Kayaking in Whittier Passage

Day 20--Tuesday, August 7, 2002

Awoke this a.m. to the sounds of trains and cranes and trucks—the hustle bustle of a combined train and shipyard. Had vege cream cheese bagels for breakfast and then left to find a kayak rental place.

Artfully decorated green outdoor carpet; the only green for miles

First we stopped in the downstairs grocery to reserve our room for a second night (there's no place to camp over here). The Japanese woman who, with her young son, runs the grocery was excited to see Jess whom she had talked to the night before. What were we going to do today? Kayaking? Oh good. Young son could tell us many places to hike and things to see. Want room for another night? Go to dining room bar. (There is much "Engrish" spoken and posted up here, e.g., "Smoke salmon, assorted flaver" [not a new cigarette brand] "Many Food; Salard Bar.") 

Anyway, we crossed under the railroad yard via an interesting tunnel (right) and found a kayak rental place in the eight or ten tiny touristy log buildings that comprise waterfront Whittier. We gleaned a lot of info from the kayak outfitters but they didn't rent half day, so they directed us to another place.

Back though the tunnel and up a hill to the rental place in an enormous concrete building. Here we met probably the most annoying person I've ever had to deal with. He kept scurrying off in a tizzy, starting something and then getting distracted and starting something else, contradicting himself, and forgetting where he was going. At one point he heard a motorcycle and scurried off. When he returned, he announced that it was his cousin etc., etc., and so forth. Must have taken us the better part of an hour to get the kayak in the water. Both Jess and I later agreed that we'd wanted to grab him by the collar and slap him up the side of the head—several times.

Once in the water, Jess schooled me in the finer points of paddling a kayak. "Torso rotation, torso rotation, Mom," became the chant whenever I'd tire and begin paddling with my arms and not my upper body.

We paddled up the southwest side of the Whittier Passage. Two mature bald eagles flew across the passage above us and then returned—one with a kittiwake lunch—a little later. They lit in trees near us to eat their lunch . . . feathers floating down. I got a photo of one, but it may look like a speck as it was pretty high in the tree.

We then crossed over to the opposite side of the passage to view the many waterfalls there, to see the Billings Glacier, and, of course to see the kittiwake rookery. (For you nonbirders, a kittiwake is a small gull-like bird with black or red legs. These were black-legged kittiwakes.)

I took a couple of photos of the Billings Glacier. Let me tell you the names of the Glaciers in this area: Above and just to the south of Whittier are the Blackstone and Tebenkof glaciers; off the Barry Arm are the Billings, Pigot, Harriman, Roaring, Cataract, Surprise, Toboggan, Serpentine, Cascade, Barry, and Coxe glaciers; off College Fjord are the Holyoke, Barnard, Wellesley, Vassar, Bryn Mawr, Smith, Harvard, Downer (how'd it get in this mix?), Yale, Baby (?), Dartmouth, Williams, Amherst, and Crescent (?) glaciers.

Okay. Back to the waterfalls and kittiwakes. As we approached the rookery, many of the birds, which nest on the side of the cliffs, flew off the cliffs wheeling and screeching. We found out why a moment later when a peregrine falcon flew toward us with a kittiwake lunch. This is pretty astounding because the kittiwakes are larger (18 inches) than the falcon (16 inches). A moment later, TWO peregrine falcons returned and caused panic again.

We watched as they tried to catch a kittiwake on the wing. We had joked about the kittiwake colony being the eagles' and falcons' fast food, but it was not as fast or as easy as it looked. It took the pair of winged wolves quite awhile before they snagged another meal. I wonder why they don't prey on the young kittiwakes? They're much smaller and they huddle on the rocks and don't fly.

When we got back, Mr. Annoying Man was perched on a rock by the beach looking like a gargoyle in a red shirt. His darkly bearded, gap-toothed cousin, dressed in black leather covered with metal studs and wearing a flying ace type leather cap with fur ear flaps, was revving the motor of his ancient motorcycle nearby. As soon as we were shed of these two, we walked up to the waterfalls and river cascading off the Blackstone Glacier above Whittier. Then we explored the tourist huts on the waterfront, bought some dinner supplies, and returned to the Anchor. Jess was greeted warmly by the grocery store woman and her young son. They wished her happy birthday (her birthday is in June) and told her that "her Mom say, so not secret." (I never said anything.) When we got to the room, tacked on the door was a "Happy Birthday from the management" note. Too strange.

Tonight we plan on doing our wash in a small laundry under the main building, and having beer in the bar on the third floor, just to check out the clientele in this gritty little industrial town of 300 souls.