The residents of Shaman Island are unkind.

 

The polar explorer Amundsen said, “Adventure is just bad planning. “Some parts of the past weekend were that kind of adventure. 

La Pequeñita. Shaman Island.
It's just offshore of Douglas Island, Alaska 

I bought a12 foot wooden dory a few years ago. The dory is fun and she’s called La Pequeñita, the little one. She’s only twelve feet long. That’s 3.5 meters for those of you from more advanced countries. Up until this weekend I have used her for day trips. I set crab pots which usually takes about an hour to oar out, check the pots, and oar back to shore.  I can launch her by myself easily if I can drive down the water so I usually launch in North Douglas on the gravel beach by the boat ramp. When not in the water La Pequeñita lives on the trailer I use to haul firewood. I also have used the dory to access the Mendenhall Glacier. Once again, easy launch on Mendenhall Lake at the non-motorized boat launch. I have done other day trips but I have never taken La Pequeñita on an overnighter even though she’s perfect for it. However, I found this weekend that there’s a learning curve. The setting for this simple overnighter is the Inside Passage, a shipping route that is protected from open ocean swells by hundreds if thousands of islands, many of them uninhabited. The Inside Passage allows small craft to navigate for a thousand miles in the Pacific Northwest. How could I not get a small craft and set to sea when it’s theoretically easy. I only traveled a short distance on a calm sunny day and found that things aren’t always easy. 

Saturday night, I went camping on Shaman Island and I took my guitar and my dog Duane. Even a small dory can carry enough weight that you don’t have to eat dehydrated food or worry much about light weight gear. My maiden dory camping trip went well but there were several things I don’t hope to do again. Amundsen might call it bad planning. 

I set out to oar to Portland Island because there’s a beach on the south end I have seen before that looks great. Portland Island is part of the Channel Islands State Park. Nobody lives out there and the beach faces south. It was about 80 degrees on Saturday. Portland Island is about 2 miles long and a few hundred yards wide, and about four miles from the launch that I planned to use. I figured about two hours to get there in a dory. I drove to the same beach where I launch to set crab pots but it was high tide and the beach was mostly covered with water. The uncovered parts of the beach were occupied by a tourist company doing sea kayak tours.  I could have worked around them to launch and in retrospect, I should have. Instead, I drove down the road half a mile to False Outer Point and then hauled my boat down the trail to the sea. It’s about 150 yards from the parking lot to the beach and I figured it would be easy enough since I have these wheels that strap on the dory’s stern that allow me to pull it like a cart. Turns out the wheels sink into sand and soft gravel and it’s a real pain in the ass. Also, I had to be very careful to not smash my boat on rocks. She’s made of wood and can break. Also, I just painted her. There weren’t big rocks at False Outer Point but there were boulders at Shaman Island where I eventually camped.  I built the wheel contraption to haul a dory on dry land with from the wheels off an old lawn mower but they have rusted up and now they don’t spin. Getting to the beach from the parking lot was the first of several struggles. 

Once I got my dory to the water, I looked at Duane and said, “Up puppy.” He’s usually good with that command in the car. I figured it would fine in a dory since he loves water but no… I had to pick him up and lift him into the boat. He did not like the boat and he definitely did not like his life jacket. I figured he needed the life jacket because he might jump into the sea. I was about ready to give up entirely and go camp out somewhere that didn’t involve a boat but I saw a friend who was paddleboarding and he encouraged me to find out if I could acclimate Duane to boat travel. I had already hauled the dory to the beach so I might as well take her to sea. 

Once out in the water, Duane looked a little nervous but fine. I changed my destination on the fly or more appropriately, on the oar, because Duane didn’t look his normal chipper self.  Shaman Island is much closer to shore and only 1.2 miles from False Outer Point. It took me 20 minutes to get to Shaman. It took me a lot longer to get the dory out of the water and above high tide. It was a serious struggle. I had to bridge boulders with my oars, place life jackets on the oars and drag the boat five feet, move the oar contraption ahead, and repeat for half an hour. Duane was glad that his life jacket was not on him anymore.  

Once La Pequeñita was safely above high tide, I made a fire, played some guitar, cooked some hot dogs, and read my book. I played fetch with Duane by throwing sticks in the sea. It was a hot day so I went swimming.  I set the tent in a spot where it was clear that others had set up before. Then I returned to my campfire and played more music. I watched the sunset and it was most spectacular. I heard the sound of hundreds of ravens in the forest on the island but didn’t much about it. Once again, Amundsen might think bad planning. 

Around ten o’clock I went to the tent and soon found that ravens own Shaman Island. A man and dog are not welcome. By the time I noticed it was already dark and the tent was already set up so I climbed in and tried to sleep. The scene was like that old Alfred Hitchcock movie The Birds. They swooped and made threatening sounds. Ravens are very vocal and can morph their voices into crazy rage. Still, it was late and I didn’t anywhere else to set the tent. Soon, the bombing missions started. A raven isn’t that large but you don’t want an unkindness of ravens flying at your head. All that separated me from the angry birds was a thin layer of tent fabric. I had set my tent under a rookery, or nesting site.

