Puget Sound to Kupreanof Island

At no time during the trip were we able to access a computer and upload photos from our waterproof cameras so all the posts were a bit text heavy. Now we're home with all photos organised we can make up for the lack of photos. 

The Cascadia Marine Trail provides camping sites throughout Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands exclusively for kayaks and sailing dinghies. These sites are often where there is otherwise no camping and not surprisingly when there was other camping there were better camp spots than the sites open to vehicle access.

We wheeled the kayak 270m from the nearest slipway to the Alaskan Marine Highway System ferry in Bellingham. This ferry took us to Ketchikan.

Securely 'moored' on the car deck for the day and half journey to Ketchikan.

Our 'cabin' on the Solarium Deck. The loungers with thermarests were quite comfy, the biggest disturbance to sleep was the fact it hardly got dark.

All packed up and ready to leave Ketchikan. 

Our first campsite at Cammano Point entailed a long carry to the kayak in the morning at dead low tide. 

Everywhere we went there were some funky houses perched in the most preposterous places.

Luxury camping on a floating pontoon on Zarembo Island. Little likelihood of bears, no carrying of gear up to the campsite, no need to hang all the food or heave the kayak above the high water mark.

Sitka Black-tailed deer and fawn on the shore of Wrangell Narrows.

Doug Leen, our host in Petersburg started life with a degree in Geology, worked for many years as Grand Tetons NP Ranger, spent two years in Vietnam, to then become a dentist for 34 yrs in both private (Seattle), and public health, on a square-rigger in the Pacific for the Marimed Foundation. Before becoming a ranger, he was a serious mountaineer with many first ascents in the Cascades and Alaska with the legendary Fred Becky. He's also restored a 116 yr old tug from the keel up, fitted with a very rare engine, and is still a passionate and active environmentalist. Doug's also spent two summers in the Antarctic at both McMurdo and South Pole...
AND he drinks GnTs from pint mugs and after a delicious feed of halibut starts reciting Robert Service.




Doug's guest cabin where we spent two very comfortable nights.

The muskeg wetlands, remarkably similar to alpine wetlands in Tasmania, though this is virtually at sea level.

Our hip flask of Glenmorangie malt whisky. A sip at the end of each day before the grunt work of carting all our gear and kayak up the beach.

Lovely evening light at our campsite on the northern shore of Kupreanof Island looking across Frederick Sound. 

Back in WA - Deception Pass

The four days and five nights on the ferry from Whittier went remarkably quickly. Tuesday evening we called in to Yakutat so we able to get ashore and stretch our legs. Wednesday afternoon we were back in Juneau and met up with Rory and Jan for coffee, then Thursday afternoon back in Ketchikan and buying a few supplies for our paddle back from Bellingham to Marrowstone Is. 

The ferry docked about 7.00am and we in the water and paddling about 8.30. Crikey, not surprising really but what a difference in temperature! Sandals, shorts and a lightweight thermal. 

Cruisey day paddling south past Anacortes to Deception Pass State Park and a very comfy private little Cascadia Marine Trail campsite. These sites, and there are many dotted around Puget Sound, are only for use by those travelling using human powered craft. 

It's a hot Saturday afternoon and the Park is BUSY, there's more people here in one place than we have seen in two months!

That little red arrow in the Pass itself indicates the tidal flow, flooding at 5knots there at the moment!

And So The End

Paddled into Whittier this afternoon to arrive right on high tide just as planned at the small beach right next to the ferry terminal. 

We've only been away from Whittier for five days since last Wednesday, when we called in for supplies, but it seems much longer ago.

So, stocked up with food we headed out of Passage Canal and north up Port Wells to Barry Arm and into Harriman Fjord where there are no less than four tidewater glaciers surrounded by 10'000' peaks and their numerous hanging glaciers. It was nice to be off the beaten track a little. Compared with Blackstone Bay and it's busy boat traffic it was a haven from the sound of motors. Apart from a couple of glacier tour boats that came and went briefly mid afternoon we had the place to ourselves. It was our turn for some rain though, the peaks disappeared behind low clouds and the tarp went up for shelter. A smokey fire was lit to try and discourage the bugs which had us wearing our head nets for the first time since Icy Bay. 

The next day the clouds were lower and the drizzle thicker so it wasn't a very scenic tour of Harriman Fjord before we were back out into Barry Arm and heading for a campsite on Point Pakenham. 

Just short of Point Pakenham Lynne headed inland to look for fresh water while I kept the boat afloat on the quickly ebbing tide. Over the whole two months we have seen so few kayakers that it was a pleasant surprise when another double cruised around the corner. Of course we got chatting, and yes they not only knew where Tasmania was but the guy (sorry I can't remember your name!) had spent a lot of time there, he EVEN knew where Huonville was! Conversation ranged from his environmental hero - Bob Brown, to foxes, to the comparison between the rainforest here and in Tas. Lynne returned and joined the conversation and we rambled the evening away, us standing in knee deep water, they sitting in their boat. We'll keep in touch we promised as I wrote my email address on the deck of their kayak with a china graph pencil. 

As we turned to leave it was obvious how distracted we had been chatting to these paddlers. There was our double left totally high and dry on the barnacle covered rocks by the ebbing tide! With help from the guy and much grimacing on our part as we left yet another trail of yellow gel coat on Alaskan rocks we heaved it back afloat. 

As we have cruised around Prince William Sound over the last couple of weeks our morning starts have got later and later especially if it's raining. It wasn't raining the next morning but it was still 11.30 by the time we were on the water and heading north again for only 12km to the start of the Coghill Lakes track. With such long daylight hours such a late start doesn't really matter but I still felt a bit uneasy setting out from camp at 4.30 in the afternoon for a walk if at least four hours. 

Our campsite with a lovely shale beach and real grass was one of about ten or so that are in the running for the top five camp spots of the whole trip was the closest we could land to the track start a kilometre away. Being Tasmanian bush walkers and not fazed by a bit of scrub we headed into the trees to thrash our way through to the track. We needn't have worried, it was fairly easy going, even a steep gully was fairly straight forward once we found a bear trail to follow. 

Once on the trail proper it took us over an hour to reach Coghill Lake cabin a Forestry Service public use cabin. The trail was rough, muddy and seemed to climb and meander through the forest in the most obtuse way so wasn't that much easier going than the off track bush bashing. 

As the day had progressed the clouds had slowly started to clear and by the time we reached the cabin a hot sun shone from an almost cloudless sky. 

Hot and sweaty I opened the door of the cabin and noticed three cans of drink left by the precious occupants, two cans of Heineken and one of Coke! 

