Wind too high - didn't bother leaving camp. Instead I made chile beans with salt pork and rye bread. The bread is sort of heavy because I didn't let it raise the second time (it is almost unleavened) but I made it thin like a pancake. It's very good though and I ate several 12 inch diameter pieces directly off the fire spread with bacon fat.
Weather is getting depressing and I'm thinking considering cutting the trip short. I'll think about it again at Anvik.
Wind down somewhat - I've started down river again.
Just passed Kaltag where they are having some sort of festival. One event is to take your boat up river, cut some wood, bring it back and brew some tea.
It's cold! and rainy of course.
Rained all last night and all day continually. Stayed in the tent feeling depressed and discourged. Ready to call the whole thing off. Sleeping bag is wet.
[Finally I've picked up a pen and the journal is legible once more.]
If I had any idea that the weather was clearing they were soon dashed into the mud. Intermittant rain all night, then at dawn a real downpour. I thought the tent would be blown down on top of me. But it held.
Any progress I had made yesterday in drying the regular bag was more then over-come last night. Where any thing touched the sides of the tent, floods came oozing through. I managed to keep the liner bag dry by using the nylon film tube. But that won't work for long because of the sweat of my own body. Already the top outside fabric is wet. May be ventilation slits on the top of the nylon film. I'll try it tonight. [note: no down sleeping bag]
I got a fairly early start this morning - as soon as most of the rain was over - trying to make up some miles.
Been paddling awhile now. Stopped to rest my tired arse. All my cusions are hopelessly flat and now confined to the deep. I'm sitting on a combinatuion of my life preserver and ensolite sleeping pad. I must devise a decent seat some time soon.
...Drat! Just dropped my pen over side. [I second that 'Drat!' 30 years later as I prepare to decipher the faint pencil record.]
Another observation. When I waxed and polished my hull I improved paddling performance but lessened the speed in a drift, the current just slips by. Oh well, back to the old paddle.
Just got a reading on the sun, 160°. It set at 270° yesterday. (110 / 15 = 7) There is about 7 hours of daylight left.
I was leasurly paddling along a cut bank, grown with cottonwoods for a change, listening to the music: part the wind in the trees, part the water against the banks and through the snags, and part within my head; a Tyrolian childrens choir singing in pure soprano voices far off into the next valley. And lo, there is a small black bear walking along beside me. Giving me no mind. Intent on some berries accross the stream, or perhaps also listening to the Tyrolian childrens choir.
Recap: Todays weather was much as yesterday's: Rainy and overcast in the morning, clearing in the afternoon but with accompaning wind and waves (some four footers today). No sunset though, clouds in the way.
I paddled almost continually today. First time in a long time I did so much and my arms and hands are tired. Made about 40 miles.
It was a good day with much peace stored up inside. And so to bed when I find it.
This was a good lesson in the avoidance of humans, as the indigenous people carry rifles instead of cameras. Although to make things even again they announce themselves with the use of kickers instead of paddles. Maybe its not because they want to even the chances of the chase but to make life easier, I don't know. return
This must be note to myself to repair the liner. return
I always considered the Common Loon to be almost a totemic animal for me. Here on the Yukon and three years ago on the Colorado the Sandhill Crane has joined the loon in its special meaning to me. universal dancing voice size return
I think I was so agog at this sunset that words escaped me. I remember drifting down the river for an hour or so, engrossed in the constantly changing light show. The almost continuous partly cloudy conditions lend an interesting canvas to splash the colors accross and the high latitude enables the long duration.
The final fadeout left me in darkness on the river. Northern Lights occasionally provide an encore to this celestial show, but not this night. I remember stranding on a sand bar. The swift icy current swirling around my knees, as I, with difficulty, extricated myself. I remember setting up camp in a mosquito infested marsh because it was all I could do in the dark. But the show was worth the admission price. The peace I experienced drifting along, enchanted with the display still lives within me.
In case you might think that this is an isolated incident, let me assure you that it is not. In 1977 high on a peak over looking Sugar Bowl Ski Area it happened again. I and Ed Sherman sat watching the departing sun and the Alpen Glow until it was quite dark. We then had to descend the mountain and make our way through the black forest at the bottom. We were late for dinner that night by several hours. return
The following links lead to maps of my route. To follow the route from city to city click on the river at the down stream edge of the map. Return here via your browser's BACK button.
;)
