Kayaking in Glacier Bay, Alaska: More doable than you might think

Richard Dieter
Sep 4, 2018 · 14 min read

-With Maggie Louden (First of three articles)

Glacier Bay is one of the most amazing places in terms of sheer beauty and wildlife. The fact that you can explore this wilderness on your own transforms a visit there into an unforgettable experience. We hope this narrative of our kayak trip into Muir Inlet will encourage and empower others to explore it as well. (Questions, comments: rdieter004@gmail.com)

In case you’re thinking this trip sounds wonderful but you would never attempt it, you should know that we are not lifetime campers, kayakers, or adventurers. For much of our lives, we camped only rarely, kayaked never, and found adventure in family and trying to be of service to other people. The wilderness always beckoned, but the most we had time for was a good hike.

If you like the outdoors, you’ve probably been attracted to Alaska. We were. On our first trip we drove a lot, took a tour to calving glaciers in Prince William Sound, saw grizzlies and other creatures in Denali National Park, and much more. Of course, we wanted to go again.

Eventually, we chose a trip to Glacier Bay National Park. We wanted to get a little closer to the park than the vantage from a huge cruise ship. To be honest, we are just not “cruise people,” though that is how thousands of people see and enjoy the park daily during the late spring and summer. We chanced upon a small-boat experience on the Sea Wolf, which departed from the dock at the park headquarters close to the town of Gustavus and went up the West Arm.

The trip offered an unbelievable experience that we’ve reminisced about for years. This article is not about that trip, but it was our introduction to sea kayaking, to seeing wildlife up close, to exploring the beauty of this wilderness in a way we never thought possible. We certainly weren’t ready to do such a trip on our own, but we learned that we could kayak together, that we could get from point A to point B in a tiny boat in a vast area, and that every day was a complete adventure, with surprises and breathtaking beauty.

When our 40th wedding anniversary approached, we felt we might be ready for something truly special. We knew we could get in an out of a kayak (not as easy as it sounds!), we could launch from a rocky beach and land where we might find a suitable campsite. We knew we could make it a few nights in a tent. We weren’t so sure about our navigating skills, or about packing everything we’d need in the small space of a sea kayak, to say nothing of bears or the surprises that would inevitably crop up. But we decided to pursue this adventure as far as we could. If we deemed it too risky, given our limitations, we’d reevaluate.

Here are some helpful things we learned along the way:

  • The folks at Glacier Bay Sea Kayaks are enormously helpful and supportive of those who want to take a self-guided trip into the wilderness of Glacier Bay.
  • The rangers at the national park are professional, informative, and caring people who take care of this park for everyone, including future generations.
  • Navigating on this trip was made a whole lot easier because we chose to kayak up Muir Inlet (the East Arm), turn around at the top, and then kayak back down on the same side of the inlet. The only thing we had to do to stay in the right direction was to keep the shore on our right going up and on our left going back. No motorized craft are allowed in the East Arm.
  • Tides are very important. You need to know the time for the high and low tides in the exact region you’ll be in for the days you will be on the water. We hadn’t appreciated the importance of respecting the tides until this trip. Every night, you need to camp above the high-tide mark. Otherwise you will get wet and you may lose essential equipment (such as your kayak). Tides are also important because they tell you whether the current is flowing up inlet or down inlet. You can kayak against the tides, but it’s a lot easier to go with them. In some locations, the times of low tides are critical because passage is impossible then.
  • A tiny white-gas stove is the difference between bare survival and actually enjoyable meals.
  • There’s lots of water in Glacier Bay. It provides the highways to incredible scenery, it inevitably will fall on you occasionally during your trip, and you will need to find some flowing from the numerous glaciers to replenish your supply for drinking and cooking.
  • Finally, planning is half the fun. Moreover, it forces you to think through exactly what you’re going to do each day: when to wake up, when to get out on the water, when to pull in to camp for the night, what to eat, and how all of this interacts with the tides, and how far you want to go. In reality, you will not be able to keep to your plan. Almost every day will have complete surprises that force you to change your plans, making this an adventure that challenges your adaptability and creativeness. Sometimes you’re able to get back on schedule; sometimes not, though the unexpected is often more rewarding than the plan.

So, let’s get rolling.

Although this was our first solo backcountry kayaking trip, we had a few group excursions under our belt. Besides kayaking with the Sea Wolf out of Gustavus, we had kayaked and camped in Prince William Sound (to Columbia Glacier) and in Johnstone Straits (orca watching) out of Telegraph Cove in B.C. Both were great trips, and we learned a lot.

Still, I’d have to say we were a little unprepared for what a solo trip would be like. We had the right gear, had carefully plotted our journey on a nautical map, we had tide tables and adequate food. We were pretty good at pitching camp and using our white-gas stove. We had paddled together many times.

However, we almost turned back after our first day. Before setting out, we had excellent orientations from the National Park Service and from the folks at Glacier Bay Sea Kayaks. We were reasonably sure we could pack everything for our six-night trip into the kayak. What could go wrong?