In the time it took to think "By golly, a cabin in the woods with beer and I'm really hot and sweaty and I don't care that it's warm Heineken" I had drunk half a can. Then Lynne arrived and polished off the other. Thank you, thank you, whoever the beer gods were that left those cans. 

The cabin, mainly used as a base for fishing was a simple but cosy A-frame, there was even a boathouse with a aluminium row boat. Although it was tempting to go for a row on the lake in the lovely evening light we were starving and it would be a good couple of hours back to the tent. 

The next two days, the last of more than 60 paddling days we headed south in no particular hurry. Though we surprised ourselves by covering over 40km on one of those despite a post 11am start. Our excuse was a good NE - NW sailing breeze on and off most of the afternoon. 

Another really lazy morning this morning, Lynne for was up and broke all the rules by bringing me a coffee in bed. What the hell, we were going away from this spot in a couple of hours and not using the tent in bear country again so if the tent smelled of coffee, so what. 

Breakfast in bed followed then later we fried up the remaining bacon for brunch, it was either that or throw it away in Whittier as we couldn't cook it on the ferry. 

On the water about midday, three hours to Whittier with the flooding tide. 

And so the trip finishes. 

We're On Holiday Now

By the time we had carried all our belongings and food bags the 2km or so from the hostel to the kayak and last minute supplies had been sourced (petrol for the stove and malt whiskey for the crew) we didn't get away from Seward until nearly 1pm (Fri 11th July) 

The rain continued and the visibility was only few kms as we plodded south along the eastern shore of Resurrection Sound to look for a camp site on Fox Island, but no luck certainly no sites with the shelter from the cold brisk southeasterly wind. 

A lone paddler we had met earlier in the day had briefly mentioned a 'kayak hostel' in Kayak Cove but as neither of our maps named this cove we had no real idea where it was. It turned out later we had pulled into a cove with a few private cabins and a very rocky shore and we had been only 50m from the hostel. 

With few landing spots and even fewer camping opportunities we had no choice but to head around to Sunny Cove on the western side of Fox Is, a further 8km away where we knew there was sheltered camping.

On around the impressive cliffs of Cape Resurrection the next day to be met with messy uncomfortable seas as the SE swell from the strong winds the day before rebounded from the steep rocky shore, it was slow going. 

Heading out away from the cliffs the seas eventually subsided a bit but not until we were 2km or more offshore. It was still slow though, despite the flooding tide in theory being in our favour. 

That afternoon to Little Whidby Bay, then the next couple of days to Little Johnstone Bay and then Goat Harbour along the Chugach Coast seemed a real trial. Despite in theory having the tide with us some of the time and pretty calm seas every paddle stroke seemed a Herculean effort. We'd both felt absolutely worn out after only 30km or so. Despite this the scenery and wildlife was fantastic, cliffs dotted with mountain goats, offshore rocks draped with harbour seals and sea lions and bays full of whales. Orcas even! A large pod of at least a dozen crossed our path in Johnstone Bay, coming quite close but they were on a mission and fast, no sooner had we spotted them ahead and they surfaced around us, they were behind us and gone. 

As soon as we rounded Cape Puget the going felt so much better.  Thank goodness! I think both of us would have given up paddling if the slow going of the previous few days had continued. 

That morning a stick had fallen from one of the trees we were camped beneath and put a 100x100mm T shaped rip in the tent fly so as the clouds cleared and a hot sun emerged we stopped at the first suitable beach on the eastern shore on the western side of Port Bainbridge to dry the tent out and patch it. We had to take this opportunity, it could cloud back over and be raining in a few hours. No sooner had the tent gone up to dry but sleeping bags, thermarests and all sorts of the items were festooned on bushes and draped over rocks to drive out the damp accumulated over the last few days of mostly cloudy showery weather. 

Despite the Kenai Fjords guide book assuring us that we would have the flooding tide all the way through Bainbridge Passage we were only about a third way through when we hit a flooding current from the north. This was of no particular concern at first as we had a good sailing breeze behind us and both sails up but as the wind dropped and our paddles felt the full force of the opposing current, it was suddenly hard work. We stopped for an hour or so on a tiny headland, one the few landing spots along the very rocky shore, basking in the hot sun while the current dropped and then, yeeha, the sailing breeze picked up again.

Emerging from Bainbridge Passage into Knight Island Passage there seemed at first to be many white boats dotted along the north western horizon. Then it dawned on us, ice! Bergy bits of various sizes emerging from the glaciers of Icy Bay and Nassau Fjord, tomorrow's destination.  

Heading up towards the Tiger Glacier the next day was every bit as spectacular as heading into Northwestern Fjord, west of Seward. Similar weather too, hot sun and clear blue skies. 

We clambered out of the kayak onto a little rocky headland for lunch and a grandstand view of the Tiger glacier 5km away. This lunch spot was unanimously voted by all members of the expedition to be by far the best lunch spot of the trip. 

Back at the entrance of Nassau Fjord our way was blocked by a 500m wide stream of bergy bits and brash ice flowing steadily out of the fjord at about 1kn. It was far too far to paddle right across to the southern shore of Icy Bay to try and get around it so we decided, perhaps in our ignorance of paddling through ice, that we'd try and push through it where the ice wasn't so tightly packed together. 

After a short time we'd perfected a paddling technique taking advantage of the blade sized patches of open water which gave us enough steerage to avoid the larger pieces and in no time at all we were in open water on the other side. 

As in Nothwestern Fjord the icefloes were dotted with hundreds of Harbour seals, dozing and lazing about on the flatter pieces of berg. 

A cold and persistent headwind slowed our progress across Nassau Fjord but we eventually reached the cliffs adjacent to the northern end of the 2km tidewater face of the Chenega Glacier. 

The tidewater faces of the glaciers are always calving, chunks of ice break off with a booming that can be heard a long way off. If we needed a lesson on keeping at least 400 or 500m from the tidewater face in case of a large fall we got it there and then. We were at a safe distance but even the waves created by the massive amount of ice falling into the fjord were a metre high by the time they reached us.  

A nearby campsite was rejected as a bit too barren and plagued with black flies so back into Icy Bay and a more homely but no less bug ridden campsite. For the first time on the trip the bugs were so bad that our head nets were used. Only a few dollars each on Ebay but absolutely priceless for keeping sane against the onslaught of buzzing, biting black flies. Even with the head net on it was still preferable to be sitting in the smoke downwind of the camp fire. 

Drinking was ok through the netting, but eating wasn't quite so straightforward as the netting had to lifted up and clear of your mouth with one hand while the other hand shovelled food in, then the netting quickly dropped before many of the wee beasties got inside. Surprisingly neither of us at any point through dinner and breakfast the next morning forgot to lift the net and spoon in food directly through the netting. 

