Finally I clear a rock point and see a small stream trickling down the cliff side. Flowing out of the muskeg above and sliding down the rock on a cushion of green slime it looks anything but tasty but it will have to do. Heading North along the shore I am invaded by buzzing, biting and annoying horse flies. Big horse flies! Occasionally I stop and let one alight on me. The trick to catching them is to know how they fly. Horse flies once they land always fly straight up before flying away. Swatting straight down never works. The trick is to swipe just above them grabbing them as the fly upward. Then I give them a quick crunchy squeeze and toss them in the water for the herring. The way I figure it I feed the fly to the herring which feeds the salmon which feeds me. Ah the circle of life! After 12 miles I enter the welcoming waters of Gambier Bay. I weave through a small group of islands searching for Church Bight. Fog and rain obscure my vision somewhat. Hopefully they will lift and allow me to explore. I round a point and begin to search for the Forest Service cabin. My reservation isn't until tomorrow but I will use the cabin unless someone else comes along. A little bit of a gamble but worth it if this storm comes in. Thankfully this cabin is easier to find then the one in Pybus. Walking up to it I see that it is also in much better shape. I step in to see a wood stove. I check the wood shed and there is plenty of wood. Yeah! If nature brings a chill I will be OK. I walk down to the beach to see a small school of herring flipping just off shore. Suddenly I hear a big whoosh and four eagles flew directly overhead and converged on the herring. One by one they capture a fish in their sharp talons. Then they settle back into the trees over head and feast then wait staring to sea for the next meal opportunity. I awake to a steady rain beat upon the roof. Gentle but unwavering. I walk down to the beach and gaze out into Gambier Bay. A soft wet cool blanket of fog and mist covers the world. I watch for magical minutes as the fog drifts to and fro exposing an island for a moment then making it disappear. Today upon the sea the world about lays hidden. The fog holds close to land and water revealing little of the wonders about me. I paddle seeking to sense more than see the world. Changes in wind direction, changes in fog and rain changes in the tides I ride upon. As each trip lengthens I grow more sensitive to the subtle changes about me. The least change in direction of the wind tells me things are about to change, for better or worse. I am beginning to feel that wind change upon my cheek and the subtle change in tide beneath my life. I have been reading On Celtic Tides by Chris Duff. The wonderful story of his solo trip around Ireland. He talks about the point of the trip when he rounds the Northwest corner of the Island. The west coast had been wild with dangers and spectacular scenery. Big swells, wild winds and massive cliffs. Mile upon mile of exposed ocean. From this point on things would get a lot tamer. He spoke of missing this wildest coast because it had held and changed his life so much for the past two months. In turning the corner he was losing a companion and a soul connection. So connected had he become to this part of the ocean he began to wonder if he could live without it. He is two hundred miles from the finish of a 1200 mile trip. Yet this piece of coast in a way is the beginning of the end of the trip. The beginning of saying good bye to a life upon the sea a life immersed in wind and waves. I know today how he feels. I remember once when this trip would have been much different. Each day a new far flung destination x number of miles to be made - the weather be damned. Rain and wind I would have carried on, energy flowing through my veins and spirit. Now at 57 my body mind and soul I sense grow older and wiser. My body is losing that ceaseless restlessness of energy that I have known since childhood. Rising from a dark winter of polio into the spring of new life at four I began to run for joy and haven't stopped sense, until now. I feel this ceaseless energy slowing down as the dancing and leaping flames of a campfire slowly ebb into glowing coals. At last there is no fountain of youth, no more logs to place upon the fire to get it going again. After years of perpetual motion I am simply slowing down. I have noticed tendons and joints protesting a little sooner than normal and a contentment about sitting in a cabin on a wet day as opposed to paddling in the midst of the rain and wind. I have also noticed something about my need for solitude. There are times I still need it but now not for as long. I am nearing two weeks on this trip and instead of desiring more I find myself missing home. Maybe it is because my son Martin was home only a few days this summer and I am beginning to watch him walk out the door of my life. This is good in many ways as we raised his to be able one day to go off on his own and live his own life fully without having to hold on to us. However I am beginning to feel the sorrow of good bye to fewer days with him of kayaking upon the sea, laughing at old movies, meals shared, and dreams of the night spoken in the day. Today my thoughts taste of sadness and joy. My son paddles off for his own horizon and I remain on the sea shore watching his disappear on the horizon. The wind of memories bears joy and sadness, peace and sorrow. The wind makes a subtle change. I