Sunday, May 30, 2021, I was up at 4:30 a.m., thirty minutes before my alarm. I had slept lightly during the night thinking about the long day ahead. Our friends, Jan and Mike, had arrived in Anchorage the previous Thursday from their home in Annapolis, Maryland, for their fourth Alaska-based cabin/kayaking adventure. This time our destination was a U.S. Forest Service (USFS) cabin on Green Island in the southern part of Prince William Sound between Knight and Montague islands.
The seeds of this adventure had been planted in 2016 on a trip to another USFS cabin in Harrison Lagoon. During our water taxi ride in the Sound back to Whittier, we chatted with Brooke Whip, the owner of Epic Charters, about other seaside cabins. He indicated his favorite cabin was the one on Green Island.
While Brooke’s description of the cabin was intriguing, further discussions revealed two factors that gave us pause. First, the water taxi from Whittier to (and from) the cabin, which is seventy miles one-way, is expensive. Second, the trip includes two exposed water crossings where wind-whipped seas can result in a ride that is even more bone-jarring than what the four of us experienced during our ride in gale-force conditions in Wells Passage in 2016. Nevertheless, once Brooke planted the seed about the cabin, it took root. We were determined to find a time when the four of us could go, and hoped that the “sea gods” would grace us with a smooth ride.
While we subsequently agree on traveling to the cabin in May 2019, it turned out that scheduling the trip was the easy part. The hard part was scoring a reservation, which required a strong internet connection, advanced planning, and a little luck. Obviously, the secret was out; we were not the only people in the world who also wanted to stay at the cabin.
Six months out from our desired 2019 check-in date, I was at my computer refreshing the reservation page as the clock ticked down to the exact second bookings became available. I was dismayed and disappointed when someone else beat me to the punch. The trip to Green Island was not meant to be that year. Instead, the four of us spent seven days at an Alaska State Parks cabin in Kachemak Bay.
Still determined to get to Green Island, I was at my computer on the requisite day and at the precise time in November 2019 to reserve the cabin for a May 2020 trip. After snagging the booking, I did a little dance. Jan and Mike could now purchase their plane tickets and detailed planning could begin.
All was well until March 2020, when COVID-19-pandemic restrictions began. Flying to Alaska from Maryland became increasingly complicated due to state-imposed testing requirements and quarantines. Jan and Mike ended up canceling their flights, which was a bitter pill to swallow. Not knowing when, or if, we would have another chance to visit Green Island, John and I went nonetheless.
After our stay, our rave reviews of our time there served to heighten our determination to travel to Green Island with Jan and Mike. An added incentive was the fact that our trip was via Brooke’s landing craft, which provided a much-smoother ride in rough seas. Our focus then turned to a May 2021 trip. As before, making that wish a reality required another round of tenacity, along with more luck, to reserve the cabin. Everyone was ecstatic when I managed to book the cabin for seven days beginning May 30th. Once again, Jan and Mike purchased their airline tickets and planning commenced again.
The previous few months before Jan and Mike arrived were particularly busy and emotionally exhausting. On top of the uncertainty brought about by the pandemic and dealing with life’s daily tasks and challenges, I was immersed in details and events surrounding the passing of several friends and loved ones. This included my own mother; Trill, the wife of my former boss, Paul; and Sung, an elderly woman from South Korea who lived alone in our condominium complex.
By the time Jan and Mike arrived, I was still helping Sung’s long-time friend (who spoke little English) sort through challenges associated with her cremation, funeral-home expenses, and the re-registration and sale of her vehicle. In addition, I was in the middle of helping Paul complete necessary paperwork following Trill’s passing. This was complicated by failures and errors by the funeral home and State of Alaska. At the same time, I was also dealing with an uncooperative funeral home in Nebraska regarding my parents’ gravestone, which had been knocked off its base and damaged. As a result, I found myself in the surreal situation of dealing with three funeral homes and multiple death-related matters. It was distracting and ever-present in my mind. I was definitely looking forward to seeing Jan and Mike and getting away to Green Island, where I would have time to rest, reflect, and rejuvenate. I just had to make it the finish line!
From past experience, I knew packing for a week-long trip to a cabin takes many hours of work. In addition to bringing bags of firewood, camp chairs, and cooler—stored at our place in the Matanuska Valley—into our condo in Anchorage, the most time-consuming task involves a deep dive into the filled-to-the-brim closet in our condo garage. Printing out the latest “Cabin Trip” packing list is the first step in that task. Two pages long and four columns wide, the list is a comprehensive inventory of everything we need for a comfortable seven-day stay.
