It’s a tad stunning to think that in the past five years, I’ve been fortunate enough to pull off four northern expeditions. The Mountain River in Canada’s Northwest Territory with some of our kids and partners, then a month on the Noatak in northern Alaska with a crew of 10 friends, then the Elk River in the central tundra barrens of Canada with a crew of guys, and then this year, paddling for more than a month on the Horton River, above the Arctic Circle in the Northwest Territories. I’ve adopted the theme of ‘keep on doing it as long as I can do it’, knowing that journeys like that after retirement are numbered.
Kind of crazy that I’ve been able to join these journeys, that I have the financial ability to make it happen, that I have adequate health to manage it, and good companions to adventure with – from kids who put up with us oldsters to peers who count themselves as lucky as me.
This time there were five of us. Lee James from Arizona, who proposed the idea and organized much of the logistics. Joth and Louise Davis, long-time adventure partners and great companions, and the two of us. Three folding pakcanoes, plenty of time in the itinerary, and trusted partners who pull their weight and bring competency to the equation.
So, we all drove to Yellowknife (25 hours from Butte) figuring that carrying all our gear and avoiding the pitfalls of commercial air travel was worth it. (It was!) From Yellowknife we flew to Norman Wells on a commercial flight operated by the same outfit that flew us to our put-in by float plane (yes, a commercial flight, but an outfit that understands the challenges of expedition freight). After a night at an outfitters base we flew via Twin Otter to Horton Lake, where we landed within a few yards of the connecting stream that leads to the Horton. 33 days later, 350ish miles downstream, within shouting distance of the Arctic Ocean, we were picked up on a gravel bar by a wheeled Twin Otter and flown out to Inuvik. After a day or two there, and some wrangling over air cargo, we flew commercial back to Yellowknife. Of course, our gear didn’t make it with us, so two of us had to wait an extra day in Yellowknife for the gear to finally arrive (another lesson in the shitshow of commercial air travel). Our conclusion . . . never do northern trips that depend on commercial airlines.
Kudos to Lee for picking a trip perfect for the old fart set. No big lakes to get windbound on. No horrendous rapids requiring long portages. River current the entire way. Through the portal we went, into that wild dimension free of outside news, political drama, household chores, family squabbles – truly on river time. At one point I posed the question to the group – which reality is the real one – the one with Trump in it, or the one with the Horton River flowing through it. The response was unanimous, and unsurprising! Our calendar allowed for a leisurely 12 miles/day average, which was quite sedate and doable. By earning more miles, we kept awarding ourselves with rest days – 11 of them during which we could hike the tundra expanses, observe wildlife, entertain ourselves in camp, swim, read, fish, and hang out.
Wildlife along the way was consistent and rewarding – a great look at a wolverine on shore, almost daily sightings of lone caribou, a couple of distant looks at musk ox, probably 10 barren ground grizzly, and a family pack of wolves who howled at us from behind our camp. Other highlights included three canyon sections with varying degrees of whitewater, most of it quite doable; river current that was clear as gin, sliding along with a kind of seamless grace that was mesmerizing; some whopping fossils embedded in limestone; paddling with my partner in life, with whom I’ve shared many thousands of miles in synchrony; only a few episodes of crappy weather or strong headwinds; some remarkable glimpses of smoking ground from smoldering coal deposits in the Smoking Hills near the end of the river. And, most astonishing in these times, not one sighting of another human in more than a month! How often does that happen?
On the down side, we witnessed sobering evidence of climate change at work – permafrost ‘blow-outs’ along the banks, slumping banks and hillsides sliding into the river and collapsing terrain everywhere. As Lee noted, “I’ve studied geology a lot, and I have no explanation for what’s going on here.” Also, some very smoky days whenever the winds persisted from the south, evidence of distant forest fires.
What a sweet way to spend a month, watching the evolving terrain of a long river slide past, playing mental Wordle to pass the time as we paddled, seeing animals free of humanity in their element, and relishing the time and mental space to indulge deep conversation and contemplation. And, at the end, hiking to a ridge from which we could see the shining Arctic Ocean shimmering in the distance.
Do we have another journey like this in us? Stay tuned.