So here's my life in August 2004--adventuring in the wilds of Arctic Alaska on the Noatak River. Kurt and I paddled (alone) 360 miles of river over 18 days and saw some amazing country. As you can imagine, we have some tales to tell! (many pages' worth, actually). I hope you enjoy!
August 2
We got up at 5:45am (in Fairbanks) to pack and catch our 8am flight to Bettles. I felt so nervous about starting our trip that I was sick. Still, I managed to enjoy my first flight on a 10 passenger Cessna plane. We flew over the Trans-Alaska pipeline and the Yukon river which cut across rolling green hills dotted with bushes or small trees. I got through the nausea by sleeping on Kurt’s shoulder.
Jenn getting gear ready to fly out of Bettles
We finally flew out of Bettles at 6pm on a little 4-passenger float plane. That was awesome! We flew over the breathtaking Arrigetch peaks, watching glaciers, winding silver rivers, and rolling green hills pass below. The pilot dropped us off at an unnamed lake in the Pingo Lakes region, just about a 1/3 mile from the Noatak River. As I watched the plane disappear into the horizon, I strangely wasn’t nervous anymore, just feeling adventurous and ready to start.
The Arrigetch Peaks
It took an hour or more to inflate the raft and pack our gear in it (FYI: the raft’s 16ft long, shaped like a canoe, and called a
SOAR). Crossing the lake was very difficult—it was our first time paddling together. There was a lot of wind pushing us around, and we both got pretty annoyed.
Once we finally made it to the other side, we had to portage (carry) our raft and all of our gear in several trips to the river through willow brush and over marshy tundra. We were really nervous about running into a moose or a bear, both of which can be dangerous if startled. We ended up deflating the raft again and unpacking all the gear (ugh). We tried many different methods (mostly unsuccessful) of lugging that awkward, 70lb wad of rubber to the riverside through the brush. Sometimes it felt like the ordeal would never be over and all I wanted was to crawl into my sleeping bag. We decided to make camp on a muddy gravel bar by the river, and had to cross a small stream to get there. I stepped in and sank to my ankle in mud.
We finally got to eat dinner at about 11pm (it was still light out). Eating was frustrating due to the plethora of mosquitoes. Kurt said it was nowhere near as bad as his first trip up there several years ago, but it was the most I had ever encountered at once and made for a gross and frustrating meal. They kept flying into my face and food while I was trying to eat. And I was so tired.
But eventually I found myself snug in my sleeping bad and sleeping soundly. I think that first day broke me of any laziness I’d acquired in So Cal.
Starting our first full day on the river
August 5
What a view! When I look around our campsite tonight, all I can think is “My God, how great Thou art!” This is the type of place to inspire awe and music. If only everyone could see it! So breathtaking…no photo will do it justice (especially not mine).
A magnificent midnight view
Saw a fox today that was changing from red to its winter-white coat. Beautiful! Also, right as I was about to get in bed, Kurt called me out of the tent in time to watch a small herd of caribou cross the river maybe a hundred yards from our campsite. They are beautiful! And there were a couple babies with them. When they got to the other side, they stopped and shook off just like dogs do. We watched them run up the hill and out of sight.
August 6
Saw lots more caribou today, and rapids, too. We entered a canyon and paddled several miles of standing waves, choppy water, and boulder dodging. We knew that a class II (intermediate difficulty) ledge and a hole “The Jaws” were in there somewhere, but since the water level is so low, we figured that the ledge would be exposed above the water (like several other obstacles we had previously been warned about) and not be an issue. At one point, we passed a large wall of stacked boulders and laughed, assuming that that was the “ledge”. We paddled on, casually taking in the view, until Kurt spotted something suspicious on the water. As we got closer, he recognized the telltale warning signs of a ledge—a smooth line on the water followed by waves and whitewater—and he began shouting at me to steer us straight. (A ledge can be paddled over by crossing straight over it, parallel to the current & perpendicular to the edge. We were approaching the ledge at a 45 degree angle to the ledge and current.) At first I didn’t see it and wasn’t sure what he was freaking out about, but responding to his urgency I paddled hard to pull the stern in line with the bow. Then I saw it, and my heart dropped into my stomach. I threw my paddle out and began pulling as hard as I could against the current. I didn’t know I had the strength in me—if I’d missed even one stroke I think we would’ve been in trouble, but by God’s grace I got us straight at the last moment and over we went, down into the rushing water then up over the rolling waves at the bottom. We made it! Kurt looked back at me and laughed, seeing my face in complete panic. We laughed nervously and excitedly together, realizing that we had just done the Ledge. Definite highpoint of the trip!
The Rapid Cam!