The next step includes digging through the contents of numerous plastic bins stored in the closet, pulling out items needed for the upcoming trip, placing them on a tarp, and meticulously marking each item off the packing list. After trip-related gear is re-packed into empty bins or placed inside duffle bags, everything is moved back into the closet. The door is then squeezed shut and locked. Typically, but not this time, sticky notes with the cabin name are taped on the outside of the bins we need to take.
Dealing with trip gear is not John’s cup of tea. Instead, he takes the lead planning meals and ensuring we have all the necessary food and drinks. I consider that a fair trade. It has been my experience over time, that sorting items from our downstairs closet, while time-consuming, is best done alone, since extra chatter can, and has, led to items being forgotten. It has also been my experience that no matter how carefully I try, even with a packing list and with or without helpers, there is always one item I am sure I packed—it was after all, properly checked off on the packing list—that is inadvertently left behind. One year it was coffee; another year it was our air mattress. I could only wonder what it might be this year….
The day before our departure, with everyone’s help, the trip bins and duffle bags were taken out of the closet. Gear inside the duffel bags was removed, placed inside plastic garbage bags, and then repacked. Non-perishable food was stored in additional bins; our two single kayaks were removed from their wall hangers and secured for the trip; and five, eight-gallon water containers were filled, carried down to the garage, and tucked around bags of wood and empty coolers. It was an impressive mountain of stuff and did not yet include our clothes, cameras, or other personal gear.
Awake at 4:30 a.m., the morning of our departure, I was fretting that we might not have enough room in our vehicles for everything we planned to take. Only time would tell. Our water taxi reservations required that we drive through the Anton Anderson railroad-highway tunnel, some sixty-five miles from the condo, when the tunnel opened at 9:30 a.m. for one-way, Whittier-bound traffic. Our early-morning schedule would be tight.
With that knowledge, John and I went downstairs to load gear into my Subaru Forester and the back of our one-ton pickup. As John was lifting our two-burner propane stove into my car, he asked, once again, if I had packed matches and fuel. I assured him they were packed in one of the bins, which in fact, they were. That done, we were lifting our kayaks onto the racks on top of my car, when Jan and Mike came downstairs to help.
While John tied down the kayaks, Jan, Mike, and I added blocks of ice to five coolers and then filled them with food from the refrigerator. Once the coolers were hefted into the back of the pickup, John secured the load with a new tarp. Now all that was left was personal gear. My worry had been for naught. We did, in fact, manage to squeeze everything into the car and pickup.
We were ready to roll by 8:00 a.m. with no time to spare. Taking a last look at our load, I jokingly wondered what we could possibly be forgetting. With that, John and Mike jumped into the pickup; Jan and I hopped into my car. Having made it to the finish line, or so I thought, I could now begin the process of winding down and relaxing. While I knew we still had a long day ahead of us with lots of work yet to do, the hard part was done.
As we drove south of Anchorage, we left the sunshine behind. Along Turnagain Arm, it was cloudy and our vehicles were buffeted by strong winds. This was not the time to relax. The force of the wind had me grasping my steering wheel firmly with both hands. The kayaks on top of my car were like sails. When the wind gusted, it felt we were going to take off. John drove behind me so he and Mike could keep on eye on our load. At one point, he signaled me to pull over, so he could resecure the lines holding down the kayaks.
Before reaching the turnoff to Portage Valley, it began raining. We arrived at the Tunnel Control Center with just ten minutes to spare. After paying our toll, we were directed to the appropriate staging area, where we queued up to wait for the tunnel to open. Stepping briefly outside our vehicles to stretch our legs, we saw that the wind had literally ripped some of the grommets out of the new tarp. At least none of our gear was wet…yet.
Arriving at Epic Charters at our appointed time, we learned Brooke was running late; he was still out picking up another group. This was an unwelcomed surprise. Unbeknownst to us, there had been fifty-knot winds the prior day in the Sound, which kept most boaters, including Brooke, off the water. We then understood the reason behind the delay.
While we waited, we donned rain gear and unloaded the car and pickup, storing everything beneath a shelter at the top of the boat ramp. We were given the go-ahead around 10:30 a.m. by Anna, Brooke’s assistant, to move our gear down the ramp to the dock below. As luck would have it, we were near low tide for the day. At minus two feet, the ramp was both steep and wet, making it treacherous. We used Epic Charter’s carts and our hand truck to move everything but the kayaks. It took two people to control a loaded cart as it was slowly rolled down the ramp. It was also a workout to then pull the empty cart back to the top. With Anna’s help, we moved all of our gear, plus everyone’s kayaks to the dock and onto Brooke’s vessel in time for an 11:15 a.m. departure.
