Moments.
They are what you remember. They are what flash through your mind at random times years after they happened.
Moments are what make trips. Journeys like the Alaska adventure I went on with friends Dave, aka "Crespo," and Rach at the end of August into September of 2015 — an exploration that we dubbed "Operation Yo Bear"into an unfamiliar but alluring land.
Moments such as...
That first time I pulled over our rental car onto the side of the Denali Highway and we jumped out into the 40-degree weather, equipped with our photography devices, to capture the beauty of being surrounded by snow-capped peaks framing early fall colors.
Our first bear — or I should say bears — sighting, a mom and her two cubs causing a traffic jam of Denali guide buses by walking down the middle of the national park's single road.
Eclipsing the last hill on our backcountry ascent into the Alaska Range and, suddenly, finding ourselves in a white, wonderland in August — surrounded by nothing but snow. Incredible.
"Frolicking," as Rach would describe it, in the open snow — not path needed — toward an alpine lake and the sparkling peaks behind it only to step into a 3-foot snow-disguised hole and go splat on my face, laughing the whole time.
Drinking cup of tea after cup of tea — and mixing in some whiskey — to stay warm at our campsite, melting snow to boil water.
Setting up our next campsite above a picturesque lake, a "Lost Lake," while the sun set on its opposite side.
Taking that first step onto a glacier — a glacier! — and looking out into nothingness but ice for miles upon miles.
Getting to share all these moments with my friends.
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Friday, August 28 — Near disaster
I nearly sabotaged the trip before it began.
Seriously.
Isn't that something? I had been planning this adventure for four years. Knowing my high school friend and nuanced Alaskan outdoor adventurer Mollie lived in the great state and would be able to accommodate me and provide advice on how not to do something stupid, I had wanted to visit Alaska for one of my annual hiking trips since about 2012.
Every year I emailed Mollie in the winter, saying something along the lines of, "Mollie! I want to come to Alaska this summer. Can we make it work?" Mollie was always receptive to my asks, but each year I failed to make it a reality. Airline prices shot up; I got scared of being eaten by a grizzly on a solo hike (silly me); something happened at work.
Et. cetera.
Until this year. I hadn't seen my friend Rachael, "Rach," in probably a good year. But when we finally caught up during a happy hour in the winter, we discussed Alaska. Rach was in. Rach loved adventure, having spent significant time backpacking in Israel, South America, and other international destinations. What she lacked in hiking experience, she made up for in time spent traveling.
Then, as I later learned, Rach pitched the idea to Dave, or "Crespo," during a night out at another DC bar. He was intrigued. While 95 percent of Crespo's and my communications during the winter months revolved around our podcast about American University basketball (subscribe on iTunes!), we began talking briefly about the trip.
By Final Four weekend, we were all sold on going to Alaska — and going to together. Forget the fact that we had never spent a full day together, let alone a week. Or that we'd never joined each other for a hike. This could happen! Right??
Then the trip nearly fell apart. Crespo's traveling work obligations made June and early July impossible. Early August was possible for a few minutes until other weekend trips got in the way. We were on the brink of letting the idea collapse, doing separate trips, or going elsewhere until we realized there was one window that still fit our calendars.
August 28-September 7.
Within days of returning from my epic Grand Canyon and Havasu Falls adventure in Arizona — suffering from that return to the mainland — I revved up my adventure juices once again by hitting "book." Our flights were finalized with no refund options.
This was happening.
Until — again — it nearly didn't.
I met Rach that Friday at Union Station to take the MARC train to BWI Airport. I arrived before Rach and got our tickets (Crespo had a different first flight out of Dulles). Half an hour later, we were sitting on the train with ALL our gear when the conductor came by to take our tickets.
"You know this doesn't go to BWI, right?" he said, a firm expression on his face.
What? Yes, I had goofed and bought us the wrong tickets. We were going in the right direction, but on a train that would skip our stop.
Shit.
We got off at the first stop, New Carrollton, waited an excruciating 12 minutes during which we were almost blown away by passing bullet trains, and finally got on a train that would get us to the BWI stop. A fast cab later — thank you, sir! — and relatively short bag-checking and security lines, and we were at our gate by boarding (which was delayed).
What followed is boring. We flew to Minneapolis, the best airport in the U.S. (iPads, salad bars and more), met up with Crespo — yes, IT was happening — and then took what felt like a red eye to Anchorage. I didn't sleep much, instead reading and visualizing what lay ahead of us.
We arrived in Anchorage around 1am, grabbed our luggage in the nondescript airport that was pretty damn lively for that time of night (I reckon because the East Coast, four hours ahead, was already waking up), and caught a cab to Mollie's Anchorage house where there was no Mollie but two of her housemates, Sam and Kyla, and Cosmo the dog (we would see Mollie the next day up near Denali National Park).
We shared a spacious room for the night, passing out quickly. We had arrived.
Saturday, August 29 — The tedious preparations
I'll admit it — I really struggle with the wait before the beauty. That's what Saturday mostly was. We had many things to do before we would arrive in Denali, and none of them involved beautiful surroundings.
First, we had to get our rental car and endure yet another Jake screwup. Somehow, I had originally booked our car for Sunday, not Saturday, so we had to change our reservation and take a $60 hit to our tab. And we had to wait two hours at the airport until picking up our smooth Nissan Sentra (good car, by the way) at noon.
Then we ran errands in Anchorage, which in our brief experience didn't feel all that different from a typical contiguous U.S. mid-sized city (decent traffic, lots of chain stores). First we went to Play it Again Sports (brings back memories of Ann Arbor!), which didn't have the ankle brace Crespo needed but did have an energetic Oklahoma City Thunder fan (random fact). Next we went to REI, where we contemplated how many gas canisters to buy for our stoves (we ended up returning several the following weekend) and I bought bear mace I had no clue how to use. Crespo, who we started calling "Cresto" for the trip because of his misspelled name on our boat tour reservation, bought a much-needed liner to supplement his 40-degree sleeping bag lent him by our awesome friend Will. Rach picked up a bunch of freeze-dried meals she pre-ordered, but they forgot the instant coffee so that was added to the grocery-store list.
It was lunch time and Mollie had recommended Middle Way Cafe, which was next door to REI, so we stopped in and thoroughly enjoyed an incredibly delectable meal (for me, a huge "half" salad and a cup of their salmon chowder. YUM!) before heading across the street to the liquor store to buy wine for Mollie and her boyfriend Joe (the least we could do for our soon-to-be hosts) and, of course, whisky for camping. I didn't go in the store, but Crespo apparently asked the clerk which wine paired best with caribou, a question that might not have been sufficiently answered (more on eating caribou later).
