Trip map

After about 65 miles of skiing and paddling, and 165 miles of hitchhiking, I’m writing here from Hig’s mother’s house in Seldovia, as snow flies past the window. It’s the first time we’ve seen snowfall since we arrived in Alaska.


Ice on Turnagain Arm



Hig in new drysuit

Turnagain Ice

We left Sheri’s on the morning of the 28th in a flurry of chaos, new drysuits finished just moments before we hopped in the truck, racing to catch the tide on Turnagain Arm. The tide was dropping, and from Beluga Point, we watched the icebergs flow in the channel beyond. But there was no water for rafting, so we sadly packed up the boats, and started trudging down the highway, thumbs out.

Five rides later, at Cooper Landing, we scrambled out of the last cab, and began the ride proper. Though we weren’t terribly surprised to find Turnagain Arm choked with ice, we were very surprised to find the Kenai River open.



Inverse tracks



Breakfast on the Kenai

Kenai River

We skied beside the river for a mile, not quite believing it would stay open, before floating the next six. Icicles formed on the tips of our strapped on skis. Eagles lined the shore, eating the remains of last year’s salmon. Ducks and swans swam in the river. Our packrafts bumped bottom in shallow riffles, floating the lazy turquoise stream between the ice banks.



Paddling with skis



Skiing the Kenai

In the summer, this is a major river, with real rapids. But now it was barely enough for packrafts. And after six miles, it abruptly closed again in an ice dam stretching across the river.

Skiing the river ice, we pulled the Alpacka rafts behind us as sleds, using the removable waist belt from our packs as a harness. It worked surprisingly well, and we were happy not to have to hoist the packs quite yet.



Alpacka Sled



Hig in ruff

Tracks of fox and river otter were thick in the winding side channels we were skiing, and we followed a few sets of wolverine tracks making their way down the river. Wolverines are just rare enough and interesting enough that I’m always excited to find their tracks.



Alpacka sled II



Moon over forest



Moon over red hill





Alpacka sled on Skilak



Skilak Lake

Skilak Lake
We skied into dark, out onto the frozen expanse of Skilak Lake under a three quarters moon and a sky full of stars. We camped by a rocky island in the middle of the lake. I could feel tiny icicles forming in my nose as the temperature dipped – must have been close to zero.

I tipped over the pot once as we melted water with the wobbly tin-can stove. The shelter sagged on one end as the ties pulled out of the ice. We made the shelter with every last scrap of our six yards of Cuben fiber, and though we managed to deal with it fine for this trip, what it really needs is just to be bigger.

There were only snowmachine tracks to mar the flat white expanse of Skilak Lake as we skied it the next day, roasting under a blazing sun. When I’m too hot, I find it impossible to imagine ever being too cold. When I’m too cold, I find it impossible to imagine ever being too hot. Luckily the new drysuits were quite comfortable to wear by themselves. Unluckily we’d forgotten the sunblock, and there was little to do for my slowly-frying nose.

Probably one of the main reasons I’m a packrafter rather than a kayaker is that I find long water crossings boring after awhile. After a day of lake skiing, I was ready for forest. After a few days of forest, I was definitely longing for the lake.



Sunset in burnt woods

Charcoal Woods
Skilak Lake was the last place we could make good time. From the lake, we packed up our sleds, and passed into a sea of charred trunks, black and branchless, draped over a series of moraines. The burnt wood scribbled charcoal doodles on our packs and coats as we brushed between the trees, and the trunks left zebra stripes of shadows on the snow. Only a few ptarmigan and squirrels seemed to have found a living here, leaving their tracks on the forest floor.



Charcoal woods



Hill in charcoal woods

Skiing here was much less efficient, picking our way up and down, squeezing between trees, wobbling beneath heavy packs. And we’re pretty much novices as far as technical skiing skills go. I was wearing climbing skins, which helped. And old falling apart ski boots from the seventh grade, too small and providing absolutely no stability, which didn’t help.



Gear sunbathing

The Endless Forest

We passed out of the burned area the next day, and the trees returned to life. Rabbit tracks crisscrossed the forest floor, and the spruce were interspersed with patches of aspen and hills of alder. We skied at a compass bearing of 230 degrees, angling across the tree shadows on the snow, as the sun swiveled around us. Headed for Lake Tustumena.



Cooking on the hobo stove

It was brilliantly sunny again, and getting hot. Standing in the sun was much hotter than skiing in the shade. By late afternoon the sun had warmed the snow enough that it crept up above freezing, and started to stick to our skis. It took barely two strides to acquire a six-inch layer cake of snow on the bottom of each ski. Moving became a process of dragging our new twenty-pound feet. We stopped for an early dinner, waiting for the snow to cool down, hanging our socks and sleeping bags on the trees to air out and dry out.



