Back from the Noatak River in Arctic Alaska. The Inupiat say it has been the wettest and coldest summer in seven generations and I believe them. A challenging trip, but I had a great crew and we made it. 400 miles in 15 days all of it north of the Arctic Circle and everyone home safe and sound.
The first 11 days were almost constant rain, not the occasional passing squall, I mean rain all day with nary a glimpse of the sun. All the small rapids were washed out. The bigger rapids were powerful and tricky. For much of the trip the river filled the valley with a muddy swill. It was often almost unrecognizable from 2013. And it was cold. Three nights of hard frost and stiff bitter headwinds that at one point forced us to line downstream despite a flood fueled current that hissed like a dragon. We had two boats capsize and camps almost inundated more than once. With gravel bars underwater there was scant driftwood for warming fires and what there was? sodden.
Fortunately, I had a resilient crew and Sue Plankis. She was a rockstar in camp and on the water.
We made it to the Village on time and were able to paddle right into town, but it was a tough, cold, wet trip and not what I expected on the Noatak. But as we all know, the Arctic can throw a curve ball even in July.
Thanks to Andy Jenks, for his Inreach weather which always seemed to promise a warming and drying trend in three days. Dan’s barrel packs fit the NPS bear barrels perfectly and his giant tundra tarp kept us bug free and dry several times.
The USPS took their sweet time getting my Pakboats to Bettles. Karen Kelley’s boat was shipped May 14 and never did arrive, but Alv at PakBoat helped me out with a replacement that arrived just two days before departure and we carried it with us on three commercial flights. Cliff Jacobson’s 17-foot Pakboat that he loaned me was especially appreciated, it took over seven weeks to get to Bettles.
Last year, with just four people we stayed under a total weight of 1100 pounds (a single De havilland Beaver float plane load). This time with eight we were at 2600 pounds. Instead of chartering two Beavers, we needed an Otter and a Beaver. But likely it was a good thing we brought the extra gear and grub, as keeping clothing dry and having enough to eat was challenging. We had planned on seven fish dinners but in the water, murky from run-off, only managed three. We arrived at the end with a few teabags and a fruit cake that we gave our Inupiat hosts Noah and Myra Downey in Noatak Village. Also, we were a bit lighter in our boots with crew members losing as much as 15 pounds each.
I still liked it. In fact, I loved it. One of my crew sarcastically remarked, “Notice how Rob gets more and more excited the closer we all are to death?”
I never actually was afraid. What’s the worst that can happen? As Ralph Waldo Emerson once remarked, “Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short, but when we have had our swing of pleasure, our fill of fruit, and our swelter of heat, we say we have had our day.” In any case I was almost always confident of a happy outcome.
I did harbor some mixed feelings about running the same arctic river two years in a row, but this was unfounded. So many times I would look at Sue and we would say almost in unison, “This is not the same river.”
Weather can either tear a crew apart or fuse it together. We had brave people and we were tight friends by the end. How can you put a price on that?
And there was the magic of the Arctic. Watching a grizzly sow dash away from us with a cub struggling to keep up was priceless. Watching Carl successfully land a 15 pound salmon when we really needed the meat was an emotional experience. And you never appreciate sunshine until after eleven days she comes out, and your pants steam in the heat.
One funny encounter was when Royal and I saw a giant brown beast on the side of the river with its head down. Royal asked. Grizzly or Musk Ox?” I replied that I was 90% sure it was a musk ox. Royal agreed. We eddied out for a closer look. Downwind on the bank we could smell the barnyard and we knew then 100% it was a musk ox. But not hearing our conversation the canoe with Robby and Carl thought for certain it was a Griz. They were flabbergasted when, without shotgun or bear spray, we began our stalk into a stiff wind from 50 yards. Even musk oxen can move quickly and be a bit dangerous, but he could not smell or hear us and his head was still hidden by the willows and I thought I was going to have to tap him on his shoulder to get him to turn around for a picture. Meanwhile a few steps behind us, Robby and Carl were more and more flummoxed as we closed the distance to the “bear”. Even when it finally turned around they were so certain it was a bear that they said, “JEEPERS CREEPERS, IT’S A GRIZ WITH HORNS!”
Although blue sky is nice, I shall never forget the cloud-shrouded purple mountains of the Noatak, the fresh snow, the wind pinning us to the tundra as if it was a giant thumb. Carving cozy campsites out of nothing, hot tea, the smell of bannock frying in lard, The surge of current, the rattle of rain all night on the tent. Just being warm and dry in my sleeping bag after a day of being cold and wet. Plucking campers out of the soup, picking our way through surging channels, ferrying across torrents, the joy of seeing a Gray-Headed Chickadee and the endless good humor of Royal, the keen wit of Frank, the unsinkable spirit of Kathryn, and the always steadfast John. Meeting the iconic Ricky an Inupiat who eschews modern life to live alone in the wilds. The arctic cotton, the cloud berries, fireweed and flowers unique to the Noatak watershed. Falcons, Red-throated and Pacific Loons, jaegers, cranes and terns, scurrying sic-sics, and maybe most of all, day after day after day, the endless vistas that seemingly went on and on forever, our backdrop, almost as if we were prehistoric nomads, trekking across a virginal landscape.
It was a great expedition.
But I hope the weather is kinder next year.