We had been warned about the bugs and had come prepared but it had surprised us that we had come so far before getting them as bad as this. Was it just these locations or now mid summer the time of year they were in full force? If they were going to be as bad as this for the remainder of the trip then it wasn't going to be a lot of fun. 

By now we were well and truly on holiday, with a week and half to get to Whittier, only a few days direct paddling away and the start of our long journey home we had heaps of time. With no particular destination our days had already begun to start later, lunch stops longer and campsites sought earlier. 

It's sort of strange and unsettling with our final destination only days away but so much time to get there. Shall we paddle around this Island clockwise or anti clockwise? 

With the sparsely treed mountains and as we discovered easy open walking, climbing some hills became an option if the weather cooperated so as to be able to get a view. 

Settled almost windless conditions prevailed making the crossing from Chenega Island to Knight Island easy. The western shore of Knight Island proved to be very rocky with few places to land but we eventually found a fantastic little spot to camp, shelter for two tents, easy beach landing and heaps of driftwood for a fire. And NO bugs!

On to Naked Island to camp the next day then across to Lone Is and Perry Island for lunch and heading for Esther Passage. As the clouds had cleared slowly through the morning the distinctive 500m highest point of Perry Island beckoned as a fantastic viewpoint on such a beautiful clear afternoon. It looked far too scrubby from the campsites on the southeastern side of the Island so we continued around and into East Twin Bay were we found a fantastic little campsite from which open ridges lead towards the summit. In no time at all the kayak was above the high tide mark, the tent pitched and food hung in a tree. 

An hour and a half of pretty easy walking later the most amazing panoramic view of western Prince William Sound unfolded. From the western and northern horizon dominated by big snowy mountains, to the east and south and a labyrinth of Passages, Sounds and islands were laid out before us. We could see clearly our route of the last couple days up the eastern side of Knight Island, Naked Island and Long Island. 

    First part of the ascent

   Summit in sight

    Wild flowers

    Tarns and a gull rookery on top!

    A long way down!

It was remarkably reminiscent of the view of Bathurst Harbour and Port Davey from Mt Rugby, but of course of ginormous proportions compared with SW Tasmania. 'Mt Perry' as we called the nameless peak we'd climbed even looked a similar shape to Mt Rugby. The Western Arthurs would need to be in the 9000' to 10,000' range and covered in permanent snow and ice fields. 

We basked in the view and hot sun for over an hour before hunger took over from the wish to stay longer and we headed back to camp. It is always far easier finding a route up through the patches of scrub and rocky outcrops so we had recorded our ascent on the GPS which made the descent easy and a bit over an hour later we were in camp with a cuppa in hand and dinner on. We'd also feasted on bushes full of wild blueberries on the way! Wow, what an afternoon!

What made view from 'Mt Perry' particularly notable for us I think was that since leaving Ketchikan at the end of May the highest we've been above sea level with a view to the horizon in almost two months has been roughly 15m ASL on the ferry!

The short walk with Rory and Jan in Juneau would have taken us higher than the top deck of the ferry but it wasn't quite the same as firstly we drove up into the mountains and being in a very steep sided valley there were no grand vistas to the horizon. 

Sunday July 20th, the 22nd day since leaving Homer and almost a 800 paddled kms behind us since then, what a contrast. Heavy, heavy rain all night that abated to showers and heavy drizzle by early morning. Without a word we both turned over and snuggled back in our sleeping bags and dozed until the equal necessity for a pee and for a coffee forced Lynne out of the tent to put the tarp up, retrieve the food from the bear proof lockers (luxury, no buggering around hanging food at this 'developed' campsite) and put the stove on. It was a windy forecast in nearby Passage Canal but also a hopeful 'partly sunny' in the afternoon so it might stop raining. We scurried back to the shelter and warmth of the tent until lunchtime when there were substantial patches of blue sky showing. An hour later there was hardly a cloud in the sky, the sun was HOT and the four women teachers from Anchorage we'd shared the campsite with were in their bikini tops!

Not only could we dry our thermals but could rinse them in fresh water then dry them. Remembering we are after all on holiday now, we had a luxurious afternoon pootling about in the hot sun, catching up on repairs, airing sleeping bags, writing the blog, feastng on ripe salmon berries and blueberries and relaxing. 

And So The Next And Final Stage

Leaving Seward tomorrow Friday 11 July. Where has all the time gone?

It's a wet and windy forecast for the next few days. I was joking the other day, just joking right, that the next 17 days until we board the ferry south in Whittier are pay back time for all the brilliant crystal sunny weather we've had much of the time since we left Ketchikan on May 28. It's going to rain constantly for all the rest of our time here. 

Just like it has for our couple of days in Seward. And just like we were expecting before we arrived in Alaska.

To be realistic it is quite possible for it to rain pretty much constantly for the rest of our paddling time. Bob in Juneau who took us to the Mendenhall Glacier was telling us of the record rainfall at Port Walter on Baranof Island. 200" in a month. No joke, no exaggeration that's 3" a day every day for a whole month. 

We treated our selves to a delicious full cooked breakfast this morning in a lovely cafe in downtown Seward and confirmed as we watched the world go by from our window outlook that you can tell the locals and tourists apart from hundreds of meters away. 

It's absolutely pissing with rain right, gutters and awnings are cascades of drips, the streets are running with rivulets of water. 

The tourists are hunched, scowling, flinching away from it, hoods up, waterproof trousers on, pack covers on, plastic capes flapping, umbrellas too, anything to keep the incessant droplets at bay. 

The locals? Well you might spot the odd one with a waterproof jacket but whether it's a t shirt and shorts worn by that shop owner across the road or the pretty young women just opening the health food store in trendy boots, jeans, nice knitted jumper and a scarf it might as well not be raining at all. It's just a normal day in Seward. They're just going about their lives as if there is nothing unusual about a bit of rain, as of course in this part of the world, there isn't. 

I've gone Alaskan, though only while here in Seward, Lynne is playing tourist wearing her plastic mac, hood up and all. Here in Seward you know you'll dry out once indoors as quickly as you just got wet. Out there when paddling I play the tourist, paranoid about keeping dry clothes dry with strict demarkation between wet and dry. Dry clothes are gold, dry clothes keep you warm, in the tent, under the tarp. On the wet side of the demarkation, damp thermals and drysuits keep you warm. One never ever crosses over into the others territory. 

Overall though, over an extended period the dampness will inevitably win, at least a few battles but hopefully not the war itself. Anything dry in this ever damp environment will naturally absorb some moisture even though it is not noticeable straight away. Our sleeping bags, which are well over in the dry side of that demarkation aren't as fluffy as they should be, the metal parts of the zips even show faint signs of salt water corrosion despite them either being in their waterproof bag or inside the tent. The damp and salty air though has inevitably worked its way in. 

