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| The day that started it all. Amazing powder on the College Glacier 2012. |
That was April 2012. The next year, I wanted to make it happen. It was, to say the least, a logistical cluster-fuck. Arctic Oven tents, snowmachines that we didn't have, firewood, a disproportionate amount of booze, fuel, emergency gear, people coming from all over the place...the list goes on. My vision that first year was one of a party glacier camp. "Here's our location, we'll be there for a week, come out and party with us!" Non-stop snow meant deep powder, but terrible snowmachine and light conditions. Long story short, it was a learning experience. I feel, aside from a few relatively minor injuries, that most people had a good time. Or perhaps the passage of time has just dulled my memory of the less than fun times. Perhaps it was the Vicodin.
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| Minor injuries 2013 |
As December 2013 rolled around, I had resigned that Mountain Happiness wasn't in the cards for 2014. My stoke levels were low going into the holidays as Alaska was having a miserable year for snow. I didn't have the motivation to deal with the logistics, which I anticipated being even harder than last year as I didn't work for Outdoor Recreation anymore. I apparently misjudged my friends though, as I started receiving all manner of texts, emails, phone calls and Facebook messages asking when it was going to be this year.
It was an opportunity to learn from the mistakes and miscues of last year. Three snowmachines instead of two. Three Arctic Ovens. More firewood than we really needed. Less booze (though, this ended up being a mistake. Thanks Seth for bringing out more!) Everyone was in charge of their own food. So many little things that made the whole trip easier this time.
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| Mountain Happiness Camp 2014 |
As much as it frustrated me the first year, Mountain Happiness 2014 made me realize how much I love the logistical puzzle of planning a trip like this. Planning gear, coordinating with people across the state (and other continents) added a challenge that I hadn't dealt with before. Snowmachines from Anchorage and Fairbanks, half the crew coming up a day early from Anchorage, the rest coming down from Fairbanks. Firewood from here, sleds from there. It was crazy fun trying to figure it all out. And it wasn't just me. Everyone knew what an undertaking this was. I mean, setting up a remote camp for a week on a glacier in Alaska in mid-March? There was every opportunity for shit to go wrong. But, in a testament to the friendship that we all share, everything went off smoothly.
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| The Mountain Happiness Crew |
The snow was better than I could have hoped for given our seasonal snowfall at that point, the weather was incredible (7 straight bluebird days?!) and the campsite was simply stunning. We skied, we drank, we flew kites, and rode snowmachines. Friends got engaged, friends got drunk and threw up, and friends admired the beauty of the mountains together. It was what I wanted Mountain Happiness to be, what I had dreamed of that first time skiing in that valley. It was an incredible week. A week that I will always remember and be thankful for. To all the friends that made it possible, that were there to share it with me; thank you so very much. Though my goggles hid them, I had tears in my eyes as we descended the glacier on the last day.
I was lost after that. Completely and utterly lost. Mountain Happiness had been all I thought about for weeks, even months prior to. I had no desire to pick up my skis. I had no ambition to go back to the mountains. How could I? In my mind, I had reached the top. In those days and weeks following, I felt as if everything would pale in comparison to what we had put together and accomplished.
It's a feeling I recognize I get a lot after a trip. I am the proverbial donkey, ever lusting for the carrot dangling from the stick. My drive, my stoke, my ambition crumbles when I finally get that damn carrot.
I don't manage it well. I'm sure my friends will attest to my irritability and general crankiness after Mountain Happiness. Thankfully, I've had some fieldwork to distract me and give me the time I need to reflect on the trip and dream of the next big trip. And so the cycle will begin again. Planning, logistics, packing, repacking, lists upon lists, frustration, putting all into motion, exuberance and the eventual feeling of drifting aimlessly after. As much as the beauty of the wilderness, or the camaraderie of friends drives me to go on these adventures; this cycle does to. I need these trips, I need the wilderness. They are my carrot.