The alcohol taken care of, it was time to buy food. But Crespo still needed an ankle brace, too, so we decided on Wal-Mart because of that. The store lacked a lot of things, especially for my gluten-free needs, but did have $7 almond butter, a fact that Joe would go crazy about two days later. Yes, that was some cheap almond butter. I can't stand Wal-Mart, but we did survive and were finally on the road, heading north, around 3pm.
The temperature was 60 degrees.
Leaving Anchorage, we were blanketed by mountains to the east. While driving was my least favorite part of the trip, it offered us plenty of time to start to get to know each other better. Sure, we had been friends for six years. But as we would learn throughout the trip, there were so many aspects of our lives we'd never shared with each other. We started with the light stuff — top 5 movies (Crespo couldn't think of the name of his No. 1, although he gave us a very detailed description) — and when Rach and Crespo learned that I knew all the words to "Just the Two of Us," the 1998 Will Smith joint, they couldn't stop laughing.
I was happy to entertain.
We stopped after a couple hours at the South Viewpoint of Denali National Park, a spot where, on a clear day, you can see Mt. McKinley (as it was then named — more on this soon). The sky was overcast, however, limiting us to views of the shorter nearby peaks. Still, it was beautiful. An hour and a half or so later, views opened up on both sides of the road and when I looked at the outside thermometer, the temperature was down to 38. Whoa! We had arrived in "The Interior." We stopped on the side of the road and basked in the brilliance of the yellow and red fall colors in front of us framing the mountains behind them.
Yes, fall had already arrived in August!
With each passing mile and as we neared the turnoff for Mollie and Joe's cabin south of the national park, the views only became more spectacular, the mountains taller and whiter. Finally, we turned off the main road, made two rights on dirt roads, and arrived at the exact same time that the Alaskans were returning from a trip to the east (by the way, Alaska is HUGE and has thousands upon thousands of ridiculously beautiful places; obvious fact of this blog).
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| Outside of our cabin home! |
That first night, Mollie and Joe treated us to salmon from the Copper River, considered the best-tasting salmon in all of the great state. What a way to introduce us to Alaska! Joe, a hiking guide, and Mollie, a freelance outdoor photographer and writer, gave us tips on where to hike the next day when we would enter the national park on a tour bus — the only way to travel by vehicle more than 15 miles into the park that is the size of New Hampshire or Vermont.
We stayed up until the sun went down below the spruce trees tucked around the cabin. It was after 10pm.
The beginning of our crazy adventure awaited us...
Sunday, August 30 — Is this real life?
I awoke at 6:13am, looked out the window from the second floor of the petite cabin, and couldn't believe my eyes.
Snow! In August!
A beautiful dusting of white covered the spruce trees surrounding the cabin. It was an incredible surprise. After a quick oatmeal breakfast and with our bags packed, we headed out around 7:15am for the national park and our 8am bus tour.
As I stood in line to pick up our tickets, I heard mumbling all around me. The park road wasn't open yet. Or buses were only going 13 miles. Hmm, I thought. We had tickets to take one of the green buses to the Eielson Visitor Center at Mile 66 on the Park Road.
What followed was a two and a half hour wait, as all the buses were delayed. We were in a line outside of the building trying to stay warm, not knowing when our bus would arrive (there were 7am and 7:30am groups ahead of us that still hadn't left). The positives? The view from just the main building reminded me of the view from the parking lot at Yosemite — a pair of white snow-capped peaks. And we stayed warm by sipping on hot chocolate (side note: I drank more hot cocoa and tea during the nine days than in a long time!).
At 9:58am, I let out a whoop as the 8am bus pulled up to the curb. I let out another whoop when I boarded and learned there was heat. We would thaw quickly! We chose seats toward the back of the bus, Rach and I on the left side and Crespo on the right. Our bus driver was Kenneth Harlan, a mild-mannered, friendly and also joking man probably in his late 60s or early 70s from Georgetown, Ky. We would learn a lot from Ken during the bus ride about not just the park, its history, and everything we gazed at, but also his backstory, what brought him to Denali, and more.
Ken struck the perfect balance of letting his passengers enjoy the ride while narrating the four-hour trip.
We were instructed to mostly keep our windows up and given paper towels to wipe off the condensation, but the school bus windows were relatively easy to slide down when views became exceptional.
We stopped after about 10 miles at a viewing area close to the official park entrance (past which private vehicles are prohibited). Ken told us he wasn't sure how long we'd have to wait, as the road past the Savage River point was still being cleared of snow. We could pass the time on a short loop trail at the parking area. This was my first experience in the vastness of the park. Along particular spots on the trail, views opened up to the south of peaks upon peaks upon peaks all framing miles upon miles of Alaskan tundra.
Yes, this place was expansive.
Turns out the road was cleared quickly, and thankfully I wasn't the person who came back to the bus the latest (that was reserved for a couple who probably held us up a good 10 minutes).
Ken had instructed passengers at the trip's outset to yell out about any wildlife sightings, and soon after someone spotted a herd of caribou on a distant hillside to the south. I put my camera's zoom to good work photographing the first wildlife of our trip.
Then, not too long after Ken had informed us that, yes, trying to outrun a grizzly would be a futile exercise (the bears get going at 35mph), he was alerted that a mom and her two cubs had been spotted up ahead on the road. Everyone perked up, faces glued to our windows. The anticipation was palpable.
Because so many buses had started late, there wasn't the usual distance between the green vehicles. This created a traffic jam on the narrow road, as one bus after another slowly crept around the others to get a view of the bears without scaring them. Finally, they came into view for us — just three creatures strutting down the dead-center portion of the dirt road. What a sight!
After we shot countless photos and watched the bears finally take to the brush on the north side of the road, we continued on. I thought that might be our bear experience of the day. Little did I know, it was just the beginning of observing the park's 300- to 600-pound brown guys (moose, by the way, are 1,200 pounds, similar to the grizzlies in southern Alaska who feast on salmon as opposed to the berry-eating Denali grizz).
As we continued pas the Teklanika River stop and Igloo and Sable mountains toward the Polychrome Overlook, the views to the south became majestic — the large, snow-covered peaks increasing in size and piercing through the clouds into patches of blue sky. On a clear day, we had been told, Mt. McKinley, aka Denali, aka "The Great One," could be seen from Eielson, but Ken made sure we knew that was very unlikely on this overcast day.
What we didn't know at the time, with our phones not getting service (a good thing), was that on the very day we were in the park, President Obama was in Alaska officially renaming the highest peak in North America "Denali" — what it always should have been as opposed to the name of an Ohio politician.
What a day to be in the park!
