[Brian Curtis]

[warning, this is a very long trip report] Oft times choosing the destination for our yearly hike trip is more dependent on timing then anything else and that was the case this year. Jeffrey was getting married in mid-September and the week after his wedding was the only time he could go. Once we had a date, the last week in September, we needed a destination. Because most of us would be at Jeffrey's wedding, in Juneau, southeast Alaska became our focus. The two potential pitfalls that soon presented themselves were the potential for horrible weather, and bears that would be concentrated in river valleys fattening up on salmon and positioned for conflicts with hikers. Then someone brought Atlin Park in far northern British Columbia to our attention. Sitting just behind the mountains from Juneau it was likely to be drier and the bears would be less likely to be a problem. A quick glance at the map revealed numerous wilderness lakes and our destination was set. Even though the area we were looking at was only 65 miles from Juneau getting there was not to be easy. Chartering a float plane directly from Juneau was out because Canadian customs required that we land at an approved air strip and call in. We could take a ferry to Skagway and drive to Atlin, then charter a float plane, but that would eat a couple valuable days and wouldn't be all that cheap. We finally found an airline in Juneau that would fly us to Atlin and a float plane in Atlin that would fly us in and pick us up. Our party was larger then it normally is. We brought my sister Sharon, and her husband Dennis who live in Juneau and are veterans of a couple other of our trips in Alaska. The normal cast of motley hikers, Sandy, my dad Walt, and myself were there. New to the party was Jeffrey's new bride, Julie. As the trip time got closer the weather reports turned down right scary. We were looking at lows of 17°F and highs in the twenties. I packed an extra fleece vest. We gathered in the Juneau airport under typically rainy Juneau skies on Friday. They weighed our packs and we waited in the back room with our identification ready while the pilot called Canadian customs to notify them we were about to fly. Finally, we piled into LAB's Piper Chieftain and officially began our adventure. The Chieftain had just been outfitted with the latest navigation electronics. The pilot had two identical screens on the front console. He set one screen to graphically show the terrain ahead. Flying on that screen would be much like flying a computer flight simulator. The other screen showed an overhead view of the terrain. He put in the destination so a straight line always showed where we were headed and the map showed all terrain at or above the elevation of the plane in one color, and everything safely below the plane in another color while an outline showed where the plane would end up if it flew in any direction for one minute. If mountains encroached on the flight path the area would turn yellow and then red. When the warnings came up an overhead voice would tell the pilot to gain elevation quickly or he would crash. He flew up the Taku River. That meant we were flying up, through and around fantastic glacier carved valleys with lots, and lots of terrain for the instruments to show on all sides. He kept slowly gaining elevation up the valleys until he started up the glaciers and finally over the Juneau Icefield. We cleared the ice field and Atlin Lake, the largest lake in British Columbia, came in to view. The instruments led us straight to the dirt air strip in Atlin and after one circle around we were on the ground and climbing out into the cold air of Atlin, B.C. There was no welcoming committee to greet us. The pilot didn't know where to drop us off but we knew we were chartering our next flight with Atlin Air and when we noticed a small Atlin Air plane parked next to the strip he dropped us off while he went to look for a telephone to notify Canadian Customs we had landed. Half of us hid behind a locked building to get out of the wind and admire the fall colors and snow covered hills that surrounded the town while the other half went to look for a telephone to call Atlin Air to figure out where we should go. Where we went was down to the lake in the back of a pickup. Soon, Chris, our pilot was there with his Beaver but our 7 plus packs was too many for that plane so they also used one smaller plane that would take one passenger and a few packs. Chris dropped us off near the south end of Atlin Lake which has been turned a beautiful color by silt from the Llewelyn Glacier that flows in off the Juneau Icefield and dominates the scenery at that end of the lake. By the time the planes took off it was late afternoon and time to find a place to camp. We looked around for about a half hour finding bear tracks in the sand, and a grove of aspen in the back of a bay that would give us a nice camp. I set up my rod and took a few casts in the fading sunlight but didn't have any luck. The next morning we put our day packs on and went looking for a large lake the map showed sitting near by. It