Time indoors in our cosy hostel room is a respite from this for a couple of nights. 

Off this morning, Friday, with about 10 days food to get us to Cordova on the eastern side of Prince William Sound. There'll be a bit more of a food stock up there to get us back to Whittier and the ferry south. 

The Kenai Coast

 The more we discovered about the Kenai Fjords coast the better it looked and the more we were looking forward to it. Remote, wild and with a few challenges thrown in, such as rounding Gore Point and its infamous rips, just to add a little excitement. 

The anticipation went up a notch or ten when on leaving Prince William Sound on the ferry to Homer we had amazing views of the coast stretching out to the west, backlit in the evening light. It was remarkably reminiscent of the South West Coast of Tasmania, looking west from SE Cape. Row upon row of headlands and mountains stretching into the haze, but bigger, much bigger, craggier too with glaciers. It was a spectacular sight. 

Meanwhile the weather stayed remarkably settled, hot even, though once we had stocked up with food in Homer and packed it all away ready to leave the next morning we were seeking shelter from the cool southerly sea breeze. 

A lot of the local knowledge we had gathered about the coast had been from paddlers on the local 'Eddylist' sea kayak email list. Matt had been in email contact quite a bit and wanted to meet up so on our second night at Homer Spit we joined him and his partner Alison for wood fired pizza and beer and talked kayaking and the Kenai Fjords all evening.

It was again fantastic to meet yet more hospitable and friendly locals and hear their stories of paddling adventures. 

The Homer Spit campground is right on the beach so launching the next morning was fairly straight forward, despite the ebbing tide and a fairly long carry to the water's edge. Surprisingly it only took us a little over two hours from waking to paddling away; usually packing everything in the boat after a resupply can be one hell of a wrangle.

The ebbing tide drew us across Kachemak Bay and then along the coast towards Seldovia. It felt great to be back in the boat and paddling again after an eight day break! The weather had held too; so hot we were soon unzipping our drysuits before we 'boiled in the bag'. 

The healthy SWesterly breeze had built up again like yesterday so we had an extended lunch break near Seldovia until it died away a little. The tide had turned now though so we had a little bit of current against us. Despite this we made reasonably good time and found a great spot to camp on the southern side of 'Dangerous' Cape. It wasn't. 

The weather wasn't so kind the next day, overcast and a lot cooler but the ebb tide again pushed us along towards the Chugach Islands and we made good progress to Chrome Bay for lunch. There had been a vain hope to get to Chugach Passage where the northerly flood can reach 2.5knots before the tide changed. We didn't, but by staying in really close to the western shore the current wasn't too bad; in fact counter eddies gave us a favourable current some of the time. The day though had turned pretty grim, a strong southerly head wind had built up by now and we had pogies or gloves on to keep our hands warm. The odd gust reached 20 knots plus, almost bringing us to a stand still.

Always hopeful, I thought if the wind stays in this direction once we get out of Chugach Passage and turn east between Perl Is and the mainland we might just get a sail up. It wasn't to be, as when we turned east, so too did the wind and the opposing flooding tide from the east was strengthing. It was an afternoon when we were very glad that we'd put over a 1000km into our shoulders and upper bodies over the last few weeks AND that we'd just had lunch. There was nowhere to land so we had no real choice but to plug slowly on. The current was fierce, and just off a little headland it was pouring between the offshore rocks like a river, so strongly we were barely making headway against it and the wind. "This is getting silly" I was thinking, we have to find somewhere to stop.

Lynne had spotted a little bay on the map a couple of kms ahead so we plodded slowly on. Oh, thank goodness a beach. We landed with a sigh of relief, unloaded some gear from the kayak, dragged it up the shingle and ducked into the trees for shelter. We both had only just been warm enough on the water so we put on extra layers and zipped ourselves back into our 'suits of armour' and as it was still early afternoon we settled in to wait. If the wind dropped enough we'd carry on. Soup was made then Lynne went for a walk along the beach and I got my book out. 

By 5 o'clock the wind was as strong as ever and we were getting a bit chilly waiting around so we settled in for the night. Down on the beach nearby, a cautious wolf approached to search the latest high tide's offerings, but it sniffed and peered our way, then trotted nervously back into the fringes of the lagoon behind the beach.

Despite the forecast winds it was common for it to be totally calm in the mornings so we were on the water the next morning at about 7. No wind but a cool overcast day so we had both put extra thermals on anticipating a repeat of yesterday's weather. The coastline was spectacular, steep mountainsides dropping straight into the water, the tree line only a few hundred feet above sea level so the vista of snow clad rocky peaks was quite different to the thickly forested mountains we have become familiar with. 

Ever so slowly, as the morning progressed the clouds thinned and started to break up and the day warmed up quickly. By lunchtime the sky was almost cloudless, there wasn't a breath of wind and it was hot. What had started as looking like another grim day had turned out to be an absolute pearler. To further add to the morning's paddle we had a close encounter with two humpback whales surfacing and blowing twice just meters off the bow of the kayak. 

We were both paddling strongly and feeling really good today for some reason so the kms slipped past effortlessly, by 2.30 we reached Ranger Beach our campsite for the night and closest landing point for rounding Gore Point 5km away. 

Rounding the Point is one of cruxes of the Kenai Coast, jutting way into the Gulf of Alaska it catches and accelerates the substantial tidal flows along the coast. We had planned to overnight at Ranger Beach and round the Point at low water slack the next morning. With perfect weather, perfect sea conditions and perfect lucky timing with high water slack at 4.50 that afternoon, the decision to continue around the Point that day was an easy one. Although a lazy afternoon in the sun and late start in the morning were tempting we couldn't waste such perfect conditions despite the next landing spot on the eastern side being about 20 km away. 

With an hour or so to kill before we had to leave for the Point we had plenty of time for a rest, a feed and a short walk over to Isthmus Beach on the eastern side of the Gore Peninsular. We had read about large piles of driftwood on this beach exposed to the prevailing easterly winds and currents. 'Large piles' though does not even come close to describing the incredible number of logs piled up by countless storms over a countless number of years. The pile of jumbled logs stretched the length of the beach, approx 800m and was at least 10m wide and 5m deep. I reckon it would have been enough timber to keep the whole of greater Hobart in firewood for at least one winter probably two. 

The 5km to Gore Point went quickly so we were soon bobbing gently in hot sun only metres from the rocks of the Point not quite believing our luck for being able to round it in such ideal conditions. 

