Journal Entries and Commentary for Year 2
Below is my journal and commentary from the second year's trip from The Haul Road to Tin City.Olie the old black lab and I left Sitka for Fairbanks on June 30th. We spent the next few days getting reacquainted with the equipment and preparing for the trip. Becky joined us a couple of days later and we made plans to leave for the Dalton Highway Bridge. Myron's brother Scott had volunteered to drive us up there again. Thank you Scott. We put together an e mail contact list for him of family members and friends so they could keep track of our progress.
July 1: We left Fairbanks in a pickup with the gear on a snow machine trailer. We had significantly less gear and provisions than we had the previous year. Myron, Becky, Olie the dog, and I were set to travel. We made the Dalton Bridge by early evening without big problems. On the road there were several hot spots left from a fire caused by lightning. It created some smoke but was not a problem. We unloaded, set camp, and had supper at the roadhouse. The bugs were bad and there was a fair amount of boat travel that night. The Fourth of July weekend was beginning and travelers were on the river. The next morning we were up at 6:30 and standing on the stoop of the roadhouse for one last meal and the use of a flush toilet.
July 2: If day one would have went a little better it would have been a complete disaster. We set up the boats. Assembled the floor of the first one wrong, forgot to install the floor rails on the other, lashed in the seats backwards, and made little rainbows in the water. We had transported the motors incorrectly and the cylinders were full of oil. Pulled the plugs and drained the cylinders. It was after noon before we were underway.
July 3: Two or three rain squalls and rain gear on the whole day. Dog cried so much for the first two hours that I had to move him back by me and swap out his weight with a bucket of beer. Olie settled but rode most of the day cowering in my lap. Worthless boat dog. No surprise there. Talked to one set netter. He was set up on a dismal sandbar. Anxious to talk. He had four kings and a chum. Several fish camps and a few working tender skiffs. One canoeist had been blown ashore. Wind would bring chop over the bow and in the face. Had to come off step several times because of the chop. River is wide, few islands, no snags, and one sweeper. One small black bear running on the south bank. Cheese and sausage for lunch and PB+J for supper. Missing one camp chair. Large leak in my elephant trunk. Boat is wet. Rolling hills and shores that provided easy landings. Barometric pressure on the rise all day at 59.86 and a gusty west wind. Mixed sun and squalls. My motor still cuts out at mid throttle. Boat is sound otherwise. Camped on the south bank within sight of Rampart. Traveled 64 miles. Two days behind schedule and 6 miles short of our 70 mile a day goal. Spirits are good and all but Olie are glad to be back on the Yukon. Two small pieces of flour gold from an unnamed stream on the south bank two miles above Rampart. Not enough water to run the sluice.
Dalton Highway Bridge to Rampart: 57 miles
The fisherman we talked to came out to us and appeared to be starving for human contact. Kind of pathetic in a way. He had a good laugh at our destination. Olie spent most of the first two days trembling. Each time we stopped to visit between boats and Myron pulled away from us, Olie cried like he was being left. This also happened on Day 43. I had spent 1,100 miles last year listening to the new Yamaha motor cut out while running at half throttle. They had been completely serviced and there were no problems found. I was convinced that I would have to endure another 3,700 miles of the same aggravation. I would grind my teeth each time it happened. The chop in the river slowed us down to 9 miles per hour often. The wind would kick up when the river ran into the wind. Only the second day into the trip and I would have paid Gary Boen's air fare from where ever he was to cook for us again. Meals were bleak. The elephant trunk is a 2.5 inch diameter tube that extends out from the transom and is designed to allow water to run out of the boat when it is under power. I found a gash in mine that allowed water to run into the boat when we were at a standstill. I had great plans to patch that when I had a moment. Never did.
July 4: A 105 mile day. Left 2 miles above Rampart and have made it to Kallands. Camped on an island again. Boring wildlife day. Saw a white wolf, bald eagle, and one chum salmon. Made up some ground.
Rampart to Tanana: 72 miles
Tanana to Ruby: 123 miles
Passed through Tanana in the afternoon as the community was celebrating the Fourth. The store had free watermelon. There were sack races going on. Locals were wearing mosquito head nets. There was one pay phone in the entryway of the store. I could not call out as the '1' stuck each time you pressed it and the operator was little help. Becky managed to get a call out somehow so we were covered. My new rain pants had a problem. The problem was that on the waist at each side there are Velcro fasteners. Not a problem. But why in the heck put Velcro on rain pants that are size XXL? Does Helly Hanson figure that folks who purchase such spacious garb will be satisfied with the holding strength of two small strips of one inch Velcro? The store did not have a belt and I had a problem.
July 5: Seventy mile day from Lancaster Creek to Shovel Creek. We were on the water at 8:30 after a breakfast of sausage. We ran for 30 minutes and then I had engine problems. Bad gas. Drained the carburetor several times and installed an in-line water filter. The first few times we drained the carb into a pop bottle lid there appeared to be no water bubbles present. Upon closer inspection, the entire cap was water with no fuel present. Tied together and worked on the problem until 12:45. Ran for an hour and the wind came up. Continued on until 5:20 and set camp on an island. Boat continues to buckle at anything over 21 miles per hour. Barometric pressure dropping all day. Thunder to the south. Wind in our face all day, again. Would not want to paddle this. Late evening squall came up and gave some relief from the heat but also carried high winds and lightning.
Tanana to Ruby: 123 miles
Long, long day. This was the first time that we had anything mechanical go wrong. Later we determined that the gas came from a 5 gallon jerry jug that was left over from last year's trip. Rookie mistake. Provided plenty of Girl Scout juice for the evening fire though. High winds that night caused no damage, but sent us to the tents early. In looking back, the storm was a probably a good thing as the bad gas situation had me angry. We were in gold country but I did not do any prospecting as I felt fortunate to be under power and in camp. The thunder also suggested that this was not a good night for exploring.
July 7: Not keeping up with the journal. Spent last night on an island about 7 miles below Galena. Had fuel filters, gas line, camp chair, and Thermos flown in on the 3:15 flight from Fairbanks. Made it back to Galena by 11:00 and spent the day there. Ran into a Native fellow that we had seen in Ruby He was stranded there after coming to Ruby by boat for the 4th of July. He found out that there was a wedding in town and stayed. His friends had left him stranded there. Now he was back in Galena and hanging out in a clump of trees with a few buddies and their favorite beverages. They spent the day shooting off bottle rockets and peeking out to ask single questions of us. We had a burger at the bar. Met a guy with Fish and Game who took Myron to the airport to meet the plane. Later he took me to the store to buy dog food. Turns out he grew up just miles from where I did in Wisconsin. When we left Galena the water was a mess. We ran in the slop for about three hours. It was too choppy to tie together. The gas tanks and jugs are full and we can now travel nearly 200 miles. We are now more than one third of the way down the river with 600 miles remaining. At one point this morning we were 44 miles from the coastal town of Unalakleet but had 650 miles to cover before we made Unalakleet by the river and coastline. Sunset is 1:05 AM and sunrise is 3:05 AM. We are on an island 1.5 miles below Koyukuk. No wildlife. Becky stepped off the boat near Koyukuk and sank into the mud to her waist. I got out to try to help and became stuck as well. She crawled to the shore and I pulled myself back into the boat. Olie sank in up to his chest. We ate supper at the end of the runway near Koyukuk. A honda pulled up as we were leaving. They asked how far we were traveling. I am beginning to lie as the truth seems bizarre. I am telling folks that we are traveling to Kotlik. Seems easier to grasp. River is getting larger with more and more sandbars. Wind was bad again. Hope this is not the norm. Spirits are good and the campsites have been well chosen with few bugs.
