Valdez to McCarthy Wilderness Classic

Download the kml here if interested

Ok so this really doesn't start in Valdez, but rather at the elbow on the Richardson Highway at Thompson Pass. And it doesn't finish in McCarthy either, but rather at the Lakina Bridge, 15 miles west of McCarthy.

As a 130-135 mile traverse of the Eastern Chugach in the Wrangell St. Elias National Park Wilderness, it is indeed a classic. It's as burly as the Nabesna to McCarthy route is fast and easy. Nabesna to McCarthy is open and dry, with essentially no brush, lots of open gravel bars and animal trails, and a handful of ATV trails near Nabesna, Chisana, and McCarthy. Valdez to McCarthy can be slow going, mostly when dealing with alders and devils club. It is wet, with few gravel bars, and no ATV trails. It also has spectacular views, valleys, mountains and waterfalls.

I did it solo from July 8-- July 12, 2012. I think a week or ten days would be a good length, as well, although heavy loads in the Bremner and Little Bremner Valleys of Very Bad Brush will be challenging.

In addition, it was the bushwhacker's route for the 2012 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic and while I found it a really neat route, worth doing again, a number of others either tried it and didn't  find it worth racing again, or didn't finish it. In particular, the brush along the Bremner and Little Bremner is EPIC and so was the Lakina Brush, perhaps surprisingly.

From a packrafting perspective there are 4 pieces: 1) The Tasnuna River (described in Embick's "Fast and Cold") 2) Crossing the Copper 3) Running the Klu (low volume steep creek leading to meandering easy float in picturesque valley, turning into steep bouldery river) and 4) crossing the Chitina. I would suggest crossing the Lakina and hiking to the road as soon as possible as the walking along the Lakina is really horrific in my opinion.

Starting at Thompson Pass most of us contoured on really nice, open benches eastward until the second or so gully heading down. We linked snow-filled gullies and open alder patches (record breaking snows of 2011-2012 led to long-lasting snow) down to the creek that feeds into Heiden Canyon. That creek above Heiden Canyon has many open meadows linked by good animal trails leading to the open flats and gravel bars below Marshall Pass.

Those of us who stayed on the river right side of the Upper Tasnuna had the best going, although the deep snows burying the brush made for really good travel, suggesting that late June might be good in other years, taking advantage of deep snows that cover the brush to make the going fast and easy.

We dropped into a side canyon of glacial fed trib from the south that I was unable to ford so stayed river left until just above the confluence with the main Tasnuna. There I put in -- the others traveling near me put in lower. It was Class II+ maybe III (for those of you who know the PR system, it was PR3-4) with cold water and big waves but very few holes for a mile or two. I put in right around the 900 foot elevation on the side stream.

The 20 miles below the upper section was smooth sailing, although afternoon headwinds pushing up from the Copper were a bit bothersome. With the couple other big glacier tribs coming in the Tasnuna is a real river, fast and cold but easy. There are very few trees in the valley, most likely because of the steep slopes and high snow that crushes them under avalanches as they grow. Some beautiful peaks and waterfalls to the south rise above the carpets of alder on the valley walls.

It took us about six hours to make the 12 miles to the put-in (race pace!) and another six hours to get down to and across the Copper to the Bremner Dunes.

Crossing the Copper is straightforward channel hopping and bar walking. Make sure you do it in the evening when the winds have died (after six PM perhaps?). It would be hard to do in the big winds and a bummer to lose your boat.

I'd been to the Bremner Dunes 15 or so years ago on a Chitina to Cordova hellbike trip with Paul Adkins and Bob Kaufman using mtn bikes and Sherpa Packrafts so I looked forward to hiking them.

I hit the dunes at their most upstream end and walked along the edge with the vegetation until a bear trail took me in and I crossed a channel that comes down from the Peninsula. Fifty yards of brush and I was back to dune walking along the Bremner. The sand is firm and delightful and at night the light and the mountains and the wildness of the place is magic. The Bremner Dunes are certainly among the neatest places I have been in AK, mostly for the scenery , the views the good walking , and the novelty of the sand.

Walking upstream on river right of the Bremner I linked really good moose and bear trails in open sandy blow-outs for a couple of hours. These gave out eventually when the sandy ridge that separates the willow choked wetlands at the base of the mountains from the mixed alder/willow brush along the  Bremner narrowed. The best going was along the beaver trails on the Bremner side, although occasional forays inland to creek gravel bars and meadows led to good walking, too. Still, my best categorization for the stretch to the Little Bremner is as Class III-IV brush (very little V until you reach the steep corner when even on a relativley well-defined bear trail you must climb over and slip under on hands and knees perhaps big alders and some small cliffs).John Lapkass reports that crossing the Bremner to the other side is no better. Josh Mumm waded out into the foot deep waters and quicksand to the islands and made good time, using his boat to get back to the mainland. Mixed in with all the northside brush, especially at the sloughs of the Little Bremner, are nasty, knee-deep bog-slogging stretches.

