We slept in today. Not even sure how long, as Caroline and I are not traveling with anything that keeps time. This allows us to get on nature’s schedule of awake, tired, sleeping, and waking instead of being beholden to the mechanical gatekeeper gods of the calendar. Others were by now moving about, too, with the telltale sounds of a boatman in the kitchen working on bringing breakfast into reality. Before we emerge, we attempt our ablutions within the coziness of the tent. After a hot day, it’s easy to convince oneself to test the cold waters, but after a toasty night buried deep in a sleeping bag, there’s no way to consider going and placing any part of the body into near-freezing water. Even with an itchy scalp producing a snowstorm of flaking activity on its way to building dead skin glaciers, there’s a limit to the discomfort that won’t be tested this morning. While the head will continue to suffer, the stinky parts are treated to vigorous scrubbing with trusty camp wipes.

Somewhere between this attempt at personal hygiene and breakfast, the tent is broken down, stowed, and blam; I need to visit the unit – must have been the coffee. My trek over to the unit proved less than fruitful, for while the body was willing and able, poop mountain was too close to eclipsing the event horizon with my knuckles recoiling in horror. Fortunately, my bowel obliged and constricted the imminent movement that felt so urgent seconds before. Resigned to wait, I leave slightly disappointed but simultaneously happy that I “can” wait!

Rafts packed up, we are once again moving downriver in the hunt for another campsite.

We’ll hit quite a few small rapids on this short stretch, with a couple large enough to have a cold water splash in our faces.

We ran downstream for about an hour before pulling over to explore a place.

While the others ventured off for a short hike up a knob, I stayed back near the river to check out the small stuff.

Such as flowers.

Found some bear tracks that were quite faded and filmed the nearby small rapids. In these quiet moments alone, I go looking for small details, not just in my surroundings but also within. Contemplating the solitude of the bear moving through a landscape that is its own or the accumulating gravel across the river on a cascade of ice that, in all likelihood, is there all year round, I try to better understand this place that I’m only momentarily allowed to visit. I wonder how, over time, this small corner of Earth appears alive as the river runs through its veins and the mountains shed rocks and boulders as they grow up or fade away. These fleeting thoughts produce few answers and leave me wanting to know more as I try to dig deeper into my mind to discover the questions that will help produce insights that prove so elusive.

Sitting down on a rock, ready to take some notes about the day so far, a couple of squirrels come in for a visit. They were not looking for food; I guess that I’m the first person they may have ever seen. My imagination suggests that they are intrigued to see these two-legged animals with weird, colorful skin that offers zero camouflage ability. After not much more than a few seconds taking in the situation, they go about their foraging as they brush aside sand and dig just below the surface. All the while, as one of them works, the other remains vigilant in observing the surroundings to ensure their safety. These plump guys probably make for good eating if you are a bird of prey. And then they scurried off, as it was likely they heard my travel companions returning before I did. Writing will have to wait for another stop.

Heading to another adventure on the Alsek River in the middle of Nowhere, Canada. See the raft on the river for scale.

A perfect example of a hanging glacier can be seen from the river as we start our approach to Mount Blackadar. As Caroline and I know part of this routine, we already know that we’ll be camping on the other side of this mountain in front of a giant and somewhat dangerous glacier.

Some of these photos might seem a little blurry; well, I’m shooting from the river with less than optimal lighting conditions where the brightness of the snow and sky wreak havoc on getting a decent exposure on dark rocks and deep green forest in the foreground. While I’m not trying to win awards with these photos, I do want them to bring us back to this extraordinary day when we traveled a corridor that very few humans have ever seen with their own eyes.

Somehow, all of a sudden, it’s mid-day and time for lunch. We are at the Serengeti, as it is known, due to the abundance of wildlife that can be spotted here. While Mexican-inspired wraps are being prepared, I’m investigating what might be out here besides the obvious giant mountains, glaciers, river, and trees.

This grizzly bear paw print was headed northeast, hopefully on the way back to the Yukon. Getting down and smelling the bear print, I could tell that this female passed through here three days ago, so I need not worry that she was still in the area. Okay, that was royal bologna, as I just made that up, but it made you think a moment, didn’t it? Near to the paw print was a single cub’s print, traveling with mom’s.  I believe it was at some time on this day we passed from the Yukon into British Columbia; maybe it was yesterday, not that this detail has any bearing on things.

