Caribou Curse

The Sun about to peak over the Alaska Range at High Noon

This weekend, feeling a little cabin fever from the cold weather that has forced us indoors for far too long, Ben and I decided to try to go for a hike.  It was 25 below outside, but we heard that if you climb Donnelly Dome, which rises abruptly a few thousand feet from the valley floor, that it can be 20-30 degrees WARMER at the top.  0-5 degrees at the summit?  That sounds WONDERFUL!  So, we headed down the snowy road, contemplating the cold weather logistics of our trip, such as how we were going to keep our water bottle from freezing en route up the mountain.  We were prepared with layers upon layers to cover every inch of our skin. We put toe warmers in our boots and hand warmers in our gloves.  We felt we were ready to take on the cold. 

We drove the 40-minute drive towards Donnelly Dome with the sun just about to poke over the mountains.  It was fifteen minutes before noon.  We had timed our departure perfectly.  If the sun poked up shortly after noon, that would give us a solid 2 hours of pure sunlight for our climb before it started its descent behind the Alaska Range again.  Supposedly, we currently have four hours of daylight between sunrise and sunset, but that doesn’t take into account the mountain range blocking our precious sun during its rising and setting.  We were eager to see those rays, even though not a one would actually touch our skin. 

Caribou on the Richardson Hwy

About 2-3 minutes before our hiking destination turn-off, we drove over one of the few hills in the highway to see three caribou sauntering down the road a short ways ahead.  We were very excited to see our first caribou in Delta and felt this was a fortuitous sign for our hike. 

Caribou with Donnelly Dome in background

We watched them for a few minutes and then continued on our way, eager to start our climb up the mountain.   As the pull-out for the hike approached, we didn’t think twice about steering off the highway to park our car there until we were physically in the process of doing it and felt our car sink down into a solid foot of snow and quickly bottom-out.  The pullout had never been plowed.  We both realized our demise instantaneously and Ben, who was behind the wheel, tried to quickly do a U-turn and escape, but it was much too late.  It was at that point that we realized that a shovel was not something on our list of cold weather gear to bring.  We are definitely still rookies.  We learned a few important lessons that day.  First, it made complete sense as to why 99% of Deltoids drive big, burly trucks with high clearance.  Birch, our poor Subaru, didn’t stand a chance in that snow.  Second, it registered why no one ever talks about going hiking in Delta.  And third, and most importantly, we realized that there must be such a thing as the caribou curse.  

  

Realizing a big truck would be a nice car in the future

We spent the next 25 minutes digging our car out with our gloved hands and our ski poles.  The sun poked out behind the mountains and we paused for a few seconds in awe and then kept digging.  We broke branches off some willows in the area and put them under our tires for more traction.  With a lot of car pushing by Ben and a heroic effort by Birch, we eventually escaped the captivity of the snow and pulled back onto the highway with a sigh of relief.   In all of our time being stuck, not a single car passed on the highway.  No sooner than 20 seconds after we got back onto the road, not one, but TWO, massive trucks capable of towing smaller cars passed us.  We could almost hear those caribou laughing at us.  At this point, we had no idea where we could park and we were both tired from digging and digging, so decided to forgo the hike.  By the time we got back to our cabin the sun was starting to disappear behind the Alaska Range again, a reminder to take our vitamin D supplements.   We waved a sorrowful farewell to it and then to boost our spirits, reminded ourselves that the winter solstice was in a mere few days!   Bring on that daylight!

A Clark Thanksgiving

A Clark Thanksgiving

Nanook of the North

Ben and I were lucky to have family willing and crazy enough to visit us for Thanksgiving!  Charli and Todd left Colorado’s 60-degree temps to come to the frozen north.  Temperatures only once got above zero (2 degrees) during Charli and Todd’s ten days in Interior Alaska.   As it turns out, the cold couldn’t stop these two.  They would go out for two-hour long snowshoes and return without hypothermia.  Now I know where Ben got his enthusiasm for the outdoors from!  Todd was nicknamed Nanook of the North (a great 1922 movie we found out) due to the large, frozen icicles encrusting his bearded face during adventures. 

Thanksgiving dinner at Nellieland

We all survived our trip to Chena Hot Springs “Resort” leaving with many fond memories and a few repressed ones as well.  We have blocked out the moments of freezing arctic agony experienced during our geothermal tour as well as the discomfort (that’s an understatment) of getting in and out of the hot springs at 15 below with 30 mph wind gusts. 

