Caches Across the Yukon
Late in late August I flew north to spend two weeks with Larry. It was a treat to spend time with him, especially in his area of expertise, before heading into our Antarctic work season. He lives in SE Alaska and has done many of extended remote river trips in the far north, mostly in late autumn. Our trip included 7 nights on the Hyland River in Canada’s Yukon Territory, then two days biking back to the car, having stashed the canoe at the take-out.
Before we could put-in on the river, we had to set up the bike shuttle which meant stashing gear at a couple locations. The plan was to hitchhike from the take-out on the Alcan highway to the town of Watson Lake. From there we’d bike back to the car, using camping gear cached midway to minimize bike weight.
We stashed the bikes near town, and 56 miles later cached a tent and stove at a lake. We couldn’t leave food because of bears, so had to carry that with us on the bikes.
We put-in on what they call large creek, paddled through a culvert, and on down a bit to the Hyland.
Our photo-copied map, which did not include our put-in, take-out, or the scale, provided a lot more challenge and humor than help. In a couple places the river had changed courses distinctly since the map was made. (I swear! We had a compass, for one thing). The half page guidebook description was also rather cryptic. But Larry said this normal for these kinds of trips and it did add to the adventure. And it’s not like you’re going to get lost paddling down a river. It’s more a matter of being able to plan which day you’ll find yourself at the take-out. But it is a bit odd, for example, to be looking for a particular large creek tributary for many hours, only later to realize that you are fifteen miles past it!
This trip put me back in touch with my earlier years learning to canoe at summer camp and building campfires with my mom on car camping (and girl scout) trips. The first night I was pleased I could show Mr. Wilderness Canoer that I, this modern, high-tech climbing guide could still actually build a campfire. Lucky for me that first day had been sunny. Afterward, the intermittent rain made fire-starting more challenging than simply holding the lighter under a few twigs for a couple seconds. Larry opted not to bring a grate to put over the fire, so I learned how to get rocks in close enough to balance a pot while still leaving enough space for air to get in there for the fire. Also learned how to use two bigger pieces of wood for this purpose, and that aspen is better for this as it doesn’t burn as well as resinous spruce does so the fire is more contained and easier to cook over. We kept the fires petite, frying pan size, and Larry brought giant salad tongs and leather gloves: brilliant. The next morning I threw the warm sooty rocks into the river to hide the evidence.
He has an old dutch oven, a type unlike I’ve seen before: it consists of basically two deep fry-pans, one a bit larger (the top, so the coals falling off won‘t get into your meal). It was lightweight and versatile, unlike the cast iron versions I’ve used. We baked enchiladas and veggies/potatoes/tofu, and also cooked other things like eggs and popcorn in it… yum!
Oh yeah, we did the traditional river thing and brought alcohol: not the traditional copious amounts, but enough to seem decadent to me. Apparently the booze of choice on Yukon river trips is Canadian orange brandy. I must say it did go down smoothly, and it doesn’t take much to add some zip to tea or to get warmed up a bit before making camp. We failed to follow the redneck tradition of throwing our bottles into the river. Or we weren’t buzzed enough to think of it.
The whole bear camping scene was a bit different than I am used to. We kept a very clean scene as usual, but at times only slept a few meters from the food. This took a little getting used to. In truly wild areas, wild animals run from our presence well before we see them, which is usually a bummer. This contrasts with the semi-wild areas where we sleep 100m or so from our cook area and sometimes use bear canisters for our food, etc. We only brought one can of bear spray (pepper spray for bears, like mace), rather than one per person and always.
This was also my first time in bear country with a massive river; at times the river measured a couple hundred meters across. Fruit and veggie scraps and sandy popcorn went into the river to minimize food smells in camp.
Another different practice was one that Larry had repeatedly warned me about for the almost two years I’ve known him: cutting down a tree for firewood. I know some of you are appalled that I’ve even said this, so let me explain. “Tree” means dead spruce sapling (2-3 inch diameter), not the big standing dead that house nesting birds and insects and that are an important (and usually unrecognized) component of healthy ecosystems. It even has to be vertical so it’ll truly be dry, at least in weather like we had. This is also during a season when driftwood is particularly waterlogged so does not sustain fires well.
This river is infrequently paddled and there are certainly no particular places people camp (no permits like in the SW which largely determine how far you go each day and with limited campsite options). The ONLY evidence we saw in over a week of someone else ever having been down that river was a well-overgrown stone fire-ring on a bank, and once I saw color scraped from a canoe onto a submerged rock. Even the put-in lacked a clear path to the river.
Rationalizations.
So, there you have it, Susan involved in the wanton destruction of wilderness, having given up, sold out, and become that which she for so long abhorred. Will you still talk to me?
Despite not seeing evidence of other recreationists, we did see a few fishing or hunting cabins belonging to the local native people. The rustic shelters were below the rapids, so the people can run motor boats up and fish in the fall. Larry said that in winter they also might snowmobile up the river to access these cabins.
