June 13-17, 2012
Chris hauls firewood to the Endicott Arm campsite
I
slept very well until about 2:30 a.m. when I woke up to check on the
boat.
Poor exhausted Cailey was laying curled up on her bed at our feet like
a good
camp dog. Unfortunately, I found the boat at a rather
dramatically
precarious position, tilted about 60 degrees on its side, having
managed to
perch its starboard stern on one of the few big rocks on the
beach.
Everything appeared to be in good shape--no fuel leaking, hardly
anything out
of place even--but I vowed that I would be there when it floated to
make sure
it didn't flood first. Low tide was at 5:20 a.m. in Juneau and
when I
woke up at 6:00, I thought it might be nearly floating, so I got
dressed and
got up (I could see the edge of the boat, but not the beach, from the
tent). The water was actually quite far from the boat, revealing
a nice
little sandy beach just a few feet away, but I was already up
and
decided to make the best of it. The birds were singing
exuberantly from
all sides, some familiar, some tantalizingly exotic. The
deciduous
valley, full of flowers and ferns and shrubs, was a songbird's paradise
and I
could have happily spent days pursuing every bird. Though
spring
bird songs were tapering off in Juneau, they seemed to be still in full
swing
there. I thought I might try fishing, but found that the handle
to my
fishing pole was missing, so I used Chris's instead. I fished for
quite
some time on and off, but to no avail. I also saw another
avalanche--this
time coming down two chutes simultaneously. We'd heard another in
the
middle of the night (before I got up), and later aptly named our camp
Avalanche
Valley.
Ulysses the seal watched me every now and again as I wandered the
shore, and
harlequin ducks (numbering two to 20) flew in and out. I wandered
up the
river a little ways, then eventually went back to lie in bed and doze
for a bit, as (by 7:30) the boat was still nowhere near
floating! When I
got up again, I fetched the food tote from the bow of the boat, mixed
instant
coffee with International Coffee's Swiss mocha, and sat by the dead
fire to
relax. Katie and Rob emerged not long after, followed by Chris,
and we
ate instant oatmeal for breakfast. The rain, which had splattered
pleasantly on our tents all night, had finally ceased about the time I
got up
and I took off my hat after breakfast. We could see some of the
nearby
mountain tops for the first time, one rounded peak of which looked like
it had
fresh snow! It felt like ambient temperature at sea level was in
the 40s,
so it certainly could have been snowing a thousand feet up. We
could also
see a little more resolution farther up the valley, but nothing
definitive.
After the Ronquil floated (with no problems), I spent some time trying
to
finagle the boat into sitting out in deeper water, but it still wanted
to hug
shore; I should have brought the second anchor and taken the time to
moor
properly.
We
decided to hike up the valley after breakfast where there was a lake
and
maybe hanging glaciers. It didn't take long for that dream to
falter. Just inland from the mouth of the creek (more like a
swift, rocky
river), a side channel forced Katie and I to detour (we were in
xtratuffs while
the boys were in waders). Soon the creeks merged into a wide
flush of
water pouring over large boulders. In waders, we would have made
more
progress, but even so, the water was fast. Cailey followed me out
toward
some dry land in the middle, and failed to follow me back when I
returned to
the riverbank, getting stuck with Chris in the middle of the
channel. Her
unwillingness to pass back over the slippery rocks and fast moving
water caused
more delay, and the intense brush Katie and I found on the riverbank
(and
everywhere but in the river itself) was disheartening. At our
slow pace,
we'd never make the back of the valley and the going was tough and
unrewarding. Dense thickets of alder were the easiest to pass
through,
sliding and ducking and stepping over branches, but the thickets
of
salmonberries took it out of us. The briars were so interwoven
that it
was actually difficult to make headway at all. Poor Cailey had
had better
romps--she was not slender enough to pass through the brush and not as
weighty
as me in pushing through! The boys eventually joined us on dry
land and
we slogged for a short while. I caught up with Rob and we talked
about
our plans, since what we were doing was not practical and it was
nearing high
tide. I was afraid that if the boat grounded when the tide
turned, we'd
be stuck in the valley for another night. Not that there was
anything
wrong with the valley, but we had more adventuring to do! We
talked about
trying to make it to some sort of clearing, or the bottom of the
nearest
avalanche, but boat concerns turned us back. Instead of
backtracking
along the creek, we turned straight to salt water; I high tailed it
(losing my
bear mace along the way), and the spruce trees were a welcome
sight. I
ran down to the boat to find it already aground and unmovable by
me.
