The Odyssey

                   The Odyssey 

                Can someone PLEASE tell me

                     where the Yentna is?

                                  

                         The Odyssey

           

    As I hunkered down on the busted snowmobile whizzing along at forty, I began to retrace our steps.  What had gone wrong to land us in this predicament to begin with?  Was it bad equipment, weather, lack of knowledge?  The answer was a resounding yes and we all knew it.

     The tow rope between the two machines was caked with overflow along with the cowling in front of me.  If it were not for the windshield, I would be caked too.  As it was I was soaking wet.  The imitation carhart coverall I was wearing had a broken zipper running down the right leg and hadn’t completely dried from the day before.  Duct tape was helping to keep some of the elements out, but there were large, grapefruit sized gaps running all the way up to my hip.  It’s a good thing that it wasn’t too cold. 

     Just then Brent hit another stretch of overflow which threw a fresh coat of slush against the hood.  A baseball sized clump found the sweet spot right over the edge of the windshield right onto my face shield.  Unfortunately, the visor was partially opened so the fogging action would be minimized.  I took one for the team.

     “Shit!” I said out loud although no one could hear me.  I realized that even if I took a direct hit and was knocked off of the sled, Brent might not know for miles.  He was giving all he had to keep up the momentum of two sleds through deep snow and overflow.

     The snow began to fall the day before on the trip in.  From the looks of it there would be plenty of fresh powder to play around in once we got to the cabin.  The trip in was fun.  Brent, Jared, Pete, and I each had our own snowmobiles.  Jared was towing a small sled that contained most of our spare gas and beer.  The rest of us had backpacks strapped to the racks on the back of our sleds.

      Jared and Brent traded off towing so the other could hit a few sweet jumps along the way.  They were the most experienced riders of the group, Pete and I were novices at best.  I had to borrow a machine from Brent. When we headed out from Deshka Landing we were excited to be following a decent trail.  This trail led us down past the Deshka River towards the mouth of the Yentna.

downriver progress?

     All of us were playing around in the powder.  I was figuring out how to turn in powder and taking a few weenie jumps.  It was all so fun that no one realized how far we had gone.  By the time we possied up for a break, we were several miles up the Yentna already.  I had wanted to pay closer attention to the turn-off at the mouth but what the heck, we were making good time, we’d be to Yentna station soon, and then on to Indian Creek.  The first time in the winter!

     We made it to Indian in the early afternoon and spent considerable time trying to bust a trail up the bluff to the cabin.  Brent bombed up a steep hill covered with willow bushes and alders cutting a trench several feet deep behind him.  In turn we all jetted up that hill following Brent’s tracks along a ridge then down the other side.  After floundering around in the super deep powder and getting stuck several times, we gave up on that route and retreated back to the creek.

      Eventually we found our neighbor Jim Lanier’s back trail that he’d brushed and marked with reflectors and survey tape.  The trail cut off the creek in a straight line then cut across a large swamp finally entering the thick woods behind the cabin. 

      It was neat to see the cabin in the winter; we had to step down to the front door because the snow was so deep.  Everybody celebrated with a beer.  We were happy that only two beers popped on the trip.  Our elation ran short when, after unloading I discovered that one of the gas jugs had ruptured as well, dousing a bag of my clothing with Chevron’s best.  Bummer! 

     We started a fire in the woodstove and settled in for a long night of drinking.  Out came a bottle of “Hot damn!”

“Let the healing begin!” declared Jared with a rolled up balaclava riding high on his forehead. 

“Amen!” agreed Brent.

“Up yours”, I declared as I sorted through my gassy clothes with a sour look on my face.

     Several hours had passed when Pete made another astute observation.

     “Hey it’s not getting any warmer in here!”

     In fact it didn’t warm up much during the night either.  Later winter trips would teach us that the logs take a full day to heat up and warm the cabin.  Also, apparently green wet frozen logs are a bad choice for firewood.  Everyone was still dressed in their winter gear and you could still see your breath.  We were too busy laughing and drinking whisky to care too much about minor details such as a cold cabin.  We centered our little party around the woodstove and passed the bottle.

