Robert Barnard started his summer vacation in Whitehorse, technically. From there, he drove to the river drop in at Duncan’s Post, Yukon and loaded his gear on a raft. 12 days and 255-kilometres later, the adventure ended in Dry Bay, Alaska where a plane flew him and his fellow travellers back to Whitehorse.
Here’s what happened along the way.
Robert Barnard started his summer vacation in Whitehorse, technically. From there, he drove to the river drop in at Duncan’s Post, Yukon and loaded his gear on a raft. 12 days and 255-kilometres later, the adventure ended in Dry Bay, Alaska where a plane flew him and his fellow travellers back to Whitehorse. Here’s what happened along the way.
RIVER – Words and Photos by Robert Barnard
For some crazy reason, I feel the need to call my brother and remind him where my will is just before I board my flight. And I do. “It’s just a river cruise, I remind myself.” What have I got myself into this time?
What I Got Myself Into This Time
The Yukon. North. Free. Memories of the Gold Rush. A population of 43,000 people in an area the size of France. A finger on the Arctic Ocean and nestled next to Alaska. My cruise to Alaska starts at Dalton Post a few hours west of Whitehorse on the summer solstice. My route is the Tatshenshini River. Total crew: 3. Number of guests: 8. My boat is a bright sky-blue raft with yellow letters displaying the expedition company, Canadian River Expeditions. A four-person tent (which as we all know only really fits two, but I’m solo so it’s roomy) is my suite on the ground floor. Windows at both ends, far exceeding any port hole in size.
It’s 8 am. I’m in a dry suit, the less stylish version of a wetsuit. Snug around the wrist and neck. I snicker at the mosquitos. Outta luck suckers! The other benefit is zero body odour. Why does that matter? I’m nervous.
Trip guides Ursula (our lead guide) and Ken are in the midst of our safety briefing. The last one I experienced was on my Air Canada flight with beautiful pictures of Canada’s national parks and calming music, smiling people. (Bravo, BTW. Most creative airline safety video I have ever seen.) “So, if you fall in the water” (shift to Psycho soundtrack) grab the rope that hugs the circumference of the raft as quickly as you can. Swim fast! If you can’t get to the raft, get your feet up in front of you. It’s a shallow river up here and if you are going to hit something on the bottom you want your butt to take the hit.” (Hmmm…not just my butt down there. OK focus!!) Trees hanging over the river are your enemy. Use your hands to steer you away from danger. Keep looking for rafts.”
“How cold is the water?” asks one of the other guests, as we all think the same thing.
“About 3°C,“ Ken answers calmly. “Ok let’s go get our helmets on.”
Predictably, It Was Unpredictable
Leading up to my 55th birthday, a friend jokingly suggested I am now old enough to go on a cruise. The last cruise I’d been on was with my mom when I was about ten or twelve. I fell in love with Julie McCoy. Issac mixed me up a mean cocktail. It lasted an hour with commercials. The Love Boat… exciting and new… set a course for adventure… or something like that. You probably recall the tune.
That was 45 years ago and maybe cruising was an exciting new adventure back then. My mom, a youthful octogenarian, went on a cruise when she was in her early 70s. She came back saying she would never do it again. She felt old. Everything was so contrived, planned, organized and predictable. Most people want that, my mom surmised, but she didn’t and neither did I.
You know that saying that there are two types of people in the world? Well, when it comes to travel you could drop people into predictable and unpredictable. If you ask my children I want different. I want spontaneity. I want my curiosity to be kicked into overdrive. I want to be challenged to do something I’ve never done. I want my mind to be opened. I guess I want the unpredictable.
