Y2Y 2002 Update #3

August 6 - It's a beautiful day for a flight. The resupply plane bringing my friend, Jack Noll, arrives at mid-day. It's great to see Jack and I'm looking forward to having him along. Danny and Nancy had called their daughter this morning. She dropped off Danny's guitar at the airport and they've brought it in on the flight. Before Jack and I leave, I sing them several of my songs. It feels good to hold a guitar and sing for these friendly folks.

It is late afternoon when Jack and I hoist our packs and bid farewell to the camp. These are the last folks we'll see for the next 2 weeks. We're carrying 16 days worth of food and the packs are very heavy. I have to crawl into my pack on the ground and then stand up. I wonder how I used to carry 22 days worth !!! Maybe my age is telling me something here.

Moving slowly, we head up into a big, broad, open valley. Danny and Donald, the guides at the camp, had seen a grizzly bear pull down a moose calf up here a few days ago. We are watchful but all we see are many elk on the mountainsides above us. We camp on a gravel bar below a high pass. The vast valley, snowy mountains, and wild feel of this land seem to welcome us tonight. What a perfect evening for Jack's first night out.

August 7 - I've had very few sunny mornings on this trip, but this morning is picture perfect. We climb up an unnamed pass, wildflowers spilling across the slope like a fallen rainbow. Just as we reach the pass two bull elk appear above us, posing against the skyline, the morning light shining on their healthy coats. We snap pictures for a few minutes until a bull caribou surprises us by racing across the snowfield just behind us. The day just keeps getting better.

We drop into a wooded valley and then beat our way up a narrow canyon. After fording the icy waters the canyon begins to open up. Soon we're walking up a vast, spacious valley on the flat gravel bar. These open, treeless valleys stretch our souls and feed our imaginations. They are stunning in their beauty with glacier-covered mountains hanging high above their braided streams. It's only mid-afternoon, but we set up our little tents at the base of a moraine and call it a day.

August 8 - Light rain this morning and we pack up during a lull and start climbing. The canyon narrows and then widens again, ascending toward a distant pass. Clouds are hanging over the peaks. Rain blows hard into our faces as we struggle through the stark, cold place. Marmots whistle and caribou trot away from us. The pack feels like a ton. But step by step we gain more altitude.

At last we traverse the snow bound pass and look down into the other side. This is an amazing sight. A large lake, deep and blue, and partly full of ice, sprawls down the basin. Jagged peaks jut above it, disappearing into the clouds. Glaciers, blue ice hundreds of feet thick, drape down the mountains and into the lake. Even on a day like today we are struck by the incredible beauty. It is a raw, stark, cold beauty. A lonely, chilling place. I love it.

Feeling like ants in this huge basin, we walk the lake's shore over snow banks and rocks, marveling at the glaciers above us. A giant boulder allows us a break from the wind and rain before we begin to descend toward another valley. But here the day takes a tough turn.

The canyon is very steep and narrow. The stream flowing from the lake has become a roaring torrent of endless cascades and falls. Over the years rock slides have littered the canyon side with boulders the size of refridgerators. Moss and willows, alders and dense stunted spruce trees have grown over the rocks hiding the deep holes between them. We struggle through the dense vegetation trying our best not to disappear into the traps waiting at every step. It is very tricky, very difficult walking. The rain comes and goes making it all the more slippery. We both fall numerous times. Sometimes we beat our way through the trees. Sometimes we try to walk on the rocks next to the roaring stream. Often we must grab a young tree and swing out and over the rushing whitewater to another foothold, trusting the roots to hold. It's slow going and tough. With our over-weight packs it becomes agony. I marvel that this is Jack's 3rd day of hiking and he just hangs in there.

We set up our tents and get a fire going in the shelter of two big firs. The rain pours down, but we're dry and toasty recounting the hardships of the day.

August 9 - It rains hard all night and into the morning. We pack up in the rain and don't break camp until almost noon. Slogging through the flooded forest we climb to a low pass between this branch of the Kwadacha River and a tributary of the Muskwa. I keep expecting to get out of the flowing water, but am disappointed when we come to beaver ponds flooding the entire canyon for hundreds of yards. We end up wading (sometimes nearly chest deep) through the flooded landscape, the mud underneath sucking at each step. We struggle up and over cliffs, then down again, slog through a mile of flooded valley and finally hit some dry ground as the rain finally stops.

The walking becomes easier. We descend this canyon northward, thinking we'll make the Muskwa River today, but then another obstacle. The stream in the canyon has gotten bigger and faster and wilder. We come to a point where we must ford it. I don't like the looks of it. Much too fast and powerful. The glacial flour makes it impossible to tell how deep the water is. This is scarey.

