The Edventures

Rendezvous at Kilo Hot Springs

2010-05-30T09:32:00.046-08:00

Soaking in one of the pools at Kilo Hot Springs

We were about four miles from the springs when my ear captured the muted buzz of a plane as it skirted over a distant ridge. The small aircraft passed just overhead and continued west before disappearing between the building cumulus clouds. I felt a sudden pulse of excitement and relief surge through my body. And as I glanced over at Dan and Ann I could see that they shared the same sensation. We knew within a few hours we would be lounging in the hot springs, sipping the bitter sweet combination of gin and tonic, satiated from a warm meal, all in the company of our friends.

At this point, we had been moving almost constantly across the rugged terrain of the Ray Mountains for the past two days with only a few hours of sleep. The plane was our quick exit back to civilization. It would carry us effortlessly over the deep and thickly vegetated valleys, rocky scree slopes, ankle twisting tussocks, and endless stretches of mosquitoes. There were a number of reasons that could have prevented our aerial transport from reaching our prearranged rendezvous point though; foul weather, mechanical problems, illness...and these thoughts lingered silently in the back of my mind for the duration of our trip.

Kilo Hot Springs is situated in a broad valley on the marge of a crystal clear stream that drains north from the Ray Mountains. The nearest road or community is more than 40 miles away. Access to the area is difficult since there is no airstrip or trails. A well drained tundra ridge about 5 miles from the springs serves as makeshift landing spot. We began our journey to Kilo from the Yukon River bridge along the Dalton Hwy. Paddling 20 miles down the mighty Yukon to an undefined ridge, we packed up our boats and climbed steeply into the high country of the Ray Mountains, traversing about 45 miles on foot to reach the springs.

Smoke from early season wildfires settles into the Yukon River valley as we paddled 20 miles to our take-out point. The Yukon River narrows considerably below the Dalton Highway as it approaches a pinch point know as the Rampart Canyon. This narrow neck was once considered a feasible site for the hydroelectric producing Rampart Dam, which was estimated to flood an area the size of Lake Erie.

We pulled our packrafts out of the Yukon at an unassuming ridge that would provide us with direct access the treeless high country.

The steep ascent quickly provided us with a panoramic view of the Yukon River far below.

Crossing sweeping carpets of tundra pockmarked with treacherous, ankle twisting tussocks en route to Kilo Hot Springs.

The muggy heat forced us to dip for water in even the slimiest of tundra ponds.

Furry willow catkin's and new spring leaves absorb the late evening sunlight.

Some of the granite tors jutting from the tundra resembled giant prehistoric creatures grazing on the distant hillsides.

Our friends flew in from the Dalton Highway, hiked five miles down from the plane, and met us for a night of soaking in Kilo Hot Springs.

Dea and Ben sit around the campfire and listen to our stories about the exhausting trek to the springs from the highway -- a grizzly bear encounter, cracks of thunder and strong winds on the Yukon, torn up feet, falling rocks, never-ending ascents and descents, spongy tundra, expansive views, untouched wilderness...

The springs are home to an abandoned homestead. Three cabins remain just upstream from the main hot springs. At least one of these cabins was situated adjacent to the springs but was relocated to it's present location a few years back.

The closest place to land a small plane is on a firm ridge about five miles from the springs. It was a 30 minute flight back to the highway.

Above is a video account from the trip to Kilo Hot Springs.

Northern Alaska Packrafts, LLC

2010-05-27T23:42:00.004-08:00

A packraft rental shop has been born in Alaska's interior. Northern Alaska Packrafts is now open for business, serving up packrafts to those with an appetite for adventure.

Unfortunately, this blog has been severely neglected due to the consumption of time from other endeavors - but it has not been totally forgotten. New trip postings, thoughts, and experiences coming soon...

Day Trippin' the Middle Fork Chena River

2010-05-16T22:09:00.021-08:00

Eager packrafters head towards the Middle Fork Chena River.

A winters worth of ice has flushed out of local rivers, the snow has melted, and the packrafts have reappeared after 8 months in hibernation. We headed to the hills east of Fairbanks for the first packraft excursion of the season. This was a pleasant day-trip right in our backyard playground known as the Chena River State Recreation Area.

Our hike began at the Angel Rocks trailhead. After a steady climb to the granite outcroppings that mysteriously protrude from the boreal forest, we continued the steep ascent to a tundra ridgeline on a connector trail that eventually leads to Chena Hot Springs. Just before reaching a small shelter cabin, a winter trail spurs off to the south and descends down to the Middle Fork Chena River. From there we floated back to the road where bikes can be stashed. Then its a quick 6-mile ride or run back to the vehicles. Total hiking was approximately 12 miles and the 6-mile float took us about 2 hrs.

A boardwalk elevates hikers and alleviates damage to the fragile, yet burnt, vegetation below.

The first few miles of the trail are well marked. The trail to Angel Rocks is one of the most popular in interior Alaska.

Excellent walking and views of the Tanana-Yukon Uplands and Alaska Range.

In a saddle at the eastern end of the ridge, sits a small trail shelter. A trail marked with cut-up road signs branches off to the south just before reaching the shelter. The relatively firm trail follows a ridge down to the Middle Fork Chena River.

The trail splits just before reaching the boggy wetlands around the river. One trail leads into a network of small beaver dams and flooded forest.

The put in on the Middle Fork Chena River is about 12 miles from Angel Rocks.

The Middle Fork is a casual class I float with an occasional sweeper or log jam to avoid. The take-out is at well established gravel bar and pullout at Milepost 43 Chena Hot Springs Rd. Jay pioneered this route and has some additional information HERE.

Dash to Dall Hot Springs

2010-05-10T21:02:00.047-08:00

Dan inspects one of the pools of hot water at Dall Hot Springs

I just stood there perplexed, frustrated, and on the verge of despair as I stared out at the foreboding landscape. As I spun around looking for relief, my 360 degree view was overwhelmed with jumbled, multiple layers of criss-crossed, endless slash piles of blackened spruce trees that littered the hillsides. We had been climbing around, up, through and over a twisted maze of forest destroyed by a past fire for more than 10 hours since breaking camp. The incessant minefield of jagged spears had ripped or shredded much of our clothing, gashed our flesh, and thrown us on the ground as an unseen root or branch would lash on to any loose thread. We were determined to make it to our destination though - a small flag marked on my GPS that indicated the approximate location of Dall Hot Springs.

We spent the weekend traveling overland nearly 30 miles from the Dalton Highway to reach Dall Hot Springs. About 10 miles of our path crossed decent alpine tundra and open stands of burnt spruce - BUT - during much of the remaining 20 miles we clambered across the torched landscape. We only had a short time once we finally made it to the springs because we had to begin the arduous 18 hour trek back to the truck.

A small portion of our route coincided with the Hickel Highway, which is quite a prestigious title for an abandoned winter ice road. This mostly forgotten and overgrown swath of history was cut across the boreal forest, mountains, and arctic tundra en route to explore the potential reserves of petroleum deep under Alaska's Arctic coastal plain. Governor Walter Hickel ordered the winter supply road to be bulldozed north in November 1968. The "highway" was soon ditched due the poor engineering techniques which stripped away the insulating vegetation that protected the underlying permafrost. The highway turned into an impassable mud bog as the permafrost thawed. A new environmentally sound route, the Dalton Hwy, was constructed a few years later. Although Hickel's Hwy failed, it paved the way and served as a catalyst for the exploration and development of the oil and gas fields in Alaska's Arctic.

We found an assortment of relics along the Hickel Hwy, including oil cans and numerous unidentifiable fragments of old machinery and equipment. Some random photographs during the highways construction can be found HERE. Unbeknown to us, Hickel had passed away at the ripe age of 90 the day we skimmed his defunct highway on the way to Dall Hot Springs.

Dall Hot Springs is a small oasis of warm water and lush grass tucked up against the hillside. A handful of sulfurous springs percolate to the surface and flow away into the boreal forest.

There were remnants of human activity at the springs. This pool was contained by a decaying wood frame and had a complimentary deck and collapsed supports poles for some type of primitive cover. There was also some sort of control gate to adjust the flow of water entering the tub.

Beat-up and tired, but exhilarated from an arduous trek and time out in the wilderness, we made it back to the road and quickly headed south to our materialistic comforts back in Fairbanks.

Here is the video version from our 60-mile, 48 hour push to Dall Hot Springs....

100 Miles through the White Mountains

2010-03-23T09:59:00.015-08:00

50 athletes leave the start line of the inaugural White Mountains 100-mile race

At the count of one, I sucked in a deep breath of the cold March air and blew into the plastic red whistle. A puttering squeal shot through the air and a wall of racers surged forward. I stood precariously balanced on the trailer hitch feeling hungover from several sleepless nights and peered down as 50 people on bikes, skis and foot funneled into the narrow slot in the trees. They were just starting their race and for me, my race was over. From an idea that was conceived 9 months earlier while packrafting through this country in the warm sunshine, the White Mountains 100 became a reality. Skiing the 100-mile course was going to be a cool down or decompression of sorts, and time to watch the race unfold before me.

Thanks to all the volunteers, athletes, and supporters that made this a successful race.

Kite Skiing in the Alaskan Arctic

2010-02-05T18:57:00.146-09:00

Dan heads west along the wind-swept tundra of the Arctic coastal plain.

He spent hours hunched over his sewing machine, stitching together the slippery material that would one day pull him across the frozen tundra. Dan mastered his sewing skills as he created from scratch several different sized kites. Each individual kite was designed for a particular meteorological condition; the largest would scoop up enough air in a light wind regime and accelerate Dan forward, while the smallest would be utilized in stronger winds where a large surface area of fabric was not necessary for propulsion.

I drove Dan north to Alaska's Arctic coastal plain where he was to make a test run of "kite" assisted travel for a few days. This is a harsh environment where wintertime temperatures seldom climb above zero degrees Fahrenheit, the sun remains below the horizon for nearly two months, and strong winds accompanied by zero visibility in blowing snow can persist unabated for days. His plan was to ski across the tundra to the village of Nuiqsut and work out any bugs with his system before venturing off on a more comprehensive journey across Alaska.

Loading up the hand-crafted sled and bag with a weeks worth of gear to survive in sub-zero temperatures and mind numbing wind chills.

Bundles of lithium batteries for a headlamp, gps, and SPOT messenger.

Ensuring the kite lines are untangled prior to departure.

All geared up and ready to launch the kite. First stop: Nuiqsut, Alaska.

Vlogging from the drop-off point 15 miles south of the Arctic Ocean.

Growing Older at Caribou Bluff

2010-01-24T21:44:00.012-09:00

Curtains of northern lights dance above Caribou Bluff cabin

I stood at the edge of the bluff in front of the small log cabin. Even though I have seen the northern lights illuminate the sky an uncountable number of times in my life, I am still mesmerized by the silent beauty of every display. Each time it's a different performance; sometimes turning into an explosion of colors shooting quickly across the sky, and other times a shy green streak that dimly fades away into the starlight.

On this night I remained deathly still as I attempted to visually contemplate which direction and with what intensity the next wave of light would pursue. The green arc eventually faded and the show was over. But I remained standing at my perch on the bluff, a bit disappointed that there was no grand finale. I was suddenly aware of the warm glow emanating from the cabin window, the swirl of smoke rising from the chimney, and the muffled laughter of my friends inside. I was overwhelmingly happy to be here to celebrate the beginning of another year in my life...

This was a quick weekend trip into the White Mountains. Six of us traveled by skis, and one on a bike with fatty tires. We propelled ourselves 30 miles out to the Caribou Bluff cabin and then an additional 30+ miles back to the road.

This was an especially special trip. It has been nearly a year since Dea received her kidney transplant. After many months of building up her endurance, she was able to join us on this this vigorous ski traverse. Not too long ago, I could only fondly imagine a time when I could see Dea out enjoying a dialysis-free lifestyle. Now it's become a reality.

A video story from Caribou Bluff.

White Mountains 100

2009-11-14T11:21:00.008-09:00

An idea...that morphed into some scribblings on a sheet of paper...and now may become a reality. So simply named but packed with an uncountable number of challenges to push the human body to the point of physical and mental exhaustion. The White Mountains 100 - a 100-mile human powered winter bike, ski and running race. Coming to interior Alaska in March 2010.

Packrafting in Technicolor

2009-09-08T23:18:00.030-08:00

Vibrant colors illuminate the East Fork Susitna River basin

The wide spectrum of light sent me into a visual overload. It seemed like my brain was confused at how to process the incredible array of wavelengths entering my eyes. My vision had previously adjusted to the washed out colors brought on by a rather cloudy and wet, monochromatic August. But as September and autumn rolled in, summer-like weather decided to throw one last performance with bright, warm sunshine lighting up a chromatic display of fall foliage.

We headed into the Alaska Range south of Fairbanks for our final packrafting trip of the season. My nephew and I had traversed the Clearwater Mountain area earlier in the summer, and I was excited to return and explore more of this countryside. I was intrigued by the easy access to the open tundra, shimmering alpine lakes, sweeping valleys, and dramatic views of glaciated peaks looming above the horizon. All of this is within easy reach of our limited Alaska road system.

We started our trek near the end of the Valdez Creek mine road, at which point a dendritic network of mining trails branch out into the surrounding mountains. These trails provide easy access to the high country. Our traverse led us up one of these paths for about 6 miles, at which point we veered off and paraded across the tundra for an additional 20 miles of cross country walking. Our destination was the East Fork Susitna River a few miles from its start at the terminus of the glacier with the same name. From there we floated 32 miles back to the Denali Highway bridge where we stashed bikes and running shoes for the 11 mile trip back up to the truck. The walking was superb with firm tundra, minimal bushwhacking, excellent alpine lake swimming, easy floating and portaging, plentiful wildlife viewing, along with classic Alaska scenery.

We had to cross Valdez Creek a handful of times as we worked our way up the drainage. A well established 4-wheeler trail provided easy access to the alpine and eliminated the need to fight our way through the chest high dwarf birch.

A classic example of solifluction lobes are draped along the hillside. These features resemble oozing tongues of molasses. They are created as the first meter or so of frozen soil, also known as the active layer, thaws during the summertime. Gravity takes its toll on this water saturated active layer of permafrost and it slowly slips downhill along the interface with the permanently frozen ground below.

Curious caribou are prevalent in this part of the Alaska Range.

The tundra grasses and sedges had transitioned into a soft yellow carpet with the onset of fall. In July my nephew and I had strolled down this valley through fields of wildflowers on our way to float Clearwater Creek. For this trip we just skimmed the upper edge of the drainage on our way to a rock strewn pass.

The vertical face of Mt Deborah towers over Ben and Heather.

The fall foliage reflects from one of the many unnamed alpine lakes.