Ruby to Galena: 52 miles
Galena to Koyukuk: 31 miles
Ruby was asleep when we pulled in. They were all recovering from the wedding. A sign was posted on the door at the fuel depot that travelers should plan to get gas before the long weekend. They were closed but would reopen if you paid a $20.00 call out fee to Ivan. Turns out Ivan lived at the very top of the hill. Becky made the trek for his house. We filled the gas tanks. Galena was a larger town. Three stores and a bar. Galena had housed a military base a few years ago. There were reminders of that and the infrastructure that supported it. You cannot find ice anywhere on the river. The heat was bad for our days near Galena. Swam one night and did laundry in the river. I have a swell tan/sunburn line. Since Ruby, we have pulled into each town to find freight on the shore from a barge that is traveling ahead of us.
July 9: Last day and a half has been a blur. Two days ago we had a great travel day. We covered more than 150 miles. We would run up on step for and hour and then idle while tied together for an hour. Boats and motors worked flawlessly. Traveled through several towns that I have forgotten the names of. No wildlife. We decided to run all night. As the boats were tied together the three of us took half hour turns at the tiller. At around 1:30 AM Olie had to go ashore and go to the bathroom. We considered pulling over. Bad move. The place we chose was too shallow to make shore and the bugs were bad. The light was getting bad and there were several sweepers. The miles continued as the bugs piled on Olie and the group. We could not travel fast enough safely to keep the bugs at bay. The lights of Anvik appeared as we neared a high dry bank.
The moment we hit the bank the bugs were bad. Bugs so thick that you swallowed, inhaled, chewed, and had them in your eyes and ears. The simple task of undoing a stuff sack involved walking in circles in an attempt to keep some of them off you. Once we had secured the boats and the tents were up I called Olie in. He had run down the shore 150 yards with his head hanging in the grass in an attempt to have the grass strip the bugs off his face. When he came in the tent he was whimpering and shaking as he coughed up mosquitoes. I used my cap to kill bugs in the tent for nearly 15 minutes. The patch on my hat nearly fell off before I had killed all of them. The high pitched hum of those buggers was nearly too loud to fall asleep. Got to bed around 3:00 AM.
In the morning the bugs were not as bad but too pesky to eat a meal. Packed and broke camp. On the water we tied together and ate a breakfast bar with a can of luke warm pop. The wind come up and beat us to hell. Too rough to tie together. Only 35 miles to Holy Cross.
At Holy Cross we had to enter a slough that passed town. Tough entrance and not well marked. Made the fuel depot 10 minutes before they closed. Nice folks I guess but a ghost town. Gas is getting cheaper at $2.95 per gallon. Above Holy Cross there were several pinks finning. Lousy running. Spirits are up and down. We left Holy Cross that same evening and into another slough leading back to the river. Spent the night on the shore. This was the first night along the river that we did not spend on an island. Ran five rounds through the shotgun. We are 375 miles from saltwater. Elephant still leaks. Motor continues to cut out. Two nights ago I ripped a pole sleeve out on my tent. Repaired it with a spray adhesive. It appears to be holding. Ripped my stuff sack for my tent as well. Wind is still blowing.
Koyukuk to Nulato: 20 miles
Nulato to Kaltag: 35 miles
Kaltag to Grayling: 119 miles
Grayling to Anvik: 19 miles
Anvik to Holy Cross: 40 miles
This was the part of the trip that things started getting a little wiggy for me. We decided to travel all night around Grayling. Seemed like a good idea at the time. The bugs started to get bad down in this region. There were more and more sweepers that were sticking up out of the water in places where you would not expect them. There were a few fish camps near the small towns but little boat traffic. Kaltag was a brief stop. Not much there except freight on the bank from the mythical barge that was beating us down the river. The night in Anvik was a mess. I have never seen bugs like that. I can't describe them. Won't try. Also won't return. The next day we entered the slough and neared Holy Cross. Becky has been the savior with fuel stops. One, she has the initiative to get something done and two, she has the uncanny ability to step onto a road with two empty fuel tanks and have a ride lined up into town. All within the time it takes to tie the boats up. Not only fuel but local stories, a history of the town and school, and an address or two for Christmas cards. I am convinced that we could give her two empty fuel tanks anywhere within the state of Alaska and she could be elected mayor within an hour. I have trouble getting the time of day from folks. Nice to travel with the ambassador. No belt yet. Holy Cross was also the first town that the locals provided us with the phrase that popped up at each of the next stops. It was a phrase that could instill confidence, question sincerely, put you on the defense, or provide fodder for your impeding epitaph, "Those little boats, you should be good."
July 10: Woke up at 7:00 AM with the wind still blowing. We grunted to one another from the tents and decided to sleep in and wait the weather out. Broke camp at 10:30 when the whitecaps laid down. Surprisingly good running. After an hour of running we came upon 6-8 cabins on the north bank. A young guy walked out of one of the cabins and to the bank. He invited us in for coffee and to, 'meet mother'. Mary Demientuff was a joy and is one of the trip highlights for me so far. She was mom to 12 kids that she had given birth to in the cabin or in the wall tent that stood there before the cabin. She had her hair tied back in a wrap. We had three cups of coffee and exchanged addresses for Christmas cards. She put up fish in the summers now and wintered in Bethel for health reasons. She beaded and had painted icons on her ceiling in her bedroom. Neat lady. Her son was impressed with the GPS. It was a 12x12 cabin with several additions. We ate some dried tails. They gave us 3 pounds of dried salmon and a plastic chair for Becky to use on the boat. Myron parted with his canoe seat, a pound of coffee, several candy bars, and three trip patches. Propane oven, wood stove, and a bathhouse. Another 8x8 cabin out back for visitors. Earlier in the week a lone traveler had came by on a log raft. He was down to a cup of rice. After Mary had visited with him and was off taking a nap, her son gave the traveler some food. The story evoked some uncomfortable laughter from Mary. This is the dividing point between the Athabaskan and Eskimo peoples.
