Photo by Gary Luhm

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A cold morning rain fell gently as I carried load after load of gear across the large tidal flat. Carefully I stepped between an amazing array of sea stars patiently awaiting the incoming tide. Just before carrying my last load, I kissed my wife goodbye. It would be the first time in 5 years of marriage we would be apart for more than a few days.

I settled in my boat, laden with two weeks worth of gear, and began to paddle. Fog shrouded both the land and sea. My destination lay hidden in the midst. The Tlingit call this island Kootznoowoo, meaning "Fortress of the Bear". Kootznoowoo is located in southeast Alaska and holds the largest population of brown bears in the world. An estimated 2500 bears live on the island, far outnumbering the 700 people. Though most maps name the island Admiralty, in respect to the Tlingit people I choose to use their name.

I began from my home in the Tlingit village of Angoon and set out for Juneau, 150 miles away. I was paddling alone. Though I had done a couple of short solo trips before, this would be my first long solo trip. Admittedly the first couple miles I questioned myself: "why solo?"

The simplest answer was that there was no one else to go with me. I owned the only kayak in the village. The Tlingit traditionally traveled by war canoes, carved out of giant cedar trees, not kayaks.

Perhaps though, the real answer lies in answering other questions: "why do we paddle?" and "why we take long journeys in little boats?"

The old gold prospectors talked of a thing called wanderlust. The need to explore, the want to see the world from yonder mountain top. The desire to see what's around the river bend. The driving urgency to see new lands and new waters. The call of the wild drawing us ever forward. Onward I paddled, my heart filled with this strange wanderlust.

The fog began to lift as I headed toward Hood Bay. I had often taken day trips into Hood Bay, and every time had seen bears. I had chosen early June for this trip because it is the time of year when bear graze the beach for goose tongue and beach asparagus.

Today would be no exception. I rounded a small point to see a mother bear munching away, while her twin cubs wrestled and romped close by. I drifted slowly by, quietly watching. Suddenly the sow pointed her nose to the sky. She sniffed back and forth, then let out a grunt and hurried off into the woods with her cubs close behind. She never saw me, but her nose told her I was there.

Later I would see two young bears, twins now for the first time out on their own. A dangerous time for man or beast. Locals called young bears such as these "Hoodlums," due to the fact that they are the ones most likely to raid a camp.

I chose to camp on a small island where Hood Bay forks. Would the waters around protect me from the bears? As I crawled into my sleeping bag, I remembered a friend of mine who came to visit us in Angoon. He had made the mistake of reading the book Bear Attacks In Alaska on the ferry ride up. One evening he nervously asked an elder of the village, "If I camp on an island, am I safe from the bears?" "Kootznoowoo is an island," was the elder's wise reply. I lay in my sleeping bag thinking, "Why did I have to remember that!"

At home in bed I am a sound sleeper, but when camping out I have always awakened at the slightest noise. Tonight was no exception. Some time in the night I heard a growl outside my tent, then another and another. I grabbed my gun and looked out of the tent, expecting to be surrounded by a herd of bear! Instead I came face to face with a bunch of sea lions. It seems I was camped in the middle of their nightly haul-out. They exploded into the water and spent the next several minutes grunting in protest. It was a long time before I got back to sleep.

"I heard a growl outside my tent, then another and another. I grabbed my gun and looked out of the tent, expecting to be surrounded by a herd of bear!"

The next day I paddled out of Hood Bay and headed south. Somewhere in the distance I heard the powerful exhale of whales. Eventually I spotted their spouts far away in Chatham Strait. I was surprised how far the sound had traveled. I paddled into Chaik Bay looking for a camping spot. Chaik is Tlingit for eagle. Kootznoowoo also has the largest population of nesting bald eagles in the world. I quite literally paddled the entire trip under their watchful eyes.

I spotted what looked like a promising flat space for a camp. As I paddled toward it, however, a brown bear walked out of the woods. My gosh, he was big, by far the biggest bear I had ever seen! So much for camping there! I paddled several miles and found another island and slept with my shotgun loaded and ready. It was a restless sleep.

The next day I paddled past Whitewater Bay. The big storms of winter come from the north and churn the placid waters of the bay into a white-capped froth, hence the name.

I paddled on to a little place called Wilson Cove. I had hoped to camp on the flats at the head of the bay, however, once again, a bear beat me to the best camping spot. I settled for a rocky outcrop, where no matter where I set my tent I lay down with a rock in my back!

Before turning in, I searched the high tide line, curious at what I might find. I was just about to turn around and head back when a bit of green caught my eye. A glass ball! Prized by collectors, glass balls are spheres of blown glass used in olden days as floats for Japanese fishing nets. Although now replaced with foam floats, the occasional glass ball survives the storms at sea and rolls up on a beach in Alaska. In all my years of paddling, it is the only one I have ever found.

I awoke the next morning to the sound of the wind. It had picked up overnight and I would have to paddle into it all day. Why today of all days! This was the day I would paddle around Pt. Gardner, the toughest stretch of water, even without the wind.

Pt. Gardner is the southernmost point of Kootznoowoo. Here the mighty tides of Chatham Strait collide with the waters of Fredrick Sound. Add in the swells from the open sea, and you have one of the most dangerous points in all the Alaskan waters.

I approached the point, trying to round it at slack tide. Just before hitting the point, I took a wind break behind a small rock outcrop. When I popped out of the wind break, ready to "go for it," the water literally exploded in front of me. "What the hell was that?" was my first thought. Looking back now I can laugh. What had happened was a humpback whale had breached right in front of me. It just took a couple of seconds for my excited brain cells to figure it out.