The Parton River: A Weekend Packraft Adventure

Living in Haines for the past six years has given me great thirst for the remote and mysterious Takshanuk and Alsek Ranges on the SE fringes of the St Elias mountains. This is an area of smaller peaks and moderately sized glaciers that give way to the monster peaks and glaciation of the the bigger icefields to the west all the way to the remote outer coast at the Gulf of Alaska. The areas between the Kelsall Valley to the east and the St Elias Range to the west are riddled with remote valleys, seldom seen rivers, and rarely climbed or even seen peaks. It is an extremely convoluted area that sparks my imagination and love for this magnificent landscape. One of the easier to access areas that involves a variety of travel on both land, glacier, and river is the Samuel Glacier region that gives birth to the short but spectacular Parton River. Access via the Chuck Creek trail is straightforward, scenic, and enjoyable.

On July 5th 2019, Angela, Tully, and myself set out on foot armed with hiking, camping, and packrafting gear to explore this area with the intention of camping in the glaciated upper valleys of the Parton River and packrafting back to the truck at Horse Camp on the Tatshenshini River the following day.

Immediately after leaving the trailhead, the bugs and heat are overwhelming; it is downright hot and the Black Flies and Horse Flies are swarming in droves around our sweaty bodies. But the landscape is dreamy and the smoke from the forest fires further north seem to be clearing somewhat. The wildflowers are blooming in full force and the stream crossings managable. We see a few people along the trail, but for the most part, it is quiet. After about 5 miles, the trail dissipates and cross country travel on the tundra leads to an overlook into the headwaters of the O’Connor River and the southern arm of the Samuel Glacier. It is here we must turn north and travel high tundra benches to gain the central arm oif the Samuel Glacier, cross over its flanks, and drop into the upper Parton River region, where, after 13 miles of travel, we find a spectacular camp along the shores of a great glacial tarn with close views of flowing glaciers and jagged peaks.

Before we reach the glacier however, a 500 foot slope of steep and loose glacial moraine must be descended to the ice; it is a bit dicey, but soon Tully and I are at glaciers edge. Angela is still about half way through the ordeal when a thunder shower of epic proportions descends upon our weary and unprepared selves. The weather forcast called for no rain, and since it was a short trip, I opted to leave rain gear behind, and soon, the torrent has us totally soaked and doesn’t seem to be stopping; Tully and I huddle under the lip of the ice in hopes of staying drier, but it is futile. Angela emerges from the mist a soaked and muddy mess and the rain continues to thrash us. The possibility of hypothermia is very real and I’m getting genuinely concerned. Suddenly the drops become somewhat lesser, so we shoulder our packs, hop onto the ice, and start hoofing it. The rain stops completely and soon we are dry and happy and admiring the notion of crossing this sizeable glacier at it’s toe in July in running shoes. There are no crevasses to speak of so it is a safe passage all the way to the headwaters were were set up camp next to a large granite boulder. We see another party camped about a mile down valley and want to give everyone space, so we call this lovely spot home for the evening. The weather is grand once again, and I even sleep outside under the northern sky where I can eyeball the peaks and glaciers of this incredible and spiritual place. I would have to say it it is one of the finest camp sites of my life. The blue of the ice and the starkness of the granite are mezmerizing to me.

Morning time is coffee time and sitting on the shores of this glass smooth glacial tarn is spent talking and joking about nearly getting into a bad situation in the previous afternoon’s thunder shower. We sip our cold coffee (we did not bring a stove) and look about this incredible little valley with it’s six glaciers, numerous peaks, and two lakes. I vow to back here and climb at least one of these glaciated granite peaks. We pack up and head down valley, where we are greeted by the party ahead; turns out it is Dan Humphreys, Gina St Clair, and several others from Haines. They are not here to packraft, but to hike up the valley above and cross over the mountains by way of West Nadahini Creek back to the Haines Highway in a 4 day through hike. 

