Baranof Warm Springs to Sitka--84 miles
Sitka to Kimshan Cove --57 miles
Kimshan Cove to Elfin Cove 61 miles
Elfin Cove to Reid Inlet--63 miles
Sitka is the oldest and most interesting
city in Southeast Alaska. The traditional
homeland of the Tlingit people,
headquarters for the Russian fur traders
and soldiers, the site of the official transfer of Seward's Folly from the Russians to the Americans, and Alaska's first capital, Sitka embodies much of the history and mystique of Alaska. James Michener lived here and worked at Sheldon Jackson College while writing his monumental Alaska; there are two magnificent museums, old growth forests, ravens, eagles, whales, salmon, and, of course, cruise ships.
Sitka is the ancestral home of the Kiksadi Clan of the Tlingit people, and for them, "Sitka" meant "by the sea." According to an ancient Tlingit legend, Raven created the world and established the Tlingit people in this region at the beginning of time. According to European anthropologists, The Tlingit people are descendents of the interior Athabaskan people, who, in turn are descendents of the Chukchi people of eastern Siberia. Chukchi people crossed the Bering Land Bridge from Siberia to Alaska 30,000 years ago, about the same time that the Paleolithic people of Europe who created the great cave art at Lascaux, Trois-Freres, and Niaux were establishing themselves in the Pyrenees.
In 1740 the Danish explorer, Vitus Bering, was the first European visitor to Alaska. Employed by Peter the Great, and following a plan devised by the Russian Emperor, he built two small vessels, St. Peter and the St. Paul, on the Kamchatka Peninsula and sailed them to the Aleutian Islands. Bering's story, beginning with a 6000 mile marathon trek across Siberia to the Kamchatka Peninsula, is both heroic and tragic and Michener's telling of it is well worth reading. Russian fur traders followed Bering, and in 1799 Alexander Baranof built a fort a few miles north of the present-day Sitka. The Tlingits, who had an elaborate culture and established way of life thousands of years old objected, and in 1802 led by a fierce warrior, Kot-le-an, they attacked the fort and massacred most of the Russians and a number of Alutes the Russians had enslaved to work as retrievers for the otters they killed. Two years later the Russians counter attacked and after a fierce battle drove the Tlingits into the forest. In the unfortunate blending of bloody profiteering and religion, the Russians renamed the site "New Archangel."
In the 1867 the Americans bought Alaska from the Russians for $7,200,000--about $12 per square mile. Now the Tlingits who had been forced by the Russians to learn the Russian language, were forced to abandon Russian and learn English. Presbyterian missionaries replaced Orthodox Christianity imposed by priests and profiteers with Presbyterian Christianity enforced by missionaries and soldiers. When the Tlingit objected, the US Navy shelled the villages of Kake and Wrangell in 1869 and destroyed Angoon in 1882, solidifying US control. Thus, the Russians and Americans attempted to civilize the ancient Tlingit culture in the 18th and 19th centuries just as the Russians and the Americans have attempted to civilize the people of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran, home of the oldest cultures in the western world, in the 20th and 21st centuries.
Smallpox, introduced by Europeans in 1835-1839, decimated the Tlingit more effectively than muskets and bibles and left the field open for Catholics, Anglicans, United Church, Protestants, Mormons and Pentecostals to convert the few remaining Tlingit to modern religion. The bawdy and raucous shamanic myths of Raven and his cronies, wolf, eagle, and killer whale, were replaced by stories of Adam, Noah, Sodom and Gomorrah
The Tlingit culture is experiencing resurgence today as artists, carvers, and story tellers work in Sitka. A beautiful Tlingit Mystical Warrior carved and painted by Peter Charile of the Capilano Reservation far to the south hangs above my computer.
Sitka is also home to Mike and Mim McConnell who live aboard their boat, Gwynfyd. I first met Mike and Mim at Baranof Warm Springs and our friendship flourished each summer for several years. Mike is working on a sequel to his first book, Hand Troller. Mim is a graphic artist, web designer, photographer, and all-around Renaissance woman. You can find them aboard Gwynfyd in the harbor, or at www.mimsgallery.com. Some of Mim's beautiful photographs of magical Alaska accompany this article.
Even before fishing, logging, oil drilling and tourism exploited the riches of Alaska, the fur traders had their way with the virgin country. The fur trade was fabulously lucrative for the Russians, who traded the luxuriant sea otter pelts to wealthy Europeans and Chinese. First the Russians and then the Americans used torture and murder to enslave the gentle Alutes and Tlingits, forcing these people who had survived for centuries in these islands and waters to participate in the carnage. The friendly, curious, and inquisitive sea otters were unafraid and their slaughter by Russian muskets was ruthless, bloody, and deadly--both for otters and people. The muskets fired until their barrels were red hot. Aleut and Tlingit slaves were sent into the frigid water like bird dogs to retrieve the dead otters although ninety percent of the bodies had already sunk beyond reach. If the native slaves refused, they, too, were shot or tortured-- collateral damage to the slaughter of the sea otters. But even the ten percent recovery rate was sufficient to maintain a lucrative fur trade until the 1850's when the otters had almost all been killed.
