On the Yukon, smaller river channels branching off the main channel are called “sloughs.” Often, these sloughs are moderate to large rivers in their own right. Sometimes, they’re good route options, avoiding the wind and waves of the big river.

But one can get overzealous in their slough seeking. Morning chop in the main channel had me dodging into a slough, then a sub-slough—a slough off a slough. I thought it might lead back to the main river, avoiding a windy straight and offering a shortcut across a big bend.

It did not go. Instead of cutting through to the main channel, my mini-river curved forever in the wrong direction. I turned around, rowing against a gentle current. A beaver swam past, probably wondering what I was doing there. At a shallow riffle, I jumped out to line the boat. My ditch boots filled with water and I caught a toe on a submerged log, falling onto hands and knees in the muddy water. Those antics produced a laugh. At least the weed was working.

By evening, I was pulling into Stevens Village. A nimble elderly fellow stood at the top of the steep riverbank in red and black Air Jordans. At the sight of my water bottles in hand, he queried carefully through sparse teeth, “You need water?” “Yes.” “I can give you a ride.” I followed Thomas up the back steps of a log cabin and into a dark curtained den that reeked of marijuana. Young men lay sprawled on beds around the room. A large TV ran movie credits on the far wall. Thomas spun with a flourish as if to present me, without a word. “I’m looking for water,” I announced. “Good morning,” said one of the reclined bodies. “It’s a 15-minute walk to the blue building with a yellow hose.” “Okay, thanks.” I turned to leave. Thomas followed, reiterating, “I can give you a ride.”

I jumped on the back of Thomas’ 4-wheeler, past homes built on stilts to stay above the permafrost, ubiquitous collections of snow machines and skiffs, lounging puppies.

Another late calm evening brought a slough beach with plenty of firewood, and mosquitoes. A sprinkle began after midnight. It was afternoon before I rallied out to bilge pump inches of rainwater out of the boat. The river was up, and the Yukon Flats were nearly behind me.