The Icy Tour-part two

And after the fourth day in the tent, waiting out an Alaksan coastal gale, you begin dreaming of bailing out. We listen to the marine weather forecast, and it goes from grim to grimmer. We have a four hour window before the predicted weather gets truly awful... and we have roughly 6 miles of open water packed with ice between us and the lodge. Whitecaps and winds at ten knots, scheduled to build to 30. Who wants to go for a paddle?

We break camp in a downpour, packing wet everything into our boats. It is very chilly, so Moby gets a sleeping pad to insulate him from the cold water on the other side of the kayak hull. Plus, he gets a new customized rain slicker made from a garbage bag. He hates it, but he seems to understand why he needs it.

The first few miles are good, the ice is thick, but it keeps the seas from building. The wind is on our port quarter, so we are getting a nice little boost in speed. At the edge of the ice flow, we see our next problem.

“Wow... it’s really rough ‘out there’, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, and I thought the ice was going to be the problem”

Four foot seas, short and steep, are building rapidly, whitecaps are breaking around us, and the wind is loud and getting louder. Shouting distance is about 10 feet, and we work hard to stay close enough to communicate, but not so close that we pile up on each other when a big on breaks. Our focus is on Gull Island, about two miles away, now easily visible through the wind and rain.

We paddle hard, Moby cries occasionally as he shivers in the front of my boat. We’re all cold and wet, but he has to just sit there. I think he gets how serious we are, and he does his best not to move or shift weight. More than once, a steep pile of foamy seawater slaps us both in the face. Good times. Moby is plotting revenge, I’m sure of it.

We pull up in the lee of Gull Island. After just 50 yards of paddling against the wind, and we are suddenly thankful that the wind is at our back. We all climb out of the boats, stretch, and look back at the patch of boiling bay we just crossed. Another two mile crossing to the eastern shore and we are home. We don’t linger on the island. Back in the boats, back into the square seas of a shallow bay during a building gale.

Finally in the lee of the forest. Smooth water and barely a breath of wind. The lodge stands against the darkening skies, our cabin just behind and tucked into the woods. There waits a warm shower for the humans, a dry towel and bed for Mo, and the gossamer threads that form the web of comfort that will become the dream-like beginnings of our next adventure...