Dea and Heather enjoy the unbelievably stellar walking across the firm tundra and brush free landscape.

Ben approaches yet another beautiful, crystal clear lake. We swam in nearly every pool of water we encountered along our route.

Our progress was slowed by the bountiful supply of plump blueberries which weighed down the bright red bushes.

A choir of cotton grass stands proudly along the edge of another nameless alpine lake.

Ben hesitantly walks through the bright red-leafed blueberry bushes as he makes the final descent to the East Fork Susitna River.

A carpet of tundra and game trails led us right down to our put-in on the silty waters of the East Fork Susitna River.

The East Fork Susitna River was mostly easy class I water, except for a 1.5 mile stretch of rapids just above the confluence with the main stem of the Sustina River. At the water levels we encountered, the rapids were generally class II, with a very short class III rocky drop which required some quick maneuvering.

Portaging around any portion of the rapids on the East Fork Susitna was easy due to a well worn game trail along the south bank of the river.

A portion of the 1.5 mile stretch of rapids on the East Fork Susitna River. A very short class III bouldery section is just up river from this point.

The glaciated peaks of the Alaska Range dominate the skyline above the main stem of the Susitna River. We dragged and powered our way through a few miles of very shallow, braided channels on the Susitna River. Otherwise, the entire traverse was an awesome way to close out the 2009 packrafting season.

Silence in the Clearwater

2009-07-20T21:33:00.023-08:00

Mark and Sky descend a mountain pass in the Clearwater Mountains

We finally settled down and started to cook dinner around 1 am under the dim twilight. It was noticeable that the nights were gradually getting darker as time slowly slid away from summer solstice. The two of us perched ourselves on a cushion of tundra overlooking a glassy alpine lake as we devoured our warm meals from the self contained aluminum bags.

Mark was the first one to notice it. I had sensed that something was different but no conscious thought had surfaced until he pointed out the obvious. It was completely silent...dead still. There were no birds, not a single movement of air to rustle the miniature leaves on the surrounding sedges -- but this place was void of something more prominent. Bugs! There was no incessant buzzing of mosquitoes. We had been so accustomed to a constant hum in the atmosphere this summer that the lack of sound felt strangely discomforting.

This was our last trip together before Mark heads back to his home high in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and tends to more important things like high school and cross country running. Mark was eager to do a multi-sport trip which would combine hiking, boating, and cycling. We decided to explore the Clearwater Mountains: an accessible subrange in the greater Alaska Range along the Denali Highway. A very well maintained road and network of 4-wheeler trails lead to the tundra in the Valdez Creek mining area. We followed one of these paths until it spit us into the alpine. From there we hiked about 18 miles to Clearwater Creek, dropped our packrafts in the water and floated 15 miles to the Denali Highway, and then biked 35 miles back to the truck. A complete 70 mile loop which can easily be completed in a 3-day weekend.

We scrambled up a pass above Grogg Lake en route to our put-in on Clearwater Creek.

A dense population of caribou in this area have developed a well worn web of trails through the lower elevation brush. This made for easy walking as we dropped down into the Clearwater Creek drainage.

We put in on Clearwater Creek at the confluence with a tributary which contributed enough water sufficient for floating.

The creek was almost entirely Class I water with a short stretch of rocky...non butt dragging...Class II riffles with some boulders to dodge.

The take out at Milepost 55 Denali Highway. I was skeptical about floating this river when I saw the low volume of water flowing under the bridge. The trip was surprisingly nice with plenty of water to keep the boats afloat.

Heading west on the Denali Highway and back to the truck.

Whitewater on Windy Creek

2009-07-12T19:09:00.015-08:00

Ben and Tyler take a ride down Windy Creek

Windy Creek is often used as an approach to access the Sanctuary River in Denali National Park. This clear boulder strewn ribbon of water also makes for a superb day trip. When I first walked up this drainage en route to the Sanctuary River via Windy Pass I was so focussed on my final destination that I somehow overlooked its amusement park ride-like floating potential. Fortunately a fellow packrafter pointed out the obvious in a post on the internet.

A well worn 4-wheeler trail branches northwest from the community of Cantwell and crosses a low divide before narrowing down to a single track where it descends into the Windy Creek drainage. We hiked about 5 miles along this path from Cantwell to an undefined spot that looked like a great starting point. This was followed by a 9 mile float down Windy Creek and the Jack River -- eventually pulling out where the Jack spills into the Nenana River. A short portage through the brush brought us back to the road. From there its a pleasant 8-mile bike ride or run back to the vehicle in Cantwell. The ideal trip..no car shuttle required.

Mark gazes down at the others clambering on all fours as they climb a steep bluff along Windy Creek.

The upper part of Windy Creek is very fun and steady class II water with lots of small drops and standing waves. The volume is relatively low so there are no big hydraulics or unmanageable holes to contend with. Its a confidence boosting intro paddle for newbies to whitewater packrafting. The lower river is a mellow class I "chill out" and soak up the scenery float.

Tyler prepares to re-enter the river after one of our numerous stops to dump water out of the boats.

Videography from Windy Creek

Hot Springs Double Header

2009-07-09T23:00:00.084-08:00

Melozi Hot Springs - the abandoned wilderness paradise... (Rozell photo)

I stood there completely naked as the cascade of hot water splashed over my head and ran down my back. Several large grayling suspended in the crystalline water that was lapping at my knees effortlessly maneuvered between the cobbles lining the bottom of the creek. A lone dipper glided across the blue summer sky as it skipped from rock to rock in search of food. This is absolutely unreal I thought to myself. Does this place exist? ...or is this some fantasy that I conjured up in my mind? But I am really here...in this remote valley deep within Alaska's interior.

The hot springs double header - this trip was conceived while soaking in the steaming water of Horner Hot Springs over 7 months ago on winter solstice. Dan and I had skied from the village of Ruby to these springs that rest on the northern flank of the Yukon River. Now we were here again in the heat of the mid-summer sunshine retracing our steps - but this time by boat and foot.

On this return trip we were accompanied by my 15-year old nephew and friends Ned and Jim. The plan was to complete a full 360 degree traverse that would hit two remote geothermal springs: Horner and the mystery shrouded Melozi. This entire circuit would incorporate a 25-mile boat ride up the Yukon River, 25-miles of ridge hiking over the Kokrines Hills, and over 70-miles of packrafting the Melozi River.

Sam and his friends drop us off at the start of an overgrown trail that leads a mile back to Horner Hot Springs. Sam lives about 10 miles downriver and is building the Yukon River Lodge which should be open for business soon.

The approach to Horner Hot Springs nearly required a machete in order to bash back the thick growth of ferns and other Jurassic-like vegetation.

Jim adjusts the plumbing that feeds the small tarp-lined pool at Horner Hot Springs. Hot water seeping from the adjacent hillside is collected in a small pond above and piped into the pool.

Quaking aspen cavities (Rozell photo)

Jim climbs into the alpine tundra high above the mighty Yukon River.

Mark gazes down at an unnamed alpine lake from the crest of the Kokrines Hills. This was the first of two cirque lakes we skirted which were tucked into a dramatic amphitheater of rock that rose over 1000 feet above the waters surface.

Plotting a course across the "green" -- We had to descend from our firm carpet of tundra into a saddle riddled with thick brush, dense mosquitoes, and scraggly spruce trees. Rumor had it that a trail transected this low pass through the Kokrines en route from the Yukon River to Melozi Hot Springs. We never saw any trace of the historical path...

Becoming one with the tundra (Rozell photo)

The late evening sunlight softens the high terrain of the Kokrines. This elevated island of rugged topography along the central Yukon River was once sculpted by glaciers and lies in sharp contrast to the surrounding weathered and rounded hills. The isolated alpine ecosystem here is home to the Alaska marmot which can only be found in two other ranges in northern Alaska.

The main lodge at Melozi Hot Springs was in stellar shape. The stout roof was still intact even after more than 25 years of neglect. This was not the case with the remaining structures littered around the springs which were in varying degrees of disrepair.

The Melozi Hot Springs reservoir tub fabricated from slats of wood was too hot for soaking. It was designed to accumulate a pool of water that could be gravity fed to the various cabins.

A pipe fed an intricate network of plumbing that provided a "green" source of heat to several buildings and brought the luxury of hot running water to this isolated paradise.

Ned rotates a hand crank drill that was mounted in a dilapidated workshop. The shed was loaded with nearly every tool one could imagine. It was difficult to accept that the last residents at Melozi Hot Springs departed and left an entire lives worth of hard work to decompose in the boreal forest.

Its amazing the structure hadnt been ransacked by bears or other varmints such as squirrels or porcupines. There was still an assortment of spices on the kitchen shelves, jars partially filled with dried legumes, circa 1970's clothing hanging in the closets, file cabinets with various paperwork, and liquor bottles at the bar (empty...of course). (Rozell photo)

An old brochure describes the decadent features at Melozi Hot Springs...including the indoor swimming pool.

The indoor pool in July 2009 - collapsed and gradually being overtaken by the boreal forest and eventually erased forever.

A tattered copy of People Magazine and Cosmo resting on the table from the early 1980's shot us back to a time. The account of the passionate and later volatile love affair between Glenn Campbell and Tanya Tucker provided us with a brief flashback of pop culture from that era.

The not so grand piano rests silently under a pile of dust.

Pinups on the wall of the main Melozi lodge give a glimpse into the lives and dreams from days past.

Aug 24 1983 2:00PM +70 degrees. Beautiful, sunny, bugless day!! Light variable breeze. Melozi seems more of a natural paradise. Photographed a grizzly splashing across the river below cabin #2. Working in the garden naked - making love on a mat by the pool..then a warm swim. Grizzly running in the sparkling blue river. A rare day. (Excepts from a Melozi diary, author unknown.)

We loaded up our rafts and took to the river where the hot water free falls into the creek. We suspect this was the first packraft descent of Hot Springs Creek and maybe even the Melozi River.

Hot Springs Creek was entertaining Class I/II water with some rocks to "pinball" through and small standing waves to bob over.

Altocumulus clouds illuminated by the midnight twilight.

The gang enters the head of the Melozi River canyon. The river water was an unbelievably warm 64 degrees F (18 C)! Several hundred miles of the upper river slowly meanders across a broad interior valley and soaks up the 20+ hours of daily sunshine.

Scoping the runout of the upper rapids in the Melozi River canyon.

There are two short class III rapids in the Melozi canyon. This inhibits almost all motorized boat traffic from traveling beyond the canyon. We also heard that the local legend about the "woodsman" that haunts the forest along the Melozi also discourages visitors to this region. Thus, there is minimal sign of humans on much of the Melozi River considering its navigable size and proximity to Ruby.

We were not the only ones traveling down this river corridor.

The full circle is complete - the hot springs team back in Ruby on the way to the airport. (Rozell photo)

Plaque at Melozi Hot Springs...

Video sampler from the Hot Springs Double Header

Kids on the Itkillik

2009-06-25T12:07:00.060-08:00

Dwarf fireweed casts a midnight shadow along the Itkillik River

I looked back over my shoulder and they were still there. Completely lost in their thoughts and undoubtedly struggling to deal with the miserable situation. I began to seriously question my decision to bring two 15-year old kids on this trip. We had been stumbling across knee deep tussocks in the late afternoon heat fully draped in our armor of raingear for hours. The uneven surface made it nearly impossible to move in any direction. Each erratic and unstable step ended with a sharp roll of the ankle as we clumsily navigated through the maze of towering tufts of grass. But we had to keep progressing forward because the incessant humming of the mosquito filled atmosphere was maddening. The continuous ricochet of bugs against our bodies felt like a torrential shower of raindrops pelting our clothing. There was no choice but to move on to a place where the ground would firm up enough to allow us to setup camp and take refuge in our tent.

I knew better than to head to the Arctic this late in June but I thought we had a few more days of reprieve before the onset of bugs. We were a day too late. The season is short this far north and the tundra explodes with new life every hour during the start of the brief warm season and 24-hour sunshine. My nephew Mark and his friend Mara were up for the adventure and decided it was worth the gamble. So we spent summer solstice above the Arctic Circle in the shadow of spectacular folded limestone cliffs, fields of wildflowers, diving raptors, howling wolves, following the footprints of grizzly bears, and sacrificing ourselves to the hordes of blood thirsty mosquitoes.

Our traverse would take us over the crest of the Brooks Range to the Itkillik River valley. From there we would hop in our packrafts and drift northward before beelining our way back across the tundra to Galbraith Lake about 40 road miles north of our starting point. The entire trip consisted of roughly 50 miles of hiking and 25 miles of river travel.

Our last view of the Dalton Highway before we head into the wilderness. It would be another 5-days before we returned to this industrial artery that connects the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay to the rest of the world.

An uncountable river crossing...the classic image of almost any trip across Alaska where trails and bridges are almost non-existent.

Mark gazes into an eroded cavern in the remnant river ice. Extensive areas of aufeis are common in this region. These large sheets of ice can be several meters thick and persist well into the summer. Aufeis begins to form as the river freezes and the channel becomes constricted. The buildup of water pressure forces the river to flow out of the channel and spread across the adjacent flood plain throughout the winter. Ice sheets like this often serve as the only escape from the mosquitoes for thousands of caribou.

Crossing Oolah Pass - aka the continental divide.

Mara makes the descent into the Itkillik (or Oolah) Valley past giant walls of sedimentary rock that originated as the floor of a shallow tropical-like sea. There is evidence of this past environment in the fossilized corrals and shells that can be found littered in the piles of scree.

We tromped through a lot of grizzly bear scat but never saw the source of the bodily waste.

Vibrant arctic poppies brighten the landscape.

We eventually came to a point where the gradient of the Itkillik River mellowed enough for us to throw the boats in the river.

As we continued to move downriver and to a lower elevation we reached the "mosquito zone" --- our only escape was the heat from a fire fueled by dried willows.

The river was mostly class I/II water with occasional rocks and small wave trains to bounce through.

Mark paddles past a massively exposed ice wedge along a cutbank of the Itkillik River.

More frozen ground or permafrost features. A lens of ice heaves the tundra up into the warm summer air. Its hard to believe the ground is permanently frozen just below the green surface.

The uber-light and roomy tarptent sheltered us from mosquitoes, heavy rain, and moderately strong winds.

We make the final push out to Galbraith Lake and the Dalton Highway with our small insect friends in tow as another spectacular trip in the arctic comes to an end...

