# Bikerafting Alaska's Lost Coast: Yakutat to Glacier Bay.



## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

A few months ago myself and three others received an email from Roman, proposing a little trip: Riding fat-tired bikes on the beaches and bear trails of Alaska's Lost Coast. Using packrafts to cross river outflows, circumvent glacier snouts, and portage around headlands. We'd also use the boats to paddle a seeming eternity through Icy Strait and Glacier Bay to our takeout.

It was a great, if ambitious idea. That we knew of, 3 people had hiked and boated that whole section. All 3 of them thought we were crazy for taking bikes.

Crazy like foxes.

We successfully traversed from Yakutat to Gustavus. In Roman's words:
_225 miles total.
135 miles riding every sort of beach sediment you can imagine.
65 miles paddling lakes, rivers, streams, ponds, sloughs, oceans, bays, fiords -- we used our boats 25 times.
25 miles of mostly stumblef*cking.

We averaged 3.3 mph on bike (including rest breaks), 0.6 mph stumbling on the boulders or bear trails, and 2.3 mph on the paddling stretches. That's with the fat bikes on board._

Please, please take the time to sit back and relax with this one. It is worth watching in it's entirety, perhaps more than once, and not just on your iphone while commuting. Sooooo much crammed into that 10 minutes--watch it twice and you'll get twice as much out of it.






More to come...

Thanks much for checking in.

Cheers,

MC


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## rjedoaks (Aug 10, 2009)

And you wondered why you were were invited . Excellent job Mike.


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## Zeroack (Jul 4, 2005)

Under the word Epic in the dictionary there should be this link. This is a truly epic journey. My hats off to all of you.


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## heartland (Oct 1, 2009)

Bravo!


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## Kamil (Apr 22, 2011)

Awesome!!
One question: How do you find time to go on such an epic adventure? Is it on your vacation?


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## killerdj72 (Dec 7, 2009)

What is there to say?

WOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


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## bmf032 (Sep 8, 2010)

My hat's off to you. That's incredible, thank you for sharing.


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## b0mb3r (Feb 12, 2011)

wow, thank you for sharing.:thumbsup:


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## sgltrak (Feb 19, 2005)

Beautiful! What a cool adventure. Love the photo of the bear tracks.


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## Nor-calnwb (May 18, 2011)

Truly an epic ride!


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## loddie (Sep 13, 2005)

Awesome video & ride!


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## GatorB (Jan 9, 2010)

I read the blog on lacemine29 leading up to the trip and am glad it was a successful adventure. Good stuff.


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## formica (Jul 4, 2004)

nm*


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## telethor (Mar 22, 2007)

I really enjoyed that. Well done.


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## thorkild (Jul 22, 2008)

Great stuff Mike. If you get a chance, drop a note to the folks at Alpacka on your experience with bikes on the packrafts. I'm one of the founders of the Alpacka and I know Roman fairly well. I don't have a ton of involvement with Alpacka these days, but I would like to get some more backcountry bike rafting setups going. Both the yakutat to glacier bay and yakutat to Cordova trips are destined to become bikerafting super-classics.


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## Frozenspokes (May 26, 2004)

Wow!


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## michaelsnead (Aug 31, 2005)

Hey Mr. mikesee,

You are a film maker of some consequence! When you're tired of building wheels you should consider making documentaries!! Were you in film school?

Thanks for sharing,

Michael:thumbsup:


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## dstepper (Feb 28, 2004)

Excellent!


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## AzTa (Apr 14, 2010)

Amazing!!!


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## probablecauz (May 3, 2011)

that looked like an amazing time. i am very jealous. guess you guys can check that off the bucket list


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## schultzboy (Aug 20, 2010)

what an amazing trip. i am extremely jealous.


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## Fat Bob (Mar 5, 2004)

Thanks so much for taking us along for the ride. As others have said, WOW! And your camera/editing skills are spectacular Mike. I've seen big budget films that didn't have the quality of yours. In the end, it's the memories you and your friends make together that count. Congratulations for realizing what really matters in life. You give hope to the cube farm drones like myself that there is an escape just outside the office door!


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## Tackhammer (Dec 21, 2006)

I'm actually speechless. Thank you for sharing. I can't wait for my son to wake up so I can show him this video. Bravo!!


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## giantbikeboy (Dec 3, 2004)

Nice one!


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## kapusta (Jan 17, 2004)

Amazing trip!


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## jay29er (Feb 27, 2009)

Thanks for sharing! Great video!


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## bigjasonl (Nov 6, 2008)

Great video Mike! It certainly provided me with a great distraction from work. Thanks for sharing.


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## H0WL (Jan 17, 2007)

Absolutely insanely mindblowingly wonderful -- both the video and the scope of the adventure itself. Thank you for doing this so I CAN ENJOY IT VICARIOUSLY. You all are adventurers in the very truest sense of the word.


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## EMrider (Sep 9, 2007)

That was excellent, thanks.
R


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## Ken in KC (Jan 12, 2004)

*Stunning! A Question...*

I'll read the blogs when I get home but a quick question. You guys obviously had your cameras out and ready.

Was there one specific moment or memory that you experienced that you didn't capture on a camera? Either because of the timing, weather conditions, etc.

Thank you again for sharing.


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## birmy (Jan 14, 2005)

Wow! Thanks for sharing.


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## Bearbait (Jan 14, 2004)

Ken in KC said:


> I'll read the blogs when I get home but a quick question. You guys obviously had your cameras out and ready.
> 
> Was there one specific moment or memory that you experienced that you didn't capture on a camera? Either because of the timing, weather conditions, etc.
> 
> Thank you again for sharing.


For sure, nobody, for good reason, got good photos of our attempt at running in front of the La Parouse glacier, this is all I got. More on this to come.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Ken in KC said:


> Was there one specific moment or memory that you experienced that you didn't capture on a camera? Either because of the timing, weather conditions, etc.


There were dozens and dozens of moments I wanted to capture, but didn't, for many reasons.

There are three bigg'ns that leap to mind:
-La Perouse glacier. Almost show stopping. Certainly deadly had we continued with Plan A. Don't want to steal Eric's thunder--he can give better details on that as I was blind with fear and at my physical limits when it was happening.

-Humpback whale surfacing right next to Doom, while we were ~2 miles offshore crossing Palma bay. He could easily have touched it with his paddle. I was about 6 feet away from him. Both of our hearts stopped--still not sure what restarted them.

-Proximity and lack of fear of the packs of sea lions surfacing near (the nonexistent) Fern Harbor.

The other 'thing' you could never capture is the heightened sense of awareness that (I think) we all felt when moving on the well established bear trails. As if the original anxiety of being out there wasn't enough...

Glad people are enjoying the vid. Sure enjoyed being out there immersed in it and capturing what I could along the way.

MC


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## Ken in KC (Jan 12, 2004)

*Awesome!*



mikesee said:


> There were dozens and dozens of moments I wanted to capture, but didn't, for many reasons.
> 
> There are three bigg'ns that leap to mind:
> -La Perouse glacier. Almost show stopping. Certainly deadly had we continued with Plan A. Don't want to steal Eric's thunder--he can give better details on that as I was blind with fear and at my physical limits when it was happening.
> ...


Video is great. Thank you very much to all of you for sharing.


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## terrasmak (Jun 14, 2011)

Breathtaking!!!!!! WOW


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## Mellow Yellow (Sep 5, 2003)

Holly BaGezus!!! Winner for most epic ride for 2011! Great job guys


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## seandm (Mar 18, 2004)

Wow! Almost belongs on the documentary channel.


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## humanpackmule (Aug 3, 2010)

You and your trips are one of the major reasons why I keep coming back here.
Lots of good info here on any given day but when one of these epics surfaces.....I'm stoked for months.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Thanks for all of the compliments--it was an eye opening trip for me and I'm glad folks are watching and enjoying the vid.

Someone asked above how I find time to do these sorts of things. The short answer is that I only take a few weeks of real vacation every year (weekend trips aside) and I try to make them count when I do.

Cheers,

MC


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## davidcollins (Jul 20, 2010)

Excellent! This video is better and more interesting than much of what I have seen at various mountain/outdoor film festivals. Thanks for posting!


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## formica (Jul 4, 2004)

Ditto on everyone's comments. Unless you've been in this country, which I have, it's a hard stretch of the imagination for how *truly* remote and wild it is. My trip was a little different, we did 10 days/160 mile float with whitewater rafts ( our own trip, not with guides) on the Tatshenshini River, which meets the ocean at Yakatut.


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## tscheezy (Dec 19, 2003)

That is some pharmaceutical-grade awesomesauce there, Mike. Super adventure, and brilliantly documented. Respect.


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## jkad (Dec 29, 2005)

WOW..tough one to follow up. Epic times my friend!


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## guilev (Dec 31, 2010)

Awesome adventure, awesome images, awesome editing! Thanks for sharing! :thumbsup:


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## Fletch 1 (Nov 26, 2010)

Awesome! Definitely one of the best videos I have seen on here. A+++

Thanks for sharing


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## Dorf (Apr 2, 2011)

Very cool video! Thanks for sharing.


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## redtabby (May 16, 2010)

Careful guys, in order to top this one next time, you are going to have to try to re-enact some of the Shackleton adventures. Thanks for sharing it with us!


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## Pithecoid (Aug 8, 2006)

redtabby said:


> Careful guys, in order to top this one next time, you are going to have to try to re-enact some of the Shackleton adventures. Thanks for sharing it with us!


Indeed. Thanks for sharing the passion -- truly amazing.

Speaking of Shackleton adventures (I'd hate to have to reenact some of those details), how did the equipment hold up to the trip? Any major mechanicals or other difficulties that you had to deal with?


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## B-Mac (Oct 2, 2008)

Profoundly cool. 

Were you guys paddling those little boats out through the surf?


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## Stumpjumper808 (Dec 27, 2004)

That looks like a great time out, Thanks for sharing and that vid is "crack a beer, go full screen, sit back and enjoy" good!

Aloha,
Will


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## seemlessstate (Apr 3, 2011)

Surly should pay you for this video as an advertisement for the pugsley. Ive never been into "fat" bikes, but...DAMN.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

B-Mac said:


> Profoundly cool.
> 
> Were you guys paddling those little boats out through the surf?


