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A 50 day, 600-mile trip along the western coast of Alaska
Map 2 (Open with google Earth or CalTopo)
Copyright © 1995 - 2024 Ray Jardine
Second Year's Journey to the Arctic
May 24, 1995
We rode the shuttle van to Portland, arriving at the airport at 10:30 am. From there we picked up a hotel shuttle and stayed the night. We discovered we had forgotten our ID.
Day 1
May 25
Our flight departed at 6 am for Seattle, then at 7 am we departed Seattle for the three hour flight to Anchorage. Adjacent my seat sat a pilot named Hal, and we talked practically non-stop. The ground was clouded in most of the way and we could see very little out the window. Jenny and I were glad to arrive in Anchorage, as our heavy, expedition type clothing was no longer stifling nor conspicuous.
Jenny called Marilyn, who was handling our business back home, and asked her to fax a copy of our driver's licenses to us here at the airport, and to mail the licenses themselves to Nome.
On the flight to St. Marys we had no windows. I sat studying the pilot's instruments and couldn't determine how he was locating the landing strip.
Finally on the ground at St. Marys we were relieved to see our two bags come off the plane, and to find the kayak in the warehouse, having arrived in great shape, nearly a week earlier. The people at Hagland Aviation were fantastic. Two fellows helped us un-crate the boat. Then we loaded it into the back of a pickup with more than half sticking out the end, and they kindly drove the one mile to the Yukon River. The fellow said he'd been there seventeen years and had not seen anyone fly a kayak to St. Marys.
In a gentle rain Jenny and I loaded the boat, thankful that everything went in. Shoving off, we were ecstatic to have begun after the long winter of boat building and preparations. The river was flowing quite high on its banks, even though it had dropped several feet after the breakup, two weeks previously. But the current was strong, so we made good progress. Our primary intent was to get away from town, though, so in forty-five minutes we hauled ashore at 7:30 pm, at a nice little camping place on a shale gravel bar. The rain had stopped and ja little sun came out and lent even more beauty to the scene. We were very happy, and remarked how odd it was to have the entire river to ourselves. The Inuit fishermen were not yet out, and the tourists never come here, or rarely so.
Day 2
May 26
The night had darkened but not to pitch black, but only to a deep twilight. Upon awakening that morning Jenny looked out the tent door and saw a beaver swimming along the shore. We set off at 7:30 am and paddled a very chilly morning. We were not wearing our dry suits because we wanted to stop at Mt. Village to buy stove fuel, which is forbidden to transport with us on the plane. We stopped at a small creek bounding down the slope and filled water bottles, while a beautiful pair of hawks flew overhead, overseeing their aerie.
We reached Mt. Village at 10:30 am and talked with a couple very congenial Inuit fellows. At one of the two grocery stores we bought a gallon of Coleman stove fuel and a few pieces of fruit. The store was surprisingly well stocked. Fuel at home is $4.00 a gallon; we paid $12 a gallon here. We had discovered we neglected to bring the corn spaghetti so we bought some wheat spaghetti.
We paddled another mile then stopped to put on dry suits. Suddenly the day no longer seemed cold.
We paddled stiff headwinds and chop the rest of the day. We saw many pretty birds, including a flock of swans that took to flight when we drew too near. We took a couple of shore breaks, mainly as we haven't yet figured out how to pee afloat. The dry suits interferes. Also we are very tired and out of shape. Still, it feels wonderful to be here.
Progress was greatly diminished by headwinds of fifteen knots, and steep chop. Remarkably the boat remained dry inside. After slogging along a long cut bank without pull-outs, deeply fatigued we reached the Anuk River and pulled out at 7 pm. Camping was virtually nonexistent, due to the ubiquitous mud brought down the river as silt. We carried everything inland fifty yards to a dry grassy place. Jenny cooked a nice meal of cuppas and spaghetti.
Day 3
May 27
We set off at 6:30 am. The morning was quite chilly and the river was strewn with chop laced with the usual headwinds. As we were loading we saw a beaver swimming nearby. The sky was gray. Our drysuits were a godsend, without them we probably would have had to remain ashore. Once again we saw a great many birds, including a few large flocks of swans. We did not see any people all day, except for late in the afternoon when a barge motored past. It was a day of rigorous exercise and progress slowed by headwinds. We took only a couple of rest breaks ashore. One problem was that we could not hold to the fastest current because of the large chop. The minute we quit paddling the wind started blowing the boat downwind. The GPS is working great - we use it to verify our assumed position, rather than as a primary means.
Midday the clouds parted and glorious sunshine came out and allowed us to paddle without the usual two hats each. Ashore, protected in the poplars, the day was positively balmy, but out on the river the wind was very chilly. We have not seen a conifer on the trip so far. The poplars vary in height, though along some stretches are entirely absent. As with yesterday, the possible landing places were very few because of the continuous nature of the cutbanks which are six to ten feet high.
At one point we watched a group of swallows flying from a cutbank out over the water and then back again, repeatedly. There were very few bugs, so we figured they were testing the site - getting the feel of it, as though they had just arrived from the south. We are quite tired, being as yet unaccustomed to the long hours of paddling. We found Kwikpak pass, leaving the main channel of the river. Now, instead of the river being gargantuan it is merely huge, 3/4 miles wide. We pulled out five miles short of Little Apoon Pass, at 6 pm. The ground everywhere is muddy, but we found one drier place where the wind had been playing over it. We scrounged some dry grasses and spread those out. We discovered a few problems with the tent poles. Mosquitoes were not a problem.
Day 4
May 28
At 1 am the sky was a brilliant orange. A couple hours later it was twilight. The wind had greatly diminished, and we had high hopes of a good day's mileage. We set off at 6:30 am. A hundred yards out, I spit into the calm water, then suddenly remembered my own private superstition never spit into the water, for to do so brings headwinds. Within minutes we were hit by a headwind that was to persist throughout the entire day. What could we do but labor into the chop, spray a'flying.
The morning was again very chilly, and the sky clouded over. The wind felt like it was being blown off the pack ice which indeed it probably was. Jenny thought it would be fun to go through Little Apoon Pass and so we did. The current was not as strong, but the main advantage was the channel was much narrower and more protected from wind. It had the same high cut banks, lined with tangles of poplar and willow. The ground everywhere is no higher than two or three yards above the river, and it is covered in mud. The mud varies in thickness up to twelve inches and more of fresh deposition, a indicated by the substrate which is full of dead vegetation. The cut bank shows the substrate riddled with roots while the overlayment is pure mud. How this deposition occurs is beyond us. Obviously it has something to do with the ice.
At the narrowest, Little Apoon Channel is only fifty-yards wide and in places it was glassy calm. By then the sun had emerged in places and for awhile it felt like we were on a Disneyland amusement ride. It was very nice. We saw a beaver swimming along the shore and of course a number of ducks and swallows. The swallows had burrowed into the cutbank. Eventually the channel joined the main branch of Apoon Pass and our endeavor resumed in earnest, with the task of bucking the headwinds. The sun was out, but the wind in our faces was frigid and required that we bundle warmly. As we grew fatigued, the mind wanted to consider this place hostile and inhospitable, but the reality was not so. This is our home for the summer. We are not mere visitors, we are living here and we know we will soon adjust. We had to pay very careful attention to our paddling technique because a number of pains were cropping up in our arms, etc. We paddled past a number of fishing camps but saw no one. At one point we saw a fox fossicking along the shore. It looked at us for awhile and then went about its business. We got a good look at it. It was absolutely beautiful with a coat of fur so thick it could have passed for a Husky. We had seen fox tracks in the mud on most of our landing and were surprised at how large the tracks were. And this fox was much larger than we had expected.
Finally, a Yupik boat sped past, and we exchanged hearty waves with the lone driver, or should I say "pilot"? The barometer was falling and the sky smearing with cirrus, so we figured we had better try to find a suitable camping place early so that we could fortify it against any inclement weather. Anyway by then we were deeply fatigued. The first place we tried, we could not wade through the mud, so we went a ways further and landed on some shore-fast logs. This area is jammed with myriad trees washed down the river and judging by the saw cuts, the locals were obviously taking some of them for cord wood. We pulled the boat up onto the logs, unloaded it, then hauled it up the cutbank.
This was by far our best campsite, tucked into a protecting stand of poplar and carpeted deeply in dry grass. Just here was a community of fox dens which appeared abandoned. The sky cleared somewhat and the shore-side temperature climbed and soon had us peeling layers of clothing. We seem to have gotten a head start on the mosquitoes, ahead of their season, and so we sat about camp, Jenny cooking a spaghetti dinner and me charting our position and studying the maps and spreading things to dry. We were a mile northeast of Chapeluk Inlet and about six miles from the village of Kotlik. The ambiance of the camp was further heightened by the calling of many types of birds. We had inadvertently trespassed on a little grey bird's domain, as it sat on a nearby tree branch and chirped nervously for awhile. The cranes are chortling and various ducks calling back and forth. From the air, this place looks desolate and forlorn, but from our vantage it is profuse and wonderfully alive. So often we will read a description of the Arctic regions, with adjectives like desolate, barren, forlorn, lonely, void of life, etc., and we know that whoever wrote those words had not lived in connection with the land and never got to know its abundance of life.
We had run low on drinking water, so we collected some from the river, let it settle for a couple of hours, and then filtered it.
Day 5
May 29
When we awoke at 5 am the scene was enshrouded with fog, and the tent fly was coated in condensation. Most importantly for us, however, the wind was calm. We set off at about 7 am into the most beautiful morning of the trip thus far. The fog soon dissipated and the sun shone gloriously. The river was mirror-flat. We worked our way down the channel which grew wider and slower.
Reaching the Kotlik entrance we turned into it and entered a scene which looked like it could have been the setting for the movie "Popeye". Kotlik was a shanty town and one of the most unlikely places we had ever seen. The town was built smack on the muskeg. We didn't see a patch of dry ground anywhere. Most buildings stood on short stilts to prevent them from melting the permafrost and causing real problems. The sky immediately overhead was full of powerlines and a few large, insulated water lines connecting some of the structures. Mostly the houses were tiny and ancient, and I could not imagine spending a winter in such a place.
We tied the kayak to an iron spike, leaving the boat afloat, and ambled along the boardwalks, looking for the store. The Yupik prefer to arise late and retire late. At 9 am there was hardly anyone out. And as luck would have it, we had arrived on the Memorial Day holiday, meaning that the stores were closed all day. We were out of film as we had neglected to bring any besides what was in the camera. This was a pity because we like to document what we're seeing. We talked to one fellow who had a kayak there at water's edge. He said he bought it from a guy who had paddled down from Canada. A short while later we saw this fellow paddling across the gap.
We set off and paddled east through the canal. The water was very slow moving and littered everywhere in sticks and logs. It seemed like we were paddling into a dead end. The compass and the chart indicated we were going correctly, so we continued on. Before long a fellow in a powerboat came speeding past, going our way, so we knew we were headed the right way. How he managed to avoid breaking his propeller on the debris we could not imagine.
Eventually we reached the main channel, and it too was festooned in debris. At first we thought the three days of northerlies might have jammed a lot of pack ice against the entrance, raising the water and slowing the flow. For we had noticed the level was four or five inches higher this morning than the previous evening. But then it occurred to me that the north wind had merely raised the sea level by several inches and set all this debris adrift. We happened to find an orange of all things, bobbing with all the sticks. We grabbed it and shared it for breakfast.
After a brief shore break we paddled past a light marker and into Norton Sound. The Yukon River was behind us, and to our great relief the sea was nearly flat. In the distance to the east stood a range of snow covered mountains. We had light headwinds but nothing as strong as yesterday. There were a great deal of floating sticks, branches and logs, and we saw maybe half a dozen outboard boats throughout the day. We heard them long before we could see them. The sound of the hulls slapping the water was louder than the engines.
In a few miles we landed ashore on a point of land a few feet above sea level. The ground was covered in last year's grasses with new shoots showing through. In the distance were lakes, ponds and birds everywhere. The sun was out and the wind and sea calm, and it was just about as marvelous and perfect a setting as one could imagine. We paddled along the coast throughout the afternoon, occasionally testing the water for salt, but tasting only river water. A little rain fell while coasting, otherwise the day was warm. The shore was a gradually sloped mud bank backed by a two or three foot rise.
We passed a few large sections of snow bank and then landed on a rocky shore at 4:45 pm. The seas appeared to be on the rise with a fifteen knot northeasterly headwind, so we carried everything ashore and made camp above the band of driftwood. People had obviously camped here many times before. The mosquitoes were nearly absent, and we relaxed in the tent without closing the netting. Rain began to fall heavily and continued for much of the first half of the night. We awoke at 11 pm to a respite and Jenny went outside to seam seal a few leaks in the tent fly.
Day 6
May 30
We rose at 5:30 am and unlike yesterday when we found frost covering the boat, today it was ice. The tide had risen about three feet. The sky was mostly cloudy, the wind still, and the sea rippling gently. We set off at 6:30 am. The sky began clearing partially and we found ourselves paddling directly into the sun. Not only was it hard on the eyes (the sun was low on the horizon and the water reflected it), but we kept running into small pieces of driftwood. Along the way we saw another fox on the shore. It didn't notice us until we whistled at it. It stared at us for a few long moments and took off on a dead run.
