Tom's Visit

It took my former riding buddy and college teammate Tom 7 years to make it up to AK for a bike ride.

WANNA RIDE BIKES!?

OK, in fairness, Tom has been living and working in some of the country’s most scenic and spectacular National Parks though out those years.

Still, Tom and I went 6 whole years between our last ride on the east coast at Kingdom Trails a day or two before I left for the north, and our eventual re-union in SoCal last fall.

A few months later, Tom gave me a pretty awesome tour of Yellowstone National Park when I was visiting the area last January, and when I finally got him to commit to a visit to AK, I knew I had to pull out the stops for his visit.

Initially, I had thought a road trip to Whitehorse, followed by a short trip to the Kenai for some fishing, was in order. The road trip would provide a great view of the giant state, and I’ve yet to hear someone say something disparaging about the Yukon riding.

We did have some time limitations though, and despite this being an epic summer rarely wetted by rains, Tom of course picked the one week rain seemed sure to fall.

Multiple sources said the Whitehorse trails rode well in the rain, and I don’t doubt that, but driving 24 hours roundtrip to ride and camp in the rain just didn’t add up, especially considering how dry the trails where here.

I decided we would roll the dice and stay local, ride in the rain if we had to (we did), but at least have access to hot showers, an indoor hangout, and local knowledge of the weather patterns and trails (hey, we also did).

Aside from all this, I can’t help but feel boastful of the ScAk trails, and wanted Tom to see them, not some system a full day’s drive off.

Without question, that was the right call.

The first two days of Tom’s trip were gray and wet. We rode Hillside in the rain, and splashed through puddles in Kincaid during a couple hour lull in the precip the following day. The nice thing, is that as noted, the trails were so dry this year, they never got muddy, and dried instantly.

By day three, what had been a gloomy forecast began to change: the sun was coming out, and conditions were looking to be spectacular.

I wanted to take Tom up to the Valley and ride Keppler-Bradley and GPRA, but the storm system was lingering in the north, while gorgeous blue skies broke over Anchorage.

For the first time in days, Tom saw the Front Range, along with the snow-capped Tordrillos across the Inlet.

As it turned out, Anchorage was not secretly located near Fargo, as Tom had been beginning to suspect.

We rode Kincaid again, joined by Joe. As I expected, Tom loved the trails there, and didn't mind hitting them twice.

 

 

The next day Tom and I loaded up the Suby and headed south to base camp at Braun’s cabin and ride the Kenai.

The Chugach National Forest had just finished brushing out the Russian Lakes Trail the previous week, bringing this normally spring and fall only trail into the fold waaaaay early. I explained to Tom beforehand that this was a real bonus to have this ride on the table in mid-August, but I’m pretty sure he would have figured that out on his own as I freaked out about a dozen times on-trail.

We rode the Russian Loop, and as hoped, the well-drained trail was mud- and veg-free. When we passed where the trails runs along the river bank around mile 8, we could see hundreds of bright red sockeye swimming in the current below.

 

Heading over the outlet of Kenai Lake. Photo T.A.

Stopped for a snack on a beach on Kenai Lake.

Photo T.A.

Hanging out on the shore of Upper Russian Lake

Photo: T.A.

Upper Russian Lake Cabin

Blooming Fireweed in the avalanche meadows on the way out

  

The next day we headed toward Seward to do the Lost Lake Loop. Again, we had perfect blue bird skies and a gentle south wind to keep it cool.

As we finished up the 7-mile Primrose section of the Iditarod Trail, I asked Tom if he wanted to take the straightforward and easy route down the highway to re-connect with Lost Lake Trail, or go ride the Bear Lake section of Iditarod – explaining that the latter was hilly, loamy, not always flowy, and that a 2,000 foot climb still lay ahead.

Tom gave me a confused look.

I tried again: “Easy or hard?”

“Hard,” Tom said.

I was stoked. I know a lot of people pass up on this section, but that’s really their loss.

We stopped once on our way to Bear Lake to gobble up the abundant and fat blueberries that lined the trail, before making the surfy descent into Seward. The shore-side segment of the trail is super technical, and I knew Tom was probably going to want to session some of the features.