Holly Cross to Russian Mission: 73 miles
Russian Mission to Marshall: 58 miles
July 10 continued: Later in the day we passed Paimiut. This is the place where a guy I met in the Juneau airport had grown up. He had not been back there for many years. I should have taken a picture for him. Made Russian Mission, again, ten minutes before the fuel depot closed. Called Kerty in Sitka. Three boxes of mac and cheese. Ran for 10 miles until we put in on an island. Olie doing well cleaning up the dishes. Equipment and motors doing well. All in good spirits. Cool temperatures all day. Wore a stocking cap for the first time today. Overcast and calm now. We are 230 miles out of Kotlik and the sea. Considering making a Norton Sound crossing from Stebbins to Cape Darby. 45 miles to save three days of travel. Weather will determine. Marshall by early PM if all goes well.
The weather was lousy for this stretch. The winds blow sand and change the islands and banks right in front of you. The company was awesome. Mary is a special person and has become one of the more memorable encounters of the trip. I wish I would have taken a picture of Paimiut for my fisherman friend I met in the Juneau airport. For that matter, I wish I remembered his name. They must do something right in that region. My fisherman friend and Mary from just up the river are quality folks. No sign of that darn barge.
July 12: Missed a couple of days again. We are in Kotlik. We are six miles from the sea. Our tents are set on the edge of town next to a tank farm and the barge landing. The towns seem to run together, I have to force myself to think backwards and remember them. We spent a night on a sandbar just below Pilot Station. I asked about Ron and Dorothy Nick while in Pilot. They were college friends of mine from 1985 at Sheldon Jackson College in Sitka. They were both in town. I spent some time talking to their uncle the mayor. Dot has four kids and Ron works at the school. Nice town, friendly people, and a good store. Best stocked store since Galena. Below Pilot we broke camp at 9:15 AM. Too rough to go into St. Mary's. Had fueled up in Mountain Village. Filled water can as well. From there we ran into Kotlik. Head of Passes was not difficult to find. Apoon Pass is small and narrow. Few boats on the pass. The tug had dropped a barge in an eddy above Kotlik. Weather is clear with some wind. Friendly people on the river.
Kotlik has a bad feel to it. Kids on hondas are tearing around. Camped above the boats but I am still worried. We may have made a late night run at the coast except the barge was unloading and blocking the pass. This is the barge we had been chasing since Ruby. Myron had worked for Yutana Barge Lines as a member of the dock crew in Tanana years ago. He talked to the skipper and it turned out that Myron and his ex-wife used to baby-sit the skipper, Kevin. We went aboard for coffee, cookies, and pie. Kevin is a good guy. We got a tour of the boat. Three engines and screws. Draws four feet but can push over two and a half feet. No GPS. They do not use charts and run just from sight and topo maps. We got in late and nobody called to check in. We will sleep in and make a run for saltwater and Stebbins. Bugs are very bad. My boat was weird all day. Covered 134 miles. Fifty-six to Stebbins.
Marshall to Pilot Station: 43 miles
Pilot Station to St. Mary's: 23 miles
St. Mary's to Mountain Village: 21 miles
Mountain Village to Kotlik: 94 miles
Making Kotlik was a major goal. The entire Yukon River was behind us. We pulled into town three days behind schedule. The barge blocking the pass may have been a good thing as what lay beyond was a mystery. We spent the better part of the next three days trying to learn as much as we could about what the delta looked like. The people of Kotlik were very friendly and offered advice. One of the problems that made itself obvious after we talked to the second individual was that everyone had a different take on how and when to navigate the delta. It is best with a following south wind, wait for the westerly, there are no markers, the markers out there have been moved by the ice, stay to the left of the markers, stay to the right of the markers, it calms down in the evening, the morning is the best time to travel, and, the ever popular, "Those little boats, you should be good". We used our time there to purchase an anchor, stock up on food, rest, and form an opinion on what lay ahead. We were starting to think that making Barrow was not going to happen. All this and we had not even had the boats in saltwater. As we sat on the banks of the Apoon Pass one thing was agreed upon by the group. The first travelers out to sea this week should not be the three visitors with two boats made of air. If you contorted your body just right you could receive a VHF signal and the marine forecast. The prevailing winds in Kotlik for our stay were from the south. More so out of boredom than any advice or weather we decided one afternoon to make a run for it. I was nervous.
The remaining 8 miles of the pass was like a slow meandering silt banked river. There were teepee like structures of beach wood leaned against one another for drying. For me, these added to the eeriness. The diamond shaped orange and white marker came into view. The wind was at our backs and occasionally gusted enough to put a ripple on the water. There was not a defining moment where the river gave away to the wide open sound. The banks of the pass widened and dropped away into sand bars. I had no real sense of direction other than a reminder of the wind direction. The boats were in shallow drive and we were just idling along. The predominate advice was to stay on the right of the floating markers. It became immediately obvious that this was not the channel. We moved to the left of the markers and continued out. Off to the west there was a boat streaking towards us. He too ran the channel on the same side of the floats that we were on. The path the boat chose, its size, speed, and the 115 horsepower motor all suggested to me that he had to be dragging his lower unit and prop through the fine silt and sand that was only deep enough to cover the fin on a paddle. We continued on out to sea for about 45 minutes in shallow drive. Occasionally we dragged bottom forcing us to zigzag in an effort to find the channel. After hitting bottom several times and the water not deepening we decided to cut the motors and let the wind push us along for a half hour until the water got deeper.
We were three miles out past the navigational marker and you could step out of your boat and walk around. Odd feeling. We had drifted far enough out to be able to run the motors in shallow drive. We took a bearing for Hogback Hill. The tide was flooding and the chop picked up. The color of the sea was identical to the river. The silt from the Yukon roils the water nearly all the way to Stebbins. We kept well off the shore as we headed for the protection of Point Romanof. We did not make it that far and decided to put in at Coffee Point. It was a small knob that would become a turbulent mess later that night. There was a 1.7 foot tide here. We rolled the boats up onto the beach on two plastic bumpers that we had brought along for that purpose. The shore was black sand and flat rocks with the first five feet of the water black with silt and muck. We set camp, ate, and went to bed feeling a sense of accomplishment having made saltwater. This would be the longest night of the trip.
July 16: It has been forever since I have written. Left Kotlik late in the afternoon. Asked everyone what the delta looked like and had 20 different stories. All said that there were sandbars several miles out into the sea. There were some markers but the ice moved them each year. The winds were 15 knots out of the south. Good for a run to Stebbins. The pass led out to an orange and white navigational marker. Low treeless banks with eerie teepee structures of drying beach driftwood. Prop hit and dragged on the right of the markers. Moved to the left. Ended up in shallow drive. There was still only about 4-5 inches of water a mile and a half past the nav. marker. We pulled the engines and drifted with the south wind for 45 minutes until we had enough water to cover the fin of a paddle and deep enough to continue on in shallow drive. We quartered the chop for an hour. Finally had three feet of water. Took a bearing for Hogback Hill and ran at 11-14 miles per hour. One of our travelers was getting a touch of sea sickness so we ducked in behind Coffee Point. A very short beach with flat rock. That should have been a clue for what was to happen that night.