Reaching Pt. Romanof we hauled ashore and climbed the small rise for a good look around. The country is absolutely spectacular, beautifully embellished in low lying plant life, dotted with lakes, teeming with bird life and expansive beyond one's wildest imagination. There is so much to see, and we were the only ones seeing it at the moment. While paddling I had joked that I like this place because there aren't too many people (we had seen no one for days), and then we latched onto the theme: there were not too many roads, RV's, park rangers, cows, cowboys, fences, shopping malls. And just about every campsite is secluded. The joke, of course, was that there were absolutely none of these things for hundreds and thousands of miles around, and we found it delightful.
The swell had come up during the morning and we nearly capsized when departing again. That had us talking about skills and the related margins of safety. After rounding Pt. Nokrot we paddled through a large pod of whale. Each was maybe twenty feet long and varied in color from light to dark. Blowing great vents of exhalation spray, they appeared to be feeding on fish which were scrambling this way and that and jumping from the water. How the whales could see them in the murky water we couldn't imagine. It was exhilarating watching them, and they brought us closer to the ocean world of Norton Sound.
The sun came out and day quickly became far too hot for our immersion suits. I stripped to my shirt and Jenny stripped to the waist. Then in about an hour the arctic wind began to blow again. We had been paddling light headwinds which steadily increased as the day wore on, and which, despite our best efforts, greatly hampered our progress. Suddenly Jenny exclaimed, There's a beluga!" I looked off to port and saw a number of whales blowing and then one surfaced - glaring white. There's no mistaking this species. They too seemed to be feeding on fish, chasing them around. One came to the surface and made quite a commotion only thirty feet from us; which seemed far too close in such murky water. We hauled out for a lunch break on the bank of Pikmiktalik River where a marker made of logs stood up to form a tee-pee, with a car tire and wheel stuck in for good measure. Obviously it had not come from around here. The moment we landed we smelled a campfire and some sort of animal odor. Walking a ways from our landing we found a place where the Yupik had made a campfire. The coals were not warm. The animal smell we couldn't pinpoint, though it was very strong. The river water was reasonably clear so we collected a few gallons.
Resuming paddling, we crossed the Kogok River where suddenly we saw a head sticking up out of the water, with a pair of black eyes looking right at us. "What in the world is that?"" I asked Jenny. "A seal!" she exclaimed. It was feeding in the river's clear water, and was quite skittish but very curious. Each time it reappeared it was in an entirely different place, and each time it gawked at us for a few long moments.
The headwinds increased and we managed to paddle three more miles at a snail's pace, on the last of our energy. We landed at 4:30 pm on a most unlikely stretch of coast, not entirely by choice. The land rose abruptly to a height of three feet and then expanded away to distant mountains. The ground everywhere was wet, but we did find one place elevated a few inches and covered with a detritus of the high flood wash. It resembled a combination of sawdust and peat moss, and made a perfect mattress. While Jenny scrounged more of the dry duff to scatter on our tent site, I started to build a wind break of driftwood. At first I was not at all happy with the prospect of camping here, but soon we had tailored quite a comfortable campsite, and found it much to our liking.
We could have used a pair of binoculars, as there seemed to be animals in the distance. The birds here would make an ornithologist's day. There are dozens of varieties and the calls emanating are heartwarming and sometimes downright comical. One sounded like a bawling baby - fortunately it didn't persist. A few hours after landing the wind slackened as if to make a mockery of our efforts. Such is the price for living on nature's terms. We see the occasional Yupik racing past in his powerful outboard, far offshore, at which a moment's envy surfaces, only because our own progress is at such a premium. But we have to live this journey at a slower pace in order to better understand it.
Day 7
May 31
We set off at 7 am and paddled light headwinds which gradually increased. We saw a couple of seal's heads protruding above the water and staring at us intently. Jenny walked along shore for awhile and had to trot to keep up, where there was little wind. We landed at the Kuiack slough which looked like the mouth of a river, and found hundreds of one-foot long fish feeding at the high tide line. I "rescued" six of them from high ground and threw them back into the water. This was when we resolved to buy a frying pan. The traditional Eskimo barbed spear would have been just the tool to catch a few of these fish.
At Canal Point we could have taken the south canal to St. Michael Bay, but we needed to collect our first resupply parcel at Stebbins (rhymes with heavens). From Canal Point it was a long, tough and slow slog to windward in bellicose seas. At last we reached the protected waters of Stebbins Bay and cruised towards town, landing on a steep sand beach. We were told that the post office sits toward the north end of town (left when facing it from the sea), so we re-launched and paddled to it. No, our box had not arrived, and this disappointment threw us into a quandary. We had mailed it three and half weeks previously, but via parcel post, which evidently had been a mistake. We bought snacks at the store, indulged in showers, and talked with quite a number of villagers. They were very friendly, but not overbearing. We had not seen such concord since Rodriguez Island in the Indian Ocean. Everyone seemed to get along wonderfully well. Perhaps it is the harsh environment.
We camped directly in front of the post office, rather like camping in the city park. Many people came and went. The custom here is to arise at noon or one o'clock, and stay up most of the night. Sunset is at 12:30 am presently. We went to bed at 10 pm and the children thought this was most curious: people sleeping in a tent. We felt like we were in a museum. Eskimos looking at these curious gringos - which was a switch. It was comical to look out and see half a dozen faces staring at us. Children sat on the kayak, in the kayak, under our rain awning, etc. This went on for hours.
Day 8
June 1
Rest morning in Stebbins. We slept in until 11:30 am which is the norm for the locals. A few more folks stopped by to chat. One fellow said the gales usually come from the northeast, indicated by black cloud in that direction. Northeast winds are common and can last for days, as we are finding out. One woman, Josephine George, has befriended us almost from our arrival. She took Jenny to look for a map. They returned one and half hours later with - lo and behold - our resupply box! They finally found it at the school, of all places. The best theory anyone could come up with is that packages arriving for strangers are assumed to be new school teachers. We must write on our boxes: Please Hold at the Post Office. So now we have the needed chart and film.
The sun is shining weakly and the wind strong and frigid. I re-seam sealed my drysuit feet, which were leaking. It's good to rest, as we were very tired. In fact, people told us we looked tired. One fellow said we are the fourth kayakers to come through here. Last summer a Canadian kayaker came through on his way around the world. He planned to paddle to Russia from Pt. Hope. One of the fellows we talked with said that the herring were spawning, which explains the fish we saw back at the slough.
We had debated which way we should go, to get to Nome: follow the coast the long was around, or make the 42 n.mi. crossing from Observation Point on Stuart Island to Cape Darby. By the time we were ready to leave Stebbins late in the afternoon, we were fairly convinced we could make the crossing. We decided to paddle out to Observation Point and have a look. We broke camp and loaded the kayak and shoved off at 6 pm. We didn't wear our dry suits because the seam sealer had not yet hardened, but we soon realized we would have to stop and put them on anyway.
The short crossing to Stuart Island was a bit boisterous because of the chop. It was an interesting passage with the scenery of Stuart Island standing in the foreground. It is rather low and treeless, but like much in Alaska it is massively expansive. A herd of reindeer are said to have gone wild on the island and we hope to see some of them. As we paddled north along the shore, we experimented with the GPS in preparation for our big crossing. The day's wind had slackened, and in light headwinds we cruised at 3.8 knots, one person could paddle the boat at 3.4 knots, although it was much more strenuous paddling solo.
We rounded Observation Point, crossing through an area of heavier seas, and spotting a couple of seals. We found no camping on the north shore so we backtracked into the lee and landed in a protected bight, at the place where the rocky beach meets the sandy beach. In the rocks we found a campsite where someone had made a bed of dry grasses. We selected the highest ground on the sand beach and Jenny soon had our site embellished with dry grasses. The beach was covered in tracks: caribou, fox, and birds mostly. While coasting the shore we had seen another fox. It had looked at us awhile, then went bounding up the slope. Later, Jenny saw another, jumping up and snapping at the birds flying teasingly just overhead. Birds are well represented here - mainly gulls and a bird with a long tail feather. The latter is fairly non-timid and we can approach them somewhat closely. There are dozens of other kinds of birds and in the late evening, 11 pm, we even heard our "evening birds. We have heard these birds almost everywhere in N. America in all of our long journeys.
Leaving Jenny to make camp, I set off with chart and compass in hand and climbed the slope and hiked across the plateau to the island's north edge. The plateau was covered in grasses and small green plants of many descriptions. There were also three or four different types of flowers. I saw a few caribou antlers weathered by time and patches of old bones and a few patches of feathers. At the brink of the cliff I knelt in the cold north wind, studying the horizon. The two peaks of Cape Darby stood far away to the north and I took a bearing to check my map work. It looked like along way across Norton Sound but not impossible by any means.
Day 9
June 2
A day of much needed rest. We enjoyed exploring something of the island, studying the tundra and its variety of tiny plants, wildflowers, and berries, and watching the seals. They are quite adroit at catching fish and can hold their breath for a long time. They leave scraps and those that wash up on shore are sure to be found by the foxes. The wind is a steady fifteen out of the north, the sky overhead mostly clear. The sun is warm but the wind is cold. In the protection of the wind, the day is mild and pleasant.
We took long naps until the heat finally drove us from the tent. It was a very pleasant day and we revel in the lack of insects. Most of the time we do not even have the netting doorway zipped down.
Day 10
June 3
During the night the wind had switched from north to northeast, and surf was now rolling into our bay. So we slept throughout the morning. Jenny melted snow from a rapidly disappearing snowbank, and filtered the melt water into one of our jugs. She also made a small fire and burned our trash, close to the water where the next storm would erase the ashes. While she napped I went for a long walk, first along the shore, then up onto the plateau. The sky was filling with cirrus from the west and I wanted a better look at the conditions. As usual, white caps covered the sea as far as the eye could span. I decided to continue hiking south to the next rise to see if I could see any caribou in the next valley. Along the way I found a few more collections of caribou bones. Each collection was the remains of a young animal and I wondered if the previous winter might have been too severe for them.
Nearly to the ridge I saw Jenny following far behind. One of the best features of the land is how far away you can see, for it took Jenny a long while to catch up with me. We climbed the rise to a stone cairn that looked like it had been there many hundreds of years, judging by the lichen growing on it. Sure enough, in the far valley we saw what appeared to be a small herd of caribou. Once again we could have used a pair of binoculars. Continuing down the far slope we came upon of all things, a survey marker dated 1975.
Back at camp we began preparing for our departure. We planned to cross Norton Sound if the wind and seas slackened, or go around if they did not. One way or the other we wanted to get moving, which is not to suggest we did not enjoy our stay here and the rest it afforded.
Leaving our camp which we had grown fond of, we set off at 6 pm and paddled the half mile back to Observation Point. The sea was still festered in white caps, and Observation Point was the scene of a patch of overfalls, which is where the going became quite wild. We managed to negotiate the overfalls without getting smashed by one of the huge breakers, and began making way topsy-turvy out into the Sound in heavy, confused seas. The waves were coming from the northeast and the west, and they were also rebounding from the island. The wave height was four to five feet. We paddled half an hour until it became apparent that the sea was not going to calm down in the evening. Continuing ahead did not feel right, so with great reluctance we turned around and made it back to the point in fifteen minutes - half the time it had taken us to paddle out, such was the strength of the headwind and seas.
We backtracked along the coast one and half miles then laid a course across the channel, back toward the mainland, in running and whitecapped seas. After we had paddled a few miles along the coast of St. Michael Island we started looking for a pull-out. The shore was rocky and the surf was smashing against it hard, but eventually we came to a large bay with a sand beach. It was very shallow and we paddled through a long line of surf. One comber found its way into the top of my spray skirt, but otherwise we fared pretty well. Once into the very shallow water we were free of the surf, so we paddled back to the western side of the bay where we could see a plateau and possible tent site that looked protected from the wind. We skidded to a halt on the sand flats.
From there we carried our gear ashore, then the boat, and fashioned a tent site on the small shelf only a few feet above high tide line. We were thankful that the site was mostly protected from the wind. Looking back, the bay was covered in breakers and it sounded like Niagara Falls. Ironically we were just over the hill from Stebbins and the road connecting the village to St. Michael could be seen atop the rise. Many 4-wheelers buzzed back and forth along with a few cars. One truck stopped and looked at us for a long while. Thanks to the intervening terrain it would not be easy for someone to walk from the road down to this camp.
Day 11
June 4
The bay was a caldron and obviously we weren't going anywhere for awhile, at least by boat. After sleeping in until mid-morning, Jenny took her shopping list, empty water jug and small backpack into Stebbins. I remained at camp against the possibility of any marauding visitors, not that the Eskimos are all a bunch of thieves by any means, but people are people, and our equipment is irreplaceable. I did, however, go for a long walk along the beach. What looked like mud was actually peat. This manufactured by the tundra and eroded away by wave action. It floats away and collects on the flats. It makes for wonderful camping, being soft and spongy, and unlike sand, it brushes off easily.
One can tell a lot about a civilization from the debris on its beaches. Here was the usual assortment of plastic odds and ends. I did find one old wooden fish net float and a dead seal. The blubber content of these animals is a high percentage.
Jenny returned four hours later, saying that she had to walk both ways, for an hour each. I had checked the distance on the GPS at 1.82 n.mi. High on her priorities was to try to get a book or two and in this she succeeded by visiting a school teacher named Jane. She was one of fourteen teachers at the new school in Stebbins, and was very proud of the school. Most of the teachers return to the lower 48 for the summer, but Jane loved it up here and had stayed on. She asked what kind of books Jenny was looking for. Surprisingly, Arctic Dreams by Lopez brought only a blank stare. Farley Mowat, anything about the area... yes, bingo on the last two. Jenny said she would return the books, but Jane said, "No, I have other copies of those books; just pass them along to someone else."