The northern lights did not disappoint, coming out for a beautiful showing while we were in Fairbanks.  Thanksgiving also did not disappoint.  A delicious meal and great company was shared with Nellie, Pete, Otter (and poor Maddie).   Someone may have even mentioned that this Thanksgiving was their favorite Thanksgiving.

 Arctic Hare tracks 

It seemed the only disappointment was the lack of actual “seen mooses” during their stay.   Moose tracks meandered everywhere on the trails and around our property, but the large ghost-like herbivores remained elusive.  The surprise came when we found tracks that walked directly up to our outhouse, in which the moose must have stuck her gigantic head inside, and then opted out of entering.  We just hope in the future that the moose isn’t that inquisitive when the outhouse is occupied.

Visiting the Museum of the North

Besides Charli and Todd staying at the cabin, for at least a few nights, it seemed that the curious “outhouse moose” was also sleeping in our front yard under our landlord’s RV topper.  We noted tracks going underneath the camper to a snow-free section of land, and then tracks going out the other side.  For a few nights in a row over Thanksgiving, we noted new tracks on a daily basis. 

Charli, also now known as Nyla (Nanook’s wife) was tough enough to use the outhouse rather than our functioning toilet (we got our toilet working right before they arrived, and it stopped working promptly after they left!). Charli became enthralled in research on an outhouse problem that we were experiencing at the time.  Now, if you decide to read on about our outhouse woes, you MUST promise not to make fun of us about this unfortunate circumstance or use it as blackmail against us in the future.  (NOTE: if you are still reading this, then you solemnly swear to never mock, laugh, jest, or at anytime bring up this situation in front of other people while we are present.)  Anyway, because we have been using the outhouse now for many months, and temperatures have been well below freezing for many months, a tall tower of frozen poop (commonly known as a poopsicle by outhouse owners of the north) had accumulated in the outhouse, making progress towards its escape to the top.  While Ben spoke of nightmares of the poopsicle grabbing him while he was on the toilet and pulling him down, Charli decided to aid her son, coming to his rescue through the saving tool of her omnipotent iphone.  She compiled a list of appropriate tools and methods for the proper way to get rid of the dreaded poopsicle.  Although she was an enthusiastic researcher, she unfortunately did not oblige to putting her knowledge into action.  While most guests probably left their Thanksgiving dinner with plates full of leftover turkey, pies, or stuffing, we left Nellie and Pete’s with a gift of rebar, the perfect tool to be used in our war against the poopsicle.  We waited until after our guests left to do the dirty deed. 

Cutting down our Christmas tree- VICTORIOUS! 

All in all, Charli and Todd’s trip reminded Ben and me how much we have to be thankful for in our life.  In addition to having the best husband a girl could hope for, I have gained amazing parents-in-law as well! 

And now, a pen switch to Ben!

Hiking in Fairbanks

Having visitors to our cabin in Delta Junction was a treat, and definitely worth being thankful for. My parents were here for 10 days and the time seemed to fly-by with playing cards, cooking dinners, beating Emily at Ticket to Ride, hiking in 15 below weather, being awoken at Chena Hot Springs to get outside and see the Northern Lights, averaging two visits to Fred Meyer’s a day, and basically just seeing how adventurous my parents still are. And as my parents learned to appreciate the beginning of winter in the Interior, Emily and I were able to reflect on how we are so thankful for having two loving families. We were fortunate to have time with my parents and are thankful for all that we have and, most of all, for the people we share our lives with. And if anyone wishes to come and visit we promise the poopsicle will not be one of your ‘dirty jobs’.   

Mom and Dad!

Ben, attacking the Poopsicle...we are proud to say it no longer stands..... VICTORIOUS again! 

I Got Burned

No School! Cold Day!

I recently pulled into the local post office after a day of teaching. The temperature outside lingered around 30 below all day and with the dimly radiating sun gone from its short daily stint, I left the car on as I walked into the post office. Before moving up north, I remember hearing about a ghost scene in the interior during winter; cars running with no drivers. And now here I found myself contributing to the scene as I quickly checked our mail. Thinking that the in-and-out of the post office run would be quick, I opted out of putting my gloves back on- the walk was only 20 feet or less.

Life is very procedural here, with constant preparation. If I want to go outside, I have to put all my winter gear on, including my moon-walking boots. If we want to drive anywhere, we have to warm up the car and bring the plug-ins. If we want water we have to put our water jugs in the car and take them into town the next time we go. With this constant formula for existence in the interior I purposely opted out of wearing my gloves- maybe to rebel, maybe to resist against the procedures, or maybe out of pure stupidity.

