Fords Terror, SE of Mile 900

Named for a sailor whose small craft was swept into the inlet’s narrow entrance, this lonely bay whose entrance is only accessible at slack water (the top of the bottom of the tide) is seldom visited. But for those who do, the reward is worth it. Vertical walls, striped with waterfalls rise almost a thousand feet up from the water. The hand of man is nowhere to be seen; even radio waves don’t make it in there.
The vessel is the Catalyst, one of several small vessels that take travelers in and out of remote coves and smaller towns. On one memorable trip into Fords Terror, the Catalyst grounded out when it swung into shallow water at anchor. Concerned that she may lean over too much for comfort, the crew took the 6 passengers ashore, put down sleeping bags and built a big fire.
All hands spent the night around the fire, the boat floated off fine the next morning and they went on with the trip which included spectacular kayaking in Glacier Bay, bear watching at Anan Creek, etc. On the last night, the passengers were asked what was their favorite part of the whole trip. And all agreed: that night in Fords Terror around the campfire with the eyes of critters looking in at them from the darkness!
From my 1972 fishing boat journal: September 5: At 11 we ran for two hours down lonely Holkam Bay to Fords Terror, where with little water under us and at dead slow, we passed the rapids in the creek-like entrance. Hardly spoke a word for the next mile, so overpowering was the scenery, The channel was barely a hundred feet wide. To the north a sheer rock wall rose a thousand feet from the water before sloping back out of sight.To the south was a rocky beach rising swiftly to dark forests and snowy peaks. Old John Muir was the first white person in here around the turn of the century. He was so affected by the scenery he named it Yosemite Inlet, and I don’t think there have been too many visitors since. The gorge opened up to a narrow basin, and we dropped the hook and walked until our boat was just a dot.
The night chilly with northern lights again. Yesterday and today, the places we visit make us feel small indeed.
Sept 6: First frost! The stove went out in the night and we woke to find Sam (our dog) nestled between us. To go out on the frosty deck on such a morning, with the still glassy basin around, and dark forests and frozen hills above - words can’t tell it, pictures can’t show it.
Forty years would pass before I went in there again - in 2012 with Dan Kowalski, my filmmaker friend. He sat me in the back of his little outboard inflatable, and filmed me talking as the incoming tide swept us past the steep rocky wall.
There was a gorgeous iceberg jammed in the entrance that trip. We were sure it was grounded out on the gravel bar and therefore stable enough to approach closely - icebergs can tip over without warning, so you should stay away from them if you are in a small craft such as ours. It wasn’t and came very close to drowning us when it capsized. But that’s another story.