By morning my tent was covered in raven shit. I was glad the tent stopped the shit storm from a direct hit but it stunk and not a small amount. I did not sleep much at all. I don’t think Duane slept either. By 4AM I could hear the waves lapping the shore and I was stressed out enough that I had an irrational fear that La Pequeñita was afloat and getting beat against the rocks. I tied her off to shore just in case but La Pequeñita is made of wood and really shouldn’t get beat on boulders. I got up and saw that all was fine with La Pequeñita. As I stood there on Shaman Island I could see a faint hint of a sunrise that wasn’t going to arrive for about an hour. I could also hear the ravens celebrating the victory and Duane and I had left for forest and stood next to a boat. 

avens are VERY smart but they don’t usually speak English and my understanding of the raven language is limited to knowing that these birds wanted me to leave. Believe it or not, people have taught ravens to speak English. They are like parrots only smarter. I tried to explain to them that I wasn’t trying to kill them and take over their island but they weren’t listening. Maybe they heard that I am an American and we invade countries that are no threat to us. Maybe the ravens think there is oil on Shaman Island. To our shame, the United States likes to kill for oil, though not for a place to pitch a tent for one night.

At this point I had two choices. Go back to my tent and not sleep and smell raven shit until dawn or I could pack up my gear and go home. I chose the latter and I think I chose wisely. I put on a hat just in case the shitstorm started again while taking down the tent. Once the tent was down, I could finish getting gear together on the beach. Thus, peace was made between me and the raven rookery. I made breakfast in peace. 

It took even more time to nudge La Pequeñita over the rocks and back to the water. I thought it would easier moving La Pequeñita down to the water because gravity was in my favor but no. I had to ensure that she didn’t slide away and bash into things. By 5AM I was oaring into the sunrise toward the beach near where I parked my truck and trailer.  and Duane was looking unhappy again. When I got back to False Outer Point I removed Duane’s life jacket and he wagged his tail. I had a huge task of hauling La Pequeñita and all my gear up a steep hill to the truck. Turns out, sometimes gravity is not your friend. Once I got to the truck I loaded La Pequeñita on the trailer and the journey was done.

Through it all I wasn’t chased by a cyclops and I didn’t have to battle Greek gods. It was one night that was supposed to be easy and simple that wasn’t so easy or simple. That said, all in all it was a good first overnighter. I was a little bruised places but I also got a chance to see an amazing place. I have played music in some very cool places and this was among one of the best.

Douglas Coupland, the author of Generation X, didn’t entirely agree with Amundsen about adventure. Coupland said, “Adventure without risk is Disneyland.” The context suggests that Coupland was not a huge fan of Disneyland. At home I hosed my tent inside and dried it out in the sun.

I don’t want to try to launch a dory by myself unless I can drive to the water. It’s possible to carry La Pequeñita completely out of the water with two people. La Pequeñita only weighs 90 pounds but she’s too awkward for one person. I figure that next time I take Duane to sea, I will bring another human that loves him so one of us can comfort him. He could learn to like boats. Finally, never camp near a rookery of any kind. The birds need their space to make baby birds. 

A flock of ravens is called "An unkindness of ravens." I do not know why.

Chester my backpack companion

 

Lost Coast, California

This is the story of my relationship and travels with Chester. Just so you know, Chester had a life before this life that could be called the pre-existence. One might balk at the notion of a pre existence for logical reasons. By definition, it’s impossible to exist prior to existing. Nevertheless, all evidence suggested Chester existed prior to my knowing that Chester existed. It's also clear that Chester had relations with others prior to me. To care about previous relationships is petty and mean, especially since Chester is a backpack I purchased in a thrift shop for ten bucks in Chester, California. If I were being anthropomorphic and I am, Chester was male due to broad shoulders but you never know. Lots of women and non-binary people have broad shoulders. Chester’s namesake was the town.

Packed but resting in the parking lot in Shelter Cove,
the south terminus of the Lost Coast Trail

The day before going to thrift shop,  I flew to Medford, Oregon and rented a car. From thence, I drove south and east to pick up my daughter and son in law at the end of their 184 mile backpacking trip, which ended in Chester. They hiked several sections of the Pacific Crest Trail. 

We had a few days to kill before our flight home to Alaska and wanted to make the most of the time. They suggested we could go to the Lost Coast and backpack and I told them I didn’t bring a backpack. I brought a guitar but not a backpack.  Incorrectly, I suspected that after 184 miles, they might be done backpacking and car-camp.  After we finished our coffee, we decided to check out the thrift shop and that was when I met Chester the orange backpack. 

The Klamath River, Northern California

Chester, California is a small town in the northern Sierra Nevada an hour or so west of the Red Bluff on highway 36. It’s pretty there and it's on a big lake. Chester the town is hot and dry in the summer like much of interior parts of northern California. It’s far enough north that it might be in Cascades. It’s transition zone. Lassen Peak is just to the north of Chester and it’s a Cascade peak. 

Highway 36 most definitely not the quickest way to travel across CA east to west. The only way for highway 36 to be less remote is for it to not exist. There is a spot with no services for 98 miles. The thrift shop’s proceeds benefited The Humane Society. Resting against the wall of the thrift shop was an external frame-pack, a vintage from probably the seventies. I didn’t notice the waist belt was broken as was one of the zippers. Over the next week every zipper would break. I cobbled together a waist belt with the belt for my pants.

 After buying groceries in Red Bluff and eating really good Mexican food, we got back on 36 and headed west. We camped near the top of a mountain pass on National Forest Land. I don’t think you can have freedom without public land. The sunset impressed. In the morning we continued west along highway 36 in search of the Lost Coast. 

Sydney and David

For those of you that don’t know California, the Lost Coast is easy to find using any online map. It’s a stretch of beach and associated uplands stretching for about 35 miles in northern California. It’s called the Lost Coast because you can only access it by roads at the north and south termini. The Lost Coast itself is only accessed on foot or horseback. We drove to the small town of Shelter Cove at the south terminus and only backpacked one night. We hiked in a few miles, camped out, and hiked back to Shelter Cove again the next day. It’s also called the Lost Coast because it’s the least developed coastline in the United States outside of Alaska. We bought a rotisserie chicken prior to driving to Shelter Cove and carried that chicken in my faithful steed Chester. The weather was cloudy and cool which was a relief after being in the heat. It was 95 degrees in Red Bluff, the only large community on Highway 36. it's not that large.