After scouting out the upper Parton where it leaves this tarn, we descend slightly and make a dicey river crossing on foot, where we then walk the troubling looking class IV territory as the tumbling torrent finagles it’s way through the terminal moraine of a long gone ancient glacier. perhaps 2 or 3 miles down river from Dan and Gina’s camp, we find a good spot to stop and inflate the boats. Up ahead, there is some fun looking terrain consisting of some class II rollers. We roll through only to find several miles of flat, unintersting terrain riddled with bouts of butt dragging and boat hauling through shallow braided channels. I am becoming frustrated with the lack of actual paddling and the Horse Flies are increasing their intensity. I’m feeling ornery, but the thin braids finally give way to a single channel deep enough for real paddling. The river however is flat in dull… up ahead, we can see the river entering the canyon and losing altitude. The roar of the rapids ahead has us thinking. We pull over to grab some lunch and watch as a large Bull Moose crosses the channel and thrashes about with the irritating Horse Flies. Soon he is gone and so are we, paddling almost immediately into enjoyable class II/III waves and rollers. This is what we came for! This river is steep, and the intensity does not let up nor are there many places to eddy out. It becomes more and more intense and it occurs to me that during this record heat and afternoon thunder storms, the river is much bigger than “normal”. This torrent is really pushing hard. The river is running so strong and fast, there are very few boulders sticking out of the water; instead it becomes a twisting set of massive hydraulics, deep holes, and monster waves with substantial consequences at every hit. I had been told this river maxes out at about class III, but it definetely feels more like class IV to me. This is BIG water today.

Finally, and eddy appears and I pull off while Tully and Angela appear coming around upstream; they are wild eyed and some concerns about the river ahead are voiced. The roar of the rapids is defeaning. We must continue on… a quick thumbs up and the battle through the hydraulics begins again. One giant wave sends me into a big hole with a boulder sticking out of it; invisible from above. I nearly flip the boat but manage to swing it around. Things are getting hairy to say the least. I pull off again just slightly and let Angela and Tully pass and give them both some room figuring I’ll pull up the rear. Back into it, it is becoming more and more intense and soon it commands ALL attention. Catching air off of giant hydraulics increases my speed substantially and soon I am within sight of two empty boats ahead of me with both Angela and Tully swimming for their lives. There is nothing I can do for either of them and keep paddling another half mile where it mellows to class II and and eddy appears on river right. I get my boat to shore and out of the corner of my eye I see Tully’s boat coming right at me. I lunge for it and touch it, but but am knocked off my feet. After barely making it onto the shore once again, I see it far down stream, heading for Dry Bay and the Gulf of Alaska. I see angela’s boat next… this time in the middle off the torrent. Instinctively, I dive into the water and swim after it, and for a split second, I regret the move, but I grab hold of the boat and struggle for a quarter mile to get it to shore. Breathing as hard as I ever have in my life, I ditch the boats and begin stomping through the boreal spruce forest enroute upstream to find my companions. I spot Tully with Angela not far behind thrashing through the willow thickets up ahead. We are all together and safe, but now minus two paddles and one boat, our only option is to hike out to the highway where the truck is parked perhaps 4 or 5 long bushwhacking miles away. 

Poor Angela and Tully – a harrowing experience and a close call for them both. Angela lost only a paddle, but Tully lost everything; a packraft, a backpack full of camping gear, his phone, an expensive camera, etc. We are a sullen group now and begin the arduous bushwhack to the road via Bear trails next the river bank. We all keep an eye out for Tully’s boat, hoping it might have snagged itself on a strainer or somehow managed to eddy out. Exhaustion is taking its toll on all of us, but we continue on, shouting out every 30 seconds or so “Hey Bear!” in an attempt not to startle one. After a couple of miles, the river turns NW and flattens out, sending water into several shallow braids that makes for traveling in-water feasable; I find it easier to simply wade through the shallower braids of the river than to attempt to navigate the heainous willow thickets shore-wise. Tully and Angela are back behind me a ways, so they do not see what I see down river just yet. Its Tully’s boat, backpack and all, hung up on a shallow gravel bar. I swim toward it and rescue it as fast as I can in fear of it somehow sprouting fins and swimming away from me. It is full of water and is going nowhere. After getting it to shore, I see the others up river. I wave and shout to them and suddenly we are all full of joy.

Somehow, I had it in my head that the truck was parked just past the confluence with the Tatashenshini River, so when we arrived at the Tat, Angela and I swim across, while tully navigates his vessel and we continue further down stream. Tully questions my notions that the truck is down stream, and I assure him that it is. Tully’s instincts were spot on, and after another hour of thrashing, we realize that the truck is nowhere near where we are or where we are heading. We are so exhausted that each step is becoming an excercise in agony; the willow thickets becoming more and more challenging with each minute. We come back to the Tatshenshini and head north along it’s shores, seeing several Beaver along the way and swatting their tails at us each time. I pass a Moose skull and suddenly spot the truck not far off. Days later I realized from inspecting the map the err of my judgment. There is an old faint dirt road heading to the river crossing at Horse Camp and the truck, but in our exhasted state of mind, must have walked right past it. Lesson learned. Somehow, I had not completed my homework…

