Three AM was pretty dark, the small patch of glow in the northern sky could have been either the last of the sunset or the start of the sunrise, still it was pretty dark. It had just started raining and the wind switched decidedly from northeast to south along with what may have been storm clouds and it was getting colder. I put on my shorts and sandals and grabbed the last of the loads to take to the boat and waded out through the mud and rocks in knee deep water to where we were anchored in slightly deeper water. Jeff stripped to his underwear for the slog and we both changed clothes in the darkness of the tent under our headlights while the motor idled in warmup. Kooney and Lois untied the stern line that held us back and as 2:59 turned to 3:00 we pulled the anchor and headed into the darkness towards the middle of Lake Lebarge.
In full raingear, wool caps, and gloves we started celebrating as the rain and wind got stronger and our homemade shanty boat plowed through the waves towards the dark mountains on the other side. In the middle we took a fair amount of water on deck but it quickly ran aft and overboard, we were heading across the waves out in what Rob Geisler calls the "big water". Jeff was at the helm and did a fine job of piloting while I stood aft to trim the boat and keep the outboard from cavitating. By 4 in the morning we were on the other side and turned north to head up the eastern shore with what was now a tailwind and following sea. Gradually the waves got smaller, the rain turned to sleet and a misty fog hung along our route towards the outlet of the lake and the start of the Yukon River. Through an unreal land and sea scape of mist, rock, lake, and trees we coasted along at 6 miles an hour drinking beer and freezing in the rain as the sky lightened and the shallows of Lower Lebarge appeared. Unable to find a channel marker we poked our way through the crystal clear shoals avoiding gravel bars and boulders and by 7:30 we had tied up to shore safely inside the river channel.
We had pulled up alongside the remains of the steamship Casca which wrecked at the end of the lake in 1911. Several old log cabins and a rusty pickup truck that was driven the 50 miles over the ice in the 1950's along with other wooded structures were visible through the spruce forest. We wandered the shore for a while giving the dog a welcome break from the trip down the lake but I was tired and cold and soon I was back on the boat rolling out my sleeping bag and laying down in my Carhartts and sport coat for a fitful night's (day's) sleep. It was 10.