Epic Yukon River Journey: Days 21-22

Monday, June 26
A lot of water had passed under my kayak over these 21 days on the river. A lot of miles had slid by as I paddled through British Columbia, through the Yukon Territory and half-way through Alaska. Every single day (or what felt like a very long single day, with no nightfall) had brought priceless rewards, both great and small. One of the smaller ones was the realization that any particular day was no worse than another. There were no "blue" Mondays. Wednesdays were no longer the mid-week hump to climb and roller-coaster down to a weekend. TGIF had become "Thank God It's a Brand New Day”: a brand new day filled with anticipation to experience the ever-changing wilderness around me. Hardly a day went by when I did not consider myself supremely fortunate.

I woke up quite early that Monday because my right hand was bothering me. Actually, it was the right forearm and the two middle fingers of my hand. To a lesser degree, the same thing was happening to my left arm. I guess the typical or usual way to deal with that kind of problem is the use of pain killers, medication, massage, etc. But, I always travel with a fully loaded Bible and another book called Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures. I resort to them rather than to medication, which is what I did that morning. After studying passages from both books for a while, the pain in the left arm dissolved. Taking care of the right arm took a few days.

Moose trophies in Beaver, Alaska. © Kenneth Urnes

After about an hour I lay back down and had a restful nap. Breakfast was ("Oh Boy!") corned beef hash combined with a can of whole kernel corn! I had my breakfast while Kenneth packed his gear. Soon, I realized that maybe his procedure was better than mine. As I packed my gear, it began to rain. By the time I got to the tent, I had to stow it into the kayak while it was wet. That meant I would have to set it up at the next site early enough to let it dry before putting my gear into it. Just about the time I finished packing everything, the rain stopped. We left for Beaver at 8:00.

Somehow my estimate of distances and time to Beaver was way off. Rather than a short two-hour paddle, it took 5 ½ hours to reach the village. After hauling the kayaks out of the river, Kenneth volunteered to stay and keep an eye on them while I went to search for the grocery store. The old one was boarded up but there was a new one almost next to it. When I got to the door, a sign said it would re-open at 2:00. Since it was almost 2:00 I waited. And, I waited. Finally, I went back to the kayaks so Kenneth would not think I had been kidnapped or just abandoned him and the whole trip.

While I waited and watched the kayaks, Kenneth went shopping. He returned shortly with a small box of food that cost him $17. As he packed his food, I left for my shopping trip. I bought two cans of sardines, a can of stew and of corn, a can of fruit and a small bag of M&M's (which I lost on the way back to the kayak). My bill came to $25. Included in that was a box of pilot bread (those big round crackers). When my stuff was packed, I went back to use the village pay phone to call my wife. I was not able to talk long because a cloud of voracious mosquitoes were trying to suck me dry. The only good thing about my encounter with the mosquitoes was that if I were to cut myself, I would not bleed!

Kenneth taking a break in front of
an abandoned cabin in Beaver.
© Kenneth Urnes

Anyway, we left at 3:00 and paddled only a couple of hours because of extremely high headwinds. The spray and wind-generated waves caused me to pull to shore and put my sprayskirt on. By the time I got back on the river, Kenneth was out of sight. I figured I would meet him in Stevens Village or at the pipeline. But after some head-down paddling, his kayak came into sight.

Shortly after pushing off from Beaver, we did have an unpleasant encounter with some locals. A motorboat, with three or four younger men in it, powered away from the village and headed for me. They veered off when only about 20 or so feet away from me. Being somewhat prudent I just waved to them and turned into their wake rather than using other kinds of hand signs. After all, they were much bigger than me. After they roared past me, they headed for Kenneth and did the same to him, but went much closer to him. Later he said he thought they were going to hit him. I commented to him that it would have been a good time to use his shotgun (he had brought one along in case of close encounters with bears).

After I had caught up with Kenneth, we decided to enter a side channel to get out of some of the wind, which refused to let up. Just in case the boys in the boat came back looking for us it would be harder for them to find us. Plus the shallower water in the side channel would keep a motorboat out. When we saw a good place to stop we pulled our kayaks to shore and set up camp, it was only 5:00. Supper for me was a can of peas mixed in with a small container of microwave macaroni and cheese. Since I had neglected to bring my microwave oven, I cooked the mess over my Whisperlite stove. It was a great meal but I don’t think I would try it at home.