 

Camping spot in Six Rivers National Forest off Highway 36

So there we were, Sydney, David, Chester and I, lost and found on the Lost Coast. We camped by a mouth of a creek that was full of trout and probably chinook salmon. It’s hard to differentiate juvenile salmonids while standing on the bank. You can’t see the shape of the spots and parr marks but you can see that there are spots and parr marks. Both rainbow trout (steelhead) and chinook salmon are classed as salmonids. Both have vertical lines called parr marks and dark spots but the shape of each is unique.  The creek provided fresh water and the beach provided copious driftwood for a fire. The following day we headed to Clam Beach campground in Mckinleyville, CA. I used to live in Mckinleyville. Clam Beach differs from the Lost Coast in many ways. There’s a freeway nearby, a parking lot, a fee to camp, and an outhouse that smells like an outhouse. The fee, I am told, was installed to keep homeless people out. That seems a shitty thing to do. The smell of the outhouse was honest about what it contains. Clam Beach’s best feature is that it’s public camping adjacent to the communities of Trinidad and Arcata. It also nice that once you get to the beach itself, you can’t hear the freeway or smell the outhouse. The beach is nice. We went on a short hike in Trinidad and ate some great food at one of my favorite restaurants. 

 

Lost Coast

The following day we hiked to the Arcata community forest and hiked in the redwoods in the morning and made a big fire on the beach near Trinidad in the afternoon. In the evening we went to a comedy show in Arcata that was laughable. Really. We laughed a lot. We stayed at Clam Beach again. Northern Humboldt needs more public land. 

The broken T was not intended. A comedian tripped and landed on it.
That was funny too. Nobody was hurt except a sign

The next morning we went to the Farmer’s Market on the plaza in Arcata. It’s an overwhelming display of agricultural products, freshly made food, and local crafts. There was a band playing Cuban music. It was much fun and it happens every Saturday in Arcata. In the afternoon, we went to Flint Ridge in Redwood National Park. There’s a free hike-in campground there and a view overlooking the mouth of the Klamath River. It’s spectacular.  The sunset was impressive again which was nice because the previous days sunsets were kind of underwhelming. Once again, I stuffed old Chester with all I needed to spend the night and packed in. Every day another zipper broke. I think ole Chester has seen many miles of trail and the vinyl is started to erode. Still, Chester was a faithful companion, and I had zero complaints.

Cooking brats over a fire in Humboldt County.
Luffenholz Beach

Sign along Highway 36

The second to final day of this venture was a short hike in Jedediah Smith State Park in huge redwood trees and swinging from a rope swing on the South Fork Smith River. The river was named after Jedediah Smith, not Joseph. That night we drove to the Illinois River, which is in Oregon, not Illinois. It’s a beauty of a river. There are unusual and endemic plants along the Illinois due to basic (high pH) soils. If you ever find yourself in the $8 Mountain area, it’s worth a stop. The following morning, we drove to the Ashland/Medford area. We ate Indian food and hung out in the park while waiting for our flight home.  The last thing I did before checking my luggage was to empty my gear from my faithful companion Chester and set him/her/them next to a trash can at the Medford airport.  Chester’s zippers were shot to hell and it seemed time to take a final trip to oblivion. We all get to oblivion sooner or later.   Chester’s adventure with me was a great time.

 

Sunset, Redwood National Park

Bravo the Tico dog and healing the Americas.

Just so you know, I once met a dog that I call Bravo Tico because he was brave and from Costa Rica. I also should point out that not everyone globally agrees on what the word America means. In my opinion, it's a minor disagreement compared to some we have these days.

Photo from yesterday's run. 

I went on a run yesterday at a trail in Juneau and my thoughts drifted to how to help the United States heal. I also tripped on a rock and fell to the ground and scraped my elbow so maybe I should have been thinking less about morality and more about where to place my feet. If you think I came up with a definitive answer to how the United States can heal, you can quit reading.  I came up with an abstract painting, not a photograph, so it's a reflection of what reality feels like. I thought about a brief encounter I had with a dog a while back. We can learn a lot from dogs. You can also quit reading if you don't want to read about politics. 

I met this dog while staying in a small town on the Caribbean coast of Costa Rica several years ago. I woke up early to go on a run. It's odd that I wake up earlier on vacation than I usually do at home but I digress. We were staying in a little cabin by the beach with rain forest inland. My run took me down a dirt road leading into the jungle. At the beginning of my run, I saw a yellow lab lying flat on his back in the middle of the road, slowly wagging his tail from time to time. I trotted past the dog, he looked at me briefly, and continued to slowly wag his tail and sun his balls. I continued to run down the road.  About ten minutes later I stopped to listen to a group of howler monkeys scream like mad fiends. I suspect their screams were partly that they didn't like another primate invading their rain forest and partly because that's how howler monkeys have fun. I continued my run and saw some brightly colored birds making a ton of noise. I am not a good birder but I suspect macaws. On my way back to our cabin, the yellow lab was still lying in the middle of the road. I don't know how long it had been but not a short amount of time. My second encounter with yellow dog differed from the first because this time there was a pickup truck coming in opposite direction. I had not seen another human all day.  I increased my pace to try and warn the dog off the road before he got hit by a truck but he didn't want to move. He looked up at me, but I guess he liked the feeling of the sun on his balls. The truck driver slowed to a crawl and waved as he eased past me and the yellow lab.  The last time I saw the dog, he was still lying in the road, slowly wagging his tail. The United States might heal if we can muster half the courage of that dog. 

