The Northward Contrail

A little too close

I'd been advised to be up bright and early Sunday morning.  There was an expedition planned.  My friend's wife was to meet us at April Bowl near Summit Lake, and she'd have one of her friends with her.  My friend and I were starting out early because we were going to take a very interesting back road there, through the wilderness.  It was a neat journey.

Now, all this would have worked if nature didn't have such a sense of humor.  For one, it was gray that morning, with a lot of low-lying cloud.  There were times we were about on instruments.  But, we overcame that much.

We got to the designated point about half an hour ahead of schedule, and we got out and started to hike up to April Bowl.  It was steep and a little treacherous at points, and there was very little visibility, but nothing I couldn't handle.  And some of the views were still nice. Besides, it was Alaska.  How was I going to pass this up?

My friend and I had hoofed it up most of the way and had paused for a little bit.  I was admiring the scenery and the clouds, taking it all in.

My friend then asked if I saw that black spot over by a white area about a couple hundred yards away.

I told him I did.

"Does it look like it's moving?" he asked.

I replied in the affirmative.   It also appeared to have a second smaller dark spot next to it.

"That's it.  We're done."

Yep, it was the Ursine Menace.  Perhaps we could have pressed on with no ill effect, but we were unarmed and alone, and no match for a sow defending her cub.  Best to get the hell out.  So we did.  (If you don't understand why, read the "Ted" chapter of Peter Jenkins' Looking for Alaska.  I'll leave it at that.)

So our little meet-up didn't happen there.  Instead, when the other half of our party arrived, we had a quick discussion and went back to Summit Lake.  That's where we had a wonderful breakfast, using a big flat boulder as a picnic table.  Homemade muffins, fresh fruit, little Babybel cheeses...it was a blissful way to start a morning.

Then it was off for more adventure, as we came back down and parked at the Gold Mint Trailhead.  We piled out and started to hike.  My friend's wife and her friend took on off, which meant my friend and I were left behind.  But we made the most of it, walking along the trail at our own pace, talking about life, and taking pictures with hearty abandon.  I was glad I'd bought the additional SD card.

 

A couple hours later, while my friend and I were back at the truck, we saw the other half of our foursome emerge from the wild.  They brought with them a craving for pancakes.  So we drove back into Palmer for a late lunch at a favorite little cafe, and sat around the table for a couple hours telling stories.  It was all fun.

You'll recall we'd picked some salmon up at the store on Wednesday. Well, I was to leave the next day, and the fish needed to be cooked or frozen.  So that night, my friend hauled out the salmon, gave it a good seasoning, and broiled it up.  A wonderful spicy orzo dish accompanied it.  And, yes, fresh Alaska salmon was everything I hoped it would be.

That night, I went to bed very happy.  The only bad spot?  Tomorrow, it would be time to come home.

For the love of gold

The weekend was here, and adventure was in store.  We piled into the truck and went back to Hatcher Pass, driving up to Archangel for a nice hike.  It was overcast and cool that morning, but there were already a lot of people out and about.  We got out of the truck and hiked toward the old abandoned mine.  Here's a beaver pond we passed on the way up; one of its custodians was swimming laps when we were near it.  Between the beavers being jealous custodians, and who knows what kind of lingering effects from all the years of mining, you don't want to take a dip there.

Ruins of abandoned equipment below the trail.  Imagine the effort to schlep all this stuff up here long, long ago. 

The entrance of the old mine.  You don't wanna go in there. 

And the view down the valley from the mine.

One of the nearby peaks.  I liked this picture because it reminds me of how it looked the first time I ever saw it. 

After we were done at the mine, we came back down, stopped off at a couple more places to look around and take pictures, and then went back into town for lunch and to get more supplies (in my case, to get another SD card for my camera).  My friend and I spent the evening in the workshop, where I provided some engineering assistance on a model project and helped him deal with his surplus of Alaskan White ale.  (Oh, it's good stuff.  And addicting.  Mommy may order some in.)

41 years ago

I didn't get to add this link yesterday, when I would have liked to, but: My friend Professor Mondo posted this wonderful essay yesterday, looking back at a night 41 years ago.  Nerd Girl says check it out.

Wandering

One of the ideas behind this year's adventure was that we had no set plans.  In the past, my friend has had a given thing he's wanted to do while I was there -- one year we drove to Seward, another year we flew to Homer, and so on.  But this year, he just wanted us to play it by ear.  This ended up working out very well, and was part of why I enjoyed this year's visit so much.

So this morning we just got in the truck and drove, looking at scenery and finding nice places to stop, walk around and take nice photos.  Like this one:

And here's the old Knik River Bridge.  It's long been closed to traffic, but it remains because it carries the power lines across the river.

Then into Palmer for lunch and a stop at another bookstore.  I found a copy of the AP Stylebook for Alaska.  It was the first time I found one.  There was no way I was going to pass that up.

A little later, we drove back to Hatcher Pass.  The first time I saw the place several years ago, it was cloudy and gray, and I was running around catching snowflakes on my tongue.  In the July sunlight, it takes on a whole new personality.