The drive home was a real challenge due to exhaustion, but looking back, we had one helluva fine 36 hours of real northern adventure. I totally and completely live for this stuff, and sometimes the pain and discomfort of fatigue and stress are what makes a trip more than a trip in a tense and potentially dangerous situation. Yet it is this philosophy that keeps me meandering this wilderness time after time to experience the spirit of The North and all her glorious treasures, wether it be mountaineering and alpinism, skiing, packrafting, or just simply going on a pleasant and simple day hike. It all counts and adds value to my life here. In the end, we walked almost 20 miles, paddle some 10-12 miles of river including some stuff at the boundaries of my paddling ability, endured intense heat, terrible insects, powerful thunder storms, saw wildlife and good friends, camped in one of the most spectacular places in The North, had great adventure, and lost two paddles, one hat, and a pair of cheap sunglasses.

I’ll take it…

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Over The Hill Expeditions: Mt Sanford 2019

Over The Hill Mr Natural II

2019 marks the first year of trips by the newly formed Over The Hill Expeditions. This years objective, primarily to get the ball rolling, get to know one another, and become organized both as a team and entity, will be Alaska’s Mt Sanford, which is the 6th highest peak in Alaska and thus the United States. The first week of May 2019,  we will be leaving Chistochina, Alaska via bush plane to the foot of the Sheep Glacier at around 5500′ of elevation. Our plan is to ski up, then down the 11,000′ of glacier bagging Sanford’s 16,237′ summit in the process. This years team will consist of Rich Page, Cameron Burns, Jeff Rogers, and Linus Platt. Our ages range from 26 to 61 and we plan on being on the mountain for approximately 2 weeks. Cam Burns, a noted writer of climbing, skiing, and adventure, will be compiling a story of the trip for Senior Hiker Magazine, while Linus Platt will be shooting as many photographs and video he can to document the expedition.  Our statement at Over The Hill Expeditions is to set forth the concept that over 50 years of age is synonymous with alpine mountaineering, exploration of Earth’s wild places, and high adventure, while utilizing our experience to navigate safely the challenges these trips afford us; retirement age people in the U.S. are a distinct and formidable denominator in our population, and we aim to demonstrate that youth is not the only factor in goal oriented physical accomplishments. We encourage and seek like minded climbers, mountaineers, and adventurers to share in our forays and also seek acknowledgment and support from the outdoor industry that we are a capable and enduring team.

Mt Sanford From East
Mt Sanford’s East Face with the beautiful and skiable Sheep Glacier route following the right skyline…

 

Northbound: Leaving Haines and Into the Far Yukon

Getting on the road by 10:00 am or so following town chores and paying bills, I am happily cruising up the Haines highway and northbound for the Yukon and beyond. I approach the Eagle Preserve at 20 mile and the engine alternator idiot light comes on… funny, never saw that before on this truck. I pull off the road and pop the hood for an inspection. Using a volt meter, I check voltages of the battery with both with the engine running and not running. A nominal voltage of 12.4 with the engine running indicates that the alternator is not doing it’s job. In fact, it has shit the bed… Reluctantly, I turn around and baby the 30 year old Toyota back to town to re-group. Pulling into the parts store, I am amazed that they have one in stock. 142 bucks and two hours later, I have the alternator installed and the last bolt tightened and I am on the pavement rolling north once again.

At the Canadian the border, there is a length of vehicles waiting I have never seen here before. After an hour wait, I am flagged in and questioned. I am asked to exit the vehicle and wait inside while my car is searched, which the Canadian border cops do with abandon. Again, I have never experienced this before. Another hour and I am free to go after they come to terms with the fact that I have nothing to hide.  Two hours to get into Canada. I am beyond happy to have the Chilkat Valley behind me. Driving over the Haines Summit and into the high country sees me smiling and as the Yukon border comes ’round. I am washed over by an array of mixed feelings; most of me is extremely happy to be on the road and rolling away from Haines, but part of me dreads the inevitable slash of loneliness that will undoubtedly come in short order. In fact, as I near the Tahkini River, the dreaded sensation enters me, invades my space and riddles my ravaged heart with bullet holes. I shuffle this back to a place of inner strength that is there for survival reserves and continue.  I get to the Tahkini and make a fine camp there; it was a familiar camp as I had spent time there on past trips. The evening colors around 1 am filter the sky orange and pink and patches and fills my heart and soul with much needed color and softens the dramatic episodes within me. I sleep.

