THE MIDDLE YUKON RIVER, ALASKA — Without much choice in the matter, a girl just under the age of four recently paddled from Eagle to Circle, Alaska. During the seven-day trip, she occasionally used her own small paddle, which sometimes pushed water downstream. Sources claim she had the time of her life, due in part to candy she stuffed in the cargo pockets of her father's pants during the Eagle Fourth of July Parade. She was rumored to withdraw bubblegum and SweetTarts to endure long days on the river.

She enjoyed viewing wildlife along the way.

The girl deemed the views from the tent acceptable . . .

And made sure her Mommy didn't skip any pages because she was tired.

She made friends with the locals . . . 

and was OK that some passed in the night.

She found the perfect-size cabin . . . 

and tripped over a loaf of rock while jogging.

Her camera malfunctioned at Slavens Roadhouse . . .

but her SteriPEN performed at Richard Smith's cabin, keeping the family relatively parasite-free.

The Yukon beaches couldn't be beat, she said . . .

OMG, they're made of sand!!!

When her dad became exhausted, she took over and reeled in a monster (and later ate it).

Packing for the Yukon is a breeze, she said. You need only a few items.

But, she warned, you will be very sad when you finish.

here

Details after they occur. Better pack the car. Chicken for dinner, Eagle by 10!

The Chena Dome trail is 30 miles of dome, dip, dome, dip until you've summited about 15 hills, the largest of which is 4,400 foot Chena Dome. Few people hike the entire loop, maybe because it's so tough to do, even in three days, and there's not much water. And, though Andy and I completed it with a dalmation once, it's pretty rough on dogs. Anyway, Andy proposed a hike without stopping, saying one day with no expectation of camping was easier and lighter than a two-day hike, and we didn't have time for three. The plan for a thru-hike was on.

A classic shot of the route, if I do say so. Trail is not pressed in much of the way. Just keep going up and climb the next dome.

Four ptarmigan chicks here (I only saw the fellow at right when taking the photo), relying on camo because there's no cover, not even a bush, where they were born. 

One of the engines of a B-24 Liberator that crashed on one of the domes in the 1950s, reason unknown. I've hiked to three prominent crashed planes in Alaska — above the Charley River (read Coming into the Country), on Great Sitkin Island in the Aleutians, and here. They are all B-24 bombers. 

Andy hikes to the summit of Chena Dome, about 1/3 into our long day. We didn't stop walking for about 17.5 hours. We never ran (Matias and Drew ran the trail in about 8 hours), and chatted almost the whole way, until we were cooked early in the morning.

Of course, you need sports radio on a grinder of a 30-mile hike. Dustin Pedroia's static-rich walkoff single put a spring in Andy's step.

Andy descending to the Trail Shelter, Mile 17. It was in good shape with dry wood and a rooftop water-collection system in place. Despite the foam pad rolled out on a bunk, we went on by.

Sunrise? Or was it sunset? Hard to tell, but it was 1:39 a.m. We were about five hours from finishing and still had a few snacks in the hopper. Happy solstice, t'was (and is, as I type this outside at 10:30 p.m.!)

Don't have to look any farther than the yard . . .

Still wintry as biologists Craig George (who I've wanted to meet for years), and Leslie Pierce (who was nice too), gave me a ride out from Barrow on a trail over the sea ice made by themselves and also used by whalers.

Craig called this "the perch." They built it at the ice edge to look for migrating bowhead whales cutting the corner around Point Barrow while moving from the Chukchi to Beaufort seas.

We searched for bowhead whales through the fog. Saw none, but did see a beluga and many cool birds, including an ivory gull. Like other gulls, but snow white.

Craig, a New York boy like me, is probably more a Barrow boy now, after having lived there about 30 years. He said the sea ice upon which he spends so much time might scratch his itch to see mountains. I was also amazed at the dark band of "water sky" in the background. I'd heard of it, but didn't know the reflection of open water on the sky was so dramatic. Lovely and oh-so-different than my home where forest fires were raging, just 1.5 hours to the south by jet.

My first ever siting of the Monarch of the North. Too cool. Craig was leading to "the Point," Point Barrow, where the villagers drag their whale bones, mostly to keep the bears out of town. 

Here's a look at the bone pile that attracted the bear. Just as I took this, Leslie said, "Look behind us!"

He didn't seem too concerned with us. I was pleased to meet him, because I may not get another chance. The White Bear Lives!

It's breakup in America's farthest north town. Still chilly enough for there to be plenty of snow, and sea ice is still cemented to shore more than one mile thick along the coast. This was my first trip to Barrow. I was surprised by the number of cabs, and the number of cab drivers from Thailand.

My friend Ben took a shot of this cabin, or one very much like it, not long ago.

When the whalers fly their flags, they have been successful in harvesting a bowhead. Villagers got 14 bowheads this spring.

Another flag flying from another skin boat. Whalers are on teams of about a dozen, usually family members. They even make team jackets and wear them around town. More than 4,000 people live in Barrow, so it's not a small village. It's the only place in America where the local NAPA store has in stock brass points used to penetrate whale blubber.

Looks like there's been an oil spill up north, too. Or maybe just a bit of gas, on a road north of Barrow.

Entering the plume, from the north

In the soup. People started to panic a bit when the lights went out.

After two minutes, out the other side. Don't know why the pilot didn't go around the smoke tower. Probably because he didn't need to. But don't try this in your Cessna 206. And, as of now, Fairbanks is relatively smoke free, Hope the wind doesn't blow from the north (nervous giggle).

Am reminded of the band's name, which always cracked me up, as I prepare to head to the farthest north place I've ever been, Barrow, AK.

Just had the bizarre sensation of the sun drilling into a bald spot on top of my head while I was strapping skis to the top of my car. It's nearing uncomfortable warmth here in Fairbanks, pushing 80. Barrow, according to one of my bookmarked websites, is the coldest place in America, at 30. I just called north and a woman told me it was skiable, so I'll have to check a bag.

I'm headed up for some book research that will require me to get to Point Barrow, about 10 miles from town. I should be skating there about this time tomorrow. Will post a few images.

Feels a little nutty to be leaving this fine Interior Alaska weather, but won't it be nice to come home to this in a few days?

When covered with the last bit of rotting ice, the Copper River looks like the dying glacier it once was.