I spent the afternoon reading Facts about the State of Alaska, and got half way through People of the Deer by Mowat. Jenny started reading Lost in the Barrens, a Mowat novel for young people. The wind was slackening, which is not to suggest it had grown calm, and I made repeated trips out to the point to check the conditions. The sea looked an awful mess, but we were anxious to be moving on. Still, the campsite was lovely, save for its proximity to the road and the fact that we were in plain view of its motorists, but it was quite comfortable and aesthetic. Jenny napped, but I was restless.
At one point in my vigil I watched a pod of whale, beluga probably, numbering seventy-five or a hundred, passing by close to shore. The tide variation was about eight feet and now at low tide the bay was a large mud flat. The birds fossicked about, mainly gulls and ducks.
Day 12
June 5
After midnight a departure looked feasible and Jenny was amenable to the idea, as she felt that the lull is only nocturnal and I had to agree. So we carried the boat down and across to the water, loaded it, and set off at 2:30 am (June 5). There was ice on the boat.
The seas was still running and paddling was a topsy-turvy situation, but for the first time since the start of the trip the north wind had shut off. We made good progress, even though we had to be extremely careful with every paddle stroke. One advantage of paddling big water is that the offlying rocks are more than obvious. At the same time, though, they are more dangerous. We made our way east, cutting the long bays, and standing well off to avoid the clapitus. We eased our way over the bar connecting Whale Island to St. Michael Island and then slipped around the corner into the lee and enjoyed a few moment's respite beneath four large fuel oil tanks.
The fuel oil barge happened to be anchored in the bay, and on our way across to the mainland we paddled right past it. It was an enormous barge, escorted by a couple of large tugs, one on each side. It sat rock solid and the waves simply bounced off it. Even at that early hour there were a few workers out, and we exchanged hearty waves.
The sun had set in the northwest about 1 am, and slowly the orange sunset simply shifted to the north, whereupon the sun rose in the northeast at 4:30 am. Half way across, a light headwind sprang up and we hurried on against the possibility of being caught in a williwaw.
With St. Michael fading astern we closed the far coast and began making our way generally eastward along it. The seas were growing large for no apparent reason and the surf was smashing the rocky coastline. The coastline all along here is basalt rocks, three to six feet high, capped with tundra, and with a wonderful backdrop of snow covered mountain ranges to the east. Along the coast here, we saw a couple of whale spouts between us and the shore.
Farther along we pulled into a protected cove and hauled out for a shore break. The tundra is deep and spongy with a profusion of plants.
Back out on the high seas we paddled another one and half hours until it became necessary to get out of the five-foot seas, so we hauled around Wood Point (the reason for the name was not apparent) and carried our outfit up onto the tundra a ways and made camp. We had arrived here at 9:30 am, June 5. The tundra was mostly dry and it made the softest mattress imaginable. We slept until late afternoon, then Jenny cooked dinner. We are still not using the mosquito netting.
Day 13
June 5
The seas were white-capped out of the north all day, but began calming in the afternoon. We set off at 9:30 pm, June 5. The evening had been warm and we had set off lightly dressed, but wearing our dry suits from the waist down. This was a beautiful stint of paddling and we enjoyed it thoroughly. The coastline was one long strip of basalt rocks, capped with tundra. The treeless plain extended back for miles to a range of rounded and snowy mountains. Big patches of snow still lingered along the shoreline.
The sun was blocked by a thick smearing of cirrus and an offshore breeze started taking the temperature right down. We watched a beautiful, crimson sunset, beginning at 12:45 am that lasted for several hours.
Just beyond Klikitarik Point we saw three grizzly bears fossicking along the shoreline. One was dark brown and the other two were cream colored and at a distance could have passed for polar bears. We moved in for a better look, but not so close that they could swim out to us. They never saw us, but we watched them for a long while. By the way they acted, the one was the sow and the two were yearling cubs, although they were all about the same size.
Paddling on, ten minutes later what did we see but three more grizzlies. All were darker in color and once again about the same size. The two cubs were amusing themselves on a snowbank, and as we watched, the sow found what appeared to be a dead whale which she began ripping apart with no little effort. One cub saw us and straightway climbed the snow slope and disappeared over the top. The other noticed us and likewise departed. We left the sow to her bonanza. Neither of us had seen a grizzly in the wild before. Now we had seen six. But this is not the end of the story. In the next half hour of paddling we saw three more, all males apparently, scavenging along the shoreline by themselves. They were a little scruffy looking, no doubt from the winter's hibernation. And we were glad to be seeing them from this vantage. We were surprised they were active in the dead of "night". Jenny noted that in the vicinity of the bears there were hardly and seabirds. After bear # nine the seabirds returned by their scores and hundreds, as usual. Not long after passing the last bear we saw a fox running and loping along the shoreline, but oddly the fox didn't see us.
The farther we went, the colder we grew - and eventually we were paddling in every garment we could get our hands on, with a sheen of ice on the kayak's decks. We dearly needed to land ashore to warm up with a fire. In the shelter of one of the many small islands we landed in the rocks, drug the boat free of the water and lumbered stiffly up to a huge pile of driftwood. With a handful of dry grass and some twigs we kindled a fire and changed out of our drysuits. The offshore wind was freezing and we could see our breath, but we had found a spot tucked behind some willow shrubs. The drysuits work great but after too many long hours in the boat they trap just enough body moisture to allow the cold to penetrate. They are normally quite warm so we must wear only light clothes underneath them to prevent sweating. The fire's warmth was reviving and we pulled out the stove for cups of hot chocolate.
We set off more appropriately bundled and quickly became overheated. The cold had been the result mainly of fatigue. It was light enough to see that the sea water here was much clearer than what we had been paddling for the past weeks. We could see down into it two or three feet. The offshore wind blew strong enough to send a foot tall chop our way as we crossed more large bays. We felt very tired and decided to stop for the day, just southwest of Golsovia. We landed in the rocks, drug the boat up just far enough to unload it, and then carried everything 100 yards to a cobblestone and muscle shell beach above the rocks. The beach was covered in muscle shells and we found a few "real" sea shells of the conch variety, 3-inches long. We stopped paddling at 7 am, June 6, after progressing 19 miles.
Day 14
June 6
The sea was reasonably calm, so after a long sleep we set off at 5:15 pm. Just around the corner we passed by a marina-sized bay with a river flowing out its left side and a nice looking cabin at its bank. A ways farther we saw two grizzly bears on the tundra plateau above the shore. By the way they were romping around we guessed they were yearlings, although they were quite large. They ambled to the edge and onto a snowbank which is when they noticed us. After long stares they scurried toward us, which caused us something of an adrenaline rush, and after backing carefully down the snow's steep edge, they reached the shore. By then we were paddling away hard. Then they started feeding at a carcass - seal, probably. After a minute of that they both climbed the snowbank and scurried away, out of sight. We surmised that initially they were being defensive with their food. From there we saw bear tracks in the snow for a couple of miles.
It was a beautiful day (night) of paddling - quiescent seas and grand scenery. We stopped at a creek and Jenny stumbled ashore with the flare gun in one hand and water bottle in the other, and collected water. She reported seeing lots of bear tracks. This was but the first of many such creeks, and a most interesting stretch of coast. After paddling past a line of high, eroded limestone cliffs, we started seeing valleys that were so heavily vegetated as to defy the imagination. Impenetrable forests of poplar, peppered with spruce - not scrawny, but full-sized. It seemed like another world. Two of the many valleys would have made fine cabin sites.
The seas were minimal so we hauled ashore in the late evening for a rest and hot meal of powdered potato soup and hot chocolate.
From midnight on we paddled past a long, low shoreline littered in driftwood. The seabed was shallow and the waves were rolling in, one or two feet high. One problem with the GPS is that it can be inadvertently switched on while inside the breast pocket of my drysuit, where it resides. Not only does this drain the batteries, but, as happened this time, the display becomes garbled, due to the random and indiscriminate key strokes. Twenty minutes to auto-locate.
Lured by the flashing aero-beacon of Unalakleet, we continued into the "night" which was not dark by any means.
Eventually we reached the mouth of the Unalakleet River and had to paddle carefully around various shoals. The bottom was cobblestones, not sand as expected. We landed at 2 am (June 7) and quickly pitched the tent on the beach. The night was again freezing cold. Fog covered the river inshore and a frigid wind blew offshore. As always, it felt wonderful to retire into bed.
Day 15
June 7
We awoke at 11 am and sauntered into the town of Unalakleet. The place was neatly kept, with very little trash strewn about. It was a highly upscale version of Stebbins, yet the people were as different as night and day. Not unfriendly, just indifferent. They ignored not only us, but each other as well, turning the eyes down when passing. Such is the price of friendliness in the face of progress. Vehicles were everywhere, 4-wheelers, cars and trucks. Strewn about also were large aluminum fishing boats, designed to cash in on the herring. None reflected the slightest degree of owner love. Expensive tools for turning large profits quickly.
We went to the post office to mail a roll of exposed film, then one of the grocery stores for provisions. In the store was a huge, 200 HP Honda outboard selling for $10,000. One item we have not found in the stores here is sunscreen. The Y'upik don't need it, and our noses are burnt to a crisp. I've been wearing adhesive tape in lieu of sunscreen.
Adjacent the store was the Unalakleet Lodge and café, which is where we spent the next hour waiting for our order of hamburgers. Seems we hit the place at lunchtime. The wind was stiff onshore so we idled the afternoon. From camp Jenny took off with a bundle of dirty clothes in search of the laundromat. She returned an hour later with clean clothes which we spread out to dry in the warm sun and stiff breeze.
We set off at 7:45 pm into a light headwind and chop, hoping it would dissipate. It didn't, and we labored for an hour making scant progress. The beach was packed gravel so we lined the boat for a few miles, me pulling and Jenny steering. We stopped by a creek and decided that we simply had to paddle harder in order to make headway in the headwinds. After battling them for two weeks now, one would imagine we were getting used to them.
One of the very few locals we talked with in Unalakleet said that the northerlies had been blowing for a month, and that this was unusual. He also mentioned having met and videotaped Paul Caffyn, our friend from new Zealand, who had paddled through here in the early 90's. He said Paul had started near Juneau, taken a year off because of the Valdez oil spill, reached Nome, then the final year went from Nome to Tuk.
We paddled hard throughout the night, taking only one shore break to put on warm clothes. The headwinds ceased around 11 pm and as usual the offshore breeze was frigid. We saw one large grizzly high on a palisade overlooking the sea. Also we saw one fox, and the usual menagerie of seabirds - mostly gulls. The coastline was high cliffs that went on for nearly twenty miles. Yet the base was a nice gravel beach, and one could have landed almost anywhere.
Around 5 am (June 8) we passed by a group of people, which from a distance we thought might have been bears. They had 4-wheelers and a campfire, about eight miles south of the village Shaktoolik. A while later they passed us by, headed for town along the beach.
At 6 am we closed the shore and after raising the rudder landed stern first in the one-and-half foot surf, a technique that seemed to have potential.
Day 16
June 8
After a long sleep we rose at 3:30 pm and enjoyed a dinner of ground beef and fresh potatoes, with fruit and scones.
We set off at 5:30 pm and enjoyed a quartering tailwind with about one knot of current going our way.
We reached Shaktoolik at 7:30 pm and landed adjacent the school house, easily recognizable by its government funding and construction. After securing the boat, we walked through town in search of showers and drinking water. The showers were closed on Thursday, we were informed, so we wandered to the far end of town to the grocery store. The people were nice enough, although they treated us with indifference. The town was a long row of houses built in one of the more exposed locations imaginable, between the sea and a vast expanse of tundra and a broad river delta. Aesthetically the place lacked appeal, especially considering the pervading odor of honey buckets. However, the little store was well stocked, and the smartly dressed young female Y'upik clerk would not have seemed out of place anywhere in the Lower 48. Returning to camp, we finally had to ask for water at one of the houses. The water came from up-river and was stored in a big tank and treated.
We set off again and decided to cut the bay and head straight for Cape Denbigh, eleven miles distant. The seas were reasonable, as they had been for a few days now. A ten to fifteen knot wind began blowing from the west and the seas grew large. The sky was cloudy and a compression cloud hung over Bisboro Island. We decided to power ahead, although a few times we nearly turned tail for shore. But by then the shore stood over a mile away. The ride was a wild one, but it did bolster our confidence in our kayak and in our abilities to bring it safely through stormy seas.
For three hours we paddled hard, until with great relief we came into the lee of the cape. Here we pulled into the only good looking camping beach, only to find a dead walrus sprawled on shore. Of all the places for it to land, we thought it was rather inconsiderate of the thing to despoil the one good camping place. At least one has to maintain a sense of humor. We paddled along the high cliffs in search of a place to land, and of course the farther we went, the rougher the seas. The actual cape was a fantastic place - summer home to thousands of birds and several seals. The clapitus was severe and we had to be extremely careful with our balance while paddling though it.
