Two months!

It’s been two months! I’m not going to ask where the time’s gone, much of it passed exceedingly slowly as I crept uphill in granny gear with trucks almost grazing my elbow, sweat stinging my eyes. The cold nights, sudden noises in the dark and feeling of utter exhaustion with half the day’s mileage still to do are all fresh in my memory. So, though, are the albums worth of beautiful coastal views I’ve seen, the sunshine, the chats with new – and incredibly generous – friends I’ve made along the way and the times I’ve made it to my intended destination and happily crawled into my sleeping bag. Those days are the best.

Then there are the gray whales. They’ve eluded me where I was sure I would see them and then popped up when I’ve not had such high hopes. As I continue south, I’m ahead of the peak of the southward migration and will be leaving the Pacific Coast Feeding Group’s hotspots behind but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that they’ll continue to surprise me.

My bike has been the source of more delays and frustrations than I would have liked this month and we’ve almost fallen out a couple of times. The conditions have been demanding though, with debris-strewn hard shoulders, rough sections of road and a heavy load. With better mechanical skills, I’m sure I could have prevented some of these issues or dealt with them more swiftly. In that regard this has been a valuable lesson and, should I undertake another cycling trip in the future, I will most definitely pimp both my skills and my bike more thoroughly beforehand.

Right now, with solid puncture-proof tyres and a full set of new spokes on the rear wheel, Bertha the bike is – hopefully – ready for the final month of adventuring! I won’t even try to pretend to know what that will entail but I’m curious to find out. Massive thanks, as ever, to the David Henderson Inspiring Journey grant for making this trip happen, it’s truly the adventure of a lifetime.

Some summary stats (to Sunday 17th November):
Total countries visited: 2 (USA and Canada)
Total US States visited: 4 (Alaska, Washington, Oregon & California)
Miles cycled this month: 689.4 (1,293.4 in total)
Cumulative elevation gained this month (m): 7,315.5 (14,019.3 in total)
Number of sore knees: 2
Number of punctures: 6 (then solid tyres!)
Number of broken spokes: 2
Times gray whales seen: 6, probably 7 (once in Alaska (Pasagshak Bay), once in Washington (Neah Bay), twice in Oregon (Depoe Bay and Rocky Creek/Whale Cove), and two, possibly three, times in California (a stranded gray whale at Patrick’s Point, a probable gray whale at Point Arena and a lovely sighting from the highway near Meyer Gulch)
Things I appreciate more than ever: music, chairs and washing machines

One month in!

As of Sunday, it’s been a month since I arrived in America. In many ways, the time has flown by (not on the hills so much, perhaps) and the journey has already been quite the adventure! Here are some summary stats (up until Sun 20th Oct).

Countries visited: 2 (USA and Canada)
US States visited: 3 (Alaska, Washington and Oregon)
Miles cycled: 602
Cumulative elevation gained (m): 6,704
Number of sore knees: 2
Number of punctures: 4
Times gray whales seen: 2 (Pasagshak Bay, Alaska and Neah Bay, Washington)
Other cetacean species seen: humpback whales, killer whales, Dall’s porpoise, Pacific white-sided dolphins

This has already been my longest stay in America and, at times, the learning curve has been steep. My first five minutes in Oregon were almost my last five minutes as I encountered another variety of zebra crossing. I’ve mastered cycling on the right though, and bagels. Pretzels and the tiny, ill-fitting cubicle doors in ‘restrooms’ still confuse me.

Life on the road has been even tougher that I expected. The wind and rain have far exceeded anything that Scotland prepared me for. Turns out Scotland knows nothing of rain. And while cycling through heavy rain for hours on end, with my toes squelching in my shoes, is miserable, having to stand on the narrow hard-shoulder for up to an hour wrestling with a puncture while lorries swoosh past, sending another wave of spray down my neck, is even worse. By the time I get moving again I’m cold, plastered in road grime, behind schedule and fed up. There’ve been five punctures so far this trip, three in the last three days. They often cost me the crucial bit of daylight I need to reach my destination and the frequent micro-tweaks to my plan will, sooner or later, amount to a bigger tweak. But, for now, I’m pushing on while I can.

In terms of distance to cycle, the bulk still lies ahead of me and the hills will continue. The lure of warmer, drier weather and further gray whale encounters – both of the Pacific coast feeding group and migrating whales – encourage me onwards and I’m hoping my knees will cooperate. Here’s to the next month, whatever it may hold.

