Day 5

WED 9/1: We get up at 5:15 to a misty rain, load Tom and Nikki's kayaks and all of our gear and head south in two cars to Whittier. We take the Seward Highway along the Turnagain Arm, but just before reaching the point where the road turns towards Seward, we get off. Ahead is a railroad tunnel. In 2000, they converted it so that cars could pass through, but only in one direction at a time. If you miss your window, you end up sitting and waiting for up to an hour, thus the reason for our early departure. We have a boat to catch. We drive through the tunnel, which is not your average tunnel. Instead of concrete and fluorescent lights, we are surrounded by raw rock and a few electric lanterns for two miles. Pretty intimidating. We leave the tunnel and arrive in Whittier, where Tom tells us, "the weather is always shittier". This proves true, as it is rainy and chilly. I barely register this, since I am enthralled by the view. Whittier is a harbor town on Prince William Sound, surrounded by mountains topped by ice fields, with glaciers descending in various spots. The town is so small that everyone who lives there lives in a single apartment building, which looks more like a large hotel. It's also a port for cruise ships. We head to the docks and go to Alaska Sea Kayakers, where we receive our boots and life jackets, paddles and kayaks. We get two double kayaks, one for Todd and Cynthia, and one for P.I. and I.

We carry all of this gear down a ramp to the water, where it is loaded on to our charter boat. The kayak place partners with Honey Charters, owned by a guy named Pete Heddell. He is our captain for the trip, and once we're all loaded, we shove off for our campsite. We head east into the Sound, and eventually turn back to the southwest into Blackstone Bay, where our campsite and kayaking area is located. We land on Willard Island, at a spot called The Eagle's Nest, rather appropriately named because some bald eagles have a nest in a tree just off the beach. When we land, another Pete is waiting for us. This Pete owns Alaska Sea Kayakers, and has two guys with him who he's been guiding on a trip. We switch places with them, unloading our gear on to the stony beach and setting up a tarp to protect it from the rain. After loading the other guys, the boat leaves, and we are alone in the most remote place I've ever been. It's likely that there is no one else within 20 miles of us.

We get our gear squared away, then explore the area to pick our campsite. The beach extends off to our right, stony and flat, dotted with a few patches of grass and dead tree stumps. To our left a rocky hill rises sharply away from the beach into a forest of evergreens. I would not want to have to carry our gear up that slope. Luckily, we don't. Straight ahead, a path leads us in under a stand of trees about 50 yards off the beach, and it's here that we set up our tents in three small clearings. The path winds in a circle among gnarled, moss-covered trees and large evergreens, up and down over tree roots and fallen logs. It looks the way that I've always imagined Peter Pan's Neverland would look. The only sounds we hear are a roar that sounds like a highway with steady traffic, and what seems to be not-too-distant thunder. The traffic noise turns out to be rushing water. The melt from the ice fields on the mountains across the bay rushes down to the bay in torrential waterfalls, and we hear it in the background all day. The thunder, it turns out, is calving glaciers. Large chunks of ice break off the face of the glacier and fall into the bay, creating this noise. To give you an idea of how tremendous this is, the nearest calving glacier is about six and a half miles away.

After setting up the tents, we head back to the beach and gear up for kayaking. I wear long underwear top and bottom, a short-sleeved shirt, a fleece jacket, waterproof jacket and pants, and a wool hat. Over all of that I wear a life jacket. Tom gives us a brief lesson and a warning that the water is between 38 and 42 degrees, so if we fall in it's an instant emergency situation. He has a radio tuned to the Coast Guard frequency, but there's no guarantee that anyone will hear it. It's not powerful enough to reach the nearest Coast Guard station, so unless another boat is in the area to relay the message, we're on our own. With that in mind, we push off from the beach. I'm in the back seat of our kayak, which means I control the rudder with foot pedals. After a few moments of rockiness, P.I. and I settle right in. Your butt is actually below water level in the seat, so it's a totally new experience for me. We've barely begun to practice paddling when a harbor seal pops up nearby. Tom says it's acting strangely, as it doesn't seem to care much about us being so close to it. It's either sick, injured, or giving birth, but we can't figure out which. We head off into the bay. I begin to feel like this may be the coolest thing I've ever done. We begin to pass chunks of ice right away, evidence that we are headed towards the calving glaciers. As we travel, several more harbor seals pop up to investigate us, including a pair who had been chasing each other but decide we're more interesting. These guys are all more active and inquisitive than the first seal we encountered. As we head closer to the glaciers, the chunks of ice get larger, and we can see sea otters in the distance, some on top of the ice. Towards the end of the bay, a spit of land reaches towards us, dividing the water into two areas. There is a glacier on either side, and it is Beloit Glacier on the left that's been doing most of the calving. As we get nearer, we see some gigantic ice chunks fall into the water. We land on the beach on the spit of land. There is a small low area of grass and trees, but soon tree-covered hills shoot up away from the beach towards the glaciers. Todd remarks that if you took out the glaciers, the landscape would look like Jurassic Park. It feels that wild.

We make freeze-dried Mexican food by adding hot water to the bags, which is much better than it sounds, not least of which because we're starving. I soon christen our landing spot "Bug Beach", because there are small swarming black flies that won't leave us alone. They don't bite often, but when they do you know it. Several of us leave with large bumps on our faces. We refill our water bottles with filtered water from a stream that runs down from the hills, then get back in the kayaks. Nikki has gotten tired from paddling her own kayak (we've gone about 4 miles at this point), so she and I switch places. She's in the back of the double with P.I., and I take the single. We paddle closer to Beloit Glacier and take pictures. Then we go back past our lunch spot to the glacier on the other side, Blackstone. The wind is coming heavily off the glacier here, and rain has begun to fall, so the water gets a little choppy. We turn and head back, seeing a few otters along the way. They are by far the cutest animals we've seen. I'm enjoying the single kayak. It feels good to test myself at something new, and to exercise with a reason for expending the energy. At one point on the return trip, we come out of the choppy water into a calm, glassy area and stop paddling, just drifting along. The rain lets up, and there is mist ahead of us. Todd & Cynthia are coasting along ahead of me, and there's no noise other than the rushing water. I am so at peace in that moment. I am now convinced that this is the coolest thing I've ever done. I start calculating how soon I can afford a kayak.

After pausing for Tom to take a few pictures of birds sitting on ice chunks that look like they're walking on water, we land back at our campsite. We've gone just about 9-1/2 miles. Sitting under the tarp to get out of the rain, we play some euchre and make quesadillas for dinner. It begins to get dark, and the rain gets heavier, so we head off to bed. I sleep very well listening to the sound of the raindrops on the tent's rain fly.