On day five we hiked to an amazing green ridge with an almost endless line of sharp rocky outcroppings. The guides called it stegosaurus ridge, after an armored dinosaur from the Late Jurassic. The Parks Service called the rocky projections the Wolf Tors.
As we moved along, two gyrfalcons watched us carefully from a lichen-covered rocky tor on which they had a nest. The gyrfalcon is the largest falcon in the world, and a fierce predator. It lives in the high Arctic and chases down ptarmigans in flight or plummets from the sky to strike prey on the ground. Gyrfalcons have to be good hunters. In order to raise their family, a pair needs the equivalent of about 200 ptarmigans in a season. The gyrfalcon couple ignored us as long as we did not come too close. Further down nearer our camp, we walked by a rock ptarmigan, one of the Gyrfalcon’s favorite preys. For the time being, this one seemed alive and well, but we were in the wilderness where tooth and claw rules. I was told that the gyrfalcon does not have the best table manners. It apparently devours its prey very quickly without sufficient discrimination between the edible and nonedible. Then, some time later, it regurgitates the indigestible feathers and bones. As we moved along, we had fine views of the river and its rapids below us. It had been a perfect day for a long hike. Tomorrow we would be back on the river for more adventure.
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After Joe Creek, on the fourth day of our trip, we were in the Mountain Reach of the Firth. There were many rapids, and it was not long before our group was scouting Sluice Box Rapids. The guides pronounced it runnable, and, as we had in 2015, we ran the rapids with full rafts.
Soon we stopped again to scout the rapids at Wrap Rock, and this time it was a different story. The guests were asked to walk along the riverbank around this obstacle while the guides brought the rafts through. They were being cautious. The rock obtained its unusual name because some years ago a poor guide wrapped his raft around the upstream end of the rock. As far as I know, no tourists were lost, but it was a big job to get the raft moving again. In 2015 when we were on the Firth for the first time, the guides called it House Rock, so the incident probably occurred after 2015. Wrap Rock is a huge boulder that fell many years ago from the cliffs on river left and divided the river into two channels. With the low water during our trip, the wider channel to the right of the rock was too shallow for the rafts, and they would need to go through the much narrower channel to the left where the water was deeper but also very fast. Each raft was eventually brought through with two guides on board. Then the tourists were taken on board again, and we went on down the river. The rapids became more and more frequent, and there was to be more excitement for our raft. It ran aground on a huge rock in the middle of a big rapid and paddling and jumping up and down was unable to dislodge it. Eventually our guide Jim stepped out of the raft onto the rock and gave our raft a huge push. Fortunately, he was able to jump safely back into the raft as it suddenly moved on. We had been hearing thunder during the day along the river, and we had just gone ashore at Wolf Tors and put up our tent when the rain started. We relaxed for about an hour in our tent listening to the rain patter on the fly before we went out to enjoy a fine evening. The Porcupine Caribou herd, which was estimated at 218,000 animals in 2017, migrates every spring to the Arctic coast west of the Firth to calve. Then, after calving is complete, the herd gradually migrates, often in small groups, to the southeast on its way to its wintering grounds in the mountains further south. This means crossing the Firth River.
Some distance downstream from our lunch spot; caribou were crossing the river. It was a moment of great excitement. After the first large group, some smaller groups consisting of mothers and their calves came through. Each calf was sticking closely to its mother, as for the first year of its life, a caribou calf is almost inseparable from its mother while it learns what it must do to survive. When it eats, it often has its nose near the mother’s nose and learns what foods she is eating so that it can follow suit. We watched as several caribou calves closely followed their mothers into the water and crossed the river. However, this intimacy does not go on forever. At one year, just before the next calf is born, the mother suddenly rejects it and drives it away. The poor calf at first seems confused and upset, and tries to maintain contact, but eventually it gives up, and joins a peer group of similarly rejected one-year olds. It all sounds very heart rendering, but nature does what it needs to do to preserve the species. On Day 2 we got on the river, and before long stopped as a tributary, Muskeg Creek, where our guides caught 4 large Dolly Varden. They would be dinner that evening!
A short distance below the fishing hole, we stopped on river left, and went for a steep hike up to a high ridge which overlooked the river. Our hike ended at some tors – rocky knobs formed by erosion from wind and rain – that indicate the are was never glaciated. Glaciers would have quickly destroyed the tors as they ground over the mountains and valleys. We had a great view of the river far below, and it was exhilarating to think we had reached the tors that we had so admired from the river an hour or two previously. Along the way we came across some fossils which the guides told us were from coral. The Firth River Valley was once covered by shallow seas, and as a result has deep layers of sedimentary rock. On the way down, I had magnificent views of a rough-legged hawk that posed for quite some time at the very top of a tall spruce tree. It was quite a sight to finally see the bird that we had heard shrieking for the better part of the morning. A little further along the river we were back in winter. An expanse of aufeis, ice that forms as water issues from underground springs all winter, framed the river on one side. It was July 16th, but it had not all melted yet. Over the next few months, I will be taking you down the spectacular Firth River which flows through the northern Yukon to the Arctic Ocean. It is a wonderful river that few ever see, so this is your chance to see it through my eyes (and camera) as I saw it this last summer in 2024. Who knows? Once you have read about it, you may want to raft it yourself some day. We will start our journey with the Mackenzie delta.