We found that walking up the western channel of the Little Bremner to get to the Little Bremner proper was expedient: Cris-crossing a small shin deep stream for an hour or two to the Little Bremner. Walking up the river right Little Bremner is best. Bar walking gives way to bar hopping gives way to canyon after a couple of hours and it's here where you might want to head east for the magic 3000' contour line and contour into the East Fork Valley on its south side. The walking there is excellent and spectacular alpine tundra with great views of waterfalls in what seems all directions.

I stayed on river left (climber's right, i.e. south side) of the East Fork all the way to the pass over to Harry's Gulch (this is opposite what the Falcon Guide to Wrtangell St Elias says). The north side never looked appealing and I made very good time (check the graphic at my blog http://packrafting.blogspot.com/2012/07/2012-wilderness-classic.html).

Descending Harry's Gulch in late June would likely be similar to what we encountered: fast snowpack from avalanches. Down near the two tributaries at about 2500 feet the brush returns. The first trib has a 400 foot cascading waterfall that can't be seen well from below or above, but can be seen from across the creek. In any event, right around this 2500 foot contour stay river left as the Harry's Gulch creek starts canyoning-out and getting very steep. I linked meadows and clear passage to the climber's left of the big waterfall, not immediately left, but up a shallow gully just before it. It was one of the highlights of the route for me, as it was brush free to the top of the waterfall, across a snow bridge above the waterfall and then all brush-free travel from there and into the next valley east and up that and over into the Klu. The views were as good as the walking and it highlights what people fly into these Chugach to experience.

The pass into the Klu was full of new snow from near 3000 feet on the wet southern side to about 4000 feet on the drier northern side. This is another neat area.

I was able to put in on the Klu at 3800 feet which was running perhaps a bit low that morning at about 150 cfs. For a couple miles it is a steep  creek, drop pool architecture, with some pretty sharp rocks, maybe Class III (PR 3) in places. More water it would be IV-ish. I ran it in my decked scout with a Sawyer paddle and would have preferred my real whitewater paddle and a bigger boat. There was no wood in this stretch and it's all runnable by an experienced creeking packrafter, even on its 200 foot/mile section.

About where the first major trib comes into the Klu from the soiuth, the Klu cuts into a bunch of willow and the going is weird and sieved out by willow brush. After this section the river opens into a beautiful valley with very picturesque side valleys and isolated spruce. The going was mellow enough that I almost fell asleep. Around 3000 feet the Klu heads north and then northeast and starts dropping faster and is full of granite boulders. The volume is quadruple what it was above the first southern trib and it feels like a small river. There is lots of beetle killed spruce here and it's been washed onto the corners by floods. I never had to get out for any but it does keep your attention.

By the time the Klu heads east again at 2700 feet it is pretty much continuous Class II+, feeling a bit like Class III. I had a dry suit, but no helmet nor PFD nor partner and wanted those for this section. I was nervous and wanted a bigger boat and better paddle (I'd broken my Sawyer bade off the shaft and fixed it with a strap and a trekking pole) as the river was maybe 750 cfs and felt like the filler on Little Su at that level. I had originally planned to run the Klu and the  Chakina with a whitewater-skilled partner, but they had all bailed on me, and as I paddled down in my little Scout all alone I was glad that they hadn't come and we had not committed to the Klu-Chakina in July. The water is beautiful and fun but it drops steeper and more constricted.

I got out at the first major trib on river left, downstream of Coal Creek, at about 2500 feet. I was happy to get out and start walking up this trib.

The walking on the climber's right side was terrible. Luc Mehl and Josh Mumm, who did not float all the way to this unnamed creek, cut the corner and said that the walking on climber's left after cutting the corner was "not bad". It took me 2-3 hours to get up and above the lower canyon.

This creek has some spruce and good willows for a fire before heading high into the Steamboat Hills, and over those and down. There's a benchmark called "Shut" on the USGS topo just north of the extreme headwaters of Steamboat Creek (named on the map). Just east of the Shut benchmark is a shoulder and I followed steep tundra to alders to spruce to a burn to the banks of the Chitina through some pretty slow brush. I left the pass on the south side of "Shut" at about 9:30 and reached the Chitina River itself by 2:00 PM. That's like 5 miles and 4500 feet down in about 5 hours or so.

The Chitina crossing was easy, even with a bit of wind, and I climbed the easternmost, lightly vegetated open bluff on the north side, then headed northeast-ish to get to the Lakina.

My advice would be to cross the Lakina as soon as possible and get to the Road. The going along the Lakina itself was as bad as along the Bremner, in my opinion.

Last minute silly season planning: Arctic 1000 maps and miles

By the way, every square on the 1:250,000 quads below is six miles (i.e., 10 km, not five miles as some seem to think).

Walking up the Wulik was second choice. First choice would have us leave from Pt. Hope but bad weather prevented us from landing there.