We hiked back around Summit Lake and took more photos.  It was a balmy day.  I rolled my sleeves up and enjoyed the warmth.  (A few days later, I'd find several mosquito bites.)

Only half an hour from Alaska

Thursday did not start well.  I had been so tired the night before that I'd left my eyeglasses at the foot of the bed.  So when I woke up and started to stir, they fell in the floor.  I was wandering around and felt something under my right heel.  Next thing I knew, I was holding a flattened pair of eyeglasses.  Great.  Nerd emergency.  Fortunately, I was able to twist and bend them back to shape, but it was a scare I could have done without.

In the morning we hopped in the truck and headed for Anchorage, that famous city only half an hour from Alaska.  This was to be the day we did the bookstores, the hobby shop and a couple other things.  So we did.  Title Wave has remodeled and rearranged quite a bit since my last visit, and though it's not quite the wonder it was when I first encountered it a few years ago, it's still worth the visit.  I dropped surprisingly little cash in there, finding a couple books about bush flying (gotta read up about next career, y'know), a book about the town of Whittier, and a deck of these, which are well worth the purchase.

After a quick lunch, it was off to PANC to do some looking at airplanes.  As we were about to drive beneath the approach to 14, we noticed a 747 on final.  My friend stopped the truck and we grabbed our cameras just in time to catch this monster screaming right over us.  Wow.

So we drove around a little more, and ended up parking and hiking up the hillside to the corner of the cargo ramp and 14-32.  (This is the same place the famous Tupolev incident took place.)  From there, you can get some rather stunning photos.  All I had was my little point-and-shoot, but even with it, I managed to do okay: 

And Everts even obliged us with a DC-6, which did a run-up in front of us, showing all the youngsters in the background how it's really done.

Then it was over to the other side of 14-32 and up on the hillside to catch the afternoon departures...

...and an arrival or two.

We also got another treat when one of Everts' C-46s, "Dumbo," came rumbling out.  There's no mistaking this one when she starts down the runway.

Soon, though, things turned into a parade of big brown airplanes, and when things all started to look the same, we took our leave.  We stopped in one of the local hobby shops for a little while, and then started out for home.  I gave hubby a quick phone call while we were in cell phone range and checked on things back home.  It had been a busy day, but fun.

Welcome to Alaska

The new day dawned.  Actually, the new day had dawned very early; it's that time of year in Alaska.  The room I was in had very good drapes on it that kept out most of the light, so sleeping was easy enough.

Most of this day was spent out exploring nature up around Hatcher Pass and Summit Lake.  My host and his wife do a lot of hiking and exploring around the huge natural paradise in which they live, and part of why he had me up this time of year was to see the difference from my usual mid-May visits.  Believe me, it was different, very lush and green.  We had gorgeous weather that day, too, which made it seem even more otherworldly.  I didn't feel like I was in Alaska; it felt like New Zealand or Ireland.

There were many people out taking advantage of the nice weather (including a lady whose two dogs splashed around Summit Lake, one of them coming over to try to take my water bottle).  But do some careful hiking and you can find a place to sit and think all by yourself.  That's what I did, taking a seat on a rocky ledge, looking out at this paradise you see below, and thinking about how lucky I really am.  Yep, this place is my other home.

The rest of the day was spent on more humdrum tasks.  We went into town for lunch, stopped by a bookstore and looked around, and then hit the grocery store for supplies.  Rainier cherries were on sale, dirt-cheap, and we loaded up on those.  And among the provisions were a couple pounds of fresh salmon fillets.  Although I normally avoid meat, I'd been wanting to try some Alaska salmon for a long time, and my host was going to oblige this visit.

Back at the house, we adjourned to his workshop.  My friend and I share the hobby of these little plastic airplanes, and he also has a fine stock of rare woods and woodworking equipment.  We've known each other coming up on a dozen years, and we share the craftsperson's mindset, so we understand each other on that level.  But it's more than that.  There's a saying about how friends are the family you choose for yourself, and that's why I tell people part of why I'm in Alaska so much is because I have family there.  Yeah, my friend and I share the same interests, have the same sick sense of humor, and all that, but we can have long conversations about life and the universe and all that.  I have a brother and I love him, but my friend's like another brother I should have had (though he's no doubt thankful not to be related to me, but I digress).  That's much of the fun of getting together.  We had a few bottles of locally-brewed product and talked for a few while, and life was great.

After a little while we came back inside.  His wife had come home from work, and I hadn't seen her since my last visit, so we spent some time talking in the den, catching up on things and comparing stories about our cats while my friend made dinner.  It was during this lull that the house suddenly went "whump!" and swayed a little.  The nearest thing I can compare it to is being aboard an airliner that's made a hard landing, that same sort of quick thump that dampens out.  After a second or two, everything was fine.  Just like that, I'd experienced my first Alaskan earthquake, another component of my indoctrination.  It's a fact of life up there, just one of those things that happens, and it's much better to have a bunch of little earthquakes than have 1964 happen all over again. 

After that, the rest of the evening was quiet and uneventful.  Dinner was good.  The day's adventures had tired us out, so we didn't linger too long after dinner.  The next day would bring more adventures, and some memorable photographic opportunities.