I learned about tracking and lining, techniques for moving a canoe up or downstream (respectively) when the water is too shallow to paddle. You walk along the shore, guiding or pulling the canoe through the shallows via ropes off the ends. Larry tells me that this technique was used by the trappers and explorers long ago to go many miles up rivers. He and his friends have avoided hiring a plane for a drop off by going up one river tracking when necessary, portaging (carrying everything) between rivers, then paddling down another. We lined through one rapid and the first day tracked back up to a nicer campsite (and so I could learn). Works well.
Two of our river days involved series of class 2+ rapids (drop-pool). Years ago I kayaked a bit harder than that, but running a loaded open boat down such rapids in a remote location is a little different. Canoeing is also different in that you have to work with someone else, which can provide all sorts of challenges. Larry said two person canoes are regularly called ‘divorce boats’. Fortunately we managed to avoid interpersonal rapids on this trip. For the first 3 days I started out in the standard beginner place, the bow (sort of like being top-roped in climbing), but slowly grew tired of the lack of variety. On the fourth day, during which we expected rapids, Larry was fine with me paddling in the stern. I figured if he trusted my performance thus far, so did I in the rapids. It helped that I’m not inherently intimidated by class 2+ water and tha my teenage canoeing was mostly in the stern.
Moving a loaded canoe through rapids requires a lot more finesse than I used kayaking. Back then, when the water got big, my general strategy was just to paddle like hell and brace here and there. It generally worked, but won’t with a loaded canoe. We planned ahead more, setting the boat up so that the current would take us where we wanted, and also slowed down at times by back-paddling to reduce the force with which we hit certain frothy features so that we (Larry!) wouldn’t get so wet and take on water in an already weighty craft.
Keeping ourselves and gear dry was more than a comfort issue as the weather was cool enough that some of the rain left snow on peaks several thousand feet above us. Also, without another boat as back-up, it was especially important that we not get separated from the canoe. The difference is parallel between taking risks at a roadside crag versus climbing in the highcountry.
At times the current was painfully slow, so to keep moving through it, we’d take our breaks while drifting along. I could even pee over the side of the canoe without too much drama. Yes, with the volume of water and the lack of human use of the river, peeing in the river was reasonable (plus in bear country, it seemed logical not to have the scent of blood in camp).
Early on when I was adjusting to paddling in the rain (how to keep hands warm yet still being able to grip the paddle well), Larry briefly saw a moose on the bank. For days we didn’t see any other mammals, not even squirrels. Even the birds were very skittish, but we did see mergansers and osprey regularly, and also red-throated loons. On our last morning I happened to notice a wolf standing on the bank a distance from us. That was cool! And later that day we got a close look at a black bear, with a very beautiful and innocent looking face, until he caught our scent and instantly ran away. Bears don’t see very well and depend on their strong sense of smell.
Speaking of bears, there was one other bear sighting. We were on a break, and walking down a long gravel bar when Larry decided to head back. When I later turned around, I heard him call out to me in a calm voice. Larry is very laid back, and would wait till I returned to show me some really cool tracks or whatever, so I knew something was different. I moved away from the forest toward the edge of the gravel bar just in case.
When I got back to him, he described a very close surprise encounter with a grizzly bear. He had suddenly heard the noise of a large animal moving fast, and expected to see a moose come out of the trees. The bear appeared about 20-25’ from him, somewhat above him, and was fairly large as bears go. Larry put his hands up in the air, started talking to it while slowing backing up as he well knows to do. The bear stood on his hind legs, snorting, trying to get Larry’s scent. Soon he did and ran away (how could you blame the bear, Larry hadn’t showered in almost a week). Although I didn’t hear anything, the bear ran off in my general direction, (hence the warning call) leaving Larry was his heart pounding and his fingers tingling.
Larry has seen bears that close before, but not so suddenly. We were fortunate that the bear was not on a kill or with a cub.
I was a bit miffed about it, but I’m not sure how much of it was jealousy of getting to safely see a bear up close (20/20 hindsight), or how close he had come to being injured or worse with only me out there. We had days of river left and a consistent upriver breeze.
Frequently we saw wolf, griz, and esp moose tracks along the muddy banks. One of our camps had sow and cub tracks on the bank below, but they were old. Plus, the noise generated by being in camp I am sure clears out every animal within a mile. Breaks and scouting rapids were of more concern, rapids especially so because the noise conceals ours.
One day we checked out a dead moose on the bank. The fact that it had been dead awhile but had not been found by a bear suggested something about the density of bears out there. The ravens and other scavengers had eaten what they could, but without a bear or coyote to open the carcass, they were limited in what they could get. It also looked like the ravens were eating wild cranberries, of which there were lots. Wild cranberries are better once they freeze, so not something we made use of. In wolf country, coyotes populations are low, so it most likely would take a bear to open the carcass.
I kept my ears open as we investigated. There was what looked to me like a bullet hole in the shoulder, but Larry thought it unlikely that someone would hit there and not be able to retrieve the moose, plus is wasn’t moose hunting season.