Crossing De Long Mountains we saw much wildlife -- wolverine, bears, caribou, birds -- but not too scenic.

Fantastic walking on these ridges. Best a little below on subsidiary ridges that offer water to drink and less exposure to blasting wind.

After Ryan left, we headed east into boggy, tussock uplands between Colville and Utukok. Following the Colville wasn't much better.

Lookout Ridge was great walking. Saw another wolverine here.

Among the worst travel of the trip: tussocks off Lookout, swimming the Colville and Ipnavik, more tussocks, mosquitoes, and the first shin high willows. Also the remotest spot in the USA.

Bugs came out as green up hit so thankfully this was fantastic ridge and gravel bar walking.

The stretch into the mountains and across them to the Killik and beyond followed caribou trails for 20 miles, non-stop. Perhaps the longest continuous animal trails I have followed.


The grind into Anaktuvuk started fast then bogged down in tussocks and wet willow brush.


This is the Anaktuvuk to Haul Road stretch. Solo, fast and a bit sentimental. Also radically scenic.

So here's a little R graph. I plotted our cumulative distance as function of day since start, the fit a quadratic through the points and the origin after finding that the intercept was not significantly different from zero.

Even before that the curve was a nice fit, with an R-square of "triple nines".

So the quadratic gave me where we were from the start as a function of day, so the derivative gave me speed as function of day.

So on average we made 19.37 miles per day + 0.57 (miles/day/day)* days. That is, we accelerated as our packs lightened up by about 0.6 miles per day each day.

Not what I'd expected exactly, 25 years ago when I first dreamed a trip like this up, but heh.

Yakutat to Glacier Bay: Lost Coast South

Last summer a bunch of us got an email from MC saying he had a packraft and wanted to match it with his fat bike. Wasting no time, I pitched the route I'd bought a 907 for: Yakutat to Glacier Bay, the Lost Coast South, a route Dick Griffith did in the 90s and told me was the "best trip in Alaska."

Well, I have heard that about a lot of routes, and claimed that for a handful of my own, too, so while I considered it, I never attempted it. Mostly because I was unsure of what ocean water packrafting would be like. I hated lake paddling in the old stubby boats (pre-2011), I knew, and so thought that the ocean was just like a freekin huge lake. Nope.

What Hig and Erin pioneered was packrafting biggish crossings. Dick had used an airplane to hop over Lituya Bay and had flown in to the start, down by Icy Point. After the peripatetic couple gushed about it on blog, book and lecture, I wanted to do it even more, going so far as to scheme and join Skurka on his trip, but instead settled for the Wrangells with him in May 2010.

As for what part of the Lost Coast appealed most, going south was better than re-creating the Eric/Dylan bike route north, as the north route (now something of a backcountry bikenraft "trade route: with this pair and this Italian soloist repeating it) looked challenging but not that appealing nor wild. Heck, there are logging roads and lodges and lots of non-wilderness between Yakutat and Cordova, dissuading me from that route.

Plus by going south Eric (gear maven) and Dylan would want to go, too, as their trip sounded punishing and I was sure they'd like to "complete" the Lost Coast.

The southern Lost Coast looked burlier, wilder, prettier, more mountainous -- my kind of route. And if risk-averse Andy could do it solo, then certainly we could do it with bikes.

"World Class bear trails" had been noted by all, too.

With beta from Skurka and Hig providing comments like "A bike?" and "La Perouse? Yea, just walked on by!" and even both of them saying their route over to Brady Glacier/Taylor Bay from the outer coast was "bad", I felt prepared.

Looking at the map and Google Earth, it was clear that the route fell into roughly three pieces that reflected the fraction of pedaling that would be available.

The first piece to just south of Dry Bay and north of the creek to the Grand Plateau Glacier looked like a long beach ride, punctuated with some boat crossings.

The second piece looked like about half pedaling, half pushing/carrying past glaciers and rocky points, ending down a bit south of Icy Point.

The third piece looked like pushing and paddling and Eric and I had different ideas about how to get over to Taylor Bay and MC and I different ideas about how to get to Icy Straight.

Earlier, I posted some stats about the route and Eric posted pics and MC a nearly viral video.

In general, the first half is dry.

For some dumb reason, neither of our first camps had drinking water.

The riding nears boring, but has some super cool driftwood and dune sections, and you'll want more than one gear. I had two and liked them both. The views of St Elias to the north and Fairweather to the south are great as long as the weather is nice. If the weather were bad, I am thinking you'd have headwinds and rain.

Dry Bay would be a great destination, if you wanted a short, less committing trip. Even as an out and back.

We got off the plane, packed our bikes, ate dinner and road to the beach, then pedaled to the Situk and camped. We boated across Situk River in the morning and made it to a couple hours shy of the Alsek. We crossed the Alsek as the tide came in and it was easy. We had coffee on the south bank. My point is the down an back could be, like, a three day trip.