The next landing spot, Tonsina Bay on the eastern side of the Point was still a long way away so the southerly breeze that picked up as we headed north was extremely welcome. With both sails up we sped across Gore Bight and then along the rocky shoreline to where we lost the wind as the coast turned west. 

Entering Tonsina Bay we both spotted what looked like a dead sea otter but when we got with a metre or so the ball of fur exploded into a mewing baby otter. It swam away from us with a 'butterfly stroke' swimming action of its body but didn't dive. 

Both in SE and along the Kenai Coast we had seen lots of otters but not surprisingly as they had been hunted mercilessly almost to extinction for their fur through the 18th and 19th Centuries they were very shy. We'd rarely get within 25m of them before they would dive. We learned later the mothers leave their young bobbing around on the surface, as they are not able to dive, while they are searching for food. The definition of cute - baby otters. 

It was a relief to land at the end of a long day, exactly 12 hours from getting on the water in the morning. 

The next morning dawned hot, sunny and clear, but as we had made such good progress the day before, we had a lie in and slowly packed the boat in glorious hot sunshine. North through Nuka Passage and across to Harrington Point at the entrance to McCarty Fjord where we came across a National Park Service boat out from Seward for a week looking for peregrine falcons that been reported to be nesting in the area.

 

The McCarty Glacier at the head of the fjord was our first opportunity to visit a tidewater glacier but as it was 35km to the ice from Harrington Point we decided it was a bit too far to go when the next major fjord to the east, Northwestern Fjord, promised numerous easily accessible tidewater glaciers and had been recommended to us as the most spectacular fjord on the coast.

 

The settled weather continued the next day, from McCarty Lagoon south and then east through McArthur Passage and back out to head NE along the spectacular outer coast with its massive cliffs, coves and offshore rocks.  

Stopping for lunch in Thunder Bay, Lynne wandered off looking for water and spotted our third black bear of the trip. Deciding it was far enough away that if we didn't bother it, it wouldn't bother us we continued with lunch. Like most of the last week it was quite hot in the sun so the bear had wandered over to a large snow patch at the bottom of a gully and was lying spreadeagled on the snow, cooling off we presumed. Every time we peaked over the back of the beach to keep an eye on it, its only movements were more wallowing around in the snow. We thought we had trouble keeping cool in our kayaking gear, but a thick black furry coat would be far worse. 

Camp that night was at Cup Cove, a lovely spot, thanks Matt for the recommendation!

As we crossed the moraine bar and headed further into Northwestern Fjord the mountains closed in around us, the ice polished granite cliffs dropping straight into the water got higher and we could see our first bits of floating ice calved from the tidewater glaciers that now seemed to surround us. 

We were headed for Redstone Beach, only about 2.5km from the massive and very active face of the Northwestern Glacier itself. Every few minutes there was the rumble and thunder of crashing ice from one of many ice falls and glaciers surrounding us. The feeling of massive primeval power was overwhelming. 

Having scoped out a place for the tent and had lunch we were just getting ready to explore up towards the glacier when we noticed another group of kayakers. They hadn't passed us so they must have been further up the fjord when we'd arrived at the beach. 

We paddled over for a chat as this was only the second group of kayakers we'd come across on our whole trip. The first group we had met on the Khaz Peninsular north of Sitka and we were then greeted by an Australian from Darwin. Would you believe it but the first person to wander down to the waters edge from this group was from Canberra!

These paddlers were a group of friends from San Francisco who had hired the boats and a guide for a four day trip in Northwestern Fjord. 

We spent well over an hour drifting and paddling around the head of the fjord, keeping a healthy distance from the active face of Northwestern Glacier. It was quite a novelty trying to paddle through the thick accumulation of granular brash ice mixed in with larger chunks that if hit would stop the boat dead. Hot sun, glistening ice and surrounded by mountains ... it was quite an experience. 

Reluctantly we headed south out of Northwestern Fjord the next day but as it was an overcast grey day and we'd seen it sparkling the day before it wasn't that hard to continue our journey. Just getting off the beach though was the first hurdle - the flooding tide and light breeze had shepherded all the brash ice and bergy bits to our shore, so it was necessary to clear a route through the icy boulders to open water. Dozens of harbour seals lay about on their own little ice floes!

The journey came to a premature end that day though. As we headed out of the fjord I was suddenly aware that my bum was really cold, I knew immediately that we were leaking and I was sitting in half a cockpit full of water. Bugger, but not surprising really given the hard time the kayak gets being dragged up and down beaches and bashed on rocks. 

We returned to a spot at the entrance to the fjord where we had collected water on our way north and we knew there was camping to settle in and get the repair kit out. Of course, as it does, pretty much as soon as we arrived it started raining, perfect weather for fibreglassing - not. 

If I needed another reason to be thankful for having a free standing tent, it was now. With the inner removed, the pitched fly was placed over the upturned kayak and we had a dry(ish) workshop. 

A few days before as we had left McArthur Passage and looked east, Granite Island's high pale white granite cliffs had shone spectacularly in the light beckoning us to paddle its western side. Landing spots are few and far between in this part of the world with very few beaches let alone sheltered ones, and a predominately very rocky shoreline.

Our next safe landing was Verdant Cove on the eastern side of Aligo Point over 20km away by the shortest route but the day was good. It was settled and calm so from our campsite workshop at Rampart Rock we decided to paddle the western coast of Granite Island and then head east to Matushka Is and Beehive Is. These islands belong to the Harbour and Chiswell groups of Islands, which are protected as part of the Alaskan National Marine Wildlife Refuge. The Chiswell group are home to the endangered Stellar sea lions and the Harbour group are renowned rookeries for many seabird species. Beehive Island and adjacent stacks have a population of 34,000 puffins alone. 

As off Gore Point, we bobbed around off the southern tip of Granite Island taking pictures in the sun before crossing the 8km to Matushka Is and then the busy skies around Beehive Is full of thousands of whirling kittiwakes, horned and tufted puffins.

A pee stop and a wee bit more kayak abuse as we clambered out of the kayak onto the rocks just inside Pete's Pass and on to Verdant Cove via the west coast of Harbour Island. 

Verdant Cove was to be our home for the next day as it blew strongly from the east, our first full day off the water due to weather. It was easy camping too, with bear proof food lockers provided, no buggering around finding the right tree and hanging our food. Between dozing, reading, writing, eating and listening to podcasts, the day went quickly. It even stopped raining later in the afternoon.

Again due to the paucity of landing spots once we left Verdant Cove we had a committing 35km or so around Aialik Cape to Bulldog Cove, though given the calm seas it would be likely that we'd get ashore to visit the restroom in coves sheltered from the swell. A cruisey five hours or so including a brief clamber into the rocks for a wee in Agnes Cove and we were pulling into Bulldog Cove for lunch. 