Set the tents, pulled the boats up, and ate. Woke up at 11:30 PM to the whine of timbers on rubber. Winds had switched to the southwest and were making a mess of the beach. Had to move all three tents. At 3:00 AM the winds had pushed more water up the shore and the boats were swamped and in trouble. Came out of the tent in shorts, boots without socks, and a poly top. The entire shore was a mass of migrating 6-20 foot logs. Many of them had been limbed and had 3 inch spines on them. Spent what seemed like forever pushing timbers away from the boats. This was not going to work. We had to clear a section of the beach to pull the boats up onto. Once that was done we had to alternate bailing out the boats with a five gallon bucket and fending off logs. It took over an hour to get both boats out of danger. I was drenched and sore from logs rolling up against my legs. Changed clothes and spent the rest of the morning with the boats. Large logs had washed up behind the boats and sand quickly filled in behind them. The beach continued to migrate to the north. I have not seen the like. Went to bed at 7:30 and slept until 1:00 PM.
Kotlik to Coffee Point: 11 miles
Later that evening the winds continued from the southwest. The next high tide was approaching and the thought of spending another night like that one was scary. We had to take the motors off the boats and carry them to the water. Loaded the boats and wet clothes from the night before and left under poor conditions for the protection of Point Romanof.
This was nearly the end of the trip. There were two holes in one of the boats. We were exhausted from having to drag the boats and motors around. I guess any time that you travel in these regions and are away for as long as we were there is a chance for these nights. This was a bad one. Somewhere in my past someone cautioned me about short beaches with flat rocks. Now I remember why. The rocks are ground flat by rolling timbers. It was not a mistake we made again. It was not wise for us to leave under such conditions but with the wind picking up and a larger high tide coming, we had little choice. The locals in Kotlik had mentioned Point Romanof as offering some protection from a southerly.
July 16 continued: Made Point Romanof that night and found no good beaches. Decided to push on for Canal Point. Entrance looked like a mess. Decided to push on in bad weather 10 miles for Stebbins instead of taking the canal 14 miles into St. Michael. Made Stebbins around 10:30 PM. 4-5 foot seas that got worse as we neared the shore. Could not raise anyone on the VHF on channel 68 or 72. Decided that Myron would go in first as he had Becky in the bow and she could help land the boat. It was a steep black sand beach with big surf. No markers or protection. One lone soul on the beach. It turned out to be Alexis Matthias. By the time Myron made the beach there were 6-8 other folks there. The first wave came over the stern and the boat was swamped. I held off shore. Two four wheelers were hooked to his bow and tried to drag him up the beach. They popped off the 2,000 pound D-ring on his bow. The entire group unloaded the boat and ran gear up the beach. They bailed out the boat and were able to drag it 30 yards up the beach.
I hit the beach with Alexis there motioning for me to get on the throttle. Took the motor lock off and rode a wave in. The shock of slamming the beach helped me pull the motor out of the water. The first wave broke over the transom and knocked me over onto the load. The boat was swamped. Opened the elephant trunk and inched the boat up with each wave. When it was high enough I bailed it out with a 5 gallon bucket as Myron rigged up a harness system to pull from three points on the boat. I looked around at one point to see several strangers running my gear up the beach. Three or four men were drenched to their waist. We pulled me up by the black boat and said our thank yous. We went to the store to warm up more than anything.
When I returned to the boats, Alexis was there after having changed clothes. He had been soaked to his waist helping us get the boats in. Alexis invited us to take a steam bath in his father's sauna. It was awesome. It has been 17 days since my last shower and I feel rejuvenated. Becky ended up sleeping on the floor of the changing room of the sauna. We slept in the next day. The weather had calmed. Kids, many kids, would come by the tents, rap on the tent walls and announce, "Look how calm it is now". We again have 100 different opinions on what constituted a good travel day. Forecast called for NW @ 15.
Coffee Point to Stebbins: 54 miles.
We ended up staying in Stebbins for two nights. The people there were very friendly. They had a laundry service that we took advantage of. It was very nice to have had a steam bath and clean clothes. There were at least five kids in camp or crawling on the boats at any one time. With the advice of some of the locals we decided to leave, round the cape, take a bearing for Egg Island, and then would determine if we should return to the mainland or veer off and head towards Unalakleet.
July 16 continued: We left Stebbins late in the afternoon. It was ten miles to the cape and the narrow body of water that separated the mainland and Stuart Island. We were only able to run at 8-9 miles an hour. There were whitecaps around the corner and a confused chop. We nosed around the cape and continued to sea, clear of the protection of Stuart Island. Few whitecaps and some chop. We headed for Egg Island. A small lone figure in the sound with steep cliff shores completely around the island except for a 10-15 foot section of the southeast portion. The island was 18 miles off the cape. We stopped in the protection of the island for a quick visit and looking at the small tough beach we decided to push on for Unalakleet.
We would turn to the southeast if we got in trouble. The water was rougher with whitecaps. At 12:30 the sun was nearly on the water in the southwest. When a cloud covered it, the water turned black. When the sun shined, it went right through each swell and turned the water an emerald green. I had to force myself not to look at my watch or the GPS for what seemed like long periods of time. Each time I checked them it was only minutes after my last glance. The crossing was 35 miles and it took an agonizing three and a half hours.
About 12 miles out of Unalakleet we could see the light at the airport. At three miles out my motor quit in 5 foot swell. I took one wave over the stern as I scrambled to look for the problem. The brass fitting on the fuel line on the tank had come apart. Myron turned back and idled nearby as we shouted back and forth trying to decide where the spare was. I found it in my boat and quickly changed it out. Once under power I had to run faster that what the sea would allow to empty the boat of water from the wave that came over the stern.
We rode the crest of waves in to keep from taking the swell over the stern. We could not see the entrance markers for the river in the darkness. The swell grew larger as the water shallowed. We raised someone in town on the VHF who said the red markers showed sandbars and we were to stay to the right of the green markers. Without the sun and a squall moving in from the northwest the green markers were nearly impossible to see. I found one between two reds. A second green was 200 yards off the shore. We made it in and followed the river to the bridge. At 3:30 AM we set camp in Unalakleet and turned in to the serenading cries of what sounded like 1,000 dogs on the far shore.
Stebbins to Unalakleet: 68 miles.
July 16 continued: Ate brunch the next day at the lodge. Supper at the pizza joint. Called Kim and Greg Johnson. They are two teacher friends of mine from my days teaching on St. Lawrence Island. Caught two char on the fly rod in the river. Fish all over. Should have checked the regulations. Not sure if I am supposed to be fishing here now. North winds 10-20 for next day and then turning east for the afternoon. May try to get out then. Need gas in the morning. Nearly out of time to get to Nome on schedule. We are 290 miles out of Nome. Our best day on the sea has been 58 miles.
We ended up spending five days in Unalakleet across the river from 100 howling dogs. The restaurants were a nice diversion and a welcome change to our camp grub. This was the first real talk of bagging the trip in Nome. Becky had injured her knee and was in rough shape. Having someone injured took away the advantage of having a second person in the bow of the boat that beached itself first. We had quite an eye-opener in Stebbins and nobody wanted to go through that again with only one able bodied person in each boat and not being able to count on the assistance of the town folk. Becky was toying with the idea of flying to Nome and waiting for us there. Unalakleet is littered with boats on the shore. Reminders of a previously strong salmon fishery and herring sac roe fishery.
