Return from the last frontier

Our last night was spent in Anchorage in a cute little apartment that was spotless and stocked with Swiss Miss hot cocoa. We watched weird TV, and went to bed. We spent the next morning shopping for our dear friends who helped make this trip possible. Thank you again. Now we are flying home to Sher and Nate. I miss my boys so.

Max and I reviewed our time in Alaska at the airport. It is just stunning, and at least I felt clean and connected when I was cold, smelly, and sipping hot broth. Driving through this state was depressing with a guaranteed silver lining in the mountains and  snow covered trees. Max said he could stay, that he loved the cold, and the beauty. It was difficult for me to figure out why the landscape didn’t invigorate me completely, the way California did. I found my personal answer in this paradox: we were among connoisseurs of nature—pure and barely touched, who had no interest in connecting, sharing, or relishing in this existence with another person. Don’t tread on me, man. Which is cool, of course, but this was a big difference for me. I do love the part that humanity plays in natural systems. And I do adore finding a like mind who sees and feels what I see and feel...because, it’s important. Alaska doesn’t need the human piece, like I do. Alaska is a Lone Ranger. But god is it pretty. 

Twelve days isn’t enough to tear Alaska up with explorative exploits, and we couldn’t push or poke at time; we had to be back to school, to work. We just enjoyed our time. I will need more time, to see, to be, more like the me who doesn’t need a phone, but it will have to wait. And Max will return with even more self awareness, insight, and handle on who he is and what he wants, in good time. As for all of you who fear the back woods and unbridled nature, go! It’s something to see, and nothing to fear. Nature demands our respect, absolutely, but it does not intimidate. Go see for yourself.

Twelve days isn’t enough to make an indestructible tunnel to Max, but I think it’s enough time to remind. I was reminded of who my Max is, what he loves, how he shows it, and all the ways he naturally and reflexively responds verbally and emotionally in relaxed conversation. I was reminded of who I think I am to him, and that maybe I am not someone he loathes. I am reminded that no matter how hard adolescence, and self discovery, and fucking life can be for my boy, I have raised a thoughtful guy. In doing so, I just think, especially after this trip, that Max may not always agree with or understand me, but he knows I’m good...and that I love him. Sometimes in our Cambridge life, it’s real hard to know that; for either of us to know this. Spending time. Two weeks, two days, two hours. Is real important.

The moose is up

Today we left the mountains for a cottage with windows that look over ten acres of birch and pine, and the possibility of a moose siting. This lovely home has won over both our hearts with its equal parts Alaskan beauty and comfort. The design absolutely caters to the surrounding view, and I can instantly feel at peace just looking over the treetops and out to the mountains far away. The windows made out the entire living room wall, and Maxwell and I would drink, eat, and play cards while looking out on everything beautiful.

As promised, one of our hosts came by with his super friendly and adorable dogs Albus and Kiera. They let us pet and love them before taunting Ben to chuck a ball outside for fetch. Just beyond the patio, was a very, very steep drop into the forest. The dogs would disappear off the edge and reappear with the ball like extreme sport professionals. They were awesome. Ben and his wife live on the property, love nature, and were excellent hosts. Ben is a wood worker who makes fantastic pieces that Corinne would love. Right now he’s commissioned to make large chunky farm tables for wedding rentals, and is hoping to experiment with more projects to come. Albus is his baby, and is training to be a bird dog. Casey delivers babies :) and is the mother love to Kiera dog, who was returned a few times before finding her true home with someone understanding and warm.

Max and I slid down the edge to hike a little through these great woods. While it’s expected that Max can do all things, the cliff was significant. I was sure I was too awkward to pull it off, until I decided it would be an internal victory for me to successfully climb down AND up again. Always encouraging, Max suggested rope, or his axe, but I did it all on my own (!yay!), and I did it a few times. So weird how that lame adult thing can kick in and hold court, keeping me from trying something slightly scary. It wasn’t a big deal, but today reminded me to try. To think why not. To just do it.

More than anything, I wanted to see a moose on our hike. When we returned, noiseless, Ben had texted saying that two were in his yard. We ran over to see a lying moose deep into the trees, and maybe a calf walking nearby. My damned eyes could only make out the brown blur and movement. For the rest of the evening, I kept my eyes peeled for my mood friends. Ben even texted later on that “the moose is up, and coming toward the cottage.” Max laughed at me as I squealed, but sadly we never got another peek at the moose.

