Prettier, More Successful Rolling Session

Had a better rolling session this week, after doing some exercises.  Beautiful evening session at sunset:

Outer South Baranof: Waypoints

Waypoints for my campsites and other key locations available here as a .kmz file.

Outer South Baranof: July 18, Distant Point to Angoon

On the last paddling day of the trip, took it slow and got out of camp in the early afternoon.  Had only a short crossing to get me to Angoon.  Lots of sport fishermen in the area, and saw a whale breaching as I crossed the entrance to Hood Bay--so close to a sport fishing boat that I thought at first the whale was about to land on the boat.

Extended my paddle a bit by following the shore of Sand and Table Islands a bit, then pulled out at the beach alongside the Angoon Ferry terminal.  Though kayakers are often not well accommodated by infrastructure at ferry docks in Southeast Alaska, the Angoon terminal has easy beach access with good launching at all tides.  

Stayed at the "Eagle's Wing," which is a bed and breakfast operated by the local Salvation Army pastor to support the Salvation Army mission in Angoon.  Comfortable, friendly, and inexpensive.  The Salvation Army pastor, a gregarious ex-marine and B&B proprietor picked me up and gave me a tour of town, including my first bears of the trip, in the Angoon dump.  It also is possible to paddle directly to the b&b, which has waterfront access on the East side of the Angoon peninsula, facing Kootzahoo Inlet.  Had a lovely dinner with him and his wife, then headed home the following day on the ferry.

Self-portrait on my final morning.
Keeping it real with camo.

Outer South Baranof: July 17, Wilson Cove to Distant Point

Another late-morning departure, facing a little bit of contrary wind in the morning, which diminished throughout the day.  Continued to paddle through interesting shoreline rock (basalt?) formations, with tremendous numbers of jellyfish and other sea life under the surface, and made about 22 miles.

Passed a number of excellent campsite beaches between Village Point and Distant Point, and finished my day about five miles from Angoon, on a small knoll just East of Distant point.  A much more comfortable location than the previous night, with little visible bear sign, and almost no underbrush (as well as a soft, duff tenting surface).

Among other sites, passed a blacktail browsing alders on the beach, and was able to approach closely before the deer became afraid and ran.

Outer South Baranof: July 16, Red Bluff to Wilson Cove

Seiner working near Point Gardner

Low slack was at 10, so the goal was to be out by 9:30.  Of course, missed the goal by an hour for some reason, but still managed to benefit from the strong flood push, paddling North to Nelson Bay, then ferry gliding Northeast to Point Gardner at the Southern end of Admiralty.  The area near Point Gardner evidently can develop tide rips, but I saw no sign of them, probably because I was arriving near enough to high slack (though I did experience some lumpiness due to wind and current in the first half of the crossing).  Weather was generally calm, though, with 2' seas or less, and only a little drizzle as I paddled from Red Bluff to Nelson Bay on the Baranof Island side of the strait.

Took a break at a small beach just North and West of Point Gardner and watched a seiner work for a bit.  That location could be a lovely campsite with a great view to the South and West.  There were also many good camping beaches I passed over the next several miles, riding the rising tide, then hugging the shoreline and trying to take advantage of eddies where possible.  Paddling along the shoreline of this part of Admiralty was interesting; the intertidal zone was often made of interesting rock formations (black rock, probably basalt?) that were often covered at high tide.  Paddling over them and the visible intertidal life living on and around them was neat, and paddling around and through basalt structures poking out of the water made for interesting paddling.  

Made very good progress--a 20+ mile day--but stopped at what was, in retrospect, an odd location with only marginal camping, no water, and lots of bear sign near the Southern opening to Wilson Cove.  Probably would have been better to continue on to the other side of the cove, with several pretty beaches, or to stop several miles earlier, well short of Point Wilson.  Embarrassed to admit that I may have been hoping for cell phone reception so that I could call to arrange lodging in Angoon and, more importantly, so that I could call home.  If that's what I was thinking, I was not in luck, though I was fortunate in having a family of eagles close at hand as I made camp.

View Southwest from Point Gardner, looking toward Baranof Island

Outer South Baranof: July 14-15, Patterson Peninsula to Red Bluff

The stunning Patterson Peninsula scenery continued after my launch this morning (a bit earlier to take advantage of the flood).  Had a nice push from the tide supplemented by strengthening Southerlies, as I was driven past steep rainforest-covered mountainsides, bare on top, interspersed by cliffs and bogs.  Pulled off the water a bit after 3PM, before the wind started bucking the ebb tide; Chatham strait was already a little uncomfortable at slack and I was a bit worried about finding a safe pull-out before the strong Southerly current started stacking waves up against a 25 knot Southerly wind.  Not a long day on the water but with the help of wind and tide I still made 18 miles.

Camped just North and outside of Red Bluff bay, which is marked by a distinctive red-colored ridge (I imagine it to be red sandstone) which is visible for miles.  The campsite is excellent--several excellent upland tent sites and a really pleasant spot to pitch the tarp at the top of the beach, just underneath some alders.  The weather called for strengthening Southerlies on the 15th and a small craft warning, so I set my kitchen up carefully, anticipating a day off and some reading under the tarp.

Unbelievably, I also discovered that I had cell reception--five bars, LTE coverage!  I imagine the cell tower must be located above Kake, across Chatham strait.   I was able to call home, and even FaceTime.  Great to check in and hear that everything at home was going smoothly.  Having cell coverage in remote Southeast Alaska gave me visions of paddling constantly, working with a laptop, cell phone, and tiny turbine generator...  I could imagine a worse life!

As anticipated, the weather on the 15th was not good, and as I was making good progress towards Angoon and had plenty of time and food, I took a rest day, and spent a lot of time reading and drinking coffee.  My one concern was running low on stove fuel, but I was able to do most of my coffee-making over a fire, and I was able to burn some paper trash in the process, saving some space and eliminating a bit of weight.

Had some trouble with wrist pain on the 14th--probably an after effect of my white-knuckle days paddling between Redfish and Puffin Bays--the rest day didn't cure it, but helped substantially.  Had some stiffness on the 15th, but much less pain.

Midway through the afternoon, had a mink run through camp, just yards from my camp kitchen.  Hadn't seen one of those since 2017 in B.C.

Outer South Baranof: July 13, Port Lucy to Patterson Peninsula

Slow morning with a late departure after the long prior day.  Even so, benefitted greatly from the tail end of the flood tide, which then turned against me and made my afternoon difficult.  I was surprised by how strong the currents were in Chatham Strait!  The Coast Pilot says 2 knots at some times and in some locations, but I experienced currents likely stronger than that and more or less continuously at the peak of the ebb.

Looking North at the Patterson Peninsula

Beautiful, clear, warm weather all day (until sunset), a nice change from the previous day.  I passed just feet from a snoozing seal with just its eyes and nose above the water near Point Walter.

