Operation Sunshine Unicorn: A kayaking misadventure
How we're filling our cup of core family memories
South-central Alaska had been acting grumpy all summer — cold, wet, and uninterested in anything resembling fun. So when I saw sunshine in the extended forecast (aka the weather app briefly stopped crying), I did what any rational Alaskan would do: I panicked, overreacted, and immediately booked a remote wilderness trip.
On a whim, I checked the availability at Kayakers Cove, a rustic hostel with many choose-your-own-adventure options. Miraculously, the only night available aligned with the forecasted sunshine. I took this as a sign from the universe, requested two days off work, and booked an entire 12-person bunkhouse. Because nothing says “relaxing getaway” like organizing a 12-person, multifamily, multigenerational, logistically complicated camping trip.
Let me paint you a picture: Two families, four grandparents, three parents, one wilderness-guide cousin, four kids, fishing gear, and enough taco fixings to feed an army. If this sounds like overkill, please remember: One of those kids is my 7-year-old daughter, Violet, who has Gaucher disease. The other kids included Violet’s 3-year-old bestie and their energetic older brothers. The grandparents are wonderful but have multiple ability levels — much like the youngsters. That means any outing needs to be planned with the precision of a NASA mission, yet still somehow runs like a circus gone awry.
Enter my cousin Mareth, a professional wilderness guide who likes my kids more than most people like their own. She volunteered to help coordinate logistics, carry the marine radio, and, if necessary, swim through glacial waters to save Violet from a capsized kayak. Which was definitely on the list of “realistic outcomes” given how much she was wiggling with excitement in the boat.
Once we arrived at Kayakers Cove, the friendly owner helped us select five double kayaks from a well-stocked rack. We set off to cross El Dorado Narrows to Fox Island Spit. It was supposed to be a quick 15-minute paddle, but just preparing to launch the boats took over an hour. Why? Because even with two intelligent grandparents electing to remain onshore, 1) selecting and fitting 10 people into appropriate life vests sounds easier than it is, and 2) rudders are confusing when you’re trying to adjust them while simultaneously fielding questions like, “Are we there yet?”
Violet rode up front with me and spent most of the paddle turning all the way around to shout excited commands like, “MOM, LOOK! MOM, CATCH UP TO MY BROTHER!” Mareth, observing this alarming lack of core stability, quietly removed her fanny pack and prepared to execute a mid-ocean rescue dive. Like a seal. With a CPR certification.
Violet Labenski, 7, tests the water temperature while kayaking during a memorable (and sunny) family trip in the Alaskan wilderness. (Photo by Marion Glaser)
Thankfully, nobody fell in. We made it to Fox Island, where the kids found tidepool creatures and the adults pretended they weren’t already sore. We launched back just in time for all the charter boats to come zooming through the narrows like NASCAR but with more salmon on board. Mareth got on the radio and issued a sécurité warning to all nearby vessels, essentially shouting, “DEAR SPEEDBOATS: PLEASE DON’T TURN MY NIECE INTO CHUM.”
That evening, our 10-year-old son proudly outfished my husband, landing a quillback rockfish from his kayak that impaled me with one of its quills as I filleted it.
The next morning, we tackled the “hike” up to Big Rock, which is the kind of name that sounds encouraging until you realize it involves boulder-scrambling and something more of a mountain goat path than a trail. Violet, who weighs more than an overnight backpack, insisted on climbing it herself. I was in full hover-mom mode, holding both her hands and trying to counterbalance her. This meant I couldn’t see where I was putting my own feet, which was less of a problem and more of a repeated ankle-twisting choice.
Did Violet make it to the Big Rock? Absolutely. Did it take three adults to hoist her across a yawning crack like she was a human relay baton? Also yes. Was she thrilled? Ecstatic. She declared herself “Queen of the Rock,” which no one disputed because she might have been the first 7-year-old person with Gaucher to attain that glorious view all the way down to the ocean.
The way down was less triumphant. Violet pooped out halfway, so I piggy-backed her through roots, rocks, and an internal monologue that sounded like, “You wanted this, remember? Sunshine. Family time. Bliss.”
We caught the water taxi back, realized we had one missing bag and two extra boots, unpacked roughly 200 granola wrappers and collapsed at home.
Will I take Violet camping again? Absolutely! Will it almost kill me? Most likely. Will I keep doing it? Yes, until our cup of core family memories overflows, and as long as Mareth keeps coming!
Note: Gaucher Disease News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Gaucher Disease News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to Gaucher disease.
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