Okay, the flu has kicked my ass. It kicked my ass all weekend. It was a good weekend to be sick though, we got over a foot of snow. Good shit. Anyway, because my head hurts and I'm still fighting this stupid virus, I offer you two chapters of the story. For those of you who care, a brief summary. At this point, our group of eight has split up, three going one way, five going another. There is a very bad summer storm happening, and we're just trying to get home. This part of the story does include me almost dying. Very exciting stuff. As soon as my brain gets better I will have new things to discuss.A Separate Journey
Nearly three hours had passed since Dusty, Annie and Nick started out over the mountain. Dense, low clouds wrapped around the mountaintops and ridgelines as if some great giant was exhaling the smoke from his pipe. Although we didn’t speak of it, we were all wondering how our companions were faring.
All of the relaxation I’d enjoyed the day before was paying off. I finally felt well rested, and even though it was still raining quite heavily, my spirits were high. Seemingly, we were all feeling rested and ready for the grueling hike out. Since we were all very wet at this point, we walked through the creek thinking we would make better time. We thought nothing of our saturated shoes, packs and clothes. We knew we had warm showers, warm beds and dry clothes waiting for us at Chuck and Karen’s, so we weren’t very concerned about our present condition. Moody creek had risen surprisingly fast since we’d hiked in. What had been several inches deep, maybe six, was now easily 12, and in fact, several feet in spots. The speed with which the water had risen was astounding. Overnight the terrain around us changed completely.
Bears were still a concern, of course, so we once again made excess noise to alert all the animals of our presence. We even had a sing-a-long, of sorts, humming through parts when we couldn’t remember the words. We were enjoying ourselves, actually having a good time in spite of the horrible, cold weather and the fact that we were soaking wet. For some reason, I had playing in my head the entire Disturbed album “Believe”. I wasn’t aware until that point that I knew the whole album, but I was grateful for the distraction. I’m sure I would have been happy with “Dancing Queen” at that point, anything to keep my mind off the cold, the weight of my pack or the long hike.
We passed the drainage we’d used to get to the creek bed and, from that point on, hadn’t a clue what was ahead of us. We kept following the creek thinking it was the easiest and straightest route to our final destination. At one point I looked down and noticed something that appeared to be leather. It was halfway in the water and I examined it further. To my dismay I was poking (with a stick) at a piece of skin from some poor animal. I called to my companions to look at my discovery. At that point I looked to my left. Lying on the rocky shore was the intact skeleton of what appeared to be a moose. It may have been a caribou, but I wasn’t about to figure it out. The guys did take a closer look, however. They found relatively fresh bear tracks in the sand near the skeleton. That startled me to the core. I suddenly realized how exposed we were, and I didn’t want to end up like the moose. Although there was probably little danger, the bones were picked clean, my instincts told me we shouldn’t linger too long.
We approached a bend in the creek that turned sharply to the left. (I don’t know what direction, east maybe?? I promise it won’t affect the outcome.) We could hear water rushing and pounding over rocks. It sounded very much like a small waterfall. We couldn’t see what lay around the bend, and we were all hopeful that we would be able to stay on our present course without having to backtrack and find another route.
Upon rounding the bend in the creek we were met by high, sheer rock walls, which were brilliantly layered with multi-colored bands. There was a series of small waterfalls we’d have to negotiate our way through, but at that moment we were all struck breathless by the incredible beauty of the box canyon. We stood for a few moments taking in our surroundings and planning our next move. The next bend in the canyon revealed a seemingly endless corridor of cliffs towering above us. We realized that, at some point, we would probably have to climb back up in order to arrive at our desired location. Getting past our current location was our first challenge, however. The canyon walls protruded sharply from the ground, giving us very little shore to walk along. Because the water was very deep in places we had to climb over boulders to move ahead. We were forced to remove our packs as we balanced precariously on a rocky ledge to avoid falling in the water below. We crossed to the other side of the creek, as it’s banks had widened offering more space to walk along the shore. We were working as a team, and that was very gratifying. We helped each other over boulders and through deep spots in the creek. For what seemed like the first time, the five of us had bonded. What could have been the worst situation imaginable was turning out to be the best day of the trip for Husband and I. We had no schedule, we could take as many breaks as needed or none at all, and we were genuinely enjoying each other’s company.
