Tundra, textured peaks and a truly divine 45-mile day
Sunday was just one of those days - one of those days that imprints vividly in your mind, and 10 years from now you'll still be talking about it.
On Sunday morning I showed up at Darren's house bright and early. We had narrowed down our plans for the day to 10-12 hours in the Talkeetnas - but exactly where or what to do in the Talkeetnas was a matter of some debate. We had eyeballed a few routes, and in that groggy early morning hour were also painfully aware of the rain pouring outside.
After fumbling for too long with computer mapping programs and an Alaska Atlas we settled on Chitna Pass, entering via Hicks Creek and exiting via Boulder Creek. We liked this route because: 1) about half of it was on four-wheeler trails, avoiding a lot of wet bushwacking and poor-visibility route finding and 2) it looked to be about 40 miles - perfect for the type of training I wanted to do.
By the time it was all said and done, the GPS clocked 46 miles and the watch read 13 1/2 hours.
We met Abby at the trailhead on the Glenn Highway, and after setting a shuttle took off. According to some sort of deranged logic that to me made quite a bit of practical sense, I decided I wanted to do the trip on tired legs. Good training for 100 miles, right? So the day prior I ran the fairly arduous 24 miles of Crow Pass, and three days prior completed a 20-mile loop on the Kenai Peninsula.
Darren and Abby - avid adventure racers - started out the morning at a brisk pace, chatting, talking and generally enjoying their fresh legs. I trotted a few steps behind, half cursing my "bright idea" - but trying to dwell on the spectacular scenery rather than aching thighs.
We soon cleared brushy lowlands, climbing up into endlessly wide-open caribou-filled tundra. We followed a muddy half-flooded four-wheeler trail. Not five miles in, my tired legs slipped out from underneath me and I landed with a splat in a thick mud puddle. From that point on I gave up any pretense of trying to stay clean - and besides with the 20-plus river crossings we completed by day's end, there would be plenty of opportunity to rinse off.
We cruised along the tundra until coming upon the banks of Caribou Creek. At the braided blue river we took a hard left, and began the trek upstream. For awhile the trail was easy to follow - but then it started to branch out and peter out, simultaneously. And so started the somewhat unexpected route finding. The next several miles proved to be a mix of following caribou trails, river sandbars, old mining roads, and yes even a bit of shwacking. At one point we made a poor route choice, costing us an estimated 45 minutes, but we took comfort in the fact that we didn't have to backtrack - and still found our way up toward Chitna Pass.
Chitna Pass is referred to as the poor man's Brooks Range. And while I haven't seen the Brooks Range - I can attest the reputation is more than deserved. It is breathtakingly spectacular, made more so by low-angle sun. It's a place that flirts with your imagination, conjuring up fairy tales and romance and the type of happiness that pierces right down to the soul. It's a place you would go to die, a place to be born, and most definitely a place to feel alive. Running up there made me want to run like a little kid - totally free of everything but the now-ness of it all. I wanted to reach out with my pointer finger and feel the rough, red texture of the high peaks and the soft, enticing green of the grass. And as our feet soared down a strikingly narrow moraine, leading us - like a grand stairway - away from this piece of heaven, I stole glances back, hanging on as long as I possibly could.
We popped out onto Boulder Creek's expansive braids. Afternoon was giving way to evening, and we still had a good 20 miles of ground to cover. We broke into a fragmented trot on the river's pebble-strewn sand bars. Each time the river rounded a bend, we had to cross swift and icy water. Shivers were starting to wash over my body, and yet I didn't altogether mind these regular ice baths - they soothed the wretchedly tired muscles in my legs.
As we pounded out mile after mile along the river, Darren seemed to catch his second wind (Or maybe it was his third or fourth wind?). He cruised along effortlessly, telling stories and jokes, and even stopping to chat with a group of campers we encountered - telling Abby and I he'd catch up. I followed him like a beacon - a beacon of endless energy that somehow kept me jogging forward.
When Darren, Abby and I set out on this adventure, we had guesstimated it would take us 10 hours. As the 10-hour mark came and then quickly went, we took stock of our food. Between the three of us we had enough to keep from totally bonking, but not so much as to be indulgent. Four or five miles before the end we took our one and only stop for the day. Huddling together, we each pulled out our last prized piece of food: a string cheese, a Nutrigrain bar and best of all a Ziploc of smashed salt and vinegar Pringles. We split everything into thirds. Then we devoured the food, somehow still managing to savor every crystal of salt and ounce of fat.
(Note: we kept two Gu shots in case of emergency).
At about this time, as the light took on dusk-ish tones, I began to see - for fleeting moments - a Pegasus running through the woods, a Buddha on a mountaintop and a dragon flying out of a tree. I let my mind ride with it, enjoying the shape-shifting world around me.
Also, about this time, we decided to play a memory game - one of those games where you have to repeat what the people before you said, and then add something of your own. "I went to Grandma's house and on her table was ..." Of course, at this point in the day, it would be a food-centered memory game. The list started off: "Apple, bear scatt, cheese cake ... " We went through three full rounds before it dawned on me - and I blurted out: "Oh, is this an alphabet game?" Somehow, unwittingly, I had managed to choose "cheese cake" for the letter "C" and "french fries" for the letter "F" with absolutely no consciousness of what I was doing ... I was just saying what sounded tasty to me in that moment. Needless to say, we got a good giggle over that one.
EVENTUALLY, at around midnight, as the last glow of day departed, we popped out onto the Glenn Highway. (Although, it's somewhat humorous to note - in retrospect - that even though there's only one highway that runs through that area, we weren't totally convinced it was the Glenn). We were unsure of which direction we needed to go to get to our car - but knew we had to be close. We flagged someone down for directions - who graciously offered to drive us to the car. As we collapsed in the back of his truck, we each let out a little mumble about how divine it felt to sit down.
When we got to our car - a mile or two away - the toughest part of the day was just beginning. All three of us had to be to work the following morning - Abby at 7 a.m. - and a two-hour drive stared us in the face. I tried to stay awake to keep Abby company, but didn't truly succeed until after Palmer - when we stopped at a 24-hour grocery store for dinner. I ended up with truly delicious cold chicken strips, a bag of chips and a banana. By the time I showered, my head didn't hit the pillow until 3 a.m., but I slept the sleep of a deeply exhausted, deeply contented being.
(Click to enlarge)
Labels: Abby, Adventure, Alaska, Amy, Boulder Creek, Chitna Pass, Darren, Hicks Creek, photos, Talkeentas, Talkeetnas, Trail running
posted by Amy | 9:07 AM
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