Education
is an essential part of wilderness ranger projects and usually addresses
minimizing physical and social impacts. However, the volume of tour
boat passengers, Alaska’s spectacular scenery, and the fact that its two national forests are the nation’s
largest provide kayak rangers a unique opportunity to educate on
a broad range of topics.
Shortly after I boarded the Sea Lion, the
vessel began its 30-mile sailing back to Stephens Passage, where
it would leave our wilderness for its next destination. The trip
would take three hours, and along the way, we would pass between
high mountains and hanging glaciers.
For the first half-hour, passengers
gathered in the lower lounge where I provided a talk about the Tongass,
wilderness management and our specific projects. Afterward, I answered
questions on a wide array of topics, including past and present cultures,
natural history, logging and mining on the Tongass and specific wilderness
issues.
These wide-ranging discussions provide rare communication
between the Forest Service and boat-based visitors to the Tongass,
making the program popular with both the public and the agency.
But
the exchange also creates mutually beneficial dialogue between the
Forest Service and tour operators. The topic of seals provides a
good example: Ship naturalists receive current and accurate information
about seals from rangers who help study them, and rangers have an
opportunity to educate boat operators on low-impact ways of observing
seals.
Between visiting boats, rangers also visit campers to share
their Leave No Trace (LNT) expertise and information about the area.
And in Whittier, Alaska, at the edge of Prince William Sound, rangers
maintain an education yurt where kayakers and other boaters headed
for the Nellie Juan-College Fjord area can find LNT, safety and logistical
information. All three kayak ranger crews provide education in local
communities by speaking to outdoor groups about LNT camping and wilderness
management and helping train naturalists and kayak guides who bring
visitors into the wilderness.
After three hours, the Sea Lion powered
down to drop me off in a large bay surrounded by mature rain forest
and glaciated peaks that mark the wilderness boundary. A few dozen
passengers leaned over the rails as I descended the ladder and settled
into my kayak. They waved and took pictures as I backed away, turned
with a broad sweep stroke and paddled south.
Ten minutes later, I
landed on a small island with lush rainforest growing right to its
edges, the location of our primitive base camp. My co-workers Kevin
and Jenny had arrived a few hours earlier, after paddling six miles
from their last camp, and helped me carry my boat from the water.
“Dude!” exclaimed Kevin as we pulled lunches from our dry bags, “We
were five feet from a humpback whale! It made a beeline toward us
from a half-mile, then swam under our boats.”
“Wow,” I responded. “I’d say that’s
the record, Kevin. Congratulations!”
It’s not uncommon
to see humpbacks during our travels, and they occasionally get
pretty close.
After lunch on the beach, we loaded rope, Pulaskis (axes
with a hoe-like digging tool opposite the blade) and trash bags into
our boats, then began a four-mile crossing to the mainland, where
we would break apart an abandoned fiberglass skiff. Weather permitting,
a barge would arrive the next day to haul the debris away.
Photo: Lonely Lookout: Shielded from
the rain by a tarp, rangers spend a cool morning counting seals in
one of southeast Alaska’s
glacial fjords. copyright Tim Lydon
Like much of southeast Alaska’s
Inside Passage, steep hills surround the bay, keeping its water
flat and calm. Humpbacks sounded in the distance as we paddled,
and the low clouds common to the region broke apart and clung to
the mainland, creating fractured views of ocean, glaciers, forest
and rocky peaks.
Ninety minutes later, we arrived on a small beach
overhung by green forest and dragged our boats over wet sand dotted
with mink and bear tracks. At the head of the beach, a winter storm
had driven the abandoned boat halfway into the forest. Our job
was to break it into manageable pieces with our Pulaskis, then
drag it closer to the water where the barge could winch it aboard.
“We’re glorified janitors,” a
former co-worker used to say of rangers.
While education and research
are more stimulating, removing garbage is an equally important part
of our job. But it’s not always fun. We’ve had to remove plenty of soiled toilet paper from stream sides to protect fresh water sources, and we commonly pack out food scraps so bears don’t
become accustomed to human food. We also find clothing, broken equipment
and food wrappers and break apart fire rings in an effort to maintain
unspoiled beaches for wildlife and campers.
We spent two hours demolishing
the boat and filling garbage bags with debris, then set up our camp
just above the high tide line. After a big dinner of pasta with pesto,
artichokes and Greek olives, we watched sea lions feed in a nearby
kelp bed. As night slowly fell, wolves howled from the mountains
behind our camp.
The next morning, Kevin and Jenny would wait for
the barge, then paddle 10 miles to visit a group of kayakers on a
commercial tour of the area. My next assignment was a four-mile paddle
toward the bay at Stephens Passage, where I’d catch a ride
back to Juneau on another tour boat. That night, I would be relieved
to be back in town, where eating out, sleeping indoors and listening
to music would be welcome novelties.
We spend five days in town after
each trip. The first day is spent in the office writing reports,
drying equipment and finalizing plans for the next trip, then we
take a four-day weekend to enjoy civilization’s comforts. But
as enjoyable as it is to sleep indoors and wear dry clothes, by the
fifth day, we are usually itching to return to the field for the
next trip. The work is always interesting and challenging, and the
eagles, whales and tapping rain provide an unbeatable soundtrack
to the workday.
How to apply...
Tim Lydon has worked for the Forest Service in southeast Alaska for most of the last 10 years. He has paddled widely throughout the region, and his first book, “Passage to Alaska: Two Months Sea Kayaking the Inside Passage,” was published by Hancock House Publishers in July 2003. |