    Food, as it turned out, didn’t rank too highly on anyone’s priority list when packing for the trip. 

     “Don’t worry about it, there’s plenty of food up there” Pete had assured us.

   The burger king meal deal was wearing thin from this morning. Pete and I looked around for dinner makings in all the usual places.  Everything was frozen or infested with mouse turds.  As I was rifling through one of the kitchen cupboards, I noticed not one, but two tiny dead voles stacked like cordwood in the bottom of the light green Tupperware bowl-delightful!

      Dinner consisted of two frozen cans of Dinty Moore beef stew, a couple of military MRE’s ( courtesy of Jared) and a few assorted candy bars.  The MRE’s were the preferred meal because the pre-frozen beef stew took on a strange consistence like wet cardboard.  We pitched it out the door and returned to our drinks.

       In the morning the enthusiasm level took a nosedive from the night before.   We were a train wreck of hang-over’s and were severely parched with nothing to drink.  In all our jubilant carrying on, no one thought to melt some snow for drinking water.  Chuckling at our collective stupidity we found our only reprieve. We split the last beer four ways and started packing our stuff.  Stepping outside to pee, I marveled at the two feet of new snow that had fallen overnight.  This was going to be a great ride out, we all thought in our multi-faceted ignorance.

     All started out well enough as Brent and Jared blasted off several snowy tussocks landing in pillowy white goodness.  We made our way out to the mouth of Indian creek then onto the Yentna. 

      The trail leading downriver was barely discernable under all the fresh powder.  The snow was already super deep when we arrived making it a serious effort to keep from getting stuck now with all the fresh snow from the night before.  Both Pete’s machine and the one I was riding were not designed for deep powder at all. We had short tracks with tiny lugs on heavy machines.  Even gunning the throttle at top speed would squat us down deep into the snow requiring a dig out or a rescue. After several such incidents we realized that a plan had to be devised, we were getting nowhere fast.

       Jared would break trail and the rest would attempt to follow.  This plan proved successful for the first half mile or so until my snow machine broke down.  The belt had broken, stopping me in my tracks.  I collected myself and took a pee.  As I watched the dark yellow pee disappear into the snowpack, I wondered how long it would take the boys to figure out that I wasn’t keeping up.  I grabbed the side zipper on my imitation carhart suit, and proceeded to yank it right out of its tracks, never to be functional again.

     As I fumbled through my backpack, groping for some duck tape, I heard the muffled whine of the boys’ snow machines winding back up the trail. 

     Banking on the hope of a spare belt at Yentna Station, we rigged up a tow line between my broken down sled and Brent’s powerful XLT.  Our plan of action for down river progress looked like this:  Jared was still in the lead breaking trail, followed by Brent.  Pete would stay back helping me push my sled while Brent gunned his, tearing a trench in our super soft trail.   I would jump on at the last minute and hold on for dear life, while Pete would saddle up on his own sled, and try to pass Brent to help pack trail.  We ended up getting stuck often and had to repeat steps one through seven to get momentum and maintain our struggle down river.

    It was with great relief that we arrived at Yentna Station.  Jared and Brent went up to check on a new belt.  In my mind, things were looking up.  Sure I was chilled from the open faced carhart suit I was wearing but the duct tape was helping a little.  The boys would return soon with the new belt and we’d be on our way.

     Pete, having been diagnosed with type one diabetes six months earlier, was starting to feel the effects of low blood sugar. Since we didn’t bring much food with us, there was no breakfast, causing Pete trouble.

     Brent and Jared came down the hill and broke the news.  No belt, we would have to limp all the way back to the landing, another forty miles!  The good news is that they sold candy bars and soda pop.  We pooled our funds and afforded two thirds of a candy bar each and half a soda.  This lifted our spirits along with Pete’s blood sugar levels, and we were off.

