Bird Ridge to Glen Alps Redux

Nathan and I did this traverse again after a few years time since Phil and I jogged it in 2014. I had pretty good memories of that run with Phil, but surprisingly, I think I forgot as many details as I remembered. Nathan and I were lucky to score one of the nicest days of the fall: crystal clear skies, a stiff frost, and dead calm to start anyway. A cool breeze and high clouds worked their way in by the time we finished, but we were long off the ridgelines at that point. I suppose one of the biggest perks was that for much of the traverse we had frozen ground and frost withered vegetation, allowing us max traction on the grippy slopes and keeping out feet dry when crossing the normally soft and wet low sections.

The easy travel conditions sped up the traverse by a solid hour from 2014: we made it to Glen Alps in 6:45. Even still, that allowed us ample time to watch an incredible battle between a coyote family and a massive golden eagle; enjoy time on the summit of Bird Ridge Overlook, and lose about 20 minutes as we both comically sat separately in sheltering from a cool breeze at Ship Lake Pass, waiting for the other, not realizing the other was doing the exact same thing just out of sight.

 

Stepping onto the high point of the day.

We launched from the icy trailhead at 8:40, and held a steady pace up Bird Ridge, opening our pace into a jog higher up where the terrain allowed. We passed one couple quite high up the ridge who must have started well before dark. Around 11 we were aproaching the little pyramid of Overlook when we came across two sheep. As we jogged closer and closer, we spooked a large golden eagle we hadn’t noticed hiding behind a blocky piece of rock. The eagle swooped around the eastern side of Overlook out of sight and we joked how cool it would be to see the bird strike one of the sheep.

Ten minutes later we popped over the eastern rib of Overlook, and were suddenly greeted by a cacophony of yips and howls coming from the alpine basin below us.

At first I hoped wolves, but the pitch was two high.

Despite the ruckus, and the apparent closeness, we couldn’t spot the critters, and I began to wonder if maybe the animals were lower down in the brush, and the terrain was just amplifying their yowling. It seemed like there were two animals yowling, and then a yipping that sounded closer to a domestic dog. I began to fear we might witness that sad fate lost dogs in Chugach State Park often suffer.

From a deep ravine in the side of the basin, a dark coyote dashed across tundra. Seconds later, the massive, dark, golden eagle came swooping from the same ravine, and to our disbelief, turned into a dive bomb of the coyote!

The eagle aborted at the last second, but what ensued was a surreal came of predator vs predator, as the two changed roles over and over. The eagle would land on the far side of the basin, and the coyote would charge across, getting with only feet before the eagle would swoop off and the coyote would leap in the air snapping at it. A second coyote guarded the base of the deep ravine, and the eagle seemed intent on getting back into, sometimes dive bombing the coyotes.

We think the coyote den was in the ravine, and the eagle had snuck in and hit a pup, and was trying to get back in.

Eventually, they settled into a stalemate, and we headed up the last little pitch to the top of Overlook.

Our route went left from the ridgeline this pic was taken on, then into the basin full of lakes, up the saddle of the sub ridge below, and across Indian Pass just visible center left.

We were working our way down the ridgeline to the saddle by 11:30, and just before we tipped over into South Fork Ship Creek, the basin behind us again erupted.

We scared up droves of ptarmigan in the nameless basin northwest of Overlook, but I was shocked when we came across two hikers standing on a peninsula jutting into the tarns.

I figured that after the two hikers we’d seen on our way up Bird, we’d probably not seen another person until somewhere in the Ship Lake Pass Valley.

I’m not sure how our route across the Indian Pass compared to a couple years ago. I remember Phil working quite hard to keep us from having to do any really bushwhacking.

It was probably moot for us, the vegetation was largely collapsed, and the marshy bogs were mostly frozen over.

We were on the muddy the Arctic-Indian trail, complete with now frozen postholes made from some idiot horsepackers (nice work tool bags) around 1. Ironic that the sketchiest footing we’d encountered in hours was on a trail.