The good beach continues down to the big boulders just before the northern outlet of the Grand Plateau Lake. Bear trails take you to the put-in at the lake where we found a note from Gordy and Thai. A funny note, about how silly we were to be riding bikes. It was on a Lindt chocolate wrapper. It was a delight.

We paddled the entire length of the lake -- first half in the twilight looking for a beach to camp on and finding one that was scary when a mini-tsunami followed a five minute calving event. Doom slept on his boat that night.

The next day we paddled through amazing icebergs to the far end of the lake and then stumbled through bad Class IV brush with devils club, raspberry, nettles, and a giant curious bear that about got Doom pooping his pants when he bumped into it in the thick forest and it huffed at him.

Great beach riding starting on sand, increasing to gravel, then on to cobbles, and finally boulders leads to the spectacular Cape Fairweather. Here we alternated between shoving bikes down bear tubes on the wooded bluffs or stumbling and lifting loaded bikes over big boulders on the "beach".

Beyond we had great riding with remarkably constant beach backed by uniform forest. See Eric's clip here. We pedaled onward at the amazing 6-7 mph (we had a tailwind -- generally we get 4-5 mph and sometimes only 3 mph in soft sand) and camped at pretty Eagle Creek, a few miles north of Lituya Bay.

Thankfully the notorious Lituya was easy and calm but I was nervous in my wee Scout and steep but short swells as we poked out into the bay. Near the far shore a wicked fast current whipped us out toward the mouth and I ferried like I was in a river to get out before going too far. More pushing on stubby bear trails past a fantastic sea lion haul out led to more riding. But again, the pushing was very bad before the good riding, very BAD (not like the photo below).

Unlike the mountain hellbike trips of the nineties, this beach riding offers a less frequent split of riding vs pushing/carrying. Here on the Coast it's like, OK, two hours riding followed by two hours stumble-f*cking. Hellbiking was more like 5 minutes riding, 2 minutes pushing, 3 minutes riding, 7 minutes pushing. I exaggerate, but both seem to be about 50% non-riding to 50% riding but in different scales of time. On the coast it can be an entire day of riding, followed by an entire day of boating, followed by an entire day of pushing. This was new for me.

As we headed south the coast became rockier, not with boulders so much as with bedrock, rideable, challenging bedrock. There were some tough creek crossings, pinned between whitewater and surf, through rounded, polished boulders slick with green algae. Check the video below for some of that nasty action. Watching me with my bike over my head terrified the others. But watching them man-handle their frame-bag loaded bikes -- at one point Parsons just dropped his bike and watched it float nearly out to sea -- convinced me that over the head was far more stable.

We camped in view of La Perouse, an enormous surging glacier that had poked its brown head out into the Pacific, not fully, but enough to block the easy walk that Hig and Skurka had encountered. In fact, just a week earlier Thai and Gordy snuck by scrambling on boulders of ice, but we found the ice calving into surf, even at low tide.

Still, I pushed us into a dangerous situation, below calving ice and calf deep in surf that surged past ice blocks and boulders. When we turned a corner after an open area of easy walking, only to see massive cliffs shoved into surf, it was clearly time to retreat and sort out other options.

At one point on the way back a massive chunk of ice collapsed with in thirty feet of Doom, a terrifying moment that got us all running.

Dylan and I liked the idea of going over the glacier as opposed to Eric's idea of a surf launch. My boat was just too tiny to hop in easily with its fat bike cargo and narrow little slit through a mylar spray deck.

"I won't go first," was my cowardly response, "but I will go third." That way I'd see how likely I was to swim getting out past the breakers.

Following Eric's bold lead, we surf-launched our bikes. It was cool and felt clever, sneaky almost, like we were getting away with something risky as -- a mile or more from shore -- we paddled a few miles of the Pacific Ocean past a huge glacier.

Thankfully it was sunny and calm and warm and Doom took my front wheel and the only carnage was MC surf crashing and swimming at the landing. A six foot wave toppled him. The rest of us surfed in sweetly.

South we rode, sometimes pushed, crossing Little Bastard (my name) and Big Bastard Creeks (by raft -- also my name), two slimy, steep, cold streams draining Finger Glacier.

My favorite riding and where I found my two gears, one brake, and rack allowed me to ride more than the others, despite their massively higher skill level, was the bedrock spires and cobble beaches north of Icy Point. With no weight on my bars and a front brake and lower gear -- gosh it was sweet!

Written on my map these words capture some of the exuberance:

Best riding of the trip! Always challenging, always unexpected. Doom and I out front, swapping leads, grassy trails past rocky spires, weaving and dropping into chutes, all unexpected, unpredictable, unlikely, improbable and rideable! Awesome.