The 20 foot walk was as cold as one may expect 38 below to be, which I saw was the current temperature. I put my hands in my warm, down jacket’s pockets. And as I have countless times before I reached my hand out and opened the door, but this time was different than any other previous time opening a door. My fingertips immediately stung and I pulled my hand off the door knob in pain as I walked inside. I shook off the brief shock-like pain and felt the tips of my fingers. They were smooth and red, and felt as if I had accidently put them on the top of a burning stove. In reality I had burned my fingertips, and in a way that I had never done before- by freezing them!

The cold creeps into every crevasse and hangs out in any metal here. And it is evidently not going anywhere for a solid four more months, so I need to start getting to know it better and improving our relationship. I am aware that in order for a healthy relationship with the cold I need to keep all extremities and skin under thick layered clothing- a lesson hard learned.  

Losing the Winter Game

Apparently our cabin is located in the “banana belt” of Delta Junction.  You may think this would be a good thing, but it is resulting in major defeat at the “How frozen was you house this morning?” game.  This morning when my boss asked what temperature we had this morning, I hesitated and almost lied, desiring to subtract a few degrees so I could have a chance of at least tying her temperature.  I decided to be truthful, though, and knowingly lower my head in shame and said 31 below.  I was not surprised when she exclaimed, “Oh, really???  We hit 39.8 below.”  It was a crushing blow.  I started my day feeling quite embarrassed about our wimpy temperature at home.   The inferior feeling welling inside me continued throughout the day as patrons would ask the same dreaded question.  Each time I would preface my response with, “I guess we live in a warm part of town…we only hit 31 below” and like clockwork, the patrons would widen their eyes and state proudly that they had hit 37, 40, and I even heard 43 below.  I would sigh and hope that we could change the topic quickly to a conversation in which I could feel like an equal again. 

            

Despite that we live in the banana belt, the past few days I have driven to work with a semi-frozen clutch and stick shift in our car.  When I walk into my cabin after work, I gain 100 degrees from the outside temperature in an instant.  The sad fact is that after gaining 100 degrees, I still feel cold in the cabin! Our toilet also froze up again, so we are back to the outhouse.   It takes all of the energy one can muster to crawl out of bed in the morning and go to the outhouse.  But on the positive side, it does at least wake you up. 

Ben and me embarking on our Turkey Trot ski on Thanksgiving

We must mention before this post is over that we had a WONDERFUL Thanksgiving with Charli and Todd.  We will be busy this weekend writing up our blog for their visit, so stay tuned!  

Returning from the ski...a little more frozen than when we started

Dashes are Important

Yesterday, I decided to hit the XC ski trails around our cabin at 10:00AM.  I had noted that when Ben left for work at 6:30AM it was -7 outside.  But when I checked right before I left the house for the ski, I saw that the weather unit registered at 10 degrees.  I rejoiced for the temperature warming up so quickly in just a few hours.   I rejected my warmest gloves, feeling that my mediocre gloves would do the trick in this mild temperature.  I also decided I didn’t really need to layer up because I would soon be warm once I got moving.  As I walked out the door, I quickly unplugged the car outside.  No sense in wasting electricity…the car will start fine by itself at 10 above.  As I was unplugging the car, though, I thought that 10 degrees was feeling oddly cold for some reason.  The air in my nose was freezing instantaneously.  I hoped that I wasn’t losing the acclimatization that I had acquired where 10 degrees felt comfortable.   I started skiing, feeling quite wimpy for wanting to retreat back to the cabin for warmth, or at least for more layers.  I denied these desires and kept going….I was not about to look like a fool wearing all of my warmest gear at 10 degrees!  Within minutes, my eyes began to water….and then proceeded to freeze on my eyelashes.  My mediocre gloves were also not cutting it—my fingertips throbbed in frozen pain.  About 5 minutes down the trail, it registered in my mind that it was not 10 degrees.  I must have missed the little dash preceding the 10 on the temperature display.  After completing the 20 minute ski loop and still feeling frozen to the bone, I knew that I did not need to go inside and re-check the temperature display to see if my theory was correct.  Every part of my body screamed at me that it was most definitely NEGATIVE ten.

I learned my lesson well from yesterday.  Today, I NOTICED the dash before the 20, and decided to wait until it was -15 before starting my ski.  This time, I bypassed the mediocre gloves, grabbing my warmest pair.  I wore multiple layers and included my balaclava to warm the air before entering my lungs.  Thankfully, it was a much more enjoyable ski!   Never again will that sly little dash hide from these eyes!   