Chris and Rob came to help and, with extra strength and the flexibility
of
waders, were collectively able to push it off with great effort.
We
immediately struck camp. Rob held onto the boat in deep water as
the tide
fell and the rest of us packed up as quickly as we could. Chris
then
swapped out with Rob so he could help strike their tent and I ferried
packed
gear to the water. When all was ready, Rob carried load after
load to the
boat while Chris continued to hold it. Somewhere in the middle we
brought
the boat close to a tall rock so Katie could come on board and help
stow
gear. 
Cailey was sticking close, having laid down on the
tarp in
exhaustion on the rocks, and was not at all happy to be carried to the
boat and
placed on the cooler in the bow. Katie tried to coax her down to
the main level,
but to no
avail. They brought the boat back in toward the rock for me and I
lifted
Cailey down off the bow. She collapsed in front of the passenger
seat on
her folded up blanket, looking cowed and exhausted. I choked the
engine
so much in order to get off the rocks as quickly as possible that the
engine
kicked into gear, startling everyone. Once we were far enough
off, we
idled and stowed everything and were soon back to ship shape. In
the
chaos, I entirely forgot to check on the campfire, and I'm afraid we
left the
fire ring where it was, despite my best intentions.
By the time we'd gotten back to camp from our brief trek up the valley,
the sky
had cleared and we had real sunshine. I was immediately
sweltering and
stripped off three layers! It was good timing for the boys, who
had had
to stand waist deep in ice water with the boat. I wanted to visit
the
gneiss cliffs and their pigeon guillemots, and thought that would be a
nice
place for lunch. I crossed the fjord a little north of our valley
bucking
a little breeze from the glaciers, and then we drifted along the bottom
of the
cliffs watching guillemots and clusters of flowers growing in the
cracks.
It was another area I always wanted to explore with more time.
Under a
sharp overhang I saw a pigeon guillemot fly into a horizontal crevasse
and
disappear. I'm not sure I'd ever seen that so clearly!
After lunch
we cruised down Tracy Arm, following the opposite shoreline from the
day
before, at speed but not especially fast, and I thoroughly enjoyed the
view--no
spectacular cliffs, just interesting geography and plants. I
looked for
mountain goats to no avail. I may have enjoyed this part
more than
the others, but I was fulfilling old dreams, and this was all familiar
territory. We passed Flakey Falls (named after one of my crew)
without a
word, then stopped at Hole-in-the-Wall Falls, our last Tracy Arm
stop. By
then the sun had fallen behind clouds and the day had turned hazy
overcast. The fjord was calm and I think everyone dozed a little
past the
Big Bend and into Holkam Bay (except me of course). Sumdum
Glacier was
fully visible now, and I imagined what it was like for the Tlingits of
that
village to live beneath it, and wondered where exactly the village
was. I was in brand new territory then. Our thought
was to
find the creek my dad said was good for dolly fishing and possibly camp
there,
which was somewhat down Endicott Arm. Suddenly we came upon a
line of
kelp in the water that was probably 20 feet wide. I started to go
through
it, but its density turned me back (I didn't want it wrapped around the
engine); I reversed course, then cruised down to the end of it, turning
on my
fathometer
as we passed over. The depth went as low as 24 feet; I let it
drop
to 55
before shutting it off (for fear of leaving it on to drain the battery
when we
landed). Dozens of seal heads popped up from within the kelp
forest to watch us. I believe the kelp was growing on part of the
old Dawes
Glacier
terminal moraine, as we were positioned in line with the arced spit at
one end
of it.
