Day 7: Upper George Creek to the Oshetna River
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| Oshetna river valley. Behold a four wheeler trail! |
“Oh, I am climber from Manchester way
I get all me jolly’s the rock-climbing way.
I am a slave on Monday
but I am a free-man on Sunday
You reach for a hold,
you seek for a hold
it’s a thousand foot drop if you fail.
but ten feet away, there’s a smashing belay
and it’s all for the want of an ale!” -British climber song
Arthur’s enthusiasm for the mountains couldn’t be contained on this morning. He sang the British climber’s song with the best English accent he could muster while simultaneously pulling his socks on over his beat-up feet. We finished getting ready in all of the usual ways and headed around the end of the lake en-route to the pass. Both of us were excited to be in the mountains.
Towards the top of the pass we encountered a dubious snow patch that covered the bottom of the ravine. I jumped from rock to rock, not trusting the snow. “Hey this snow is great.” Said Art, as he marched right up the middle. Just then as he approached where the snow came close to the rocks he punched through up to his chest. “Hey take a picture!” He said with a smile on his face. Art is not one for missing a photo-op.
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| Anyone see Artie? |
It was joyful to reach the pass and we stopped to take-in our new view. The valley below appeared to be devoid of all vegetation and scattered with rocks and talus; It looked like a valley you might see on Mars. From there we had to traverse around the nearby high point to access a long sloping plateau that would take us to the Black River valley. The barren plateau was interspersed with fields of talus. We would walk around or over these ubiquitous rock gardens throughout our trip.
According to our route on the map we would have to cross the Black River below Black lake. We followed the easy ridge to a good spot high above the lake. From there we would descend 1,200 vertical feet to the lake. It was pretty steep and bushy; Art was in his element. A lone cow caribou pranced past us having no problems at all with the bushwhack. We made our way to the East end of the lake where there was a ramshackle cabin. As we approached we could see that the door was wide open. A bear had worked over the cabin for all it was worth. There was food wrappers, gear, and garbage of all kinds strewn about inside and out. It was an eyesore that didn’t fit in the pristine wilderness setting. We didn’t break stride as we passed it and walked down the Eastern shore of Black lake.
At the outlet it was clear to us that we would have to raft across the river; It was too big to ford. We hiked back up into the lake fifty yards or so and began the process of emptying our packs, inflating rafts, and ferrying to the other side. As we crossed the lake we decided to paddle down at least a little bit into the river so that we could say that we pack rafted the Black River; It was fun.
from there we had a long hike up to another expansive plateau. We would have to gain every bit of elevation that we’d just lost by dropping into the Black River valley. By late afternoon we crested a ridge that led to a long gentle plateau that was just over 5 miles long. The plateau was over 5000 vertical feet high and littered with small caribou antlers for us to tap with our hiking poles.
“Hey look at that!” Art was stopped in his tracks and was pointing to the South. “I think that’s Sheep Mountain!” We stopped to get our bearing and he was right. From our current position high above and between the Oshetna and Black river drainage's we could indeed see it in the far distance. Sheep Mountain lodge, the finish of the race is on the other side of Sheep Mountain. We realized that we could also see the mountains surrounding the Jack River way back in Cantwell where we started. We were about 70 miles into our trip and it was mind boggling to see how far we had come and where we were going all from one vantage point.
Just then I had epiphany; We are going to finish this thing! Suddenly the thought of completing it seemed tangible. Although we were definitely not within striking distance of the finish, our steady progress was paying off and seemed within our grasp.
When we got to the edge of the plateau overlooking the Oshetna river valley we were ready to call it a day. We had collected enough water in our bottles to camp anywhere but it was windy on the ridge. “Let’s pick our way down a little and see if there’s a better spot,” I said. We ended up descended 10oo vertical feet or so settling on a camp spot on a pleasant knoll overlooking the valley. Far below us scratched into the bottom of the valley was a curious sight indeed. “Hey look there’s a four wheeler trail.” I said
This would be Oshetna Camp
