4 August - Chuck
Post Trip Activities
4 August 2003: The canoe trip is now behind us, but there is no time
for kicking back and reflecting, not just yet anyway. Today we hope
to air-ship our canoes and gear to Anchorage, then arrange to get ourselves
on a passenger flight. We paddled across the channel to Emo (Emmonak)
and started the two-mile walk around to the airfield; soon we were offered
a ride on a four-wheeler. The air cargo hangar of Arctic Transport Services
(ATS) was open but no one was to be found. We walked to the little Passenger
Terminal and arranged two seats on the 5pm flight to Anchorage; about
$330 each for a two hour flight in a nine passenger King Air twin turbo-prop
by Beachcraft. Bill introduced me to Michael Prince, one of the pilots.
He was an Eskimo and truly a prince. He explained many details of Eskimo
life and told us about the differences in heritage and language of the
various native cultures. Bill continued the discussion while I located
the ATS representative; he told me that the rate for airfreight to Anchorage
is only 21 cents per pound, great news. Previously, we had been told
the rate might be 60 cents per pound and maybe higher. Bill and I were
both ecstatic, we reevaluate our plans on what will be shipped and what
will be left behind.
After a quick dash back to our campsite, we launched into a flurry of
activity. While sorting and cleaning gear, we both identified many items
that we carried nearly 7,000 miles (about 5,000 from Florida to Whitehorse
and 2,000 on the Yukon) and never used; we had forgotten that some items
were along. Each of us established a pile of treasured gear that would
return to Florida, a pile of gear and food that we would give away in
Emo, items to take with us on the passenger flight, and a pile of items
to be tossed. Additionally, I set aside clothes, cameras and such that
I will use the next couple of months while on the Inside Passage to
Seattle and while visiting our daughter, Susan, and her family in Korea.
Most of the items to be tossed were not really trash, but items that
had been opened and partially used such as a half-empty jar of peanut
butter, bottles of olive oil, vinegar, etc.
We also tried to insure that all gear was as clean as possible and totally
dry. It was another cool, overcast day, but the light breeze did help
dry our tents and bags. Bill swept through his gear in record time,
loaded it all in his canoe and paddled over to Emo in hopes of saying
good-bye to Dave. Since my gear will be sealed in dry bags for several
weeks, I tried to get everything as dry as the weather would allow in
order to keep mildew from taking possession of it. Time moves on, I
couldn’t wait any longer, tents sleeping bags, clothes, etc. get
stuffed into bags and I paddled over to join Bill.
A dozen or so young kids were buzzing around Bill and his gear. He was
talking with young Michael Prince, the son of the gentleman we had met
this morning at the passenger terminal. Michael is about 13 years old
and very well behaved. He tells us a lot about the local area and also
much about Eskimo culture. I placed my bags and canoe nearby, made an
attempt to clean the canoe and tied the paddles securely under the thwarts.
After calling to remind the ATS folks that we were waiting for pick-up,
a really beat up 5 ton, flatbed truck arrives. We get the two canoes
and all the gear on the bed of the truck then crawl on with it to try
to keep stuff from bouncing off. There are no railings on the flatbed
and no springs on the truck. The engine only runs in surges down the
bumpy gravel road to the airfield. This is clearly the most precarious
part of this long trip, trying to hold on ourselves and keep all our
gear from bouncing off is more than we can keep up with. At one point
we pound on the cab to get the driver to stop so we can push canoes
and gear back into the center. When Bill climbed off the bed the passenger
door swung wide open with him hanging on to it. There was no door latch
and the rope tying the door shut had come loose. We made a stop at the
Post Office so Bill could pick up some mail that had been waiting for
him. I had tried to get his mail earlier when I got mine but the Post
Mistress, rightfully, would not allow me to do that. She would not even
tell me who had sent it or if it was packages or letters. Bill returned
with a box of cookies that Betty had sent. More bouncing, grabbing for
sliding gear and pinched fingers as we held the canoes on board. At
the Airfield the driver backed the truck up to a closed overhead door.
In spite of our yelling at him, he backed too far and my overhanging
canoe was crunched between the door and the back of the truck cab. The
bow of the canoe put a small dent in the metal door but a very quick
check reveals no apparent damage to the canoe. The ATS agent weighed
my canoe then piled the bags of gear on the scales; altogether the total
was 196 pounds. Bill’s gear weighed in a little heavier plus he
had to pay extra to ship propane fuel canisters that were classed as
“hazardous cargo”. We were both happy with the air cargo
arrangements. Our gear could be in Anchorage the next day, but we asked
them to delay the shipment a couple of days to give Bill time to retrieve
his pickup truck from Whitehorse.
Our flight to Anchorage was smooth and the aerial views of this great
land were beautiful. We saw the big Yukon River winding its way to the
sea. Hundreds of streams fed into larger streams and twisting rivers
that flowed into the Yukon. Vast roadless areas of tundra and mountain
wilderness extended in all directions as far as we could see. Many of
the mountains had patches of snow and snowcaps. Then as we approached
the Alaska Mountain Range, snow covered all the mountains in the center
of the range. And the “Great One”, Denali (Mount McKinley),
towered above them all. The highest mountain in North America at 20,320
feet, it looked majestic, raw, cold and beautiful.
Too soon we landed in Anchorage; the airport was alive with people and
all the trappings of civilization. A blaring PA system, motorized vehicles
buzzing in all directions, men in suits and women in frills and smelling
of perfume, TV screens monitoring flights, people every place, the air
filled with the sounds and smells of humanity; it was too much for the
senses to process. I had a strange urge to leave a note for Betty and
tell her to meet me in Emo or Ruby or even better at the little campsite
by Claire Creek. All at once it struck me as hard as a low limb across
the forehead, we are no longer in the midst of silent beauty and pristine
remote wilderness with Nature’s wonders surrounding us. It was
depressing, a sad feeling of loss and emptiness.
I rented a car and we found a little B& B to spend the night. After
a large dinner of Chinese food and a beer, we returned to our rooms.
Bill now revealed that his feet had been giving him increasing problems.
For weeks he had a rash that now had developed into open sores and swollen
toes, feet and ankles. He had been waiting to obtain some “over
the counter” medications and still discounted my suggestions that
he see a doctor. Tomorrow we had only two items on the agenda: get meds
for Bill and meet Betty’s flight at 8:45am.