In the middle of 1998, as the summer was winding
down, Gerry, Charlie and I found ourselves thinking about what to do
when the fall came. The inevitable question had been lingering
with all of us, "Go North?" - North being where the
One night as we're sitting on a rock next the
South Fork, talking about the coming months, Gerry had an
epiphany. "I know, let's do all three - Devil's Canyon,
Moffatt of course had no problem selling it, and
before we knew it, we had funding and a plan. We roped Reggie
into going as well - he would fly into anchorage and meet us for the
first leg, Devil's Canyon of the Susitna. The story, as it were,
is that we’d be following in Walt Blackadar’s footsteps, retracing his
epic descents (and swims) in these big wilderness canyons (except for
the
The drive to the put in turned into an epic road trip. Charlie, Gerry and I drove to
Devil’s Canyon became a personal battle for Blackadar, as he never actually made it past the first rapid without swimming. He dropped into Devil’s Creek rapid and spent most of it upside down and underwater. Impressive enough is that he did it once and lived, surprisingly, he kept coming back for more. By the end of his original expedition, only his teammates, including Rob Lesser, actually descended the whole canyon.
Two thirty minute flights via float plane got us to a sandy beach a few miles above the canyon. I can remember a distinct gurgling in my stomach watching the plane take off and fly away, realizing that after ten days of traveling, here we were, and it was time to get busy.
The next morning, we climbed up a tall cliff to overlook the entry rapid to the canyon, Devil’s Creek. We were a bit late in the summer, and the water had dropped, maybe a bit too low. A couple huge, unrunnable ledges defined the rapid, making the channel right of the main rapid the only realistic option. While this option was steep and tough in itself, it was a little disappointing to have to essentially portage the first big drop.
To be honest, the remainder of the canyon was not too difficult. The infamous Nozzle didn’t really have enough water to be scary, and the other rapids were very straightforward. We stopped and camped at a beach near the halfway point, and the only other rapids of real consequence were the Pearly Gates and the Bus Stop. The Bus Stop was the exit move, a riverwide hole that needed to be gutted. Moffatt left that up to me – it was a little softer than I expected, and I was able to punch right through, partly helped by a loaded Overflow. The boys followed, and we were left with a 20 mile paddle out, where we caught a passing train and headed back to Talkeetna.
A funny thing happened in Talkeetna that night. On reaching the train stop, we ran into Taurus Gene(sp), son of Ray Gene, the first man to do a winter ascent of
Then we made a trip into town.
At a local bar, we saw the more primal side of Taurus. Taurus had had a big day, what with all the excitement of new people and such, not to mention the half ounce of dope he smoked over the preceding few hours. After chugging three pints top to bottom, Taurus started heckling the performers who showed up for open mike night in Talkeetna. He was asked several times to please quiet down, but instead took to playing along by blowing into his beer bottle. Finally, the performer stopped his set and let Taurus know that it was time to knock it the fuck off. Upon being confronted with this, Taurus went into fight or flight mode. He jumped up onto the table, threw his beer at the bar TV and gave a primal howl as he ran out the door and into the night, leaving his accomplices (us) to apologize and cool things down.
We found Taurus and took him home. His mother was nice enough to let us camp in her yard that night, and we had a chance to relax a bit and start thinking about the next leg of our little trip.
Coming in Part II,
Glaciers, killer icebergs, and missing oatmeal.