Fall comes more quickly to higher latitudes because the length of day changes faster around the equinoxes. The day to day difference in the foliage color was striking, and that it was due to time, not location, was verified later when I photographed the exact same place along the highway twice about 36 hours apart. The aspens turn their yellow, orange, or gold, and the highbush cranberries turn a vibrant deep red.
At one camp, the groundcover was only horsetails at a density, complete coverage, that I’d not seen before. That camp was also interesting in that it was a place in the river that had been dramatically affected by the ice dams that form during spring break-up. Clearly in places the damming had released with great force, carrying loads of sand very quickly but only for a short duration and distance. There were numerous branches of the river, seeming to have been formed by the random and temporary damming forcing a change in the flow and then during failure, transporting significant loads of sand/debris onto previous loads that had released somewhere else. It was wild, chaotic.
During day 6 on the river, Larry commented that planning to break camp, canoe a distance, cache the gear in the woods, hitchhike and then bike a full day’s ride in one day was likely a poor idea. Good thing one of us has a brain. He suggested we plan a whole afternoon to get to the town of Watson Lake, and then stay there that night so we’d have the whole following day to bike 55 miles. It worked great and we only had to wait a half hour for a ride.
We sorted out all the food for the 2-day bike ride, added a lot of clothes and rain gear, then the sleeping bags (we lacked an extra set to leave with the camp cache), and walked two miles to our bikes. It was rather nice to find that they were still quietly waiting for us in the woods, and that we remembered where we left them. We had some food that we didn’t want to stash outside (animals), so we left that at the little hotel.
We really wanted to minimize the bike loads, so we left a small cache of a couple items where the bikes had been.
Are you keeping count? Now we have six caches: the car which counts for two because of the key on a nearby boulder and especially Larry’s iPod, worth more than the car, stashed in the rocks. Then there’s the hotel food cache, the gear where the bike cache had been, the camping gear midway along the bike route, and of course the canoe and gear at the take-out.
We are later to place another cache and also get three more hitchhike rides, but fortunately we don’t know this yet.
It was a real pleasure to find that my borrowed bike was indeed in good working condition. It also fit me, yea. The biking went a lot easier than expected. Larry hadn’t biked of in months, and I’d sat on my butt for both weeks prior to this ride and mostly just ride my bike to the grocery store, so we were prepared for pure torture, butt bones in particular.
The first day included the occasional stretch of pavement, some sunshine, and also a ride across a construction zone from a foreman who took pity on us walking our bikes through the mud. He noted that we “looked, uh, a little less prepared” mentioning the milk crate on the back of Larry’s bike. My stuff was bungee corded to the rack and wrapped around the middle of the handlebars. That plus our attire… we looked as professional as they come, but this was in the Yukon!
The last 10 miles that day weren’t so pretty, but our cache was there and only a little mildewed from the rain. We camped by Simpson Lake and enjoyed watching the common loons and listening to their magical calls.
The second bike day was rainy, but our butts did not hurt too much. Good to know there’s a 2-day grace period for future planning… The treat that day was a quick glimpse of another wolf. Both days were pretty hilly.
These 56 miles actually went a bit easier, probably because we paced ourselves better. We got to the car in the mid afternoon, and everything was intact. During the drive up, a beer can had been rubbed through so the back of the car smelled. Fortunately it had not attracted the attention of a bear. Nor had the iPod.
We drove south, collecting all our caches, and camped in the same place we had on the drive to the river.
The plan was that the next day we’d simply drive home, arriving in the late afternoon.
The rest of the story goes like this: car breaks after an hour on the road, fuel pump or something. Here is cache #7: hiding all the gear (now it’s both boat and bikes) in the woods so we can leave the car.
Three hitchhike rides home including one with fundamentalist Christians moving to Alaska from Alabama for missionary work, a 20-something Yukon born/raised woman who regularly travels alone for many months at a time in India, and later a group of raft guides that needed to stop to cache some dope before crossing the border. (Does this count as cache #8?).
The next day we spent 13 hours using Larry’s still-for-sale truck to tow the car back. I drove the truck towing the car via a rope. Larry rode in the car to steer and keep from rear-ending the truck or dragging/tangling the rope in the axle going down the hills. The car horn didn’t work and the car was too close to see the headlights, so I had to keep glancing at Larry in case something wasn‘t right. This part of the drive lasted four tedious hours. It would have been two more had we not been able to drop the car off at a mechanic two hours from Skagway. I had gastrointestinal cramping, so that made the drive even more fun.
My last day of this trip was spent dealing the gut bug. It was nasty for awhile, so we had to get the local Physicians Asst to open the clinic Labor Day evening to get me functional enough for the 14 hours of plane travel to get home the following day.
But I got home fine am an now getting ready to take an 8-day technical rescue rigging course. It’s for the Search and Rescue portion of my Antarctic job, which means not only are they paying for it, but I am being paid to take it. This is a radical concept to someone who has spent her whole career in outdoor education and guiding. There are benefits (ha) to having sold out to a major corporation.
Cheers for now, Susan
