What were your expectations before embarking on the trip? How did our expedition planning process guide you in the lead up to departure?
As a first-time visitor to the North—and someone who’d never done an overnight paddling trip—I was really stoked for this adventure! I wasn’t quite sure what to expect; having plenty of camping and backpacking experience, I was ready for the camping and outdoor sleeping part, but I knew the logistics of a river trip would be a whole other animal that would demand some learning-as-you-go. I was fully expecting the physical activity that comes with any human powered expedition, but also that we would be treated to luxuries (gourmet meals, beverages of our choice, sanitation station, and so forth) you don’t find elsewhere in the market of guided backcountry trips.
The pre-trip materials and communication were immensely helpful in packing, especially for a chronic overpacker like myself (and perhaps even more helpful for underpackers!). Heading into an unfamiliar terrain and climate, I had a few questions about gear which were either addressed in the very detailed packing guide or FAQs or by the Expedition Planning Team. I had plenty of time to purchase items I was lacking, and also had time to reorganize more strategically after the orientation/briefing the night before the trip at the hotel in Whitehorse.
What three words come to mind when you think of the Yukon?
Adventure. Wilderness. Gold Rush. (OK, that’s four. I tried.)
Cultural interpretation is a big focus of our river journeys. Could you say a few words about your visit to Kwäday Dän Kenji (Long Ago Peoples Place) and how this added context to your journey?
Our stop at Kwäday Dän Kenji served as an incredibly insightful beginning to our trip. Learning about Southern Tutchone heritage and culture and seeing firsthand their connection with the land was an important reminder that the land and rivers which serve us in our recreation and exploration today have been intertwined in the survival and progress of humans and animals for many, many years before us.
Harold, who is a member of the Crow clan, was our guide and storyteller and a wonderful educator on the history of the First Nations and Tutchone People in the area. Our group was fascinated by the wealth of knowledge he shared about Indigenous customs, tools, and ways of life as we strolled through the various traditional structures at the camp, now in its 30th year. It was both a warm welcome to the area and a vivid illustration of why these lands and rivers are so sacred—and why we should conduct our journey through these lands with the utmost respect.
Was this your first time rafting? What was it like stepping onto the rafts for the first time on your trip?
I had never been on an overnight river trip like this, though I’d been rafting on day trips plenty of times, so the logistical and packing aspect was all new for me. Stepping onto the raft at the put-in point was really exciting! We’d been briefed, of course, about what the first short day on the water and subsequent rapid-filled days would entail, but there’s still an element of unknown for any expedition you’ve never experienced before. Plus, none of us knew our companions yet, so I think there was a little bit of friendly curiosity flowing in getting to know the people sharing your raft. Besides the guides, none of us knew what would be around the next bend, what canyons might tower above us, what stunning scenery might emerge downriver, where the current might pick up. Every time we’d step in the raft each day, there was a new sense of anticipation and curiosity of what was to come.
Any advice for first timers?
Trust your guides. Completely. They know the river, they know the gear, they know the protocols. Even if you don’t exactly understand the reasons they are asking you to do something in a certain way, or to put something in a certain place, there is always a reason.
What are your favourite memories of the guide team?
Oh gosh, where to begin with this one. Natalie, Erin, and Carson went above and beyond.
Natalie’s deep knowledge of the Tat and steady, calming leadership were both inspiring and comforting. I loved her group huddles around the map each morning before pushing off to give us a detailed rundown of what to expect on the next leg. She led the hike up the steep, slippery trail (it had been raining) to the panoramic lookout point over Alsek Lake, and there were only a couple of us so it was nice to chat with her about her love for the river and for guiding. I loved, also, that she took the time to make plaster-of-paris casts of the bear and moose tracks we came across in the mud flats so I could take them home for my kiddos. Also, the gal can whip up a mean glacier-fed cocktail in the middle of the backcountry!
Erin’s “Teeny-Weeny-Beanie-On-The-Tatshenshini song (to go with, yes, the teeny beanie she was wearing while rowing) was hilarious and we all got some giggles out of that, as we did when Erin and Carson busted out their “American” wear when we crossed the border into Alaska. The wig and sparkly stars-and-stripes garb were hysterical and had us all cracking up. Carson’s iceberg-wrangling for cocktail ice cubes was a highlight, and he led a rainy hike in less-than-ideal conditions (read: bushwacking) with such a positive attitude that I really appreciated.
I think we will all remember the camaraderie the three of them seemed to share, whether it was hustling in the kitchen to whip up the most gourmet meals (I’m still amazed at the culinary efficiency) or sitting around a riverside beach campfire while they broke out their ukuleles and harmonica for an impromptu performance. Couldn’t have asked for better guides.
Can you describe a few of the senses of being on the river (smell, sight, sound) ?