We saw a pair of whales out toward Pt. Astley, then passed the Bushby
Islands
and spotted the one large drainage in the mountains to the left (as
verified on
Rob's topo map), which had to be the one we were looking for. The
beach
looked promising, wide and flat, with white gravel bars and acres of
grass.
Strange shapes moved along the edge of the beach--dozens of them, all
in a
row! What could they be? Something in the way they moved
suggested
geese and, sure enough, when we landed, a large flock of cackling geese
(formerly Canada geese) took flight. We found lots of goose poop
all over
the flats, and geese flew back and forth all evening.
I
pulled into the mouth of the large creek that cut through the flats
and
landed along a steep bank. After we unloaded all the gear, I
refueled the
boat, tidied it up, and looked (unsuccessfully) for the handle to my
fishing
pole. By the time I emerged on top of the bank, the others
had
perused the area and suggested camping on a gravel strip that ran
perpendicular
to the water. We couldn't tell how often (if at all) it was
flooded by
the tide, but it looked fairly clean and was a good several feet higher
than
the surrounding area. We decided to give it a try. The
whole area
was pretty neat. The edge of the water was 100 yards or so from
the
nearest trees. To either side of our gravel bar--which looked all
the
world like a narrow runway--flats stretched out in both directions
covered in
short plants that looked, from a distance, like a golf course.
Our gravel
bar ended abruptly at the edge of this area, dropping into a stretch of
waist-high beach grass about 30 feet wide that ended as the land rose
again
into a boggy paradise. Katie and I went looking for firewood and
were
stunned at the beauty of the place. We emerged from the beach
grass to
climb through a cacophony of wildflowers. There were yellow
cinquefoil,
brown chocolate lilies, pink nagoonberry blossoms, red paintbrushes,
orange
columbine, and blue violets, all against their vibrant green foliage
and yellow
moss. Beyond this shock of color bordering the beach, the land
became
slightly boggy, still enriched with wildflowers as well as young,
scattered
trees and copses of spruces. Katie and I entered the nearest
stand of trees
and were
confronted with more dead, dry wood than we could believe. We
carried
armfuls of it back to our campsite.
The afternoon was still dry and overcast. We leveled places on
top of the
gravel bar and set up our tents, then Chris, Rob, and I went
fishing.
Chris and I walked up the creek a little ways and tried casting in a
calmer
area buzzing with insects, but the water was too swift to create any
tantalizing pools and we headed back to salt water to try our luck
there.
Chris had a nibble and saw a fish briefly, but no one caught a dolly
for dinner.
I wound up retreating to my tent to rest a little before dinner and
dozed off a
couple of times. I tried to get Cailey to come with me, as I knew
she was
over-the-top exhausted herself, but she refused. When I got up,
Katie had
cooked taco makings on the fire and we feasted. It was Cailey's
one year birthday
and I gave
her a big, smoked ham bone during dinner. It had begun to
sprinkle,
and soon began to rain hard. She happily gnawed on
it, then
buried it in the sand under our wood pile. When dug up later, she
went
and buried it under a pile of seaweed. Chris rescued it before
the tide
drowned it that evening and Cailey buried it safely back under the wood
pile. All afternoon a goose had been flying back and forth calling out
forlornly and I hoped that that he or she was reunited with whatever
goose they were looking for (it was heart-breaking to listen to, though
I don't know for sure what it was about).
The only thing about camping way out on the beach is that there is no
shelter! We stood around the campfire (I think we were less
excited about
the prospects of sitting in our camp chairs, now pooling water in their
seats). As the tide rose, I began thinking about the boat's
prospects for
the night. If the tide rose high enough to flood over the steep
bank of
the creek where it was anchored, it could remain stranded up there as
the tide
fell, and leave us stranded on this beach. I had no way of
telling where
the tide would end up, and shared with the group my need to be up at
11:22 to
see where the boat was at high tide. If it was hanging out over
deep
water in the creek, no worries. If it was closer 
to
shore, well,
I'd have
to see what the situation was. The others told me they'd stay up
with me
and I think that prompted talk of making a shelter. The rain was
really
pouring down and it was still a few hours from high tide. Rob
eventually
disappeared into the wet dusk, returning with poles to make four
corner
posts, each staked through and tied to one of our camp chairs. He
then
tied a small tarp to the four corners and, voila, we had a shelter over
the
fire. I can't say that it worked particularly well, but it was a
great
experiment and kept us entertained for a while. The water pooled
in the
center of the tarp and we wound up supporting it with our heads as we
huddled
wetly around the fire. Even Cailey had relented, coming over to
me and
sitting quietly, eagerly nosing into the tent when I opened it (and
staying
inside for some time when I left). I eventually convinced
everyone that
waiting up for the tide was unnecessary and we headed off to bed.
