Long Island Loop

Thanks to Seward's Folly and the State of Alaska's wisdom, Monday, March 30 was a paid holiday for me, and a floating holiday for the kayak. Set in at Mission Beach around 12:30p, out between Woody and Holiday Island, dodging fishing boats in transit to their fisheries.

An afternoon's route

A few sea otters tilted up to see the disturbance, then slurped beneath the surface. Two more, deep in concentration on some sea-snack, swam towards each other in sync, then disappeared like the others.

The day had been dark in my hovel, but the sun soon shone so I began to warm like a hotdog in a ziplock bag. I watched for the sea to break on outlying rocks, before shifting directions and slipping beyond the wreck of waves.

An orange and white emblazoned HC130 fixed-wing roared out from the airport, loping around in a half circle, before spinning back down to the ground - only to return again, doing three sets of touch-and-go's before finally settling into its berth.

HC130 over CG Air Station Kodiak. USCG Photo

Just past Woody Island, the boat pointed towards the southern tip of Long Island. The waves here were huge and barreled nicely. The depth coming off Woody was very shallow for several hundred feet, exposing the water's visibility with a view shot right down from three to ten meters until the bottom disappeared in a swirl of translucent teal.

Slipping up on Long Island, I boarded it by a large sloping bank, with Southern Lake sitting at its shoulders and stretching across the island to a similar shoulder on its western face. A small creature nibbled at kelp on the beach - a fox? No, a deer, but resembling more a pygmy goat, with stunted legs; took a look at me, then bounded south and up into the woods.

Tipping the kayak on my head, I ambled up the bank, then launching it again, I became my burden's burden, to the tune of a chorus of birds echoing to each other across the stillness of the fresh water. A small hut sits at the west end of the lake; my focus on peering into its recesses, I don't even notice the massive bald eagle in the snag above it until it stretches its wings, blotting me out in a whirl towards the sea.

The next portage is a bit hairier than the first. Gravel and grass is cake in comparison to driftwood and a shifting flotsam of large gravel and kelp. Back down and in quickly to deny these larger off-shore waves from getting their kicks at my expense.

Out here the swell is far more pronounced, sometimes a nice rolling 10+ feet, and makes horrible gnashing and swallowing sounds when tearing at craggy outlying rocks. The headlands glint as the sun lights the salted grasses clinging to dirt and rock; the seabirds wheel and whistle.

I yip at the air, the glory of being on the open sea making me mad, singing ditties to the surroundings and yelling Japanese greetings into the west, into the wind. I count my blessings, and relish the ability and opportunity to be here, right now.

KTUU Photo

Not too far along, lies the recent wreck of the F/V Savannah. I imagine the fishermen on the boat as it foundered and laid up on that rugged coast, what torment the sea must have been to foment this ill, and how lucky they likely count themselves. The Coast Guard rescued four fishermen from the boat, from the suspended safety of a Jayhawk helicopter. At the time of the accident, the wind was blowing 51 mph, and the seas were 11 feet. The residual effect of the waters action since the wreck, has been to twirl the boat around from its initial pose, now facing bow out, but still tilted to starboard.

USCG Photo

Nearing the end of the outward bound portion of travel, I slip behind more terrifying gnashing of sea upon rock, and pull across and towards Vera Bay. As the 1 mile distance lessens to near .1 mile, I think the madness of earlier has stayed with me - do I spy a person sitting on the shore, turning its head this way and that? Nearly on the beach, and a giant juvenile eagle, not yet resplendent in its parent's two-tone plumage, takes flight and my "person" with it.

Several pillboxes jut up from the surface of the island, beckoning exploration. Evening obligations and a descending sun deny the opportunity and pull me towards home. I yell out to the grassy knolls and unexplored ruins a promise to return and poke about. A weekend of suitable weather is all that is needed!

Up a short beach and down a long one, then walk the boat out into the water again - and quick with the sprayskirt then lean forward into the breaking wave! Onward, trying to cut off a detour around the broken finger of Vera's E's edge, I surf a lucky wave over its low inner wall.

The last 5+ miles are the longest, with no more destinations, and only one stroke after another needed. Miniature fishing ships cross along the shore of Kodiak Island, far in the distance, headed out NE, along the same path others were taking when I began my journey. The channel between Long and Woody shrinks out of sight. Avoided large waves flowing south breaking on rocks off Woody's NE edge.

Richard Gulbransen / MarineTraffic.com Photo

Taking the shortest route from my position to the edge of the shore N of Mission Beach, I crossed paths with the F/V Ocean Hope 3, a good looking fishing vessel. Typed in her name to discover, why the "three"? Turns out, there were three Ocean Hopes. Only the third remains. Ocean Hope 1, a 92' cod trawler, sank in 1998 in Shelikof Strait, which separates Kodiak and the mainland - all four fishermen were rescued. Ocean Hope 2, 108' long-line halibut ship, sank in 1989 in the same strait. All aboard perished. Only a life-ring was recovered, days later. Source. Since spying this vessel, she's motored out to Dutch Harbor, typically the largest fisheries port in the US, by volume.

Turned the corner into the small bay by Mission Beach around 4:30p and saw the tide had continued ebbing all through my absence. Hoisting the boat, it found its place on the car a short walk later, and we three went on home for a fresh-water shower and a bite to eat.

Click here for details and pictures of those who came before me and actually took a camera along.