AK 5 - Dawn on Alaskan Seas

It had been a long night, the weather had turned leaving the boat
battered and shaken. Five foot seas, doesn't sound bad off hand,
definatly not Bristol Bay Ocean. But this was a boat loaded with 65
ton of Herring plugging it's way back to Metlakatla to unload the
Herring that we had loaded up in Seymour Canal. I was on wheel-watch
this night. Winds of 25-30 mph gusts were compressing the waves
together, causing the boat to slam down it's keel with the second or
third wave. Water kicked up to the cabin windows, 20 ft above the
water. Luckly just spray, no green water yet...

Bang! Another one hit jolting me out of the pilots chair. Bracing
against the wheelhouse sides, it was time to find a new course. Moving
towards the starboard side, I saw a mountain side blocking the winds
from the SE. If things got too bad there was possible good anchorage
in a cove just a head. Either way it would be nice to stop the rolling.

It had come on suddenly... Most of the past week had been flat calm
seas on clear skys. With 70F weather and views of glacier capped
mountains as far as the eyes can see. We had made our way through
Wrangall Narrows, more of a river then a marine passage. The currents
running 10 knots and boiling to either side of the boat. That was when
the bilge alarm sounded, jolting me out of my bunk. The back tank was
leaking and filling the boat with water. Lucky the large pump did
quick work of the matter. That disaster overted, we jogged on down
thur the Narrows and into the mountain filled Stikine Sound. Looking
forward to maybe uneventful day ahead.

Bang... The boat creaks as it rolls over the next wave and hits the
succeding wall while in the troft. By this time I begin to remember
the leak in the back tank and check the gage for the bilge. The pump
seems to be working like a charm, low water. We were still about two
miles off the shoreline and my hope of calmer waters when the captain
arrived in the wheelhouse. It seems that I threw him out of his bunk,
and so unable to get back to sleep decided to see how I was handling
the boat. He didn't seem to conserned, more inquizative. Grown
acustume to such temperments of the Inside Passage.

Once on the seas, there is little to do other then find the right way
to roll with the waves. Like ridding a bull, all you can do is point
yourself in the right direction and hold on. For old-timers it is the
wild dance they have almost found the perfect sway to. In the ocean
swells while stronger are father apart, so the wooden boat seems to
just sway back and forth. But these wind-tide waves seem to knock us
around more. Brian agrees that the fiord walls to the starbord are our
best bet.

Soon we make it into calmer weather and the waves reduce to just a
little chop. I'm left to finish out my wheel watch as the pre-dawn
light begins to fill the Clarence Straits. The light begins to shine
upon the snow capped mountains above Tongass Narrows and Behm Canal,
Ketchikan lies somewhere below them. It seems that another day has
come and soon we will be making our way down Nicholes Passage and
Metlakatla to off load our load of herring.

Alaska seems full of suprisesand beauty. You are never left unaware of
natures wild-ness as well as her sublime highlights. These morning
times, looking out the wheelhouse windows as well as the moments
caught in the rolling seas, all seem to have much to tell a man. If
heisonly patient enough to listen, these sprirts have much to tell and
I have yet much to learn...

From the waters of the Inside Passage,
Ridgewalker
山道人
ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

AK 4 - Paddling with Eagles

The water stands as still as a mirror, set in electric tones of silver, gold and black. I feel the slight breeze catching the stern of my Eskimo Style Kayak, that seems to want to wonder with each breeze. S'plook... My paddle catches the next wave as I causally correct my drift, eyes fixed on the setting colors of the sun as it fades out over the NW end of Tongass Narrows. Like the contentment of the evening fire's glow, this sunset caps. A beautiful two days here along the waters of Ketchikan. A glimpse at spring grows the hear towards the future. Knowing that three systems are working their way across the Gulf from the Aleutains, everyone has been soaking up the sun as it has brought warmth to these rain drenched forests. Tonights after dinner paddle is no exception, what seemed like a sleepy little Alaskan town has awaken from it's rainholes, to bask in the glory of the sun.

I make my way south along the pilings that make up the front of Ketchikan. A city so connected to the sea, it is built above it's very edge. Now at low tide, it towers 25 ft above my little kayak. Each piling plastered white and beige by columns of barnacles, while below great flowering anemone and sea cucumber forest the creosote beams below. Keeping just out from the traffic of fisherman heading out for an evening troll, the snowy cap of Deer Mtn rises above the Narrows
reminding e of the chilly nights of early this week. But tonight they catch the alpenglow with electric intensity, making a first-ring of the ridges cornice line, with glittering avalanche tracks descending below.

