laska! The Great Land called out to Bushwhackers Allen Jones, Doxey Kemp, Shawn Chriest and Seth Pollack. The call was answered in August 2000 when these four friends ventured into the outback of Alaska's Lake Clark National Park.

This relatively little known gem is situated 150 miles southwest of Anchorage. Rocky coastlines, ten-thousand foot active volcanoes, and huge unnamed alpine valley glaciers. Our plan was to fly in via bushplane, climb some peaks, then raft out the Tlikakila River - all 51 miles from its source at Lake Clark Pass to its mouth in Lake Clark itself.

The plane had carried the pilot, all our gear, and the four of us and still had some room left over. We circled once then landed on Summit Lake. The gear was unceremoniously piled on the beach and the pilot was quickly back in the air, buzzing toward Anchorage.

We stashed the raft and oars, and the bear-proof canisters containing most of our food. We packed what we needed for a 4-day jaunt in the mountains and got going. The area around Summit Lake is easy ground, but the slope above was a jungle of slide alder and devils club. Camp 1, up amongst the tundra at 3200 feet, was a welcome relief.

The next morning we hiked across the tundra slopes to explore. A short distance away was another glacier, much like the one we were to travel on. After this sidetrip we broke camp, roped up and proceeded up-glacier, climbing past icefalls and between crevasses. Our climbing camp was nestled in a wide glacial cirque at an elevation of 5,100 feet.

We studied the rugged peaks above us, pointing and making plans. That evening we gave names to the summits of the area. Tarnation Peak - because after staring at it endlessly, we could gaze back upon it later and every time exclaim, "Tarnation! Just look at it!" The peak at the very head of the glacier we called Protector, and thus the name for the icestream became the Protector Glacier. And behind our camp rose the fine snow ridges of Bushwhacker Peak.

Day Three, our summit day. With Seth leading the rope, we climbed between the crevasses toward Tarnation. Shawn's belay protected Seth as he crossed the bergshrund, but the 50 degree slope held a 2 foot deep wet layer of snow. We considered the slope unstable and searched for another way across the 'shrund. Unable to find a safe path we saluted the summit from below. We downclimbed back to the floor of the glacial cirque and beelined it to the summit of Bushwhacker Peak.

Bushwhacker Peak is surrounded by Lake Clark National Park. Two million acres of designated "Big-W" Wilderness Area. The vista was sweeping - down to our camp on the floor of the cirque, over Summit Lake to surrounding peaks, off to faraway valley glaciers, and beyond the braided Tlikakila River flowing off toward the sunset.

Our schedule and our rations told us to leave the next morning, to return to the lake to begin the raft journey. However, we couldn't help ourselves and tried a quick dash to Protector Peak. We enjoyed the climbing and the up-close inspection, but declined the summit when Seth's toes became too cold.

Gallivanting around the glacier had cost us valuable time, of course, but it was the reason we were there. So we reminded ourselves as the difficult bushwhack down to the lake became a mini-epic. We worked it, thrashing down through the jungle and made it to camp at 2:00am, under the stunning curtains of the Northern Lights.

After a rest day, we were ready to begin Act II, The River. A short portage is necessary, as the river does not actually emerge from the lake, but from a down-valley glacial stream. We each displayed our technical skills during assembly of the 14 foot rubber raft. We piled in and pushed off, exuberantly rafting the Tlikakila River.

The next four days we enjoyed a routine of "post-alpine starts", rafting, lunch, more rafting, then making camp. It had rained steadily in July, and the water was high.The current was swift but most of the rapids were drowned by the high water. When the whitewater did appear, Seth was up to the task, deftly ferrying our vessel across the stream.

At times the river was muscular but flat, and we fought a stiff headwind. Shawn powered the oars and kept us moving forward. We had lots of time to ponder the beauty of countryside. The Tlikakila River flows through some stupendous terrain. Rocky pinnacles scraping the sky, glacier snouts spewing forth milky torrents, and plunging waterfalls crashing to the valley floor.

As the trip progressed, we acknowledged two disappointments that had emerged. The first was that Lake Clark Pass is a major thoroughfare for bushplanes heading southwest out of Anchorage. This makes the Tlikakila river valley a noisy flyway on some days.

Also, we were quite surprised by the lack of wildlife sightings. We anticipated an American safari, seeing bears and moose on every bend in the river. But in actuality saw only footprints. We weren't disappointed by the small number of mosquitoes and blackflies, owing their absence to the constant breeze that blew upriver.

On the ninth day of our trip, after four days in the raft, we floated the wide, lazy river to its mouth at Lake Clark. The river has piled up a sandbar in the lake. Too shallow to row, we had to get out and push the raft through the shallows to reach the designated pick up point in a small bay of Lake Clark.

The raft was an Otter brand, and we praised her in our best pirate voices while beaching her for the last time. "Aye, the Otter!" "She's a fine and worthy vessel! Aarrr!" "Aye! I spent me best days on The Otter! Aarrr!"

Lake Clark is surrounded by mountains and its a lovely place, however we had completed a long journey and were thinking of home. Days of sunshine had now given way to a high but brooding ceiling of clouds. Running out of food, we eyed the sky and the white ridgecrests of the waves. Could our pilot land in the choppy water? We crossed our fingers.

Allen Jones, also known as Henry, also known as Chef Henri', put together our final meal in the wilderness. We really didn't have much left, so we each pitched in what we had. Tortillas, "nicely aged", were dabbed into a subtle saute' of garlic and onion. We also enjoyed Bell Peppers from Allen's garden in Ohio. Ah, Chef Henri'! How does he do it?

The next day we watched a DC3 fly directly over our camp, then swing back and circle over the little bay before proceeding toward Anchorage. We figured he was communicating with our pilot, confirming the presence of a party at the pickup site and relaying the condition of the bay. A couple hours later the bushplane arrived, and landed uneventfully on the little whitecaps. Soon we were flying up the valley, looking down on, and also up to, the sites we had visited over the last ten days.

Silenced by the roar of the engine, we pointed to things we recognized. The braided river split the thick green cover of the valley floor. Above were waterfalls and huge rock faces, glaciers tumbling in slow motion and lofty peaks too numerous to count. We grinned and nodded to each other, content to be flying back to civilization but happy we had come to visit this corner of Lake Clark National Park.