The part of the drive from Sable Pass to Toklat was breathtaking — every mile of it. The road narrowed and we drove up and around hairpin turns with thousand-foot dropoffs right out my window, reaching 3,500 feet. Then as we neared our destination, trees with yellow leaves interspersed with the snow and with the backdrop of the most alluring mountains I've ever set my eyes on made turning away impossible. When all of that was framed by roadside ponds surrounded by the white, I gaped in amazement.
And then, as we came within a couple hundred yards of Toklat, another bear was spotted just off to the right of the road on a down-sloping hillside. This bear, digging for grubs, was pretty darn close to us — giving everyone an up-close view of its activities and plenty of good photo opportunities.
One of the cool things about the bus rides into Denali is that you don't have to take the same bus back, so when we arrived at Toklat we bid farewell to Ken and started out on a short hike — we would catch another bus back. As Mollie and Joe had told us the night before, Denali — and really, Alaska in general — is special because you can cut your own paths. The land is yours. So from Toklat, we just started walking along the riverbed, crossing braided streams, picking up pebbles and rocks here and there, and gazing out at the mountains in all directions.
We could have gone along that riverbed for several miles, but we did eventually have to get back to Toklat and then the Wilderness Access Center and then Mollie and Joe's, where they were hosting a potluck that promised caribou stew. So after about a mile and a half, we stopped for a quick lunch in the cold (rice cakes and almond butter for the win!) before heading back. We had a fun time on our return creating a rock-to-rock bridge across one of the streams, and Rach found a handful of heart-shaped pebbles to bring back to the east coast for family.
As we neared the visitor's center, I fell behind Rach and Crespo a couple hundred feet. I was entering the parking lot when I noticed Crespo urgently motioning with his right arm for me to hustle in toward the building. It turns out, a grizzly — likely the same one we had seen a couple hours earlier — was a few hundred feet above us on a hillside. A threat wasn't imminent, but better safe than sorry. We stayed in the building, peering out the window for glances of the bear, before the parking lot was deemed safe by the ranger on duty and we found a bus with capacity to take us back to the east.
I'll take with me a few things from that return trip:
The fall colors combined with the late-afternoon light made for maybe the most incredible scenery of the day. Unfortunately, this was a speed bus compared to our trip in. Most travelers were tired, but I was glued to the window and slid it down a few times to shoot videos of the yellow and red leaves set against the incredible sky.
The Dall Sheep: Somehow, someway, a man seated a few rows behind me spotted a white sheep high on a snow-covered hillside (it certainly didn't stand out). The sheep wasn't close and pictures didn't come out well, but it was another creature to add to our list of Alaska animals seen.
The bears, AGAIN: I was beginning to doze off when someone spotted the mom and her cubs once again, this time not in the road but off to the south (opposite from the side of the road they'd been on earlier). That woke me up! Our bus driver Kevin Kimura said that if you see one bear on such a trip, that's cool; if you see three, that's a good day; and the most he had seen during the summer season was seven. Including repeats, we saw a total of 10 bears. Amazing!
Kevin touched on many other things during the trip, including that there are only 47 wolves in the park — the lowest number in history. It's tough being a carnivore in such a place. He also touched on the story of Chris Mccandless, the subject of the Into the Wild book and movie. The spot where Chris had found the abandoned bus and made his home was off Stampede Road and was only about 10 miles north of where we were on the road. He had tried to return from the wilderness by walking due east but had been stopped by the raging Savage River. What I didn't know (or remember from reading) until Kevin brought it up was that if Chris had simply walked 10 miles south instead, he would have reached the park road and been home free. What a sad, tragic tale (even if it made for a heck of a book and movie).
As we returned, I didn't want to leave. The light was incredible, the colors the best of the entire day. I wished we had reached Eielson. Still, I had to admit, we had experienced so, so much during our one day in Denali. From the expansive beauty, to the wildlife, to our enjoyable bus drivers, to our little hike, we'd gotten more than we could have ever asked for. And caribou stew awaited us.
We returned to the cabin a little before 9pm. For many people, the get-together was concluding, but we got to meet many of Mollie and Joe's Alaskan friends — including the mayor of the Denali Borough — and had fun conversations about our experience and what living in the state was like. The consensus? Amazing! We also enjoyed multiple bowls of caribou stew mixed with couscous and other foods, filling our happy stomachs and staying up until midnight.
After such a day, what in the world could the next two offer?
MILES HIKED: 3
Monday, August 31 — Type 2 Fun
I was really excited for Monday. Yes, Sunday was fun, but the hiking was minimal. This was the day when we'd really get our boots some use. Even better — the route would be mostly a surprise. Joe and Mollie were going to take us into the backcountry where we'd camp.
The anticipation was killing me all morning! We spent a couple hours making sure we had everything we would need for a night in the cold — multiple pairs of wool socks, five upper body layers, down coat, hat, mittens, stoves, tea bags, hand warmers, whiskey, etc. Then we weighed our packs before adding water — I was at about 23 pounds. Not bad.
Mollie and Joe had some cabin work to do during the morning — and, of course, we'd have plenty of daylight to hike in with it not getting dark until 10pm – so there was a fair amount of downtime. We spent it playing a few games of Bananagrams (Crespo was a maestro), I explained the concept of "The O.C.," Crespo and Rach scolded me on all the TV shows I should have watched, and we even did a little partner planking in honor of the November Project fitness routine. We also made several trips to the outhouse, by far the cleanest and best-smelling outhouse I've ever stepped foot in. These Alaskans know how to do it!
Around 3:30pm after a very short drive during which the three of us sat with all the packs in the back of Joe's truck, we parked on the side of the Parks Highway. It was time to hike! All we knew was that we'd be gaining a couple thousand feet of elevation and would certainly encounter snow. There was also the possibility of summiting a peak (which, as my Alaska companions would constantly attest, I love.)
"Get a load of those peaks!"
A few minutes up the trail, Joe and Mollie suddenly dropped their packs and turned to us. Then they began dancing and making wild movements with all their limbs. What in the world? As Joe explained, they had a tradition of getting loose at the beginning of hikes. It wasn't plain silliness, either. Joe referenced an article on the importance of loosening muscles at the beginning of exercise as opposed to stretching (do that after). And, this was so much more fun — even if I can't dance to save my life!
Properly loose and prepared for the trail, we threw back on our packs and continued hiking. I had missed the boat on color scheming, I must say. My four human companions sported red jackets while I had my green Marmot. Spur, Mollie's 14-year-old retired Iditarod race dog, didn't wear red, either. Spur, by the way, was incredible! Here was the oldest dog I had ever met racing up ahead and then circling back to check on Mollie — and doing this over and over again. The dog that Mollie had adopted just two years earlier was the fittest of us all, clearly, and full of life throughout the trip.