W. Fork Atigun Weekender

2009-06-15T18:54:00.025-08:00

Dan rides the waves in the West Fork of the Atigun River

I suddenly felt a sense of relief as the last bit of warm blood vacated the few remaining vessels in my feet. I was no longer subjected to the excruciating pain caused by the snow and pools of slush that were penetrating my sneakers. I somehow convinced myself that no feeling is better than endless stinging. But I already knew that repeated inflictions of my feet to the cold over the years had resulted in permanent numbness to some of my toes. At this point I still didn't care. I just wanted to keep moving downhill to a lower elevation where green tundra and the first wildflowers of the summer dotted the valley bottom.

We headed north for the weekend to the Brooks Range in hopes of crossing over two passes and floating a portion of the upper Itkillik River before returning to the highway. This plan abruptly failed. A cool start to summer left large expanses of snow lingering in these mountains that define the divide between water flowing north to the Arctic Ocean from that draining southward towards the Bering Sea and north Pacific. We retreated back in our tracks after attempting to climb a sketchy ice covered pass with our inadequate gear. Instead we found ourselves bouncing down the whitewater of the West Fork of the Atigun River in a stunning Arctic valley.

Ted plunges up to his crotch as he crosses endless stretches of snow on our way over the continental divide. We delicately placed our weight on the white surface in hopes of warding off additional swims in the bottomless snow. It would be another week or so before the snow would setup and transform into a solid walking surface.

Despite the rotten snow and laborious trudging the scenery was absolutely spectacular as we descended into the upper reaches of the Atigun River.

We really were happy to be out in the mountains.

Another water crossing near the headwaters of the Atigun River flushes the cold snow out of our shoes.

We had to hike for several miles down valley to a spot where the shallow braided channels consolidated into one primary deeper channel.

Resourceful Sky chomps away on an abandonded caribou rack. She could survive a long time on small mammals and other treasures in the wild. The caribou had moved down out of the mountains to the coastal plain in preparation for calving.

The West Fork of the Atigun is pinched between the exposed bedrock. We portaged this significant drop. The remainder the river was primarily fun wave trains and navigating through partially submerged rocks.

Videography from the West Fork of the Atigun.

Preparing for the final leg: a cold rain and driving headwind forced us to vacate the boats when our waterway skirted the Alaska Pipeline and road. Mildly hypothermic we ran the last 15-miles to the truck along the muddy highway outfitted in all our clothes and life jackets with the hopes of getting a ride...no ride came.

Coffee and Pizza Traverse

2009-06-08T23:11:00.037-08:00

Descending into the upper Nenana River drainage in the Alaska Range

All I could focus on the last two hours of our float was shoving a giant piece of greasy pizza into my mouth. The pleasurable sensation of the melted cheese against my tongue and anticipation of the calories replenishing my body. Fortunately for me our weekend traverse in the Alaska Range would terminate at the same location we started at the day before - but this time there would be unlimited pizza fresh out of the oven waiting to be devoured.

This most recent packrafting trip was aptly named the coffee-pizza traverse because it began and ended at the java shop and pizza joint which straddle the banks of Carlo Creek on the Parks Hwy. The entire loop consisted of about 15-miles of scenic alpine hiking followed by 16-miles floating the upper Nenana River.

A conveniently placed 4-wheeler path exists from the Parks Hwy up through the brush to treeline and resulted in a bushwhack-free stroll to the tundra.

Ben admires the newly melted snow as it cascades through a narrow gully.

The walking was nearly effortless across a green blanket of tundra and through fields of wildflowers.

Breaking a thin layer of ice on a small pond at our camping site near the headwaters of Carlo Creek.

Large snowfields still linger below the pass at the head of the Carlo Creek. The snow was firm enough to walk across with ease.

Ben begins the steep and rocky descent on the south side of the pass. This section required some serious scrambling over small ledges and over giant boulders. We would eventually drop into the far distant valley and plop ourselves into the cold, silty waters of the Nenana River.

Curious caribou circle around us.

The girls cross a beautiful alpine stream.

Making our way across a wide open expanse of tundra above the Nenana River.

Preparing to launch the boats. The final push down to the river was a steep descent through a brief stretch of moderately thick brush.

The Nenana River upstream of the Parks Hwy bridge is a casual Class I float. The river picks up a bit below the bridge with a few short Class II+ sections that are relatively easy to portage.

10 PM and back at the starting pt...fresh pizza...beer...live music...THE END.

Beaver Creek 360

2009-05-26T22:51:00.020-08:00

The tundra high above Beaver Cr has come to life with the arrival of summer.

Ann quietly gazed down at the map as we drifted past a tall stand of spruce trees. Her concerned voice broke the silence as she slowly raised her head, "I think we have to go a lot farther than you expected." I looked back at her a little bit puzzled and muttered, "Hmmmm...really?" Exactly how far had I miscalculated our inaugural packraft trip of the season? Embarrassingly...a lot. This was already going to be an ambitious wilderness foray for a long weekend. I now realized that I had somehow underestimated the entire traverse by nearly 50 miles.

Our route began at the usual starting point for a float down Beaver Creek at the Nome Creek put-in. From there we paddled steadily for about 100 miles before rolling up our rafts and stashing them into our backpacks. Most Beaver Creek floaters continue downriver an additional 15 miles to a wide gravel bar where a small fixed-wing plane can touch down and pluck them from the wilderness. Instead...after climbing out of the creek we followed a series of interconnecting ridge lines that would eventually lead us 45 miles back to the gravel road we started on...and then climax with a 16 mile bike ride back to the truck. A complete 360 degree circuit that amounted to about 160 miles of travel by boat, foot, and bike.

Ann absorbs the view as Beaver Creek winds its way past jagged limestone teeth of the White Mountains.

It appears that the river otter population will thrive this year by the way these two were going at it.

Beaver Creek is an easy Class I float with only a few small riffles and an occasional tree hanging into the water that can sweep over a boat. The water was flowing along at a casual 3 to 4 miles per hour.

Packing up the boat and remainder of gear in preparation for our cross country hike. I am still dumbfounded with the fact that it is possible to have my deflated boat disappear into the depths of my pack and then lug it across the countryside.

We had a very steep ascent out of the Beaver Cr valley but there was very little bushwhacking. In the distance is Victoria Mtn...which is the last bit of terrain before the river spills out into the broad expansive lowlands of the Yukon Flats.

We encountered a series of game trails when we climbed above tree-line which made for very easy walking at times.

The majority of the hike was spent side sloping across precariously placed lichen-encrusted rocks, postholing through thigh deep snow fields, and stumbling across tufts of tussocky tundra.

Ann crosses one of the uncountable saddles in the high country. The terrain was brutal as we negotiated a never ending sequence of 1000 foot climbs followed by an equal amount of descents.

The avenue of tors--some of these environmentally sculpted spires of granite soared over 100 feet into the sky.

There were still plenty of depressions in the tundra with meltwater from the dwindling winters snowpack. Later in the summer it would be difficult to find any water this high above the river valleys.

Even though we didn't see a trace of any other human being...we were not alone.

Liberally applying Body Glide to my feet in hopes of preventing blisters. This in combination with keeping my feet occasionally wet and cool seems to diminish the threat of incapacitating foot problems. The main side effect is flirting with the onslaught of trench foot after about 10 hours of damp feet.

Dropping down into the Quartz Creek drainage. We hoped to find a 4-wheeler trail on the opposite side of the valley that would ease the last stretch of our hike.

Towards the end of our hike we intersected the Quartz Creek trail. The trail had recently been improved and made for great walking. Its a great trail for accessing the dramatic granite spires around Mt Prindle.

The final leg on bike completed our 160 mile, 360 degree adventure.

Destruction

2009-05-05T22:30:00.007-08:00

The mighty Yukon is putting up a fight this spring. The river has taken its first casualties after only making a few sweeping bends after crossing the border into Alaska. Portions of the village of Eagle have been swallowed by a chaotic sea of moving water and ice. (photo courtesy C.McElfresh)

The Old Native village is completely destroyed as massive blocks of ice smash the structures like match sticks and the river inundates the forest. (NWS photo)

Floodwaters reached the highest levels ever recorded at the quaint village which has been perched above the Yukon River for over 100-years. Buildings were twisted or completely removed from their foundations. (NPS photo)

Chunks of ice remain stranded as the water recedes. (NPS photo)

The roofs of two cabins are barely visible as they are carried into the middle of the river and begin their 1000-mile journey towards the Bering Sea (NPS photo).

Chasing Ice

2009-05-02T18:40:00.015-08:00

I have been on the move this week. By air and by car chasing moving fragments of ice and floods. I captured the above video footage of a chaotic mess of ice and debris which completely clogged the Chantanika River north of Fairbanks. The entire river was sent rushing into the woods.

The weather is warm...really warm. All time-record high temperatures for this time of year were broken the past several days. This put an abrupt end to winter. The big heat wave resulted in a rapid melting of the snowpack and pushed a large slug of water into the rivers. Sheets of river ice which have remained dormant all winter have been suddenly lifted up and set into motion. Over the next few weeks most of the ice will flush downriver on its journey to the coast...while some slabs will become stranded on the shore and meet their demise as summer takes over.

The Commute...

2009-04-17T17:56:00.014-08:00

I just stood in my driveway and listened to the foreign sound. It had been months since I had heard it -- the incessant dripping of water running down the rain gutter at the corner of my house. My first emotion was panic. This was it. An entire winters worth of snow was gradually beginning its demise. I wasn't ready for my early morning ritual of skiing to work to come an end. Or the the weekend trips gliding across the snow with my friends. But then I remained still and concentrated on the rhythmic nature of the sound. This was the prenatal voice of summer. At that point a very subtle ripple of excitement came over me as I thought about the endless daylight, birds singing through the night, tundra crunching under my feet, the rumble of thunder across the valley, the fragerance of wild roses in the warm June air.

As I look back at the past 6 months, perhaps some of my fondest memories of the winter were collected during my daily commute to work. A simple trip on a network of groomed trails that extend from my neighborhood to the University. There were no big mountains to traverse or challenging terrain to contend with. Only the conical world that existed just within the beam of my headlamp, the crispness of the arctic air, the cold squeeky snow, the northern lights exploding across the sky, or the occasional moose that blocked my path.

Music - "Litter Bin" by Grand National

Spring on the Quest Trail

2009-04-12T21:26:00.013-08:00

Brian hauls ass down Rosebud Summit on the Yukon Quest trail

The Yukon Quest sled dog race took place almost two months ago. Since then there have been several heavy snow and strong wind storms that slammed the portion of route just northeast of Fairbanks. I figured that any remnants of a trail may have been completely obliterated by the active weather back in March. Brian and I decided to gamble and attempt to ski the section that traverses across the uplands between the Steese Hwy and Chena Hot Springs. We found an absolutely stellar snowmachine trail linking the two roadways.

The unassuming 35-mile stretch between the Steese Hwy and Chena Hot Springs Rd is often overshadowed by the treacherous conditions encountered over Eagle Summit. But this segement is also notoriously known for horrendous winds and snow conditions as the trail climbs Rosebud and Boulder summits. The trail has some gnarly descents and steep pitched climbs, ice patches, and wind scoured tundra - which all pose major challenges for a dog team.

Dea is back in action with her new kidney! She is peeing like crazy now and looks healthier than ever since she is no longer undergoing dialysis 3-times a week. She and Ben shuttled us out to the trailhead on the Steese Hwy. This gave her the opportunity to do her first out of town ski since the transplant.

Brian and Jose ski down the Birch Creek valley.

Brian and I are all smiles. I forgot how easy skiing can be when the trail is nice and the weather is warm.

Leftover patches of sastrugi on Boulder Summit are a reminder that this is a harsh, wind-swept environment for most of the winter. A lonely piece of lath marking the remains of the Yukon Quest trail is barely visible.

Brian descends into Boulder Cr...which form part of the headwaters of the Chena River.

A continuous accumulation of overflow ice during the winter had completely innundated portions of the Boulder Creek drainage. This made for bullet-fast skiing.

Mission Aborted...

2009-03-26T22:36:00.006-08:00

Christie soaks up the sun on a peak in the Alaska Range

The Plan: Traverse the Alaska Range on skis from east to west beginning at the Tok Cutoff and ending at the Richardson Highway. The entire distance is 80 to 100 miles depending on the route taken. We expected the trip to take approximately 7-8 days.

The Problem: Difficult snow conditions combined with multiple channels of open water on the Tok River bogged us down the first few days. We anticipated some sort of packed snowmachine trail for the first 30-miles or so. Unfortunately no one had traveled in this area all winter and unusually heavy dumps of snow had fallen this spring. This resulted in slogging along from the beginning. We expected the first stretch to be our 'gravy' days with easy travel.

Mission Aborted: We decided to retreat since we cashed in our buffer days from the start which we had allotted for potential bad weather and snow conditions later in the trip. Since we had extra time we spent a day climbing an un-named peak before trudging back to the road. We may try this traverse again next year.

Our planned route took us along the south side of the Alaska Range between the Tok Cutoff and the Richardson Hwy. If time allowed we intended to traverse several glaciers en route to our destination.

I packed 7-days of food into gallon size ziplock bags. Each days ration of grub weighed about 2.5 lbs.

An easy water crossing on a small creek near the start of our trip. The following day we had to navigate through a maze of deep, open channels on the Tok River.

Any little bit of water that came in contact with our skis froze instantly and needed to be scraped off. This can be a time consuming chore...

Farther along in the trip we had to search around for ice bridges in order to cross the river...otherwise we would have to walk through water above our knees. This was tedious and also absorbed a lot of time.

The remains of a snowshoe hare. As we approached...we unintentionally spooked the owl that had taken down this little guy.

Our camp on the Tok River. It was a cold night as the temperature dropped to -25F (-32C) and a breeze blew down the valley.

Christie and I trying to warm ourselves up with hot food and the first rays of morning sunlight.

We attempted to dry out our sleeping bags while we packed up each morning. Significant frost would build up in our down feather bags overnight. We kept our ski boots and water bottles in our bags to keep them warm. We also would keep damp clothing in our bags in order to dry them out using the heat of our bodies. All this results in an accumulation of moisture in the bag over time and causes the bag to lose its insulating properties.

Linda and Lowell have been living remotely on the Dry Tok River for about 14 yrs. Dan and I met them when we passed through this area last June (Gillette Pass Traverse). They normally travel up/down this valley on snowmachine through the winter and we expected to have a good trail for the first part of our trip. This winter they stuck around the house and never snowmachined out to the road. Thus...no trail for us to cruise on.

Visqueen Camp - we came across this hunting camp just before nightfall during our traverse. The structure has a frame constructed of spruce trees and walls/roof made of visqeen (plastic) house wrap.

Visqueen camp was a welcome break from camping in the sub-zero temperatures. It even had a small wood stove.

Visqueen camp was still cold after the stove puttered out during the night.

When we realized that it would be difficult to complete our traverse during our 8-day window - we decided to spend a day climbing Visqueen Peak before retracing our tracks back to our starting point.