didn't take long before the hazards in navigating in this country made themselves apparent. Hundred foot contours on the map were not very helpful, and generally flat country made direction finding in deep brush and trees difficult. Walt slipped and fell on a branch puncturing his hand. He insisted it wasn't bad and just needed a band-aid. With the aid of compass and GPS we found the lake, but it didn't have sufficient flow through to allow fish passage and it was very shallow so we felt it was likely barren and we did not try fishing. It was after noon by the time we packed up camp and started up the hill for some proper hiking. The pilot said someone had found an old trail going up to Big Simpson Lake, our first destination so we kept our eyes peeled. The brush around the lake wasn't all that bad. And the trees around the area weren't all that bad. And the logs fallen around weren't all that bad. But there were relentless brush or trees or logs, or bogs, or swamps that weren't all that bad and our hiking rate was slow and steady. When I started noticing spots of blood on trees were Walt had put his hand we decided to stop for lunch and Sharon insisted on doing some proper first aid on his puncture wound that looked a lot worse then he said it felt. A butterfly band-aid seemed to knit it together fairly nicely. As the afternoon wore on we started seeing blazes in the trees. Pretty soon fresh flags started to appear and even a bit of old tread here and there. We had found the old trail. It had never been used all that much. Someone had cleared the logs and trees, but there had never really been much tread. Still, even with years of logs to climb over and under it was a big help as we traveled through what would have been incredibly dense thickets of trees. From Atlin Lake we went over a low pass to the headwaters of Simpson Creek. A very low pass. It couldn't have been much over 50 or 100 feet above the lake. The uppermost lake was very large and irregular. Unnamed on the map, we called it Big Simpson Lake. We found a beautiful campsite on a rock that offered beautiful views and a resident marten that was overly curious. During the night everybody was awakened by Sharon screaming "No, no, no, no!" The marten had appeared under their rain fly and she was screaming at Dennis to not open the door and let it in. I took a few casts from shore and caught a 14 inch lake trout. It didn't seem odd at the time, but it turned out that spot was almost the only place we saw to shore fish the entire trip. The next morning was sunny and beautiful. Walt and I went out fishing in the rafts. I landed a couple more 14 inch lake trout, but we didn't have time to give the lake a proper try. We struggled around Big Simpson and at the outlet end of the lake we found an old camp. There were several old bunkhouse frames, an aluminum skiff, and a large overhead cache. None of it had been used in years and the ladder was too rotten to climb up and look to see if anything had been left in the cache. Whoever had run the camp had logged out a trail to Little Simpson Lake so that portion of the hike went easily. I expected to see some sort of camp where the trail met the lake, but there was absolutely nothing there. We worked our way around and found an opening in the trees that would work for a campsite and allow us to put up a tarp. The tarp was necessary because the weather had been steadily declining all afternoon and it was snowing by the time we got everything set up. Sitting around a campfire had little appeal to me so I put on a bunch of layers, blew up my raft, and went fishing. It was snowing hard but I started to catch some nice fish so I was happy. I was catching lake trout up to 17 inches. As I was fishing I noticed the sun starting to glow a bit through the clouds. Then it got stronger and finally, like magic, the clouds melted away. The sky was blue, the hills were white and two remarkable and completely unlikely looking perfectly pyramidal peaks magically appeared to be suspended on a soft cushion of white. I broke into a big grin and tried to take it all in. That night we had lake trout for dinner. The next morning it was cold and frosty. I was the only one up, so I went fishing. I caught a couple more 17" lake trout and I got some nice icicles hanging off my guides. Game trails were everywhere. Some of them were so large you'd swear they had to be constructed trails, but then they'd fade out in a swamp and it was obvious it was game and not people who where responsible. Where there were signs that people had cleared a trail, like that between Big and Little Simpson Lakes, they had taken an existing game trail and cleared that. Not much to do beyond clearing some logs and cutting some brush. Swamps, soft ground, wet feet, beaver ponds, willows, fir branches, downed logs. That is the short description of much of our travel down Simpson Creek. Our next destination was the main Simpson Lake but before we could get there we had to constantly decide whether to stay high in the trees, or low in the wet. The flat valley bottom looked great, and sometimes it was. Sometimes