By the time we made our solstice camp past Icy Point our routine of twelve hour days followed by twelve hour camps set next to running fresh water was set. We got wood and set up 'mids and I heated water up in a big one gallon pot, but these are modern days and everyone ate food out of their own private plastic bag filled with water from their own private cook pot. At least we shared the fire and sometimes the tent, although I usually slept outside by the fire where the bugs were not bad. In the morning our group showed some unity when we all had coffee from the gallon pot. Yum.

Always the ballsy boater, Eric had us put in directly to Kaiknau Creek and float its splashy current into Palma Bay where he and Mike promptly paddled as far out to sea as they seemed to dare. Must have been an optical illusion for while I paddled straight for a point, Mike and Eric seemed to paddle further out to sea, presumably paddling for the same point.

Always the adventuring thrill seeker, Doom called up a whale that blew its spout on him in the deep bay. Startling as the bear!

We'd hoped to get out at Astrolabe Point for a break after La Palma, but the little lagoon was slimy with kelp and stinky with a dead harbor seal. Only Eric and Dylan climbed out. I peed and bobbed in my boat and we moved on, finding a cove on Sugarloaf's east side with driftwood, hot coffee, and a beach.

Paddling the calm inlets and bays was a treat and we were often visited by hummingbirds as we made our way toward Graves Bay. Near Libby island, Eric found a leak in his raft's valve (c. 2003 model, I think) and he patched it before shoving off again.

Our camp at Graves Harbor was even more idyllic than the last, made more interesting by a bear visit in the morning.

Eric had planned out a route that linked lakes and ponds, but these were mostly dry, muddy, rocky and brushy and it took us six hours to go three miles. See the map for a better way that requires a quick climb then a long paddle.

The brush was so bad that we blew up for a pond less than 100 yards long and THAT saved us time. On the far side of that pond we picked up a meadow, leading to a bear trail and another short lake paddle that took us to the newly grown brush beside the Brady Glacier.

Amazingly, isostatic rebound has changed the face of the water bodies marked on the USGS maps made in the 1950s. The islands shown on the eastern side of Taylor Bay are now peninsulas.

We made another dry camp and nobody but stubborn ole' MC wanted to bushwhack even a mile to Dundas Bay. So we democratically dragged our boats across mudflats and paddled Fern Harbor, then paddled out into North Indian Pass and Icy Straight.

These were idyllic waters for our boats, despite all the terrible stories and dire warnings Eric and Mike had heard from non-packrafters. Once again I recalled risk-averse Andy and Hig pointing out that Icy Straight is fast and safe and easy.

Like those saltwater explorers, we, too, made good time, pulling out for water to drink at the west side of Dundas and then paddling whitecaps over to the east side. We waited for the incoming tide (so much quicker!) at another creek opposite Lemesurier Island, hunkered in a short camp till morning, again waiting to ride the incoming tide, then cruising as fast as 5 mph without paddling as we took the tide into Glacier Bay and Gustavus, with whales all around.

An altercation with an uptight, quizzical park cop killed our buzz. Dylan got a $200 ticket for peeing into the water (we split it five ways) and threatened us with our un-permited trip.

Afterwords we pedaled into town feeling triumphant but let down by the Park Service again. What's wrong with them?

Gustavus seemed neat. We had pizza and beer then got on the 5:45 PM flight back to Anchorage, our buzz back and glowing.

"Best Trip In Alaska"?

For us it was during those ten days in June when it never rained and we saw the wildest coastline America has to offer.

All by fatbike and packraft, my favorite tools for exploration.

"Triple A": All Across the Gates

"Triple A"-- a route that visits many of the scenic highlights of the central Brooks Range as it crosses the seven million acre Gates of the Arctic National Park. It's a route I suggested to Andrew Skurka, who modified it a bit. I posted some of the middle section of Triple A, the part from Anaktuvuk Pass to the Arrigetch, on my previous blog post and as a guest on Hiking in Finland. Each of those links have more photos and text.

The route is best done during August (3-6 weeks), when bugs are sparse, days are long, and colors intensifying, with food drops at Anaktuvuk Pass (Post Office), Circle/Kutuk Lakes (bear barrels) and Pingo Lake (bear barrels). Bring a sat phone.

Anaktuvuk, Arrigetch, Ambler are three touchstones of the central Brooks Range from east to west, and as a packrafting trip in the Brooks Range it's hard to beat these 400 miles. The route passes through the best mountain sections, including the Doonerak region, Arrigetch Peaks and front range of Igikpak. It floats North Fork of Koyukuk to Ernie Creek, John River to Wolverine Creek, Pingaluk to Alatna, the Noatak to Lake Matcherak, and all of the Ambler River. It follows game trails and excellent creek and river bars and avoids more tussocks and brush than you'd believe.

Drive up the Dalton Highway to a little turn-off to the west, just before the pipeline road leaves the Dietrich valley bottom and just downstream of Nutirwik Creek. It's about sixty miles north of Coldfoot (you could fly to Coldfoot from Fairbanks on Arctic Air for $250). Hike up Koyuktuvuk, Trembley, Blarney Creeks and over Kinnorutin Pass to descend Amawk Creek and paddle N. Fork Koyukuk (PR 3 -- PR 4 at high water). Climb Doonerak via a scramble up its south ridge, if you like heights and broad views.