Halloween Spooks

On Halloween evening, we were greeted at the door by a bride zombie, Hydra (the three headed monster in Greek mythology), and a cyborg.   It was our delightful landlord’s children looking for Halloween treats!  We excitedly talked to them for a few minutes and learned where they were headed next in the car.  Houses are much too far apart here to walk around trick-or-treating and it is much too cold to do that anyway.  It’s also nearly pointless for the children to dress up because after their costume goes on, then it's time to put on the winter jacket, arctic boots, hat, and gloves to stay warm.  And that pretty much takes care of anyone actually seeing your costume.  But, that doesn’t stop the Halloween spirit from being alive and well in Delta! 

After our visitors departed, Ben and I retreated to the upper level of our cabin where it is warmer to read.   Not long after we had made ourselves comfortable and became engrossed in our books, did we hear sounds coming from downstairs.  It sounded as though a creature was lurking around below us.   We shot nervous glances at each other.  Ben, scared at what he might find (it’s Halloween after all AND a full moon), peered over our railing, scanning the downstairs vicinity.  What he saw was…..nothing.   We worried out loud for a few minutes that maybe the squirrels that lived in our roof were taking over underneath the house too.  Then, we went back to reading.  Not more than a few minutes later, the sound appeared downstairs again, only this time much louder and harder to ignore.  It really sounded like something was INSIDE the house, not below it.  Ben once again shot up and ran to his lookout from the railing.  “Oh no,” Ben said.   “What is it???” I nervously asked.

Good luck finding a new home, Mr. Vole!

Well, as it turned out, our Halloween visitor was not a squirrel or a mouse, as may be expected, but rather a vole.   We spent the next few minutes chasing the vole around the kitchen and then Ben, drawing from his past skills as a high school basketball star, threw a large Tupperware container over the vole as it ran, capturing it underneath.   Phew….problem averted!  Or was it……

Now we were left with an extremely cute vole peering at us from under its plastic prison.  Any normal family in the interior would’ve killed it in an instant.  Even the beautiful, rare, lynx are seen as varmints to be trapped and killed here.  Although Ben and I had our fair share of killing roof-dwelling squirrels already, we couldn’t bear to kill another small creature.  But we also did not want this vole to be back in our house anytime soon.  So, we did what any typical person would do in this situation.  With subzero temperatures outside, we bundled up and took our vole for his very first car ride.  The vole got to experience the thrill of driving down the Alaska Highway under a clear starry sky, illuminated by the full moon.  It was a beautiful, snowy ride for the vole.  When we felt we were many, many, many vole steps away from our house, we pulled over and let the little guy out into the cold, fresh air again.  The vole, obviously loving his first ride on the highway, quickly ran back onto the road and started his trek to his new home………precisely in the direction of our house again.  “No, no no,” we screamed from the car!  “Wrong way!”  Then we saw a car approaching our vole.  The headlights hit the little vole running down the highway and we watched in horror.  Thankfully the car missed the vole by a mere couple of inches allowing it to continue on its nighttime journey, hopefully, with any luck, to someone else’s house. 

Winter Wonderland

Mt. Moffit in the Alaska Range

Cross-country ski season has officially begun.  With about a foot of snow on the ground now, Ben and I have been laying down tracks on the trails around our cabin.  The snow here is perfectly dry and fluffy.  I have never experienced anything like it growing up in the Pacific Northwest and then living in the wet rainforest of Sitka.   There is no scraping of car windows in the morning and shoveling the snow is akin to shoveling air!  It is truly miraculous!  Sometimes, Ben and I have to be reminded how dry the snow is we are dealing with.  For instance, Ben had the idea of pelting one of the teachers we were having over for dinner with a snowball as he arrived at our house (I wonder why we don’t have more friends, yet???), only to realize that it was impossible to make a snowball.  Sneak-attack foiled!  Nearly as sad is the lack of snowmen in yards.  But these are two things I would definitely sacrifice for this amazing powder!   I LOVE this snow! 

 Our cabin appears so idyllic blanketed in white with our skis patiently waiting out front for their next ride.   If I were to have imagined my life living in Alaska 10 years ago, I would’ve hoped it would look just like this! 