Minnie me (Ed) and Christie climb up Visqueen peak.

Looking back down the Dry Tok River Valley.

We had to make our way on foot with crampons in order to reach the summit of Visqueen Peak.

Two friends...one kidney

2009-02-28T12:56:00.005-09:00

Trevor and Dea all geared up for the great kidney swap

The transplant was a success. Two very close people in my life underwent what I consider a marvel of modern medicine. Trevor graciously donated one of his kidneys to Dea this past week. Dea is still on the road to recovery as her body gets pumped with anti-rejection drugs and bashed with needles to ensure that her body accepts the kidney. Everything looks good at the moment and Dea will once again be able to live a normal, dialysis-free life thanks to the generostiy of Trevor.

Dea has facilitated many of my trips over the past couple of years by shuttling cars and offering pick-ups at remote trailheads. Now that her schedule will no longer be controlled by tri-weekly dialysis sessions she will be able to take part in excursions that span more than a 2-day time frame. This will definitely be a new sense of freedom for Dea.

Post surgery coffee. Dea and Trevor are both recovering at the Mayo Clinic in Minnestota.

Hats off to Trevor. His generosity to pass on one of his organs to Dea in order to improve the quality of her life is a gift of insurmountable proportions. Its difficult to express the happiness I have for Dea and the sincere gratitude I feel towards Trevor.

Prusik Up

2009-02-22T08:37:00.005-09:00

Christie dangles from a glacial ice bridge

Ice, snow and sunshine - this was the world we found ourselves surrounded by over the weekend. Three of us ventured southward to the Castner Glacier in the Alaska Range to refresh and brush up on some safe glacial traveling skills. Near the tongue of the glacier is a playground of crevasses and ice walls that can be easily and safely accessed.

Skiing up to the terminus of the Castner Glacier.

Christie and Brian scope out the surrounding mountains of ice.

We found what looked like a suitable spot to simulate a crevasse rescue. A small ice bridge that we could easily access from below as well as above. Christie probes her way across the bridge to verify that it was safe.

Setting anchors on the ice bridge.

The dead man anchor will be buried and held in place by a couple feet of compacted snow.

Augering an ice screw into the glacial ice. This will be the second anchor to hold our load.

Testing out the combined strength of the anchors.

Gazing up at the ice bridge from below.

Brian prusik's his way up the rope.

Our site selection was not ideal because we were unable to easily prusik up over the lip of angled ice. But this is probably more realistic of what would be encountered during a real crevasse rescue situation.

Winter H2O

2009-02-16T15:56:00.011-09:00

Overflow on Fossil Creek sloshes over my skis.

It seems inevitable that during at least a few ski trips I will have to deal with liquid H2O. This year has been no exception even though much of the winter has been quite cold. Overflow is common on many creeks in the interior as water under pressure flowing beneath the ice surface is squeezed skyward up through cracks. As the water reaches the surface it typically spreads out laterally across the channel. The most dreaded situation is where water collects under the surrounding snow pack and is insulated from the cold air above. An unsuspecting traveler can cross a pristine surface of snow and without warning immediately drop into water hidden just out of view.

Here is a spot that was difficult to negotiate without metal edged skis. I decided to walk just along the edge of the angled ice where there was a bit more traction but making sure to avoid the adjacent snow pack where liquid water might be lingering. Kaplunk!!!-- the crust collapsed and I found myself in an icy water slurry up to my knees. No surprise - I knew I was flirting with a soaking. I was too lazy to put cat track spikes over my soles and walk across the ice.

Water and below freezing temperatures are an unfortunate combination. My saturated boot and pant leg immediately froze-up when they came in contact with the cold air. So I quickly chiseled the ice out, clamped my skis back on, and daintily maneuvered myself across the ice.

Another stretch of overflow or glare ice. This was much easier to negotiate because it was solid with a few windblown patches of snow to ski between. On metal edged skis this is easy travel.

Jeff has similar issues to contend with while traveling over ice and through water: crashing, breaking through the ice surface, and ice build-up on his wheels.

On this trip Jeff's bigger frustration was patiently waiting for a portion of trail that was firm enough to ride.

Some sheep wandering around the hillside were a nice distraction from all the wrestling I did to remove ice from my boots.

My lone ski tracks coming down from Cache Mountain divide.

Caribou Bluff

2009-01-25T21:48:00.004-09:00

The Caribou Bluff cabin sits alone on a ridge above Fossil Creek

I think the Caribou Bluff cabin is one of my favorites. The petite log shelter radiates a very cozy and welcoming aura immediately when the front door is swung open. I can't quite place my finger on why the cabin conveys this feeling. Maybe it's because the simple layout is how I would have created such a place. The space is tight but very neatly and efficiently laid out. A narrow table is straddled on either side by two nicely sized bunk beds. This makes it possible to sit comfortably while eating a warm meal and then immediately roll over on to the softness of my down sleeping bag...and watch the northern lights dance across the night sky through the modest picture window.

Christie escorted me on this overnight trip out to Caribou Bluff. Sky "the wonder dog" happily assisted her almost the entire 30-miles out to the cabin. We didn't see any caribou but there were many fresh wolf tracks meandering on the creek in the valley below.

Tales of the north from Robert Service keep us entertained.

Inscribing a few poetic phrases in the log book before heading back to the truck and our lives in Fairbanks. We will return one day and briefly relive this trip as we scroll back through the tattered pages...

Ice Skiing Through the Mountains

2009-01-21T20:57:00.024-09:00

A trail sign in the White Mtns protrudes from the slim snow cover

Unbelievable... These were the only words I could mutter as we approached the Moose Creek cabin which rests on the edge of an open meadow in the White Mountains. It was just after midnight when we skied up the spur trail leading to the front porch. The temperature was 50 degrees above zero (+10 C). On this evening, portions of interior Alaska were experiencing the warmest January temperatures ever recorded since weather records began over 100 years ago.

I was dumbfounded. I just couldn't swallow the reality of this situation - that the atmosphere could possibly be so warm on a mid-January night just south of the Arctic Circle. But it was, so I struggled to embrace the unusual scene and tried to ignore the ramifications such warmth would have on the snowpack. Instead of the normal routine upon arrival at a cabin of firing up the wood stove and quickly shedding damp clothes, we propped open the door and windows and let the balmy southeast wind sweep through the log structure.

Our weekend traverse took us across the network of snowmachine trails through the jagged limestone peaks which define the heart of the White Mountains north of Fairbanks. We skied about 100 miles from one trail head to another and spent several nights in the cozy public use cabins en route.

After the temperatures dropped back below freezing the trail transformed into a rutted and icy luge run. This made the skiing extremely treacherous as we careened down the narrow trail and negotiated each turn with a bit of terror because the only way to stop was to plow into the surrounding brush.

Klister - John applies the tree sap-like substance to the base of his skis in order to get some kick, or the ability to push off the snow to propel forward. Not even the stickiest of ski products would perform on the icy path.

Dan and John take a break at the re-constructed Crowberry cabin. The original cabin was destroyed by a forest fire in 2004.

The skiing improved dramatically when a little fresh snow accumulated on the rock hard surface of the ski trail. This made us very happy because we were able to actually ski under control.

A glacial blue layer of water quickly fills our ski tracks as we cross a large area of glare ice on Fossil Creek. The water was just deep enough to splash over the toes of our ski boots. Areas of liquid water insulated by a layer of snow are not uncommon even in the coldest weather. At temperatures well below zero, the water will freeze instantly when it is exposed to the air, encasing your skis with ice and freezing ski bindings shut. This can make it impossible to remove the skis from the boots. Fortunately we have learned a few tricks to resolve this problem.

Kicking back in the Windy Gap cabin. The public use cabins in the White Mountains have a table, bunks, lantern, and stoves. A well deserved reprieve after a long day of skiing in the cold.

The logbook is full of stories and experiences of past travelers who found refuge in the cabin.

Dan negotiates some angled glare ice on the slope just outside the Windy Gap cabin. Large lobes of ice tend to form where groundwater seeps to the surface and interacts with the sub-zero air.

The guys ski towards a rocky precipice which looms above windy gap.

Sitting silently at the crest of the limestone ridge is the natural Windy Arch. It looks like something you would see in southern Utah except it is constructed from limestone.

Where is the snow? After skiing across ice, through water, and over brush we came to an area where the snowpack had been completely obliterated by the record January thaw. We found ourselves bridging our skis between large, grassy tussocks for several miles. Suddenly the trail conditions we had encountered the previous days didn't seem so unfavorable any longer...

Hear the chatter of our skis in this video clip compiled by John:

The COLD has snapped...

2009-01-16T11:28:00.002-09:00

Fairbanks is shrouded in a dense layer of ice fog during a bitter cold snap

Alaska is widely known as an icy mass of land positioned near the top of the globe. This is probably the general consensus among most people. The past few weeks have only reinforced this reputation. A bitter cold air mass which has been entrenched across this northern landscape rapidly departed to more southerly latitudes today. Temperatures around Fairbanks hovered between -30F(-34C) and -60F(-51C) for nearly two weeks. This was one of the longest cold stretches in the past few decades.

The icy grip was rapidly replaced by tropical air from the south. An unprecedented heat wave has shot temperatures up well above the freezing mark. Some locations experienced a rise of more than 100 degrees Fahrenheit in a matter of days. All-time record high January temperatures were broken at many locations. This is truly a land of extremes.

Here is a graph showing the daily high (red) and low temperatures (blue) from late December to mid-January from a weather station near Fairbanks. The graph indicates that the temperature failed to get warmer than -40F (-40C) for about 10 days. There were also a few days when the mercury did not get warmer than -50F (-45C).

I have some more ice fog pictures from a previous post here: urban contrails

Winter Solstice at Horner Hot Springs

2008-12-21T23:06:00.008-09:00

Sunrise: 11:28 AM, Sunset: 3:13 PM, Total Sunlight: 3hrs 45min

The tarp-lined pool at Horner Hot Springs is a winter oasis.

We boarded the small fixed-wing aircraft fully draped in our ski clothes and boots on a flight headed about 250 miles west of Fairbanks. Dan and I were traveling out to the remote village of Ruby on the banks of the Yukon River. As with most Alaskan villages, Ruby can only be reached by plane or by a lengthy trip down the Yukon River via boat, snowmachine, dogsled, or skis. Our plan was to arrive in Ruby, strap on our skis right on the airport tarmac, and then travel up-river to spend winter solstice soaking in the warm waters which percolate to the surface at the oasis known as Horner Hot Springs.

Horner Hot Springs is located about 25 miles up-river from Ruby. Information online was sparse about this springs perched above a small creek about a mile north of the Yukon River. Back in its heyday in the early 1900's, Horner Hot Springs was a popular stop for miners, trappers, and natives traveling the Yukon River -- which during the pre-aviation era the river was essentially a superhighway bisecting Alaska.

Dan skis from the airport down into Ruby. Gold was discovered near Ruby in the early 1900's but the settlement was officially founded in 1912 and at it's peak had a population close to 3000. Red garnets in the area were confused as "rubies" and the town was mistakenly named. Ruby has remained a native village since the gold rush ended.

We worked for food during our ski to Horner Hot Springs. Sam and Tamara are building the remote Yukon River Lodge about 15 miles upriver from Ruby. We were treated like kings in their "under construction" but warm home during our trip to/from the springs. These super friendly folks hope to have it open for year-round business sometime the next year or so--please visit them!

We encountered a mixture of conditions while skiing up the Yukon River. Large sections of the channel were impassable due to vertical knife-like blades of jumbled ice which formed during freeze-up. There was a nice snowmachine trail for a portion of the trip but strong winds in this area result in deep drifts, wind scoured glare ice, and slab crust which would frequently collapse from our weight. There were also a few stretches of overflow water hiding silently under the snowpack which would wet our boots and lock up our ski bindings.

Horner Hot Springs is situated about a mile from the Yukon River on the south flanks of the mountains known as the Kokrines in the background. We broke trail through thigh deep snow to get up to the springs.

The hot water in this area seeps from the surrounding hillside. A small collection pond dug into the embankment above provides water to a pipe which feeds the springs below. The temperature was a comfortable 103F(39C)degrees. There wasn't much flat real estate adjacent to the springs but we were able to find just enough space to set up our tent.

Dan crashes at the luxury accommodations at the Ruby airport while we wait for our plane back to Fairbanks. Fortunately for us it was a warm +10F (-12C)...

Here is a link to an old photograph of Horner Hot Springs: old photo. A pipe carrying hot water from the hillside is visible behind the cabin. Notice how the the faint caption appropriately says, "A sure cure for grouch, rheumatism, and the blues." The remains of this log structure appear to have completely dissolved into the soil of the surrounding boreal forest.

Here is also a link to some fascinating historical shots from the Ruby area when it was a bustling goldrush town: Ruby in the past.

Mad props to Dea

2008-12-07T23:47:00.009-09:00

Dea prepares for the 11-mile trudge out of Tolovana Hot Springs

The howling wind swirls millions of snowflakes around the tiny cabin. Occasional gusts make our warm refuge shudder vigorously as we anticipate fragments of the structure beginning to peel away with each successive blow. The cold and driving snow surreptitiously creep into our warm sanctuary through any available gap. This was another epic trip for some of our group out to the springs about a 100-miles north of Fairbanks.

I was accompanied by my friend Dea on this recent excursion. Dea is still patiently waiting for a kidney transplant. In the meantime she is into her third year of linking herself up to a dialysis machine which acts as a surrogate kidney that removes waste products from her blood and excess fluid from her body. If she misses even one of her tri-weekly treatments she would not be here with us today.

Dea's motivation to rise each morning and live a normal lifestyle under the difficult circumstances she is challenged with everyday is unequal to anything I can possibly imagine. She is out experiencing a life that is unfathomable to other dialysis patients. This past weekend...her passion for adventure gave her the endurance to plow through shoulder high drifts, post hole for hours through crotch deep snow, and brace herself against howling winds and subzero wind chills. Its difficult for me to express in a series of words the admiration I have for this very special person in my life.

The high-noon sun reflects from the surface of hot water

Frost feathers illuminated in the mid-day sunlight.

After the storm - a portion of trail on Tolovana Dome I effortlessly skied down which was broken by Dea and the others.

11-miles later after arduously breaking trail and being buffeted by 50F below wind chills. Dea made it back to the car with a big smile on her frosted face. She is truly an inspiration for all of us that have the pleasure to share our lives with her...