The dirt road leaves the beach
 just to the left of the photo 

The dog's courage arose from NOT doing what I (and the truck driver) thought he should do. His courage arose from doing what HE wanted to do. Deep down every person I know wants to live in a compassionate nation, but we get beat down by the gaslighting.  Everyday some knucklehead (usually Trump) brings up a new thing to fear and we are supposed act like we aren't being gaslighted. Yesterday, there was a fanfare about the how Canada is taking advantage of the United States. With a straight face some people will  forget that Canadians are some of their best friends and that Canada has never been disloyal to the United States. Until now.  Why would they trust us now after we kick them for no reason? Tomorrow we will be gaslighted about something else perhaps even more stupid. We are being gaslighted to believe that the Civil War was not about slavery, that women are better off with limited life choices, that police brutality is not a problem for people of color, and that church and state should not be separate. On and on. We don't have to believe any of it. 

We don't have to echo hate and fear. The government can do a lot of things, but they can't force our minds to conform to their agenda.  The day before yesterday we heard about a plan to displace 2 million people from Gaza permanently, a place they have lived for centuries. Nobody has to agree that it's a good idea and if everybody disagrees, the conversation about the US taking over Gaza will stop. We don't have to agree to a government so small that it can't fit in your bedroom. A government so small that it can crawl inside personal and family decisions like when to have children. A government so small that it tells us when to have sex, when not to have sex, who to have sex with, who sex with, who to marry, and who not to marry.  We don't have to allow the government to plan our families. We don't have to hate or fear immigrants. We don't have to persecute homosexuals or trans people. What did they ever do me? What did they ever do to anyone?  We don't have to agree to any of this stuff. We can resist. Hatemongering is not who we are or at least it's not who I am. Every day we encounter a new line of reasoning for hatred, fearmongering, and division both on a national and global scale. Every day we face a new push to eliminate constitutional checks and balances. I don't have space in this post to list all the threats. It's a new threat every day and many of them are not idle threats. 

Orchid. Cahuita National Park

The dog’s courage was knowing what he wants and not letting some sweaty strange man in running shorts disturb his nap. Courage for humans relies less on arguing with those we disagree with and more on good people having the courage to feel compassion. Given that most people are good inside for the most part, I think it's possible. Every time somebody accuses me and others like me of being woke, I don't have to react. I can ignore it completely or make it clear that I don't agree with anybody that wants to even talk about invading Greenland. It's morally bankrupt. Don't agree with whatever the fearmongering de jour might be. We need to own our own minds and refuse to become part of the fear cycles.  If the act of being woke were not a threat to their grip on power, Trump and Musk wouldn't be losing their shit about “wokeness.” Perhaps woke is what we need. We don't have to storm the capital to resist. There’s nothing patriotic about sedition. We can be the compassionate people that we really are in our hearts. We need to laugh and sing and dance and be free people despite the cages we are encouraged to live in. 

I am not being Pollyanna here. People are going to get hurt and it might you or someone you love and that is why it takes courage to not back down. In the world of whitewater safety there’s a concept called “point positive.” It means that if you see a log or some other danger in the river and you want to warn the raft coming downriver to avoid the log, don’t point at the log. Point at the path the raft should take. Pointing positive doesn’t diminish that the log could kill somebody, but it provides a safe path for the boat captain. We face real threats. Don’t point at them. Yellow dog had real threats, but he didn't have to move, so he didn't move. He was Costa Rican so I think I will call him Bravo. I never heard the dog’s name.  Bravo means brave.

Ice skating. South Twin Lake, Juneau. February 2025.

Angels in Alaska

Summit of West Peak. Douglas Island peaks in the distance

 If I ever see God, I know my words are going to be, “What the living fuck!” I haven’t seen Him and never will but if it any deity comes my way, I learned over the weekend that those words are coming out. As any of the readers of this blog know, I have at times alluded to the wilderness as a source of spirituality, though without digging in detail to what wilderness or spirituality are.  I don't subscribe any religion and I am not starting my own. 

Last Saturday the image to the left appeared out of nowhere while I was standing on the summit of West Peak. It seemed about a 100 feet away and about forty feet tall. It’s two inches tall on your phone. Our phones could be considered an optical illusion. They show us the world but not the world as it really is.

While my vision did not cause me to start a new religion, I am going to talk about a strange and rare phenomenon called a Brocken Specter (Spectre in some countries). Since last Saturday, I dug into what I saw and it fascinates me. A Brocken Specter is a circular prism, like a rainbow, that forms with the viewer’s shadow in the center. It was first documented in 1790 on Mount Brocken in what is now Germany. These specters seem to form sporadically in the mountains.  Wikipedia calls it a type of optical illusion but I disagree… but also agree. The specter looks and feels like a visit from an angel or even God with a halo of many colors. It’s an optical illusion if you believe you saw God and because your shadow is cast much larger than life. You see things that aren't there. These lit apparitions are caused when the observer is backlit in bright sunlight but there is a cloud or fog on the opposite side of the observer. The light creates a prism like a rainbow as it passes through the water vapor in the cloud. The angelic specter (sometimes called a Glory) is the shadow of the observer. It's magnified because the light scatters returning to your eyes. This seems to happen most often in mountains.

The story started when I decided to take my dog Duane hiking up West Peak. I have been up West Peak several times before but it had been a few years. It's a bit of a scramble in places but never technical. I was up and back in six hours and that's with stopping to have lunch. I also thought it would be nice to climb Middle Peak as I have not climbed it even though it’s easy to climb them both in the same day. West and Middle Peaks are some of the most windy places in the Juneau area but the forecast didn’t have much wind. 

