Smoke Signals from Alaska: The Conclusion to Dempsey Mining 2012: Part One

Brevier Creek reminding us who's boss.

Dempsey Mining 2012 came to a close in September 2012. My absence from this blog, whether a conscious decision or not, began near the end of our season and continued until now when I finally felt that I was ready to re-visit the unsettling events that unfolded during the final weeks of our gold-hunt. As a crew, we have all had difficulty discussing our first, and perhaps the most grueling, season. I hadn't even looked at most of the final pictures until today, nearly eight months later.

I am not exaggerating when I say that everyone was lucky to walk away from camp with their lives. And among our blessings, a miracle if you ask me, we still had our campers, equipment, and gold. Spirits had hit an all time low in those final weeks and everyone's safety began to be questioned. Alaska had record amounts of rain and, being that we were seven miles deep in the heart of Valdez backcountry, the entire camp nearly fell victim to it's floodwaters.

Both Brevier and Mineral creeks had become roaring rivers that did not give a second glance to what lay in their path. And the rain never stopped, it was unrelenting. And it descended from the sky bearing a message from Mother Nature herself. It was loud and clear that we had overstayed our welcome. It was time to leave her backcountry. Now.

Gold or not, she said. Winter is on its way.

And left we did. We arrived home intact, but not unscathed. We had been chewed up and spit out and unable to even think about mining for several weeks. So that is why I haven't written to tell you about our final weeks until now. Sorry to my readers who have been wondering if we were still alive or if I was still on my August "Mom's Weekend." But I am ready to tell you now. So here it is. The conclusion to Dempsey Mining 2012:

I suppose mining was easy... for me. Especially compared to the trials and tribulations that the rest of the crew endured. Dylan and I left early during those last couple of weeks in September and returned home to recoup from our various, reoccurring illnesses. We curled up in our warm home, away from the rain, and slept and ate for the better part of a week while our bodies regained strength and energy. Luckily, we were in Anchorage, 300 road miles away from any of the danger that the Dempsey crew was facing in Valdez. I felt warm and cozy and deliciously spoiled in my bed, but I certainly wasn't oblivious to the goings-on in Mineral Creek.

The news was filled with warnings. Record amounts of rain was falling all over the state and people were being evacuated out of their homes in Talkeetna and Wasilla. Footage of houses floating down roaring rivers that had once been tiny streams were posted all over the television and internet. The railroad traffic came to a halt as the Gold Creek Bridge washed out. Sections of the Richardson and Denali Highways were closed due to flood warnings. The Kenai Peninsula Borough declared a state of emergency.

And the Dempsey's-May's on this end, (Grandma Buddy, Uncle Jeff, Aunt Lisa, Dylan and I), just sat and waited. Once a day we would receive a phone call from the crew at Mineral Creek to update us. At first the rain caused some minor mishaps; a few leaks in the campers, the creek crossing had become more difficult, as did some really wet, cranky workers. Dan was working in town at CVEA and returning to camp in the evenings. He and David were discussing when to pack up and leave camp, how the creek crossing would be, and in what order to complete each task. But nothing in their tone gave me cause to worry.

Brevier Creek crossing during
tamer, pre-flood days.

Brevier Creek crossing during
beginning of flood.

Then the mishaps started to become bothersome. One phone call informed us that an entirely new waterfall had sprung loose behind the campers. It was large and widespread and seemed to appear out of nowhere. There had been puddles surrounding the campers before, but now there was a pool. Then the phone calls became more frequent and news of Brevier Creek tripling in size and nearly washing away the water pump reached our ears. Not far from the water pump, lay our excavator, our loader, our dump truck, and our enclosed trailer.

Grandma Buddy called me afterwards.

"I think they need to get out of there, don't you?" She said, careful not to sound too alarmed.

"Yes I do, Bud. I'm worried." She agreed and I promised to call her with each update. Grandma Buddy is the wisest woman I know. She can sense things, good or bad. She can see trouble coming from a mile away. And when Buddy says its time to leave, that means the party was over hours ago.

After speaking to the crew that evening, it was clear that they had gotten the message too. They decided to pack everything up and prepare our campers and all of the equipment to cross the creek the next day. Dan had driven to town for work, saying that he would be back the next morning with a loader to help clear the road of any fallen rocks. That night after most of the packing had been done, the remaining crew had a few sips of Jameson to calm the nerves and laid their weary heads to rest on their pillows, while their ears stayed tuned in to every raindrop, every falling rock from the mountains above, and prayed that God would keep mother nature at bay for just one more day.

The next morning, they woke and began the creek crossing process. By mid-afternoon, they were eager for Dan to arrive but they hadn't seen any sign of him yet. Dave and Dani decided to take the six wheeler up the road a bit to check on his status and make sure he wasn't stuck behind any large boulders. I'm not sure that anything, not even our crazy season from hell, could prepare them for what lie ahead.

Before I go any further, I would like to remind you that the crew was well-informed of the events occurring around the rest of the state of Alaska. Words like, warning, and emergency, and evacuation, were at the fore-front of their minds. I would also like to remind you that several of them, Danielle in particular, had been at this mine-site without more than a few hours break the entire summer. There had been no phone, no internet, and, besides the rare trip to town, there had been no communication with the outside world. A safe return home was not only desired, it was yearned for and prayed over. The Dempsey Mining crew was done. And all that lay between them and their coveted beds was that damned seven mile road.

So, Dave and Dani jumped on the six-wheeler, and left to check on their Dad, expecting to find him clearing the last few boulders out of the way, giving them the ultimate go-ahead to bring everybody and everything out of the mine. But as soon as they rounded the corner to the infamous "rockslide section" (as we like to call it), any spirit that was left in them, any dream that they would soon be eating a hot meal in the comfort of their own homes, was thoroughly crushed.

Instead David and Danielle were met with a paralyzing sight. Instinct took hold, and Dave immediately gripped the brake of the six-wheeler. They got off the vehicle and cautiously walked to the edge of the earth and peered over the 100 foot gaping hole into the roaring river below... where Mineral Creek Road used to be.