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