We ate badly here. Finishing off most of our food to prepare for the trip home, and also just eating to be gluttons, we watched movies, ate sweets, and slept in. The night looked like it might clear and maybe show stars (which we had not yet seen), and as of on cue, it began to snow. Ben has just dropped us off at the bus for Anchorage, and it is still snowing. Thanks Ben and lots of love to those doggos!

Living large

This will be short.

Max and I arrived at our final destination, and (choke back tears) it has a washer and dryer. Our camping/ hiking/ old man smelling clothes are in the dryer, Max and I are showered, and we are awaiting Alaskan pizza to be delivered.

Snuggly blanket, wall of windows, a moose might walk by; this is the best!

It’s cloudy but can you seeee the mountains over my shoulder?

The snow people

It snowed. Then the sky cleared and shone blinding rays of sun, reflecting off the mountains and snow. Just ahead a small grey cloud blurred the peaks, that seemed, ages away. Minutes later it hung above us, and brought more snow. This pattern carried on all afternoon and night, and, you guessed it, we woke to maybe 5” more in our footpath outside the cabin.

Max and I moseyed into the lodge for coffee and breakfast, and a bathroom, since ours reminded me of a training potty. We were greeted by an oof oof dog (you know, those tall brown and black terrier cousins that don’t shed), who apparently let himself out of the Lodge. I oozed puppy love and we went inside to meet another beauty. An 11month German Shepherd who was shy and very sweet, hid behind his owner, but loved the oof oof named Loki. The weekend brought out the snow people, their dogs, and the place was humming! Snow mobiles for Marcel, skiing, hikers, and sledders were crawling outside, which was really nice to see.

Somehow, despite the crowd, we were still special, and Hap came by, telling us more about his family’s business. The history and anecdotes from Hap were really neat, and I’ll definitely be looking up the Werlitzer (?) specialty music place, for fun. Hap was an interesting guy, and likely our favorite character met on this trip. We also learned that Robert DeNiro and Colbert ate ice cream sundaes, and had a pleasant non-confrontational talk (“not like when he was on Letterman,” said Hap). The sun baked us all in the window seat, and we settled our bill.

Before leaving, I played in the snow a bit, and then we caught our next ride to Rose Cottage, and comfortable living.

The Lodge

Look closely! A couch, coffee table, and Sher

Tight? Weird but totally worth it.

One more time, to really drive home the awesomeness. Hap. In the painting.

Hatcher Pass Lodge

After some sleepy days in Palmer, I needed to get back into the middle of things. We are in Alaska, dammit, let’s go see! Our host so, so graciously drove us up the 6-8 miles (?) from our cabin and introduced us to some of the most beautiful sights yet. The snow clung to every branch and dressed the rocks along the Little Susitna River. We followed the river and road (paved since 2002) up into the mountains. We were surrounded by them. Liz pointed out the Independent Gold Mine, and we continued above tree level to our new stay Hatcher Pass Lodge.

No cars in the drive. Closed sign in the window. Nature, yes, but this was also supposed to be a splurge with food, restaurant, and spa (not that Max nor I expected to use the spa). I worried suddenly that we had eaten nearly all of our food (at my direction, and constant hunger), and would be stuck IN the mountains without. I said so out loud, and made everyone uncomfortable. Liz was sure that the owner was in and that food wouldn’t be a problem and walked us to the from door. Smelled like a peppermint version of o.cocos t-shirt smell (for my Coco circa 2010 fans). We walked through the side door, and into a kitchen and sun drenched restaurant, that might have remained unchanged since 1968; still lovely, but aged, and untouched— just laying the land for you. We called hello, and I asked Liz if we should go back to her place, and we all hesitantly retreated. Walking from the door to the car, a small man who could EASily have been Celine’s grandfather, yelled “ya gotta really make some noise in this place!”

This is Hap. Much discussion would follow debating what Hap might be short for, and maybe we will ask today. Hap is now our friend. Hap was not our friend when he first answered the door for us, and he smelled funny, and we were in the middle of the mountains, so the part of me that loves boxes squealed, “go!” But we didn’t, and now Hap is our friend—even if he has an 82 year old he be sais quoi.

We were told to check out the empty cabins, and picked our cabin #5. It was stocked with the sort of stained pillows Grandey had in Steven’s closet since 1972, the game of Life, Uno, some waterlogged cards, and a vacuum. In the bathroom, we saw an igloo cooler with some cups for water, a basin, and a queer portapotty little guy that stood about 10-12” off the floor. The main room had a queen bed, couch, and table and folding chairs, oh, and yea, there was a view. Quite possibly the greatest view ever, ever, ever.

