Rising to the Challenge

Prince William Sound is known as one of the best places on earth to explore by sea kayak, and people of all abilities have access to its sights and sounds.

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Alaska’s Prince William Sound’s wilderness labyrinth of densely forested islands and passages is surrounded by steep-walled fiords laced with waterfalls. The myriad passages, coves, and islands hide secret beaches and campsites, providing a wilderness experience unique to North America.

Perhaps surprising to many, this rugged landscape is accessible to people with disabilities. Challenge Alaska, a well-recognized adaptive recreation organization based in Anchorage, and the Chugach National Forest have partnered since 2004 to bring a group of intrepid adventurers with physical disabilities into this maritime wilderness each summer for four days of camping, kayaking, skill-building, and camaraderie.

Approach with Care

Challenge Alaska interns Brandon Harker and Lauren Williams took a long look at the line of bergs about a mile away and Harker, in his distinctive Minnesota accent, said, “Boy, it seems like there’s a pretty good current coming out of that lagoon, and those bergs are really moving fast.”

Although Harker was not familiar with coastal Alaska, his years of canoeing taught him to respect the power of moving water. Challenge Alaska’s certified therapeutic recreation specialists Leah Stiebing and Jeff Dick—as well as Heather Hall, the Chugach National Forest’s zone archeologist—agreed with Harker, and an instructive discussion ensued about how the group was to tackle the tricky lagoon entrance.

This is the type of knowledge needed to safely travel by kayak in Prince William Sound, and participants would soon gain this knowledge by practical application in a real-world setting.

We had been carefully observing this twice-daily parade of ice as the tide ebbed and flooded, emptying and filling the berg-laden lagoon. We watched the bergs pirouette around one another in a timeless dance not just because it was a beautiful and mesmerizing performance but also out of necessity. We needed to form a plan for safely entering and exiting the narrow strait where the water runs in opposite directions twice a day, like a river that just can’t make up its mind. This iceberg-filled “skookumchuck,” as locals call it, presented the most daunting challenge for the day’s paddle.

After consulting the tide tables and comparing the conditions in the strait to what the numbers on the chart showed, we formulated our plan. We decided to wait until just after slack low tide and enter the lagoon right as the flooding tide started to refill it. This would allow us to enter with the current flow rate, which would be manageable and safe.

At peak flow during mid-tide, the entrance can produce strong currents and even standing waves that, combined with icebergs and cold water, make for a committing situation that needs to be approached with respect. We weren’t going to fight these powerful forces; instead we would slip in at just the right time and let the forces of nature work with us. It was important to understand these natural processes and be humble to their power but judicious in harnessing it. This was something we wanted participants to appreciate.

The group landed on a beach and took the opportunity to rest their sore muscles. The spot proved to work for a lunch break and provided a first-rate view of the sweeping icy flanks and deep blue face of the Nellie Juan Glacier. The sound of ice grinding over rock was a low rumble.

Adaptation & Assistance

Derickson Spit is a mile-long terminal moraine composed of gravel bulldozed into place over time by the Nellie Juan Glacier. Due to glacial recession, the moraine is now exposed and vegetated and provides an excellent place to camp within view of the ice. However, this boulder-strewn spit is not an easy beach on which to land and launch a kayak.

Our immediate challenge was getting Skyler, who was recently paralyzed, down to the shore and secured in the customized middle hatch of our big triple kayak, which is used especially for this purpose. Skyler has limited mobility below the neck, but with some adaptive augmentation of the middle cockpit using a combination of therma-rest loungers, closed-cell foam pads, duct tape, and rope, we managed to create a comfortable, supportive base from which he could paddle. After a group effort, we transported the entire triple kayak with Skyler aboard over 50 yards of slippery boulders and into the water.

After Skyler was comfortably settled in the kayak,we turned our attention to assisting our other participants, which included Stephanie, a single-leg amputee; Nick, a paraplegic; Ally, who has cerebral palsy; and Charlie, who has a visual impairment. As it turned out, they needed little assistance. During the course of getting Skyler settled,  Stephanie, Nick, and Charlie—all trip veterans—and Ally made it to the kayaks over the difficult terrain on their own. While they were being assisted into the kayaks, they in turn provided encouragement and advice to some of the trip’s assistants who had never kayaked.

