We took a bush plane out into the Wilderness to begin our pack rafting adventure down the Talachulitna River

We rolled out of the campground at dawn, and didn’t feel the need to pay for stashing our tent in the bushes for four hours.  None of the R.V. campers were awake yet, so as Corey gunned the engine and the Corolla let out a deafening clamor, we served as their alarm clock.  We had three hours on the highway left to get to Anchorage, and it gave us time to compile a list of supplies we needed to purchase before we took a bush plane far into the wilderness.  Number one on the list was better ammunition for the revolver, and we also needed a few lemons, some granola bars, a pack of hooks for bead fishing, some pringles and a plastic bottle of whisky.  Upon reaching Anchorage, we secured these provisions and spread out all of our gear in the parking lot of a liquor store.  We had to carefully choose our supplies for our upcoming float trip, and bring only things that were absolutely necessary.  Items had to fit in our dry-bags, or be stuffed into the pockets of a fly vest.  My vest was crammed with gear.  Before we went to the seaplane base to find a pilot, we needed to ship the four big dolly varden from the upper Anchor back home to Minnesota.  We bought an insulated fish box and a few pounds of dry ice, packed it up and walked into a FedEx store.  It cost sixty dollars to ship it overnight express, but we cringed and paid it knowing that the fresh chrome sea-run char would put a smile on our parent’s faces and we wanted them to taste these delicious fish we have been living on for a week. 

The Hood Lake seaplane base is the largest float-plane base in the World.  This small lake is rimmed with little buildings, each with a dock and one or more floatplanes tied up.  Our cousin had recommended a pilot, so we found his office and told him about our plans.  We wanted to be dropped off at Judd Lake, the headwaters of the Talachulitna River, then we would float in our pack rafts down the entire length of the river and be picked up on the Skwentna River a couple miles below these river’s juncture.  He said that it wasn’t advisable due to low water on the river, but since Tyler had recommended it and we had small pack rafts it could be doable.  He would take us, but we couldn’t leave for six hours.   Six hours?  This would throw us completely off schedule, never mind the fact that we were totally packed and itching to get into the Wilderness.  We told him that we would be back in six hours, but we decided to inquire with other float plane operations to see if there was another option.  Three pilots in a row told us flat out that the trip would be too grueling and dangerous, and they would not fly us out there.  With walls covered with giant aerial photos, they would point out other rivers and trip options that would be safer.  Still, we were determined to float the Talachulitna.  At the next place, they told us the same thing.  Then when Corey mentioned our Alpacka pack rafts, one of the pilots said, “Alpackas?  Hmmmm.  I think these guys could make it in those. You got any experience running rivers like this?”  Corey and I told him that we have a lot of experience floating rivers and camping in the bush.  “Well, tell you what, if we leave right now I can fly you out there.”, he said.  “But to stay on my schedule, we have to leave in five minutes.  Otherwise it’ll be at least six hours”

We gave him a credit card, then frantically threw our gear together and loaded it into the tiny plane.  We decided to just wear our waders and not bring any other shoes.  “That’s all you got?”, the pilot said.  Corey told him, “Yeah, we’re traveling light.  I do have a revolver as well.  That’s not a problem, is it?”  “Not at all.  I wouldn’t bring you guys out there if you didn’t have one.  Do you have any bear spray?”  He was looking at me.  I said, “No.”  “Good, I won’t travel with the stuff.  If the canister goes off, the plane goes down and everybody dies. I don’t know why guys bring the goddamn stuff, just pack a pistol for Christ’s sake!  So you guys ready to roll?”

We were.  I climbed in the back of the little 206 with our gear, and Corey sat shotgun.  We taxied around the lake waiting for clearance to take off, the pilot hanging his arm out the window like he was driving a cadillac.  Suddenly the engine roared, and we raced across the water at a great speed.  As the shore approached rapidly, my heart beat increased.  Then we rose, and the pilot arced the plane over the lake and pointed it North.  What a rush!  I had never flown in a bush plane before.   We followed the ocean’s desolate mudflat coast to the mouth of the huge Susitna River, the small plane jolting with turbulence.  The pilot pointed down there and yelling over the noise of the engine he said belugas were up in the river feeding on coho salmon.  I looked down and saw a dozen or more snow-white whales, splashing in the water a few hundred yards up from the river’s mouth.  It was amazing, and as the plane turned inland and I saw nothing but an endless expanse of bog and Wilderness before us, my excitement grew.   

The plane ride was intense.  We flew over desolate boglands dotted with small lakes, just South of the Alaska Range and the bump known as Denali.  Not a single trace of human interference could be spotted.  After half an hour, our pilot decreased altitude and turned the plane.  “There’s the Tal”, he said, motioning down with his head.  We followed a twisting valley with a river running through it.  Looking down, it looked like an aerial photo below us.  Sections of the river were white, indicating strong rapids, but you could not see the water moving.  Large green hills rose from the boglands and surrounded the river.  We were headed for the foot of a mountain range when suddenly the plane made a dramatic drop in elevation.  A small lake came into view, and soon the plane was gliding across it.  As we approached the shore, the pilot instructed us to get out and pull the plane to the bank.  This is why he told us to wear our waders.  I crawled out on the plane’s float, and looked down into 30 feet of water.  The lake’s bottom was easily visible.  Corey tied a rope to the plane’s door behind me, and said, “I only got hippers.  Jump out up here and drag the plane in.”  It got shallow real quick, and I grabbed the rope and jumped out into crystal clear water almost up to my armpits.  As we towed the boat a short distance to shore, hundreds of salmon fled around us.  A few bumped into my legs.  We were landing at the lake’s small inlet, and the Judd Lake sockeyes were trying to run upstream.  The small stream ran up through a foggy mountain pass.

Once ashore, our pilot helped us toss our gear onto the gravel.  Never leaving the plane, he told us that this beach is one of his top spots to guide a client to a trophy brown bear.  There was a small tool shed here, probably holding hunting and emergency supplies.  It was right next to the creek, which was brimming with splashing salmon.  Once our gear was on the beach, our pilot said he had to get back to Anchorage before the weather turned.  The dark and dreary skies had barely made this trip possible, and he wanted to get back safely.  Corey grabbed a float and turned the plane around, gave it a push, then the prop started and in the blink of an eye the plane took off.  The plane flew to the South, and Corey and I watched it disappear into the dark gray sky.  Suddenly it was silent, except for the splashing of salmon in the small inlet.  Corey found his ammo and loaded the revolver.  I was mesmerized by the vodka-clear water full of fish.