the Adventure Lifestyle magazine

"The Talshenshini River is carrying us straight into the heart of a roadless preserve of over 21 million square miles. " century, the steady stream of clients was drying up due to the new railroad, and Dalton f led to Mexico and Central America. He eventually made his way back up to San Francisco where he died in 1945 of varicose veins. Today, all that remains of his enterprise is a pile of rotting logs. We slip easi ly over the si lty surface, the current carrying us away from Born in Canada's Yukon, at the foothills of the St Elias Range, the Tatshenshini River flows through remote northwest British Columbia, joins the Alsek River. then meets the Pacific in Southeast Alaska. Like most rivers, it seeks the easiest route from mountain ice and snow to the salt and surf of the sea. But here the simil<;lrities end. The Tatshenshini slips through virgin land unimpeded, unbridged and untamed. The Tatshenshini-Alsek watershed contains the largest ice cap outside the polar-regions, the highest concentration of high peaks on the continent and the world's premier grizzly bear denning habitat. Composed of a contiguous cluster of Canadian and American parks, it forms the largest protected region in North America-a space twice the size of Switzerland. Tatshenshini. I first heard the music of that word from the lips of an old friend. She had just returned from rafting the river and, for the first time in her life, her hand was moved to poetry. That was six years ago. I've been waiting my turn ever since. The summer sun throws no shadows. It illuminates four blue rafts, 15 eager faces, and Ie gions of alder and spruce. Our put-in point is at the end of a dirt road 150 miles west of Whitehorse. Here the Tatshenshini is little more than a swollen stream. As we stand around whacking mosquitoes, I survey the stunted trees, fireweed and mud of Dalton Post. A rather unremarkable scrap of forest, this place is named for Jack Dalton, an opportunist and scoundrel. Born in Kansas in 1859, young Jack Dalton made his way west chasing the vanishing American frontier. He soon earned a reputation for trouble. At the age of 24, he was run out of Oregon for shooting off his mouth and his firearm . He went north and was charged (but acquitted) of killing a man in Juneau. In the late 1890s, when things started heating up in the Klondike, Dalton staked his own claim (of sorts). He rediscovered an old Tlingit trail from Haines to the Yukon River. He passed himself off as a guide and started charging exorbitant rates for passage along what would become known as the "Dalton Trail." It and the more famous Chilkoot Trail were the two main routes to the gold. Ever the entrepreneur, Dalton planned his trail so prospectors would have to overnight at his outpost "hotel" on the banks of the Tatshenshini. But by the turn of the Dalton Post and the last road we will see for 12 days straight. In the Lower 48 states, the farthest you can ever get from a road is a mere 17 miles. The Tatshenshini (or Tat, as it's affectionately known) is carrying us straight into the heart of a road less preserve of over 21 million square miles. We land where purple lupines color the shore. Someone finds the first grizzly bear tracks and we all crowd around to see. My fellow rafters are from British Columbia, Washington State, Illinois, New York, Ontario and England. None of us has seen a grizzly in the wild . Our guides figure this is the perfect time for the "bear talk." The Tatshenshini-Alsek River system is an uninterrupted habitat for grizzlies and the entire food chain below them. This is one of the best places in the world to see grizzlies in their natural setting, but with this privilege comes a responsibility. Habituating a bear-getting it interested in sources of human- made food-almost inevitably leads to its destruction. In British Columbia alone, an average of 330 grizzlies and 4,000 black bears are reported killed each year for raiding human food sources. It's estimated that at least as many are victims of poaching. Grizzlies and black bears are powerful and dangerous but rarely go after humans. We learn that the best defense against unpleasant encounters is good judgment, a clean camp and traveling in a group. Canadian River Expeditions (our host) have been rafting rivers in the area for 27 years and in all that time they've never had a bear go after anyone. But it can happen. If things get too close for comfort, the guides are packing bear spray and bear bangers-Ioud crack-flares that usually send bears running for cover. Soon it's midnight and about half of us are still awake, talking around the flames of a driftwood fire . In the soft alpenglow, we watch copper turn pink on the peaks above. On this, the cusp of the summer solstice, there is no night- only shades of day. After breakfast we fold our tents and stuff our bags. We push away from shore below a smoke-gray sky. Surrounded by such extreme beauty and raw wilderness, the river's temperament can seem rather tame by comparison. The Tatshenshini starts off with Class IV rapids but is, for the most part, an easy-flowing river where the greatest danger is getting lost in the meandering braids downstream. "Forward! Now backl Gimme some left . .. Hang on!" Our guide barks orders as I stick out my paddle and dig: sometimes Into gushing fountains, sometimes into yawning space. Stinging waves wash over our heads and down the back of our necks. We hang on as the guides try to and control the free-fall over the troughs and boils. In 1890, Edward James Glave, a writer from New York, came here on assignment. Accompanied by Jack Dalton, his expedition was touted as the first 32

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