A River to Cross

 

We finished tidying up our camp.  Packing the remaining food we would leave in plastic buckets, we then pulled them high up into the tree out of the way of the bears.  The fire put out and everything in order, we started for home. 

 As we left the forest still dripped from the days of rain.  Crossing the first creek that flows out of the base of the beaver pond showed no hint of the high water that was ahead.  We continued down the trail another half mile.  The first realization that we were in for some high water was soon forced upon us.

Arriving at the second creek, Ellen's creek, we saw a stream normally only a few inches deep now a raging torrent. It was running through the brush on both sides of the creek.  We stopped, checked the stream then plunged into the freezing current. 

 The water rose above the tires and the machine began slipping downstream. The current was sweeping me away.  As the tires continued to churn they were able to make contact with the bed of the creek.  I was able to make it up and out of the current.   I wondered what the streams ahead would be like.

We came to Gayland’s hill, the steepest, longest muddiest hill of the whole trail.  The hill drops to the canyon below, nearly 200 feet.  Narrow and slanting outward the trail continues dropping where, at halfway a spring flows out of the mountain right in the middle of the trail.  A constant wet spot in the trail makes going up or down a chore! 

 Approaching the hill we found it muddier then ever and slowly began the descent.   We crept downward inch by inch, desperately trying to prepare for the corner and the narrowest part of the trail. We didn’t want to risk rolling off the edge of the trail and sliding down over the edge of the trail.

From far below, the roar of the raging river hit our ears.  I knew for sure that we were in trouble! Would we be stranded on this side?   Stopping at the edge of the once docile creek, I could see that it was running far too fast and deep to ride the machines across.

 We sat there for a minute in silence.   My dad decided that he would wade through a way to judge the depth of the creek.   The now wild current rushed up, grabbing dangerously at his now soaked coat, pulling at his feet, trying to knock him down.

Digging through our gear tied to the four wheeler we found the rope we always carried. I tied one end to my dad and he waded across the treacherous stream. Once across he yelled over the chaos of the raging torrent and told me to tie the end of the rope to the front of the three wheeler and push it into the stream.  Soon the three wheeler was completely floating and I was struggling against the current.  As we pulled and pushed the machine across the rushing creek, the current dragged us slowly downstream. 

Once on the other side, we started the machine and drove it up the bank to high ground.  We had made it successfully across with the first and easiest machine.  The four wheeler with the trailer would require different technique.

 We coiled up our rope and prepared to cross back over the icy raging stream.  Plunging into water up to our stomachs we carefully worked our way across the stream.

My dad explained to me how we would attempt to make the crossing.  First we would pile as many big rocks as we could on the front and back racks of the four-wheeler. Tying them into place, we hoped would keep it from being washed downstream

This time, I would wade across the icy stream with one end of the rope.  The other would be tied to the front of the four-wheeler, just like we had done with the three wheeler.   Then riding the machine my dad would hit the stream as fast as he could go and get as far across as possible. 

 Rocks were everywhere and it wasn’t long before we had the four-wheeler stacked with several hundred pounds and securely tied in place.  Ready to go once again, I had to brave the freezing torrent.  I had now been wet for over an hour and had crossed the 40 F stream twice.  Plunging in once more I headed slowly across.

Safely back across I secured the end of the rope to a nearby tree wrapping around several times, preparing to take up the slack as fast as possible. My dad hollered above the roar of the river to see if I was ready.  I nodded that I was. He started the machine and as he hit the water I began to take up the slack, running to keep the rope tight.  

I watched as the machine went deeper and deeper, soon the water was up to the seat and the trailer was floating, pulling the back of the machine down the river.  My dad and the machine were struggling against the deep current.  Then he hit the deep hole near the far side of the stream the machine plunged deeper, water covering the fenders and seat.  Now only the tops of the rocks and the handlebars were still above water.

 The machine drowned and died. I quickly wrapped the rope around the tree a couple more times and tied it off so that the machine would not float down the creek any farther. 

We were miles from town and the huge four wheeler was dead in the water.

Starting A Cabin

 

After successfully crossing the trestle we could see the two shiny rails stretching ahead, into the forest. After a quick look back to make sure I was ready, my dad took off, bumping down the rough trail right on the edge of the tracks.

The railroad is built high up on a gravel bed 15 to20 feet above the surrounding ground. A narrow trail was precariously perched between the railroad tie ends and the steep gravel bank.  There was so little room that I had to constantly watch so that I would not hit the railroad ties on one side or roll down the gravel bank on the other.

(The trail is much nicer now and is down beside the railroad as is shown in this picture above, which I took recently, much safer!)

 

Mile by mile we traveled. Riding along my head was filled with thoughts of what might lie ahead.  I was startled out of my day dreaming.  I looked up to see a large light in the middle of the railroad tracks! Where  was I to go? the train was coming! 

