Voyage of Tuffy: Glacier Bay National Park

Article and photos by John Hughes

In addition to completing the normal port duties of laundry, provisioning, exploring the town and restaurant scene, we took advantage of Juneau’s internet opportunities to apply on line with the National Park Service. Our hope was that a couple last minute Glacier Bay Park passes would have shaken loose due to no-shows or folks departing early. Amazingly, with an hour, we were both granted our first choice—enter on Thursday (allowing two days transit)—and awarded seven days to complete our wanderings (“slow boats,” those that cruise under 7 knots are given two additional days).

Armed with another round of Augmetin (still fighting off that sinus infection/cold/flu), we crossed the channel to the fuel dock early to be there at opening, before pushing most of the way to the park (a 62-mile cruise), ultimately anchoring in a small bay inside “Neck Point” of Chichagof Island just off “Icy Straits.” It was a perfect day for a long journey; sunny and warm, a light wind and a helping current for most of it.

Speaking of the current, it is to be considered carefully at the park entrance —you do not want to be entering on a full ebb in a “slow boat”… at the very least you will spend a lot of time and fuel getting to the Park Lodge and dock for check in. Much better to come in with the aid of the flood tide… hence that long run to Neck Point—the 35 remaining miles would be covered in 5 hours with the current assisting. Weighing anchor at 7:30(ish) had us entering the park on the back side of the flood tide, maybe 11:30, and pulling up to the Park dock about an hour later.

Glacier Bay National Park is one of those national parks (like Big Bend at the bottom of the county) so far away and inconvenient that few ever see it. If you can’t figure a way to visit Glacier, pick up John Muir’s book, Travels in Alaska. I certainly can’t match his descriptions of the park’s beauty. He captures the sublime nature of the area, the serenity, the quietness, the harmony. I’ve heard the park’s attributes and inhabitants described by a Tlingit man as a symphony of instruments, all working together as an amazing orchestra.

First off, it is immense, and made all that much bigger by the restrictions put on entry. Two cruise ships per day are allowed in, but they come in to cruise the length of the main artery, float around for an hour or so and then head back out. They do not invest the time to understand and “feel” what is happening here. With the exception of an occasional cymbal crash (a breaching humpback or a pod of Orca) the orchestra is mute. Six small private charter boats and 3 tour vessels (mid size) are allowed to be in the park, with only 25 permits issued for private boats… not per day but to be in the park at any given time. Tuffy and Snow Goose took up 8% of the private boat slots for the seven days we were in. So, unfortunately, we were forced to share the 3.3 million acres of National Park (a part of the 24-million acre World Heritage site) with up to 33 other boats! We would usually see one or two—some days none.

Secondly, its beauty is astounding. Wherever you are in the park you are surrounded by snow capped mountains… from snowy “hills” that line the glacier carved fjords to distant views of alpine ridges and active glaciers making their way to the sea. And the water… it’s beautifully clear in some spots and thick as milk in others, full of all the colors in an artist’s paint kit. And the sky… it’s huge, ranging from clear bright blue to thick moody clouds, with shapes that stir the imagination. Squalls move across the water from a million miles away, with big drops that pelt the skin when they finally arrive, or perhaps transition to tiny droplets providing a percussion tempo to nap by. All this beauty adds to one of the planet’s great symphonies. I commented to my friend today to look at a particular range of hills we were passing—they flowed to the water like ice cream, maybe butterscotch or chocolate, running down through a coffee colored base, like that perfect stage of melting when it tastes the best.

Lastly, there are the inhabitants—the wildlife and the marvel they bring to the scene. Some, like deer, squirrels, harbor seals, porpoises and even porcupines are found elsewhere, but they are no less wonderful up here because of it. Others like, moose, mountain goats, black bears, Grizzlies (Coastal Brown Bears), wolves, Humpback Whales, Orca Whales, Stellar Sea Lions and Sea Otters by the thousands, are harder to find in the lower 48. And in the park they are here in spades… bigger and more numerous. They are all instruments, creating their own unique sound, and working in harmony to complete the orchestral sound. Imagine being anchored on one side of a tidal inlet and hearing a whale surface on the other, maybe a half mile away..that powerful spout sounding as if it’s right outside your boat and then looking across to see the a tiny round back and dorsal fin surface and sink on the other side.

If it’s at all possible, put coming to Glacier Bay National Park at the top of your list, and make it happen… late May or June if you like to see Humpback whales celebrating with their full breaches, otters floating on their backs and toes pointing to the sky with babies on their tummies and/or massive brown bears swaddling down the beach and up the creek like they own the place.

Our pass was spent as follows, but there must be a hundred other ways to do it!

