Buckwheat raises his paddle and gets a shove from Dottie Demark on June 8 at the start of his river journey down the Teslin and Yukon Rivers to the Bering Sea. JB

Paddling with Buckwheat

on the Heartbeat Trail

Observations from the Yukon River by Jeff Brady

Second of a two-part series

Dale Best of Coal Mine Campground, and Jeff and Buckwheat all ready to leave the Carmacks dock.

Carmacks Rendezvous
I am on the road again on Monday, June 12, this time to meet up with Buckwheat in Carmacks, Yukon for part of the paddling portion of his Heartbeat Trail journey on the Yukon River.
I had delivered his canoe from Kanoe People at the start of the Teslin River in Johnson’s Crossing the previous Thursday, and he was due into Carmacks, about 200 miles down river, that day. We had a great send-off at JC with Bob Ward, Dottie Demark and Elaine Brummett of Skagway, and Cindy Murray, the JC proprietor who made lemon tarts every morning for Buckwheat during his stay there getting ready for the river.
Bob delivered a message from the City wishing him well (see letters), and I loaded him up with a new tent from Klothes Rush and dry bags and other camping gear from the Mountain Shop.
“It’s about time,” Buckwheat said as he finished loading up the 17-foot Clipper Ranger canoe for the river. “Four thousand five hundred miles later, look out river, here I come!”
Off he went on a beautiful day, two eagles soaring high.
Four days later, I was hoping to get to Carmacks before him to take some shots of his arrival and give him a big welcome, but I needed to get gas first. I rolled up to the Tatchun Centre gas bar, and waving at me from the pay phone outside was Buckwheat. He had arrived on Sunday night, ahead of schedule – again. He had been leaving messages all over Skagway and Whitehorse trying to track me down to let me know he was already in Carmacks.
I was ready for the river, but he wanted to stay another night at a cabin he snagged at the Coal Mine Campground. We headed over to the Carmacks Rec. Centre where he got online, a loonie per half hour. We used up three.
I told him that Dave Vogel was checking into getting him a satellite phone donated by Alaska Power & Telephone, and that bit of info got him excited. He called the office in Skagway, and Lynnette Roseberg answered, and was in tears just hearing his voice. He also talked to Stan Selmer and Vogel, and learned that the phone had already arrived. It would be sent up to Whitehorse where our friend Harry Kern would take it on to Dawson when he came to pick me up later in the week. Harry had loaned us his SAT phone for the Carmacks-Dawson leg of the trip. If that wasn’t able to happen, then it would be sent on to Eagle, part of the “vast AP&T network,” Vogel said.
“Some days are just great,” Buckwheat said. He also received word from Trevor at Sport Yukon that a GPS would be waiting for him at Bombay Peggy’s in Dawson. “Owwwwww!”
We wolfed down burgers and the last shakes at the Coal Mine Canteen – with the hot weather most of their ice cream was gone. That evening another shipment arrived, which we helped unload, but it had melted on the way to Carmacks and had to be re-frozen. Two Germans, Dierech and Vol, looked over maps of the Yukon Flats regions. Buckwheat had ended up with an extra set and passed them on. They were very grateful. Just before 11 p.m., a wooden rowing dory landed driven by Dan Cook of Salida, Colorado. He also was going to the Bering Sea. And we have word that there are two Brits and two Iowans ahead of us, and two rafts behind us. Buckwheat should have lots of company.

Howling through the Five Finger Rapids, a man and his goop at Yukon Crossing.