feel it on my face, on my cheeks, a little colder and more from the Northwest. I sense what God, the wind and my body are telling me. Mourn not, my days upon are still many but the horizons will be nearer, the distances shorter, the risks less. The long trips are indeed over. Two weeks is too much and 150 -200 miles too long. I need to slow down and learn to find the answers in calmer winds, softer seas and fewer days. I have turned the corner, most of my paddling is behind me. Hopefully other trips will come but the miles will be fewer. I arrive back at the cabin and go to fetch fresh water and noticed the creek is flowing lively once again. When I arrived it was barely a trickle. I have lamented the rain which has kept me cabin bound lest I paddle "chilled to the bone" or in a foggy midst so thick I could see nothing except the front of my boat. Yet that is a selfish view. This land thirsted for rain. It has been a dry spring and summer. Yes we enjoyed the "good weather" but for the land plants and animals it is a different story, a rainforest needs rain. I remember several years ago when southeast had a drought and the salmon streams dried up. The bears stood beside the streams sometimes creating holes with their feet that looked like post holes. The salmon stayed out in the oceans in endless churning circle waiting for the water to come and let them go in land to spawn. Without the rain the important circle of life for the salmon and the food chain for bears and humans is disrupted. The creek that I get water from flows healthy today, bold and swift as it was meant to be. I must remember this land needed the rain more than I need the sunshine. I click on the weather report hoping for good tiding for tomorrow. Each day I admit I still hope to hear good weather. I want the radio to say sunny skies with light winds, humpback whales in the water and bears on the beach. Today I clicked on a 4pm and looks like I can expect rain as my constant companion, oh well The morning rain wakes me. I listen to the wet world outside. I stroll down to the beach. The rain is letting up and the fog has lifted from the Bay. Time to be back on the water. I paddle about a mile when in the distance I see a fishing boat. Could it be Jeff? I paddled in the same direction it was heading keeping an eye out for it course. When it turned towards me I knew it is was Jeff. As he nears I prepare myself to hear voices again. It has been 12 days since I have heard any voice but my own. After that much time hearing another voice suddenly brings one out of ones self in back into the world of people. I feel some apprehension as he approached. I worry there might be a death or tragedy to have to go home too. Lately we have had our share in our church. Hey Bob how you doing? Jeff's joyous voice makes me relax. I know everything is good back home. Jeff tells me his schedule has changed. He had to go back in early to sell his crab and now will be out till next Wednesday. I do a quick inventory of food. I have dinners up through Sunday night but not beyond. He is talking to another friend about picking me up. We will talk tonight at 7pm via VHS. Jeff heads up bay to pick up crab pots and I am once again left in blessed solitude. I look about me. Gambier Bay. Twenty one years ago I passed by quickly dreaming of this day when I could explore her inner shores. I gaze upon the clouds that hang on the mountains. The trees seem to hold on to the morning fog as if to say for so long we thirsted then you brought your rain to quench our thirst, now remain for a moment that we might caress your wetness before the wind takes you away. / / /Mist shrouds the mountains, fog covers the sea/ /Soft rain pours down from the heavens above/ /Praise for Gods waters. Praise for Gods wild seas/ /Praise for the life God gives unto thee./ I head toward the Southwest corner of Gambier. I decide to paddle along the East shore heading in and then take the West shore heading out. A string of islands rest in the center of the bay like a string of pearls. I clear a small island point and notice gray shapes upon the rocks. In the midst of a gray world of clouds and water, I didn't see the gray colored seals till I was on top of them. With noisy protest they hit the water. A gang of wide eyed heads bob in the water trying to see if I am friend or foe. I can only paddle on as an answer. I pull up to a small pebble beach to enjoy a rare treat. Matt a member of Jeffs crew handed me a sandwich and Jeff scurried top the kitchen to get me a cold Coke. After two week of dehydrated food this simple sandwich of thin sliced turkey, sharp cheese, crisp lettuce, mayo and fresh bread tastes like sirloin streak. After two weeks of Halazone treated water the cold coke tastes like the finest wine. A flake of beautifully green lettuce drops to the ground and without hesitation I pick it up and eat it! Life doesnt get any better than this! I ponder the end of the trip. Strange in that I do not know when it will end. It could come as easily as tomorrow if Scott picks me up or as late as Wednesday if I wait on Jeff. I told him that I am here to play but since his boat is how he feeds his family his fishing comes first. I calculate my food again. I have food for breakfast and lunch through Wednesday but my last dinner is Sunday evening. I may need to be creative-maybe split the last two dinners and supplement it with beef Jerky and cheese (hello farts!) I laugh. My trips are usually pretty scheduled