I’ve learned over the years to take every advantage of travel in order to get out into the backcountry. I was headed to Alaska, as I did every year at this time on a work-related trip (or at least that is how I tried to sell it to my wife, though she knew better) and, again as always, planned on a few extra days to explore the region. For this trip, I decided to tackle the Situk river system by foot and raft, from its origin at Mountain Lake, down to its mouth at the Gulf of Alaska.
For three years running, the airlines had lost my luggage on this pilgrimage, and I had well learned how to travel with everything I needed for the adventure in my carry on luggage. (Knife, bear spray, stove, fuel, and some fishing gear would be waiting for me in a locker I maintained in Alaska). I approached the security checkpoint with trepidation, waiting for the sirens to go off once they detected the 8 foot paddle stowed away in my backpack, but once again passed through without comment. Arriving in Anchorage at 2 am, I caught a few hours of sleep in the native Alaskan exhibit before hopping a plane to Yakutat.
I caught a ride to the trailhead near 9 mile bridge and hiked in along a well maintained path. Moose and bear tracks were everywhere. It was my custom to not bring much food on these trips- there was no need- and I collected wild edibles as I walked. Blueberries, cloudberries, salmon berries, bunchberries, cranberries, and scootberries were abundant.
Large pond along the trail
A breeding pair of Trumpeter swans
Highbush cranberries
Salmon berries
As fishing was a prime consideration on this trip, I was hiking in a pair of breathable waders. My concession to UL ethos was the use of lightweight flats shoes instead of conventional wading boots. Past Situk Lake, the trail narrowed, becoming little more than a bear trail through the willows, and I carried my bear spray at the ready.
Eagle soaring above a secluded muskeg
Bear’s eye view of the path through the willows
Hiking upriver along Mountain Stream, I saw my first bear of the trip, a small bear crossing the river on a log. A very small bear. A cub.
Heart hammering, I backed away, looking for mom. I prayed she was not behind me. Caught between a sow and her cub was not where I wanted to be right now. The cub noticed me and ran squealing into the brush. I waited for a few moments for the sow to follow, but she was nowhere to be seen. I continued onward, up toward Mountain Lake.
Adrift on Mountain Lake
A few battered sockeye were aimlessly holding at the lake’s outflow, the end of the line. They were spawned out, with nowhere left to go, nothing left to do. I wondered what they felt, their life’s purpose exhausted, waiting to die.
Turning from morbid thoughts, I considered my own purpose for the next couple days. I had scouted Mountain Stream on the hike in. The current was relatively slow moving, but there would be lots of deadfall, and portage would be challenging. The middle stretches of the river system, from Situk Lake down to 9-mile bridge were an unknown, but as this area had no boat access, I suspected it would also be relatively obstructed. Once past 9-mile bridge, the going would be fast and easy. I had paddled that section before.
Two eagles observed my progress from a nearby treetop
A typical deadfall portage.
Note the proliferation of streamside willows and devil’s club. I was getting quite good at tossing the raft over trees and brush then climbing over and through the obstructions.
I made it down to Situk Lake by about 6:30 pm and got my things settled into the forest service cabin located there. I then paddled out to a small sandbar at the mouth of Mountain Stream to fish for dinner. I took the cabin’s canoe for reasons that will be clear later.
Casting from the sandbar
I was using a large purple and black hackled streamer I had developed for sockeye fishing. I used to think sockeye fishing was about small flies, delicately presented, trying to mimic the small plankton that ocean sockeye preferred. You had to get the fly at just the right depth for hook or line to gently drift into the fishes’ mouths as they opened and closed. Then one day, I had stumbled onto my secret when I had nothing left to throw. The large streamer seemed to enrage the fish, causing them to go out of their way to attack. Since then, “purple magic” had never let me down.
Fish on!
A nice sockeye taken by “purple magic”
Fileting the fish over the canoe bottom.
I built a small fire and allowed it to burn down to coals as I seasoned the fish with olive oil, salt, and pepper and wrapped it in foil. Ten minutes later, I was eating the most succulent salmon imaginable. For desert, I paired an extra dark chocolate bar with a small flask of whiskey, the perfect end to an almost perfect day.
I set out at dawn the next morning, roughly following the shoreline until I caught sight of the outflow from the lake. I noticed that the raft felt a little soft and I paused to reinflate it by mouth. The lake water was glacier cold and I wishfully figured this had led to the loss of pressure.
A last look back at the mountains over Situk Lake
As expected, the middle section of river was slow going. In addition to the numerous down trees I had anticipated, low flows had led to exposure of large gravel bars and I was in and out of the boat often. Each time I got out, I paused to reinflate the raft, more than a few times too many to blame on the cold water. There was a slow leak somewhere, but luckily not catastrophic. I thought back on the many obstacles I had dragged over, as well as a collision with one particular jagged branch in the upper river and was not entirely surprised.
Paddling one stretch of river, I heard a rustling alongside. Soon, enough a huge furry brown head popped out between the willows. The bear looked at my raft in alarm and vanished. I could hear branches snapping as he ran. I passed three more brown bear in this stretch of river, and each ran from the raft just as quickly. Good to know, but it didn't lend itself to wildlife photography.
A Situk rock garden
Once past the 9-mile bridge, the current was swift and the river was free of obstruction. An hour-and-a-half of enjoyable paddling brought me to a forest service cabin on the lower river. I dragged my raft up onto the bank and unloaded my gear. Then I dealt with the most urgent issue at hand. I reinflated the raft yet again and began submerging it section by section until I finally found the leak. It was at the bow, most likely a result of rapid collision with a particular log. I carried the raft up to the cabin porch and made a temporary patch with tear-aid and Loon UV wader repair goo. In the continued drizzle and humidity, getting the raft suitably dry to accept the patch was challenging. Once patched, I reinflated the raft yet again, and was satisfied to see that it was now holding pressure well. It would see me safely to the river mouth tomorrow.
Temporary patch
I was visited at the cabin by Peter, a fellow packrafter I had met on the plane. He had read a past report I had written on packrafting in Yakutat and had come to check out the lower river. It was nice to meet a kindred spirit. We had lunch together, then Peter hiked out on the trails while I explored the confluence of the old and new Situk Rivers and did some fishing.
Within minutes, I hooked a nice pair of Dolly Varden on a yarn egg fly. The Dollys came upriver during the salmon runs and liked to hang out beneath the spawning salmon, eating their eggs. I felt guilty for the deception, but glad to have an awesome dinner. Getting a fire started in the continued rain took some work, but soon had the fish sizzling in another foil packet. I ate dinner in the cabin and turned in for the night.
A well-gnawed moose femur found outside the cabin. I found the skull and cervical vertebrae in a nearby field.
Early the next morning, I hiked back up to the confluence again (about a 20 minute walk) to do some sockeye fishing. The fishing was slow, but I did land one nice fish. Dinner assured, I carried it cautiously back to the cabin by trail and prepared to depart. It was still raining.
Almost packed
It was a cold wet float to the river mouth. The high point of the trip was paddling in the midst of a huge flock of ducks. Each time they saw me, they would flap splashily in a panic, moving a hundred yards downriver where they would regroup. Then they’d spot me and do it all over again. I kept trying to pull to one side so they could paddle past me back upriver, but it was probably a full mile before they took me up on it.
I was chilled by the time I made it to the river mouth. I caught a ride back to the lodge glad for a hot shower and some lunch. This had been a tame, if painstaking, adventure by Alaska standards, but it had been satisfying nonetheless. Warm once again, I headed back out to the river.