I awake to the warmth of sunshine and something splashing in the river. I pack up and pull out onto the Alaska Highway again heading towards Whitehorse. These feelings I cannot seem to shake and I hope that once past Carmacks or Dawson, they will fade. In Whitehorse waiting for the Fireweed Bookstore to open, I am accosted by a pair of drunks jabbering nonsense at me. Soon, my maps and food are purchased and I am driving the wide open spaces of the North Klondike Highway bound for Carmacks. A torrential rain storm ensues. The roadway becoming a slab of dangerous water; I slow down but other traffic does not. I won’t be bullied by these vehicles and I pull off when I can, but it is up to them to pass if they wish to drive at unsafe speeds. Camping that night in the Taiga forests among Aspen and Willow, tiny yellow birds flutter my camp and a Red Squirrel chirps in the forest nearby. These trips, when I am by myself, which is 95 percent of the time, tend to promote moving along, bound for a destination and goal. It is sometimes difficult to just set back, especially these past weeks, as the creeping dreaded sensations that have filled me lately prevail when I have come to a stop. So I simply keep moving. Regret is futile, and yearning for an undeniably uncertain future is equally so. I have no past, and working toward the future like some kind of mystic jewel seems pointless; I simply am. My heart and desire are too big for this world and most cannot deal with my intensity and passion… the heart is the only guiding force. Chalk it all up to a lifetime of amazing experiences. I am the wind…

The morning sees me drifting closer to Dawson City; nearing the Klondike river at the entrance to the mind bogglingly beautiful Dempster Highway, I spot a pair of bright blond Grizzlies grazing the grass on the side of the highway. So beautiful these magnificent creatures; I often wonder what attracts them to the highway like this… is there something that grows only near the road that they find edible and tasty? I pass the Dempster and head to Dawson for fuel and a snoop around and maybe a nice espresso drink. It had been 4 years since I had been to Dawson, and not much had changed. That is a good thing. Dawson is a gem in the far north to me; it is a place of historical significance, color and interest. I get an Americano at the lovely Alchemy Cafe and soon I am back down the highway the 25 miles to the start of the Dempster. My plan is to hike into Grizzly Lake in the Tombstone Mountains and spend the night there, taking photographs and shooting video. But when I get to the trailhead, there is a notice that the trail is closed. This is the second time that this happened… I was here in 2013 to not only hike to Grizzly Lake, but to also ride the Ogre all the way to Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. Neither happened on that trip. After pedaling for three days, the road was washed out north of the Ogilvie River, and I was forced by the road crews to turn back. The Grizzly Lake Trail was closed due to high Bear activity in the area at that time; this time it was closed due to heavy snow still on the ground. So in 2013, I stashed my backpack under a rotting Spruce log and continued my bike trip up to Deadhorse and beyond. But today I was in my truck, bound for who knew where. I walk into the forest and immediately locate the pack I had stashed 4 years prior, and skedattled up the gravel Dempster to my favorite section. It is a place where the second of three continental divide crossing occur on the Dempster. A place north of the Blackstone River in the Taiga Range; birth home to Engineer Creek, Mountain Goats, Grizzly Bears, and Caribou. I am looking for a peak to climb in the area, and a ridge leaving the pass right from the road directly on the continental divide leads to an un-named summit of perhaps 6,000-7,000 feet. I decide on it, but first I wish to continue north and do it on the way back. A couple miles down the road is a beautiful alpine canyon situated directly at tree line with the headwaters of Engineer Creek flowing through it’s guts. I find a wonderful camp and set down upon it happily. Glassing the slopes nearby, I spot a heard of a dozen strong Mountain Goats, including several babies who seem to be happy to be jumping around and playing wildly amidst the high and treacherous slopes they are perched. This area north of the Blackstone in the continental divide country is by far my favorite part of the Dempster experience. Late that night, perhaps around 1 am, I awake with a yearning to leave the tent and go on a “night” stomp. I exit the tent and walk across the road and disappear into the muskeg and Taiga. Tussock tundra appears and I run as fast as I can towards a barren hillside, where Willow Ptarmigan scatter. Being spontaneous is what sometimes drives me, for better or worse. It is simply fun, and nothing beats the sensation of just making a snap decision and going for it. I look out over the alpine valley I am in and it occurs to me that every Human on this planet is going through some form of struggle largely unknown to the rest of us. I am not alone…

With my cup of Green Tea in the morning, I make a toast to the South, East, West, and of course, the North in thanks and offering of gratitude. I drive north again, this time paralleling the Ogilvie River at at point further that I got on my bicycle in 2013. A Grizzly slowly walk across the road in front of me a couple hundred meters off and disappears into the Taiga, and more Ptarmigan flutter about at road’s edge.

