Showing posts with label adventure tales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure tales. Show all posts

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Ice to Ocean: A Packraft Journey

Paddling Resurrection River near Seward, AK

Somewhere under a blanket of ice hundreds of feet deep, runnels of water squeeze through tunnels and cracks, collecting in pockets. Gathering momentum. Finally, after a seemingly endless journey through the dark, it erupts into daylight as a churning, turbid stream. A creek Is born and it begins its descent to the sea.

This is the life of a river… Ice to Ocean.

Our Alaska packrafting adventure started at the Exit Glacier trailhead in Kenai Fjords National Park. Exit Glacier is one of about 40 glaciers spawned from the Harding Icefield, a massive sheet of ice that covers roughly 1,000 square miles. That’s about the size of Rhode Island. Our destination was the toe of the glacier, where Exit Creek emerges from under the ice and, like us in our packrafts, begins its tumble downhill.

We used to put-in much closer to the glacier, but a sudden glacier outburst flood of  Exit Glacier June 14, 2021 sent a wall of water charging through the narrow gorge, re-arranging the channel and prompting the park service to close the canyon. It’s hard, as we spread our gear over glacial moraine, not to look up at the wall of ice and imagine seeing that rushing chocolate water and tumbling mass of boulders bearing down on us.

After the first set of crux rapids, we settled in to rhythm of this river. Dodging sharp rocks, logs and brush, and always being alert for the deepest channel to avoid running aground.

After two and half miles, Exit Creek spills into Resurrection River and we continued downstream with triple the flow.

The next six miles were much the same, only on a larger scale. Braided islands and swift corners punctuated by occasional small rapids. Though the river is tame, the setting is incredible. Towering mountains leap skyward, crystalline cascades pouring down their jagged faces. Glaciers cling to the highest alpine rungs despite the apex of summer. It is, in a word, inspiring.

At mile 9 we passed the lowest takeout I’d ever used. From here down we were entering the unknown. Well not exactly. This was the most industrial and urban part of the river. Our route took us through a gravel pit, under a busy highway and alongside the runway of a small airport. But eagles lounged on the riverbank, scouting for salmon. Busy helicopters circled towards the alpine cirques. 

Ahead, the stream was opening up. And we knew the ocean was near.

We suspected paddling our lightweight Alpacka packrafts on Alaska's Resurrection Bay would be a challenge. We were not wrong. The mile-long paddle was slog across shallow mudflats, angling into a south wind, as small breakers lapped over our gunwales. At times it felt like we were making no progress. But eventually, somehow, we washed ashore just fifty feet from the car.

Ice to Ocean. We’d packrafted fourteen miles, 13 by river and one by sea. We’d sniffed out the river source, and saw it all the way to its mouth. We’d descended 700 feet and navigated countless swift corners and braided channels. My vision of a dynamic day adventure had come true.

Watch video documentary here:



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Sunday, July 28, 2024

Three Days, Three Toddlers and Spencer Glacier in Alaska (With Video)

Three days, 3 toddlers and an Alaska glacier. What could go wrong?

Iceberg at Spencer Lake Alaska
Iceberg at Spencer Glacier Lake
Spencer glacier just off Alaska’s Turnagain Arm, is a perfect taste of the Alaska backcountry without feeling too committing. Accessed from a whistle stop off the Alaska railroad and an easy one mile hike, it is close and convenient yet stunning with its sheet of wrinkled ice and broad lake dotted with gleaming icebergs. It seemed ideal for a first backpack trip with a three year old.

But as we set off into the wild, I felt a growing unease about the things that could go wrong. Even though Spencer is close to the most populous part of the Last Frontier, it still is, well, the Frontier. Were we putting our daughter in danger just by bringing her to a place like this? Were we setting ourselves up for misery and failure? The next three days would tell.

Our journey started at the Portage Train depot where the three of us and some friends boarded the steaming, blue and gold Alaska railroad. It was my daughter’s first train ride and her eyes filled with wonder as we rolled into the forest. It was a short trip to the whistle stop, and once we left the crowds behind, a hush fell over the landscape.

It was a wet, chilly night. After a soggy breakfast the next morning, we settled on a hike around the lake for a better view of the enormous glacier, and its many icebergs.