Carmacks to Fort Selkirk - Tuesday, June 13
Buckwheat and Dan hit it off the next morning as we are loading the canoe. Dan is on a worldwide adventure. After this river trip, his second down to the coast, he will ship his truck to Australia, and then up to Asia, where he will drive up to Russia, then across to Belgium, then ship the truck to Argentina, and drive up South and Central America, ending up in Colorado next spring sometime. Depends on where his fly rod will take him.
We are on the river at 9:34 a.m. I have my GPS, my only clock. I don’t wear watches on the river. We have had one mishap. One of our light 8.5 oz. ZRE paddles that was by the boat overnight apparently was lifted by a gust of wind and floated downstream. We are looking for it in the bushes, but no luck. We have another and two wooden extras, but that paddle will be sorely missed. Still, we are going 7.5 m.p.h. drifting. The river is high now, carrying logs, debris and silt. Usually the river is fairly clear until you get to the confluence of the White, 180 miles from here.
After three and a half hours, we are approaching Five Finger Rapids, the only white water you have to paddle along the entire 2,000-plus miles of river. I am in the bow. Buckwheat says it’s my turn, and I’m ready. “Bring it on.”
We head down the right “finger,” because any other channel will take you into a hole that could swamp your boat and drown you. We hit the first three waves head on. They are about four-footers and they give me a good splash, but we ride them fine. Then a fourth comes at us from an angle and we have to brace for that one, but are up and over. About 15 seconds of pure rock and roll and it’s over. I can grab my camera now, and turn as Buckwheat lets out a howl.
We paddle past Rink Rapids, avoiding them on river right. If we had a spray deck, we could tackle them, but I’m wet enough. A couple miles later we paddle into a slough behind old Yukon Crossing, our lunch stop. As we round the bend, a river otter flops into the water, gave us more of a scare than the rapids. Yukon Crossing was where the old winter stage road crossed the river. I’ve been here many times on river trips, and the old log buildings are caving in. Pink Sitka roses are blooming everywhere, and it’s hot, easily in the 80s but the bugs aren’t too bad. I break out the “Potato Goop,” a scalloped potato concoction born in my mother’s kitchen in North Carolina and now standard northern river fare on any trip I’m on. As it heats up on the propane stove, Buckwheat can hardly contain himself. He has been drooling about this for months and has his moment of goop clarity. We will eat this until both zip lock bags are gone.
Back in the water, nearing Minto, we see our first moose, a calf, but no momma in the bushes. We also spot 12 sheep on the rocky slopes of Minto Bluff. The current is fast and we are making good time, but it’s a long day on the river. We don’t get to Fort Selkirk until about 9:45 p.m.
A First Nation gentleman is on the high bank playing his fiddle as we arrive, but we are in no mood to dance. We scramble up the bank with our gear and set up camp. Two other tents are set up in the campground, and the generator is whomping in the background. It bothers Buckwheat, so he asks Stan Johnson, the caretaker if it will be going all night. They shut it down when they turn in, and we are in our tents after watching the sun set over the river at midnight. This is one of the most beautiful places on earth.

Howling with the Haines crowd at Fort Selkirk, and paddling hard on a hot day.