For the last week, we have been moored at port, cleaning and passing time. Between openings, as it seems again waiting is the ever constant variable in fishing, that seems not to make it to the action packed reality shows. But ever constant as time fades by. Each day had brought a deluge from the sky, keeping a man inside his wheelhouse perched above the Narrows looking out to a gray world. With 200 inches of rain a year, my old home has nothing on this place. But a midweek hike out to Shelter Cobe shown, 15 feet in diameter Yellow Cedars are common place. Pulling you in to their temple green glow, almost like sturdy beams of Tlingit Longhouses, holding up a roof of lichen and moss. Enough wonder to keep. Man going to the next break in the clouds revealing the mountains that had been lost from sight for days. But during these
times, work, books and conversations keep you occupied. Mulling over thought and ideas brewed in a vat of the most recent chapter or bar tale. It is the nature of this place, and part of it's people I have learned. Yet warm spring days as recent seem to remind the heart of the Alaskan spell that weaves itself deep.

As I turn back to paddle towards my floating home, I feel the great movement of air behind me. Whoop.....whoop.... whoop... And as though a large silent plane were about to land upon me an Eagle glides but paddle reach above me. I first catch his fanned out white tails feathers, displayed like a geisha dancer before me. Then with a mighty sweep 9 feet of wing span flowing down with a whoop of the air. Yellow talons reaching out, he plucks a herring out of the water in front of my port-side before climbing into the air without a splash. Time seems endless in these moments, and as I watch him rise, I feel the wilderness of this place, even if the town is but. 1/4 mi away. His silowet rises against the glow of the setting sun. The power of the sublime creating it's own temple out of the moment. This is what the tourest of yesterdays cruise ship missed, caught in the limited time of a four hour Port of Call. The time to just let Nature show her skirt
to you, and lead you away within the moves of her dance. Memories that cannot be bought at Trinket shops or admired on dusty shelves.

Before rounding into the cannery, I see the long V lines of migrant birds moving their way north to the Arctic. Tomorrow, we'll move north as well, towards the Fjord of Taku, the Glaciers of Turnigan Arm, and the protected tide flats of Seymour Canal. Yet another Herring Cycle will begin again, here in Inside Northern Waters...

From the waters of the Inside Passage,
Ridgewalker
山道人
ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com

AK 3 - Surrounded by Herring

An armada of small boats leave the protection of the harbor on a overcast day. Trailing behind larger boats, they bob up and down while in tow. As we round the bend and out of the rocky shoals of Metlakatla Bay, the chatter on the radio begins to heat up. With each conversation the excitement of the many fisherman is clear, as they have waited weeks now in anticipation for this Herring Opening. For some this will be the first paycheck in months since the close of Salmon fishing the previous fall. But to all this is the beginig of the spring and the stories to come over the next summer of following the fish through these forested channels of Alaska. For the tenders, we've been waiting for two weeks peeling away time from the calendar as well, and now with 60+ boats leaving the harbor it is a sight to see.

We make our way around the north end of Annette Island, the land of the T'Simpshian Nation. This fisheries is special to them, and only open to members of the tribe. The four tender boats act as large tanks pumping fish off of small aluminum skiffs and taking it back to the Cannery. As we enter Kwain Bay, the Armada stages like little floating islands, as about 10 boats and skiffs are tied to each Tender. With little room to cook or house waiting fisherman on their skiffs, Tenders back deck becomes a hub of activity. We take our place in the bay below the snow clad arms of Mt Tamgas rising above and wait for the opening anouncement. Then hours click away through the day till the evening comes. The anxieous drink their coffee and talk of years past while bouncing to and from eachothers rigs. The fish and game float plane passing overhead checking the progress of the fish, watching for the first sign of the Spawn. Waiting for the perfect moment for the harvest to begin. This catch is kent to harvest the Herring for their Roe or eggs to send out for coveted caviar, so while their has been hundreds of schools sighted, timing is of the essence to get the right quality.