Angel of Pride Week

After a couple hours of hiking we got to tree line. It’s still odd to me that the best autumn colors in Juneau come from the alpine where trees are rare. The ground cover turns a kaleidoscope of colors. After a few more hours my dog and I got to the summit of West Peak. The day was spectacularly beautiful and I sat down to take a few photos and eat my lunch, tamales and macadamia nuts. I turned see if the fog to my back had cleared because I wanted to see if the Middle Peak was still in whiteout. Note the photos have intermittent clouds and Middle Peak had been covered. Indeed, it was still covered in clouds. 

I don’t think the Brocken Specter was an optical illusion because things don’t have to have mass to be real. Rainbows are real and only an illusion if you start looking for a pot of gold or convince yourself the Land of Oz is on the other side. Shadows are real even if you can’t weigh or measure them. The specter I saw only seemed 40 feet tall. It was there but it wasn’t really there which why I said it’s an illusion but it isn’t an illusion. The specter didn’t speak to me or direct me to dig up gold plates.

On the way up West Peak. If I ever start my own religion, mine will be superior because I brought a dog.

I got to the top of West Peak my dog seemed interested in something off the cliff behind us and I didn’t want him to jump off. I was just standing there looking to the west and turned around to see a forty- foot personage surrounded by a multicolored halo standing above me in the air. That shadow looked three dimensional and huge.   You can vaguely see a mountain in the background. It’s not a hill. It’s Middle Peak. The angel of Pride Week.

I was seriously taken aback like my eyes were misfiring. Remember the part in Harry Potter where Hermione tells Harry that it’s never good to see things that aren’t there, even in the wizard world. That’s true in the mountaineering world as well. I was looking a forty-foot angel and I had not prayed to ask which church was true. Within a few seconds I noticed the forty-foot angel waved his arms when I waved mine. I did some jumping jacks. Both the angel and I did. I suspect Duane saw a forty-foot dog shaped angel standing in the air with a multicolored halo. He was a little tweaked, though not as much as I was. After I collected my wits, I took a few photos that do not do justice.

My heart slowed down a bit as I realized I was seeing an odd variant of a rainbow. The photo on my phone verified that my tamale wasn’t laced with hallucinogenic drugs though I never worried about that. I have never tried LSD or mushrooms so what do I know? To be clear, I never thought it was an angel, but I did wonder briefly if I was losing my grip on reality.

Recall that the world’s religions generally start with some dude walking into the wilderness which is precisely what I did that day. In ancient days people who witnessed strange things like Brocken Specters thought they had seen or become gods. I didn't see it that way because I have access to a world of information. I have always known about prisms and other tricks of light. Anyone born in the last century knows a hell of a lot more than the people who wrote all the scriptures and it's not the fault of the scripture's authors either.

Most religions started in the wilderness. Hinduism started in monastic retreats in the headwaters of the Indus River in the Kashmir Mountains in what is now the border between India and Pakistan. The Buddha, who was raised Hindu, gained enlightenment while meditating under a giant tree, now called the Bodi Tree. Jesus began his ministry by going to the wilderness to fast and pray for forty days. None of his miracles or teaching preceded his trip into the hinterlands. Jesus had to get His wild on first. Mohammed began his ministry by hiking up the Mountain of Light near Mecca and receiving inspiration in the Hiri Cave. Millions of people have hiked up the Mountain of Light and to the Hiri Cave over the years to honor Mohammed.  Joseph Smith started what came to be known as Mormonism by wandering into a grove of trees. The story goes that Joseph spoke to Jesus and God Himself.  Just so you know, I am not grafting for money or encouraging polygamy. In the old days, people who spoke to God seemed to hear that God wanted them to start polygamy. Judaism started when Adam and Eve were cast into the wilderness. Prior to being cast out of the Garden of Eden, snakes could speak and Adam and Eve  had neither knowledge of good or evil. Since the beginning, the wilderness taught us lessons, including the knowledge of good and evil. It has taught me a thing or two.

View from summit of Middle Peak
West Peak is center, specters vanished in the air

I wonder if a lot of angelic sightings in history were indeed Brocken Specters. I had zero idea that this sort of thing existed and my reaction was, “What the living fuck?” Yet I, and any modern person,  had a wealth of understanding of science that ancient people simply don't have. If you were taught from birth that astronomical events like an eclipse, a comet, or a blood moon could mean omens of war, famine, disease, or an important birth or  death. It could also mean you were to be invaded by a neighboring country or that you needed to invade them. We take for granted a lot of understanding of the world. A person in ancient days would have zero tools to mentally process a Brocken Specter. They saw God or the devil. 

The angel on West Peak did not appear bothered by my foul language. Having read about these specters, I now know Duane would have seen a halo with a huge shadow of a dog in it. The wand chooses the wizard. I leashed him and settled into wondering what was really going on. I had never seen anything like it and I have been on West Peak many times before and have climbed more mountains than I can count.  

I once heard that spirituality is reverence for something larger than you. Embracing that there are things greater than you and things completely out of your control breeds humility in my opinion. Humility is a central dogma of all religions I guess. We could all use more humility, even folks like me who do not believe in supernatural beings. 

When I got back to the trailhead, there were a ton of people parked at Sheep Creek because the coho salmon are in. Salmon have been here for 500 million years and will likely be here long after humans kill each other off. Salmon have brain the size of a pea but they are smart enough to not invent nuclear weapons or cancer causing herbicides. Earlier in the day, I debated going fishing rather than hiking and it would have been a grand choice as well. Fishing is always a good way to spend the day. None of the fishermen saw God or walked on water but many of them caught fish, a spiritual experience in itself.