It is hard to imagine 25,000 lakes in one place, but that is said to be the number of lakes in the Mackenzie delta in Canada’s Northwest Territories. We flew over the delta on our way to the Frith River to begin our river rafting trip, and although I did not try to count them, I can personally attest that there are a great many lakes in the Mackenzie delta. Sinuous river channels threaded their way between the lakes and brought the water of the mighty Mackenzie, which drains one fifth of Canada, to the Arctic Ocean. It was a remarkable sight, but even though it is 210 Km long and 80 Km wide, the Mackenzie delta is small when compared for example to the largest river delta in the world, that of the Ganges-Brahmaputra Rivers in India and Bangladesh. To be fair, though, the Mackenzie has had less than 30,000 years to do its work, since before that the area was covered by several kilometres of ice. The age of the Ganges River is measured in the tens of millions of years. At its western edge, the Mackenzie delta ended abruptly as the land rose to form the Richardson Mountains. Then we flew on for some time over the Yukon highlands until our plane finally landed beside the Frith River. We set up camp and looked forward to the next day when we would be heading down the river. This will be the last excerpt from Rafting the Snake: A Journey Through the Yukon's Snake River Wilderness that I will place on my blog. If you find the comments below interesting, you may want to buy the book! It is available from Amazon and Friesen Press, and any bookstore can order it for you.
It was hard to believe how milky Milk Creek was. This fast-flowing tributary of the Snake entered its parent river with great force, but the two waters were reluctant to mix. For at least one hundred metres there was a sharp demarcation between the white waters of the Milk and the brilliant blue of the Snake. I was given to understand that it was the temperature difference between the two rivers that was the main reason for this phenomenon, and not the heavy white glacial limestone sediment of the Milk. It was a magical place, and we spent some time on the beach where the two rivers met. Up the Milk Creek valley stood the stony massifs of the Bonnet Plume range. A little downstream, a spectacular flowerpot-like rock crowned by half a dozen black spruce trees rose up from the river. The Milk Creek valley was another potential hiking route to Mount Macdonald from the shores of the Snake. According to Wild Rivers of the Yukon’s Peel Watershed, a hike up Milk Creek leads to the base of a stunning glacier. The glacier is no doubt the source of some of the glacial sediment that gives Milk Creek its remarkable white colour. Around noon, we went ashore on a small grey beach to have lunch. Nearby, a large creek boiled with energy as it met the Snake. Huge black boulders were strewn about as though to emphasize the primeval force of this exuberant stream. We listened to the roaring water as we sat on black rocks and enjoyed our food. The plan was that when lunch was done, we would hike up the valley of our tumultuous creek to a splendid waterfall. A rudimentary trail, fringed by reindeer lichen and low willows, led upward. . . In less than a kilometre we reached a yawning canyon, and torrents of water thundered over a magnificent waterfall below us. It was an impressive sight, and as best I could tell, one without a name. As we descended. . . It began to rain heavily. . .We crossed the stream and returned to the small beach from which we had started. Where there had been so much activity only an hour or two before, there was now only a small pile of gear and two empty canoes. We had been spotted from across the river, however, and soon another canoe was coming to meet us. Amyah and Ruth were whisked away to our new camp, while I was left behind to fend for myself in the Yukon wilderness. I clutched a can of bear spray and waited for a canoe to return. Exciting New Book! Rafting the Snake: a Journey through the yukon's snake river wilderness11/16/2024 Finally, I have been able to publish my second rafting book. It tells the exciting story of our journey down the Yukon's Snake River with two teenagers. It was a journey to remember, and I invite all to share it with me by buying Rafting the Snake: A Journey Through the Yukon's Snake River Wilderness, available from Amazon, Friesen Press,
https://books.friesenpress.com/store/title/119734000420224976 or it can be ordered through any bookstore. Description of Rafting the Snake This book will entertain and enlighten with accessible prose and numerous photographs. It will take you away from the stresses of city life and bring you back to the natural world. An account of our rafting trip on the Snake River in the Northern Yukon, it starts with our trip to the river during the Covid-19 pandemic and ends with our return to Whitehorse 12 days later. We were travelling through pure wilderness: during our time on the river, we encountered no one outside of our small group until our last day on the Peel River as we were about to be flown out to civilization. The ten chapters of this book are about adventure and the natural and human history of one of Canada’s great wilderness rivers. The author, his wife, and two grandchildren battle the wilderness with its wind, rain, rapids, and mosquitoes, but all have a wonderful experience. Running between two mountain ranges and then in