King-Chick Alaska Packrafting

Kings>Chickaloon Alaska Packrafting Classic

The Chickaloon River is a glacier-fed river set in the Talkeetna Mountains. The length of the river varies, depending on how far you hike up the Chickaloon River valley—it’s a choose-your-own-float adventure. A common put-in on this route is from Ten Mile. The King-Chick route starts at Moss Creek, offering an 18-mile float, while the longest distance begins at the 30 Mile Airstrip, which puts you about ten miles above the rapids.

Brian and I had floated the Chickaloon River in high water the year before. As newer packrafters, this was a significant step for us, pushing the limits of what we were comfortable with. Fast forward to 2023, and we were confident we could handle anything the river could throw at us, at least at lower flows.

We decided to try the King-Chickaloon route, which involves a lot of hiking, climbing, and floating. Our plan was simple: borrow some ATVs, ride up King’s River Valley a bit, hike up and over No Name Pass to Moss Creek, and then follow Moss Creek down to Chickaloon and float out. It seemed like a classic packrafting trip, and we were excited to give it a go!

We started mid-morning on September 16th. By this time, water levels should be low enough for the East Fork/Moss Creek crossings and tame enough to float out Chickaloon. After a hearty breakfast of gas station burritos—something Brian later regretted letting me eat—we headed towards our start near Permanente Road. We had borrowed two ATVs, planning to ride up, leave one in King’s Valley, and then use the other to recover the ATV we left up there. Yes, you could hike this whole trail, and I guess using ATVs could be considered cheating by some. But avoiding 16 miles of mud puddles on foot while being splashed by hundreds of other riders seemed worth the cheat to us.

We unloaded our trusty steed, strapped on our bags, and got to riding. It was easy going for me, but Brian wasn’t having the best time, scrunched between his pack and my back, being heavily jostled for quite some time. The ride up was pretty uneventful, although we had some difficulties finding one of our crossings. The water wasn’t that high, and with two people weighing down the machine, it was pretty stable. Our last crossing went a little haywire. It was probably the deepest crossing we had, and the creek had funneled into a swift-moving stream. Luckily, some kind hunters gave us a tug when we were swept into a rock, saving Brian from a cold and wet swim downstream.

We parked the ATV around 16 miles up King’s Valley and cleverly disguised it to look like a bush, hoping to prevent any would-be thieves from taking advantage of us. It was evening at this point, but we wanted to get some of the hiking out of the way, so we strapped on our packs and hiked a quick three miles up the valley until we found a nice place to camp. We hadn’t hit much elevation yet and were feeling pretty strong with our 60-pound packs. We staked the tent and settled in for the night. It was relatively clear, but we were expecting a little rain the next day.

Up and at ’em at 6 a.m., we packed up our gear and started hiking up towards No Name Pass. As anticipated, it had drizzled all night, and we could see fresh snow ahead, so we put on our raincoats to shed some of the water. When backpacking in the rain, there’s always a deliberation about whether you want to be wet from sweat because of waterproof layers or be wet from rain. Since it was pretty chilly, we opted for the sweat.

Coming out of King’s Valley was spectacular. Even in the clouds, there were huge spires of rock and scree. We continued up and over to No Name Pass and encountered snow about halfway up. From No Name Pass, we descended towards Moss Creek and were rewarded with views of massive granite spires, surrounding mountains, waterfalls, and even a few caribou. The spires made us feel like we were in a movie. Crossing Moss Creek was wet and cold but felt good on our feet, which had started to get a little sore.

After Moss Creek, there’s supposed to be a game trail that leads you down the left side of the valley to Chickaloon. And, although this is true, it was almost 100% mud and alders, which seems to be a big theme up here in Alaska. We followed this trail and a rather large set of brown bear tracks down into the Chickaloon Valley. Brian had been sheep hunting all summer and had no difficulties, but I was definitely in a little pain. As soon as we saw Chickaloon, however, all painful thoughts were gone, and we were looking forward to some floating. It was around 2 p.m., and we figured we’d be camping along the river but wanted to get some miles behind us.

A quick change of clothes, a blow to the rafts, and we were in the water. There’s no better feeling than watching miles float by after a rather strenuous hike. Chickaloon has no water gauge, but it wasn’t super high, even with the new rain. The initial rapids (class 4-) were fun but definitely not as playful with a heavy boat. Soon we made it down to Hotel Rocks. Although we wanted to run them, a preliminary scout showed a decent amount of wood in the river, so we opted for some portaging. Eightmile Canyon was clear, and we were making such good time that we started deliberating if we’d be able to make it out all the way before dark. We initially sided with caution, but the thought of a warm bed made us go for it.

We mostly river-scouted everything else on the way out and made it back to the bridge right as dusk was coming in. As we deflated our rafts, a sense of accomplishment settled in. We had covered 30 miles of rugged terrain and wild river, pushing our limits and reaping the rewards of Alaska's stunning beauty. The King-Chick route challenged us, but it also gifted us unforgettable memories and a renewed appreciation for the wild places we love.

As we packed up our gear, tired but satisfied, we knew this adventure was just one of many. Alaska's wilderness always calls us back, and after a day like this, we're more than ready to answer.