Passed by good camping beaches in Toledo Harbor and Jerry Harbor, and stopped for dinner at Mist Cove, where I cooked dinner on a rock at the mouth of the cove.  Also paddled by a hatchery float house in the cove, and saw an open door but no one was visible, so I paddled on.  Hatchery structures are also visible at Port Walter, though I didn't stop.
Mist Cove itself is named after a striking waterfall, several hundred feet high, which runs from a lake several hundred feet up off a cliff, creating a mist plume visible from a good distance.  My pictures unfortunately didn't effectively capture the effect, which was quite beautiful.  

Waterfall at Mist Cove

The Mist Cove hatchery evidently raises salmon in the waterfall lake, then allows them to swim out through a pipe that channels water downhill from the lake to sea level without harming themselves (since they would be killed by the fall off the waterfall).  The pipe itself is visible near the float house.  

Many fish were jumping in the cove, and commercial fishermen were working nearby--seems like a productive fishing spot!  

After dinner, continued up the E side of the Patterson Peninsula.  The Southern end of the peninsula is quite sheer and rocky, straight down to the water.  After several miles, the coast is punctuated by a series of dramatic bowls with beautiful (though often steep) cobble beaches.  The first of these is accessed through a narrow channel, and marked "Lords Pocket" on the map.  I camped several miles further on in one of these bowls, which reminded me somewhat of Kingcome Inlet at the Northern End of Princess Royal Island in Central British Columbia--dramatic cliffs surrounding a beautiful round bight with cobble beaches.  

Grainy photo of the blacktail I scared into the water

After setting up camp in the evening, made myself some tea and sat on the beach watching the sky.  As I sat, a blacktail deer, apparently startled by my presence, bolted down the beach and charged into the water before swimming several hundred yards to a rocky spot which must have seemed safer.  I wasn't aware of the deer before it ran by, and I was afraid at first it was being chased by a bear, but none was visible.  If one was around, it must have been scared off by my scent, though more likely the deer was frightened by me, not a bear.  

Outer South Baranof: July 12, Little Branch Bay to Port Lucy

The forecast was sufficiently pessimistic that I had decided on the 11th that if I could get out on the 12th, I would  portage between Puffin Bay and Port Lucy, where I knew there to be a roughly half-mile between the two inlets, and an elevation change of less than 200 feet.  I had read about the possible existence of this portage prior to my trip, and my inimitable Aspid Cape-North Cape paddling companion, Jay, described it to me in some detail.


In order to improve my chances of successfully escaping Little Branch/Big Branch/Redfish Bay, I was up extraordinarily early (for me--I realize my 4:30 rise is par for the course for many other kayakers) and out by 7.  The forecast was still not ideal, calling for six foot swells, probably exacerbated by depth effects, and the clapotis in the area was still uncomfortable.  However, the paddling seemed much safer, the ocean had noticeably less energy, and I was able to (somewhat nervously) continue on to Puffin Bay.

Anxious to be on my way, after two days of inactivity, I enjoyed seeing a substantial sealion rookery at Sealion Rocks, and I enjoyed being the subject of investigation by curious puffins wheeling around me at the mouth of Puffin Bay, where I arrived by 9:30.

Puffin Bay, looking out to the North Pacific

Although the back of Puffin Bay obviously receives a surprising amount of swell, camping above the beach is possible (though not ideal), and there is likely good camping to be had in the bight to the SSE of the back of the bay.  However, I arrived early in the day (probably no later than 10:30) and was anxious to make progress, and so quickly began the process of carrying my gear across the island.

The portage itself was hard work, hot and wet, especially the task of carrying my kayak between the two fjords; although the weather was windy on the Puffin Bay side, it was rainy and humid in the trees.  The humidity was made worse by my lack of effective rain gear; in order to stay relatively dry, I completed the first three of my four trips across the island wearing my drysuit.  My journal notes describe the portaging process as "brutal."  To the extent that any trail exists, it's most likely as much a deer trail as anything else, and certainly not easy going!

I saw a fair bit of recent bear sign.  Tracks, scat, and quite a bit of uprooted skunk cabbage were visible.  Some hungry bear had clearly been in the area recently, perhaps that day or the day before.  I had good luck in avoiding bears, though, presumably by making lots of noise, singing and talking to myself.  No doubt many bears over the years have, from afar, enjoyed my somewhat off-key and bawdy rendition of "The Bear Went Over the Mountain," and my own original composition of "Hey Bear," which riffs on blues scales and rhythms, as well as my backwoods covers of Rush's progressive rock classics, "The Trees" and "Red Barchetta," in which I attempt to imitate Geddy Lee's early-career falsetto.

Once across the island, I filtered some water in a nearby creek, ate lunch and sent a few inReach messages home, and was on the water again by mid-afternoon.  Enjoyed a nice tailwind as I paddled East down Port Lucy towards Chatham Strait (pushed by a wind blowing across the island and through the Puffin Bay/Port Lucy gap) and found an absolutely lovely pocket beach with a creek just at the mouth of Port Lucy (N side), where I startled a family of blacktail deer as I paddled onto the beach.

After several days of rain, the weather cleared off, and I hung wet socks and clothing about to dry in a cold, dry breeze which began blowing from the South, up Chatham Strait in the evening and overnight.  Though the sunset wasn't visible from my Southeast-facing campsite, I enjoyed a beautiful evening sky.  My overnight was a bit chilly, but overall, I was very relieved to be out of the weather and back in (relatively) protected waters, though a bit disappointed to have missed Cape Ommaney

From the mouth of Port Lucy, looking Southeast at sunset  

Outer South Baranof: July 9-11, Sandy Bay to Little Branch Bay

Sea stars at my lunch spot in Byron Bay

The marine forecast predicted strong Southerlies early, so I slept in a bit later than normal and was out of camp by around 11:30, then had smooth paddling to Redfish Bay, only around 12 statute miles from my Sandy Bay campsite on the previous night.  In retrospect, I should have continued on a bit further, but worried about worsening weather and a small craft warning for the evening of the 9th and the next day, I ducked into Redfish Bay and looked for a safe place to weather over  

Along the way, experienced very mild contrary winds (no more than 10 knots, likely closer to 5) and more commercial trollers.  Also saw a whale breaching off of Snipe Bay, spotted lots of sea otters, and was tailed by curious sea lions for several miles.

Pulled into Byron Bay for a mid-afternoon break and snack.  Didn't find any beaches near the mouth of the bay, but found a rocky promontory where it was easy to pull out and eat, on the W side of the bay.  Then, continued on South to Redfish Bay, turning into protected waters after debating whether to continue further to Puffin Bay.  Here again, probably should have kept going, but was unnecessarily concerned about getting caught by bad weather.  Spent the 10th in camp, uncomfortable with sitting still.