From the junction of North Fork Koyukuk and Ernie Creek there is a bit of tussocks to the Valley of the Precipices. Unbelievably, this should be one of only two tussock stretches, if you read your landscapes well en route to Ambler. Bar-hop on mature willow bars or follow well-drained tundra ridges and noses to Graylime and Anaktuvuk Creek. If you are travelling light (i.e. have a food cache in Anaktuvuk mailed to the PO there) these creeks are mostly paddleable, except for some braids on the lower Anaktuvuk, where you can pick up an ATV trail and follow to Anaktuvuk Pass, a friendly village IMO. Peggy and I took a week to Anaktuvuk in one boat in 1986; I walked from Anatuvuk to the road in a day and a half in 2006. Plan for four-five days, three days if you have Wilderness Classic experience.

From Anaktuvuk to Takahula/Circle/Kutuk Lakes is another 4-7 days. Pick up food in Anaktuvuk that you have mailed ahead; although it may be possible to buy what you need at the Nunamiut Store. There are about five flights a day to Fairbanks, and sometimes to Coldfoot, so you can bail out if you need to, or hike up a pass beyond "Giant Creek" and float the Tinayguk (PR 3) back out toward Wiseman.

Eventually you will see the river start to drop around Kollutuk Creek into rock gardens of PR3. This is fun and splashy and easy with rain gear, no PFD, a Sawyer Paddle, and neoprene socks, even in the rain, if you wear a puffy jacket under your rain gear. Just pull up the sleeves to keep from soaking the arm insulation and rest your elbows on your knees. When the steep bit ends, three creeks (Ekokpuk, Masu, and Kolluturak) unite and come in from river right, doubling the flow of the John, making it feel like a small river instead of a creek. There are cottonwoods here. The river cruises nicely to Till Creek where raids begin again up to PR3, ending a couple miles above Publituk Creek, where the first spruce appear (ya!).

When the Hunt Fork comes into the John,

the river gets big but the gradient has lessened. Three hours below Hunt Fork, take out at Wolverine Creek (pic) and barhop and game trail follow west to its headwater pass. The travel is among the fastest and best westward walking on the Triple A route. White boulders make the upper stretch scenic and fun.

Cross into the upper Iniakuk drainage (see pic left) below Nahtuk Mountain and drop down and climb again over a second pass leading into the upper Nahtuk drainage. The upper Nahtuk also has an awesome network of game trails (mostly BMWs = bear/moose/wolf trails) but be sure to cut over to the Pingaluk at the lowest, most obvious pass, as the lower Nahtuk is the worst walking I have encountered in the Brooks Range.

The three hours along the upper Pingaluk's eastern tributary isn't much better thank the lower Nahtuk (shown right and typical -- brush on the right side, tussocks, humocks, sponga on the left and a nasty sharp rock canyon near the bottom), but when the main Pingaluk River is reached, awesome BMWs lead downstream to where a couple of canyons offer up spicy PR 3 (first canyon) and PR4+ (second canyon). These are easily portaged on moose trails that go high on river right. If you lose the trails, no problem: the woods are open and the ground relatively firm and dry. The lower Pingaluk is easy PR2 (for its sweepers and wood) and leads to the Alatna.

Nasty walking upstream to Circle Lake or Kutuk lakes along the base of the river right hillsides includes bad brush and tussocks. Longer but better travel wanders out onto the old bars and sloughs and open forest of the Alatna and heads upstream that way. I have done both and am not sure which I prefer. But there is NO good trail along the base of the hills to Arrigetch Creek from Circle Lake or Pingaluk River mouth.

Pick up a food drop if you can at Circle lake or Kutuk Lake, or even Takahula, then head up Arrigetch Creek's "use trail", which is on river right on the first canyon's rim. The use trail ends below the "Elephant's Tooth" at the forks of Aquarius and Arrigetch Creeks, where it's best to cross to the river left bank of the main Arrigetch Creek and follow caribou trails relatively high up-valley to below Ariel Peak.

Arrigetch Peaks from the use trail. The use trail has some remarkable campsites, but is a boggy, soggy, brushy route that is worse than most of the game trails in other valleys. It's still the best way into the main Arrigetch Valley.

Camp at the Forks in Arrigetch Valley. There is wood here and some signs of use, but it's clean and you'll feel compelled to keep it that way. The Aquarius Valley (up the left fork) makes for a good day trip and the big north walls of the Maidens and Badille are spectacular.

I used these Salomon shoes and like their aggressive grip. Mike didn't get enough support, but I find these my favorite shoes (Speed Cross, I think). They need some beefing up with glue-goo on the toe seems before leaving or you'll find yourself sewing.