I looked up to see a slide of rocks on the hillside above me. Something on the ground below it caught my eye and I paused briefly for a closer look. It was one of the most beautiful and unique rocks I’d ever seen. It looked as if someone had broken it and then glued it back together. It was almost pure white and about the size of my hand. It had an almost translucent quality, as if you could almost see through it. I decided to carry a bit more weight and take it with me. I have a small rock collection and I couldn’t part with my new treasure, it would be the perfect addition. I removed my pack once again and secreted my rock in one of its’ many pockets.
* * *
Many miles upstream and over the mountains, our three comrades were struggling to find their way through the low clouds and light snowfall. Somewhere along the way, probably while fighting through willow stands, Dusty’s compass had fallen off. Now they had no way of knowing what direction to go, aside from their instincts. The clouds obscured the mountaintops rendering them useless for navigation. The topo map was all they had.
Their motivation was simple, to get down the mountain alive. What had started as a challenging test of strength and stamina had transformed into a very real life or death struggle. While they were all uninjured and relatively safe, one wrong step, a wrong turn, the simplest of errors could bring disaster. Disaster was not something they were prepared for. Nick pulled Dusty aside for a heart-to-heart. He was practically convinced that they were lost and wouldn't make it down alive. Between bear attacks, hypothermia concerns and finding a way down, Nick was fearful for everyone's life. He made Dusty promise him that he'd be able to find a way down. Dusty made this promise and was determined to fulfill it.
They moved forward, not stopping to consider the severity of their situation. Although they had traveled many miles, they had many more left to go. Annie had counted herself lucky that we’d seen no bears on our in-bound hike. She, more than anyone in the group, was terrified of bears. Shortly before finding the drainage they would use to drop down to the road, a lonely bear cub crossed their path. As cute as they are, cubs are very dangerous. Not the cub per say, but the presence of the mama bear that is surely close by. Carefully, quietly and quickly they moved as far away as possible from the little guy, hoping that mom would never notice them. Breathing much easier when they could no longer see the cub, they set out to find a way down.
* * *
As we walked along the rocky shore of the creek we came upon evidence of life. There on the rocks was a makeshift fire pit and the charcoal remains of a fire. It was almost startling to see that we weren’t alone. For three days we’d been completely isolated, seeing not even a plane or helicopter. I thought how nice a fire would have been at our camp. We hadn’t been allowed to start one for reasons I’m still not aware of. Seeing no signs of the makers of the fire, we continued on our journey.
We had periodically checked our topo map and it appeared that we were moving in the right direction. We could no longer walk through the creek. It had widened and deepened significantly and now there was a rocky shore to walk along comfortably. At the next bend, however, the shoreline ended and was replaced by cliffs. The creek was much too wide to cross, which meant our only option was to go up.
(An aside: What distinguishes a creek from a river? Because a body of water is called a creek on a map doesn’t necessarily make it a creek in reality. Prior to Alaska I’d always thought a creek was a small body of water, easily crossed and no more than maybe six to 12 inches deep. Sure, it might rise by a few feet during heavy rains, but it wouldn’t develop rapids or other attributes of a river. Alaska has the biggest creeks I’ve ever seen. So, sure, call it a creek, but to borrow a phrase from Willy S., a river by any other name . . . )
We scrambled up the side of the cliff mostly on all fours because of the incline. The hillside was rough, embedded with rocks and shale. It didn’t crumble away like the one Mary fell down, thankfully, so we were able to get up with only moderate effort. When we reached the top and checked the map, at first glace we thought we were lost. Nothing in our surroundings matched with the map. We studied the map and discussed for a few minutes what we should do. While we talked we nibbled on Cliff Bars to keep our energy up. After further study of the map, surprise and excitement washed over us. We were much closer than we thought! We just had a short hike through the forest and then down to Healy Creek, we’d have to cross the creek then we’d practically be to the road. I think we all felt a certain sense of pride knowing that we navigated ourselves through unfamiliar territory and made it out unscathed. What a sense of relief. In a few hours we’d be warming ourselves by a fire and relaxing with a cold beer. Of course, that assumed that our three mountaineering friends made it down safely.
A moose trail wound its’ way through the tall grass in the forest. Adopting this as our new hiking trail, we found ourselves back in dense woods. We could see the creek below us now, which we were using to navigate. If we could find our way around the big bend in the creek, we could start hiking down to our last crossing through Healy Creek.