Redfish Bay

The top of Redfish Bay is quite beautiful, though so protected from the wind that I was pretty actively eaten by mosquitoes and other six-legged companions until the wind freshened considerably on the 10th; even then, had relatively little wind at the campsite, and it was easy to forget how terrible the weather was outside the bay.  Lots of fish jumping (obviously a sockeye run up the creek to Tumakof Lake) and plenty of bear sign, but had a hard time finding a kitchen spot and tent site that were sufficiently far apart to feel comfortable about keeping food smell away from my tent.  In the end, set the tent up in a nice soft spot under some spruce trees to the East of the creek, and set up my kitchen tarp in a somewhat less suitable spot in grassy spot near a creek running into the salt water at the top of the bay.  Some rusty iron machinery was sitting on the beach near my kitchen, possibly the remains of an old cannery or a beached vessel which gave the whole place a somewhat forlorn air in the bugs (on the 9th) and rain (on the 10th), exacerbated by the fact that my rain pants turned out not to be 100% waterproof, which made for a wet day on the 10th.

Cannery remains?

Tried to escape from Redfish Bay on the 11th, with a forecast of dropping swells through the day.  Decided my best opportunity, given the forecast, was to try again for a late departure, to see if I could make it to Puffin Bay or Larch Bay once the weather had (hopefully) calmed down.  But paddling out of Redfish around 11:30AM was scary, with intimidating swells and significant clapotis, so turned around and headed back in to the protected waters of Little Branch Bay (just E of Redfish and Big Branch Bays).  Although these weren't the biggest waves I've paddled in, the energy of the sea and unpredictability of the reflecting waves made for worrisome conditions, and I decided it would be best to play it safe and find a new campsite in Little Branch Bay, then try again to make some progress in the afternoon.

Paddled up to the top of Little Branch, and found a potential campsite at the top of the bay, and another in a protected bight to the E of a small islet about 1.5 statute miles up the bay.  I found this second location more amenable than my previous campsite--further from any obvious salmon streams, no obvious bear sign, a nice cobble and shingle beach, and ample space for locating a kitchen and tent site a good distance apart.  It was also the more convenient to the bay mouth, and there was water nearby.  I made a second attempt to escape the fjord in the afternoon, but although conditions had improved somewhat, they were still pretty uncomfortable; decided it would be best to be conservative and attempt a third departure the following morning early.

Outer South Baranof: July 8, Aspid Cape to Sandy Bay

Slow morning--got a late start, and shortly after launching, ran into another paddler (in a plastic sit-on-top recreational kayak, of all things), who gave me a lot of excellent data about paddling to come. The paddler was a Sitka local--Jay--who spends much of his time paddling and sailing the outer coast of Baranof and the surrounding areas.  Really a remarkable guy--knew every rock and every beach and a lot more.  He told me that I should have camped in Yamani Cove, just East of Aspid Cape and less than a mile from where I had camped the previous night.

Jay volunteered to make the crossing to North Cape with me, where we stopped for a lunch break.  Along the way, he pointed out some beautiful beaches in the North Cape area, and told me a typically Alaskan story about standing in a tree above a North Cape beach and watching a Brown bear walk underneath him, just inches away, and unable to see him (though apparently quite aware of his scent).  Really enjoyed the conversation, the intelligence on camping and paddling to come, and appreciated how far he paddled out of his way with me!

Sea otter near Pt. Lauder

After Jay peeled off to cross back to Yamani Cove, I continued on, crossing Whale Bay to Pt. Lauder--a beautiful spot for dinner.  Dinner was turkey jambalaya, rehydrated in a thermos.  From there, continued on to Sandy Bay, with lovely paddling conditions.  In general, despite forecasted headwinds, had a great paddle, and although I was feeling a bit uncomfortable in the ocean swells (low as they were), began to feel more comfortable as the day went on, even in places with some clapotis.

A great deal of wildlife on the 8th, including porpoises, puffins, and lots of otters.

Camped on a steep shingle beach on the W side and just inside Sandy Bay.  This beach may be difficult to access at lower tides, but was quite pretty.

Outer South Baranof: July 7, Koka I. Passage to Aspid Cape

Beautiful but uneventful day.

Up around 8 (typical for me), and paddled off the beach by 10 under a low ceiling with little view.  Bit of a headwind today, but didn't have any trouble making miles (probably no more than 5 kts all day).

Paddled by Goddard Hot Springs without stopping, then headed through the Rakof Islands--a series of small islets in between the mouths of Crawfish Inlet and Walker Channel.  Pretty waters, but didn't find any obvious spots to break or camp.

Had my first real open water of the trip W of Elevoi I., where I started to experience a little low swell (just a few feet) and saw a bunch of sea otters.

In the afternoon, crossed Walker Channel to Aspid Cape, and found a nice campsite above a beach which is itself at the base of a pretty tombolo just W of Yamani Cove.  Little did I know, I should have paddled a bit further into the cove itself, with beautiful beaches and an old village site.  Still, the campsite I found was comfortable and had water.   I was a bit surprised that the camping options in the area weren't better, but, although there are many beaches, they seem to often be inaccessible at low tide, sitting above and behind rocky (possibly basalt) ledges.

Looking Southeast near Aspid Cape

Had planned to paddle a bit after dinner, but decided to settle in at Aspid after dinner, rather than doing the long crossing to North Cape, unsure of what I would find when I got there.  No need to worry, as North Cape is a beautiful spot with lovely camping, but I of course didn't know that until the following day.

A bit intimidated by the open water paddling to come!

Outer South Baranof: July 6, 2018, Sitka to Koka I. Passage

After a set of delays due to weather and cancelled ferry runs, I finally got on the road on the 6th of July, driving a friend's minivan; he needed the vehicle out in Sitka, and if I drove it on the ferry for him, he would avoid an unaccompanied vehicle fee and I wouldn't have to pay extra for my kayak.  It also meant that I would be able to launch from downtown Sitka (actually just to the South, near the Sitka Sound Science Center, where there is a convenient place to put in), rather than near the ferry terminal, on the other end of the road system.  That saved me a few hours of paddling, though it also meant I didn't get to paddle through Sitka; maybe not the best choice, though it seemed like a good decision at the time.

After a sleepless night (believe it or not, too hot in Juneau for me to sleep!), boarded the ferry on the 6th of July early in the morning (5:30AM).  Enjoyed my ride on the Fairweather--a beautiful, fast boat and one of the newest boats in the Alaska Marine Highway System fleet that, because of neglect and mismanagement, the State of Alaska has decided to mothball.  A sin.

After shuffling the car and my kayak, got on the water by 2:30, then headed SW across the scattered islands in that part of Sitka Sound, and through a fair number of salmon seiners doing their work.

Salmon seiner working in Sitka Sound

Passed several good potential campsites on my way; one at Pirate Cove just NE of Cape Burunof, and another just S, in Three Entrance Bay.  These sites clearly see some local use.  Also passed a beautiful clam shell beach just SE fo Povorotni Pt., which would make a nice campsite for a small number of paddlers.  Ultimately, decided to camp above a beach on the Southern most Islet W of Koka I. Passage.  Shared the area for a few hours with some young people with a power boat who seemed to be out for the afternoon, but they took off well before dark and I had the place to myself for the night.  All in all, a successful day--12 mi. total, respectable given the mid afternoon start.