We pretty easily found the much thinner trail to Ship Lake, and enjoyed some of the nicest jogging stretches of the day was we gradually climbed back into the alpine valley.

Ship Lake Valley

I had a pretty solid memory of the climb up Ship Lake Pass being a bit of a doozey. From below, it doesn’t look very steep or long, and it’s crimson red fall coat of low bush blueberries makes it seem almost soft, warm, and somehow benign.

It sucks.

The positive, was that both Nathan and I would later agree, that the 30 minute vertical grind may be hard, but it’s hard in way that, if it doesn’t stop you, feels really good.

We agreed on this later, only because as we climbed, we bagan to separate. Nathan was heading a little more toward the Ramp, while I slipped into a gully and then hooked on a cross-cut sheep trail that took me pretty well right into the bottom of the saddle.

Nathan was expecting me to pop out of the gully, while I tipped over the saddle instead, simultaneously expecting to see Nathan pop out somewhere higher on the ridge. Getting a bit chilly, I figured I’d just walk along in the big open expanse, and Nathan could jog down and catch up. After walking for a bit and still not seeing Nathan crest, I began to scratch my head. There were some people scrambling up the Ramp, and as I started shivering, I began to fear Nathan had thought I had somehow ended up on his right, and that he was chasing phantom Dante up the Ramp!

In reality, he was just behind the ridge, wondering why the hell it was taking me so long to get out of the gully he’d last seem me drop into. I was starting to hike back up when I saw him pop up over the saddle, much to my relief.

We synced back up and enjoyed the downhill cruise back to Powerline Pass.

One last look back

AK Fall: Best if Enjoyed in Moderation

Psst. I have a secret. I kind of like fall in Southcentral Ak.
It’s an acquired taste for sure. Perhaps not the sweetest of autumn vintages – can anything compete with Indian summer during peak foliage in New England?
Alaska fall is not something that can, or should be consumed in any great quantity, but it is sweet, even if not long to be savored.
Sometime during the endless daylight of the summer the solstice, I awake from sleep – already a scarce commodity – and lay awake in the burning light of 4 am, having just dreamt that the short summer had already ended, and darkness was returning. It’s part a horror, part a wish.
This summer was hot, dry, and awesome. I got a lot of time in the saddle. Too much? As the day’s waned, and nights grew, I had to admit, I was looking forward to a break, and a change in pace.

Res-Devils

I caught two great rides on the Kenai with Nathan A. First on the list was the Res-Devils Loop on the last weekend and the last Sunday of August. Both of us had just wrapped up from the Trifecta races, so the legs were tired, and some very light overnight showers Saturday put a dusting of snow on the ridgelines and provided plenty of inspiration.
Despite this, the trail was still dry, and while there wasn’t much foliage to speak of down low, colors in the passes were approaching peak.

 

Overlooking Kenai Lake.

Juneau Lake.

Love this section.

Swan Lake

Bone dry, blue skies, bright color.

Snow on the ridges.

Looking back to the Pass from Hope overlook.

Russian Loop

I expected to spend a bit more time on Russian this fall than I ended up realizing, so in retrospect, I’m really glad we snagged this ride over Labor Day. The weather wasn’t particularly stunning, and admittedly colors weren’t quite peaking yet, but with this trail fully brushed out, it was hard to complain.

Kenai Lake break.

Cloudy reflections.

Burning fireweed below Cooper Peak.

 

Running
The fact that I run is a well-kept secret. I actually run quite a bit for someone who identifies as a cyclist. That doesn’t mean I’m strong, or fast, but there are some great over-land runs to be had in AK, and this is my time of year to branch out. I hadn’t been on Summit Creek Trail since 2013, and hadn’t been over the Summit Creek/East Creek Pass since 2009. Adam was an awesome sport and joined me for a run to the col between East Creek and Resurrection Pass. From there, we turned southward and followed the ridgeline upward and eventually back around to a high col the leads to a hidden tarn just a bit below and east of the East Creek/Summit Creek Pass.

