Ready to hit the ground running

Zippy and mommy are pretty spoiled. Zippy got an awesome new pack and mommy got fabulous new "paws." Now we're truly ready to hit the ground running.

Pretty peaks and cool currents

A couple of weeks ago Brad and I headed up Ram Valley - possibly my favorite place in all of the Chugach and it's in my backyard - and then dropped down the other side into the Peter's Creek drainage.

We packrafted the upper portion of Peter's Creek - before becoming exhausted from portaging through thick brush around fallen logs every five to 10 minutes. We eventually packed the rafts up and hiked the five-ish miles out back to the Peter's Creek trail head.

Peter's Creek was running swift, but shallow - creating for much more technical conditions than I had experienced on the Chickaloon River the week prior. The first little bit shook me up pretty good - I flipped the boat and wrapped around a rock in two separate incidents - all the while trying to teach Zippy that it would be a much better idea to run along the side of the river, rather than swim the rapids behind me - a concept that never completely registered.

After a break to catch my breath and get my wits about me, the remaining section of river went much, much better. I started avoiding holes, or at least hitting them nose first, and became much better and pulling up to shore and hopping out quickly enough to stop myself from washing down river.

All told, we were out for about 11 hours. The beer and Mexican cuisine afterward, at the only place open at 10:30 p.m. on a Sunday night in Eagle River, proved to be mighty delicious.

Again, many thanks go to Brad for inviting me to join him on such a spectacular excursion.

Heading up Ram

The view as we worked our way up the ridge

A closeup

Brad enjoying the blue sky day

Zippy coming to make sure I was staying up with the crew

The pups cooling off in a snow patch

Looking from the ridge down into the Peter's Creek drainage

Heading down toward Peter's Creek

Our river of choice

All smiles as we prepared to get on the current

Just a bit spoiled

Ummm ... maybe my puppy is a little bit spoiled ... It's those big brown eyes, they get me every time.

Packrafting on the Chickaloon

A few weeks ago Brad offered to take me out packrafting. We headed out to the Chickaloon River, north of Anchorage an hour or two, for a great day on the river. We hiked up stream about eight miles, and then got out the rafts and floated back down. We encountered a few mildly technical sections - a nice challenge but still plenty navigable - and the rest was smooth sailing.

I did manage to flip on the very last rapid ... read the river wrong and nailed a hole head on. As I plunged into the chilly water, my heart beat definitely quickened its step, but my feet quickly found the shallow bottom, and my hands maintained a tight grasp on the paddle and boat. I staggered to shore and readily took Brad up on the offer to walk up stream and repeat that section of river.

Round 2: I aimed for the opening to the right of the hole and shot right though, no problem. Flipping a packraft is like you're first lead fall when climbing. Once you do it, you realize it's not all that bad (as long as you're not in a class IV or V rapid, of course).

All told, we had such a good time, we headed out for another day of packrafting the following weekend (Photos coming soon).

Many thanks go to Brad for not only lending me the gear to packraft, but willingly and patiently teaching me how to do it.

Beautiful blooms!

Brad checking out the route down to the river

Scouting the Chickaloon River

A peek at the current ahead

A beautiful blue mellow river

The rafts ready for the river

All geared up and good to go

Brad at a pullout

The view at the end of the river

Monet's Alaska

Oh the wildflowers,
dots of pink, purple, blue
Sprinkled in deep, vibrant green
Forget-me-nots and columbine
Bluebells and wild roses
Indian paintbrush
And a dozen other blooms
Names for which, I do not know
Out my backdoor,
on a mountainside
Clapping and whispering
as I stride by
An afternoon excursion
into the wilds so near
A summer canvass for Monet
Unordered beauty,
divinely graced

My ideal Friday night

My ideal Friday night ...
in a cabin that hasn't been cleaned for two weeks
dishes piled up in the sink
And a puppy with not one, but two ropes
Who wants to play nonstop
After climbing a mountain and going for a morning walk
A glass of Courvoisier,
left from my dad's visit in November
And movies about ultrarunners
Testing the limits of human endurance
Quiet outside, sunlight at midnight
Nowhere to go, no place to be
Alone, at peace, mentally free


(Author's note: item number one on the agenda tomorrow morning is cleaning the cabin. I've been so darn busy, racing about like a tornado, that I've left a path of destruction ... and now that I'm in the calm after the storm, I'm willing to overlook the grit, grime, clutter and chaos until after a good night's sleep).

38 miles, baby!

On Friday a crew of us - Ed, Mike, Karen and I - ran Resurrection Pass on the Kenai Peninsula. At 38 miles, it was officially the longest run I've ever done. It was a perfect day to be out ... a nice cloud cover, beautiful wildflowers, an impeccable trail and a great crew! It took us 8 1/2 hours to complete the crossing. Afterward we delighted in hamburgers, milkshakes, lattes and every other delicious thing we could think of available between Hope (the town we finished in) and Anchorage.

Starting out .... we're an hour or two into the run at this point

Ed

A perfect trail on perfect terrain

Karen

Great views!

Puppy is all grins when it comes to Karen's battle wounds

At this bridge we started to taste the finish

Zippy and his mamma

A 30 second photo stop from a great vantage point

A fun crew

A couple miles from the end we found an old bar stool on the trail ... Karen helped herself to a seat

The big finish! Karen, Amy, Zippy and Puppy after 38 miles on the trail.

Ed and Mike coming in for a landing.

Zippy says I'm feeling a bit tired, I think I'll rest under a tree

In the car ride home ... Zippy is zapped.

Paragliding high in Eagle River's sky

Here's the next installment in the periodic outdoor adventure series, called Outside the Ordinary, that I write for the Alaska Star. This article was published in May ... it's taken me a bit to get it up on the blog. (The story is below the photos).