Outer South Baranof, Trip Conception and Plan

Just a quick look at a chart or topographic map of the Southern half of Baranof Island is enough to convince you that the landscape will be striking: deep, long fjords, huge alpine and sea level bowls, and a rocky coastline with few beaches. I've been looking at that map for a long time, wondering if my parking skills were up to the task of a kayaking that coast, and this past winter, I convinced myself that although the coastline is serious, it's broken frequently enough by fjords and bays that provide protection that the trip was within my reach as a paddler. I had enjoyed my limited outer coast paddling experience the previous summer (Cape Caution, Dixon Entrance, and Outer Chichagof), and was looking for a beautiful trip that would also be a bit of a challenge.

After some thinking and chart reading, decided I would end the trip in Angoon, which I had never before visited.

My summer schedule this year was substantially more flexible than the previous several years, so I arbitrarily settled on a late-June departure that was twice postponed, ultimately to July 6. One of those delays was due to a mechanical problem on the ferry Columbia, no doubt due to the criminal under-funding of the Alaska Marine Highway System by Alaska's executive, which is happy to spend on roads in Anchorage and sees no problem with neglecting the infrastructure needs of Southeast Alaska and the Aleutian chain.

I found the outer coast section of the trip challenging, beautiful, and sometimes frightening. Scenery on the Eastern side of Baranof Island is also magnificent, and although the paddling was challenging, the power of the sea there, in Chatham Strait, is of course much diminished. And although the landscape of Southern Admiralty Island is not at dramatic as that of Baranof, the camping opportunities were excellent and the paddling some of the most enjoyable of the trip. Overall, a physically and emotionally challenging paddle, but a great success.

Lessons from the trip:

1. I need to carry more food for exposed trips like this.
2. I don't handle sitting in camp alone very well. This, if nothing else, might be a good reason to paddle with a partner.
3. My self-rescue needs to be 100% dependable for paddling in these exposed, powerful conditions, which is currently is not. Project for this year, I think.

Playing with New Toys: Rolling Session, June 14, 2018

Playing with a new knockoff Go Pro--pretty satisfied so far.  Aside from being a fun toy, thought it might be useful for diagnosing some persistent problems with my roll; unsurprisingly, the issue seems to be that I'm not keeping my head down!

June 10: Taiyasanka Inlet to Skagway (and back to Juneau)

Well prepared for Bears,
and wearing my home-sewn
storm cagoule at Taiyasanka

Up at 5:30 (early for me!) in order to have sufficient time to make it to Skagway for the afternoon ferry, which was due to leave at 3:30PM.

Everything was wet from the rainy, choppy paddle the day before, and the morning started out cold. Moved relatively efficiently to get out of camp, therefore, made more efficient by the fact that I had left the kitchen tarp up from dinner the night before.

On the water and paddling by 7:45, and pushed around Taiya Point and into Taiya Inlet by a slight Northerly breeze. Predicted Southerlies didn't pick up for an hour or two, but by the time I was halfway to Skagway, the wind was pushing me along nicely. The further North I got, the bigger the waves got, and I was able to make good use of them, surfing a bit when I could catch a wave. Of course, it rained the whole time, but riding the waves kept me warm (with the help of my home sewn storm cagoule, made out of an old tent fly).

Paddled by two docked cruise ships and into the Skagway small boat harbor around 11:45, at least and hour before I expected to be there. The small boat harbor is immediately adjacent to the ferry terminal, and a boat launch with a gentle gravel/grass grade on either side makes taking out easy. At high tide, a grassy slope to paddler's left of the launch leads almost directly into the ferry terminal parking lot, though this would be inaccessible (above rip rap) at lower tides.

Despite the wet, windy weather, scenery in upper Lynn Canal was superb.
Unfortunately, I packed my camera in a drybag on the morning of the 10th, so
instead, you get to see this pretty picture from Point St. Mary.

As I walked into the terminal, I was a little concerned that the ferry might be booked—almost never happens, but there was a lot of activity! Apparently, a road race was just finishing up next door, hence all the traffic. No problem getting a spot on the boat, so carried my gear and boat over, then walked up the street for a coffee and a buffalo chicken wrap at Glacier Smoothie. Then back to board, for the fast ferry to Juneau.

Riding the F/V Fairweather is a joy. It's a tragedy that the Alaska Marine Highway System seems to be phasing out these beautiful, fast, efficient boats. Absolute pernicious neglect by a legislature which is happy to spend federal and state dollars on road construction near Anchorage but is unable or unwilling to see the importance of the ferry system to residents of coastal communities. Though it does make me sad that the Fairweather doesn't serve greasy burgers and pancakes.

June 9: Anyaka Island to Taiyasanka Harbor

A little gloomy at Anyaka I.

After a chilly night in the wind on June 7-8, my warm, sheltered campsite on the 8th-9th made it hard for me to get out of my sleeping bag in the morning, making for a little bit of a late start. Probably just as well, since the 9th turned into a bit of a grind, contrasting with the two easy days on either side.

My crossing from Anyaka Island to Seduction Point on the Southern end of the Chilkat Peninsula went smoothly, though I was surprised by strong contrary tides to the East of Seduction Point an for several Miles to the North. In the early afternoon, I also started to feel a Northerly breeze that appeared to be blowing down the Katzehin drainage. Together, the current and wind made progress slow.

Looking a little goofy in my paddling cap

It was nearly 5 when I passed Haines, and I was cold. Unlike the previous day, the wind was matched with rain and fog, and the whole day was rather chilly.

Once past the Haines ferry terminal, I considered continuing into Taiya Inlet to look for a campsite, but changed my mind at the last minute, deciding that any site I found would likely be rocky and exposed to the wind. Probably a good decision.

Instead of continuing, I ducked into Taiyasanka Harbor, just West of the mouth of Taiya Inlet. The mouth of the harbor is protected by a narrow spit—a glacial moraine. There is good camping on both sides of the moraine. On the South side, a beach faces Haines, and on the North side (which I figured would be more protected), there is some beach camping and good access to the upland. I camped behind a large glacial erratic in a Spruce Stand about halfway up the spit. Actually, "spruce stand" is a little misleading, since the length of the spit is topped by spruce.

Turned out that this was a good decision; all the potential camping spots I had scoped out on the chart turned out to be marginal, at best, when I passed them the following day.

The view up Taiyasanka Inlet from the kitchen

Predictably, I noted no bear sign until after my tent was set up and I was cooking dinner, then noted a big pile of bear scat just beside my kitchen area.

No problems with bears though, of course. I imagine all the local bears are elsewhere, looking for berries and skunk cabbage or, more likely, scavenging at the Haines dump.

Breakfast burritos for dinner, then an early night, the better to be ready for an early morning the following day.

June 8: Point St. Mary to Anyaka Island

The venerable F/V LeConte, headed for Juneau

A speedy day, helped along by Southerly winds.

