Sunrise on Haro Strait - August 2008

Today turns the page from August into September, and while we are still three weeks from the fall equinox, I could sure feel fall in the air this morning. We were late getting to summer this year in the Northwest, and maybe a bit early exiting, but that sure didn’t hold me back.

Last fall when I was planning and scheming for this year, I laid out an ambitious series of explorations around Puget Sound as goals for my Circling Home year. I only half believed I could pull them off, but it felt important to shoot high. What was there to lose? All along this was intended to be a year that pushed my edges, physically and psychologically. It was intended to be a year that enlarged both me and the terrain I inhabit, and it has done that beyond what I could have believed possible. As I turn toward fall and the harvest season (I have a book to write about my year, and a field full of stories to harvest), I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. With four months to go in the year I’ve walked almost a thousand miles, bicycled 2500 miles, and paddled over 300 miles, all within a hundred kilometer radius of home. A year ago this felt like a wild and radical dream. Now I can’t imagine having done anything less. It feels like the most natural response I could have made to the ominous truth of global warming. What feels extreme to me now is the thought of doing anything less.  

The map above hangs on my office wall - special-made for the year, and it has filled up in the months since I took this picture with colored tracings of the routes I’ve taken - black lines for walking trips, red for biking, and blue for my kayak expeditions. It greets me like a friend every morning when I come in my office, and I see a much more nuanced map when I look at it now. It no longer represents a small inland sea in the Northwest corner of Washington State, but an immense region of diverse beauty that I am only beginning to know. What I see when I look at the map now is a hundred more places I want to explore, and a thousand stories from this year and past years that tether me to this place on earth. 

Last Thursday I joined friends to watch Barack Obama’s acceptance speech at the Democratic Convention. I have been an Obama supporter from the beginning of his campaign, and was moved more than ever by the power and authenticity of his vision for real change. But we will need to change so much more than Washington politics, so much more than energy policy priorities. The biggest changes must still come from us as individuals. No one else can make the hard changes for us. After eight months of working to bring some core changes home in my own life, I know now that this is something we are capable of doing. I am more hopeful than I have been in many years, and less afraid of the future that is barreling down upon us, regardless of how difficult that future may prove to be. 

And I’m looking forward to the harvest season more than I have in a long time.

I’ve just returned from the second leg of my kayaking expedition around Puget Sound, this time a 90 mile paddle into the urban core of the Sound, capped by a trip up the Duwamish River in Seattle, and an intimate water tour of Elliot Bay. I left Maxwelton Beach on Whidbey Island last Weds morning, paddling the first two days to my childhood haunts of Indianola and Lemolo in Port Madison and Liberty Bay. I stayed with Holly Hughes and John Pierce at their cabin in Indianola, then shot through Agate Passage on a four knot tide to stay with my cousin Jenny Merrick near the site of our family beach cabin in Lemolo where our family spent summers until I was twelve. Returning to this evocative place really stirred a broth of memories. At the same time, coming under my own power by such a direct water route made it feel like I was seeing it for the first time. It is a long drive and two ferries to reach Indianola from Whidbey Island, yet it was only eighteen miles by kayak, and I was able to make the trip easily in a day with a strong tide behind me. Scenes from the Urban Waters

   Indianola and Lemolo frame two sides of the Suquamish Indian Reservation, the site of Chief Seattle’s home village. As a child I was only vaguely aware of the native presence there, so paying my respects to Chief Seattle’s grave in Suquamish felt important. I also met with tribal elder Marilyn Wandery, pictured at left in a photo I took during the canoe rendezvous in Cowichan Bay last month. I had published her photo on my blog, unaware of who she was, but struck by the power of her presence in her tribal regalia as the canoes were coming ashore. To my delight, Sarah van Gelder, editor of Yes Magazine, recognized the woman in the photo as an elder in the Suquamish Tribe, and passed this on to me. Marilyn was generous enough to meet with me in Suquamish when I was paddling through, and shared some great stories over coffee from her years as canoe leader of the Suquamish tribal canoe. She got her start in the canoe journeys in 1993 in a paddle all the way to Bella Bella on the northern British Columbian coast, an experience that changed her life. She told me that an elder from the tribe, as they were leaving on that first journey, told them that each member of the canoe would discover a gift during the journey that they then must bring back to the village. He told her that he would be watching to see what the gift was, and to make sure that she shared it. She has been on every single canoe journey since, and told stories of other transformations that she has witnessed in the participants, especially the youth who have been part of this revival of an ancient way of coming together as tribes. Next year the Tribal Journey will be hosted in Suquamish, and there is a huge new longhouse and dock under construction that will be ready for that huge gathering in the summer of 2009. What a great way to link this trip with my paddle to Cowichan earlier in the month.

