September 14: A Taste of Fall in the Matanuska River Valley

A few weeks after moving to Anchorage, I sent an email to a the Knick Canoe and Kayak (mostly sea and some river kayaking) message board, hoping to meet some fellow paddlers.  Within 15 minutes of sending my note, I had received close to 10 replies.  I was impressed by the generosity of this community, the spontaneous willingness to help integrating an uprooted newbie and helping me with pursuing my passion for whitewater kayaking.  This email posted on the message board is what gave me the opportunity to do my first descent of Six Mile creek and later on, to paddle the Lion's Head section of the Matanuska river.

One day in September, I received an email from Zach, who at some point had read my email to the KCK message board and was inviting me to run Lion's Head with a few friends of his.  I jumped on the opportunity and on Saturday morning, met downtown Anchorage with this entirely new group of people, ready to drive about an hour and a half north of the city, to our put-in.  We would have one open canoe, one oar rig and two kayaks, including myself.

Mid September, Anchorage was still green and relatively warm by Alaska standards.  Within an hour of northward driving, I felt like we were entering a different world... or at least a different season.  Summer was over, here.  It was clear and sunny but the air was nippy and the mountains were exploding with the yellow and light orange colors of Fall. I felt overwhelmed by the beauty that was surrounding me.  No picture can do it justice (especially not MY pictures and, on top of that, taken with my phone!). Truncating a piece of this landscape and confining it to a few thousand pixels feels like I am amputating and choking a piece of the Universe to force and squeeze it into a tiny box.  That just does not feel right.  So I trust you will use your imagination and "think out of the picture"!  Let your mind wander, remove the rigid borders of these photos and let yourself shrink to the size of a tiny ant strolling amongst towering peaks.

Fall is Here! But not There (in Anchorage).

Downstream from the section we were going to paddle, the Matanuska river appeared braided and I was not sure what to expect in terms of flow.  It seemed rather low to me but my companions kept wondering at how much water was there.

The Matanuska River Valley

As we approached our destination, the river channelized and I realized that we were going to paddle just downstream of the Matanuska glacier (The Matanuska forms at the confluence of its east and south forks and then meets with the glacier). It was going to be a refreshing paddle.

Matanuska Glacier

We started our journey on Caribou creek, which was apparently flowing much higher than usual and was a nice cappuccino color. After less than a mile, the creek met the Matanuska, but instead of letting itself be engulfed by the larger stream, it "butted head" with its big sister for another half mile or so, resisting the mixing.  In my kayak, I rode the clearly defined line separating the brown waters of the creek from the silty gray flow of the Matanuska.

Meeting without Mixing: the Matanuska river (Gray) and Caribou Creek (Brown)

Never have I paddled such thick silty water.  A long time ago, my dear friend Susan and I paddled the Royal Gorge of the Arkansas in Colorado after a heavy storm and I remember the water being brown and thick with sediment --Frappucino color eh, SuzZ? ;).  This was somewhat similar, except the Matanuska is even thicker, loaded with silt eroded away by the glacier.  This water was pretty difficult to read as everything was gray: no way to rely on frothy whitewater to give away holes, some of which, large enough to swallow a good size raft, would sneak up on you.  You just had to be ready to make a move to avoid getting "chundered" in some big hydraulic. This made for a fun run: nothing difficult (Class III+/IV), but very continuous, so dynamic, and keeping you on your toes at all times.

 

Zee Crew

 

This valley is a jewel that gives you a feeling of remoteness even though it is only about an hour and a half from Anchorage.  Aside from the paddling, I hear it offers myriad of hiking, skiing and mountain biking opportunities.  The second I set my eyes on these mountains, I knew I would return to explore the area and lose myself in its wilderness. I also promised myself that whoever would come visit me here in Alaska, I would have to drag them here to show them the simple beauty of the Matanuska river valley.  So come on! Try me! :)

September 1st: Paddle to Portage Glacier.Take 2

Glaciers are one of the many awe-inspiring natural features I have found in Alaska since I have moved here.  These gigantic rivers of ice suspended on the side of mountains slowly creep downhill, relentlessly eroding their way through the mountains and digging their characteristic U-shaped valleys.

To reach Portage glacier, I was going to paddle the length of Portage Lake,  which was created behind the terminal moraine of the glacier as it began receding. And receding it did!  In fact, in 1886, the Begich-Boggs Visitor Center was built to offer a point of view on the glacier.  Today, the glacier cannot be seen from the building any more.

On my first attempt to see the glacier, it was an unusual 80-degree day in Anchorage!!  The perfect weather to paddle on some frigid water!  I loaded my gear and boat and set off for the 50-mile drive.  As I approached the turn-off to Portage Lake, I noticed the valley was completely filled with dark cloud.  I made the left turn on Portage road and within 5 minutes, the temperature had dropped from 80 to 50!  It was also foggy and very windy.  At the visitor center, a ranger discouraged me to put-on because of 19-knot winds that were coming from the glacier and pushing large icebergs into the lake.  Also some sea-kayakers, who tried to put-on despite the wind, ended up pushed in the mouth of Portage Creek.  That was enough to convince me I had to scratch that plan... I would be back!

About a month later, I returned to Portage hoping to make it to the glacier.  Once again it was very windy but nothing like what I had seen a few weeks earlier.  It was also sunny and crisp.  So I decided to put on.

The paddle out was challenging as a side wind created irregular waves that were sometimes up to 3 or 4 feet and pushing me into the shore.  I would have preferred a headwind to this but I was going to make do. 

The glacier was almost immediately in view but I had a hard time realizing the size of what I was looking at until I saw a cruise ship approaching it.  These cruise-ships taking tourists close to the glacier are not small.  This particular boat was a double-decker and the glacier in the background made it look like a tiny water bug.

 

Can you see the double-deck cruise ship in the circle

I kept struggling against the wind and the waves until I reached a little beach across the lake from the glacier.  I had been advised to not even try to approach the glacier as the calving process could be very dangerous for a kayak.  Witnessing the glacier calving was very impressive.  As I was taking in the beauty of what was in front of my eyes, I heard what sounded like a lightening strike without immediately realizing what it was.  Only when it happened again and I saw what looked like a small piece of ice detaching from the glacier did I realize the glacier was calving.  From the loud resounding sound the breaking blocks made as they parted from the bulk of the ice, they were probably much larger than they seem from the safety of my beach.  I stayed there for a while, mesmerized by this evolving scene.

Up to that point, I had been very observant of the words of caution I had received from friends and from the park ranger and I had stayed well clear of the glacier.   I was also told not to approach icebergs as they can abruptly overturn and capsize a boat or, in a worst case scenario, crush it and with it its paddler.  From my little beach, I could see two small icebergs. Their deep blue color and graceful shape made them so attractive, I could not resist but approach them.  I figured they were not that large and well... they looked like they had no desire to flip over.  Obviously they just wanted to float around, chillin'.  So I carefully paddled up to them and took pictures from every possible angle.

The paddle back to the put-in was much easier than the paddle out as the side wind had turned into more of a head wind.  I made it back to my car in an hour with my hand and face frozen from the constant splashing of 33 degree water and smiling from having seen seen this marvelous sight.

On the way back to Anchorage, I was rewarded by another sight that I have now seen many times but of which I cannot get enough:  beluga whales were swimming up Turnagain.  Even though the whales only slightly poke the surface of the water and are barely visible, a little piece of white skin emerging from the waves here and there or the occasional blow creating a spray are always a special treat.  

Can you see a beluga? :)

One more time I was returning to the city with my eyes and mind full of what makes Alaska so special: natural beauty.