Launched mid-morning under overcast skies, and with a strong South wind already blowing. The cloud cover soon started to clear, and I had mostly blue skies all day.

Waves never really built beyond two feet or so, despite the wind.

View Southwest from my Anyaka I. campsite

The Chilkat mountains to the West were stunning, and equally striking was the Coastal Range, to the East.

Passed numerous potential campsites in this stretch; gravel and cobble beaches are common and upland campsites are almost as frequent.

My plan was to go 18 miles or so, keeping in the back of my mind that Kataguni Island, at around 22 miles, likely has good campsites above a number of gravel beaches. Made such good time, however, that I made it several miles further, to Anyaka Island, where I found a nice, Northwest-facing beach with a tight but comfortable upland tentsite in a stand of small Spruce trees. This site had good views to the North and West and was sheltered from the South wind.

Paddling to Skagway, June 7: Echo Cove to Point St. Mary

Glassy conditions paddling out of Echo Cove

After various and sundry travels in May, which I may blog about elsewhere, Emily and I returned to Juneau about two weeks ago, and after recovering from jet lag (hit me pretty hard this time coming back from Europe), got the idea in my head that it might be time to do the Juneau to Skagway paddle. Weather looks good for the next few days, and it will be a good shakedown for my more ambitious trip later this summer.

Emily dropped me off at Echo cove after work and a quick dinner; I had the idea that I would paddle just a few miles, perhaps to the mouth of Sawmill Creek, just out of Echo Cove, where I've camped before. I also believed there would be a camping spot at Point Mary, across the mouth of Berners Bay, which should be a pretty spot in the morning. I was on the water around 7:30 or 8, and near Sawmill Creek at around 8:45, which would have been a reasonable time to stop, but conditions were glassy, and paddling across Berners into the Sunset above the Chilkat Mountains was beautiful, so I kept going. The evening crossing reminded me a bit of the evening last year when Emily and I paddled across Behm Canal to Caamano Point (sp?) in the setting sun.

Paddling across Berners Bay in the sunset,
Chilkat range in the distance

Beach here is a little rough at high—bowling-ball sized cobbles and rocks, but it looks like it would be sand at lower tides. No water, but the view is superb. Beach camping wouldn't work, but camping in the trees is good.

There are a few rocks off shore here that are serving as a seal haul out, an I can hear them splashing around as I type this.

Recipes for Camping: Pasta Carbonara

I've written elsewhere about the cooking systems I've used while paddling and camping.  In a conversation with a friend recently, realized that although I linked to recipes I found elsewhere (and typically dehydrated), I had not written about the Pasta Carbonara recipe I put together for my trip last year.  It turned out very well and was popular with paddling partners.

In town, carbonara is a terribly unhealthy meal, with lots of fat.  That, of course, makes it fabulous for outdoor activity, especially when it's cold (as it tends to be in Southeast Alaska).  Traditionally, it's made by cooking pasta, then adding a mixture of raw egg, milk, cheese, onion, and bacon bits to the cooked (and still hot) pasta immediately after the pasta has been drained.  The pasta is then tossed, and the hot pasta cooks the egg/cheese/milk, which coats the noodles.

Camping out, it's possible to make carbonara the traditional way, if you're willing and able to carry raw egg and milk with you.  I've used powdered eggs and milk very successfully, though, which is of course logistically easier to deal with.

Here's the recipe for two servings.  I find that I eat a lot less than lots of people, but the quantities can be increased or decreased as long as they're roughly proportional--a good guideline is how much pasta you eat normally.

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups elbow noodles.  I like elbows because they're easier to eat with a spoon, but that's not really an issue with this recipe, so substitute whatever pasta you like.  Fettuccine is more traditional and packs efficiently.
3 heaping tablespoons powdered eggs.  I go with Ova Easy brand. They're good, plus I get to chuckle at the amusing pun of a name when I open the cupboard and look at the package.
3 heaping teaspoons powdered whole milk.  "Nido" is what I buy.  It's a Latin American product, so sometimes it's stocked in the ethnic food aisle.
3 heaping teaspoons parmesan cheese.  I usually go with the stuff you buy in a cardboard can, but real parmesan is pretty durable.  Other hard cheeses work in a pinch, but shy away from American or cheddar.
2 teaspoons butter buds
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon onion powder
1 package precooked bacon bits.  Go with the bacon bits made from real bacon.

Instructions:

Before the trip, I combine all the dry ingredients except pasta and bacon bits in a sandwich bag, seal with a twist tie, then store that in a larger ziplock bag (quart size) with pasta and a package of bacon bits.  Obviously, it's possible to mix ingredients in the field as well.
Cook your pasta.
While the pasta is cooking, mix the bacon bits in with the egg/cheese/milk mix.
Once the pasta is cooked, drain.
Immediately after draining, add the egg/milk/cheese whatsit to the pasta.  Once the pasta is coated evenly, you're good to go.

Camp Gear for Paddling

Over the course of the summer, my camp gear was significantly pared and simplified.  Some thoughts on what worked and what didn't here:

Clothing

I carried my clothes in two 10 Liter dry bags.  The first bag carried my camp clothes (socks, pants, long johns, shirts), and the second bag carried outerwear (rain jacket, polyfill jacket, rain pants).  The clothing load was pretty light, but seemed to work all right, and I only got really smelly when I was unable to dry things like socks out for days at a time (although that isn't all that unusual in Southeast Alaska).  I mostly stayed pretty warm when the weather was cold.  I like the Sealine Baja dry bags, which seem to be very durable and are a little easier to pack than other dry bags because they're slippery (rather than grabby/sticky, as is the case with rubberized dry bags).

Shelter

My tent was a lightweight, two person semi-free standing three season tent made by Big Agnes--model name, "Seedhouse."  It was tight for two people, but worked well when I was paddling with Carl and with Emily.  Fortunately, Carl, though tall (6'2"?) is tolerant of tent fabric touching is feet and face!  It was very comfortable when I was alone--quite roomy for one person.  It also was quite light and packed very small.

I had two problems with the tent.  First, towards the end of the trip, the ferrules at the end of each pole segment started to oxidize in such a way that it became very difficult to pull the pole sections apart in the morning when it came time to take the tent down.  I took to scraping the oxidation off each ferrule at night before setting up the tent, which took some time.  Probably some lubricating oil would help, and/or a little sandpaper to periodically remove the oxidized aluminum.

Second, although the tent itself was of an appropriate size to stow alongside the skeg box in the stern compartment, it was a long, thin package that fit awkwardly in a dry bag.  I used a large (40L) dry bag with lots of extra room in order to fit the length of the tent bag, which tended to take up more room than necessary.  An alternative would have been to pack the tent poles and fabric components separately, packing the body and fly in a 10L dry bag (or smaller), but then the tent wouldn't have fit neatly alongside the skeg.  In the end, I soldiered on with the large dry bag but after the trip was over, I bought a large, second-hand dry bag at the local outdoor consignment shop and made a custom-sized bag for my tent, using the dry bag material and aqua-seal.  I haven't yet tested the durability of my tent dry bag on a long trip, but so far, it has proved to be immersion-proof and I suspect it will serve nicely.

