Glacier Bay 2024

Our Glacier Bay adventure began in Bartlett Cove.  We set up our tent in a lush rainforest. With the cool and rainy weather, we put a tarp over our tent to enhance rain protection.

 Fri. To access a more remote area, we loaded our kayak and gear aboard the Day Boat and enjoyed a tour of the bay's West Arm. 

At South Marble Island, we saw sea lions and nesting seabirds.  

In the Tidal Inlet, Captain Naomi located a mother brown bear and her cub feeding on mussels along the shore. 

At Gloomy Knob, we spotted a nanny mountain goat and her kid hanging out on the rocks.  I am pretty sure they saw us before we saw them. 

Glacier Bay is home to over 1,040 glaciers, and most are shrinking or receding. The impressive Johns Hopkins is a tidewater glacier that calved a hunk of ice into the sea as we watched. 

After the Day Boat dropped us off at Blue Mouse Cove, within minutes we were paddling with porposies, sea otters, seals, and two humpback whales.  It was our first time paddling in such close proximity to humpbacks and we gave them due deference. 

As we set up our tent above the high tide line on a mossy strawberry patch atop a granite overlook, several humpback whales were feeding in the inlet.  One was just off the shore from us, about 50 feet away.  

Another whale tail-slapped for 10 minutes.  It was quite a display!   After dinner, the whales continued feeding and making appearances for hours.  Also, a few seals showed their curiosity by popping their heads above water near the shore.  We could see whales through the door of our tent.

Sat. More whales, seals, otters, and porposies in the morning.  A playful troupe of 7 sea lions joined them.  A rufus hummingbird seemed drawn to our brightly colored clothes.  A bald eagle flew to the island south of our site and stirred up a flock of gulls and kitiwakes.  Crows cawed behind us frequently.  After lunch we paddled 4 miles up Scidmore Bay during "slack" tide to collect water from a stream.  

We passed a large raft of scoters at the north end of the bay.  After purifying our water, we rested in the shade of some alders until we could paddle back to camp while the tide was receding.  It felt like flying.  Before bed, we heard a pack of wolves howling in the distance.  At night, we got up and saw a faint auroa borealis just as the sun was starting to rise at 3:45 a.m.!

Sun. The day started with three whales tail-slapping to the east of us.  Make a joyful noise to the Lord!  More whales arrived, perhaps 8 total, including a mother and calf.  Black-tailed Bumblebees abounded.  

The kelp bed is exposed every 12 hours at low tide.  Wolves were howling again.  Oystercatchers seemed to whistle without breathing.  We were amazed at the difference between high and low tide at our site.  Receding tide reveals bare rocks at the highest level, rocks covered with barnacles and bladder plants at the mid level, and a bed of mussels at the lowest level showing at low tide.  Our outhouse was anywhere in this intertidal zone.  Natural flushing.

Mon. At low tide in the morning, we set out to replenish our water supply, and after a few paddle strokes, a whale surfaced 15 feet from our kayak.  These gentle giants are completely hidden underwater until they reveal themselves.  We never got used to how close to shore they could be.  One of the bear safety practices at Glacier Bay is cooking and eating in the intertidal zone.  More often than we can remember, a whale spouted not more than 30 feet from us.  This intimacy with whales is startling and awesome.  After a short 1 mile paddle to a water source, we hauled the kayak up the beach and were tempted to pump from a large pool of water, but we realized it was below the high tide mark and probably brackish.  

We followed the trickle of water uphill to a humble flow of freshwater, enough to meet our need but not enough to scoop a single cupful.  It was a cold and refreshing drink.

Tues. The wildlife continued to delight us.  Joe spotted a merlin that flew into the alders behind us, and later the crows tried convincing it to leave.  Every day, contrary to typical Southeastern Alaskan weather, the sun was blasting directly on us.  A mild 73°F felt like 95°F.  We were grateful for the umbrellas shading us.  

Around 3:00 p.m. in the eastern shadow of a rocky outcrop, we enjoyed cooler temperatures and a breeze without holding our umbrellas.  Joe harvested some ocean edibles, including bull kelp, sea lettuce, and rockweed.  Each had a unique texture but similar salty flavor.  We came prepared with full bug suits (jackets and pants) but fortunately, we never needed them.  We saw more bumblebees than mosquitoes.  In late afternoon, we heard a beautiful chorus of wolves.  Their tuneful song started with a soloist, and others joined the sustained sonorous notes.  That night we went to sleep to the deep bellowing of a whale behind us.  The sound was like Peter Jackson's Balrog without any hint of menace.  We could feel the vibrations.