If you want to join my religion, go hiking or climbing or go out on a boat. Play music, even badly. Be nice to somebody. Play with your dog. I have no commandments and don’t charge a fee.

Because music moves me, there's this. The Meat Puppets. Oh me.

https://youtu.be/ey6acnCIFtE?si=b8s4Ga9tM2AOhIeT

Peak 7035 in Tracy Arm.

 

Peak 7035 with False Summit to the left.

If you walk into places where nobody has walked before, it’s expected that you encounter things are not expected. Even in Alaska, it's work to get to a place where no human has walked. Our attempt to climb Peak 7035 was most definitely that. Peak 7035 has never been climbed and it remains unclimbed after our attempt.  You can quit reading if you’re the type that thinks conquest of summits is the only metric of success. We didn’t get to the summit and even if we had, mountains are never conquered by climbers. Unless we come with strip mining equipment, mountains are ambivalent to small lives of humans.  

Alder thicket

My friend Mike invited me to try and climb Peak 7035. It’s on the north side of Tracy Arm at the junction of the North Sawyer Glacier Arm of Tracy Arm and the South Sawyer Glacier Arm of Tracy Arm. Say that fast five times. Tracy Arm is a complex maze of fjords about 60 miles south of Juneau and it’s part of the Tracy Arm/Ford’s Terror Wilderness Area. About 100,000 people visit Tracy Arm because it’s a popular tourist destination for cruise ships and boat tours. It’s a bit like being in Yosemite Valley during the Pleistocene when there were glaciers dropping seracs into a valley floor and icebergs building up. Some of the walls in Tracy Arm rise 5,000 feet off the sea in places. Tracy Arm has almost no on-land visitors because there are only a handful of places where the beach isn't a cliff of some height. Trails don't exist. 

Mike’s plan was based on a newly uncovered “ramp” exposed as the North Sawyer Glacier receded. From near the toe of the glacier it seemed possible to scramble up slope to a ridge leading to the peak. The north end of ridge is about 4,000 feet in elevation and rises to a significant false summit (6745). Once you reach the base of the false summit, our plan was to maneuver around the east side (back side) and continue toward the true summit.  There were considerable unknowns because nobody has ever climbed to the ridge and nobody had even seen the back side of the false summit. It has been seen from planes of course but not close enough to be useful information. Satellite imagery and maps made for satellite imagery show a hanging glacier or a snowfield on the back side but imagery for glaciers suck often. Glaciers are melting too fast for maps to keep up.

We boated out early Sunday morning and got to the toe around 10:30 AM. After getting the boat anchored and unloaded, we started uphill at 1PM.  From there we scrambled uphill through scree for a few hundred feet and soon encountered an alder thicket. These alders were bushes rather than trees.  

I enjoyed  primary forest succession, the process of an ecosystem developing from bare ground to old growth forest. Primary succession starts at bedrock and the first phase is to develop soil. Secondary succession is more common and it usually follows a clear cut or a forest fire. Mosses and lichen are the first to colonize bedrock in primary succession. Alders are often the first trees to grow on exposed bedrock because they don’t need much soil. Alders create their own nutrients from the atmosphere.  Furthermore, alders adapted to avalanches by evolving the ability to bend downhill and flatten out when hit by a megaton of snow. Thus, an alder thicket in an avalanche zone is a jumble of sticks; most no more than 4 inches, often a foot apart, and they are growing up, sideways, and even down. Most alders in this thicket were no more than ten feet tall. We found alders in spades and while I appreciate the role alders play in the ecosystem, walking through a dense thicket makes me empathize with a fish caught in a gill net.  We were each carrying a 45 pound pack with an ice axe sticking out, the perfect tool to catch a branch. 

Base camp

 In the next six hours we wiggled through, pushed over, and jiggled past alders (and some willows) to a camp at 1,700 feet. Our plan was to climb to 4,000 feet on the ridge but we were completely knackered. Mike found a boulder about ten feet tall that was just above the height of the thicket.  This was our base camp and where we spent the following night as well. This boulder had a view to die for. Somewhere in the hike I punctured my sleeping pad so I slept two nights directly on a rock.  There was swarm of mosquitoes guarding the rock. We cooked some food, had a bit of bourbon, and went to sleep. The tent worked great for keeping out the mosquitoes.

Sunset from base camp

The following day we headed uphill again and about 3,000 feet we encountered alpine tundra vegetation and remnant snow. This was a huge relief. The views kept getting better and that was hard to believe considering the view from our boulder.  We reached the ridge at about 2PM. 

The ridge is not a knife edge but about 200 yards wide.  From the ridge we got our first glance at the back side of the false summit and saw a very impressive icefall. At this point we took some photos and took a nap in the sunshine. The downside was the icefall meant this trip was not going to go the summit. Climbing an icefall was not in our plans. Nevertheless, it was a very cool icefall and the views from the ridge were spectacular. The view had added gravy in knowing that we were standing in a place where no human being has ever stood. Up until five years ago, one had to scale a 500 foot cliff to access that ridge. 