Another minor complaint is that the tent is a door-in-front design.  Having a door (or two) on the side(s) would be more convenient, but those designs are typically heavier and bulkier.

Despite these (relatively minor) issues, I would use the Seedhouse again.  And will, including this coming summer.

My other shelter was an ultralight silnylon rain fly that I used as a cooking shelter.  Not sure of the dimensions, probably 10'x12' or something similar, it was small enough to fit in tight spaces, but large enough to get two people out of the rain.  I would often set it up using kayaks to anchor the corners, and paddles as poles.   An absolute lifesaver in in the Pacific Northwest, though I would not want to use a shelter this simple to sleep in; the mosquitos and other biting insects can be pretty horrid when the wind isn't blowing.  I generally just packed this tarp in a small stuff sack, which wasn't waterproof.  It would get wet in the stern compartment, where I would generally keep it, but that wasn't a problem.

Sleeping

I converted to a Feathered Friends down 20° bag a few years ago and carried it all summer.  Because of the rainy climate here, I bought it with a waterproof/breathable shell.  I go back and forth about whether using a down sleeping bag here makes sense, and it definitely does sometimes get damp and insulate less well, but I didn't have any persistent problems with it this summer; when it was too chilly, I just put my polyfill jacket on.  The only drawback of that approach was that it deprived me of my pillow!  I also slept on a Therm-a-Rest NeoAir mattress which I've been using for a few years.

I carried the sleeping bag in a 10L dry bag, typically with the some of the clothes I was sleeping in (usually long johns, a t-shirt and long sleeve shirt, a warm hat and a neck warmer).  I kept the mattress in another 10L dry bag, also with some clothes, and with other things I use at night (headlamp, eyeshade, contact lens case and solution, book, etc.)

Camp Kitchen

I wrote about my stove in the previous entry, so won't belabor that.  I kept the stove in a 1.5 qt. pot, with my spoon, a spare spoon, pot grips, stove repair kit, lighter, matches, fire starters, etc.  This all went into the stove bag (to keep things clean) and then a dry bag.  I've paddled without the stove in a dry bag before and it's asking for trouble--sand and salt water get in the fuel line and cause the stove to malfunction.  I store the fuel bottle in a tiny, no-longer-waterproof dry bag.  It seems to work all right at keeping sand out of the valve, though I should consider an alternative.  I wrap the windscreen around the fuel bottle to keep it in good shape, then hold it in place with a strap.  I also carry an insulated cup with a lid (it's my bowl, plate, and cup), and a platypus water filter.  I've also written elsewhere about my food storage system, but I carried an Ursack, which I kept behind the cockpit in the stern hatch, and the bear keg in the cockpit, fore of my feet, held in place by the foot pegs.  My plan is eventually to replace the bear keg with a second ursack, then figure out another way to use the space in the cockpit (keeping in mind entanglement hazards) that puts less weight in the bow.

Safety

I carried a fairly extensive first aid kit, though I would revise and trim my first aid supplies somewhat after taking a Wilderness First Responder class this fall.  I also carried a fairly comprehensive repair kit, with wire, line, epoxy resin and hardener, rubber gloves, foam brushes, 3M 5200 caulk/adhesive, sandpaper, etc.  I've previously written about my paddling safety gear, carried on deck, in the cockpit, or on my PFD, but also carried a DeLorme InReach (really used as more of a comfort device than a safety device, but could have been used to send an SOS if necessary).

For protection against bears, I carried a can of pepper spray and (controversially) a firearm.  In Canada, this was a side-by-side shotgun with short (18") barrels, carried with a sling.  Once back in Alaska, I traded this out for a .44 magnum revolver that I carried in a chest holster.  Fortunately, I never needed to protect myself with either firearm, but was glad the shotgun was within arm's reach when a bear walked onto the beach 50' from camp my last morning before reaching Ketchikan.  I did use the pistol to make some noise one day, alerting a brown bear to our presence on Chichagoff Island, the last day of the trip.  If I had to protect myself from a charging bear (unlikely), I would much rather be carrying the shotgun, but because it's such a pain to tote around camp and in the woods, it's easier to keep the pistol at hand, in the holster, on my chest, so it's not just out of reach when I need it.  It's also lighter and smaller, taking up much less room in the boat.

I realize that not everybody is comfortable around guns, and the research that I'm aware of suggests that firearms are not helpful in improving life expectancy in bear encounters.  Bear spray, on the other hand, does reduce injuries and mortality.  The social scientist in me wonders about some methodological issues around these studies, though, and I'm pretty familiar with firearms--I've been shooting since I was a wee Boy Scout, and have worked as a rifle and shotgun instructor.  Right or wrong, there are times when having a gun at hand is comforting.

Electronics

In addition to the devices I've described above, I carried a phone, and sometimes two phones--one for Canadian networks and one for US networks.  I also carried a small, folding Bluetooth keyboard that allowed me to type journal entries and respond to e-mails more efficiently, when I had a cellular connection or WiFi.  Finally, I carried three brick-shaped batteries to charge my USB devices (InReach, phones, keyboard), the charger for my VHF (a real pain in the butt, but no alternative), and a notebook.  If I were to do it over again, I would probably try to figure out how to do without the VHF charger--maybe there are USB chargeable batteries available.  For the Cobra radio I started the trip with, I was using a battery tray that took AA batteries, which meant I could leave the charger behind, which was a nice way to save a little space.

Paddling Gear Thoughts

As I noted in the previous post, this summer was a great learning experience for me, and my three months of paddling taught me a lot, including about gear.  A distillation of my thoughts here:

The Kayak

Way back in April I posted a bit about my paddling gear (here) along with a description of my trip plans.  I talked about my kit-built Chesapeake Light Craft kayak, model "North Bay," which is no longer manufactured, and my homemade paddles, which included a full-sized Greenland paddle and a storm paddle.

Before this summer, I would have described the long, narrow (18' 6" x 20") North Bay as a low-volume, cruising boat, and I expressed some concern that the boat might not be well suited to my long paddle.  However, with this summer's experience behind me, I would revise that assessment.  Overall, I was very happy with the kayak, which is quite fast when the wind is down, and which handled challenging conditions--chop and swell--on the outer coast well.  It also carried more than enough gear and food for the longest stretches of my trip.  My one gripe is that the boat's length, coupled with relatively little rocker, does mean that it tends to get bogged down in short, steep chop in tailwinds on the inside passage's narrow channels.  I often wondered if a more heavily rocketed hull would serve me better under these conditions, which were really the only time I wasn't in front, when paddling with partners, but the hull's shape no doubt has other advantages, including better tracking and better performance when the waves are smaller or larger.