The howling dogs on the far shore became unbearable. Each time Olie would step out of the tent they would see him and begin to howl. They howled at passing hondas, passing cars, passing clouds and I am convinced, just for passing time. We made one failed attempt to move on one afternoon. We made it up to the coast about four miles and were getting beat to hell. The chop would fly over the bow and catch you in the face. I had been to Shaktoolik before and was not in a hurry to get there in these conditions. We returned to our howling friends and steady diet of cheeseburgers. Becky's knee was on the mend.
We had an interesting conversation while on the failed attempt to leave Unalakleet. We, after all, were on vacation and it made no sense to push on under miserable conditions. The two that were going to meet us in Nome would just have to wait for us or fly down the coast to meet us here or perhaps Golovin or Elim. It was here that I came to peace with myself that we were not going to make Nome on time or Barrow for that matter. It was a good discussion for me. I guess we are on vacation.
Upon turning back and returning to Unalakleet we had an awesome thing happen. We were approaching the airport and a cloud of dust. As we neared the end of the runway and the 15 foot shore a huge DC-7 screamed right over us. It was unlike anything I had seen. I swear the plane dropped as it ran out of runway over our head. I was looking right ahead eye level with the pilot. He banked to the left. A cloud of black smoke was being blown against the sea. The pounding of the props and engines sent waves right through me and the boat. It was very loud. I have no idea how high he was above us but I remember feeling lucky that I was not standing up. I even ducked. Have no idea if I needed to duck, but I did.
July 20: Again, it has been several days since I have written. We are in Nome. We left Unalakleet on Friday. We had tried to leave on Thursday but were forced back by weather. Once out of Unalakleet we traveled for three hours in the chop. The north winds made a mess of everything but there were no barking dogs. About 12 miles below Shaktoolik we entered a large lagoon. We ducked in next to the shore and very quickly ran the shoreline into town. Travel was good. Checked at the Shaktoolik store about a weather forecast. Nobody knew. Asked for a phone and we were sent to the Cape Smythe agent. He radioed the agent in Golovin and they had calm seas and 5 miles per hour variable. The locals said it was a good time to try a Norton Sound crossing. The agent relayed a message that we were on our way.
At 8:00 PM after a quick supper of Pepsi and beef jerky we ran for Cape Denbiegh. There it was still calm. Decided to run out in the sound for 20 minutes and then stop and decide if we should continue. We never stopped. The locals had said to take a bearing on Cape Darby and turn to the east if we got in trouble. To the east was Haystack Mountain and Moses Point where at the base of the mountain was a river and shelter from a northerly.
Cape Darby was in sight the whole crossing. There was only an occasional ripple on the water. It was a two and a half hour crossing. We stopped a third of the way out and had PB+J. Cape Darby is beautiful. It did not come into focus until we were close enough to be in her shadow. A sheer jagged rock cliff that rose straight out of the sea. Puffins all over. It was an awesome crossing.
Unalakleet to Shaktoolik: 35 miles.
This was an amazing day. It started out like all other days but then the water laid down. We stopped in Shaktoolik for less than a half hour. There was a sense of excitement as we left town. If we could make the crossing we would eliminate three days of traveling. It was a long crossing but it was beautiful. We were never out of sight from either shore. We did stop for a quick bite to eat but everyone was anxious to push on to take advantage of the good weather. Cape Darby was a sight. The temperature dropped severely when we were in her shadow. The distant Cape Debiegh looked like a shallow hill. The boats and motors did well. Olie even slept. A far cry from the first week. I think he thinks we are just miles from our home in Sitka. Those little boats, you should be good.
July 20 continued: Stopped in the shadow of Cape Darby to change over fuel tanks. Spirits could be nothing but high. The tides at the cape were running and the rift was huge. As we changed the tanks the tidal currents were pushing us back to Shaktoolik. I kidded about it being too bad that we were not carrying another six gallons of fuel apiece or we could make a run for Nome. We took stock in what fuel we did have, put it in tanks, checked the GPS and figured we could make it to Port Safety. The road from Nome ran to Port Safety and someone could hitch for gas. Little wildlife. Three headless walrus.
There was some chop at the cape and it picked up as we came on the entrance of Golovin Bay. Myron's boat was doing better. He had patched two small holes from the Coffee Point Disaster. He had also beat his floorboards back into shape with an ax. I got 25-40 pumps of air into each of his chambers in Unalakleet. Half way through the entrance of Golovin Bay on the crossing to Rocky Point the chop picked up. We discussed ducking into Golovin. The tides were changing and it was a large enough bay that we could not get an accurate reading on what lay ahead. We decided to push on for Rocky Point. If the water was bad there we would duck into Golovin Bay.
Right at Rocky Point the water was flat calm. It resembled a mill pond. We decided to run for Port Safety. This was the most amazing night of the trip and one of the more amazing experiences I have had. Clear skies and a slight northwest breeze. The sun was dipping behind the occasional mountain along the eastern shore. I could not tell where the skies ended and where the sea began. There was no predominate color. It was like being inside of an abalone shell. Everything had a milky hematite luster and glow. It was surreal. I have never seen the like. The sun dipped into the mountains and seemed to rise again in the same spot. The three quarter moon came up behind us. It was awesome. My back was shot so I would stand at the tiller for long periods of time. Olie had been moved to the bow seat and slept the entire time.
I have few pictures of this stretch. I am kind of glad as they could never capture what we were traveling through. We had now been traveling for around twelve hours. It was long as I look back at it but there was a period of about three hours that were amazing. If there were a way to bottle that feeling and those sights, I would be an addict. It is beyond description. Even now, remembering it, it has lost some of its awesomeness to time and memory.
July 20 continued: When we approached Port Safety Myron did not head for the entrance lights. I veered off to the right to catch his attention and head for the bridge. A few minutes later we stopped and he asked where Port Safety was. It was behind us seven miles. We had a short discussion about whether to back track to Safety or hug the shore and continue on towards Nome. We were 23 miles out of Nome. We pushed on for Cape Nome. This took forever. I thought we were in a time warp. I remember looking at the water and sticking my hand in the sea as is rushed by just to prove to myself that we were moving. The black blob of Cape Nome never seemed to get larger. Finally we made the cape and took stock in what we had left for gas. The Nome Council Road ran along the shore so we decided to hug the coast and continue on.
Stebbins to Nome: 180 miles.
Around 5:00 AM we could make out the distant shapes and blurry lights of Nome. We pulled ashore outside of town to use the bathroom. It was about 6:30 AM when we made the harbor. Cold and tired we tied the boats in the harbor and walked to town for breakfast at the Polar Cafe. Becky could not stay awake. My back was killing me. On the way back to the boats Becky checked into the Nugget Hotel. Myron called a friend of his, Kevin Ahl and left a message. Myron and I went back to the harbor and secured the gear and the boats. I decided to check into the hotel as well as I could get the benefit of sleeping twice. Once to gain sanity and then later that night to gain strength.
