LOOKING BACK AT 2006

It took more than three months to live, with very few regrettable "delete" moments, but in one swift surge I will try to sum up the summer here. I'll be glad to fill in any details next summer, somewhere along a river. Let the Cliff Notes begin:

As April approached, the summer season seemed anything but a season, though like all good fairy tales in the end it turned out well (but unlike summer, that is cooler and wetter). In the past, our scheduled is nailed down by April and we are just cherry picking people to fill up an excursion or adding an extra trip. This year we witnessed a new trend towards last-minute sign-ups. All I can think is that the consciousness of our civilization is being reshaped by the plethora of drive-by espresso stands and broadband internet. Welcome to the me-now era. As a business owner it's very scary at first, but with a little practice, only another bump in the road.

DD and I did a short shake-down cruise in mid-May. As part of a NOAA sponsored annual Prince William Sound clean-up project, we spent a weekend cleaning up the Bay of Isles with a group of volunteers and Phoebe, the wonder dog. As luck would have it, it was a mostly beautiful weekend out in the Bay of Isles though still brisk. Late heavy snows lingered, persistently chilling the air temperature and limiting the upland hiking.

Our mission was cleaning up and categorizing the rubbish that drifts its way to shore. Using our kayaks for better mobility and access, we headed off in a pack and broke off in smaller groups leap-frogging each site. Mostly it's pretty mundane and annoying stuff and I don't think I'll ever drink from another Styrofoam cup -- this is an insidious product that is hideously difficult to pick up -- but I did find a nozzle from the Exxon clean-up era.

We camped out at the mouth of the bay and though we didn't see any whales we had a drop-dead view of Montague Island, which looked like the Great Wall of China rising dramatically from the sea-draped sheer white. It's an imposing barrier to the wicked winter storms of the Gulf of Alaska. How nice it was to be lying on a fine-pebble beach with such a sight to rest your weary eyes on. The value of this activity could not be more obvious. Ready and willing -- bring on the summer madness.

Our first trip was a week later, right back in Prince William Sound. Spring had been basically non-existent to this point, but as we packed for this trip, warm and sunny weather invaded south-central Alaska. Feeling a bit unlucky, we worried and joked about it running out of steam before our trip got started. With the late snow melt we planned to take advantage of the long northern shoreline that gets the best exposure to sun and do a bit of an exploratory trip to the no-man's land between Valdez and Whittier.

Half of our group arrived in the morning and reported in excited to get started so as not to waste any of the abundant sunshine. The other guys came in later that night, but without their bags. Everyone's nightmare. When you think of it, it's amazing it doesn't happen more often. When they called, they sounded confident about getting their stuff and would call back early the next morning. After five flights they were still without bags and now sounded depressed.

The first day of our trip was more like an impromptu jam session doing none of the things that normally happen on this day. There were more phone calls then I am used to making in a week; the airline, the hotel, the water taxi, the airline back home to Texas, the water taxi, on and on it went. Basically, their gear didn't show-up (our house sitter picked it up the day after we left). It went to Japan first, so we rustled up a bunch of loaner gear and sent the boys shopping to fill in the blanks. It was absolutely wild. With luck, the water taxi was going to be able to take us out that night (don't try this later in the summer when everyone is burned out). So there we were, eating our first supper (take-out pie from Moose's Tooth) on our deck at home in perfect weather with Phoebe smirking and begging for pizza. Hours later, as daylight faded to dusk, the water taxi edged up on the beach and we rushed to set up our tents before it was impossible to see. What a start, and with the heavy lifting done the rest was all cherry-on-top nonstop perfection -- perfect weather, no rain, great wildlife, new beaches, great paddlers and some sweet hikes. It was Old Milwaukee territory to be sure.

It worked out that we could fudge an extra day on the end of the trip to make up for the rough start and as we waited for Josh to pick us up, all I could think was, "How are you going to top this?" The first trip is perfect and it feels like standing on the mountaintop looking for the next mountain to climb but there aren't any. I got the worst feeling that I had peaked way too early.

I had a bit of a break before my next trip, which was one of the rare trips that was booked early -- a prepackaged group of Coloradans for 12 days on the Kongakut. A young guy that I have watched grow up was my assistant, kind of the stand-in for his dad who used to help, but now is always too busy. In fact, the Kongakut was Trevor's first trip several years before when his dad WAS the other boatman.

Spring came late to the Arctic, too, and so the day before the trip we decided not to bank on a miraculous breakup on the coastal plain, but rather linger on the main run of the river and better weather in the mountains-- a good call. Let there be no overlooking how good it is to have a well-prepared group of people that all know each other. Their fearless leader, Mother Hen, had done a brilliant job in advance of the trip, so I felt like I was half-way on vacation for a glorious run down the river.

