Paddling The Yukon River And Its Tributaries

Paddling the Yukon River and its Tributaries covers more than 4,000 miles of watery trail. The Yukon, Tanana, Porcupine, Koyukuk, and Kuskokwim Rivers are the five longest rivers in Alaska, extending into the Yukon Territory. This water flows freely, almost entirely undammed. Salmon surge against current. Moose, bears, and wolves wander the banks. Birds swarm in spectacular density. Roads rarely cross. Many residents live a subsistence lifestyle. No permits are required to be here. These channels are a natural path through the last large wilderness in North America.Paddling the Yukon River and its Tributaries approaches journeys of this magnitude like a through-hiker on the Appalachian Trail, but with a canoe or kayak. Each river is described from beginning to end, detailing access points, resupply options, and navigation tips throughout the flow. There are 35 original maps. Although the approach assumes long voyages, information is supplied for a range of trip lengths. Anything from an afternoon to a weekend to a week to a two-month float is possible. Paddling the Yukon River and its Tributaries is the only guide book to paddling the entire Yukon River from beginning to end.

“John Hildebrand sets out in a canoe . . . to explore the great riverway of northwestern Canada and Alaska. . . . The geography is closely rendered and the characters especially sharply drawn. The country is filled with mad dropouts at river fish camps, good-hearted girls in the towns, sullen natives in tumbledown villages, cranky old-timers, terrible drunks and worse moralizers who live off the wild landscape and its abundant resources. . . . This is a fine work, and Hildebrand is a fine writer.”—Charles E. Little, Wilderness

This solo wilderness, kayaking journey began many years ago, years before I even knew anything about kayaks and paddling down remote, legendary rivers. Poring over maps of those places revealed very little. The blank spaces spread far and wide. At last, after decades of dreaming, I stood on the shore of Lake Atlin in British Columbia, where the headwaters of the Yukon River are. I stood there and thought about all those hope-filled years and was thrilled at the anticipation of leaving that morning in mid-June. Crossing the expanse of Lake Atlin in a fine mist, I guided the kayak toward Graham Channel, which would take me to Tagish Lake. There I met Jim and Marion Brook at their cabin. After hot coffee and freshly baked cookies, they sent me on my way. They were the first of many people who helped me on my journey. That evening, having found the “perfect” campsite, I inspected the area for bear tracks. Finding none, I started a large campfire before setting up the tent. Supper had been eaten at a previous stop, so there was no cooking where I stayed for the night. This was the procedure I followed every night. It kept animals bigger and hungrier than me from visiting my campsites. As I paddled down the lakes, I stopped at villages such as Tagish, I paddled down Marsh Lake and down dangerous Lake Laberge, and I stopped in historic towns such as Whitehorse and Dawson City. I passed by wrecked and beached steamboats from the gold rush days and finally crossed the US/Canadian line into Alaska. I had paddled through a forest fire so immense that it took a day to pass the flames. The current carried me past Eagle, Circle City, though the Yukon flats (where the river was ten to twenty miles wide); and I crossed the Arctic Circle at Fort Yukon. Then came the small villages of Beaver, Stevens Village, and then the oil pipeline. I paddled on to Rampart, where the fierce head wind nearly drove me back upstream. Next, I passed through Tanana, where I met Emmet Peter, who won the Iditarod long ago, then on to Ruby, Galena, Nulato, and Holy Cross, where Bergie Demientieff served me coffee and gave good advice. Finally, I arrived at Russian Mission, where I ran out of time after fifty-one days and two thousand miles of paddling my kayak. There Harvey Pitka and his wife, Ester, fed me a wonderful dinner before I flew out. As the plane climbed and banked toward Bethel, I knew that I would return one day to finish my kayak trip to the Bering Sea.

A journey from Wrangell, Alaska, through British Columbia, Yukon, and Alaska to the Aleutian Islands made between 1892 and 1893.

A stunning new voice in nature writing makes an epic journey along the Yukon River to give us the stories of its people and its protagonist--the king salmon, or the Chinook--and the deepening threat to a singular way of life, in a lyrical, evocative and captivating narrative. The Yukon River is 3,190 kilometres long, flowing northwest from British Columbia through the Yukon Territory and Alaska to the Bering Sea. Every summer, millions of salmon migrate the distance of this river to their spawning ground, where they go to breed and then die. The Chinook is the most highly prized among the five species of Pacific salmon for its large size and rich, healthy oils. It has long since formed the lifeblood of the economy and culture along the Yukon--there are few communities that have been so reliant on a single source. Now, as the region contends with the effects of a globalized economy, climate change, fishing quotas and the general drift towards urban life, the health and numbers of the Chinook are in question, as is the fate of the communities that depend on them. Travelling in a canoe along the Yukon River with the migrating salmon, a three-month journey through untrammeled wilderness, Adam Weymouth traces the profound interconnectedness of the people and the Chinook through searing portraits of the individuals he encounters. He offers a powerful, nuanced glimpse into the erosion of indigenous culture, and into our ever-complicated relationship with the natural world. Weaving in the history of the salmon run and their mysterious life cycle, Kings of the Yukon is extraordinary adventure and nature writing and social history at its most compelling.

Yukon Yearnings is the story of my kayak trip down the Yukon River, from the source to the Bering Sea. The paddling distance for that solo kayak journey was just over 2,300 miles. It was not until completing the journey and retturning home that I discovered that no one else had achieved that. I was the first person to have paddled the entire Yukon River. Prior to the current kayak trip I had paddled two thousand miles of the river from Lake Atlin, British Columbia, to Russian Mission, Alaska. My reason for going back to the Yukon was not to be the first person to paddle the whole river. My reason was to experience the wilderness again. Paddling in the solitude of that wilderness enclosed me in the peace of the lakes and the river. There were no distractions, no time constraints, and no urgent pressures to be in a certain place by a certain time The deep, quiet forests and the snowcapped mountains just enraptured me. Passing the villages and stopping in some allowed me to meet the people living on the river. Their kindness was as significant as the beauty of the nature all the way to the Bering Sea.