No sight nor sound of wolves anywhere during this trip, just this paw print to let us know they are present.  Time for lunch.

We are off for a hike over hill and dale, looking for the perfect spot to catch a glimpse of whatever wildlife might be present or even these lovely dryas. This robust and nearly ubiquitous plant has followed us from the first day of our trip, and still, I do not tire of admiring it.

It’s not every day that walking along you look down and see a heart-shaped orange and grey rock, but here in British Columbia it just may be more common than one might imagine.

While they may look yummy or poisonous, depending on your perspective, these are, in fact, soapberries. This particular version, I believe, is the shepherdia Canadensis, commonly called Canada buffaloberry. If I’m correct about the species, then this fruit is edible, though it is bitter and, in larger amounts, can cause bowel irritation due to the saponin, which is the chemical that also gives this berry its name related to soap.

From the top of the hill, we can look back towards the Alsek from the informally named Serengeti. Somewhere down there are our rafts, and I have to admit that every time we leave them (well tied up for sure), I’m a bit nervous that one will break free and make a solo voyage down the river without us. Fortunately, this has never happened, well, except that time in the Grand Canyon on the Colorado at Black Tail Canyon, where fortunately, an eddy caught it, keeping it a prisoner and safe for our return in its swirling waters.

Yeah…..I really do have a thing for this stuff. Its formal name is Dryas octopetala (I hope), and is related to the rose. The genus is named after the dryads, the tree nymphs of ancient Greek mythology (thanks, Wikipedia).

Our trip leader, Bruce Keller, with his partner Echo Miller, took a moment to relax and gaze upon Mount Blackadar.

This was probably my favorite photo of Frank “First Light” Kozyn I shot. Here he is in front of Mount Blackadar. This mountain must have some important history, as I keep pointing it out; read on.

Caroline and I, with our fat heads, blocked the view of Mount Blackadar behind us. Mount Blackadar was named after Dr. Walt Blackadar, who first kayaked Turn Back Canyon on the other side of this mountain back in 1971 at the age of 49. That solo journey, which has been compared in significance to the first ascent of Mt. Everest, earned him the respect to have the mountain standing sentinel to Turn Back Canyon named after him. Like so many other river adventurers who risked their lives to see and experience a thing, he became a vocal proponent for the protection of our riverways.

This is our boatman Pauly Borichevsky chilling in front of you-know-which mountain.

You know that mountain that looked so close? You know, Mount Blackadar. Well, it was nearly two hours away, sure it looked like it might be 15 minutes away, but that is a trick due to the scale and magnitude of this landscape. On this leg of the river, we encounter an incredible number of “S” turns that have us constantly on the move staying away from where the water piles up against walls.

Collecting driftwood for our campfire later today. Firewood is essential for us as we use it to boil river water for washing dishes; it also makes for a toasty place to warm our cold feet. This collection is a bit different than other days as we need two days’ worth due to us staying on a layover in front of Tweedsmuir Glacier before our helicopter portage over Turn Back Canyon. While Dr. Blackadar survived a kayak run of this treacherous canyon, we would surely die if we attempted to run it in rafts.

By now you may start wondering just how long can this blog entry be. Well, it’s only about 1,400 words so far, but I can’t help but share better photos I shot on this day. Out of 207 photos only 23 are being posted and how can I not when images like this are exemplary of the spectacular geology on display?

This could be one of the sides of Mount Blackadar, but my memory isn’t so good that I could be certain of this. Whatever it is, I found the patchwork of rock and green spots compelling enough that it had to join the batch of images being shared. It was also our last quick stop before making camp. This one was to collect fresh drinking water.

After we landed the rafts, I mean inflatable cruise ships, at our final stop of the day, we dragged them ashore and deflated them after removing everything else we were traveling with. One thing we couldn’t unload or deflate was the ever-present mosquitos. With no wind in sight, they hang out like grotty teenagers intent on bugging the shit out of you. Thirsty assures us that this is nothing compared to what’s up in the Arctic, somehow I’m not feeling so much better. A late chat into near darkness with Pauly, Thirsty, Keith, Caroline, and I was a great elixir that delivered us to sleep that night.

