A month kayaking in Katmai

Part 2

By Marc Donadieu
Special to the Turnagain Times

Yeah, I slept well. I don’t know what time I went to bed or what time I woke up. It doesn’t matter. I expected to be rather sore from the first day’s paddle, but I felt invigorated and ready for more. The day began with light rain that morphed into a gorgeous blue sky with bits of fluffy clouds and lots of sun.

I was working my way east to the North Arm of Naknek Lake, and I had to make a decision. To reach the north shore and eventually Idavain Creek. There were three options: Take the long, curving route along the shoreline by heading west, north, and east, head east along the south shore, find the small island midway between the shores, use it as a rest/safety point, and proceed to the north shore or paddle four miles across deep, open water to the north shore.

I opted for the latter. Why? Didn’t I learn anything from a couple of days ago? The water was glass-like, the wind was nil, and the sky was cloudy and stable. Besides, there were two islands on my left for the first one-and-a-half miles if things got hairy.

My decision yielded dividends other than saving time and energy. Being out in the deep, open water of the North Arm is special. There are islands—long, curving shorelines and wide-open vistas.

As I crossed, the sky was reflected in the water. Once in a while I could see the lake’s bottom far below, but it was mostly too deep to see. Several times I stopped paddling and let the kayak drift to a stop. I gazed at the 360-degree panorama of tree-lined shores, calm water, and a clouded sky. The silence was gripping. The water smelled fresh and vibrant while I sat in the kayak and took it all in.

I returned to the steady rhythm of paddling. Then in the distance, I saw a sizable bird plunge into the lake, pull out, and fly to a large shoreline rock. As I paddled nearer, I saw it was a bald eagle munching on a large fresh fish, probably a rainbow trout or a char. Another eagle quickly joined the scene and was promptly chased off by flapping wings and squawking cries. My approach brought me closer to the feeding eagle, so I veered away slightly to avoid spooking it.

After three days, I had reached my first destination at Idavain Creek. Despite feeling stronger and more confident on the water after paddling for about 13 miles, I felt too tired to fish on the first night. For three days, I was the only person on Idavain Creek, but there were plenty of wolf, moose, and bear tracks in the area, including a cub’s.

For those reasons, I like sleeping next to a shotgun with six slugs. I really don’t want to have to shoot a bear in self-defense, and I’m willing to fire a warning shot if I can. I also keep the shotgun handy when cooking because the odors will easily draw in bears. I also feel much better walking through the dense brush along Idavain Creek in case I encounter a bear at close range.

I am learning how to use a fly rod, so the solitude allowed me to improve my casting from atrocious to horrible without any giggling witnesses. Still, I’m sure I heard some wolves snickering in the shrubs. Somehow, I caught a few rainbow trout, which were my first ones. Finding out how to read water is paying off.

I had a memorable dinner of chicken noodle soup with chorizo, sun dried tomatoes, red pepper flakes, and rice, with dried cranberries for dessert. A guy shouldn’t starve in the wilderness.

I spent three days on Idavain Creek reading, fishing, eating, and enjoying the scenery. I walked around the shoreline and the creek observing big and small details like water patterns and landscapes. One evening, the sun and sky cooperated to make a memorable scene on the creek’s mouth. The distant mountains still had snow and the sun’s long rays were warm red, making the light utterly seductive. The glassy water shimmered in a deep blue hue while partially exposed rocks lightly glowed in the creek’s mouth as the snowy mountains stood by capped with clouds.

It was time to set out for the Bay of Islands. Despite having a month, time moves too quickly and I have to be aware of how long I spend in any spot to get to the places I want to see. The paddle into the Bay of Islands was gorgeous! The views of the surrounding snow-covered mountains got better as I got closer.

There are many islands shorelines that vary from rocky and rough to smooth and sandy. While paddling in shallower water, I could see the constantly changing lake bottom and the large and small rocks that inhabited it. I paddled in south and west between islands with no particular destination in mind. I just wanted to find a sandy beach to set up camp.

I was getting tired and the wind and water were picking up. I found some grassy, shallow water with a small sandy beach. It was the best place I could find because everything else was too rocky. However, there were lots of bear tracks crisscrossing the sand. There were big tracks, bigger tracks, smaller ones, and a hole dug in the sand. There was even a set of moose tracks going into the shallows that were loaded with pike fry.

The weather grew worse as the evening progressed. The east wind relentlessly whipped and hammered my tent all night long. The tent stakes frequently loosened in the sand and forced me to make adjustments. I had to ride it out, and somehow I managed to get some sleep. The wind was pretty strong the next day, so I stayed put for another night. My consolation was a dinner of couscous with cashews, dried cherries, and tarragon.

The next day I arrived at a cozy, sheltered island beach with a steep, treed incline behind it. The spot was idyllic, especially since the east wind barely reached this point and the temperature was pleasantly warm. In the distance, I could faintly see the western shoreline and hills of Naknek Lake on the horizon.

I had come a long way since I began this trip, and I still had not seen another human. I was just a couple of miles from Fure’s cabin where I would make a portage to carry all of my gear over a two-mile trail to reach Lake Grosvenor.

Little did I know that I was about to have the encounter of a lifetime.

Part 3 next issue Sept. 16.

Marc Donadieu lives and writes in Naknek, Alaska.