We scout for half an hour and find what looks like our best chance for a good ford. At last it is time to try it. I'm full of tension and apprehension as I step into the swirling current. One step. Good. Plant my sticks and then another step. The roaring water pulls at me, but I'm smiling. It only gets a up to my knees. What a relief. The stream has totally faked us out. We cross without difficulty. Miles and hours later we reach the mighty Muskwa.

August 10 -  The Muskwa is a BIG river. The crossing proves to be easy though. We ford it in a place where the river is braided into many channels. The deepest one is only a bit over knee deep. The sun is shining, and we're happy when we see an outfitter's cabins ahead. No one has been here yet this year, but in one of the cabins an animal has gone in one window and out the other. The door is hanging open in the cook cabin, the porch has been partially torn off, bear boards scattered, and blood is on the floor of the cabin. Obviously something big has broken in here. We clean it all up, patch the porch together, and sleep good with a roof over our heads.

August 11 -  Overcast and cold this morning as we wander past a glass-smooth lake. A moose grazes far on the other side. A beaver swims nearby. We climb steeply into another side-canyon which broadens into another open valley surrounded by rugged mountains, waterfalls, and dozens of bull elk on the mountainsides above us. The sun comes peeking out and we're walking with joy. A mile from the pass I see a grizzly bear coming our way. I barely have time to tell Jack, "Bear!" before it turns and lopes back toward the pass. We follow his tracks through the snow and mud over the pass and down through a herd of elk. I was sorry to push him back down to where he'd come from, but glad he was willing to go the opposite way.

We end up in another vast, open valley with Gathto Creek winding through. I am amazed at how big this land is, and so untouched by humankind. Moose trails lead us through the dwarf birch and willow while 3 bull moose graze peacefully on the mountainside above us.

August 12 - I feel a total lack of energy today. I fall while crossing the first stream. Not a good way to start the day. A light rain falls off and on as we make our way up another side canyon. Lots of elk. I feel like I barely make the pass, I'm dragging so much. The wind is howling and the sun tries to peek out, but clouds crowd the sky.

Dropping down the other side of the pass, we are funneled into a narrow gorge which soon becomes impassable. We climb to a shoulder of the mountain and find a series of good elk trails leading us down to a tributary of the Tochodi River. Big glaciers and icefields upstream are feeding this stream. It runs milky and fast. I'm glad we don't have to ford it just yet. We camp at an old hunter's camp as rain comes again.

August 13 - It poured rain all night and into this morning. Nice to sleep in and read a bit before breaking camp finally near 11:00. A few miles brings us down to the main branch of the Tochodi River. It's big and muddy, running high from all this rain. We soon come to a place where it is wide and braided. Thinking we might just cross now and try to stay on the north side we wade across without difficulty. Yes, it's cold and there are many channels to cross, but we plow through with ease. Once on the other side it is fairly easy going for a mile or more until the canyon narrows down and we realize we must either climb cliffs or cross back to the other side. Again we look for a braided spot and start across. But these are deeper channels. We almost make it until the last channel proves to be over our heads and fast. Time to pull out our swim toys!

Both Jack and I have brought little kid's floaty toys. These are inflatable plastic floats that kids splash around in on a hot summer day. The plan was to put our packs on them and swim behind while pushing the floating pack across. We blow them up and find that one floaty doesn't support such big, heavy packs as we are carrying. Instead, we decide to try taking turns using both floatys at once. The channel is narrow enough that we can have a rope tied to them to haul them back across. So I use Jack's floaty and mine and lash my pack across them. I strip down and launch the rocking pack into the rushing stream. Jack plays out the rope and watches anxiously as I'm wisked down the stream, barely grabbing the willows in time to pull out before the sweeper downstream. I pull off the pack and Jack pulls the floatys back to his side of the river and repeats my moves. Soon we're beating through the woods, trying to get warm after that freezing dip.

August 14 - I don't sleep well at all. Neither does Jack. The rain, the swollen river, and knowing we must swim the Tuchodi first thing in the morning in a place where it is not braided, but big and powerful, has me worried. The morning dawns and we are soon at the riverside preparing for the crossing. We can't share our floats this morning because the river is too wide to have a rope across. Instead we triple fold our therma-rest mattress and use these with our floats to have a good floatable platform for the packs. I start in but my pack is a little tippy and I pull it back and try to do a quick adjustment. Starting in again I'm suddenly swimming. The current is fast and cold, zipping me downstream. I'm holding onto the pack with one iron grip, and trying to paddle with the other arm. Gasping from the cold, I push it across and soon pull out on the other side. Later, Jack follows and we're across the Tuchodi. Yippee!

We walk over to an amazing waterfall coming out of Falls Creek. The narrow gorge is full of geyser-like mist spilling into the air. The sound is like a jet, unending and full of power. Then we're climbing up Falls Creek ourselves, a steep ascent but then a gradual route along the cascading creek. We scare a big, black bear on the other side of the stream, and pass him. Later after we've made camp the bear passes high above us on the scree slope.