so this open ending seems a little out of place. I head back out of the Bay. I paddle under the watchful eyes of a big seal. He eyes me with suspicion and curiosity. A seal calls from between the islands. I laugh, he truly is one of the loudest and raucous seals I have ever heard. Another seal calls with his mouth half in the water like a three year old child in a bath tub. These are as crazy a group of seals as I ever have heard. Still I prefer them over sea lions any day. I work my way back hugging the shore line. I catch a movement to my right and see a mother merganser swimming along with a big clutch of little ones. This is probably the most little ones I have ever seen with one mother. Are they all hers? She sees me and looks for an escape. I turn away quickly to give her as much room as I can. She reverses her brood and they scurry after her. Safe for the moment at least. Hours later finds me safe and dry in my cabin, the stove pouring out heat and my wet gear shedding the days rain slowly. I look at my map not sure if there will be a tomorrow of paddling. If Jeff comes to pick me up then the map will wait for another day. On the other hand there is still much to explore. I try to call Jeff on the Radio but get no reply. Tomorrow remains a mystery. Either way I am OK. I spend time reading my notes and soaking in the memories of every bay, animal encounters and moment of wonder. It has been a good trip. A journey in the midst of big bay, and small inlets. Isolated Islands and expansive shore line. There has also been the inward journey of spirit and desire. The past present and future has been opened up and pondered. It has been a good trip Indeed. I awake and begin my morning routine. I click on VHS expecting to hear the animated weather voice telling me about rain and wind. I am shocked to hear Jeffs voice talking to another boat. I realize then that I had left the radio on channel 16 by accident. I hail Jeff This is the ArlukIII calling the Priest Point, Jeff come in please Bob, I had a break down and need to return to town, what do you want to do? I ponder quickly and hear myself think, it has been a good trip and if I dont ride back with Jeff then I may run out of food. Pick me up, Jeff O.K. Within ten minutes my gear is being loaded onto his skiff and I am heading home. As we pullout of Gambier I look back at its fog draped mountains and gentle rolling seas. Instead of sadness of leaving so soon I find comfort in knowing that there is much left to see for another day. *************************************************************************** PaddleWise Paddling Mailing List - Any opinions or suggestions expressed here are solely those of the writer(s). 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Robert Carter wrote: > Morning Has Broken > > The Brothers Islands > > Fredrick Sound, Alaska Terrific narrative, Rev. As usual, you had me there, in the rain, watching for bears, eking out the last molecules of heat from a fire. Fifty seven is not over the hill, man. You've got a lot of good paddling and a lot of good writing in you, babe! -- Dave Kruger Astoria, OR *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
On Sun, Aug 8, 2010 at 5:16 PM, Robert Carter <revkayak_at_aptalaska.net>wrote: > There has also been the inward journey of spirit and desire. The past > present and future has been opened up and pondered. It has been a good trip > Indeed. > > Rev... I'm glad to see that you are well and back in a kayak and telling us about your adventures. It's normal for us to reflect on our past as we move from one form of family life to another. And it's healthy to change focus. Just as we no longer play with toy cars in the backyard or cruise the boulevards late at night with our buddies (well, most of us) our lives move into a different arena. Not necessarily worse, just different. I told my daughter when she wondered whether having children will be too great a change that she won't notice the change much. I reminded her that just as she no longer plays with her Barbie dolls once she is a mother she will remember the things she used to enjoy but will be focused on a new adventure. It would not surprise me if you didn't find that spending more time in one area and exploring it more fully becomes more satisfying than those long mile-eating paddles were. Good luck... keep paddling... and keep writing. Craig Jungers Moses Lake, WA www.nwkayaking.net *************************************************************************** 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/ ***************************************************************************
It was interesting to read another one of your travel stories. You capture the mood of rain on dark forest so well. I thought the best parts were when the bears didn't eat you, and the whale granted you safe passage. I'll bet you feel the same way. Bradford R. Crain > Robert Carter wrote: >> Morning Has Broken >> >> The Brothers Islands >> >> Fredrick Sound, Alaska > > Terrific narrative, Rev. As usual, you had me there, in the rain, > watching for bears, eking out the last molecules of heat from a fire. > > Fifty seven is not over the hill, man. You've got a lot of good paddling > and a lot of good writing in you, babe! > > -- > Dave Kruger > Astoria, OR *************************************************************************** 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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