Tatshenshini Trip Report: I question my choices that led me here
By Cyn Taylor
It is my first time to Alaska, and I suspect it is my last. I've never been here before because I have been scared of the weather. It turns out my fears were well founded. On the river I had on as many fleece layers as I could possibly fit under my dry suit, four heavy weights both top and bottom, along with gloves and hat. It wasn't enough, despite being the height of summer. My body quaked with cold, and I wondered how to tell the difference between uncomfortably numb and lethally cold. It didn't help that I had caught the norovirus going around camp. I had been up the entire night, my body violently evacuating the poison every 15 minutes. My cheeks were pink with a mild fever, and my body ached with pins and needles.
This bend in the river is called Weather Corner. The wind and rain blast us continuously, and I question my choices that led me here. My friends that have traveled this 140 mile river corridor of the Tatenshini-Alsek said that it was the trip of their lifetime. It is extremely difficult to win a permit, and they said I shouldn't miss this rare opportunity. Perhaps they are made of tougher stuff than me. Our trip evolved into a sufferfest. Dozens of glaciated mountains surround us, but I can't appreciate the view when I am at the bottom of Maslow's pyramid. I have tested my mettle against Alaska and so far come up short.
Russ couldn’t pry his contacts out of his eyes after day 1. With significant cornea damage in both eyes, he reluctantly agreed that we arrange a helicopter rescue for him via InReach. Considering we are in one of the world’s largest protected wilderness areas of 25 million acres, the helicopter arrives remarkably fast from Whitehorse in the Yukon. We joked that he was the lucky one, avoiding norovirus during the record rain event.
When we got to Walker Glacier, I crawled into my -20 F bag wearing numerous layers of fleece. Although I have all the right winter camping gear with me, it only works if my body is generating heat. I break open 4 chemical warmer packs, putting them inside my ski gloves and between two layers of wool socks. The ranger at the takeout said they got 6 inches of rain in 2 days. We relocated our tents to higher ground and dug drainage canals around them, while watching river notably rise from 100,000 cfs to 130,000 cfs. The sand bar in front of camp vanishes underwater. I tighten my tent stays, hoping for better days ahead. I put up a clothes line inside my tent, chasing the impossible dream of dry clothes. Courtney delivers gatorade to my tent and then I know everything's going to be OK.
The glacier ground silt is so fine that water doesn't perk through it. It clings to our shoes like grey poupon. When Courtney hiked to the glacier, his leg sunk up to his knee in muck.
Icebergs on Alsek Lake by Cyn Taylor
Occasionally chunks of the towering sodden mountain tear away, carving a path through swathes of trees. It sounds like a jet taking off overhead. When the boulders hit the river below, the water erupts upward with the force of a bomb.
Brian and Chris spent 2 hours trying to build a fire before giving up. They tried every trick, protecting the flames under a tarp, whittling the outer layers of the wood away to access the drier interior, dousing it in lighter fluid several times, burning up dry National Geographics (f%^k nature), blowing constantly on the flames using a large raft pump, drying out the upcoming wood via adjacent flames. My dreams of warmth went out with the flames. I force myself to eat regularly, knowing it is my best chance of generating the body heat I need to get through this.
Most groups that run this river run into maybe one other group, if any. We've camped with three other groups most nights. Ursula, the senior guide from an adjacent commercial trip, says that in the 10 years she's been guiding this river, this is the coldest weather she's seen. If we crack 50 F, we're feeling lucky. Today she delivered fire warmed rocks to my tent, which I placed onto my popsicle toes with deep gratitude.
The Alsek river goes through a region called the Channel of Death as it enters Alsek Lake. Icebergs blow around the lake, and frequently plug one or more entrances. If you take the wrong entrance, the mighty river dives under the iceberg plug, dramatically ending your journey. With the river trucking at 12 mph, we don’t have much reaction time. With all of the silt in the river, it is hard to read the depth or determine which channels are bleeders or feeders. We make sure all 3 of our rafts make it into the same channel, or we could be separated for miles.
I’ve never seen so many trees in a river. The river blasts into the bank, ripping trees out and flinging them violently into the water. Over the 13 days, we pass thousands of drowned trees, limbs protruding like snares. Twice, one of the rafts gets hung up on one. Once we are able to pull it off. The other time we need to push it over the top.
We set up our tents in a fairly tight formation to deter grizzlies. The Alsek river has the highest grizzly density in the world, and it is typical to see a dozen of them. We are disappointed we didn't see a single one. The ranger thinks it is because of this year’s low salmon count.
Mount Fairweather rises a whopping 15300 ft here from sea level and forms the largest non-polar ice field in the world. Although the clouds barricade our view of its lofty spire, the rain lifts for one glorious day. We had paid the price of admission in viscous rain, cold, and wind. Turns out one stunning day at Alsek Lake is worth a sufferfest. Glaciers highways off ramp into the teal water. We hear the thunderous roar of their calving glaciers throughout the day. Some are polar blue and others are a tired grey. Hulking boulders catch a ride on the bergs. I paddle a pack raft near the bergs but I don't dare approach the sleeping giants. Seth and Brian paddle up to one and return with ice-age cocktail fixings.
When icebergs calve off a glacier, they can produce a tsunami. Our guide book says one group observed a tsunami that threw their rafts 40 feet upshore. Because glacially produced outbursts are so common here at Lake Alsek, we've been warned to tie the rafts very carefully to trees and camp on higher ground. An empire state iceberg flip flops with a thunderous roar, and I can feel the ground trembling under me.
We continued on down the Alsek river. Nearly 2 miles wide in some places, it has an oceanic quality except that we speed by like a roller coaster. Although most rapids were washed out from the flood event, we had some juicy 15 foot waves in one rapid. From the takeout in Glacier Bay National Park, we took ATVs to a dirt air strip where a bush pilot flew us out to Yakutat.
I felt like we traveled back in time to the ice age where a wooly mammoth would fit right in. I’m know that I’m lucky I got to see such a unique part of the world. But I’m no wooly mammoth, and my warm, dry home is feeling extra cozy right now.
Loading rafts on Alsek Lake.