For years my brother Christian has been working as a guide
in SE Alaska. While I always closely follow his explorations on his “Life on
Water” blog, this summer he persuaded me it was time to participate in another
Alaskan adventure of our own. Last
time we explored the Juneau area by foot, this time, we were afloat in Glacier
Bay.
In early August Christian, his best friend Danny, and I flew
from Seattle to Juneau and then from Juneau to the small town of Gustavos,
where a friend of Christian’s met us at the airport and shuttled us to the
National Park office just in time for the orientation video that the Park require
all visitors to see before issuing a permit. The video gave a nice overview of
the history of the Park along with guidelines for avoiding conflicts with moose
and bears, as well as navigating the icy waters and 20 foot tide swings.
Hypothermia, they said, was the constant danger. Grizzly Bears where chance encounters,
easily managed with proper food storage and cooking away from camp.
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| Beach Strawberries by the handful |
Permit in hand, the last of the stressful logistics that
Christian had carefully planned was taken care of. The wilderness part of our journey
had begun. We positioned the kayak and canoe that Christian had borrowed on the
government pier for an early departure, and used a Park wheelbarrow to
transport our gear to the campground ¼ mile down the beach. We didn’t get half
that far, however, before spotting several shoreline snacks. Beach strawberries
(Fragaria chiloensis) abounded. While the plants are also common along the
more familiar shorelines of the Salish sea, I had never seen them fruit so prolifically.
The more southerly specimens are demur, hiding a solitary fruit under their
glossy green leaves, but these northerners were unabashed, with fruit gregariously
perched on branched inflorescences, like magnificent frigate birds ballooning to
attract mates. Christian and I crawled
along the mossy shoreline, shouting out our successive find: “five…six. I got
another!” Sweetened by the Alaskan sun, the didn’t even need to be fully red to
be delicious.
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| Beach Strawberry Habitat |
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| Ripe Nagoon! |
As if that wasn’t enough, Christian cried out “Nagoon!” The
Nagoon (Rubus arcticus ssp. stellatus) is our north American
variety of the Arctic Bramble (Rubus arcticus), which is a circumboreal
species that is said by many in Europe to be the tastiest berry of them all. Catching
Nagoons in fruit was one of my goals for the trip since I only saw a single withered
berry on my late summer trip to Juneau. Like ruby’s glowing in the setting sun,
they were a site to behold and those that were fully ripe, were as sweet as
jam. When we finally gave up the chase, our hands told the tale vividly. I fell
asleep counting my blessings (and smelling my fingers).
The next morning we were up before the sun. It was too early for words, and we silently packed our gear into the boats and sat on the dock watching the first light hit Mt. Fairweather. At 15,325’ it rises dramatically from the nearby Pacific Ocean and watches sentinel over Glacier Bay. The Huna Tlingit know the mountain as Tsalxhaan and the nearbye Mt. St. Elias as Yaas'éit'aa Shaa. Their mythology tells of a time when the two mountains were closer together, but a marital feud tore them apart. Their children are the smaller peaks in between. The story is strikingly similar to the Lummi legend from near my home town about Kulshan and his two wives, and makes me smile thinking about mountains like temperamental humans or relatives that we love dearly but also managed to also get under our skin quickly.
Christian’s plan was to hitch a ride on a boat operated by
the company he works for to “J-hop” or John Hopkins Glacier at the head of
Glacier Bay, hop into our boats, and paddle our way part way back towards the
mouth of the Bay and catch the park “Day Boat” back. The S.S. Legacy cruised
silently into the bay at 5:30AM and sent a punt to the dock to pick us up along
with a friendly Interpretive Ranger.
Once aboard the Legacy we went to the bridge to thank the
Captain. Danny was a captain for the same company for 10 years, so it was a bit
of a surprise reunion for both Danny and Christian as none of the other crew were
expecting them. While motoring down the bay Christian’s sharp eyes were
glinting as he called out interglacial wood remnants on the shoreline, a black bear,
two grizzlies and a cub, and mountain goats all before the other crew saw them.
Each time, the Captain slowed the ship and quietly approached the shoreline for
the 60 guests aboard to have a closer look. I suppose it was Christians way of
giving back for the free ride, or perhaps just his naturalist compulsion. The Captain
in turn, ordered us to eat breakfast with the crew, and we readily obliged!
Shortly after lunch we entered John Hopkins Inlet where
we disembarked the S.S. Legacy and dropped our loaded boats into the water.