He agreed that this stretch is probably the closest thing in Alaska we have to the type of riding he and I did in college, at least, as far as the density of technical features.

As we neared the south end of the lake, we passed over the small inlet stream, and hung around a while to watch up and close as salmon battled each other for mates.

A little while later we were riding high into the alpine of the Lost Lake plateau.

Big shocker, but this did not disappoint. I think my favorite moment was when we reached the top of the plateau just before the lake comes into view. Tom took a ton of photos to the south toward Resurrection Bay.

I let him make a couple comments about how spectacular the view was, and how it couldn’t possibly get better, then we rolled 100 yards across the flat plateau until the lake and the bay were both in full view. I had to ask if he was sure about they view.

Post-ride fried halibut to-go, enjoyed down by the water was in order after descending Primrose.

 

Tom and I have very different pre- and post-ride routines. For example, pre-ride, Tom likes to wheelie, bunny hop, and skid around the parking lot, while I like to chill, stretch, and prep. Post-ride, Tom likes to fall off his bike and hope the gods deliver him a giant pizza, while I like to wheelie, bunny hop, and skid around the parking lot...OK, well, maybe I did some of the latter just to get back at him. I was really glad to take this shot before setting off on LLL though.

Lots of blueberries

Lots.

Tom took a few attempts, but finally rode the bridge...no salmon were harmed.

Photo: T.A.

Favorite shot of the trip. Photo: T.A.

 

Friday dawned with high gray clouds, but the forecast only hinted at a slight chance of rain.

I had really hoped to do a Devils-Cooper shuttle, but could not arrange a shuttle, and doing the loop wasn’t too high on the list after five days of consecutive riding. The backup plan was to ride up Devils and through Res to the Hope overlook, maybe descend to East Creek if we had the legs, and then turn around.

The weather had other plans. Hypothermia rain started to fall right as we got to Devils Pass, and knowing the Hope overlook view would be pretty unspectacular, we decided to go hang out in the shelter of the Devils Pass Cabin for a while.

As it was, the rain really wasn’t falling too hard, and it didn’t take us long to descend out of the wind.

After 3 days of AK blue bird, Tom said he appreciated seeing a slight dose of reality in terms of what the weather could dish out.

The trail was great even wet though, Devils is already well drained to begin with, and given the dryness this year, didn’t even form any puddles.

 

No pics from a rainy day but Tom made this cool slow-mo video.

 

We headed to fish camp that evening to spend Saturday working the UR fishing event. The tournament went smoother than it ever has, and I appreciated Tom’s willingness to chip in and drive a shuttle. Tom got real familiar with my old commute to work (I mean, he’s fairly qualified at driving vans after all), all in return for a little fresh halibut and salmon. Good deal huh?

That evening, just before I was about to call it a night, walking through the dark between one of the out buildings and the lodge, I looked up to see the northern lights blazing across the sky. I ran in and got Tom up, and we hung out on the dock for an hour while they put on a hell of a show.

 

Double rainbows over camp. Photo: T.A.

No good shots of the northern lights, but Tom snapped this cool one of the boats waiting for their clients Saturday morning. Photo: T.A.

 

What a way to end a great trip.

New Wilderness, Meet the Old Wilderness; Part 2

Part 1 (LINK)

July Fourth weekend, it’s Anchorage’s favorite weekend to load up all their toys into a vehicle coupled to a trailer, neither of which may pass a basic mechanical inspection, and hard-charge it down the Seward Highway, making 8-car passes on inside corners, until eventually, someone blows it and shuts down traffic.

Don't break your bike, and don't break your riding buddies!

Is it any wonder why I always hope for rain or an excuse to stay in town this weekend?

Solitude is a hard-to-come-by commodity anywhere on the Peninsula this weekend, but that’s not always the point.

My wishes for rain or clouds denied: brilliant blue skies dominate, and I can’t resist either, so I take off on the Lost Lake Loop.

Damnit. Why can't it rain (kidding).

 

It is assured, the name-sake trail in this 34-mile ride will be an absolute zoo.

As I climb from Seward, a hiker tells me: “We need to limit the number of bikers on this trail.”

“I could say the same thing about hikers,” registers in my mind, but oxygen debt and a limited ability to maintain the moral high-ground inhibits a response…mostly oxygen debt though.