I contemplated the forest around me. How many people had been here before us, I wondered. Although it was dense, this particular part of the woods wasn’t at all oppressive. Even in the rain-darkened sky, this part of the forest seemed lighter, almost magical. There were downed trees covered in thick green moss. In fact almost everything was covered in moss. The intensely green environment coupled with my exhaustion was causing me to have hallucinations of sorts. The old trees had eyes and faces, and they were following our every movement. It felt as though there was a very real possibility that the gnomes and elves were watching over us. The twisted and gnarled tree roots created the perfect homes for them, and I’m sure I heard them whispering amongst the flowers.
Finally we made it to the rocky creek bed of the Healy. We took our packs off to rest for a while. We’d made good time and were slightly ahead of schedule. We would have to wait for an unknown period of time for our other three party members to pick us up once we’d crossed the creek, so we weren’t exactly in a hurry. As we rubbed our aching shoulders and relaxed our legs, we began scouting for the best place to cross Healy Creek.
Waugaman Village – Part 1
We stood at the confluence of two creeks. The Moody, furious and stong, dumped gallon after gallon into the Healy. The water thundered and pounded in our ears as we surveyed our surroundings. It appeared that this creek crossing was going to be more difficult than it had been on the way in. The silty gray water had collected snow runoff as it descended from its’ source. Not only was the water now much colder than before, it was moving extremely fast.
Finding the best place to cross the Healy was proving to be much more difficult than we thought it would be. The worst-case scenario, someone falling in, was foremost in our minds as we discussed the pros and cons of different potential crossing areas. The creek we’d been able to cross so easily just days ago was now a fully developed river. It had risen many, many feet since we saw it last. It’s quite intimidating, looking down into a freezing cold, rapidly moving river and trying to figure out how to get across it. I don’t remember feeling scared at all, I’m not sure if anyone else did. I just remember wanting so badly to get across and find a place we could just sit and fire up our stove for warmth while we waited on Dusty, Annie and Nick.
* * *
While we struggled with the river crossing, Dusty, Annie and Nick were fighting their way through dense willow and trees. They’d found Dragonfly Drainage, which they were using to get to the main road, but it was close to impossible to hike through. For hours they climbed over, around and through a wall of vegetation all the while hiking down an incredibly steep incline. They had to grasp at branches just to keep themselves from sliding down the drainage or into trees. I’m sure that this was the worst part of the hike for them. Though they’d endured bear and snow and 12 hours of hiking, they were now at the final leg of the hike, and it was by far the most difficult. I imagine that some inner voice within them probably said, “Screw it. Let’s just bomb down and take our chances.” I know I’d be feeling that way. But they were careful and calculated. They had made it so far without injury or incident and they intended to keep it that way. So, step by step, with cautious feet, they inched their way down the drainage.
* * *
The five of us discussed, at length, where to cross the Healy. We were struggling with a couple of issues. There was a part of the creek that was moving more slowly than another. But that part was significantly wider than the very fast moving part. The place with the faster water was seemingly that way only because it was two creeks merging into one. There was plenty of shore on the other side all the way along the creek, so we that wasn’t an issue. Husband remembered Dusty’s advice to him hours before. We needed to find a place to cross with accessible shoreline so that if the worst did happen we’d have a good chance of escape. We tried to test the depth with a stick and it was about the same depth in all places we could reach. Ultimately we had to choose between the shorter distance with the faster water, and the longer distance with somewhat slower water. We decided on the shorter distance.
We strapped our packs back on and prepared for the last leg of our journey. Before stepping foot into the water, we formed a pack line. Husband went first, then me, then my brother Nate, then Mary and finally, David. Each person took a firm grasp of the pack in front of him or her. This helped us to remain steady, keep pace, and frankly, we were told to do it. Husband gave one of his trekking poles (actually his ski poles) to Mary and one to me. When everyone was ready, we began to cross Healy Creek.
It is almost impossible to describe what it felt like to cross the Healy. The water that had been up to my mid-calf was now almost to my waist. The force of the water tossed around the rocks under our feet like rubber balls. Finding and keeping a strong foothold was fruitless. With every other step I felt more rocks sliding from under my feet and I had the sensation of not even feeling my steps at all. We seemed to get a pattern going however and after much effort, Husband had almost reached the other side.