The scent of the earth in the absence of buildings, roads, and people is something I’ve always had a hard time describing. It’s kind of a combination of wet moss and fresh dirt. It’s clean and wild and fills you up when you take a deep breath. It smells like possibility and mystery. Visually speaking…how do I do this river justice? From towering canyon walls to wide-open oceanlike expanses, from fields of wispy wildflowers catching the waning sunlight to soaring snow-capped peaks and glistening aquamarine glaciers peaking through the fog, this river and its surrounds are a photographer’s dream: rugged, surprising, insistent, vivid, and dramatic. Sound-wise, what struck me most is the whooshing roar, almost haunting, like the deep rumble of thunder, that happens when ice calves off a glacier into the water. It’s unsettling the first time you hear it, but as we moved through the later stretches of river where glaciers surrounded us on all sides, the noise was regular, reminding us starkly that these resources are fragile and in peril.
The river has been described as a glorious crescendo as it grows from an intimate stream in the alpine to its gushing confluence with the Alsek. Could you reflect a little on this?
The change in the riverscape, even day-to-day, was something that really struck me. It’s an entirely different experience running rapids in a gorge where the river is propelling you forward between two towering walls versus watching your guides heave their oars against a headwind in what feels like a giant yawning bay, currents swirling in from many channels. ‘Crescendo’ is the perfect way to put it.
As a writer who places great emphasis on the natural world and climate change, what was special about the trip for you?
It’s one thing to research and consult experts on climate change and its many implications and manifestations for a story or article. This can give you facts and statistics. It’s quite another to see it, touch it, and hear it firsthand from perhaps the best seat nature has to offer on the Tatshenshini River. It’s not news that glaciers are receding, that landscapes and riverscapes are changing, and that human activities are wreaking havoc on our natural resources. But it’s difficult to comprehend this in more than an abstract, academic way if you don’t experience it. This trip was a visceral plunge into a real-time ticking time bomb of climate change.
How was your experience joining this journey as a solo traveler?
Doing this trip solo was a really cool and unique experience. Don’t get me wrong, I love the camaraderie and joy that comes from traveling and adventuring with your people. But joining an expedition solo takes you out of your comfort zone in a way that lets you be your most authentic self. It’s like a big permission slip to take time every day to be silent with your thoughts, to appreciate your surroundings, and to reflect on things in a way that’s impossible when you’re in the familiar routine of moving in tandem with another person. I absolutely loved getting to know the other wonderful guests on the expedition in a way that I almost certainly wouldn’t have if I were not by myself.
Is there a particular place that will stay with you?
Our stopover at Alsek Lake was a highlight for me (as I’m sure it is for most people). Drifting among those icebergs in that aquamarine lake, to the soundtrack of glaciers calving into the waters, was this sort of surreal, mystical moment kind of suspended in time, unlike anything I’ve experienced before.
You have wide experience in travel and travel writing. How is the Tatshenshini so unique?
I live in Colorado, so mountains and rivers are familiar territory. I can honestly say that the terrain we moved through on the Tat was unparalleled in terms of its wildness. ‘Wild’ in its truest sense is difficult to come by these days. Colorado has rivers and gorges and canyons galore. I don’t think you could hop in a raft and row for 10 days—or even three days—and not see a building or a road. Very few places I’ve visited, from the Colorado Rockies to the jungles of Thailand to the fjords of Norway (maybe excepting Patagonia) hit the same wild notes as this place.
International travel could be difficult to comprehend in a time of such uncertainty. How do you feel about the importance of travel and cultural connection in today’s context?
I will always feel strongly about the benefits of travel, and am actively teaching my young children to appreciate the adventure of exploring a new place that’s different from home. Especially as an American right now, I’m aware of the uncertainty underscoring global relations at the moment (and I hope that our friends across borders know that we are not defined by our government). But I’m not letting that dictate how my family and I choose to experience the world. The only way we get closer to understanding other places, other cultures, and other humans is to experience those things for ourselves. We need to shake hands, to have conversations with those who hold different views than we do, to eat food we can’t find at home, to explore the rivers that don’t flow in our backyard, and to see the wild places that Indigenous Peoples hold so sacred. I think we should be building bridges, not walls – and you can’t build a bridge if you don’t know what’s on the other side.
Any final thoughts, memories, or advice for other folks thinking about rafting the Tatshenshini?
You know, I was just listening to some audio I collected from our group on the Tat. Near the end of the expedition, I asked everyone to reflect on the trip. Besides the general consensus that rafting the Tat is the adventure of a lifetime for many people, most of us agreed: Whether traveling solo or with companions, you’ll discover things about yourself on a trip like this—the way you interact with others, how you view your own privilege to travel in this way, when to push yourself and when to know your limits—that you may never have the opportunity to again. Not in quite this setting, anyway. This experience was a privilege in the way it let us all disconnect from the things that influence us in the daily grind to be fully present in the world’s last remaining wilderness.
All photos credit to Julie Dugdale (except cover photo – credit CRE).