Many miles after leaving the high country, the road drops into river valley’s and enters First Nation native hunting lands. The Dempster at this point climbs to a high point on Ogilvie Ridge, where unobstructed views of the Ogilvie and far, far off, the Peel River, heading to the great und vast McKenzie River flowing to the Arctic Ocean. The road continues along this high Taiga bench for many, many miles. It is dry up here. And exposed. And monotonous… till finally Eagle Plains comes around where I gas up the Toyota and continue on. Soon the Arctic Circle appears and beyond are the rounded tundra summits of the Richardson Mountains, which, in essence are an extension of the British Mountains in the Yukon which are an extension of the Brooks Range in Alaska. The Richardson’s are unique in three ways; They are the final continental divide crossing on the Dempster, dumping all water from them on the northeastern side into the Arctic Ocean, they form the border of the Yukon and Northwest Territories, and they are the last formidable geologic uplift barrier between the interior and the arctic plains of the Canadian “north slope”.  Beyond which lie the extremely remote communities of Inuvik and Tuktoyaktuk. The road travels directly north along the western escarpment of the Richardson’s for many miles, traversing some of the most incredible Arctic scenery I have ever seen; in fact it equals the Brooks Range in beauty and remoteness.  Although it is not nearly as big as the Brooks, it is even more remote really. Soon the road turn east and climbs over Wright pass at the final continental divide and crosses into the Northwest Territories. This place is absolute magic. It is quite chilly here, this far north at the continental divide. The last time I was in a similar place was in 2013 on the summit of Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range on The solstice at midnight. It was cold then too… The road continues through the Richardson Mountains, revealing tundra, high peaks, wild flowers, and wild rivers. After descending the last great decline out of these magnificent mountains, the Canadian Arctic slope appears in the distance, extending for hundreds of miles to the McKenzie Delta. I pull off the road, some 30 kilometers into the Northwest Territories and notice the immense trail of numerous Grizzly prints decorating each side of the road. At night these massive creatures must use this road as a path. There are more Grizzly prints here than I have ever seen anywhere in my life.

Finally, after saying farewell to the NWT’s and wishing to continue on to the Arctic slope, but becoming increasingly paranoid about the 30 year old Toyota Truck’s engine with a quarter million miles on it, I turn back and drive back to from which I came. Passing once again the Arctic Circle and gassing up in Eagle Plains again, a few hours later I am back in my favorite and stunning alpine valley north of the Blackstone River. I am exhausted and plan on a peak climb in the morning. In the tent, I sleep like a dead man.

After crossing a short bit of tundra in the morning, I begin climbing up the class 1-2 talus of the ridge line to where it nearly flattens out but continues in a westerly stretch for about a half mile before the final summit pyramid rises abruptly and ends. After 4 hours from the truck, I stand on the unknown summit and marvel at the other peaks around me and the strange and unknown alpine valley’s that separate them. I decide to descend a different route in order to walk out one of these valleys following a creek where I hope to see signs of animals. The decent was treacherous; some of the loosest scree and talus I have ever encountered kept my attention level extremely high and after considerable time and effort, I find myself at the head of this glorious alpine valley, flowing within it the beautiful little creek mentioned. On the way down valley, I see no animal prints of any kind, but spot a pair of caribou antlers lying in the tussock. The are from a small and possibly younger animal, with part of the skull still attached; taken down by wolves I imagine. After a bit I am back at the truck and I blast off again, this time bound south for Dawson, where contrary to my intentions to keep this an alcohol free trip, I decide to duck into a tavern and have a beer. I order my beer and when I go to pay for the beverage in U.S. dollars, the First Nation’s woman in the chair next to me starts ridiculing me for being an American. She proceeds to stick her finger in her mouth indicating forced vomiting, therefore expressing her displeasure. I tell her, “I’m not American, I’m Alaskan”; she was not pleased and continued the harassment. After a bit, I told her she didn’t know me and that she was a no good judgmental SOB (as it were). I left my lone beer sitting there on the bar and left. All I wish for is friendship, love, and understanding – hard resources to find on this here planet. Later, at a makeshift camp, the cops show up to kick me out, but tell me where I might go for a low profile and free bivy.

That night, I toss and turn and sleep eludes me nearly completely. Tomorrow I will ferry across the Yukon River and drive the Top of the World road (AKA the Ridge Road) and into the deep interior of Alaska. I had ridden this road on my bicycle a few years ago and found it to be one of the toughest rides in the north. I’m happy that the old ‘Yota and me will be traversing this together this time.