We made our way on around, and in another one-and-half miles came to a beautiful cobblestone beach several hundred yards long. Even from a distance we could see that the Y'upik frequently camp here, evidenced by the junk they had left behind. Carefully timing our exit through the surf, we landed ashore and quickly hauled the boat up to dry ground, but not before being walloped a couple of good ones by the cold surf. Studying the area we selected a nice spot on the polished gravel well clear of the cliffs which could have sent rocks crumbling down. This camp is far superior to the walrus one because it had snow banks, allowing us to replenish our water supply, and because it faced the storm so we could see what was happening out there. The cliffs behind blocked the wind so it was quite a pleasant place. The only negative aspect was the great quantity of trash strewn about. It looked like New York's Bear Mtn. Park after a weekend. We arrived at 1 am, June 9.
Day 17
June 9
We awoke at 1 pm and spent a stormbound afternoon sleeping some more, reading, eating, and exploring the beach. The sea was too gnarly to set out, so we enjoyed a rest day. Jenny melted snow for two gallons of water and while doing so, looked up to see a fellow walking along the beach. I put down my Farley Mowat book, crawled out of the tent and met the fellow who said he was a Fish and Game biologist, camped on the other side of the peninsula for the past three weeks. He was monitoring the herring season which had recently ended. The herring come to shore to spawn shortly after breakup and are netted for the Japanese market. They are interested only in roe, but they use the meat for fertilizer and fish food. It is this short, one week, herring season that the large aluminum boats we saw in Unalakleet are used for.
We learned some of the bird and flower names. The white sea gulls with black wingtips are Kittiwakes. The gull that acts like a hawk, having pointed tail feather, is a jaeger, pronounced yae-ger. The clumsy birds that look something like penguins are murres. The large black and white ducks with orange bills and feet (female is brown) are eider ducks. The most common gulls that we have been seeing are the glaucous gulls. The biologist said that half a dozen minke whale frequent the cape; grizzlies are uncommon in this area - then I showed him grizzly tracks in the snow behind our camp. He said porcupine are fairly common here, which came as a surprise. He said break-up had been early and that this had been a very windy month. After a long chat he started his hike back over the top, saying that he and his co-workers were pulling out tomorrow morning. He offered us some greens he had picked for his "salad" but we graciously declined.
We spent the remainder of the day relaxing in the tent, listening to the huge surf bashing the beach, and watching the sky darken ominously. We read our books until about 2 am, which gives an indication as to the amount of light at those hours of the night. The mosquitoes were entirely absent and we slept with the netting doorway open.
Day 18
June 10
I rose at 11:30 am and while Jenny slept, I climbed the steep slope to its top to check the wind and conditions offshore. The wind and seas had moderated, which is not to say they had calmed, by any means. The slopes were embellished with a great variety of flowers, among them shooting stars, moss campion, forget me not, and labrador tea.
After another nap we both climbed the slope and armed with the flaregun and camera we set off to explore some of the cape. The walking was easy and the scenery stunning. We followed a trail made by the uncommon grizzlies perhaps and headed for the point of land. The trail paralleled a tremendous cliff. Eventually we reached land's end and were disappointed to find only cliffs everywhere. It was so steep and their lips so unstable that we could not so much as look down them. I've been in a great many alpine areas with beautiful flowers but none that have compared with this one. Here were dozens of varieties, and not miniature versions of their lower latitude counterparts. Some, like the shooting stars, were 3/4 size. The forget-me-nots stood 3-5" tall. To our surprise most varieties were the same as found in the alpine regions of the western states.
We made our way back along the ridge, passing by a fuel cache - two barrels were empty and one was full - possibly used for some sort of research station. Back at our camp, Jenny melted snow again to replenish our supply. The seas were growing quite rough again, so we were constrained ashore for the evening.
Day 19
June 11
When we rose mid-morning the surf was pounding the beach. We obviously weren't going anywhere for awhile. We enjoy these interludes because they allow us to savor the country along the way. However, we were now running a little low of food. We had dropped so far behind our itinerary that it was now useless. From what we've seen so far, time spent waiting for suitable conditions is a part of Arctic travel.
Unfortunately, Jenny discovered she had lost her watch (Lady's Timex Triathlon) and she spent an hour in Eskimo mode, looking for it. She had clipped it to the outside of a bag and had last seen it en route from boat landing to this beach. It seems likely that the watch had come loose as we unloaded, and the rising tide and pounding surf had taken it away.
In the afternoon we climbed the slope again and hiked east a ways, admiring the grand scenery and luxuriating in the warm sun. The wind, however, was strong from the west and the seas were impressively chaotic. We returned to camp and napped for awhile, despite the roar of nearby surf. But by late evening the surf was getting a little out of hand. We searched the beach looking for a more protected spot and I climbed back up to the ridge top to have a look at the conditions offshore. At the crest the wind was blowing 20 knots. There was plenty of high ground at the beach, but most of it was directly below some rotten cliff, and the danger of falling rocks was real. However we found one place that seemed the best compromise, so we spent some time fashioning a tent site on the large cobblestones. After leveling a platform we covered it with smaller gravel, carried from lower down.
The seas were a sight to behold. Big breaking waves packed close together almost everywhere. It seemed like we'd be stuck here for at least a couple more days.
Day 20
June 12
We awoke at 9 am to the sound of greatly moderated surf. I climbed out and had a look and decided that we could go. Quickly we melted more snow for drinking water in case we should not find a snow bank at our next site.
We loaded and set off at 10 am. The seas were quite boisterous, calling for extra care in paddling. We paddled past a long line of towering cliffs, chock-a-block with birds: kittiwakes and murres mostly. Because of the rough conditions I couldn't get at my camera. In the future it would be far better to have a waterproof camera that could be carried on deck.
For three hours we paddled with a light tail wind, of all things, but also with a light counter current. Reaching a wide bay we pulled into a protected gravel beach and found a creek and some nice camping on the gravel. The seas were choppy and white capped, and even though we wanted to press on, we thought it prudent to wait for better conditions for the 19 mile open crossing of Norton Bay.
So we pitched the tent and Jenny made a meal of seasoned rice and instant potatoes. The barometer was down for the first time on the trip and the sky was cloudy.
We awoke to find the seas had suitably diminished, so we packed up and set off at 9:30 pm.
The seas were choppy but no longer white capped. Soon we had left the bold headlands far behind and were paddling ever roughening seas. The wind was west at 10-15. We could not see the other side, hidden in the clouds, so we steered on a compass heading and checked our set and drift with the GPS. The tide was flooding and its current and the wind was driving us to the east, such that a 10 degree correction was necessary. Five miles out, the seas began white capping in earnest and we nearly turned back. Thinking it might be a temporary zephyr we continued forging ahead. Still, the feeling was one of extreme vulnerability.
By the time we had gone a couple more miles, things were starting to get grim. The seas were 5-6 feet and very rough. We paddled full tilt for hour after hour, virtually without let-up. The conditions themselves were not particularly dangerous. Mainly we suffered the anxiety, fearing that the wind might start blowing a gale. As it was, the wind was blowing hard enough - fifteen to twenty broad on the port bow, and washing the occasional comber clean over the deck. After midnight the temperature plummeted and despite our efforts we started loosing body heat. Yet we couldn't pause to don warm clothing; because opening a spray skirt would have been an invitation for disaster, to say nothing of opening a dry suit.
I drove myself with a single mind, but Jenny was starting to flag and even wimping a little. And justifiably so; the fatigue, monotony, the peril, the buffeting and penetrating cold were taking their toll. The barometer was down and dropping, and the sky ominously dirty. Never mind our emotions, the conditions suggested that we press ahead with all possible dispatch. So I kept admonishing Jenny to pull hard and even out her stroke. Sitting aft, I at least had Jenny to look at, and this broke the monotony for me. But on the other hand, the headwinds blew the spray from her paddle incessantly into my face. Well, at least this was a water sport, I reasoned.
Seven miles from our objective, I decided to leave the GPS on deck to monitor our progress. It was advertised as waterproof, but in an hour it died. By then, however, we could see what looked like a shoreline in the far distance. We paused briefly for a few quick bites of meal bar. Jenny didn't eat more than a couple of crumbs because she was nauseated. I ate a couple of large pieces, taking big bites between paddle strokes, and watching the seas wash over the meal bars on my spray skirt. The bars imparted a tremendous warming effect. I had been growing very cold, but now some warmth seemed to be returning.
We saw what looked like trees on the distant shore, and as we continued paddling for all we were worth, the shoreline began materializing before us. The night was fairly dark due to the heavy clouds, and we couldn't see very well. Also our sea-soaked eye glasses weren't helping much. But at last we found ourselves drawing to shore, and with immense relief and Thanksgiving for a safe passage, we lugged ourselves out of the cockpits and stepped ashore, at 2:30 am, June 13. The crossing had taken 5 hours, and for the record, we had landed 4 miles east of the ghost town of Moses Point.
With hypothermia raising its ugly head, we pitched the tent directly on the sandy beach and while Jenny went inside to get out of the wind I shored the tent with driftwood as a windblock. Jenny had become deeply chilled so once in bed, I had her lay on top of me to absorb my body heat. It took quite a while to settle down enough to fall asleep.
Day 21
June 13
At 1:30 pm We packed up and set off into a stiff westerly. We were low on food and water, and simply couldn't wait for the headwinds to stop. We paddled close to shore, watching the waves roll almost parallel to the beach, which is something I had not seen before. We took wave after wave over the deck, steering 100 yards offshore on occasion to negotiate various shoals. The farther we went the stronger the wind blew. As we passed by the deserted town and the river inlet, the wind was blowing 18-20 and we were barely making any progress. One quarter mile past the inlet we finally gave up and landed ashore. As the boat touched bottom I tried to get out, but my arms were too tired to push me out of the cockpit and after a hasty struggle I found myself plopped ingloriously into the drink.
We made another camp in the sand and fortified it with driftwood. Despite the strong wind, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the views had expanded to reveal mountains in the background. In the foreground stood an airstrip and a curious installation which looked like it might be a Loran station, or something.
After long naps we set off again at 10:30 pm. The wind had dropped to 10 knots and the seas were much diminished, but soon it was back up to 15 fine on the port bow. four-wheelers were racing back and forth along the beach and we exchanged a few waves. After plying the long, sandy beach we curved south-southwest and found ourselves on the windward shore, and here the seas became flat. It wasn't long before we reached the protection of a band of cliffs and lost most of the wind. This was the first time on the trip we had paddled flat, open water. In some places we could look down and see the sandy sea bed. Several times we stopped just to admire the setting. The land was covered in forest of poplar and spruce, making for a most beautiful setting. We paddled past caves and steep cliffs, home to hundreds of glaucous gulls and we even saw three peregrine falcons. We actually heard the first one before seeing it. It has a characteristic sound of a rusty tricycle wheel badly in need of oil. The gulls actually saved us several times. Standing on barely submerged offlying rocks, seaward of us, they indicated their locations.
We saw two seals and then rounding the final point we saw the town of Elim. A couple hundred yards before reaching it we pulled ashore, while admiring many fish jumping here and there. We leveled a patch of sand and gravel, and pitched the tent at 1:30 am, June 14.
Day 22
June 14
ElimWe rose and 9 am and wandered into town. The place seemed deserted, save for an elderly gentleman out strolling about. We asked him where the store was, and he kindly pointed it out. The town consisted of the usual ramshackle dwellings but very neat with almost no litter. We did notice, however, a couple of bicycles lying at the bottom of the creek. One of them looked new. Kids are kids wherever you find them. The grocery store was open, and as usual after an extended foray that had depleted our stock, we felt like we were in paradise. The prices, however, snapped us back to reality. Northwest Alaska is ahead of its time when it comes to inflation, and I suspected the merchants were making a killing. Nevertheless we were able to buy 5 sacks of groceries, for $137.00. Craving whole foods, we bought a 5 pound bag of potatoes, half a dozen eggs, 1 onion, a head of lettuce, 2 apples, 2 grapefruit, one package of ground beef, one package of stew meat, 3 packages of frozen vegetables, and so on.
We talked to a few people in the store and noted that their accent was a little different. One could imitate it with a mouthful of pebbles and heavy slurring; extremely guttural. One fellow came in, wearing coveralls and hard hat; I asked what he was working on: the town water supply - a well. How deep? 5 feet. And no, it doesn't freeze in the winter.
With great difficulty we lugged our provisions back to camp. Normally this would have been an easy matter, but after all the paddling the slightest exertion tires our arms. We had camped away from town to maintain our privacy and this worked great for awhile. Jenny cooked up a wonderful breakfast of sausage, eggs, and potatoes, as she cowered behind a rock and driftwood windblock in the strong east wind.
Suitably fortified we wandered back into town, past teams of barking sled dogs staked out, past fish drying racks, and over the bridge with the submerged bicycles, and up to the school. The town lacked public showers and laundry, but the grocery clerk recommended we try the school. Indeed, one of the carpenters let us use the washer and hot showers. This was my first hot shower of the trip, and it felt divine. Just as we were finishing the laundry, another fellow appeared and told us we were not allowed to use the facilities. Thankfully, we already had, so we simply placated him and left. The school was well equipped with computer equipment which looked like it received scant attention. It was odd to see all that processing power sitting idly by.
I returned to camp to keep an eye on things and to spread our laundry to dry in the sun and wind, while Jenny went to the post office to mail a box of unneeded things home, and to the city center to call home base. The GPS was dead and we needed a replacement sent to Nome.
Jenny made one more trip into town to try the phone again, this time successfully, and to buy a few more items at the grocery.
We set off at 7 pm. The east wind had calmed, just as the postmaster had predicted. He said the east wind builds big waves at Nome, but it usually dies at night. Now I understood what the fellow at Stebbins was trying to tell me. "Cross with an east wind. The west wind can be dangerous."
