To paraphrase Maya Angelou, there is no greater sadness than a story left untold. I refused to be that story. But my refusal didn’t come easy while navigating the birth of this book. For starters, I’d often lose my bearings; cast adrift for weeks, even months at a time, in what felt like a sea of impossibility. I’d get lost in the chapters, in the research materials, in the books strewn on my floor, in my to-do lists, and in my scatterbrainedness. For it’s much easier for me to sit in a wobbling kayak on the ocean, than in a steady office chair in front of a computer. I discovered that paddling the Inside Passage was the easy part. Stringing words together that properly conveyed my feelings, and the facts centered around those feelings, was much more daunting. At times, nothing felt as exasperatingly impossible, not even arduous forty-mile days, fierce head winds, or mountainous swell—as writing did.
But much like something carried me through on the physical adventure, something also carried me through on the journey of writing this book. For the longest time I couldn’t put my finger on it, but now I know it was all the kindred souls who helped me along the way.
Jim Chester stands out front and center. If it weren’t for Jim I doubt I would have ever tried to tackle the Inside Passage in the first place. Although you cannot read these words Jim, I will thank you anyway. Thank you for your unconditional love and support. Thank you for being my inspiration—and my exasperation. Thank you for the umpteen hours you spent with me poring over charts, sharing your very personal trip journal, the phone calls while en route, the weather checks, the consolations, your advice, your expertise, the thousands of dollars worth of worn charts you lent me, which I will now forever cherish in my permanent possession. Thank you for taking full responsibility for my logistical and resupply needs. You handled it all flawlessly. And lastly, a sea of gratitude for sharing the salty fairy dust of the Magical Cabin that leaves me spellbound and stirs something in my soul each time I visit.
Pacific Northwest hugs all around to my six dear friends who choreographed my special launching on Cinco de Mayo 2010: Becky Hardey, Peggy Woods, Linda Wysocki, Julianna Slomka, Ron Zuber, and Jim Chester. An additional chest-crushing bear hug to Becky Hardey for not only seeing me off, but for accompanying me around “The Cape,” and scooping me off the Alaska Ferry for some much needed pampering and fattening up! We shared ocean swells, wind, waves, sunsets, strong dark coffee, and dark strong rum. Even the ferocious bugs will forever be treasured memories. Thank you for joining me on this incredible journey, having faith in me and the sea, and knowing it would change both of us.
Extra credit goes to Linda Wysocki for being the best childhood and lifelong friend a girl could ask for! From those first adventures shared in the back of your Dad’s pickup truck, belting out the lyrics to Jeremiah Was a Bullfrog, our hair, part streaming in the wind, part stuck in our bubblegum, our innocence and naiveté always along for the ride. Thank you for your unfailing support through thick and thin. Your common sense, contagious smile and happy-go-lucky spirit will always inspire me. I am reminded of you every day when I look at the delightful chart you commissioned Alan Robinson to create that commemorates my journey. It adorns my wall and the front matter of this book.
A ginormous shout-out to the word-smithing ladies who helped corral my sea of metaphors, along with myriad misplaced commas and verb tenses that were often as haphazard as the tidal rapids I white-knuckled my way through on the Inside Passage. Patia Stephens, who worked through the early drafts and helped me shape my story, slowly dovetailing one section into the next with her incredibly helpful insight and expertise. Roby James, a kick-ass editor whose efficiency and cut-to-the-chase work ethic whipped this book into shape faster than a hurtling tidal bore. Her mad editing skills swooped in and slayed my mistakes like Xena the Warrior Princess. And to all the fabulous folks behind the scenes at Epicenter Press, especially Janet Kimball and Aubrey Anderson, who both oversaw the final spit polish of this book until its pages finally saw the light of day.
Undoubtedly, my trip and this book benefited greatly from the accumulated wisdom and published work of many adventurous authors: Denis Dwyer, John Kimantis, Robert Miller, Jennifer Hahn, and Audrey Sutherland to name a few, whose invaluable books are listed in the resource section of this book. Special thanks to Jennifer Hahn, my “sister of the Inside” whose book Spirited Waters opened my mind—and new doors—to paddling this astonishing network of waterways. “Puddle stomps,” as you would endearingly say, to you and yours. Oceans of gratitude to the late Audrey Sutherland, a wilderness sage, and much more. Thank you for being the wild restless spirit that you were, for befriending and mentoring Jim, and for annotating his charts that would eventually accompany me north to Alaska. Whether you knew it or not, you too were a part of this journey. Other adventurous wordsmiths I am forever indebted to include Chris Duff, Ian McAllister, and Milbry Polk.
A sea of gratefulness to all the people who befriended me on the Inside Passage, soothed my spirit, and rekindled my energy as well as my faith in humankind. And thank you to all my friends, family and loved ones who religiously followed me on this trip, and all you sly dogs who liberally tucked those chocolate bars into my resupply boxes. You know who you are. You were my remote cheering squad, rooting me on and inspiring me to keep going—and going and going. Special thanks to Paul Rana, my “B.A.”, for your warm-heartedness and wisdom, and your ability to strategize and tell me when to come home. Thanks to Debbie Arnold, Tanya Island, Cathie (Scout) Crawford, Trish Smith, Diane Potratz, Kim and Jan Richards, Jim Pederson, and Erin Tamberella for believing in me. Thanks a million to all my friends who tolerated my growing reclusiveness, turning down invitations to hike, ski, paddle, or just hang out during my writing-the-book phase.
I benefitted greatly from the quality equipment I used on my expedition and wish to acknowledge Exped and Boréal Design for manufacturing gear that’s built for the long haul, and for supporting me on so many levels of this journey. And finally, Ben Wells, my second-half-of-my-life partner, and traveling troubadour who gave me the time and space to create this book, who supported me and continually encouraged me to “let my freak flag fly.” He edited my drafts, clarified my ideas, brought me chocolate and believed in me more than I believed in myself. He kept telling me I could do this, I could write a book. That the world was at my feet and if I didn’t take advantage of it then he would kick my butt all the way back to Alaska. Thank you for all those kicks in the butt! He suffered through all my hissy fits and temper tantrums and made me laugh by saying, “You never paddled to Alaska!” every time I complained about some minor little irritation.
In some instances I’ve changed people’s names or descriptions, sometimes to protect their privacy, other times because I simply could not remember. And to anyone who I may have forgotten, bona fide apologies in advance; it wasn’t intentional—it’s a memory thing.