It had
occurred to me that what I really needed to do was figure out what the
boat was
doing as the tide fell, so it's not like 11:22 would roll around and I
could drift
off to sweet dream land.
But that's exactly what I did at 10:30 when we turned in. I was
so
exhausted, I fell into the most beautiful sleep, but not before I
peeked out
the tent to see water flooding in around us! That is, at the
bottom of
the gravel spit we were on and a safe distance down. Neat
though!
At high tide I was, unfortunately, awakened by a phone alarm. The
boat
was resting peacefully, but the water was well above the bank of the
stream as I feared. I set the phone alarm every half hour or so
after that,
peeking
out the tent before going back to sleep until I noticed something odd
about the
boat (this was actually between alarms) and, terrified of stranding our
party
there until the next night, hastily dressed and rushed out to find the
boat
grounded.
I was able, with all my effort, to move the bow out until it floated,
but I
could not budge the stern. Totally disheartened, I called for
Chris's
help and he rushed out and, together, we moved the boat off the
gravel.
Another few minutes and I think she would have been stuck.
Again, I
had no idea how far the tide would come the next day, so it might have
been
fine, but the tide would be three feet lower, which can be quite
significant. From there I walked the boat out half way up my
xtratuffs
and hung on. We were, it seemed, still at least 10 feet from the
edge of
the drop off, at which point I'd feel comfortable leaving it for the
night. I
watched the tide fall....at least I wanted to watch the tide fall, but
it was
happening ever so slowly. There had to be a better
alternative! I
wound up doing one of the things I should have done to begin
with. I took
the bow line and tied it off to a rock on shore, then I dropped the
anchor on
board and paddled out as far as the bow line would allow, dropping the
anchor
over the deep creek channel. I only let out enough line to keep
it there,
then paddled back ashore (for which I had barely enough anchor line
out).
That way the boat should stay where it was anchored, but we could still
retrieve it with the bow line. I really should have done that to
begin
with, or beached it on the flats nearby where it was much less likely
to ground
too high as the tide dropped. I went back to bed just as a storm
was
coming up. I'd been in such a hurry I'd not taken a rain jacket
or rain
pants, and the weather had been mild to that point. It wasn't
fully dark
(near solstice, after all) and I thought about how much less
frightening and
stressful everything would seem in the morning. I snuggled back
under my
sleeping back and listened to the rain and wind drive against the tent,
billowing in the door on my side until it was as convex as it could be.
I
remember thinking that I might not be willing to go out in that storm,
even if
I needed to check on the boat!
 Bad placement... |
 The creek behind camp |
 Looking up the valley |
 Fresh snow? |
 Katie and Rob's tent |
 Morning at camp |
 Harlequin ducks in the creek |
 Katie and Chris slogging through the brush |
 Thick brush in the valley |
 Cailey rests while we load the boat |
 Rob carries Cailey to the boat |
 Our vally (U-Valley 1/Avalanche Valley) |
 Gniess cliffs |
 Flowers growing in the crevasses |
 Sumdum Glacier |
 Seals hiding in the kelp |
 Cailey also takes a nap on the way to Endicott Arm |
 The valley we camped in |
 Wildflowers |
 Gorgeous scenery beyond the beach |
 Wildflowers at the edge of the beach |
 Typical copse nearby |
 Eating tacos! |
 Cailey enjoys her bone |
 Canada geese pass camp |
 Hauling firewood in the downpour |
 Huddling under the shelter (Rob's photo) |