Paddling a wooden boat was great.  Always nice to have a light load to carry up and down the beach in the evening, and it's fun to get questions from passers-by.  "Did you make that?"  However, the keel line of the boat really took a beating on some stretches of BC's rocky coast, and I needed to carry out field repairs, to toughen the bottom of the boat, more than once.  In the future, I plan to install double or maybe triple layers of fiberglass tape soaked in epoxy thickened with graphite along the keel, which would solve most of these problems without too much of a weight penalty.

I had some negative experiences with CLC's low-tech skeg system early on in the trip.  The skeg, made out of a rigid plastic, would bend out of shape over the course of a day in such a way that it would pop out of the skeg box, and I would find myself mysteriously weathercocking when I thought the skeg was down.  I eventually figured out how to make the system work (and found it to be more foolproof than most skeg systems I've used).  In the future, though, I would shy away from this system, which makes re-entry from the stern of the kayak--like cowboy scramble re-entry--more difficult by placing a large obstruction in the way of a cowboy re-entry or other, similar technique (the top of the skeg projects out of the deck).  The next kayak I build will use a different system.

The good news is that cowboy scrambles would be very unlikely, since I found rolling the fully loaded kayak to be exceptionally easy.  I was initially a little concerned about capsizes and rolling with a loaded boat, due mostly to cautionary statements from more experienced paddlers: "Sure you can roll, but have you ever tried to roll a loaded kayak?  It's hard!"  I found the opposite to be true.  Indeed, rolling the loaded boat was a breeze, and a nice easy way to cool off on hot days.

Paddles

I carried three (!) paddles with me on the trip.  The first was a Werner Shuna (carbon), which is a high-angle touring blade that I've been using for years.  The second was a full-sized Greenland paddle that I made myself, and the third was a Greenland "storm paddle," a short paddle for high winds that some modern Greenland-style paddlers use as a spare.

At the beginning of the trip, I treated the Greenland paddle as a bit of a novelty, and spent most of my time paddling with the Werner.  Through much of the BC section, though, I paddled exclusively with the full-sized Greenland paddle, and really fell in love with it.  It's possible that it's a bit slower than the Werner (hard to say for sure), and is definitely a bit heaver (cedar, not carbon, after all).  However, over time, I found myself feeling more secure with the Greenland blade in chop and swell, because I found it easier to roll with, and also because the shape of the loom and blades makes it much easier to intuitively understand the position of the blade relative to the water, leading to a much lower probability of a missed stroke.  Towards the end of the trip, I would tend to use the Werner when conditions were calm and switch to the Greenland blade when conditions were rough, or when I was doing long crossings.  Unfortunately, due to an error I made in the construction process, I broke the Greenland paddle shortly after I crossed into Alaska (actually, the day I arrived in Ketchikan).  I missed it for the remainder of the trip and have just finished building a replacement, which I plan to use this summer.

Interestingly, by the end of the trip, I found that my paddling style had changed a bit, from a relatively high-angle stroke to a lower-angle stroke better suited to the Greenland blade.

Although I still use it as a spare, I never really felt comfortable with the storm paddle in rough conditions; because of the way the paddle is used (exclusively with a sliding stroke), I would sometimes find myself wanting to brace on the right side (for example) while holding the right blade in my hand, requiring me to switch hands to brace on that side.  A few times, I was caught off guard by reflecting and/or refracting waves and was unable to brace as quickly as I would have liked.  I never capsized, but I found myself shying away from the storm paddle in sketchy conditions, generally preferring the full-sized Greenland paddle.  Odd, since the storm paddle is supposedly intended for windy conditions.  I will continue to use the storm paddle on short paddles (maybe half-heartedly) but may leave it behind on my next big trip.

Wetsuits and Drysuits

Until this summer, I was exclusively a devotee of wetsuits for paddling.  I own several, including a heavy, 6mm wetsuit for winter paddling in Juneau, a farmer john, and a neoprene two-piece dealy that I used for a good stretch this summer.  The reason I preferred wetsuits is, first, that I've found drysuit latex gaskets to be very uncomfortable on my skin (especially my neck) and almost unbearably painful after several days, and second, that I've found drysuits to be much less reliable, because gaskets and fabric tend to fail and often are not completely waterproof, making them less effective (sometimes completely ineffective).  By contrast, a wetsuit would require a really significant failure to make it ineffective, and I've generally found that wetsuits keep me warm under even the coldest conditions here in Alaska.

This summer, unfortunately, I had some very negative experiences with my wetsuit arrangement.  After a week or two of paddling, I found that my wetsuit top was wearing holes on my skin around the back of my shoulders and upper arms, and in the crook of my right arm (just the right arm, for some reason).  It probably goes without saying that having large, open sores in the salt water environment was pretty uncomfortable.  In Prince Rupert, I transitioned to a drysuit (actually, dry bibs and a dry top).  I found that system much more comfortable, and I was able to keep my issues with the dry top neck gasket at bay by using K-Y Jelly on the inside of the neck gasket.  The two piece arrangement was very convenient in camp, where I used the dry bibs as rain pants and often wore them from dawn to dusk.  The bib/drytop setup also kept me completely dry while rolling.  However, it does allow some water in at the waist while swimming, making it somewhat less safe than a full-body drysuit.  I intend to buy such a drysuit before my next trip on the outer coast, but I'm quite comfortable with the two piece system in less exposed places.

Other Paddling Gear

I had trouble with paddling gloves all summer.  I very quickly destroyed a pair of NRS paddling gloves (though a heavy-weight pair of paddling mittens I own has been going strong for years), and had trouble finding replacements, destroying at least two more pairs of gloves over the course of the summer.  For some reason, every conceivable retail operation sells neoprene gloves in Alaska, but not in coastal BC or Washington State.  In the end, my favorite paddling gloves for most conditions were inexpensive neoprene gloves I bought at the local auto parts store in Juneau.

I've been using a pair of NRS paddling booties for several years.  They work great.  I found that they got much less stinky when I transitioned to the dry bibs and wasn't wearing them with bare feet all day every day.  Weirdly, kind of missed the constant neoprene smell on my skin, though.

On my head in cold weather, I wore a neoprene paddling cap with earflaps and a short brim, also from NRS.  It was an absolute impulse purchase, but was wonderful--great in the rain and wind.  I also carried a neoprene hood to match to my wetsuit, but sent it home after the first few weeks, because I never wore it and found that the water was warm enough by mid-June that it wasn't necessary for rolling practice.  My sun hat was an old crushable cowboy/gardening hat with a wide brim.

I picked my PFD (life jacket, not Permanent Fund Dividend) because it was comfortable and had pockets for safety gear, including a radio pocket.  It's from Kokatat.  I started the trip with a Cobra handheld VHF that I held in that pocket, but it got damaged North of Victoria, and I replaced it with a Standard Horizon model in Port Hardy (the guy at the marine electronics store said, "I sell this one to loggers.")  In my PFD pockets, I also carried a few flares, a personal locator beacon, a whistle, dive knife, and swim goggles and earplugs for practicing my rolling.  Towards the end of the trip, I realized I wasn't taking many pictures, so I started carrying my camera in my PFD pocket instead of my swim goggles.

