In Search of the Source

Alaska’s bush is untamed and violent and I set out to this real world after eyeing a particular gem on a topographical map. I am out of town and detached from all the town thangs. I’ve got a Packraft and a friend. Like Björk expresses in “Violently Happy” from Debut,

I tip-toe down to the shore stand by the ocean make it roar at me and I roar back violently happy.

“Whoa!” the pilot reflected back to me, seconds before I take off from Haines Airport in Southeast Alaska for a short flight to the even more remote, Takhin River Valley. A 4 am airport rendezvous set off ecstatic sensations inside my body and “Whoa” was my only sentiment, frozen in a daydream of the unknown pleasure and pain to come. The tiny Super Cub holds the pilot plus one passenger and her immodest gear, including an Alpacka Packraft, which is a lightweight, packable, rugged single person boat.

I opted to take the first flight so I could chillax in the remoteness, with my still hot coffee, alone, in the free world. The pilot lifted off and not two minutes into this baddass 30 minute flight did I open mouth smile, with a Whooaa reverberating in my head, as Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” graced my lucky headset-equipped ears, as if I was comically getting dropped off into the never never land of my dreams and nightmares, filled with the spooky, the fun, and peak experiences that enliven me. We flew by the Bertha Glacier and accompanying aquamarine glacial lake, or tarn, filled with giant icebergs, that we would paddle past on our loop back to Haines. With expert piloting skills, Drake flew us through a narrow section of the Takhin to scout out potential hazards like log jams, rapids, and large bears, as well as low water, challenging rapids, or the worst case scenario, other humans.

After zooming down to land and then circling around to find the most level and appropriate spot for landing, the plane touched down onto the rocky beach and I grabbed all my gear and waved goodbye for now and the Super Cub headed back to the airport for Linus, my adventure’s co-creator and unofficial team leader, bearing whistle and all. I sat alongside the Tsirku River, casually drinking my 12 oz quad americano, taking in the still-chilly air and noticing my senses coming alive. Whoa.

I go to the wildness of this world letting the wind wet and sun eat away at me and turn me loose. My body in motion I directly touch and tune the elements living inside me.

Round two, the Super Cub delivers a happy Linus with packraft onto the gravel “airstrip” on a beach of the Tsirku River near the Le Blondeau Glacier, which feeds it. I am seated at the western terminus of the Takhinsha Mountains in the northern apex of Southeast Alaska, near the small town of Haines. Typically, people fly in for hunting or guided Tsirku River trips. The Tsirku is birthed further west from the Tsirku Glacier, which lives among giant snow covered ice fields. Instead of rafting this beauty back to Haines, we made our river running destination, the Takhin River Valley, straight off the tit of the Glacier birthing it. This route requires an additional bushwhack up and over Heartbreak Ridge, an ancient moraine, since no pilot would land the glacial headwaters of the Takhin itself.

The pilot waved goodbye with some funny or serious words about making it out alive and watched him fly quickly out of view. His serious skill is obvious as he lifted off gracefully from a tiny takeoff and at very slow speed. We take a trail towards the Le Blondeau where we gain access to the ridge of our Heartbreak. En route, Linus finds a set of giant Moose Antlers and we pause to pose for photos. The Le Blondeau Glacier lake features big buoyant icebergs and I reflect back to a 2013 bicycle journey to McCarthy in the Wrangell Mountains, where I mixed creamy Whiskey and Baileys cocktails with ice floating in the Kennecott Glacier tarn.

These crisp blue hued memories enliven my spirit to match the rising peaks reaching up in glorious exhale. Looking up, I note the rugged vertically grooved peaks, shaped to the fullest extent by the forces of nature: wind, sun, time, melting ice, falling ice, and avalanches. The sun shines brightly upon the lurking ice and tarrying snow.