August 15 - Light rain this morning. And cold. We follow the canyon and its cascading stream, waterfalls, and incredible exposed rock. A mountain goat frolics on the cliffs above us. The valley widens into a barren, arctic like basin. Snow begins to spit at us. The final headwall to the pass is very steep. I creep upward, huffing and puffing. At last it levels out. What a place!! The broad pass is a series of moraines. Stone sheep graze nearby. A couple small tarns lie tucked in amidst the rock. Sicily Mountain looms to the north of us and Campobasso Mountain to our right. We are lifted to the peaks of spirit by the sights around us. This is one of those places I will come back to someday, the heart of the wilderness, the home of the winds.

We pass another little lake on a shelf of the mountain's shoulder before beginning a steep drop down the barren, rocky slope. The route takes us down into a wide, totally barren valley. Down the valley bottom, twisting and turning, runs a tributary of the Gataga River, a rich tourquoise, glacier-blue color. We camp in the open as it begins to spit more snow our way. Giant glaciers at the eastern head of this canyon pour cold air down upon us, but the sights we are holding keep us warm and primed.

August 16 - A nice clear, cold morning as we wander along the creek, hopping boulders along the side and picking our way along. Various peaks and glaciers stand out sharp and clear all around us. Our canyon joins another and the stream gets bigger. We go up into the forest and dwarf birch, pushing our way along until coming back to the river we're in a vast, spacious gravel bar. It seems like a half mile wide, the water all braided into a myriad of channels. I love the space, the feeling of being so small in such a big landscape.

Later the stream becomes a river as another canyon pours its water in. We come to a crossing. It looks fast and deep. Jack tests this one, going in without his pack to see how doable it is. He finds a good path that doesn't get more than mid thigh. I cross with my heart in my mouth, but make it fine.

A few hours of hiking takes us over the shoulder of the mountain and back to the main Gataga. It's a major river now and the endless flood plain we walk across is flat as a pancake, covered with driads, and surrounded by rugged peaks. The sunlight tilts through the gathering clouds and lights up the fluffy seed heads of the driads. It looks like a carpet of soft snow. We ford the river without difficulty, wading through various channels all spread across the valley floor.

August 17 - I've seen bear tracks nearly every day of this trip. Today there are several sets. One is some of the biggest I've seen. Ever! I decide I don't want to see this fellow. Just knowing he's out there is good enough for me. This bear must have passed our camp early this morning. We're going the right direction!

The stream we follow away from the Gataga is a ribbon of white water. Dense brush forces us to criss-cross the creek, working our way ever upward. Eventually, we turn up another side stream, climbed very steeply up it's rocky banks. Higher and higher we go. I'm feeling weary. My lungs gasp for air, and it seems like my legs are rubber. But as we reach the high pass surrounded by soaring cliffs and glacier coated peaks, the sun finally peeks out for several minutes. A big herd of mountain goats are tiny specks on the vast cliff face to the south of us. And with the crest of the pass, the views totally invigorate me.

Instead of a sharp drop down the other side of the pass we enter a half mile wide open valley. It seems flat, but we drop gradually downward and eventually meet another large feeder stream heading for the Gataga. We pass a large porcupine far from any trees, and make camp on a barren little island.

August 18 - More fantastic country. We basically followed the side stream down this marvelous valley before climbing out of it again to avoid a narrow canyon. It seems like moose are everywhere, and we have found sound awesome antlers. Too bad they are so big and heavy or we'd carry them out. Made camp early (mid-afternoon) as it began to rain again.

August 19 - Rain nearly all night, and a most leisurely start this morning. As the day wore on we dropped closer to the main fork of the Gataga. The sun began to peek out and by the time we reached the river's banks it was almost like summer. We lounged in the sun during lunch watching the water flow by. The river is much bigger here than where we left it a couple days ago. I couldn't help but change into my shorts and t-shirt. I've had so few days where I've been able to hike like this. The afternoon brought some superb walking across open gravel bars and wide river flats with inpiring views at every step. We camped on a bar next to the river and lounged around a campfire into the night swapping stories, laughing, and enjoying the place and time.

August 20 - Today we get to Mayfield Lake. I know I still have nearly three hundred miles ahead of me, but most of it will be in the canoe. I feel the most challenging part of the trek is now behind me. No hurry today. I feel like we should be dragging out these last miles, soaking them up and enjoying them. And it is a perfect walk. The river banks offer easy travel. The sun is shining when we get to the place where we need to cross. No ominous crossing here. It's an easy float and bounce across the big river. In no time, we find the little trail up and over the ridge to the big lake. Moose and caribou graze peacefully in the water's vegetation. Beaver swim by. Loons call to us in their haunting voices. Jack and I are in heaven.

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