At that point I could almost hear, over the roar of the water, my brother yelling to us. I strained my head in his direction to hear what he was shouting. When I finally made out his words I was dumbstruck. He was telling us to stop. Apparently Mary needed to stop, in the middle of the river, when we were almost across. To this day I don’t know why it was imperative for her to stop at the moment. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. I passed this information along to Husband, and with disgust and confusion, he stopped the pack line. We turned to see what Mary was doing and what she needed. At that moment Husband yelled out that he was losing his footing and was going to fall.
I watched my husband of only six months plummet into the icy water. Without thinking, instinctually, I grabbed the top bar of his pack. (Thank God for external frames.) I stood there, in the middle of the creek, the water pounding the backs of my thighs, praying that God would save my husband. I watched as his head bobbed up and down in the water and realized that I could kill him if I didn’t let go. I mustered all the strength I had and, apparently, threw him towards the shore. (I don’t remember the throwing, but my brother swears it’s true.) I didn’t even have time to see if he was safe because as soon as I let go of him, I lost my footing. I made a vain attempt to grab my brother’s hand before I was swept away by the rapidly rushing water.
The freezing cold water hit me like a block of ice. I was immediately chilled to the bone. As the creek carried me further downstream, I could see Husband getting out on the other side. He had made it! In silent horror I watched my husband and my brother, two of my favorite men on Earth get farther and farther away. Trying with every fiber of my being not to panic, I looked around me. On the opposite side of the creek there was a fallen tree halfway in the water. I was quickly coming to it and decided I should try to hold onto it to save myself. Just before the water could carry me past it, I reached out and grabbed the trunk. Rather than saving me, the force of the water pushed me underneath the surface and held me there. I knew I needed to let go or I would be suffocated. As I released my grip on the tree, the water began to spin me around. Husband was running down the shore as fast as his legs would allow. He was screaming to whoever would listen for help, at the same time yelling at me to get my pack off. I fumbled with the clasp on the front of my pack, my fingers now completely numb. They were so numb, in fact, that I couldn’t feel the clasp. I couldn’t figure out where to press to release it. Everything felt totally foreign with my frozen fingers. I yelled back to Husband that I couldn’t get it off. The river slowed down slightly, enough for Husband to catch up to me. I yelled to him again that I couldn’t get my pack off so he didn’t think I was just giving up. We made eye contact briefly and I just shook my head. I was absolutely helpless. I didn’t know what to do or how to remove myself from this situation. I wasn’t panicking yet, I wasn’t screaming or crying I was just helpless. Looking into Husband’s eyes, I tried to convey my unending love, my gratitude for him, my thanks for the few years we’d had together. I honestly didn’t know that I would make it out alive. The Healy Creek flows into the Nenana River, which was probably just a mile upstream. It would only take me a few minutes to reach it, provided I could survive that long.
The river kept swirling me around and I noticed in front of me water bottles floating on the surface. The force of the water had ripped from my pack everything that wasn’t strapped on. I had swallowed a fairly large amount of water, which caused me to begin burping. I found this very amusing and actually laughed aloud. Husband, although still running, had slowed down significantly. His legs just wouldn’t go any faster. To this day he can’t understand why his legs wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. Farther in the distance I saw David running toward me. As the river spun me around again, ahead of me I saw a set of very large rapids. They were the kind of rapids that looked as though large rocks were concealed below. But beyond that, I saw an eddy very close to shore. I knew that if I could get to the eddy, I would at least slow down significantly and perhaps be able to swim the rest of the way. However, if there were large rocks below the rapids, I would potentially be crushed before I could reach the eddy. I tensed my body and tucked it into a ball as well as I could, and prepared myself for sudden and horrible pain. The pain never came though. And sure enough, as I passed through the rapids I reached the eddy on the other side. The water slowed magnificently making it easier to control my movements. I heard Husband tell me again to take off my pack, but this request was quickly countered by David telling me to leave it on. I knew that David was making every effort to pull me out of the water. As I began to swim to shore I felt a sharp, ripping pain in my right shoulder. I couldn’t move my arm. The pain was excruciating. Thankfully I’d made it close enough to shore that I could finally touch the bottom. I used my feet to scoot myself as close to shore as possible and then felt David directly behind me. He grabbed once, then twice and made contact with the bar of my pack. He pulled me out of the water and onto the rocky shore. My body slumped as I realized that I was safe. Being in a certain amount of shock, I just sat there not knowing quite what to do. Husband ran to me and with tears in his eyes and fear in his voice asked if I was okay.