After some picture-taking and snow stomping, we returned to the A-framed main Lodge to see if there was a meal schedule, and found Hap. He pulled up a chair. We were caught up on the story of Hap from 1950 to present, which included a beginning in Dedham and a music store on Newbury Street! He was a tree climber, a music repair man and maybe restorer, and someone who wanted to explore and ski. Alaska was pretty new, and he set his home here, created this Lodge for snow sports within the mountains, and here he be. As he spoke Max watched kayaks sled down th

e mountain outside the window. Hap offered to have us hang out for an hour before the kitchen crew came in (thank GOD, a crew), and we planned to return for dinner.

Dinner was real food, and dessert was pie—banana cream and Razzleberry. Phenomenal. We know that we aren’t the only ones in this place but, setting the scene, it sure looks that way. We are seated in the dining room, looking out on creation, and hmm, let me map it out better. Max and I are in the front window, just out of the sun. There are two wood burning stoves behind max (not burning), and there are a few active coal burning stoves in the center of the room. It’s toasty, and we are in chunky Grandpa Gus kitchen chairs, table has a 1960’s plastic cover under resin or plastic encasement. Green and purple grapes are the design. Skis and poles are hanging as decor, along with many, maybe solely, assorted paintings OF the Lodge. The kitchen sits behind a small bar, and above it are stairs leading to the top office and Hap home of the A-Frame.

We will watch the mountains and sky change for two days here, and will move on, closer to Anchorage tomorrow. Hap is a Stephen Colbert fan, an was a former Fan of the Worm (for Dave enthusiasts still out there). Instant respect is paid when I meet a sincere and long time Dave Letrerman fan. DeNiro is on Colbert tonight, so we are hoping for a full report from an excited Hap in the morning.

Our cabin

I feel like I’ve eaten off this before…

Ironwood represent

This is the front door, behind another door that says “closed.”

That’s Hap. Well me; the back of my head, yes, but Hap…in the painting.

Moose Trail, what?

Still snowing dear. Big, Narnia flakes that show no sign of stopping. With much coaxing, I convinced Max to leave canasta and bed behind to use our snow gear. I felt still, and didn’t want to be still in Alaska, so we snow pantsed up and ventured…out to our host’s main house. She sort of scrunched her nose and said “Well you won’t see anything here,” of course not, “you’ll have to go up to Hatcher Pass,” where I thought I was. She was a sweetheart and mapped out some trails nearby that we could trek, mountains or not, and I was happy just to go play in the snow. Moose Trails they were called. Just a bunch of swirling trails that weave in and out of this small park. It was already passed my knee, and any stomping around would get the lazy heart rate up.

We walked up and down a few streets, passing a school bus and (prompting a whole conversation on what it takes to get a snow day for kids in Alaska) toward the trail head. This was simply flat walking in unrelenting snow smacking, and once we got to the trail, we just sort of plopped in the white. We’d made it to the swamp and there really was no where else to go, so we laid down. Perfect snowball snow. Calvin and Hobbes snowball snow. Unable to stay grumpy and tense while being hit with snowballs, snowball snow. We drank up the snow, and laughed at the disgusting poop mud that lurked 14” below the snow, catching both of us at times. Suction mud. Ew. We walked home, soaked and feeling like we’d done something, and played some cards. Ramen? Yes please. Would you like some broth to drink? Oh yes. Almonds? No thanks, I’m nearly full.

Hatcher Pass Cabin

Once decided that we were off to a cabin, Max was on board. We expected a cabin like Yuditna (no power, no mattresses), but walked in to find beds, heat, a shOWer and small kichenette. So we were all hooked up and modern-like…and ten miles beLOW Hatcher Pass and it’s park. We inhaled the delicious homemade cookies that were made by our host, and more importantly, NOT ramen. oatmeal, or almonds, and I washed our clothes. We showered and heckled bad TV (they were all rookies. Well not all of them, but the main guys. They didn’t know any better, they were just rookies), and fell asleep in piles of pillows.

We woke to snow. It snowed and snowed.

Mom…person thoughts

Random thoughts to piece out later:

• Best Box bear boxes we’re thankful additions to camp life. Even though I find campsites depressing, and so prefer dropping camp as we go, this site was completely abandoned, and having the extra protection is steel boxes was just fine by me. I particularly loved that to open a box, the latch required teeny human hands. Like I had to take my mits off because only my fingers could unlatch the lock. Because it wasn’t like annoying child proof locks or difficult, I guess I found it charming.