We only had to punch out through the breakers once, and it was Sketchy. Then, an hour later, we had to ride the breakers back in. Also Sketchy, though only two of us got dumped--the other three set 'em down gently.

MC


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## redtabby (May 16, 2010)

mikesee said:


> We only had to punch out through the breakers once, and it was Sketchy. Then, an hour later, we had to ride the breakers back in. Also Sketchy, though only two of us got dumped--the other three set 'em down gently.
> MC


I was wondering if the forecast tides were a factor in planning when to launch the trip, daily itineraries, etc? It seems like it would be more complicated than simply switching to raft if you started running out of beach during a waxing high tide.


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## xcguy (Apr 18, 2004)

mikesee can you tell us a little bit about what it was like taking care of your camera gear? You've said you took two 7Ds with two different lenses and I'm assuming that was so a) you'd have a backup camera body and b) you wouldn't ever have to change lenses.

Did you have the cameras in super protective cases until the moment you wanted to take some pics?

You mentioned you had "too much" camera gear. Do you now think you could have taken maybe lighter stuff and still got the quality you wanted or is "too much" basically what is always required on a trip like this? I saw on one of the other blogs the guy just had an LX3. Were you ever jealous of his minimalist kit?


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

xcguy said:


> You've said you took two 7Ds with two different lenses and I'm assuming that was so a) you'd have a backup camera body and b) you wouldn't ever have to change lenses.


Bingo.



xcguy said:


> Did you have the cameras in super protective cases until the moment you wanted to take some pics?


Yep, both were in padded cases inside of drybags--not just to protect against moisture, but also sand and impact.



xcguy said:


> You mentioned you had "too much" camera gear. Do you now think you could have taken maybe lighter stuff and still got the quality you wanted or is "too much" basically what is always required on a trip like this? I saw on one of the other blogs the guy just had an LX3. Were you ever jealous of his minimalist kit?


The only way to get killer quality is to use the good stuff.

Knowing how unlikely it is that I'd ever get to see that stretch of coast again, I went in with the attitude that I needed to pull out all the stops (i.e. carry what I did) to get some good images and vid clips. It's very unlikely that I'll ever take this level or amount of gear again though--unless I have an ironclad guarantee from the other riders that they don't mind waiting while I make use of it. I didn't mind (much) carrying all the weight and bulk, but I also felt like I was always holding the group up.

There's a compromise in there somewhere. I need another trip (stat!) to figure out where it is...

MC


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

redtabby said:


> I was wondering if the forecast tides were a factor in planning when to launch the trip, daily itineraries, etc?  It seems like it would be more complicated than simply switching to raft if you started running out of beach during a waxing high tide.


We took tide charts with us and used them a lot toward the end--when paddling was the bulk of our daily activity. There was never a decision of 'should we ride, or paddle' because the terrain dictated that. But we used incoming tides to push us toward our destinations, and had to adapt on the fly to unpredictable currents running counter to our preferred direction. Very rewarding to be able to match our schedule to the tides and get their, um, tidings...

MC


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## vmaxx4 (Jul 13, 2010)

Congratulations on....living out a dream...completing your adventure...constructing an amazing video...strengthening your friendship... and thanks so much for sharing it. :thumbsup:


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## Scott forty G. (Dec 25, 2009)

Dear Mike - FU! Because of this trip, i can no longer call my rides EPIC. How can i?

Well done guys! It looks like an amazing trip that can be remembered for life. I'm really curious as to how the planning and logistics were done and the amount of time it took to plan it.

PS. What are the chances that this can be submitted to a cable company like discovery channel or adventure channel or even a short movie documentary. The way the whole 225 miles was captured in a 10 minute video is both astonishing and simply amazing! 

Thank you for sharing!


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## thorkild (Jul 22, 2008)

Scott forty G. said:


> PS. What are the chances that this can be submitted to a cable company like discovery channel or adventure channel or even a short movie documentary. The way the whole 225 miles was captured in a 10 minute video is both astonishing and simply amazing!


there have been a few of these type of trips over the last 20 years that have gotten some good press.

In the early 1990s, national geographic did a feature article on a biking/pack rafting traverse across 700 miles of the Alaska range. Incidentally, Roman Dial was on that trip and also this trip with mike (check out Roman's pack rafting videos on YouTube some time).

In around 2007, two people took pack rafts and skis and walked/paddled/skied 4,000 miles from Seattle to the Aleutian islands. I believe they wrote a book about it and there might be a movie. http://www.groundtruthtrekking.org/Journeys/WildCoast.html

Last year, another guy did a some sort of several thousand mile hiking/pack rafting trip around all parts of Alaska. That trip was also sponsored by national geographic so there should be an article on it soon.

A couple of months ago, Bike had a sweet pictorial article of a bike rafting trip from yakutat to Cordova (same starting point as mikes trip, but went north instead of south).

Sooo cool to see all of these trips getting done!!


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## Bearbait (Jan 14, 2004)

The first trip in 2008 from Yakutat heading north was published in Adventure Cycling Magazine June 2010. 

Thor - Skurka's article was published this Spring in Nat Geo.
cheers


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## rhyth (Feb 10, 2011)

This is inspiring to the max. A wonderful adventure, and you've captured and documented it very well. I walked across America a couple years ago and while I did get a lot of great pictures, I do wish I had taken the documenting of my own journey a little more seriously. 

Great job! :thumbsup:


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## thorkild (Jul 22, 2008)

Bearbait said:


> The first trip in 2008 from Yakutat heading north was published in Adventure Cycling Magazine June 2010.
> 
> Thor - Skurka's article was published this Spring in Nat Geo.
> cheers


Sweet. I'll have to check it out. I was operating from memory there--too busy with work and the bike world these days, so I'm often not caught up on the packrafting stuff as much as I'd like to be.


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## ebxtreme (Jan 6, 2004)

Second time watching it.

Thanks for taking the time to take the vid and pics. I'm sure it was a pain in the arse for everyone, but the finished product is well worth it. THANKS Mike C!!


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## Joe-n-TX (Feb 25, 2011)

Wow! I have been to Alaska and to Glacier Bay Nat'l Park. The video only slightly tells the story of such an amazing feat! This is a great story for one of the cable channels, Nat Geo, TLC, Discovery, etc... This should be shared with all to see! Narrated by all the group members with the additional photos and vids that I'm sure you have.

Thank you for sharing!


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## Guest (Jul 15, 2011)

Thanks, this has me questioning what the heck am I doing here. Great vid!


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## islander (Jan 21, 2004)

Gotta love these AK trip adventure reports - always mind expanding & big plus for this forum. Two things I wonder: would a CanonG11 in a submersible case be a silver bullet in this setting? Also ready to take the shot w/o a case needing opening, less bulk & weight than SLR. Second, are your feet always going to be shrivel'd prunes at day's end? Would breathable hipwaders and wading boots make much sense?


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## deVries (May 19, 2009)

*"Just" Awesome*



mikesee said:


> It's very unlikely that I'll ever take this level or amount of gear again though--unless I have an ironclad guarantee from the other riders that they don't mind waiting while I make use of it. I didn't mind (much) carrying all the weight and bulk, but I also felt like I was always holding the group up.
> 
> There's a compromise in there somewhere. I need another trip (stat!) to figure out where it is...


Here's a no compromise idea... go with other photographers. Then equipment & camera assignments can be shared, and a beautiful documentary length film would be the awesome most excellent outcome too. :thumbsup:

Teary eyed & speechless... truly some spiritual inspirational videos... I just am amazed at what we/some can do & share now with anyone interested online.

Mike, I love your writing abilities too. You must keep writing more adventure articles if you've not written many yet. :thumbsup:


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## Ryan_in_AZ (Jul 6, 2011)

I feel like I was there. Thank you for making this video, it was truly an epic. You guys are so hard core. Much respect! The video was so wonderful.


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## ridedh151 (Jul 18, 2011)

so sick!!!! inspiring


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## yogiprophet (Jan 9, 2006)

Some of your stills were surreal.

I recently saw the pictures of your first bike/raft trip on the Fat Forum. If I remember correctly, I think at the end you commented how you contemplated the possibilities that opened up......


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## Znarf (Nov 12, 2005)

Really intense!

Spirit of the adventurer, natures beauty, riders passion.

Those were 10minutes of my lifetime that were not wasted. Several days of your lifetime that werent wasted, too.

Greetings Znarf


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## FlynG (Apr 25, 2006)

Epic has a definition now.


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## DaveSi677 (Apr 3, 2011)

Are all your pictures uploaded somewhere on the net? 

I would love to go threw them as they seem breath taking!


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Pithecoid said:


> how did the equipment hold up to the trip? Any major mechanicals or other difficulties that you had to deal with?


I can't think of any true mechanicals with the bikes. No flats, no broken chains. Roman was the only one with a derailleur/shifter, and it needed a minor adjustment once but that was it. Chains were rusty and stiff every morning, but some lube and some motion seemed to solve that.

Doom had a leaky boat at the start, and it still leaked about the same amount at the end.

The main valve on Eric's boat developed a leak about 8 days in, which he fixed quickly with some Aquaseal during a lunch break.

I killed a Canon 7d body on a blown surf landing, and am still not sure if it died due to impact or moisture--there didn't seem to be enough water in the drybag to matter.

I think that's about it--pretty minor.

MC


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

islander said:


> Gotta love these AK trip adventure reports - always mind expanding & big plus for this forum. Two things I wonder: would a CanonG11 in a submersible case be a silver bullet in this setting? Also ready to take the shot w/o a case needing opening, less bulk & weight than SLR.


IMO, no. That tiny sensor, lack of a true wide angle lens, and graininess when zoomed way in are all deal killers for me. Convenience, compactness, and waterproofness of that setup would be great, but IMO the image quality would be sub par.



islander said:


> Second, are your feet always going to be shrivel'd prunes at day's end? Would breathable hipwaders and wading boots make much sense?


I had a set of gore wading pants with integral neoprene booties on this trip. Everyone else had rain pants and wool socks. On the warm/dry days (roughly the first week) my feet were shriveled prunes (due to marinating my feet in my own sweat) while everyone else was dry and happy. On the wet days of paddling, or repeated river crossings, and especially the glacial streams, my feet were toasty and warm while everyone else was wet and cold or even numb.

