Gold in Trib 1
Page 17
Hagen was usually very demanding of machinery and he always expected it to operate at peak. Though the ATV was customized in many ways, it was still a stock machine in terms of the engine, transmission, and suspension. Even Hagen realized he couldn’t push this machine too hard because if it broke we were in deep doo-doo. So he treated Herman with the utmost care, used the five gears skillfully and thus rarely needed to apply full power.
We never looked upon speed as the criteria in choosing the vehicle; reliability, load capacity and stability were the main features we sought. Naturally, even at five or six mph, it was far, far quicker than hiking could ever be.
We had no problems over the first fifteen miles which comprised high, dry tundra. When we reached the top of Mt. Son, we stopped for a snack and coffee. Whenever we passed this point, we stopped and enjoyed a great panoramic view of the Ladue Valley and south to the Tetlin. It was a clear day, with a cool breeze, and the view was spectacular. We saw fresh snow dusting upper elevations of the mountains to the west. Termination dust signaled winter was getting closer. As if to emphasize this fact, a couple of flights of geese flew in V formation high overhead.
When we had traveled in almost four weeks ago, the tops of the ridges were lush and green. The patches of white caribou moss, white lichens and splashes of color from a multitude of alpine flowers were great contrasts. Now the ridges had turned a beautiful rustic brown with autumn colors. The bearberry and blueberry bush leaves were brilliant red, yellow, orange, and purple.
From our lofty perch on the mountain, the view to the south was all wilderness. There were no obvious signs of human intervention other than the trail we were following. Way off in the distance to the east, we could make out the lower ridges separating the Trib Valleys. It wouldn’t be too long before the whole area we surveyed would be locked up under ice and snow by another long winter.
Scouting around the stunted conifers, we found enough fuel to make a small fire to boil water for coffee. We were soon huddled by the side of the ATV, enjoying the expansive view but sheltered from the keen edge of the breeze. It was good to have a view after being closed in the valley for so long.
Soon it was time to move on. As usual we made sure the fire was out and cleared up our bits and pieces. Over on the far side of the plateau the dozens of rusting forty gallon drums still lay around as evidence of someone else’s negligence.
On our trip in with the ATV, we had a very nasty experience. During the scaling of the shale slide, on the western side of the peak, the heavily loaded ATV almost got away from us and we had to blaze an easier way.
The alternate route left the main trail in a northerly direction and then made a wide loop to climb to the flat summit from the north. There was still a steep section but it proved much easier. It also turned out to be an interesting diversion. Part of the north side of the peak featured a picturesque rock cliff about thirty feet in height. The foliage at the foot of the cliff was completely different to that on the top of the mountain, and of course, there was the inevitable bear trail.
It was my turn to drive and I carefully drove down a short steep slope and followed our trail through the shrubbery along the base of the cliff. Our trail gradually dropped to the lower level, and curved around to join the main trail again.
A half dozen black and white spruce hens dodged along the trail ahead of us, as if to say “so long.” The ATV was almost upon them before they ran a short distance. They repeated the whole performance. By the time they developed the good sense to take cover at the side of the trail, the brood was scattered a quarter mile along the trail.
The ATV had it easy for the next few miles of level, straight, trail which traversed a low saddle. Along the way we passed Poplar Hollow where we searched for water two years ago, and had discovered not only water but the strange grove of poplar trees and the animal bones. We revisited the grove on our second hike in, again to get water. We were probably the only ones aware of its existence.
The trail now began its long steady climb toward the next high point. It wasn’t named on the map so we called it Squirrel Peak because of the pika squirrels living below the south bluff.
As the trail steepened, I shifted to a lower gear and the ATV settled to a slow but determined pace. Whether the trail was rough or smooth, the ATV kept chugging. There were a few larger washouts to avoid but the rest of the trail was fair. The next couple of miles took quite a long time but eventually the tenacious machine carried us up the last short, steep section and onto the plateau.
I steered the ATV over to the south side and brought it to a halt near the edge of the escarpment overlooking the Ladue Valley. The squirrels were still in residence, but they scurried quickly into their burrows. It wasn’t long however before curiosity got the better of them and they were out again, warily keeping a beady eye on us. We stopped several times at this place and must by now have observed several generations of the pika squirrel family.
We stopped just enough time to stretch our legs a bit and to let the ATV engine cool down after the long haul. Riding the machine was, of course, so much easier than hiking, but it brought its own set of problems, and we always completed a trip feeling as if we had been severely bumped and jarred and twisted around.
The trail, from this point, switch-backed up and down for a couple of miles and then climbed gently to the true high point shown on our maps as three thousand eight hundred and six feet. This was a great section to travel because the trail followed a narrow spine with the land falling sharply on both sides. It gave us unrestricted views of the Dennison River Valley to the north and the Ladue and Tetlin area to the south.
More geese to the northwest showed white against the gaunt grey flanks of Mt. Fairplay. They were following the Dennison River Valley but climbing for more altitude. We guessed they headed for the Copper Valley, a major marshaling point, before starting their long migration south.
It was mid-afternoon when we reached the last high point and had our first glimpse of the Taylor Highway about three and half miles away. It would take time for us to pick our way downhill because the trail was so deeply eroded in many places. Thus, we decided to have a late lunch up here where the view was so grand and then tackle the remainder of the trail.
We planned this last meal on the trip by setting aside a couple packages of dehyd beef stew and some crackers. A small fire, some boiled Trib 1 water, and we were soon tucking into our meal accompanied by a mug of sweet tea.
We rested for about an hour, then decided to get going again. The trail ahead was all downhill starting with a difficult shale slide which, unlike the one at Mt. Son, could not easily be bypassed.
