Skagway Waters

by Phil Rowe
As long as we were already in nearby Carcross, Canada, I couldn't resist the urge to bring my little white kayak down the hill to the Skagway, Alaska to try paddling waters of the Lynn Canal.. It had been ten years since we'd visited the home of Soapy Smith and the hooligans who once ruled that jumping off point for the Chilkoot Trail of 1989. But that earlier trip had been part of a group tour, with little time to linger and paddle.

The drive down from Carcross is a spectacular one. The scenery is unsurpassed, with high rocky mountains ringing azure blue lakes. If you've never done it, you ought to one day. You'll not be disappointed.

We stopped for lunch at an undistinguished cafe and then walked about a bit before heading to the marina and a boat launching ramp. I was startled to see how much the town had changed in that intervening decade, and not changed for the better. It was all crass commercialism, typified by $4.00 for a one-scoop ice-cream cone at a sidewalk stall. It had been much more pleasant on my previous visit. About the only place that hadn't change was the old hotel, the Golden North where we stayed back then.

At the marina I off-loaded my kayak from the rack atop my pickup. My wife left me there while she headed back to town for some window shopping (or worse). In minutes I was aboard and headed toward the open water beyond the ferry dock and harbor. Farther north toward the upper end of the fjord was my aim. Time wouldn't permit my venturing across to Haines.

But it wasn't just time that would thwart my paddling goals. The wind was out of the south and high waves soon became a bit more than I wanted to fight. Only by keeping the prow of my delicate craft directly into the wind did I feel comfortable. Three-foot and higher waves and whitecaps seemingly got stronger and stronger. Discretion being the better part of valor forced me to abandon my trek after barely a half mile.

Gingerly I waited for a short pause in the winds before coming about and heading back to the shelter of the harbor. Soon a brief lull appeared and I quickly came around, putting the wind and waves astern. Bigger waves now broke over the hull, making me glad I was wearing my skirt fitted around the cockpit gunnel. I could have been swamped in that icy water, or a least had a cockpit full of the chilly liquid. There was little danger of sinking, because my trusty craft had fore and aft floatation chambers. Back in the protection of the jetty and boat harbor the waters were smooth. I relaxed.

I was, not surprisingly, already out of the water and ready to load my kayak onto the truck again, when my wife returned to the boat ramp. She was bemused to see me waiting there and made some sort of remark about a fair weather sailor. Ah well, there will be another day.