No silver bullet--just varying levels of compromise

Had it been cold and rainy like it usually is in SE AK, my system would have been pretty solid. As it was, I think we were all pretty happy that the weather was so nice, and that our respective systems worked as well as they did.

MC


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## Riffmaster (Jul 19, 2011)

Thanks for sharing this. This is an expedition of a lifetime! Glad everyone is safe.


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## Teton29er (Jul 31, 2011)

Thanks so much for sharing!

I lived in Gustavus/Juneau for 14 years, and spent a lot of time in that country. Brought back many memories....

Well done!


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## snowdrifter (Aug 2, 2006)

This trip looks like a real pain in the balls.


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## spovegas (Oct 2, 2009)

Thanks for all your time and work on the pics, vids and narrative. It's huge and killer.


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## Tor-y-Foel (Nov 10, 2006)

Belatedly catching up - WOW. Fabulous trip and superbly recorded - thanks for taking us along!:thumbsup:


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## Climber Rob (Jul 14, 2011)

Awesome. Thank you!


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## David_N (Jun 14, 2011)

That was amazing, definitely gave me a little spark to go get lost in the middle of nowhere for a while


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## ThumperGary (Oct 3, 2010)

Thanks for posting.

Absolutely amazing (and inspiring) :thumbsup:


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

DaveSi677 said:


> Are all your pictures uploaded somewhere on the net?
> 
> I would love to go threw them as they seem breath taking!


Sorry no. Hope to get them up sometime this winter, but for now the vid here is it.

I'll link them here once I find time to post 'em.

Cheers,

MC


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## Andy74 (Dec 11, 2011)

I must have watched this thing a hundred times already. This is the best bike video ever! What a trip!


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## oldbroad (Mar 19, 2004)

I'm very glad I took the 10 minutes to watch. Just amazing!


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## pvflyer (Dec 7, 2004)

WOW .......this video is inspirational !! Thanks for sharing awesome,awesome.


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## Moto Rider (Dec 30, 2006)

Awesome!!!


I need an adventure.


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## AcuNinja (Jun 8, 2008)

Great video. It looks like the bikes suffered considerable fresh and saltwater immersion. Did you have a lot of corrosion problems? There was a photo of a rusty chain in the video. Anyone experiment with adding Zerk fittings a la Art Ludwig/Oasis designs?


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## AcuNinja (Jun 8, 2008)

BTW, I'm totally inspired by this film and this adventure. I'm planning my own adventure of sorts in my backyard, the Colorado Rockies.


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## SleepeRst (Nov 30, 2011)

This film makes me appreciate all the adventures my friends and I have done, and what we will do.
We grow older everyday, move out of state, chase our dreams, but the adventures always unite us once again.

Thank you.


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## BeanMan (Jul 6, 2006)

Tom Chapman: What a ******bag. That sticker elicited a loud Bark/Snort of agreement from me!


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## Funrover (Oct 4, 2006)

Fantastic, amazinh, epic, awesome etc etc. Thank you so much for that video!


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## BuiltforSin (Sep 10, 2011)

Beautiful.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

*Infosaturation.*

For anyone that found themselves wanting more of/about this trip (raises hand...) a lot has been written and shared as each of us has found the time to do so.

First is Roman's first vid from the trip--he had this done before I even flew home from AK:





Next is Eric's gear geekery--detailing how and why he carried what he did, where he did.

Anyone even remotely thinking about a bikeboating trip would do well to study that one.

Most recently came Roman's full-length vid:





And in between all of those came these writeups from Eric and Doom (one, two).

Finally, Roman gave an overview and a blow-by-blow with incredible detail.

I'm working on sharing a day-by-day report right now. Back soon...

MC


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## cerrogordo (Feb 3, 2012)

Amazing. Great music, I thought it was Mono.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Lost and Found: One.The idea was simple: fly with friends to a coastal town in AK, then ride fat tire bikes and paddle packrafts to the next town down the coast.Lower 48 to AK flights are always oddly timed--meaning I had a scant few hours on the ground in Anchorage before we all needed to be back at the airport.In those few hours I was able to do a little food shopping and marvel not only at Roman's fancy little brand new boat, but also his metrosexual dressage.

Food bought and stowed, we changed into our action-hero duds, stacked bikes into Eric's truck, then hit the road for ANC.

We stopped shortly in Cordova, and the gloomy drizzliness of the place (not far from where we'd be starting) had lumps in all of our throats.Packing for a trip like this is easy--right up until you're on the ground in the rain, wondering how to keep dry and warm.

Once on the ground in Yakutat Roman vanished while the rest of us unboxed bikes.He reappeared lugging a pile of (Heet) alcohol, a purchase inspired by the Cordova rain.Mere words can never convey the relief, elation at finally getting going after so much planning, prep, and travel time.

Approaching the beach, marveling at a land of water.

I think everyone in the group knew someone that had traveled somewhere on this section of coast.Except me.Breaking out of the trees and finally seeing the ocean was another tremendous relief--that there was actually a beach (not cobbles, not mud) that looked eminently rideable.

Gorgeous evening light, an enormous sense of gratitude that we'd all made it out safe, nothing to do but ride.And take pics.

These derelict remains were the site of a wall ride, a micro huck, and considerable (literal) relief.

Like a handful of exuberant schoolboys we explored our new environment: climbing bluffs to see what lay yonder, flipping over half-buried shells, telling what we knew about the visible flora and fauna, walking the plank just to see if we could.

The place was filthy with eagles, none of which let us get close.

As evening faded into night, thick clouds obscured the sun.Which hardly mattered because it sets so late up here.We rode on and on, and at least one of us began to fade after a looooong day+ of sleepless travel.

Eventually we bumped into a river that required inflating boats to cross.Rather than risk getting wet right before bed, we backtracked a bit in search of a suitable camp spot.

I figured anyplace above the high tide line but still on the sand would be good--far fewer bugs there.But everyone else seemed fixed on getting off the sand entirely.

When you're the FNG and as green as I am, you follow the leads of others and try to keep your yap shut.
Home.

It seemed like minutes after arriving at camp the others were passed out and snoring.The novelty of the place was too much for me though, and I wandered around camp, down to the river, up into the trees for another ~hour before finally bedding down.Then I made another in a string of full-on rookie gaffes: in the act of rolling from my back to my side I opened my eyes, noting the brightness inside of the tent.Must be morning!Surprised the others weren't yet up, but unwilling to waste any precious daylight, I dressed and shod myself and wandered back out to the beach, camera in hand.It'd be another hour+ til it occurred to me to wonder what time it was: 3:45AM.By the time I got back to the tent, undressed and climbed back into my bag, the others were beginning to stir for day two in the land of ceaseless daylight.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Two.Breakfast was brief and to the point, partially due to our dry camp, but largely (so it seemed to me) because we were all still jazzed to see what lay around the next bend.Just a few hundred meters from camp the Situk River crossed our path, necessitating use of our little boats.A pattern established itself quickly: Eric would inflate his boat most of the way, toss his bike haphazardly across the bow, then slide in and paddle across, full on disaster style, while the rest of us looked on slackjawed or fumbled with our pack straps.By the time any of us even had our boats inflated, Eric would be across, packed up, and scouting the next section.Here Doom and Eric kill time waiting for me to quit screwing around with the camera.Dictionary definition for today's riding would simply be: interesting.There was always something happening, never too exciting, just enough to command your attention and focus here, now.Through the morning we picked our way through driftwood laced dunes and across micro sized tidal sloughs.We saw terns and gulls, pipers and plover, discussed isopods and apopods, and were constantly surrounded by eagles.I did my best to follow the leads of the others.Like Dylan, here, in silent contemplation of where we were.Or Roman inspecting and speculating on the tracks of bears.Lest things get too serious, Doom was always there to break things up with a lowbrow joke--the best kind.Noonish we arrived at the Dangerous River, crossing a long tidal flat before touching tidewater.I'd been warned (by whom I couldn't remember) about big currents near the mouth of the river, and was relieved to follow Dylan and Eric a bit upstream before inflating boats to cross.They were always there, watching.The paddle across was uneventful--serving merely to break up the pedaling.Late afternoon we stopped, built a fire, had coffee and snacks and even micro naps.Interesting riding continued into the evening.Always something new to see, admire, discuss.Around 8 the clouds released the sun, illuminating our world with what I can only refer to as 'god light'.Seemed like about the same time the beach became even firmer and smoother.We swooped and carved, laughing and dodging the incoming waves with meager success.Just before ten someone suggested calling it a day, and we all instantly veered 90 degrees left to look for a suitable spot.Maybe 15 minutes later the tents were up and water was heating over the driftwood fire.Mount St. Elias is the 18,000' pyramid beyond Eric's 'mid.Campfire talk took us past the eleven-thirty-ish sunset and on into the night.


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## trmn8er (Jun 9, 2011)

Wow. I'm blown away. So much beauty. You guys did us all a favor. Inspired us to want to ride the ride of our dreams. Life is short. You have taken full advantage. I intend to try new rides, perhaps nothing this wild, but perhaps yes. Thank you.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Three.

We woke to more gorgeous weather: Light overcast, light winds, warm temps. Pretty much heavenly--but then anything other than heavy wind or heavy rain felt that way to me.


Almost immediately after leaving camp we began popping our heads over the dune line to determine when we could head inland to catch the earliest edge of an angling Dry Bay.


A mile or better past where we thought we'd be heading in, we crossed the dunes and pedaled increasingly soft sand toward the Alsek. Views beyond the water hinted at what was to come.


The crossing of the Alsek was uneventful but for the curious harbor seals coming as close as they dared to inspect us.

We landed on a beautiful stretch of beach on the south side, where Roman promptly called for a coffee break.






Two hours later we were refreshed and recharged, and back out onto yet another gorgeous stretch of firm-riding beach. Potentially my favorite shot of the trip right here: Massive wall of mountains to our left, crashing, pounding surf to our right, fragile little us in the middle. Moments of intense, gratuitous humility like this one remain a prime motivator for me.


We hopscotched back and forth from firm beach to soft dunes, across river mouths and along sloughs, doing what needed to be done to get past the remnants of the Alsek.




Tanking up on a 'hot' day.


Rib.