Selkirk to Kirkman Creek - June 14, 2006
We want to get an early start, so we are up with the sun around 6:30 a.m. We get some water from the old hand pump for coffee, and as we are cooking our “Steak and Goop,” a woman emerges from one of the other tents and makes her way to the pump, where she washes her hair. She goes back to the site and talks to a man who has emerged from the other tent.
“Are they speaking English?” Buckwheat says.
“Can’t tell, but that looks like a Tlingit design on his T-shirt.”
He walks in our direction en route to the outhouse.
“Hi, where are you from?” I ask.
“Haines, Alaska.”
“HAINES?! Buckwheat, he’s from Haines!”
“Oh my God,” he replies. “It’s BUCKWHEAT!”
And out of the tents come the rest of their party: Bill Holton, Sue Libenson, Sean Bryant, and Maggie Stern.
“I was saying last night, ‘That German guy looks like Buckwheat,’” Sue says.
We roar. Most paddlers on the river are usually German, but obviously not this early in the paddling season.
They had been at the Alsek Music Festival in Haines Junction, and had a few more days, so decided to paddle from Minto to Dawson. They are very familiar with Buckwheat’s story, having heard Dan Henry’s and Gary Hanson’s pieces on KHNS. Buckwheat catches up on radio station gossip. Walking around Selkirk, they learn about Haines connections. The old town was the end of the Dalton Trail. Before the gold rush, the “fort” was invaded by Chilkats who didn’t want the Hudson’s Bay Co. interfering with their trade with Interior tribes.
Stan is up and organizing the day’s events with Audrey, another member of the Selkirk First Nation who, like him, was born in Fort Selkirk. The First Nation, working with Yukon Heritage Sites, has a crew there each summer working on the old buildings, which include two churches, a school, a store, and the camp of the Yukon Field Force. Stan and Audrey give tours to visitors and ask us if we want to go on one, but we’ve been there many times and pass. A tour boat from Minto will give them people to guide later in the day.
We finally hit the river at 10:35 a.m., about two hours later than we wanted, but the time with the Haines party was worth it. They give us some smoked halibut for the journey before we say our good-byes.
Buckwheat isn’t used to talking so much, at least not out here. The morning has exhausted him, and now, in the bow, he nods off.
“I need about a 20 minute nap,” he says.
“No problem,” I say, guiding the canoe into the faster water in the middle of the river. Mariah Van Bibber, a former caretaker at Selkirk told me once that “all you racers want to follow the current side to side, but the fast water is always in the middle.”
Her advice saved me lots of time and energy in last year’s Yukon River Quest.
Buckwheat snoozes for two hours. It’s hot, really hot. No clouds and as the afternoon progresses, we are going into the sun. The black flies find us, even though we are going almost 10 m.p.h. when paddling. Buckwheat alternates putting his paddle in the river with swatting bugs. “I hate them!” Eventually he is worn out.
“I can’t understand why I’m so tired,” he says. “You know what I think it is?”
“You’re not eating,” I say.
“Yes, how did you know?”
“I have to eat all the time when I’m paddling or I have no energy,” I reply, digging into my bag of dried fruit. I also have a peanuts, M&M and raisin gorp, some bite-size Snickers, and Vector energy bars. During the race we were told to consume 6,000 calories a day. This isn’t a race, but we are bent on paddling, not drifting, to get to Dawson by tomorrow (Thursday) night.
“For me it’s more of a blood sugar thing,” he says. “Let’s pull over.”
We stop on Sleepy Hollow Bar, and while I take a short nap, he grabs the second bag of goop and eats it cold. That helps, but the big Butterfinger candy bar works better.
When we get back on the water after about 20 minutes, he is in paddling mode, all the way to Kirkman Creek. I can hardly keep the boat straight, especially when he paddles on his preferred left side.
A few clouds show up, but they cross the sun only once. It must be close to 90 F. We have both been drinking lots of water and are thankful for our sun hats. As we approach Kirkman around 9:30 p.m., the sun is directly in front of us and the glare off the water makes seeing difficult. We are glad to be off the river.
We walk up to the old cabin, with its layers upon layers of tin roofing. Three dogs head down the path to greet us, and Linda Taylor and her daughter Rachel emerge. This is another great spot on the Yukon River. Linda runs a bakery here, serves meals, and there is a huge grassy area for camping. You pay $5 but it’s worth it.
I have a message to deliver from the Yukon River Quest organization, which uses this area for a checkpoint and three-hour layover during next week’s race. She serves soup and sandwiches to all racers for about 24 hours. I tell Linda there are 168 paddlers registered, and about 150 will probably make it this far.
“I better order another turkey!” she says. “Last year we had 120.”
We buy some cookies and then get our camp set up and heat up my other river staple, enchiladas. They keep long in the cooler.
The cooler has been a challenge for Buckwheat. He needs ice to keep his insulin cool in its metal travel mug, and much of the ice has melted in this heat. Rachel said the thermometer in the sun got up to 44C, well over 100 F. We’re hoping for a cooler day tomorrow. As the sun goes down, clouds dot the sky to the north where we are headed tomorrow. Buddy, an older dog nuzzles Buckwheat. Two other dogs, Taz and Houston, stand watch. There has been a black bear around. During the night we hear them bark a couple of times and keep the bear spray handy, but we sleep well.