A gentle southerly breeze, although 15kn easterlies had been forecast, gave us extra speed with both sails up of course, to pull in to North Beach at Caines Head at 4.45. 

There were other campers and we were within sight and mobile range of Seward, so I guess that was the end of our Kenai Coast paddle. 

It was a paddle that well and truly lived up to expectations; ten paddling days that will always stay in our minds as one the best stretches of coast we've paddled. 

So here we are in the launderette giving our clothes the same treatment that we've just given our bodies, oh bliss. We're settled into a cosy room at the hostel for two nights, 30knot easterlies forecast tomorrow and I've discovered Seward has its own brewery. 

Bumblebees and blue jays - summer is in full swing!

Three Amazing Experiences.

So far three things from this trip will stick in my mind for ever. 

Two of them involving just about the largest and smallest animals we're likely to come across in this part of the world. 

I was leaning over a jetty turning off a tap and I heard a buzzing like a very loud bee or a wasp in my right ear. Instinctively I went to flick my right hand out to swipe it away but as I looked up there was an Anna's hummingbird hovering completely motionless looking straight at me an arms length away. 

Not my picture by the way!

Its wings beating so fast that like a helicopter's rotor blades they were almost invisible, it hung there for just a few seconds then it flew away at such speed it might as well have just disappeared into thin air. 

We've become familiar with the buzzing now and often hear it but they fly at such a speed that by the time you're aware of the sound they've gone, you'll never see them. 

The other animal? Well. A whale. Diving. A boat length in front of us. Its huge tail gracefully arching out of the water and then disappearing silently with hardly a ripple.

The third I still can't believe happened. 

Anyone who has done any repetitive physical activity such as walking, cycling or kayaking for any length of time will know how sometime the time flies but other times seconds seem like hours and the hands of your watch seem glued in position. 

You plug away knowing that even though your paddle feels as though it is made of lead, the sea of treacle and you're paddling up a 45deg slope that from a relaxed grip on the paddle through to feeling every stroke alternately on your footrest you are actually moving along quite nicely. Quite as well usually as when it feels like you are flying. 

I've had the same on long bike rides, the feeling that your tyres are made of lead and the road is made of treacle is so strong that I've actually stopped and spun the wheels certain that the brakes are rubbing so badly they're slowing the bike to a crawl. But, no it's all in your mind, usually the mind of a tired and hungry body. 

Sometimes it's the other extreme; one's thoughts are taken far away by the constant and repetitive mantra of the paddle or pedal stroke and time flies, 15, 20mins or more goes by in the blink of an eye.

We were well up the West Coast of Baranof Island, the confused seas near Cape Ommaney were behind us. It was after lunch when with a full stomach and well and truly warmed up by the morning's paddling I am usually feeling my best. 

I looked at my watch. An hour and a half had gone past in the blink of eye. Nothing - interesting sea birds, a discussion about navigation, a comment about the coastline or the sea conditions. Nothing at all had broken me out of my meditative reverie for an hour and a half, I couldn't believe it. I looked at my watch again, surely I'd misread the hour hand but no, a whole 90 minutes had slipped by as though I had been asleep. I'd sub consciously steered the kayak in the direction we wanted to go, kept paddling and the boat upright with absolutely no recollection of my thoughts or daydreams over that time.

Black Ink Graphics

A friend has just done this fantastic 'ambigram' for us. 

Check out more of his work here http://www.zazzle.com/black_ink_graphics

Ferry Time

Three and a half days on a ferry has the potential to be very boring but it has proved to be a great time to reflect on the trip so far and relax ready for the adventures ahead. 

We are both well equipped with books, mostly on our phones but also some real paper ones. There are a surprising number of little jobs to keep us occupied too, such as marking landing spots on our maps of the Kenai Coast and Prince William Sound and charging up the batteries of our numerous electronic devices.

Too many maps are barely enough. 

Eating of course sets the timetable of our days, we brought enough food aboard for breakfast and lunches and buy dinner in the cafe/restaurant onboard. The supermarket in Juneau provided us with an industrial quantity of pain au chocolate for $6 so with a decent cup of coffee or two we're really roughing it for breakfast.

6 o'clock is beer o'clock. 

 

And of course drying stuff out. Even though the tent was 'dry' (i.e. it wasn't actually raining) when we packed it up it felt extremely damp when we pitched it in the solarium area where we are sleeping. With drysuits and other bits and pieces airing we, I think along with most kayakers, are really good at making anywhere they end up look like a laundry. 

A quiet time too though to contemplate the last three weeks paddling, the huge amount we've learnt about a part of the world completely new to us, the mistakes we've made, cough, cough, losing all our billies, mugs and bowls on our first night! The fantastic, interesting and such hospitable people we've met have really made the trip, from a short chat about the tides with a fisherman to food, drink and a cosy bed for the night everyone we've met has been open, friendly and welcoming. 

Juneau Rest and Relaxation

Our lovely few restful days camped at Louisa Point, Auke Bay about 24km north of Juneau are almost at an end, just a similar few restful days on the ferry to Homer to look forward to now! 

First day ashore is of course washing day, very sensibly launderettes here always seem to have showers so the washing of both bodies and clothes is very convenient for smelly kayakers. 

The next day, scrubbed and clean, we headed into Juneau, where downtown was identical to Ketchikan with streets full trippery gift shops catering to the cruise ship passengers. There were two big ones berthed that morning, four later in the day! 

We escaped to the Juneau City Museum where a really interesting history of gold mining, fishing, Alaskan Statehood and capital city location unfolded. 

We were then whisked away by Rory and Jan, friends of Doug and Martina our hosts in Petersburg, for a walk along the Perseverance Trail. 

The trail originated as a wagon road by miners in the early days, the surrounding hillsides littered with mine shafts, old machinery and derelict buildings. It felt good to stretch our legs on what was in places a steep climb and even better to chat to two like minded and knowledgable locals about everything from the local plants to clear fell forestry practises and associated politics. Alaska and Tasmania have a lot in common. 

Rory and Jan's hospitality extended to beer, wine and fantastic homemade pizza at their house that evening. 

The chat of course continued, ranging from their Feathercaft kayak adventures, volunteer trail building and a five week cycle tour on their Bike Fridays around Tasmania last summer.

Thank you again Rory and Jan for your company and hospitality.

The blisters on our hands have long turned into callouses and a week or so off the water will allow little wounds to heal. Lynne's fine but for some unknown reason I got a blistered rash on the backs of my fingers up to the first knuckle. With wet hands every day and being knocked about stuffing things into dry bags numerous times a day etc, they weren't healing.