Borealis times two

2008-11-09T19:16:00.024-09:00

The aurora borealis dances above the Borealis cabin in the White Mtns

Silence.... I am always surprised how the complete lack of sound can be so loud. It doesn't quite make sense when I rationally contemplate the physics of it. A winters night in a cold and windless valley in Alaska radiates a silence so powerful that it is difficult to describe. A silence that makes you stand completely still and struggle to absorb some sort of distance vibration traveling through the atmosphere - a breeze rustle a branch, ice expanding on the river, an owl hooting, a jet flying miles overhead, a lone wolf howling at the moon. In the end the only conscious sound that I hear is that of the blood being pumped within my body and pulsing through my arteries and veins.

I was just reminded of the deafening sound of silence during a jaunt with Ann out into the White Mountains north of Fairbanks. Ann and I ventured 20 miles out to the Borealis cabin on the frozen shores Beaver Cr over the weekend. We were last here in May shivering in the early morning sunshine as we stumbled out of our packrafts during an overnight traverse in the endless twilight.

Ann frosted over as she radiates heat into the -20F(-30C) arctic air.

The entire forest was cloaked with a bouquet of hoar frost crystals that shimmered in the mid-day sunshine.

Two inch long crystals were delicately clinging to everything exposed to the atmosphere.

Slapping more kick-wax on my skis - grasses and sticks protruding through the snowpack quickly peeled the wax from my ski base. The low lying boggy areas still need some more snow before the tussocks are entirely covered and the trenches in between are completely filled in.

Peering out of the cabin before we ski back to civilization.

The high noon sun gradually drops closer and closer to the horizon as we head toward winter solstice and a few meager hours of sunshine each day.

Back into the Whites

2008-11-03T23:32:00.017-09:00

Dan studies a trail junction sign in the White Mtns

A whole new world opens up as winter descends upon the north and rivers, lakes, and the swampy lowlands freeze-up. Areas that were nearly impassable in the summer months are easily accessed as a blanket of snow accumulates on the landscape. This means that a whole network of winter-only trail systems come to life as dog mushers, snow machiners and skiers explore the countryside. Dan and I made our maiden voyage of the winter to a cabin on one of these trails up in the White Mountains this weekend.

Mashed potatoes by candle light in the Moose Creek cabin

Curtains of northern lights gracefully move across the sky. The aurora was quite nice when I got up to relieve myself in the middle of the night. I will forever revel in the novelty of seeing at least some auroral activity on most clear nights during the winter months.

Dan and Sky depart the Moose Creek cabin

Blue October

2008-10-26T22:31:00.009-08:00

An unusual scene for October with vehicles plugged in to keep them warm so they will start. This looks more like a mid-winter scene...not October. It's been unusually chilly in northern Alaska with temperatures well below zero Fahrenheit.

A lot of cool information can be extrapolated from this infrared satellite image of northern Alaska which was aquired early this morning. The darkest pixels indicate warm temperatures while the white/blue pixels are cold. The ribbon of black which is arched across the bottom of the photo is the Yukon River. The river is still mostly ice-free and quite warm relative to the cold arctic air sitting over the region.

The white dedritic fingers in the upper half of the image are the deep cold river valleys in the Brooks Range mountains. The dense cold air sinks to the valley bottoms and remains there until some sort of mechanism kicks it out (warm air, clouds, etc). There are few, if any, ground based observation sites in this area but this satellite image suggests that the coldest (blue pixels) valleys are approaching -50F (-46C) ---> and its only October! These are by far some of the coldest temperatures being experienced in the northern hemisphere today.

Scenes from Central Asia

2008-10-15T23:54:00.013-08:00

Mir-i-Arb Medressa (active Islamic school) in Bukhara, Uzbekistan

I just returned from nearly 5 weeks of stumbling my way across the Central Asian republics of Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan. The abundance of scenery, ancient architecture, historical sites, and culturally diverse people along the ancient Silk Route through the heart of Asia was absolutely fascinating. I found it difficult to absorb or retain even a fraction of the history of this region which has been invaded from various directions for centuries. Irregardless of my ability to grasp the history of this area, it was a memorable trip through a very welcoming and friendly part of the world.

Here is a map of the former Soviet Republics that define central Asia

Here are some pictures from my trip: Scenes from Central Asia

Бишкек, Кыргызстан

2008-09-17T05:58:00.019-08:00

A exhibition of aerial photos on display in the Kyrgyz capital

Бишкек, Кыргызстан (aka: Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan ) - the capital of this relatively small and mountainous central Asian country. I am here living with a Kyrgyz family and brushing up on my Russian at a language immersion school before continuing my travels through some of the former Soviet central Asian Republics.

Bishkek seems relatively uninteresting on the surface and has the feel of other post-Soviet cities I have visited with concrete block apartment monstrosities, dilapidated sidewalks, numerous kiosks on every corner selling anything from notebooks, cell phones, fresh veggies, booze, cigarettes, fresh bread, to gold watches. But just in my short time here I can sense that there is more to this city than whats readily visible at first glance.

Some of the members of my host family in Bishkek. During the summer, they cook, eat, and socialize outside in their small courtyard.

Changing of guards in front of the State Historical Museum

Traditional ak kalpak's (Kyrgyz white felt hat) are still quite fashionable and can occasionally be seen even in the urban capital.

Girls of Bishkek play on the canons in the park. The rainbow girls outfit is outrageously circa early 80's.

My host brother Tynchtyk (which translates as "Peace" in Kyrgyz) changes the brakes of his families marshutka. A marshutka is sort of a cross between a taxi and a city bus with set routes. This mode of transportation is notoriously known to be one of the most uncomfortable rides as people cram in as tight as sardines in a can. Its an experience that I would avoid whenever possible.

East Meets West

2008-09-13T17:46:00.005-08:00

One of the many mosques which define the Istanbul skyline

Istanbul - what a fascinating mix of cultures in this metropolis of 14 million or so that bridges Europe to the west and Asia to the east. This is quite an amazing city that is difficult to describe in only a few words. From the haunting sounds of the pre-dawn call to prayer echoing through the streets each morning from the uncountable mosques scattered about the city...to the myriad of boats criss-crossing the Strait of Bosphorus...to the hordes of people moving fluidly through the narrow alleys. Istanbul is a mishmash of eastern and western cultures.

Vendors sell a variety of items in the Istanbul spice market.

I am not quite sure what this is composed of or if it really works.

Topkapi Palace - giant vats which were used to prepare feasts for the sultans.

A window in Aya Sofia frames the Blue Mosque

Morning sunlight illuminates the ceramic tiled ceiling of the Blue Mosque

The 6th century Basilica Cistern underlies a portion of Istanbul. This giant subterranean structure was first built to provide water to the great palace of Constantinople and other surrounding buildings.

A busy harbor on the Strait of Bosphorus.

German Invasion

2008-09-09T22:21:00.005-08:00

The Panamerican traveling Germans have returned to my house. They departed Alaska for the southern tip of South America back in July in their 1952 VW Beetle. They only made it 50 miles out of Fairbanks before they spotted a pot of German gold on the side of the road partially obscured by the overgrown forest - a vintage VW van. They explained to me that this particular van had the original paint job and they must buy it.

So they drove the Beetle to San Francisco, picked up another German, and flew back up to Fairbanks. The only catch is - the van doesn't run. So they befriended my neighbor down the road who has a nice workshop and will use this space to frantically make the vehicle operational before the snow arrives in the next few weeks. Then they will hit the road and drive it down to San Francisco. I am not quite sure what to say about this craziness...except that they are German and this seems to explain a few things.

McClaren Summit to Eureka Creek Traverse

2008-09-01T22:47:00.002-08:00

Andy and Lisa head north from McClaren Summit and into the Alaska Range.

I headed south to the Alaska Range with Lisa and Andy over the Labor Day weekend. I had heard that from and old college friend that this was a superb packrafting route (thanks Jeff). The fall colors were just about peaking and the wildlife was abundant. We saw numerous groups of caribou grazing on lichens in the open expanse of tundra. This was quite an unusual traverse in that there was very little bushwhacking and a surprising lack of wet, soggy, tussock infested tundra.

Our 45 mile traverse began along a short 4-wheeler trail at McClaren Summit on the Denali Highway. We followed the trail north a couple of miles until it petered out into a series of game trails and easy tundra walking to 7-mile Lake. From the west end of the lake we paddled about 5 miles to a cabin and climbed a divide and eventually descended to Eureka Creek. We floated most of Eureka Creek down to its confluence with the Delta River and eventually pulled out at the Richardson Highway.

We came across a nice set of stone circles. These man-made looking features are formed as repeated freezing and thawing of the soil pushes rocks up to the surface. They are characteristic of tundra areas where frost processes are active and permanently frozen ground occurs in some form.

Paddling across the crystal clear waters of 7-Mile Lake. We went about 5 miles to a small framed cabin on the north shore.

We camped near the cabin before ascending a drainage up to a pass over an unnamed mountain.

The evening light on the lake was amazing. Its hard to describe the quality of light that radiates across the northern sky...its quite spectacular.

Looking back at 7-Mile Lake as we ascend the ridgeline to the north. It was about a 2000 foot climb up to a narrow pass.

We passed a tarn lake tucked high up in a valley on the mountainside - another potentially great camping spot.

Near the pass we encountered some very curious caribou.

The view from the north side of the pass was quite expansive. We carefully descended the rocky scree slope and made our way across a high plateau to the Eureka Creek drainage in the far off distance.

The climb down was nerve racking for a few moments as loose angular rocks shifted beneath our feet.

More and more caribou. They were extremely curious and would circle us several times before running off.

Eureka Creek at last and the start of our 20 mile or so of floating. There were plenty of game trails through the brush so the walking was rather pleasant.

The upper part of Eureka Creek was narrow and a bit rocky but easily paddleable in the packrafts. As more tribs entered and the volume increased there were plenty of fun class II wave trains to bob through.

My friend Jeff had done this traverse earlier in the summer and scouted out a portion of a narrow canyon where Eureka Creek is pinched and the water becomes much more challenging. We portaged the boats for about 4 miles along the south side of the canyon to avoid the more technical water.

The flavourful Alaskan blueberries were ripe and abundant.

After about 4 miles of following bare low hills and weaving in/out of some brush we dropped back down to Eureka Creek and continued our float towards the Delta River and the Richardson Hwy.

The lower stretch of Eureka Creek was in a deep, scenic canyon with some fun boulder gardens and a few nice standing waves to break through.

Autumn comes early in the North

2008-08-25T19:48:00.001-08:00

Heather picks plump blueberries from the brilliant fall foliage.

We headed north of Fairbanks to the Kanuti River for the weekend. This river which dissects the landscape just south of the Arctic Circle served as our pathway to the completely undeveloped hot springs about 12 miles away. The water level was quite low when we dropped our packrafts into the river and resulted in a rather "bony" ride for much of the float. We spent several hours prying ourselves from slightly submerged rocks and pin balling our way downriver between boulders.

Sky preferred to swim or run along the bank during much of the float.

But when forced...she would submit and impatiently sit in the packraft.

The flotilla of rafters approaches one of the frequent boulder gardens during the 14 mile trip to the hot springs. The river is littered with rocks of varying size and is much more navigable at higher water levels.

The springs are situated on the edge of a meadow of wild mint and onions. About 5 people can fit comfortably in the shallow springs.

Revitalized after a warm soak in the pool, an evening by the campfire, and a tropical-like nights rest on the geothermally heated ground adjacent to the pool.

The springs are located in an opening in the spruce trees just left of the river in the valley below. The steep ascent up to the ridge line was quite brutal as we bushwhacked through thick brush and simultaneously scrambled over criss-crossing downed trees from an old wildfire.

Lisa rests with Sky after fighting her way through an entanglement of willows and alders.

Travel was effortless up high in the alpine tundra as we skirted the summit of Caribou Mountain.

Return to Bus 142

2008-08-21T17:49:00.003-08:00

Fairbanks Bus 142 rests peacefully in the warm summer sunshine

I recently returned to Bus 142 with my friend Heather. I didn't have any intentions of trekking back out to the dilapidated bus perched on the small bluff above the Sushana River. Heather is an artist and was interested in doing some paintings of Bus 142 and any remaining items of Chris McCandless's that may still be lingering in the rusting piece of steel. I had never been out there in the summer so I was curious to experience first hand the challenges of this journey as described by so many people making the pilgrimage to the site.

I thought we may be able to shave off some time by riding bikes the first few miles of the trail. As with any traverse across Alaska, I expected to have damp feet for the duration of the trip. Recent wet weather turned much of the Stampede Trail into a mud bog or intermittent stream bed which made for some fun riding. We ditched the bikes about 5 miles in where I expected and then continued on foot.

The most daunting obstacle anticipated by most travelers is the Teklanika River. This is the cold, silty, and fast moving ribbon of water that prevented Chris McCandless from returning from the wild in July of 1992. We crossed the glacially fed channel with ease in my packraft.

The fall colors were just beginning to make an appearance as aspen leaves trembled in the light breeze and flashed bright orange hues in the afternoon sunlight.

The Stampede Trail is an easy walk for much of the 9-mile stretch between the Teklanika River and Bus 142.

I setup camp on a gravel bar just below the bus on the bank of the Sushana River.

Wild blueberries were abundant in the surrounding forest and we added these to our morning oatmeal.

Fragments of shattered glass dangle from a window in Bus 142.

So we arrived at the bus to find it in complete disarray. A handful of windows had been bashed in, broken glass was scattered about, and most of the items in the bus had been overturned. Garbage was strewn all around the perimiter and into the adjacent stand of spruce trees.

I was disappointed and saddened that someone had come this far to totally trash this place. I don't have any sort of personal connection with Chris McCandless's story or legacy -but- I certainly respect this as a place that has significant meaning to many people. I see Chris McCandless as a guy that was seeking adventure, space, and a certain distance from society as many of us do here in Alaska...but unfortunately he lost his life in doing so.

I could only imagine how disappointed people traveling to this destination from far off places would be when they arrived at a ransacked bus. My first and only reaction was to tidy it up and make it presentable to any future guests. We scrounged up some spruce bows and fabricated a makeshift broom to sweep up the broken glass and various junk, shook out the carpets, and collected all of the trash.

The interior of the bus after the clean-up. I had also retrofitted some of the broken windows with sheets of cardboard in order to prevent rain from entering and mildewing the bus.

There a number of journals that have been signed by previous visitors to the bus.

The hull of Bus 142 is a palette of colors

Heather rests in the warm sunshine before we hit the trail and head back to the truck.

Flooded in Fairbanks

2008-08-03T16:54:00.001-08:00

The Tanana River inundates a Fairbanks neighborhood in late July

Between 4-6 inches of rain fell across the Fairbanks area the past few days. This pushed the Tanana River which skirts the the southern part of the city to its highest levels since the record flooding of 1967. The river flooded widespread swaths of low-lying land adjacent to the river including several neighborhoods around Fairbanks and the much of the town of Nenana.