I wonder why it is that she tells ME this, I’m slowly climbing by.

I can’t help but empathize with her a bit though.

I’m legitimately nervous that I will get nailed by a descending rider on some rent-wreck junker of a bike

 

(Edit: this almost happens a few weeks later when a rider comes careening down the canyon section just below tree line on a mid-90s vintage hardtail replete with rim brakes and an 80mm elastomer fork. Unable to stop before hitting me, I duck into the adjacent hillside, and the rider ended performing a complete cartwheel off the cliff side. He was lucky the vegetation that arrested his fall didn’t impale or twist him up too bad. No helmet on the joker either).

I feel like I’m making more noise than some of the descending riders, and that whole “uphill has right of way” rule seems lost in the blooming cow parsnip.

The funny thing is, I’m more nervous on this climb than I was an hour or two ago when I started to head down the mossy section of the Iditarod Trail that leads from the Seward Highway in Divide to Bear Lake.

 

I passed a surprisingly large group of hikers very near the start of the section – surprising because I hardly ever see people on this trail – and they warn: “There’s bears at the lake!”

I ask “what lake?”

I get confused stares in response.

This is really helpful, as there aren’t many lakes in this segment of trail, nor bears for that matter: I mean, there is Troop Lake about a mile or so in – which is presumably where these people are headed, but I will skirt; and there is of course, the very “beary” Bear Lake, 7 miles down the trail in Seward, where I’m headed; and then there are maybe 3-4 other bodies of water I’d probably describe as ponds between these two bodies of liquid, but maybe they’re lakes with bears too?

The thing is, I sometimes joke, this section of trail was actually cut by the Feds for the bears. As noted, I almost never see people on it. Fat and plump blueberries grow abundantly here, and blue/purble bear scat litters the trail from mid-July through August. Closer to Seward, Bear Lake, which I don’t think got its name because of its oblique shape, is the end run for thousands of returning Bear Creek salmon with nowhere to go and nothing to do but die and present their protein-rich bodies to those who might wish to feast upon them.

Bear Lake salmon.

 

All the while, the dense, old-growth forest makes this a lovely corridor to pass between Resurrection Bay and the Snow River drainage, if you’re into hanging out in deep, dark, quiet forests – kinda like bears are into.

So yes, this is really helpful beta: there could be some bears, by the lake.

I’ve been thinking lately, we actually need a sign at the narrow isthmus between mainland AK and the Kenai Peninsula that says: “Caution: Bears ahead at lake.”

What? It wouldn’t be wrong.

Neither were the hikers though.

What lake?!

 

Guess what I find at Bear Lake? Yup. Momma and her 3 millennial cubs out for a stroll.

These cubs are all just about as big as momma, and after the instant fear has washed away, I think, in retrospect, those cubs need to move out already.

Maybe they’re still perfecting their artisanal fish carcass sculpting?

It could have been a bad situation though. The section of trail along the steep east shore of Bear Lake is tough: technical, lots of blind corners, dark, and ledgy.

I even had the thought, moments before I interrupted this bear family’s outing: “What if I dropped into one of these blind descents, or came around one of these ledgy corners, and came face to face with a browny?”

If I had any time to react at all, my only exit option would be to leap away from the steep hillside into the thickets of devils club and alder below, hoping the bear deferred to better judgment and didn’t follow suit.

I’m lucky I spot them down one of the few stretches of trail with a good sight line, maybe 50 feet. Even still, mom huffs, and she hesitates before turning tail. The three cubs struggle to turn around on the narrow trail to flee, clumsily bumping into eachother.

Had it been a closer encounter, they might have realized they had good odds for a beat down.

Admittedly, I was shocked.

Smiles on the Iditarod trail.

 

I’m used to seeing a lot of bear sign on this trail, especially later in the summer when the blueberries are ripe and the shores of Bear Lake wreak with the stench of rotten salmon.

The blueberries were still white though, and the fish had yet to make a strong showing at the lake, or, at least start dying by the hundreds.

More, it was 1 in the afternoon on a bright sunny day.

Not really when I expect to find a family of bears out and about.

