Fall, not Spring, is a time of fresh starts

 

The air around here feels like it has more substance these days. It's not thick. It's not heavy. It's just more...present? It has bite, it has purpose. Leaves touched by Midas whisper promises of a bristling cold just around the corner.

Tundra texture in autumn

For many, myself included, autumn has always been a time of sadness; increasing darkness, oppressive cold, little snow. Can't climb, can't float rivers, hiking can be spicy, and there isn't enough snow to ski yet. What a miserable time of year.

But I don't feel that way this year. There is a sense of renewal, rebirth, and hope that seems usually reserved for spring but is instead infusing the fall. That chilly bite of morning air is refreshing. It holds promise. Perhaps I'm submitting to the reality of a covid landscape? I don't think that's the case but it's possible. It feels more like I'm finally settling back into my life in Fairbanks and the rhythms Alaska. And that, quite simply put, is such a good fucking feeling.

Endless potential in a fall landscape

Don't get me wrong; I loved taking a few years to explore some of the more far flung areas of the world. However, those 2 years either caused or coincided with a pretty serious period of self doubt and listlessness in my life. It was a god damn rollercoaster of soaring highs interspersed with absolutely crushing lows. 

It has been interesting to look back on trip notes and journals from that period of my life. At times they seem almost as if written by a different person. It would be too easy to look back and say that mountains, rivers, wild places, and adventure helped pull me out of my funk. Those things didn't heal me. However, they helped lay bare some of my fears, anger, pain, and insecurities; which in turn allowed me to confront them. Ultimately it was the people I surrounded myself with that helped me recover.

Maybe that's the real reason this autumn feels so primed with potential. I know that I have lingering weak spots; wounds that haven't quite healed. I still grapple with uncertainly sometimes and finding my role in our Alaska outdoor community has been eluding me somewhat. But the damp moss, muted yellows of birch leaves, and rich peaty air seem to carry with them the feeling of growth, love, and laughter; and I AM STOKED for whatever may come.

Bear berry leaves: A favorite of the season

Nabesna Ice Climbing

Day 1- Preparing for Adventure

I'm not sure about how this trip is going to go down. We have folks coming from around the state, people with differing goals and climbing experience. Only one of us has climbed in this area before. We have no idea about the state of the NPS cabin we reserved. The list goes on but it boils down to this: There is ample opportunity for this trip to go tits up.

Thomas, Cory, Erica and myself drove down today from Fairbanks. The 5 hour ride wasn't too bad and the roads were clear until about 20 miles North of Slana. Galen, Jason and Rick drove up from Palmer and arrived late in the evening. 

The Crew

Tonight we are crashing at The Medinger Homestead in Slana. Bob and Lara are friends of Cory's and they have been gracious enough to allow our climbing party to crash in their guest cabin and home. They have quite the place. We pulled in to dumping snow and waning light. After brief introductions and a tour of the place, we were immediately helping butcher a caribou Bob had recently shot. We then had a fantastic dinner of caribou stew and sat around sharing stories for quite some time. 

There was something very special about the whole evening. The combination of hospitality and helping our hosts put up the winter's meat created an atmosphere that makes me love this state so much. Bob and Lara clearly have a deep seated love of this country and the mountains that surround their home; it's infectious. 

Day 2- Climbing the Corridor

We woke up early (5am) with the intention to roll out of Slana at 630. We finally got going around 7 and headed down the Nabesna Road. It was still snowing hard in Slana but quickly diminished as we headed toward the climbs. We arrived at the trailhead to find two other cars there. Damn! We didn't get up early enough.

We had no idea how many people were up there or what climbs they were on. There were 7 of us and could easily create a dangerous situation if we were all crowded into the narrow canyon. We decided to head up there and check things out just in case. If it looked unsafe, we could back off and climb another day; we were here for a week. 

It ended up working out in our favor. There was a party of 2 on Wing and a Prayer and another party on the Corridor. Galen, Rick and Jason went out first and began soloing the route. The rest of us went through the motions of figuring out how to climb the route. We had varying skill levels and comfort levels with soloing. The ice on many of the pitches was useless for ice screws; even if we placed gear, it was largely symbolic and probably wouldn't do shit in the case of a fall. 

Erica crushing the first pitch of the Corridor

We ended up trading leads and and got up the route in good time. The route is tall and heads deep into a narrow canyon. Each step of ice is short (maybe 10m max) and not steep. The ice was fairly wet and allowed for good sticks with the ice tools. Our descent was made easier by the fact that the v-threads for the raps were already made. 