It rained overnight, but by morning, it’s dry again, though we have a pretty healthy amount of cloud coverage. Our gear is packed up and ready to go by 6:00, which might have been considered late by everyone ready to go yesterday at 5:30. The boatmen lightheartedly lament our efficiency because it puts pressure on them to get breakfast done and put in on the river early. Pauly is in the kitchen cooking up BBQ sausage, eggs, and potato scramble with toasted English muffins. Bruce is adding some air to the rafts to bring their pressure back up, while Thirsty tends the fire that is heating our dishwater. Before we push off, we have a bit of rain, but rain up here is to be expected. If it snowed, none of us would be surprised.

Back on the river, we continue to have some sporadic light rain as we paddle south. Passing a random cliff, Bruce points out this granite boulder among the rocks. It’s obviously out of place and is what is known as an “erratic.” These are remnants of a retreating glacier and are deposited as they roll off the ice. We spend the next hour looking for other erratics.

While scanning the landscape for erratics, we spot this juvenile bald eagle looking upriver. It didn’t appear interested in us in the least; I guess there’s something to be said for being one of the apex predators out here.

Mountain avens, also known as white dryas, seem to be everywhere along the river. What you don’t want to see this close and so frequently are bears. We were out here at the gas station, I mean, bend in the river, collecting firewood, when the raft that had been behind us pulled up and said they’d spotted a grizzly heading our way, that it was moving with purpose, and that we should too. I yelled at Caroline to get out of the thicket and make haste to return to the raft. With no further sign of the bear and confident that we had enough firewood, we were once again making our way down this flooded thoroughfare.

By the time we reached the left lateral moraine of the Lowell Glacier, the skies had been clearing for a while. This hike up the moraine held fond memories as it was from this area that we first saw the Lowell five years earlier.

We were stunned as we crested the moraine to see a glacier that begged the question: what happened? Our guides Pauly and Thirsty, who’d been out here a couple of weeks before, said there had been no ice on the lake then, so at least we had some bergs now, but the retreat of the face of the glacier was huge in my memory. Upon getting home, I compared photos, and it was obvious that the ice was in retreat and thinning. The nunatak (a big rock solidly stuck within the glacier, also known as a glacial island) is also more visible and pronounced.

At the bottom left is the face of Lowell Glacier. Bottom right is some bergs in the lake and just behind them on the right is a small glimpse of the nunatak. That giant mountain in the background is Mount Kennedy, named after our very own President John Kennedy, and is a part of the Saint Elias mountains and still within Kluane National Park in the Yukon, Canada. The President’s brother, Robert Kennedy, holds the distinction of being the first person to ascend the peak back in 1965, the first and only serious mountain climbing he would ever do.

Now, back where we parked the boats, it was lunchtime and a moment for me to pull up a rock and jot a few things down in my notebook. Throughout a river trip, you’ll likely see me somewhere nearby doing just this.

After lunch, we had some fast water and minor rapids to contend with before entering Lowell Lake. Water level, wind, and ice typically make the entry worrisome for boatmen as most anyone who’s been out here more than once usually has a story about paddling into the wind or pulling rafts through shallow water after hoping to avoid a portage so early on during a river trip. So, while the lake has considerably fewer icebergs than on our previous visit, lucky that it had icebergs at all, and the water level was high enough that it was smooth sailing.

No selfie sticks were used in the production of these photos. If it weren’t for these photos of us in these kinds of environments we may not believe that we were here 20 years from now. Even while out here, there is a kind of ethereal, otherworldly nature where finding a distinction between dream state and reality is just a tiny bit tenuous. We constantly ask ourselves, “Are we really this lucky?”

Detail of a small iceberg on its way to being an ice cube.

While the views are reminiscent of our previous visit to this remote corner of Earth, they bear repeating.

Pulling ashore to make camp is always exciting; this was made more so as it felt unbelievable that we’d occupy this small corner of such a vast landscape for a second time.

This is William “Willie” Mather and Caroline, who, until I got their attention, had been looking over Lowell Lake and further onto the glacier. We’d met Willie on a rafting trip on the Yampa back in 2014, and then a couple of years later, he was passing through Arizona, so Caroline took him on a hike up Camelback Mountain, which offers the most commanding views of Phoenix. Sadly, I couldn’t go as business wasn’t affording me the opportunity, but was able to catch up with the two of them for dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant, “El Conquistador.” If there was one thing you should know about this guy, it is that he’s a hill walker, an avid hardcore walker who needs to be on the move. Someday, we hope to visit him at his home in County Angus, Scotland.