it was soft and spongy with grass (oh yeah!) other times it was choked with small willows and flooded with water (yuck!). So we'd try to go high and sometimes it would be a nice open meadow (oh yeah!) other times it would be thick, wet, drippy branches that had to be forced through (yuck!). We spent much of the day right on the edge between the forest and the swamps. Near the end of the day we observed a couple eagles on some nearby trees. When we finally got to the end of Simpson Lake it was getting late. We were tired and ready for the first campsite we could find. Only trouble was the first campsite was occupied. There were a couple guys camped there. They had their huge car camping tent, with cut boughs underneath for padding, a chainsaw, split firewood fueling their fire, and an inflatable boat with motor. They were hunters who had been flown in but hadn't had any luck and were ready to leave. They asked if we'd seen the grizzlies just up the valley. The two eagles had been on the remains of a moose a couple other hunters had killed. They said a couple grizzlies had been sitting on that kill for the past few days, but had just left it. We had to have been awfully close. The hunters had their orange signal tarp up that meant they were trying to leave. I don't think they liked getting beaten to the moose. We were told that the other hunters had left a really nice camp at the far end of the lake. The only thing we had to watch out for was the spot where they had skinned out their moose. It seemed that no bears were sitting on that. Yet. Darkness was quickly approaching and we made a quick decision to boat the two miles down the flat calm lake and find the other camp. I was the first one to get my raft blown up and I took off to find the camp and get a fire going. I paddled hard all the way down the lake and made good time but I didn't find the obvious trail to the camp I was expecting. The moose hide site was obvious and I could see where someone had cleared themselves a trail down the beach. Nothing like minimum impact practices in the Canadian wilderness. I followed their cut branches and footsteps in the beach and was able to locate the trail to the campsite. It went fairly far back from the lake to a spot with no views, a lousy cache in the trees, and a little table under a tree. It wasn't a great site and it was too close to the smelly bear bait for my comfort, but there were lots of tent sites and split firewood under the table. It would be home. The next morning I was the first one up, so I went fishing. It was slow, and it was cold, but the lake was calm and the scenery was beautiful. And I caught an 18.5-inch lake trout. I liked the way they kept getting bigger. After breakfast everyone decided to take advantage of the beautiful morning and not go hiking. Most of us went fishing. Walt spotted a school of fish and said there had to have been over a hundred. Everyone who tried landed fish, except Sandy. Dennis caught a 19.75 incher. The bar was raised. The next stretch was the longest distance between lakes we would have to do. We had spent the morning fishing so we knew we didn't have time to get to the next lake, but we decided we would be better off getting a jump on the next lake by camping by the river somewhere in-between. Instead of following the river through what looked to be very flat, marshy junk, we decided on a high route that would take us through what we hoped would be easier hiking. Clouds moved steadily in all afternoon. Going was slow. Jeffrey manned the GPS and we had fun setting waypoints. The Canadian maps were marked with the UTM grid. That made the GPS incredibly easy to use, and useful. It became our primary navigating tool along with Sandy manning a compass for shorter term navigation. We got into some nasty small, wet fir trees in country that had my sense of direction all fouled up. We hiked until it was time to head for the river and look for a camp. The hiking had been frustrating and wet and we hadn't seen a likely camp spot all day, but right were we hit the river there was a nice mound of grass sticking up and enough tent sites for all of us. The valley at that point was covered by one beaver pond after another. I set up my fly rod and gave a halfhearted effort to try and find some fish but I couldn't spot any sign. One beaver objected to my presence and gave me a loud tail slap to scare me away. At the next pond up the beavers didn't see me. Instead of fishing I sat down in the brush and watched a pair of beavers go about their business. That night I was awakened by a loud noise. Startled, I woke up and said "What was that?" as visions of bears making off with my pack danced through my head. The sound turned out to be snow sliding off the tent. Lots of snow sliding off the tent, weighing down the tent, covering the ground, and falling from the sky. I didn't sleep well. I kept knocking snow off the tent as it would accumulate, and I was worrying about how we were going to be able to get out of there. As the sun came up the snow stopped falling, but by that time we had a good six inches on the