Sunset in the endless forest

The next day, more forest. The occasional hills broke up the monotony, but only slowed us further. When we crossed the Funny River the next morning, we realized that despite our relatively straight line, we were even farther from Tustumena Lake than we’d thought. We already knew we wouldn’t ski all the way to Homer in the time we had left. But we’d been hoping to get to Tustemena, and ski out the river from there. It seemed like it might be another day before we’d see the end of the woods.



Skiing the trail

Snowmachine Trail

Mid afternoon, the snow was getting sticky again. We were still miles from the lake. And we stumbled across a snowmachine trail. It seemed like it might be going our way… One step on the packed snow, and I felt that swish and glide – my ski sliding effortlessly across the ground. After so much wading through deep forest, sticking to the snow, it was irresistible. It was addictive. It may not have been going our way, but it was going somewhere, and we weren’t about to plunge back into the woods.



Ice

We hoped to find a spur trail to Tustumena. Instead we found a straight shot out to the Funny River road.

Hitchhiking Again

After four days we were back on the road again, skis jutting from our packs, hopefully sticking our thumbs out at any passing car that looked large enough to take us (perhaps the only time I’ve been happy to see the overly large cars Americans tend to drive).



Snowmachine trail

But it wasn’t long before we got a ride into Soldotna, and from there we were picked up by Doug Malone, who gave us a ride all the way out to the Homer spit. He turned out to be a fellow backcountry adventurer, more than happy to give a couple of skiers a lift. We passed the time into Homer chatting about the Wilderness Classic, and various trips we’d all done.



Fishing boats from Homer

Paddle to Seldovia

Most people seem to think that packrafts aren’t good for flat water travel. I’m convinced they just haven’t tried it. From the Homer spit, Kachemak Bay was as flat calm as I’ve ever seen it. Why pay the plane fare to fly across, when we could just paddle?



Setting up to paddle

We ate fish and chips in the “Happy Face Restaurant”, waiting for the tide to turn, and turning other diners heads with our drysuits, smudged faces, and wild hair. Luckily Hig and I are both lacking the normal complement of self-consciousness. I figure it’s just as well if random strangers laugh at us – why not make their day a little funnier?

Launching at 3:30, we paddled to Seldovia in two long hops – six miles to Yukon Island, and another five to Barabara Point. Dressed up in all our gear, tucked under the spray skirts, we stayed warm, even as dark was falling. I sang all the songs I knew (about 5 or 6) to pass the time. As bad as I am, Hig is worse, so he navigated while I sang.



Paddling to Seldovia

By the time we were nearing the beach at Barabara Point, it was long past full dark. A haze of clouds obscured the moon. Spinning around, we could see the distant lights of Homer. Where we were going, it was a scene of black rocks against dark grey water.

Just off the beach, we startled a group of sea lions, masquerading as kelp until they splashed, with their characteristic whooshing breath. Paddling with their head and shoulders above the water, they grouped into a tight pack, for protection. Meanwhile, we paddled our packrafts as close together as we could with the skis, pretending to be a bigger boat. They moved away, grunting and growling, seemingly as scared of us as we were of them.

Maneuvering my skis through an alder trap by headlamp, between Barabara Point and the road, I wondered why we hadn’t just camped at Yukon Island. But a few miles of road later, I was more than happy to knock on Hig’s mother’s door at 12:30AM. Into a warm house, and a late-night pancake dinner…

Gear Thoughts

Shelter: The cuben fiber seems like pretty neat stuff, and our basic design seems ok, but it really needs to be bigger. We’ll get more fabric.



Ski gear: We were borrowing two different setups – one really light and one heavier. Despite our normal preference for things to be as light as possible, we liked the wider skis (these also had metal edges) and the sturdier boots, and will probably carry something like them.

Drysuits: These were beta test versions. Overall, they were great. We were really happy with them. Comfortable in the whole range of temperatures, fit well, waterproof and snow-shedding… But there are a few issues still to be fixed. The rubber gaskets at the wrist were made of too fragile of rubber, and they all shredded by the end of the trip. Will be fixed in version 2.0

Sleeping setup: The down bag was great! We need to remake our outer synthetic bag (which we knew already), which is too worn out. The thermarest life vests are great for sleeping on as well as paddling in, but even with a bit of extra lift off the ground from the rafts, not quite enough ground insulation for winter. We’ll get another foam pad.

Stove: Very easy, but very smoky. Needs more air holes. And probably a little better platform than a small piece of plywood.

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