That was one piece of advice from a veteran river guide before the trip. There were many others, mostly dealing with how to stay reasonably warm and dry on a late season river trip down the Tatshenshini/Alsek Rivers. The message about the propane was simple- the outer coast of southeast Alaska has very finicky weather in September, it is possible to get stuck for a few days, make sure you have propane, extra food, and whisky. But the day turned out to be bluebird. A crisp autumn day with a nice high-pressure bubble keeping all the clouds away. We bled the propane, dumped the drinking water and milk, deflated the rafts, gorged on the last of the food, and threw some frisbee as we waited for our planes to arrive.
The trip was ambitious- seven friends(JBell, Corndog, Miller, Chris Chambers, Anna, Cara, and myself) with minimal river trip experience, fairly new to the wilds of Alaska, floating a very remote river system pretty late in the season. We were pounded by a couple intense storms, and were tested at various times, but made it through and loved every bit of it. For ten days we travelled by raft through the biggest protected wilderness in the world, starting on a canyon in the Yukon Territory, floating through British Columbia as glacial melt swelled and widened the river, navigating swift channels and iceberg calved from huge valley glaciers as we rode the mighty river to the sea. We saw no one for ten days, and we relied completely on ourselves and each other. Surrounded by huge mountains, glaciers, and rivers, were we as free as could be. On the last night of the trip, on the shores of magnificent Alsek Lake, we sat around a fire reflecting on the trip and toasting the folks who made it possible: our boss who had an unused permit, friends who loaned us gear, gave us good advice, helped with the shuttle. For some reason, "Osama bin Laden" came out of my mouth, hardly a household name at the time. Later,I lay out under the clear sky looking at the stars and the streaks of northern lights, unable to sleep but feeling very peaceful. It was midnight, four AM in New York City, September 11, 2001.
The next day, after prepping the gear and throwing some frisbee, we started watching for the planes to arrive at the grassy airstrip used by a bear hunter. The appointed time came and went with no planes. This was unusual because bush planes in Alaska usually run on time, and the weather was perfect for flying. The ground-to -air radio, which allows communication with pilots, was picking up nothing, so we assumed it was broken. Finally a call was made to the bush plane office in Yakutat. Our first contact with another human in ten days went like this:
Us: "Hi. We were wondering where are planes are."
Them: "YOUR PLANES? THE UNITED STATES IS UNDER MAJOR ATTTACK! THE PENTAGON HAS FALLEN THE WORLD TRADE CENTER HAS FALLEN, IF YOU WERE IN THE AIR RIGHT NOW YOU'D PROBABLY BE SHOT DOWN."
Us: (after passing the phone around and absorbing this information. "How will we get back to Haines?"
Them: "Get back to Haines? Well, what would you do then?"
Them: "You are on your own."
In retrospect, it was a confusing and upsetting time, and I can forgive the woman in the office for her hysteria. She probably thought we were trying to fly on from Haines to somewhere in the lower 48. But, the message we absorbed was "World War, no Haines to go back to."
Disbelief lead slowly to acceptance and assessment. We didn't have much, but there were worse places to try to survive. There was a river full of fish and a hunting cabin we could break into. But, I couldn't think about anything but my sister, Eliza. A recent graduate from NYU, she had stayed in NYC and just landed her first job, a position with Time Warner that started while we were on the river. Even hours later, as we got more information I didn't know if she was OK. I couldn't remember where her new office was. Finally, I reached my mother on the satellite phone and found out she was fine, and that her friend and roommate had escaped the WTC. I broke down with relief and despair and everything else I was feeling.
Soon our group dynamics broke down too, and the infighting began. There was blame to be doled of for our lack of extra food, and people had very different responses to the attacks, some expressing that they were in some way justified by US foreign policy, which I found very offensive. At one point I remember sitting with Corndog in an old truck at the hunting camp, listening to a Steve Earle cassette. If you only have one cassette at such a time, you could do worse than Steve Earle.
Soon, the bear hunter returned, himself very nonchalant about everything. He gave us some moose meat and in return we cut brush from his runway over the next couple days. A fisherman gave us a salmon. The weather turned bad. Really bad. Morale was low.
Of course, all planes were grounded, so for the first couple days we couldn't hope to leave. We cut brush in the downpour and made a huge pile on the runway, the bear hunter sparked it with a big bucket of diesel fuel and fanned it with the prop of his plane. He then roared down the runway and took off, if only to flaunt the FAA grounding.
A lot of folks were stuck in bush Alaska, 600 of us according to a report I read later, so the government was working to lift the grounding for the bush planes first. Unfortunately, when it was lifted, there was a catch. Planes could only cross the border if they had a special transponder, which our hired Cessnas did not. We had to wait for a weather window that allowed for a flight around 15000 ft. Mt. Fairweather, and kept us out of Canada, or hire something bigger, and much more expensive. On Sept. 16 we finally made our way out to the main airstrip of the fish camp, cautiously optimistic. Three sandhill cranes overhead seemed a good omen for three planes we hoped to see. They did arrive, to much celebration. We loaded the gear onto one, and split ourselves between the other two. The half of our group in the last plane had a more cautious pilot, who refused to follow the other two through a hole in the clouds, instead returning to Yakutat. It would take an Alaska Airlines jet, the state ferry, and a couple more days for them to finally make it back. So, it wasn't until Sept. 18 that our group was reunited in Haines.
We are all still friends, and we love Alaska more than ever. In fact, today, ten years later, three of us will gather under a similar perfect blue sky to smoke some salmon, play some tunes, and throw some horseshoes. My sister married someone she probably wouldn't have met if not for 9/11, so my niece and nephew are two wonderful results of that terrible day. The world changed, and lots of awful things were perpetrated on its citizens as part of a long chain reaction that stemmed from that day in September. But despite it all, the one simple lasting message for me is that life is beautiful and every day is a gift to be savored.
