8/9/03 -
Layover, fishing expedition, walk, sit on bank. Eggs, potatoes, bread.
Looking ahead it seems we are soon to leave the hills and enter flats so we choose to take another layover day here. Unfortunately, we are near fires so the air quality is poor. Sean tries to fish, but catches nothing. Instead, we dine on sweet potatoes and cuscus.
|
|
|
At the end of the day I drop some gear by the tent and hear a hissing sound. One of the bear spray canisters hit a sharp rock and is leaking. I run and desposit it at the far end of the gravel bar.
8/10/03 - On to the Flats
We leave the mountains and paddle onto the flats. The low hills that flanked the river recede. Sometimes the river feels very large, like a small lake. Other times we are in a side channel and it feels like a small river again.
We commonly see spawned out salmon laying at the waters edge. Then, just as we enter a chute, M and I see two large, red salmon swimming below us. Now, occasionally, when I just happen to glance in the right direction but never when I'm looking, I see a huge salmon swimming below me. They are up 3 three feet, maybe longer, huge fish by my reckoning. Sean says that the King salmon are even larger.
There are surprisingly few. I expected a full run. I expected bears lining the banks fishing salmon. Sean says that on some rivers the runs are cyclical and this could be an off year. Maybe another species will come later in the season.
I wonder what the experience is like for salmon. Maybe something like the American pioneers crossing the country. They have a map, in their genes, left to them by their parents, but they have never spoken to their parents and the map is years old. Maybe they meet other salmon along the way who give them tips: "left channel the whole way". Or "after the deep pool below the double rock turn right: big short cut". Maybe these salmon know what they are talking about, maybe not. When you think about it, where could they have learned the route?
We are a long way from the ocean. The salmon who have come here must have swum all the way up the Yukon. That comes form the Bearing sea, an isolated, cold piece of water itself.
|
|
|
Camp at 5 on a gravel bar on the right. We make plans to depart early the next day. I cook pizza and sloppy joe for dinner.
8/11/03 - First early departure.
I'm not sleepy. I read for a while, almost fall a sleep, have to get up to pee, M and I talk. Finally at 11:30 I drift off. Then M is up for some reason. She's up and down, zipping and unzipping, turning and looking for an hour or more. Finally sleeping again when the alarm goes off. Once I'm up she tells me that we are up an hour early because she never changed her clock to local time.
On the water I'm tired and uncomfortable. I really could just go to sleep. We spend a lot more time drifting - no wind in the morning - and make good progress without too much effort.
All along the river we see beaver. Usually we just see the splash shwere the dove but once we lear where to look we begin to see them before they dive. Along just about any forested bank are several to 20 trees felled by beaver. Some 8 to 12 inches in diameter. I begin to appreciate "busy beaver".
The Sheenjek is a huge river and I can not understand why the beavers are bothering to fell trees into it. But I imagine that some beavers may have high ambitions. "When I dam the Sheenjek GLORY will be MINE. Beaver ponds for 10 miles up river. The story of this will be told for generations".
There are a lot of trees in the river and on the banks. Some came from the beavers but must from undercut banks.
Rain starts at 11. 2 minutes later we consider a left channel, hear a crack up ahead, and watch a tall pine hanging over the river fall into the channel. We go straight.
The channel narrows. We are in some side channel with 1/2 or 1/3 of the full flow. There are several tight sections. Sean says that going down such a long river with so many decisions that must be made and nothing bad happening makes him think that some benevolent force must be watching over us.
Then we go down a channel which merges with another current right above a sweeper. I see that the incoming current would shoot us into the sweeper so I say high, point up, and ferry right across the current. Sean is a little lower, does not point up as much, and gets pushed into the sweeper. This could have been bad, but Billie and Sean were able to grab the log, stop the boat, and push around the end.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Log Jams |
|
|
|
We stop and camp on a right side gravel bar. Hot soup for lunch and a long nap all afternoon.