Late in the afternoon we hit beautiful firm beach again, riding effortlessly for an hour or two under the immensity of the looming Fairweather Range.






Cameras blazed from every direction but Dylan's--he owns one but figured the rest of us probably had it covered, so he left it at home. I envied that a bit.






Ultimately all good things must morph into something else, and the massive boulders on the beach indicated that change was afoot. Eric made a token effort at finding a path through, but returned shortly and we all set about preparing to hike up into the rainforest.




I've mentioned that I felt fully green in this place and in the presence of these men, yeah? This is precisely where the gulf widened. Eric had insisted that we all needed a pack big enough to stuff _everything_ into, thereby lightening the bikes for more easy pushing, shoving, carrying, and even ghostriding. Only he never verbalized the last part, merely insisted that we needed big packs. My inexperience in this environment meant that I simply didn't "get it". I was about to learn.

While the others stripped bags and boats from their bikes and shoved them into their ~55 liter packs, I removed the pedals from my bike and stashed them somewhere in the tight confines of my piddly 22L satchel. There wasn't much more that I could do. Once into the woods, the difference in traveling speed and relative level of exertion was immense. A heavy pack is still a heavy pack, but it's far, far more manageable than a laden bike. They were floating while I floundered.


Where possible we followed well-defined bear trails, picking our way between rocks and placing our feet in the mossy indents left by theirs.


The diffuse light and up-close scenery of the forest was a welcome change.


Just enough devil's club to keep you attentive.


A very, very brief rideable stretch. With no pedals on the bikes we mostly pushed, carried, and shoved.


Despite the intense effort required to make progress, the air got cooler and cooler until I started to shiver through my sweaty clothes. Something was happening...


Topping a small knob allowed us to set the bikes down and peer through the trees. Aha.


With nowhere left to walk we set about inflating the boats on whatever approximation of flat ground we could.




Upon putting in we wove through a maze of (what we hoped were) grounded out icebergs, searching for a path into the main lagoon beyond.






We'd put in at around 9:30, and though no one was rushing we all felt a sense of urgency to find a campsite. It was getting colder and darker and the excitement of the afternoon had us all hungry and thirsty. Eventually we settled for a postage-stamp sized beach with not quite enough room for bikes, boats, and tents.

11pm takeout.


The chill in the air was a miniscule part of what kept me buzzing (and hardly sleeping) all night long. Calvings of the glacier across the lagoon often thundered on for minutes, followed by long uncomfortable silences as we held our breath and waited for tsunamis that never came.

I'd not willingly trade one moment of sleep for the intense feeling of life that vibrated all through me that night.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Four.

Somewhere between first light @ 3AM and when Dylan started rekindling the fire I must have managed a few winks. I felt stiff and sore and beat down inside my bag, but glancing out the tent flaps removed any of those concerns.


I was _here_, now, and anything beyond that was just going to have to wait. 


The view from camp.






Doom was already up and rambling about--I sensed a certain manic to his motions (more than normal I mean...) and figured he'd been amped all night too.


Roman was stirring but Eric was not, so when the thought occurred to just go for a pleasure paddle into the lagoon, I mentioned it to Doom and he blurted his response immediately--some version of 'Oh eff yes--just try to stop me!'.

So we tempered our boats and shoved off.






Paddling an unladen boat through this ethereal scene was nothing shy of delicious. Not a lick of wind, no noise other than the rasp of glacial silt against the paddle and then drops of water falling back to their rightful resting place. One of the most prized hours of the trip, for me.




Eventually we could see that the others were up and starting to tear camp down, so we made our way back, giddy inside and out.


Coffee and vittles consumed and camp broken, we battened down bikes and shoved off for real. It was awesome to see the level of giddy the others immediately rose to once out among the bergs. We probed in and out of melt pools, eased under overhangs, even posed for pics, laughing and nodding our approval all the while.








Eventually the end of the lake came, but not before challenging us with a teeny bit of an ice maze to navigate.


We weren't even fully out of the boats before the bugs descended and proceeded to feast. And it was only going to get worse for awhile.

The maps showed an outflow stream leaving the lake, headed for the coast. I think we'd even entertained the idea of being able to paddle some of it. But there'd be none of that--it wasn't really a stream anymore, more of a linear bog. And it was rarely deep enough for boats, always slimy underfoot, and usually the most direct route was choked with veg that needed to be bashed through or crawled under.


This is about as good as it got--when we'd pop out into an opening big enough to flap our arms at the bugs for a moment.


And then we'd dive back in. 'Thick' is the one word that best described it. I saw bears looming behind every stump and snag, which means I kept my cameras holstered--didn't want to risk falling behind the group.

We could hear breakers crashing into the beach long before we arrived. I think we were all daydreaming about being back out in the open when the bear charged. I was furthest from it--could feel the wave of adrenaline pass through the others on her way to me. Doom was closest, and spent the next hour awake, alert, and yammering on about every detail indelibly etched onto his retinas.

Perhaps a meal for our ursine friend not so long ago? Seemed likely to me at that moment.


One last pond to wade and then we could feel the breeze on our cheeks as we sat in the warm sand threading pedals back into cranks. 


It felt so, so very sweet to get back to pedaling effortlessly along.






Mileage-wise the day hadn't been anything to speak of, but the cumulative effects of the past few days had taken a toll. I was knackered, and as the day wound down I found myself falling further behind the group. Had I been willing to holster the cameras and _just_ ride I might have been able to catch up, but, I reasoned with myself, how likely is it that I'll ever get to see this place again? I figured they'd be easy enough to 'catch' when they stopped to camp. Meanwhile, too much to see to worry about hammering.


Those aren't people prints.






I caught the gang as they got busy excavating spots for the tents amidst these cobbles.


Another calm evening descended as we warmed water, rehydrated grub, then lay under intermittent stars, feeding a driftwood fire while recounting scenes from this and other memorable days of our lives.

These days were so full, so rich...

The thought that floated through my muddled brain as I fell off was this: It seemed like we'd already gotten our money's worth 100 times over, yet we hadn't even covered half of the route.

Stick with me--so much more to come.

MC


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## Big Hooper (Dec 31, 2011)

I just gained 10 minutes on my life! You are the luckiest man in the world, don't ever forget that!


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## unicorn (Sep 24, 2010)

I have been lost in the most serene utopia reading this. I can't wait for more...


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Five.

Our campsite was chosen because it was the only ~flat ground nearby that was ~big enough to host two tents. We'd removed as many cobbles as possible, ceasing digging only when we reached bedrock. Then adjusting the layout of each tent and sleeping position accordingly. It was kind of a novel challenge.

But the spot we ended up with was mere inches above the most recent high tide line, which meant that whenever a wave crashed in the night I sat bolt upright in my bag, fearing that our gear was being pulled out or that we were about to be very wet and very cold.

I'm such a drama queen. The water never got close enough to worry about--all that was achieved with my worrying was a continued lack of good rest.

Packing up after breakfast.


I noted the fine condition of all of our chains and took the time to lube and drag mine. Always the optimist. It was a nice gesture but we rode so little this day it hardly mattered.


For a good chunk of the day we pushed and carried our bikes over and through this:


Again the others moved so much faster, more effortlessly through that I saw them mostly at breaks, or when the boulders had gotten so massive that they'd scout before proceeding.




I had a hard time determining whether they were taking breaks because they really needed them, merely wanted them, or simply felt bad for leaving me so far behind. There was nothing to be done for it, so I just kept plodding as efficiently as I could and tried to get a bit ahead whenever they gave me the chance.

No one likes to be the reason for slowing a group down, so I vowed to limit the amount of pics I took on this day--tried to make them really count. That was fine and it may have even helped some, but the reality was that they were moving so much faster regardless that it was almost a token gesture. Eric's legs are as long as I am tall, and he confessed to a compulsive need to move as fast as possible ("I just put my head down and GO...") when 'schwacking. Then off he went. Roman's bike was so light, and he so adept at choosing lines and hopscotching from boulder to boulder, that he was almost as fast as Eric. Doom and Dylan were just plain better athletes, I guess.


I vowed not to dwell on the speed I couldn't go, instead focusing my thoughts on how I could lighten my load to move faster on future, similar trips. A bigger pack was clearly needed. Less camera gear was obvious, but my heart wasn't fully in that--you can only get so much with a P&S. I knew that this would be my first and last bike and boat trip with a rear rack--it got in the way when paddling, got hung up in brush when 'schwacking, and gave me too big of a platform on which to place too big of a stuffsack. Without the rack I'd be forced to carry less, and in so doing would move faster for a host of reasons.


It was starting to make some sense.

Beach booty.




Slow as the travel was through the cobbles and boulders, near the south end of Cape Fairweather things actually got worse.


When I arrived here I didn't immediately see the others, and could scarcely imagine how they'd crossed this tangled mess and gotten completely out of sight so fast. They were practically underfoot--laughing and joking as always from a protected spot between two massive boulders.

Upon resuming we took a different tack--up into the woods. 


From a certain perspective, it was a lot better up there. 


We'd heard the bear trails through here were ab-fab, and for a person afoot with no bike, they'd have been stellar. But although bears make good trails they don't do so on their hind legs, nor do they schlep bikes along with them. We did lots of crawling, muttering, scrambling, head scratching, and backtracking. In reality, the progress up here was merely a change of scenery--no different in terms of speed or effort.

Can't remember verbalizing it, but as I snapped this pic I wondered how many generations of bears had trodden in those prints?


At some point Roman or Eric poked their head out of the forest and declared that the beach would probably be better now. Glad if only for a change of scenery and a new outlook, we stumbled and dragged ourselves back down.


An exemplary husband and dad.


South of Cape Fairweather the boulders gave way to cobbles, then shortly to beautiful black sand.


It was indescribably wonderful to thread pedals back on and then perch atop a bike seat, all weight removed from sore ankles, knees, feet. Doom and Roman fairly raced ahead in their exhilaration, while Eric, Dylan and I moved more sedately, perhaps simply savoring a peaceful end to the day.

After eleven we arrived at the spot they'd chosen for camp. A fire had been kindled next to a pretty little creek. We cooked, ate, and crashed.


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## mightymouse (Sep 15, 2009)

Mike, your posts are like chapters of a book I don't want to put down. Fabulous, and thanks!