• While playing cards and telling stories in the tent (probably at 6:30p, all ready for bed) Max was mid-speak when he seamlessly turned his head snd finished his sentence with “…that root though.” His nonchalance, and unintentional way of politely NOTing the constant dig of root in his back, cracked me up.

• I can’t figure out how Max walks so much faster than I. He’s not that much taller, and we seem to be stepping in sync. I’m keeping a purposeful steady step to make for longer endurance…and he looks like he is doing the same. Huh. Max averages about 100ft ahead at all times. When tired, my feelings get hurt that he won’t enjoy this with me. When inspired, I’m grateful we can both walk separately, and have our own experiences together. I know, I’m super dork.

• If I were to write a book from the first page out, and with Max writing from the back page in, we would have very different stories about the same trip.

• I started to get my back up about our morning routine. I would get the water, treat it, lug out the food from the box, pack the day pack, and set up as I do each morning at home. Walking back from hauling bags, because I am still the mom and organizer/ savior/ fixer of things, even though I have roots too and I’m not sleeping well either, grumble grumble, I snarkily thought “watch out for the pricker,” said Max earlier that day. Duh and harumph, I sneered back at his smug direction. Every pricker I saw, after figuring out what it was (they are remarkably camouflaged, red, soft and slight in appearance, and follow no noticeable pattern, so far as I yet can tell) I squashed with my boot to lay it forward and out of harm’s way. I might not be as graceful as Max-his elfin body- is in the woods, but I’m totally fine...and in that moment I was feeling like I was mom and son and not partners in crime. This seed, I suppose, festered, and I brought it up. One hundred feet behind, after being told I was wrong, or should have done something differently, I proudly said “hey it’s not so fun for me when you treat me like a child.” Many “what…?” And whhuutTT?!s were tossed over his shoulder until I finally unloaded. He looked at me, and understood…? maybe?

• This brings me back to the weight I put on my guys, for better or worse. He should know he’s being a jerk right? As the person he bounces personas and attitude and ideas and styles off of, because I’m that rock (not necessarily as heroic as it reads, more like a pretty muddy rock that is always on the front step and hides the extra front door key), that too is my job, right? In the moment it feels selfish and then exhausting to explain that I have feelings and that they are not happy, but I DO it (not to be a weanie, but) because I really, really believe it’s important. Human relation is imPORtant. Treating people right is important.

• Max carries the bear sak from hell of food from the box the next morning and said things like, “you did it last time, so I’ve got it this time.” I’m super cognizant of every effort and thank him with words, a smile, and an unrelated joke to keep the moment from getting too big and noticeable. He’s an excellent partner.

The beach

Max and I began a weird existence of waking to ice, dressing in our mummy bags, and escaping to the beach. In the woods, though gorgeously Klimt like with peeling birch trees, narrow pines, and ice blue mountains in the distance, I felt closed away and darker. We’d follow a path out to the beach and it was like the music turned back on. I don’t know: maybe the sun on such a cold morning, maybe the bone white driftwood sculptures, or maybe it was just too fucking magnificent to keep me away, but this was where I breathed. Max began to take pictures (yes, TOTally, silently I swelled), and taught me amateur macro photography. We found some fun in catching crazy detail in the already fantastic, natural surroundings, and he accidentally started to like taking pictures. He has some sweet shots to upload upon our return, and lending him my older camera, I think he will likely keep with it. We’ve been shooting manually, so we both are toying with the idea of reverting (progressing?) to film again. Funun.

Our days grew more solemn every afternoon at 3p, when a cloud of promised rain or snow would roll in. We began eating dinner at 5p and preparing for bed clothes at 6p. This was hilarious to us, and we donned old voices to narrate our ridiculous new daily routine. By day three of sleeping on roots, and going to bed by 7:30-8p, I started wanting for our next thing to do.

Max loves to settle, loved our cabin (so did I) and loved the predictability of our lake. The notion that we might leave was irritating to him and fueled many debates. Many. Eventually I put my mom pants on, and decided to head to Hatcher Pass. Surrounded by mountains, this state park was a few miles north and had some old gold mines and cool trails. The pass itself promised shocking views, but it is also a snow hike that may not be safe enough for travel. I booked a cabin thanks to the pay phone at the park entrance, and we hopped a cab to Palmer.

Product update

Jet boil once again, fails to disappoint. Just great performance , easy to use, light, durable, frozen hands can manage it.

New Hydrapaks-full force 2L rule. Never been a hydra pack person, but these are engineered with superhero strength, superior material and design-lots of thought went into these. They are clunky if you are not hooking them into your pack, which we unfortunately did not have room to do at points, but their construction is superb. Highly recommend for conditions that require reliability.