Almost the entire town of Nenana was submerged by the waters of the Tanana River. I captured this image near the peak of flooding while doing aerial reconnaissance of the flood impacted areas. This was the worst flooding in Nenana since 1967.

Roads became river channels and many homes were only accessible by boat or with a pair of chest waders. Up to 300 residences were impacted by the flood waters.

Chilled on the Chitistone

2008-07-29T16:32:00.025-08:00

Trevor enjoys a mid-summer day on Chitistone Pass

Splat-splat-splat.....woooooooosh. I awoke from an unrestful sleep to the sound of sloppy wet snow flakes pelting the wall of our tent and periodically sluffing off in sheets to the ground. Either I was still lost in a dream or the weather had somehow become confused about what month it was. This is July in Alaska? The height of the summer season with endless twilight, hordes of mosquitoes, and wildflowers. So much for the sunscreen I had thrown into my pack and the plans of jumping into a high alpine lake and drying myself in the warm mid-summer sunshine. Instead I found myself arduously post holing through knee deep snow and gazing out of the tent into a wintry landscape.

I was accompanied on this most recent packrafting trip by my friends Trevor and Jim....and my 14 year old nephew Mark-E. This was Mark-E's maiden voyage into the rugged Wrangell Mountains - as well as his first experience being dropped off by a fixed wing aircraft on a remote carpet of tundra and packrafting many days back to civilization. Since the weather conditions were far from summery....I was hoping that being cold and wet for many days would only raise his tolerance of discomfort rather than thwart his desire for any future trips into the mountains.

Our flight took us from the old copper mining town of McCarthy to Skolai Pass. From there we ascended Chitistone Pass and then scrambled across the infamous "goat" trail high above the Chitistone River canyon. We continued to follow the river until the water was tame enough to throw the packrafts in and set sail for McCarthy via the Chitistone and Nizina Rivers. The entire route was about 50 miles and 5 days through rugged and untamed wilderness. I was rather excited to see this area in the summer after recently crossing some of this terrain back in March during the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic.

Mark prepares to board our McCarthy Air flight in the Porter to Skolai Pass

Looking up the Chitistone River Valley - in several days we will be packrafting down this sharply cut valley to the Nizina River below.

During our flight we passed numerous waterfalls cascading thousands of feet to the Nizina River

The air cowboy of the Wrangell Mountains - Gary!

Gigantic puzzle pieces of glacial ice haphazardly float in the muddy waters of Nizina Lake

The landing strip (aka: wide spot in the tundra) on Skolai Pass

Drops of H2O resting peacefully...

High on Chitistone Pass we received a warm greeting from a pod of playful marmots

Mark-E ascends the freshly snow covered rocks on the approach to Chitistone Pass with an expansive view of Skolai Pass far below.

Crossing Chitistone Pass with our packrafts

My nephew Mark-E was absolutely oblivious to the driving snow and was more focused on the bright pink tufts of moss campion protruding through the white blanket covering the ground.

Descending Chitistone Pass towards the alpine lake I spotted on the map prior to departing on this trip which I had hoped to take a dip in.

Mark-E witnessed an enormous serac separate from a hanging glacier and plummet more than a thousand feet. The cone of debris and the subsequent avalanche cone can be faintly seen at the base of the cliff in the distance.

I crawled out of our orange shelter several times during the night to knock down the accumulating snow.

Weary and cold boys...ecstatic about another day in the mountains

Ahhh....summer in Alaska.

We came across this giant slurry of mud and rock which had recently sloshed down the mountainside. The unbelievable force of this debris flow was evident by the large boulders which were strewn onto the tundra adjacent to the channel.

Perhaps the highest spruce tree in Alaska? The altimeter indicated 5100 feet above sea level.

Jim gazes up at a portion of the "goat" trail. This section is appropriately named because it is terrain that should only be crossed by the most shear footed goats. The notes we had strongly encouraged us to traverse across the yellow scree just below the base of the upper cliff face - or else face imminent death...

We begin our side-sloping across the first part of the yellow scree. One false move or misplacement of the foot would lead to an accelerated slide down the slope which would abruptly end with a free fall off one of the cliffs below.

The goat trail - our path is faintly visible contouring across the yellow scree slope

Clinging to the slope high above the Chitistone gorge

We stared at them and they stared at us.....

Mark and I high above Chitistone Falls (total height: 300 ft or 91 m)

Camping on a large terrace more than a thousand feet above the Chititsone River

Jim checks out our upcoming route down the Chitistone River valley

Crossing the glacial waters of the Chitistone River. Usually in the summer this river is running fast, high and cold. The cool weather dampened the glacial melt and the river level was actually quite low for July. This made our crossing relatively easy.

The cabin at Glacier Creek. There is a gravel airstrip here where most goat trail travelers fly out of - instead we would jump in our packrafts and float back to McCarthy.

Mark inflates his packraft on the banks of the Chitistone during our brief 3 hour stretch of sunshine

Mark ready to show off his rafting skills on the Chitistone River

The lower Chitistone River was fast class II water for much of its length. A few good wave trains with standing waves 3-4 feet tall drenched us as a cold rain fell for most of the day. The water mellowed some as we entered the broader Nizina River. We pulled out of the Nizina where it intersects a small road from McCarthy. From there we made our way 9 miles back to town and some warm food.

Dialysis doesn't deter Dea

2008-07-13T21:49:00.015-08:00

Dea is eager to packraft down the Sanctuary River in Denali National Park

This blog post is dedicated to my friend Dea. Dea defies the image of someone who lacks properly working kidneys. Two years ago her kidneys failed and she has been forced to plug herself into a dialysis machine ever since - 3 times a week for about 4 hrs a day. I don't know much about dialysis but I do know that it drives the majority of patients to live stagnant and very careful lives. There are many days Dea is wiped out or sick BUT always seems to shine with a positive attitude even if she feels completely crappy. She has an inner energy and drive to enjoy each day regardless of her situation...

Dea has facilitated a handful of my backcountry adventures recently by either shuttling cars or picking me up from a distant trailhead. She is always enthusiastic and excited to hear about the most recent adventure even though she has to live it vicariously through my stories and photos. I have been sort of subconsciously searching for a trip she can squeeze in between dialysis sessions and I just recently found one. Last weekend I did a traverse from Cantwell to the Sanctuary River in Denali Park but heard that the route from Sable Pass was a bit shorter. I thought this might be the perfect opportunity to take Dea and her husband Ben on packrafting trip through the rugged Alaska Range. So here are some shots from Dea's 14 hour adventure in the shadow of North Americas highest peak.

I have to say that this is one of the best trips I have taken in the backcountry recently. This is not because the scenery and weather were superb - but because I got the pleasure to see the biggest smile plastered on Dea's face as she bobbed up and down in the whitewater of the Sanctuary River...

We started our 28 mile traverse at Sable Pass on the Denali National Park road. From there we headed down to the Teklanika River, up the Calico Creek drainage, and then over a pass before making a steep descent to the Sanctuary River. From there we packrafted about 16 miles back to the park road and pulled out right at our campsite in the Sanctuary River campground.

As usual with any backcountry trek in Alaska we had frequent water crossings. Fortunately this stretch of the Teklanika River was made up of multiple, shallow braided channels and was quite easy to ford.

Criss-crossing bear imprints were abundant along the Teklanika River

Dea makes her way up Calico Creek. This route to the Sanctuary River lacked any thick brush and the walking was very appealing.

Dea's posse of boys above Calico Cr - Ben, me, Dan and Ted

We were forced to climb over several small outcrops along Calico Cr

These unusual conical formations were in a lingering snow field.

We crossed fields of beautiful wildflowers on the approach to the pass

The final push up the pass was quite steep and required us to climb on all fours

Dan at the top of the pass with a view of the Sanctuary River valley below. Windy Pass can also be seen in the distance to the right - this is the route we took last weekend on our hike from Cantwell to the Sanctuary River.

The slope was wickedly steep on the way down from the pass.

Dea kicks up dust as she takes giant leaps and plummets down the scree slope

Looking back at the pass we descended - it looked like a formidable wall from this side.

Dea and Ben sideslope across a precarious slope of loose rock during our decent

Dan curls up like a baby in the warm sun on a soft carpet of tundra

Gazing down towards the Sanctuary River valley...

We dropped our packrafts in the river far below

The flotilla of packrafters are ready to hit the Sanctuary River

Ben trying to get a handle of the packraft before we reach some more challenging sections on the lower reach of the river.

The Pan-American Green Pea

2008-06-29T21:55:00.003-08:00

Torsten and Dirk pose inside of their green home on wheels.

The Germans arrived on my doorstep a few days ago. They are headed 500 miles north of Fairbanks to the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay which are situated on the shores of the Arctic Ocean. Prudhoe is the northernmost point accessible by road on the North American continent.

They crashed at my place for a few days before embarking on their transcontinental journey which will take them from Alaska to the southern tip of South America - Ushuaia, Argentina.

These adventurous German boys will be making this grand excursion through the boreal forests of Canada, the hot and dusty desert southwest, the steamy jungles of Central America, across the Panama Canal and equator, through the Atacama desert in Chile which is one of the driest regions on the planet, to the bottom of South America --- in a 1952 green VW Beetle!

Torsten and Dirk head north in the green 1952 VW Beetle which is appropriately named "Erbse" (meaning pea in english) to the start of their 35,000 km voyage. You can keep an eye on their progress and experiences along the Pan-American Hwy on there website: Torstens and Dirks wild ride.

Arctic Refuge Traverse...

2008-06-23T17:29:00.004-08:00

A midnight rainbow illuminates the Brooks Range on summer solstice

We headed north of the arctic circle to the land of never ending sunlight for summer solstice. The vast wilderness which rests on the northern edge of the North American continent is an endless playground of absolutely spectacular scenery. We traversed about 50 miles across infinite tundra in the western portion of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR).

Our trip began just east of Galbraith Lake where the Atigun River crosses the Haul Road - the only thread of highway on the continent leading all the way north to the Arctic Ocean. We traveled east through Atigun Gorge, crossed several drainage's including the Sag River and Accomplishment Creek, and eventually descended down to Elusive Lake in the Ribdon River valley. At this point we jumped into our packrafts and floated down the Ribdon to its confluence with Sag River - which is adjacent to the Haul Road.

Chris and Trevor leave the solid ground of the highway and head out into nearly 35 miles of soggy tundra, uneven tussocks, and three days of wet feet. We had to duck under the Alaska Pipeline prior to entering Atigun Gorge.

The tundra was blazing with all sorts of pink wildflowers.

We stayed high above the Atigun River where the tundra was a bit drier and walking was less taxing. We heard the river was big class III water through the gorge so we decided to hike this stretch instead.

Floating above the tundra - with the waterfall in the background.

This unusual waterfall shoots out of a hole in the craggy limestone high above the Atigun River. There some nice fossils embedded in the limestone scree around the falls.

Self portrait - Trevor and Ed.

After leaving the waterfall we hiked down to get a closer look at the river. The water looked pretty reasonable for packrafting in this stretch - but the canyon narrows just beyond this point and apparently gets much more challenging.

We were forced to ascend a steep ridge where the canyon narrowed and our path was pinched down to nothing between a nearly vertical slope and the river.

Sheep seeking refuge on a talus slope.

One of the many water crossings along our traverse. This one was quite easy...

Leaving Atigun Gorge we got our first views of the Sag River Valley and the mouth of the Atigun River. We slogged our way through the tundra down to the Sag River and eventually traversed across the mountains in the distance.

Fields of arctic cotton grass sway in unison in the light breeze.

The Sag River was quite deep so we inflated a packraft and shuttled the gear and ourselves across the water.

Yet another river crossing...

11 PM - reflections...

Remnant aufeis on Accomplishment Creek. These large sheets of ice can be several meters thick and persist well into the summer. Aufeis begins to form as the river freezes and the channel becomes constricted. The buildup of water pressure forces the river to flow out of the channel and spread across the adjacent flood plain throughout the winter.

The view of Elusive Lake and the Ribdon River valley.

Dramatic evening light and tightly folded strata.

Arctic life clings to a rocky ridge high above the Ribdon River.

Chilling out at our high camp in Elusive Pass. A continuous breeze kept the mosquitoes at bay and made for pleasant camping.

Descending a couple thousand feet down to Elusive Lake.

Levitating above the blue waters of Elusive Lake.

Sending a SPOT message. These cool little gadgets have become quite popular recently. With the press of a button an email is sent to family and friends which gives our coordinates and also shows our exact location in Google maps.

Jumping into our packrafts on the Ribdon River for the final leg of our trip - a pleasant 15 mile float back to the road.

Drifting down the Ribdon enjoying the unbelievable warm and dry weather.

Chris and I take a break along the Ribdon River.

Packrafts resting on the Ribdon River.

The upper Ribdon River was mostly fast class I. The lower reach was littered with some refrigerator size boulders and some class II rapids.

The final leg - walking the Haul Road a mile back to the car. Thanks to Dea and Ben for shuttling the subie 40 miles up the road for us.

A Village in the Arctic

2008-06-18T22:52:00.001-08:00

The log church in Arctic Village is situated in the shadow of the Brooks Range.

I traveled a couple hundred miles north of Fairbanks today to do some work in Arctic Village. This remote and isolated community lies north of the arctic circle along the southern boundary of the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge (ANWR). The village is only accessible by small aircraft and everything must be flown in. The consequences of such isolation are very high prices -- gas was going for a spendy $9.50 per gallon.

Arriving back in the thriving metropolis of Fairbanks smack dab in the middle of interior Alaska.

Gillette Pass Traverse

2008-06-16T23:24:00.010-08:00

Dan splashes through one of the many creeks on the way up to Gillette Pass in the Alaska Range

Dan, Sky and I spent the weekend exploring the eastern Alaska Range south of Tok. Neither one of us had ever done any hiking down in this area so we were eager to blaze a trail through this unfamiliar country. We were fortunate to see an abundance of wildlife including moose, bear, porcupine, caribou, and bald eagles.

Our 85 mile traverse took us up the the Tok and Dry Tok Rivers toward Gillette Pass. From the pass we descended into the Slana River drainage and eventually back to the highway where we ditched our bikes in the woods. The plan was to make a complete loop which included three modes of transportation: foot, packraft, and bike.

Walking along the gravel bars was great at times but involved hundreds of stream crossings which kept our feet soaked. The heavily silt laden glacial water was cold and continually filled our shoes with course debris which chewed away at our feet.

The riverbanks were generally brush free and provided easy walking - they were obviously corridors for animals of all sorts by the number of prints we stumbled across. Grizzly bear tracks of all sizes were abundant.