Little funny moment: as we pulled away from the ledge, I wanted a picture to show you all, so I grabbed the “rapid cam” (small waterproof disposable camera) I had tied to the raft next to me, and turned back toward the rapids. I had to pull and tug against the short rubber leash it was on to turn far enough, but determined to get the shot I would not be dissuaded by any difficulty. Well, I ended up pulling so hard that I strained my bicep—to the point that my right arm cramped then went nearly limp. I couldn’t paddle. Kurt had to get us ashore almost single handedly. The irony is not lost on me—I was fine over the ledge but injured myself trying to take a picture of it. And the clincher: for some reason the picture didn’t come out at all.
Fireweed
The Jaws was still coming up, and we pulled over to rest (and let my arm recover). Walked up onto some gorgeous tundra. As I rested, I prayed and became strongly aware of God’s presence. He was surely guiding and protecting us. I think that it was indeed God’s grace that helped us through the ledge—I am fairly certain that it was not my natural strength that saved us at the last moment. I have some inkling that I was given a boost from above, because I've never felt such power in my arms before. He seemed to be speaking to my heart at those moments, assuring me that though the trip is full of dangers, He has ordained it not for our destruction or harm, but for our pleasure and growth. He was indeed protecting us at every turn, and I had nothing to fear.
I stopped worrying about whether we were in over our heads. Somehow I always knew that we would be fine. Not that it’s always easy, but it’s the kind of difficult task that feels good all through the push—its rewarding. There’s no fear anymore, just joy in laboring toward a goal. He is here. He is with us.
The Jaws turned out to be less risky due to the low water. Found a fantastic campsite—high above the water (river can rise at night and steal your boat and even your tent with you in it if you’re not careful) and with clear water for drinking.
I had to say it was a good day!
August 9
Playing gin in the tent
Spent most of yesterday in the tent, waiting out the weather.
The wind was so strong last night that it blew the raft (all 70lbs of it!) into the tent. That was startling! Had a hard time sleeping with the huge gusts threatening to rip out the stakes and blow us away. The worst part is that the boat bent two of the tent poles. I knew I shouldn’t have pulled the boat up so close to the tent! Kurt was very forgiving about it.
We made breakfast and packed the boat in the wind and the rain. Not really bleak out but the weather was frustrating. Started on the water with a bad attitude and feeling discouraged. I felt angry at God for setting the wind against us. It seemed so harsh! But He reminded me of Job and Jesus’ sufferings. I realized that a lot of things worth doing are hard. I determined to make it to Noatak Village if I had to earn every mile by the sweat of my brow set against the wind.
Things improved shortly after that. The sky was glorious today—big swirling puffy clouds. Saw two rainbows. The tundra is vibrant green in the sunlight, and it is beginning to turn gold and red for Fall in patches. Tundra is really beautiful. Each tussock has a variety of plants that grow together almost like a bouquet. It’s also springy and nice to walk on.
A tundra mushroom crowned with moss.
August 10
Today we woke up to warm, bright sunlight. It was interesting how suddenly chilly it became when a cloud covered the sun. Somehow, it was also suddenly less hopeful when the sunlight faded. The sun’s warmth and light seemed to me like the tender presence of the Lord as He looked down on us. When a cloud came between us, I felt as though He was hiding His face—though not gone—asking me to trust and believe that He was still present and guiding despite how I felt. He felt especially near during the last leg of our day’s journey. We went a long way today, and I was weary and sore after dinner. Yet I felt Him there encouraging me to keep on. And He is here now.
Don't we look like we know what we're doing?
We saw a bear finally—on the shore. When he saw us floating by, he walked to the shore, plopped down on his backside and cocked his head to one side. He seemed as curious about us as we were about him. His gesture was almost comical. After we were nearly out of sight, he darted into the bushes as if spooked. We decided to go a few miles further before making camp…
August 12
It has been a difficult day. It started raining right off, and we had to eat breakfast and pack up cold and wet. Not too windy at first. Kurt and I decided to switch places (put me in the bow and him in the stern) to see if it would lessen the fishtailing we were experiencing in the wind. It took him awhile to figure out the steering techniques and for me to stop trying to use them in the front (habit, you know).
Powered by the J-Wynn
We went through the next set of rapids with him at the stern. The first one went well, but the second went badly due to poor judgment on my part. I told him to take us down the center of the channel, which turned out to be fraught with underwater boulders. I saw them just as it was too late, half hoping we’d somehow glide over them. We ran up onto the first one and the water began pushing hard against the upstream side of the raft, trying to turn us over. We leaned into it and were able to stay upright, but as we looked around the seriousness of our situation became apparent. There were boulders all around us, only feet apart with no clear way to navigate between them—if we could even get unstuck from the one we were currently “beached” on. We pushed hard with our paddles in several directions, but couldn’t budge the raft an inch in any direction. We stayed there for awhile staring at each other in bewilderment as water rushed past us. What now? I began to pray, not really imagining how He could get us out of this-- short of angels picking up our raft and carrying it to safety. Finally, Kurt got an idea.