With the crackle of the radio, the voice of the biologist comes over the radio reporting what they saw in the last pass and declaring the fisheries open along Crab Flats. A sudden flurry of activity takes over the bay. Boats begin to motor off to spots already scoped out. 54 boats total pass sound the reef, some crusing ahead, others puttering behind trying to catch up to the best place in the flats. For days the Orcas, Eagles, Seals and Gulls have had their fill of the schools, now that they have started to spawn it is the Fisherman's turn. Everyone knows eachother in this fleet, most are somehow related to eachother from this small village. So the opportunity to catch the first big set is king bragging rights. Words are tossed in the air as well as fists shaken as boats manuver to get out to "The Spot" that will bring home The Catch.

As soon as it started, the bay is now empty, only the sounds of the last boats wake slapping against the shoreline and the cry of Eagles perched on the breakwater rock, just as bewildered as the four remaining boats anchored in Kwain Bay. It seems so peaceful now, as I hear the small river flowing over the tide rocks and out of the cedar forest below Tamgas. A tranquility of the moment before and after action, broken only by the neccesity of passing time. There is always
that feeling of surreal I'm those fractions of time, when the canvas of the world takes center stage before the players walk on fade it towards the back. It is when you notice the voice of nature that abounds, always there in every other story playing out.

The silence is broken by the distant whine of an outboard motor. Soon the aluminum skiff makes the corner around the rocky island and work begins. Activity and life begin to bussle about as more boats enter the bay. The sound of giant vacumns take hold as skinny footlong Herring are Bering sucked out of the boats a ton at a time. The air is filled with the chatter of stories being told of doging in and out of other boats as they hurried to set their nets to surround the schools, while dodging others trying to cut them off. A few stories of collisions and bent egos make their way out, but as I hurry to off load the boats to return them to the grounds there is mostly laughter. It is amazing to hear, as tons of fish make it into our holds, that only 15-20% are harvested each year. Herring make up a large step in the food chain of these northern waters, and yet their numbers are staggering in proportions. To see a school is like watching a moving ball swarming by. The hope is to catch of of the balls just at the right moment.

As the evening continues on we work through the night. Cold hands cling coffee cups from sweetshirt and orange raingear cloaken figures as I work. Soon dawn begins to break over clear skies, and the boat reveals a full hold, 65 Ton of fish. With our last boat we pull anchor and head towards the processing plant at Metlakatla, three hours away. Passing the fleet clacking away as they repeatedly pull and a set their nets out from the shoreline. I wash down the deck and equipment, scalely fish slime cover everything. Soon the pressure hose does it's trick and I find the boat back to it's previous state. As the sunrise over the mountains behind Dixon Enterance, back to port with a full load of fish.

From the waters of the Inside Passage,
Ridgewalker
山武士

AK 2 - Wilderness of Metlakatla

The surf pounds the rocky shores of Smuggler's Cove. Repeating with a slow rhythm, every fourth brings a spray out on the basalt stacks protecting the beach. These are the ocean swells running up Clarence Straits from the wave hatchery that is the Gulf of Alaska. The
sequence a tell-tale sign of their origins in the wild-er-ness of the open sea. Between each cycle smaller waves expose, the pools of low tide, and a open sand beach just long enough to find sanddollars
reflecting against the sun. Sunny days have caught me on Annette Island, exploring this undesignated wilderness. Here Nature seems both sublime and bold. The creak of boardwalks along Muskeg forests to the thunderous waterworks of the waves crashing against the rocky headlands, Nature holds ways here to play to each part of the symphony. I'm reminded of the last four months absent from the view of
wilds, how the city has a dulling effect to the ear. But the last week walking around this T'Simpshian World, has all my attention stirring.

I've spent as much time in Metlakatla exploring, as it seems the best use of the idol energy in waiting for fish. Watching from theshoreline wilderness as Orcas feed playfully on schools of Herring,Eagles catching fish and courting their mates from aloft in Cedar tree bungalows, to the Sea Otters working their dayscracking open shells of oysters muscles and smal crab. All these seem to signal Spring trying to take hold of SE Alaska. And yet still while climbing to the top of a local peak, snow squalls lay in, keeping the mountains locked in winters hold. But between arms of SE'sterly winds and Northern fronts, Alaska captivates the imagination of this Naturalist.

Annette Island, with it's villages of Tamgas Harbor and Metlakatla, is a sovereign nation here. Part of the greater T'Simpshian Nation, which range from lower SE Alaska, down through the BC Coast to Bella Bella just north of Vancouver Island. Boardered by the Tlingit to the North, the Haida to the East and Kwaquitl following the Inside Passage to the South, they are often over-shadowed by the culture of these
surrounding Nations. But due to an act of history, they have held Annette Islands their own in the face of modernity for 100 years. Before then the Tlingits held this island, in much of a wilderness state. But Metlakatla grew from a group of T'Simpshian Natives led by missionary William Duncan escaping troubles between settlers near Port Simpson on the mouth of the Stikine River near Prince Rupert.