To help counterbalance the ATV, Hagen climbed onto the back bumper where he could hang outward as much as possible and shift the center of gravity. I engaged crawler gear, and with the engine almost at idle, started forward to the slope. The idea was to go as slowly as possible and to try to prevent the wheels from locking and sliding on the loose shale.
The ATV tilted down at an alarming angle with Hagen hanging desperately on the back. From the drivers seat, the sloping shale looked truly awesome as it stretched downward for about two hundred feet to end at a jumble of larger rocks. The engine of the ATV, trying to act as a brake, increased speed but I held the rpm down by careful application of the brakes. The wheels locked and skidded when a patch of shale broke loose, but I managed to keep the nose pointing downhill and get the wheels rolling again so they found a fresh purchase.
It made for a hypertensive ride, but, we made it safely to the bottom of the slope. That was the important thing. I stopped briefly to let Hagen retake his front seat and then continued down the more gentle grade. It was easy going, but we kept a good look out for eroded areas which are not so easy to spot when traveling downhill. Some more severely eroded places could easily have upset the ATV. Except a few places, where Hagen clung to the back or the side, we skirted around most of the serious washouts.
The view over the tree tops was
colorful, with the fall leaves sharp and vivid. The deciduous trees, with their yellow, orange, and red blended and contrasted sharply with the dark green of the Sitka and black spruce. The scene over the valley ahead was brilliant and made us squint. In this area, fall colors lasted for a brief time so we were lucky to catch them at their very best.
After forty-five minutes of ear popping descent, the trail leveled out. We reached the swamp, a barrier, three hundred yards or so from the end of the trail. It wasn’t so much of an obstacle to the ATV, but it muddied up an otherwise clean vehicle. Without hesitation, I drove slowly through to the dry ground. The water wasn’t too deep. There had been very little rain in past weeks.
The Chevy and trailer were exactly as we had left them hidden back among the trees. Taylor Highway was so close, we worried in case the vehicle was discovered. It wouldn’t take too much for someone, who knew we were working out on the claim, to figure that we might have a vehicle stashed somewhere at trail’s end. Thus we expended a lot of effort in concealing the Chevy every time we made these trips. It would have been terrible to return and find the vehicle stripped of parts or even missing altogether.
We left the ATV on the main trail and set about removing the camouflage from the Blazer. The battery was a bit low on energy but the engine, now with ninety-five thousand miles on it, groaned to life after a few cranks. We gave it a few minutes to warm up, and folded the tarps and placed them in the back. It took a bit of maneuvering to get the vehicle and trailer out to the trail. As usual, we tried to do it with minimum disturbance to the trees and bushes.
Watching out for traffic, we carefully guided each vehicle in turn over the berm, onto the highway and up to the gravel pit. Only then did we load the ATV onto the trailer. It was preferable to wrestling the loaded trailer over the berm.
It took us a few minutes to transfer important items, gold and rifles, from the ATV to the Blazer. A few minutes more, the ATV was secure on the trailer with specially positioned chains.
The year before, when we exited the trail, we had heard a rattling sound. An older couple on heavily loaded, bicycles came along the gravel road. Bicycles were the last thing we expected to see on the Taylor Highway. We started a conversation with the riders, an elderly Swiss man and his wife. They had cycled from San Francisco, taking several months, roughing it and camping by the roadside when there was nothing more convenient. They were now on the final, easy, leg to Anchorage for a flight back home. We had to admire their spirit for adventure and were pleased to be able to give them a rundown on road conditions to Anchorage. Smooth going for them after the two hundred miles of Taylor Highway gravel and goodness knows how many miles on the Al-Can.
No such excitement this year. While we were loading the ATV, a couple of motor homes rattled down the highway, not slowing, left us choking in dust. Welcome again to civilization. One last thing, with a shovel from the Chevy, we restored the berm at the trail entrance. There was no point in advertising its presence.
Just in case we ran into foul weather on the way home, we lashed a tarp securely over the ATV. With that we were ready to move out. It was five o’clock in the evening of an easy day. A good meal at the restaurant in Tok, and we would be all set to take turns driving to Wasilla.
I drove fairly slow for the few miles to Tetlin Junction and then turned west on the asphalt of the Al-Can.
Twenty minutes later we parked along with a variety of motor homes and campers in front of the Grizzly Restaurant. We chose a table by the windows and order hamburgers, french fries, and coffee. While we were waiting, we took turns using the facilities to freshen up.
With improved facilities at camp, like hot water and a shower when we needed it, we remained well groomed and tidy so we didn’t seem at all out of place among other patrons. It was the tail end of tourist-season and most of the people were on the road.
We talked as we ate, and typically, got around to what we’d do differently next year. We hadn’t even gotten home from this trip and we were already planning for the next mining season.
Our meal finished, we had the waitress fill our flask with hot coffee, paid the tab, and stepped outside. We cast an eye around the Chevy and the trailer, decided that everything looked secure and climbed aboard.
I eased the rig out of the parking lot, turned west, and accelerated to a comfortable fifty-five. Watch out for those frost heaves in the road surface. There were almost three hundred miles to go.
Ahead of us the sun was already angling toward the high peaks of the Mentasta Range. A large gaggle of geese, black against the tinted sky, slid down on motionless crescent wings toward some hidden lake or river south of the highway making an overnight stop on their way south. They’d return next year. Winter would have a mean, icy grip on this country and it would be no fit place for placer miners or geese. After spring-breakup, life would move back in for another full cycle.
Such was the lure of wild Alaska. Once it was in your blood, you were stuck. The presence of gold in Trib 1 was only a part of the equation, an excuse for harmony with the wilderness and to partake of its offerings. Even if you left, there was always some hidden force beckoning you back. We were not much different to those geese. Just as surely, we would be drawn back again when the season was right.