When the otters were gone, the Russians and Americans left. As with subsequent exploitation for gold, timber, fish and oil, the exploiting industries ravished their resource until they forced themselves out of business.
As always, the massacre was legitimated and the murders exonerated by religion. St. Michael's Cathedral, the oldest Orthodox Cathedral in the Western Hemisphere was built in Sitka in 1844.
Today Sitka is a joy to visit. The Pioneer's home provides
state supported retirement facilities for all Alaska residents.
Tlingit artists are at work in shops and museums. St.
Michael's Cathedral and the ancient "Bishops House"
display some of the most precious icons to be found
in the Western Hemisphere. The islands that protect
Sitka from the full force of Pacific storms are pristine.
Mt. Edgecumbe, when not shrouded in clouds, is
magnificent. Bears, eagles, ravens, and salmon find
homes nearby.
From Sitka the route north winds through Olga Strait and
Neva Strait to Salisbury Sound. I try to leave Sitka in time
to be in Salisbury about an hour before slack tide because this is where we fish for salmon. There are several hot spots: off Kalinin Bay, Sinitsin Island, Point Kruzof, and between Morskoi Rock and Sea Rock. I usually follow the local fishing boats. At least one advantage of the cruise business is that local charter boats fish the area, and they know where the salmon are. With dinner on board, there may be time to visit the tribe of sea otters at the Klokachef Islands before heading for one of the several delightful anchorages in Salisbury Sound or inside Kakul Narrows.
Before I moved to the Pacific Northwest and fell in love with the Inside Passage I fished the high mountain lakes and streams of Colorado and Montana for the magnificent brook, cutthroat, and rainbow trout. There is something pure, pristine, and simple about fly fishing for trout. An ancient split bamboo rod, eventually retired in favor of Orvis graphite, a single action reel, double tapered line, some leader, and a small collection of Royal Coachmen, Humpies, Mosquitoes and Black Gnats was enough. Hip boots, an old wicker creel with damp willow leaves in the bottom, and a small landing net completed the gear list. The pace was slow, intense, and relaxed. On hookup, the action was simple. A wild trout on one end of the line and my left hand on the other end: a gentle and subtle tug of war with the winner determined by wit, skill, and luck.
Then I moved to the Northwest and the scenario changed. Fishing for salmon is definitely gear-intensive. You need a boat, depth sounder, heavy salmon rods, substantial Penn reels with adjustable drag, downriggers, ten pound leads, release mechanisms, a hardware store full of spoons, hoochies, herring strips, plugs, flashers, swivels, a huge unwieldy landing net, and hundreds of yards of monofilament.
And then, after you learn to manipulate all this gear, you have to learn where the salmon are. As with real estate, salmon fishing is about location, location, location. First in Elsa and then in Raven I dragged weights, spoons, flashers, hoochies, herring strips and herring plugs through the deep and mysterious waters of the San Juan Islands for countless days before I began to figure it out. Finally I located my special fishing holes: the two submerged pinnacles off Carter Point, Boulder Reef, Point Lawrence, and the navigation marker at Post Point. I learned that it is not a matter of being in the vicinity; you have to be dead on--thirty feet one way or the other does not work.
Gear intensive, rainy weather, and illusive salmon can be frustrating. But all is forgotten at the call of "fish on." With that signal, as the line screams off the reel, a definite protocol sets in. All hands join the drill and the focus is absolute and electric. The helmsman brings the engines to neutral, marks the exact location of the strike, either by triangulation or GPS, and then devotes total attention to keeping the boat off the rocks.
On the back deck all hands attend the dancing rod. The
hook is set, the drag checked, and the rod handed to the
designated fisherman. Gratuitous advice arrives from all
quarters: "Keep the rod tip up." "Let him run." "Watch
out, he's turning, reel faster." "Don't touch the drag." And while instructions are barked and advice liberally voiced, all hands turn to clearing the decks for battle. The other fishing lines are retrieved and the rods stowed on the side decks, the downriggers cranked up, and the weights secured. The focus of the entire crew is intense. Eventually the quarry reveals himself: if a King he heads for the depths, if a Coho he clears the surface in a sparkling spray as he attempts to throw the hook. Eventually he tires and is led to the side of the boat. The magnificent salmon glows iridescent green and silver beneath the surface. Now comes the moment of truth. More fish are lost when they are spooked by the landing net than at any other time. The net must be surreptitiously lowered into the water and carefully brought up under the fish. The temptation to scoop at him is great, but the results disastrous. One hint of the net and he is off again. Netted and gasping on the deck, he is admired by all. Pictures are taken. A blow by a ceremonial club ends his struggle and the rich, orange fish is cleaned and washed until every bit of blood is removed, and he is slipped into the cooler filled with salt water. The fish keeps much better in 58 degree salt water than in ice where the fresh water begins immediately to break down the flesh.
