Brian Stoecker (left) and Kris King flee the approaching bore tide south of Bird Point. Bores travel 10-15 m.p.h., thus can be outrun, but as bores never tire, they cannot be outrun for long
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Brian Stoecker (left) and Kris King flee the approaching bore tide south of Bird Point. Bores travel 10-15 m.p.h., thus can be outrun, but as bores never tire, they cannot be outrun for long |
By Brian Stoeker
Special to the Turnagain Times
Turnagain Arm’s bore tide is a sovereign majestic yet heartless force with a temperament yielding to none.
Last month I got a call at 4 p.m., Sept. 28. “The biggest bore of the year hits Bird Point at six o’clock. Be there.” I would have known were it not for work, girls, Myspace and our perpetually dispiriting rains. A glance at the tide book confirmed the time and a (revised) high tide of 38 feet. North of Beluga Point, the phenomenal force began to brew and the chase was on.
Turnagain Arm’s famous tide ranks as the world’s third highest and its bore follows similar suit. These extremes arise from two primary factors. Southern Alaska’s global proximity generates greater tides than tropical or polar latitudes, and the arm’s topography (a long tapering shallow bay) affords the “seiche effect”, often compared to the sloshing of water in a bathtub. Twice daily, tidal waters drain from the arm like a river, leaving a silty brackish outflow meandering the barren expanse. The returning surge inundates the empty bay as a flash flood—the bore tide. Extreme tides conveying over 40 feet of water through much of the Arm can generate class III and IV white water rapids.
The official maximum Anchorage tide (frequently attributed to Turnagain Arm) is 38.9 feet, with the “record” Turnagain bore cresting at 15 feet. These are two of many myths. Having viewed chased or fled hundreds of bores; I’ve never seen a 15-footer. Definitely ten, perhaps 12, but never 15 (Note: the arm’s absence of any means to measure the bore). The 15-foot myth is a recent estimate, committed to print. The Port of Anchorage tide is actually 39.5. The little known 4.4-foot correction at Sunrise places the Turnagain tide at nearly 44 feet. Counterintuitive as such a range may seem, ponder instead the Bay of Fundy’s record 55-foot tide. If Turnagain Arm’s displacement still remains unfathomable, then consider viewing the high watermark from the low to validate the figure.
Bear in mind the slick rocks and myriad esoteric hazards, for everything about Turnagain Arm is less predictable and more dangerous than the average of everything else in Alaska.
The Sept. 28 tide was a “spring tide”—referring not to a season, but to the German word “springen”, meaning “leap” (some attribute it to a similar Welsh word meaning “bulge”). These leaping tides occur throughout the year during the full and new moon cycles, when solar and lunar gravitational forces compound to induce the greatest variances. Tidal fluctuations maximize in the spring and fall when the Earth is nearest the sun, hence the sun plays the wild card in the seasonal augmentation of the tide. During these phases, bore aficionados rendezvous along Turnagain Arm from “Bird to Gird”, marveling at the phenomenon. Surfers, kayakers and tide-dodgers add curiosity and occasional doses of adrenaline-fueled stupidity to the spectacle.
Stalking the bore is simple: acquire a tide book—usually free at Wal-Mart, gas stations, or fishing license outlets. Check the Anchorage section for tides over 30 feet—any less, and the drive supersedes the bore. Remain aware of the time of the preceding low tide, this is your benchmark. The bore reaches Beluga Point an hour after low tide and Windy Point a half-hour later. The Seward Highway from Bird Point to Girdwood affords the best viewing by far. The spring-tide bore will arrive 2.5 hours after low tide, give or take 15 minutes—she is a fickle one.
?I met my fellow tide-stalkers at the first pullout south of Bird Point. The bore rarely emerges there, but is visible en-route, plying the south-side channel across the arm near Sniper’s Point. There the channel veers north, though bores never turn in kind. They gradually fan out, spreading their accumulated mass across the arm where they subsequently thin and die. Predictably, the bore du juor did not regenerate prior to our vantage point. The surge merely reversed the water’s flow. She’s sneaky that way, as folks often await a bygone bore, miles in her wake.
The wave formed as we sped to the next pullout. With a lone surfer in the water, a dozen witnesses peered from shore. He (or she) missed the wave, barely. Soon the bore passed, having matured considerably in limited time.
On with the chase.
By the third pullout, she had blossomed into a frothing nine-foot wall of Poseidon’s wrath. A stiff headwind drew the spray from her crown, simulating the tempestuous hair of Nemesis. Her deafening roar negated the cheers of her dervish audience gathered safely above. She seemed as a living entity—the invincible gladiator relishing her Colossal fame. At water’s edge, two tide-dodgers awaited as prey in a blood-sport. The merciless predator descended upon them, indifferent to their footing and their fate. The dodgers narrowly escaped her path as she crashed through with the force and fury of an avalanche. Though one got wet, both lived to dodge another day. To some, life is best when cheating death.
Short of the next stop, the channel again veers across the Arm, thus we skipped it in favor of dining and libations at Jack Sprat. Besides, I was cold, and wet from the thighs down. As we passed the bore a final time, the dry dodger casually loped before the diminishing surge as it steadily overtook the mud.
Though spectacular, that was not the Mother of all bore tides. The Mother will kiss Bird Point no earlier than 5:30 p.m. on Saturday, Oct. 27. In the circus of waves, that one promises to be a freak-show. I will be there. Don’t be late. If you can’t attend, the afternoon bores in the days before and beyond will easily impress. The times will change, so consult a tide book or newspaper and do the math. But don’t do anything I’ll regret.
Trivial Tidal Fables and Facts
Fables:
The Bay of Fundy does not have 120-foot tides as reported on the Internet. Burntcoat Head, Nova Scotia, holds the tidal record of 55 feet. A plaque once marked the site when it was 54.? Misinformation about Fundy runs amok, thus the measure may not represent Fundy’s full range which includes a minus 11-foot low tide. Some sources place the gross displacement at 66 feet.
The Amazon’s 25-foot bore—perhaps a myth itself—can not be seen at 50 miles with the naked eye. Independent of the Earth’s unimpeded horizon lying only 12 miles out, the distance exceeds that between Flattop and the 4,400-foot Mount Susitna, where any such feature could not be discerned without a lens.
The Turnagain Arm mud is not quicksand, but easily destabilized glacial silt, capable of entrapping the unwary.
The newlywed who died while mired in the mud (1989) was not dissevered by a helicopter. The unforgiving tide sealed her fate.
Facts:
Bore tides occur in 67 locations worldwide.
Bores have killed many, most notably at China’s Qiantang River bore tide festivals.
Passage Canal and Turnagain Arm—ten miles apart—generate opposing tides. As water does not compress, tides take longer to push from the Gulf to the peripheral bays of Prince William Sound.
Our mud flats bear at least five distinct lethal properties. One can kill you when only stuck to mid-shin. The deadliest can kill whether you’re stuck or not. Learn from the dead. Avoid the mud.
One summer, two human torsos washed ashore in Turnagain Arm.
Finally. In a legendary attempt to free a man from the mud—falsely attributed to the woman in ’89. Would-be rescuers employed a helicopter and a rope. They got him half way out. The top half.