I went from sound asleep to bolt awake in a heartbeat! I grabbed my gun, chambered a shell and leapt out of the tent. There was no bear or deer to be seen, and the only sound was my beating heart. To this day I have no idea what caused that sound. It remains a mystery. It wasn't even 5AM, but I knew that I now had too much adrenaline in my system to sleep, so I ate breakfast, loaded the boat and headed on my way.

After a while my stomach signaled lunch, but the shore was mostly jagged rock and cliffs. Finally I found a small stream pouring between a break in the cliffs. This would provide fresh water and a small ledge offered a great lunchtime view. I had been seeing and hearing distant whale blows all morning, but nothing up close. That was about to change! As I sat eating my traditional lunch of peanut butter on pilot bread, two large humpback whales breached in unison directly in front of me -- not 50 feet from shore! I sat stunned, not believing what I had just seen! Then the whales calmly swam on, leaving me in awe, joy and thankfulness. What a show!

As exciting as my wildlife encounters had been the best was yet to come. Two nights later I was camping in Pybus Bay. I had finished dinner and I was sitting reading "The Spell of the Yukon" by Robert Service.

"Snap!"

I spun around to come face to face with a young bear that had ambled into camp. He was only 25 feet away, and looked as surprised as I must have looked. In truth, if he had wanted to attack, there would be little I could have done. My gun was by the tent. Thankfully, he did not want anything to do with me, so he took off running for the brush. After the adrenaline eventually wore off, I began to remember what the Tlingit elders had tried to teach me about the bears. "The bear is our grandfather, so just talk to him and let him know you are human and he will go his way".

"The last day dawned with a fury. The wind had not subsided, nor had the whitecaps disappeared."

After this encounter, where I was at the mercy of a bear and he chose to let me be, I have remained cautious but no longer as afraid of bears. Since then I have 'talked to grandfather' many times and the bears have let me be. Still though, I catch myself looking behind me whenever I read Robert Service.

The next day I paddled past Gambier Bay, one of the biggest bays on the trip. I regretted that I did not have more time to explore this beautiful bay. "If only I had time" was my passing lament.

A couple of nights later I camped near Pack Creek. Here I explored the old cabin of Stan Price, one of the true characters of Alaska. Stan spent most of his adult life homesteading there at Pack Creek, which has one of the largest concentrations of Brown Bears on the island. Over the years he watched them grow from cubs and knew them each by name. He referred to them as "my bears" and refused to let anyone hunt them. He rarely carried a gun, instead preferring a stout walking stick. If a bear gave him trouble, such as digging up potatoes in his garden, Stan would yell at them by name and whack them on the nose! In all his years there only once did a bear attack. Stan's explanation was simple: "It wasn't one of my bears."

As I walked up a small knoll to check out Pack Creek, I saw a big bear beside the creek. Not knowing its name, I quickly retreated.

On the tenth day I paddled to the head of Seymour Canal. At the head of the canal, I encountered a massive tidal flat. I stood in the mud, slowly pulling the boat along with the incoming tide. I had a long wait ahead and I was chilled from an earlier rain. I really wanted a cup of hot tea, so I pulled out my stove and set it up on my minicell foam paddle float strapped to the back of the deck. As the boat floated on the tide I managed to boil a cup of water to make a wonderful cup of tea. Ah, life doesn't get any better than this.

To get to Juneau, I had to either paddle 85 miles around the Glass Peninsula or portage one mile over land to Oliver Inlet. Thankfully, years ago, a Juneau sports club built a small railroad tram across the peninsula. I chose the tram because I was running short of time. An aluminum rail cart was made to run the tram, but unfortunately it was at the other end. So I hiked over and found the cart parked on a hill above the water. I enjoyed the ride back, remembering my childhood riding the train my dad ran a coal company in West Virginia.

I loaded the boat and began to push. It was a steep climb at first and the cart was heavy. I would push a few feet, then need to rest. The hand brake was broken off, so I tied a loop of rope around the axle to use to anchor to the cross ties. Next time I swore I would bring a small set of wheels and make my own cart! Once I got to the top it was easier, but when I got to Oliver Inlet I discovered the wind had really picked up. I figured I had earned a half day off, so I set up my tent and camped by the side of the rails. That night I dreamed of the trains that used to run by my boyhood home.

The last day dawned with a fury. The wind had not subsided, nor had the whitecaps disappeared. It would be a two mile open crossing over to Douglas Island -- and it was going to be fun. (Have you ever noticed that what a paddlers calls 'fun' everyone else calls insane?) The crossing was wet and wild. The wind and waves hit broadside and I found myself leaning into the gusts to keep from flipping over. Still at no point was I pushed to the limit, and I made the crossing in about a half hour.

Now I rounded Douglas Island and headed up Gastineau Channel to Juneau. A bit of sadness settled over me as I saw the bridge and the movement of cars. Civilization! Cars, traffic, phones, schedulesÉ yikes! I wanted to turn back! Back to the bears and the whales, back to the things that go bump in the night. Alas, my family awaited, as did my job and the real world, so onward I paddled into the heart of civilization, leaving behind the "Fortress of the Bear."