We paddled throughout the night in a different world - one lacking head winds. The sea was calm, allowing us to paddle close to shore and even between a couple of sea stacks. We saw seal and distant whales, and the continual whirling of glaucous gulls overhead. Farther on we heard peregrine falcons. It was a beautiful evening, despite a heavy cloud cover, and we made excellent progress. We paddled past a number of expansive conifer valleys, any one of which would have made a fine homesite, or town site, except in mosquito season. The peaks in the immediate foreground rose to 1,000 or 2,000 feet and bore distinctive tree lines, which was a different elevation at each one.
In the vicinity of Cape Darby, a light rain began falling and we were nudged ahead by increasing wind, chop and following seas. The night was fairly dark due to the cloud cover and curiously, we left the trees behind and entered the world of tundra and willow. The cape was a most formidable place of huge cliffs and confused seas. Nevertheless it was home to sea birds in their thousands. Rounding the final corner we were met with a stupendous view of a fantastic spire, and it was here that we started encountering headwind and seas. We paddled along huge cliffs for another two or three miles, watching the conditions build disconcertingly and studying the shore for even a hint of a camping possibility. The whole section of coast was covered in huge patches and slopes of snow and lent the impression of paddling the coast of Iceland. Increasingly heavy chop prompted us to land at the next possibility, and finally we came to a place that looked like it might do.
At 3:45 am, June 15, we landed ashore and struggled the boat out of the surf, up over the slippery rocks. Then while carrying things to high ground Jenny slipped and fell in the drink, thankfully doing no damage. The heavy rain made the scene quite grim, but there was little for it but to establish camp on a high plateau of grapefruit-sized rocks.
Crawling inside we were dismayed to find the fly leaking again. But Jenny saved the day by braving the elements and smearing some lip balm. And yes, normally one would not think of camping on softball-sized rocks, but actually they are not as uncomfortable as they appear, especially as we could fortify our bedding with a great deal of spare clothing.
Day 23
June 15
After eight hours of deep sleep we arose at noon and emerged into a completely different world. The sky had cleared and the sun had just risen over the embankment. We stepped out into a friendly, warm, and gloriously inviting environment. We spread our things to dry in the sun, and Jenny cooked a wonderful breakfast. The seas were no longer white-capped, but a two-to-three foot surf was crashing on the nearby rocks, dissuading a departure. So we idled about camp in reverie, and found warm niches amongst the boulders and rocks to read our books in the sunshine.
Later we climbed a rocky slope behind camp a long ways and found a nice little spring emanating from what proved to be a massive snowbank overhead. From the high vantage we could see white caps far out into the sound, which separated us from the beckoning coastline of Rocky Point, 10 miles distant.
By evening the wind and seas had only increased, and by midnight we'd given up the prospect of leaving and retired to bed.
Day 24
June 16
We rose at 10 am and found that the seas had mitigated considerably. The two foot surf did not look insuperable, so we packed and set off. We knew the wind was blowing from the west, miles offshore, and that we would have headwinds and rough seas. Before us lay our 10 mile crossing from Cape Darby to Rocky Point. We paddled for an hour in reasonable conditions, then the wind began to rise and churn the sea to whitecaps. Doggedly we pressed on, paddling full speed, which because of the headwinds was not very fast. At one point the wind rose to 20 and I wondered aloud whether we should turn back. But we agreed to press on.
The headwind continued rising gradually and we continued paddling at maximum effort. It is amazing how much strength and endurance a person can muster in the face of adversity. On a calm practice lake at home, we would not have been able to paddle like this for more than 5 minutes. But here we continued for hour after hour, with only the occasional momentary let-up to shift position or shake some of the numbness from the hands. Spray was drenching us through; the occasional white cap would climb aboard, wallop our torsos and run down our spray skirts. The wind was bitingly cold, but at least the sun was out and prevented the mood from becoming too grim.
The farther we went, the stronger the headwind, the harder we worked, and the slower our progress. Now, only about one mile from shore we were practically clawing our way ahead, tooth and nail. To turn around now was unthinkable because we knew the sea behind us was extremely rough. Adding to our plight, the tide was beginning to ebb against the wind, so the seas were becoming even more confused. The closer we drew to shore the stronger the wind. It seemed to be careening over the rounded slope of land and accelerating. But at least the land was reducing the fetch. Fortunately, our perseverance won over, and eventually we hauled into quiet water from where we easily paddled to within a few yards of the shore. Here, our world was suddenly transformed. Blocked by the cliffs, the wind was still and the water was flat as a millpond. In the warmth of the sun our troubles soon evaporated.
We had landed a few miles from Rocky Point and for a moment we debated about continuing around the coast. But we knew the clapitus would be extreme, so we turned into the bay and followed the coast for several hundred yards until we found a possible tent site. Here, we hauled out and made camp on a small gravel platform, which looked ideal except for its complete lack of water or snow anywhere in the vicinity. But after we had pitched the tent and laid out all our belongings to dry, we discovered a spring down on the gravel beach only 30 feet from camp. The place almost seemed made for the itinerant kayaker, especially after we then inspected the shore both ways and found no fresh water or tentage.
Back at camp Jenny cooked up a hearty round of pancakes. While eating we watched the sea churn into a cauldron of whitecaps. The offshore wind was now much stronger than when we were paddling. A line of fog began whizzing past Rocky Point and slammed into the far shore where we had previously camped, and from where we had come. Soon that entire shore was engulfed. Overhead the fog whizzed through the air and dissipated.
Later that evening Jenny went outside and happened to notice a bear on the slope, several hundred yards along the shore. We watched it for a long while, regretting that the rough seas prevented our departing. The grizzly descended to the shore and headed our way, and we grew concerned. I grabbed the shotgun and went out to protect ourselves. At my instruction, Jenny grabbed the flare gun and camera. When the bear was 40 yards from us I whistled at it loudly. No response, so I yelled. At that, it stopped and looked at me, but with an expression of no real surprise. Then it kept coming. Previously I had worked on the gun, and was not completely sure it worked, so I figured I had better take a test shot. I fired in the bear's general direction, without taking aim. The gun made a tremendous explosion that echoed among the hills. The bear jumped into the air and spun around as if a wasp had just stung its behind. Apparently the rifled slug had hit the rocks behind the bear and ricocheted. For bruin it was a moment of absolute confusion. What to do?
Now the big grizzly had its head down, hump back raised, and was lumbering determinedly straight at us. At my suggestion Jenny launched a flare in its direction. Even through the flare missed by a good ten feet, the bear stopped and took on a rather annoyed expression. Then it began wavering back and forth, undecided as to what to do. And with our great relief, it turned and climbed the steep dirt embankment - with surprising ease - and disappeared into the willows and birch scrub above. Then came a great commotion, as the bear made its way along, still in the same general direction toward our camp. We couldn't see it, but its location was all too apparent. Fifty feet from camp it reappeared from the bush, apparently angry and now and staring at us long and hard. My adrenaline was pumping hard. When the bear started descending the gully I told Jenny I was going to have to shoot it. She said, "Let me shoot another flare at it." This she did, and at that the bear took on a worried expression, and scurried back into the brush. After the thrashing had subsided we stood watching, expecting it to return. We were so shaken that we watched for about two hours, and even then we got very little sleep that night.
Day 25
June 17
We set off at 7 am into uneasy conditions, thankful, at least, to be leaving the bear's territory. The wind had slackened to 10 knots west, and the seas were much reduced, although still quite boisterous, especially around Rocky Point. The day was sunless and so foggy that we could see no more than one or two hundred feet up the slope. But at least the coastline featured a number of indentations that afforded us some measure of respite. And there were large rock islands that probably we could have paddled to the inside, but the heavy swell, five feet or so, prevented it. Curiously, tons of driftwood logs had been hurled high on some of the slopes. Maybe bulldozed up the banks by the springtime ice breakup.
Bedraggled by a lack of sleep we headed for shore through the surf, on a long beach just beyond a major creek, a few miles short of Chiukak. To our dismay we found grizzly tracks everywhere, and even a trail of them in the sand. It seemed that the bears scour the coast, looking for dead seal, whale or whatever, between hibernation season and fish spawning season and berry season. When the berries start turning ripe, the bears probably leave the coast somewhat. And when the fish start running in the creeks, later in the fall, the ocean kayaker might not see many bears. But for now, we are sharing the same niche. Also, these bears see few people on shore. The one yesterday acted like it had never seen a human, and showed no fear of us. Also, the bear seems to be a creature of habit. The one yesterday was making its daily rounds and we happened to be in its way. All it really wanted, no doubt, was to get past us, along its usual route. Camping on a narrow beach, we might as well be camped on a set of train tracks.
Jenny cooked breakfast while I rested in the tent. The sky was clouded, but still the fly and sleeping bag dried.
After a 90 minute respite we shoved off again, congratulating ourselves for adroitly negotiating the surf - but too soon, because an errant wave climbed aboard and left us sponging the bilge.
In improving conditions we made our way along an extended length of low lying coast, until coming to "Square Rock." Aptly named, this was a huge chunk of rock, cubic in shape and a few hundred feet high, sitting offshore a hundred feet. The swell had mitigated and we paddled behind the rock, astounded by the sheer numbers of birds nesting on it. Gulls and murres, mainly, in their hundreds of thousands. It was spectacular, as proved the entire coastline for the next three miles.
Fantastic cliffs up to maybe 1,000 feet high, and nesting sea birds everywhere. We paddled in awe the whole way. And what a joy not to be battling headwinds. The paddling was thoroughly enjoyable.
We had a good laugh about "our bear". We yelled at it. It looked at us, wondered what we were - then muttered to itself, "Oh well" and kept coming. Same response from the shotgun blast. In retrospect, it seemed uproariously funny.
We stopped ashore at "Bluff," and found a disgusting mining camp - presently abandoned. Here the terrain had been demolished.
From this point it was a short hop to Topkok in gradually piping headwinds and seas, past more interesting cliffs. We were reluctant to paddle in the clapitus of more sea cliffs, so we pulled ashore near an out-flowing creek, and in an icy wind we inspected an old, dilapidated cabin and a shelter on skids, probably for the Iditerod sled dog race. The shelter's door was open, and inside was a quantity of old food lying about, none of which had been disturbed by the bears, even though there were a number of tracks in evidence about the premises. We had seen no mosquitoes to speak of, other than at Elum where they were big and slow.
We made camp on the beach, well away from the tracks, and while Jenny filtered water, I hung our drysuits on poles like scarecrows, in theory to frighten away the grizzlies. With that, we fell into a long night's sleep.
Day 26
June 18
We awoke to find fresh grizzly tracks a disconcerting twelve yards from the tent. The grizzlies seem to forage at night. Yesterday we had paddled twenty-five miles of coast without seeing one, but we're finding tracks everywhere we land. Jenny cooked a hearty breakfast and we departed at 8:30 am.
The sea was fairly calm, with a light westerly. We enjoyed paddling past yet another colossal rock outcropping. Near the headland or point was an alluring gravel beach that might have made great camping, especially since no bear could have possibly reached it, other than by swimming. Birds wheeled and squawked at us as we paddled past. The gulls invariably became distressed and often one or two would dive on us in an attempt to drive us away. We have also been seeing a few puffins along the way, one here, two there, and now we are seeing a pretty black and white bird with red feet.
Rounding the headland we discovered we had not camped short of Topkok Head, but at a similar area two or three miles short of it. This was understandable due to the heavy fog which had now cleared. We rounded the head and commenced paddling along a vast stretch of low lying sand beach. The headwinds were gradually increasing, sending a small chop and reducing our progress. At one point we stopped for a lunch break. Here, someone had tied a long rope to driftwood ashore; the other end went down to the beach. Whatever they had tied had gotten away. The knot used at the driftwood was a simple two-half-hitches, not known for its security. A few miles farther along we saw a boat stranded on the beach and figured it must have been what they had tied. Speaking of boats, we had not seen one since leaving Elim. Our only reminder of humanity has been two or three airplanes.
At 2 pm the headwinds increased and we decided to make camp in hopes that the winds would cease later in the afternoon. This was a couple miles short of the mouth of the Solomon River.
After long naps and a round of hearty pancakes we set off again at 12:30 am, June 19. The seas had diminished and the headwinds were down to 5-10 knots, which was the best we dared hope for.
The tide was low, necessitating our paddling out and around various breaking shoals. And curiously we did not find the mouth of the river. We did paddle through a band of confused water which probably indicated its location. The fog rolled in and we worked our way along the coast, past what looked like a bridge perpendicular to shore.
Negotiating around the mouth of Port Safety was a challenge. The entrance was wide and shallow, 2-5 feet, and the current was outflowing at 4 knots. The inner water was smooth, but as it flowed out it reached a point of turbulence where the waves were breaking in every direction, even crashing headlong into each other. Once past that, the seas remained confused for several miles. Houses lined the shore, seasonal fish camps mostly, and a road paralleled it. There was even a large bridge over the entrance to Safety Sound. The sun rose at 4:30 am and headwinds began increasing. Soon whitecaps began to form. We had been in the boat for six hours and had paddled hard most of that time, and were beginning to feel quite fatigued. In a large gap between houses we cranked the boat through a long line of surf and landed ashore on a broad sand beach. The night's dew had been extremely heavy, as this was actually a spit between the sound and the sea. The sand was very wet.
