Beyond the Boundary
“Welcome to Alaska,” a smiling customs agent boomed from the Ketchikan jetty. “Do you need to check our kayaks, or what do we have to do for immigration?” I asked. “Well, they look like nice kayaks to me. They’ll do just nicely in Alaska.” And that was it! With all our worries about crossing the border into the U.S., our effort of traveling to the American Embassy in London for special visas to allow us to enter by water had paid off.
In Alaska, we found clear skies and sunshine, but we worried about the bears. We’d read stories of toothpaste-seeking, coffee-craving grizzlies. At Anan Creek, we paddled into a sheltered lagoon where the air was thick with the odor of decaying flesh. Beneath the dark emerald water there were countless fish skeletons, the remains of salmon devoured by hungry bears. A lone black bear paced back and forth along the shore.
The next day, we decided to walk the path (Adi and I got piggyback rides) to the bear-observatory platform, believing, somehow, that because it was an established bear-watching spot, it was also safe. I was carried up the twisting forest path by Mark, with Suresh there to help. After a half-mile or so, the others were well ahead, and the three of us decided to rest on a wooden step we came across. Suddenly, Mark and Suresh’s faces drained of color and their jaws dropped open. I turned my head to see a giant black bear striding across the path just a few yards ahead of us. It turned to look at us, appeared rather bored by our frightened stares, and continued on toward the creek.
From the platform, we watched grizzlies working their way upstream, scooping writhing salmon from the silver water, blood spraying. Black-bear cubs cowered in trees, as their mothers kept them from getting too close to the grizzlies.



Arriving
For the last few weeks of paddling, the mountains and their tooth-like ridges, cusped peaks, sheer rock faces and icy edges were a mesmerizing backdrop to the quiet indigo water, broken by resounding echoes of whale tails slapping up plumes of white spray. Huge flocks of geese squawked by overhead in spectacular fan-shaped formations, while sea lions grunted and otters played.
Our team, which had initially been battling with what seemed to be a harsh and demanding environment, now felt in harmony—finely tuned to work and travel together with ease, like the flocks of geese overhead. My dread of the journey was long gone, and all that remained was a great sense of peace, harmony and achievement. Any concerns I’d had about losing my independence during the trip had been unjustified. They had given way to the enjoyment we all shared within our interdependence. Adi’s and my disabilities had forced the group into communicating and working together more closely than ever.
We paddled to a small iceberg, the first we’d seen, and toasted Alaska with drinks on iceberg ice. The relief of realizing we had reached the homestretch safely showed in our faces, and our smiles reflected the growing sense of relaxation that had been slowly easing through the team the closer we got to Juneau. There were no more major challenges or obstacles, nothing to worry about—just a comfortable bed and delicious food to look forward to.
Hoods up and gloves on, we journeyed silently, cold waves breaking over our kayaks, and low cloud concealing the glacial peaks. The rain had set in and discouraged us from stopping to set up camp within sight of the twinkling lights of cruise ships and downtown Juneau. Too weary to feel elated, we paddled the final few miles in near darkness.
It was hard to stop. Paddling had become a way of life. I think we all found it more difficult to end the journey than we had anticipated. The attraction of a bed, a hot shower and fresh food was only temporarily appealing, and within two days, we longed for the smell of salt and log-pile bivouacs, the simplicity of living on and beside the ocean, and even the camp food. I had felt so out of place when we set out, but the awkwardness I’d felt on land and among my colleagues soon ebbed away. In the end, I realized that the ocean’s edge was a place where I too belonged.
Support was provided by the Royal Geographical Society with the Institute of British Geographers, the Neville Schulman Challenge Award, OPS Group Ltd, Exxon Mobil and the Southern Trust.

Karen Darke has a Ph.D. in geology and worked as a geologist for Shell before realizing her passion for helping people reach their potential. She is now a performance coach, motivational speaker and learning consultant and runs her own development training business. Visit Karen online at: www.inspireandimpact.com

The 63-day expedition was organized through Interventure (www.equaladventure.co.uk/interventure), a registered Scottish charity (formed by Karen Darke with Sir Ranulph Fiennes as patron), to provide equipment and opportunities for disabled people to participate in sport and access the outdoors. Specialized equipment was designed and/or provided by Equal Adventure Developments (www.equaladventure.co.uk).

Support was provided by the Royal Geographical Society with the Institute of British Geographers, the Neville Schulman Challenge Award, OPS Group Ltd, Exxon Mobil and the Southern Trust.