Saturday 7-28
It just keeps on getting better in old Valdez. Rested after SlugFest and still flush from our ocean voyage with Captain Stan, we inflated Das Bot and headed into the Sound to do some exploring on our own.
As you will learn, Das Bot performed magnificently but we must admit the “little inflatable that can” has somewhat of a self-esteem problem. While we were occupying one boat ramp and our electric pump was huffing and puffing to fill each of Das Bot’s separate air chambers, several more-mighty boats with monster motors slid effortlessly into the water from the adjacent ramp. No one audibly snickered or laughed at our little craft but we KNEW what they were thinking.
Nonetheless, we successfully equipped and launched Das Bot and chugged from the quaint harbor into a placid Valdez Bay. While our previous days in Valdez have been dramatically cloudy, today was our first day of brilliant sunshine. We were afloat in a liquid Eden of turquoise blue, warmed by the sun, and eager to wander.
Our destination…Shoupe Glacier.
We saw a glimpse of this glacier two days ago, but it’s mostly hidden behind the mountains and protected by a shallow, figure eight-shaped bay that larger boats can’t navigate, so we expected we’d get a much better view in Das Bot. Happily we underestimated the opportunity.
In the “flat” water (we now know the right terminology), Das Bot responsively planed and we zipped forward. Along the way we stopped occasionally to observe some of the many birds, a couple of sea lions, and an otter or two.
As we turned into the first cove of Shoupe Bay, the glacier became more visible and as we motored across the cove (a mile or so) it grew and grew. At the far end of the first cove it’s difficult to see where the outer cove is connected to the inner, so we slowly followed the shore looking for an opening. This shore line is actually the “terminal moraine” of the glacier—the farthest point to which it has ever advanced at which point it leaves a mound of rubble. Flowing through this rubble we soon found a swift and very shallow stream—runoff from the melting glacier. To navigate this stream I tilted the motor so that it drew the least possible water, and stood to get a better view of the rocks below. I’m felt a little like Captain Cook as I threaded my way between the banks—very exhilarated. As we entered the inner bay, we encountered two bald eagles calmly perched on the branches of dead trees. They were unbothered by our presence and we were able to get quite close to them. The glacier was now huge and dominating in front of us, though we didn’t realize it was still more than a mile away. A gull screeched a warning as it dove at our boat. We thought we must be near a nest--then rounded a small island to discover a rookery on the leeward side with hundreds of nesting gulls. Beyond, there were several other islands, each with a rookery. These island rookeries were covered with guano, nests, and thousands of screaming birds. The air around the islands was filled with gulls. Wow!
We motored slowly toward the glacier and began to notice chunks of ice flowing past us. On a shore of black sand we stopped for lunch thinking that the glacier was within walking distance. As we ate two kayaks and a small tour boat entered the bay through a different notch in the moraine, and made their way toward the face of the glacier. As they got closer to the ice, it became clear to us that we were not as close to the glacier as we had thought and that it was much bigger than we had imagined. After lunch we motored the rest of the way and walked to the face of the glacier. At its base we were like ants at the edge of a curb. It towered above us. We had seen a cave in the face of the glacier soon after we entered the inner bay. As we neared the glacier we could see that this cave was 20 or 30 feet high and spewing gray, silty water into the bay. From deep in the cave we could sometimes hear throaty rumbles and minutes later huge chunks of ice would tumble from it and be dragged into the bay by the current. The face of the glacier was a profusion of waterfalls big and small—melt water cascading from exposed crevasses and polishing their electric blue surfaces. I briefly went right up to the wall of ice to make snowballs, but quickly retreated—nervous about the leaning, giant, icy spires that towered above me.
We’ve had many inspiring moments on this trip, but standing in the bright sunshine, on the black stone moraine of this remote cove, at the base of this magnificent glacier was certainly the equal of any.
Motoring back through the inner lagoon and past the nesting gulls we found the mouth of the other channel to the outer cove. By now, the tide had turned and was rushing in against the out-flowing glacier stream—turbulent waters against which Das Bot flexed its muscle. As we entered the outer cove it was clear that the water was no longer flat. The wind had picked up and we fought waves of 2’ or more on our return to the harbor—first against these waves into their irreverent slapping of Das Bot’s bow, and then with the waves surfing into the trough…straining up to the top of the next crest…then surfing down again.
We are now safely back at the Admiral. This day is certainly in the Top 5 of our trip.
