Beryl Bender Birch

Talkeetna Lodge, Talkeetna


For a serious yogi, Beryl is warm, funny, and deeply human. Thank god. Back at her Long Island (New York) home she has a team of sled dogs and a passion for mushing. Beryl is largely responsible for the popularity of Astanga yoga in the USA - having brought it to the New York running club by calling it 'Power Yoga'. She has outstanding charisma.


For five days we stretched ourselves. Morning meditation at 7am, a light breakfast, then two sessions back-to-back of yoga. We took turns practicing and giving adjustments, or watching Beryl (the master) give adjustments. After lunch there was a discussion session on a variety of teaching-related subjects.

Wholewheat Radio House Concert

Wholewheat Radio Headquarters, East Talkeetna

On the Friday of the yoga intensive, we had fun. I herded two young mums, who were away from their babies for the longest time since conception, off to three separate and wonderful gigs in little Talkeetna town. The first gig was a 'house concert' I'd heared about on the local grapevine. We arrived at the address to find a small cabin, full of people on fold-out chairs, a stage set-up, and a concert about to begin. A woman with a microphone up-front called out to us, 'Welcome! Make yourselves at home you three, there's beer in the fridge and some seats up the front here, and there's even a bed up here if you want to get really comfortable!' What a welcome. I was instantly sold on the house concert idea.



We got a beer from the fridge and squeezed our way to the bed, through the opening chords of the first of the three musicians, who took turns playing their songs, and occassionaly accompanying one another throughout the gig. Sitting right up front and cosy, I was amazed at our luck in stumbling across this community event that had brought muscicains from around America. The gig was being broadcast across the world, by way of direct streaming onto the internet www.wholwheatradio.com. Later, when I became friends with Ester and Jim, the creators of wholewheat, I learned what it was all about.





The creators of Wholewheat Radio - Ester and Jim. Quirky, warm, and creative. As all good people should be.

Left Juneau

Moon Lake, Past Tok, Road to Fairbanks, AK

I left Juneau. I went to Haines. I commenced the Roadtrip to Talkeetna with Melina. I went into Canada for the first time ever.

I'm anxious but relaxing.

The scenery...Boom. Changed utterly. No more magic inner passage. We're inland. Forest. Flat. Feels like I am in America all of a sudden. I have faint memories of Yellowstone National Park as a five year-old. There is a smell in the woods here that reminds me of Interlochen in Michigan, some plant here that was not in the woods of the Southeast of Alaska.

I am happy and excited on the first day of new travels. Hank Williams is keeping us company in the vulgar sound system of Melina's little red stationwagon.


Fresh dry air. Warm days. More like the dryness of home. I think I could stay here a lot longer.





The photogenic moose

Strange Noises and No Water (Day 6)

Harbour Island. 1pm

We have run out of stream water, and on this island there is none. We spend the morning paddling to the mainland for a stream but find none. Setting out again to find water, I take note of the beached icebergs and think: 'There's fresh water!' We hack off some iceberg, strap it to the kayak and paddle back to the island, where I notice there are three icebergs that have been sitting on the beach there all along! I melt the iceberg in my stove, in novel necessity, and we make porridge and enjoy the glacial grit in our mouths.


Waiting for Adventure Bound, 3:30pm pickup. Strange noises come in this harbour, whales bellow in the distance. We're just past slack low tide, Sand Spit is fully exposed. I keep looking to the horizon where the boat will appear in two hours.
I take a photo of my face, foreign to me now after days without reflection, and covered in grime. Hi me. We'll get you cleaned-up soon enough.

Day 4 Waiting for the Tides to Turn and Day 5 a Day of Whales

Day 4

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.

Inside Terror (Day 3)

Ford's Terror, Eastern End

Tired. Bug-eaten. A beauriful evening after a day of tides. Watching tides change, conditions dramatically alter. A river's direction changed before our eyes at the mouth of Terror. It was something to see.



Highlights?

A black bear and two cubs doin' their thing in a little cove. The mother barks at the cubs and they retreat as our kayak draws too close.

The gates of Ford's Terror - rapids unbelieveable at low tide, then the amazing two hour watch of the turn of the tides, and riding the incoming through the mouth.

Finding the river of tidal zone beyond our destination capsite here, like the secret garden opening up into another stretch of gorgeous country, more lovely, with colours more vibrant than the dramatic cliffs of Ford's Terror.