Wed.  In Glacier Bay, kayakers are controlled by the tides, but you can use them to your advantage.  On the day we were scheduled for pick up, we had to get up at 4:00 a.m., pack all our gear, and be on the water by 5:00 a.m. to benefit from a high tide shortcut.  Insufficient water would mean a slippery portage with a fully loaded boat or else an unpleasantly long trip paddling against the tide.  Fortunately, we got through the passage in time.  Along the way to our pick-up at Blue Mouse Cove, we saw 2 grey wolves and a brown bear along the shore.  The wolves were watching us.  The bear was oblivious.  We enjoyed observing the animals from the kayak.  

Our early arrival meant we had a lot of time until the Day Boat arrived at 1:30 p.m.  We ate a hot breakfast of oatmeal and coffee or tea, as we did every day.  Then, we sat on the most comfortable place atop the boulders with the best view of the bay we could find.  

While we waited for the Day Boat, Joe monitored the comings and goings of the Princess and Holland America cruise ships.  The wake from the Princess was very pronounced but didn’t reach our shore until 20 minutes after it passed out of view.  The Day Boat arrived and unloaded kayaks and gear for a pair of grandparents and their 2 granddaughters and their guide, but when we handed our boat to be tied on the ship's bow, Deckhand Aaron declared that we earned the distinction for heaviest empty kayak of the year.  I see it as the price of stability when paddling with whales. 

Thur. To paddle in the Beardslee Islands near Bartlett Cove, we took advantage of a well-timed shortcut.  The only safe passage is an hour before and after high tide.  Except for the porposies, sea otters, seals, and salt water, this area reminded us of Voyageurs National Park in Minnesota. 

Before 1750, the Huna Tlingit called this place home until they were displaced first by the glaciers then by the federal government.  Once again, they are an integral part of this wilderness, and we are grateful to have joined them briefly in the stewardship of this magnificent marine landscape. 

Glacier, the Bitterroots, Craters of the Moon, and the Snake 2018

To celebrate my parents' fiftieth wedding anniversary, I traveled with my extended family to Glacier National Park in June.  We stayed on the west side, and since the Going-to-the-Sun Road was not open beyond Avalanche, we focused our activites on the Lake McDonald area.

One day, a few of us hiked up to Avalanche Lake.  It was a lovely hike with Varied Thrushes singing in the background.  An American Dipper even made an appearance at the lake.

 

One of the highlights of walking to through the woods is the occasional surprise orchid.  I found my first White Lady's Slipper along a path to the Apgar campground.

After the family portion, I went to visit my best friend from first grade who now lives in Boise, ID, by way of the the Bitterroot Mountains along the border of Montana and Idaho.  I always assumed that "bitterroot" described the mountain range since it presented a formidable challenge to the Lewis and Clark "Corps of Discovery" expedition.  In fact, the mountains are named for a lovely wildflower.  I found a patch of bitterroots at the National Bison Range.

Further along the way to Boise, I stumbled onto a national park that I had not yet heard of - Craters of the Moon National Monument.  It was a facsinating geological oddity along the Great Rift in the valley of Pioneer Mountains of Idaho.

  
One of the highlights of Craters of the Moon was exploring the lava caves with a ranger.  The hot summer temperatures gave way to cool cave air.  One of the caves had ice, and I could see my breath.
    

My friend and her wife gave an excellent tour of Boise.  One of my favorite stops was an overlook of the Snake River where we watched the aerial displays of several Prairie Falcons for an hour.

The trip ended back at Glacier in Montana, just as the Going-to-the-Sun Road was opening.  The road was clear, but the fog prevented much sightseeing.  On a hike to Hidden Lake that required slow and steady steps atop a foot of snowpack, visibility was limited to about 50 yards, adding to the sense of isolation and mystery.  Occasionally, the fog would lift to reveal a beautiful meadow pond or the caravan of hikers ahead and behind.  But I never did see the "Hidden Lake." 

    

Isle Royale National Park 2017

After a six-hour voyage aboard the Ranger III, Isle Royale National Park came into view.  It's an isolated island in Lake Superior with a Michigan address.  The Ojibwe call Lake Superior gichi-gami, meaning "the Great Sea."  

Twelve years ago, we hiked 40 miles from Windigo to Rock Harbor on the Greenstone Ridge trail.  I remember thinking then that it is as much a place for paddling as for hiking.  So, this return trip would involve "expedition kayaking," which means packing everything we would need for seven days and six nights in a 17-foot sea kayak.

