W. Fork Atigun Weekender

Dan rides the waves in the West Fork of the Atigun River

I suddenly felt a sense of relief as the last bit of warm blood vacated the few remaining vessels in my feet. I was no longer subjected to the excruciating pain caused by the snow and pools of slush that were penetrating my sneakers. I somehow convinced myself that no feeling is better than endless stinging. But I already knew that repeated inflictions of my feet to the cold over the years had resulted in permanent numbness to some of my toes. At this point I still didn't care. I just wanted to keep moving downhill to a lower elevation where green tundra and the first wildflowers of the summer dotted the valley bottom.

We headed north for the weekend to the Brooks Range in hopes of crossing over two passes and floating a portion of the upper Itkillik River before returning to the highway. This plan abruptly failed. A cool start to summer left large expanses of snow lingering in these mountains that define the divide between water flowing north to the Arctic Ocean from that draining southward towards the Bering Sea and north Pacific. We retreated back in our tracks after attempting to climb a sketchy ice covered pass with our inadequate gear. Instead we found ourselves bouncing down the whitewater of the West Fork of the Atigun River in a stunning Arctic valley.

Ted plunges up to his crotch as he crosses endless stretches of snow on our way over the continental divide. We delicately placed our weight on the white surface in hopes of warding off additional swims in the bottomless snow. It would be another week or so before the snow would setup and transform into a solid walking surface.

Despite the rotten snow and laborious trudging the scenery was absolutely spectacular as we descended into the upper reaches of the Atigun River.

We really were happy to be out in the mountains.

Another water crossing near the headwaters of the Atigun River flushes the cold snow out of our shoes.

We had to hike for several miles down valley to a spot where the shallow braided channels consolidated into one primary deeper channel.

Resourceful Sky chomps away on an abandonded caribou rack. She could survive a long time on small mammals and other treasures in the wild. The caribou had moved down out of the mountains to the coastal plain in preparation for calving.

The West Fork of the Atigun is pinched between the exposed bedrock. We portaged this significant drop. The remainder the river was primarily fun wave trains and navigating through partially submerged rocks.



Videography from the West Fork of the Atigun.

Preparing for the final leg: a cold rain and driving headwind forced us to vacate the boats when our waterway skirted the Alaska Pipeline and road. Mildly hypothermic we ran the last 15-miles to the truck along the muddy highway outfitted in all our clothes and life jackets with the hopes of getting a ride...no ride came.

Coffee and Pizza Traverse

Descending into the upper Nenana River drainage in the Alaska Range

All I could focus on the last two hours of our float was shoving a giant piece of greasy pizza into my mouth. The pleasurable sensation of the melted cheese against my tongue and anticipation of the calories replenishing my body. Fortunately for me our weekend traverse in the Alaska Range would terminate at the same location we started at the day before - but this time there would be unlimited pizza fresh out of the oven waiting to be devoured.

This most recent packrafting trip was aptly named the coffee-pizza traverse because it began and ended at the java shop and pizza joint which straddle the banks of Carlo Creek on the Parks Hwy. The entire loop consisted of about 15-miles of scenic alpine hiking followed by 16-miles floating the upper Nenana River.

A conveniently placed 4-wheeler path exists from the Parks Hwy up through the brush to treeline and resulted in a bushwhack-free stroll to the tundra.

Ben admires the newly melted snow as it cascades through a narrow gully.

The walking was nearly effortless across a green blanket of tundra and through fields of wildflowers.

Breaking a thin layer of ice on a small pond at our camping site near the headwaters of Carlo Creek.

Large snowfields still linger below the pass at the head of the Carlo Creek. The snow was firm enough to walk across with ease.

Ben begins the steep and rocky descent on the south side of the pass. This section required some serious scrambling over small ledges and over giant boulders. We would eventually drop into the far distant valley and plop ourselves into the cold, silty waters of the Nenana River.

Curious caribou circle around us.

The girls cross a beautiful alpine stream.

Making our way across a wide open expanse of tundra above the Nenana River.