Overall, it was a great day of climbing. It's amazing how you forget little things between ice climbing season. How you like to rack your gear, the swing of your tools, the most efficient way of staying warm at the belays. It was a fun day, and a great route for a climbing shakedown. With one route ticked off, we would be able to climb more efficiently in the days to come. At least that's the plan...

Stayed out at the homestead again. The drive is long but the hospitality is amazing. Jack the dog got into the bacon grease and we drunkenly gave him a bath. 

Day 3- Searching for the Chub

Today we decided to head up the Skookum Trail in search of ice we had heard rumors about. Galen was only with us for the weekend and he wanted to get on Spring Fling. That route has either an heinous walk off or a sketchy rap. We decided to limit the number of climbers on it; Galen, Rick and Jason would tackle Spring Fling and the rest of us would look for The Chub. 

Thomas approaching The Chub

We had a pleasant hike with our packs up a nice trail. We then knew we had to get off the trail and head towards some steeper cliffs. Still no ice in sight, we kept hiking; now tackling thick alders on a steep slope. We finally gained the ridge and had a view of ice that looked semi manageable; we had found The Chub. We made it to the bottom of the climb and had a gentle heart to heart. Lower angle cauliflowered ice rose into a vertical pillar that topped out in what appeared to be thin ice. We swung some tools and tried to convince ourselves to take the sharp end. Nobody wanted to. We retreated under the overhanging rock cliffs for lunch. I pulled out my flask and quickly finished it. I was in no shape to climb, let along lead steep ice. In the end we decided to head back to Slana and relax for the day. The Chub looked to be too much for us.

Northern Lights from the Medinger Homestead in Slana

We got back mid afternoon and hung our gear to dry and did some chores for Bob and Lara. Mt. Sanford was out clearly for the first time of this trip. In the evening we played drinking games, told stories, saunaed and played more drinking games. It seems like tomorrow will be a rest day.

Day 4- Moving to the Viking Lodge

After last night, it was a slow start to the morning. We got up, packed our gear and cleaned up around the homestead. Galen headed back to Palmer. It was great to climb with him again.

We are moving our base of operations out to the NPS cabin we had reserved; The Viking Lodge. We got the the trailhead around 2pm. It was about a 5 minute walk up to the cabin. We spent the afternoon hauling gear and cutting wood. The cabin is huge compared to the White Mountain's cabins we are used to staying in. We spent the evening relaxing and playing Settlers of Catan. It's getting cold. 0F outside. The ice could be brittle tomorrow!

The Viking Lodge

Day 5- Wing and a Prayer...kinda

Windy and cold this morning. Not the kind of day that motivates one to get out and climb. We headed to the parking spot for both The Corridor and Wing and a Prayer. There was a lot of indecision at the trailhead. In the end, Thomas, Erica and I headed up to Wing and a Prayer and the others went back to the cabin to hike and relax. 

Erica on Wing and a Prayer

The narrow canyon blocked most of the wind and the cold temps had solidified some of the wet ice. We climbed the first 60m of Wing and a Prayer. Above us lay a pitch of ice too steep and scary looking for us to climb. We rapped back to the base, happy to have at least swung tools on such a cold and windy day. 

Beers and games back at the cabin for the evening. Tomorrow we tackle Spring Fling!

Day 6- Spring Fling

Early morning. It all comes down to this. We were packed last night. Pre-made breakfast burritos on the woodstove. We get out the door on time, and arrive to the parking area just as it's getting light. It's cold still but the wind has died. Thomas, Erica and I head to the base of the climb. This climb is steep and long. The rapel is shitty. Let's do this!

Thomas and Spring Fling

The first pitch its steep and narrows at the top. I get a tool hopelessly stuck. I'm well above my last ice screw, which I'm trying desperately to forget is threaded into shit ice. Luckily, I'm able to reach behind the ice so I can shake out my arms and legs. With my muscles a tiny bit refreshed, I'm able to pull over the top and free my tool. Another 30 meters of snow lead to the belay and I bring the others up. If this route is like this the whole way up, it's going to be a long day.

Thomas takes the next two leads, including the chockstone pitch which requires a bit of mixed climbing. He made good work of them; as they, like the first pitch, had fairly minimal places to place protection. With no water to running over the ice to heal the climb, sections looked a bit like swiss cheese from all the previous ice screw placements. 

Erica got the next pitch which took us beneath a beautiful windbell. The beta we got from the others said that this was the last pitch but we probably should split it into two pitches as we only had 60m ropes. 

