Wet Adventure!

WILD ALASKA!!!!
A life long dream came true for me this weekend. For years I have dreamed of a trip down a back-country river fishing trip with my dad. Thursday noon dad and I put my canoe in on the upper stretch of the Swanson River. The river was swollen from the recent rain and not a mile into the 24 mile float we tipped the canoe over spilling all our gear into the creak. The "dry" bags our clothes were in leaked and all of our stuff was wet except for our bedding. One of the pictures is of our gear scattered about drying in the sun. That night a terrible wind blew up and gusted at about 40 mph. We had a head wind the next day for a portion of the float. Our spirits were high even though the rain came down for most of the day. The salmon fishing picked up as we made the turn to the northwest signaling the half way point, silver salmon fresh from the ocean were attacking our light tackle and putting on a good show with their signature acrobatic leaps and flips that they are known for. At times the salmon were coming up river in such numbers that it looked like the whole river was moving up stream. It reminded me of the movie "Jaws". Dad managed to land a few six and eight pounders on six pound line using an ultra-light rod. We were glad to have my handmade landing net to help bring the flopping salmon aboard the canoe. At 2:00 in the afternoon we were ready to get out of the rain and have some lunch. We stretched a tarp over a rope and managed to get a fire started. Next we wrapped some seasoned salmon fillets in foil and placed them in the fire. The delicious salmon flesh was washed down with hot coffee and were ready for more fishing.
I was continually amazed at my dad's positive attitude even through all the hardships we were facing. As I go about camp chores and woodsmanship in general I am begining to realize just how much I learned about the outdoors from my father. He is in my mind a true woodsman and I can't wait to spend more time in the woods with him now that he is retired!
As we reached the point in the river that indicates the last hour of paddling, the rain picked up and the wind whipped the surface of the river into a torrent of ripples and waves that made the water impossible to read. We tied all of our gear into the canoe and prepared ourselves for what lay ahead. The last half mile of the river, before it dissapears into Cook Inlet, is known for it's rough white-water sections. It was this stretch of river that had kept me up the night before. Would we roll the canoe with our heavy load? Would the recent rain make this stretch impassable?
My heart raced as I guided our craft through the first rough stretch. It wasn't pretty but we came out down stream intact and ready for the next challenge. I assumed a knealing position in the bottom of the canoe to lower our center of gravity and give me more leverage with the paddle. We dodged most of the "sleapers" (rocks that lay just beneath the surface) and powered over the few that were unavoidable. Just when we begin to relax and enjoy the rush, the sign indicating the take out came into view and we paddled our boat to the take out point.
I traveled over 200 miles by canoe this summer alone, but this 24 miles of the Swanson river will hold a special place in my heart forever. Thanks Dad for being so tough and making my dream come true. I love you!
Pat