Circle

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The summer of 1977, a friend and I followed our dream (of spending a year in the wilderness) to Alaska. We were a couple of the “crackpots from the Lower 48 who come north to live out their ill-considered Jack London fantasies,” as Jon Krakauer puts it. 

Better sense prevailed for my friend, and he hitch-hiked back to Michigan. I kept going north out of Fairbanks to Circle, so named because on the longest day of the year you can watch the sun not quite sink into the Yukon River before it starts rising again. I wrote about the Yukon in my journal.

June 27: The Yukon is unlike any other river I have seen. My first real look at the Yukon was when I walked to its bank at Circle. It's wider than the Mississippi and faster, with swirls and boils all the way across. It's loaded with silt this time of year. I washed my face and heard it fizzing, like a freshly poured 7-Up. It took a while before I realized it was the silty water brushing against a nearby aluminum boat and the stones on the bottom. No wonder the stones along the Yukon are so smooth.

I worked on a barge on the Yukon, Porcupine, and Black rivers for a few weeks. I bought a Canadian-made wood and canvas canoe in Fort Yukon. When the barge got stuck on the way to Chalkyitsik with 50,000 gallons of generator fuel in the hold, Joe Firmin, the recently hired pilot, and I took the advice of the barge operator/owner and left him and his wife with the barge as we paddled back to Fort Yukon. The last mile was upstream on the Yukon. We paddled hard, stopping frequently and holding onto tree branches to catch our breath.

There was no way for me to paddle the canoe upstream on the Yukon back to Circle. I was owed a flight back, which I accepted. I drove back to Fairbanks for maps and supplies before returning to Circle. There I hitched a ride with three floaters, downstream to Fort Yukon, in the second seat of a Klepper canoe.

From Fort Yukon, I headed downstream for about 30 miles to Birch Creek, a tributary that runs roughly parallel to but slower than the Yukon. I kept notes of my trip.

July 20: I left Fort Yukon this morning at 11:45 and made it to the upper mouth of Birch Creek by 7:00. I navigated the route Gilbert Stevens drew on my USGS maps through the many islands and channels of the Yukon, which is a couple miles wide at the creek's upper mouth. 

As soon as I got onto the glassy, still creek, a 2-foot pike came up beside the canoe and looked me over. It was then I realized I wasn’t sure what I’d do if I did catch one of those. At the first bend I saw loons, ducks, a muskrat, and beaver. 

I caught a pike with a daredevil lure tied to a tent cord and stopped to camp. In some cases it is better to ask for a blessing on the food before the preparation begins. Tonight’s supper was pretty miserable; I was spitting bones and scales much of the meal. (Note: I learned to cook pike and enjoyed them for many a meal.)

July 23: Saturday morning. Raining. I’ve got the runs.

The water was up today. More junk floating on it and swifter. I occasionally had to get out of the canoe because the current was too hard to pole or paddle against. From the looks of the map, for the next few days I’ll have very few of the deep and wide sections where the water barely moves.

July 24: Bread-baking break. The sun is warming the cast-iron Dutch oven where the bread is rising, and I started a fire. When the bread has risen and the coals are ready, I'll heap the coals onto the cover of the oven for baking.

The maps make great companions. During nice weather they’re always there in front of me in the canoe so I can tell where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going. I figure the total distance is about 250 miles. At night I review the maps and mark down my camping spots. I should mark down interesting things but then I’d always be marking instead of paddling.  This trip would be more boring without my maps.

July 25: I’m in Birch Creek Village. 

I saw a cow moose with twin calves and a pair of bald eagles on my way downstream from the fork. David James, son of the retired town chief, invited me to his house for coffee. Sanka—and it tasted pretty good. He asked if I'd seen moose. When I said yes, he asked why I didn't shoot one. "It's like walking past a $50 bill and not picking it up."

July 26: This morning three younger guys invited me over for coffee, before they went to bed. They had worked all night getting logs for a new building. I asked why they worked at night when the mosquitoes are at their worst. “It's too hot during the day.”

Everyone I talked to said I should see the school teacher, Ed Priest. I paid him a visit and stayed for a 7-Up, lunch, and supper. He also gave me the book Mountain Man, by Vardis Fisher. Ed—the only white in the village—seems to enjoy life here. He's the town cop, teacher, and Red Cross representative.

David James’s father, now in his nineties or older, used to run the village. He visited Ed this afternoon. He didn’t say a word and spent a good share of his hour there dozing off in the rocking chair. “Sometimes he does that,” said Ed. “Other times he really starts talking.” He set up the community in 1905. Everyone I met here is a James, so I guess he’s the village ancestor as well as historian. His name: Birch Creek James.

He used to go through what anyone brought from Fort Yukon or Circle to make sure there was no booze. It was a pretty dry town then; there’s still a $25 fine for possession in town, but it's no longer so well enforced.

