Glacier Bay Sea Kayaking

Campsite at McBride Glacier.

I woke up this morning in my own tent, by myself, as slowly as I wanted to, urged only by the warmth and brightness of the sun. Thanks to perfect sunny weather, and nine glorious hours of sleep, I felt like a million bucks—the fatigue, discomfort and structure of the last three and a half weeks finally shed. I never thought it would happen, but after paddling over two hundred miles around the entirety of Glacier Bay, working as part of a team--on a schedule--from wake-up to evening debrief, I finally got just a bit too much of a good thing. Usually a glutton for punishment when it comes to living in the outdoors, I got my fill over the past 24 days. The experience was priceless, and I loved it...literally enough natural beauty—and fun—for a lifetime. But there is a toll for experiencing such a wild place so intimately, for so long. With temps in the 40s and rare sun, cold-and-wet was the norm...and usually sandy to boot. My hands were icy from morning to night , rendering my hands partially paralyzed and useful only as hooks for carrying things and latching onto a paddle. I developed painful blisters/swelling on my hands that was eventually diagnosed as a cold injury, called pernia or chilblains (kind of like a mild, frostbite), yesterday at the clinic in Haines. Due to space limitations, we all basically had 2 sets of clothes for 23 days, no way to wash them, and rare opportunities to dry anything. I was usually able to dry a few things each night by keeping them in my sleeping bag overnight. Body heat slowly vaporizes the moisture and it gets drawn into and through the sleeping bag. Thanks to the magic of synthetic materials, a damp sleeping bag still insulates effectively, but there's no avoiding the unsavory feeling of being wrapped in a wet trash bag and the smell of a sauna powered by body heat and damp, smelly clothes. There was one opportunity for a cold shower in a waterfall that I passed on since I was already shivering with all of my clothes on, thus, all but two of us had no shower of any kind for 24 days. 

Cold and cloudy, but a supreme spot to spend the night nonetheless. 

We got out of the boats and did some hiking in a few spots. 

THAT SAID....the photos will probably say more than I can about how insanely wild and beautiful of an expedition it was. Everyone agreed that each day was more incredible than the last, although it always seemed like that would be impossible. Within one 12 hour period, we had a humpback whale cruise within 100 yards of our beach, then circle (words) around, feeding on the surface as we watched from the cliffs less than 50 yards. Then the next morning as we paddled away from that campsite, we stopped and watched 2 mother brown bears right near the water, one with 2 yearlings, the other with 3 tiny cubs. The day before that was special thanks to particularly glassy water and an enchanting mist and stillness early in the morning followed by a challenging paddle across a choppy channel with whales breaching in the distance. The following day would raise the bar once again as we entered a glacial inlet that seemed to have epic waterfalls every hundred feet, and I (as leader of the day) found our coolest campsite to date, with two glaciers in view, and waterfalls roaring down the cliffs right behind us. That evening the mountains, and fjord lined up perfectly with the sun which illuminated the softest clouds imaginable with the most vivid red and orange, producing the best sunset I have ever seen.

I hope my introduction didn't make it sounds as though I was physically miserable the whole time. I was pretty well equipped, clothing wise, so I was able to get reasonably comfortable most of the time and was always warm at night...it was just a constant challenge due to quickly changing conditions throughout the day. One day, I under dressed and got colder than I have ever been in my life—shivering uncontrollably, unable to think straight. But other times, I wore one too many layers and overheated. Overall, you get used to the discomforts, and since everyone is in the same boat, the mood was almost always lighthearted and we had a blast every single day, despite the conditions. If the going got rough, spirits were easily boosted by a nearby whale sighting, a “raft” of dozens of sea otters, a curious sea lion pursuing us for a mile or more--or a whole gaggle of them rough housing with each other right in front of us. Other times we were stoked by spotting a pair of brown bears running down the beach, or catching a glimpse of a baby seal on an iceberg before slipping into the water behind its mother...

Gaggle of sea lions. 

Whale "in camp". 

