Today we encountered the crux of the route and the question that has been nagging us all winter: will we be able to cross the Colville River?
Without a packboat, like an Alpacka packraft, or even a small Curtis Designs boat that can be used to ferry heavy packs, we knew the Colville would be a difficult crossing.
As one old Alaskan hand has noted to us, "Swim the Colville? You ain't gonna swim the Colville!" she laughed.
We reached its brushy north bank at about 4:30 pm this afternoon.
The Colville, now some sixty miles downstream of where we left it a few days ago so that we could have easier walking on Lookout Ridge, was like a new river: a gigantic version of itself.
Its valley floor was twice as wide. Its banks, three times as high. The willows, thick. Its bankside marshes, wide.
Strong west winds blew river dust and clouds that flew down the valley in waves.
The map indicated a braided section, and below us, indeed, were three channels.
The first two braids looked as serious as any other river crossing we'd made to this point, and the third channel, well, it required special preparations.
After scouting our route across, we hunkered down in the lee of the wind and packed for the crossings.
We loaded heavy things, such as food, on the bottom, then our insulating sleep clothes, sealed in ziplock bags inside our dry bags. Above those, we blew air into our water bladders, including the one-liter Nalgene Cantenes we used for water, and our Platypus Big Zips, now only partially full of foods such as olive oil and almond butter.
We each loaded our pockets with survival gear, in case we were forced to let go of our heavy packs. My Aloksak, contained in the kangaroo pocket of my Patagonia Specter pullover (rain jacket), contained maps, 1000 Calories of food, firestarter, satellite phone, and first aid kit. Jason carried a lighter and firestarter in his rain jacket pocket.
Finally, dressed in our raingear (Patagonia Specter pullovers and Montane Featherlite pants) over our travelling clothes (Patagonia Cool Weather Tights and Smartwool Hoody Pullovers), we rolled the seals over on our 65L dry bags, harnessed them into our packs, and blew air into the dry bag valves to inflate them as much as possible - like giant pillows - to aid flotation of the pack during the river crossing.
Nervous about the contraption, Jason tested the bouyancy of his 35-40 pound pack in a nearby pond. He pushed down on it, turned to me, and gave me a thumbs up.
We marched down to the river, and scrambled down its fifteen-foot high cutbank.
The first two channels went surprisingly easy - hip deep, they took just two minutes.
I reinflated my dry bag on the island, before the third channel, because the cold water cooled the air inside the dry bag, causing a reduction in volume of air in the bag.
The third channel was wide - maybe 30, 40, even 50 yards. I couldn't throw a rock across it at all. A submerged gravel bar angled diagonally across the deep channel. If we could follow this gravel bar, we could make our way at least two thirds across the width of the channel without swimming.
We followed this bar across and downstream to our bellies, the wind, and river current, to our backs.
Occasionally, I would step too far right and feel the deep main channel.
Our plan was when the water became too deep to wade, we would slip off our bouyant backpacks, and kick swim in a ferry position to the gravel bar.
After about two to three minutes of this, passing the cutbank on the far shore, I stepped into the channel, and lost the bottom, immediately slipping the backpack off and to my downstream shoulder. Towing it in my left arm, I kicked and swam for shore. Jason, right behind me, did the same.
Unfortunately, the wind caught my pack - too buoyant - and me - back to the central current and away from shore.
Never out of control, I stroked harder for shore, and after a minute or two, I could feel the bottom with both feet again.
"Roman, it's good! Stand up!" Jason was already standing.
We shouldered our packs, and waded to shore.
With a big, toothy grin, Jason put up his hand for a high five.
We'd done it. We crossed the Colville!
Jubilant and excited, we walked on, drying our clothes in the wind and sun, and continued preparing to reach America's remotest spot, now less than two days away.
- Roman Dial
Hallelujah! We knew you could do it!
Posted by: Jen | June 26, 2006 at 10:25 AM
I'll second that Hallelujah! - and add compliments on the writing - even though I knew in advance you had made it across, I don't think I took a breath until I finished reading the dispatch! Cheers!
Posted by: NAL | June 26, 2006 at 10:36 AM
Nice work! Can't wait for more!
Posted by: Gil Aegerter | June 26, 2006 at 01:41 PM
What a dispatch! I could feel myself in the river with you guys. Well down, you two!
After the bears, wolf, hawks, wolverines, and rushing river, it seems time the wilderness received its intrepid guests more hospitably .
Posted by: Robert | June 26, 2006 at 02:03 PM