The first hour to hour and a half, we experienced the end of summer — there was still some green — in addition to fall in all its colors. Joe stopped to point out the handful of different berries we could eat. Not only were there huge, juicy blueberries, but also crowberries and nagoonberries and soapberries and cloudberries. Fun fact: Denali bears eat 2,000 pounds of berries daily! Joe also pointed out the lichen mosses on the side of the trail and much more. What a treat it was to have such experienced hikers, not to mention a guide, leading our hike.
When we emerged from the trees, the views were expansive and incredible. We began up a steep hill dotted by red ground plants. To our right in the distance stood loads upon loads of snow-capped mountains. In the valley below us, fall obviously had arrived. Reminder: It was the last day of August.
This is when the Type 2 Fun began, too. As Mollie would explain to us the next day, Type 2 Fun is fun that isn't necessarily the most enjoyable in the moment but is looked back on as memorable and a great time. We were climbing, and our calves were burning. I've done a lot of hiking over the past several years — the next mile or two we ascended was probably in my top 10 of toughest climbs.
First we ascended a ground plant-strewn slope. A look back quickly confirmed how quickly we were gaining elevation. Then the dirt and plants turned to loose rocks. It was pick your path time. I asked Joe if I could go ahead, and took the lead, simply placing one foot after another on rocks that I didn't think would slide out from under me. It was grueling work, but the surrounding views made it a bit easier.
Next the rocks turned mostly to snow, as we quickly exited fall into a winter landscape — just like that! But we weren't quite done with the rocks. After gaining a hilltop and pausing to hydrate and add a layer as the wind whipped all around us, we traversed a ridge that included delicately navigating the top of a slope of scree. The loose rocks gave out from under us with each step. It was truly a balancing act. That was followed up by the steepest pitch of the hike seemingly straight up a pile of rocks. The calves burning was reaching a historic high!
Of course, I loved this, but I also understood how hard it was. I've done a ton of difficult hiking in New Hampshire especially; Rach and Crespo, who was nursing a tender ankle, have not. This was really tough. After climbing up and over a couple more piles where rocks were visible under a cloak of snow, we gained the ridge and the walking flattened out.
And if we weren't sure before, now one thing was obvious: We were in a winter wonderland. All around us — above and below — was white landscape. Not a single sign of civilization was visible. To our right stood the peak Joe had mentioned we might climb. That most definitely wasn't happening on this day. The climb had taken a lot out of us.
Slowly, we trudged through the 3 to 5 inches of powder, beginning our descent. I looked back at Rach and Crespo and snapped a photo. I would later joke that I could have fooled people into thinking we were in the Himalayas. They were decked out in all their layers with nothing but white mountains behind them. Wow.
Around 7:30pm, we reached a flat spot by a stream and Joe declared it camp. It was cold (probably mid to high 30s) so the first order of business was to put every possible layer on, quickly followed by tent setup. I’d only once previously erected my tent on snow, so I was far from a pro. Without a tarp or footprint to put underneath, I knew it’d get wet. The key would be my Thermarest providing the cushion between me and the cold ground.
My hands were also frozen. I don't know if it's poor circulation or something worse, but my hands get cold and lose strength very easily. This is rough to deal with when they're needed for duties like tent setup and cooking. Thankfully, I had enough feeling in them and Mollie's assistance to get everything set up.
Crespo and Rach were sharing the other tent, a better-quality Big Agnes compared to my cheap, six-year-old Eureka (I'll begin the search for a better one-person tent soon). Thinking back on the day, what Rach did was very impressive. She wasn't wearing boots — low-ankle trail shoes — so her feet had to be frozen. I couldn't blame her for staying in their tent to try to warm up. Once you're frozen, that's a hard thing to do
Meanwhile, I joined Joe in collecting water from the stream to get our stoves going. Boiling water was key. The more we had, the more tea we could have (warmth!) followed by our freeze-dried meals (more warmth, and man, beans and rice never tasted so good) and then more tea, some of it mixed with whiskey. I've never consumed more tea during two hours than I did that night.
At one point in the evening, the sky getting close to dark but not there yet, there suddenly appeared above the nearby mountain a glowing pink cloud, and then another. They moved through the sky, casting light all around us. It was one of those moments that sticks with you. Yes, you're cold, but you're living. You're so alive.
Around 10:30pm, I crawled into my tent and pulled my 20-degree sleeping bag over every inch of my body. I actually slept pretty well, although I had to relieve myself on a few occasions (all that tea!) and each time didn't dare exit the tent more than a few feet.
MILES HIKED: Approximately 6.0
Tuesday, September 1 — All of the beauty
My feet were cold.
Wearing the second pair of wool socks that I had put on the night before, my feet weren't completely dry. When in the sleeping bag they were fine, but when I stepped outside they told me, 'This isn't cool.'
I learned a lot Tuesday morning about patience and to enjoy your surroundings. I stepped out of my tent three times to take a leak or filter water from the stream because I was incredibly thirsty. Each time, I gazed around, took photos of the morning light, and noticed that I was the only one up. I went back to bed. Somehow, I thought I had lost my book (it turned out to be in my pack) so there was a lot of just lying in my bag until I heard movements outside (they didn't sound like a bear) and emerged at 10:21am to see Joe getting the breakfast station ready.
We spent about 3 hours at camp sipping tea, eating oatmeal, and admiring the early morning puffy clouds mixed in with the blue sky. After I packed up my gear, I laid down in the snow, my head resting on my pack — my feet finally warm; the sun was making its presence felt — and gazed at the surrounding landscape of white, pointy peaks. I closed my eyes and let myself simply enjoy the moment. Forget the time of day and anything else. This was paradise.
The hike that day was 10 miles of spectacular. Breaking camp a little after 1pm, we began descending through shrubs covered in snow, breaking our own trail and crossing small streams. Soon we reached a massive field of snow with a sparking blue pond at its base. Pick out your own trail, Joe told us. There was no correct route. Just go. Be independent!
Having never felt freer than in that moment, I began galloping through the snow, my boots sinking in almost a foot with each step. All the same, I felt light on my feet. Until plunk, down I went. I had stepped in a hole a few feet deep. I fell flat on my face, tasting that powdery snow. Behind me and picking out their own path, Crespo and Rach burst out in laughter. I did the same. Now that was a moment.
As were the next few minutes. I walked briskly — no more galloping — until I reached the banks of the pond. I then knelt down to take some of my favorite photos of the trip (but they still don't do the place justice): The pond perfectly framed against a set of three majestic, triangle-shaped mountains. I took way too many photos and stood in place for several minutes, in complete awe. That spot, by itself, made all the exertion of the previous day worth it.