Carrying the first load to higher ground, I was discouraged to find a house on the other side of the road. There was no choice but to camp within its sight. We pitched the tent on a dune in the protection of some driftwood logs and quickly fell asleep in its warm confines.
Day 27
June 20
Nine hours later we awoke to find that the blowing sand was infiltrating the no-see-um netting doorway. Jenny searched the area and found a more suitable place for the tent on a patch of rye grass. Even though it was more exposed, the sand was not drifting here. We slept another five hours and because we were out of water we were at a loss for what to have for dinner. Jenny saved the day by frying a pan of potatoes and stew meat. Thanks to the cold temperatures, the meat was still edible, five days out of the freezer. Altogether we slept about 24 hours.
Day 28
June 20
The wind and seas were not cooperating, but we were out of drinking water and needed to start paddling or hitchhiking to get some. The headwinds were too strong for satisfactory progress, so we decided to try lining the boat. Setting off at 10 am, Jenny manned the aft-cockpit while I acted as levee mule ashore. The surf was substantial, and Jenny had to sponge the bilge continually. She could not fit her spray skirt and also reach my rudder peddles. Eventually she had three to four inches of water in the bilge, so we landed her ashore to make adjustments and to rest.
The second try went much better and we reached the end of the beach at Cape Nome. After a long dry-out in the wind and sun we both boarded and paddled 20-knot headwinds that were funneling around the Cape. In the lee of the extreme seaward point we found a small patch of calm water which offered a respite. The shore here appeared man-made from rocks taken from the Cape Nome Mountain, a fair portion of which had been dynamited away. It was quite a contrast to the natural beauty of the many capes we have seen all along the way. It is a sad commentary on humankind who does not respect the earth, destroying the natural beauty in the name of so called progress. What the "progress" was here was not apparent. We passed by two fishermen tending their net - the first people we had seen in five days.
From there the shore was again lined in camp-type houses. The headwinds were not so severe, although the seas were quite boisterous. We paddled ahead doggedly, in hopes of reaching a creek shown on the chart. We had been out of water nearly two days now. We passed a few dry washes; Jenny landed ashore at one of them for a closer inspection. While reboarding we caught a hefty breaker into the cockpit; but it was no harm done - we simply paddled out of the surf zone, sponged the bilge, and continued on our way. Fog drifted in and obscured the way ahead, and now in quite boisterous conditions we passed by a sizable wash that looked like the one we had been looking for. We paddled beyond a couple of houses and landed on the beach at 3 pm, then carried our gear, then the boat up to higher ground.
After organizing camp and spreading things out to dry, Jenny volunteered to back-track to the creek. She returned forty minutes later with a full load of water. We drank large bowls of soup and hot chocolate, ate cornmeal mush with syrup on top, and ate pancakes. And then in quite heavy fog we settled in for nice sleep.
We had hoped to depart during the night, but the west wind remained strong. We slept fitfully, awaking frequently to check the conditions.
Day 29
June 21
The sea did not look welcoming, but feeling a strong urge to press on, at 8 am we began lining the boat. Straightway a large wave shoved Jenny back ashore and poured water into the cockpits. We sponged the bilge, made a few adjustments, and tried again. This time an even larger wave broke over the boat, stove in the forward spray skirt, and dumped several gallons into the hold. We tried to continue, but the waves were simply too large, so we landed Jenny ashore again. I donned my drysuit and after sponging the bilge again, we both got into our cockpits and set off paddling. The seas were white capped and choppy and the headwinds were 15 knots, so the going was rough, but we were even more determined.
Eventually we paddled past the Nome River, identifiable only by the confused seas before it. It is amazing how difficult these river outlets are to see. Sea gulls are often one's best clue, as they are fond of resting near fresh water outlets. The wind freshened and, as usual, was frigid, and we paddled with great fatigue. We wondered whether the water we had collected was bad, perhaps from some mining operation. It didn't taste too good. We labored along a long rock embankment protecting the town of Nome, set with a great number of drab colored buildings.
At 10 am we finally reached Nome and landed under the shelter of a concrete jetty, part of the Snake River harbor entrance. While I spread things out to dry, Jenny went searching for a motel. After three forays she selected a room at the Polar Arms, at a whopping $97.20 per night. She then carried our gear in two hauls, then we carried the kayak, and put it in the hotel and bar's storage room, which was chock-a-block with booze. This is the first place we visited during the trip where alcohol was legal, and it showed. Drunken derelicts were well in evidence.
The motel room was large and warm, and we reveled in its comfort. Out on the high seas this morning I had told Jenny that there was a 75% chance we would quit the trip here, and she had agreed. While she was carrying gear to the room, a barge came into port from Juneau, and this seemed the perfect opportunity. Projecting myself back to Juneau, however, and points south, seemed all wrong. I decided it best just to give ourselves some time, before making any decisions.
Arrive Nome June 21, 10 am
Day 30-35
June 22
We stayed in Nome for 5 days, during which time the weather was typically uncooperative.
We moved to Betty's Igloo, a Bed & Breakfast place, and stayed five days. The owners lived upstairs, but were away on vacation. Of the three bedrooms downstairs, we were the only guests because they had not been accepting reservations until their friend Stacy showed up. Stacy assigned us a room over the phone, invited us to move in, and said she would see us that evening. At $70.00 per night, the place was expensive, but having it all to ourselves, it seemed like a good enough deal. It was a nice, modern home, tastefully appointed and kept impeccably clean. The kitchen was available to us, and the price included a large breakfast served in a basket each. Each morning we would find in the refrigerator our breakfast baskets, and typically they contained a bowl of canned fruit - pears or peaches, a sliced bagel or English muffin ready to be popped into the toaster that sat on the countertop, a large scoop of cream cheese, a banana, a box of fruit juice, slices of cheese, a tea bag (as Stacy knew we did not drink coffee), and a mint. We would fix ourselves cuppas, and use the tea cups and utensils from the kitchen. And we had it all to ourselves.
We met Jeannie and Kevin walker, who had sailed a 40 foot steel sloop from Turkey to Seward in the mid 80's and had lived in Seward for several years. We met Ramon Gandia who was building a 52 foot aluminum boat; and we toured his project. We met Tom Abrams, who worked at the AC store, and was selling his house here in Nome in order to move to Seattle where his 32 foot Westsail awaited, with plans to cruise Mexico and beyond.
We spent a long evening with Stacy, Nikki, Michelle and Marty, watching a movie and chatting at length. The girls had "nature names" for themselves, mostly bird names. Stacy was "Hoary Redpoll"; Nikki was "Condor"; Michelle, aka Bean was "Hairy-thighed Cockwit"; and Mary was "Bug". I said my nature name was "The Eleven-Toed Clutz" which they shortened to ELC or Elsie. Jenny called herself "Fowl" because of her foul-smelling polypropylenes.
Stacy worked as an archaeologist had a major site named after her. The group was exploring the desert, when Stacy climbed a sand hill to go pee, and discovered the prehistoric city over the rise.
Nikki and Bean took us for a drive in the backcountry in Stacy's old beat-up blue pickup truck which the girls had named Bargain Betty. We went hiking in Muskox Valley, climbed a small "mountain" which we named Antelope Mtn., because of the antelope antlers we found on the slopes, and we spotted a few "Alaska Brown Barrels" (55-gal fuel drums). Afterward we stopped at Dexter's Roadhouse, a tiny bar jammed with friendly local hardies. These people live out here, and in winter they travel to Nome via snow machine for supplies. At Dexter's we played a bean bag toss game which proved to be a riot.
Bean worked at the KNOM radio station, and invited us there for an interview. Another gal, Sara, interviewed us.
Day 36
June 27
We set off at noon from the beach we had landed on, in calm wind and moderate, three-foot swells. We took a few wallops of surf on the way out, then sponged the bilge. We paddled with vigor all day, and due to the lack of headwinds, made fantastic progress.
Twenty miles out, we encountered a lone fellow paddling a canoe, and we both steered for each other. Ben Heslop from Edmonton was returning from a trip up the Sinuk River. He sat in the back of his canoe "Voyageur II" - heavily loaded with what we could only imagine - and wearing all cotton clothing. He had been out three years, he said, and had paddled across Canada, up the Peel, one-quarter mile portage, down the Porcupine to the Yukon, etc. We had been hearing about him in Nome as one who was paddling around the world. He told us he was unable to obtain a visa for Russia, as yet, which is why he was here in the Nome area. A very interesting and friendly fellow. As we sat there talking, a bird landed in the water just a few feet from us, possibly thinking we were fishing, and likely it was hoping for fish scraps.
By evening we were paddling in headwinds that grew stronger the farther we went. And by then we had grown desperately tired. So finally we pulled ashore two miles short of Igloo Creek, at an uncharted creek, which we later found was partially saline. While landing, a wave knocked me off the boat and into shallow water. Ashore, we discovered huge grizzly tracks. We had paddled 32 nm today, our first over 30 day, in 9 hours, stopping at 9 pm.
Day 37
June 28
We remained at this camp 24 hours, during which time the wind blew continuously. We slept most of the time, all but a few hours. We went for a long walk trying to find fresh water, following the inlet creek. Still it tasted saline, where no ocean could have possibly been contaminating it. We surmised it must have been, not salt, but some mineral leaching out of the hills. Needless to say we refrained from drinking it. A range of mountains stood starkly away to the east, three or four miles distant and apparently devoid of vegetation. A pair of Arctic terns were nesting about 50 feet from camp. They kept a watchful eye on us and made threatening dives on us whenever we approached too close. In the distance we could see moving objects and were a little concerned until we realized, after hearing their cranky honks, that they were only sand hill cranes.
Day 38
June 29
The wind diminished late evening, and so we set off into light headwinds at 9:30 pm, June 28.
We rounded Cape Woolly, a rocky, low-lying bluff marked by two or three cabins. We paddled back into the bay. Near Feather River we paddled past a village not shown on our chart. Well after midnight, the people were still up. A few children ran down to the shoreline and waved to us. We would have stopped because we needed water, but the shallows were kicking up a long line of surf. We had carried only one gallon from Nome and had long since run out.
We landed ashore opposite the Tisuk River and I walked across the sand spit to check the lagoon water. It showed a tidal variation and it was half saline. Four miles farther on we stopped again to see if we could find water. This was at the lagoon's northwest terminus. We did not find accessible water, but we did make a quick campfire to ward off the night time chill and to roast hot dogs, this at 2 am, June 29.
In the vicinity of Cape Douglas we found extensive snowbanks, and knew we could melt drinking water from these. A pair of moose were grazing on the tundra, and allowed us to paddle past them, though one watched us intently the whole time. They were enormous creatures; the first moose we have seen on this trip. They were shaking their ears at the mosquitoes. We had seen a great many moose-like tracks on the beaches, especially recently and this sighting verified what was making them. We also saw a great many seal, sometimes half a dozen or more at once.
We landed one-and-half miles past the cape and found melt water in one of the ravines. Jenny filled our two-and-half gallon jug. Then we paddled on several hundred yards to more suitable camping on the edge of the tundra. We landed at 7 am in a light rain and quickly set up camp. The day was almost windless and the mosquitoes were out, although not particularly aggressive. It was a very scenic area with the Kigluaik Mountains in the distance and miles of open tundra and the York Mountains far away to the north.
Day 39
June 30
The sea was calm and we slept fitfully. We were tired from paddling and needed rest, but the urge was strong to take advantage of the favorable weather. We set off again at 4 pm into light headwinds and followed low-lying tundra covered bluffs for many miles. Five miles south of Pt. Spencer we landed ashore and from there I lined the boat for about three miles.
All along the way in this vicinity we saw dozens of carcasses on the beach: whale, walrus and seal. We thought we might find some walrus ivory. While lining the boat, though, I saw that every beast had been shot and now my taste for ivory had gone sour. The carnage was unconscionable. Tom had told us he had sold a walrus skull and ivory for $8,000. The locals were annihilating the animals and the waste was sickening. My guess was that these animals had sunk after being shot and had later washed ashore.
We passed through one abandoned camp, quite an expansive affair where dozens of families had stayed. Among the litter was a grizzly bear head. The rule here seemed to be: if it moved, shoot it. I found it depressing.
The fog had moved in, reducing the visibility at times to a few hundred feet. Now paddling again, we had to stay close to shore to keep from loosing it. I kept track of our position by watching the compass. We did see one seal, which was encouraging.
One-and-half miles from Pt. Spencer we stopped at 10 pm and made camp on the sand amongst a few tufts of grass. We had wanted to cross the bay, but the west wind was blowing and kicking up a bit of chop and we were feeling tired. Also the thick fog curtailed any views, and we knew that the crossing would be quite scenic in clear weather.
Day 40
June 30
We awoke to find the tent netting doorway covered in mosquitoes. We imagined that we had not experienced heavy mosquitoes up until now because of the consistent wind and cold temperatures, both of which were absent this morning. Jenny donned mosquito wear and with repellent sat outside cooking a hearty breakfast. Emerging from the tent myself, I was astounded by the views all around us. The fog had lifted and we could see buildings of the Loran station and runway not far away, and an enormous antenna. Across the bay to the north stood a stupendous range of mountains.
We set off at 11:30 am and paddled across the five mile gap which we made a few miles longer by cutting the bay diagonally to the west. The day was fairly calm, the sky overcast and the views absolutely spectacular. For a change we felt we really belonged here, rather than fighting foul conditions continually.