We head beyond the lake and begin hiking over large boulders and to the edge of a mountain where we dive in to the sharp and dense vegetation. Alder, Devil’s Club, Rose bushes, and various other vegetation barred the way, so we pummeled through like elephants making space through the Acacia thickets of East Africa. We approach a snowfield and hike in thigh deep snow, glissading down hills, hiking back up through barren sections before diving back in and through, this way and that, with constant and patient tact. This brings an otherworldly humor to set a fire in my spirit and make for kindred times with my adventuring lad, as we simply get from A to B. Sometimes the hiking is the thing and sometimes it is just a means to an end. Heartbreak Ridge is that means to an end as the fun-making packrafts plus awkward paddles sticking out our backpacks are for the actual thing, just up ahead.

Ten hours later, we reach a gorgeous overlook of the glacier birthing the Takhin River, flowing eagerly out of a cave of ice. I drop my gear setting my feet and fingers free and light in the elements, bending and weaving my destiny with each jazz. I take a drink and feel my hands in the water, whispering incantations and transducing messages for our task at hand set inside the unfolding Takhin magic. I dream and sleep little.

The air is cold and the sky is clear with a rising sun. I bathed at the rivers edge and we drank the coffee. I felt as Celtic goddess Áine – warm wet and alchemizing Fire and Water to a knowing of freedom inside my heart, my blood and bones.

We head downstream scoping out the rivers depth. Tired of carrying the fun-making boats on our backs, alas, there is water deep enough to put in, for a short float through easy paddling sections and epic scenery – Sitka Spruce and Western Hemlock, as well as, Birch and Cottonwood, with the lovey smell of buds, resins, and needles. Shallow water gave us the boot to shoreline again and so we walk through the cacophony of birds singing and bugs whizzing by.

Back in the paddle again, I remember turning to check Linus’ status and I capsized and lost my paddle, noting to self to bring an extra paddle next time. I strongly suspected the paddle was stuck underwater and waited for Linus to come to the same conclusion and when he did, he dove in and rescued it. We were soaked and needed to dry out. Luckily the cosmic laser was out.

Paddling through a magical alluvial fan with large spooky cottonwood snags jutting up, we come into a little better water level and lo and behold we spy a Mountain Goat about 100 feet away walking with leisure about the river corridor, in our direction, as we flowed in his. We eddy out, in response to his relaxed saunter, with equal ease and stay quiet. The majestic burly beast looked up and was stunned by our being there, our sounds and subtle movements having been drowned out by the flowing water, even as slow as it was. He darted across the narrow and shallow channel and up towards the ridge, without hesitation. And we too pocketed our proverbial popcorn and carried on. Soon though, the river was too dry for travelling by boat.

I found a good way to rig the stern of my inflated boat onto the top of my backpack with a strap and Linus followed suit. After helping each other mount our boats to avoid the bows dragging the dirt, we started a long hike. It quickly became evident that deflating and packing the aptly named packraft may have been best. We were giant beetles invading the land and we agreed that this added some protection and humor. We were too scary and large looking to be in any danger. Ten minutes later we spot a grizzly bear and that bear spotted us and he got the hell out of there, and fast. We each have a bear spray, for mental security more than actual likeliness of use. Linus is prepared with his Colt 1911 .45. I make a continuous chorus of Whoop Whoop, almost in a lyrical way for fun, along with words of intention ... “just passing through bear” and the usual, “hey bear.” I look side to side as we walk the fairly narrow clearing between two bands of thick brush, with at least one bear we know of.

Eventually, we begin paddling again and with Packrafts it is fairly easy to paddle the very shallow water that the Takhin presently offered. Soon we come to the end of multi-channeled section of river, near what we decipher as the unmarked Fox Airstrip. We pitch the tent on a sandbar with impressive bear prints and a mighty wind blows in. We hunker down for dinner, tequila, and taking silly still life photos of our essential non-essentials. Morning breaks, we wake to fresh bear tracks, and my eyes are red and swollen from the wind spewing sand generously into our bottomless tent. The morning coffee is perfect, as we were highly concerned about our instant coffee not dissolving properly in ice- cold river water. We opted not to bring a stove. It was delicious and creamy.

