6/18/00

Today we entered the Swan Lake Canoe Route. We got a late start, but still managed to be on the water by noon. Our party numbered four people in two canoes. I had managed to borrow a canoe from the friend of a friend, which left us the expense of renting one. From the parking/drop-off area down to Canoe Lake, it is a short walk on a well-defined path. Still, it was the first portage of the trip. Early portages are often the most difficult, as the food bag is completely full and the body isn't used to the labor of carrying the canoe and gear. This one wasn't that unpleasant, though. I love the feel of making my body work, the strain, and the euphoria of putting down the canoe and pack at the end of the portage. I realized that I wouldn't be able to do it all in one trip throughout the journey, but for now I was content with the discomfort of a heavy pack and boat on my back.

I entered the water knowing that two members of the party had little or no canoeing experience. This was balanced by the fact that I had spent considerable in the woods, and canoe time in water rougher than we were likely to see, with Craig, the fourth member of our group. I felt confident that he could handle anything that could come our way. Any hesitations were quickly put to rest as the two inexperienced paddlers soon got the hang of it.

We paddled slowly across Canoe Lake, soaking up the silence and peace. The first portage was an event. As it was short, we decided to do it in one trip. After generating a considerable amount of sweat, we were soon back in the water.

The first day or so of a wilderness trip is spent slowing down. Gone are the time constraints of town, replaced by timelessness of the natural world. Such a condition is exacerbated by the Alaskan summer. With the long days, the clock falls away as another needless trinket of society. We paddle until we want to stop, eat when we're hungry, sleep when we're tired. As there are only a few hours without sun, and none without enough light to do all of these things, we operate completely autonomously of time. It is a grand thing.

Our third portage of the day leads us to Contact Lake. The route is up a gently sloping hill alongside a stream. Still I am portaging my gear, the food bag, and the canoe in one trip. It was on this portage the first time I paddled the Swan Lake that I saw a big brown bear track in the mud, still filling up with water. This meant that it was less than five (or so) minutes old. As I waded into Contact Lake and lifted the canoe off my shoulders, a strap from my pack got caught on one of the paddles. I ignored it and rolled the canoe over and into the water. As I did this, my pack went with it, as it was top heavy and caught on a paddle. As my pack went, so did I, falling into the water. I quickly got to my feet and tossed my pack on shore, as it had loosened itself from the paddle as it went over. Pulling the canoe on shore, I inspected my pack. It had only been in the water a moment, so nothing except the exterior was wet. I realized that this was nature's way of telling me that I should make two trips per portage, so from that point on that's what I did.

As it was getting late (though not dark), we decided to camp. We set up our tents, and got the food bag and cook kit and headed back down the portage trail to cook dinner. The mosquitoes were thick, so we all wore long pants and long sleeves. While we were eating, I cut a spruce pole that was growing amidst a clump of larger trees. I needed to get a pole for snubbing down the Moose River, and this one would not have lived to maturity, so I harvested it after thanking it and telling it I would carve it into a beautiful pole. After I cut it down, I limbed it and peeled the bark to help it dry faster. The result of my labor was a twelve-foot pole, smooth and narrow. It was quite flexible, but would stiffen as the wood dried out.

After a satisfying meal, we hung the food bag in the trees, and headed back to camp. Once back in camp, I gathered some wood for a fire. As it had been raining off and on for several days, I grabbed a hug-sized bundle of resin-saturated spruce twigs. I lit a match, and within 20 seconds we had flames dancing four feet above the fire pit. As soon as the fire was lit, we were relieved from the onslaught of mosquitoes.

As I was gathering more wood for the fire, I saw two loons that were in the lake just a few yards offshore. I told the others, and they joined me on the shore to watch. The loons paddled up to within 15 feet of us. I felt that they were welcoming us to their home, and asking us to treat it well, which we did. Soon we were all back at the fire, and the loons were about 25 yards offshore. We heard them begin to agitatedly call out, and went to have a look. A raptor (bird of prey) was flying low over the lake. It was too far off and the light too dim to positively identify it, but the loons were alerting everything within earshot of its presence. It flew over, and soon the loons were quiet again.

As the light began to fade, we heard coyotes in the distance. We made our way to bed one by one, as the desire for sleep overtook the pleasures of sitting in front of the fire.