After about 3 weeks and over 900km paddled we are well and truly paddling fit and ready for the next stage - The Kenai Coast. 

It's very easy looking at a map and casually saying "Let's paddle that bit" especially if, as in the case of the Kenai Peninsular, the coastline is convoluted with many offshore islands offering shelter and possible landing spots. 

As this coastline was our Plan B we had not researched it to anywhere the same degree as the last few weeks or The Lost Coast, our original plan. No problem though, what else is there to do sitting in the launderette or in our tent out of the rain with a smart phone and an internet connection!

Within a couple of days, we had downloaded the relevant charts, a great guide book for cruising sailors and kayakers, joined the Alaskan sea

kayaking email list and made contact with local kayakers who have paddled the coast and offered a heap more useful info. 

With all that information the simple wish of "Let's paddle that bit" has evolved into trepidation and anticipation. Trepidation, as of course things are never as simple as a quick look at a map. The coast is rugged, remote and has a couple of long sections with no landing places, a couple of tricky headlands to get around, has wild weather at times and a new hazard for us - strong katabatic winds coming off the glaciers in the afternoons.

Anticipation, as of course all the above is just how we like it. 

We are really looking forward to the few days on the ferry to continue the R&R but it's also the perfect opportunity to spread out the maps, read through and collate all the information we've found so we are ready to hit the water again next Sunday. 

Part One - Ketchican to Juneau - The Route

Each evening we have a little guessing game before I get out the 'expedition string' and measure the distance covered for the day.  I write up the day's notes and draw our creeping progress on the big Alaska map.  It's a comforting piece of concrete evidence of our journey!

So here is the map after Part One of that journey. The orange spots are our campsites, or occasional beds!

West Coast of Chichagof Island, Icy Strait to Auke Bay.

At 11.30, a little over 24 hours after arriving in Sitka we pulled away from the beach and our last landfall on Baranof Is. 

We would have liked to have stayed longer but with a ferry to catch to Homer from Juneau on the 24th we really couldn't afford the time just in case we were held up by the weather or other circumstances. 

We stayed at the hostel in Sitka, run in the quaint way all hostels used to be with a curfew and lights out at 11pm, morning cleaning tasks and 'guests' are locked out between 10am and 6pm. The hostel was $48 for both of us for the night, the next cheapest vacancy we found was $225. 

On the recommendation of the hostel vollies we ate out at 'The Pub'. They had the local Baranof Is beers and a nice drop of Californian Cab Sav. The place was rocking, crowded with young people with a free blues band on Weds nights and Saturday night a hip-hop gig. There were at least four pool tables and half a dozen darts boards all busy as hell. We quizzed our waiter at length as he came and went with food and drink, to try and pin down why such a little place (popn. 8,500) relatively in the middle of nowhere was just so radically different to any of the other towns we have visited. Sitka is a major administrative centre and there is University of Alaska campus; tourism too of course but only the small cruise ships call in there with far less frequency than the large ones that call in to Ketchikan and Juneau.

Dave at the Hostel had another explanation; "Don't forget" he said, "Sitka's located over a major geo-magnetic focus."

As we cleared the harbour breakwater the forecast Sou'westerly picked up so both sails went up and we had the best downwind run of the trip so far. The wind and the tide took us north and most of the way through Neva Strait. By the time we were scouting for a suitable landing and camping spot it was pouring with rain and I was thinking we would be using our kitchen tarp for the first time. 

We rounded a point and I noticed a mooring buoy; at first I didn't take any notice of it but then it dawned on me that it was a strange place to have such a professionally constructed mooring. Just back in the trees there was a cabin, again I didn't take much notice as in places the coastline is dotted with private cabins. 

A second look and I noticed the cabin was a bit small for a private one, then the penny dropped - it was a Forestry Service public use cabin and mooring. We did the quickest U turn in kayaking history. 

Sure enough on landing it proved to be a three sided emergency shelter. Someone had draped a big plastic tarp across the opening, there was a wood stove, big chunks of dry firewood and sleeping benches. It was still bucketing with rain. 

Within an hour we had unpacked, got the kayak above high water level, got the stove roaring and dinner on. 

Luxury!

The next day was a wild one, pretty grim weather, pogies on, hoods up we set off out of the shelter of Neva Straight along the exposed west coast of Khaz Peninsular. Sure enough the swell had picked up during the night so it was a wild ride for about 8km to shelter inside Klokachef Island. The forecast had been for 30kn Southerlies but as every forecast in the trip so far had overestimated the wind speed we had taken a punt that today would be the same and we were right. 

The interesting bit though was getting into the channel behind Klokachef Is, the swells were steepening up in a very worrying fashion so we dare not head right in. For a while we still had one sail up but it would gybe every time we crested a swell so it came down pretty quickly and things seemed a little more under control. The swells were big, and they felt about the same distance apart as they were high, they were so close together. Every now again the wind would blow the top off of one just as we were at its crest and we'd get a couple of buckets of very cold water over our heads just to add to the fun. 

From the crests we could see calm water inside the island but it never seemed to get any closer, until suddenly the waves didn't seem quite so big and confused and then equally quickly we were breathing a sigh of relief as we glided through smooth water. 

There was no sheltered landing spot on the island so we crossed to the mainland and into the lee of a rocky spit. 

It was an obvious place to land with shelter from wind and sea and there sure enough was some colour in amongst the trees. Orange, blue and red - kayaks and tents. Other paddlers! 

A figure emerged and came down on to the bouldery beach as we landed. As we greeted I couldn't help recognising the accent - the paddler was from Darwin and had lived in Hobart! 

There were five of them altogether, the remaining four from Alaska, and we soon joined them in their cooking spot. After a couple of hours paddling and the tension of big seas we were starving but couldn't stop long because of the rising tide, the surging waves on the bouldery beach with a strong off shore wind! What could possibly go wrong!

The other paddlers were having a day off, both because of the weather and also they'd had a very early start the day before to catch the tide through a strait that dries at low tide. 

They too were paddling from Sitka to Juneau but with a few extra days than we had, and we caught up on our respective trips. They had never seen a breakdown boat or sails like we have and I think we enhanced the reputation of Tasmanian sea kayakers as we set off back into the big seas northward along the rest of Khaz Peninsular. 

A couple of hours later we had the same problem, we couldn't get into the shelter of the offshore reefs and islands because of the steepening swells and we didn't want to get into the same conditions we'd had at Klokachef Is. We eventually found a more sheltered gap in the rocks and then almost immediately a lovely little sheltered beach for a second, less social but more relaxed lunch. 

The next day the sea had calmed down considerably and it was quite sunny and warm, very pleasant paddling plus we had more hot springs to look forward to. 