Andrew and Dan from the military’s Wounded Warriors Project were a great help, as was Sam, Skyler’s loyal best friend and personal-care attendant, and Kate Walker, our district ranger new to Alaska from Montana.

Beauty & the Beast

After a few adjustments and a final safety review, the group cast off heading for the lagoon entrance. We rounded the point and hung just outside the straits entrance in an eddy. A group of harlequin ducks, spooked by our sudden appearance, scuttled away in a flurry of flapping wings, nasal grunts, and beating feet. At the entrance we could see that low slack tide had just begun to shift and, as planned, the water was noticeably moving into the lagoon rather than out as it had two hours earlier. This was exactly the condition we were waiting for, not too fast and not too slow; it was just enough for a good, steady push.

After a final check to see that everyone was ready for the ride into the lagoon, we stroked ahead and immediately felt the surging power of moving water at our sterns as we entered the narrow, river-like channel. As instructed, the group stayed in formation in a tight line behind the leader using rudder steering and paddle strokes to navigate past a large boulder, nearly invisible beneath the silt-laden waters. Icebergs joined us, but  knowing 80% or so of their bulk lurked beneath the surface and they could roll over at any time in the moving water, we gave them a wide berth.

The current faded and the lagoon opened up before us, presenting a maze of icebergs ranging in size from something you could put in a drink to one that would easily crush a motor home. Seals surfaced and curiously inspected us with their dark, bulging eyes. At times their hind flippers slapped the water in alarm as they dove beneath the surface.

As we spotted a beach and an opportunity to rest our sore muscles, we picked a route through the bergs and landed. The beach proved to be amenable for a much-deserved lunch break and provided a first-rate view of the sweeping icy flanks and deep blue face of the Nellie Juan Glacier. A low rumble was occasionally audible and, after determining it was not anyone’s stomach, we realized it was the sound made by an unimaginable volume of ice grinding over rock. It is a humbling experience to hear the sound, see its source, and take in the primordial and austerely beautiful landscape that has been shaped by these forces.

Rest & Relaxation

After refueling our internal engines with food and warm drinks, we set off again to get an up-close, but not too close, look at the glacier’s towering ice face. As we steadily and respectfully approached the glacier, we saw the intricacy of its icy folds, hanging seracs, and impossibly tall, leaning towers of ice crystallizing before us as the winds picked up and a light mist drifted down. After a while we reluctantly turned away and allowed the gentle winds to coax us back toward camp.

We spent six hours exploring the lagoon, and the tide, as planned, was just beginning to pour back into Port Nellie Juan. We caught the ebbing flow and marveled at how different the entrance looked now that the gravel bars and moraines, which were exposed during our entrance, were now covered under many feet of water.

One last surprise awaited us as we glided serenely out of the lagoon. We spotted a robust black bear, and with hushed alertness we approached for a view. The bear was characteristically engrossed in foraging for fresh grass shoots, and since the winds were favorable he did not notice our approach. Soon we were within a stone’s throw of him and yet safe in our kayaks floating in deep water. He caught a whiff of our scent and stared in our direction, testing the air with his sensitive nose. Seemingly unconcerned, he unhurriedly shuffled off into the uplands.

Upon return to camp we all felt mildly chilled and damp and were ready for a hot dinner, dry tents, and cozy sleeping bags. Around the campfire that night was an aura of accomplishment and contentment.

Over the last four days we had become a tribe of sorts. We learned to rely on one another to overcome challenges that seemed insurmountable individually but were manageable as a team.

“Wilderness” has a different meaning to many but a common theme to all. “Challenge” is synonymous with wilderness. In fact, the word challenge is written into the Wilderness Act of 1964, which says, “Wilderness is a place where opportunities for challenge and risk will remain.”

With the nature of wild places, it is  generally believed that all people can’t expect to access all places. However, when opportunities presents themselves, such as through this kayak trip, these special places can be visited by all.

Contact: Challenge Alaska, www.challengealaska.org.

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