Soon after, we left winter and moved back into autumn. The snow behind us, we bushwhacked through some thick brush and then came out onto a packed-down trail skirted by hundreds upon hundreds of blueberry bushes. It was a challenge to keep moving, the berries were so delicious. I nearly ruined my appetite, but not quite as we stopped soon thereafter at a flat spot on the trail surrounded by all the reds of fall.
The others got out their stoves and cooked meals while I was content to chow down on rice cakes and that almond butter. Joe couldn't believe it when he saw the jar — here I was Mr. Lightweight, and I packed a glass jar of almond butter? It was one of those hilarious moments that you don't soon forget.
I asked Joe and Mollie if they ever needed a map or navigation in the area, to which they answered no. They had done so many hikes and become so familiar with the terrain and its salient features and peaks that they could navigate anywhere. I found that really special. That's called knowing your backyard. Joe described a few of the climbs and packrafting trips he'd done nearby, pointing to mountains as well as the hill, in the distance, close to the cabin where we'd finish our hike. I followed along, envious. What a place to live!
We still had several miles to tramp after lunch, and the terrain continued to impress. We went from autumn red leaves to, at a lower elevation, yellow foliage. The trail became super muddy toward the bottom, forcing us to, again, create our own paths around it. Spur was in her element as we passed several mushing trails she was quite familiar with. And finally we were back on flat ground and, within half a mile of the cabin, saw the first other people in 24 hours.
If that doesn't tell you how spectacular of a backcountry experience we'd enjoyed, I don't know what will. We had hikes in our short sleeves and our down coats. We'd traipsed through the reds and yellows of fall and the white of winter. It had been in the 50s; it had dropped during the night, probably, to the high 20s.
Because Mollie and Joe are experienced hikers, they knew the only way to celebrate 16 incredible miles and a night in the backcountry — with pizza and beer at local Panorama Pizza. I got the best gluten-free option, nachos, which were some of the best nachos I've ever had. Then again, anything would've tasted good after that adventure.
At the dinner tables, beers in hands, we shared our favorite and least favorite moments from the trip. It was a worthy exercise, because, yes, in the moment it wasn't all fun. Setting up my tent, my hands freezing, was pretty miserable. But now as I write about this from my warm Washington, DC, room, I have nothing but fond memories of the experience.
That's what you call Type 2 fun!
Back at the cabin, Mollie and Joe said their goodbyes. We couldn't thank them enough. Not only did Mollie make this trip possible, but they made things much easier on us with the available cabin; the food they cooked for us was some of the best I've ever tasted; and of course taking us on that hike will be a memory I'll forever savor.
We didn't see the aurora Tuesday night (there was supposed to be a chance), but we'd seen just about everything else. And we still had the southern portion of our trip ahead of us.
The thrills were just getting started!
MILES HIKED: 10.0
Wednesday, September 2 — Lake Found
When I stepped outside the cabin Wednesday morning around 6:30am, the thermometer on its exterior read 23 degrees. It was cold!
When we arrived at the trailhead for our next hike, it was about 65 degrees out. Warm!
That's what happens when you drive some 7 hours south.
The second leg of our journey was, indeed, in the south central portion of the gigantic state and would include two hikes that I was familiar with thanks to that thing we call social media. In particular, I had seen plenty of photos of the Lost Lake hike because two groups of friends from November Project had trail run it in the past couple months. Their photos helped sell me on it. Hiking to a picturesque glacial lake surrounded by mountains seemed like something I'd see on the cover of my Backpacker Magazine.
The difference for us is that instead of running the 15 miles of trail in a day, we planned to strap on our backpacks and make it another night of camping after 7.5 miles at the lake. What better spot to spend dusk and dawn? Our plan entailed hiking up the Primrose Trail from the north side of the lake Wednesday, camping, and then descending the Lost Lake Trail and one of us hitching a ride back to Primrose to retrieve the car.
First, of course, we had the long drive. It wasn't the most enjoyable part of the trip, but it allowed for plenty of conversation. Crespo filled us in on his childhood residences — Houston, Connecticut and Singapore!; Rach described all of her overseas backpacking explorations; and I threw in some fun facts, too. We stopped in Wasilla, home of Sarah Palin, to restock our food supply and then continued south. Once past Anchorage, the scenery again became splendid as we drove right along appropriately named Turnagain Arm's crystal blue waters on Seward Highway. Once past the arm and driving southwest, green mountains dotted both sides of the highway and we passed numerous signs for hiking trails.
No, it didn't look like we'd be camping in snow this time.
We arrived at the Primrose trailhead next to Kenai Lake — having stopped at one of Alaska's many espresso self-serve stands, where I bought some "Moose Nuts," a sugary delicacy — around 4:20pm and after some packing and readjusting gear, got on the trail. Credit to Crespo for taking the bear mace. This being our first backcountry hike by ourselves on a trail lined with blueberry bushes, we made a concerted effort to talk. A lot.
We asked each other riddles, some that took me forever to figure out. We threw out random questions to each other. Anything to avoid silence. Maybe a little more than a mile up the trail, we passed two women on horseback. After discussing just how nice of an afternoon it was, they informed us that it wouldn't last — rain was in the cards beginning around 4am and wouldn't leave for six days. What? Well, that was a shock to the system. Also, Rach and Dave just had their trail shoes, not the boots.
But on this day, conditions were impeccable on the moderate trail. By 7pm, we emerged from the heavy ponderosa pines onto a ridge trail that we followed for close to three miles. This was the best part of the hike. To our right lay beautiful grassy hillsides, with one small pond after another cut into their sides. On our left, myriad views of snow-covered mountains peaked through the brush.
The going was relatively easy, and around each turn a new body of water popped up until we came to the one, the Lost Lake, a narrow, mile-long, crystal blue gem beneath towering 5,710-foot Mount Ascension. It was hard to keep my eyes on the trail as I gazed at the beauty.
With it now 8pm, the trick was finding a camping spot close to the lake and with a great vantage point — but also a place that was flat and dry, especially considering the impending rain. Rach and I were setting up camp at a pretty good place right off the trail when Crespo came jogging toward us from up ahead.
"I found it," he said of that camping spot.
Rach and Crespo picked up their already erected tent and I grabbed my scattered items and we walked up the trail a couple hundred feet and then down a hillside toward the lake. And yes, indeed, Crespo had struck gold with a perfectly flat plateau of dry grass overlooking the water only some 100 feet below us. What a spot!
We enjoyed a feast of freeze-dried food, cheese and crackers, rice Krispie treats, tea and whiskey, and warm temperatures — all the while watching darkness envelope the lake. Then, finally, a bit after 11pm, we crawled into our tents — ready for the impending doom.