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Tahkini River… Yukon Territory
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Klondike Woods Camp

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Tombstone Mountains, Yukon

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Blackstone River Ice Pack

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The Blackstone uplands and the start of the Taiga Ranges

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The Dempster Highway

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The View From Ogilvie Ridge
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Eagle Plains

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The Beginning of Canada’s Arctic North Slope
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Grizzly Tracks, Richardson Mountains, Northwest Territories

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The Un-named Peak North Of The Blackstone Uplands

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Caribou Antlers

 

From The Past… To The Future

I am the Salmon… Forever swimming upstream towards the source. Swimming great and swift currents to achieve the impossible; battling great and unforeseen obstacles that bar the way to my own destiny.

am  the Bear, on top, and managing a foothold in said place, but struggling none the less. I am a protector of my family and my territory, forever destined to do so.

am the Fox, cunning and sly to achieve what is mine for the taking. I only wish for harmony.

I am the Wolf, taken into a sense of community that entrusts a commitment of not only survival, but one of love and companionship.

I am the Willow, blowing in the glacial winds that give to me a sense of animation; my roots digging deep within the soil to accomplish what so many of us desire.

am  the writer, constantly in a state of desire to express myself, for better or worse. Words are what live inside of me and I must share them, regardless.

But most of all, I am a Man, one who wishes only for love, compassion, and connection… for those around me and for the wilderness that encompasses my landscape. I am full of desire and hope, my shortcomings entangled in self doubt, but knowing that I have passion and offerings that all of us have. I wish for sincerity amongst us all, so that we all may flourish. For what is a Man that does not possess these?

As it has always been and always will be, my mind is in a constant state of desire for wilderness and exploration, both externally and from within. These forays and trips into wild places has always been what has driven me.

Included here are photographs from past adventures, not to behold them for their keepsake, but to remind me, and us all, that the flame still burns and cannot be extinguished. So many ideas, so many thoughts… the Brooks Range, the Alaska Range, the deep interiors of the Yukon and the Northwest Territories, the home front of the mighty Chilkat and the ephemeral outer “lost” coast of Alaska’s vast and wild Pacific. I persevere to such notions and they dominate my thoughts and desires…

 

End Of The Haul Road
The end of the Haul Road Alaska 2013
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Dennis Belillo on the North Coulior of North Peak, Yosemite 2012
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Freeride Explorations near Moab 2008
Promised Land '00-7
The Promised Land, Half Dome Yosemite 1998
Ropeless at Wall Strret
Ropeless in Moab 1992
South Seas:P.O. '98 -1
South Seas, El Capitan 1997
Spectreman 11c, Vedawoouo
Vedauwooo Wyoimg 2000
Mt Athabasca '8601
North Face of Mt Athabasca, Alberta 1986
Anissa Chilkat
Anissa Berry Chilkat Canoe trip, Alaska 2017
Native Son '01-1
Iron Hawk with Ralph Ferrara, El Capitan 1999
Angela on the Root Glacier
Angela Carter on the Root Glacier, McCarthy Alaska 2013
Angela Wheelie
Angela Carter Riding Out a Wheelie
Dalton 2013
Dempster Highway Yukon 2013
AOTE @ Keystone-6
Angela going big in Keystone Colorado 2008
Heading Into a Wilderness of Snow Machine Tracks
Anissa Berry in the Nadahini Creek area, British Columbia 2017
Wet Denim '99-3
Wet Denim Daydream with Allan King 1999
Indian Creek '90
Indian Creek Utah 1995
Iron Hawk '99-11
Iron Hawk, El Cap 1999

 

Lyzz@Vedawouoo
Lyzz Byrnes tapin up for another Vedawouoo grind fest, 1999

OK In The AK

2016 has been a good year. There has been much activity on my end regarding photography and video production and the hope and dream of one day not having to build houses for a living are just a teensy bit closer. There have been many small adventures in the form of day hikes, or stomps, as I like to call them, generally along the forested Bear trails along the Chilkat and Tsirku Rivers.  Often is the case when I simply head out into the Alaskan forests and thickets and stomp, off trail, to glorious and unheralded spots for my own simple pleasure.

There was even one big adventure this year when I embarked on a pedaling trip aboard the omnipotent Surly Ogre and rode from my house in Haines to Skagway via Whitehorse. A mere eight day voyage that was over far too soon. Next year there are tentative plans for a ten day trip down a portion of Alaska’s magical and seldom visited outer coast, AKA the Lost Coast. A trip that will involve both legs, packraft, and bush plane. Also planned is a mountaineering trip somewhere locally with a friend from down south coming for an adventure in August.

