The night Preston came to me with an offer of an adventure in the back country, it was snowing quite heavily, and it was the first real good snow that we had, bringing tidings of the upcoming winter that was close at hand. With the topography map spread out upon the table, he directed my attention to the Stony River, which was the destination of the trip. The plan was to drop me off on the river, and to float down over the period of five days, while he hunted grizzly bear. I agreed immediately, and packed my gear, raft and paddle, with adventure on my mind.

The fresh snow which covered the land in the early morning hours did nothing but fuel my excitement for the trip which lay ahead. The 45 minute flight went great, and we touched down on a measly gravel strip that was just long enough. It wasn’t long before I was rounding that first bend of many, on my way into the unknown. We had figured out a point on the map to search for a suitable landing spot, which was about approximately 45 miles away. That first day was one of the longest. With the slow water and endless turns in the river, little progress was made. I pitched my camp in the snow, boiling it for water to make dinner. Usually the water in the river is good to drink, but this portion of the river was very murky . The next day proved beautiful, and It wasn’t long before I was moving swiftly along, as I joined into the main part of the Stony. Marking my locations on GPS, and referencing to the map, kept me well informed on the territory through which I was passing. The fresh snow glistened in the sunlight, and the warm rays warmed me against the cold October air. I was utterly alone, floating along at a slow but steady pace, with nothing but the wild Alaskan wilderness surrounding me. Rounding a sweeping bend, I came upon a Cow moose and a yearling calf, coming up from the river, but they quickly disappeared into the thick brush which lined the banks. No fast water or rapids were encountered, so I made a camp at a nice little creek, prepared a simple dinner, and slept hard.

The morning brought decent weather, but some clouds were rolling in as I packed my camp and slipped my raft into the flow. I began to encounter a few small rapids, which rather than avoiding, I went out of my way to go through them, yearning for more action than the slow wide river had given up to this point. part way through the day I spotted a clearing on the map, and decided to make camp and hunt the evening and morning for Black Bear. It was a calm evening as I sat on the ridge, scanning the area through Binoculars, unfortunately that was all that it was, and no animals showed up. The next morning the clouds were low, and it was raining in a steady drizzle. But not wanting to be stuck in camp, I donned my rain gear, and boarded the raft once more. At this point the land around me became much more rugged and steep, and the river was no longer a wide meandering snake, but a swift flow through a gorge cut into the rock. This also provided for more rapids, which made my heart race, and increased the level of excitement. Bouncing up and down in the raft, in and out of white foam, boulders and eddies I made my way along. Towards the end of the float there was a few good holes and drops, that I would deem class two, or maybe a easy three, but having some rafting experience, I exited in one piece, but deffinitly soaked from the water beneath and falling from above. leaving the gorge behind the land once again became a wide river, and slow. I passed a few old cabins, but no one was home. Shortly after, I came upon a nice little island, with a few different landing locations, so I unloaded my gear, deflated my raft, and marked out the beaches for landing. Although I was a day early, I figured it was a good spot to end.

The next day was a gorgeous one, with not a single cloud in the sky. I walked around my Island home all day, wrote in my journal, and waited. But no plane showed up. Being that this wasn’t my first time not getting out on schedule, I wasn’t worried, but a mind begins to wonder. That night it snowed and wasn’t the best of flying days, but decent enough for a supercub. Again, all day was spent doing nothing but waiting, in silence, with not a soul for miles. Time passes slowly when you are waiting. Just before dark, while I was resigning myself to another night in my tent, I hear a plane, not just any plane, but a super cub plane. Running outside, I can clearly see prestons plane as he flies low right over me. Over joyed I wave as he passes. However he keeps right on going. Not sure of what to think, he continues to fly down the river. a few minutes later he flies back over, as I wave franticly, but still he flies on. Dissapointed and confused I finally went to sleep. Next morning at first light, another plane is heard, this time flying really low following the bends of the river. He sees my and lands on the beach. Immediately I ask what happened, dying to know. The reason he was late is his bear hunter ended up staying a few extra days, and then when he had flown over in the low light, he couldn’t see me or my tent, or the shiny space blanket marking the landing. It was a big relief to finally know, and I was never in danger, but it was a really good feeling, flying out of there, looking down upon the river that was only a week prior, completely foreign to me, and to know that I had came and saw and conquered.