Cruising the marine highway

Day five of life on the M/V Kennicott, sailing the Alaska Marine Highway System, has come around quickly. Day one was an overcast day of adjusting to life onboard, deciphering the cafĂ© menu (biscuits and gravy anyone? how about some grits?) and watching a group of Dall’s porpoises splash past. The 16 passengers onboard quietly rattled around the 116 metre vessel, reading in the lounge and doing jigsaw puzzles. Our numbers grew that evening after we stopped in Whittier, a tiny outpost connected to Anchorage by a one-way tunnel shared by cars, lorries and trains.

Day two brought challenging sea conditions that kept many passengers in their bunks and had the rest of us staggering around like drunks. Our speed was reduced to 10 knots as we punched into a convincing swell and were engulfed by frequent squalls. It wasn’t until evening that we reached more sheltered waters close to our port call at Yakutat, arriving under the cover of darkness and in a heavy downpour.

The reprieve was short-lived as we headed back out to sea again, although it wasn’t as bad on our return and sleep was possible, albeit in short stretches. Since then we’ve cruised calmer waters through a labyrinth of pine-covered islands. Dark clouds have accompanied us with rain never far away and wisps of lighter mist clinging to the treetops. Smoke rises from the chimneys of the few waterside homes we pass and navigation lights blink from rocky promontories.

The marine mammal hiatus was broken by a group of snoozing sea lions on the imaginatively named Rocky Island, then came a few humpback whale sightings, their light blows standing out against the dark forest. This afternoon was the grand finale, with killer whales, Pacific white-sided dolphins, humpback whales and sea lions in glassy seas.

As we approach Bellingham, having travelled 1,935 miles from Kodiak, it’s time to think of cycling again. Island hopping between San Juan Island and Vancouver Island, then back to the mainland at Port Angeles, will hopefully ease me back into my cycling routine. My schedule gets hectic after that, with ambitiously long days. Let’s see how that goes.

Piece by piece

It was in May 2000 that Stacy Studebaker found a dead gray whale washed up on Pasagshak beach and saw an opportunity for the whale to become an educational project. Just four days later, she’d pulled together a team and the whale was buried beneath 10 ft of soil in a trench 45 ft long where it was left to decompose.

The real work began four years later. Piece by piece, the whale’s bones were excavated, cleaned, left outside to be bleached by the sun, then dried in a heated basement. Two years after that, the skeleton was ready to be reassembled, supported by a custom-made steel support system.

Next, the whale was carefully transported to the new Kodiak National Wildlife Refuge Visitor Centre in five pieces and duly reassembled. In 2007, seven years after first being found, the whale’s skeleton was finally back in one piece.

Now, in 2019, the skeleton display is as impressive as ever, suspended in the visitor centre. I squelched around it in waterlogged shoes having just arrived from Pasagshak myself the day after kayaking with gray whales in the bay. Seen from a kayak or as a skeleton on display, these whales are huge. As big perhaps as the challenge of moving one, although that too was possible piece by piece.

Kayaking with whales

A week on from my kayaking trip from Pasagshak Bay and the excitement hasn’t even started to fade. I don’t think it’s going to. Jen from Kayak Kodiak was kind enough to drive out to Pasagshak to run a one person whale-searching tour and we pushed off from the beach into a grey bay with strong winds and rain forecast.

It wasn’t long before we spotted distant blows out beyond the bay. We pushed on, chatting and searching the shoreline for any other wildlife. As promised, the wind arrived suddenly, a line of ruffled water advancing towards us, and I had to turn to shout to Jen behind me to be heard. Further out and more exposed now, the sea picked up too, the bow of the kayaking lifting and dipping with the waves.

We paddled on keeping our eyes on the blows when all of a sudden there was a blow much closer to us. We were almost there. Barely a few minutes later, the hollow whoosh of a whale’s breath was audible over the wind, then another! After half an hour of paddling we were with two gray whales inside Pasagshak Bay.

They were surfacing regularly, emerging in a flash of white water and sending a plume of spray and vapour into the air with an echoing blast as they rolled forward, already submerging their mottled grey heads again. Sometimes that was it, they just sank back beneath the waves. Other times they arched their scarred backs high out of the water, hinting at their huge size and revealing the knobbly ridge of their back, making us think they might lift their tail fluke clear of the water as they dived. They never did. By paddling from time to time against the wind and waves that pushed us back, we stayed with them, in awe of their size and marvelling at our good luck.

