Adventure Packed

I never thought I'd set foot in a packraft.  Frankly, I hadn't even heard the term "packraft" until I moved to Alaska.  And even then, I thought it was fantasy land - an adventure you only read about in books.  At this month's Becoming an Outdoors-Woman weekend event, I learned exactly what it means to packraft - and I had the time of my time.

Packrafts are small, portable, and inflatable boats, designed to be light enough to be carried long distances.  Along with eight other adventurous souls, we explored the edges of Echo Cove and the boundaries of Berner's Bay, a pristine location about 40 miles north of Juneau.

Starting out, we hiked for about half an hour across the warm Cowee meadows with our packrafts and paddles in tow.  It was a pleasant hike, but we quickly found ourselves shedding layers with the unseasonably warm climate.  It was 72 degrees and brought back memories of Alabama humidity.  Before too long, we found a nice rocky beach, a perfect spot to put our pack rafts in to the chilled waters of the Cowee Creek.

Floating down the waterway, we practiced our ferrying technique, learned more about reading water, and worked to steer clear of boulders as we negotiated the creek.  I had a blast with the group as we learned new skills together in a beautiful and breathtaking environment. 

The whole packrafting experience was something I'm anxious to experience again soon.  Next adventure on the water?  Maybe I'll try my hand at fishing or crabbing from a packraft!  Stranger things have happened, so stay tuned!

Kayaking the Golden Hour

As the old adage goes, do one thing every day that scares you.  And that's pretty much how it began. 

What started as a “let’s stay close to shore” excursion quickly turned into my first, long distance, open water, channel crossing of North America’s longest and deepest fjord.

Juneau has been blessed with spectacular weather this month, so I jumped at the chance to join my friend and internationally acclaimed, award-winning nature photographer, Daniel Buck, on a kayaking trip north of Alaska’s capital city.

Initially, I just wanted to get a seal’s eye view of the spot I had camped at a few weeks earlier.  But as we paddled along the foreboding granite cliffs high above our 14 foot kayaks, the surge of adrenalin was unmistakable.  My mind encouraged me to “just go for it.”  And so it began.  Baby steps transformed into leaps of faith which led to an unforgettable adventure of a lifetime. 

We found ourselves leaving the protected cove and venturing out into open water.  Little did I know at the time, but our kayaks were cruising above the historic shipwreck site of the SS Princess Kathleen, a steamship that met her dark watery grave just 63 years prior.

Unfazed, we scanned the horizon for the jubilant exhale of humpback whales, occasionally spotting playful harbor porpoises close by.  With this remarkable encounter alone, my trepidation and fear of the unknown subsided.

As the waves catapulted us closer and closer to our wilderness destination, at one point with my rookie hand I felt the tide taking my kayak in one direction, the wind pulling me in another.  Powering through, we arrived at the shores of Shelter Island after an ambitious and arm-clinching paddle.  Completely worth it. 

Securing the boats above the tide-line, we scrambled along the rugged and rocky shore to gain a higher vantage point on the ocean landscape we had just traversed.  The first half of the journey was now complete, though it felt like a journey just beginning.

After some time exploring the island's unprotected eastern shores and doing a bit of beach-combing, we paddled back to the mainland, surrounded by God’s wonderland stretching as far as the eye can see.

As the sun set behind the majestic snow-capped peaks, the waters we had just conquered were bathed in the warm glow of the golden hour.  During a particularly Zen-like moment, I paused in the middle of the waterway, letting the silence of the world engulf me, comforted only by the presence of nature and the sound of the cerulean waves gently lapping the boat.

There, at sunset, as the small kayak gently rode the ocean swells, I had a revelation.  Growing up in Alabama, I lived an unexceptional life.  Now in Alaska, I am living a life without exception - a life where each day I do one thing that scares me, strengthens me, and fulfills me.  Where each day is nothing less than an epic adventure, all in America’s Last Frontier.

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Here's a big THANK YOU to Daniel for taking many of the photos above and sharing them with me so I can share them with you. 

Check out Daniel's other awe-inspiring photographs at Wilderness Peaks Gallery, Alaska's premiere fine art photography gallery.

Million Dollar View

A week ago, I went on a spontaneous camping trip "out the road" here in Juneau. Our tents were set up near a rocky cliff high above the water, and after midnight, we watched orcas in the moonlight as they swam through Favorite Channel. The next morning, I awoke to this million dollar view. 

I think I need to go camping more often.

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Summit Fever

Mount Roberts was beckoning.  From so many vantage points on Douglas Island, I could look across the Gastineau Channel and spot the majestic Mount Roberts rising high above sea level -  3,819 feet to be exact.  I was determined to climb it, to see the eagle's eye views, take the fresh air deep into my lungs, and find peace of mind atop the mountain.  I was determined to do all of this - solo.  And it happened - wonderfully, slowly, and surely - marking my highest hike up a mountain.

In planning for the trip, I decided to shave about an hour and 1,900 feet off my elevation gain by taking the Mount Roberts Tram and starting my hike from there.  I chose the second to last day of the 2014 Juneau cruise ship season, but little did I know I also picked one of the windiest days of the summer to brave the mountaintop.  The friendly shopkeepers at Gastineau Guiding's Nature Center warned me about going on the trails above the Tram.  60 miles an hour wind gusts, they said.  You'll get blown away, they said.

And boy did it blow.  Like a banshee.  From all sides, I was blown around on that trail, but determined to get as far as I could (and back) before sundown.  I made it all the way past Gold Ridge to Gastineau Peak.  Once the wind finally knocked me clear on my tailbone, I figured it was best to turn back.  A hunter had gone missing from this very trail just two days prior - and I was set on not being a statistic or another talking point in the news.  So, in turning back towards downtown Juneau, I was proud I made the milestones there for me to achieve that day.  The hike down was ever so breezy, not to mention absolutely breathtaking in the midst of the alpenglow.

Juneau's smallness rarely disappoints, and I was thrilled to run into good friends who were up at the Tram for a leisurely jaunt.  We shared a bite to eat, had a few celebratory drinks, and reminisced about the fun-filled and challenging summer.  Turns out, hunger and laughter with friends is the best seasoning, after all.

Loads of photos below, plus video of a very entertaining Tram ride with Daku'dane John Perkins, a Tlingit storyteller from the Shangukeidi (Thunderbird) clan.  The crazy winds start at minute 3:54, and you can see friendly ptarmigan (the Alaska State Bird) at minute 4:59.  Enjoy!

The Basics: Heed the Caution Signs and Get Outfitted with Bear Spray, Maps, and Gummies

The Views, the Climb, the Top

The Descent Amongst the Alpenglow

Celebratory Brewskis and Nightfall Over Juneau