Paddle to Celebration provides a source of deeper connection

"Good morning Paddle to Celebration 2024! It's time to get up!" Jim Zeller's booming voice echoed through the forest. It was 4:30 a.m. and rain pattered the roof of my tent on Read Island. I could hear people in nearby tents begin to stir, along with the faint snoring of those that hadn't been roused by Zeller.

We were a couple days into our seven-day canoe journey from Wrangell to Juneau, where we would arrive for Celebration, the biennial gathering of Tlingit, Haida and Tsimshian people.

The paddle began in the early 2000s as a way to celebrate and strengthen the traditional mode of travel and aspect of Alaska Native culture. Over the past two decades, more and more canoes and communities joined the journey. On June 4, 11 canoes landed in downtown Juneau and 11 landed at Auke Bay - the largest number of canoes participating in the unofficial kickoff to Celebration yet.

Close to 70 people departed from Wrangell on May 29 in a total of six canoes - three cedar dugout canoes from Kasaan and three fiberglass canoes that included veterans, the One People Canoe Society and a canoe with Wrangell paddlers plus two from Petersburg. To ensure safety, three support vessels assisted the canoes.

On the morning of the third day, after camping out near Hobart Bay and after almost two straight days of rain and of feeling damp and chilled, the sun emerged, its heat warming our faces.

The mood of the group lifted almost instantly as we ate breakfast, and as if on cue, a rainbow appeared. When we started to paddle, I took my rain jacket off for the first time in three days.

While we moved north, we constantly scanned the shore for deer, moose, bears and goats up the mountain slopes. Countless whales, seals, sea lions and porpoises were spotted along the way, each as exciting as the last.

The journey was a way to reconnect with the land, water and ancestors. As we cooked cubes of venison over the fire from a deer that had been shot earlier that morning, Yarrow Vaara, one of the organizers of the journey, explained how eating the meat helped form a deeper connection with the land. This deer had been nourished by the water and the land we found ourselves on.

Avery Herrman-Sakamoto of Petersburg spoke of the personal connections she formed on the journey. She spent a lot of time along the way remembering her dad, who passed away from cancer four years ago and whose ashes she wore on a necklace. The canoe journey was something her father would have loved, she said.

The journey also gave her the opportunity to connect with her heritage on her own. She shared that the journey was one of the first times that she was participating in cultural activities without other family members present.

She told me about her experience on the journey as we took in the views of Sumdum Glacier near Tracy Arm, the land her clan is from. During a rare sunny moment, clouds drifted past the tall mountains and gave us glimpses of the glacier as we spoke. Icebergs floated nearby and the water itself was the clearest we had seen on the journey so far.

We spent two nights and an entire day at the campsite near Sumdum Glacier, which provided a rest day everyone needed. During the downtime, some paddlers ventured closer to the icebergs in a canoe, bringing a chunk of ice back to camp as a souvenir. Other canoers went out hunting in search of a seal. But most of us spent the day on the beach, chatting around the campfire and enjoying the occasional song.

Wrangell's Jerry Knapp said getting out of mainstream society on the journey helped him form deeper connections. On the journey, he met an aunt he didn't know, who was paddling in the veterans canoe. He shared that in addition to making connections with family, he is confident he has made lifelong friendships with fellow canoe pullers.

Knapp said that when he decided to come on the journey, he felt like he was looking for something else in life, but he wasn't sure what. Something like the canoe journey was the only type of place he felt like he could find it. At that moment, chatting around the campfire, Knapp said he felt a sense of calm.

Though many of us expected the journey to be about paddling, the paddling is almost the least memorable part - a testament that the journey is about so much more than the physical challenge.

We bonded as we traveled together. We spent time on the support boats and at camp getting to know one another. We looked out for one another as we shared similar frustrations with the rain and even the desire to paddle more.

Valerie Massie, a paddler from Wrangell, said that the journey was made up of constant sharing, whether it was helping each other in and out of the canoes or making sure everyone was fed.

Massie added that she enjoyed watching paddlers grow and come into their own on the journey. Paddling gives each person a purpose, because each paddler is necessary in order to move forward, she explained, adding that she enjoyed "seeing people find their flame, their warmth, and not feel out in the cold."

Out here, everyone is "free to be their whole selves," she said. "There's a lot of expression here that isn't a possibility in town," Massie shared while watching people chat around the fire and take in the views of Sumdum Glacier.

We stuck together as we paddled, always keeping the other canoes in sight. At night, we set up camp together and got to know each other while singing, dancing and sharing stories around the campfire.

This journey felt particularly special, said Vaara, one of the founders of the One People Canoe Society, a nonprofit dedicated to supporting canoe culture in Southeast Alaska. The best part of this journey, she said, is everyone coming together from different communities in a way that hasn't happened on previous journeys.

As a canoe family, we were required to work together. "You can't get anywhere alone," said Vaara about paddling. You have to work with one another, syncing up your paddle strokes, she said, providing an apt metaphor for life.

Working together toward the same goal allowed the journey to be healing in a multitude of ways.

As a sober experience, the journey provided an opportunity for paddlers to reflect on their own substance abuse. Some shared stories of past struggles, some celebrated their years of sobriety and others were just beginning their journey.

Some individuals shared their struggles with mental health, suicide and self-harm, adding that that this and previous canoe journeys gave them an opportunity to be part of something that was bigger than themselves.

The journey gave all of us an opportunity to grow. As frustrations rose, tides changed and exhaustion set in, we all had to figure out how to continue moving forward.

The support boats were crucial to the journey. They provided a place to eat, to rest and an alternate mode of transportation. As a stomach bug plagued many of the paddlers, they also provided places to lie down and recover.

Between the weather, the tides, illness and varying energy levels and needs, we spent more time on the support boats than paddling the canoes.

From the canoes, the support boats and the campsites, we marveled at the beauty of Southeast Alaska. Though many of us reside in the region, sometimes it takes being out in the open to remember how special it is.

As we got closer to Juneau, excitement for Celebration grew. Some paddlers had been to the gathering many times, but others were looking forward to their first experience.

In the downtime on the journey, paddlers wove cedar headbands and showed each other their regalia, and practiced songs which seemed to grow louder the closer we got to Juneau.

After a rainy final night of camping, as paddlers packed up their tents and donned regalia for the final few miles into Juneau, the sun came out once again.

After a cold and damp week, the heat from the sun was uncomfortable as we waited patiently to come to shore. Hundreds of people greeted us with applause and excitement, a reminder of the feat we had accomplished. In a final effort, almost 30 of us paddlers and spectators lined the canoe and hoisted it onto our shoulders to carry it onto shore and uphill.

A few minutes after we had secured the canoes on land, as if on cue, the skies opened up and sideways rain poured down.

The Paddle to Celebration is truly about the journey, Zeller said. It's about being damp, frustrated and kind of miserable but still being able to smile anyway.