It was great fun hearing numerous stories about my old college stomping grounds and having time to bag plenty of hikes, including several new ones, as has been the tradition for the Kongakut. Possibly we may one day run out of new ones, but that is still a few years away. We have certainly got most of ridges covered.

The late snow melt and fine weather ramped up the water level, making for ideal conditions for Trevor's rookie boat captain run. The one downside to the rush of water was a slight turbidity which tainted the Kongakut's famous liquid glass look. On the lower part of the river, we all hiked up a few ridges and got ocean views. Each time the ocean was solid white -- so much for global warming. With our longer trip, we had a full day to partake in the last foothills hike to overlook the coastal plain up close. It was a wonderfully clear day. At our lunch spot, perched about the last short shelf of North America, we looked out over a gazillion itty bitty caribou. We hadn't seen a really big bunch to this point and though this was a stretch, it was pretty cool to see so many animals -- every bit the Serengeti it is compared to and slightly closer. Our trip was a success and our decision to bail on the coastal plain was solid -- the route still looked sketchy.

Transition day up next -- out with the first trip and in with the next. Up early for a grueling, long day. As we were preparing to load the boats and float over to the pickup strip 12 minutes downstream, the horizon came alive like a John Wayne western. Though on this fine, bright blue warm morning, it was hordes of caribou that stared down at us on their rush to the river. Such an experience -- fur flying, hooves clicking, babies bleating and moms grunting-- with the river erupting in a roar of splashing static as thousands of caribou plunged in toward the greener pastures west of the river. Right place, right time and a lasting impression for the Coloradans to take home with them.

By mid-day I was back up at the top of the river with a new group that friends and helpers Randy and Tasha had escorted from town. Crazy times, as we were blowing the boats back up that I had just deflated 40 miles downstream. Today, however, this new group was not all strangers but include three repeaters. We had plotted a 12-day trip to the coast, and we elected to give it a try. So, late that afternoon after a brief shower, we shoved off to Drain Creek proper in bright welcoming sunshine.

We stayed on track with the coast schedule until we passed through the canyon and out on the foothills. Shortly after our arrival in camp, a rogue wind blasted out of the mountains and exploded upon us -- a harbinger of changing times and grueling weather. Our plans changed to match the conditions, but the discovery did not.

The next day we went for a day hike above the river and ran into a large group of caribou heading south. Watching them spill across the landscape so effortlessly was entertaining, but figuring out why they were so deliberate was not that comforting. I had a chance to summit a new peak this day, finding an archeological hunting blind on the way situated right along the caribou's path. As soon as I reached the top, the battleship gray sky opened in a downpour blown sideways by the heavy wind. Donning a raincoat just in time, I turned tail and sailed back to camp struggling not to be blown off course and off mountain -- all good fun with my newest trophy.

With our schedule change, we took the extra time to discover a new camp just off the beaten path. Despite the wet weather, the river was drying up, so our private camp came with a bit of a hitch or perhaps drag, but still it has become one of my favorites. I have wanted to check it out for years, but I've always chickened out because of the tiny access channel. And so, another new hike. After the storm, the weather never warmed up. The coastal plain hike that was so awesome on the first trip was mostly a hypothetical when we stood there this time -- I explained what they could not see. It made the first time that much more magical.

The next day, the planes were right on schedule and I ended my first arctic tour for the year. I awoke in Caribou Pass after travel by boat, plane and van and fell asleep in my bed in Anchorage early 20 hours later.

The next trip was one of the several trips that slipped into our schedule late and helped it come together. Kate and Doug used us to fill in the Prince William Sound nook on their self-arranged two week Alaskan adventure. Private Ôcouples' trips are becoming a more common activity for us. We settled for Harriman Fiord and an accent on Ice. Arriving in low but dry overcast, things got better and better. Imagine my surprise to paddle up to the best glacier viewing beach in Alaska and have it unoccupied (for two nights). This is how our luck unraveled for the four days we were in Harriman. Remarkably, the first people we saw were when we were leaving the beach the last time. Perhaps we should have saved the best for last, but instead we started with dessert and went backwards to the main course, paddling back into Harriman and exploring around Surprise Glacier. The weather continued to improve so it was not quite a letdown -- we traded the superb camp for the expansive and improving views unveiled as the clouds rolled back and revealed the tops of all the white slopes we had been watching for the past few days.

What would become an amazing trend, we ended the last day with a 12 mile paddle and arrived at the pickup beach just in time to unload the kayaks before Josh showed up to pick us up. A perfect ending to a near-perfect trip, we swept our way right into Anchorage for a quick turn around.

