Crossing The Gates of Alaska:. Dave Metz
Praise for
CROSSING THE GATES OF ALASKA
“A stirring account of a remarkable journey through one of the Earth’s last great wild places.”
—Robert Birkby, author of Mountain Madness
“Beautifully captures the vastness of Alaska—and the determination of the human spirit.”
—Sheryl Kayne, author of Volunteer Vacations Across America and Immersion Travel USA
“Wow! I opened the book and found myself in the heart of Alaska’s wild frontier, something I can only dream of doing.”
—Kevin Runolfson, author of The Things You Find on the Appalachian Trail
CROSSING THE GATES OF ALASKA
One Man, Two Dogs 600 Miles Off the Map
DAVE METZ
This book is dedicated to my dad.
CONTENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
PROLOGUE
CLOSE TO PARADISE
A LAND OF EPIC PROPORTIONS
THE NORTHWEST COAST
TOO COLD TO WAIT
CROSSING THE SEA ICE
SKIING THE KOBUK RIVER
ABORIGINAL LORE
THE ALLURE OF WILDERNESS
BLAZING MY OWN TRAIL
A SIGN LEFT BY SOMEONE LOST
BREAKUP
NAKMAKTUAK PASS
FALLING IN THE ICY RIVER
NOATAK, THE FORGONE FRONTIER
LUCKY SIX GORGE
NO EASY GROUND
IN THE HEART OF NO MAN’S LAND
WALKAROUND CREEK
BONE HUNGRY
THE PASSING OF THE AGES
SUGGESTED READING
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book came from the heart. I poured everything into it like it was meant to be. Writing it was as big a challenge as my adventure itself. I owe a great deal of gratitude to the people who supported me on my trek across Alaska and also to those who helped me write this book.
Thanks to Kate Epstein, my agent, who recognized the potential of my book immediately. Thanks to my editor Amy Pyle for her positive and courteous attitude, and for doing the hard work of turning my manuscript into a book. Thanks to Bob Birkby for his incredible insight on wilderness travel and his advice on my final revisions.
I’m indebted to my family and friends. Thanks to my parents, Valerie Metz and Darrel Metz, who never made monsters out of pettiness and always allowed me to come and go when I was younger. Thanks to my oldest brother Mike Metz for his limitless knowledge of skiing and hiking, and for dragging me on a backpacking trip across Oregon when I was sixteen. Thanks to my brother Rick Metz and his son Michael Metz for supporting me on my trek by supplying me with so much food. I could always count on an enormous package of food from them at every village. Thanks to my brother Steve Metz for a place to crash, and for letting me park my car in his driveway when I was away on trips more times than I could remember. Thanks to Jeff Cordell, a tireless hiker who is like our fifth brother. He believed in me from the beginning two and a half decades ago, and always sup ported my nomadic and impoverished lifestyle like it was a thing to behold. Most importantly, I owe great thanks to my friend Julie Firman for her endless help on my expedition and the writing of this book. Without her neither would have been possible.
A few other people who I owe some thanks are Don Hudrick for his uplifting feed back on my first draft, to Frank Hagan for giving me an old pair of telemark skis I used on the first half of my trek, and to Bob Firman and Wanda Firman for their letters of encouragement while I was on my journey.
There are a few people in Alaska who helped me and whose names I can’t totally recall. I have to thank the incredible bush pilot from Kotzebue who skillfully dropped my life-saving food packages along the Noatak River, and the man ice fishing on the Hotham Inlet who selflessly gave me a thirty-inch fish to eat, and Glenn from Kiana who offered to come get me on his snowmobile if I ever needed saving.
I also must thank all the other high-spirited people of Alaska who were gracious to me on my trek and anyone who reads my story.
Using the journals I kept on my trek, I’ve tried to recall everything as accurately as I could. Though what seems difficult for me might not be a burden for someone else, and what is easy for me might drive someone else crazy. I’ve written this book almost entirely from my own point of view. I didn’t want to exaggerate any of the dangers, nor play them down. I wanted people to be able to read this book so they could know what to expect if they ever decided to undertake a journey into wild Alaska.
And to Jimmy and Will. I’m not sure if they understand that I’m thanking them, but their good cheer and vitality are contagious and prop up my spirits every day of my life. I also must mention dear Jonny. His memory will never die.
MAP
PROLOGUE
I’m sitting on a waist-high hummock in the middle of a barren, windswept pass with my two dogs in the heart of the Brooks Range. The vastness of the land makes my jaw drop and I wonder how I will walk out of here with so little food. Much of the snow that had layered this land has recently melted and left the ground saturated with a network of miniature pools and streams flowing from every indentation around. I look northeast, far down the Killik River Valley. It stretches almost straight for four days’ walking time before veering north where it vanishes through jagged mountains. Then the valley spills its water onto the sprawling arctic plain.
Behind me, and flowing southward, is the Alatna River. Three hard days of hiking in that direction and I would reach the edge of the spruce forest that covers much of Alaska south of there. I might make it to the village of Alatna, a hundred miles downriver, if I were to leave now while I still have food left. Perhaps I would be able to build a log raft along the way and float out.
It’s a difficult decision. I’m already raked thin from rationing a backpack filled with food and marching eight hours a day. But instead of heading south into a more forgiving land that is already teeming with fresh blossoms and green grass, I choose to stick with my original northern route. As the crow flies, I’m about eighty miles from the village of Anaktuvuk Pass. I will have to hike across treeless terrain so exposed that it feels like the wind could pick me up and carry me off and over the farthest mountains. I get the chills looking back at the harrowing passes I’ve already come through. They are so menacingly steep and craggy that I don’t look back for long. I look forward now. I will have to move on or starve.
My body is burning itself away while I walk along such impassable ground. There are mountains to go around, gorges to cross, bogs to sidestep, oceans of brush to wade through, and miles of nagging tussocks to curse at as I waddle over them, day after day. For food there