I am NOT a glove girl. Never have gloves kept my sausages warm or even just at a status quo where the blood flows healthily. I’ve woolen handmade fingerless gloves with mitten covers, made by someone in Cambridge, and though they test my Renauds, paired with deep pockets, they work ok. So I forgot to borrow Marian’s heated, magical mittens in the rush of our departure, and very very very quietly worried about this. The LAST thing I wanted was an “I told you so” from Maxwell. Even though he loves them so. In the Anchorage airport Max suggested indoor gloves “me and Dad had these on our trip.” Simple fleecy/ northfacey gloves with a bit more umph. I’ve been wearing them under my fingerless mits, and am so wonderfully protected. I am the water girl and collect the water from the mountain top creek for meals, and coffee, and our washing bucket. Max thinks I’m a beast, but it’s really just the fortitude of these glove/ mits that give me an edge. The water was similar on our last trip, when I had no protection, and I remember my fingers being sore and numb until around 10a each morning. Max was 9 then :) so I imagine he wouldn’t know about any of that. Aw, little Max. Top rating for my Alaska Artic Gloves in Anchorage’s Ted Something Airport!

Goal Zero Solar guy is okay. I wished I’d bought our old solar charger (Suntastic I think, or some silly name like that) which was very light, very reliable, and a friend until  lost on the last mountain pass. The Goal Zero is standard so I went for the Nomad 14 model. It’s weight, a hefty 3-4lbs, but it lays flat against my back, and is pretty effective. Maybe 2 hours to charge Max’s iPod fully from not a ton of sun. My phone needs full, direct sun for an hour or so. I give it a meh, but it did work.

Mountain Hardware >0 degree sleeping bag delivers. I hATe swaddling, and am a crazy sprawled sleeper (especially since I’ve had a big girl bed), so the first ten minutes I had a little claustrophobic mini fit. I was pretty sure I was done, but did my meditative mantra “chill out Danielle, you need to grow up and make this work,” and I sorted a reasonable position out for sleeping. I still do not like straight jacket sleeping bags, but am grateful for this one. It’s cold, and I wasn’t, and somehow I wasn’t hot either. THAT is the reason why I am particularly impressed. Somehow Mountain Hardware figured out how to balance that horrifically challenging temperature/ ventilation conundrum.

My Durafold leggings and Terramor turtleneck shirts are amazing. Can’t remember if those names are correct, but both are keeping me warm, not sweaty, dry, awesome. Socks too are super warm. I have actually been wearing running socks to keep my feet cool when walking, and and hiking socks when cold at night, but if you need a solid pair of socks for below freezing, these socks are for you. (Full disclosure: our days have been warm—30-40 degrees, which is really not bad. It’s the night time and early morning that temps sink, so we are not terribly roughing it).

Sorrel boots. So fashionable. Well fair: these suckers are totally waterproof and impress with impermeablility. Very, very weak soles and I could feel every individual rock as if wearing barefoot sneaks. So they’re squishy, and are definitely not hikers like my old shoes. Warm. Dry. Super dry really. Just mire than I really needed in a spring time Alaska.

BREAKING NEWS! There is snow in Alaska! Max and I were just dumped on by a heavy 32 hr snowfall. These boots? Dry, flexible, warm, perfect!

Alps Mountaineering 4 Season Tent is roomy. A piece of cake to put up, and has some great vestibule space. Do pick up some extra stakes with an L head or a hooked top, because these stakes sort of blow. Tent City (who knew?!) in Central Square had a bunch of stuff for our trip, including super cheap bundles of extra stakes.

Seal Line waterproof, rip proof, kill proof bags. Another Tent City find, this held our food for an extra protection beyond bear canisters. They absolutely hold up and mask any smells. The design is superior to anything I’ve seen like this, and despite cursing it’s big, heavy existence, the food bag came through for us.