We air up the boats and get armed and ready for what is to come, the real goods of the trip. We put in and move swiftly off the get go, around corners and obstacles and the terrain is changing rapidly. Large boulders are in my view. The corridor narrows transporting us to eye opening rapids and undulating rhythms turning into burst of spray onto my face and chest as boulders offer their navigational challenges in the form of holes. My heart beats stronger and the manageable rush of adrenaline flows through me. We navigate big boulders and on the way down feeling pretty enticed and happy with myself, the water flips me, and I see Linus downstream, also soaked. We dry out ahead on a tiny forest-enveloped beach, sun still pouring through the canopy onto our bodies, clothes, and gear.

Hours and miles of entrancing body-rocking whitewater set me right. Attuned to our collective mission (fun times and safe passage back to my truck at the airport) and calmly hip to my unfolding surroundings, I took interludes of flat water to roll my head around and breathe into my toes and heart and commune with the non-human animals that were in fact communing with me on many level of their own. This is what I am here to do.

I take note of omens and signs, otherwise known as intuition syncing in with exact precision, like accessing a nerve ending in foot reflexology, creating a chain reaction in the entire human body (universes) and knowing which dark hollow or hallway to walk down and which to read like a black cat crossing, not because I believe in that superstition, but because this nanosecond in time is the black cat itself guiding me further in or out. I do not fear, nor do I believe in omens and signs, they simply exist ... nodes on the multi-channeled, multi-directional, and multi-dimensional rivers of time. I love catching their waves – the access point to them deciphered in logic, and in equal measure, felt in the sensual reflection of my physical body.

A few more exhilarating (as opposed to hypothermia making) plunges into the cold river, the sun blazes into my breath and onto my face, with intensity that sends waves of joy through my body. Now a log-jam sprawled across the Takhin’s entire width, as scoped from the Super Cub, necessitates a brief hike a raft, before entering more technical fun-making swift water. And then...

At one pivotal juncture of our downstream waking dream down the Takhin, I found myself rodeo style (I am Texan after all) grabbing hold of my hat and then throwing it off in sheer terror at the sweeper presented in front of me. Unlike rodeo style, I jumped off my horse and deciding to free style it, immediately grabbing the slippery tree I feared, immediately sliding under said tree, and staying there for a full 5 seconds (1 Mississippi 2 Mississippi ... a long time), and my will of iron demanding freedom and air, I euphorically popped up on the other side. The problem was, I couldn’t swim, it was like I was frozen, and, in disbelief, was struggling to breathe and move my body. I almost just let go and floated on my back, not understanding what the heck was going on with my body. “Come on flesh bag, I whisper to my limbs, the will has spoken ... move!”

Above water and luck (good) on my side, I see Linus (He-man), my adventure partner, on the money, grabbing my boat and paddle, as my logic-fed will, grabbed me (my flesh bag) to shore.

The sun shouted its glory and I stripped down and made a costume change. We high-five, elation sets in, and I got in the boat ready for more, but with a slightly different attitude. Linus took off more confident than ever, as I avoided all fun-making obstacles, not quite liking what had happened to my “she laughs at danger” attitude. In my experiences, a confident attitude matched with acute awareness (neutral fear) of my environment and body moving through it makes for the safest and most skillful travel, whereas, once the nervous system gets blasted, the fear changes from a neutral place of awareness to a rigid place of fight or flight, and in that state, the fun-making zone or edge cannot be achieved. I adapted and I picked lines in the River that let me play, in a little more mellow way, and soon, we round the bend and approach the confluence of the Takhin and Chilkat, where the wind instantly picks up. We paddle against the wind and I lay back and luxuriate at times, staring at the blue and cloudy sky spinning as my boat slowly circles this way or that.

A few hours later, we arrive back at the airport to the truck. Just under 40 miles of packrafting and hiking, the Haines rainstorms have returned and we’ve done the thing. And I know Linus is releaved to return with me beside him, as just a few days prior, my dad had given him a warning, that if anybody dies, it better be him.

Driving home to crash, I headed first to Thor’s Gym for a shower and coma inducing sauna. All was right with my world and the sauna was already hot, steamy, and unoccupied. I headed home, greeted my happy cats, and started a fire.