Same view from our tent site as on our visit five years ago. The beach where I bathed last time is underwater, and it’s getting so bright and hot that I’m finally giving in to putting on the sunscreen that my wife consistently nags me about. The weather is so nice that I break out my solar panel to start recharging the battery we are lugging around that runs my CPAP. I have sleep apnea, for those that don’t know what a CPAP is. A CPAP is a device that ensures I keep breathing during the night; yep, I’m out here doing this kind of stuff even though I have to remain tethered at night to a machine.

If you look closely, you might see the orange tent of our trip leader, Bruce Keller, over onshore. The other two rafts are to the right of the tent. With the camp, kitchen, and the unit set up, we were heading out on the lake in our inflatable cruise ships for a three-hour tour. Okay, so it wasn’t a three-hour tour, but I couldn’t resist the cultural reference to my childhood….you know, the Gilligan’s Island theme song???

While there are not a lot of bergs, the ones that are here are monsterish enough to be extremely dangerous if we were too close when they roll over. Speaking of, we were lucky enough to see one rolling over in the distance. I don’t think we were out an hour, but close to it. I probably would have never been truly satisfied unless we rowed out to the face of the glacier for an up-close and personal encounter, but the boatmen assured me that it would take a couple of hours of rowing to reach the main body of the glacier and that it would be back-breaking work if the wind kicked up. The way I see it is that this then leaves another reason to come back for a third visit, though the wife is more interested in the Kongakut River for our next Alaska adventure. Come to think of it, I could probably be talked into considering a trip down the Hula Hula up in the Arctic.

That’s our boatman Thirsty on the oars, and now, with some human artifacts in front of the icebergs, you can get an idea of the scale of stuff that we are looking at. The rock on the right is that nunatak again, and my pictures from five years ago show the glacier higher than this nunatak with the glacier wrapping around the front of it. This all makes me wonder if, within my lifetime a rafter might come through here and be lucky to even see snow on the mountains in July.

Back in camp, nothing to do but wait for dinner and hang out. It’s not a bad life being an adventure traveler.

After three days out here, it was probably polite of us to dip below the skivvy line for some proper de-stinkification therapy. So we slunk off to our personal tent front pond instead of the lake with all the bobbing water chilling iceberg chunks; the only problem with our much warmer water is that the mud oozing between the toes has a distinct fecal kind of feel. Through our team effort, we were soon squeaky clean, feeling like a million tiny sparkly iceberg bits shining in the sun.

Tonight’s entertainment was brought to us by Mother Nature, who was parading a cavalcade of ice driven by the wind right past us. In the background stood Mount Kennedy, holding vigil over the sky to ensure that everything that could look perfect did so. From the calving glacier and rolling icebergs rumbles, thunder, and heavy claps sounding like gunshots travel over the lake to complement the lapping waves at the shore. The whole time, the glistening water surface forces us to squint to find details in the blinding evening sun. As our sun slides westward, its changing intensity illuminates the bergs in shifting colors that move from opaque blues to greens while the thicker slabs look like city blocks of snowpack where no light passes through. Like clouds in the sky the various forms the ice takes shift from appearing like a Christmas tree to an anvil or the Loch Ness Monster. Then we spot two dolphins leaping out of the water, a swimming bear holding on to a ball, and even a body lying down; alas, it was all ice.

I’m guessing it’s getting late, though it’s hard to tell as the sun simply slides lower across the horizon. On my right, Caroline is knitting my next pair of socks. She has a needle in her mouth, her face is golden and a little bit burned. Her nimble fingers knit and purl, and occasionally, she smiles as she listens in with half an ear on the ribald conversation of some of the guys who have had a few drinks and are hanging out by the fire.

While it was downright hot earlier the chill of the evening combined with the wind coming off the glacier and lake in front of it has us bundling up in some warm clothes. The first yawn of the night just escaped Caroline as she announced it was time to find the motivation to go move her own water. Minutes later, we are asleep.