Eye contact

Day four I saw a flicker of small Max. Maxwell has not let me close enough to see this, for about four years now. I thought I was making it up or projecting a want on him, but I distinctly saw a sparkle when playing cards. A few slight movements, and progressively frequent eye contact, sort of uncovered my boy. Not unlike my last trip in the mountains, my world turns backward, I get a peek at myself and my boys, and then reality rewrites itself in a blink. Hmmm, let me try to describe this: without affecting real time, the present flattens like a photograph, rolls back, and is replaced with a four year old Maxwell moment that I had buried in the archives. He’s bottled energy, with excited eyes, and cannot stay still. His shoulders dance so slightly, and he flashes his long lashes right at me, like “I gotcha!” Then baby Max reels back around and our present play continues on without missed step. He’s everything I remember, and all I hoped he’d be

Max at Eklutna 2019

Max at Marblehead 2011

Camp

The walk from Yuditna to trail head was three miles of lots of grumbling. Once there, we walked another mile of back and forth trying to locate the legal camp grounds. It was clear that Eklutna was a popular weekend spot (as it totally should be), but also obvious that we were the only campers. After a few days of collecting our water and sleeping in bags, we instantly took on that mole people title which delineated us from the folks driving in for a bike ride. I did not and have not yet felt the sincerity and warmth that emanated from everyone we met in California and Independence, CA specifically. I distinctly feel we are other here, and am continuing to look, to see if this is me projecting, or a legit description of alaskanians. Alaskanananans. Don’t tread on me, and antisocial seem more the personality, which is cool, just different than I expected. Never ever expect.

Anyway, we find a spot and set up immediately.

Get. Those. Bags. Off.

It’s maybe 5:00p, and we call it for dinner and sleepy clothes. DONE with this once loverly day out. We set up far back from the trail and in the middle of these sneaky red pricked branches. We both noted them with a curse, and prepared our tent. Ramen, peanut butter, and cranberries over cards before turning in to our yellow tent. I taught Maxwell Canasta which I now regret, and we curled in for our first night out, for real.

We woke to a frozen tent, droplets of ice covered the zippers and our waters were solid and cold. I got up to get water from the creek, and to start the day. I returned to Max who struggled to be cheerful after sleeping on a root. We warmed with breakfast and set out to explore our new home. The beach just beyond our tent was black sand and led into wetlands (sloshy with mud and ice). We had a gorgeous view, and found petrified wood, and rocks cracked by ice. We told funny stories and began to like each other, with new inside jokes.

Yuditna Cabin occupied

Our cabin is named the Yuditna Cabin and was removed from everyone, it seemed. Maxwell and I hoped that no one would reserve our home, and that we might stay longer. Without service (also no power, water, in case that’s not obvious) I couldn’t extend our reservation, so we were at the will of hope if we wanted to stay.

That morning, after oatmeal and coffee, we decided to hike out toward the outlook trail, just to see more of the lake. It was Saturday, and the first time we’d heard/ seen bear bells and bicycles. We were blessed by a few ecstatically happy dogs, and aches for Sher. The doggos all wore bells for safety, and many were leashed. The curiosity factor that attracts dogs to bears to dogs is a real concern, so the guys can’t run free as much as they’d like. I met a German Shepherd named Odo. Best dog name ever I think.

We slid down the banks and past bleached white, uprooted trees; cobbled and clanked together like old light bones. We took pictures and Maxwell skipped rocked along the ice. After lugging a big bald rock into the ice edge, we watched the thin layer shatter and an eerie scream and sizzles reverberated under the thicker ice and along the beach. The sound was hauntingly beautiful. Of course we kept this up for a while, attempting to capture the sound to steal back to Cambridge with us.

We headed back after a fun day. Oooh! Max found some green smoke like the traveling evil in The City of Lost Children, when stepping over some pods. The branches hung pale green, caterpillar shaped pods that exploded silently into pods of green smoke. The effect was magic, but unsettled Max :) So past the smoke we ambled along and arrived home

to find some bikes.

Yuditna had been rented (said in an exclamatory Scottish accent)! After apologizing to the new ‘owners,’ we hustled to pack up and said goodbye. Another drudgerous, 3 + miles back out to find our new home for our tent.

Ice curl

Eklutna

Max can pronounce this with a perfect angry/ warm Scottish accent. This was a good hour long drive from our dark Rabbit Creek Trail, and Valery picked us up as we “slogged” (citing P. Hecht) the 17 degree incline that took us nowhere. San Francisco can beat 17 degree hills in its sleep, but for day one with ~45 lbs a piece on our backs, it took some panting. Max softened to the idea of a more mild, traversed ground for us to hunker down at, and we settled on the recommended Eklutna Lake. I reserved a back woods cabin that was a three mile hike in from the main trail head, and Uber Valery scooped us up.

Eklutna is the largest body of water in the Chugach Park, and it’s blue lake covers about 7 miles. The lake is lined with white capped mountains and glacier peaks, and medium sized rocks tumble along the stretches of black beach. Entering the ten mile stretch toward Eklutna, was very similar to the drive into Yosemite; tall mountains loomed over creeks that ran along a winding road.