After Poulsbo I paddled down the west side of Bainbridge Island through Port Orchard and Rich Pass, then out to Blake Island for the night. Blake is an island park preserve in the midst of the city - an island in more than one sense. It also is the home of Tillicum Village, dishing up native crafts and traditionally baked salmon to boat loads of tourists. I had a chance to watch the preparation of the salmon bake before the tour boat arrived. In spite of its staged quality, it was moving to watch. In the morning I awoke to a stark sunrise made almost eerie by the heavy air pollution over the urban basin. I crossed back over the Sound for a plunge into Seattle’s Harbor Island and Duwamish River, stopping first to walk West Seattle’s Alki Beach with my nephew Keith McMahon and his kids August and Faith. I watched a beach volleyball tournament while I waited for the tide to turn, then headed for the real urban plunge.  

I saw Seattle from some striking new angles that blended a wild energy, as with the sea lions pictured here on a large buoy in Elliott Bay as I passed into the mouth of the Duwamish, and by coho salmon jumping in the heavily industrialized Harbor Island headwaters.  I joined a guided kayak tour with the Duwamish River Clean Up Coalition, paddling six miles upriver to meet the group, then retracing my route back out the river through six miles of Superfund Site lined with rotting factories, cement plants, massive scrap metal docks, barge lines loading containers for Alaska, shipyards, marinas and freighters from the Far East along massive loading docks with cranes forty stories high. Along the way we also passed Great Blue Herons and ospreys and sea lions and a fresh run of coho salmon all struggling to hold onto the ancient threads of a river that refuses to die. As I re-entered Elliott Bay, I made my way through heavy chop and boat traffic along the shore of Downtown Seattle, where fifty thousand people lined the waterfront for the 2008 Hempfest Music Festival. It was like a bad movie in a language I didn’t understand.   After paddling twenty five miles through this unsettled dreamscape I finally pulled my boat out of the water on a friends beach in Magnolia, then walked to the home of Muriel Kelly for the night. This was a day of edges for me, emotionally and physically, paddling 25 miles on the day by the time I finally landed at my lodging for the night. 

In the morning I headed north toward Edmonds. I planned to go as far as Meadowdale, but the conditions were good, the forecast deteriorating, and I was ready to get home. When I got to Edmonds I pointed straight for Possession Point on South Whidbey, and watched the distant bluffs slowly grow larger and come into focus. In one long day of paddling I made it all the way from Seattle’s Elliott Bay back to Maxwelton Beach, ahead of the winds and rains that arrived later that night. I practically kissed the sands of Maxwelton Beach when I arrived. This not only ended one journey, it ended several months of journeys. And on this journey especially, I returned with a new gut appreciation for what a world of contrasts we have created, and how much work we have to do if we hope to strike a new peace with our living world.

Tags: dumamish river cleanup, Seattle kayaking

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My essay Confessions of a Reluctant Priest: or “What Do You Do Out There, Anyway?”, was published in the July/August issue of Weavings: A Journal of the Christian Spiritual Life: 

“It must drive my kids crazy when their friends ask, “What does your father do?” To be honest, the question drives me a little crazy too. There just isn’t a stock answer. I do so many different kinds of things under the same wide banner that it can be a stretch from just about any angle. What does commercial fishing in Alaska have to do, for example, with being a Buddhist meditation teacher? And what does guiding Alaskan wilderness sea kayaking expeditions have to do with being a clergyman?” 

Read on here.