     We labored our way down to the mouth of the Yentna, getting stuck again and again.  Getting started wasn’t nearly the big deal it had been earlier in the day.  At this point we were a finely oiled machine and everyone knew their part.  Pete and I had even learned when to turn our head when Brent blasted off to avoid the horizontal avalanche that came from his track.  My mind drifted off as I ducked behind the windshield of my ghost rider.  

      Suddenly, Brent came to an abrupt stop.  I looked up from the windshield to see why we stopped.  Jared and Pete were stopped up ahead and Jared had his cowling up and was working his tools.  Jared, having worked at the Arctic Cat shop in Eagle River was our only knowledgeable snow machine mechanic.

     Jared’s snow machine had just died.  Jared took it upon himself to re-wire his entire ignition.  Myself, barely able to spell ignition, was spellbound watching him work his magic.   Meanwhile Pete’s two third’s share of candy bar and half soda had worn off and he was feeling low again.   To compound our problems at this point, Brent noticed that he was nearly out of fuel.

     After scratching our heads and searching our backpacks, we found one of Jared’s MRE pouches in a small bag of trash.  Using this heavy duty plastic pouch as a container, we tipped my snow machine carefully on its side, just enough to spill a small amount of gas into the MRE pouch.  We shuttled the pouch over to Brent’s machine and poured it into his empty tank.  The pouch held about two cups of fluid, so it took us many tippings to make a difference.  Precariously balancing a six hundred pound snow machine on its side was a trying effort, resulting in a few frustrated temper flare ups, and more than one spilling.

     With our sights set on Deshka landing we blasted off, certain that our troubles were over.  What could possibly go wrong now, we thought as we turned up a slough following the faint outline of a trail.  Several bends up the slough we discovered overflow.  All of the new snow weighted the river ice, forcing water up through new cracks in the ice creating an underlying “slurpy” layer.   Mile after mile we powered through long runs of the snow covered water, pasting my snow machine with layers of sloppy grey slush.

     After six or seven miles of this riding we began to realize that the outline of the trail was gone and the slough was getting smaller.  Was this the way? Finally we stopped and decided that we must have screwed up and taken a wrong turn and the best thing to do was to turn around and blast our way back to the beginning of the slough and find the main route up the Susitna.  I mentally prepared myself for the barrage of overflow coming my way.

     When we reached the beginning of our slough trail Brent announced that now his oil was dangerously low.  Out came the MRE pouch again, tipping my dead sled over, transferring oil to Brent’s sled.  I was glad that my snow machine was good for something at this point.   While we were at it we transferred gas to Pete’s sled since he was getting low too.

     Decidedly, the mood had taken a nose dive at this point.  There were no jokes being told.  I began to notice my downtrodden companions increasingly long faces.  I myself was really hungry, tired, and wet.  Looking down, I noticed the sharp contrast of the dark wet carhart material doing battle with the lighter tone of the dryer parts.  The dark side of the carhart “force” was winning out, creeping slowly up towards my crotch.

      Also, I was getting a bit chilled.  I considered putting on one of my gassy sweaters.  Instead I ran a few quick windsprints down the trail.  Good enough.

     The sun was going down and everyone was thinking about how to play out our cards going into the fourth quarter.  After a little discussion we decided to send Jared out looking for the main trail, while the rest of us remained put.

    Soon after Jared left he came darting back towards us. 

“The trail’s right over there!” He shouted, pointing over a short rise in the near distance.

  The news was music to our ears as we started our snowmachines or in my case, got ready to push real hard.  Once again, we were off.

     The trail did indeed pan out this time and we crawled our way north to Deshka Landing.  The lights of the landing brought a lone tear to my eye.  Luckily no one could see it through the frozen overflow coated visor.  The rest of the snowmachines could blow up or snap in two, I didn’t care.  At this point we could walk, or crawl the rest of the way if we had to.  We had done it!  We arrived at the truck on fumes of gas, oil, and blood sugar.

     And then, as easily as the trip started, it was over with nothing left but stories of hard lessons learned.