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    The four campers quickly unloaded and watched their float 

plane lift up and rumble off into the mist.   They were on a lake on 

a remote stretch of the Noatak River, near Arctic National Park in 

Alaska.   Two of them were a couple, named Eric and Thale, and 

the other two were their friends Ingrid and Hillary from the 

Seattle area.   That summer afternoon, they were about to journey 

70 miles to a lower lake, where they would be picked up two 

weeks later.   They had been delayed for three days by the 

weather.   The mountain passes had been socked in with rain 

clouds, preventing planes from flying, and flooding had been 

reported on all rivers.   Fortunately, there had been a temporary 

break in the storm, just long enough to make it through to the 

vast wilderness in which the Noatak River wound.

    Rain poured profusely all around them, quickly dampening 

their clothes and inducing a cold shiver in all of them.   None of 

them wanted to start down the river right away, so they decided 

to make a diversionary exploration of the area.   They embarked 

upon a short hike, clambering across the hummocky landscape of 

bumpy, mossy tundra until reaching the summit of a short 

mountain, from which they gazed out at the soaked tundra 

intersected by the short span of the river and its banks that 

slashed and curved erratically across the landscape.   They 

returned to the lake at almost dinnertime, made a camp for the 

night, and cooked a meal.   They pitched tents on the bank, 

waiting for first light the next day to set off.

    Next morning dawned with continued downpour.   In preparation for departure, 

Hillary was loading gear into one of the canoes.   She was at the edge of the bank, near 

the water.   Just as she finished, she had a horrible realization - her boots were stuck at 

least three inches deep in thick mud like quicksand.   She called out, "Guys, I'm stuck!"

    Ingrid and Eric rushed to help.   However, in attempting to pull Hillary out, both of 

them also had to enter the mud and entrapped themselves as well, although not as 

deeply as Hillary.   Thale was the only one not stuck.   Her panic rose.   How could she 

possibly get them all unstuck?

    She thought for a moment.   “I have an idea!   Why don’t you lean on the canoe, so you 

can get your weight out of the mud and get out.”

    “That ought to work,” Eric said, grabbing hold of the canoe’s side in synchronization 

with Ingrid.   “One...two...three!”   The two of them grunted as they hoisted themselves 

up onto the canoe in front of them.   Their boots squelched as they uprooted themselves, 

tumbling over the side of the canoe.   Both stood to help Hillary.

    However, she was so deeply entrenched in the silt that her boots simply refused to 

leave it.   Her feet came out of her boots.   Finally, Eric managed to cautiously extract 

them.   After that ordeal, the group set out down the river.   Their voyage was not feeling 

very vacation-like so far.

    It was almost no effort to go down the river, despite its winding, sluggish character.  

The fast-falling rain helped to propel the water, and paddling was unnecessary.   After a 

long time on the river, the four began seeking a campsite.   However, beyond the river 

the banks quickly disappeared, succumbing to uneven tundra - there was not enough 

room to pitch a tent.   The only place they could find was a gravel patch on the bank that 

seemed to show clear evidence of recent flooding.

    “Do you think this is safe?” questioned Ingrid.

    Eric, after taking a minute to assess the situation, decided, “I think it’s safe enough, 

as long as we keep watch on the water level.   I mean, it’s not rising yet, right?”

    “Yes, Eric, but it’s been raining for over a day now,” protested his wife.   However, 

they could all see that there was no choice   Their campsite was settled.

    Flooding danger was imminent in the campers’ small place of refuge.   The 

permafrost in the surrounding tundra was a mere foot and a half deep, two feet at best, 

and below that was hard-packed clay that refused to absorb any water.   Once the 

tundra was saturated, the water would run off into the river, raising it rapidly.   They 

would have to be wary of this.   After pitching tents and before going off to a separate 

locale to cook dinner (as a bear precaution for their camp), they decided to use a small 

stick as a precautionary water level marker.

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