My dad stopped and motioned me to get over as close as possible to the edge of the bank. As I dismounted, the train was upon us. It towered over us, rushing at us with a shrill of the whistle and  burst of wind.  Waving cheerfully the engineer smiled and was gone. Then all we heard was the regular beat of the train as it rolled by just a few feet away.
 

We continued on, turning off the tracks into the forest. The trail led away from the lowlands into the foothills of the Talkeetna Mountains, toward the place I had been dreaming about for so many months.

What a different place than the white sea of snow I had experienced the winter before.  Now it was one long ribbon of mud and water interspersed with creeks.  On and on we went through unending mud puddles. It wasn't long before I was soaked to the skin.

As the trail lead deeper and deeper into the forest it became less and less traveled. The mud gave way to tree roots and the humus of the forest floor. Making the trail drier for sure, but oh so much more bumpy! 

Traveling on,  the hills became taller and the creeks larger.  Stopping for a rest my dad said that we were getting closer.  Just a couple more miles and we would be there!  He pointed out over the valley and from where we sat we could see a large swampy area about a mile away. 

This is the swamp that lay behind our place.  There was only two more stream to cross, up a short hill and then just a few more twists of the trail and we would be there!

 
I stood looking southeast over the valley. Stretching on as far as you could see were more valleys, hills and mountains. I could hardly contain myself, what a land, what a fantastic land to roam and explore!

 Impatient to move on and reach our destination we started off. The forest changed again.  Now  we traveled through a mixture of trees and open meadows.  The  grass and fireweed, 6 to 8 feet tall all around us, a perfect place for a bear to hide! 

As we climbed the last muddy hill  and crossed the last muddy stream, my excitement grew.  Then I saw a ribbon on a tree.  Even before my dad stopped to tell me that this marked our property line, I knew  I had come home.  I looked around at the forest and knew this was a place to rest, a home.

We soon found a convenient place and set to work making a temporary camp.  This camp we would use as we built our cabin.  We made a ladder of large spikes driven into a birch tree.  Then we could string a rope high in the tree, to keep our food  out of the reach of bears. 

Cutting slender spruce poles we used them to make a lean-to with tarps.  It would give us a dry place to cook, eat and rest besides the tent.   After the lean-to was built we set up the tent.  

By that time I was starving!   finally after building a roaring fire and hanging my wet cloths to dry it was time to eat!

Sitting down by the fire after a long, cold wet day I was ready to soak up the warmth and rest. 

The next few days were filled with rain and work cutting trees, putting joists on the floor and getting ready for the plywood flooring.  Finally it was the last soggy evening.  It was time to pack up and head home. 

Unknown to us the streams we had crossed a few days before with ease, had become raging torrents.

 

Our First Summer Trips

Back at school the days passed, turning into weeks.   The weeks turned into months, and still we were not able to make another trip to look for land.  March rolled around, my dad was again working long hours, and the opportunity for us to go back into the wilderness slipped away.

 

As the deadline for filing on the land grew closer I wondered if we would ever be able to realize this dream?   Our friend decided he was going to try another trip. Now that spring was beginning the snow would be hard and fast from thawing in the daytime and freezing at night.  He felt he could make a quick day trip, find and stake the land.

It was arranged that my brother would go this time with our friend on a Sunday and they would search for land

Loading up before dawn and heading out,  they decided on an amount of time to travel before stopping and staking land.

 

Approaching the time deadline, they found themselves on a hill overlooking a valley with streams, low ridges and beaver ponds.  Beyond that, the valley dipped further down into Clear Creek, with the foothills of the Talkeetna Mountains rising up in the background.

Deciding this was the valley, they headed down to stake the land.  This would become the place of so many memories.   The one place on this planet that I have really felt was home.

Spring turned to summer. We had acquired the land.  The dream had really come true!   My dad had made a short weekend trip out to see the land and find a suitable place to build a cabin. I could barely contain my eagerness to see the land.  

 
 My father, being a contractor had to work hard during the busy summer season and had little time off for trips to the wilderness.  As the summer dragged by, I had to busy myself with summer jobs, summer camp, hikes into the mountains and along the rivers near our home in Palmer. 

Towards the later part of the summer my excitement mounted as my dad was able to get some time off.  Enthusiastically we planned a trip out to the land. 

 Again we loaded our supplies and machines.  Being summer, we took our three wheeler, four wheeler and a trailer.  Now the work on our cabin could begin.

 Once again we were off on an adventure into that wild country  I had been dreaming about for months.

This time I would be on my own machine!  My dad would be on the four wheeler hauling a trailer with our supplies and equipment we would need for the trip. I would be riding the three wheeler.

 With great anticipation we loaded the four wheeler and tied down the cargo on the front and back racks, hitched up the trailer and started our machines. 

On our way again!

 

Crossing the railroad bridge, I looked down, once again into that swirling cold river below.  Even in the summer the icy water could send a chill through me just watching it swirl by.