Baranof Warm Springs

July 28, 2008: Retracing the path through Baranoff's Warm Springs


The falls and cabins at Warm Springs Bay

Up to greet the drizzling day. Put on our bathing costumes, light pants and shirts, rain jackets, and tevas. Carry our towels and toiletries. Joel is on the dock. He is off Papillion with his golden retriever and helped catch our lines last night. A light brown red head, he is on his way to a construction job site at Kake, on the northeast corner of Keku Strait, Kupreanof Island. But the winds in Chatham Straits are not inviting.

“I’ve got a wife and kids at home.” He says with a sense of responsibility. “So I’m not chancing it. Plus I’m alone.”

“I understand.” I empathize.

We’re going for a walk and mineral bath, then will pull out for Herring Bay—one stop away from Tracy Arm.

“Well you’ve got a sailboat. Sailboats do fine in this rough weather!” he says.

Our crew of three and captain saunter up the long gang plank from the floating dock to the board walk. Past the blue-roofed small, fully furnished cabins that had slid off the hillside under 45 ft of snow 2 years ago and arranged themselves helter skelter like a child’s toys in disarray.


Cabin slide at Warm Springs

A lawyer owned them. Nobody has stayed in them since they were built. Past the three bath houses fed by the hot springs, overlooking the bay. The city of Sitka provided the funds and the Warm Springs community volunteers built them. Past the gray-painted square salt box-design general store with its flower boxes fastened to the deck railing. The sign read: Closed. Clock hands pointed to noon. I made a mental note to pick up some Häagen-Dazs ice cream. Past the sweetest cabins on stilts—each unique with their own exquisite view of the thundering waterfall.

On past the boardwalk, now taking on a steeper angle: a red firehose box on the railing. Past the copper-coloured brook—gurgling over smoothe earth-coloured rocks. The sound of rushing water beyond. Small sword ferns, carpets of moss and lichen, ground dogwood, wild violets, huge skunk cabbage, skunk weed, and salmonberry cover the alpine tundra. Across a tangle of roots that demand a break in the board walk, past a huge boulder.


The boardwalk to the hot springs

Now we walk a narrow path with windows out to the swift river, to the end of a rock ledge, which opens out on Baranof Lake. Two boats: a yellow and green—rest at the edge of the lapping water. The red canoe is missing. Untied, it had slipped into the current on a stormy night and gone over the falls—an omen of sorts.

We rest a short while to drink in the light green lake water from snow melt. Sitka is just 10 miles over that snowy peak. A few well prepared hikers have walked it. A few unprepared have been rescued. A few did not make it.

Back down to the hot springs—past the inconspicuous off-shoot paths that go through the muskeg to still, small Sadie Lake or the striking lookout from top of the rocky bluff. On we tread through the muddy path to the mineral pools.

Russ is in the cooler of the two pools at 105 degrees F. None of us choose the upper pool at 120 degrees F. Peel off the outer layers, put them in bags or basket, cover them with rain coats, hang them from a tree branch or rest them on a bed of moss. Lower ourselves into the healing pool. Look out onto the powerful river outflow—a thundering body of energy—all powerful. Close my eyes.


Vanessa in the small pool in the hole in the rocks on a previous visit

I think of Vanessa and when we were here before and see her in the small pool in the hole in the rocks, very close to the rushing waters. I see her smile of fulfillment. Her eyes at rest. I remember our last night together at Warm Springs, tied to the dock. Safe from the 35-knot winds in Chatham Straits. Reading down below in Zulu’s main cabin with candlelight and the warmth of the diesel heater.

One by one the fishing boats came in at the midnight hour to anchor in the deep or raft alongside each other at the dock: Spartan Sun, Challenger, Patriot, Western Queen, Ocean Storm, Rosie M, Siren, Endurance, Indiana, and Northwind, the collection boat. She had read the names to me. Their lights aglow with young men of the sea returning to shore with their catch.

Now to retrace steps with new friends. Drew and Lucy. They enjoy the pools. The wet mists surround us. Time to follow the path, dodge the mud puddles, step over roots to the board walk. It’s 1:30 PM. Past store opening time. No ice cream tonight. Time for a real mineral bath.

Drew and Lucy choose the beautiful wooden tub. The wooden sign on the wall reads: This handmade tub is the generous gift of the fishing vessel Coral Lee and Capt. Mike Mayo who imports them. Russ and I take one of the two large aluminum horse troughs fed by the hot springs. We overlook the bay and falls. Heaven! Soap up, shampoo. Rub a dub, dub. Get clean. Feel the breeze. Rub yourself dry with a view for a queen.


View for a queen from the bath house

I walk to the base of the falls. I borrow time. Zulu’s engines are purring. I walk to the place I had stood with Vanessa previously. Where we listened to the thundering water together. I capture this last moment at Baranof Warm Springs and hold on to the extraordinary beauty of Alaska.