Mike with Glacial Icefall in background

It’s difficult to describe an alder thicket to anyone that hasn’t fought through one. I have heard them described as “Spaghetti Trees.” You are a meatball ready to get eaten and meanwhile you are stuck in the dimensional space. The thicket snags, pokes, traps, and knocks you off balance all the time. Because the alders were higher than our heads, we rarely got a view of where we hoped to go. We likely meandered a lot. We both questioned our judgment in taking on the thicket because it wasn’t our first bushwhack and we knew it could get difficult. This was more than we expected but we didn’t have any information on what to expect.  We did not encounter any Devil’s Club and that stuff is next level malicious. Devil’s Club thickets make me briefly believe in God because only an evil deity would create something like that.  Looking at the panoramic view across from the icefall, makes me believe that the Nature itself is the only God I need. After an extended lunch and a nap  on the ridge we turned around, climbed down the snow field, and fought our way through the alder thicket to our boulder base camp. The mosquitoes were still there. We cooked food and shared a can of Long Island Ice Tea. By and by we went to sleep. That was Monday. Tuesday we headed back down into the alders again and got to boat about 11 AM. 

Selfie from the ridge, Mike (R) and Carl (L)

We loaded up the gear and took a slower trip through Tracy Arm looking at the scenery. I would like a kayak trip in Tracy Arm because it seems the smaller your boat, the more you see of the scenery. We were in a sixteen foot skiff and cruised slowly beneath a dozen or so waterfalls that fall from thousands of feet above.  Once we got out of Tracy Arm we turned north and got to Juneau a little after 5 PM.

On the boat ride home, I kept thinking that I would likely never go back to climb that mountain. I was freaking worked. I am 61 years old and it’s hard on the body. Mike is also 61 and he was also super tired though he generally travelled faster than me. Since returning to Juneau, I keep thinking of how climbing that peak could be accomplished. Trying again next year isn’t completely out of the question.

 Thanks for reading to the end. Unlike sports like football or hobbies like pickleball, nobody won and nobody lost. 

Video of the view from the ridge at about 5,000 feet. 

https://youtu.be/Zk0tvuCS4FI?si=jp-UyOIrHSB4zGVI 

Peak 5,260, Endicott Arm.

 

Mountain Goat. My spirit animal.
 Little Mount Sumdum in the background. 

I bear sprayed myself and I wasn’t trying to hit a bear. It’s the second time in my life I have done that and both times it was accidental. Both times I was with my friend Mike. The first was on a trip to a peak on Admiralty Island ten years ago. More on that later. 

Peak 5260 east side of Endicott Arm

Southeast Alaska. 

 Mike called me on Friday with a plan to leave Saturday morning and get back Sunday night but bring enough food for another day because shit sometimes happens. My wife suggested I should go because Mike’s ideas rejuvenate me. Admittedly, some of my trips scare her a bit. My trips with Mike can be sort of hairy but also fantastic.

This plan was to climb a peak we called Peak 5,260 on the east side of Endicott Arm just 4 miles southeast of Mount Sumdum. Mount Sumdum is 6,666 feet tall so it is indeed haunted by the devil himself. Sumdum was a village of Tlingkit Natives living in the area years ago, not an insult to the glacier’s or the mountain’s intelligence. It’s Sumdum, not Some Dumb. The glacier no longer reaches the sea but is still a very cool site. There are several tidewater glaciers in the area on both the Tracy Arm and Endicott Arms of Holkum Bay. Endicott Arm is hundreds of miles from the Endicott Wilderness that I wrote about HERE in 2020, though named after the same person. William Endicott was the Secretary of War under President Grover Cleveland, 1885-1889. I wonder how many Native Americans he had killed to get his name on the Endicott Arm.  

 Endicott Arm is part of the Tracy Arm Wilderness Area. Both arms are extensive fjords, packed with ice bergs, less so near the mouth of the fjord which is where we were. Still, it’s wise to lookout for those things. It was a strange and cool experience being on iceberg look out. Our concern was bergy bits, just little bergs that are hard to see, yet weigh in at over a ton. Mike owns a sixteen foot aluminum boat. 

Orcas seen on the boat ride to Endicott Arm

Despite the events surrounding the Titanic, they are easy see if you are looking, it isn’t night, and easy to avoid if you aren’t in a massive vessel. On a sunny day at ten in the morning we cruised right along.  Cruise ships hit the bergy bits and bounce right off. The cruise industry and adventure kayaking tours makes it such that many people see and photograph fjords of Holkum Bay but almost nobody sets foot on dry ground. There are large icebergs too and they are easy to see. 

A cruise ship is a monument to gluttony and a stain on the human race. Sure, we went to Endicott Arm in a motor boat that burns gasoline, 25 gallons were burned. A cruise ship creates more greenhouse gasses than some countries. This is not an exaggeration. If you live in an inland area, you may not have seen one up close. Some are bigger than the Empire State Building. don’t hide that they are gluttons in every way so I guess they are honest in that regard. They brag a 24 hour buffet. On a cruise one can see Alaska, or think you see Alaska, without actually experiencing Alaska.  The same is likely true for cruises to other locations. This, I think, is by design. Actual travel takes you out of your comfort zone a little, either physically or culturally. The cruise ship allows one to travel about while only changing lawn chairs. Meanwhile guzzling diesel fuel and the 24 hour buffet like there’s no tomorrow. 

Bergy bit

Sumdum Mt and Glacier

Our plan was to access the beach at the foot of Peak 5260 on Saturday morning, hike up through the forest to above tree line, camp Saturday night, climb Peak 5260 Sunday morning, back to the beach, and motor back to Juneau. It’s about six miles and 5,260 vertical feet to the summit one way. As I write this, it seems unrealistic that we thought we could do it in two days. We didn’t make it back Sunday night even though no shit happened except that we are both almost 61. Thus slower than we used to be.

1,000 + foot waterfalls 

Peak 5,290 from boat

We made it to the beach at the foot of Peak 5260 by 10AM. When we got there we dumped the gear for climbing and camping on the beach and Mike moored the boat a little offshore. We didn’t want the boat to drift away with a high tide or beached on a low tide. Once the boat was anchored offshore Mike rowed to shore in his packraft. By 10:30AM we were hiking uphill carrying overnight camping gear, a trad rack, 50 m climbing rope, climbing harnesses, crampons, and ice axes. We didn’t bring bug spray and that wasn’t a good omission. 