BUT……….what you can’t see in this picture is the hours of hauling water each week in subzero temperatures and you definitely can’t SMELL the strong sewage odor that is frequently taking over the inside of our cabin because of a sewage gas leak in a frozen pipe.  Sorry, Ma and Pa Clark….I don’t think we’ve told you about that news update yet ……but WE are still excited you are visiting in a few weeks, even if you aren’t anymore!  To help alleviate the unpleasant odor, we are still using the outhouse as much as possible.   But we are making some improvements before our Thanksgiving guests arrive.   Our exciting purchase today was buying some heavy-duty, non-freezing foam in which we will carve a new and improved toilet seat out of for the outhouse.  No more (literally) freezing our rears to the hoar frost covered seat!   Hooray!   Get excited, Charli and Todd!!!! 

Playing on the fluffy tundra

Ben, admiring Donnelly Dome from afar

The Winter Game

Frozen trees

The temperatures continue to plummet by the week.  It is hard to believe that this is just the start of seven months of winter.  This morning, my first chore was to scrape ice off the INSIDE of our cabin windows that built up over the night.  And I don’t just mean a little bit of ice.  I had to go outside and grab the ice scraper from the car to make any headway against the frozen crystal sheet that had invaded the lower quarter of the window.  I scraped away to the rhythm of “seven more months, seven more months…..” 

I think this means it's COLD now

After my ice scraping escapade was over, I noted the sun beginning its rise above the horizon.  It was 9:15.  We still have 2 months of losing daylight (as well as heat!).  To further the anxious feeling welling up inside me, my eyes caught the thermometer outside that registered at exactly 0 degrees.  

 Last week welcomed the first negative temperatures in Delta. It now seems common for the evening and morning temperature to be somewhere below zero.  Thankfully, during the day, we get blasted with that hot sun, causing our temperatures to rise somewhere around 15 degrees.   Heat wave! 

We have learned that when you arrive at work, the game is to compare the morning temperatures recorded at your various houses.  Because everyone lives so spread out, there can often be quite a difference in temperature.  And of course, whoever has the lowest temperature starts the day a little more proudly.  

Ben and I felt that we really needed to become competitive in this daily game, so while we were in Fairbanks this weekend, we bought a digital weather station that should prove more reliable than the old clock-style thermometer currently in use.  After coming home and putting our new recording device outside, we ran back inside and excitedly watched the main unit’s screen that details the outside temperature.  We were fixated on the screen, as if watching a favorite TV show, observing the temperature plummet from 56 to 45 to 35, to 32 in a matter of minutes…..and then altogether stop recording.  We were perplexed.  We purposely bought this more expensive unit because it, unlike the other options, records temperatures below -40, which we figured we would need if we were going to be competitive in the game.    After perusing the directions again, we realized that in the past we had never had the need to invest in anything other than the standard alkaline batteries that apparently freeze (like everything else) below 32 degrees and stop working.   But, fear not, we’ve added lithium batteries to our grocery store list, so soon we should be able to brag about our victories in the “how unbearably frozen was your house this morning?” game.    Just another one of the joys of interior living.  

Winter's Arrival




Our cabin with a winter addition.

                We have been told that the cold has not even arrived yet. The thermometer is dipping into the single digits at night and never surpassing freezing during the day. In our eyes, winter has arrived, but the cold has not?! Recently, Emily and I both shivered into work, shaking off the cold air as we walked into our separate work places. But, we both received the same responses from co-workers, who all are veterans to the interior winters- ‘This isn’t even cold yet!’ they responded usually with a laugh and smirk towards us- the young naïve interior cheechakos. We shrugged it off and accepted the ‘go-with-the-flow’ attitudes we must have as being newcomers to such an extreme weathered place. We both have been told that once our car’s tires freeze and turn to squares, then, and finally then, it is cold.  

We have many swans starting their migration south, which is a beautiful site to see.

                The coldness is here though, and we are beginning to get a sense of what is ahead. There are certain things we must take in consideration now. We have to be careful where we dump water outside, because it will be there for another seven months as ice. I, mainly, have to watch where I pee, because it will be a standing ice-rink of urine for the duration of winter, which is seven months in length if you have forgotten. We have to start plugging in warm wire protectors to keep our pipes from freezing, our cars need wires plugged in to keep their batteries from freezing, and we need layered jackets and pants to even step outside. If we have ever been in search of cold, truly defined cold, we are inevitably in for it.

This is a danger sign at a local trail head.

 Not only is the cold prevalent, the darkness is becoming more evident with each passing sun. The long days of summer seem like ages ago. I think back to even the crisp fall days in September where the daylight was still longer than the night and laugh at our relaxing bliss. We are losing 45 minutes of daylight each week! The saying ‘time flies’ is applicable in this circumstance, but it flies down south. But I remind myself that just like the birds migrations, the sun returns come summer.

