Waking up at the crack of noon (but did time really matter? This just meant sun in the south not the north) in the valley to crystal blue skies and water to match, broken up into little bite sized braids, was something out of a dream after 30 something hard miles walking through the Endicott range; we were back to a liquid highway. Well, almost. We needed to find where the braids came together first. Taking advantage of the setting though, we spent some time working on self care before continuing. Clothes that had been trashed from thrashing through brush were renewed, well at least cleaned as much as you can in water that is only slightly above freezing. Bodies followed suit, the brisk north wind helped to dry but was an emphatic reminder of where we were, this was in fact the arctic and after a bath it definitely felt that way.
Sometime around 5 pm, with boats packed and dry suits on, we set off again... Walking, not floating. We were still in the previously frozen, cobbled plane of the aufeis. We picked up a thread of water, and before long we were back floating.
I had been studiously examining satellite imagery leading into the trip and had noticed that we *might* just catch the last of the aufeis. We rounded a corner as several streams converged and there it was! The remnants of a sea of ice, still sizable but nothing like it's winter self, covering the lowest end of the cobbled wasteland that we had come through.
In the section that remained, we did manage to find some candlestick ice, a new to me phenomenon. Here the ice forms in layers, similar to the layers of the snowpack i study all winter in the Wasatch, except during melt, sections of thicker ice will decompose along the crystal boundaries to form long columns, so cool!
Leaving the aufeis, the Tinayguk began to live up to its name.
Before Bob Marshall came to the area, the name for this river is unclear. Marshall named the river, but, thankfully, rather than choosing some boring name (looking at you, Fortymile), he instead chose a word from the native language, here that word was moose (Tinayguk). We certainly saw many while on the Tinayguk, in the river, on the hillside, at the rivers edge.
Our first evening on the Tinayguk ended with what is possibly one of the most beautiful camp sites i have ever had the pleasure of staying at. A cobbled bar with a swift section of river right next to us, we enoyed a fire and read our books while watching the "sunset". Every hour i kept taking another round of pictures because, somehow, things kept getting more and more stunning.
In the morning, we took advantage of the position, and the fact that it was more or less smooth sailing from here down to bettles, and had some river fun, practicing rescue and throwbags by walking up river, jumping in and swimming down past camp. What a setting for some river safety fun!
Slowly, the water began to cloud with side streams coming in carying silt. I had ambitious plans to walk up a ridge at the end of the Tinayguk that would put us close to the Gates of the arctic, but, with the memory of walking still all to recent in our heads, and feet that still were not quite recovered, we poted to continue downstream. Our last night on the Tinayguk had another stellar campsite which we arrived at early, not wanting to leave the tTinayguk just yet we opted for one ore night just a few miles upstream of the confluence. At camp, though, while fishing and bathing, we heard some strange sounds, rockfall maybe? we couldnt quite place it, but we did learn that trees can echo! From here on, every so often andrew would exclaim "TREES!" to admire the echo that returned to us off nothing but the trees.
The Tinayguk was swift and clear, and ended all to quickly. After one more day and a half of quick and easy floating we and hit the confluence with the North fork of the Koyukuk. All too quickly it would seem, i wish we had more time to spend on that beautiful sapphire water. It was truly the highlight of a trip full of highlights.