By Amy Schenck
Alaska Star

It’s a ubiquitous late spring and early summer sight: brightly colored dots suspended in the skies above Eagle River.

A handful of local residents make paragliding more than a pastime, they make it a lifestyle.

Scott Amy fits this bill. He has been certified to paraglide for almost two decades, and has worked as an instructor for nearly as long. When not soaring with his glider, he can be found piloting planes - and more recently - helicopters.

Scott offered to take me out on a tandem flight April 21 to give me an off-the-ground feel for what the sport is all about.

We met at the McDonald Center in the late afternoon, near a large open landing field, and caravanned to Mount Baldy’s trailhead. Seven paragliders had already launched into the blue canvass above - a sure sign that conditions were ripe.

On the drive Scott gave me a few pointers and explained how to launch: wait for his cue, run until you’re feet are flapping above the alders and keep you’re weight forward, he instructed.

Once in the air, I would need to help maneuver the flexible aircraft through leaning my body weight to the “left,” “far left,” “right” and “far right,” he continued.

We also discussed thermals, the mysterious rising air currents that would keep us aloft - mysterious to me anyway, there’s actually quite an in-depth body of scientific knowledge on how thermals work - as I later learned from talking to Scott and reading a book about paragliding.

To put thermals into elementary terms, the sun hits the ground, the ground heats the air, the heat rises and we, the paragliders, catch that upward lift.

But watch out! On either side of a thermal, cold air sinks toward the ground in a mad dash to fill the space left behind by the warm air.

Throw wind into the equation, and now you have upward and downward currents being tossed this way and that by sideway currents.

The moral: it takes some skill to handle a glider.

At the Baldy parking lot, we grabbed our gear - glider, harnesses, helmets, reserve parachute, warm clothes, water and a device called a vario, which is short for variometer; it tracks distance traveled and tells the pilot the rate of climb or descent. We then headed for the launch site.

Baldy touts convenience. The launch site - a grassy knoll - is but a 5-minute walk from the trailhead.

As we arrived, we waved at a fellow paraglider circling overhead. We then put on our harnesses and spread out our wing. After ironing out a few minor tangles in the line, we clipped into the glider. I waited for Scott to read wind direction and other air movements, and then give the go ahead.

On Scott’s cue we ran forward; a few seconds later wind pulled us backward; Scott kited the wing into the oncoming gust; we once again took a few steps forward, and within seconds lifted softly into the sky - a far cry from the so-called thrill jump many envision when they think of paragliding.

“Wow!” I thought. “Wow!” I thought again, and dozens of more times after that.

Crystal clear doesn’t fully describe the day. The Alaska Range jutted out of the horizon and Mount Redoubt puffed proudly to the south.

We began caressing the side of Eagle River’s landmark mountain, zooming back and forth in search of the magic thermals (Again, magic to me).

A light wind knocked the thermals around, making upward mobility a bit of a scavenger hunt.

Luckily we had a clue: follow the bald eagle swooping easily through the air.

We began to find thermals. When we hit them, we immediately spun the glider into a tight twist, riding the air column up. To spin we pulled one side of the wing in and shifted our body weight “far left” or “far right.”

Scott called it an air dance - a fitting description and great way to think about the sport.

After some time and work, we climbed above Baldy’s peak into the peaceful void beyond, where we heard nothing more than the vario’s soft beep, letting us know when we gained or lost elevation.

Total freedom, total quiet and a totally cool view! Eagle River seemed to be nothing but an ant farm, with Denali the ants’ hill.

An hour or so later we steered the glider toward our landing pad next to the McDonald Center. (I use the term “we” with a note of pride, as Scott let me take control of the aircraft for some minutes.)

When it was time to land we hovered far above an open field, eyeing an orange windsock. And then - in the same way we climbed high - we pulled into a tight spiral, catching cold, sinking air.

Warning: this activity is not for the faint of stomach, as evidenced by a not-so-delightful little mess I left on the ground - thankfully after touchdown. (I hear you adjust to the twirling and spinning after a few flights).

Before landing we shook out our legs, preparing to once again carry our own weight, and then floated onto the ground running.

We rolled up the glider methodically, carefully attending to the strings and removing air from beneath the folds in the rip stop nylon fabric.

Sun still showered the area as we threw our gear into the car and headed home.

Alaska Paragliding and Midnight Sun Paragliding offer lessons and tandem flights in Southcentral Alaska. Learning how to paraglide costs $1,500 and includes about 75 hours of hands-on training, ground work and a couple of written tests. Lessons include three to four tandem flights at different stages, with the first few days of instruction spent on shallow slopes and flat ground learning how to handle the glider.

Scott recommends taking an introductory tandem flight before deciding if you want to invest time and money into lessons.

The schools use several sites for training, spreading from Gridwood to the Mat-Su Valley.

“The training can be done safely, as can the flying, proved by many with thousands of flights and years of flying with no injury,” Scott said.

What kind of person flies a flexible aircraft?

“Most would be surprised to know that the most common demographic is men 40 to 60 years old. There are a few young guys, but for the most part it’s mid-aged professionals and a few fortunate retired folks, from every walk of life you can imagine,” Scott said.

There are about 70 members of the Arctic Airwalker Association, and about 10 of them are women pilots.

In spring and early summer Eagle River paragliders often gain a couple of thousand feet in elevation and take cross-country trips down Eagle River Valley, or to farther away destinations like Turnagain Arm or Chikaloon.

For more information about paragliding visit: www.alaskaparagliding.com, www.midnightsunparagliding.com and www.arcticairwalkers.com.