I have to take a shit, badly. The problem is that the unit is full, not a little full, but within an inch of the top. It was suggested I could hover, but with my sciatica, I don’t trust my legs to keep me aloft in the required position, while the thought of falling on top of 35 pounds of other people’s poo doesn’t sound great either. I could have dug a hole yesterday when I first encountered the urge, but I thought that with my Catholic training, I’d be able to pinch it off. Now I’m straining to remain in control while Pauly waves goodbye, and we head for the exit while I silently beg for one.
I must look for my inner zen and be in the solemn moment of enjoying these last moments of our crazy adventure. This is such a spectacular landscape that is beyond any place I might have ever dreamt would be a place I’d get to visit in my lifetime. While Antarctica is certainly out of reach, with trips typically starting at around $20,000 per person, this journey down the Alsek has been within reach not just once but twice now. The faces in this photo have a deep appreciation for how lucky they are and find it almost hard to grasp that we muster the courage and save enough money to be able to have these experiences.
Looking in the rearview mirror, Alaska will quickly fade from our sight and challenge us with the question that begs us, “Did we really do that?” but I hope these visual and written tidbits will always be fond reminders that before we became just “and” we were brave and adventurous.
It’s hard moving away from this, and yet, by this time, I find I might enjoy hot water again or the simplicity of not having to set up and break down a tent and sleeping bag so often. The little inconveniences, though, are such a small price to pay in exchange for looking out at a mountain passage that is filled with glacial ice that’s been accumulating longer than humans have been on this continent.
Looking back upriver, letting the enormity of the trip settle in and reflecting on the extraordinary weather that greeted this journey. We had some wind and minor drizzle, and now, here on our last day, it is as though the weather is saying, “Go home.”
We’ve seen close to a dozen bald eagles in the trees and on the shore; there must be some kind of abundance of fish in these murky waters. We are now in heavily fished waters.
Last look back just before pulling ashore.
Our take-out is near Dry Bay, Alaska. Here, we unpack the rafts, clean them for shipping back to Haines, and get ready for our short ride to the airstrip.
This is Pat Pellett, who operates Brabazon Expeditions (should you want to go fishing, hunting, or hiking up this way). He’s here to transport our gear and us to the nearby airstrip for our bush plane flight as we start to move back towards civilization. We met Pat five years ago along with his dog; it feels kind of strange that this remote we’d meet someone we’ve encountered before.
I was lucky to be the first of us to reach the airstrip with our gear in consideration of my situation. One poorly exercised fart at this point would have spelled massive doom. Regarding my outhouse encounter, it took a moment to let go as I’d forgotten to pee before entering this relatively basic facility. After 12 days of reinforcing the demand that we did not pee in the unit, it was awkward to let myself sit there and release. My next issue was cleaning up, as the brain was disconnecting from how things get done while essentially still in the wild. Where does the paper go in a remote outhouse? The big clear plastic bag seemed like an option, as there was no apparent place to burn the paper. I finally figured that it must simply go down the hold, and so with much guilt and uncertainty, I finished my business and sheepishly slunk away.
Next to the airstrip is a slough where I spot my first wild sockeye salmon swimming by and then another and another.
Caroline joined me after the first group finally arrived at the airstrip, and I took her down the trail to the slough to show her the salmon when, off to our left, a grizzly bear was emerging from the treeline. As we spotted him, he spotted us, and he proceeded to sit down for a moment. Seeing he didn’t seem all that concerned with our presence and that we felt like we were a safe distance we all just waited patiently to see each other’s next move.
Lucky us, we didn’t need to start screaming to try to scare him off, as he simply got up and lumbered across the shallow waters, occasionally stopping to look for a salmon, but maybe he was just way too full because his effort was practically none. A perfect exclamation point to our adventure.
The plane from Yakutat Coastal Airlines is about to make its first of three flights to drag us and all of our gear out of there.
With the plane off to make its first delivery, we return to the slough and keep a lookout for grizzlies. With no more bears to be seen, we instead appreciate the beauty of the nearby mountains and the luscious green growth of summer.
Well, this is kind of meta; Caroline is wearing her Yakutat Coastal Airlines hat on a Yakutat Coastal Airlines flight helmed by Hans, who is not German but has a German name. Caroline picked up the hat last time we flew into Yakutat from Dry Bay.
The low-flying flight to Yakutat is incredibly beautiful, and if I had, but one wish while up here, it would be that the plane was a little lower and a lot slower.
Snow on the mountains, rain on the horizon, lush green mosquito-infested lands with a snaking river cutting through it are just begging for us to put down somewhere out there and just get one more night of camping out in this landscape.
In every direction, there’s half an expectation that as I gaze out on the horizon, I’ll spot a city out there, but again and again, there’s only more wilderness.
The Pacific Ocean.
Just look at all the mosquitos. Must be a trillion or more of them.
Closing in on Yakutat, Alaska, below the clouds.
After indulging in a junk food orgy of mussels, fried clams, french fries, and chicken wings, along with two amber ales for Caroline and three iced teas for me at Yakutat Jacks, we were soon boarding a small commercial jet. Minutes later, we were above the clouds going to Anchorage, Alaska.
Things look kind of different up here compared to down there on the river.
Our last sight of an anonymous glacier before setting down in Anchorage to catch our flight back to Phoenix.
What an adventure this has been.