Our next trip was one of the most highly anticipated of the season. We pioneered this route up the east side of Knight Island Passage last year and it was an instant favorite. It didn't hurt that the weather was absolutely out-of-control wonderful. Lonesome big relief country and plenty of day hiking and whales. We even went swimming, it was so hot.

Going into this year's trip, the weather forecast was dismal and we were booby trapped by more missing luggage. One of our guys arrived at midnight without his bag, but this time it arrived in the very early morning and we managed to get it all together on time, sacrificing only sleep. It's a long ride out to this drop-off beach, but as we approached the area, a small patch of blue sky (the only one) materialized right overhead and whales popped out of the ocean right on cue. Shirts off for lunch and camp set-up; perhaps we were a little cocky with our Day One bravado. We managed to pry ourselves away from the whale-watching to go for a day paddle.

By the time we returned, the overcast skies we grew most familiar with had taken over. Despite tons of rain, this still was a great trip and I think I noticed some things more in the overcast than the brilliant sun of last year. It wasn't all gloomy and there were plenty of highlights, but it all required discipline. When we unloaded all the wet gear from my van at home, I think I could have used a bilge pump to clean up. Most important on wet trips like this are durable campers with a good attitude. In this case I think the evening chatter got more out of control the longer we were out in the rain. Kudos to them.

Following this trip was an empty week before returning to the Arctic. It always sounds so alluring to have free time in the summer, but without fail, these days are consumed with a multitude of chores that makes me wonder what would have done without them. There are no free days during the season in this business.

The Aichilik River valley is perhaps the place in the Arctic Refuge where most of my fondest memories are. For several years it has been out-of-bounds due to a voluntary moratorium on the principal landing strip. In spring, the lesser-used upper strips have been too wet to rely on. So when we arrived on a glorious bluebird day, it seemed like heaven. We were going to take the inflatable canoes down the length of the river to the coast. Everything aligned perfectly and I like to imagine that this trip had the most lasting impression on me.

One of the values of the wilderness is the quiet we experience and how restorative and balancing it can be. For me this was the one. By dumb luck, we found the river running boldly to the brim and the first several days were the most fun paddling of the summer -- challenging and fast-paced but not scary; absolutely ye haw! The Soar canoes are perfect for these trips. Our guys were thrown into this over-the-top amusement park ride, mostly rank rookies, and still managed to roar in laughter each time we regrouped. It helps that on most occasions the rain would stop and the sun would come out when we were ready to make camp. And the Kifaru tee pee made up for any hiccups Mother Nature might have had with the drying schedule. The weather was as much a roller coaster as the river -- stunning, sucky and back again for ten days. And the wildlife: Holy cow, rather, HOLY COW! It was if we were in an Animal Planet highlight reel. Early on we racked up grizzly sightings, including a long close observation of mom and three large cubs.

Out on the coastal plain we began to see a few caribou, but then one miserable day it all came unglued. About ten miles from the coast, actually in the 1002 lands (the ones embroiled in the oil controversy), we were camped stalling breakfast in the teepee with the wood stove crackling, avoiding the tough call to get packed and paddle in the cold drizzly weather. Thank goodness for the side effects of caffeine. DD goes out to pee and quickly comes back to tell us to look out side -- there's a musk ox.

While out viewing what has become an extremely endangered creature in the Refuge, we notice a bull caribou charging at us across the river. Back behind him is what at first looks like a calf, but wait it has a tail! Son of a gun, it's a wolf loping behind. At first, he's trailing considerably and not making up any distance. But the caribou begins to falter and decides to cross the river. With this, the wolf picks up the pace and begins to close the gap. The caribou stops momentarily and actually stares at the wolf (this is when I make the prediction, he's toast). He switches direction and desperately tries to use the river's current defensively. However, the water is not deep enough and the wolf really steps up the attack, bounding through the water as easily and gracefully as a porpoise. Indeed, he is now literally nipping at the bou's heel. The first true bite is a classic hamstring assault which is followed by a climb up onto his back, just like a cowboy. He begins to tear chunks out of the caribou's backside. The caribou falters, falls and is apparently out, the 120-pound los lobos is too much of a burden to bear. But with several more chunks torn from his back, he tries again to evade the inevitable. The wolf is winning and now most of the bou's back is peeled open and bright red. The action continues until the wolf gets wind of us (just across the river) and backs off to cover. After each time we settle down in the tee pee, the wolf creeps back to the still-living caribou.

We must go or the caribou's life will be in vain. We hurry to leave the scene, but not the blowing mist, for the final recycling of life, but are infused by the experience. Hey, it only took me 28 years, but what a sight!! Some would call it a once in a lifetime experience, but I will remain on watch for another. A trip highlight for sure.