There are no trails in the Tracy Arm Wilderness Area. The Forest Service figures trails aren’t needed because you cannot drive there (no roads) and the closest town is Juneau, 60 miles away by boat. The Forest Service is likely correct. If they built a trail it would like grow over in a few years due to very infrequent use. The Endicott Arm is vastly wilder than Juneau where trails abound. We encountered Devil’s Club and many fallen logs in large quantities right away. Devil’s Club is so named not because Sumdum Mountain is 6,666 feet tall but because it is adorned in spines. It is to Southeast Alaska what jumping is the Sonoran Desert. By and by the terrain became steeper, about average 25 degrees. The Devil’s thinned a little but fallen logs got worse. I cursed under my breath a lot while trying to climb uphill over logs that were covered Devil’s Club. Going was slow.

Devil's Club

Field of Devil's Club

We made it to a high camp at 3,248 feet after eight hours of bushwhacking. It was only two miles. For some reason both Mike and I love this shit. We would have taken a trail if one existed. The camp was buggy. The camp was also spectacular. Mike carried two white Russians in a can the whole way.  Two things will happen if Mike and I get to the Pearly Gates on the same day (we came to Earth on the same day). First, we are both going to be shocked that there is an afterlife and second, I will plead that Mike should go to heaven for carrying two white Russians in cans up that mountain. We ate mostly dehydrated food that tasted great and swatted at bugs while sitting a boulder. I have seen bugs much worse but they still sucked. We went to bed early.

Mike. Boat moored offshore

Our plan was to bring one two person tent and share. I opted to sleep outside for reasons that seemed sound. I toss and turn a lot and my sleeping pad was leaky so I didn’t want wake Mike on a routine basis. These were NOT sound reasons. I covered my head in a tee shirt and the bugs bit right through. I added a jacket and that stopped the biting bastards but it got hot. Around midnight it cooled enough that bugs slowed their plans to eat me alive and it wasn’t so hot with the jacket. I arose and started coffee and breakfast. Mike said he wanted to leave early for the summit and I was not sleeping. 

Lack of sleep defined the day, though I was not aware of how much until later on. 

High Camp

We left our camping gear at high camp and were on our way to the summit of Peak 5,250 by 4:30 AM. We reached our first peak soon at 3,600 feet. From there we perceived that the summit might not be possible with the gear we had.  We did not bring climbing shoes and it looked like there could be steep rock. We both figured the summit and a couple spots on the ridge were probably impossible that day but wanted to walk up the ridge that connecting Peak 3,600 with Peak 5,260 anyway. It was an astounding view and one that few if anybody has ever walked and there is no way to really know if the path is impossible until you see it close up. I am glad we walked it. The ridge line was faster travel than the previous day. It was not completely straightforward but with some route-finding we made it to the base of Peak 5,260 by 10:00 AM.  Along the way I experienced a lesson in psychology.

 

We also saw a mountain goat that approached us clearly having never seen humans. Mountain goats are my spirit animal, if such a thing exists. 

The psychology lesson played out thusly. By 6AM I was convinced that we were not going to make it to the base of the summit and certainly not climb it. It seemed like too much vertical rock than we were prepared to deal with. By 8 AM it started to look like we might make it to the base of Peak 5,260 and anxiety set in. My mental status changed with the expectation that the day was going to be a stroll down a ridge, not a challenging peak. Mind didn't change back immediately. I started to feel shitty and started to notice my left knee. It’s always weak. The anxiety and lack of sleep knocked back my endurance. There was interplay between lack of sleep and anxiety and that was psychology lesson. I was dragging like a slug on a sidewalk. Mike did most of the route-finding because I was always dragging up the back.  By 9 AM I told Mike that I just wasn’t feeling well about pushing to the summit. Mike suggested that we continue to the base and have a look. This made sense of course.

 

Mike

Mike

At the base I said I didn’t want to continue but that I would wait for Mike. We are now listed as the first humans to climb Peak 5260 even though I didn’t climb it.  Mike did. There was a pitch of fourth class climbing and a climb up a snow field that ended with short scramble to the top. 45 minutes later Mike was back to where I waited. 

 Mike had been climbing solo for ten minutes and much of my energy returned. The mountain and lack of sleep had simply psyched my out. I considered climbing the peak solo myself and I regret not listening to my thoughts. There was nothing up there I couldn’t handle. All too often we are unaware of just how much we can accomplish. That’s not only in climbing.

I have some regret at not climbing all the way to summit of Peak 5,260 but not a lot because it was a very cool day indeed. My spirit the goat probably never summits Peak 5,260 and he lives there. We were back to high camp by 2:30 PM.  We considered trying to get to the beach that night there wasn’t much impetus. With all that bushwhacking over logs and Devil’s Club and a three hour boat ride, there was not time to make it to Juneau that day. We moved camp downhill for the night but didn’t make it to the beach. We shared the tent and it really wasn’t that bad. We got up at the same time twice during the night to pee and re-inflate our sleeping pads. His leaked too.

We made it to the beach and the boat by 10 AM morning. While bushwhacking down the mountain, I somehow caught and tore off the safety mechanism on the bear spray canister on something and sprayed my hip with bear spray. It stung for a bit but it wasn’t a full on hit. Thank goodness.  We did not see any bears though we saw a fair amount of bear shit.

 

We were back in Juneau by 3 PM. I missed a day of work. I probably need to do that more often.

View to west of the ridgeline