WHITTIER -- A strong north wind ruffled the waters of Passage Canal on this Thursday in August as Jon Nickles of Anchorage stuffed gear into a faded blue Klepper kayak pulled up on the rocks along the boat ramp in the local harbor.
Overhead, a few clouds raced across the sky, but most of the time the sun baked the normally rainy mountainsides. A kayaker headed out of town couldn't have asked for more.
''It's blowin' behind me,'' Nickles said. ''This is glorious.''
Nickles would get a push all the way down the canal. Ahead waited two to three weeks of adventure. Forest Service kayak ranger Laura Reynolds wandered by and confessed she was a little jealous.
She was on the beach because her kayaking partner had been called back to help fight fires. She chatted about boats and the Sound with Nickles as he readied the last of his gear.
A former employee of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, Nickles is busy enjoying a life of semi-retirement.
''I'm trying to have the summers off,'' the 55-year-old graybeard said.
He'd spent part of this one as a volunteer for his former employer, doing bird surveys in Prince William Sound. It was part of the continuing follow-up on the Exxon Valdez oil spill of 1989. The original plan had been to take the Klepper to Valdez and paddle back to Whittier, but he'd had trouble getting that trip organized.
''Logistics and everything,'' Nickles said.
He ended up shifting the start of the trip to this port -- now easily accessible from Anchorage. From here he planned to head toward Eaglet Bay and College and Harriman Fiords. He'd done trips like this before but not solo.
Going it alone would be a new adventure, but one he seemed to welcome.
''My friends have to work,'' he said almost sympathetically.
Behind him the sun beat off the glaciers and mountains above the canal. The water through which he sloshed in rubber boots was crystal clear and green with marine life. The parking lots above the harbor buzzed with people.
Someone was lowering a ratty, old fiberglass boat with a 35 horsepower outboard down the boat ramp. Over at the Alaska Marine Highway, people were standing in line to board the ferry to Valdez and marveling at the weather.
''I've done a few trips in the rain,'' Nickles said. ''I hope this weather holds for a while.''
An Alaskan since 1977, he knew his luck.
''It usually rains more in August than in July,'' Nickles noted.
So far this year, it has been all the opposite.
Rain is what makes the coastal forests flourish. Rain is what feeds the creeks that bring the salmon back. Rain is an integral and vital part of this ecosystem, but it sure is nice when the sun comes out.
''Winters are fine,'' Nickles said. ''But summers are short.''
Too short.
A man can barely justify the equipment necessary to enjoy them.
''I got (the Klepper) in 1986,'' Nickles said. ''I just haven't gotten it in the water enough. I'm trying to make up for lost time.''
The deck of classic blue cotton showed the weathering from some time in the sun, but no more than a couple years' worth. The gray rubber hull was almost unmarked. The gray spray cover that keeps the water out of the cockpit and makes this craft seaworthy looked almost new.
The varnish on the old wooden paddle sported a few nicks. Reynolds, the ranger, admired it. Wood paddles become more unusual by the year.
''I'm dating myself with this stuff,'' Nickles said.
He wore a baseball cap, to protect his balding head, and rubber boots. Behind him, the kayak rental shop was doing business with the young folks in Gore-Tex with neoprene footwear and polypropylene T-shirts.
Most of them had better hardware than Nickles, but he had the most valuable equipment of all: experience and local knowledge.
A man with those things could feel comfortable heading off into the wilderness for a week ''or maybe two,'' Nickles said.
''It will be a nice contrast to zooming around with the Fish and Wildlife Service,'' he said. ''I couldn't have planned it better, could I?''