It was great to make Nome. The trip now had meaning. It also was soon to get new blood in the form of Bill and Tony. They are from Maryland and were to join us in Nome. We had shipped the red boat and motor from Fairbanks to Nome earlier in the summer. Amazingly after our fortunate Norton Sound crossing and 180 mile eighteen hour day we were exactly on schedule. Tired, but on schedule. We decided that Barrow was probably still out of reach as we had taken a few chances to get where we were and the three of us decided that it was not worth it to continue to be so aggressive. We had made friends with Toby Bill while he was in Barrow working at the Dew Line site. Tony, we had not met, but we were more than anxious to have someone else to talk to as Olie had not spoken to us for a week.
July 20 continued: I slept in from noon to 7:00 PM, ate, and met Becky and Myron for a few beers. I ended up closing the bars and had a few beers with Joe Reddington's grandson. He is an idiot. Slept in until 10:00 AM. Met the gang for a late breakfast. Myron's friend Kevin Ahl had told him that he owned a yurt outside of town on the Snake River. He was going to let me set up a tent on his deck and do some prospecting. Kevin came by. He is a pilot for a regional airline. We had some common friends in the area. Nice guy. I took a cab out of town to the yurt to spend three days prospecting. Set camp and walked to the river. Grayling all over. Worked four pans. Flour gold. Ran five gallons of material through the sluice. Same. Having trouble diverting enough water through the sluice. Will spend more time with it on Monday. Staying until 3:00 on Wednesday when the cabbie said he would make the 7 mile trip back out to pick me up. Cab had no reverse gear. Had to push it. Nome still has character. Bear sign on banks. Electric fence around the yurt. Real nice place.
Nome was fun. Becky ran into a former student. I saw nobody I knew in the bars. Have six granola bars, liter of Pepsi, small block of cheese, beef jerky, and two candy bars. Becky had called Toby Bill. They leave Monday morning and are excited. Called Jeff. He leaves Milwaukee a week from today and is excited as well. Tried to reach Kerty three times in Juneau at her brother's. No luck. Left a message with her father in Sitka that I was out of town prospecting for a few days and that we would probably not make Barrow. Everyone is OK with that. Blowing gales out of the north. Will spend all day prospecting. Olie is snoring and farting in the tent. New blood will help spirits. We are all still talking. Myron is tired. Becky's knee is still a bit sore. Winds are 35 out of the north. Clear at 45 degrees. Fog bank off shore.
I was looking forward to seeing Toby Bill again and meeting his friend Tony. I was also glad that my longtime college friend Jeff was still planning to meet us up the coast in Kotzebue. I told Jeff on the phone of our decision not to be as aggressive in pushing ahead as we had been in the past. He understood and was anxious to just be here. He would wait in Kotzebue for us or fly down to one of the villages along the way if we fell behind schedule. He would have to wait by the phone and possibly change his travel plans at the last minute. The weather was crap.
July 21: Worked the sluice all day until 5:00 PM. Wet feet, no change of socks, cold hands, and no neoprene gloves. Decided to pack and walk for town. Had a terrible pack. Dry bag with the sluice in a hockey duffel bag strapped on the outside. Shotgun slung around my shoulder. Made it two miles on the Nome Teller Road. First car by gave us a lift back into town. A dog, a pack, a gun, and a ride. There is no place like Nome. Had 10-12 pieces of flour gold. Lost most of them in the snuffer bottle. No matter, had a ball. Going to send sluice home. No bears. Little gold.
The Maryland boys were not on the flight they should have been. Called around. No idea where they are. Myron and Becky had been staying at the hotel. I took a cab two miles out of town and set up tent on the beach. Most of my gear was in Becky's room. Place looked like a sporting goods store. Smelled like low tide. On the beach there were several dredge setups. A few rocker boxes and some tents. Anxious to see them in action. No way to get a boat on the beach. Surf is huge. Kevin and Myron are going to Northern Air Cargo to get the red boat. No idea when we are going to get out of here. No idea where the east coast crew is. Saw a grouse while walking to town.
It was good to be back in Nome. It had been a favorite watering hole and diversion for the years that I taught out on St. Lawrence Island. After about two days it begins to lose its appeal. Several drunks on the street. Prospecting had been fun. It was now over. I mailed my sluice back to Sitka. I also sent home three halibut jigs that I had toted down the entire Yukon River. Never got a chance to fish Norton Sound.
July 24: Finally the weather broke and we rousted our two fellow travelers out of the comforts of the hotel. The Maryland boys arrived a day late after missing connections. Nice to have new travelers with excitement. Toby Bill and Tony spent two nights with me on the beach. They have a ton of stuff. Weird stuff. Toilet lid that goes on a five gallon bucket. Not going to use my bucket. The beach is littered with REI, North Face, and Mountain Hardware tags.
On Wednesday while we were stranded in Nome we rented a truck and saw the sights of Nome. Went back to the yurt. This time brought my fly rod. Caught nothing. Pissed. Drove out the Teller Road. Then we went out the Solomon Road past Port Safety to Solomon and The Train That Goes Nowhere.
July 24 continued: Got up Thursday at 7:00 AM and ate. Made the hotel by 8:30 AM. Water was good with a light NW. The local newspaper, the Nome Nugget, had sent a photographer down to the docks to get a photo and some background info. Left Nome harbor just before noon. Had good running for an hour until we hit the Sinuk River. The water got shallow there with breakers. Spent the rest of the day getting pounded. Made Cape Wolly. Not particularly impressive but was strewn with huge quartz looking boulders. Not good for beaching. Saw 50-75 caribou on the very tip of the cape. It was kind of strange. Almost like they ran out of land or were running from the bugs. Rounded Cape Wolly and got into some rather large swell. Big eyes in the red boat. Buildings of Shea Roadhouse came into view. We found the lagoon entrance and spent the night there. Weather report is favorable for the morning. Motor and boat did well. Lighter now as the common use gear is spread amongst three boats. Made 47 miles today. Eighteen in the first hour. Junk after that. Hot-dogs for supper around a fire that put off more smoke that a volcano.
Nome to Shea Roadhouse: 47 miles.
I remember feeling excited to travel again. Then I pushed away from the dock. My back remembered immediately the eighteen hour day we had before. Olie looked like he was going to mutiny. The first hour was awesome. Around Sledge Island the water became very shallow and the swell picked up. When we rounded Cape Wolly the swell was building. The GPS showed a narrow entrance into a lagoon. Luckily it was accurate and we were able to enter the lagoon. These entrances and beachings were getting more and more scary. Or perhaps it was just the fact that we had made enough of them to know that many were not fun. That with our new travelers who had five hours of experience made the Shea lagoon a welcome sight.