Upon arriving at Rock Harbor, we decided to paddle out to Merritt Lane.  The waters along the shore were choppy.  A couple of brothers in their 60s felt that the water was too rough, so they headed back.  We set up camp in a lakeside shelter and ate dinner by 6:00 p.m.  The brothers Tim and Frank showed up at 8:30 p.m., having paddled the calmer waters of Tobin Bay. 

In the morning, there was trouble.  Tim discovered his younger brother partially lying in the lake.  Hearing Tim's call for help, we rushed to pull Frank up from the shore.  He was visibly shivering and unable to move his limbs.  He also could not speak.  We treated him for hypothermia and then paddled back to Rock Harbor for help while Tim stayed to care for Frank.

Ranger Marshall Plumber responded swiftly in a Bertram motorboat called the Lorelei.  We learned later that Frank was airlifted to Thunder Bay and was treated for a stroke.  In light of the medical emergency, we adjusted our plans and stayed at Merritt Lane another night.

The next day we got an early start to round Blake Point, the eastern tip of Isle Royale with notoriously rough waters.  We encountered some heaving, but nothing we hadn't already experienced on Lake Michigan.  

On the "north shore" of the island, we paddled past some palisades and through a bit of open water of Lake Superior.  Eventually, we received some protection from a few outer islands.  We stayed in a shelter at Belle Isle and heard the most amazing chorus of loons calling in the wee hours of the night.  The next morning, we were treated to a beautiful sunrise.  

We paddled leisurely through Lane Cove, then took the long way around to Five Finger Bay and portaged into Duncan Bay.  

In the morning, we spotted a beaver as we prepared to head up the bay to the Duncan Narrows.  It started raining, but our wetsuits kept us warm.  We made good time, and the rain stopped, so we decided to try to go around Blake Point a day early.  It seemed calm enough.

The rain returned, and the wind picked up behind us from the west, pushing us into the palisades.  The swells increased as we rounded the tip of the island, becoming bigger than anything we previously experienced.  We tried to stay at least a half-mile from the rocky shore.  The water was like an ominous slow-moving roller coaster with high peaks and deep troughs.  Better to ride than to fight them.  

After we cleared the point, we needed to find the safest way back to Merritt Lane.  Now, we were facing the wind, and water was breaking over the gunwale into the cockpit.  With wind and rain gusting into our eyes, we could only see waves crashing on rocks ahead of us.  Instead of navigating an uncertain maze of smaller islands, we tacked right toward the familiar shore.  It was the right choice.  

Later, we learned how lucky we were.  The Voyageur II, a 65-foot water taxi, refused to leave dock the day we rounded Blake Point to avoid the 10-foot swells.  I would not have chosen to paddle on those conditions on purpose.  There are numerous shipwrecks around Isle Royale, and the waters of Lake Superior have claimed much greater vessels, like the Edmund Fitzgerald.  We avoided a bad outcome on account of the Klepper kayak's seaworthiness, our general experience of paddling open water for more than 10 years, and keeping calm in the midst of the storm.  I would not rule out a little divine intervention, as well. 

The nasty weather brought some interesting visitors to the Merritt Lane campground.  We saw a river otter picking at a duck carcass near the lakeshore, and a juvenile sandpiper called a Lesser Yellowlegs was feeding at the puddles.  I also think we saw the flash of a marten. 

Isle Royale can be a peaceful place.  One day, we got in the kayak and meandered through the archipelago near Blake Point and ate lunch in the boat as we bobbed in the water.  Red-breasted Mergansers seemed to be around every corner.  Common Loons and Bald Eagles showed up at least once a day.  

Back at Rock Harbor, we stayed at the lodge for a slow reintroduction into civilization.  Our room had a south-facing balcony overlooking Lake Superior.  Having just finished reading Nevada Barr's A Superior Death in the wilderness, it was necessary to honor the protagonist Ranger Anna by purchasing some Snickers candy bars at the camp store, as well as some other treats.  On the night we attended Ranger Kelly's program about the northern lights, we enjoyed a glorious full moon in a partly cloudy sky, but alas, no Aurora.  And even though there are about 1,600 moose on Isle Royale, we only saw one.           
    

One of the highlights near Rock Harbor is the spruce bog on Raspberry Island.  We saw at least 100 pitcher plants in bloom with tiny sundew plants nearby.  Both carnivorous species were visible from the boardwalk.  It was so exciting to be there that we walked the trail twice.  