Arrived at Bartlett Bay Park Headquarters midday, packed up the shower bag and headed to the lodge. Bummers! The shower building gave way to an unusually intense winter snowfall, was condemned and torn down this spring. No showers until next year! Settling for a bowl of seafood chowder, we set up by the stone fireplace, logged on to the WiFi, checked in with family, caught up with friends and, reluctantly, saw what was happening in the rest of the world. With an hour to spare before our Boater Orientation meeting we took a trail down the shoreline, up around the hill and through a series of ponds created by depressions caused by the glacier’s immense weight. Erratics were left as calling cards everywhere—clearly the glacier stopped here and melted, depositing huge boulders dragged from up in Canada somewhere. Our orientation session was a class of two, Bob and I, and included a great film on the area, the history (both geologic and human), the regulations in place and basically how to be a good human during our visit. The operation here is well run, but still laid back enough not to have the the pressure and administrative burden of many National Parks. We may have run over our 3 Hour Daily Dock limit a little so we pushed off into a wind that had built, and a current that had turned, bashing our way to Berg Bay for our first night’s anchorage. I saw another Humpback surface a few times just south of the entrance, but he was moving away so I held my course. We crossed the shallow entrance, certainly a terminal moraine deposited as the glacier’s retreat was stalled by the narrow entrance (and running into the larger glacier filling the bay), to find hundreds of otters, and their offspring, floating about with the occasional seal. Bob got the anchor set and I prepped for coming along side, a routine we can probably do in our sleep now, and I spied the biggest brown bear yet. Clearly he owned this end of Berg Bay and he strolled nonchalantly down the beach, swam across the creek and turned up the ravine into the woods. Big boy!

The next morning we threaded through the otters and there were more rocks exposed and much more current at our shallow entrance. The tide was about 3 feet lower on this crossing so we were crossing with care, making about 1/4-knot forward progress. Halfway across I grabbed the Motorola, “Humpback, 11:00, just outside the bay.” Bob back to me, “There’s nothing I can do”. Me back to him, “Just maintain course and speed he’s crossing in front of you and will be by us by the time we exit this current.” Just then the whale breached, not a rolling breach, but kind of straight up and diving back down, directly in front of Bob… probably about 50 yards or so. “Wooooaaah!” says Bob. “He’s gone now,” I said, and he was. No pictures, but a memory in the grey matter that should survive dementia.

Stirred, but not shaken, we crossed the Bay under Willoughby Island and turned north to South Marble Island where a colony of humongous Steller sea lions have claimed ownership. Every large rock outcropping supported an extremely large sea lion surrounded by a bevy of very large females. The bigger the outcropping the bigger the Jabba, and the larger the size of his bevy. Elsewhere, on a gravel beach between outcroppings there might be a smaller group or a couple of smaller males having what looked like a fake fight. The smell emanating from the island was ripe, but the birds must not mind because multiple species are nesting on its cliffs, crevices and flora. The most interesting, and unusual, were the puffins with their colorful parrot shaped beaks. They were pretty brazen for a rare bird, intently staring me down as I’d cruise by. The wind and waves picked up again, there were squalls about, but this was a steady wind which, like yesterday, built from the north to push sharp waves directly into us against the flood current. Lots of spray again! We persevered, running up along the cliff faces of a mainland peninsula made up of the “Idaho Range.” We were looking for Mountain Goats but saw none here as they are generally a little further north on the cliffs of “Gloomy Knob.” Nap time approached so we crossed the bay again to anchor in Blue Mouse cove… Gloomy Knob will be the start of our day in the ‘morrow. Sure enough, as I was entering the cove our welcoming Humpback was very active just south of the entrance. I turned a little further north to wait and see what he was up, but it was hard to see through all the spray and soon enough he disappeared entirely. I came in on the perpendicular course they request in the whale preservation zones. We performed the anchor dance twice this night and, after enjoying some feef with sautéed onion on Spanish rice (with a dash of cajun spice), we retired to our relative living rooms. A light rain tapping on the foredeck put us to sleep.

The morning low tide was 7’ lower than the previous evening’s, but we had done the math and knew we were outside a 12’ drop off. It’s still alarming to wake up to a rock at cabin height that was just at the surface when you turned out the lights. Bob had overheating issues again so returned to the anchorage to do some fiddling. He thinks now the motor is not overheating but that the gauge may be off. I just floated around the middle of Glacier Bay and felt small. I saw multiple groups of humpbacks, all of which appeared to be heading north like us. First stop was Gloomy Knob to see the mountain goats, they were illusive this morning but we’ll have another chance on our way back south. Punching through a moderate wind and chop we motored another 17 miles into the Bay, seeing humpbacks all the way and with a noticeable uptick in the quantity and size of the bergies.Looking north several big glaciers swept down out of distant snowy peaks, bending and curving their way down the valleys they had carved.

It’s astonishing how quickly these glaciers have receded, until you consider how quickly they advanced. The Lingit Clans lived along a river full of salmon running through a mild valley floor until the 1700s when advancing glaciers forced them from the area, solid ice eventually pushed out beyond the entrance into Icy Straits. The glaciers melted back that same century and the ocean rushed in to fill the bay. In 1794 the bay was only a 5 mile indentation and Captain Vancouver described it as a compact sheet of ice as far as the eye can see. A hundred years later John Muir discovered that the ice had retreated 40 more miles. The area was made a National Monument in 1925 by President Coolidge and in 1980 became a National Park under Jimmy Carter. In 2023 over 700,000 people visited the Park, with more than 90% of them on cruise ships. Today the bay is 70 miles long and most of the glaciers are no longer tidal.