July 25th: Set the alarm for 6:00 AM. Got up and it was still howling. Got up several more times and then got up for good at 9:30 AM. We left around 11:00 AM when it had laid down. Wind had switched to the SSW. Had one good hour of running again and then junk. Had to quarter the seas for most of the day. Murder on the back and spray in the face. Made 26 miles to about eight miles short of Port Clarence. No VHF signal. It looked too sloppy to make the cape and try to enter the lagoon into Teller.
We decided to hit the beach. Filled all three boats and got wet. I sat for a moment in drenched disgust on the float of my boat. I heard Myron yell for me to get my gun. Knew we were here for the night so I meandered through my gear and then to my shotgun. A second much more urgent call for me to get my gun made me realize that we had visitors. A sow and two cubs were running towards us with a juvenile in tow. She alternated between stopping to run the juvenile off and quickly closing the distance to us. She came up to within 30 yards of us. Myron fired a shot in the air. The juvenile bolted the other way while the sow stopped and stood up. Sniffed and then ran with her cubs. Stupid dog the whole time eating seaweed until he heard the shot. Took off after the bears when they were a quarter mile away. Worthless boat dog and worthless bear dog.
We were beached on a narrow spit that separated the sea and a large lagoon. The lagoon opened up into Teller and Brevig Mission. The narrow entrance around the cape was about eight miles away. There is a Coast Guard station at Port Clarence. We could make out some buildings from where we were. We put up a wind shelter. The seas were a mess and the lagoon was a mill pond. We had a decision to make. The spit was about 150 yards across. A portage across would allow us to travel the 12 miles to the lagoon entrance. The other option was to hunker down there until the seas laid down. We ate a snack and did some beach combing. Myron found a walrus head without the tusks. Toby Bill did some dental work with a Hudson's Bay ax for some walrus teeth.
July 25th continued:Nice to finally see some wildlife again. Would have been better if the bears would not have gotten so close. Rain and wind had me down. We took turns taking short walks to avoid conversation and to get things right in your head. I was tired. Tired of running for one hour and then getting beat up. Tired of hitting the beach so hard. Tired of never having a following sea. Tired of...well, just about everything. To make matters worse we were facing the prospect of moving the boats, motors, and gear over 150 yards of sand or waiting until who knows when for the seas to calm. A low point for me. I hardly talked to anyone. I am sure that I did not help anyone else's mental health. Didn't care.
Later we decided to move the boats and motors across the spit to the lagoon. Let some of the air out of each chamber on the boats so we could string a paddle through. Crossed two paddles over each motor and carried them. Becky carried most of the personal gear across. Set camp on the lagoon side. Rain. Later that night the wind switched 180 degrees. Blew the sea flat and roiled the lagoon. Pissed. Ate chicken noodle soup that was not warm enough to dissolve the slimy fatty yellow stuff on the top. Three cups of coffee. Weather lifted a bit late. So did the spirits. A bit. Becky turned in silently and early. I decided it was time to poop in the bucket with the fancy lid. Nice. There is talk of stopping in Teller or at the Coast Guard station to call Jeff. There is no way we will make Kotzebue on the day that he flies in. All flights out of Kotzebue are north. Jeff will have to change his ticket to fly to Nome and then try to catch us in Tin City, Wales, or Shishmaref. Dog trying to push into tent. Spirits are fair.
July 27th: Left on the lagoon very late around 11:30 AM. I got up at 6:30 AM, checked the weather, and then went back to bed. Rain and blow. Had oatmeal and coffee. We left around 2:00 PM. I had trouble starting my motor. Made it to the Coast Guard base and were met by the base commander. He took us in and gave us a weather report and some coffee. I called Jeff and left a message with him that he would have to try to change his flight to Nome from Kotzebue. The base was nice. The people there were a tad bit too hung up on all of the 9/11 security stuff. My God, this was a sand spit 150 miles from anywhere. Did not feel welcome but did feel confident that the dismal spit was being guarded sufficiently.
Portage to Port Clarence Coast Guard Base: 8 miles.
Weather had improved and so had my spirits. We were getting into the region that I was excited about. The tense oafs at the station reminded me of just how lucky I was to be traveling without distraction through some amazing country. They also reminded me also of how lucky I was to be around people that I like.
July 27th continued: It was another eight mile crossing from the entrance to Port Clarence to the north shore. Treeless vast old castle-like mountains. Many seals. Two of the boats are losing water pressure through the jet from the water pump. Will look for clogs on Sunday. Good running again for an hour and a half. Sloppy for the rest of the day. Saw 15 muskoxen. Neat country. The winds came up out of the north and I caught spray in the face all evening. The mountain at Tin City looked like a pyramid with the upper third covered with racing clouds. The buildings never seemed to get larger. There were several small capes between Clarence and Tin City. No good water to run in. Made Tin City around 9:00 PM. Cold and tired. Sea water had run down my face, soaked my neck and chest, and ran to my belt line. Landing at Tin was uneventful. Tin City is a bleak mass of decaying mining trash. The Dew Line site on the hill above is huge. The guys from the site came down. The short trip around the mountain to Wales can be a mess they say.
This was the last journal entry I made. We ended up spending several days here in Tin City. Jeff made his flight changes and arrived in Whales about three days after we made Tin City. While we were he we did quite a bit of exploring. The weather was poor and the season for traveling in small boats was coming to an end. The talk among the group members was that perhaps Kotzebue was in reach. Kotzebue was a region air hub and would allow us to get ourselves and gear out. The waiting game began. There were a few diversions that helped pass the time.
Becky decided to fly back to Barrow to spend some time with her family before the school year began. She contacted Bering Air and was going to back track to Nome, then to Anchorage, and finally up to Barrow. It is never easy to fly from point to point around here. Becky had organized the trip information and scheduled the meetings to put this all together. She had traveled the entire Yukon River and up the Alaskan Coast to the Bering Straits. It was neat for me to see her eyes when she hung up the phone after making plane reservations. This lady had made quite a run and was excited about going home. Talk was of showers on demand, meals that are hot and sand-free, and a bed that you do not need to inflate with air. I was happy for her. I had enjoyed traveling with her and I am glad that her trip was ending on her terms. She remains a friend. It was hard for me to say good-bye as we had worked together teaching in Barrow for four years. I was returning home when the trip ended to teach in Sitka. Becky Crabtree is fine person and a fine teacher.
I went for a walk on the beach to try to put things together in my head of how the rest of the trip would look and how far we could make it. I was happy that Jeff had made it here and he was excited to travel. I met Toby Bill on the beach and he told me that Tony had decided to fly out the next day as well. That was a surprise. I wish we could have traveled more for his benefit. So it was down to Myron, Toby Bill, Jeff, Olie and me. Kotzebue became the goal in my mind.
We were lounging around camp one day when a lone figure showed itself on the mountain behind us. It was the first of 15 musk ox on the move. We grabbed field glasses and a camera and set off to see how close we could get to the. I wasted 20 pictures on the distant herd until we were able to walk up to them. This was an experience that was neat for me. I had never been around them before.