I recently addressed the Annual Meeting of the Skagit Watershed Council, a coalition of thirty environmental, civic, governmental, native and academic organizations working to restore salmon in the Skagit River basin. Keying off of David James Duncan’s conviction that ”rivers and mountains are myself turned inside out”, I reflected on the ways my own life has been shaped by salmon, hope in an era of global climate change, and my own journey back to the “home stream” during my Circling Home year. Here is the text of my talk:

Returning To The Home Stream: My Story As Told By Salmon

Tags: Puget Sound Salmon, Salmon Restoration, Skagit River, Skagit Watershed Council

On our long paddle back from the Cowichan Bay native canoe rendezvous on Vancouver Island last week, Robin Clark and I learned some things about tide and current, and also about a hidden gem in the San Juan Islands. Rowing Robin’s double scull through Obstruction Pass we picked our way along in the back eddies close to shore, passing several power boats that were barely moving against the current in mid-channel. At the end of the pass we came out into Rosario Strait, our last serious crossing, and because it was fairly calm we kept going, even though the tide was running at maximum ebb of over three knots.

We expected that this tide would pull us south down the strait toward Anacortes, but instead we found ourselves inching along against a current that was running due west, perpendicular to the strait. We aimed for the north end of Cypress Island, and when we finally made it across an hour and a half later, we were exhausted from the effort. We didn’t know how much tide we were bucking until we approached the shore of Cypress Island at a place appropriately named Tide Point. There was a beautiful beach there, and even though it was marked as Private, we just had to stop for a rest. Besides, Robin’s seat had come lose, and we had to do an emergency repair before we could go on.

Sometimes these accidents seem meant to happen. The owner of this beautiful spot was working on his skiff at the top of the beach, and while he didn’t come toward us, he didn’t shoo us away either. He had watched our battle against the tide on our approach, and seemed to understand that we weren’t idly trespassing - that we really needed a rest. After we’d repaired the seat and caught our wind a bit, we walked up to introduce ourselves, and had a great conversation with him. His name was Nick Fahey, and it was soon clear from the breadth of his knowledge of the area, and from the quality of his presence on this land, that there was something special about both Nick and this land he seemed so much a part of. It also became clear to us as we later circled around Cypress what a special place it is.

On our return, Robin did some snooping on the internet and found this great story about Nick and his family’s legacy on Cypress Island. Called My Grandfather’s Legacy, it is written by Nick’s daughter Anna, who now works for Sightline in Seattle, a terrific organization working on sustainability issues in the Northwest that is right down the street from Robin’s own People for Puget Sound. 

Reading Anna’s story added a poignant epilogue to a trip that was full of rich discoveries about this amazing region and culture we share here in the Puget Sound basin.

Tags: Cypress Island, Tribal Journeys 2008

Salish canoe pullers at Cowichan Bay Tribal Journey 2008

Wow. What an adventure. As my daughter Kristin said on her return, “This trip had an epic feel to it.” 106 native canoes from up and down the Northwest Coast - from Oregon to Puget Sound to Northern British Columbia - converged on Cowichan Bay last week for a huge coast-wide Potlatch, the first such canoe gathering of tribes on Vancouver Island in over a century. While not part of it in any formal way, we felt a part of it after paddling a hundred miles ourselves from Whidbey Island to get there. After a week on the paddle, it was an especially moving experience to be present for the arrival of all these canoes, and for the opening protocol in Duncan where each tribal group shared songs, stories and dances to commemorate their participation in this historic gathering.

For me it was the most powerful adventure yet in my Circling Home year. Two hundred miles on the paddle in two weeks. Most of the way I was accompanied by my friend and fellow kayaker Jay Thomas, and by Robin Clark and my daughter Kristin Hoelting, who rowed in Robin’s double sculling dory named the Barbara Goss. Robin, who is the Habitat Restoration Manager with People For Puget Sound, not only brought her knowledge of Puget Sound restoration priorities and projects, she also brought extensive experience on the water. She had rowed the Barb all the way down from Alaska to Puget Sound with another woman last summer, and linked up for this trip through her friendship with Kristin.

After traveling mostly solo on my walking and biking trips around the Puget Sound basin this year, it was great to share this journey with such solid, competent companions. Kristin recently returned from a year in Norway as a Fullbright Scholar, and this was a perfect way for us to reconnect. I also really appreciated the company on the often treacherous crossings over to Vancouver Island. Jay’s solid experience as a kayaker, and consistently upbeat attitude, was a huge boast in confidence for me in both the planning and execution of this trip.

