Log Four: The Wild Side
Marooned On A Beach
Our expedition in the Chilkat Mountains was almost over. We had hiked back down to the beach where it all began the day before, where the Zodiac was anchored just off shore waiting to carry us back across the Chilkat Inlet. Julie and Renee retrieved the Zodiac from its anchor with a blow up paddle board we had stashed on the beach. It was imperative to anchor the boat far enough from shore to account for the tidal shifts that would occur while we were up in the mountains. Renee, our captain, paddled out to the Zodiac and brought our trusty water steed to the beach so the rest of us could pile in.
As we loaded our gear into the boat, Renee expressed some concern about the conditions. Unfortunately, the seas were not as calm as they had been that morning. From camp the whole Lynn Canal had looked glassy, not one lick of wind disturbed the water’s surface. I hadn’t noticed at first because the beach was sheltered, but now that I looked across the inlet to the peninsula where Haines is settled and hot showers awaited, I saw huge white caps rolling across the seas.
Renee double checked the forecast which declared winds were pushing 15 knots and waves were three feet, but there was no small craft warning. We decided to give the crossing a try and bail if things got sketchy. As we took off from the beach and hit the first few waves spray leapt from both sides of the bow drenching Alissa and I sitting up front. We all could feel that those waves were not three feet but closer to five.
I am generally comfortable with water, being on it or in it. Perhaps because I grew up sailing on cold Michigan lakes, in a boat that did not enjoy the security of a keel, it could actually tip over, or perhaps growing up in Thailand where pools are plenty and I learned to swim early. I have always been a competent swimmer and experience in various bodies of waters has instilled a healthy respect for the element, especially in the forms of seas and oceans where currents and creatures rule. So, while I was catching quite a thrill from the gnarly conditions and staying positive, I could feel morale dropping drastically every time the Zodiac smashed into a wave sending rounds of frigid spray over all of us.
It couldn’t have been more than five minutes after leaving the beach that Renee made the call to abort our crossing. The strength and direction of the wind and waves were working against any route across the inlet and while I just brushed off the cold water, being soaked and exposed to huge wind is potentially a dangerous situation. Cleverly, Renee took us south, in the opposite direction of Haines but towards a beach near the Davidson Glacier that was still in the sun, our best chance to warm up as we figured out what to do next.
With the Zodiac secure, we scurried up the beach to try and remedy the cold and wet we all felt. The beach was rocky not sandy, and unlike the beach we had launched from, it was not at all sheltered from the wind. I found a nice spot amongst the rocks where it might be comfortable to lay down and began stripping down to my underwear. Despite the bite of the wind, I felt much warmer without wet clothes clinging to my skin. As I laid down I hoped the rocks might be warm, they weren’t but by laying flat I escaped the blast and bite of the wind. I closed my eyes and felt very thankful for the sun.
Our initial plan was to wait an hour or so with the hopes that things might calm down. In that hour Julie set up her tent as refuge from the wind and cold. I felt getting my tent out would surrender to the notion of being stuck there over night. Instead I dug out the dry layers I had in my pack and my sleeping bag to stay warm. As time transitioned from early evening into evening, a shadow began to creep along the beach as the sun dipped ever lower in the sky. The little warmth of sun that had saved us would soon be lost behind the mountains.
Time ticked by, the shadow inched closer and we moved from the initial shock of being marooned on this beach into problem solving mode. All the ladies began sending out messages to friends with boats who might be willing to come to our rescue. Someone suggested a fishing woman who was due back from sea in the next half hour, but she never responded to our messages and her boat never passed by (it turned out she was delayed a day). Then we received word from a man who would be in the area early the following day to check his crab traps and would collect us if still stranded. This was a nice plan B but no one was interested in spending the night here.
Then, Renee reported that the forecast suggested things would settle down for one hour between 8 and 9pm. This was our shot to get off the island. As we waited for 8pm to arrive the ladies napped while I volunteered to monitor the Zodiac, pulling its tether taught every half hour as it shifted in the rising tide. I have never enjoyed napping, so I was happy to skipper and watch the seas through the binoculars. Slowly but surely, the white caps began to lay down and suddenly I felt quite certain we would make it across the inlet. At 8:30pm we piled into the boat and made our way across the Chilkat Inlet.
As we crossed the sun broke out of the clouds and the sea turned a foggy, stormy green. We laughed the whole crossing, giddy with relief, joking that we were on a sunset cruise. While our exit from the Chilkat Mountains was not a straight forward one, it made a very good story to share at the Distillery the next evening.