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September, 2007
Just got back from Alaska...
By Deb Moulton
When my friend from work Gary asked if I wanted to go on a rafting trip on the Tatshenshini River in Alaska summer of 2007, I thought about it for about 10 seconds and said "Yeah."
This was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I did not want to pass it by.
I knew when I said yes, I was saying yes to:
1.
A strong probability of rain daily, possible torrential downpours and temps in the 45 to 55 F degree range.
2.
A limit of 60 pounds for gear. This meant living for two weeks on 3 changes of clothes.
3.
We would be "off the grid", satellite phone being the best form of communication if affordable.
4.
Once on the river, there was no exit off the river for 132 miles.
5.
Grizzly Bear country. :)
In my life, I have had the good fortune to have experienced all of these conditions--thanks to camping trips of long duration with friends and family--but I have been out of practice: I had not been on an expedition of any sort for about 5 years.
I was also very nervous about not knowing anyone in the group except Gary. In the past, I had a small close group of friends to play in the Wilderness with. We knew how to work with each other in uncomfortable situations and trouble-shoot problems with direct conversation. This would be a totally new group.
So on July 5th, I found myself with Gary and 12 strangers at Dalton's Post in the Yukon Territory. The 4 rafts are rigged with all our supplies for the next two weeks. Once we push off, there is no turning back. No roads, no civilization until Dry Bay 132 miles down stream. I distinctly remember as we pushed off into the river thinking, "what have I just signed on for?"
To describe in a short article the adventures over the next two weeks is difficult. The first 12 miles of white water had no eddys. It was read-and-run with Billy going first and the other three rafts attempting to follow his line. As I remember it, staying close enough to see each other and follow the line gave new meaning to the word "challenge." The experience level of Billy, Scotty, Gary and Kristy was immediately noted and appreciated, and this appreciation continued through the entire trip. It was easy to trust their skill and judgment.
The views that surrounded us every day just got better and better. The mountains filled up the sky with their massive rock at times covered thick with trees, occasional waterfalls, and at the bases huge glaciers and colorful flowers. Bald eagles were so frequent we started calling them pigeons. The sun never went down. I never had need of a flashlight. I can remember at one point looking over at the western sky over Novatak Glacier and then back to the eastern sky seeing Mount Fairweather 15,300ft high and the color and light of the sky being identical. There were days the sun was bright and warm; as well as rainy drizzly days. But every time the weather was cold, wet and rainy, and I would say to myself, "if it is like this tomorrow, I am staying in my tent and reading my book," the rain would stop, the clouds would break and the sun would hang around long enough to lift spirits and dry everything out. I remember in a prayer thanking my parents for my first summer camping in the mountains of Wyoming, where the conditions were actually worse.
By the time we reached Alsek Lake, where we were able to row around icebergs and listen to the cracking of them calving off the glaciers in the distance, I was ready to go home. I was having fun, but the one thing I missed was someone to share it with. I would think of my friends Carrie, Ginger, Nick, Chris and Peter and the conversations we might have, the things that would make us giggle. The times I really wanted to just curl up in a ball for a while I missed the encouragement we would be giving each other using laughter and compassion.
We reached Dry Bay July 18 as scheduled. Took the rafts apart, cleaned them and reassembled our gear to be flown out on the 19th. Again the gods were smiling and the weather was good enough to fly out in small planes that took us up close and personal to the mountains we had just rafted through, back to Haines, AK. The sun was shining and warm. We flew back to Juneau, and then back to Maine. The trip was over--or was it.
Something happened while in Alaska I had not realized until adjusting back to the real world. When "off the grid" there is no contact with any part of the rest of the world. The last two weeks of news, events, people, work, and friends are totally unknown.
While assimilating back to every day life, I discovered that a part of myself that had been "broken" or "missing" due to a series of life events, had returned. After Alaska, the rain of Maine felt good on my face as I biked around town running errands. Where before I had been wondering "Is this going to be okay?" I found myself now saying "this is okay with me, and if someone does not like it, it is their problem." A piece of inner strength was wiggling back into existence.
I realized on that trip into the deep backcountry with new people, that being on my own is not only a good thing, but it feels good too. Those tough times in Alaska--when I missed my friends, where it was "suck it up and get through this because that's what needs to be done" time--turns out, those times taught me to let me be me, which is not such a bad thing.
So, when people ask about the Tatshenshini River, and wonder what was fun about it, I'll admit, it is hard to put into words. But fellow adventurers that go into the wilderness and work through the elements know it's not just about the beauty of surroundings or the adrenalin, it's also about being able to get back to oneself and look at who that person really is.
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