This couple lives in a remote location about 20 miles away from the highway. When the water in the river is low they can drive a monstrous army truck right up the riverbed to reach their home. In the winter they can snowmachine out to civilization. They told us we were the first hikers they had seen in several years and were excited to feed us coffee cake and tell us about the wolves they have adopted.

Orchids in Alaska - this is a delicate ladies slipper standing alone in the woods.

Dan and I were trying to travel relatively light so we didn't bring a traditional camping stove and accompanying bottle of fossil fuel. Instead we carried the wood burning "bush buddy" stove. It only takes a small pile of sticks and about 10 minutes patience to boil a liter of water.

We also decided to bring the ultralight tee pee shelter sans tent pole - instead we improvised and used one of our packrafting paddles to support the structure.

Gillette Pass is underlain by the Denali fault and was rocked hard during the November 2002 magnitude 7.9 earthquake. The area was scarred with numerous rock slides as the earthquake ripped gaping holes into the mountain sides. This red pile of rubble originated high up on the flanks of the precipice in the background.

A porcupine spreads its quills in self defense.

Dan spots a bear across the river valley foraging in the tundra.

Dan hikes up his shorts to cross the chilly Slana River.

The plan was to hike down the Slana River until it was deep enough to drop our packrafts in the water. Unfortunately the level was a bit low and the river was quite braided - so we continued to walk until we reached consistently deep water for floating.

After 60 miles of pounding our feet against the rocks we finally reach a point where the braids end and the river narrows into one deep channel. Dan quickly fills his raft so we can get in the river and effortlessly travel forward.

10 pm and we finally get to set sail and rest our feet.

Sailor Dan poses in front of his boat.

The relatively gently braided waters of the Slana River quickly transitioned into solid Class II rapids with occasional Class III waves and holes right after we dropped our boats into the silty water. We were completely drenched as waves broke over our heads and water washed through the gaps in our spray skirts. The river was a great rush...

The lower section of the Slana was much more mellow as the gradient decreased. Sky unwilling hitched a ride for a little while....she much preferred running along the riverbank and swimming.

As we went to retrieve the bikes from the woods I realized I left the key to the bike lock in the truck - dope! So we hiked several miles up the road like vagabonds to the nearest store and ended up getting a ride back to the truck.

Mount Prindle - Rocks!

2008-06-01T22:38:00.011-08:00

Flying high above Mt Prindle on an early summer afternoon

Ann and I headed into the uplands north of Fairbanks today. The terrain is rather dramatic for these ancient, highly weathered and rounded hills which divide the Tanana River drainage from that of the mighty Yukon.

Our hike began with 9 miles of easy going on the nicely groomed track of the Quartz Creek trail before diverting east through a break in the hillside. We then ascended a high and exposed spur ridge which leads to the summit of Mt Prindle before returning down the Nome Creek drainage to our starting point. The entire route was 24 miles and made for a fantastic day trip within an hours drive from Fairbanks.

Ann contemplates something philosophically deep as she gazes out from a craggy ridge leading up to Mount Prindle

Splashes of pink woolly lousewort dotted the tundra. The endless daylight and warm temperatures have jump started summer in the far north.

The hiking was superb on the dry and crunchy lichens and rock.

Many pinnacles with precariously placed rocks jutted out from the landscape.

Casting shadows on a few remnant snow fields.

The approach to Mt Prindle is strewn with granite spires jutting up into the skyline.

The granite monuments which define the ridgeline are absolutely spectacular.

As we were winding our way through the graveyard of tors - we came upon a newborn sheep and mother. The abrupt and unexpected encounter startled all four of us and for a moment we just stared at each other in silence. The sheep eventually scurried away...

Ann and I balancing on the summit of Mt Prindle

A spotlight of sun illuminates a chorus of granitic tors.

Weekend on the Emerald Isle

2008-05-29T23:05:00.012-08:00

Blades of sea grass are silhouetted against the calm waters of Monashka Bay on Kodiak Island

I traveled down to Alaska's emerald isle with 8 friends for the annual Kodiak Island Crab Festival. Kodiak Island is famous for huge brown bears, world-class sport fishing, and one of the largest commercial fishing ports in the nation. Its also notorious for having long stretches of wet and windy weather since it is situated in the unprotected waters of the north Pacific.

An endless supply of crab legs feed hungry locals and tourists...

The bright blue onion dome of the Holy Resurrection Russian Orthodox Church

The start of the Kodiak Island marathon. Tina , Ted and I made up more than half of the race entrants. Ann was the only competitor in the 43 mile ultramarathon so she started several hours earlier and met up with us to run the marathon course after a 17 mile warm up.

Beach art on Kodiak Island's north shore.

Kodiak is home to the largest US Coast Guard base in the states - they demonstrated an open sea rescue in the harbor.

Sea shells frozen in time break free from the bluffs above Fossil Beach

Driftwood and young vegetation litter the sand on the shores of Ugak Bay

Buffalo roam freely through the grassy terrain of Kodiak Island

The pad at the Kodiak Rocket Launch Facility looms above the horizon

Endless Twilight on Beaver Creek

2008-05-17T23:30:00.003-08:00

The late evening sunlight reflects off of the steel grey surface of Beaver Creek

Summer has arrived in the north. A winters worth of snow and ice has flushed downstream and has been replaced by never ending daylight, serenading songbirds, afternoon thunderstorms, bloodthirsty mosquitoes, the sweet smell of the boreal forest, and warm sunshine. I finally packed the skis away for the winter and pulled out the packraft for the first float of the season.

Trevor, Ann and I decided to welcome the endless summer daylight with an all night float down Beaver Cr followed by hike across the countryside north of Fairbanks. We dropped our rafts in the creek around 8 pm Friday night and staggered into the parking lot at the Wickersham Dome trail head around 7 pm the following evening. We traveled the 50 miles non-stop for nearly 24 hours with the excitement of the wilderness keeping us awake - supplemented by loads of sugar, chocolate covered espresso beans, and caffeine injected extra strength Excedrin.

Trevor inflates his Alpacka raft. These unbelievably cool boats tip the scale at less than 5 lbs. We used a specially designed bag to "scoop" up air and squeeze it into the boat. Its a clever idea which eliminates the need to carry a pump. A seasoned professional can inflate the boat in a couple of minutes.

830 pm - Ann is ready to start the first leg of our 50 mile excursion through the White Mountains

Ann and I are looking forward to a night on the river.

There was still a little bit of remnant river ice left along the banks of Beaver Cr.

The evening was quite chilly and the water was cold. The local wildlife was not deterred by this though. We observed (and were observed) by more moose than I can count, beavers, bald eagles, owls, and waterfowl. The nightlife on Beaver Creek was vibrant.

2 am - We were teetering on the edge of mild hypothermia and decided to stop for a few hours to warm up by a raging bonfire. The high water from the spring snowmelt had left the gravel bars littered with driftwood so there was plenty of amunition to ward off the cold.

The "bushbuddy" in action. This is a very small and light (5 oz) wood burning stove. It boiled a liter of water in about 8 minutes - no fossil fuels required!

630 am - The transition...we pack up the boats after 30 miles on Beaver Creek and prepare to hike 20 miles out the Steese Hwy via Wickersham Dome.

Crap! We had to cross Wickersham Creek about a mile after we started hiking. The only way to avoid a cold swim was to yank out a boat and ferry across.

We followed a trail which traverses the ridgeline between several drainages - this way we avoided the boggy/wet areas down low. We were treated to some nice views in all directions. Beaver Creek makes a sharp 45 degree turn to the north around the nose of this limestone ridge and this area is aptly named the "big bend"

A view of the White Mtns and the Beaver Creek valley.

Up and up...the ridge route kept us out of the lower wet areas but it required us to make multiple steep ascents.

When we climbed above treeline we could see many distant mountains but the weather quickly deteriorated and obscured all of our potential views.
Snow and rain pelted us for hours and we were completely soaked. Sleep deprivation also started to kick in and Trevor began to see people on every ridge as he stumbled down the trail.

We reached a shelter cabin just as the sun broke out of the clouds and the sloppy precipitation ceased.

Trevor and I dry off in the warm sunshine at the shelter cabin. We ended up making it to the trail head around 7 pm - about 23 hours after we set out on the creek. We were met by Dea and Lisa's smiling faces - even though we were overdue by more than 5 hours and they waited patiently the entire time.

Transitions...

2008-05-11T21:25:00.006-08:00

8 pm May 11, 2008 - Green-up arrived today as the leaves burst forth into the warm sunlight and the hills suddenly turned a bright lime green in a matter of hours.

11 pm April 30, 2008 - Taking my final ski of the season in the late evening light at Smith Lake on the University campus. The transition from winter into summer this year was shockingly fast. In less than 2 weeks the winter snowpack melted away and was replaced by green leaves and mosquitoes.

Asian Particulates

2008-04-23T21:55:00.005-08:00

The late evening sun is on fire above the northwestern horizon.

The skies over northern Alaska have been unusually hazy the past few days. It has looked more like the smoggy LA basin as the haze has obscured the mountains. Our more typical bright blue atmosphere was replaced with a "dirty" airmass as a gigantic high pressure center built in over the state this week. The fine particulates which are clogging up our skies are apparently originating from fires burning in Russia and dust storms raging across Mongolia. The only benefit of the haze that I can see are the intense red sunrises/sunsets.

There is an article about the haze in the Daily News Miner.

Tour De Alaska Range

2008-04-21T19:24:00.008-08:00

An ice fall plummets thousands of feet down the east face of Mt Hess.

I flew around the Alaska Range south of Fairbanks for a few hours today with some NOAA pilots that have been in AK for the past 2 weeks. They are here with an aircraft that is equipped with instrumentation that uses gamma radiation to measure the amount of water in the snowpack. There are a few hundred flight lines around the state that are roughly 10 miles long. They fly these lines at an altitude of 500 feet above ground level and obtain an average snow water equivalent for each flight line. This data provides insight into how much water is stored in the winter snowpack and is used to estimate the amount snowmelt runoff that will enter the river systems.

We flew over some absolutely awesome terrain and and countless glaciers.

The Black Rapids downhill ski area - I have heard about this ski hill south of Delta Junction for years but I have never actually seen it before. There was a lift and a few short runs.

One of the flight lines took us within a few miles of Bus 142 where Chris McCandless died back in the summer of 1992. The pilots were psyched to see the rusting hunk of steel so we made a low pass over this "sacred" location. For more photos of my ski to the bus click here.

In search of Big Windy Hot Springs

2008-04-13T22:34:00.016-08:00

Dan and Brad ski up Birch Creek in search of Big Windy Hot Springs

Big Windy Hot Springs - You mention this destination to almost anyone and they sort of cock their head and give you a blank look and then ask: "Where is that? I have never heard of it." And the few folks that have stumbled across Big Windy during a Google search of Alaska hot springs have most likely never been there. Here in lies the mystery of Big Windy and the reason for our search of this rarely visited location.

Big Windy Hot Springs is located 20 miles as the crow flies south of Circle Hot Springs. This translates into about 33 miles of skiing up several tributaries of Birch Creek. The springs are situated in a deep valley on a rocky slope above Big Windy Creek. I have never actually met anyone that has ventured out to this oasis in the boreal forest on foot. A researcher at UAF did write an informative paper about the unusual flora and fauna which inhabits Big Windy. Apparently this is the northernmost extent of the water shrew...interesting.

Dan and his younger brother Brad geared up for the journey to Big Windy. Brad was up from Colorado for the weekend. Dan informed me as we were getting ready to depart that Brad had only cross country skied a couple times. Dan what are you thinking?!? -- this could be a grueling trip.

For first 12 miles from Circle Hot Springs to Birch Creek we followed the Bielenberg Trail which was nicely packed by snowmachines. After that we broke trail the last 20 or so miles on the creek. The Bielenberg trail is an old mining trail which continues on towards Woodchopper and Coal Creek on the Yukon River.

Dan had forgot his sunglasses so he improvised some eye protection using a hat and bandanna.

We encountered many stretches of overflow, or river water under pressure that is forced to the surface and then spreads out over the ice. So our feet got soaked as the icy water splashed up or poured over the top of our ski boots.

The river ice is so abrasive that we had to re-apply kick wax numerous times.

Dan throws himself on the ice to suck water (and possibly giardia) from a small fissure.

We came across some awesome stretches of glare ice where you could just tap your poles and effortlessly excel forward. These are moments of glory to embrace as you shoot across the ice.

We tried to dip at every watering hole in order to stay hydrated. This is much more efficient than stopping and pulling out the stove to melt snow.

As we traversed up the Big Windy drainage, the valley gradually narrowed, the snow deepened, and we began to encounter thin ice and open water.

We had to negotiate stretches of open water a mile or two downstream from the hot springs. This required precariously jumping from rock-to-rock in order to cross the river.

Dan was too lazy to keep taking his skis off and thought he could jump this small stretch...he was wrong.

In some places it was possible to bridge your skis between rocks and work your way across the stream. Dan is still having some bad luck. He will keep his skis on to the bitter end...

The boulders and deep snow increased as we continued up the valley.

Finally the boulders were impossible to ski through. So our only option was too walk up the creek or bushwhack along a steep slope through deep snow and downed trees. So it took us more than an hour to cover the last 1/2 mile to the springs.

At last - Big Windy Hot Springs!!! Hmmm...where is the inviting pool of warm water? The bathing beauties? the wet bar??

This really doesn't look too inviting.

And this looks more like a slimy water slide and not something to plunge your body into.

So it looked like at some time long ago someone had piled some rocks up around this location. Maybe this was the hidden oasis we had traveled 2 days to reach...

I stuck my snow shovel into the murky abyss and found that there was about an 18 inch column of hot sludge beneath the green slime surface - perfect!!! So I played pool guy, dropped my pants and got to business scooping out some of the natural healing mud and algae.

Voila! Big Windy Hot Springs is open for business.

The camping was very limited. The best spot was on a slight slope littered with rocks.

We had a nice campfire to dry out our gear. The grass adjacent to my boots caught on fire and before we knew it my boots had ignited and totally torched the toe. Fortunately they would still fit into my ski bindings even though the plastic sole beneath the toe was deformed.

So we did the Big Windy. The mystery of this springs has been uncovered. There are reasons why its not a hot spot on the hot springs circuit: difficult to access, limited sites suitable for pitching a tent, and a not so appealing pool of muck to soak in. But--overall its a great trip and well worth the hard work to get there.

I have more photos of our trip in picasa.

Abstract Ice

2008-04-03T22:28:00.007-08:00

I was up north for work this week. The scenery this time of the year is always quite stunning with the spring sunlight brightening up the northern landscape. I came across some absolutely amazing abstract designs in the ice at Island Lake on the north side of the Brooks Range. The oily blackness of the clear ice contrasted beautifully with the delicate cracks that penetrated deep into the frozen medium.

