The sound of rain during the night was not encouraging. Nonetheless, the next morning (Thursday, July 29th), we awoke early with great anticipation. The rain had stopped and we assumed that today, we would likely begin our river trip. However, after stumbling out of our tent and looking outside the hangar, our enthusiasm was immediately dampened. The sky was overcast and, more importantly, the cloud ceiling was very low. We could only hope, and hope we did, that the weather would improve as the day wore on. Not knowing when our Brooks Range Aviation pilot might give us the thumbs up to leave for Pingo Lake, at the request of our guides, Matt and Brian, our tents and other gear were packed and ready to go by 7:00 a.m.
Once again, we lined up our chairs in front of the kitchen area, this time to receive our hot breakfast, which Matt was preparing.
With no significant change in the weather throughout the morning, we passed the time in various ways. It was one of those days when you find yourself in a frustrating kind of limbo. How many times over the course of the busy summer, had I wished for some down time? Now when it was staring me in the face, I felt like I wasn’t using my time wisely. With gear packed, crawling into our tent to nap, read, or just have some quiet time was not an option. Instead, I passed the hours by chatting with other members of our group and making some notes in my journal. Several folks pulled out their respective sleeping bag and then either crawled inside and sat in a chair to read, or laid down on the floor in their sleeping bag to nap. Others sat, minus sleeping bags, decked out in bug shirts or mosquito head nets to read, feet propped up on dry bags.
We were all anxious to begin our river trip, if only the weather would cooperate. The forecast, which was written on the white board at the National Park Service visitor center, still called for rain. However, as the day wore on, the weather did look more promising…from time to time. At one point, I was almost giddy when the clouds parted to reveal a tiny patch of blue sky. Not surprisingly, it didn’t take long before the clouds closed in, dashing any hopes for more blue sky to appear.
Matt, who had paddled the Noatak River a number of times, was doing mental calculations on how to make up for lost time, once we were flown into Pingo Lake. For their part, the Brooks Range Aviation chief pilot took off a couple of times in a Cessna 180 to determine first hand, whether flying to Pingo Lake was possible; it was not. The problem was that flying to the lake required visual navigation through 7,000 to 8,000-feet-high peaks in the Brooks Range, which is the farthest north mountain range in North America. While we were anxious to begin our river trip, we also wanted to live to see another day and experience other adventures! We knew of too many plane crashes in Alaska where pilots had taken undue risks and crashed. It was notable that none of us pressured either our guides or our pilot to fly in marginal conditions. We all knew that was a recipe for disaster.
By mid-afternoon, as the prospects of flying to Pingo Lake looked less and less likely, most of our group decided to walk to the nearby Koyukuk River. Armed with rain gear, bear spray, and mosquito protection, we set off down the west side of the gravel airstrip looking for the way to the river. After going left instead of right at a “Y” intersection, we squished our way down a rain-soaked “road” into swarms of mosquitoes. After reaching a lone house, we quickly backtracked to take the “the road less traveled.”
So many of Alaska’s landscapes are on a grand scale. This is true of the 425-mile-long Koyukuk River. With its headwaters in the Brooks Range, it drains approximately 32,000-square-miles of the Arctic and is the last major tributary flowing into the Yukon River. After following a narrow path through the forest, we finally saw the river on the far side of an extensive, mostly stone-covered, flood plain. Still wet from rain, the smooth water-worn stones, many of which were quite beautiful, were a mixture of black, white, and yellow. They extended a couple of feet into the river until they were hidden from view by the silty water.
The main channel ran close to the opposite side of the river, which was at least 200 feet wide. The green of the boreal forest rising above the 10- to 15-foot river bank provided a bit of relief from the gray of the overcast sky and silty river water. A pleasant breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay; our raingear kept us warm. Our group soon dispersed in the large expanse of the floodplain.
Sara, who had donned chest waders, boots, and a life jacket before leaving the hangar, waded carefully through the river shallows to put her fly rod to the test. While it was hardly perfect conditions for fly fishing, she deserved credit for trying.
I chose to have some quiet time while perched on one of the several large boulders near the river. It was the perfect place to soak up the sights and sounds of the river, contemplate our trip so far, and remember when I accompanied the Federal Emergency Management Agency Federal Coordinating Officer to three Alaska Native villages (Allakaket, Alatna, and Hughes) downriver from Bettles following a major flood in 1994.