From my journal of Tuesday, June 27, 2006:

"Today is the third week on the Yukon River. Twenty one days from the source on Lake Atlin to a point thirty miles above Stevens Village. That means I have about 1090 more miles to paddle and that I have paddled about 1210 miles. Looking at the distances between the villages, it looks like there are about 19 more days of paddling. I should be able to get to the Bering Sea and back to Emmonak by July 16—if the weather and the current hold and I don't run into tides and headwinds. Sun and a tail-wind is what I need."

So, back to Tuesday, June 27. We had camped on a gravel bar which was about three feet above water level thus giving us a dry campsite. There were piles of driftwood at the head of the gravel bar ensuring us a plentiful supply of firewood. There was enough to keep a bonfire going for several days. I was up early the next morning and had plenty of time to take down my tent, pack everything and have my breakfast—a three-pack can of sardines and four rounds of pilot bread, Kenneth slept through it all. While I did some reading, Kenneth went through the same morning rituals which I had just completed.

After I put my books away, I went to the other side of the small island—where a narrow channel separated it from a larger island—to take care of some private business. As I was fixin' to do so, I glanced across the very narrow channel to a large pile of wood. There was a brown, humpbacked critter moving around on the woodpile. I thought to myself, "I wonder what a big, brown dog like that is doing out here?" Dawn came suddenly as I realized I was watching a small grizzly bear. It looked to be about a year or so old. Forgetting about my private business, I backpedaled slowly. My movement caught the bear's attention and it bounded into the woods. I bounded back to camp and told Kenneth. He grabbed his camera and bounded to the other side of the island but was much too late. The grizzly was gone. Kenneth's disappointment was great because he had seen neither grizzly bears nor even black bears on his trip. That disappointment grew as the journey continued because we saw no more bears for the rest of the trip.

We left the shelter of our island at 9:00 and paddled until 6:30. It was another very hard day of paddling because the wind blew into our faces without let-up. Throughout the day we encountered large, choppy waves which forced me to use my sprayskirt to keep the water out of the kayak. Even though the wind and waves seemed to toss me about, the kayak handled well though there was some degree of flex in the frame.

Cow moose crossing the Yukon; her calves are out
of sight on land to the left. © Kenneth Urnes

In the early afternoon, we rounded a bend in the river as it flowed around an island, and saw a very large moose on our side of the Island. It was knee deep in the river (which would be close to my chin) and seemed to be feeding. Then we saw two calves standing in the willows at the riverbank. Kenneth began to take pictures as we drifted slowly toward the trio. Next, the cow waded into the river and began to swim to the other side, a distance of about a half mile. The two calves walked nervously to the river keeping an eye on us as we drifted slowly toward them. They would not enter the water to follow the mother. The two calves just thrashed around in the willows.

We began to back paddle fearing to come between the mother and the calves. Soon the cow could be barely seen but still the calves refused to get into the river. We could hear the mother calling to the calves but they had disappeared into the willows. Abruptly, the mother turned around and started on her way back. We kept back paddling. When the cow was back on the island we paddled a little farther out into the river and started downstream. Mamma Moose came trotting down the shoreline looking for her kids. When Mamma spotted us she stopped, then picked up her pace as she continued toward us. Finally Mamma Moose plunged into the willows, crashing and thrashing about as she looked for her wayward and obstinate calves.

As we continued on, Kenneth told me that on a previous kayak trip down a river in Alaska, he had come upon a couple of calves which had drowned while trying to cross the river—probably had tried to follow their mother. It looked like the calves we had seen were smarter than their mother.

At 6:00 rain began to fall again but just slightly. Kenneth found us a place to stop on an island. A flock of gulls protested our presence loudly but we stayed anyway. The rainfall ended about an hour later and we got a smoky fire going as we set up our tents on the soggy sandbar. Having some time after supper I wandered around the island to see what I could see. By the increasingly aggressive behavior of the gulls, I suspected I was close to a nest. And, indeed, I came upon a newly-hatched gull and two eggs in a nest. Good thing I had eaten already, for a vision of an omelet flashed through my head. Back at the tents, Kenneth and I heard three shots being fired not far away. Soon, two boats sped upstream. “Poachers!” we concluded sagely.

Ray Zvirbulis
Show Low, Arizona

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