After lunch, the rain tapered just enough to inflate the boats and head out the water.

It’s humbling to float through the maze of blue ice. They stand like frozen, dynamic sculptures. We drifted in the calm water, trying to decide what animals they resembled. The challenges of endless rain and sleepless nights with a toddler washed away.

Sometime during the night, the blanket of clouds tore apart. The morning air was crisp and calm. The lake surface mirrored the sky above. It was perfect for photography and for another paddle.

Day pressed on. The yellow sun quickly felt hot. We basked in warm of a perfect Alaska afternoon.

When the time came for the short hike out,  we left all our challenges and fears behind. Without questions, it was all worth it.

 


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Copyright notice: This website and all its contents are the intellectual property of Brian Wright Photography. None of the content can be used or reproduced without expressed written approval.

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Sunday, June 16, 2024

The Hardest River I've Ever Packrafted (Video)

Welcome back to another adventure story from the Land of the Midnight Sun! 

As a whitewater kayaker of almost 30 years, I was skeptical the first time I saw an Alpacka packraft. They looked flimsy, light, easy-to-flip. What could you really paddle in a duck boat like that? But when I slid my legs into one and pushed off into the water, my expectations were blown away. 

Not only do these little boats make paddling the off-the-roads rivers and creeks in Alaska possible, they do so with remarkable ability. But just how far could I push these tiny rubber boats? Class III? Class IV? Class V?

This is the story of the hardest river I’ve paddled in a packraft.

In southcentral Alaska lies a range of jagged mountains. These gnarled peaks stab into the sky like a serrated cutlass. Though the highest of these peaks touches only 8,849 feet, no one doubts that these mountains, draped in glaciers and shrouded in mystery, are among Alaska’s most scenic and most treasured. These are the Talkeetna mountains.

Within the Talkeetna Mountains lives one of Alaska’s most popular playgrounds, Hatcher Pass. Hatcher Pass is a wonderland. Immensely popular for backcountry skiing, hiking, climbing, and photography, Hatcher Pass is natural beauty at the highest level but far more accessible than other Alaska ranges such as the Wrangells or the Brooks or even Alaska’s crown jewel, the Alaska Range, home of Denali. As you drive the winding road that carries you into the Talkeetna Range, it is hard not to notice the tumbling stream chugging along beside you. And as a kayaker and packrafter, it’s impossible not to imagine tasting yourself in its frisky rapids.

And so finally we meet the main character in this story: the Little Susitna.

Although the Little Susitna could be thought of as a peer or even competitor to Sixmile, as both are roadside runs of similar length and difficulty, their character couldn’t be more different. While the rapids of Sixmile tend to come in short, pool-drop constrictions and ledges, the Little Su is a never-ending maze of gumdrop glacial boulders and technical rapids that test your technique, endurance and skill. The takeout beer never felt as hard earned for me as it did at the end of the Little Su. In just five miles we’d navigated countless boulder gardens, scouted a dozen rapids, and survived at least six near flips.

But enough talk, let’s plunge into the action.


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Copyright notice: This website and all its contents are the intellectual property of Brian Wright Photography. None of the content can be used or reproduced without expressed written approval.

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Wednesday, March 6, 2024

The Worst Rain in American History (Video & Blog)

 On April 14-15, 2018, a rain gauge on the west side of Hanalei on the island of Kauai recorded 49.69 inches of rain in 24 hours, a U.S. record. The 2018 Hawaii Floods were the most intense rainfall in American history by 24-hour rain total, and parts of the north shore of Kauai were inundated with water. The Hanalei River leapt from its banks and poured into the town, causing damage that would take months to repair. The Kalalau Trail on the island's Napali Coast was destroyed by the event and wouldn't re-open for over a year. Ultimately, the storm would cause over $125 million in damage to Kauai, and is cited as the worst disaster to strike the island since Hurricane Iniki.

My wife and I were positioned in Princeville, on the bluff overlooking Hanalei awaiting the start of our backpack trip on the Kalalau trail when we were swallowed by the rainstorm. What we experienced those two days was nothing short of incredible. This video documents our story from that day.



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Copyright notice: This website and all its contents are the intellectual property of Brian Wright Photography. None of the content can be used or reproduced without expressed written approval.

For information about how to contact us, visit this link