I got a little drunk on red wine, whisky, and a luscious beef stroganoff rehydrated out-of-a-bag. I was drinking from the verves of exiting Ford's Terror. A day of waiting for the tides to change. In the end, two motor boats pushed through, and we charged it, rushed it. We got caught in some standing waves, then Trahern stopped paddling, just when I was really scared - the spare paddle had caught in the waves and pulled underwater, still strapped down to the bow's bungie cords, so that it acted as a front rudder, further complicating the boat's direction in the swirling currents of almost full-tide. It was an exciting moment that made me feel more of a man afterwards.
Highlights of the day were paddling with moon-eyed seals near the jaws of terror, and observing the tidal shifts - how amazing this is. As Trahern put it, 'It is crazy to think that something as little as two kayakers going through a narrow gully in a fiord in Alaska, all depends on the motions of far-off orbiting planets. We imagined a world without tides. The extinction of all inter-tidal life? All fish even? Fishermen? I wondered, would women menstruate if there was no moon?
We camped on Day 4 in the cove opposite the Ford's Terror opening, on the other side of Endicott Arm. I drank and talked a lot. Relieved.
Day 5: Cove of an unnamed island southeast of Harbour Island at the mouth of Endicott Arm
Not so tired! A warm campfire at this gorgeous final capsite overlooking Sundum Glacier that now glows faintly blue, a mostache of cloud sitting along top of the saddle.
Whales. Whales making me nervous through sheer mass, and that rushing feeling of the possibility that that intelligent mass is underneath our little boat. Orca whales, and great big whooshing, groaning, feeding humpback whales. Whales going past, turning around to come back and take a look at us, and Trahern saying, 'Now the humpback will attempt to mate with the lovely yellow whale'. 'It better bloody not', I say.
A day of paddling back to the starting point, a conservative move to be here for our 3:30pm pickup tomorrow.
My favorite view is along the sharp rock edge that glanses up to forest covered mystery - within the tree canopy. I've hardly ventured within the tree canopy as I fear bears. A healthy fear I do believe. I'm an animal out of my territory, and it is only natural to be respectful of the other animals' territory as I pass through. Only natural instict to be wary and fearful. On this island tonight I scouted around more than all other days of this trip, made brave by the assumption that an island is bear-free. There are no signs of bear here.
I have though of Paris today, of a suave little black dress, hairless legs, cute little black shoes, silver earings, and wine tasting with my family. Then I brought my mind back onto the water, the paddle, the light right now. I have started to look beyond this trip, it must be near its close.
Tomorrow we go back to town and creature comforts. This has been a quiet trip of not much talk. Observing, just being here. The days have evaporated away as the tides have come in and out. I woke last night to the lapping sound of high tide around the tent. Unzipping the fly and looking out I found the water less than two feet away. Looking at my watch I found us two minutes from high tide. 'She'll be right', I said to myself, and I knew for a fact, that she be alright, and I drifted back to sleep satisfied.
If I have learnt one thing this trip it has been an awareness for the tides. I am pleased with this new understanding of the ebb and flow, that has eluded me until now. I have also gained time on the water. Ever-changing palatte of colors and motions, the water. Yesterday evening we crossed the Arm from Ford's Terror to the other side. The water was choppy, with white-caps forming. I was strained - fearing, as always, capsizing. But we ploughed on, and we made our distance. I remarked how vulnerable one is on the water. In a second the wind could stir up, and in the middle of a crossing like that, there's nothing you could do.
But really, compared to a month ago I am now an experienced paddler, leading a week-long 2-person exidition in remote Alaskan waters, making crossings at 8pm that I would not have considered a month ago. And yes, I feel this confidence is an accomplishment I am happy to have gained. Each trip I do enables the next adventure through experience gained.
I am looking forward to going back to the comforts and communication all the same. The trip has been wonderful, as will be returning.
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