 

Looking down to East Creek/Summit Creek Pass.

Looking for goats. None sighted.

An after work run on McHugh Peak with Lee. Photo L.M.

Crow Pass Skiing

A typical wet fall storm parked over the region early in September delivering rain for 13 days straight. Somehwere toward the end of that deluge, temps dropped and snow started stacking up above Hatcher Pass and Crow Pass. I knew the window might open, and on Friday the 18^th, I slid my bedroom shades back, planning to go to work, only to be greeted by blue skies and an incredibly low snow line.
I was grateful I’d put my ski gear away ready to go, and quickly packed my bag and went down to the garage to scrape the off-season storage wax from my bases while scarfing down eggs and bacon.
There were a few inches of sopping-wet snow clinging to the leafy alders at the Crow Pass Trail Head, and I needed my storm shell to keep dry as the warm morning sun turned the trail into a cold, wet, collapsed alder obstacle course. I was stupid enough to beat anyone else up to the pass, and from the waterfalls upward, ended up breaking the skinner in about 2 feet or more heavy fresh, underlain by a solid but saturated base. Clouds moved in as I climbed, but moved in and out at rapid intervals, providing easy windows to ski through. A few others showed up later, and I ended up doing two runs. A third would have been nice, but I didn’t have confidence the clouds would keep up their intervals. I skied all the way back to the top of the falls without tagging a single rock: Easily the deepest skiing I’ve done in September or October.

 

Looks more like winter than mid-September.

The Summit Glacier has suffered in the heat. The cracks are big.

Burma Road Loop

I really enjoy road riding in the Valley during the shoulder seasons, but I’ve stuck to Palmer and Butte on these rides. I’d wanted to check out a loop in the Knik/Point Mackenzie/Big Lake area that included a long chunk of dirt on Burma Road. I’d Burma was a good road, and Phil was up for an adventure. As with most other Valley riding, it was really pleasant. We parked at the Wal-Mart, and traffic was pretty light, and generally very respectful. A lot of the main roads in the valley have parallel bike paths, but unlike Anchorage, where these paths cross hundreds of driveways and side streets where the right-of-way is ambiguous, in the Valley these intersections are far less frequent. That being said, theese paths also tend to be covered in loose rocks kicked up by ATVs and quads, so they can be a mixed blessing. Burma Road itself though was excellent: good flow, narrow, rolling, winding, and well packed. There were two very large puddles at the south end. Phil, on his cross bike, rode through both. I was on the road bike with its 25C slick tires, I made it through the first but portaged the second. Other than that, both bikes were equally adept at this ride, though it was pavement heavy, and I think slicks and taller gears were optimal.

Knik Arm.

Burma Road.

For real?

 

Cyclocross

I’ve been helping out with the Arctic Cross cyclocross race series the past few falls. I don’t have a burning desire to race cross for a number of reasons excuses, starting with the fact that I’m a wuss; but I do like watching cross racing since you can often see a good chunk of the course from a single point, and more importantly, I like hanging out with my friends. We added an event this year so we now have three adult races, plus a short kids race, and cross has gone from being a half-day event with maybe 50 people to basically a full-day activity with 125-200 entrants!
One day, for giggles, I stuck my Garmin in my pocket and let it run while I, umm, ran around, setting up the course, timing, and taking the course back down: I logged about 6 miles over 6-7 hours. It was neat to see. Fortunately, a lot of people pitch in, otherwise that number would be a lot higher!
Photos from the season: LINK

 

CX T-REX.

