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Our group is made up of three two-man fiberglass boats and one single plastic boat that Chris occupies. On our journey in, the ice was loose enough to be safely negotiated in our semi-fragile fiberglass kayaks. A fractured boat could cause a very dangerous situation. A wet person would be hypothermic and their life in danger in under a minute, with water this cold. Chris takes the lead on the return paddle and uses his plastic boat to push, scrape and nudge a path through the thickening slush surface filled with jagged ice ranging in size from bowling balls to automobiles. It is now seven PM and the boat expects to meet us around nine, we are moving much slower than when we came in to this area. We also notice that as the outside temperature drops, the ice on the surface of the water is freezing together into one large plate that could easily render you immobile. Eventually we overcome the clogged, frozen section and break into more open water filled with loosely scattered large ice. There is a sense of accomplishment and relief to be free from the grasps of the ice. The sun is almost down, leaving us to paddle silently in a world of blue black liquid. The only sound is the motion of the water and the repetition of paddles. Nobody speaks, my boat partner and I are both feeling a sense of accomplishment. This has been an adventure for us, away from our common ground where feet and snowboards keep us upright. Chris pulls out the radio to make first contact with the Moonlight Maid. There is no response. We are all a little nervous being three hours by boat into Prince William Sound, trusting that the fisherman we met in the bar the previous night, will be at the agreed pickup. The radio squawks back and we pinpoint the position of the boat in the blackness, it is around midnight. The crew helps us load the boats, we rejoice with some celebratory Alaskan Amber beer and begin the three-hour journey back to Valdez. |