Valery pointed out a few Alaskan must sees as we drove, and I noted them all as well as a “ya,” in her vernacular— similar to the Fargo speak. Maybe snow brings that out in accent. She reluctantly dropped us off and left her phone number, since we were way out of service, and there was a pay phone (!) at the trailhead entrance. Free local calls pay phone! We thanked her and watched her go. Max and I oohed and ahhed along the muddy path as we headed to our cabin.

The walk was trying, but we adjusted our gaits and rhythm to balance our weight in order to find that sweet spot of endurance. Generally, I steer clear of terms like “sweet spot,” and often wince when that or related phrasing is used, but I’m sorry, it works here. Not unlike running, or I imagine any sport, the way my body adapts to turning the physical activity up a notch, requires a mini battle between head and bod. The mental piece cannot be discounted for me, because I can mess with myself pretty good. If that line of strained configuration is crossed, one enters a zone of dance. Once we hit the right beat, we tromped along, complained a little, and tromped some more. We hit the cabin, which sat at the edge of the lake and wore a green roof. We dropped our bags, happily inhaled, and deflated into skins of ourselves.

The cabin was small, made of logs, had built in bunk beds, a table, and an oil can sized stove. It was, we both agreed, exactly the home we’d both hoped to live in someday. We set up our sleeping stuff, and hung up our ice axe, poles, shoes, shovel and head lamps, and ventured down to the beach for food. A perfect creek ran down alongside our cabin, where I collected water, and the view was spectacular. This would be our home for two days.

Our view from the front door (better photos to come once uploaded)

My morning coffee spot down on the beach

At Seattle for a few hours and Anchorage in the rain

Seattle. Rain. No needle. Cab to the hotel. I may yelp this review because our hotel was geeeeerrrrrrrOsssS. Ew. Fancy chandeliers, country-esque browned wallpaper from the early 1980’s, hair-elchque-hAir, and sigh, I don’t know, paper sheets...it was just icky. Max and I cringed and slept for four hours and happily left for our connection to Anchorage. Hands down worst money spent.

Ted Williams Airport in Anchorage

We collected our back packs from baggage (Max weighed in at 37 lbs, mine was 32lbs, our food sac was another 30 and we had a couple of carry on bags) and reorganized our packs to carry most everything on our backs. That took an hour or so, we had an airport meal, and sorted out a plan. Anchorage was grey and nondescript, except for the icy mountain peaks lining the horizon. We called an Uber to get us to REI for last minute necessities, and to run our plan by some nature gear heads. 

Recap based on little yellow notebook:

So yes! I’d forgotten or neglected to mention the journey to Alaska. Max and I both wiggled in our seats sharing the same dorky excitement for take off. It’s magical and marvelous to me how we have twisted physics to fabricate a mechanism that can pick us up and carry us beyond 10,000 feet high, and across the world. How everyone doesn’t cheer and aww, boggles my little girl brain. I always clap quietly and say thank you to the pilot; is that weird? Whatever. It makes me so happy to recognize the same appreciation on my son’s face.

We landed in Seattle for a long layover, and quick stay in a hotel to sleep. The Clarion was the hotel, and it was super gross. I don’t mind naming names here, since they charged as much as our most expensive, and definitely most comfortable stay in Alaska. I believe I detailed this in an earlier post, but in transcribing from my yellow notebook, I thought another dig might really drive the point home. Also, the Clarion became a standard from which Maxwell and I would judge every eatery and lodging to follow in Alaska.

The three hour ride from Seattle to Anchorage was on the rough side. Had I boarded after a long and trying day, I’m sure I would have snapped, but since I was excited and in morning glory mode, I was pretty calm. A poor little baby sat next to us, who was sweet as can be, but in terrible pain. His ears must have been popping (which mine do too, and I’ve had some really painful flights before), and he was screaming for almost the entire flight. Max and I were very cool, despite that piercing note that no human could endure. Then the turbulence began. This was so extreme, that I was scared. Max wasn’t, which may be why I was allowed to feel rattled, as the plane rose and dropped significantly, and without normal adjustments. The baby screamed, the plane shook, and I tried so hard to not think about the deregulation and stripped rules that were once applied to medicine, automotive, and aircrafts in this country. Removing barriers that imposed thought for safety on potentially deadly processes, has allowed for cutting corners for faster work, and was at the forefront of my mind as we shook in the sky.

We didn’t die. 

It’s ok.