For the past month I have been secretly thinking that the extreme cold might not come; the frigid temperatures might bypass Delta this winter. Maybe this will be a winter that changes the norm, I thought. I was beginning to think that October would be free from freeze. As I look at the 10 day forecast, I am aware of my misperceptions. We are here, in the midst of winter’s beginning. Folks throughout town have been preparing, and continue to prepare, for the long winter and they assure us that it will come, and stay. It is hard to imagine the extent of this winter, but time, and many down layers, will prove if we can handle the interior’s winter.     

Another informative sign!

Wrangell- St. Elias- Ben's blogging debut

Driving into Wrangell-St. Elias from the more remote north entrance

We decided to go for another weekend adventure; this time to the south and east of Delta and into the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. The fall air still persisted, and the accompanying colors that follow cool temperatures remained. We eagerly packed the car after work. The daylight was evanescing with each day, and once the sun vanished for the night the cool air turned cold and dipped near freezing.

                  

Even after a short time driving, the mountains came closer and the hillsides ignited with the autumn colors of red, yellow, and shades of orange. The birch and aspens filled entire slopes with yellow leaves fluttering in the breeze. Below the birch and aspens, blueberries, cranberries and low bushes bled a fire red and melon orange, carpeting the forest floor with an array of magnificent color variations.

                  

The Alaska Range continued on as we headed towards our first destination of Tok, a small interior town located on the Alcan Highway.  We were excited to see multiple shops, restaurants, hotels, and lodges, and a friendly appearing café. But, what excited us most about Tok was the bike path separated from the road, starting 10 miles from town. We spent little time in the town- for the mountains beckoned. We wanted to make it to the start of the Park’s road by dark; and as the sky turned pink, that darkness was not far away. We turned onto the Glenn Highway and veered off of the Alaska Highway, our new home street.

                  

We eventually arrived and turned onto the park road expecting a grand entrance. Besides a park sign and a small ranger station, there was little presence of us entering the largest national park in America. The park is over 13 million acres, over twice the size of Denali National Park, the famous and sought after national park. We watched as the night sky took over, even in early September the night did not take full force until near midnight. Even so, the darkness was a reminder for us to find a home for the night. With no visible campground, we pulled off to the side of the road and slept in the back of our Subaru, which has been a truly versatile vehicle for us. We slept somewhat easily, although the constant concern of someone knocking on our car window stuck with us throughout the night.

    

We awoke to start our adventure, the morning light showed little with the abundant looming clouds. We went to the ranger’s station, which was not far from our car camping, and found it to be still closed. We pondered on our next step; do we venture into the park’s road without talking with a ranger first? We decided to wait for the ranger station to open, but in the meantime we wished for a hot breakfast. The only place relatively close was Duffy’s Tavern a few miles back from the direction we had come from the night before. When we arrived at Duffy’s it was obviously closed, yet as we turned around, Duffy or someone related to Duffy, came out of the run-down building waving us in. I hesitated, but with Emily’s persistence we parked the car and apprehensively went in. The ‘’tavern’’ seemed similar to a scene from the beginning of a horror flick; small rooms, food from a previous era, dim lights, and stuffed game hanging from every free space on the wall. Even so, we were grateful for the entrance, because when we walked in we realized that the tavern was not to open until 10. The stop was somewhat of a success, especially for me; for I drank Emily’s coffee because of her insistence on not being a coffee drinker, so I was warm and wired. But, we were still without a hot breakfast and with little to no drinkable water. We decided to wait outside the ranger station until a ranger arrived.

Metallic pink rocks seen on our hike

                  

A few minutes after eight a ranger did finally appear. Ruffled and surprised to see a car waiting outside the station, the young attendant opened the station. We speculated on if she was a ranger, but whatever her position, she was not excited to be at work. We discussed our trip with her and it all seemed reasonable to her. She gave us the updated weather report (which consisted of her looking out the window and telling us what she saw) and then provided us with some potable water. We filled up all the jugs we had in the car and started on the Nebesna road into the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park.