Once we were underway, I breathed a sigh of relief and began to relax. I then realized we were not in the landing craft, which we had booked. Sure enough, Brooke confirmed that it had been sent to retrieve a couple in their 80s, who had been scheduled for pickup yesterday. That meant our ride would not be as smooth as we had hoped and promised Jan and Mike. Nonetheless, the dye was cast and there was no turning back. Indeed, it was a bit rough going out Passage Canal from Whittier and across Montague Strait, the final stretch of open water before Green Island. I was thankful, nonetheless, that the ride was not nearly as rough as the four of us had experienced five years ago.
During the two-and-a-half-hour trip, the sky remained overcast with light rain. Views of surrounding islands were mostly obscured. While the sea increased in size as we neared Green Island, it calmed as Brooke motored into more protected water and then negotiated some shoals at the head of the shallow bay called Gibbon Anchorage. As we entered the bay, we were surprised to see two small pleasure crafts offshore near the cabin boardwalk.
Once Brooke motored the landing craft as far as possible onto the beach below the boardwalk, the four of us, dressed in raingear and rain boots, scrambled to unload our gear. The plan was to first move plastic bins and other water-proof containers onto the rain-soaked beach. Then all duffle and other cloth bags would be stacked on top of the bins, while at the same time, tarps would be kept over the entire pile. Part two of the plan was to carry the kayaks above the high-tide line and then move everything else up to, and inside the cabin as quickly as possible.
As we were unloading, we were surprised to see a woman walk from the direction of the cabin to the end of the boardwalk. She shouted, “Are you here to stay at the cabin?” to which I responded, “Yes!” She then made excuses about why they were not yet packed. Not only was I not impressed; I was irritated. The USFS makes it perfectly clear that cabin occupancy begins at Noon on the first day of the rental and ends at Noon on the last day. It was now well past 1:30 p.m. She then headed back to the cabin to begin packing, so their gear could be moved to the shelter of their boats. We, on the other hand, were soon to be stranded on the beach in the rain.
Indeed, Brooke left for Whittier once everything was unloaded. With the tide now rising, we had no choice but to move our gear off the beach. The only reasonable option was to take it all the way up to the cabin, which was now being pounded by strong winds blowing unimpeded across the Sound. As we moved our gear up the boardwalk to the front of the cabin, we passed members of the other party as they moved their belongings down to their vessels. Even though we placed our gear as best as we could under a tarp on the front porch, keeping it away from the wind-driven rain was impossible. I was not a happy camper.
It was after 3:00 p.m. before the cabin was finally vacated. We were cold, hungry, and anxious to begin moving in. While everything inside our bins was dry, we had lots of wet duffle bags and rain gear to dry. Our first order of business was stashing out of the way everything left behind by other cabin occupants. Once that was accomplished, we cleaned the countertops, table, and other surfaces and then at long last, began the process of unpacking.
It was chilly inside the cabin. John, who was ready to light a fire in the woodstove and set up the camp stove to heat water for coffee and tea, asked me for the matches and a bottle of propane. At that point, however, I wasn’t sure where they were. As I continued unpacking each bin, I kept a sharp eye out for both of them. Then after unpacking the last container without finding either the matches or the propane, I enlisted John’s help. Much to my dismay and his annoyance, neither the matches nor the propane were to be found. I was incredulous, since they had been marked off my list, and I had a distinct memory of packing them. After a closer examination of my packing list, I realized I was missing one entire plastic bin which contained, among other items, the propane bottles, fire starter, and matches. I felt sick to my stomach as I concluded that I had just managed to ruin our entire week-long, and long-planned, trip.
After a late lunch of cold roasted chicken, bagels, and fruit, it was time to organize our sleeping areas. I was still figuratively speaking, kicking myself black and blue for my mistake. Then, to add insult to injury, I realized that while we had our air mattresses, pillows, small down throws, and silk sleeping bag liners; John and I were missing our sleeping bags. Fortunately, Jan and Mike had theirs. This turn of events did not bode well for our trip.
Suffice it to say that John went from being unhappy when he learned about the propane bottles and matches, to being very unhappy when I bit the bullet and told him about the sleeping bags. Mike and Jan on the other hand, were totally gracious. I will always remember Jan giving me a big hug, while I was fighting back tears, and telling me that somehow, everything would work out. However, how that could happen was totally unclear at that point.
I was exhausted by the time we all went to bed after what turned out to be, in fact, a very long day. By the next morning, we were all determined to make the best of our situation. With a combination of innovation, assertiveness, and luck, we ended up having a truly memorable time kayaking, hiking, and eating John’s gourmet dinners.