Living the Now

It has occurred to me that I was totally obsessed with the Pacific Crest Trail in January.  That's when I began reading the Pacific Crest Trail Association's web site, looking at photos, and reading blogs.  That's because it was forty below zero for weeks on end and I was dreaming of the warm days that await me in the future.  Days where not only could I stand to be outside for more than 2 hours, but where I would be living outside for months on end. Now, in March, I'm finding that the PCT is this imminent yet distant undertaking that I will be embarking on sometime soon.  The reason for the lack of attention, failure to even have a single permit in hand, and nary a resupply box packed is that I'm too busy living in the now.  In January I had ample cause to be studying, dreaming, and planning for a trip that won't begin until April, but for now I'm armpit deep in Alaska springtime fun.  

It turns out that habits are very warm and don't allow for a full range of motion while skiing.  But it's a very good conversation piece....

  Last Saturday I drove 100 miles to the neighboring town of Talkeetna and participated in my first 25 Km ski race.  Lest I mislead anyone into thinking that I'm very competitive I will tell you that during the race I was wearing a nun's habit and wimple (and by the way, wimple is my new favorite word...replacing Atchafalaya, though that is a very close second) .  It was St. Patrick's Day and although many participants seriously raced the course in their sleek and wildly colored spandex, at least half the folks were wearing prom dresses, anything and everything green, tutus, wigs, crowns, and were stopping to have a shot of Irish whiskey along the way.  As I herring-boned up a steep hill behind a chicken and Princess Leia, I thought to myself, "Now this is my kind of race...."  The entire Alaska Range was visible and fun was had by all.  Following the race, though I could barely walk, I played bluegrass and old-timey music with my friends in the historic Fairview Inn while sunburned skiers compared stories from the race. As night rolled around the bluegrass band fired up and it was dancing until the bar shut down....nothing to think about but the now.
  The following day I drove the 100 miles back home to Cantwell and promptly packed for a camping trip with my good friend, neighbor, and local mule wrangler, VB.  Instead of traveling via skis we would be venturing out on snowmachines.  Monday morning arrived and I met with VB at the Windy Pass Mule Barn.  We loaded up two snowmachines and a sled onto a trailer and traveled 9 miles up the road to poise ourselves for an expedition up the Yanert River and on to the Wood River.  My previous experience with snowmachines has been limited driving, some riding double, a little being towed on skis like water-skiing, and some riding behind on a sled, like a dog musher.  So having my own ride for 3 days was a learning experience, super fun, and more of a work-out than I anticipated.  As a skier, it was fascinating to cover all those miles so quickly.  The power was fun and intimidating and I learned a lot about how to move with a machine.
  The camping was also far different than my typical outings.  Normally I've got all of my gear on my back and take advantage of the modern materials that are light and warm.  VB skimps on nothing. He's old school and has been making a living in the backcountry of Alaska for 40 years or so.  He's traveled this country on dogsled, snowmachine, mule, and horse, he's run trap lines, lived in a remote trapper cabin with his wife and newborn son, guided countless clients on hunting trips for caribou, bear, and sheep hunts, and is a true Alaskan cowboy.  And he sure can sing a song around a campfire too.  Anyway, when VB goes into the backcountry he is well prepared and traveling in relative comfort.  In the sled behind his machine we had with us: 2 canvas wall tents with small wood burning stoves, a cooler stocked with delicious morsels (bacon, eggs, asparagus, burger, Oreos, apples, and more),  a bottle of wine, a chainsaw, about 15 gallons of fuel, among other useful things.  The first camp was located near the Wood River and was just outside of a cabin made of stones and built into a hillside.  The cabin is gutted inside, so VB has a tent site right outside.  The pole frame was already set up so all we had to do was slide the ridgepole through a sleeve, tie some corners off and voila, home for the night was ready to go. Well, after the woodstove was set up.  There were two old military mattresses stashed under a spruce tree that I dragged over to put in the canvas abode as well as an old, heavy canvas tarp to lay down.  After VB removed the snow from that area I had to decide if I wanted to put my sleeping bag directly on top of the mattress which looked like it had been used as a squirrel brothel/birthing center/end of times food cache or on top of the tarp which was heavily stained with old moose blood.  I opted for the blood tarp.  Camp was set up so it was time to get some heat going.  VB fired up the chainsaw and set about bucking up some logs that were already at the cabin. I split the rounds into small pieces for the tent stove and larger pieces for the fire pit outside.  As darkness fell we had two warm spots to relax, an extremely cold glass of wine, and dinner cooking on the campfire.  Much different than huddling around an MSR waiting for water to boil for a no-cook meal and I might add that the barbeque ribs were delicious.
  Another day on the trail with eye-popping views of Alaska and we decided to camp on Cody Creek.  I use the word camp despite the fact that we stayed in a cabin because it was the coldest, leakiest cabin I've ever been in and the Yukon stove in it shot heat directly into the -30 night via the chimney.  We practically had to hug the stove to stay warm.  We did have to put the bottle of wine 3 inches from the stove to thaw the remainder of the delicacy.  Somewhere in the world, the vintner at El Gaucho is cringing for what we did to his life's work.  But we enjoyed it nonetheless.

VB, my trusty guide

  This 3 day adventure was a trip into the past.  Going out there with VB was like going with a walking, talking, spitting piece of history;  I heard stories of old trappers of days gone by, who built which cabin, bitter feuds and rivalries in the Wood River Valley, who hunts there now and how the animals are getting chased farther and farther away.  It's a totally different experience and perspective than I will get when I head back out to the Wood River tomorrow with the Denali Ladies Ski Club.  Only 2 days between trips (and one of those was spent doing a 280-mile grocery run to Fairbanks), and I'll be out there skiing for 9 days.  Seeing the same country from the near silence, only the swoosh-swoosh of my skis to listen to, and slow pace of human-powered travel.  As much fun as I had with VB with the snowmachines, I will be glad to be traveling slowly, watching the scenery change in glide-length increments, listening only to my own thoughts rather than the buzz of an engine, and savoring each and every simple meal that is so hard earned after a day in the cold skiing.
  As you can see, I don't have time quite yet to think about the PCT despite my sheer excitement about it.  I'm taking advantage of my last few weeks in Alaska and of the unmitigated beauty of spring.  Permits will happen, a plane ticket to California will happen, taxes will get done.... but not today.  April.  April is time for that.... gotta go pack!! 

Zooming through the Alaskan wilderness