I bought jam, a bag of apples, and a 3 Musketeers bar at the store. I guess the trip down here was worth it. I may change my mind as I try to go back up.

July 28: 14 miles today and I’m satisfied. Much of the river was as fast as the Yukon. I spent almost the whole day out of the boat, lining. With one end of a long rope tied to the front of the canoe and the other to the back, I steer the canoe around obstacles while towing from the bank. I was in the boat only to cross sides between pulling from the inside of each bend. Outside banks are typically steep cutbanks; otherwise I would try to stick to one side.

July 29: The geese are learning to fly. All but the one I had for supper. This morning when I got up I heard an outboard and some shooting. About the time I was ready for breakfast, three men I’d met in Birch Creek Village came from upstream. They had gone past earlier while I slept. They were hunting, but saw no moose or bear, just geese. I shared bread with jam and peanut butter and some lemonade for breakfast, and they gave me a goose for my supper. 

At the first bend after I took off a small black bear swam the river just ahead of me. A first on bear sightings this trip.

I met two floaters today, a man and woman on a big raft contraption with styrofoam floats and a shelter on deck. Not a fancy craft, but I imagine they were having more fun than I at the moment. Downstream is easy street. The woman asked who I was talking to, so I confessed I had been talking to the geese. They probably thought I was crazy. I invited them to join me for my goose supper, but they declined and floated by.

July 31: Almost 18 miles yesterday.

I'm taking a day off at Preacher Creek. The mosquitoes here are thicker than I’ve yet seen them. Last night while fixing supper, I took a swipe at my pant leg and killed 25-30 mosquitoes. Now there’s a cloud of them trying to get through my front screen so I’m staying in the tent for awhile.  At this camp spot I saw a wolf print over 4 ½ inches wide. Also there are bear and moose tracks galore. 

I packed away my faithful companions: the maps and my watch. This trip is becoming drudgery. I expected it to be hard work, and it is. I check my maps, pick a spot and try to get there by a particular time, and then I get pissed off at anything that detains me. So from now on, no maps, no watch, no deadlines. If I’m not constantly checking my maps, I’ll be surprised and happy when I see the bridge. 

I never tire of watching the beavers swimming with little more than their blunt noses above water, pushing branches. Or the geese. I chase them up river. The bigger ones are learning to fly: they paddle fast, flap their wings a lot and get above water for awhile, and then settle back down. The slow learners climb up the bank and waddle around looking for a hiding place. Some still bob under water and come up 50 feet away, as they did when small.

August 1: Fallout! The sun turned orange and ashes came floating out of the sky from a forest fire. It was eerie–and quiet. No geese. No beavers. No animals. Part of the effect was the river, which today was peaceful and quiet.

August 2: As I was shaking out my sleeping bag a bull moose crashed out of the willows a little upstream. He crossed the river, went up the bank, and disappeared, his small rack still in velvet. Not much later was a grizzly bear with three cubs. Then a single bear. Then a bear with two cubs. I guess I went through bear country today. 

I got a view of mountains. The Crazy mountains; I checked the map.

August 4: Last night as I was getting ready to boil my beans and jerky, I heard what sounded like a pup whining from the other side of the river. I got in the canoe and crossed the river. On the bank stood a pup, which looked like a Doberman with floppy ears. As I got out of the boat and put my shoes on, she took off. I walked into the woods a ways after her, putting up with clouds of mosquitoes, but no pup. 

This morning as I was fixing my oatmeal, there she was again. I crossed the river, and again she ran away. I dropped some beef jerky and went back to my breakfast. She found the jerky and, while I was finishing breakfast, she swam the river. I gave her more jerky mixed with oatmeal. She ate it and was still hungry. She looks starved. I wonder how long she's been lost out here. When I get to Circle I'll ask around.

Now bread is baking and she's sleeping. I named her Lotus after the Indian wife of  Mountain Man. She will be a good traveling companion. 

August 6: Maybe I should start boiling my water again now that I’m close to civilization. I’m within 50 miles of the bridge. That seems close after a trip of about 230 miles so far. I’m both glad and sad that the end is so near. 

Straight east of here, not far, is Circle. I hear planes landing and taking off. 

The way Lotus shivers, I wonder how she made it in the woods without food and my two sweatshirts and a pair of pants to keep her warm. Maybe she’ll survive yet, though.

August 8: A cow and calf today, same as on Saturday. A pair of bald eagles. And a certain bridge that I’ve looked forward to seeing. 

Was it worth it? Yes. Again? Not any direction but down. I’m glad to be done.

August 9: As I was getting everything loaded into the truck by the bridge, a guy came down Birch Creek in an aluminum canoe from near the summit. He came to Alaska with goals similar to mine. His trip took that out of him, he said. It was too lonely. I gave him a ride back to his car on my way to Fairbanks.

Lonely. It hadn't occurred to me to be lonely.