I lead out from the belay and climbed about 30 meters to another good area for an anchor.  I brought the others up and then lead out again, this time going for the top. Steep and fun ice ran up a narrow corridor. The light was starting to fade. 

"10 meters!" Thomas called up the canyon. Shit. Not enough rope to make the top.

Climb some more. There has got to be somewhere decent to make a belay.

Three meters of rope left.

This spot will have to be as good as any. Ice screws in (finally some good ice!) and anchor built, the others come up and pass me at the belay to reach the top. Whew! What a great climb!

We begin the rap in dwindling light. The headlamps come out as we make our way down. Each rap is fairly straight forward but dangerous due to the many loose rocks that our ropes may knock down on us. As we pull the rope for the final time, I'm super stoked. Healthy amounts of fear, physical strain and a long day created the perfect cocktail to finish this trip. We hiked back to the car in the dark and returned to a nice warm cabin. Rick, Jason and Cory had climbed Wing and a Prayer that day; with Rick putting up an incredible lead on the daunting and scary pitch that turned us back just days before. Heavy drinking and games made for a great last evening in the Viking Lodge.

Day 7- Heading Home

We had a lazy morning of Catan and food after last night's shenanigans. We cleaned the cabin and hauled our gear down the the cars. A long and uneventful drive back to Fairbanks was all that remained of our trip.

Mt. Sanford from the Viking Lodge

Overall, it was an amazing time. Great people in an awe inspiring landscape. Wrangell St. Elias National Park and Preserve is an area of the state I don't spend enough time in. The mountains are stunning. My attempts to put the feeling the mountains instil in my heart and soul fail to do justice to what these areas truly mean to me. These wild and vertical landscapes call to me, speak to me, and drive me to get out more and push myself harder. 

I will be back, that's certain. Thank you to all who made this trip possible and thank you so much to everyone who was able to share the love of the mountains with me.

Beaver Creek Packraft

Summer seems to be flying by again this year. Work has had me on a constant field schedule, which is great financially, but a drag on checking trips off the summer adventure list. Day trips and one quick overnight between work trips is all I'd managed to squeeze in thus far. But August rolled around and I found myself back in Fairbanks, with a flexible schedule and weekends! And as luck would have it, Cory and Thomas happened to be in town and we quickly planned a weekend packrafting trip.

It seems amazing to me that I'd never been packrafting before last weekend. A niffty tool (toy) for Alaska in particular; we have lots of awesome rivers and creeks to play around on, but rather limited direct access via roads. Anyway, we rented some packrafts from Northern Alaska Packrafts and decided to head north of Fairbanks to the White Mountains National Recreation Area.

Our planned route was to float Beaver Creek National Wild and Scenic River for 32 miles to Borealis LeFevre Cabin, stay the night there, then hike out the 20 miles to the Elliot Highway via the Summit Trail. Being the nerdy ultralight guys we are, we were quick to cut lots of gear to stay light. The 20 mile hike was serious incentive to go as light as possible as well. The forecast was for good weather so we left a lot of gear behind. No stove, fuel, tent, extra clothes, or extra food. Hell, Thomas and Cory didn't even bring sleeping bags (I brought my down quilt).

We set up the shuttle and drove out to the Ophir Creek put in on Friday night with the help of Becky. After a chilly night for some (Thomas), we inflated our rafts and got on the river. We were fairly sure we could float the 32 miles in a day....we just didn't know how long that day was going to be. Luckily, all the rain the interior has been seeing this summer made for good water on the river and we zipped along happily all day. We were able to take our time to float and fish.

Borealis cabin appeared on the bluff over the river after 10 hours on the river. Not bad considering our lackluster paddling effort. Thomas had secured a couple of grayling to add to our couscous dinner and got to work cooking them on the woodstove. It was nice to see this cabin in the summer after staying there a couple winters previously.

The next morning we reluctantly crossed Beaver Creek to the start of the Summit Trail. We knew we were in for a long hike. The start of the trail was low in the valley and wet. We also had an unexpected water hazard to cross which required re-inflating one of the packrafts to get across. The trail quickly gained elevation and dried out. There was even boardwalk in some places. For the most part, the first 10-12 miles of the trail in overgrown and in poor shape. It was sometimes hard to follow. After the trail shelter 12 miles from the river, the trail improves in quality significantly. Nine and a half hours of hiking had us arriving at the Wickersham Dome Trailhead. We were certainly tired and sore but it seemed like we were all still in good spirits.