Preparing to launch the boats. The final push down to the river was a steep descent through a brief stretch of moderately thick brush.

The Nenana River upstream of the Parks Hwy bridge is a casual Class I float. The river picks up a bit below the bridge with a few short Class II+ sections that are relatively easy to portage.

10 PM and back at the starting pt...fresh pizza...beer...live music...THE END.

Beaver Creek 360

The tundra high above Beaver Cr has come to life with the arrival of summer.

Ann quietly gazed down at the map as we drifted past a tall stand of spruce trees. Her concerned voice broke the silence as she slowly raised her head, "I think we have to go a lot farther than you expected." I looked back at her a little bit puzzled and muttered, "Hmmmm...really?" Exactly how far had I miscalculated our inaugural packraft trip of the season? Embarrassingly...a lot. This was already going to be an ambitious wilderness foray for a long weekend. I now realized that I had somehow underestimated the entire traverse by nearly 50 miles.

Our route began at the usual starting point for a float down Beaver Creek at the Nome Creek put-in. From there we paddled steadily for about 100 miles before rolling up our rafts and stashing them into our backpacks. Most Beaver Creek floaters continue downriver an additional 15 miles to a wide gravel bar where a small fixed-wing plane can touch down and pluck them from the wilderness. Instead...after climbing out of the creek we followed a series of interconnecting ridge lines that would eventually lead us 45 miles back to the gravel road we started on...and then climax with a 16 mile bike ride back to the truck. A complete 360 degree circuit that amounted to about 160 miles of travel by boat, foot, and bike.

Ann absorbs the view as Beaver Creek winds its way past jagged limestone teeth of the White Mountains.

It appears that the river otter population will thrive this year by the way these two were going at it.

Beaver Creek is an easy Class I float with only a few small riffles and an occasional tree hanging into the water that can sweep over a boat. The water was flowing along at a casual 3 to 4 miles per hour.

Packing up the boat and remainder of gear in preparation for our cross country hike. I am still dumbfounded with the fact that it is possible to have my deflated boat disappear into the depths of my pack and then lug it across the countryside.

We had a very steep ascent out of the Beaver Cr valley but there was very little bushwhacking. In the distance is Victoria Mtn...which is the last bit of terrain before the river spills out into the broad expansive lowlands of the Yukon Flats.

We encountered a series of game trails when we climbed above tree-line which made for very easy walking at times.

The majority of the hike was spent side sloping across precariously placed lichen-encrusted rocks, postholing through thigh deep snow fields, and stumbling across tufts of tussocky tundra.

Ann crosses one of the uncountable saddles in the high country. The terrain was brutal as we negotiated a never ending sequence of 1000 foot climbs followed by an equal amount of descents.

The avenue of tors--some of these environmentally sculpted spires of granite soared over 100 feet into the sky.

There were still plenty of depressions in the tundra with meltwater from the dwindling winters snowpack. Later in the summer it would be difficult to find any water this high above the river valleys.

Even though we didn't see a trace of any other human being...we were not alone.

Liberally applying Body Glide to my feet in hopes of preventing blisters. This in combination with keeping my feet occasionally wet and cool seems to diminish the threat of incapacitating foot problems. The main side effect is flirting with the onslaught of trench foot after about 10 hours of damp feet.

Dropping down into the Quartz Creek drainage. We hoped to find a 4-wheeler trail on the opposite side of the valley that would ease the last stretch of our hike.

Towards the end of our hike we intersected the Quartz Creek trail. The trail had recently been improved and made for great walking. Its a great trail for accessing the dramatic granite spires around Mt Prindle.

The final leg on bike completed our 160 mile, 360 degree adventure.