MILES HIKED: 7.5
Thursday, September 3 — All of the rain
I awoke for the first time at 3:55am to the pitter patter of rain drops on my tent. The horse ladies had been correct. RAIN.
I turned over in my sleeping bag and soon found sleep again. Six hours later, I had to exit the tent for you know what. The rain hadn't dissipated. But you know what? It was beautiful outside, and relatively warm. While I got a little wet during that brief stint outside the Eureka, I took in the first foggy beautiful views of the lake.
Soon after, I heard rustling in the adjacent tent. Everyone was up. Despite the precipitation, Rach's awesome Jetboil stove — borrowed from her awesome boyfriend Jason — had no issues boiling us some tea and oatmeal water. Decked out in my women's rain pants purchased on sale from REI — GREAT buy — and my outer shell, I stayed relatively dry and warm while eating a delectable backcountry breakfast.
I will admit that after getting wet, the most difficult thing is reentering the tent and trying not to get everything soaked — sleeping bag and pad included. I didn't exactly succeed, but I got them stuffed and rolled, respectively, and threw everything else in my pack without getting at least 50 percent of my possessions wet. Decent work, I guess. I then waited to exit the tent and break it down until I was confident my comrades were at about the same stage of breaking down camp (no use in standing in the rain for too long; that is how you get cold and miserable).
Our original plan to hike the Lost Lake Trail and then hitchhike didn't seem smart anymore. Getting a 15-mile ride while soaking wet and asking your two friends to wait at least a half hour in wet clothes while you retrieve the car isn't too keen. So while I didn't like the idea of not exploring what was considered an even cooler portion of the trail than we had experienced the previous day, my stubbornness relented to common sense.
I also wanted to explore around the lake, but I was the guy with the boots. Rach and Crespo just had regular hiking shoes that were already wet. In no time just eating breakfast and standing outside the tents, their feet were soaked. So we compromised, walking very briefly to the edge of a peninsula that jutted out into the still lake. We shot some photos, Rach and Crespo did some cartwheels, and Crespo showed off his rock-skipping skills before we retreated to camp, threw on our packs, and headed back up to the trail to begin the descent.
There's not too much to write about the 7.5-mile hike down. We moved quickly, eyes on the prize. Of note: The gigantic blueberries were as delicious as they'd been all trip (ahh, just thinking about them makes me want to return), and I learned through a "Top 5" game just how many countries my friends have traveled to (dozens upon dozens!). We didn't see anyone until we neared the trailhead and heard the chopping of wood. A hearty trio from the U.S. Forest Service was cutting a new trail around a small bridge that had collapsed.
After passing all the empty campsites at the base of the trail and reaching the parking lot, I looked to my right and noticed what seemed like an enormous and long puddle in the road heading back to Seward Highway. I knew it had been raining for probably 12 hours (it was 4:30pm) but still, the water level seemed excessive for steady but not pouring rainfall. A couple minutes later as we were trying to reorganize the car to separate the wet from dry, the Forest Service folks came down the trail and informed us that adjacent Kenai Lake had flooded due to a dam malfunction — something, they said, that happens every few years.
Looking at our sedan, the workers offered us the chance to follow their large pickup truck out of the parking lot (there were no other vehicles, and I highly doubted any would be coming anytime soon). That was an offer we couldn't pass up. What followed were a scary few minutes as I drove through water that at times seemed a couple feet deep. And just when I thought we'd made it, we turned a corner to see another super long puddle.
But we did survive the drive, emerging onto the highway and heading south toward Seward. Phew!
Our original plan was to set up our tents at the bayside campsite in the small, quaint town on the Kenai Peninsula where President Obama had been just two days prior (!!). However, we were wet, a little chilled, and in need of the chance to dry things. Me being stubborn, I still thought camping could work and not be completely miserable if there was a building by the campsite where things could be dried. When we drove by the campsite, however, it didn't look particularly promising.
As we drove back into town in search of food — the mind is always fresher when hunger is satiated — we came upon Moby Dick Hostel and decided to check it out. Rach and Crespo ran inside, and when they came back about 6 minutes later, I knew where we were staying. For just $25 a night (not much more than camping), we stayed in a fun, community-building hostel where we could lay out all our wet stuff, take free showers for the first time during our trip, use a full kitchen, and meet people.
Moby Dick Hostel ended up being our base camp the last three days of our adventure.
(Note to self: Add Alberta to the list of beautiful places I need to go to.)
Feeling good from the conversation, the scenery, being dry, and, mostly, the whiskey, we walked back into town and down its main strip of stores and restaurants on 4th Avenue to the Seward Brewing Company. The restaurant had been the top recommendation of Suzanna, the owner of the hostel, but she hadn't told us about the Homies.
Homies, noun — The best french fries you'll ever taste, topped with a sauce you can only dream of and (optional, but highly encouraged) a fried egg. Maybe our only regret from the entire trip is that despite promises to each other, we didn't make it back either of the next two nights for more Homies.
They were that good.
Our stomachs content, we walked back to the hostel and crashed in our shared room. I dreamed of the trip's final hike the following day.
And of eating more Homies.
MILES HIKED: 7.5
Friday, Sept. 4 — Walking on a Glacier
I've hiked in many incredible places. This great country has so much to offer. Yosemite. The Grand Canyon. New Hampshire's White Mountains. New York's Adirondacks. Colorado's 14ers. And much more.
But what made almost every day in Alaska beyond incredible was experiencing something unique to the Great Frontier. Friday's version of this was walking adjacent to and then onto a glacier. It's hard to imagine until you do it.
We spent the morning doing some trip maintenance. Crespo and Rach did some laundry and reorganized the ridiculous amount of food and snacks we still had (we would eat well the last couple days of our adventure). I walked down 4th Street to a tourist store where I took care of my Christmas shopping! (Note: This is extraordinary; usually, I wait until Dec. 23 at the earliest to get the fam presents.) And then we got our daypacks ready for the hike.
After four days of walking with our big packs on, it was going to feel great having a much lighter load.
The weather was questionable all morning, with an occasional drizzle coming from the overcast skies of Seward. But it seemed decent enough to continue with the hike, and we didn't have much choice. If we wanted to tramp to a glacier, this was our one opportunity.
We drove the same route that the President of the United States had taken just a few days prior, arriving at the packed Exit Glacier and Harding Icefield parking lot a bit after 12:30pm. Not unexpectedly, there were a ton of tourist-types with young kids doing the 1-mile hike to a view of the glacier. Once we turned off on the Harding Icefield trail, the people thinned.
