Savoring Carmacks: Day 18 of the Yukon River Trip

We passed our last night on the Yukon River by fishing, panning, and snatching bites of instant mashed potatoes. 

Susan Fishing with the Carmacks Bridge in the Background

The Yukon River's swift current sent my fishing line speeding back to the shore directly following every one of my casts, making my attempts of catching a fish fruitless.  But, that didn't stop me from hours of trying this and that from Jake's tackle box.  I yearned for a fish but accepted that I probably wouldn't get one.  Regardless, I kept fishing, mostly to savor my last hours of interacting with the mighty Yukon River.

During one of my evening fishing spells, a beaver swam startlingly close to my spot on the bank before seeing me.  The loud cracking sound of his tail slapping the water told me I was in his territory.  When I didn't scare off, curiosity lured him back again and again to investigate the stranger along his river bank.  For a good part of an hour, I watched him gracefully glide and twist through the water before me, breaking his fluid movements now and then to smack his tail on the river's surface, sending chaotic splashes of water my way, before diving deep and swimming away only to repeat his agile advances toward me. 

Panning for gold was the interlude between my bouts of fishing.  As the temperature dropped, my fingertips winced with each dip into the frigid water of my pan.  My shriveled fingertips poked and grabbed at the tiny rubble of jagged pebbles, mud, silt, and sand, trying to remove what I could to lessen the excess in my pan.  My hands shuddered from the cold as I dipped the lip of my pan just below the surface of the river to take on just a tad more water for the next swirl of my pan.  Accidental splashes of water would escape my pan and drench my wrist and the cuff of my sleeve, sending shivers through my body to try and ward off the cold.  After finishing a pan, I would look at my battered fingers to judge if my hands could take another round. My chapped hands and cracked fingers advertise a fragment of the wrath the Yukon River has rendered upon us during the last three weeks of paddling and surviving in the wilderness.  The ends of my fingers are tender and feel bruised, making simple tasks like grasping and pulling a zipper annoyingly painful.

And once again, we let the Midnight Sun sneak an entire night away; by the time the darkening sky squealed on Time, we figured it would be best to push through and burn some coffee to combat the chilly morning air.  I won't mourn for last night's missed sleep, even though we have a big day of packing, shuttling, taking out, and driving still ahead of us.  The Yukon's unexpected blessing of extra time during our last night on the river built a finale of memories befitting our Yukon River Trip.

Click here to continue by reading "A Dilemma & Departure in Carmacks: Day 18 of the Yukon River Trip."
 

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Leaving Our Safe Harbor on the Thirty Mile River: Day 12 of the Yukon River Trip

As we make preparations to leave the security of our oasis in the wild Yukon, my eyes swell with tears, and I turn from Jake to try and hide my fear.  It's been decided that I would paddle first today.  If I could turn back the calendar, I think I might actually stifle my will to make this dream of floating the Yukon River come true.  I don't want to leave this place.  I don't want to row again--not this boat and not this river.  Doubt & fear claw at my neck, and I can't shake myself into sanity.  I'm not thinking of the fun we've already had navigating and exploring or of my confidence that has gradually grown in the previous days.  I'm thinking of the far away winds & waves of Lake Laberge and the menacing wind of the Yukon that seems to be out to get us.

I take my seat and begin to paddle the 11' oars to take us away from our safe harbor.  As I near the end of the pool that fingered off the Yukon River, the tears fell and the confidence of being able to handle the Sundowner was replaced by the certainty that the wind would return to dominate me.  I shake my head--I'm not sure if it's because I'm saying No, I can't do this or No, Susan, don't paddle out into the river.

Paddling across the running water to catch the current felt natural, but everything in my mind screams You can't do this!  The wind seems to feel sorry for me and shows some mercy on me at the beginning of my shift, and my body takes over as my fears continue to fester and quietly torture me.  Having Jake close helps immensely, but I deeply yearn for him to say, "How about I row the rest of the trip?"  I know this is not probable or practical or safe.  Slowly, fear loosens it choke hold, and the current sweeps me farther from the pile of self-doubt that I had allowed to smolder for far too long.

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Our travel on the river later that day ended as Jake jumped out onto Cassier Bar with NRS straps in hand (thanks, Nurpu!), and we tied to shabby shrub at the end of the small sandy island, once a rather profitable prospecting site.  We panned late into the evening--all night rather--and focused on finding our own little nugget or glittering flake that made the Yukon waters a destination of so many before us.  In the wee hours of the morning, we realized we would be spending the duration of the night tethered to the sand bar due to the now lower visibility of the obstacles that lurked in the downstream waters of the Yukon River.  Again, we panned and panned until our fingers shriveled from the water and our bodies shook from the dropping temperatures.  This time we came up empty handed--either because we really had no idea what we were doing or because all the gold had been claimed long ago.  I would like to think it was the latter.

Our bodies cried for a break from the elements.  Crawling into the shelter of our cabin, we felt the Sundowner make a major shift in the water, and some of the half-sand-half-gravel island that we were anchored to gave away and washed into the river.  You see, this was a very fast part of the river.  The only way we could secure our boat was to a tiny tattered shrub at the downstream end of the island.  The stern of our boat was facing downstream, while the two swift currents from each side of the sandbar swept past the sides of the Sundowner.  The pitiful shrub that held our boat was now dangerously closer to the sandy edge.  We decided that it was not safe to have our weight in the cabin, seeing as how the stern was facing downstream.  If our anchor (the sad little shrub) would have given way, we would've joined the rapid current and traveled backwards into the dimly lit waters.  Furthermore, getting off the Sundowner and waiting on the sandbar for more light was also not an option for fear of the boat breaking loose without us aboard.  So, we grabbed our blankets to cover our damp clothes and sat on our deck, facing upstream and the taunting, chilly Yukon wind.  We shivered and shook through the early morning hours until the sun provided enough traveling light over the high Yukon bluffs.

Click here to continue by reading "Island Camping on the Yukon River: Day 13 of the Yukon River Trip."

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