Sportsman's Quest

The Stikine River in northern British Columbia offers outdoorsmen a difficult challenge.

Rivers, horseback, floatplanes and foot are often the only methods of transportation in true wilderness areas, and so it is on the upper Stikine River of Northern British Columbia, Canada.

The Stikine is a 400-mile-long river, which cuts its way through the mountains of the Spatsizi Plateau and the coastal range to the Pacific Ocean near Wrangel, Alaska.

The lower river has long been settled by pioneers, prospectors, and fishermen; the upper Stikine remains one of North America's last wild rivers and the central "Grand Canyon of the Stikine" is unconquered.

Some rafters and kayakers have tried; all have failed. This is a canyon in which one can observe large logs entering, but only wood chips exiting. I'll pass on this portion of the river.

This tale is of the "Upper Stikine," a rich land of mountain sheep, goats, caribou, grizzlies and wolves.

This is a land that travels through the world famous Spatsizi Wilderness, to me the most beautiful and game-abundant region in North America. I was fortunate to be part of the first commercial float-trip operation on this river.

It was a combined economic development effort of the Fish and Wildlife Branch, the Iskut Indian tribe and the federal government.

As co-coordinator it was my job to hire qualified river guide trainers, coordinate the training of local native guides and cooks, as well as see to the purchasing and transportation of rafts, tents and other necessary equipment.

When it came time for the first practice trip down the Stikine, the training really started.

We flew into Lazlui Lake, and then the fun began. The first challenge was the rapids just below the lake. We lined the rafts through the worst part, not wanting to endanger the crew or supplies, as we were a five-day drift from the nearest and only pullout.

With the rafts safely through, we made an early camp and tested the local fishing. Every cast brought in cutthroat trout or arctic greyling; this is one of the rare Pacific drainages that contain a remnant population of greyling from the nearby rivers, flowing north to the Bering Sea.

The following day we happened onto two forlorn individuals from Florida. They had tried to canoe the river, lost control, overturned, lost their gear and had been without food, shelter or firearms (in grizzly country), for three days.

They were very glad to see us. Very few travelers are found on these isolated waters.

The next party would have probably been hunters - two months later. I think I noticed worn knees on their trousers, probably from panning gold or praying; you give it your best guess. So, we had our first tourist party to practice on.

That night was also eventful as a pack of six wolves came to investigate our camp and to see who these strangers were. They came close, howled threateningly most of the night, kept us on guard of our gear and food, but stayed around a little too long the next morning.

One of the group managed to get a shot at one, and sent the others scattered. For us it was back to the river, shooting rapids or my favorite part, drifting, napping and fishing.

We floated past the old abandoned Indian villages of Metsantan and Caribou Hide. We stopped at Hyland Post at the confluence of the Spatsizi River, now used as a hunting camp in the fall, and on down to a convenient pull-out at the Highway 37 bridge three days later.

We ate well, as this trip also served as a meat-gathering trip for our native guides.

We enjoyed moose, caribou and mountain goat, as well as the fresh fish caught daily. That was five days of beauty and adventure. We ended each day with a salute of brandy, and a fine cigar.