Thoughts of lots of things, but much wonderful present too. Not much talk.

Tired.

Loving it.

Why Are We Here (Day 2)

Cabin Remains, Endicott Arm, 5km from the entrance to Ford's Terror


A long day of beauty, rain, coping, and loving it. A whale saved our skins at lunchtime by breaching. The noise brought us out of the woods where we huddled under the dripping canopy with hot soup and no conversation. We marveled at the whale's cavorting, and then I saw the boat bobbing, bob bob. The tide was rapidly incoming, as stated by the 'rule of twelths'. The rule states that in the 6 hours between high and low tides, one twelth of the volume moves in the first and last hours, two twelths moves in the second and fifth hours, and three twelths moves in the middle two hours. That means half of the whole tidal distance is covered in those two middle hours, which corresponded with lunchtime for us. With 17 foot tides, it's a fast tide.














In the steep-sided fiord, there is little flat space to lay our heads to rest, so we stretched-out our day of paddling to get here tonight, a ruined cabin that is marked on the map (published 1962) with a small triangle, 'cabin'. I was graced by one more perfect whale siteing, as I watched the blue-silver light on the water, with icebergs glistening, Trahern(exhausted) already in bed, and me giving a little prayer of thanks - then the whale - a slick kiss of a rise, and gone. I laughed at the magic. Kiss Kiss.

FORD'S TERROR - Day 1

The mouth of Endicott Arm, Just shy of the Sumdum Glacier-Runoff Creek


I'm cosy. It's raining and I'm in a tent, dry and warm. Outside is a mass fo water, Endicott Arm. Nehind me is a forest with mears. Approzimately 100 yards to my left, hanging from a tree, is a bag of our food. The other food lies at the bottom of the tree in two bear containers. It's all arranged. Day 1 of the Endicott Arm Expidition has come to a lobely close for me, and I think we've done pretty well for first-time kayak expeditioners in bear country. My conversation tonight has focused on bears, but I can't help it. After three months in Alaska, this is my first night camping in the wilds. YeeHaw.

Highlights of the day include the gorgeous blue South Sawyer Glacier - small calving making enormous thundering crashes into the ocean below. I say small calving, but it is dwarfed by the surrounding 700 foot mountains.

Sweet-faced seals peeping a look at our boat.

My irritation of the other passengers aboard Adventure Bound.

The halarious moment as our kayak pushed off from the mother-vessel, to the command of the grumpy captain Steve - 'Be here at 3:30 on Monday. Don't mess with the tides in Ford's Terror in a boat like that. High Slack is OK, and two hours after low...' And the side of the ship was jammed with American bodies, camera lenses pressed to their faces, as I encountered a reverse-moment of how the black bear munching on mussels earlier that day might have felt - an item at the zoo. Click Click.

I think, after all the planning, every moment of this trip could be joy. I'm looking forward to a trip routine establishing so I no longer need to think through eachy logistic, and can relaz into enjoying simply being here.

Thanks be to me being here. What an amazing place.

My Sidekick - Trahern Wallace Jones

The Christian Waffle Shop, Auke Bay

Midweek Hiking Trips - Trying to do Everything

On Thursday night I reserved a US State and Parks Cabin looking out upon Eagle Glacier. The federal cabins are a luxury for a camper - dry, equipped with propane heaters and wood stoves, gorgeous locations, entirely your own. For $35 a night they make cold-weather and wet-weather overnight hikes a delight.



A wet and beautiful 5.5 mile hike through old growth forest and beaver-dammed ponds brought us to the cabin. The view looked out upon Eagle Glacier itself, a waterfall suspended in time, slowly leaking into the large lake stretching before it.



We left our gear at the cabin (setting the thermostat on the propane heater at 70 degrees farenheight) and attempted the climb to the blue ice. After 2 large river crossings, and hours of sliding around on our arses in the rain on slick, steep rockface like primordial sludge, we admitted defeat - we would not be touching ancient ice today. We retreated back to the cabin for a hot dinner.



Impeccable planning and a 4:30am start brought us to the borrowed car by 7:30am with ample time to drive to Auke Bay, visit the Christian Waffle shop for a spelt waffle, maple syrup, God's word and a coffee - and still be on time for work at the Kayak shop at 9am. A quick high-five to congratulate ourselves on the success of our journey in the cabin of the car was soon regretted as I turned the car-key and the truck made absolutely no response. Flat battery.