The water was not deep there, only fast, so he got out of the raft to lighten us, and then pushed the raft free of the boulder. He almost couldn't get back in. I pushed my paddle into another boulder to try and keep the raft from moving and urged him to get back in if he could . He made it and I pushed off the boulder in a last attempt to avoid high siding on it, and to my complete surprise we floated past it and around some other boulders out into safety. Unquestionably an answer to prayer.
Kurt was soaked and it began to rain shortly after. We pulled ashore to rest and recover, and I was devastated. Aside from being very rattled, I realized that I had let him down. He was completely soaked from the waist down, with nothing dry to change into, and now it was raining. His nerves were a bit frayed as well, yet he was very gracious to me. He made it clear that my failure did not affect his love for me even one iota.
I had a harder time forgiving myself. But once again God began to speak to my heart and teach me. I could not love myself because I had failed. Yet God loves failures. How can I despise myself if He doesn’t? Our failures don’t determine our worth, God’s love for us does. And what really matters is not always succeeding, but always loving in every situation. The real test had not been my ability to read the rapids, but my reaction to what happened. And in my anger at myself, I had not shown love to Kurt. That was the real failure—and yet, His grace covered me all the more.
The paddler's kitchen
August 13 - 14
Passed through a marvelous canyon this evening! Misty mountains surrounded us and an awesome sunset made us pause to shoot a roll of film. Had a difficult time finding a place to camp after that. Kurt and I were both very nervous—we paddled till almost 1am looking for anywhere suitable to stop. The amount of rain we’d been having caused the river to rise and there were no gravel bars to pull up on to, only cut slopes and half submerged bushes along the shoreline. We needed to camp high, because we knew the water would rise even more as we slept.
It became dark enough that we had to squint to see what was ahead. The Lord kept reassuring my heart that there was a place to camp and that He would get us there. He seemed to say. “I’ve brought you through rapids and storms, and each night you’ve had food and a place to camp. Would I abandon you now?” We eventually found one tiny gravel bar and stopped. We carried all our gear up onto the tundra (maybe 8-10 feet above the water level) and set up the tent between some bushes. We tied the raft up and finally got some sleep.
The next morning I got up early to check on the raft and was startled to see the water only a few feet below the edge of the tundra! The water had risen dramatically, and the raft was now floating, tugging at the ropes because of the strong current. Debris was also collecting behind it. Kurt got up and hauled the raft onto the tundra next to us (no easy task—I was impressed), and we spent the rest of the day watching the water continue to rise. If the water swept over the tundra, where could we go? But again, God cared for us. As we prayed and watched, the water level stopped rising. We were able to relax and enjoy the remains of the day, and sleep there one more night.
The next day there was still no gravel bar, so packing the raft was tricky. We pushed it down a slope into the moving water, and quickly tied the ends off. I stood in the raft and loaded it as Kurt handed gear down the hillside to me. I enjoyed the problem-solving process of that logistical challenge, and it felt good to be on the river again.
The river is waiting...
It was difficult to find campsites the following days as well, but we managed. We finally came back into tree country, and tall spruce and birch surrounded us. The river grew wider and wider till it felt like we were on a lake. The water rolled in silver billows and sometimes it was hard to know which channel to follow. The remainder of the trip was not without mishaps, but it was good. We took a final rest day just before we made it to Noatak Village.
Kurt unloading at our final campsite
Jenn writing postcards
We got out 5 days early, due to the quick current toward the end. We pulled a couple of 40 mile days. The natives at Noatak were very friendly and one even invited us into his home for coffee and cheese and sausage—after two and a half weeks of dried pasta and rice you can imagine how good that food and coffee tasted. He told us about life in the arctic and about the preservation of Eskimo culture. We flew to Kotzebue the next day, and there camped on the beach. We also met a wonderful woman there who took us blueberry picking and invited us to stay with her should we need lodging another night. I wish we had been able to stay.
We made it!
Kotzebue. Closest I've ever been to
Russia!
The remainder of our trip we spent between
Billie’s Hostel back in Fairbanks, and the bush cabin of this neat German man, Ralf, that we met there. He is a wilderness guide who lives way out in the bush with his girlfriend. We stayed with them four nights and got to help a little with the building of his log cabin (which will be a bed and breakfast next year), as well as learn a bit of canoe and fishing technique. We had a great time! It was a 3hr hike there (and then out again--uphill!), and worth every step. We hope to get back one day for the outdoor survival school he’s starting up.
Going fishing on the Chatanika River
Catch of the day! Grayling and Pike (look out they bite!)
So that’s it in a (rather large) nutshell. I had to cut even this highlights blog down a bunch—you’re getting the highlights of the highlights. But I hope you got a little idea of what the trip was like. It was a life-changing experience and we hope to get back up there someday.