Unfortunately, writing has been on the back burner, but capturing the Alaska world on video has been my focus. This latest video “OK In The AK” is all footage from the venerable Autumn here in Haines, and compiled as both a show piece for selling stock video as well as an artistic expression of the wilderness prevailing.

I hope you enjoy!

Spontaneity

One of the key players from my “new” life in Alaska as a home owner has been largely absent these past two years. It is something that sparks my soul and makes precious life even more so. It is something to maintain a youthful and vibrant self and outlook. It is spontaneity. Seems these last many, many months, every move in my life needs to be planned, calculated, examined, and inspected, largely taking any playfulness out of it. Spontaneity is what makes trips and adventures youthful and fun.

Spontaneity is what I crave. Adventure is what I crave.

I wake up Monday morning, 4 days before my planned departure date for my two week bike ride into the Yukon. I am not feeling it; I want to go now. I dress for work as usual, but hope that my employer Dave and the rest of the crew will see fit to set me free upon myself so I may leave right away. Everyone at work gives me the thumbs up, wishes me well, and I drive home casually with a grin on my face to pack the bike, smoke some Salmon, shop for supplies, and relax a bit.

The next morning I awake and am totally ready: everything is in order, Angela is coming by at 8 for some coffee and I will hit the road. It is raining a bit, but hey, it’s Alaska in the summer, that’s what is does here! I’ll be out of range for the next couple of weeks; when I return, I’ll do a full write up and photo share here on JRB.

Stay tuned!!

A Weekend in British Columbia – The Samuel Glacier

Let’s see now: I moved to Haines on November 3rd 2013 and it is now June 8th 2016. Now mind you, other than going to Juneau twice to see quack doctors about my broken ankle (I am not a fan of going to Juneau), and once heading up to Haines Junction in the Yukon with my Mom and Angela  for a day trip, I have not really left Haines since that chilly day rolling down from Fairbanks in November more than 31 months back.

Seems my attitude has been at an all time low and a need for adventure has been halted due to my buying a house that I really cannot afford. Seems I have no time or money to enjoy the very reason I live here in Alaska. Things have been difficult for me at work as a result and finally, something had to give. Summer has finally arrived in Alaska, with temperatures in the 60’s and 70’s and daylight exceeding 22 hours now, I decide to break free for a weekend and head up to the Haines Summit area of  British Columbia for a couple days of exploring and such. “The Pass” as it is locally known, is the dividing factor in separating the temperate maritime environment of the Chilkat Valley and Peninsula from the rugged alpine interior of B.C. and the Yukon. The Canadian border being 40 miles from Haines leads to the climb up Three Guardsmen Pass, and finally the higher Haines Summit being another 10 miles beyond. One Enters B.C., climbs the pass, then another 25 or 30 miles brings one to the mighty Yukon. The area around the pass is an area of high peaks, alpine tundra, glaciers, rivers, Ptarmigan, Marmot, Wolf, and Grizzly Bear. It is my kinda place to say the least.

After a quick visit with my buddy Gene on his sailboat in the Haines Harbor, I fire up the truck and head north. After a quick stop at Canadian Customs where I am grilled by the always grouchy Canadian Border Patrol, I am soon spinning the vehicle up the majestic landscape higher and higher to the land of rock and ice.

That evening I camp near the outlet of Kelsall Lake along side the mysterious Kelsall River. The mosquitos are thick, but the calls of the Loon and of the distant Coyote’s lull me to sleep. At 4am I pack up and continue north, into the Yukon just because I can. Being in the Yukon again is a fulfilling and sensational feeling once again. I really love the Yukon; there really is no place like it. It has a very distinct and isolated, yet remarkable feeling about it. It’s being up in the interior again that is putting wind in my sails…

After a bit, I turn the truck around and head back south towards the trailhead for the Samuel Glacier, where and old mining road, after disappearing 4 or 5 kilometers in and turning into a true back country wilderness experience, leads to the wonderful Samuel Glacier, some 10 or 11 kilometers from the highway.

After finishing a breakfast of eggs and tortillas grilled over the trusty MSR, I pack up the backpack as light as I can to help make up for the fact that I will be carrying my Sony X70 video camera. I have currently my Canon DSLR listed on eBay, so decide not to bring it in fear of damaging it before a critical sale. The unfortunate reality of this particular photographic situation, is that my only photo option for this trip is the ever stupid iPhone! Man that camera sucks. But it’s what I’ve got for this adventure and after a brief packing session, I am on the trail.