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## redmr2_man (Jun 10, 2008)

I couldn't say it better myself. Your posts read like a book I can't put down.

You live a life we would all love to live. True perfection.

Thanks for sharing!


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Six.

The difficult travel of the previous two days took a toll on all of us--or at least that's the way it seemed as we lollygagged around camp until late in the morning. We stoked up the fire, made coffee, told stories, made more coffee, and just generally seemed in no hurry to get back at it.


Some of this might have been trying to time our crossing of nearby Lituya Bay on an incoming tide, but it seemed like everyone just wanted to rest and decompress a bit. That, and the beach looked to be nothing but pushing right out of camp. Dylan finally got us motivated, without a word, simply by taking the initiative to get up and do the dishes.


And push we did--for all of the 2+ hours it took to get to Lituya. But nothing this morning seemed remotely as tough as all of yesterday--today was just hard walking.


We thoroughly investigated every bit of beach booty we found that morning, partly out of genuine curiosity and partly just for the diversion from pushing.




The routine upon arriving at a water crossing was fairly predictable, but it was anything but scripted. Seemed like each and every time we blew up we'd all figure some better way to rig the boat, or lash the bike to it, or at the very least we'd give some new twist a shot even if it failed. Here at the put-in for Lituya, Roman demonstrated a novel 'roll 'er on in' approach. You'll have to ask him how it worked out.


Crossing Lituya Bay was uneventful in an anxious sort of way. We stayed far enough upstream that the visible crashing breakers at the mouth were never a concern, but ~2/3 of the way across we entered the rushing outflow of the river-within-the-bay where it met the far greater force of the incoming tide. When I saw the obvious line between calm and chaos Doom was just sliding up next to me. After rifling through my memory banks for any clue to what I was seeing and what we should do about it (and coming up empty) I asked him what he thought.

"Dude...

...I have no idea what that is!"

...was his response, which wasn't quite the guidance I'd been looking for. My lack of experience at river paddling had me a bit puckered crossing the eddy fence between incoming and outgoing, and having done it just the once made me no more comfortable, minutes later, when we needed to do it again. Ferrying powerfully came naturally--the adrenaline surge virtually demanded it. Such a unique sight to see so much opposing current channeled so tightly in this wide and otherwise calm bay.

We eddied out and packed up, tanking up on water for what felt to be a scorcher of an afternoon approaching.


Rather than following the shoreline around to the mouth of the bay we cut the corner through the woods, angling in what felt like the most direct direction, but needing to do lots of 'schwacking to get back to the beach. Many good bear trails in that forest, but none of them seemed headed our way.


Even once back to the beach proper it was boulders and cobbles, keeping us to an hours-per-mile pace. We each retreated into those familiar places deep in our own heads. And pushed.

From inside of the tree line the crashing of the waves was somewhat muted, allowing us to hear other sounds: Wind in the leaves, birds flitting or singing, and of course the constant drone of mosquitoes. But there was another noise--one that reached out to each of us several times, with us dismissing it until, finally, Eric asked Dylan if he heard anything. Dylan smiled an impish grin that didn't really answer the question. I thought I was hearing an outboard motor somewhere offshore. Eric dropped his bike and pushed his way out of the trees, then poked back in, eyes bright and smiling, and motioned for us to come look.


If you've ever heard the din (moaningroaningfartingsnarling) that sea lions make you can forgive my 'outboard motor' assumption. We crept as close as we dared, took a few pics, observed them NOT observing us, then crept yet closer. 


Even at this distance they paid us no mind, likely because this haulout had proven a safe haven for generations. We couldn't get to them and they knew it.


It was neat to observe the ways they'd adapted to get up out of the water--usually waiting for an incoming wave to lift them most of the way before lunging. And even more fascinating to see the hierarchy once up on the rock. Brutally effective is the best way to sum up.


Then it was back to the slog. Within an hour the boulders gave way to cobbles, and then the cobbles got thinner. And thinner. And then they just tapered off to nothing.


We stopped there for snacks, rest, and the welcome chore of reinstalling pedals.




And then it was back to riding. The beach was soft for some reason that I couldn't deduce, but it was still blessed riding.


And it actually got much better--delightful even, with an interesting mix of techy rock and exposed bedrock dipping in and out of the intertidal. Truly wild riding.


The sun went away and the mist rolled in, changing the temperature as fast as the mood. The wind came up and stayed there. Suddenly it didn't feel like such a lark to be out here. I believe the term to describe the change that I felt is foreboding.


That feeling was reinforced at two difficult water crossings. This coast is steep and cut by rivers draining glaciers. The water roils from beneath ice, cuts through forest, gains energy, crashes forcefully into the sea. The sea crashes back. It is a timeless battle, the casualties of which are usually limited to erosion. Until silly humans with their toys and delusions of grandeur come loping along to get between the two.


The crashing, dumping breakers prevented us from just paddling out to avoid the rivers. The (lack of) depth and steep grade meant that we couldn't paddle across, either. The rounded slimy rocks and powerful current pushed us to undesirable places--sweeping my feet, causing Eric to stumble and drop his bike, forcing Doom back to reassess his line. Even Roman stumbled. We all had a tough time getting across. An exhausting, hyperventilating, stumbling, staggering, wide-eyed and cold-sweat kind of time.

I'm zoomed in on Roman in the pic above, thus you can't see the real width of the crossing. Nor can you hear the chaos of the waves crashing into the river, feel the power of the current preventing so much as one solid footfall. Perhaps most importantly, you cannot imagine the deep, numbing cold of the glacial runoff our legs are in.

I'm here to tell you that it was all real, it was real big, and it scared me.

Scared.

Later, after dinner, we talked a bit about the day's adventures, but everyone seemed knackered and at best the conversation was thin.


I was knackered too--probably more than the rest. But I wasn't sleepy, not yet. It took a lot of ruminating while staring into the embers to understand why. 


There's this quote that I've been carrying around since college. It rears its disheveled head from time to time and I'm honestly never sure exactly what to do with it. The words are attributed to Nietzsche but have probably been re-worked ad infinitum. This night, I don't know if they leapt forward unbidden out of the musty depths or if I deliberately called them up.

The quote goes something like this: "We moderns, we half barbarians, we are in the midst of our bliss only when we are most in danger. The only stimulus that tickles us is the infinite, the immeasurable..."

Past altercations with these words have seen me torture them into some sort of quasi-logical justification for solo travel in remote places, for calculated risk-taking regardless of time or place, even as a Malloryesque quip to explain (without really saying a thing) why I'm drawn to attempt such seemingly difficult, dangerous, and frivolous endeavors.

I worked the words over in my head.

Added a stick to the fire...

Settled back down...

...and thought some more.

I may have just gotten tired, rummy enough that I didn't want to think on it any longer, and chose an easy way out. But that quote didn't really seem appropriate to this situation either. I wasn't in the midst of any bliss while struggling across those rivers. I was scared, really frightened, because I knew I wasn't in complete control.

That sounded right, if incomplete.

And then I laughed: out loud, tears rolling, belly jiggling--really laughed. At myself, of course. Because only at that moment could I clearly see what a farce the illusion of control really is.

Before I could get sucked down that rabbit hole I kicked the fire apart and went to bed.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Seven.

For the first time on the trip I managed several solid hours of sleep. Then Eric rolled over and farted at ~4AM, loud enough to wake me (zzzzz... ...brrrrrrrRRRRRT! whaaaaa?!... ...bear!!?). Once awake I wasn't able to turn off the stream of thoughts that rushed forward. Chief among them: La Perouse glacier just a mile or so down the beach. The chill in the air came courtesy of that surging river of ice.

I lay in my bag, eyes open, counting mosquitoes in the top of the 'mid (







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Rather than go down the needlessly-anxious road, I looked away, fixating on the waves crashing into shore. 


And was surprised to note that about every 20th wave, in one ~60 foot section of beach, did not rise, dump, and crash but turned to mush and just washed up on the beach. Noted.

Dylan's body language says it all.


The glacier had apparently surged forward since our route benefactors had passed; what we found were house and building-sized chunks of ice calving into tidewater. But the tide was still going out, so we backtracked out of the shadow to batten down the hatches and wait for low tide. Maybe, just maybe it would drop enough for us to squeak by.

Terse discussion focused on the hope of walking the beach. But we had to be realistic--it wasn't likely to go. In his inimitable way, Roman suggested that we could just hop, skip, frolic over the glacier. Pffft--nothing to it, he wanted us to believe.

And he might have been right. I couldn't get past the idea that we'd be doing this in tennis shoes, with laden bikes, no rope, no glacier gear at all. Seemed plumb crazy. I kept that to myself.


A guy can only do so much gear fiddling before the heartbeat banging in his ears gets to be too much. I walked away from my bike, camera in hand, to focus on anything else. Eric had done the same, scrambling up for a better view of Plan B.




Mercifully, low tide arrived and we marched down to the water. No pics here--everything was lashed tight. The water _had_ dropped substantially, giving all of us reason for renewed hope. We committed, threading our way through blocks, wading out waist-deep in surf to get around and through the jumble. My heart banged like a kettle in my ears--easily audible over the crashing surf. Maybe 5, 6 minutes in we came to an opening, were able to actually get back onto beach gravel for ~100 yards, albeit under an overhung wall that spit cobbles and frozen chunks every few seconds. Tense.

At the end of that stretch it was back to the labyrinth--into and out of the surf, pausing, timing dashes between breaking waves, hoisting the bikes over bergs half-submerged. I don't believe my HR ever came below 180 through here--just pinned.

Next time I looked up Eric was coming toward me, fast. As he came abreast he threw a look over his shoulder, "Totally blocked--let's get the eff outta here."

There was relief in retreat, but we still had to make it back. The section of gravelly beach seemed a safe haven--we relaxed slightly, caught our breath while moving slower, preparing for the last rush out. Eric and Roman hit the exit chute first, Dylan and Doom shortly behind.

C-c-c-c-r-a-a-a-a-a-c-c-c-k-k-k-k...

We all heard it at once, didn't need to look to know. Eric and Roman were out of harms way, but the van-sized hunk of ice was falling toward Dylan and Doom. They broke into a run--forward and sideways--doing what they could to put space between them and it. The many-ton chunk of ice concussed gravel (we could feel it in our chests), spraying softball-sized shrapnel our way. Dylan and Doom took some glancing blows and kept running.

