The opportunity to move to Ketchikan was presented to me--and I seized it with hardly a second thought. An attractive job, a move west, and another chance to seek adventure compelled me to make the move. The road to ketchikan took me through some harrowing experiences--failed business ventures, fractured family, wrecked life and a total life make-over. But that story is for another blog; one that I am not ready to confront just yet. I want to creep up on expression through the window of kayaking.
I first began dreaming about kayaking when a back-country ski friend brought it up on a trip back in the 90s. On this trip he brought along his handheld GPS device, which he used at home for sailing and kayaking; we used it for finding our tent in whiteouts. Back then I was having too much fun in the snow to think much about the sea, but the idea was planted and, as it grew, I picked up a few books on the subject and dreamed on. The day Ketchikan appeared on the horizon, I knew it was just my destiny. I arrived in winter and the kayak shops were all closed but I knew I would only have to wait another couple of months to get a taste of sea kayaking. That first taste came in April. I often took walks downtown to shop or have a beer, and on the way there was one shop whose window often caught my attention but the door was always locked. I wondered when they did business? One Saturday, I noticed a sign posted on the door detailing a Saturday Morning Paddle for locals. At last, I thought, the chance was here. I called them up and by the next Saturday I was on the water in the Ketchikan Narrows. The shop was Southeast Sea Kayaks and the mentors are Greg and Gillian Thomas--and their able and talented guides James, Brandon, Alex, and many others who have helped me learn how to stay on the water over these few weeks. By the end of May I had my own kayak and by July I had accumulated enough techniques and gear to venture out on my own. So on July 11, I launched my loaded kayak off the dock at Mountain Point and paddled up the George Inlet toward Herring Cove.
The plan was to cross George Inlet at Herring Cove, pass California Head, cross Carroll Inlet to get to Carroll Point, and follow the shore to Coho Cove. Crossing George and Carroll presented the first challenge; strong currents flow down the inlets and I figured the best time to do it would be at the height of flood tide when the current should be slowest. Unfortunately, I was slow getting ready and I was about an hour late shoving off--the current flowing out was a bit stronger than I had hoped for. I had just paddled out of the harbor when a whale passed swimming toward Ketchikan. Great, I thought; that is just what I am here for. I made it across the inlets easily enough and got to Carroll Point where I found the Southeast folks waiting for clients to be shuttled in. After a few moments of idle chatter and a break for lunch, I paddled on to totally new territory for me. Between 2 and 5 PM I paddled along the rocky shoreline, a few fishing boats, a seal or two, and a few beaches. Once past Carroll Point, there are quite a few small islands and it is difficult to keep track of your position using only a map. Still, I think I recognized the main geographical features, Cynthia and the Bold Islands, and a small island at the mouth of Coho Cove. I thought five was a bit early to stop paddling but I was happy to be at my destination and paddled into the cove. Low tide was just after 4PM and the water was still out at this point but gradually rising. I paddled up to a shallow rocky pool at the north end of the cove and walked up to a some large logs which I thought looked like the high tide line to scout for a camping area. To the right was a shallow stream and to the leftt was dense rain forest and rocky shoreline. The only camping space I could make out was up the right side of the stream on the edge of the forest in a mossy area and that is where I set up the tent. I got the kayak unloaded in ankle deep water and then shouldered the boat up to the log where I perched it for safe keeping until morning. I decided to spend the evening eating and relaxing on the left side of the stream--never camp where you eat and do not eat in your tent unless you want to get intimate with the bears. With the tent set up I crossed the stream back to the boat and started preparing dinner--but first a camp fire for comfort. I started the fire next to the big log so that it would be extinguished with the high tide and my time to hit the sack. I spent the next few hours moon watching, eating, and drinking. In the evening a cruise ship silently slipped east down the inside passage and later a tug pulled a barge up the channel toward Ketchikan--its enormous diesels rumbled all the way across to my camp. Noises from the sea made me think of whales singing to each other.
I made a couple of trips to the stream to retrieve canned beers I had wedged between rocks. On the second trip I noticed the stream was up by a couple of feet and getting the beer was now a wade. By about ten my camp fire started hissing as the sea crept up between the rocks and the last ambers finally flickered out around 10:10. Time to go to bed. Unfortunately, by now the stream was 3-4 feet deep and there was no way upstream to shallower water; I had to wade through crotch-deep water to get to my tent. Oh well, I needed a bath and a change of clothes anyway. I was up the next morning by 5:30 and the tide had retreated back to the low tide line. I had breakfast and began packing up. By 7, I carried the kayak back just above the low tide line and started loading it while it sat on the rocks. Within fifteen minutes the kayak was afloat and I was ready to shove off again.
Before heading west toward Carroll Point, I decided to explore further east down toward Thorne Arm and Moth Bay. I found one pretty cove just east of Coho which might offer even better camping. I started back west by 9:20, passed the island at Coho on the inside and noticed that the west side of the cove looks like better camping than the north end--next time. I will brazenly admit that my near-term goal is to paddle around Point Alava into the Behm Canal.
The paddle back to Mountain Point was beautiful as well as challenging. The weather was un-Ketchikan: bright sun, blue sky, gentle breeze. I was getting set up for another lesson. I casually paddled back, hugging the shoreline as best I could. Should I go inside of this island coming up, or paddle around? What kind of current will I encounter? I started having trouble holding a course even near the rocky shoreline. My kayak wanted to steer me into rocks hiding just under the waves so I was doing sweeping back strokes on the left with every three strokes forward on the right. But when I rounded a point, a current would sweep me out and no amount of paddling seemed to bring me back close to shore. The bow was getting jerked this way, then that way. I finally pulled up the rudder and what do you know, the paddling suddenly got easier. I think the current was twisting my kayak as the rudder vaned me into the current. I reached Carroll Point about noon, passing a host of tourists paddling with Alex and Gillian of Southeast Sea Kayaks, and pulled in to rest--more peanut butter and bagels--for the long crossing back to Mountain Point.
I launched out about 12:30, an hour after high tide, and aimed for Herring Cove via California point. I got hit immediately by the strong current. I tried the rudder down but my bow swung strongly upstream toward Carroll Inlet--too much sideways. I quickly pulled in the rudder and tried hard paddling toward California. It was hopeless; forget California, Herring Cove. I was being washed out in the channel. I just paddled hard against the wind and hoped I could reach the other side by the time I washed down to Mountain Point. About an hour later, I swung into the harbor and limped up to the dock with the last once of power left in me. I usually go to the inside of the dock to avoid the boat traffic loading and unloading at the ramp. At the dock I hung on to the cleat for a few minutes--safe at last. I dropped my paddle on the dock and started unraveling the bowline. I looked up just as the wind swept me away from the dock--without a paddle! I shouted to a guy working on his boat and he frantically tossed the paddle into the air for me to catch in my fingertips. Saved again. By now you must realize that my ambitions far exceed my skills. But that has never stopped me. By morning, I am dreaming of the next trip.
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