a deeply carved valley through the Peel Plateau, the Snake is a stunningly beautiful river. There is much to see including Dall sheep, carnivorous flowers, peregrine falcons, a tributary the colour of milk, and blood-red mountains rich in iron ore. The reader is also taken off the river to majestic Mount MacDonald and to a thundering waterfall that few have ever seen. The narrative of our experiences is interwoven with many beautiful photographs that allow the reader to experience the river almost first-hand. The book also includes many sidebars that discuss the human and natural history of the river. In addition to our adventure, the reader will enjoy carefully researched information ranging from the biology of Reindeer Lichen to the dramatic events of the Lost Patrol. This book is timely, as it strikes a blow for the protection of the environment and our planet, a topic that we need to embrace now more than ever. It is essential reading for those interested in the northern wilderness and for those who love free-running rivers. The author, a university professor, speaks from some experience, as he has also rafted and explored the Nahanni, Firth, and Tatshenshini rivers. Margaret Atwood, who once canoed the Snake, has pointed out that to preserve our northern wilderness, people have to learn about it. She stated that, “Anything or anyone that isn’t understood, valued, and defended – made real to the hearts of others – is likely to be exploited and obliterated.” With this book, I hope to make the Snake River Valley real to you. Baden-Powell’s name is almost a household word, as he founded the Scout Association in 1910. With his sister, he also founded the Girl Guide Movement. His influence worldwide through the scouting movement can scarcely be overestimated.
Less well known is that he had a long military career before turning his attention to scouting. He joined the 13th Hussars in India in 1876 and did not retire from the British Army until 1910. He served in many different countries, including South Africa during the Boer War. He was in charge of the British Garrison during the siege of Mafeking which lasted 217 days. 8,000 Boers surrounded the town, and before the siege was relieved by the British, Baden-Powell’s soldiers had to eat some of their horses. I don’t know if Baden-Powell was ever in British Columbia, but in 1971 a trail was built to celebrate the 100th anniversary of British Columbia's entry into Canada as a province, and it was named after him. This seems appropriate, as the project was initiated by the Boy Scouts and Girl Guides organizations of B.C. and much of the work of building it was done by their young members. On May 25, 2023, we hiked the trail from Deep Cove to Lynn Valley. We started at scenic Deep Cove, and, along with throngs of other hikers, and walked a few Km to Quarry Rock which gave us a magnificent view of Deep Cove. As we went on, we left the crowds, and saw almost no one for many kilometres. Above is an image of Deep Cove from Quarry Rock. The forest was magnificent, with unbelievably tall trees. Nevertheless, impressive though it was, the forest was only a mere shadow of its former self. Huge stumps dotted the forest here and there and bore mute testimony to the grandeur of the original old-growth forest that had been hacked out of existence by the lumbermen of yore. Some even showed indentations where the springboards had been placed to support the axe men who took down these magnificent trees. Springboards allowed loggers to more easily fell trees with a flared base, such as firs. Notches were cut into the tree above the base and loggers then wedged in the springboard. The springboards had a steel tip which provided a good grip on the tree, and the boards had a level, springy surface on which the loggers stood. They wore hobnailed boots to prevent slipping. Below is an image of the old loggers from BC history from a tourist placard. We walked through the forest solitude for several hours, although occasionally we crossed paved roads which led to some facilities further north. Then we descended to the Seymour River and went through some small suburbs. Further on, we came to dramatic Lynn Canyon with its suspension bridge before we reached the parking lot where we had left one of our cars. It had been a great hike. We were staying in Cave Creek, just north of Phoenix, Arizona. On November 23rd, 2023, a friend and I hiked in the Spur Cross area. It was nice desert hiking. Most impressive among the local plants were the multi-armed suguaros that towered above us in places. Their scientific name (Carnegiea gigantea) honours businessman and philanthropist Andrew Carnegie, and they are quite a work of nature. They can grow up to 50 feet tall, and some weight over 2,000 Kg. It is best to keep your distance from a saguaro. Their spines are very sharp and almost as strong as a steel needle. They can be up to 3 inches long and have been reported to penetrate the skull of a bighorn sheep that was foolish enough to collide with one. According to Wikipedia, a man was killed in 1982 when he came out second best in an altercation with a saguaro. He was shooting and poking at a saguaro in an attempt to make it fall over when a 500-pound arm of the cactus fell on him and crushed both him and his car. Then, as if to add insult to injury, the trunk of the cactus fell on him. We had a pleasant day, but I kept my distance from the suguaros! |