In the past I would sometimes return to fishing, but now I generally quit when there is enough to eat. I like to believe that my practice falls close to the ethic of traditional people: catch what you can eat, honor the animal that feeds you, and, with thanks, enjoy the meal.
With dinner aboard and the fishing gear stowed, we head for Kakul Narrows and anchorage for the night. There are several good anchorages in the area, so just take your pick. That evening, alder chips on the grill add their distinctive smoky flavor to the grilled salmon, replicating an ancient and traditional method of cooking.
The trip through Peril Strait is quintessential Alaska. There is a considerable tidal current and a narrow channel marked by seventeen navigational aids, so sailing with the tide is a good idea. Peril Strait is not named for this intricate passage, but rather for a famous banquet thrown by local Tlingit people for early European fur traders. The main course was clam chowder poisoned by deadly algae from a red tide algae bloom. The fatal results did not contribute to peaceful cross cultural understanding.
Peril Strait empties into Hoonah Sound, a great place to watch for Orcas and Humpbacks. Morris Reef, at the confluence of Chatham Sound is good halibut fishing.
From Florence Bay it is two hours south to Baranof Warm
Springs. Anchored at Baranof, we visit the hot springs,
fish for trout in the river, watch the grizzlies, and mellow
out. Day trips explore Tenakee Springs, Basket Bay,
Kelp Bay, Cosmos Cove, Kasnyku Bay, Waterfall Cove,
Takatz Bay, and, most especially, Red Bluff Bay. Grey,
Humpback and Orca whales frequent Point Gardner.
A float plane comes to take us home. From the dock
at Baranof a twenty minute flight over Baranof Lake
and the Mount Bassie ice field delivers us in Sitka. Two
hours more by jet, and we are back in Seattle.
From Sitka to Baranof provides a week full of adventure,
but if time permits us two weeks, we head for Glacier
Bay. From Sitka, we head north through Salisbury Sound and out into the open ocean until we tuck back inside at Ogden passage and a quiet anchorage in the eerily beautiful Kimshan Cove. Then a dip in one of the best hot springs in the Northwest: White Sulphur Springs. It's a bit of a trick getting there, but worth every bit of it. Don Douglass and Reanne Hemingway-Douglass tell you exactly how to do it in Exploring Southeast Alaska.
The best route to Glacier Bay is through Lisianski Strait with perhaps a side trip to the Native village of Pellican where provisions and repairs are available. The next stop is Elfin Cove, a unique Scandinavian village perched on boardwalks around a small harbor. There is a small store, friendly people, and lots of atmosphere. If Dave Walton is there, he is the best guy in the entire Northwest for electronic gear purchase or repair. If the harbor is full, I head for Inian Cove which I share with a tribe of sea otters.
Glacier Bay, when visited by George Vancouver in 1794 was filled with ice to the entrance at Icy Strait. John Muir visited in 1879 and was largely responsible for Glacier Bay eventually becoming a national monument and park. Archeological and anthropological evidence suggests that the ice was not so advanced earlier and that it was the home of Tlingit people who inhabited the lower bay for many centuries until about three hundred years ago when the glaciers advanced. Since then, the glaciers have again been in retreat. Now, with global warming well underway, the glaciers are retreating at an alarming rate. The accompanying map, helpfully supplied by Bill Eichenlaub, a Glacier Bay park ranger, shows the extent of glacial retreat.
Visitor pressure on Glacier Bay is immense and the Park Service does its best to balance environmental preservation with tourist access. The number of cruise liners is restricted as is the number of pleasure boats, and advance reservations are required. Inside the park there is a whole world: a sea lion rookery which you can smell from a mile away, whales, bears, sea otters, moose, and rare and magnificent tufted puffins. Anchorages are deep and isolated, but there are many. My favorites are at the head of Reid Glacier and in North Sandy Cove where a family of moose lives.
Glacier Bay provides a journey back in time. Hundreds of feet above the waterline the basalt cliffs are scared by striations left by the ever moving glaciers. At the head of each inlet there is no vegetation, just as the end of the last ice age, but as you retreat from the head of inlet, moving toward the more open water, first lichen and then algae emerge; then come the mosses and ferns, then scrub willow and alder. Finally, all the flora and fauna of the rain forest greet us and we feel that we have made a journey of ten thousand years in two hours.
Leaving Glacier Bay, the bow points south into Icy Strait. We have traversed the Inside Passage, learned its lessons in natural history, environmental destruction and protection, anthropology, cross cultural communication and exploitation, maritime custom and skills, navigation, salmon, eagles, and wilderness. And perhaps we have learned something about ourselves, our assumptions, and our perspectives. Now we head south to our familiar civilization--and home.