Other standard paddling gear included a bilge pump, sponge, and inflatable paddle float.  I carried snacks, my coffee thermos, water, and sunglasses in a waterproof deck bag from MEC.  That thing was a revelation--the only really waterproof deck bag I've ever used, closed with a screw-in Beckson hatch.  I also installed a compass on deck before the trip and found it to be quite useful for navigating labyrinthine channels in the San Juans and some parts of Southeast Alaska.

Reflections on Kayaking Food

This summer was a new experience for me, and I learned a lot.  However, one area where things generally worked out pretty well for me was in menu planning and cooking.  A few thoughts on food here:

1.  The food dehydrator was a life-saver.  My menu was really enriched by cooking hearty one pot meals and sauces at home, then drying in my home dehydrator.  I found recipes that I liked for chili, spaghetti sauce, beef stroganoff, turkey tagine, chicken jambalaya, and other meals, cooked big batches at home, ate half for dinners and lunches and dried half in the food dryer.  Where recipes called for beef, I would generally use ground turkey or ground chicken (easier to rehydrate).  Turkey pepperoni was another common substitution.  I also spent a lot of time drying fruits and vegetables which I mixed in with my breakfasts and dinners and sometimes ate as snacks.  Frozen corn, broccoli, peas, peppers, and mixed veggies dry up very well and rehydrate easily.

2.  A soup thermos was also very useful.  I carried two vacuum bottles all summer.  The first was a coffee thermos that I would fill up every morning and drink throughout the day--very nice on cold, rainy Southeast Alaska afternoons.  The second was a wide-mouth soup thermos.  I started off with a 16 oz. wide-mouth, then switched to a somewhat larger (18 oz.) container half way through.  Typically, I would use the vacuum bottle to rehydrate my dehydrated dinner, placing the ziplock bag of dehydrated food (chili, stroganoff, whatever) in the container in the morning, and filling the bag part way with boiling water as I cooked my breakfast.  I would then seal the bag, close the bottle, and stow for the day.  In some cases, I would also partially fill the thermos with cous cous or rice as a base for the meal, add the stroganoff (or whatever) and water, and seal.  By dinnertime, the food would be completely rehydrated, and often still warm.  Sometimes I would reheat dinner on my stove, but I would often eat it straight from the thermos or the bag without reheating, even when it was lukewarm (I was usually hungry!)  This approach saved a lot of cooking time and no doubt a fair bit of stove fuel.

3.  My MSR Dragonfly was a great companion.  I spent a lot of time before the trip agonizing about what stove to bring.  I've been spending time in the outdoors for a long time and have accumulated a lot of gear over the years--I considered using an old MSR Simmerlite for the trip, a Jetboil I inherited, an alcohol-burning Trangia, a wood-burning Emberlit and even a stove I made myself out of old pop cans.  All of these alternatives had advantages and disadvantages.  I picked the Dragonfly mostly because it was the newest of my stoves and I thought it was the least likely to let me down halfway.  I found that the Dragonfly's ability to easily simmer at low temperatures was a great advantage on a trip of this length--I believe it saved me a great deal of fuel which ultimately lightened my load,  (especially towards the end of the trip, once I had a good handle on how much fuel I was using).  This despite the fact that the Dragonfly is among the heaviest of my stoves.  For whatever reason, I continue to spend a lot of time weighing the advantages and disadvantages of different types of stoves for paddling, and still want to try out one of those home made soda can stoves on a longish trip, but experiments aside, I had a very good experience with the Dragonfly and will use it again.

4.  Breakfast burritos are great.  Medium sized tortillas are just about the right size to sit efficiently in the bottom of a bear keg, and a single-serving package of ova easy powdered eggs (the best kind, despite the terrible/wonderful pun of a name) makes a great dinner.  I would add instant hash browns, dried vegetables of all kinds, mushrooms, whatever to about a cup of water, bring to a boil, then add eggs and a package of bacon bits, turn off the stove and stir.  Put chunks of cheese in the mix to melt for a minute before eating your burrito with a little salt and hot sauce (in my case, both probably stolen from Taco Bell).  Carl and I often wondered if we could skip the salt and just cook with ocean water, but never tried it.  Maybe next time.  I also have inherited several boxes of freeze dried refried beans that will be part of my repertoire the next time I take a long paddle.

5.  The bear can fits in the cockpit.  Or, at least, my bear can fits in my cockpit, just afore my foot pegs (and my foot pegs held it in place in case of a wet exit).  I would double-bag the food in the bear can with trash bags, which seemed to keep everything dry, even on the couple of occasions I got a lot of water in the kayak (fortunately always from having waves break into the cockpit on a launch or landing--I never unintentionally capsized).  This freed up a lot of space that I could use elsewhere in the boat.  I also carried an ursack that fit right astern of the cockpit, in the stern compartment.  Putting too much weight in the bear can up there towards the bow tended to contribute to weathercocking in a tailwind, so I would consider using two ursacks in the stern and figuring out another way to use the cockpit space.  I did have to bear bag food a few times, and I paddled with partners who bear-bagged the whole time, but hanging your food is such a pain and takes so much time--bear cans and ursacks are much easier and work fine.

Other meals that I really enjoyed included dehydrated mashed potatoes (actually served with chili), fettuccine carbonara, and mac and cheese.  These last two I would also use packaged "real" bacon bits, and I added peppers to the mac and cheese where I could (should have dried a bunch of jalapeños before the trip but didn't think of it).  Also used powdered whole milk ("Nido").

On the other hand, I planned to eat a fair bit of curry (with Japanese-style curry blocks) served with noodles or rice, cashews and dried veggies, but got tired of that pretty quickly.  Also brought a little spice jar of fish rub which I never used.  Didn't spend enough time fishing, though on a trip with a more relaxed itinerary, that might come in handy.

Of course, everybody's tastes are a little different, and the things that I really enjoyed eating might not be very good for other people.  The trick for me has been to gradually build up a repertoire of eight or ten meals that I really like and can cook easily in the backcountry.  That's plenty of variety, even for a long trip.  I've stolen a lot of ideas from paddling partners!

With regard to gear for cooking, most of my setup was pretty traditional.  I used a small (1.5 qt.) pot that fit my stove, though I generally prefer a somewhat smaller coffee-pot, which I find useful for pouring and draining pasta.  My coffee pots don't fit my stove well, though (where I generally store the stove) or don't fit in small dry bags, and I've had bad luck getting salt water and sand in the stove fuel line if I don't dry bag it up.  I also brought a folding backpackers grille, but mailed it home fairly quickly, and carried a folding saw all summer but almost never used it.  I have been on kayak trips in the past when I regretted not  carrying a saw, and In retrospect, I might still carry one, but would probably carry a small handheld folding model, rather than the homemade bucksaw I used.  Maybe even just a folding knife with a saw blade.  Though I contend that my bucksaw (made it myself!) was much cooler.  Only made fires a few times, and generally on dry evenings when there was plenty of appropriately-sized driftwood about.