The crossing seemed to take a long while but eventually we reached the far shore and proceeded along it toward Cape York. Here the water was very clear and we could see the bottom at 15 feet. Throughout the day we paddled past a succession of creeks and snowbanks, some 10-12 feet thick.
At an old mining camp near Lost River we stopped and had a look around at the various relics including a large aluminum motor boat and an old-fashioned, rusty tractor of antique vintage. The ground was bare of vegetation as far as the eye could see, but on closer inspection we found small clusters of flowers and dwarf bushes pressed absolutely flat to the ground by the cold.
Jenny built a small campfire - below the high-tide line - and cooked a round of turkey dog sandwiches. Then we burned our paper trash, and set off again. The "Headwind Magnet," as we were calling our hearty craft, had attracted a bit of headwind and we were a little concerned as we approached Cape York. Bockstoce had written that it was a long ways with no pull-out. We paddled past some very spectacular cliffs, and the farther we went, the less strongly the wind blew, until eventually it calmed.
We paddled past a great many creeks and perhaps half a dozen good campsites with good pull-outs. This was a very spectacular region and we reveled in the calm weather that afforded great enjoyment. The numerous valleys had been chiseled into the raw earth, steep sided and V-shaped. Most would have been difficult to walk up. All of them were alluring. It looked like a good place to pan for gold, and a rock hound would have enjoyed a field day.
A light rain lasted for a couple of hours; however in the absence of wind we did not become chilled. Our hats, drysuits, and especially the kayak and spray skirts kept us comfortably warm and dry. Eventually a headwind started beleaguering us, though, so we pulled ashore on a broad gravel beach, three miles short of the York town site, just near the Kanauguk River, coursing through an expansive valley. After establishing camp, at 6:15 pm in fresh northwest winds we found a freshwater pond and braved its cold water for a quick splash-bath, the first one of the trip.
Day 41
July 1
The skies let loose a pouring rain that continued much of the night. This was a problem because our tent was proving itself to be anything but waterproof. It was a four pound tent we had used on a few months-long backpacking trips, and was now showing its age. Despite our best efforts at seam sealing, it leaked in several places. At least our home-made synthetic bag was working well. It kept us nice and warm. We awoke to find that the wind had switched in the night, and was now blowing from the south directly into the tent. We had camped at the base of a 30-foot embankment, and this offered quite a bit of protection. We turned the tent around, then hunkered down and slept most of the day.
In the evening we walked far up into the valley and discovered qiviat (wool of the muskox) clinging to the willows. The valley was lush with short grasses and had been heavily grazed by muskox and caribou. Also there was a great deal of droppings and bones lying about. This was apparently a favorite haunt with them. On the way back to camp we collected qiviat, thinking that maybe we could spin and weave it into a pair of hats.
That night the wind strengthened and brought with it a remarkably heavy fog and dew. The dew pervaded the tent's interior and soaked the sleeping bag. The gravel bar we were camping on was cold, due perhaps to the permafrost below and the proximity of a large snowbank nearby.
Day 41-45
July 2-5
For five days and six nights the south wind persisted, raising the seas to huge breakers. Pinned down in the protection of our tent, we slept through most of the days and nights, almost as though hibernating. Jenny cooked nice meals and we went for a long hike most late evenings.
The valley was extremely intriguing and we wanted to hike far into it to explore, but the weather was not so amenable. We wished we had brought our rain garments. We did not want to hike in our drysuits and wear holes in the feet. As for animal life we saw only one Arctic ground squirrel. But of course we were glad there was no sign of grizzly. However, the birds were well represented - from little brown sparrow-like birds, medium sized brown and white ring-necked plovers, to gulls and ravens and kittiwakes. Thanks to the strong, cold winds, the insects were virtually absent. Lying in the tent we could see our breath most of the time. A few helicopters passed overhead, when the fog permitted. We managed to collect quite a large bag of qiviat.
Day 46
July 6
We awoke and found that the wind and seas had moderated to manageable proportions, so we struck camp in haste and set off at 8 am. Punching through the surf was the first challenge. Paddling the wild chop was the second. We had lost our sea legs and the wild gyrations soon had both of us feeling seasick. Even so, we were elated to be moving again. The townsite of York consisted of one dilapidated cabin. At one point we saw a herd of 10 muskox far away on a ridgeline.
We paddled past the Tin City AF base and run down townsite of Tin City. One of the buildings appeared to be occupied. This might have been the store, but we dared not waste time stopping there. The wind and seas were lessening all the time, although a large swell was rebounding from the rocks. We saw three reindeer on Cape Mountain. At the top of the mountain was a large ray dome serviced by an aerial tram. This 2,289 foot mountain close to Siberia was obviously strategic in the government's view.
As we neared the Cape we could see Fairway Rock and Diomede Islands, and the bold, snow-covered headlands of Siberia, beyond Cape Prince of Wales - the western-most point of the continental US. It is also the terminus of the Continental Divide. As we approached the village of Wales we saw a fox working on one of the many carcasses washed up on shore. It was more grey in color than red. We paddled past another herd of muskox - maybe one dozen - grazing on surprisingly steep slope, and disconcertingly close to Wales. Sometimes we get the impression the Eskimo will shoot anything that moves, but maybe this isn't quite the case.
We paddled in front of Wales, which appeared to be a typical Eskimo village, but we were unable to land ashore because of the large surf, which extended far out. The seas were running at about four feet. We could have gotten in, but coming out would have been much more difficult and we were in no mood to be stuck on some beach, particularly at a town. We had plenty of food, although we were out of a few essentials, but we were quite low on water. This was a concern, because the chart did not show any water sources for the next 70 miles to the village of Shishmaref. Our main concern, though, was to round Cape Prince of Wales while the rounding was good. The wind was blowing lightly from the north and we knew that strong northerly wind would create huge seas in the vicinity because of the north flowing current and the shoal water.
We pressed ahead staying well out, beyond the wide zone of breakers. Now paddling in headwinds, we went about seven miles beyond Wales, until the increasing wind stopped us. There was nothing for it but to land ashore, this at 3 pm. The first thing we noticed was that the beach was littered everywhere in clam shells, 4 to 5 inches long, and conch-like. We guessed that the walrus dig up the shells which then wash ashore. We leveled a tent platform on a sand dune and to our great relief we found non-saline water in the large ponds inland. This water we filtered and boiled. It had a definite after taste, but, as Jenny exclaimed, it sure beat sea water. We had paddled 24 miles today.
Sleep did not come easy, mainly as I was in travel mode. Every wind shift caught my attention and I went out to check many times. Once the headwinds eased, we wanted to depart. Another problem was that we were constantly interrupted by passing 4-wheelers. Some rain fell during the night, and the barometer was quite low.
Day 47
July 7
We set off at 8:45 am into light headwinds that grew lighter the further we went. The swell had greatly reduced, so the going was more practicable. The coastline was low-lying with a narrow bank of sand dunes between us and the massively expansive tundra. Snow clad peaks of the Brooks Range stood away to the east, all but its lower flanks enshrouded with clouds.
Other than birds and a few seals, we saw no animals today. Birds were our constant companions, however, mostly glaucous gulls, kittiwakes and jaegers. Light rain began falling and an hour later we could see a bit of clearing in the sky so we hauled ashore and made a quick batch of pancakes. The wind had died and the mosquitoes were a bit of a nuisance. Even so, they were not terribly aggressive.
The next dark cloud passed overhead and we paddled ahead, not in a heavy rain, but in a heavy mist. The rain was falling in micro droplets, and although everything was getting soaked, there was no sign of rain on the sea's surface. I had never seen anything quite like it. After a couple of hours of paddling calm conditions, which we found rather monotonous, the old south wind started to blow. Now, though, we were on a weather shore, meaning that the fetch was minimal and the wind was on our starboard quarter. As a result we made wonderful progress. Crossing the mouth of the Ikpek Lagoon was a fairly wild ride in following seas.
After several hours we landed Jenny ashore and she walked to stretch her legs and to take an occasional peak over the sand dunes looking for fresh water. Eventually she found a good sized "duck pond" close to shore, so we landed at 6:30 pm and pitched the tent in the lee of the dunes. We collected water from the pond and set up the Hiker's Friend on a tripod of driftwood and filtered and boiled water and cooked dinner. Today's mileage: 32.
Rain fell heavily through the night and the wind increased to alarming proportions. The wind shifted from south to southwest, meaning that we were no longer in the lee of the dunes. Rather, the wind was blowing parallel to them and the shoreline. At times we feared the tent would collapse. The tempest grew so strong that it forced water through the tent fly, until everything inside was soaked. Wet though we were, thanks to our sleeping bag we remained warm.
Day 48
July 8
The barometer was slowly rising, so we hung on, waiting for better conditions. The rain finally let up at 1 pm. I ventured outside and searched abroad for a protected tent site, for future reference. Walking along the beach, I estimated the wind at 40 knots with gusts of 50. We moved the tent into a better location, then we dried the wettest things by holding them in the wind. Overall, the sleeping bag was the wettest, and I stood in the wind with it wrapped around my shoulders, and this did a good job of drying it.
The barometer began rising and the wind dropped to a steady twenty. I walked a quarter mile over the tundra and muskeg to Ikpek Lagoon to see if paddling that was more feasible, which it proved to be. Along the way I came to a slight rise of drier ground, on which a dwelling had once stood, long ago. All that remained were a few chunks of wood and a scattering of bones. I found one piece of wood with a line of holes drilled through it, and a mortise slot. Part of a sled, or kayak perhaps.
By evening we had dried most of our things to tolerable levels and the wind was blowing 15, still sending lines of surf crashing onto the beach.
Day 49
July 9
In the night was drizzle off and on. We arose at 8 am and departed at 9 am intent on paddling at least a few miles. The wind was 10 knots southwest and we called ourselves Dunkin Donuts while punching through the surf. This was, once again, a water sport - a fact that we had whimsically reminded ourselves time and again throughout the course of the journey.
But now we paddled following seas for several miles. This was a new experience for us. I had been wanting to test the boat's handling in such conditions and finally got the chance. Because of the significant amount of rocker and round bilges, the boat seemed a little squirrelly, with a slight tendency to broach. This placed a great strain on the rudder. A flatter rocker and a flatter bottom might have been more desirable.
By the time we reached the entrance to Arctic lagoon, the wind was blowing much harder. Looking into the sun, we could not see the entrance because of the glare; because our eye glasses were spattered in brine; and because our height of eye was a mere three feet above the water on average. We could, however, read the water quite well, and in this way we eventually found the entrance. It was uncanny, almost like flying on instruments, but the way the water behaved told me there should be an entrance, and so we paddled a long way through smaller breakers, and eventually found ourselves in the pass between islands.
Once into the lagoon the seas went suddenly flat. We had just passed by a nice looking beach/fishing cabin and the temptation to stop and camp in its lee was strong. I asked Jenny what she wanted to do and she said, "let's keep going", so with some reluctance we paddled into the lagoon. I knew that in such strong wind there would be no coming back. The huge expanse of lagoon was quite shallow in most places, at times barely deep enough to float the kayak. A small, grass covered island stood just offshore and offered calm water in its lee. We pressed ahead, paddling among many such small islands. At one point a few seagulls squawked at us disconcertingly and in a few moments we came upon two chicks bobbing in the chop like a couple of fur balls.
We paddled for several miles, cutting various bays on the northwest bank. After we passed the Sinzarat entrance, which was not visible, we encountered decidedly shoal water, and here the kayak ran aground. We were miles from nowhere, way out in the turgid lagoon, wading through a scant six inches of water, not quite sure what to do. We could not turn back due to the strong wind. It would have been a long wade to shore, and then a long portage to the sea. Besides, the sand dunes were now much lower, only 3-4 feet high, offering little protection for camping. So we waded farther out into the lagoon, hoping to find deeper water. One can easy read the depth of water in strong wind by the height of its chop. Unfortunately, as far as the eye could see, the water was flat - meaning shallows. After wading a long ways, though, we could see some chop farther out, and when we reached it we set off paddling once again.
At that point we decided to try our luck at the other side of the lagoon, one and a half miles distant. So we paddled hard on a beam reach, in a small but vicious chop. At the far side we again found shallow water, even 100 yards out it was only a foot deep, but in our boat it was more than adequate. The shore here was reminiscent of much of the shore we had paddled from the Yukon, except that it had no inter-tidal or surf zone and very little driftwood. Quite obviously, this was once the ocean shore before the offlying sand bars had emerged and created the lagoon. The wind was strong from astern and we could coast at 2 knots. This was a novel experience for this trip. One person paddling brought the boat's speed up to cruise, leaving the second paddler feeling like he was spinning his wheels. So we glided easily along, taking in our grand surroundings: the beautiful lagoon, the green tundra, and a few patches of blue sky.
At the end of a steep bank we stopped for its shelter from the wind. Here we pulled the boat up onto the mud bank and Jenny cooked a round of pancakes while I computed our position. A small creek flowed into the lagoon, but it was unfittingly brown in color. On the hill above was a teepee type structure made of driftwood logs. This marked the location of a camp below, which had long since been abandoned. Four large swans stood near the shore, eyeing us distrustfully and eventually took to the water, but did not swim away. We wondered whether they had nests here.