The other evening, while walking back through Metlakatla after following the rocky beaches of Cemetary Point, I was lured in by the sounds of drums and signing coming from the cedar longhouse near the edge of the bay. Standing outside seeing the glow of lights from the firebox atop the roof, I caught myself listening to the drums and chants being preformed within the walls. Soon a Native Fisherman invited me in to watch. I walked in the hall clad in four clan poles carved in each corner and stained wooden benches. I watched as women dancers young and old donned in wool blankets outline with designs of mother of pearl buttons. Circling the center where a male dancer with a mask of a raven played out the story of stealing the sun and sharing it with man. The rhythm and beat of the five drummers, and the power of their chants, played in harmony to the sounds of the signing of the female dancers following in a circle.

I sat in awe at the spirit if this team practicing for the summer\tourist season. Four dances of the stories of different animal spirits, reminded me of how alive Nature felt watching that day. How some in the community were keeping that tradition power of myth and legend in connection. The dancers were made up of from the 2 yr old girl to the 65 yr old elder but most were of age of teens. In an isolated community, the urge to leave for modern pursuits comes at the cost of disconnected generations. And yet here they were trying as they could to keep the ties going, even if it was in the name of performing to the hordes of tourist who would arrive on cruise ships in the coming summer.

It is easy sometimes to see Nature as separate from man, yet we are part of it and need a wild-ness in our own lives. Through exploring the Islands forest, mountains and coast, listening to old fisherman tales and watching the stories of Nature's characters play out in song and dance I'm faced with thoughts and images. Of how it all intersects with man as he lives with his fellow inhabitants that abound here. How he changes it, as well as it changes him. Either in city or wilderness, it is always there, you just have to look.

From the waters of the Inside Passage,
Ridgewalker
山武士

AK 1- Midnight Shift Along the Inside Passage

Darkness blankets the wheel house as I take the mindnight watch on my
journey to Ketchikan. I stand behind the wheel looking out at the
horizon keeping course with the deck light of the lead Fish Tender out
of our group of three. The churning hum of the desiel engine seems to
set our 9 knot pace as we cross this portion of Queen Charolete Sound.
With each wave the green glow of sea algae trails the wave of the
boat, giving that glow to the Sea. The skies above break every so
often to reveal as many stars as a man could count before loosing
himself, and yet not enough to tale away from the dark loneliness of
the Sea. Islands dot the Sound, with faint flashes of channel lights
marking the shore, outlines that only come to light with the sweaps of
the radar that I hold my course with. In these moments, I realize the
Wild-er-ness of the Inside Passage. Out here, on watch, the night
finds it's solumn tones.

A crackle comes across the CB, Gabe calling in to check the watch,
three boats lined up one after another passing north to Alaska.
Cugging away at about 10 mph, it is a long slow haul to make it up
towards the fishing grounds. Many hours spent just looking out towards
the sea till your next turn.

"Big-B... Big-B... This is Sumpy callin' out..."
"Yeah Stumpy, I hear you loud and clear. Another long night watch
while the skipper takes in some Beauty-sleep..."

In the last day or so, our call signs have turned into nicknames of
the captain of the boats. Every now and the the Muskrat chimes in, but
mainly on these late hours it is just the watch of the Gene S and
Pacific Queen, keeping eachother company. Through the hour or so we
talk about mountains, Gabe spends most of the off season travelling to
find the perfect powder to ski down.

Both hikers, we obsese over mountains we've seen along the way, and
old haunts deep in the Cascades. Connected briefly to thoughts of
home, and yet they seem to be revived by the fiords and channels that
we've past through in the last few days. Some how this leaky boat has
become home, and the canvas of the mountains and channels the catalyst
for the summer to come. For a wilderness, awaits our along these
coastline waters, one far wilder then I have travelled before.

From the waters of the Inside Passage,
Ridgewalker
山武士
seattlerainretreat.blogspot.com

Passing

The morning sun passes by as I sit in an Internet Cafe in the Okanogan. A light behing the clouds leaves me with lingering thoughts of a friend who has passed away this weekend. Reading now two days since, my heart can only go out to her Husband, Son and Mother who have been by her side this long six months since she first went to the Hospital. But strangly I feel serene knowing that Elise's spirit is following it's next journey, and her body now rest from the pains it has gone through this summer.