Do nothing

As winter turns into spring, the days get longer, and so with it, the activity list. Some of the biggest ski missions of the year come by a defacto in March-May thanks to better weather, deeper snow, and the need to chase that cold and deep snow into the higher elevations. At the same time, road riding, and soon enough, mountain biking ramp up and there’s a pressing need to start putting in more time on the saddle. Suffice to say, the spring shoulder season isn’t really a shoulder season at all. I’m OK with that, but I’m a firm believer in doing a big-block recovery, and I’m not talking about a recovery ride or mellow day, I’m talking about a real block. Some folks fret about how boring fall is here and how there’s nothing to do. I say: embrace it, take a rest.

Get out

The leaves have dropped, the sun is noticeably lower, but the snow line seems stagnant. Get out of town, get out of state, get out of country…more on that later:

6:30am in LAX Ted Bradley...

The winter that wasn’t…but was

You know what was weird about this winter? Pretty much everything. It wasn’t a winter. It was hot, and snowless. I Nordic skied less all season than I do in any given 6 weeks between Nov 1-Apr 15 any other year. I rode my snow bike a half dozen times, mostly not on snow. I rode a regular mountain bike as many times. I was outside road biking on actual road tires (not a cross bike) in mid-March, a good three weeks before I usually ever do that.

Yep. Winter sucked.

Just don’t look through any of these pics, or the rest of this blog.

No really, it sucked. By every quantitative measure (average temp, precip, snowfall, price of oil, CPI, 401K returns) it sucked, a lot; well, except for the number of times I was out boarding, then it was really good. Better than usual, to be scientific, and the boarding was usually really good when I was out too; sometimes, outstanding.

I guess it was desperate though. There was a lot of wading through alders we don’t normally see much past December. There was a lot of base chomping by hungry rocks we just don’t normally see ever.

It was motivated. Motivated to try new lines and approach styles. Motivated to GTF up, and then, go, um, up, all so we could go back down.

I guess this winter, like every other one, was what you made of it.

 

Anyway, here's a bunch of pictures of from the spring of 2015, non-winter, skiing, that never made it onto the blog.

 

Turnagain

Turnagain Pass started coming into the fold really well in late March as a series of heavy, wet storms, began to pile on snow like we hope it does in October and November. The snow promised to set us up for some great spring skiing, and it for sure yielded some, but it brought to life a dangerous demon as well.

 

Get'n gloppy.

Who cares, it's snowing!

Spending a sunny afternoon skiing lines on the north side of Tin Can (Photo J.E.)

Photo J.E.

On belay...Photo J.E.

 

Photo C.G.

Photo C.G.

Photo J.E.

Summit Pass
Summit Pass, what a tragedy. Still my favorite zone, I only skied here once all season, only thrice in the last two seasons. I hope next season is better for these mountains I love and miss so much. We still had a great day in the back bowls of Butcher and Tenderfoot creeks.

 

A Hans Van Vluergeburten sighting!

Hale Bopp

Locomotive's north face poking out.

Photo: C.G.

Even thin back here. Photo: C.G.

 

Peak 5k...Tri-Tip True.

Creamy

The RWD above...way to thin.

Dear Chugach National Forest: I know it's really important to mark what's yours and what's the state's, lest we get confused whose pow we're skiing...but this seems like an unnecessary hazard.

Photo: C.G.

Photo: C.G.

 

Photo: C.G.

 

Hey, hay! Photo: C.G.

Front Range

One major score this season, and what probably saved my sanity in general, was doing tons of Front Range "groomer" laps. The wind does a great job grooming the range's meager snow pack, and after-work adventures were aplenty. A couple days even saw real pow.

 

Hungry wolves need to eat.

In a ski or be eaten world, Jill chooses skiing.



A storm cycle peaked north of Anchorage in late March, the Front Range picked up a nice load of boot-top fluff that skied amazing. It was better yet to ski it with Mike, Colleen, and Kerry.

Peak 4

Cody and his wolf pack.

This was Kyle on April 20th

Looked more like 2-20 or 3-20, rather than the dubious 4-20, but damn did it ski great!

Early May...getting desperate, but still having fun