Of course, it bares noting that tons of people love cruises and they do create good jobs and when you put 3,000 people on a boat it reduces the price to go and see places. I get it. They are certainly not charities though. Don’t you have to walk through the casino to get to dinner for the all-you-caneat buffet every night? I think I only hear about cruises when something goes wrong. Covid anyone? In fact, as I write this a cruise ship hit an iceberg en route to Alaska and had to cut its voyage short. On my voyage I swam next to icebergs ….oh, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Back on the Raft
I’m with our guide and captain for the day, Brad (think of Captain Merrill Stubing and then think of the absolute opposite — that’s Brad, thankfully) and two other guests from Saskatchewan. One of them is 83. Yes, I got the numbers in the right order. Brad’s age is closer to the reverse.
Helmets, dry suits and personal floatation device all on. We are 10 minutes into our maiden voyage. It’s the canyon run that’s next. Level 3 or 4 rapids depending on the water level. All the guides agreed it was high. No time to get mentally prepared. Brad had been down the Tat 5 years ago so he knew the River. Well only kinda knew it. Every year it’s different and the water level makes the rapids different. Fallen trees, gravel patches, and new braids of river confront every trip. There are no two alike.
As we entered the Canyon guest and guide eyes were equally glued on the water ahead. Brad with the big oars and us with our paddles. I could see the first white water coming up as Brad yelled, “here we go!”
I got splashed and jostled. 3°C is cold! Twists and turns. Narrow misses and ducks to avoid those trees along the banks. All in all, it was a slow and then mostly go two hours down the River.
In the middle of it, I recalled the two most prominent messages on my Instagram when my friends found out I was going to do this trip: “Be Safe!” and “Have Fun!” I would say that “Be Safe” was more prominent. While we need to be safe that doesn’t mean we need to be boring.
Adventure Found
To prep for my trip, I watched the 1983 Farley Mowat-inspired film Never Cry Wolf. It’s All filmed in the Yukon and Atlin BC. There is a scene at the beginning where the main character Tyler, sent from Ottawa to research wolf’s role in caribou population decline, is being flown in an old beater to his destination by an old pilot named Rosie. All of a sudden the engine cuts out mid-flight. Tyler gasps as Rosie freaks out searching for a tool in his toolbox and then screams at the top of his lungs as the plane starts to descend. He finds his tool – a wrench – and holds it up to the stressed-out Tyler. “You know what the problem is with this world Tyler?” shouts Rosie. “Boredom. Boredom! We’ve lost our sense of adventure.” Then Rosie opens the door and goes outside the plane to fix it mid-flight.
I’m not sure if that line is in the 1963 book of the same name by Farley Mowat. I’m on a river in the middle of nowhere. How can I call Ms. Google to check? Yes, that’s right, no way to search online for anything. No weather forecast. We were about 50% accurate by assessing the clouds. If you said it with conviction people would believe you. Or we would just ask the professor. Professor Emeritus in Physics at MIT. Ya, he was on the trip. He answered everything with conviction.
I lay there in my tent after our first day on the Tat. The rushing river provided the soundtrack to the film of the day in my head. That first big wave. The deluge of rain, just after I opted to take off my rain gear. The mid-river raft rescue. The tight curves and vast landscape. Day 1 was wildly unpredictable. I was alive. What would the next 11 days bring?
Well, you know what, I’m not going to tell you. Go do it yourself. Don’t live vicariously through me. Get out there. Your experience will be yours alone. Just like mine was.
Okay, one more teensy weensy little story about when we crashed into an iceberg.
At the end of the Tatshenshini River, it merged into the Alsek River that drained to Alsek Lake near Dry Bay Alaska. The River’s gray water pushing into a glacial gray blue lake fed not by one, but three glaciers emanating from the stunning peak of Mt Fairweather.
It was filled with icebergs. Dive in? Of course, I did! When would I get another chance to go swimming amongst icebergs?
But after that, we hopped in the rafts and rowed out to a big iceberg near our campsite. It honestly looked fake. It was a blue I’d never seen before. As we approached Ken leaned over the edge with a small hammer. He chipped off a chunk that fell into the boat. “That’s going to go well with our cocktails tonight! Ken chuckled. “Thousand-year-old ice.”
Take that Issac.