Minutes later, catching our breath and gathering wits on a sun soaked beach, all that remained were cotton-mouths and a scared-straight adrenaline hit. It had been close.

Now what?

Roman lobbied for the over-the-top approach. Dylan seemed to tentatively agree. Eric thought we might be able to surf launch. Doom said nothing, I followed his lead. All of it seemed uncertain, tenuous at best. How far over the glacier? Would we have to camp up there? Could we stay warm with light summer gear and no fire atop a sheet of ice? What if it was cliffy on the far side--forcing retreat in a day, two days?

Lots of unanswerable questions.

Roman asked my opinion, perhaps sensing that I was undecided and might be able to tip the vote. I pointed out my uncertainties about the glacier, our lack of appropriate gear. Point for point he dismissed my arguments, often with good logic, sometimes (crevasse rescue?) with nothing more than smoke and mirrors.

I mentioned the section of beach I'd noted earlier, and the possibility of surf launching there. It wasn't far back, so we saddled up and went to have a look.

45 minutes later Eric and I were inflating boats and cinching things down tight. Raingear on, cameras double drybagged and stashed in packs, boats tempered as hard as possible given the hot air and cold water. Eric was ready first, dragged his boat ankle deep and waited. The agreement to try this route hadn't been unanimous, hadn't even been an agreement. Roman wanted to see if Eric or I could do it at all--feared that his little boat would prove hard to enter, harder to punch through the waves. Dylan was rightly concerned about swamping; his boat lacked a spraydeck.

We agreed that there was no hurry: It mattered only that we all make it out through the breakers--once out we could regroup, bail the water from our boats, proceed.

The waves rolled in, cycle after cycle dumping and crashing at our feet. The occasional mushburger lapped up on the beach, but never with enough warning to rush through it--always another dumper right behind. Eric finally committed, perhaps prematurely, pushing his boat through a chest high wave, filling it and soaking himself. In a heartbeat he was inside and furiously paddling, past the surf zone. Success!

My turn. Doom stood at my side, ready to help shove me out when the time was right. So hard to read the waves--just a split second to decide whether to commit or wait. Many, many times he was already pulling and running forward as I held my ground and pulled back. Throwing me to the wolves it felt like! Finally we committed at the same time, but three steps in the wave reared and dumped, filling my boat instantly. We dragged it in, emptied, then started again.

Maybe 5, 6 long minutes later the right break came and we were on it. Doom was so amped to get me out past it that he gave one last shove as I tried to pull myself into the boat. I stumbled, the bottom was gone, nothing to push against, it was all I could do to pull myself to the boat, then up and in. But I did get in, did paddle hard, did make it out to where Eric bobbed along grinning. He handed over a water bottle and I bailed the errant water from my boat. Two for two.

In a very short time all 5 of us shared smiles, congratulations as we rode the swells along the face of the glacier. Roman: "It was cool and felt clever, sneaky almost, like we were getting away with something risky as we paddled a few miles of the Pacific Ocean past a huge glacier."

Pushed along by a ~3mph current, Eric offers thanks to his Sheri Tingey™ bobblehead, while Doom tempers.


It did feel cool, clever, sneaky to sit high and dry in our little boats and spectate the passing of the glacier. Visually inspecting the route we might have taken over the top gave me the jeebies.

Eventually we came to the end of the glacier, to lumpy moraines and chunky boulders, then gravelly beach. Time to land. As we angled in toward shore the swells grew larger and faster. Hmmm.


I spent an autumn living in Hawaii, learned the most rudimentary basics of surfing in that time. Most of the study there had been on the faces of the waves--how to read which ones to commit to for the best chance of a long ride. This was different--we wanted the opposite of what a surfer wants, but needed to commit to the surf zone regardless. As we followed Eric in I quipped to Doom, "This is pretty much a crapshoot, isn't it?!" I looked toward him to see his response, but never got one--his eyes grew big as saucers as the wave behind us stood up and started to break. I can't remember what he yelled--something loud.

As in so many other critical moments of my life, I hesitated. Doom spun and paddled hard to get behind it, Eric did the same. As I sat frozen with indecision Eric motored past me, calmly uttering "I'm outta here" as he passed. When finally my brain convinced my arms to move, I managed but two or three feeble strokes--hardly enough to gain any momentum--then the full force of the wave came down. I flipped, got maytagged along the bottom, then swam a few strokes to where I could stand. Dylan came running down to help collect my strewn gear. As we tossed the last of it ashore, Doom and Eric glided gently in on a lamb of a wave, stepping out scarcely ankle deep.

Fortunately it was another sunny day. An ~hour later all gear was dry but for one of my DSLR's--it never would breathe again. 


We packed up and moved on, riding a mix of sand and gravel, walking a bit, easily crossing several rivulets but forced to confront two (three?) more gnarly streams pouring off of Finger Glacier. Two of these we waded to ~midway, hastily aborted, then hiked and stumbled upstream to find a paddleable channel. So much easier to float than flail, but not always an option.

Dylan appreciating the Fairweather Range--now that we're past it.


The closer we got to Icy Point the more fun the riding became. Stretches of walking were short; skill and oomph and desire were sufficient to keep us on our bikes for 10, 15, 20 minutes at a stretch. It was technical but doable--even with our non-technically adept (brakeless, single speed) setups. It was fun.




At Icy Point, Astrolabe Peninsula lit up on left horizon.




Roman and Doom raced ahead, friendly rivalry developing as they tried to ride more and harder lines, each pushing the other to ride better, cleaner.


We made camp on a gravel bar at Kaknau Creek, spectating sunset cloud pyrotechnics while congregated around the fire, laughing with relief about a most memorable summer solstice.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

Eight.

Morning came as early as ever--sleep ended around 4:30 for me. Eyes open but as yet unmoving, I smiled, reveling in the soreness spreading through my body. You don't often wake in your own bed feeling this rough. Must be doing something right.


Nobody but nobody was moving fast this morning, perhaps everyone felt as raw as I did? We finished breakfast, laid in the sun, did dishes, fiddled with bikes, laid around some more, dinked with random gear repair, then finally got moving. Felt like noon but it was just after 9. Time to admit I can't get used to this amount of visible daylight.


Although the beach was rideable as far as we could see, the group decided to paddle straight across Palma Bay, headed for Astrolabe Point. I gathered that the others saw this route choice as a means to an end--shortest distance between two points and all that. But paddling is still new enough to me that I jump at the chance to do it anywhere. I was thrilled to be paddling flatwater.


Getting dumped by the wave off La Perouse yesterday exacted precisely two casualties: The death of a camera body and the loss of my sunglasses. Normally in SE AK you'd be more concerned about a good set of Xtra Tuffs than any kind of shades, but this day dawned bright and kept getting brighter. A short distance across the bay I knew I was in for a long day. Some combination of the bright sun bouncing off the water, squinting to be able to see, and the small but persistent chop and swell had my head swimming. About halfway across I was nauseous, and long before we'd sighted a place to land my head was banging and it was all I could do to keep breakfast down. Doom earned double bonus karma points that day by sticking close, feeding me sweets, and occasionally loaning me his Lionel Richie signature shades. All of it helped to keep me moving.

Photo by Eric.

In a trip full of exciting moments, Doom may have managed more than the rest of us. Somewhere in Palma Bay, roughly 2 miles from any sort of landfall, a humpback whale surfaced just off of his bow. It blew as it hit the surface, scaring both of us nearly out of our boats. We screamed involuntarily, frozen in place as it arced gracefully and dove back under. The group had been spread out until that moment. We stayed a lot closer after that.


We attempted a landing near Astrolabe Point as everyone was anxious to stretch and pee. I was hoping that a few minutes of horizontal time, eyes closed, on a non-moving surface would straighten out my head. Alas there was no place to land: cliffs into water, barnacles on every surface, a dead seal floating and stinking. Roman consulted the maps and thought we might be able to find something on the other side of the peninsula, so we moved on.


No landing presented itself on the flip side, so we committed to crossing Dixon Harbor and hoping for a landing on Sugarloaf Island. Doom nursed me across this one too, while the others paddled ahead to escape my sniveling.

On the backside of Sugarloaf Roman used his secret blend of ESP and Mariah Carey sunglasses to sniff out a haulout.


We dragged our boats delicately out onto barnacles. I shuffled to the first ~level spot I saw and flopped down. The boys built a fire, made coffee, and shared snacks while I snoozed. No idea how long I was out, but I woke with a clear head and slightly chilled. It felt wonderful to shiver.

Back in the boats we crossed Torch Bay, stopping briefly in a neat little nook on Horn Mountain to piss out the coffee, tank up on motivation, and for Eric to patch his boat.




Roman was diligent about keeping notes of camp locations, start and stop times for each day, a general crib sheet of interesting happenings--and for that we should all be thankful. Many of my recollections in this series were close because I had pictures with time stamps to reference, yet just off enough to be inaccurate had I not consulted his daily scribblings.


Waiting for the glue on Eric's boat to cure.




We paddled lethargically across Murk Bay in the last of the sunlight. As shadows descended our pace rose--gotta keep warm somehow.




Reveling in the last light of the day.




After crossing Murk we ascended to the head of Graves Harbor to camp.




There we found a trickle of water to fill our bottles, a sandy spot to pitch the tents, an adequate supply of driftwood to cook over. Although the night was warm enough to let it burn down after dinner, we kept it going deep into the night. For the atmosphere.


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## Lawson Raider (Jul 24, 2006)

Super Stoke! A wonderful video representation of your incredible vacation! Thank you!


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## socal_jack (Dec 30, 2008)

This thread just keeps getting better!


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## thorkild (Jul 22, 2008)

Fabulous posts Mike!! Exactly the type of advenurous trips we were envisioning when we began developing he Alpacka rafts. Your photo log is a truly outstanding read!!


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

thorkild said:


> Fabulous posts Mike!! Exactly the type of advenurous trips we were envisioning when we began developing he Alpacka rafts. Your photo log is a truly outstanding read!!


Thanks to you for (as I understand it) pushing your Mom to get after the concept. And thanks to her for sticking with it!

