Wednesday 7/18
Last night was interesting and invigorating. Having seen the two Grizzlies, we knew bears were a possibility. The fog was thick all night and even though it’s always light, we could only see a hundred feet or so into the fog. We had all of our bear deterents close at hand, but if a bear had attacked we probably would have slept through it. Since this was our second night of tent camping, we were better prepared. We wore every garment we’d brought along. and we zipped the sleeping bags together to share body heat so we weren’t as cold. We had the makeshift port-o-potty so we didn’t have to leave the tent. I anthropomorphized the poor ice cream bucket, “Yesterday, yesterday I was filled with Rocky Road…today, today, I’m filled with…Oh, woe is me.” Finally there were very few mosquitoes—we guess it’s a combination of the wind and rain.
The mud encrusted Cheap Jeep stood guard outside our tent—now manly and macho after the adventures of yesterday.
We on the road at 7 AM. At 7:04 we see a Snowshoe hare with real snowshoes (the first one we’ve seen with white feet). Moments later Nancy yells, “Moose!” On our left, next to the river, munching away on the willows, a miss moose who demurely retires into the woods upon being disturbed. In the next hour or so, two more Snowshoes and a lemming (rabid lemmings are the scourge of the north).
On the way north we’d marked a couple of spots where I wanted to fish on the way back. Now I wade across the rushing stream at one of these spots. In the middle, the crystal-clear, coursing current almost knocks me down as I carefully plant one foot and then the other amongst the slippery rocks. I reach the small island in the middle of cascading river and begin working my fly against the opposite bank in the deeper, calmer water. I’m using the same silver and yellow streamer that was so deadly a few days ago. Those of you that fish know the heightened anticipation that comes with a perfect cast, the adrenal rush as the fly lands gently on the target that must hold a magnificent fish. It is the rush that I feel now as the streamer floats into the promising roil just beneath the branches. At that perfect moment, the fish hits, I set the hook and begin to coax the fish to shore…but…is the fish lost…yes…and then, no. I hoist the Grayling skyward from the sparkling water—a mighty 5” lunker. Large for a can of sardines, but hardly the fish of legends, yet as I return this fry to its home it occurs to me that this is indeed a mighty fish. This 5” fish had the courage to attack the same fly that captured fish twenty times or more its size as if to say, “If daddy can eat it, SO CAN I!” Again I land the fly in these fertile waters and am rewarded with another fish…a giant of 8”! As I wade back across the stream, I am reminded that it is not the catching, or the catch, but the fishing that is fun.
Around midday we arrive at another snow/ice mini-glacier—not the one where I had done snow angels. This one is bigger—maybe ½ mile long or more. Bwana Nancy spots two large birds on the ice—they are Bald Eagles—and adult and juvenile. I wade and hike toward them hoping to get a closer view. As I approach they take flight. I am standing in a shallow river finger, in the middle of a broad valley paved with flat, rounded river rocks—bordered by ½ mile of thick, shining ice—surrounded by mountains—watching bald eagles soar above me--your average, everyday moment on The Dempster.
We have every intention of revisiting Chapman Lake where we had our chili lunch/dinner on the way north, but we find a tour bus there. Even though we are nearing the southern terminus of The Dempster, this is not a place where there should be tour buses. We leap frog this anomaly and head to Two Moose Lake. Today there are three moose at Two Moose Lake, on the way up there was one, so our average is two—perfect!
An hour later we’re ready for lunch, but digging the appropriate implements out of the camping gear is just too daunting, so I fetch a stick from the roadside and we share peanut butter on a stick—ah, it’s the simple things that make life good.
As we approach the end of our Dempster adventure we’re reminded that the great performances always end dramatically. Here on the Dempster the dramatic scenery is the crescendo and the curtain call. In the spirit of ultra understatement, it’s been great.
Tonight we’re back in the Admiral. It’s good to be home.