The first three days of the trip I paddled solo, the full length of Whidbey Island, through Deception Pass and on to Anacortes. I was joined by the other three in Anacortes for the crossing of Rosario and Haro Straits through the American San Juans and over to Vancouver Island. The trip took exactly a week each way, with delights and surprises and a few anxious crossings keeping us fully engaged.

But the highlight, without a doubt, was our presence at the arrival of the canoes on July 28th. Several thousand natives, and a good number of non-natives like ourselves, were present for the protocol, in which each canoe arrived, shouted out their origin and how long they had been journeying, and asked permission of the Cowichan tribal hosts to come ashore on their land. The first canoe to arrive was from Sooke, B.C. It had 25 pullers in the canoe, and had been carrying a spirit pole carved for this occasion from village to village for over three months as a prelude to the gathering. It was a very emotional moment as this huge ocean-going cedar canoe came into view around the bend, and was greeted by continuous blasts from a conch shell. All four of us found ourselves ambushed by a wave of unexpected grief and joy. I found myself fighting back tears. Then the canoes came in large constellations from the north, south, east and west until 109 canoes were rafted up along the shore in a great sea of “pullers”.

Kristin and I responded to a request for volunteers to help hold the canoes against the beach as they came in and rafted up. It was moving to stand so close to the proud and radiant faces in the canoes, and to see the formal regalia being worn by each different tribal canoe. Later that night, several miles upriver in Duncan, we watched as the dancers and drummers from each tribe came forward one by one to share their traditional songs and dances. It was an all-night affair that would continue for several days until everyone had been heard from. We stayed until after midnight, then walked the five miles back to Cowichan Bay to our camp near the long line of canoes now resting on the beach.

As we were preparing to head homeward from Cowichan Bay, I ran into Ed Charles on the dock. Ed is a cedar carver from the Port Gamble S’Kallum tribe I’d met a few times at the Jamestown S’Kallum carving shed on Sequim Bay. He’d heard about our group that paddled up from Whidbey Island, and came over to chat. Ed was running a support boat for the canoes that crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca, and we swapped stories about our respective crossings. Later Ed stopped by our float again to tell us how much it meant to him that we had made the effort to paddle here for the canoe gathering. It felt good to receive this affirmation from the very people who had inspired us to come on this journey in the first place. Ed’s response was typical of the warmth we received from the native community during our stay.

Much could be said about what this gathering means to a culture devastated by over two centuries of disease, dislocation and cultural genocide. But what began with nine canoes paddling to Seattle in 1989 has grown in less than two decades into this massive outpouring of cultural renewal, pride and inter-tribal cooperation. 

This gathering feels important to me, not only as a symbolic expression of native cultural resilience, but for the powerful statement it makes to the rest of us about what it means to stay rooted in place, to know that we stand on the shoulders of our ancestors, and to know that our future depends no less than the past on our connections to the earth in its most intimate and local expressions. 

Sunrise Crossing of Haro Strait from Canada to the U.S.

Our trip home carried the winds of this encounter at our backs. Robin’s friend Richard took Kristin’s place in Sydney for the crossing of Haro Strait, and it was down to me and Robin for the last three days from Orcas Island back to South Whidbey. With the New Moon in perigee (it’s closest point to the earth), the tides were huge, with three and four knot currents running through Haro and Rosario Strait and the San Juan Channel. We had to time our crossings carefully, leaving at first light in the morning, when the winds tend to be lightest, and aiming for slack tide on potentially dangerous crossings. I joined Robin in the Barb from Orcas Island onward, dusting off my oarsman skills from college crew days, and we had a good but challenging dance with the tides across Rosario into Padilla Bay, down through the Swinomish Channel and the Skagit sloughs past Stanwood and into the Stillaguamish flats and Port Susan, ending up back on South Whidbey in Langley harbor on Sunday, Aug. 3rd, exactly two weeks after my departure.

The sum total of all these explorations under human power this year has been a continual deepening of my sense of connection to this amazing place on earth, and an easing of the inner currents of anxiety, fear and restlessness that seem so pervasive within the normal bounds of our current culture. It doesn’t have to be so. We don’t have to live always in this kind of internal bondage. We have more options than we think. I am more confident of this than I have ever been in my life. 

I hope this finds you all well.

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