Meeting a real Buddy at Kirkman Creek, and receiving $20 from Yukon Conservation officers Tory and Gerard near the White River.

Kirkman to Dawson City - June 15, 2006
A “whiskey jack” got the dogs barking early as it bounced on a nearby picnic table. Buckwheat was up early to shoo it away from some cookies he left out. At least the bear didn’t find them. I head down to the canoe to get the cooler and see my gorp bag in the path. Looks like a dog got into it. They must work as a team. Buddy gets the love, and the other two do the dirty work. I’m not upset, a friend who was racing a couple years ago had all his food eaten by a dog there, serves me right for leaving it out.
We leave $10 at the cabin for a couple more packs of cookies, and are on our way at 8:08 a.m. It’s cloudy and cooler now, and for the first time I have thrown on a long-sleeve shirt. We get some light sprinkles as we approach the White. Just after the confluence, the sizzle of silt on the bottom of the canoe gets louder and we see a power boat coming. They head right for us and stop.
I recognize Gerard Cruchon, who is in a Conservation uniform with another officer. He recognizes us too. Gerard was in the 1997 Dyea to Dawson Race to the Klondike, which Buckwheat and I organized, and which morphed into the River Quest. Gerard paddled in 1997 and was in a safety patrol boat in 1998. He’s excited to learn that we are thinking about trying to bring the D2D back for 2008. Tory Hunter, the lead officer, quizzes Buckwheat about his journey and offers him $20.
I ask how hot it got in Dawson yesterday, and they say “really hot, around 100.” Gerard said he felt like moving to Arizona “to get away from it but I know in three months it will be winter.” We tell him to meet us at Kate’s for dinner on Friday night, and they are off to check on more river travelers.
Buckwheat is excited to learn there are women to chase in a party of kayaks ahead of us, but they must be fast women, because we never see them. We do see a family from Whitehorse in two cedar strip canoes. We pass them on an island, then they pass us as we lunch, then we pass them on Ogilvie Island, about halfway from Kirkman to Dawson. They are on the river all of two hours. We will be on it 14 hours today.
The river down here is quite boring, long winding stretches. A few steep banks and river-eroded “hoodos,” but mostly islands. We paddle on. Rachel has motored back and forth to Dawson to get that extra turkey, and on her second pass she tells us there is a moose around the next island. We see her munching on some willows under the water.
About five miles from Dawson, we see the sky darken, and then a big wind lifts a swath of sand from an island about a mile downstream.
The channel here is wide and we’re getting chop now, but we decide to keep paddling into it. About three-quarters of the way down this stretch, Buckwheat says he’s taking on water in the bow.
“OK, let’s get off,” I say. “That island up ahead.”
We make it fine, hitting the beach where all the sand had been blown up by the storm. We secure the canoe, and Buckwheat plops down on the sand and takes a nap. I walk over to a more sheltered spot and do the same, looking up river. I doze off, thinking about how my wife Dorothy and I were held up by a similar storm here in the 1999 race. We slept three hours before it calmed down, but this year the storm abides in 45 minutes, a nice rest. I am stirred by lightning in the distance up river, glad it has blown over us. Remarkable that it did not rain.
We are back in the canoe, paddling down a slough, and in 30 seconds, it starts raining, hard. I fumble for my rain jacket. Buckwheat already is wearing his. The wind switches direction, and we now have a tail wind, and the storm is coming back this way. We keep paddling, but lightning is now striking on the hillsides on both sides of the river. But we keep going, the tailwind will get us to Dawson faster. As we round the bend toward Dawson, we get a brief head wind again, and the storm heads back up river, and then it gets calm. Dawson is in sight now and we let out a howl.
We land at 10:08 p.m., exactly 14 hours after starting. A long day. I head up to Bombay Peggy’s and one of the owners, Kim Bouzane, drives down with me in her pick-up to help us load up the gear.
Kim says it did indeed hit 100 F in Dawson on Wednesday, but the wind that just rolled through carried the umbrellas off the deck of her bar.
We get to the inn and check into “The Sweet,” the only room with two beds in this old house of ill repute. Very fancy. Buckwheat has me pull off his rubber boots for him, and he asks me what size they are.
“Eleven,” I say.
“No wonder, these aren’t mine!”
“I just grabbed the pair that was in your hallway.”
I finally get them off, nearly crashing into a coat rack.
Rubber boots will be on the list of things to snag tomorrow. We will be here a couple of days.