Muir Inlet, Day 1

We rose very early at the lodge. (Fyi, you can camp for free nearby). It was raining, no surprise there. We had a big wheelbarrow next to our door so we could get everything down to the dock by 7 AM for the tour boat, which would take us and our kayak up the inlet to the dropoff point at Mt. Wright. There’s a lot of gear for such a trip, and you can’t forget anything. We had stored the kayak on the dock overnight.

Our kayak on board the tour boat that would drop us off for the start of our journey

As the time came to leave, our hearts were beating rapidly. It was going to be the trip of a lifetime, but we were not at all sure that we could pull it off. We helped the deckhands load the heavy kayak onto the tour boat, and we stored all our gear in a secure corner inside the boat. Tourists for the day trip were happily lining up, looking curiously at our activities (just as we had done when we were tourists).

The boat pulled out on schedule, and it really dawned on us that this trip into the unknown was beginning. The guide began talking about the wildlife that could be seen on the trip. Our minds were elsewhere, double checking for paddles, rain gear, etc. We knew when we reached the dropoff in about an hour we had to be ready to act quickly. The boat can’t linger long, and there is no dock. It has to run like clockwork or the boat could get grounded.

The tour boat pulls away leaving the two of us to figure things out in the wilderness for six days.

We were nervous, but ready. Down the ladder, pass the kayak and all the gear along a chain of folks and onto the rocky beach. We were the only ones getting off that day, so we were really on our own. The boat pulled away, and we waved. If all went well, we’d see the boat again in seven days at the same spot and the same time.

Maggie adeptly back-paddles as our proficiency improved

We were excited to get on the water. We had planned a very reasonable 9 miles of kayaking per day. That would get us up to the glaciers at the top of the inlet with enough time to get back, quickly explore Adams Inlet, and have some time to spare in case the weather got really bad.

The first challenge was getting the kayak near the water so we could load it up as it was floating. If you fill it up first you have a very heavy load to get down to the water’s edge. However, you can’t leave the kayak floating while you go back and forth with the gear. And if the tide is going out, the water keeps receding. (If the tide is coming in, it can pick up the kayak or soak your gear when you’re not looking.)

We figured that all out. It was a real challenge fitting everything in the portals of the kayak. You don’t want too much by your feet as it could interfere with paddling or steering. You also don’t want to strap much on top because it will get wet and block your view. We went through a number of arrangements and finally had everything in–except us.

When you kayak with a group, there is always someone to steady the kayak as you climb in and to even push you gently off if you touch bottom. Getting aboard with just two of us proved difficult. We were told to make sure the kayak was floating when boarding so as not to scrape against the omnipresent rocks. I was in the rear, steadying the back, and Maggie was in the front. One foot in was easy, but when you lift your second leg, you are off land completely and the kayak is unavoidably moving, both laterally and vertically with the waves.

Splash! Maggie was in the water on her back. The water was only inches deep, but cold. Fortunately, she had her rain gear on so only got a little wet inside. Still, this was very alarming. The one thing you have to avoid is hypothermia. If we couldn’t get into the kayak without falling, this was going to be a rough trip.

Her second attempt produced the same result. Funny, but also scary. I abandoned the back of the kayak and stood shoulder to shoulder as Maggie got in. Then she steadied the boat with her paddle dug into the shoreline as I gingerly got in the back. We were so anxious to get underway that we didn’t take time to get onto the steering pedals or to fully secure our spray skirts.

You can paddle without using the foot rudder, but it does make it easier to steer. You shouldn’t start without securing your spray skirts. The problem is, once you’re out in deeper waters you’re hesitant to make any sudden moves like reaching behind yourself or leaning way forward to get the skirts attached.

But we were at least on our way. The kayak was moving and we were reasonably comfortable. It continued to rain gently but steadily. Our next mistake was not absolutely identifying the cove we had to return back to in 7 days. We were aware of the need to do so, but were perhaps too rushed. We noted the shape of the cove and the unmelted snow high up on the hillside. We even took a picture as were leaving. We hoped that would be enough.

We soon discovered that the whole length of Muir Inlet is a series of coves, some wide, others narrow. Many look alike. The only sure landmark we’d see on this first day was Adams Inlet, a broad opening heading perpendicular to Muir. As we rounded the tip of each cove we kept expecting to see Adams, but we had no measure of our speed so it was hard to tell how far we had traveled.

Finally, we saw Adams opening widely to our right. Generally, we had been keeping close to the shore as it gave us a sense of security. But crossing the mouth of Adams was a long stretch of open water. Plus, the wind had kicked up away from the shore and the rain continued. We noticed we were a little cold and we had some water in the kayak because the skirts weren’t fully on. After going maybe a quarter of the way across, we decided it was too rough. We turned around and headed back to the southern shore of Adams Inlet.

