A small wooden hut and two graves stood nearby. One of the graves was for a man named Father Gerasim, an Orthodox monk who had lived there for a number of years in the early twentieth century. The other belonged to Father Peter Kreta. Father Peter had recently been the priest of the Russian Orthodox Church in Kodiak, following in the footsteps of his father before him, and was much beloved by the church members because he had grown up in Kodiak. A few years ago, he had been stricken with cancer and had died just last year in his early forties, leaving his wife and two young sons. His last request was to be buried near Saint Herman’s church, on Spruce Island. Meri and I had personally known Father Peter and his family, and we were saddened by his death. We paused a few minutes to remember him and then returned to our campsite.
From the beach where we camped, we could look out and see a string of small islands jutting out from the south side of the bay. Most of these would have been here when Arkhimandritov visited in 1860. His journal indicated that he stood on one of them when he took a bearing to the Kad’yak. When I looked at the chart, it seemed that he could have been writing about the easternmost one, the third island. But I could not see it from the beach. In fact, it looked like just a pile of rocks, barely visible at low tide and almost completely submerged at high tide. I realized then that he must have been standing on an islet to the west of it, the second island from shore, that was slightly larger and had grass growing on it. It was right next to the first, larger islet that rose up from the water in a steep cliff, about fifty feet high. During the great earthquake of 1964, this part of Kodiak sank up to 6 feet, but since that time, it has rebounded slightly every time an earthquake occurs (such as the 7.0 temblor that had occurred in January of 2002). Was it possible that the third, smallest islet had been above water when Arkhimandritov visited it? Or that the second island had broken off from the first during the great earthquake? What other changes had occurred?
Monk’s Lagoon, as seen from the shoreline during the kayak trip in 2002.
That afternoon, we got into our kayaks and paddled around to the north side of Spruce Island, around East Point, and through a narrow, shallow channel over some rocky reefs. We pulled into a cove to have lunch on the beach. We had planned to go farther, but the weather forecast was starting to worry me. It was calling for 15- to 25-knot winds that evening and overnight with rain. That was not a good sign, so we decided to head back to camp. We came around East Point directly into the wind, which was now blowing about 20 knots—too windy for kayaking with a twelve-year-old. The quickest way back was to go through the channel out into the middle of the bay and across it, but that would expose us to the full force of the wind. Worse yet, the wind would be at our backs, which was dangerous because we wouldn’t see the waves coming at us and could easily be turned sideways and rolled over.
After weighing the options, I decided on a slightly longer but safer course, following the shoreline inside of the kelp beds and rocky reefs. At one point we had to pass through a narrow break in the rocks, where swells were washing through. Timing our passage carefully, we waited for a swell to pass. Then we paddled rapidly into the cleft; as we did so, the next swell lifted us up and pushed us through. It was exhilarating but scary, like surfing. In truth it wasn’t that dangerous, but having my daughter along on this trip made everything much more terrifying. I could expose myself to certain calculated risks, but I was not willing to do it with her along. That evening the rain started, so we retreated to our tent early. All night the wind blew and rain beat on the tent, and I found it difficult to sleep, finally dozing off in the wee hours.
That night I had the strangest dream. I was walking on a beach, with the ocean on my left and a forest to my right. Ahead of me, I could see something like a large skeleton, maybe the ribs of a whale, sticking up out of the sand. I walked toward them for a while, but they didn’t seem to get any closer. Then an old woman came out of the woods. She was dressed in a nondescript sort of tunic and wore a shawl over her head. Was she young or old? I couldn’t tell. She walked up to me and stood between me and the object of my interest, whatever it was. Then she pointed at me and began talking in a language I did not understand. I listened for a minute, uncomprehending, and finally I walked past her, only to discover that the structure had vanished. Where did it go and what had it been? Was it a whale skeleton? Or maybe the ribs of a ship? Who was the woman? I turned around to look, but she was gone. I woke up in wonder. What did it mean?
Daylight comes early in the Alaskan summer, so by six I was up and making breakfast. We ate quickly and packed up our camp, stuffing the wet tent and other items into the kayaks. It had stopped raining and the wind had come down, but the waves crashing on the beach still troubled me. Half an hour later we were out in the channel, and the water was surprisingly calm. The storm had mostly blown itself out, and we had to paddle through some small chop, but the swells had lain down. After a while, I began to relax. The rest of the trip was delightful, and several hours later we paddled up onto the beach behind Miller Point, tired but relieved that our journey was finished.
Afterwards, I thought about our visit to Monk’s Lagoon. I wasn’t a religious person; I didn’t attend church, and I certainly didn’t have any leanings toward Russian Orthodoxy. But I believed that I was a spiritual person, and that being so didn’t require me to be religious. If anything, I worshiped nature. The power, the beauty, and the inspiration I find in nature seemed to be the same thing most people find in God. And Monk’s Lagoon was a spiritual place. For some, it was because of Saint Herman and what he did there. For me, it was because of the beauty of the surroundings and the incredible experiences I have had there. What it meant to Arkhimandritov, I cannot guess, but he probably saw it as a reminder of a bad experience. Nonetheless, having been there, I felt more connected to it. It gave me dreams. It spoke to me. It told me the Kad’yak was there and that I had to find it. But not this year.
The shoreline in Monk’s Lagoon (Icon Bay), as seen from the Big Valley. The church was built on Ouzinkie Native Corporation land by the “new” monks, who were later forced to leave.
CHAPTER 7
NEW
DIRECTIONS
SUMMER-WINTER 2002: ONE DAY IN the summer of 2002, Dave McMahan walked into my office at the Kodiak Fisheries Research Center (KFRC). Dave was the chief archaeologist for the State of Alaska Office of History and Archaeology and worked in Anchorage. His job primarily involved managing, documenting, and protecting archaeological resources on state lands, including submerged lands. He investigated historical sites, such as “the Castle” that Alexander Baranov had built as his home and headquarters in Sitka, and occasionally human bones that turned up when modern humans disturbed ancient (or not-so-ancient) gravesites. Dave had just completed his certification as a scuba diver and had developed an interest in marine archaeology. He knew Mike Yarborough, who had suggested that Dave should come see me.
“What do you know about the Kad’yak?” he asked.
“Oh, a little bit,” I teased. “Let me show you.” It was like taking the cork out of a champagne bottle. I opened my mapping program and showed Dave all the lines I had drawn on the computer. After many years of drawing with pencils on paper charts, I had finally graduated to using electronic charts. I could draw lines all over them, then just as easily erase them and start over. Somewhere in that morass of red lines lay the Kad’yak. Dave’s eyes lit up. He knew I was interested in the ship but he didn’t know that I had done so much work on it. Over the next hour we talked about the Kad’yak and what it meant for the history of Alaska. There had been lots of shipwrecks during the period of Russian Colonialism, but none of them had ever been found. Most were poorly documented, and their locations were not well known. But the Kad’yak was