We started walking. 27 miles out the road, there is not much traffic, but we kept our thumbs out all the same.


Fortune was on our side that morning and we scored a lift in a plush SUV. With just enough time to scoff down some breakfast as planned before 9am.

After Work

I've been Kayaking


And swimming.

Alaska Boat and Kayak

Auke Bay, 17 miles, Juneau




I entered a new niche of Juneau culture today: boats and kayaks. Over a five hour shift I saw a few kayaks come in, a few tinnies, washed some out, sent a few merry paddlers on their way, and chatted to folks about their adventures and the trips they want to do. What fun. What a pleasant way to spend an afternoon at $12/hour.

By knock-off I had made a new friend from Oregon who stayed around until I shut up the shop and we wandered over to the seedy yaughties pub above the Christian waffle shop. One beer and three hours later I was shocked to find it nine pm, with the perpetual Alaskan dusk apon us, it could have been five pm on a Melbourne winters day. The Oregonean had given me some travel ideas, some job concepts in Washington state and Oregon, and I had imparted a list of the best things in Australia to see on a wonderfully etched map of the country that was no more than two centimeters by three centimeters tall. Americans are fascinated with Australia and throw all sorts of questions at me that I had never asked of my country whilst living there. Tonight I was again struck by the phenomenon in the US of exodus from cities to have the ultimate sea-change and find lusher towns with clean air and water. I don't think this is happening in Australia. I think our cities are still too livable. Perhaps it is a function of population, Melbourne or Sydney are not yet suffocating the inhabitants. Are they? Here they talk of 'Californication' - Californians leaving their state for greener pastures, only to turn them into the place from which they ran. I don't see it at home, but I wasn't looking for it now, was I.

This week there is no working amongst the hazardous waste, so I am taking some hours at the kayak shop for Kerry and Mike, who's house I am staying in and who's dog I look after when they go to fish their yearly quota of Halibut, or attend a wedding in Boulder, Colarado. Tonight the journey is making sense and i've once again caught that ribbon of traveller's flow - catching the currents and they present themselves.

The Curse of the Cruise Ships

Taking Shelter

Shelter Island, 2 hours kayak from Juneau, Alaska




Here above the muskeg a sweet breeze blow hints of the spring – Labrador in bloom. I have never smelt a sweeter breeze, there’s something to it. I’m sitting on the future porch of the cabin-in-construction. To my left is the small ‘chapel’, soon to be the sauna. The amber shingles of its carefully insulated roof glow in the morning sunshine.

I hear a whale breathing. I cannot see the water that is above 500 metres away, across this muskeg front yard, over the thick spruce forest, and down to the rocky beach. Beyond this waterbody - the Lynn Canal, and mountains – the Chilkat Range, their snowy reaches bathing in sunshine on this still day. Follow the mountains north and you will come to Haines, and meet Jeff, Robin, and Eli, for a cup of tea and a gossip about who did what this week past.

Here we are at Rick’s with a familiar WWOOFing feeling: travellers, not much money, plenty fit, with appetite, and learning alternatives. Trahern is here. I work with Trahern. He is twenty years old, a self-confessed nerd, tall as hell, skinny, coke-bottle glasses, a mental sponge and a chemistry enthusiast. I like him a lot.



Rick’s Rick: playful, risk-taking, playing the game his own way and bollocks to the rest of it. He’s built a maze of structures here, on muskeg and forested slope – watching where trees fall and milling the bounty, building on-site, or making steep trunk-staircases up to the next level. Walking around here requires fitness and dexterity. There is no wheelchair access. Thin, bouncing boardwalk suspends above deep bog, a narrow log will bring you to the other side of the otherwise impassable slope – if you have the balance. This place is gorgeous and speaks of Rick himself, may he never have to get around with a cast on his leg!

There is Mark, an environmental studies major from North Carolina, and Debbie, an organics researcher from Colarado, and Andy, who is Rick’s surly computer scientist little cousin.

And the hindrances? Mosquitos. In full force: swarms, mists of mosquitos. Graciously, they itch only a little. And the flight path, that is a nuisance I’d do without: Juneau air traffic.