These badass little boats have changed the way I look at the world, as well as the way I interact with it.

Only wish I'd found them sooner.

3 more days to come in this story--just getting caught up on some life first.

Cheers,

MC


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## thorkild (Jul 22, 2008)

mikesee said:


> Thanks to you for (as I understand it) pushing your Mom to get after the concept. And thanks to her for sticking with it!
> 
> These badass little boats have changed the way I look at the world, as well as the way I interact with it.
> 
> ...


Ha. I wish I could take more credit, but I only did the conceptual ideas for the original. The implementation and new designs are all Sheri's. I still have the original prototype in my basement though.

The good news is that we do think fat bike rafting has great potential and we're working on some ideas tailored towards it.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

*Nine.*

The cumulative effects of riding, hiking, paddling, schwacking and not sleeping caught up with me on this morning. Instead of bolting up and out of the bag to take pictures at way-too-early-AM, I just laid in the bag and vegged. I was in and out of consciousness for several hours before finally rolling out to meet the day.


Another gorgeous bluebird morning on tap. On the outer coast we'd always had a breeze if not wind, but up in this protected cove it was still--and would soon become stifling.


Tottering around camp on stiff legs and sore ankles was a good way to loosen up while surveying the wreckage. Mine and Eric's bikes seemed to be the worst off--but Eric's easily took the prize.




We ate a leisurely breakfast, fed the fire, soaked up the sun, dozed a bit, then slowly started to motivate. At the heart of our sloth was the knowledge that we had a big bushwhack ahead of us--and we'd had enough of those to know that there was no reason to hurry in.

Company.


Although he could see and hear us going about our chores, he couldn't get our scent. He was both curious and patient, making no hurried motions while everything he did brought him nearer to our spot.


He was also a respectful sort: At roughly 30 meters he hit the edge of his comfort zone and then proceeded to circle at that distance.


Still trying to scent us. 


And then when he finally did catch scent his demeanor changed immediately.




We all smiled and laughed a little bit of relief at that. It hadn't been close--had been anything but--yet the realization that it could have gone many different ways was still cause for minor celebration.

Our route for the day followed the bear up the creek. 


What appeared to be a rideable bed of cobbles underneath a few inches of water turned out to be a slick and slimy mess, and we were off and walking within 90 seconds. And it only devolved from there.




Roman seemed to be in his element--flitting about trying to find the cleanest line. He'd be down in the creek then over on the bank then up on a low ridge, always moving, seeing, sensing. But the only conclusion he could draw, no matter how hard he tried, was that a slow, direct slog was probably the best choice.

Bike leads rider: A rare and appreciated stretch of open meadow.


The day was hot, the travel was slow, tedious, laborious. There never seemed to be any reason to hope for better. Writing that now makes me realize how I'd taken the good weather for granted--this day in a typical southeast cold drizzle would have been truly miserable.

My MO when things aren't looking up is to look down--always something to appreciate, to keep perspective.


We moved through a low pass and briefly had the sense that we'd risen into the alpine.






Then we were back into the depths. Stumbling through thick brush, staggering in unseen holes, catching up with missed footfalls, cranking your shin into your crank dozens of times--per hour. Bike catching on vegetation and needing to be extracted, or climbed over to pull on it from a different angle. There were several ponds that were small enough to lob a stone across--and blowing up the boats to float them was faster then bashing around or wading the edges. There was one spot so thick, so interlaced with veg, that rather than expend the time and energy to bust through it, Eric hung his bike (by the front wheel) in the crotch of a tree then climbed up the bike to reach a small ledge. Booyah--another lesson learned!

When finally we emerged into the open, could feel and see the Brady Glacier looming, it had taken almost 7 hours to cover 3 linear miles. We were all ready for something different.

Almost as if to reward us for the previous half-day of struggle, Ma Nature presented us with some top shelf gravel bars to ride. Terminal moraine of the Brady looms above Eric's head.



The silty runoff of the glacier kept us guessing on how deep the braided channels were. Dylan's not sure about this one, while Roman searches for his toe clip--clearly intending to give'r.


Watching Roman attack braid after braid, then fall in with Doom and race across the cleanest line on the next gravel bar, it was easy to see how he'd become the legendary wilderness traveler that he is: He's both driven and wired to enjoy every aspect.




Eventually the braids came together into channels too big to ride or even wade. We blew up the boats and enjoyed a fast, cold, exciting exit into Taylor Bay. Once the current slowed we paddled ESE across the bay, marveling that the harbor seals all around us could see to move (much less eat) in the mix of glacial/tidal mank. At dusk, under thickening clouds, we found a grassy spot near Fern Harbor to call home for the night.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

*Ten+.*

Lingering in camp didn't happen, primarily because we were all low on water and there would be no hot breakfast nor coffee to linger over. We briefly discussed our route for the day, options for which were only two: My preference was to 'schwack immediately out of camp for an unknown duration over to the head of Dundas Bay, then paddle with little tidal benefit for the rest of the day, hoping to achieve an exit of Dundas into Icy Strait. The topo's showed that the scenery would be splendid, fjordlike, and I liked the idea of avoiding the big tidal currents (whirlpools!) I'd been indoctrinated to fear.

But that was just what I wanted to do--no one else seemed interested in the initial 'schwack. So we went their way, dragging bikes and boats through slime (my GPS insisted we were under 14' of seawater) until we could put in, then paddling through the gorgeous North Inian Pass. All hail democracy! The route my compadres chose featured stunning alpine and marine scenery and a host of curious (sometimes frighteningly so) aquatic critters.
























The water was calm and winds were light--we had nothing to do but paddle consistently and take in the world around us. That world included seals and sea lions, puffins and porpoises, an enormous quantity of humpback whales. Our mode of travel did have one minor drawback: We sit so low in the water that by the time we'd heard the whales blow, breach, or slap they were already gone from sight.

We rounded Pt. Wimbledon and tucked up into Dundas a bit, hoping that the trickle we saw on the map equated to fresh water on the ground. It did, so we lunched at that inches-deep creek while waiting for the slack tide to turn in our favor.












We crossed Dundas Bay in a confusing chop where the tidal flow split, tossing our wee boats about and keeping conversation minimal. Once back along the protected shore past Pt. Dundas the roiling waters calmed and paddling, talking became easy again.


Eric's boat has features the rest of us didn't get.


At high tide we pulled out on a protected beach and had a late dinner, nice fire, then slept a bit before waking early to catch the next incoming tide. It seemed odd to be intentionally shorting ourselves on sleep, but paddling against an outflowing tide makes even less sense.

The morning was breezy at first, then calmed as we turned into Glacier Bay proper. Whales were everywhere, but only if you happened to be looking exactly where they blew could you catch a glimpse. Limited sightings aside, it just felt neat to share the water with 'em.






You know you've arrived when...


5 hours after leaving our brief beach bivy we pulled into Bartlett Cove, stinking, smiling, punch-drunk, elated.


Minutes later a penis-implant-candidate NPS ranger busted Dylan ($160 fine!) for pissing at the waters edge, then harassed all of us for failing to pull permits for our "little grandiose adventure". As if anyone in the NPS could summon the wherewithal to imagine much less give permission for such an endeavor. We laughed, joked uncomfortably in his presence--the way you do when you pity someone but feel powerless to help them. 




Bikes reassembled and boats stowed, we flapped our beach gears feebly down the paved road to Gustavus in search of sustenance--and an airplane. Roman took full advantage of his 2-speed setup to keep the pace high all the way in. It felt like a race. Hell it *was* a race. Inch your wheel in front of his and he'd immediately ramp into a 140rpm spin to beat you back down. We played that game for every inch of every mile to town. With a well-timed hyper spin I cleaned their clocks in the stop sign sprint that landed us on the lawn of the pizza joint. 


The waitress brought pizza and beer as we laughed, ate, reveled in the last of our awful jokes.


* * *

The trip ends there--but I'll wrap it up with a post on gear geekery (what worked, what didn't, what I'll do different next time...) when I get a chance. Feel free to ask pointed questions on gear, the route, Roman's hairpiece, or anything I've omitted above, and I'll include those answers sometime next week.


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## rushman3 (Jan 24, 2009)

MC........thanks for the posting, makes me wish I still lived in Alaska. I remember hearing about Roman's trips over 20 years ago while living there.

Gary


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## Shwaa (Jan 13, 2004)

I've always been "afraid" to carry my DSLR with me in my Camelbak...ha. Ridiculous. Those pictures are insane....

Amazing work Mike. Will you have this entire story/pics like this on your Blog? I want to forward it to ppl, and those without mtbr.com accounts wouldn't be able to see the pictures.

Awesome

EDIT: Nevermind, I see it is on your Blog. Cool


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## itsdoable (Jan 6, 2004)

Thanks Mike. Excellent post, wonderful read.


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

*Random gear geekin'.*

Anyone that's been watching the explosion of fatbikes and packrafts the last few years and been inspired enough to really think about how to carry multiple days worth of food and camping gear (both on land and water) has surely realized that creativity is needed. All of your various 'stuff' doesn't just fall into place--you need to think critically about what to bring and what to leave, and even once you've whittled your pile down you still need to think harder about gear abstraction. Making one item do the job of many is a skill as valuable as pedaling and paddling. Prior to this trip most of my experience had been on trips where everyone was traveling together yet somehow self-sufficient. On this trip we had several items that were 'community gear' like stoves and tents and tools. Silly to do it otherwise unless circumstances demand it.


Once you've whittled your pile down to an acceptable level, gotten it all packed onto the bike, and rolled away from home, that's it right--it's all figured and you just twiddle a friendly gear til it's time to camp, then repeat day after day?


No way. I hadn't anticipated this when I left for the Lost Coast trip, but each and every time we deployed boats or packed them back up, something would change with the way we repacked. The others seemed better attuned to the changes in the landscape, and would shuffle gear around to get a better weight distribution--more on the bike for easier stretches of rideable beach, more on the back for bashing through the boulders and rainforest. But even then they were making minute changes on the fly as we packed and unpacked--boats in different places on the bike, or in the pack, sleeping bags under bars some times, in packs others, on racks or in seatbags yet others.

Not surprisingly, Eric touches on lots of this stuff in his geek post, and (duh) does a better job of explaining most of the why's and how's. Read it more than once.

