Alaska. The place felt mythical. I’d lived in Seattle for a quarter century without visiting the 49th state so in September of 2025 it was time to make a foray. With only one week to spend the intention was to see a few places, take a small taste, and return for more.

We didn’t plan it this way, but ultimately the maiden voyage was largely aquatic in nature. After settling in Anchorage with our friends Frank and Ashlee, we all took a day trip to Whittier to go sea kayaking in Passage Canal. On the drive there a steady rain fell from a dark sky and dampened our spirits.

“It’s always prettier in Whittier.” According to Frank, this was the local slogan. Based on our observations as we approached, a variation seemed more appropriate: it’s always shittier in Whittier. To reach the town you have to drive through a one-way train tunnel in which traffic alternates directions every half hour. We entered the dripping, claustrophobic darkness of the tunnel.

It’s hard to take a good photo from a moving car inside a tunnel, but at least you can get a sense of it. Those are train tracks in the road surface.

Emerging from the far side, now in the shadow of the mountain ridge under which we had just driven, we were astonished to discover that it was no longer raining. A cool and cloudy day made for ideal kayaking conditions. After gearing up at the guide shack in town we shoved off from the public boat ramp.

Conditions were markedly better on the Whittier side of the ridge.

Ready for action. Glaciers await in the distance.

Paddling through the aquamarine waters of Passage Canal we glided east along the inlet’s south shore. The water gets its color from the sediment washed in from the glaciers that scour the valleys above the inlet. You can’t bake bread with it, but glacial flour creates stunning visual effects.

A detour to stretch our legs took us up through pristine forest to a waterfall. Being tall, being inflexible, and being in a kayak are incompatible states over extended periods of time, a relationship I learned the hard way during my years of whitewater boating.

The stone skipping at this beach was phenomenal.

Our small flotilla crossed the open water of the inlet and we hauled our boats up a rocky shore before relaxing for a lunch of sandwiches and local smoked salmon. On the return trip to the boat ramp we traversed the northern shore of the inlet where waterfalls cascaded down from the glaciers high above and kittiwakes roosted on the cliffs. We found an abandoned shrimp pot which we hauled up. No succulent supper scurried within, but we planned to take it with us to dispose of on shore. Unfortunately, it fell off the stern of our guide’s kayak, vanishing into the blue depths.

Frank and Ashlee poised to devour sandwiches.

As a former guide, it’s fun to be the client. I know a lot of tricks and guide humor the young kids these days have never seen or heard and it’s a kick to fool them at their own games, telling absurd tales that are somehow believable and delivering far-fetched facts with a straight face. Even though I don’t have to, I still like to do the gear work - carrying, stowing, and cleaning the equipment after the trip. Old habits are hard to break.

Having an entire body of water to ourselves in the shoulder season was a treat. Between all the puns, guide tales, and laughter on this paddle we settled on a new slogan proposed by Ashlee: it’s always wittier in Whittier.