Destruction

The mighty Yukon is putting up a fight this spring. The river has taken its first casualties after only making a few sweeping bends after crossing the border into Alaska. Portions of the village of Eagle have been swallowed by a chaotic sea of moving water and ice. (photo courtesy C.McElfresh)

The Old Native village is completely destroyed as massive blocks of ice smash the structures like match sticks and the river inundates the forest. (NWS photo)

Floodwaters reached the highest levels ever recorded at the quaint village which has been perched above the Yukon River for over 100-years. Buildings were twisted or completely removed from their foundations. (NPS photo)

Chunks of ice remain stranded as the water recedes. (NPS photo)

The roofs of two cabins are barely visible as they are carried into the middle of the river and begin their 1000-mile journey towards the Bering Sea (NPS photo).

Chasing Ice

I have been on the move this week. By air and by car chasing moving fragments of ice and floods. I captured the above video footage of a chaotic mess of ice and debris which completely clogged the Chantanika River north of Fairbanks. The entire river was sent rushing into the woods.

The weather is warm...really warm. All time-record high temperatures for this time of year were broken the past several days. This put an abrupt end to winter. The big heat wave resulted in a rapid melting of the snowpack and pushed a large slug of water into the rivers. Sheets of river ice which have remained dormant all winter have been suddenly lifted up and set into motion. Over the next few weeks most of the ice will flush downriver on its journey to the coast...while some slabs will become stranded on the shore and meet their demise as summer takes over.

The Commute...

I just stood in my driveway and listened to the foreign sound. It had been months since I had heard it -- the incessant dripping of water running down the rain gutter at the corner of my house. My first emotion was panic. This was it. An entire winters worth of snow was gradually beginning its demise. I wasn't ready for my early morning ritual of skiing to work to come an end. Or the the weekend trips gliding across the snow with my friends. But then I remained still and concentrated on the rhythmic nature of the sound. This was the prenatal voice of summer. At that point a very subtle ripple of excitement came over me as I thought about the endless daylight, birds singing through the night, tundra crunching under my feet, the rumble of thunder across the valley, the fragerance of wild roses in the warm June air.

As I look back at the past 6 months, perhaps some of my fondest memories of the winter were collected during my daily commute to work. A simple trip on a network of groomed trails that extend from my neighborhood to the University. There were no big mountains to traverse or challenging terrain to contend with. Only the conical world that existed just within the beam of my headlamp, the crispness of the arctic air, the cold squeeky snow, the northern lights exploding across the sky, or the occasional moose that blocked my path.

Music - "Litter Bin" by Grand National

Spring on the Quest Trail

Brian hauls ass down Rosebud Summit on the Yukon Quest trail

The Yukon Quest sled dog race took place almost two months ago. Since then there have been several heavy snow and strong wind storms that slammed the portion of route just northeast of Fairbanks. I figured that any remnants of a trail may have been completely obliterated by the active weather back in March. Brian and I decided to gamble and attempt to ski the section that traverses across the uplands between the Steese Hwy and Chena Hot Springs. We found an absolutely stellar snowmachine trail linking the two roadways.

The unassuming 35-mile stretch between the Steese Hwy and Chena Hot Springs Rd is often overshadowed by the treacherous conditions encountered over Eagle Summit. But this segement is also notoriously known for horrendous winds and snow conditions as the trail climbs Rosebud and Boulder summits. The trail has some gnarly descents and steep pitched climbs, ice patches, and wind scoured tundra - which all pose major challenges for a dog team.

Dea is back in action with her new kidney! She is peeing like crazy now and looks healthier than ever since she is no longer undergoing dialysis 3-times a week. She and Ben shuttled us out to the trailhead on the Steese Hwy. This gave her the opportunity to do her first out of town ski since the transplant.

Brian and Jose ski down the Birch Creek valley.

Brian and I are all smiles. I forgot how easy skiing can be when the trail is nice and the weather is warm.

Leftover patches of sastrugi on Boulder Summit are a reminder that this is a harsh, wind-swept environment for most of the winter. A lonely piece of lath marking the remains of the Yukon Quest trail is barely visible.

Brian descends into Boulder Cr...which form part of the headwaters of the Chena River.

A continuous accumulation of overflow ice during the winter had completely innundated portions of the Boulder Creek drainage. This made for bullet-fast skiing.