We had heard the bath house at White Sulphur Springs had been rebuilt recently and that it was very nice but we were totally blown away by the bath house and hot pool inside. The quality and aesthetics of the cedar post and beam construction, the natural rock pool and two big sliding windows that opened to the view across the bay and out to sea were stunning. The water was HOT too, it took us quite a while to gingerly immerse ourselves. 

Again as at Goddard hot springs we were the only ones there, but only just. A large group were leaving in a big tinny as we arrived. The guy at the helm had shouted to us "You're brave being out in that swell today".

We had received similar comments a number of times, paddling the 'outside' waters rather than the sheltered 'inside' waters seemed to be the reserve of the brave or foolhardy. The inside waters are very pleasant paddling, similar in many ways to a ginormous D'Entrecasteaux Channel. The only conditions that might be of concern are the wind and a big fetch, the most technical decision would probably be, "Do I want to paddle into this headwind any longer or shall we just stop here and have a cuppa and wait for it to drop?"

The conditions the helmsman thought we were brave in tackling would not be out of place on the East Coast of Tasmania. The sun would have been a bit hotter, the water a lot warmer but a 1.5-2m swell is not uncommon on the East Coast. Here, unlike a lot of the Tasmanian coast there are lots of opportunities for shelter and landing inside the deep fjord like inlets or behind the islands dotted along much of the coast. 

The next day just north of the hot springs we headed into Lisianski Strait, our short cut through to Cross Sound and Icy Strait, uneventful inside waters apart from a few hot sunny hours on a sheltered beach fixing our mast steps. Long story and I thought I had fixed them but obviously not. 

As we headed into Icy Strait through Inian Narrows and South Passage with the flooding tide and the last few days to Juneau we realised we had been paddling for exactly three weeks. Throughout that time we had seen whales or seen them blowing in the distance just about every day. Throughout the day entering Icy Strait we rarely saw less than three groups of whales or plumes of vapour in the distance at any one time! 

We sat out of the rain under our tarp that night as humpbacks, sea otters, porpoises and sea lions cruised backwards and forwards only a few hundred meters off shore. 

We are now camped on Louisa Point, near Auke Bay and the Alaskan Marine Highway ferry terminal. 

Another full value day's paddling today. Cold and rain all day, some great sailing, a sprint in the middle of a 6km crossing to miss being run over by a ferry, a good few hours of solid plugging into a headwind and pretty much all day against the current.

Then having reached our camping spot and settled in, a very friendly local, Bob, took us for a drive to the Mendenhall Glacier. 

Sitka In The Sun.

Sitka on the West Coast of Baranof Island is a cool place. Bikes everywhere, funky cool houses with a touch of Russian influence, totems, wind chimes, farmers markets - you know the vibe.

Oh and did I mention they have their own brewery too? Baranof Is Brewing Company and mighty good beers they are too. So very much appreciated after the nine days paddling from Petersburg. 

The weather continues its dream run though we have had some of the  inclemental type slowing us down on the East Coast of Baranof and some interesting seas off Cape Ommaney. 

Getting around the Cape was such a classic sea kayaking day. A cruisey warm up, some tension and excitement and amazing scenery. 

We left Port Alexander with just enough flood tide for us to get to the Cape at slack water. The local fisherman at PA had mentioned that the current virtually always flows south between Wooden Is and the Cape irrespective of the state of the tide. It seemed prudent though to be there at slack water as rounding the Cape sounded tricky enough without adding further complications. The forecast 15kn Southerly was less than half that so we slid smoothly through calm water for the 10km.

A classic day, as rounding any feature like this always generates an element of tension. Despite all the local knowledge and our own decisions you still have no idea what actual conditions lay ahead. The tension builds as you get the first glimpse of the horizon, no lumps! Looks good. The horizon looks straight and level, no really big swells or big lumpy seas. 

But of course our eye level view is from barely 80cm above water level. The nervousness mounts as inexorably the kayak gets closer to the action, the first white water is spotted, at first the odd splash of white off to the east, close to Wooden Is, not a good sign. Then within a couple of km our horizon was filled with white water, as predicted the Southerly current hitting the open sea, steepening the waves and causing them to break. 

As we got closer and could actually see the final rocks of the Cape the seas ahead didn't look inviting, at all. The waves looked very steep and very close together but it looked like we could get behind them by heading around the outside of Wooden Is. 

Once around the island the conditions didn't look too bad so we turned Northward and into the mess of steep waves fringed with white. 

Once in the middle of it there's nothing else to do but keep paddling. The seas were really messy, no rhythm, just chaotic big lumps yawing the kayak through 45degs and lurching us up and down with stomach clenching force, all to the sound of white water breaking all around us. Concentrating like mad on the waves to be prepared to brace if necessary and snatching quick glimpses of the Cape off to our right, lining up the rocks with the cliffs behind to ensure we were heading where we wanted not drifting SW with the current.

The confused seas abated but it was still uncomfortable going for an hour or more as the tide, the rebound from the cliffs and the SW swell all combined into a sea where suddenly your arm can be up to the elbow in a wave or conversely your paddle skips through fresh air as the water drops away suddenly from the side of the kayak. 

Such going is hard work as it is impossible to get into a rhythm but despite this we seemed to be moving along nicely. 

With the excitement over for the day we started appreciating the wild rocky coastline, precipitous hillsides dropping from snow clad peaks, thickly forested fjords cutting so deeply into the mountain range that they almost cut through to the east coast. Kayakers sick of waiting for suitable conditions to get around Cape Ommaney have been known to portage the 1.5km gap between Port Lucy and Puffin Bay. 

Slowly conditions eased and the usual paddling rhythm returned; now to find somewhere to land for lunch. It didn't look easy and our map was useless for such minute detail. We turned into one or two bays which were far too rocky, then cutting in between two small islands into a haven of mirror calm water a tiny jumbled bouldery cove enabled us to step ashore. There was no way we could land the kayak but the water dropped away deeply enough to enable us to simply tie up the kayak as if alongside a jetty. 

A little under four hours from Port Alexander and we were starving. 

The rest of the west coast of Baranof Is has been equally wild and remote. Landings weren't easy to find but something always came up after a little hunting around. It's great how quickly we start reading the coast and its geology to start getting hunches on likely landing and camping spots. 

As we neared Sitka, NWesterlies were forecast, slowing us down a bit just when a beer, a shower, clean clothes and a food stock up were near. Not far out of Sitka though we did find the true meaning of bliss - Goddard Hot Springs. 

The last shower had been at Petersburg eight days before, so it was absolute bliss to strip off and slide into a natural hot tub!