The below topic about Ltwt camp stoves for an Alaska Float Trip got me to thinking about some of my trips.
The first one was my first year in Alaska, (1972). I was working for the railroad and camping under the Cushman St Bridge over the China River. Met this other guy and we desided to drift from Fairbanks to Nenana. Wife would take the truck and meet us there.
Now along most of these rivers are abandoned trapper cabins. Nice place to spent the night.
But nope, my new partner wanted to sleep on a sand bar. More like a rock bar. The only wood on these sand bars was drift wood that puts out more smoke then heat. But what the heck. He wanted to shoot a goose from his sleeping bag.
Spent a misserable night on river rocks. Lots of skeeters and camp fire smoke. Finely had to stick my head all the way into my sleeping bag to keep the skeeters from eating me a live. Took me for ever to get to sleep.
Seems like I just drifted off when I heard a gun shot, I jumped up just in time to see a Canadian hit the sand bar about 20 feet from where I was sleeping.
My hunting partner was setting up, still in his bag with his 870 grinning saying, "I told you I'd shoot one from my bed".
It was a cold trip just setting in the boat, but my new hunting parner had the answer. He brought a fifth of whiskey to take off the chill, which we did until the bottle was empty.
Next trip I vowed to take a second bottle, bad ideal.
That's Alaske River Trip Part II.
The first one was my first year in Alaska, (1972). I was working for the railroad and camping under the Cushman St Bridge over the China River. Met this other guy and we desided to drift from Fairbanks to Nenana. Wife would take the truck and meet us there.
Now along most of these rivers are abandoned trapper cabins. Nice place to spent the night.
But nope, my new partner wanted to sleep on a sand bar. More like a rock bar. The only wood on these sand bars was drift wood that puts out more smoke then heat. But what the heck. He wanted to shoot a goose from his sleeping bag.
Spent a misserable night on river rocks. Lots of skeeters and camp fire smoke. Finely had to stick my head all the way into my sleeping bag to keep the skeeters from eating me a live. Took me for ever to get to sleep.
Seems like I just drifted off when I heard a gun shot, I jumped up just in time to see a Canadian hit the sand bar about 20 feet from where I was sleeping.
My hunting partner was setting up, still in his bag with his 870 grinning saying, "I told you I'd shoot one from my bed".
It was a cold trip just setting in the boat, but my new hunting parner had the answer. He brought a fifth of whiskey to take off the chill, which we did until the bottle was empty.
Next trip I vowed to take a second bottle, bad ideal.
That's Alaske River Trip Part II.