We were all a bit reluctant to leave the river. It had proven to be a welcome change of scenery. The rest of the afternoon was spent at Bettles Lodge, where it was warm enough to allow us to shed an outer layer of clothing. Back at the hangar, we put up our tents once again before chowing down on dinner.
This time, we shared the hangar with the group of five, “twenty-somethings,” who had arrived in Bettles earlier in the day. They were scheduled to fly into Gates of the Arctic National Park to backpack; however, like us, the weather was interfering with those plans.
The second night in the hangar proved to be more comfortable. While the snoring continued unabated, the air compressor had been turned off earlier in the evening. John and I donned extra layers of clothing to counteract the cold from the concrete floor. That did the trick and kept us toasty warm in our sleeping bags. Nevertheless, periods of heavy rain throughout the night kept me from falling into a deep sleep. Try as I might, it was difficult to keep visions of an ever-rising Noatak River out of my head.
Up early once again on Friday, July 30th, the view outside the hangar was bleak…light rain, overcast skies, and a relentlessly low cloud ceiling. Matt and Brian advised us to pack the gear inside our tents prior to breakfast, but to not yet collapse the tents. While that did not sound promising, at least we would have a new place (i.e., our tents) to hang out, if we continued to be stuck in Bettles. After our second breakfast in the hangar, we walked to the National Park Service visitors center to check the forecast. To say it was “not good” was an understatement. The chance of precipitation that day was 100 percent. While the next day, the chance dropped to 90 percent, the forecast called for heavy rain throughout the day and night. The kicker was an accompanying National Weather Service “Watch, Warning & Advisory.” It stated that up to two to six inches of rain was predicted for the Koyukuk River Basin and south slopes of the Central Brooks Range by tomorrow (Saturday) night. This included the Noatak River. It further stated: “Sandbars [which is where we would be camping] and low-lying areas would be inundated and that outdoor recreationists should use extreme caution.” Paddling the Noatak River in the rain was one thing; paddling the river at flood stage and without any decent places to camp, was quite another, and was certainly not my idea of a good time….
Matt and Brian gathered our group outside the visitor center to discuss our options. While this turn of events was a huge disappointment, we all agreed it did not make sense to stay in Bettles at least three more days until the weather and river conditions improved. That would leave us with insufficient time to complete our planned paddle of an 80-mile stretch of the Noatak. Once consensus was reached on that decision, we looked to Matt and Brian for Plan B, which was being created on the spur of the moment by Alaska Alpine Adventure (AAA) staff in Anchorage.
An hour or so later, Matt and Brian gathered the group again to present us with two options. Option 1 was to fly back to Fairbanks, bag the rest of the trip, and try again in 2022 at no additional cost. Option 2 was to fly back to Fairbanks, hop into a AAA van, and take three days to drive back to Anchorage via the Richardson, Denali, and Parks highways, camping along the way. Then, on August 4th, we would fly from Anchorage to Kotzebue, where Golden Eagle Outfitters would then fly us (weather permitting) into the Great Sand Dunes in Kobuk National Park, where our original itinerary would have taken us after we completed our Noatak paddle. With the options laid out in front of us, we now faced the moment of truth…which one would everyone select?
Geoff and Mike decided almost immediately to go for Option 1, ending the trip in Fairbanks and flying back to Seattle. Almost as quickly, Dave and Doug chose Option 2. The choice was more complicated for John, Isabel, Sara, and me. We all agreed that Option 2 included a very expensive road trip to places we could visit on our own for far less money. On the other hand, we were in “travel mode,” had already paid for the trip, and were enjoying the time with our guides and the rest of the group. Additionally, it had been many years since either John or I had driven the Richardson or Denali highways. Last, but not least, it was unclear what other unique things we could do back in Anchorage for three days while we twiddled our thumbs waiting for the flight to Kotzebue. After all was said and done, we also chose Option 2. That was that.
It was now up to the AAA Anchorage-based staff and our guides to truly make lemonade out of lemons. Now the only question was when we would be able to fly out of Bettles…hopefully before the predicted heavy rains began the next day. Once again, we squished our way in the rain to Bettles Lodge, where we settled in to wait for word of our flight to Fairbanks. It was truly a bitter pill to swallow knowing that after four years of trying, the paddle down the Noatak River had evaded us yet again. However, at the same time, we realized, and appreciated, that being weathered in in Bettles had kept us from being on the river during a flood event. That was, at least, some consolation.