Let’s burn it!

Sometimes life lessons are obvious, and yet despite that we choose to ignore them continuing with our so-called, “well thought out” plans. We can only pray these moments are few and far between.

Our trip was nearing its end, with only a couple of days left to go. We had been packrafting, and the first few days of the trip had been spent on the main river that we wanted to run. All that was left was making it back out to the highway where we had stashed our vehicle. The journey out was to consist of lining the boats up a small river to an old portage trail, from there maybe 2 days of hiking and paddling across some lakes and then we’d be done. 

However, as we prepared to head up river and move into the hiking portion, the weight of our gear and food became more of a concern than it had been prior. Approximately three, maybe four more days remained. We were already pretty bare minimum on gear, but there was an excessive amount of food remaining, which meant a lot of extra weight.

Our bags were already looking to be 80-90 lbs plus. We proceeded to lay out all the food, and take a bit of inventory.It was separated into what would be required for remaining  meals, as well as an extra 2 days, bare minimum just in case. We were left with a small pile of food that was deemed unnecessary. Being in the middle of nowhere and not wanting to leave food out for animals the next best option was obvious:

Burn it all! 

And burn our extra white gas too!

As we watched our food go up in flames there was a slight tinge of regret,  that maybe we shouldn’t have done that…

But as the flames grew larger that slight hesitation was quickly overtaken with the odd joy of burning things. 

There might just be a small pyromaniac in all of us.

The next morning, we packed up our gear and started making our short trek up the river. By lunch, it became painfully apparent that this was not going to be a short trek. In fact, it wasn’t even going to take just a single day. 

Two days.

Two full days of stumbling up silty river water, slipping and tripping on rocks. Days filled with swimming, paddling and lining boats back and forth across the river. We were tired, soaked and littered with aches and pains.

 We had finally reached where the maps indicated the trail head was.

The river bank was dense in overgrown alders, some of the thickest any of us had ever seen.

We knew this route had maybe been used once or twice since the time of the gold rush, there was no guarantee of the condition it would be in.

Our group separated and headed off into the thick alder brush to look for the trail. As we searched, we were often forced to crawl along the forest floor to make any headway and as minute after minute ticked by the desperation began to rise.

We looked for anything that might resemble an old trail, maybe even a larger animal trail but everything led to a dead end of alders. Maybe the guys were having better luck in their section.

After about an hour of searching we stumbled out of the brush and came back together. With the light starting to fade, we stood in our small group of four soaked, tired, and hungry.

We soon concluded that there was not even a hint of this old trail that had apparently been re-claimed by the Yukon wilderness. All that remained was what looked to be an old piece of equipment, rotten and barely holding together, indicating that we were indeed at the right spot. Before us was simply a wall of alders so thick it could only be described as impassible. 

We silently set up camp not yet wanting to voice the dire situation we might have gotten ourselves into. Having changed into what dry clothes we had left, a fire was made and we attempted  to dry our primary attire.

It was Fall, and though we had been lucky with beautiful warm weather, you quickly learn not to trust the finicky Yukon and her mood swings, especially with Winter just around the corner.

We began looking more closely at the maps. Considering all other options available; from different hiking routes to helicopters. However, helicopters were out, unless things took a turn for the worse, we were all poor dirtbag guides after all.  The River was no longer an option as just ahead it turned into a class V canyon, with an entrance of sheer rock walls, plunging to the bottom of the river on either side.  

No matter what option we looked at and considered it was likely going to take more days than we had originally accounted for.

With three days worth of food left, maybe four if we were careful, it was painfully obvious we had made a hasty mistake in burning our reserves.

It was finally decided that our best option was to continue our travels in the direction of the original trail, if we were lucky, we may just find it, or at least sections of it.  

We rose with the sun the following morning and prepared for what might be one of the worst hikes we had ever done.

The alders were thick and it was easy to lose sight of each other if separated by only a few feet. The branches grabbed at our bags and limbs, it was like an obstacle course in which you barely fit in, while also carrying a small person on your back. We were fortunate and at times we did indeed come across an old trail, only ever enough to get our hopes up before driving us back into the thick brush of despair. We even came across some open fields that were once riverbeds, in these fields it became clear that this trail had indeed once been heavily used, but not for at least 20 years, if not more.

In the end it took only two days of hiking and another day of paddling to reach the end of our trip. We had made it and with even enough food to spare for possibly one more day, though coffee supplies had been depleted that last morning.

By: Bethany Paquette