They were interesting animals. They would back into a circle when approached and kept the young in the rear. When pressed they would snort through their noses and the dominate male would stomp forward. I remember wishing that Becky was here to see this. The next day we would make an attempt to get around the corner, through the Bering Straits and into the safety of Lopp Lagoon. From there we would run up the coast towards Shishmaref and into another lagoon that would offer protection to Shish and beyond. From the lagoon near Shish we would pick our days to work up to Cape Espenberg and then across Kotzebue Sound and into Kotzebue. If all went well we would have a few days to goof around in the Kotzebue area. Talk was of the Noatak River and Cape Krusenstern. Spirits were mixed. The weather was marginal.
I really have no idea what day it was when we left Tin City. I must have at the time. I had stopped keeping a journal. That may have been a hint of how the rest of the trip was to play out. We left Tin after several days on a dismal junky beach. Plenty of rain and some wind. A fuel barge was in the bay and was delivering fuel to the Dew Line site. Two 10 wheeled tanker trucks were unloaded from the barge and drove right down the beach, over streams, and rocks. I was quite impressed. The skipper of the tug hailed us as we set out. He warned that if the seas are kind here they will be a mess around the corner in Wales. He was the first person not to say, "Those little boats, you should be good." He warned of a 75 mile long 12 fathom shoal that extended out to the north from Wales. This generated big swell. Not the send off we wanted.
Just around the mountain as we neared Wales the chop picked up. Nothing too big but large enough for us to back off step and into the plowing wet pace that had become all too familiar. Above Wales the chop began to set up into 5-6 foot swell. They were not too steep and were set far enough apart to not be scary. That would change. We made the corner after traveling through the Bering Straits and the swell picked up. I have some experience in big swell but your perspective changes when you are sitting at water level in a raft made of air. The waves were 10-12 feet high and still not steep or close together. The winds were from the north at about 10. Skies were overcast. The strait provided a view of the Diomede Islands and Fairway Rock. Months before I had planned side trips to both. I chuckled at this recollection while being thrown up into the air like an elevator. We came to the area where the first entrance to Lopp Lagoon was showing on the GPS. I am sure we were there as the navigational charts showed a rock marking the east side of the entrance. The swell rolled in toward the shore and then broke into a white froth for 40-50 yards off the beach.
We bobbed around out there trying to determine where it was and what our best options were. We decided to move on to the next lagoon opening that was another two miles up the coast. Same thing. Sitting in a raft trying to peer through 12 foot seas to spot an opening was not going to be possible. I volunteered to ease my way in toward the shore to the point where the swell was breaking. Jeff was in the bow with field glasses looking for the openings. They were not to be seen. I almost willed them to be there as we had traveled 23 miles out of Tin City. Our options were not good. The weather was holding and there was little wind. If that were to change we were in trouble. I went back off the coast to Myron with the bleak report. We considered pushing on to inspect a third opening another 8 miles up the coast. Another option was to make a blind attempt at one of the openings. The third option was to backtrack to Wales. We had visited Wales on four wheelers a few days before and the coast in front of Wales was shallow and uneven. Swell of this size would make a frothing mess of it. The final option was to return the 23 miles to Tin City.
This was an interesting conversation between four adults, three boats, and a dog. Myron was very wary of the swell and did not want to continue. I could not find a lagoon opening and wanted nothing to do with putting us on a beach in this mess. In the back of my head was the idea that I had dragged a college friend all the way from Wisconsin to experience this awesome adventure and we had only traveled twenty-some miles. Months before I had talked Jeff into coming. He is an experienced outdoors person. He was joining us well into our trip. Jeff is used to planning any trip he takes. That was not an option here and that can be a difficult thing to let go. You are trusting others to be prepared for elements and the unexpected. I was only able to put his mind at ease by telling him that I have come to trust Myron's judgment completely. He had a bad feeling about this. I knew if we returned to Tin City that the trip would be over. A brief exchange involved me continuing up the cost with Toby Bill while Myron returned to Tin. It was very brief. Myron was the one person on the trip that had traveled these waters and I had come to rely on his judgment completely. Still do.
We turned the boats back for Tin City just as the wind switched to the SW. For a while it confused the sea and things did not get worse. Around the corner the water turned to a confused chop with the swell pushing it to shore. Hours before Jeff had turned to me in the boat and said, "How many folks can say they took a 16 foot boat through the Bering Straits?" I laughed to myself as I realized that we were doing it twice. Myron was right. Just as he had always been. There was too much to risk with any of the other options. I was disappointed but the closer we got to Tin City the more I felt relief.
Jeff and I made a day trip out of Tin City and did some fishing. We found some artifacts and Jeff got to see his Alaskan grizzly bear. It was not the ending that I had envisioned but there was little from this two year odyssey that I could have envisioned. To steal a line from my friend Jeff, "It is what it is."
Defeated we limped back to Tin City. That was going to be it. We would have to break the gear down, charter a Caravan out, and call it quits. We got a great offer from some of the locals to go up on top of the mountain at Tin City. This was nice. The sad irony is that we could see where we were the previous day. The trip was over but we were treated to an amazing view.
This is the end
Not gonna get mushy or prop any of the events from these trips up with tales of near death. What started over two years ago from a conversation with Myron over far too many beers has come to an end. Much money and time was spent to make this happen. It was worth it. Of that I have no doubt. I wish Gary Boen could have made the second year's trip. I hope to find a new home for my dog. After a beer, I will endorse any tall tale that was born on either of these trips. Most of the people along the way were awesome. I will send them cards. Some were idiots. I will not waste energy on thinking of them. The wildlife was more sparse than I thought it would be. But after all, we were in their territory and all they had to do to escape our eyes and cameras was to move back three feet into the woods, grass, or sea. This was not Denali or Yellowstone. The people of Anvik may have a fine town on the banks of the Yukon River but they have way too many damn bugs. Canada is far ahead of the US in preserving its heritage along the river. We have a problem in Alaska with walrus having birth defects. All of the ones we saw had holes in them and no heads. Canadian beer is to be taken seriously...taken seriously and often.
Fond wishes to Tony. I enjoyed traveling with you.
A toast to Toby Bill the Duke of Dexter. The only guy I know who can walk in a bar with five bucks and walk out with a blonde draped over his shoulder. I will not mention that it was just to put her in a cab and send her home because it makes for a far better story without it.
An apology to my friend Jeff for his 23 mile adventure. We will be even when you invite me to meet you on some elk hunt in Montana; I fly down, rent a car, follow your directions, and arrive at an AMWAY convention at a Motel 6. I have it coming. I'm not going to go, but I have it coming.
Thanks to my friend Becky. The FM Travels ambassador. Thanks for not bringing the tent you brought last year. The only stipulation she ever had for the trips was that she was not going to jail. Well, I guess we did it.
Thanks to my friend Myron. There was one town we passed through where he did not know someone. A paradox to travel with. So much info in your head and so few words. A person who once traveled by jet boat from Fairbanks to Nome in three days navigating only from the instructions of, "Stay to the right." Decided to get back to small scale travel. Thanks for including me.
"Those little boats, you should be good."
Whitehorse to Lopp Lagoon: 2,641 miles