The weather turned out to be perfect as we switchbacked our way through one canopy of trees after another — probably 60 degrees under a clear sky dotted with puffy white clouds. After 2 miles of mostly quiet hiking with occasional views, we emerged from the green to an intersection. To our left, a trail led to the edge of a long, blue but also dirty slab of ice.
The glacier!
I gazed in wonder at the sight, admiring it more for just the fact that, yes, I was close to a glacier for the first time in my life than its beauty — because, hey, it wasn't that beautiful. Looking closer, I spotted people out on the ice. When I zoomed in with my camera, I could tell that they were using rope and other equipment (I would later learn that you can pay for guided tours out onto the ice).
After taking in the expansive views, we swung right and began the real climb of the 4-mile, 3,000-foot adventure to the icefield. Pretty soon the switchbacks completely left behind the trees and while the going was steep, the ever-changing views were breathtaking. All that separated us from the ice to our left was a combination of small boulders and grass.
As we were climbing up one of the longest switchbacks I've stepped foot on — reminding me of those I hiked in Colorado — a familiar face came running down toward us. It was Anna from the beach in Seward. As she approached, Anna pointed to Dave's and my November Project shirts and exclaimed, "You guys do NP?" Why, yes! Anna told us that she was a regular at the free fitness workouts in Edmonton.
Small world!
Breathing heavy, we finally reached the long switchback's terminus and entered an entirely different world. I would equate it to hiking atop a volcano. We walked up and down a ridge of gravel and small, loose, dark rocks. After about half a mile, we came to an emergency shelter that had more graffiti on its door than I'd ever seen on a hike before. Crespo impressed us with some powerful pull-ups on the rafter outside the small hut before we continued on.
Minutes later, we walked up a final small hill and reached the high point of the hike. We joined a handful of people all gazing below at the MASSIVE, seemingly endless icefield that stretched out to the horizon. The whiteness gave off an eerie glow. I would describe it as otherworldly.
The top was nice, but it wasn't the final destination. We began descending the rocks on a vaguely marked path. It was time to hike to the ice. And then, possibly, on it! Soon the path basically ended, and I scrambled down big rocks and scree toward the ice — bushwhacking minus any trees. The going got pretty steep and I was thankful no one was below me as my boots unleashed rocks down the hillside. But there was no way I wasn't reaching the destination.
After some careful scrambling, I came to the ice. I had made it. I turned around and looked back up several hundred feet. The peak I had stood on minutes earlier wasn't visible. Crespo and Rach were the only people I could see. I took a step onto the thick, dirty ice and then another.
The best way I can describe the ice is that it was like an ocean had frozen. It was choppy. Small crevices were all around me. I walked to the edge and peered down into them. They didn't look too deep, but of course you never knew. Retracing my steps to the edge of the icefield, I dipped my head under a sheet of ice and extended my phone to take a video of water dripping below the sheet of ice.
Melting was occurring.
Minutes later, Crespo joined me on the ice and we took turns getting perhaps the only photos we'll ever have of sitting on, lying on and simply being on a glacier. I was tempted to lay down and take a nap on the ice — who has ever done that? — but we still had a steep climb back up to the peak and then 4 miles of hiking to do. It was almost 5pm.
Beginning the ascent, I couldn't have been more euphoric. What a place! We climbed back to the apex and enjoyed a well-deserved late lunch of cheese and crackers, rice cakes and almond butter, and chocolate before beginning our descent. We passed several people still ascending including one guy clutching a can of bear spray in his right hand. I laughed. This was one hike where I hadn't once thought we'd see a bear. Especially not this high up. There were no berries to be found!
But we did see wildlife on our descent. As we were waltzing down the long switchback, I spotted in a grassy field next to the glacier a herd of mountain goats just chilling out. As we got closer, there appeared to be close to 20 of the horned guys. I remembered back to my Pacific Northwest trip with the Dad two years prior when we'd first been introduced to goats and told the story of a goat goring to death a man. We'd also learned then how pee-thirsty the goats are and even heard stories about people peeing directly into goats' mouths. So I admired the goats from a distance and waited to relieve myself until we were back in the woods.
As we descended, the sky became overcast and we realized how lucky we'd been to see everything during a window of somewhat clear skies. Nearing the parking lot, I got that feeling that always consumes me toward the end of a hiking trip — a dread, really, of not having more walking in the wilderness ahead of me. I soaked in the last half mile even though the trail wasn't special, just thinking of how amazing the experience had been.
Getting to share the trail with two friends who I was now even closer to made it all the more special. These hikes were shared memories we'd all remember maybe slightly differently but all fondly.
We enjoyed a low-key night at the hostel, getting to know an Aussie mom and son, Dianne and Steve, who were funny and full of stories before calling it a night.
We still had a full day ahead of us and even though no hiking was on the schedule, more amazingness was on the menu.
MILES HIKED: 8.0
Saturday, September 5 — One (no, like six!) Whale of a Day
We spent Saturday on a boat, an experience I highly recommend to anyone visiting Seward.
We awoke before 7, ate a quick breakfast, and then walked the 0.7 miles downtown to the harbor. Sipping on hot chocolate from the local bakery, I met Danny, our deckhand for the day. After a few minutes, Danny led us and 12 others to the docks and our vessel for the day where we met captain Jim. If my memory serves me correctly, Jim, probably around 60 and with a scruffy white beard befitting of a boat captain in the great state, lives in Florida or another warm state during the cold Alaska months and then does the boating thing during Alaskan summers (we met a handful of people during the trip with similar living arrangements, although we also talked to a guy who said to really experience Alaska, you've got to be there during the winter, too).
The boat was small. There was one indoor cabin with seats for about eight people. We spent most of the nine-hour trip on the back or front deck, bundled up in every layer we had — T-shirt, longsleeve, fleece, down coat, outer layer. When we left the harbor, temperatures were in the mid-50s, but a windy day on the water is never warm. It was COLD, and I drank at least three hot chocolates in an attempt to stay warm.
Of course, it was also incredibly beautiful. As we departed Seward heading south, the sun was rising on the horizon and we took in the snowy mountain peaks to our left and the high, grassy hills above Seward to our right.
It didn't take long to spot wildlife, as an eagle stood perched on a rusty piece of metal sticking out of the water in the harbor. Minutes later, a passenger with binoculars spotted another one on a tree branch. Our fellow passengers were mostly older than us and couples or siblings. We met a brother, sister and friend from India who were exploring Alaska for the first time and lived in Portland; a couple from Akron, Ohio, who I talked sports with; and others from the contiguous U.S. It might be more expensive, but it's definitely worth it to pay for a smaller excursion such as ours. The boat felt like a small community, and Danny and Jim did everything they could to give us an incredible experience.