Isle Royale was an exciting and relaxing place to be this year.  We had two major challenges, but they made us aware of our blessings.  I am definitely willing to return someday.  Here's a video postcard from Isle Royale National Park.

Acadia and Beyond 2017

When I was a kid, I wanted to live in Maine, and this year I took one step toward that dream by finally visiting Acadia National Park.  To get acclimated from the Midwest to the North Atlantic coast, we rented a kayak to paddle at the Parker River National Wildlife Refuge on the border of Massachusetts and New Hampshire.  

Afterwards, we stopped to hike a loop trail through the woods and salt marsh of the Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge in southern Maine.  The Pink Lady's Slippers were blooming.

After a lovely backyard lobster dinner with Deb and Gary, the parents of a neighbor, we drove to Stonington and took a ferry to Isle au Haut.  We rented bikes for the day and explored the island.  I had a lobster roll for lunch on National Lobster Day with a tremendous view!

On a nicely paved road, it would have been possible to speed past the smaller stuff.  Since the road at southern end of Isle au Haut has alternating boulders and pot holes, I discovered a Dragon's Mouth Orchid in a high-quality bog during a pit stop. 

I don't think you're allowed to visit Maine without seeing a lighthouse.  Here's the Bass Harbor Head lighthouse.

When the weather turns nasty and the sea starts churning, you can see why lighthouses helped save so many lives.  I really like a stormy day, preferrably from the safety of solid ground.    

My relatives from Connecticut came up to Acadia for the weekend.  We went hiking, sightseeing, and paddled on Father's Day.  We saw some harbor seals from our kayaks.  I love the view of the coast from the water.   

Here's a video postcard I made of this trip to Acadia and beyond. 

North Cascades 2016

For the centennial of the National Park Service, I decided to avoid the crowds and go to one of the less visited parks in the system.  North Cascades National Park in Washington State is the fourth least visited, behind Gates of the Arctic (AK), Lake Clark (AK), and Isle Royale (MI).

Not far from Seattle, North Cascades is a remote jewel.  My trip to the Stehekin valley required a four-hour boat trip up 55 miles of Lake Chelan.  North Cascades boasts the most number of glaciers in the contiguous U.S., but even these are disappearing at an alarming rate.

Meltwater from glaciers and snowfields produces a myriad of cascading creeks, streams, and waterfalls that supply the park with its namesake.

The trip focused on two multi-day backpacking itineraries.  The first was along the South Fork Agnes Creek Trail to the Suiattle Pass and back.

This first portion of the trip followed part of the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) through the Glacier Peaks Wilderness managed by the U.S. Forest Service.  Numerous PCT "through-hikers" put me to shame.  Most of these hikers were younger than I by 15-20 years.  More like elves than humans, I'm not sure their feet were even touching the ground.  Having started the 2,659-mile PCT in Mexico in spring and traveling 25-35 miles a day, the through-hikers I met were less than 90 miles from their final goal in Canada.  I was content to hike my forty miles in four days.

One of the highlights on the trail to Suiattle Pass was being able to hear and see several pikas.  Living amid the rocks above treeline, pikas are being challenged by climate change.  Last year at Glacier NP, I did not see or hear any pikas.  At North Cascades, they seemed to be showing off!

The second itinerary was to the Park Creek Pass and back.  Since the PCT veers northeast, this portion was much quieter.  On this trip, I covered thirty-five miles in three days.  The most difficult part was the 1,000-ft rise in one mile from Park Creek Camp to Two Mile Camp.  But the challenge was worth it.  Majestic views of Mount Booker and Mount Buckner encouraged me to press on to the pass.    

The alpine meadow just south of Park Creek Pass was especially lovely and worthy of a root beer barrel stop.  Like a prairie, pictures cannot convey the intimate quiet beauty of a meadow.  The surrounding mountains, however, provide a mighty frame for the high altitude fields with colorful alpine wildflowers.  

After enduring challenges on the trail, the little village of Stehekin provided many comforts.  With views of beautiful Lake Chelan, rooms at the North Cascade Lodge were very comfortable.  Karl Gaskill sells fresh organic vegetables and homestyle goat cheese at The Garden.  High marks go to the Stehekin Pastry Company, which specializes in homemade cinnamon rolls and sticky buns, filled savory croissants, breads and cookies, and my personal favorite - Robbie Courtney's special "egg-in-a-biscuit."  Stehekin means "way through" but to me, it means rest and relaxation.