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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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! :)
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