Overall, it was a great trip. Fantastic weather, good company and just the right amount of physical strain. I would certainly recommend this trip to others. If the 20 mile hike it too daunting, it could easily be split into 12 mile and 8 mile days by staying the night at the trail shelter.

The only downside? Now I want to buy a packraft.

Curiosity

Maxillary turbinates in a caribou skull. 

I was browsing my field journal from last year the other day when I stumbled upon some words I had written prominently across a page.  They were boldly and strikingly alone in a book otherwise filled with words, scribbles and doodles. I didn't recall writing them, but their placement was jarring. I wanted to remind my future self of these words.

“Be Curious...Embrace Curiosity. Don't be afraid to tell people about science.”

 

The radar tent: Sept 2013

These words fall between my entries for September 29^th and 30^th. At that time, I was in a camp along the Susitna River helping with a bird migration radar study. I had the night shift, working from midnight to 8am watching the radar for any sign of our avian friends migrating through the area. While the others in camp slept, I worked and contemplated all manner of things, from my navel to our place in the cosmos.

I don't get tired of the night sky.

At the bottom of the page in my journal, in scrawling second thought hand, I noted “RadioLab Shorts: Tell me a Story.”  This must be where those words come from, or at least, the catalyst for me writing them on this page.

Friends had been listening to RadioLab so much in the previous year that it seemed as if every conversation began “Today, on Radiolab...” I teased them about it and for some reason never listened myself. Well, that changed at radar camp. It might have been the endless hours of solitude, the maddening swish swish of the antenna just outside, missing people so much or a combination thereof. Either way, I listened to what must have been close to every podcast RadioLab has produced. I could go on and on about how it made me laugh, cry, get angry and feel generally amazed; but I won't. I'll simply say that if you've never listened; you should.

Polygons: Fascinating landscape feature.

Curiosity. I believe this is a trait that I hold near and dear to my heart. It is a large part of who I am and how I define myself. I'm interested in many things, particularly when it comes to the natural world. I feel as if that's a huge reason behind my love of the outdoors. The mountains, rivers, forests, tundra and alpine meadows are a treasure trove for the curious mind. Put you're face to the tundra, breath deep and try not to feel something. Countless times I've found myself marveling at the processes at work on glaciers or the ecological systems continuing on around me in the boreal forest.

Get close and actually experience the tundra

Being curious is a fundamental part of being a scientist. But interestingly, it is also a strongly childish trait as well. I know more than a few people who would describe me as childish. But is that such a bad thing? Why do we try and push these traits aside, hide them under a cloak of maturity? Do we really think there is nothing left to learn? There is a section in one of Benjamin Hoff's books (The Tao of Pooh, or The Te of Piglet; I cant remember which) in which he talks about curiosity and how it relates to Taoism. I believe the game of Pooh Sticks was his example from the Hundred Acre Wood. Hoff uses it to demonstrate that Pooh displayed curiosity, and in turn, the basics of the scientific process. I find myself thinking of this often, particularly as I had and still do have, an affinity for Pooh Sticks.

Look at that comb! Isn't that awesome? Photo credit: Raphaelle

Last week, I had the opportunity to drive to the Teklanika River on the park road in Denali National Park and Preserve. It has been a fantastic spring here, and the park was practically devoid of visitors on Tuesday. We drove slowly, enjoying each others company before my busy field season kicks off in mid-May. Wildlife was out and about, and we saw and heard many species of bird and mammal. I never fail to be amazed at the new things I notice and enjoy about the natural world. Hearing the comical clucks of a male willow ptarmigan, the inquisitiveness of a group of caribou, and the territorial squabbles of Dark-eyed Juncos is always a marvel to me. How bland and boring the world must be to those without curiosity; to those who have shunned that childish side of themselves.

These two just saw a bear. 

Don't push your natural curiosity aside. Don't silence your inner child. Take a moment right now and write down a few words for your future self. Just a note that you may stumble upon in a few weeks or months. Write it boldly and prominently, in a way that grabs your attention.

“Be Curious...Embrace Curiosity. Don't be afraid to tell people about science.”

Mountain Happiness

It started out as a simple idea really. Whilst out for a day of backcountry skiing on the College Glacier in the Eastern Alaska Range, the thought struck me; why not camp out here? Here I was, thighs burning from some of the best backcountry powder turns I'd ever had, and I was hopping on a snowmachine and headed home. I didn't want that day, that feeling, that exuberance that comes from a day like that to end.

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.

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.

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.

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.