ground. Sharon, Dennis, and Jeffrey got packed up first and set about the serious business of building a snow man. We could still see him standing there when we were a half mile down the valley. We abandoned our original plan of staying high out of the valley. Travel would be a lot easier on the flat, even though it was wet. And we got lucky. We picked up a nice game trail. It was easy to lose in the snow, but we kept looking for it and it kept getting better. The lower part of the river dropped through an impressive canyon but our trusty game trail kept us on a beautiful bench and took us right down to the Pike River. Naturally, I am leaving out lots of wet boots, packs, shirts, etc, but you get the idea. The route the game trail took was wonderful and we managed to tromp down almost to the Pike River where we saw a family of moose, including a bull. As we approached the Pike, we started seeing blazes in the trees and the trail turned down river, exactly the opposite of where we wanted to go. In 1865 the Collins Overland Telegraph Company started laying a telegraph line that was to link North America with Europe via Siberia. The first trans-Atlantic cable, completed in 1866, killed that project and the line was completed as far as Telegraph Creek, BC, though the telegraph was only maintained as far as Quesnel. In 1897 the project was restarted with more modest goal of completing the line to the Yukon. The telegraph line, and trail were completed in 1901, and abandoned in 1936 when radio made it obsolete. The Telegraph Trail ran up the Pike River from Atlin and we were hoping there would be enough left of the old trail to help us in the next leg of our journey. Not knowing what a Telegraph trail would look like, we were expecting the remains of a wide right of way. Blazes on trees do not look like a wide right of way so we decided the blazed route couldn't be the Telegraph Trail and we went down the hill to look for it in the valley were the map showed it. We saw no sign of anything that might resemble a telegraph trail. We saw lots of willows. Sometimes that was all we saw because they were over our heads. We forded Simpson Creek and tried going straight across the valley on the theory that we would find the trail by cutting straight across it. We crashed through brush until we found a beaver pond. We went over the dam to another beaver pond but we couldn't get by that one so we went back and tried a different direction where we ran into a beaver pond. So we tried a different direction. Then another. Then another. Every time we thought we were out of it we ran into another obstacle. We thrashed around in that crud for a couple hours until we finally hit the trees and solid ground and our destination: Pike Lake. There was a great camp spot in the trees, but no access to water. The entire end of Pike Lake was covered with swamp. Jeffrey and I ran a half mile up the lake to where we could see a point, but there was no camp possible there so we had to go back. On the way we found the telegraph wire lying on the ground. I almost tripped over it. No sign of any wide right of way. We figured we had that all wrong. I feel better now that I have done some more research on the old trail. They built it by clearing 12 feet on either side of the line and putting the line up on poles. At least our initial assumption had been correct. What we hadn't counted on was 70 years of neglect completely wiping out any sign of such a wide swath. The camp turned out to be quite nice. There were remains of an old hunter camp nearby, but otherwise the area was seldom used. Jeffrey and Sandy made a Herculean cross country run to fill up a Curtis Designs Inflatabag with water. The next morning I was the first one up, but you know the rest by now. Actually, there is a bit more to it this morning. Walt got up and decided to go fishing with me. We walked about a quarter mile up the lake and found a perfect launch site. I was the first in the water and on my second cast I hooked and landed an 18 inch grayling. Considering 18 inches is considered trophy sized for grayling I was very pleased. My next fish was a 20.5" lake trout. I was very pleased. We fished our way the half mile up the lake to the point. There the fishing turned hot with a fish nearly every cast. We caught roughly equal numbers of grayling and lake trout from 13 to 20 inches. But the wind was coming up and we let ourselves be blown back down the lake fishing all the way. Walt landed first and I had to decide whether I should row straight in, or troll in. My toes were getting cold but I figured I'd kick myself if I didn't troll in so I tossed my Whoppie behind the boat and started downwind with a swift paddle. I was rewarded with my rod giving a satisfying bend and a large fish was on. A very large fish. I brought it up to the boat, it was huge. It was too big to just grab, so I tried to get a hand in its gills. Unfortunately, I couldn't get the gill cover open, the fish flipped, took a big run and snapped my meager 4 lb line right off. The fish, a lake trout, ran an easy 6 to 8 pounds. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I didn't know they could hear me, but back at camp they were laying bets as to what happened. Speculation ran toward bodily injury, or a ruined boat. Only Julie had figured it was probably a fish. As you might imagine, I wanted to troll up the lake more then anything. But the wind was not favorable so we had to hike around. Lots of yuck for the couple miles it took to walk the length of the lake. We were following the telegraph wire for most of the trip. We found a couple old insulators, but mostly the wire was twisted wreckage in the ground. The trail began to pick up at the far end of the lake. It led right to an old moss covered toilet. Pretty soon we found a beautiful campsite. There had been a building there at one time, but it was now a pile of rubble. The area was open and inviting. We were really tempted to stay, but at the rate we were able to travel in this country it didn't seem like a good idea. But conditions changed. From the end of Pike Lake the trail was in excellent shape. Lots of blow downs, but it was easy to follow tread and quick hiking all the way to the next lake, which had no name. We couldn't find any decent camp spots on the lake, and considering how quickly we were able to travel on a semi-real trail we decided to keep going to Kuthai Lake despite it being late in the afternoon. I wasn't sure how wise that idea was when I lost the trail. I got side tracked on to a moose trail and we spent quite a bit of time searching for the main trail again. I didn't want to get into another morass of willows like we had a Pike Lake so I felt it was important to find the trail that would lead us around such obstacles instead of proceeding directly to the lake. Darkness was just beginning to fall as we arrived at Kuthai Lake. The trail led us through a very large patch of head high brush. We split the party up to look for campsites. We were running down the trail looking for a suitable site. We heard a yell from Walt. He hadn't spotted a campsite but he wanted us to see the huge fish rising in the lake. They turned out to be salmon at the very end of their journey. The beach was littered with dead salmon and bones left by the birds. Camping near all that prime grizzly food didn't seem wise so we looked for a site away from the lake. A large pine tree stood over a perfect clearing in the brush. Near the tree was a spot that had been used for a fire many years before and there was another adjacent clearing large enough for our tents. Sandy and I went on to the lake to see if there were any better sites and to bring back firewood if there wasn't. We got to the road and noted a couple fire pits, but no good camps. Yes, you read that right, road. We were very surprised. Kuthai Lake sits just outside the park and there is a rough 4x4 road coming into the lake that hadn't shown on any map we had seen. There was a muddy 4-wheeler trail heading down the lake. We were only something like 20 or 30 miles from Atlin, but the road was reported to be a 4 or 5 hour drive, if it wasn't too wet. Sandy and I walked up the road a ways and found a hunter's camp in the trees. The site was dark in the dense trees, but there was a good supply of split firewood and cut rounds for seats. We grabbed as much firewood as we could carry and headed back through the brush to our camp. That was where Sandy discovered it isn't a very good idea to load up both arms so you can't see and then try to tromp through thick brush. Luckily he was unhurt from his nasty looking fall. The next morning I was the first one up so I went fishing. I trolled across the end of the lake to where I could hear an inlet coming in but saw no sign of fish except for the salmon rolling by the beach. All the way back I had the same result. I turned in front of my launch site and headed up the lake across the mouth of a bay toward the first point on the lake. Just then my pole bent over and I was on to something big. It was definitely the largest fish of the trip, and it took me a while to realize I had a northern pike on the end of my line. I had never caught a northern before and I really didn't know what to expect. I brought it gingerly up to the boat but the fish was too big to just grab. I had to try and grab it under the gills. After several tries I found myself with my hand in the mouth of a 26 inch pike. That may not sound so unusual to a trout angler, but anyone who has caught a northern knows you don't want your hand anywhere near their large toothy mouth. They don't have a mouth full of large razor teeth like a shark. Instead they have massive amounts of small teeth covering the top of their mouth and two shark teeth on the sides of their lower jaw that are nasty looking. I had a tough time getting my hook out of its bony jaw. After landing that fish I went back in for breakfast and to brag about my catch. After breakfast everyone went out fishing. I was first on the water and immediately on crossing the bay in the same place I had caught the earlier fish my rod bent again. But I didn't have this one on long because it sawed off my 4-pound line. Sandy trolled in with a fly and