As we headed into Resurrection Bay and I gazed from the front deck toward the horizon, Captain Jim informed us that if we continued on a straight path we could go all the way to Antarctica without hitting land. How incredible is that? (I just looked at a map to confirm this and, yes, nothing but ocean!).
Our trip took us into the bay, past a few islands including the probably appropriately named Rugged Island, and then back north into a lagoon and right up close and personal with Holgate Glacier. (Hey Jake, what'd you do on Saturday? Oh, you know, I just rode a boat to the base of a glacier. No big deal!)
Throughout the trip, Jim was in radio contact about whales with the other tour boat that the company was running. And around 10:30am, he relayed to us that a whale had been spotted! I've never been especially excited about the idea of whale watching. In general, I'm not one for sedentary exercises. However, seeing that fountain of water that signals a whale and then, moments later, the fin was pretty cool. We first saw a humpback whale maybe 100-200 feet from the deck, and then saw a few more during the next hour.
(Note: Taking photos of a whale is no easy exercise, as they are only above the surface for three or four seconds at most; Crespo was a pro, getting several great shots using Rach's nice camera. I wasn't so skilled with mine.)
Whales were far from the only Alaskan creatures we saw. There were sea lions bathing in the sun on rocks that jutted out from the shore and small islands. Throughout the trip, I loved watching shearwater birds zoom just inches above the water's surface. They were joined by their slower counterpart Puffins — the famous cereal company birds — and I already mentioned the eagles.
Other sights to behold: Humongous blocks of ice on the shore, the remnants of melted glaciers; ice floating in the water, mini icebergs Captain Jim made sure to navigate around; and, of course, the actual glacier.
Around lunchtime, Jim navigated us within just a couple hundred feet of Holgate Glacier, a hillside of Carolina blue chopped ice. This ice looked cleaner and even more spectacular than Exit Glacier and the icefield of a day before and made for quite the backdrop of the water in front of it that was full of small, harmless chunks of broken off ice. When zooming in with my camera on the glacier, I noticed exactly where this breaking off was happening as every minute, a big piece of the blue ice fell into the water with a boom.
MELTING. Climate change.
Danny brought out lunch once we reached our stopping point and then scooped ice chunks out of the water to throw in our drinks cooler. Yes, glacier ice made my Canada Dry ginger ale nice and chilled. I picked up a piece of the ice so I could say that, yep, I've sat on, lied down on, and held in my hand part of a glacier.
We didn't stay at our lunch spot for too long, because Captain Jim had received word of Orca whale (otherwise known as a killer whale) sightings back out in the bay. And sure enough, not long after we came to the hot spot where at least three different whales were making their presence felt — spouting large water fountains and then emerging for short bursts out of the water. The toughest part was choosing whether to look left, right, or straight ahead of me.
Which whale would break the surface next?
With the deck warmed by the midday sun, I laid down and let myself doze off to the methodical sound of the boat's engine. Upon waking after a short nap, I thought about just how incredible the trip had been. Eight days is a very short time to experience Alaska and obviously we only took in an itsy, bitsy piece of the state that's half the size of the contiguous U.S., but it was a well-rounded trip.
From snow to bears; from fall colors to winter conditions; from alpine lakes to glaciers; from Dall sheep to mountain goats; from eagles to whales; from eating salmon to caribou; from backcountry hikes to trails; from blueberries crowberries; to from land to sea.
We'd seen a lot. We'd done a lot.
We returned to land at 5pm and bid goodbye to our incredible guides and fellow passengers, and walked back to the hostel. Saturday night was a celebration that lasted until 5am. We played a fun accents game with Steve and Diana of Australia; Liz and Mike, an eccentric couple who explore the states via RV; a pair of newlyweds from India on an extended honeymoon; Raoul, who works on cruise ships around the world; a couple young fellas from Chicago; and others who popped in. Many laughs were had.
We then hit the town of Seward for Saturday night, first enjoying drinks at Yukon where a band played. Next up was the Ale House, where the DJ blared the usual hits and the dancing commenced. And somehow, the locals we had met talked us into continuing the night with them at The Pit, a bar on the edge of town that stayed open until 5am.
That's about when we returned to the hostel via a Seward cab driven by an incredibly obese man with a dog in his lap. Two hours of sleep didn't feel great, but we certainly had experienced Seward — hangovers be damned.
Sunday was long. The two-drive to Anchorage, followed by returns at REI and Mollie's house then the car rental, followed by three hours at the airport, then a flight to Seattle and a three-hour layover, then — turning into Monday — a red eye to Atlanta, and another long layover before our flight, finally, to DC. It was a rough return to reality, but I couldn't stop laughing and smiling during the entire experience.
And even today, two weeks from that conclusion, a smile comes to my face whenever I think of Alaska. I'm wearing my Alaska T-shirt as I write this. And I keep pestering Rach and Crespo every day to post their photos.
Sure, life is back to bland. The land is flat here in DC. The people aren't very nice. And the biggest animals around are deer. But more than any trip I've ever taken, Alaska 2015, "Operation Yo Bear," is one I'll never forget and will think of often.
And anytime I'm having a rough day, I know I can look at photos or videos or this journal of the trip and be reminded of how incredible life can be.
And will be once again when I return.
Yes, Alaska, I will be back.
See you then, Bears.
— Jake Lloyd, September 20, 2015
Some Fun Stats and Tidbits
Miles hiked: 43
Days hiked: 6
Times Rach and I "lost" Crespo: Approximately 13
Times we listened to "Just the Two of Us:" Approximately 9
Times I sang "Just the Two of Us:" Approximately 9
Times I posted to Instagram from an outhouse: 3
Times Crespo said "Get a load of those peaks!": Approximately 23
Crespo's best gear item: The platypus!
Rach's best gear item: The JetBoil
Average daytime temperature: In and around Denali, 35 degrees; in and around Seward, 60 degrees
Nights spent camping: 2
Nights spent in a primitive cabin: 3
Nights spent in a hostel: 3
People who made the trip special: Mollie and Joe; Kyla and Sam; Ken the bus driver; Mollie's friends at the potluck dinner; the Forest Service crew who led us through the flooded road; Suzanna the hostel owner and her dog, Lily; Steve and Dianne, the warm and funny Aussies; Mike and Liz, the RVing couple living life to the fullest; Dan and Jim the Captain; everyone else we're missing; and, of course, Spur the retired Iditarod sled dog who sprinted up and down the trail at the brisk young age of 14.
THANK YOU!!!
Note: Want more Alaska talk? Watch our Roundtable video below for a hilarious discussion about the trip's highlights, funnies, and more!
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