Nome and the Seward Peninsula—first Impressions

It’s a puffy-jacket-in-the-summer kind of place.
-Burr

I’ve been waiting a long time to visit the Seward Peninsula. The nose-shaped peninsula stretches to within 50 miles of Russia, making ancient migration over the Beringia Land Bridge somewhat more fathomable.

Hot springs, lava fields, alpine hiking, and a direct flight from Anchorage. So why haven’t I already made the trip? The weather. Nome’s weather sounds like a colder version of Iceland: big winds, horizontal rain, ground blizzards. This was consistent with my one overnight layover a few winters ago (but I did manage to pick up in an NHL hockey game—Nome Hockey League).

A few of Nome’s paddlers asked if I would come up for a packraft and river safety course this summer. They offered a truck (F150) and cabin (dry, high ceiling, Toyo stove, incinerating toilet which I was not brave enough to use) to sweeten the deal, so we made it happen.

Nome was puzzling from minute zero. The airport baggage claim was stressful—a lot of people in a small space—not something I typically associate with small communities. But it was a polite and considerate mess—people organically fell into line to pass luggage across the building or to waiting recipients. Everyone was patient and making small talk. Small-town solution to a big-town problem? Then we went to Airport Pizza, where I recognized many of the same people from the airport. Small-town. So which is it?

Perhaps the best way to distinguish small and large communities is whether people give a finger wave from the steering wheel as they drive by. But here again, Nome was a riddle—finger waving is only common once you get off of the main streets.

For those who prefer numbers, Wikipedia lists the population at 3,700.

Sorry that my truck smells so bad.
-Burr, Keane, and probably everyone else in Nome

Tim and Burr’s extra truck was a huge help because I needed to scout river sites before our course. This is possible in Nome because of another unique aspect—a road system. Three dirt roads extend for a total of 250 miles, providing atypical access to the rivers and mountains outside of town. The truck smelled like dogs because Burr runs a dog team.

But with roads come the classic trade-off: easy access makes for long-lasting footprints. Cabins, neighborhoods, and mines are spread out along the roads, so you are never far from the reminder of human presence. Even once you get out of the main corridor there are century-old mining ruins on the hillsides and random scraps of metal in the rivers.

I spent a day scouting the Nome and Pilgrim Rivers for the course and we even had one sunny day in the water.

It will be windy and probably we’ll alternate between rain gear on and off.
-Keane

I quickly understood that the key to outdoor recreation in Nome is to go when the going is good. Another course participant, Keane, was available to take me into the mountains, so we planned a 3-day trip to catch the remaining good weather and be back in town before it started to rain horizontally.

Keane took me to “the Kigs” (Kigluaik Mountains). We started on an ATV trail skirting beaver ponds and patches of overhead willow and were soon walking on excellent firm tundra. We swung by a raucous stream that had eroded through old glacial moraine, past piles of mining debris, detoured to an alpine lake, and then decided we should take advantage of the clear skies to climb Mt. Osborn, the tallest in the area. We dropped our overnight and packraft gear and then scrambled with light packs up to the summit. The route-finding was easy except for the section when I was in front and leading us to the wrong summit. The views were exceptional. The Kigs don’t look very steep from town, but they sure do from Mt. Osborn!

We made it back to camp around 10 PM. I set up the tent while Keane boiled water for dinner.

As forecast, we didn’t see the sun again. We hiked over Windy Pass with limited visibility and then along Windy Creek until there was enough water to inflate our packrafts.

When I fall out of my boat, I just float in the river until I ground out, and then I stand up.
-Vince

One of the packraft course participants, Vince, explained to me that the rivers near Nome are low volume and shallow. Indeed, it was challenging to find “swift” water for our paddling course. Windy Creek, and then the Sinuk, gave me a better understanding of what Vince described. The Sinuk has a handful of lovely boulder gardens, but with low water (August), it was a story about dodging rocks rather than elegantly carving through them. We also dodged stinky spawned salmon carcasses and four grizzlies who were more appreciative of them.

Sarah Richards, Keane’s wife, also in the course, sent weather updates by inReach and we found ourselves torn between sprinting down the river to avoid the next day’s rain and headwind or settling in for another night. We still had 14 miles to paddle at 8 PM, so we set up camp.

The morning’s winds weren’t as bad as forecast so we made good progress to where the Stewart River comes in. This was my favorite section of the float … the added volume of the Stewart made for a better paddling experience and a few rapids even tried to exceed the river’s Class II designation.

Sarah was waiting for us at the Nome-Teller bridge with plates of food and carrot cake. That’s one heck of a shuttle service! We drove ~45 minutes back to Nome, grabbed some snacks at the Richards’ house, watched muskox from their neighborhood (just past the snowmachine carcasses), and then headed back to the trailhead to retrieve Tim and Burr’s F150.

I spent the next day getting the cabin ready for the next visitors, hiding from the horizontal rain, pulling over to watch more muskox, looking for the roughest section of the coast, and then flying home to Anchorage.

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This trip helped me understand how to interpret the Seward Peninsula as revealed by satellite imagery and provided some of the connections I was missing to do any complicated trip planning.

I’ve had some Seward Peninsula trip ideas for years … but … gosh … the weather. The concept that kept coming to mind was that the peninsula is “well guarded.” I’d need to re-evaluate my systems for that kind of weather exposure … a tent that can withstand big wind, more robust rain gear, etc. These all require carrying a heavier pack.

I appreciated this opportunity for a ‘baby step’ trip before considering anything bigger. Thanks to Sarah for organizing the course, Tim & Burr for hosting, Keane for guiding, and Vince for being open to new considerations in the river and packraft world!