Christian and I were in a 15’ open top Coleman canoe, which raised many
eyebrows as most people paddle sea kayaks. We always quipped “this is how John
Muir traveled Glacial Bay.”
The experiences that John Muir chronicled in his book “Travels
in Alaska” constantly emerging in our minds as we spent the next several days paddling
dangerously close to glaciers, hiking off trail up steep ravines, and leaping
over glacial torrents that roared and gnashed their teeth as they ground
boulders to silt. Calving tidewater glaciers were the biggest risk. When we
first set up camp a mile away from the John Hopkins Glacier the best spot was
on a sandy beach next to Chocolate Falls a few feet above the high tide line. The
calving events echoed through the valley like thunder, a few even generated displacement
waves that lapped our shore. I worried about a tsunami washing our camp away in
the night. Tsunami’s aren’t the only danger. If you get too close there is a risk
of falling ice and rocks as well.
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| Our first camp with the John Hopkin's Glacier in the distance |
While trying to find water for dinner we paddled towards
a stream between the John Hopkins and Gilman glaciers. Sandwiched between the two
tidewater glaciers, the river current started to push against us and the water
became choked with icebergs. Suddenly, a house of ice fell off the John Hopkins
Glacier. We ogled for a second, and then realized a big wave was headed our
way. “Make for deep water!” ordered Captain Christian. We turned hard and paddled
with are hearts thundering in our ears towards the steepening wave that lunged
towards us. We made it over the top before it broke, and quickly decided that silty
water was good enough for dinner.
However, the lesson was short lived. The next day we
paddled to the Lamplough Glacier to admire its icy blue. A piece of the
terminal moraine poked out above the high tide line, merely a stones throw from
the active face. “Let’s camp there” Danny half-jokingly suggested. Before I knew
it, Christian joined his side and I knew it was futile reminding them of our
last scare. There were hardly tracks on the beach, and certainly no tent spots,
but we “dug in” behind the steep face of the moraine wall and prepared for the
cannon fire. I got used to the booms, but it was the tsunami waves sloshing
against our barracks that kept me up at night. Would a wave full of icebergs crush
me in the night?
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| Camp 2. Ice everywhere! |
Still in one piece the next morning, we paddled to the
Reid Glacier. We found camp on a terminal moraine at the mouth of the harbor. This
camp wouldn’t pose any calving hazards as Reid is no longer a tidewater
glacier. However, a problem bear was reported there earlier in the summer, and
when searching for an old miner’s cabin, we found bear sign. Fortunately by
then, I was tired enough to sleep the whole night through.
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| Dryas seeds carpeting the valley sides |
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| The Crowberries were in season |
Having a desire to contribute something to the
understanding of the park, I spent my spare moments documenting the flora at
each camp, paying special attention to the increase in diversity as we traveled
down the bay and forward in successional time. If you want to help vet my
observations, follow this link to i-naturalist.
The next morning, we paddled to the Reid Glacier and hiked
up the lateral moraine high enough that we could traverse a stable part of the glacier.
The sides were impregnated with rocks plucked from the valley walls, making the
surface look like a gravel road, but towards the center, the glacier was much
cleaner. We found a rivulet cascading down blue ice and drank deeply from the
chilled beverage. Returning to the canoe, we descended a dry canyon that had
been carved by meltwater rushing beneath the glacier. In many places, the canyon
walls had fallen in since they were no longer supported by the ice above, but
in a particularly deep portion of the canyon we startled a Great Horned Owl
from his rocky perch.
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| Our camp near the Reid Glacier |
Near camp I found Alaskan Wild Potato (Hedysarum alpinum). This plant is the most important root vegetable for the Dena'ina, who eat it raw, boiled, baked, or fried, often served with grease (Russell 2012). While the best time to harvest the roots is in the spring, I wanted to get a taste, so I dug one and sample it raw. I also tried my hand at processing the tiny beans, and decided I would starve before getting enough to eat. Not surprisingly, there is no ethnobotanical literature associated with their use. |
| the small beans |
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| Alaskan Wild Potato (Hedysarum alpinum) |
We met some friends of Christian’s for dinner aboard
their boat “Laysan.” I was pleased to learn that their daughter is studying to
be an ethnobotanist. I look forward to meeting her at a conference. Bellies
full of pasta, we hit the water at 7:30 with a nice tailwind and following
current. We paddled five miles to Skidmore Gap before dark. The last mile, we had
to fight a large eddy, which generated enough chop to get us wet. Darkness fell
as we made camp in the salt marsh. The wind thrashed our rainfly and I hardly
slept.