In the rare times when we weren't astounded by some amazing wildlife encounter, there was always some ridiculous Lord of the Rings-type landscape to inspire awe...a hole in the clouds illuminating a monstrous, snowy and jagged mountain range that didn't even look real, a gigantic glacier calving witnessed from less than a ¼ mile away, 500 foot waterfalls coming into view one after the other as we paddled our way up an inlet toward yet another glacier. Sometimes a handful of trail mix was all it took to bring us back to life after a long stretch of paddling against a headwind. Overall, the rough days made us appreciate the handful of idyllic days we had. As a bonus, those luxuriously sunny days seemed to be well timed. We spent two nights near McBride glacier where we had perfect weather along with a 300 degree view of John Muir inlet. The beach was a sculpture garden of glacial ice, some the size of trucks, dropped off by the tide. The glacier, in view less than a mile away, thundered regularly as it calved ice into the channel, and we watched excitedly as all the ice from the glacier eventually rushed past our beach in a strong current, a few house-sized bergs comprising the main event, as they slowly crashed into each other, rolled, or broke apart.

After 24 days of total immersion in a sport in which I was a complete novice, I feel like I know sea kayaking at least as well as any of the other sports I have done over the years, thanks to expert instruction and lots of  miles. We learned and practiced a dozen+ different strokes and other handling skills, I can self-rescue in a number of different ways, in case of a capsize (yes btw, despite 40ish degree water temps, we spent more than a couple afternoons in dry suits, rolling over, climbing out of, and back into our our kayaks—it was surprisingly fun, albeit frigid), and I can rescue or tow others. I learned about tides (which sometimes ranged over twenty feet in a matter of six hours), currents, navigation, and expedition planning. With a bird and plant of the day, every day, I think I learned nearly all of the plants and birds of Glacier Bay. Most dear to my heart—I learned how to cook good food in the back country! Although, due to my voracious appetite, I often felt like I did not get enough, the food was excellent. I can't wait to make a lot of the recipes in the future on my own, whether I'm camping or not. 

Buffet line for breakfast burritos...bacon, beach greens and goose tongue (foraged), avocado, scrambled eggs (from a carton), cheese, re-hydrated beans, and hash brown potatoes. 

One of Natcho's specialties...back country pizza.  Faces visible from left to right--that's Shockey, Natcho, and Melissa.

After several close encounters with black and brown bears, I feel much better about camping in bear country, and dealing with them. One evening, a young brown bear snooped through our camp, tent by tent, and ended up browsing around in the grass near our kitchen area. After five minutes of ignoring us, he finally trotted back into the woods after our whole group of thirteen bunched together and started approaching him. He visited again in the morning as we were packing our boats, again not appearing to even notice that we were only thirty feet from him. At another campsite, a similarly sized brownie (600lbs?) surprised us by strolling down onto our beach from a steep rock mound and strolled down the beach as if we weren't even there.

Patrick brushing his teeth, unphased by our surprise visitor.

The bear that pawed at my tent at 11 at night...as well as the tents of others', as I wrote a letter home.  We named him Jorge. 

Jorge visited us again in the morning...Nick posed for a pic with the "brownie". 

We saw thirty bears total...more than enough for every letter of the alphabet; we gave them names like Annalise, Bailey, Dexter... Queenie with her two cubs Preston and Robert, and Finally Zeus, and then over again with Arnold and Betty who surprised us by running right towards us one morning as we were breaking camp. Apparently we just happened to be in their path because they turned and disappeared in the woods before they got too close.

As is often the case, it was the people who really made the journey so special. We started out as a group of eleven students and two instructors, Nathaniel (Natcho) and Kyle. "7day"-Chris (age 25?, from CA) actually left on day 7, then Shockey (age 27, from Chicago), Megan (age 31?, from Fairbanks), and the other Chris (age 26, from CA) left on day 12 with Kyle (age 23, from CA), the assistant instructor.  So from day twelve it was Natcho and six students...me, Nick (age 20, from military family...Florida/San Diego/Japan), Alan (age 25, from Florida), Melissa (age 35, from Michigan), Patrick (age 21, from Minnesota, now Bellingham, WA), and Mike (age 49, from Texas).  I couldn't have asked for a better group of people to share the experience with...everyone was unfailingly positive and motivated.  I don't think I've ever encountered so many understanding and selfless people in one place.  We took a bunch of group pictures, but they were with other people's cameras so I don't have those photos yet. 

Sorry, no time for a proper closing...I am leaving for my next course this afternoon and we have to meet up in half an hour.  I'll be backpacking in British Columbia for 9 days, then learning swift water rescue and rafting for the next two weeks.  Be back on July 18th or 19th...