Anton Larson Paddle and Old Woman Loop Hike

John Cannon photo of a segment of Anton Larsen Road. More of his work here.

Yesterday, Tuesday here in the Emerald Isle, the sun was in full-bloom. I skipped the afternoon hours of labor to take full advantage of this rare flower of light. After strapping the boat down and tossing gear in the car, the 16 partly graveled miles out to Anton Larsen bay went by quickly.

"I nipped through the narrow channel into open water."

All the paddling I've done in Kodiak up to this point has been on the southeast side, where the city is. This was my first opportunity to sample the northwest side, where civilization was sparsely represented by a few cabins and fishing boats.

That copse of trees is begging to serve as shelter.

Backside of the northern islet.

It was stunning. The day alone was gorgeous, but added together with the wilder, less settled area, it felt as though I was in another place entirely, instead of somewhere just a short drive from my often rainy home.

I drove to the end of the road, then walked down a broken concrete ramp to the water. The paddle out was over shallows, boat grazing the growing grass with a whisper broken by each successive dip of the paddle.

Seated down in the boat, my visible horizon can be so low that I cannot spy the next turn, the way out into the ocean. Such was the case here, for most of a mile. All I could see ahead was a house and a sandbar. The opening grew swiftly as I paddled it into view, a portal to carry me between the land; I nipped through the narrow channel into open water.

Out here the wind-generated waves lurched and sloshed towards and around me. Short as the waves were, my steed were a bucking bronco. Two prominent rocky reminders of now diminished lands rose up amidst the expanse of water. I designated one with trees on its elevated surface a future camping spot.

The northern cliff-faced islet was nearer my route, so I splashed around to its smoothly climbing backside. Here was a large gathering of sea otters! Some twenty-five or thirty urchin-eaters were scattered around, some on rocks, some already in the water. Despite my distance, seeing me and being unaware I have no inclination towards otter flesh or fur, the entire group slipped off the rocks into the sea.

Beware, oh ye tasty things of the sea (sayeth the otter kin)

Floating sea weasels!

An adult grabbed her infant by the nape and carried him thus into the surf. I watched from a distance as she submerged - surfacing a ways off with the infant still carried in this fashion. Not wanting to disturb them any further, I skipped north, away from the group.

Islet #3 (lens sticking from saltwater)

Inland.

Ten minutes further on and I spied a flock of some thirty or forty birds gathered out on the open water. A handful of them slowly gained flight, turned and flew right over me. Puffins! Their soaring was of a deliberate pace, as they flew just above the waves for most efficient flight, their stubby wings working tirelessly.

Smiling with glee I continued on my way, soon joining the conclusion of this 6 mile loop with its beginning. In my absence, the tide had continued to recede. Where I set out from the rocky shoreline, I returned to a several-hundred yard slog through foot-deep muck. Soon, though, I and the boat were mounted to the wagon and home we went.

Noting the still-shining sky-hung orb, I gobbled a bite then walked to a friend's house to catch a ride to Old Woman's mountain. Kerri, Joe and I dropped a car at each end then walked up the steep ascent to gain a nice amble upon this gently sloping ridge. The view was marvelous. 

J & K just above a lake sunken near the apex of Old Woman's Mountain.

Ptarmigan on foot

About 5.5 miles later we descended onto Burma Road, an old military jeep avenue, wandered back to the cars, and concluded a fine day in fantastic weather in old Kodiak. Despite returning home somewhere around 8:30 p.m., the sun was still glowing on us as the earth rolled away from its warmth.

Carpe Diem