When we woke up, we started a smudge fire right away to keep the mosquitoes at bay. We lit a fire and let it burn for a few minutes, then let it burn down and smolder enough to give off smoke, but not to have an obvious flame. The mosquitoes hate the smoke, so if they got to the point where you needed to get away from them, you stood in the smoke for a reprieve. After a lazy breakfast, we were packing up camp when a man and woman paddled up Contact Lake to the portage, next to which we were camped. After exchanging pleasantries, we asked them where they had camped the night before. They then began to tell us their story from the previous day.

"We camped on the northern shore of Spruce Lake. Yesterday, we went out fishing in our canoe, and when we came back to camp, we saw a brown bear eating our food and strewing our stuff around the woods," the man explained. "When he saw us, he ran off. He ate or spoiled all our food, but didn't rip up our tent."
"The bear ate my Therma-Rest(a brand name of inflatable camping mattress)," the woman added. In the back of my mind I wondered if anyone had ever done a study to determine which brand of camping mattress bears like to eat the most.

We asked them to join us for breakfast, but they declined saying that they had a little bit of granola left, and were headed back to their car at the trailhead. They were going into town for a big meal. So, we bid them farewell, loaded up our gear, and took to the water.

After paddling across Contact Lake, we set up for the portage to Marten Lake. I made two trips, carrying the canoe on one and my pack on the other. It was much more pleasurable, and I was able to poke around in the forest a bit and look for edible plants.

The portage between Marten and Spruce Lakes is a water portage; a small, navigable creek runs between the two lakes. My other trip on the canoe route was at the beginning of August, when the Bulrushes were mature. We had stopped to harvest and eat them for over an hour (the base of the stalk is starchy, with an appealing texture). As it was now June, we had no such wild edibles waiting for us.

As we entered Spruce Lake, the thoughts of our party were on the bear that had terrorized the people we had met that morning. My last time on the canoe route, I had spent two nights on Spruce Lake, with the intervening day spent trout fishing and lazily exploring the area. This time, due to the apprehension of those in my party, I traversed it in haste. We did spend a bit of time paddling the shore to see if we could find their camp or any remnants of the marauding bear's attack, but we found nothing.

The portage from Spruce to Trout Lake was to be our longest of the day, and when we arrived at Trout Lake the wind was picking up and blowing at us. When we took to the water, we made a beeline for the leeward shore, and took advantage of the two peninsulas as windbreaks.

Opposite the second peninsula that juts out and comes within 35 yards of separating the lake into two smaller lakes, we stopped and talked to some folks who were camped. They said that they had seen a brown bear earlier near the portage trail we had just come through. Since they had seen it through binoculars, they said there was an outside chance it may have been a moose, but were reasonably sure it was a bear. This was enough to convince the members of my party that a bear was lurking behind every bush, with the sole intention of coming after them. We related the story of the folks who had the unwanted visitor on Spruce Lake and pushed on.

After we made the short portage to Gavia Lake, we paddled to the first island we saw. After looking around a bit, we found a mother loon on her nest. We decided to push on and leave her in peace. It was the second occupied loon nest we saw that day.

The large island in Gavia Lake was our final destination for the day. It is about 110 yards long and 35 yards wide, with some nice flat spots to pitch a tent. We had a nice fire and a good meal, consisting of onions, potatoes, lard, and Tabasco, with some other potatoes cooked in the coals. Being on an island, and thus less accessible to bears, was comforting. Also, being surrounded by water on all sides, the slightest breeze was enough to keep the mosquitoes at bay.
As we were drifting off to sleep, we heard six gunshots from the direction of Trout Lake. "Bang" - long pause- "Bang-Bang-Bang-Bang" - long pause- "Bang".

The next morning, we left our camp set up and paddled/portaged back to Trout Lake. I had expected to find some empty bullet shells, and perhaps even a bear carcass, but was greeted with neither of these sights. The folks who were camping there the previous day were gone, and there was no sign that a gun had been fired here. The sounds must have come from farther off.