had the same result as me. I put on a new lure and immediately hooked into another fish. This time a 28-inch pike. My dad, right behind me, hooked into one, and out in deeper water I saw Jeffrey fighting a fish. Jeffrey managed to land a 30-inch pike. Just as he was releasing the fish it gave a powerful flip and Jeffrey's hand slipped up the gill plate and the nasty shark-like tooth pierced his finger. While Jeffrey was nursing his painful wound attention turned to my dad's fight. His was epic. When he yelled that the fish was bigger then his boat we all gathered around to watch and take pictures. I was getting blood all over Walt's camera from wounds my 28-incher had inflicted. Walt finally managed to pull the fish on to his boat. The tail fell over one side and the head over the other. He tried to measure it, but it flipped out into the water and the fight was on again. He was being blown into shore so we suggested he land and get out of his boat. Once he did that the fish was finally landed. A 37 inch northern pike. Quite an impressive feat on high lake trout gear with 4-pound test line. By the time Walt extracted his lure he was bloodied, too. We decided that fish would feed all seven of us so he put it on a stringer and we went back out fishing. Well, we sort of went out fishing. Jeffrey valued his fingers so he gave up on fish and went in. Sharon and Dennis tried a bit, but stayed away from the Pike hole and were relieved when they didn't catch anything. Walt and I tried fishing up the lake with no luck and we didn't fish the pike hole, either. Walt did a masterful job filleting the pike with his Swiss Army Knife. He discovered that the fish stringer had been nearly chewed through. That was my first time to try eating pike. I had heard it wasn't a very good tasting fish, but I can honestly say that Kuthai pike is a very, very fine tasting fish. I'll be happy to go back and have some any time. That night it rained hard and it never let up. Every time I would wake up from my slumber the pounding would be just as steady as it had been the rest of the night. There was three quarters of an inch of water in our cups the next morning. In the morning I was the first one up. The rain had me trying to sleep in, but I couldn't stand it any longer so rain or no rain I went fishing. I trolled half way down the lake and back. Again, the only sign of fish I saw were salmon trying to spawn. As I trolled back toward home with the line between air and water still as blurred as it had been all night, I made sure I went past the pike hole one last time. I trolled almost all the way through to where the lake started to get shallow when I caught bottom. I reefed on the rod a few times to pull myself to where I could release the line when I realized the snag was fighting back. I got the large northern up to the boat and having learned my lesson the day before, made no attempt to get it in the boat. I paddled with one hand to shore where I climbed out of the boat. My fish measured 32 inches. Not nearly as large as my dad's, but I at least felt like I was getting in the ballpark. And I managed to release it without any blood being shed. Eventually, the rain let up but the clouds remained low. Our plane was due that day and the weather did not look favorable. We spent the afternoon taking down our camp every time we heard something that sounded like an airplane and then putting it back up when it turned out to not be our plane. There was little we could do but wait so we invented a game whereby we would form teams and throw tent pegs at an 8" circle. Touching the line was worth one point, completely in the circle was worth 3, and stuck in the ground in the circle was worth 5 points. The games were intense and hard fought, but they didn't bring a plane. When we knew it was too late for the plane to come we set camp back up and commenced going through our food to see what we could scrounge up in the way of food. We did pretty well. There was enough left over soup for everyone to have a cup and we had a full dinner's worth of freeze dried food. We missed our alcohol and nuts course, but we didn't go hungry. Fog was the story of the day the next morning. Instead of lifting overnight, it dropped and got thicker. Everyone got up early to strike camp. We couldn't leave camp for a day hike or go fishing or do much of anything because we had to wait for the plane. Sharon and Sandy still had coffee left so they were happy. We pooled all our leftover cookies and ate some for breakfast. Jeffrey and Julie fetched a horseshoe from up the road so we played Horseshoes, using tent pegs for stakes. In the afternoon the sky opened up above our heads to reveal sunshine and lots of blue. But the fog was still hanging on the hillsides and still no plane showed up. We played some more horseshoes and wondered how late we should start putting our tents back up and we came up with all kinds of reasons why he hadn't shown up to pick us up. None of them were correct. At about three o'clock were heard the buzz of a plane. Chris saw us immediately and landed at the end of the road. When he got