Day 49

Wolf Howls & Bear Growls

It had rained hard though the night. By the time morning had come I woke to the familiar sound of water tapping my tents rainfly. I laid my head back down and closed my eyes. 

A short while later I rose to a break in the weather. Jackson and I used the window of opportunity to pack up our gear without being poured on. Luckily, we were able to get everything packed and coffee made before the rain returned. As we pushed off for the day a curtain of rain met us, giving a taste of what was to come for the day. 

After five miles of paddling in the rain and mist we rounded a bend to find a small cabin with a green canoe out front. Figuring it was the group of Swiss we had been leap frogging with for the last week or so we we pulled over into the eddy to check it out. The younger of the pair of paddlers stepped out onto the porch and yelled out to us. “Come on up!”

We bopped out of the canoe and walked up a small creek among chest high wildflowers and shrubs. As it turns out, the fellas had spent the past two days holed up in this cabin, which is used as safe haven during the Iditarod. A portion of the famous dog sled runs along the frozen Yukon, from the village of Kaltag to just south of Grayling, AK. The cabin was fully fitted with a wood burning stove, pots and pans, snack, books, games, firewood, and just about anything else you could imagine would be useful in a cabin. Above the door hung a piece of wood with the last name of the owner and “Est. 1973”. On the kitchen table a legal pad doubled as a guest book, telling travelers that they are welcome to stay in the cabin so long as they treat it well. Amazing. The walls were hung with sled dog racing photos and race plaques, including one plaque awarded to the owner for being an Iditarod finisher. He finished the 938 mile race in 12 days. 

The Swiss pair had already been waiting out storms in the cabin the past two nights. They had made it home, with gear and food strewn all over the place. We learned that yesterday had been Swiss National day, and as such they proudly displayed a Swiss flag they had brought with them on one of the cabins walls. 

I have to admit, I was envious of their set up. While Jackson and I spent nearly the entire day yesterday balled up inside our tents, our Swiss friends were waiting out the storm in a warm, dry cabin with a bed and couch. :)

We drank a few cups of coffee with the Swiss crew, made some ramen noodles, looked at maps and went on our way. As much as I would have liked to take up the Swiss on their offer to stay the night in the cabin, we had miles to make and although rain and mist were trying their best to damper the day, there was little to no wind and the river looked glassy.

We spent the next several hours enjoying the flat water, not too concerned with the steady mist. 

By the time were were ready to stop paddling it was 1AM and starting to get dark. The only thing we’d had to eat or drink all day was one cup of ramen noodles and two cups of coffee. Just before we were set to stop I noticed some movement on the right shore of the river, about fifty yards away. I looked closer and was able to make out a mama black bear and her cub. The cub was playfully running up and down the shoreline. Both Jackson and I were amazed at how fast the little one could run with basically no effort, just skipping around. We took out the binoculars and watched the pair waltz around before the light died and it got too dark to see. We typically see bear, moose and wolf tracks every day, but this was the first physical bear we’d seen since crossing the border from the Yukon Territory into Alaska. Nice. 

An hour or so later we found a good island and decided to make camp. Wiped from the day and encouraged by the new found darkness in the land of 24 hour sunlight we decided to forgo dinner and go straight to bed. After setting up our tents and lying down for sleep the noises began.

Noises in the water, the sound of the natural world coming to life when all is still. Fish swimming in the shallows, water popping. Then as clear as one could hear, a lone wolf cried out, howling at the moon. It sounded exactly like what you would hear in the movies. The wolf gave two howls before I spoke out to Jackson in tent next door. “You hear that?” “Crazy!” he responded. After our exchange the howling stopped. Hearing that was one of the moments when I thought to myself, “Damn, I’m in a wild place.”

The wolf was far enough away that it wasn’t overly spooky. It rang through the still night and filled the sky. About twenty minutes later, however, one of the most intimidating, vicious, scary sounds I have ever heard rang out. It sounded like a mix between a vicious roar and a dying animal, and right away Jackson and I both recognized it as the growl of a bear. Thinking it may be close, I popped my head out of the tent and began yelling. “HEY BEAR! HEY BEAR!!” From the other tent Jack screamed out - “What do we do?”  I responded “It’s OK - he’s not on the island!”.

The growl we had heard came from across the water, maybe fifty or so yards across a still slough. We both spent the rest of the night on edge, listening for any little sound, bear spray unholstered and on the ready. Turns out, being on edge is a tough way to fall asleep. Eventually I was able to relax my mind enough to doze off into a great night's rest.

Paddled well over forty miles today, our best milage day in some time. 

325 miles to the Bering Sea.