For many miles we paddled along the bank always in a foot of water, slightly more or less. We came to a cabin with a reindeer fence, and near there we climbed the hill to have a look at the lagoon. The wind was diminishing and we thought it might be best to make the crossing back to the sand bar while the crossing was good. On the hillside we were completely out of the wind and this is where a hoard of mosquitoes set upon us. I took a hasty bearing, then we returned to the boat. At the shore we were back in the wind and out of the mosquitoes. From the hillside we could see the village of Shishmaref, seven miles diagonally across the lagoon, so we set a course directly for it. At first the seas started building as we paddled deeper water, but before long we found ourselves in only six inches of water. Again this was an odd sensation, as the nearest land was at least a mile away.
The remainder of the afternoon was a matter of negotiating shoals and choppy water. Once we climbed out on a sand bar to determine which way to go. For once it was good to have the strong wind because it enabled us to read the water's depth at a distance. Trying to paddle through here in calm weather would have been a trying experience, searching for the channels while wading around aimlessly. But in calm weather one would not need to be inside the lagoon.
Finally we rounded the last shoal and paddled the final mile or two to the village. And at 8:15 pm we pulled the boat ashore. Right away Jenny went to buy groceries while I set up camp. Rain started falling so I scurried around, setting up the tent and off loading our dunnage and dragging the boat up to our site. Jenny soon returned with the unfortunate news that the stores were closed for the day. We still had a small amount of spaghetti and dry potatoes and some cornmeal. This seemed pretty good after paddling two weeks from the store at Elim. Also, we had used nearly two gallons of Coleman fuel on the trip. The camping here was on a flat, grassy tundra, a mere three feet above sea level, in an area of boats and assorted junk lying about, including moose antlers and a dilapidated umiak, a stone's throw from the runway.
This town was a true study in irony. It was built on a small, flat island, and one would have thought the first major storm would have swept it all away. The people were certainly fond of boats, for there were dozens anchored just offshore in the lagoon. No doubt it was a strategic place to live away from the worst of the mosquitoes and handy to fishing grounds, although fresh water must have been a challenge. There was a constant drone of 4-wheelers, but for some reason they kept their distance throughout the night, and did not disturb us. The night was calm, with no wind and beaucoup mosquitoes.
We had decided that if we could ship the kayak home from here, then we would end the trip. The trip had been an odd blend of struggles and storm-forced layovers, and finally the five days at "Qiviut Beach" had convinced us. We had a great many fond memories, but we were not looking for an interminable struggle. It was quite obvious we were not going to reach our objective, or anywhere near it. Jenny commented that this was the first trip we had done together where we had not achieved our objective. We both felt tremendous remorse, but we also felt it was the best thing, disappointed though we were.
Day 50
July 10
We rose and wandered into the village. It was quite unlike any we had seen, being more compact, with a lot more junk lying around, but the people we met were also quite friendly. At the Native Grocery store we bought enough for a sumptuous breakfast, then we went into Nayokpuk's General Store and bought a few more items. There we met Percy Nayokpuk who talked with us for twenty minutes. He had a great sense of humor and was also very helpful when we asked him about barging the kayak out. From there we proceeded to the washeteria where we enjoyed showers ($2 each) and laundry ($2 per load, and $1.50 to dry). This was good because we must have smelled like three-month old carrion. Even though we had bathed and washed "the stinky parts" on several occasions, sitting in the drysuits all day long greatly encourages bacterial growth.
On the return to camp we had to fairly duck as a squadron of seven airplanes came in. Jenny later talked with some of the couples who were touring Alaska together and apparently having a grand time of it. They were interested in our trip and said that the weather inland was marvelous.
Back at camp Jenny cooked a great breakfast of hamburger machaca. Then while I busied myself around camp spreading things to dry, Jenny went to make arrangements to barge the kayak back to Seattle. As I puttered around camp, a family passed nearby on their way to their boat, and we talked for about fifteen minutes. Like everyone else here, they were very friendly. They pointed out their house and said the coffee pot is always on. The fellow said he used to hunt Oogrook - bearded seal. I asked if he went out in the boat and shot them with a rifle. In his typically joking manner he replied, "They don't come over to shake your hand." They had a fish camp seven miles down the beach on one of the islands - a wall tent - and were going to check their net.
Percy's brother, Curtis, ran the air terminal and he offered to store the kayak until it could be flown or barged out of here. Jenny made a number of calls, trying to make arrangements. While she was gone, Percy's Dad, Walter, came by to have a look at the kayak. He said in his younger days he used to hunt seal by kayak. He was very interested in the traditional construction, and said he could get funding, but could not find anyone who could still build in the traditional way. But it was something he was trying to do. He also said we were camped on a patch of blackberries, which looked like nice heather to me. He had lived in Seattle for three months on business (he owned Nayokpuk's General Store, one of a chain, and said the worst part was walking up the hill coming home from work - that, from someone who had lived here in flat Shishmaref all his life, except for four years in the Service.
The postmaster said she was very glad we had made it this far, and that we had made it before the strong winds, which usually start in mid or late July. August, she said, is extremely windy, and after that it is impossible.
We spent the afternoon organizing gear to send home, and at 9:30 pm Curtis Nayokpuk and his wife Cheryl drove into camp on their 4-wheeler, towing a trailer. We talked about the kayak awhile, then loaded it onto the trailer and drove to the airport building for storage. The trailer had a car seat, on which we sat while Curtis and Cheryl drove us around to see the sights of Shishmaref. We visited the fish camps on the northwest side, and saw Oogrook skins staked out on the ground to dry. These would be used to make mukluk soles. The crimps in the soles, they said were made, not by machine, but by the Eskimo women's teeth. Salmon hung on the many drying racks, as did seal meat.
After driving through town we arrived at their boat, which Curtis had recently built. He called it a canoe-ak, 14 feet long, it was for duck hunting. He had made it of plywood with a layer of fiberglass overlay, and skids of nylon 1"x1" along the keel and chines. Good for dragging the boat over sand and ice. Curtis had constructed it "by eye" without plans. I found that quite remarkable, as it was a nicely shaped boat. His fishing net stretched offshore, and he invited Jenny and me to take a fish for breakfast. We demurred, but he persisted. He drug the boat to the water behind the 4-wheeler, then Jenny and I boarded and pulled it out, hand over hand, along the net. Bypassing scores of little flounder measuring no more than three or four inches in length, we came to a nice looking fish of about eighteen inches. It was dead and had tangled itself in the net so badly that it took us several minutes to extricate. Curtis had told us we would probably find a whitefish or trout, but our fish turned out to be a pink salmon. The net was active with the occasional thrashing fish, and the Nayokpuks said that they would work the net later that evening. It was 12:30 am already. They both had jobs and we wondered when they slept.
They returned us to our camp, then departed. Jenny scaled and cleaned the fish, then steaked and pan fried several chunks. In all honesty it was the best tasting fish we had ever eaten. Curtis was surprised when I said we had never eaten fresh salmon, and I had to explain that what little fish was available in the supermarkets down south was shipped frozen, and much was of questionable suitability as food. I was reminded of the skin clothing the Eskimos used to wear - luxurious furs to a person accustomed to civilized clothing. During salmon season these people dine on sumptuous fare and the same might be true of their duck, geese, moose and caribou hunting. Looking in the store, one gets the impression that the locals don't care too much for the white man's manufactured comestibles. The difference is that they have a choice and we, in the Lower 48, don't.
We learned a lot from the Nayokpuks. No, the town did not, in fact, have a desalinator. They collected snowmelt and rain in a large pond, and pumped into a huge tank. The people came with 50-gallon plastic jugs and took water to their homes. They used a footpump in the kitchen, although the shower had an electric pump. Rather like a sailboat, we thought. The problem, they said, was that their six kids ("six pack") used a lot of water. I asked what sort of reputation Nome had, and Curtis said it was for the "Wyatt Earps" coming out to the frontier for the adventure. He was not pleased about the ban on alcohol here, as he would have enjoyed the occasional beer. He said the elders of the town were the ones in control of the politics, and they didn't drink. While visiting the fish camps he said the people shot the sea gulls because they would not only consume the whole of the drying meat, but contaminate it from the town dump and from carrion. The other birds - jaegers, murres, kittiwakes, etc were no problem.
Curtis and his brother Percy asked about buying our kayak. They asked how much one like it costs, and didn't balk when I said that an equivalent one in fiberglass was $2,500. No doubt they would have given me 2 or 3 grand for ours. Percy suggested, "You can build another one for yourself when you get home." But we had decided to keep it. We learned later that Curtis was a pilot, learned to fly in Denver, and had a plane here on the island.
The next day we mailed most of our kayaking gear home, and stood talking with the postmaster Elsie. While there we also met Albert Ningeulook. We toured the tannery, where one of the tanners, Bessie showed us how it all worked and gave us a price list for future reference.
Walking back through town we saw Albert again, and he invited us to his house. The first thing to catch my eye was a display of photographs of well known people, all signed and inscribed personally to Albert. Ronald and Nancy Reagan, John Denver, Elvis Presley, the wife of Anwar Sadat, and several others. Each of Albert's photographs had a remarkable story behind it. For example, Albert said that he had lived with Elvis for two weeks (as a shaman I presumed) during the latter part of his career. Elvis had given Albert two original tapes and a Fender guitar, which I guess would each be worth a fortune. Albert is a writer and a poet, and had written seven speeches for Mrs. Sadat, who had videotaped her presenting them. We sipped mugs of hot broth, and met Albert's brother who was also a writer. He had just co-authored a 400-page book for the National Park Service on the history of the region.
Albert mentioned that the extended Nayokpuk family is a well-known one. Besides those we had met (Walter, the father, Percy and Curtis the sons - Curtis being adopted - there was Herbie Nayokpuk, Walter's brother. Followers of the Iditarod Sled Dog Race, and other famous dog races in Alaska, know Herbie well, as he is the only Native Alaskan to have ever raced. Herbie had raced the Iditarod seventeen times but had never placed First; he had come in Second many times, Third many times, etc. but never had he won it. In fact, the other mushers had a saying about Herbie: "Herbie is such a friendly guy. The reason he never one the Iditarod was because he was always too busy shaking everybody's hands at the stations." Imagine our delight when Albert said that Herbie and his wife live here in Shishmaref!
July 12
Our plane to Nome was scheduled to depart in the morning. Half a dozen bush plane companies service Shishmaref; we chose Baker Aviation because their fee of $75 per person one-way to Nome was the cheapest. They were also the last to arrive in Shishmaref, but that was ok by us because we were in no great hurry. However, just as the plane approached, the fog that had been hovering over the outside coast moved over the island and obscured the landing strip. Meanwhile, we were on the ground, listening to our plane circling and waiting for the fog to lift. There were two other passengers waiting with us: Herbie and Elizabeth Nayokpuk. They turned out to be the friendliest, kindest people we had ever met. When the four of us realized that we were stuck until the fog lifted, Herbie invited us back to his house for coffee and to see his trophies.
We piled into Herbie's pickup truck and drove back into town. As we approached their house, I asked Herbie if he still had his sled dogs, and if so, could I see them. Yes, he replied, fifty dogs. We stood on the knoll beside his house and he yelled out "Hey fellas!" The sound of their driver's voice brought life into those dogs. fifty canine heads popped up out of the weeds and flotsam spread out below the house. Inside the house we admired the incredible collection of trophies, ribbons, posters and newspaper clippings. Elizabeth offered coffee, but we declined, saying that we don't drink it. "Ah," Herbie said, "not old enough yet, huh?"
An airport worker came by and said the plane was landing, so we all piled back into the pickup truck and were soon settled into the small plane. In Nome we bid farewell to our new friends, and started checking around for flights to Anchorage. A few hours later we were on our way south. (Mark Air, $290.00 each one-way) While waiting for the flight we met Bret and Deanna Allard who were returning to their home in Girdwood, outside of Anchorage, after vacationing in Nome. Bret was a recently-retired oil company executive, and he and Ray talked for the duration of the flight. Deanna remarked to me that Bret never talks that much with anyone for such a long time (Two to three hour flight). and I replied that Ray never did either! They had a lot of common interests. Bret and Deanna adopted us for the evening and took us out to dinner at a very nice restaurant, then for a late evening tour of the city, complete with a sunset over Anchorage. They dropped us off at a B&B we had found - all of the motels were full.
July 13, 14, 15
With our summer's journey finished, we're relaxing in Anchorage for a few days, shopping for summer-type clothes, sight seeing, and sending post cards, before flying home. The trip was beyond words - beautiful, adventurous, and mind expanding. It was also much tougher than we had anticipated. So we're drawing back for a better jump, so to speak.
We arrived back in Portland in the morning of July 16, after a "red-eye" flight from Anchorage to Portland. We had about five hours to kill before the shuttle van would pick us up, for the long drive to central Oregon, where we live, so we made a stealth camp near the Economy parking lot, and slept.
Details on how we got the kayak home: Jenny made arrangements with Crowley Marine to ship the kayak to Nome on a fuel barge back-haul. The barge arrived in Shishmaref two weeks after we left, then Curtis Nayokpuk loaded it aboard. From Nome it was consigned to Northern Air Cargo on a flight to Anchorage. Then the boat was hauled by Pacific Alaska Forwarders on a container ship to Seattle; then consigned to TNT Reddaway which they trucked to their Redmond terminal. About a week after the kayak left Shishmaref, we received a phone call that our kayak was in Redmond, ready to be picked up.
- Tempest Chronicles
- Building Tempest
- Week 1: Day 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
- Week 2: Day 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14
- Week 3: Day 15 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21
- Week 4: Day 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28
- Week 5: Day 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35
- Week 6: Day 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42
- Week 7: Day 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49
- Week 8: Day 50