                  

Checking the slopes for Dall sheep

The first 15 miles of the road were paved and it eventually faded into dirt. We excitedly took in the first few miles, but quickly realized that the road was a much different transport route than our previous trip to Denali the week before. Private roads and structures scattered the roadside and we questioned the legitimacy of this road being in a national park. Even so, the road meandered on the valley floor surrounded by immense mountains. The mountains were gargantuan, some reaching upwards to around 14,000 feet. We drove past in tandem agreement of the serenity and beauty that we had found ourselves driving through. We eventually came across the ‘Sportsman Lodge’. The lodge was 30 miles into the Wrangell-St. Elias Park, but had no vibrant national park environment, although it did have a sign stating “Palin for Governor.”  I desperately wanted to stop and get a cold beer and burger, but Emily wisely retorted and we passed with stomachs empty of grilled, greasy bovine.

Excitedly, we arrived at our trailhead- Skookum Volcanic Trail. The trail started in a thick forest with a mix of birch and spruce. The white and black spruce in the interior are dwarfed compared to the Sitka Spruce we have grown to love; even so, the spruce throughout the forest added a nice mix of diversity with the intoxicating beauty of the birch. The birch waved their colors high in the sky for all to marvel at.

The trail became increasingly steeper as it continued towards the alpine. We passed rocks of all shapes and sizes- pink, black, brown, small, and large- the geology astounded us. The earth was strictly tundra- mossy, spongy, and filled with water. As we neared the base of the summit rock walls, we stood in silence, taking in the tranquility. There was no wind, no sound. As our ears and eyes soaked in the peace, a loud moo came echoing from within the basin. We looked at each other and whispered, ‘what was that?’ The moo came once more and then stopped. We scanned the rocks above to see if a goat was announcing its presence to us. We found nothing.

                  

After deciding to forgo the trail in the creekbed, we scampered up a ridgeline to reach these peaks

How many sheep can YOU spot???

Our curiosity subsided after a few minutes of searching.  As Emily, who has nearly perfect vision, eagerly searched she saw something move on a knoll right before the steep incline of the rock wall. The knoll had a layer of snow on it making it difficult to view anything, but as we patiently looked we saw a small herd of Dall sheep begin to appear. Their white coats blended in perfectly with the surrounding snow. Their incognito was only disrupted by the rocks poking out of the snow and the sheep’s yellowish horns contrasting against the snow and their white coats. 

As we watched, more sheep began to appear. We counted eight dotting the landscape above us. We tried to walk discreetly closer to the group to capture them in a photo. We neared their wintery grazing spot and quickly realized the impossibility of viewing them; some things are left better not captured and only observed. We agreed to leave them in peace and began our trek downwards.  We followed the creek bed down passing ptarmigans, unfamiliar rocks, blueberries, and scattered cairns. On our trek down we were able to relive the memorable moments of our ascent; the descents never seem like the defining moments of any adventure. We arrived back at our car with a satisfaction of completion- we had hiked into our first interior high alpine. We drove out of the park’s road filled with joy and zeal- for we looked forward to our return to the interior’s tundra alpines.  

Our ptarmigan friends, still sporting half of their fall coats

Bitter Berry Delight

Lingonberries!  

It’s cranberry picking time in the interior.  Fortunately, we don’t have to travel far to pick our fill.   Around our property are plentiful patches of lingonberry, known as “low bush cranberries.”   I risked my life in 70 mph gusts one morning this week picking the berries. I nervously eyed the trees swinging violently above my head and thought to myself how silly it would be to die while picking such a bitter berry.  If they were sweet, juicy strawberries or raspberries, it may have been worth the risk, but lingonberries are the natural version of sour patch kids (only lacking the sugar coating on top).   So, after 30 minutes of sheer berry picking terror I retreated to the cabin to listen to the wind howl, considering myself lucky to escape in one piece. 

Sandhill cranes still continue to fly past our house, heading south

Thankfully, this weekend the winds were only blowing a mere 30 mph, quite a reprieve!  Ben and I happily picked on Saturday and Sunday until we had nearly a gallon of berries to store away for the winter.  It should be noted that my attempts during the week, in which I risked my life for a bitter fruit, did at least aid my harvesting skills.  I could pick at least 1/3 more berries than Ben during the same amount of time due to my hours of additional lingonberry experience.   Maybe picking berries in windstorms, while worrying for your own safety, enables one to adopt a superpower of lightening quick and nimble fingers.   Either way, it was a successful weekend venture.  Ma and Pa Clark will be sure to enjoy the fruits of our labor in our homemade cranberry sauce for Thanksgiving!  