Mine looked like this most of the time: soft goods in the stuffsack on the rear rack. Boat and paddle under the bars, camera 1 in drybag atop the bars. Tools and such in the gastank behind the stem. Tubes, spare parts (bolts, chain links, sewing kit, zip ties, super glue) and pump in the bottom half of the frame pack, mid-day scooby snacks in the top half. On my back I had water, a stove and pot, and camera 2 with all camera accessories like batts, intervalometer, filters, cheat sheets for time lapse settings, memory cards, etc...

The above setup was great when riding--balanced and compact. But when making the transition to paddle it had issues, and on the boat yet more issues. And it pretty much sucked to shwack.

My boat-to-bike changes were more reactive than proactive--I was often behind and just throwing things haphazardly back together so as not to slow the group down even further. But after a few days of multiple boat deployments a pattern became clear. Having a rear rack was, overall, a bad thing for me. It allowed me to put a too-large stuffsack atop it, meaning I carried more weight in extraneous stuff than I needed to. The rack also got in the way when paddling, no matter how I arranged the bike on the boat. Having that stuffsack on there also meant that each time we paddled I had to unbuckle the stuffsack and find a better place for it--usually lashed and buckled atop the rest of my bike/gear mound on the front of the boat. Then when packing up it added another step in unlashing it and refastening it back to the rack. Totally unnecessary steps.

Later in the trip I put the stuffsack under the bars and the boat on the rear rack--which saved a step in (un)packing. But it was clear the rack needed to go.


Before this trip, I'd never been a fan of the mondo seat bags that have gained popularity the past few years. 


They prohibit you from getting behind the saddle on steep descents, and my 'normal' trips have enough of those that I'd simply made up my mind--I wasn't going down that road. But beaches don't have much steepness to them, so that argument fell flat.

My other dislike of mondo seatbags was a perception that all that leverage on gossamer thin seat rails couldn't be a good thing. This was a seat of the pants assessment and as far as I know it hasn't proven true--I know of no one that's killed a seat yet. Still, even after grudgingly accepting the big bags as the clean bikerafting solution, I vowed only to keep light bulk in mine--think sleeping bag and puffy jacket. Not just for my continued fear of rail failure, but because the bike naturally handles better with weight down low. This is what I did on last fall's Lava Coast trip, and with small refinements it's what I'll likely do going forward. More on that trip, and that gear geekery, soon.

Boat size is also worth mentioning. Doom and Dylan's boats were very close in size (Alpacka Yaks) despite being 2 generations apart, but the rest of our boats varied significantly--in inches (tube diameter and hull length) as well as weight. Roman had the smallest, lightest boat by a longshot. When riding or 'shwacking his lighter load was clearly an advantage. He could ride a tighter, more precise line than any of us--partially because he's wired to keep things fun that way, but largely because he didn't have as much mass on the bike to move around beneath him. All well and good until it came time to float, at which point Roman would grovel (usually at Doom's feet) until one of us agreed to take his front wheel. Roman's tiny little 10" tubed boat simply wasn't as stable in the water with our high-center-of-gravity loads. When the wind and waves came up it was clear that Roman was nervous and felt tippy, even with his massive level of skill and decades of packraft experience. 




Boat packing--look no further than Eric and Dylan's clean, compact setups as models to emulate. Both wheels off and stacked, both pedals off, even bars off, then strap pack on as counterweight to wheels. Low and compact, easy to manhandle the boat on shore, more maneuverable in swells or surf, with less chance of something catching water and pulling that side down.








Contrast their setups with my ever evolving shitshow below:






Packed high and wide like this my setup was tippy in waves, unstable in wind, and much more likely to 'catch an edge' and flip. The wonder is that I only swam once.

My takeaway from this trip is that 12" tubed boats were muchmobetta than 10", and length of the boat was irrelevant as long as you could pack and paddle without obstruction. I also came away convinced that the newer Alpacka hull designs aren't mandatory by any stretch, but the upturned bows and pointed sterns definitely improve flatwater tracking--it's easier to go straighter in the newer boats, even/especially when heavily loaded. The 'main line' of Alpacka rafts (Alpaca, Yak, and Llama) are their most popular boats for a reason--it's hard to see a compelling reason to choose anything else. Pick the size that fits you and your needs best, don't skip the skirt, and you'll be well sorted.

Clothing and kit for a trip like this are as varied as the background of each participant. The underlying tenet, not surprisingly, was pragmatism. We had lots of wool (hoodies, boxers, tights, socks, hats), all synthetic quilts and bags and puffies, some random fleece, and two mid-style tents. Doom's wool tights and Roman's wool shirt looked like they needed retirement a decade ago--clearly they'd proven themselves to the point that countless holes and runs and tears were of little consequence when faced with taking anything else.

The bikes all were geared pretty similar--all running roughly a 1:1 or slightly easier ratio--except for Roman. He had a shiftable dingle (scroll down) setup that seemed great on paper but still wasn't enough to win him the final sprint. No doubt he's rethinkering that and dreaming up some convoluted way to get a rematch.

I relubed my chain whenever I could--usually about once a day. Contrary to expectations, the drivetrain wasn't dead after this trip--I just lubed it up and kept riding it, including another ~270 or so miles on the Lava Coast. Still going strong on this bike--but it now belongs to my Dad.


Between Lost and Lava I peeled the seals off the hub bearings and massaged fresh grease in. Pushed fresh grease into the King BB and called it good. HS bearings were fine. Peeled tires off of rims to find the baby powder inside still fresh and dry and in need of nothing--so I just aired 'em back up.

Packs. Bigger was better here--at least 50L was needed and even 60 to 65L was realistic. How to achieve that volume was debatable. Doom, Eric, and Dylan all had fairly similar UL backpacking type packs, and their systems all seemed to work great for them. Roman's system was different--essentially a basic harness holding a massive drybag, with the contents acting as the 'frame'. 


Set for riding--bulk of load on bike.


Set for shwacking--everything in pack.




Set for a short paddle with (I think) a need to get in and out quick--big current along the far shore? Hence pack on back and bike strapped tight and low.


Load moved to rear rack and back for techy riding--light front end is mobetta.


For several reasons Roman's setup made the most sense to me--it seemed the most versatile (not just for fatbikerafting, but for backpacking and skiraftineering) and adaptable from my limited perspective. I've thrown my eggs into that basket and have been fiddling with and heavily modifying a similar clamshell harness pack for future trips. The best way to sum up here is to say that any pack system (as with any bike, raft, camera, _______, etc...) can work, it's up to you to spend the time finding the issues and solving them on fun backyard trips before going bigger. That I'm aware of, the only turn-key similar harness setups available these days are made by ULA and NRS. Neither of those scratched my itch out of the box, so instead of dropping $$$ and then cutting them apart, I cobbled mine together from the dregs of two older packs--it is an ugly but very functional work in progress.

Food. The thought of the culinary delights on this trip just makes me laugh! We all ate freeze dried stuff to some extent. I had it for breakfast and dinner almost every day--usually recipes of my own concoction like ham teriyaki and beans/rice/sausage/veggies. Doom had a *killer* freeze dried pad thai on a few nights. I sat close to him then. Roman had some really bland meals that no one liked--not even him. I traded him on one night because he hadn't been eating enough--looked a little anemic. He came alive with his best jokes of the trip after macking my mega meal. That'll learn him. Roman's nightcap of powdered milk was a great idea that I hadn't seen implemented before. But the real creativity came from Dylan and Eric, with something like 11 solid pounds of butter and cheese between them. And another 5 or 6 pounds of cookie dough. Livin'! 


Nightly, Dylan would heat a ~few liters of water in his pot by the fire, then pour in a pack or two of ramen, stir a bit, then fill in the gaps with dehydrated potatoes, stir some more, then ladle in a quarter pound of some blend of dairy, often seasoning with a blend of hot peppers Roman brought along. The resulting concoction would overfill a 2L pot--only by eating it down as it expanded could Dylan keep it all under the lid. Then he'd work on it in fits and starts over the next hour--seemingly consuming a mass equivalent to his own.


Paddles. Eric and I took AB Splats, everyone else had Sawyers. Splats are indestructible as far as I can tell--follow Eric around and watch what he does to his some time and you'll see. I've since sold my Splat and replaced it with a Sawyer. The Sawyer is lighter but not by a huge amount--not enough to justify the added cost. But it breaks down smaller--5 pieces instead of 4, and the infinitely adjustable length and feather is oh-so-nice for adapting to conditions--wide glide with 30* of feather at ~230cm on flat, windless days, down to ~205cm and 60* of feather when the wind and waves are up. Added bonus that you can adjust tension on your mid with the length-adjustable Sawyer more easily then stacking rocks or sticks or sand beneath the Splat.


PFD's: Eric, Dylan, and Doom all had real-deal USCG approved off-the-shelf units. They used them as intended, sat on them at camp at times, but also had the option to use them as an extra insulating layer had it gotten cold enough. Roman and I both used improvised inflatables. I tested mine by inflating it then walking into a lake and swimming around for a bit to find that it floated me at least as well as something more legit. Not sure how Roman tested his. On the Lava Coast I took a real PFD and used it as part of my sleep pad--and slept like crap most nights. Contentious subject here--do your due diligence and make your own call.

There are a few other random tidbits and misc minutiae in my original 'beach bound' post.

All I can think of for now. Any questions on stuff I missed, omitted, or wasn't clear on? Ask away.


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## emu26 (Jun 23, 2008)

Thank you.

Sorry but truly lost for words


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## Mai (Feb 4, 2006)

Added to bucket list!


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## mikesee (Aug 25, 2003)

10 years later and I'm packing for another Alaskan beach traverse, using fatbikes to ride the beach and packrafts to cross river mouths.

I dredged this thread to see if there were any ideas I'd forgotten about on how/what to pack. Noted immediately that all of the links were broken and pics weren't loading. 

Anyhoo, I just spent my lunch hour converting the HTML to BBcode, but the site will only let me edit 7 of the posts.

If some mod can change that limiter I'll gladly update the rest of 'em in the next day or two before shoving off.

Seems a pity for this thread to be incomplete...


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## trmn8er (Jun 9, 2011)

Badass. Looking forward to the adventure and amazing pictures. Have a great time and be safe. 


Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk


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