We found a piece of land that jutted out into the inlet and had a narrow landing area. We pulled in and assessed our situation. The day had been pretty much a failure. We were damp and a little cold (it was probably about 45 degrees). We hadn’t come close to reaching our mileage for the day, and we still had the crossing in front of us. The spit of land we were on did have high ground, but it would be a lot of work getting all of our gear and the kayak far above any rising tide. An Oyster Catcher came out to tell us she was not happy with our landing site and watched our every move. We avoided her nest, and eventually she put up with us.

An Oyster Catcher keeps an eye on the visitors to her domain.

We got the tent pitched and the gear stowed. We moved the kayak about halfway to safety, knowing we had more work to do after resting. I told Maggie to get in the sleeping bag and warm up, while I sat and watched the tide. Eventually, we moved the kayak higher up. We ate some snacks but decided not to cook. We both climbed in the tent, bundled up and got the shivering to stop. We slept fitfully, but long enough to feel rested.

First night’s camp at the mouth of Adams Inlet

Muir Inlet, Day 2

Maggie ready to roll after a rough first day.

This trip was not Maggie’s first choice, and I had to persuade her that we should give it a try. So, I felt it was my responsibility to suggest that maybe we were in over our heads. When I crawled out of the tent in the very early morning light, Maggie was already starting the stove to get some coffee going. I asked if she thought we should continue, and she immediately said yes, of course. She was rested and reasonably warm, the rain had lessened, the crossing looked clam–why not keep going. I was overjoyed and suddenly felt confident again. We’d figure this out.

We took our time so that we’d get things right without rushing. Yes, we were behind in our mileage, but the purpose of the trip was to kayak by ourselves in one of the most beautiful parts of the world, not to get to a particular destination and turn around. We saw some porpoises swimming near shore. The Oyster Catcher greeted us. We had warm oatmeal, coffee, and a roll. We were feeling pretty good.

One thing we noticed is that overnight the tide had risen and our spit of land had become an island. Good thing we had gone to high ground.

When we had everything packed and had completed our new boarding technique, we were ready to push off. This time we’d stay nice and dry (note: there is no such thing as nice and dry on a kayak trip in southeast Alaska).

The channel of Adams was still broad, so we kayaked into the inlet to where it became narrower and completed the crossing without incident. There weren’t many landmarks between Adams and the glaciers at the northern end of Muir. We knew we’d pass steep cliffs where no landing was possible. Check. There also was a small mountain we should be able to spot from the water. That would tell us how far we had gone by checking our map.

The problem with coves is that you either have to take the long and safe way and follow the land, or you can take the direct route from tip to tip (like the diameter of a half circle), but further from land. As we gained kayaking confidence, we tried to stay further out in the inlet to shorten our distance. However, if you’re going against the tide–as you have to do occasionally–the current is stronger out in the inlet compared to closer to shore.

At one point, we tried to measure our progress by noting how long it took to pass a particular large rock on shore. We kayaked and kayaked and the water moved under us, but we were making little progress in passing the rock. Not good. Plus we were getting tired. Time for some rest and a lunch snack.

We pushed hard to get to the shore without drifting south. The shore looked good, gently sloping with only small rocks. We thought we saw a bear scamper away as we were nearing shore, but he was long gone when we landed.

Grizzly informs us that this is his beach.

Granola bars and trail mix were suddenly interrupted when the bear returned. He was a reddish brown grizzly, and he was eyeing us carefully. We slowly retreated to the water, standing behind our kayak. We each had bear spray, though one canister was a little out of date. (Always wondered how long they were good for. Hopefully, we wouldn’t find out.) We also held our paddles, so altogether we looked large.

The grizzly was not approaching us. Instead, he walked the highline of the beach, as if to say this was his territory. No argument here. He looked directly at us. I didn’t dare take a picture because even the click of the camera might spook him. He walked about 50 yards, then turned around and walked back, reinforcing his territory. I did snap a picture when he wasn’t looking at us.

Fortunately, he kept walking and disappeared into the woods. We kept a close eye for his return while we sat and ate a little, partly in the kayak just in case. Between the adrenaline and the rest, we were ready to go again. We kept closer to the shoreline and made steady progress.

We started looking for a good campsite, but we could be choosy since the beaches started improving–gradual slopes, smaller rocks, streams of fresh water. When we finally settled on a great spot and figured out about where we were on the map, we were amazed that we had fully made up our mileage from our shaky first day. We were less than a day’s paddle from the glaciers we were aiming for. We probably did 13 miles that day.

Looking across the inlet from our second campsite. The iceberg broke off from the glacier further up the inlet.

It was a beautiful spot, right across from the mountains. There was open beach in both directions so we’d see anything approaching us long before it arrived (except for when we were sleeping in the tent; tried not to dwell on that fact).

Sky begins to clear

Two more chapters to follow. Read the next chapter at https://medium.com/@rdieter/glaciers-bears-while-paddling-in-paradise-bf4ce10f75d3

Richard Dieter

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Richard Dieter has had a lifelong interest in science, nature, and human rights. “Reflections on a Surprising Universe,” will be published in Nov. 2019.

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