What a day. 

I woke up at 7AM, an early start by river rat standards. Last night we spoke with a young man named charles about getting a boat ride from the bering sea coast back to Emmonak. The plan was to paddle 11 miles to the sea, and arrange for Charles to pick us up and whip us back to town to avoid having to paddle back up stream, against the current and tide. Charles, who had purchased my canoe  for $100 the night before, said he would swing by our island where we camped at 9AM to set up our pick up plan.  After two cups of coffee, 11Am rolled around with no sign of Charles. Figuring we needed to make a new plan, we loaded the boat with minimal gear, stashed the rest in the woods on our island and ferried across the channel into town. First stop was the Alaska Commercial Company Store, where we thought we may find Charles. With no luck, we decided to knock out the other tasks for the day that needed to occur. Flights out of Emmonak to Anchorage and a place to stay for the night. 

For flights, we stopped into the Alaska Game and Fish building. The folks inside were extremely accommodating and let us use their phone to call Grant Airlines and line up flights to Anchorage. After about 15 minutes on the phone we were all set - leaving Emmonak at 4pm Saturday, August 18th, flying to Bethel, AK , then on to Anchorage that evening. 

Next on the list was a place to stay. A few folks in town told us that the local fish packing plant, called Kwikpak, offered rooms for rent, and that Jack was the man to talk to. After waiting in the lobby of an old building with plywood floors and a plywood desk with chipped white paint for about 30 minutes, a tall man with all silver bottom teeth burst through the door. “You two. Follow me.”

We walked back to his office, a trailer similar to the office on a construction site. Jack, with his silver teeth and half a pointer finger, was a man of few words. He called on the phone for an assistant, and after quickly telling him our situation and briefly about our journey, a young woman named Star walked in. “Star, take care of these two” Jack ordered. And with that we were off. Star took us to the employee housing and set us up in a bunk room with access to showers, laundry and meals around the clock. When we asked what we owed - “oh don’t worry about it. Jacks getting you guys set up on us.”

Wow. Star was extremely nice and welcoming. What a score. 

Next on the list was a big one - find a ride back from the sea. As we sat by the river and took in the view, a man who looked to be in his 50s walked up and introduced himself. “Welcome to Emmonak!” After some small talk we learned that our new friends, Herman, was the mayor of Emmonak. For a reasonable fee, Herman agreed to meet us on the coast at 4:20pm, at a predetermined pickup point that sat on the mouth of the Yukon River, overlooking the Bering Sea. Perfect. 

With all of our tasks complete, we jumped in the canoe with an excitement not felt since day 1. Hooping and hollering most of the way, we paddled 15 miles through fierce headwinds and the largest rolling waves yet of the trip. The Yukon wasn’t going to make reaching the sea easy. After several hours of struggling in the wind we reached our point. Due west was nothing but wide open water. The Bering Sea. We had done it. Complete. 

The amazing feeling had yet to set in, as the wind and waves whipped into our boat, forcing us to stay on edge and 100% locked in. Just as I looked down at the GPS to see the time, 4:20pm, a boat came screaming around the bend, slapping the hull against the water with every crashing wave. Herman was here. Our pickup had worked. We had done it. An amazing sense of accomplishment, pride and happiness pulsed through my veins. 64 Days, 1,804 river miles with 2,000+ miles paddled across some of the most remote and unspoiled wilderness in the world - the Yukon Territory and Alaska. 

As Herman pulled up, we loaded our canoe and gear into his skiff. Anchoring the boat for a moment, the three of us hopped out and onto the tundra and overlooked the Bering Sea. Per Hermans request, both Jackson and I filled an empty water bottle with mud, tundra grass and water from the mouth of the Yukon, so that as Herman noted “You can put it in a glass jar

After taking in the views and riding an ultimate high, we hit the river and motored back the 15 miles up river into town. 

We had done it. 

Once back, we took showers, ate a meal and did a load of laundry at KwikPak. For some reason Star and Jack are treating us so, so well. Free meals, room and amenities. 

As I sit in the bunk room of employee housing at the kwikpak plant, I’m reflecting on the journey. It seems wild that routine for the past 70 days is no more. The boat is gone, sold to Charles, who coincidentally, is Hermans son. No more setting up tents every night. Tomorrow morning, we won’t make two cups of coffee, sitting in our plastic camp chairs, eating hash browns or granola. No more wondering if we have enough water to cook, make coffee, and have drinking water for the day. No more scouring the shores and sandbars, looking for great campsite with wood and flat tent sites. No more moose wandering outside out tents. No more porcupines waddling along the shore. No more singing in the back of the boat, contemplating life and taking in the views. No more smelly feet and dirty socks. No more campfires on the beach, burning bundles of driftwood to cook on. No more eagles flying overhead, or seagulls circling about, badgering us until we leave their territory. No more massive river crossings or mumbling to Jackson, “Biggg River”.  No more native villages and bewildered welcomes. No more moose meat or fresh salmon given to us from those who survive off it. No more Yukon River, and sadly, that's OK. 

I know I'll miss it. The wild lands and lonely skies. The mountain tops and side sloughs. The midnight sun and hum of the misquotes from inside the tent. The sound of wind whipping through willows. The channels of current, slowly but forcefully working toward the sea. I’ll miss it, but for now, this adventure has come to an end. Soon enough I’ll be back in the wild lands, but likely never again will I experience the mighty Yukon River, from Source to Sea. 

64 Days, 1,804 miles, 2,000+ miles paddled. 

What an adventure.
What a time.