We passed what must have been several hundreds of caribou grazing on the lichens protruding out of the tundra. It just amazes me the these large animals can survive on crunchy, frozen lichens all winter.

The Alaska Wilderness Ski Classic

2008-04-01T20:52:00.020-08:00

Brian is dwarfed by the blue face of the Nizina Glacier

Brian and I just spent 7 days enduring the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Ski Classic in Wrangell-St Elias National Park. Wrangell-St Elias is essentially a road less national park with two main access points: Nabesna and McCarthy. The race this year traversed the rugged country between these two small towns. There are no established trails, checkpoints, or food drops and participants are completely self sufficient. The route we skied, walked, post holed, crawled cursed, and left us in awe was roughly 150 miles long and crossed some absolutely spectacular, and at times, inhospitable terrain.

Here is a map of our traverse that I tracked using my gps. We took a relatively non-technical route which skirted along the perimeter of several glaciers...so we didn't need a full suite of climbing gear. This year there were only 9 participants and only two attempted a highly technical course through cravasse ridden glaciers - unfortuntely the route was impassable and they had to bail out.

Brian and I at the start in Nabesna - radiating feelings of anxiety, excitement, and nervousness. We were uncertain of the weather, snow/ice conditions, discomforts, and challenges in which we were about to experience during the next week or so.

After leaving Nabesna we attempted to cruise down the glare ice of the Nabesna River. There is nothing more pleasing than the sound of the sharp click of my ski pole tips biting into the brittle ice and effortlessly shooting me forward across the frictionless surface. Unfortunately we were fighting a 20 to 30 mph headwind - so I ended up tacking back-and-forth into the wind in order to make some forward progress.

This is the soupy remains of our first campsite. During the night overflow from Cooper Cr pooled up under the tent and we found ourselves in several inches of water. Lesson learned...dont camp near overflow.

The upper part of Cooper Cr was wall-to-wall ice that gradually steepened as we progressed upstream. I double poled uphill as far as I could before dropping the skis changing my mode of transportation.

So out came the crampons during the last few miles up Cooper Cr.

Brian ascends the upper portion of Cooper Cr.

We left the icy Cooper Cr drainage and skied down Notch Cr on our way toward the Chisana River. There was a snowmachine trail along this stretch and the skiing was fast. We quickly learned to enjoy the good moments because conditions and attitudes could change in a matter of minutes.

Brian avoiding open water along Notch Cr.

Where do we go? Here we are trying to pick the most direct route across the Chisana River which would avoid areas of open water. We still got our feet wet in several inches of overflow pooled up on the ice surface.

Wet boots + below zero temps = rocks in the morning. We took advantage of being below treeline to soften up our boots which were frozen solid. From this point we would be climbing out of the trees and probably wouldnt encounter any firewood for several days.

Blister maintenance - its best to stop and take care of these potentially incapacitating demons before they make your life miserable.

Dipping for water (and hopefully not giardia) along Geohenda Cr. We pounded water at nearly every open spot in order stay hydrated and preserve our fuel for cooking.

Traversing across wind hardened drifts on the way toward Solo Mtn.

Solo Mtn Cabin - we found ourselves here just before dark on the 3rd night out. So we decided to live the luxurous life and crash in the very "well ventilated" shelter.

The snow was patchy and thin across the Solo Mtn flats. This area is in the shadow of the Wrangell Mtns and receives much less snow than one would expect.

Brian waxing up - we stopped to apply kick wax numerous times throughout our trip. When the terrain steepened we had to ditch the wax and resort to applying skins to our skis.

Traveling up the White River towards the Russell Glacier and Skolai Pass.

The late March sun is pumping out enough energy to melt the areas with thin snow cover. It was faster to just keep the skis strapped to our feet rather than removing them for short stretches.

Brian admires some intricately folded rocks on the way up Skolai Pass.

Late evening sunshine lights up the mountains above the Russell Glacier near Skolai Pass.

The hike up through Skolai Pass was arduous as we side sloped through alternating stretches of loose/icy rocks and thigh deep snow. We passed this recently drained lake on the Russell Glacier with massive ice blocks haphazardly scattered about.

Boiling water for breakfast on the flanks of Skolai Pass.

One of our only self portraits from the trail.

We were psyched to reach Upper Skolai Lake and leave the tedious and tricky footing of Skolai Pass behind us. We had a few "gravy" miles ahead skiing down the smooth and flat surface of the lake which was littered with delicately sculpted ice bergs.

So my motto was: "enjoy what you have because conditions are bound to change..." Nothing was static for very long in this race. The pleasant and enjoyable skiing along Skolai Lake was quickly replaced by a heart pounding fear brought on by clinging to a rock hard slope above Skolai Creek. I carefully kicked my crampons into the nearly impenetrable snow trying to ward off thoughts of slipping and careening out of control 1000 ft into the abyss below.

We encoutered several gullies in a row. Some were skiable...others were not.

Most of Brians traverses resulted in bombing downhill out of control through uneven snow and brush. He always completed his trip down the slope in a puff of snow with a spectacular crash.

Brian skinning up before the steep bushwhack up above Skolai Cr. We had to climb high in order to avoid being "cliffed out" by deeply cut gullies which intersected our planned route of travel.

Goldenhorn looms in the distance - we will eventually skim across the base of the horn in order to detour around impassable gullies.

Seracs teetering on the edge of this cliff would occassionally plummet downward and trigger an impressive avalanche of snow below. This was followed by an omninous "boom" which would echo across the valley. The power of these mountains is difficult to comprehend and made us feel insignifcant as we gazed out and watched from our safe perch.

My only blister! and surprisingly it was not on my foot. This formed where the waist belt on my pack hugged my hip.

More damn gullies to contend with...

A well deserved stretch of pleasureable skiing high above Skolai Creek after contending with a sketchy gully and a steep climb.

Brian ponders a potential route down to Skolai Creek and eventually the Nizina Glacier in the distance.

Brian tangled in thick alders during our descent to Skolai Cr. This unforgiving vegetation is certainly a test of patience. It would take hours to cover a mile or less through this web of frustration and anger. Branches would wrap around our skis, grab our packs an ski poles, throw us off of our feet, lash our faces - it was unbeaerable at times and we were forced to just put our heads down and keep on crawling forward.

We thought the skiing would be easy along Skolai Cr. I eventually learned to expect the unexpected and not have any expections about easy travel. Our 10 minutes of casual skiing immediately transitioned into us squeezing through a narrow ledge above the creek.

This narrow chasm between the Nizina Glacier and the adjacent bedrock recently opened up. We tried to haul ass through here as bowling ball sized rocks bombed us from above and splashed into the water. At one point our narrow ledge of snow petered out and we were forced to walk in the turbulent icy water.

We had to pick our way through a chaotic array of house size ice chunks and boulders.

Brian tries to pull himself together after his head plant into the ice.

The Nizina River presented us with many opportunities to get our feet wet.

The last creek crossing and the start of the 10 mile road into McCarthy.

Cankle (or according to the urban dictionary: An aesthetically unfortunate physiological condition which leaves its victims with no discernable narrowing of the ankle between the calf and the foot). My feet totally swelled up after we reached McCarthy. They were hiddeous but fascinating. Apparently it is not uncommon to retain water after many days of strenuous excercise.

I hope you enjoyed the pics. The scenery and opportunity to travel through this amazing landscape will be something that will stick with me for the rest of my life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Check out Brian's Wilderness Classic post: Nabesna to McCarthy...One Hell of a Classic

Here is the link to the newspaper article about the wilderness classic in the Fairbanks Daily News Miner

Gearing up for the Wilderness Classic

2008-03-21T23:11:00.005-08:00

Wrangell-St Elias National Park is the site of the 2008 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Ski Classic. Brian and I are headed down to this pristine wilderness which straddles the Alaska-Yukon border tomorrow to take part in the race. This is a remote and dynamic region made up of 16,000 ft glaciated mountains, craggy peaks, volcanoes, winter avalanches, raging rivers in the summer, and an abundance of wildlife.

Planning out meals and gear was quite exhausting. Trying to come up with a delectable menu that included foods with the best calorie to weight ratio was challenging. We plan to be traveling during the daylight hours (about 12 hrs/day) and hope to finish within 7 days. I expect to consume about 6000 calories a day - which came out to nearly 3 pounds of food per day. When you throw in the fuel to melt snow for drinking water and cooking - the weight of my pack dramatically increased. I will post a full report when I return.

Skiing the Iditarod Trail

2008-03-16T22:35:00.011-08:00

Nome, Alaska sits on the edge of the frozen Bering Sea

Four of us spent 6 days traversing the last 200 miles or so of the Iditarod trail along the wind scoured Bering Sea coast between the village of Koyuk and the bustling bush town of Nome. This was an unbelievably diverse trip which was jam packed with broad expanses of wilderness, cultural interactions as we passed through native villages, and the excitement of the Iditarod sled dog race as we skied in the midst of the mushers making their final push into Nome.

We flew out to Koyuk and then skied westward along the Iditarod trail toward Nome. Here is a map of our route between the villages of Koyuk and White Mountain.

Here is a second map showing the last half of our trip between White Mountain and Nome. We skied right along the coast for much of the trip. This stretch is notorious for strong winds and ground blizzards - fortunately we scooted through with good weather.

Nome is essentially a crossroad to nowhere. Everything is thousands of miles away except for Siberia and the arctic circle.

The Nome national forest can be seen in the distance. These are actually old christmas trees that are jammed into the sea ice. Nome is beyond the treeline and is surrounded by endless tundra.

Nome is a town of drifts because most of the snow in this windy location falls horizontally. There are several roads leading out of town but they all eventually dead end and never connect with the rest of North America.

Bering Sea art spruces up a building in Nome.

Arriving in Koyuk - we were met by a flurry of snowmachines that came to pick of mail and groceries. We hitched a ride down to the village store to buy a few things before hitting the trail.

All geared up and ready begin our ski tour 200 miles back to Nome.

Andy and Matt on the sea ice as Koyuk slowly fades away in the distance.

There were some dramatic rock outcrops along the shore.

Descending into the Kwik (pronounced "gweek") River valley.

Kwik River cabin - our first in a series of luxury accommodations. No reservations are needed because this is a shelter cabin.

The cabin was stocked with plenty of firewood by the Elim fire department. We donated some cash when we arrived in Elim the following day.

Fighting our way through a ground blizzard. The Kwik River cabin is located in what is called a "blow hole" where strong winds can materialize in a very short amount of time. Well...the wind picked up overnight and increased after we hit the trail.

The winds subsided some as we approached the summer fish camps at Moses Point.

Lisa skis on towards Elim...

Matt and Andy taking a break outside of Elim.

The village of Elim is in a beautiful location where the "interior meets the sea"

The primary method of transportation in rural Alaska is either snowmachine or 4-wheeler. In Elim we stayed at the school which is in the distance.

Matt stocks up on frozen pizzas for dinner. We didn't have to carry much food because we could purchase supplies at the village store.

We had the master key to the Elim school so we were able to cook dinner in the home ec room and use the locker room to take showers.

Art on display at the school.

Driftwood and dry sea grasses protrude through the snow along Golovin Bay.

Skiing across the sea ice on the way into Golovin.

The village displayed colorful signs to welcome the Iditarod mushers.

A boat in Golovin waits for the ice and snow to melt.

We arrived in Golovin just as the kids were finishing up ski practice...

Eating breakfast in the school cafeteria with the Golovin kids.

Golovin through stained glass.

Our fourth night was spent in White Mountain. The Iditarod mushers caught up to us while we were here and we skied along with them on the trail into Nome.

Dog food and other supplies for the Iditarod mushers line the banks of the Fish River.

Iditarod champion Lance Mackey feeds his team during his mandatory 8 hr layover in White Mountain. Mushers are not allowed to have any outside help getting water or feeding their dogs. So much of the 8 hrs is spent tending to the dogs.

Resting in White Mountain.

Lance Mackey leaves White Mountain and makes his final push to Nome to win the 2008 Iditarod.

There were over ten teams in White Mountain at one time.

A musher moves along the coast...

We spent our final night on the trail at the Topkok trail shelter.

Inside the Topkok shelter...

Many teams passed by at all evening and through the night.

Pete caught up with us just as we were leaving the Topkok shelter. He was in the final 50 miles of his 1100 mile bike ride on the Iditarod Trail. He was competing in the Iditarod Trail Invitational and was the first person to reach Nome. Much of the trail was soft and competitors had to push there bikes through soft snow for many days.

The Safety Roadhouse is the last checkpoint before Nome.

Almost to Nome...

Iditarod finish line on front street in Nome and the end of our ski trip.

Nome-ward Bound...

2008-03-06T23:15:00.003-09:00

I am headed out to the Seward Peninsula in western Alaska tomorrow with my skis and some friends. The Seward Peninsula is a thumb of the state that points directly at Siberia. All that separates Alaska from far east Russia is the icy Bering Strait.

We will be flying into the the town of Nome on the frozen Bering Sea coast and then continuing on to the native village of Koyuk. The plan is to ski the last 200 miles or so of the Iditarod sled dog race trail back to Nome. This stretch of trail is notorious for severe winds and white out conditions. There are very few trees and most of the terrain is exposed tundra. I am hoping the weather is somewhat subdued and we are spared any strong headwinds or blizzard conditions. The Iditarod is currently in progress and we expect the lead mushers to pass us on the trail as they make their final push into Nome.

I spent the evening packing a bunch of food and snacks for 5 or 6 days on the trail. We will be passing through several native villages so we will have the opportunity to buy food along the way - for an outrageous price of course. This should be an awesome trip through some interesting country. I will post some pics when I return...

Kite skiing

2008-03-02T21:58:00.009-09:00

Dan cruises down the frozen Tanana River in Fairbanks

Industrious young Dan decided he wanted to build a kite for skiing. So he found a design online, ordered the materials, bought a sewing machine, taught himself how to use the darn thing - and voila! he made a kite! Since there was a little bit of wind today - Dan, Ted and I headed down to the Tanana River to get some practice flying the kite. After a few attempts I began to get the feel for how to control the big green wing. We were able to zig-zag down the river using a method similar to tacking a sailboat into the wind.

From the field test today it appears that a steady breeze around 10 mph is sufficient for this size kite. If the wind gets much stronger it is difficult to control...anything less will get the kite airborne but there will not be enough force to pull you forward. Dan plans on making several different sized kites so he can go out in a variety of wind conditions.

Dan concentrates as he maneuvers the kite down the river. We spent a lot of time trying to spin it around to get it untangled.

Well...kite skiing isn't as easy as it appears.

Check out this video of the kite in action