Gray whales aren’t known for the dramatic breaching or fin-slapping of humpback whales, the incredible size of blue whales nor the stealth and speed of the more streamlined rorqual whales. They’re awesome in their own way though, if you ask me. Their skin becomes more mottled as they age, lightened by barnacles past and present. Whale lice also hitch a lift, living amongst the barnacles. The only species of whale to feed on the seafloor, the side with fewer barnacles gives away if the whale’s left or right ‘handed’.

Just as my hands were beginning to complain about the cold, Jen checked her watch and announced that, after almost an hour with the whales, it was time to head back. Assisted by the wind this time, we paddled happily back to shore after the best trip I could have hoped for.

Massive thanks Jen for making this trip happen!

Thar she blows!

Seven miles beyond Pasagshak, Fossil Beach really is the end of the road if not the end of the world. Beside the road, a massive rusting corrall on a massive scale, with tree-trunk fence posts, must have been for the infamous Pasagshak buffalo. Opposite, the swings of a deserted play area swung in the breeze beside a small cabin with smashed windows.

Next I passed an old rocket launch site with towering fences, signposts to ‘Area 4’ and an evacuation warning system. Eerie tall, windowless buildings stood incongruously against a background of pristine beaches, blue skies and brilliant sunshine. It all felt a bit Russian and I kept on pedalling.

Bald eagles patrolled the cloudless sky over Fossil Beach, where my fossil hunting was cut short by regular showers of rocks from the overhanging cliff above. Instead I walked the kelp-strewn tide line, balanced on the sun bleached tree trunks piled up at the back of the beach and ate M&Ms in the sunshine.

My goal was, of course, to find gray whales and I saw them almost immediately after crossing the headland from Pasagshak. Cresting the ridge after a brutally steep uphill struggle, I had excellent views across the bay. Within 10 seconds of stopping on the side of the road, the first blow – a bright white puff of spray – stood out against the sparkling blue sea. Within a couple of minutes I’d seen clusters of blows from two other locations and counted at least six whales.

The whales were closer to shore by the time I cycled back from Fossil Beach and I stopped again to watch. This time I could make out the backs of the closest whales as they surfaced, with their barely-there dorsal fins and knuckley peduncles. They were still here and I’d seen them.

Beware the buffalo

After telling me how careful I needed to be camping at Buskin River, the shop assistant in Big Ray’s mentioned that my next stop, Pasagshak, was one of the least bear-y places on Kodiak Island. My spirits rose immeasurably.

“I’ve only seen one bear there in 30 years. There are wild horses and cows on the way, and the Highland cattle can be obnoxious”, he explained. “Oh, and you need to watch out for the buffalo”. Wait, what? “Sometimes I’d rather deal with a bear”, he added. Great.

The cycle out to Pasagshak was a slog. Exhausted after my night of bear terror, my bike was heavy with supplies and the hills felt endless. Strong gusts of wind seemed to hinder me no matter how much the road twisted and turned. Mike the friendly roadwork guy waved me over to talk bikes, offer me energy bars and share bear stories. Initially teasing me for having a bear bell jingling as I cycled, he grew serious when I said I’d just come from Buskin River. “That’s a bad, bad place for bears” he repeated a couple of times. “You get 1000 lb bears there every day.”

Many hours later, having taken nearly twice as long as Google had expected, I rolled into Pasagshak. A bay hemmed in by mountains, with a shingly beach and river mouth, Pasagshak is very nearly the end of the road. A small campsite, a few houses set back from the beach and a boat ramp, that’s about it.

The campsite – more of a gravelly car park – was empty so I claimed the least rocky pitch as my own and battled to set up my tent in the blustery wind. Between the gusts that tore at my tent and the surf that crashed onto the beach, a whole team of bears could have been tangoing around the campsite all night and I wouldn’t have known. Perfect. Now my main concern about getting up in the night was that my tent might blow away without my weight to anchor it.

I spent three happy days at Pasagshak exploring, testing Alaskan camping food, collecting water from a nearby stream and trying to befriend the ‘obnoxious cows’ that turned and fled each time I approached. Reggie, the campsite warden, told me of summer months when the whole bay fills with gray whales, and how they come to the shallows to rub on the rocks. Puzzled that I wasn’t fishing, he delivered some salmon he’d caught and smoked himself. It was delicious.

Had the weather not turned, it would have been difficult to leave this quiet bear-free haven. As it was, fierce winds brought relentless rain that made the return journey an uncomfortable one but the prospect of heated accommodation in Kodiak all the more tempting.