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    Jay's Alagnak Caribou: A Raft, A River, A Father and Son—An Unexpected Alaska Adventure
    Jay's Alagnak Caribou: A Raft, A River, A Father and Son—An Unexpected Alaska Adventure
    Jay's Alagnak Caribou: A Raft, A River, A Father and Son—An Unexpected Alaska Adventure
    Ebook100 pages1 hour

    Jay's Alagnak Caribou: A Raft, A River, A Father and Son—An Unexpected Alaska Adventure

    By Jerry Edgington

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    About this ebook

    Jay and his dad knew things would change after summer. The seasons of boy scouts, little league, high school sports, and just hanging out, would be gone forever. But there was a chapter left to write, and it would be written on a long section of the Alagnak River in Alaska. It wouldn't be the final chapter, not by a long stretch, but it would be a transcending chapter. A self-guided moose hunt and fishing trip would be a proper way to commemorate Jay's 19th birthday. So, with fishing rods and guns, and a flight into the headwaters of the Alagnak River they embarked on their adventure. What they found was more than they imagined—much more. They found the Alaska wilderness and a freedom they didn't know existed. They found a life changing adventure—built unbreakable bonds.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPublication Consultants
    Release dateOct 15, 2017
    ISBN9781594337505
    Jay's Alagnak Caribou: A Raft, A River, A Father and Son—An Unexpected Alaska Adventure
    Author

    Jerry Edgington

    I'm a pretty average guy who appreciates nature and wildlife and is amazed by the design of the world and all the connecting pieces. I'm also drawn to adventure, to seeing the world, safely of course (sometimes I miss a bit on that part). ese things seem fairly innocuous, but in combination can be a formula for creating extraordi- nary experiences in nature. With my sons, I've hunted around the world, embracing opportunities that come out of nowhere. From Alaska to Africa to New Zealand and points in between. We've hunted and shed and explored the world we nd beautiful and fascinating. Alaska Brown Bear is one adventure I had to do without the boys. A er sharing this one with them, I'm certain they'll look for, and nd one of their own just like it, or even better. It created a hunger for more adventures and each has become its own story and has built unforgettable memories. My publisher calls me the Accidental Adventure Opportunist.

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      Book preview

      Jay's Alagnak Caribou - Jerry Edgington

      Flying Out …

      Below my perch on the high bank above a wide spot of the King Salmon River, the water is flat and slow, and reflects the gray of low, heavy clouds. The air is cool and damp and smells of rain when the Fall leaves turn.

      Our transport out of here is a floatplane which sits atop aluminum pontoons tied to the dock. Beyond is the breadth of the river framed by a mosaic of green and tan tundra.

      Jay paces back and forth along the bank behind me, picking and chewing long stems of grass. He’s eighteen, with a thirst for adventure that knows no bounds and confidence to match; so, a raft and a long stretch of the Alagnak River offers a chance to be immersed in a wilderness akin to his nature.

      It’s our last trip before he heads off on a mission, then college, and who knows what after that. We’ve had other adventures, but there won’t be another like this one, ever, because of some things there’s only one; life happens, and we can never be in this place, at this time again. At least that’s how it feels to me.

      We’ll eat when we are hungry and sleep when we’re tired, with the permission of Mother Nature, of course. It’s our time on our terms, a pause in life that will soon pass and leave only a jet stream of memory.

      Freezing time, as I’d like to now, defies the laws of everything. It’s here and then it’s gone and that’s part of its beauty—there’s something new around the next bend.

      I can’t freeze it, but holding onto it? Well, that’s another matter. There’s a place in the soul that knows no time. That’s where this will go, in that timeless spot where it can live forever.

      We’ve no agenda. Just chill and work our way down the river (and not get eaten by mosquitoes or bears). Well, Jay would like to snag a moose, but that’s more of an afterthought for me.

      So, what are we waiting for? Jay asks impatiently.

      Not the weather, at least not yet, I answer, looking up at the thickening clouds.

      Joe, our ride to and from the Alagnak River waves us down to the dock. He doesn’t look much older than Jay, but claims he started flying young.

      Our gear is stacked on the dock, enough to last us ten days.

      Guns, bear spray, patch kit. Joe says. That’ll get you down the river; everything else is for comfort.

      Joe is all business as he lifts the trap doors on the pontoons and we load the gear. It’s one trip in and one trip out, so everything has to fit, and we have to balance the weight.

      The gear consists of a tightly rolled 15-foot rubber raft with three paddles, two rubber duffels, and two coolers—everything we should need for a week in the middle of Alaska. And it all fits neatly in the hollow of the pontoons.

      The guns and fly rods are packed in the back of the fuselage.

      Joe shoots a glance at the dropping cloud ceiling and then at us, and we put on our rain gear.

      With the cargo loaded we step onto the pontoons and up to our seats, click our shoulder straps and situate our headsets and mics. Joe slides into the pilot seat and shouts into his mic, You boys ready for some fun?

      He fires up the engine, cranks the rudder between the pontoons to the right, and we float to the middle of the river, drifting downstream.

      The engine idles, enough to hold us in place against the current until he throttles up. The prop becomes a blur and the engine screams and seats vibrate. Facing straight upriver, the engine revs louder and we begin waterskiing on the pontoons against the current.

      Within thirty seconds we are off the water and banking left. We’re on our way and I catch a glimpse of Jay in the rear seat wearing a big ole smile. This feels good.

      Joe is clearly in his element and becomes chatty. These things start and stop on a dime! he shouts proudly, referring to his fifty-year-old de Havilland Beaver. That’s why we love ‘em up here. Most reliable plane you’ll ever fly, and it lands even quicker than it takes off.

      After clearing the water we rise to 500 feet, heading north. The ground below is the texture of a Persian rug in shades of green and tan with bluish-black puddles of water woven in.

      The conversation stops. The gray horizon, the loud drone of the engine and the soft feel of the landscape from this elevation is hypnotizing. A few minutes in the air and we’ll cover more ground than we could possibly walk in an entire day.

      Cruising over the unchanging terrain, I’m mesmerized by the openness of the landscape and lose track of time.

      My daze is interrupted by a sudden dip in our altitude and a sideways slide from a gust of wind, throwing my stomach into my throat.

      No worries, Joe shouts with a reassuring grin. Just a little wind, but keep your seat belts tight. These little squalls toss us around some, but we’re OK.

      A half hour later, Joe interrupts the hum of the engine and nods to a dark green line of trees on the horizon, There she is . . . the Alagnak. You’ll have a blast, just be careful around the bears. A thin ribbon of water comes into view and grows wider as we approach. Joe banks the plane to the left and completes a full circle over a wide bend in the river next to a long sandbar.

      "That sandbar is your pickup spot. I’ll come check it in eight days, weather permitting. Mark it on your GPS. If you’re here, I’ll pick you up and we’ll fly out. If you’re not, I’ll fly upriver till I find you and drop a message with a new pickup day.

      The weather can get nasty, or I could get held up, or you could get held up, but whenever I get you, it will happen here. We good? We nod in agreement.

      Pockmarks cover the length of the long sandbar. They must be bear tracks, but I don’t comment and neither does Joe. Motioning with his chin, he shouts, See that old cabin back in the trees? An old trapper built it a long time ago. It’s in bad shape, but it’s good for a landmark.

      "I’ll follow the river up to the lake where I’ll drop you. It’ll give you an idea of what

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