out of the plane Sharon said "You're late." Chris said, "I guess I mixed up my days, eh?" Actually, the reason he was late was because he had been out flying in the rain the day before and while he was bringing back a group of hunters he got fogged in and was forced to land on a lake. The lake had a road so he radioed back to town and got someone to come out with a truck to pick up the hunters, but he stayed with his plane and wasn't able to get out until 11:00 the next morning. He was very surprised to see all the blue sky over Kuthai Lake and told us we would see why he wasn't there sooner as we flew out. He flew down the Pike River toward Atlin Lake. As soon as we were clear of Kuthai we saw lots of low clouds and fog that got thicker as we approached Atlin. We made it to the lake, but fog forced us barely above the tree tops at one point. We barely made it back. On the dock were a bunch of guys from Chicago, complete with hunting guide, trying to get to a lodge. They waited while Chris called LAB, our charter to Juneau. He talked to the pilot and decided it was too foggy to land. We were stuck in Atlin for the night. After he got off the phone with LAB he talked to the lodge to tell them he was way too tired to go out again and there was too much fog to get there. He had a long conversation, but the lodge made him fly and the Chicago guys climbed into the plane while we looked for a place to stay. The Brewery Bay Inn offered us a spotlessly clean room, incredibly great service, two bedrooms with a double bed each, a hide-a-bed, a VCR, and some movies, all for the grand total of 150 dollars, Canadian. It was the last room available and we didn't pass it up. After a quick shower we were off the find the bar and some beer. We were having our beer when the Chicago hunters showed up. Chris had tried several passes, but couldn't make it to the lodge. The guide wandered over and sat down to chat with us about where we had been. When we mentioned that we had seen a bull moose he pointed back at the hunters and mumbled "They would have shot it." The nasty fog was still hanging in over the lake the next day. All the wondering about flights was getting old. By noon some blue sky was visible to the east and Chris gave the LAB folks the thumbs up to fly in. He still wasn't taking the hunters up, but it looked like we were going to get out. Chris found a friends dad who was visiting town and had a van that would fit all of us to take us to the airport where we waited for the Chieftain to take us to Juneau. The pilot said it was lucky the hole was above the airport, because the rest of the lake was socked in. It was remarkable. A dense bank of fog hovered over all of Atlin Lake as far as the eye could see. But the mountains were above the fog and completely clear. And what mountains we saw. The flight back to Juneau was scenic beyond what my meager writing skills can do justice to. We took a route straight over the heart of the Juneau Icefield. The most rugged peaks in the world stuck up everywhere surrounded by a sea of ice that often tumbled off huge cliffs in a jagged waterfall of ice, or plunged gracefully over curved ledges the glaciers had succeeded in smoothing. My jaw was hanging out of the bottom of the plane all the way back. As we neared Juneau he veered off his straight course and started following the Mendenhall Glacier down out of the ice field. The cliffs loomed up on either side and he took the Chieftain right toward a cliff on one side. Then the glacier was forced to the left, around the cliff he banked the plane right down and toward the cliff on the other side that forced the glacier back to the right and he followed it right down through the cliffs and headed out toward the airport. The most amazing scenery I have ever seen and the most incredible thrill ride I have ever taken. Jeffrey, Julie, Sandy, and I had all missed our flights out of Juneau. Fortunately, we were in Alaska dealing with Alaskans who understood that people often get weathered in and missed their flights so they put us on the next flight out of town with no questions or penalties. The Juneau airport is not large and the checked bag security checks is behind low barriers where they can be seen. The checked all the bags extremely thoroughly. They removed all the matches and the lighter from my pack. They even found my extra match books in my first aid kit. They also pulled out my fuel bottles. Luckily, Sandy wanted to watch the process so I was able to talk to the guy and he let me rinse the bottles out. Sandy had decided to carry his bottles because he thought that he would be less likely to lose them. He washed his out with mine and put them in his carry on. As we went through security they pulled him aside and opened everything up. I watched them have a long talk about the fuel bottles, but they told him he had done the right thing by carrying them on as they would be less likely to be tossed out. Unfortunately, Sandy forgot he had his knife in his carry on so they made him check it. When he got home he discovered they had taken out his fuel bottles and destroyed them.