Two more days remained and we saw several otherwise fabulous things which now paled by comparison. It was my first complete trip down the entire river and won't be the last. Riding in the plane back to town, Dirk flew us over the whole trip and the slow speed of the Beaver was a splendid opportunity to digest this empowering journey through the finest wilderness in the country. Imagine a home copy machine churning out a document at high quality (slow). Every day was blazing indelibly in my small brain.

Last year we made new friends in Scotland who run a similar business in their country called, wouldn't you know, Wilderness Scotland (www.wildernessjourneys.com). At last moment's notice, Neil had pitched us our last two outings of the year. First was a custom two-week discovery of Alaska for an active Spanish couple. We packaged a combination trip for them which included Prince William Sound and the Arctic and dressed it up by linking the two with a train trip from Anchorage to Fairbanks with an overnight in Denali Park. Unfortunately, Homeland Security tripped them up with specific passport requirements they found out about when they arrived at the airport and they missed their first day. Twenty-four hours later, passports amended, we met them in Anchorage. They were exhausted from the delay and the grueling time travel. We swept them off to Harriman Fiord immediately the next day in a downpour.

The mantra of this whole trip was "stay busy". This first day was all about surviving. With a little luck, the next day cleared enough so rain coats could be stowed in dry bags. Off we went for an epic all-day multi-destination 15 mile exploration of the area -- Harriman Fiord in one day, ouch! The end of the trip arrived early the next day (robbed by the passport ordeal) and so we packed up for our paddle back to the pickup beach. The rain held off long enough for us to get packed (mostly) and then it let loose. Pulsing downpours raining so hard, the drops bounced off the surface of the ocean and had to take a turn to get in.

After three hours we arrived at the beach almost trolling the water taxi behind. It was a struggle keeping the boat unfogged enough so Josh could drive back to Whittier. And what a ride! It had been raining hard on our paddle, but the ocean was flat. Heading back to Whittier, we bow plunged regularly into surf and were tossed around like rubbish all the way until Passage Canal. Keeping the ball rolling, we loaded the van, swept through the tunnel and back home. DD and I jumped quickly in the shower before taking Juan and Carmen to their downtown hotel. We dropped them off, agreeing to meet in Fairbanks two days later.

We drove a few blocks across town and walked into a concert with ten minutes to spare before the start. And when it got going, it was the furthest thing from the peace and quiet we had been immersed in-- totally different but fun. What a wild world we live in that our surroundings can change so quickly and all be taken in stride.

Two days later, with a fresh inventory of supplies, we motored up north one last time. We arrived a little late to meet Juan and Carmen at the train station, so we headed to the hotel. Upon our arrival, they informed us that they were not booked there. Oh man Houston, we have a problem. In due time we did track them down in that very hotel with them none the wiser. Next morning, we flew up to Coldfoot and our river drop-off. Circling the runway we saw our first bear, the most common mammal of the trip. Dirk puddle jumped us over to the headwaters of the North Fork of the Koyukuk in one very full load.

I hadn't floated the North Fork since 1987 and never so far upstream, having landed just north of the actual Gates of the Arctic, Frigid Crags and Boreal Mountain. This used to be bread and butter country in my earliest years as a guide, but now it felt new and wild again. I had never been on the river this late, and with the exception of footprints, we saw no other people, just bears. The fall colors were blazing away in peak form. Lower down on the river, some of the record-breaking burned country of 2005 was evenly a very interesting palate of color. After the first lazy day, watching a bear family forage across the river, we jumped on the river escalator and whisked our way past this glorious country.

Each day we added to our work load. We had over a hundred miles to do in four days. The last morning, I reminded Juan and Carmen that if ever they felt their strength flag, they should remind themselves that in Bettles there was a room rented out in their name with clean sheets and hot water. In the end, we made it with 50 minutes to spare before the dinner closed. There was one last night by the river, with owls calling and a late blazing sunset in the northwest sky. I stayed up late, reflecting the end of another cherished summer traveling in Alaska's finest country. It's remarkable I've stayed at it so long in some respects and so obvious that there really isn't anything finer to do.

Next morning, we loaded up and flew back to town for the end of a great year.

Neil had asked us to help a friend of his fill in the remainder of his trip. So we picked Paul up in Anchorage and headed to Seward with a van load of toys and a mission to find some Orcas. Sandwiched in stormy weather, we managed to get out into Resurrection Bay. Along with a lot of beautiful country, we found the first Orcas the boat had seen in several days. Otherwise, it was the cart leading the horse, as Paul did a stellar job of entertaining DD and me. Paul has quite an ambitious business located in the Scottish Highlands www.alladale.com. If you ever considered visiting magnificent Scottish high country, check in Paul's lodge for a treat.

As suddenly as a train wreck, our season was over and we were back in the regular routine. Phoebe need not sulk around, missing her parents, and we could rest easy until the restlessness of travel calls again.