We slowly worked our way back to our island camp, deciding to spend another night there before pushing onward. I walked to the top of the small knoll with my journal. "Sitting here on an island knoll, deep in the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge, looking out at the Chugach Mountains, listening to the rhythmic lapping of the waves on shore, occasionally interrupted by the call of a loon, I am at peace. Rain is starting to fall. While I will not melt from it, these words in a journal won't fare so well." (written while admiring the view in the picture to the left)

It rained for most of the day, and we took refuge in our tents. It cleared up later, though, and we had a nice fire and satisfying meal. The next day was a gem. We loaded up our gear and paddled to the short carry to Konchanee Lake. Paddling south along the western shore, we came upon two large rocks that jutted out into the lake. We decided to stop for a bit and sun ourselves. Although the water was chilly, I went in for a quick swim, washing away the grit and grime of the journey. We then portaged to Cygnet Lake, and prepared for the longest portage of the trip; from Cygnet Lake to Swan Lake. Before the portage we had a big lunch, both because we were hungry and to lighten the load of the food bag a bit.

The portage itself was long, but the feeling of lifting the canoe off my shoulders on the shore of Swan Lake was definitely worth the labor involved in getting there. Swan Lake is one of my favorite places in the world. It's clear waters, with the backdrop of the Chugach Mountains, are enough to take your breath away. On this day, with the cumulus clouds puffy and white in a blue Alaskan sky, it didn't disappoint. We launched the canoes into the lake and paddled out into the middle, then let the wind push us for most of its length as we relished just being there. (Below: Pictures from Swan Lake)

When we reached the portage to the Moose River, the mosquitoes were relentless. Donning head nets, we pushed on for our last carry.

The upper reaches of the Moose River are narrow and winding. The current pushed us along well, and combined with our paddling made the bank seem to rush by. It was exhilarating, almost like an amusement park ride. We had to get out of the canoe a few times to get around obstacles, but in general it was a smooth ride. Many of the passages around gravel bars and downed trees were only wide enough for one boat to pass, so we took turns and allowed some space between the boats. As we were rounding a bend, we snuck up on a muskrat that was sitting on the bank. When he realized that we were only a few feet away, he dove into the water and swam downstream, parallel to the canoe. After about thirty yards, he ducked under the water and was gone.

We paddled on until late at night, when we stopped for dinner. We started up a smudge fire to combat the mosquitoes, then cooked up a meal and drank lots of water. Then it was back into the canoes for a bit to leave our cooking and food smells behind. We finally found a nice spot to camp on a hill next to the river. Our bodies were tired from a long day of paddling, but we still had a fire and talked for a while before turning in. Packing up camp in the morning was a bit of a chore because of the mosquitoes, but soon we were on the water again. The Moose was wider now, and we saw a few red salmon here and there. As we rounded a bend in the river, we were faced with a forty-yard stretch of riffles. Standing in the middle of the river was a cow moose. She watched us float towards her, then walked to the bank and into the brush.

A little past midday, we came upon a sign saying that there was a mandatory portage ahead. The Alaska Department of Fish and Game had set up a weir in the river in order to count the salmon. They would keep the weir closed all day, then open it for a while at night and count the fish that came through. It gave us a chance to see the red salmon schooled up. There was a makeshift shelter next to the weir, where the researchers stayed, and a boat with an outboard downstream of the weir. We were still 10 or so river miles upstream of the Kenai National Wildlife Refuge border, and another still from the road and the boat launch.

As we entered the lower Moose, the meandering river widened considerably from its narrow width upstream. We saw groups of red salmon holding over some of the gravel bars. As we paddled past, they would occasionally get spooked and circle back downstream, coming up to either side of where they had been.

Eventually, we saw the sign that marked the edge of the Wildlife Refuge. From here, it was about a mile to the bridge, and a little bit further to the confluence of the Moose and Kenai Rivers. We stopped and I took a picture of my traveling companions in front of the sign. Then it was back into the canoes for the final mile of our journey.

As we came under the Sterling highway bridge and saw the takeout spot, I thought about the trip and how much I had enjoyed it. I looked forward to the next time I would wet a paddle on the route, and was thankful that everything had gone so well. The two members of the group who hadn't done any canoeing before the trip had done wonderfully, far better than I had hoped. As we pulled the canoes from the water, we all basked in the glow of accomplishment. While one of the less tangible benefits of canoeing wilderness waterways, it is one of the most satisfying.

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