[Dave Weyrick]

What a great story, Brian! Sounds like a fabulous trip was had by all. Thanks for taking the time to write so much about it. Will the story be retold with slides at the February Hi-Lakers meeting?

[Brian Curtis]

I think it is scheduled for the March Hi-Lakers meeting this time.

[troutman]

Brian, Thanks for such a great report last Thursday evening. Do you have images for us to see? It would be nice to see the reigon you were in and plane photos, etc. Thanks

[Backpacker Joe]

That was one great story. Damn, ole Brain he does get around. I'm going to have to start going to those hi-lakers meetings. Gotta see this slide show. TB

[Brian Curtis]

Troutman, I'll post some photos as soon as I can.

[salish]

Brian, This is the kind of trip I've always wanted to go on. A trip of a lifetime. I heard enough at the TB meeting the other night to whet my appetite and this report certainly takes that several steps forward. I look forward to the slide show conclusion at the March Hi Lakers meeting. I have just one question: do you ever sleep in? Thanks for a great trip report! Cliff

[Randy]

What a great report. Pike is one my favorite fish to eat, used to fish for them is the shallow lakes of northern Minnesota.

[Brian Curtis]

I posted some pictures from the trip here.

[salish]

Brian, these are just great. I'd like to talk with you in more depth about logisitcs, costs, etc. I think the best photo was the "comparing of bruises" Cliff

[Dslayer]

I was just thinking the other day that I couldn't remember a trip report about the annual Curtis family adventure--and what an adventure!

[Backpacker Joe]

Thanks for sharing Brian. TB

[Hiker Boy]

Excellent report! The Atlin airport terminal pic is a classic! LOL

[jenjen]

If this is the sort of thing the Curtis family does on a yearly basis, can I be adopted? Great TR!

[Brian Curtis]

Dave, looks like the slide show of this trip will be February, not March. Salish, I'd be happy to talk logistics, etc. any time. jenjen, yes we do a trip like this on a yearly basis. Well, not just like this, but we go somewhere. I'll consider your adoption proposal.