The unclimbed Grayling Wall on Xanadu. If you look closely you can see the big dorsal fin of a grayling outlined on this wall. It's about 2000-2500 feet tall, I think.

The disappearing glacier on Melting Tower. Older photos show the glacier extending all along the ledge to the right. I saw it that way last time I was here in this valley in 1994. I wish I had all my slides scanned so I could post that image.

Looking down Arrigetch Creek with the Elephant's Tooth on the right and Nahtuk Mountain far off on the horizon. "Triple A" goes along the base of both mountains. The views from here are worth the hike, even from Kutuk Lake. Ariel is a surprisingly easy climb, no harder than Flattop in the Anchorage area.

Caliban, the highest peak in the Arrigetch. Ryan Hokanson climbed Caliban a couple years back with Sam Johnson. They called their route the "Pillar Arete", 5.10, Grade V, 16 pitches via a long and complex ridge route.

At the base of Ariel, looking back at the main Arrigetch Peaks. This meadow is a good palce to get a drink and eat before pushing up talus to the ridge and on to the summit.

Make your way to the backside of Ariel and follow its north ridge (chossy but doable with fifty pounds on your back) to where the long chossy shards change to a firm rotten granite that looks like sandstone. Drop your packs here and continue on the third class scramble to tag the summit and grab a fantastic view. Back to the packs follow the loose scree between slabs to talus below and take a break at the small lake shown on the 1:250,000 maps (but not shown on the 1:63,360).

Ariel is airy! But remarkably stable. Stay close to the ridge on the long shards of chossy rock.

Granite spine on Ariel -- leave your packs at the base and tag the summit. The chossy shards end at the base of this rib. Follow it to the summit but climb back down to make your way off the backside of Ariel.

Good, safe footing -- just don't stumble! In the background is the initial spine. This is the final summit ridge. You need your hands in a few places.

Summit Ridge of Ariel.

Looking off the overhanging summit of Ariel. The summit is small and very much overhung.

Wichman's Tower (left) and Xanadu's Grayling Wall (right). These are easy views to get and worth the 4500 feet of climbing from the Forks of Arrigetch and Aquarius to the point of Ariel.

Disneyland (l), Badille (c) and Shot Tower (r), peaks I climbed as a teenager in 1979. The expedition was rainy and thick with conflict. We still managed some neat climbs and I learned a lot -- mostly that I needed to work on my expedition behavior and wanted some new climbing partners.

Arthur Emmons (l), Pyramid (c) and Wichman's Tower -- the last a peak I tried solo. Nearly made it up Wichmans Tower in 1986 but verglas turned me back. That was pretty much the last climb I did.

Summit photographers.

Working between slabs on way down. If we'd left our packs at the granite rib we wouldn't have them here.

Working the scree descent off Ariel's backside.

Looking up the backside of Ariel. The summit is that pointy finger.

Looking at Xanadu on edge from far base of Ariel. This talus is big and loose.

From here descend to the Awlinyak (see Arctic Circle route for how), bailing out by floating down that bouldery PR3+ stream back to the Alatna if you've had enough mountains, as there are more rocks and passes to come. These are the last spruce until the Ambler or you choose to leave the high country.

Walls above the creek coming down from east fork of Awlinyak and Deception Pass.

Crossing the east fork of Awlinyak Creek. The creek gorges out downstream of here.

Heading to Awlinyak on a wonderful game trail on the crest of this old moraine. This avoids the gorge to its right and gives a good view of the West Fork Awlinyak trib across the valley.

Awlinyak Creek -- float this back to Alatna if you want to shorten your trip. Dave Weimer has an engaging story on his blog about paddling it.

Get high on the river right side of the unnamed Awlinyak trib coming in from the west to follow awesome caribou trails through Class III brush (hands needed). Stay high for the next couple miles until the brush ends, sticking to the trails and resisting the ones that lead down to the horrible cobblestone bar.

The good trails stay high on the left (i.e., river right). Do not get sucked down unless you enjoy cobble-hobbling.

Looking back at the lower West Fork Awlinyak trib and its brush with the Arrigetch behind, notably the big square block summit of Xanadu. Its right hand (W) ridge was climbed by Jon Krakauer in the 1970s.

Steve Hackett named these peaks the Little Arrigetch back in the early 1980s. It's a good name.

There is a sweet caribou trail leading up between the split West Fork Awlinyak trib, as you can see here.

Once in the tundra, follow the nose between the split tribs, veering right to scamble talus to a high meadow, then climb 500 feet over Talus Top Pass.

The descent of Talus Top is done best by dropping straight down the other side. Bears use this pass and that's simply amazing. Follow meadows and rock hop to the left side of Skinny Bou Pass and follow more rocks to the tundra and slabs at the top of Kaluluktok.

The West Fork Finger of Fate rising above a hiker on the caribou trail on the moraine that splits the West Fork Awlinyak tributary.

Lichen and moss on boulders near a spring. The orange lichen is associated with high nitrogen levels where birds often perch.