By mid afternoon we pulled into Reid Bay, home of Reid Glacier which towers above the back of the bay. We anchored right at its foot aside a waterfall for the night. Anchored here it’s a challenge to visualize ice, higher than the existing glacier face, continuing out through the entirety of Reid Inlet, a thousand feet above our heads, where it would have joined an even more immense glacier driving down all of Glacier Bay. The water in Reid Inlet has a distinctive milky hue, but it must support life because a big old seal spent the afternoon in here and eagles patrol the sky. Waterfalls abound, the largest of which provides the musical backdrop for our anchorage, with section after section of 50- 100’ drops, descending what must be a couple thousand vertical feet. Clam and mushroom alfredo was served and consumed heartily as we realized the days were now getting shorter. The second day of summer, heat scorching most of the lower 48, and here the thermometer might have reached 50 degrees.

Third day of summer now and, and at almost 9PM, twilight has finally arrived, magic hour light is coating the hills across the park’s bay with the soft amber light that only the mountains seem to provide. I suspect it got into the 60s today, although it felt much warmer. Sunny, and with only light winds, we had a 43 mile cruise today. We came out of our glaciated anchorage to hug the western shore. Another glacier (Lamplugh Glacier), was just around a couple of points. It still reaches the water and has been reported to be calving recently. Impressive as it was, we had Canada on our minds. The northern most point of the trip was realized today (59 degrees 3.115 N), just after spending hours floating with the bergs, bergies and bergettes in front of the most majestic glacier of the park, Margerie Glacier. The 800-1,000’ wall is nearly vertical, with cracks visible down it’s face and huge sections looking like prime candidates to let loose and crash into the sea. Margerie enters Glacier Bay from the West, where the tallest of the alpine mountains reside, and it is still growing and pushing. We had to weave a path to it for miles… doing our best to avoid the ice, not all of which you can see. I’d pass a little berg under the helm’s side window that I never saw until it was by… crystal clear and 99.9% submerged. Snow Goose and Tuffy must be in thousands of photos (although probably barely visible given the scale of the bay, glacier, sky and mountains) as both cruise ships showed up while we bobbed with the rest of the bergies. The ships’ captains were extremely considerate in their seamanship, staying on the far edge of the bay and operating (somehow) at speeds that left no wake. A couple of hours later we moved again toward Canada.

The border is just about at the terminal moraine of Grand Pacific Glacier—huge and certainly the prima donna in her day, but from the water she is now a massive wall of gravel, sand and boulders, although still standing proud behind it. We decided to follow the second of the ships out, hoping it would leave a wide berth free of debris (it did). Plans to tuck in behind Russell Island gave way to pushing on. We decided to head back to Gloomy Knob, and trusting we could find a good spot someplace down bay for what promised to be a calm night. Approaching the very end of Gloomy Knob we spotted several white mountain goats, down low on the cliff just above the water, and resting on small ledges. Near the end of the point was the grandaddy, with a long beard and a puffed out chest he was standing under an overhanging ledge just big enough to house him, posed as if to say “Sure, just try to join us on this cliff.” We rounded the next point into Tidal Inlet and found a nice little indentation with good holding. A couple of dolphins welcomed us, we deployed the dinghies and rowed around a bit and, since our arrival, there has been a parade of Humpbacks entering and leaving this steep and deep inlet. We think they are focused on eating here in the park, usually running solo and just cruising along… several surface breathes and another deep dive. I have not witnessed a lot of other surface behaviors like spy hopping, fin and tail slapping, breeching and bubble feeding. They also seem to hug the shorelines, maybe following contour lines buried under the surface. I expect we will hear them coming by all night, and it will be a nice change in instruments from the percussion of the rain drops on the cabin. Just as I was dropping off the boat started bouncing and there was a knock on my window. Waves had materialized and we decided to move further in the inlet. We found a good spot but it looked like things were settling everywhere… probably a squall down bay around the corner kicking up a fuss.

Following some whales out the inlet we motored down the eastern shore, checking out the islands, coves and anchorages above the “non-motorized vessels only” zones, designated so for both kayakers and marine life. Finally we had to deal with the entrance current I described at the beginning of this story. As we left the sea lions and puffins again and headed back to Bartlett Cove the full flood was flowing north, and we hit the peak right at the narrowest spot. I put Tuffy’s 4 cylinders to task but for awhile was just holding my own. I found some relief hugging an island eddy and as the clock performed its magic, the tide relented and we started to move again. I was charging my Propulsion battery with its hydro-regeneration feature, so at least I had that going for me.

Back at the headquarter’s dock I fueled up and hit the front desk. One room left. Yes, it has a shower. Deal! What a fine clean sleep I had last night, and today we exit the park (ahead of the flood tide) and are bound for Hoonah and points south. Glacier Park was majestic

Ruffy on Tuffy •SCA•