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Day 97: Reliance

The boat sat mired in wet mud, slouched over on her starboard side.  Through patches of morning fog, I looked at her curiously as I paddled by.  Had somebody anchored her way out here, leaving her to go dry on purpose?  Then, thinking I heard a voice, I set down my paddle and coasted through the muddy water, listening.  Between the squawks of gulls, I heard it distinctly this time: “Can you row over here, just for a minute?

Uh-oh — she definitely was not left here on purpose.  “Yeah!  Yeah, I’m on my way.”  As I approached, he called out, “I was motoring in the fog this morning.  My GPS is out, so… here I sit.”

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Day 90: Are We Screwed?

Alaska.  My dear friends, I’ve hit my homeland.  It’s not so much a state as a realm, a subcontinent.  Or perhaps a state of being: as an old saying has it, where the women are men and the men are animals.  I did my atavistic chest pounding when I paddled across the border — then I ate a snickers bar.  And I tell you, everything has changed.  I didn’t see a single bear on my entire tour through B.C., and wouldn’t you know it, my first day in Alaska I spotted a big one ambling along the beach.  And that night, a lone black wolf loping on the grass out in front of my camp, from the river to the intertidal and back.  We stared at each other, and it went on its way into the night.  The weather has turned more severe too, here in Alaska.  I managed to pass through the exposed coastline of Dixon Entrance before the storm really hit, but about 20 miles shy of Ketchikan, after a harrowing 2-mile crossing in windy 5-foot chop, I had to take shelter from the storm in a Forest Service cabin at Alava Bay.  Hanging up my wet gear and stoking the fire, I listened to warnings on the radio (… be vigilant over the weekend, as 3-6 inches of rain may cause streams to rise … Check that bilge pumps are working on boats … gale warning in effect over inside waters through Sunday night …).  But hey, this cabin ain’t a bad place to wait out the storm.  As long as I’m stuck here, maybe I’ll take the time to write about something that’s been on my mind.

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Day 71: Station

I have to admit, it’s a pleasure being in Canada.  To my friends with Canadian roots (Jess, Mandy, Alexis, Chris Leader) — your countryfolk are doing you proud, with hospitality that wells up like a spring.  Last week I pulled up to a small dock on a small island among thousands, taking a rest and looking for somebody to ask whether the thin channel on my old chart from the 1980s still goes through.  Turns out it doesn’t (Not since the big earthquake, eh?) — so I’d have to go around.  But Hal quelled my disappointment by inviting me in for a mug of cocoa and a plate of fresh baked bread, veggies, and butter.  I told him this meal would motor me right around the island.  “Yeah,” he agreed, “you’ll feel like ya got a 50-horse on that kayak, eh?” and sent me on my way with a thick roll of homemade venison sausage.  And just the other night, I passed the lighthouse on Addenbroke Island, 100 years old this May, and hailed the caretaker on my VHF radio.  Dennis hoisted my kayak up on the dock with his crane, and invited me to stay for the night, feeding me a sumptuous whitefish dinner and making up my first real bed in 3 weeks.  But the best hospitality has come, as it were, from the Canadian Gods: the weather has finally turned!  The northwesterly winds, which tormented me for 10 days as I crawled my way up the coast of Vancouver Island, have finally laid down, and at times even turned around and helped push me towards Alaska.  Compared to the early going, for the past week I’ve been flying, and it surely does elate the spirit.

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Day 65: Tides

I wonder whether I’ll have those manly 6-pack abdominal muscles by the time I reach Alaska?  Back in high school, muscle definition (as well as $140 basketball shoes) somehow seemed very important at the time.  But though I spent long hours in the weight room for basketball training, I never did develop the coveted 6-pack.

I haven’t given much thought to my ab muscles for the past decade or so, but now, on my paddle up the Inside Passage, I’m using them more than ever.  Read more

Day 57: Conundrum

I have a secret to tell you: when I arrived in Port Angeles, I didn’t simply stay there resting and gearing up for the Inside Passage, like I said.  Actually, I flew straight back to California for a wedding.  Over long trails and highways, I had debated whether I should go — something about it seemed incongruous with the premise of this whole trek: going home to Alaska under my own power to start a field school dedicated to ecology and sustainability.  Should I really board a commercial airliner right in the middle of it?  Would this act somehow pollute my journey, tainting its purity to a grubby off-white?

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