The morning brought a brilliant blue sky with less wind. The
tide was still too low for crossing through the narrows without an extended
portage, so we broke camp slowly, explored the beach, and scouted the route through
the gap. At high tide we dragged our boats through as much of the narrows as
possible, and then carried our gear in several trips across to Skidmore Bay.
Humpbacks were feeding nearby, and we lounged in no hurry to leave this cloistered
place.
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| Beach Lovage |
Along the beach I found Beach Lovage (Ligusticum scotticum)
and Beach Carrot (Conioselinum gmelinii). These two members of the Carrot
Family (Apiaceae) are edible, but previously untasted by me. Extra careful
identification is necessary before ingesting hairless members of the Carrot Family
that look similar to Poison Hemlock (Conium maculatum) and Douglas Water
Hemlock (Cicuta douglasii).
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| Beach Lovage root, leaves, and seeds |
The young greens and shoots of Beach Lovage are traditionally
eaten in the spring by the Inupiat (Jones 1983), Chugach Eskimo, Dena'ina (Russell 2012), and the Sitka Tribe of the Tlingkit
(Store Outside Your Door
2011). Later in the summer, the tender leaves can still be eaten or used
for seasoning oil, fish, or soups (Jones 1983). The Kwakwaka’wakw had a name for
the plant (Boas 1921) but no uses are published. I crushed, smelled, and tasted
the foliage of Beach Lovage and found it to be strong and spicy like mature
carrot tops or parsley. They had a strong flavor that I agree would be good in
soups or mixed with milder greens. I also sampled the roots raw and found them
to have a strong but not disagreeable flavor. However, when I later searched
the ethnobotanical literature, I could find no references of the roots being
used.
The same beach also provided Sea Beach Sandwort (Honkeyena
peploides), a leafy green eaten by the Inupiate (Jones 1983). Like the name
suggests, these plants are only found on sand and pebble beaches from Alaska
southward to the central Oregon coast. Look for them on storm battered beaches above the normal high tide
line but below the forest in the spray or “littoral” zone. They have succulent
thick leaves with a milder flavor than many other mustard greens. Anore Jones (1983)
writes that the shoots and young leaves are best in the spring before they
flower; traditionally they are eaten fresh in the spring or cooked and
fermented for use all year. She adds that today many people also eat the greens
fresh or blanched in salads, or boiled as a pot-herb. Like so many of our
native greens, this tasty plant was overlooked by the Coast Salish and most
other Northwest Coast Indigenous harvesters, as well as more contemporary
foragers. However, this trip has taught me that the Inupiate like their greens. |
| Seabeach Sandwort habitat |
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| Soapberries were everywhere |
My palate freshened with new flavors, I decided it was
time to clean the rest of myself. I took a plunge in a clear saltwater lagoon, warmed
in the sun, and met back up with Christian and Danny to set out for our next
camp. The tailwind kicked up again in the afternoon and we paddled lackadaisically,
letting the wind blow us as we admired the Humpbacks. We made camp on an island
near the Hugh Miller Lagoon, and paddled into the lagoon to explore. Inside the
water smelled fishy; mergansers, geese, and Bald Eagles were abundant. We headed
to the delta of the Hugh Miller River and watched Pink Salmon run up the braided
channels that were so shallow that their humped backs were exposed as they
wriggled upstream. Wolf, Grizzly Bear, and Moose tracks were everywhere! We caught
a salmon, barbequed it on the beach so as not to bring the scent back to camp,
and then walked up the sandy delta. The sun was nearly behind the ridge when we
turned around and a large Grizzly was near our canoe fishing for salmon. With
little wasted effort, he walked the shoreline until he saw a fish, paused for
the proper moment, then plunged his head into the water with jaws agape
catching the salmon in his teach. Dragging the fish ashore, his claws pinned it
to the ground while he tore pieces away with his teeth. What took 30 minutes
to cook and fed the three of us, was gobbled by the bear in seconds.
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| The first Bog Blueberries were starting to ripen |
Back at camp there was finely enough drift-wood on the
beach to support a fire, and we roasted the last of our sausage before bed. The
next morning, Christian rigged a sail and we slowly made our way to the pick up
point at Blue Mouse Cove. Back on a powerboat headed for civilization, the eyes
of the day passengers were full of questions. I watched the shoreline pass by
quickly and pondered the blisters on my hands, my sunburned nose and taught shoulders.
Glacier Bay had given me more than I had hoped for. We ate sumptuously what
nature had to offer, we had a high adventure in an elemental land, and we enjoyed
each others company. I only wish I had another week!