"Sitka Surprise"

The runners are off at the start of the Equinox Trail Marathon

This past weekend was our favorite weekend in the interior so far.  Although Denali was the most scenic, vibrant-colored place we had ever seen and our trip to Wrangell-St. Elias provided astonishing views from our alpine hike, neither was any match for the beauty of friendship.   Our wet, soggy friends from the Southeast were in town this weekend to visit us and complete the Equinox Trail Marathon in Fairbanks.   Between the Routon’s and Sam Scotchmer’s performance in the marathon, I am fairly confident that Sitka may now be regarded as the Running Mecca of Alaska.  

Sam at mile 8

Emily at mile 8, already in the lead

For anyone not familiar with the race, it is ranked as the fourth hardest marathon in the nation due to the rugged trail terrain, elevation gain and losses, and unpredictability of the weather.  It is also a stunningly beautiful run through the fall colors of Fairbanks, offering vistas of the valley floor after climbing to the top of Ester Dome and beyond.  Despite the difficulty of this course, Emily and Sam had times fast enough that would qualify them for the Boston Marathon if it were a qualifier course!  Sam ended up finishing 5^th overall with Aaron not far behind, coming in 8^th. 

Out of a field of 700 talented and tough Alaskan trail runners, this was quite the showing for Sitka.  But to really put Sitka on the running map, Emily surprised the talented field by winning the marathon in the women’s division.  As the Fairbanks Daily News Miner titled their article the next day, “Sitka Surprise” it was mentioned that not too often does an “unknown” runner take home the trophy! 

E. Clark Keeping A. Routon going with Gu handouts at the half-way mark

Emily, on the home stretch to snatch the women's marathon title

Pete about to pass off the baton to Ben

 Ben, Pete, and Nellie also competed in the marathon as relay runners.  All three ran their legs exceptionally well.  Ben ran the slightly downhill segment of the marathon in blazing speed.  Nellie’s team even ended up getting first place in the women’s relay division. Between all of my friends doing so well in the race, I was beaming with pride and feeling pretty lucky that I was associated with these now-celebrity runners!

Nellie, obviously not running  hard enough with that smile!

Despite the “Sitka Surprise” title of the newspaper article, Ben and I knew from the beginning that if hydration was the key to winning a marathon, then the Routons were going to do well.  The night before the race, while crashing at NellieLand (greatest accommodations of Fairbanks, aka Nellie’s house), the Routons were given the “princess room” on the second floor of the cabin.   To save on space, the stairs going to the second floor are nearly vertical, more akin to climbing a giant stepladder than stairs.  Ben, Sam, and I took the downstairs floor amid memory foam and sleeping pads piled on top of each other.  NellieLand takes their guest’s comfort seriously.   About 45 minutes after bedtime, we heard Aaron slowly making his way back down the ladder to go to the bathroom.  Shortly after Aaron made it back to the princess room, Emily followed suit down the ladder to the restroom.  And then another hour later, the process was repeated again.  After the second trip in two hours, I thought about how we really should have switched sleeping locations, because the sound of them crawling down the steep, precarious, mountain stairs while droggy scared me to death.  This became a much more frequent thought than I ever could have imagined as the Routons made their pilgrimages to the bathroom.  Between the two of them, 12 trips to the bathroom were made during the night.  Although, their hydration wasn’t cited as the key to their running success, this midnight observer is confident that this was the true secret to their victories.

Ben cruising to the finish

A trip to Delta Junction was made the next day to acquaint Em, Aaron, and Sam with our new home.  The Delta wind greeted the visitors with winds up to 75 mph.  A trip to Donnelly Dome was cut short as no one could stay out of the car for more than 5-10 seconds due to the power of the wind mixed with raindrops, resulting in a sensation similar to a hundred rubber bands snapping against your skin.  Instead, we took them for a short walk on the trails around our cabin, all of them creeping gingerly on their sore legs.   It was as if the race had made them gain 50 years in age.  Our neighbor literally thought Aaron was an elderly man after watching him walk down our driveway.  Through the grunts and cries of aching muscles and joints, the group made it to our private lake on the property as well as the infamous “Meatball House.”  

Four extremely tired runners and one happy bystander

Thankfully, the Routons and Sam saw the fall colors in delta on Sunday, because after the windstorm, we were left with barren trees, devoid of any leaves.  Our guests came in Fall, and after a mere 24 hour stay, left in Winter!  We were sad to say goodbye on Monday, but know that the laughter, smiles, and memories of their trip will help us get through the long winter ahead! 

Confidential to the Routons and Sam:  We hope the cheese tragedy of 2012 does not prevent further trips from occurring

Confidential to Nellie and Pete:  We hope the oatmeal incident of 2012 does not prevent us from visiting you in the future