The trail consists of an old mining road that is very easy to follow and is in exceptionally good condition. The trail wanders slightly uphill into a high alpine valley surrounded by streams, rivers and peaks. Groundhogs and Marmots seem to be everywhere; Ptarmigans scare up out of the low lying brushy tundra around every corner. The place is alive! I keep my eyes peeled for Grizzly Bears and Wolves, and soon I come to the first stream crossing that I must remove shoes for. The water is bitterly cold, but is refreshing to hot feet. After a couple more kilometers, the trail disappears under a vast snowfield hundreds of meters wide. I figure this is where my feet get wet permanently and dive in. Across the snowfield, the trail is no where in sight. I spy a river below and bushwhack to it’s shores, where another full blown crossing is in order. The trail re-appears briefly and I follow it till it once again dives beneath snow and tundra bogs. Gaining a high ridge, I spy a trail of in the distance, following the fast moving river I had just crossed. Had I gone the wrong way? It occurs to me at this point that I am here a bit too early in the year. July or August would be best I reckon. I trudge onward.

Soon, there is no sign of trail nor of human travel of any kind. It is just me and my running shoes, the snowfields and tundra tussocks, the mudbogs and river crossing, the Marmots and Ptarmigans. It is now genuine wilderness and I begin to feel at home. At every river crossing I come to, I simply charge right in, shoes and all and accept the fact that I now have wet feet. Traveling the valleys and ridges of pure trail-less tundra tussocks and mudbogs is fatiguing to say the least. I am nearing what I see is the end of my journey: The highland I am traveling suddenly stop up ahead another kilometer or so and what lies beyond can only be one thing: Glacier.

The tundra gives way to an alluvial plane of gravel and glacial deposits, with braid after braid of swift and dangerous stream crossings. At the edge of the plane, where it meets up with the endless tundra, lies a snowbank fitted with a long string of animal tracks. Getting closer, I see that the tracks in question are one of Wolf. A big one too. The tracks could be no more than an hour old as they appear fresh and crisp and un- molested by the exceedingly hot midday sun. I marvel at them and spin my head around in anticipation of seeing the animal, but I am alone. I cross the alluvial gravel bed and once agin climb onto the steepening tundra for a rather quick jaunt to it’s edge where the magnificent Samuel Glacier comes into view. I decide to drop down the other side of the tundra ridge and camp on a small hummocked shelf just a couple hundred meters above creaking ice. I am exhausted and once in the tent, I sleep a fitful sleep as the overhead sun is blazing hot in this barren and endless alpine tundra land.

A while later, I emerge from the tent, sun still high, and walk to nearby stream for water and photographs and some video shots. I see the Samuel Glacier and it adjoining glacial arm like tentacles from an icy giant protruding from the massive fault block pyramids of the Alsek Ranges that extend into the largest glacially active non-polar area of our planet, and home to the largest unspoiled wilderness on earth. I am fulfilled with great and massive appreciation for this place and I am happy to call it my home; Haines is a mere 80 miles away.

Back to the tent for supper and more sleep, I awake the following morning at 3:30 am to a gathering storm. I pack quickly and soon I am again bounding over tundra and listening to the rushes of the strangely human-like squawking of the Rock Ptarmigans. The first time I ever heard these creatures talking was in the Tombstone Mountains in the high Yukon back in 2013.  The sounds they make are vaguely human and sound like a babbling insane person speaking nonsense. The first time I heard them was in the middle of the arctic “night”, and it disturbed me so much, I thought I was being stalked by a maniacal stranger hell bent on harming me. Then I peered from my nylon domicile and spotted the strange bird making these sounds, Since then, I have come to listen for their cries in anticipation.

Eventually, I come to where I have to make a choice and decide to follow the “trail” along the river back to the vast snowfield. I cross the river back and forth a dozen times or more and soon come to the snow and then the real trail beyond. I am back at the truck by 9 am and happily changing into dry socks and shoes.

A slow and pleasant drive south via the magnificent Haines Highway finds me back at home by mid morning, where a shower, hot cup of coffee, and a reflection of a successful weekend are in order.

 

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Lush Alpine Vegetation
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One of Many Alpine Rivers to be Crossed
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Lone Wolf Tracks
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Tundra Overlooking the Samuel Glacier
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Samuel Glacier and Alsek Ranges Panorama
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Alpine Camp Spot
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Supper with a View
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A.K.A. the Samuel Glacier Trail
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The Good Trail Across the Tundra
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Easy Trail
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My Mobile Ghetto
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The Kelsall River
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Kelsall Panorama
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Another River Crossing
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Alsek Ranges and Tundra