Looking down the West Fork of the Awlinyak Creek toward the Arrigetch.

Descending Talus Top Pass is slow and laborious -- be careful, too.

Between Talus Top and Skinny Bou are dry meadows with good camping but no willows.

Rocks with green crustose lichen tend to be more stable than the rocks with the black leafy lichen.

The approach from the east is pretty easy and gentle.

Looking back up at the pass from the west side.

At the pass.

Talus.

Looking back at Skinny Bou Pass you can see the talus is extensive. If you are good at rock hopping and have the right shoes and a light pack, this goes pretty quickly.

Igikpak is the highest peak in the western Brooks Range and forms a glacial and snow source for the Noatak. Its twin peaked top has been climbed only a handful of times and is quite a dramatic summit.

The alpine country in the Arrigetch and Little Arrigetch have these nice tarns that invite swimming on hot days.

There are solid boulders among the talus and even bedrock that makes for great walking.

The bad thing about these high routes is the big talus, standing at a steeper angle of repose than more southern stuff. Remarkably large rocks shift and tip and are quite startling. Thoughts of Aron Ralston frequently float into your head and psyche you out. The black lichen is slick as greased rubber in the rain and fog, so try to go light and pack the trekking poles away -- or if you have a grippy handle flip the pole upside down and use the grip for balance.

Between big piles of talus are strips and fields of tundra, sometimes grassy, other times filled with heather and lichen like this. The lichen gets slick in the rain as it has no roots and comes free. It's quite crunchy in the dry and makes for good fire starter.

This is Akabluak Pass, probably the best way to get to the Kobuk or Noatak drainages from the Alatna, via an unnamed valley just NW of Awlinyak. The caribou trails leading up to it are amazing, like rutted double track. That route would be the fastest but would be less interesting than the Arrigetch/Little Arrigetch route.

Looking down at Kaluluktok Creek, an upper trib of the Kobuk. About a thousand feet below here there is spruce, but just below here a few hundred feet is willow.

The biggest wall I have seen in the Little Arrigetch is this thousand foot monolith. In 1986 I walked over a pass just to its west, but getting to that pass required another pass that is not very good.

A nice tundra climb leads up to Mystery Pass over to the Noatak. The pass itself is full of big rocks and small, but these will be the last of the traverse, thankfully for sore feet.

The mystery spot, so named because it seems as if the water is flowing the wrong direction. Several travelers through here have commented on this optical illusion. The views are good, but the rocks to come are bad, if short -- the last ones, really.

Looking up at the pass to the Noatak. The pass is the saddle below the peak in the background. The best route drops into the gut here and scrambles over the rock glaciers debris. These are big, loose boulders.

Big, loose rocks. They required a lot of effort to maneuver around. Any bigger and we'd have been doing lead climbs.

Tupik Tower near Igikpak.

Looking back at Mystery Spot Pass from the Noatak side.

Descend to the Noatak and bar hop through mature willow bars as far as the big unnamed glacial creek coming in from Igigpak's east face on river left. The walking is great. If the water is high enjoy PR 3+ boulder gardens that are NZ-stle down to Lucky Six Creek. If the water is low, enjoy bar hopping and awesome game trails down to Lucky Six. Even at low water from Lucky Six down is easy boating.

This is good PR3+ when water is high -- at low water, it doesn't go.

Hiking to runnable flow on a low water Noatak.

Igikpak in the clouds -- on the Noatak above Portage Creek.

"Siwash" -- a sourdough-style bivouac.

Fly out from any of a number of lakes near Portage Creek ("Pingo" or "Nelson Walker" or "12-mile Slough") or pick up additional food for the final, easy 100 miles to Ambler.

Paddling the "Sloatak" -- Noatak low.

At low water several parties find the "Sloatak" painful and instead walk on the dry mature bars as far as Nushralutak River opposite Lake Matcherak. Curiously there grizzly bears fish for chums on Kugruk River Katmai-style. Good bar-hopping and tundra with caribou trails leads to Nakmaktuak Pass. Stay on the rim on the left side until you can make your way through a break in the limestone and descend to the upper Ambler. The views of the upper Ambler are beautiful and forested. Say good-bye to the tundra Arctic and hello to the Kobuk watershed.

Good walking leads to the first big gravel beds of the Ambler. Put in here for splashy PR 3 down to Ulaneak Creek or walk, your choice. Below the Ulaneak the river slows and then braids and really slows on its way to Ambler.

Fly out to Kotzebue or buy food and continue down the Kobuk River, restocked at Ambler and visit Onion Portage, Great Kobuk Sand Dunes, and maybe a side trip into Kobuk National Park's Salmon River, made famous in McPhee's book, Coming Into the Country.

You have just completed a trip twice as long as the John Muir Trail, longer than VT Long Trail, and just a bit shorter than the Colorado Trail. Perhaps the Brooks Range classic.

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