Elise was a special soul, one that you only meet once or twice in a lifetime. Her smile seemed always to be fresh and warm, and like the Aries she was, youth seems to surround her like an aura, even in the hardest of times. She loved life at it's core, and seemed to be on a mission to help other people feel the same way. Even on a hike we took last year in the Snoqualmie Rainforest, following her 3 year old son, that had already found her love of nature with his excitement over pointing out the different types of ferns, and flowers. Her Husband is a man that shared her strenght in his love for her and her child. Watching them together at their wedding, the birth of Jasper and day to day life. His strenght over the last few months has been and inspiring display of true love. And even in her illness, her choice to travel out to the National Parks so as to spend the last time with her family with good memories is something that brings a smile to my heart.

I remember siting with Elise and talking about life and death along time ago. As I watch the first light on the Mountain side, I remember that she felt like a young soul, that had many more lives yet to live and to touch others. I can feel now, that her spirit is passing between worlds, and will come again. For such a strong spirit cannot be left to linger to long away, it has to much love to share. Her greatest memorial is left in the memories and thoughts that she left all of us with. For those who were blessed to meet her, she will always remain. Such a passing can only leave one with thoughts of thier own life, and a lesson to be learned. A calm realization that there is only the day that we live, the joy that we find in the world we pass through and the company we keep, and the promise to appricate each day before us, as we have those that pass...

Goodbye my friend,

I will miss you...

Ridgewalker

Harvest -- Skies Dawn Upon Endless Rows

Harvest -- Skies Dawn Upon Endless Rows

Mornings light catches the tops of row upon row of Apple Trees. Gifted by the morning hour I stand atop my ladder and catch this magnificant view. The glowing hues of pink seem to catch the tilted leaves stretching out to the horizon. As I look down towards the apples in my hand they seem to glow as well. The hour is early and the world is still sleeps as I complete my first bin of Golden Delicious. The sounds seem muffled by the mists in the Valley settling down towards the lakeshore. A roster determined to make himself know, as a morning jet passes over head, crows even harder. About an hour later the distant hum of people bussling to get to work throughout the Okanogan, destined to spend there days in offices and shops. But as the rumble of another bag in the bin matches the distant accented voices, I feel that I am in right place this morning.

A man feels rooted by being part of a harvest. As the day goes by the world seems to change by the light that filters through the Orachard. A Cresent Moon trails ahead of the Sun that rides like Helio's chariot slowly making it's way from horizon to horizon. To watch them both chase each other through the day, you almost gain aglimps of the Cosmos that is hidden behind a canvass of blue. Slivers of wonder reach into the hearts of dreamers as the gaze a skyward throughout their day. Eachtime to be reminded constantly of the cyclic nature of change. I'm sure that this is how the Celts felt as they reached the harvest. Seasons, kept watch by standing stones among the fields and groves of the Old World, tell of a closer tie to the land. One in which the most hopes rested in what could be yielded in these Fall months. That pulse can now still can be felt by those walk the Orchards. A pulse of seasons that I still am connected to after the Trail.

The Avians keep an eyeful watch as we work through the day. As all summer they peer down from lofty hights or in amoung the trees. Hawks, Raven, magpies, and an occasional eagle circle about with the midday thermals. Scanning of any creature that the sudden activity flushes out. They circle about eachother ina great dance, falcons and ravens making their moves through the others flight path. I think of the grand view they gain upon the gentle support of the airs fingers. To look out over the valley, lake amd mountain ridgeline. For me a ladder at treetop level is a view impresive enough to yern for more high mountain days.

The day follows it's course and soon the sun begins to fall near the western horizon. Light casts long the fields as everything begins to whind to a close. Sore musles tell me the day is done, and I finish off what is left of my sixth bin. That last layer falls from the picking bag, as a V of migrant birds seek the southern course. For even though the 80 F days bring their warmth, the chill of the night reminds us all of wintern the is on the horizon. For myself the fall itself holds much, andeven though it began in the mountains to see it paint the Orchards of the Okanogan will be quite a sight.

-- Ridgewalker

From the backcountry mile
Ridgewalker
山武士
http://ridgewalkernw.blogspot.com/