Approaching Dawson City after the storm, and "smelling good in the bar" the next morning with Wendy of Bombay Peggy's.

Dawson Town - June 16-17, 2006
The next morning, we meet for coffee in the bar with the other co-owner Wendy Cairns, who now has a baby, Eli. She’s another friend from the D2D race, and we catch up. Buckwheat tells her how he was sitting in the same spot two winters ago after his walk to Dawson, and a man told him, “you stink.” Buckwheat had dumped all the smelly stuff into his bath, and then came down for a drink.
“Smelling good in the bar, that’s our motto,” Wendy says.
Regrettably, we have to move on because the Department of Defense has booked the entire place for the next evening, but we get a room at another favorite spot, the Downtown Hotel, and owner Dick Nostrand comps us the room. Owwww!
He has been hosting another D2D, Dust to Dawson, a biker gathering of Alaskans, and they are having motorcycle games in the street outside, dropping tennis balls into buckets and riding blindfold. Only in the Yukon.
We do some shopping and running around. Meet up with Suzanne and Akio Saito and Madeline and John Gould of the Klondyke Centennial Society. Harry shows up with the satellite phone as we are having dinner with Gerard at Kate’s that evening. It’s been a long time since we three have been together, so we talk into the long Dawson night.
The next morning, we head back there for breakfast. As we walk down the dirt street, we hum the theme from “The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.” We mention this to the waitress, and she says, “If you are Harry, who’s Curly and who’s Moe.”
We get Buckwheat down to the river around noon, and a few people stop to see what he’s doing, including a reporter from the Klondike Sun and a family from New Zealand. Alan, Joanne and Thomas McLeary pose with us for a group photo.
They’ve been to Skagway already.
“We’ve been to lots of places,” Alan said. “Skagway’s touristy, but not tacky.”
That could be the town’s new slogan.
Buckwheat packs lots of ice and water. If the ice runs out, he has a plan for putting the insulin travel mug in a mesh bag and dragging it in the river to keep it cool. Harry tells him the bottom of a boat out of the sun will work too. He instructs Buckwheat on how to use the SAT phone and they call Dave Vogel. He is connected.
Buckwheat has his GPS around his neck. We have gone through it to make sure it has all the towns he needs to stop in, but he will need to learn more about it as he goes. His biggest support downriver, which he learned last night, will come from TEMSCO. The Skagway helicopter company also has choppers and pilots under contract for forest fire duty in most villages from Eagle to Ruby, and Jesse Naiman is based in Fairbanks. Buckwheat married Jesse and Nicki and they will be meeting him in Circle. He is feeling better about the trip downriver, and Dan Cook of Colorado is here too and will be catching up to him in a couple of days.
We hug and howl, and he howls some more as he bounces off a shore rock and heads out into the current. He drifts on, giving a last long look at Dawson town. As he turns the boat far in the distance, you can see him bounce in some riffles, reminding him of what lies ahead.

Howling with the McLearys, Jeff and Harry before deparing Dawson, and howling down the Yukon once more.

PART ONE: Walking with Buckwheat on the Heartbeat Trail

To follow the Heartbeat Trail, and see more photos from the road and the river, log on to www.heartbeattrail.com. Donations can be made to the Heartbeat Trail through the Community Development Services fund of the Skagway Development Corporation. The EIN for SDC-Community Develop ) non-profit] is 20-0122259; the DUNS number is 147372630. Please send your checks to: Heartbeat Trail, PO Box 1236, Skagway, AK 99840. Cans collecting change also will be in several Skagway stores throughout the summer.