Landing in Alaska, we were welcomed with a perfectly painted landscape of ice blue mountains along the horizon. The weather was grey and cold, which would come to be expected everyday, at some point in the day. We hopped a cab and I shuffled in my phone to get the cab driver the address of Anchorage’s REI. The cabbie snapped in an insulted accent, “I know it. Of course I know where!”

Sheeesh. Not the friendly sort had expected for the Alaskan population. We drive through a sullen piece of highway with very few cars. Although ugly and dark, the ride reminded me of driving just outside San Jose Airport, and outside LAX. California always struck me with its great spans and beauty. Just gorgeous. But the lack of community in design, visually, confuses me. California is so SO aware of its appearance, but seems okay with sporadic storefronts, homes and disconnected communities. For example, I could go to a grEAt restaurant in SoCal, in a strip mall just off Highway 1. Not really something that is in the East. In the East, everything fits and compliments its neighbor, which is not the practice in California. Alaska is like California in that respect.

We were left in a blank strip of random establishments: Big Boys’ Burgers, REI, Hunters Headquarters, and we honorees ourselves and packs into REI.

This is where we met our REI sales folk.

A word about good intentions. We all have them. So many times as a younger person, I have resented advice and direction for the unspoken presumption that I may not be thoughtful or deliberate in action. It hits a soft and sore spot in me; where I fear and feel I am a failure. As I’ve ridden the rollercoaster of life a bit more, I began to understand this human need to assist as an endearing, albeit an annoying trait. While I enjoy approaching the new and unknown with exhilarated anticipation and planning, fear of the unknown is a real deal for some. The last week of planning, amidst a change and real tornado at work (which seemed to really mean a lot to me), I was peppered with some good intentioned reminders, warnings and questions. In my frazzled state, they were very impactful, and made me worry that I might be doing this all wrong. I researched that the temperatures were comparable to Cambridge, in the lower portion of Alaska’s Chugach Parks, but now I wondered if I needed snow shoes and poles. So we go to REI.

A lovely sales rep with short swooped hair, heavy-lidded eyes, and great tattoos—one visible reading, “Survival is Insufficient,” Awesome— took us in and we went through a map of the area. The ground conditions, air temperatures, hibernation situations, and reviewed our preparation. She had a drawling sing song to her monotonous voice that made Max and I nod. “You meet a black bear, you’re gonna have to fight him. Give him all you have; go for the eyes and fight til the death.” Jesus. This was a nod in agreement situation, and in no way could I let my eye catch Max’s for fear of nervous laughter. She was, is great, but this really just amped any concerns planted in our bones, from other well meaning folk.

Ok so based on her advice we had a few great options nearby, and Ubered to Rabbit Creek Trail with Sami. Sami was a doll, and our first favorite Uber driver. Thanks Sami. Up a weaving road that turned to dirt, Sami apprehensively left us at the unmarked trailhead. We had service, and set out to give this path a whirl. Grey, ominous, quiet, yes, but what really broke us was the @&$!? foodbag. We had some overflow and packed a super sleek Sealpak with about 20lbs of food. I carried a back pack in my arms, along with my hiking pack, and Max rocked the food bag. We switched a bit until we had to admit that this extra weight, up an endless hill, was no good. We decidedly agreed that Rabbit Creek was not what we wanted. Val was Uber driver #2, and she took us to Eklutna Lake. 

Our bags

Food bag

Departing Logan at 6:55p for Seattle

Running to the airport in a hurry, followed by misshapen shadows of turtles, hovering bags that will hold our home for a couple of weeks, Maxwell and I head for our flight to Anchorage. We haven’t flown since 2015, or since the Trump presidency befell, so we are both excited and a little anxious. Max was searched, left his belt on, and it left his shaking, with a cool face. He was all cleared, and eventually relaxed with a Skittles purchase.

Sherlock’s plan while we are away has some loose ends so I am trying to tap them out on my phone, to make sure everyone is in place. I will later find that the paperwork I submitted to Sherlock’s boarding joint had an overdue vaccination. The vet and I tried to connect before my trip, but I was super, impossibly swamped and couldn’t escape work. Papers were accepted and reservation was made, so I thought we were ok, since Puppah has the physique of a Max. There was a scramble among friends and dear family late in the game, while Max and I were in Bear Country and without service, and my puppy was loved and saved. At this point, I think all is well, but I am overwhelmed with gratitude and feeling really sappy. I’m so appreciative of all of my loved ones, and of Sherlock’s fans and guardian angels. Thank you.

Max and I boarded a plane and let ourselves feel that free rush. We both love to take off.