From North to South: August 2006

Submerged in beauty

Somtimes the amount of beauty you see in one day is astounding. Yesterday on a hike from McHugh Creek to the Glenn Alps trailhead Russell and I were washed with these gorgeous views:

~Clouds lingering through Turnagain Arm, viewed from above
~A moose which was a little too close for comfort
~Salmon berries and watermelon berries (Yum!)
~A blueberry filled, sponge-like tundra
~Towering and mighty North and South Suicide Peaks
~Rabbit Lake, a rather large alpine lake
~Glimpses of Anchorage from the pass next to Ptarmigan Peak
~Clear and sweet (literally) water from Ptarmigan Tarn
~A waterfall paralleling our path of descent
~Distant views of Denali and Foraker accented by the setting sun
~The car after an approximately 16 mile hike

Crow Pass

Termination dust is an event I normally admire while tucked inside the comforts of Anchorage, usually sometime in September or October. But this year I lived it. The first frosting of snow spread over the Chugach mountains early this year, and I was convienently on top of Crow Pass when it came.

Thankfully, I have spent the summer hiking in rain and thus brought lots of layers. Even more thankfully, there was a hut on the trail which provided shelter from the pelting ice - in the 20 minutes after the storm began hikers streamed through the hut's doors. And most thankfully, I still had an absolutely phenomenal time.

The photos below reflect the hours when I could still catch glimpses of my shadow and the peaks overhead, the hours when I'd pause for a couple minutes to pick salmon berries or play in the snow, and the hours when conversation with Russell wasn't a battle against the wind.

A quick break

Chillin' (literally) on Crow Pass

Glacading

Mojo's first time on snow (he and Russell just moved from Arizona)

A glacial view from Crow Pass

Top 5 indications we're riding summer's caboose

5) I spent the week arranging a classroom. Yep, I'm back for another year of running the extended day program and Pacific Nothern Academy (a elementary and middle school) and this year we finally have a classroom of our own.
4) I've been consistently having to turn my headlights on... because it's actually dark.
3) The blooms on fireweed (an bountiful Alaskan flower) are broaching the top of the stock.
2) Walking out the front door the other morning I was wearing long underwear, a hat and a fleece jacket (among other clothing items =).
1) The first blueberries of the season are in. I took a hike on Sunday up Matanuska Peak. It was pouring rain the whole time, but as always, it was nice to be out. I was delighted to find patches of ripe blueberries perfect for munching...or gobbling...or devouring as the case may be. On that same hike I was also treated to wild cranberries, watermelon berries and crow berries. Yum!

Fishy thoughts

When I was in Guatemala and Honduras I found it so cool to be able to eat a meal and know exactly where everything on my plate came from. This evening I had that same experience, only Alaska style.

My friend Thomas took me fishing again today (making it my second time ever). We, well he, caught two silver salmon. Even though we were switching rods back and forth because one had eggs on it and the other had a spinner on it, the fish always seemed to bite under his watch. I did get to reel one in though. We left the banks of the Little Susitna River as the sun was setting (it's once again doing that here) and arrived home around midnight. As I managed to leave the peanut butter sandwiches, intended for lunch, on the kitchen counter, we were both ravagely hungry. Whether inspired by the pangs in my stomach or the thrill of 4 hour old salmon, I had a flash of culinary creativity. I've never cooked fish before, but I had an idea and went with it. I wrapped a filet with some olive oil, onions, garlic and a splash of pepper in aluminum foil and put it on a pan. After 40 minutes on broil, we ate what turned out to be a delicious dinner. The salmon melted on my fork, before even making it into my mouth.

As we sat there savoring the food, I was struck by this very cool thought: The food on our plate came completely from our own efforts! (Well mostly, can't say as I had much to do with growing the onion, garlic, pepper or olives... or, for that matter, processing the olives for oil... but the idea still remains.)

Reed Lakes

Despite the dark skies dripping with water, I felt absolutely determined to get out of the house, even for just a night. So on Sunday, after drinking two cups of coffee and reading the newspaper cover to cover, I packed my backpack and headed out the door toward Hatcher Pass. The rain seemed to intensify as I approached the trail head. I pushed away the thoughts of "are you crazy," with the thoughts of "at least you have your gators and lots of layers." And I'm glad I did... the trip turned out to be phenomenal. I hiked past waterfalls, over a boulder field and through a plethra of marmots to Reed Lakes - beautiful blue-green glacial lakes tucked on a mountain side. I camped next to upper Reed Lake, in a flat and grassy spot with gorgeous views in all directions. My cooking spot, down a ways (due to bear considerations), had equally spectacular vistas. In the evening the rain let up and I was able to cook free of splating water (even so, I still managed to burn diner) and the lifting clouds led to a great evening jont up the nearby hillside.

The moral of this story: getting outside is good for the soul.