If you slit a tubeless tire and happen to have a tire boot, don't waste your time with the sticky adhesive, it won't work with all the sealant in the tire...I got a lot of practice this summer.

 

I guess that’s just it though: In the new wilderness, and the old wilderness, it’s never clear what the dangers will be, it’s just how different the dangers actually are in each, even if the two can exist in the exact same place.

Writing in the Dark: UPDATE

Top of the tundra plateau on the way to Lost Lake outside of Seward last weekend. Resurection Bay and Seward are in the distance. By far my numberone favorite ride in the Kenai


Ok, after my last post almost 2 months ago, I apologize. The early weeks of August were absolutely nuts. Camp continued to stay booked. Despite a near drag in fishing after King Season closed and Silvers continued to feast out at sea, we had pink salmon up to our ears. Ryan decided they made excellent "Salmon patties" and began pushing pink fishing on our guests. It was unbelievable, if you had more than three casts without a fish, you were doing something wrong. It was a bunch of fun to catch them no question, I could only compare it to fishing in a stocked pond of jumbo small mouth bass that'd been starved for weeks. We challenged guests to fish-offs to see who could get a five, or ten fish to the boat first, or held the "Olympinks" at the end of the day to see who'd caught the biggest, smallest, and of course, ugliest fish of the day. While this got a few of our guests excited to go haul the buggers in by the boatload, literally, that meant I was filleting and skinning hundreds a day for essentially pennies, as the little fish can hardly tilt a scale when all is said and done.
Fortunately the Silvers came in thick and strong so the pinkolympics came to an end. My father came up the week of the 20th. At that point camp had cleared out so we more or less had the run of the place. Ryan was able to fit my dad onto his boat in the morning with the charters while I took care of any work that needed to be done. Through the afternoon dad went out and nailed the pinks, which had finally started getting up to camp, good and ugly. In the evenings we went back out with Ryan to chase after the silvers, doing well each night. One of the days we went to Seward and fished a combo trip on Resurrection Bay. Though late in the year, we did pretty well considering the rough seas. We also got to watch humpback breaching only a few dozen yards from the boat on the run back in. We did a trip for halibut in the inlet, but some lessons are learned the hard way; unable to get the day I wanted with my preferred captain, I tried a new guy from Texasssss. He was a fool, bottom line, but I know enough about what I'm doing out there that we did fine, though we didn't really have a chance to go after any lunkers like I wanted.
My dad hooked himself into a strange chrome late run king. The 40-45 pound fish gave him a solid 10 minute fight. I was just estatic he got to fight a bright king on the Kenai.

To top off the wildlife experience, three bruins, a mother and her 2-3 year old cubs walked right through camp not 30 feet away as we sat on the deck enjoying cool brews. I had to hang onto the back of Dad's shirt as he tried furiously to run inside and hide (I'm not exaggerating here folks) but those bears were far more interested in rooting through the rotten salmon carcasses piled up in the river.

The whole experience was truly awesome. Between the great fishing, wildlife and exceptional weather (probably the best I saw all summer), I really felt like the trip let me get closer to my father. I know he was a bit hesitant to come up here, and apprehensive about my decision, but I think getting to see what a blast it was, how hard I had to work, and how good the people I met/lived and worked with were, let him see what an opportunity it really was. Then again, I could be making all this up, smoking cigars, drinking Alaskan Summer Ale, and whacking pinks off the dock is pretty good too!


My mom came up the following week. Originally the plan had been to drive back to the lower 48 together, but as of mid-August, after my boss Joe offered to live in camp rent free while he was gone and watch over the place, I decided I would at least hold in Sterling while I searched for a job. We had a great time as well, no fishing, just sightseeing. We spent a day in Anchorage, Homer which I hadn't visited yet, and Seward. She also did a half day horseback ride in Cooper Landing, allowing her to see the mountains I play in on the weekends at her pace instead of mine (always a good thing).

With the parents gone by the beginning of the month, Joe and I closed up camp, and I began searching for jobs. Adam, one of the guides helped me get a place in Anchorage, so all I needed was some work. I started putting in applications with environmental firms in Alaska, Washington, California and Colorado. Life slowed down big time. Joe left with his wife for Arizona in their motor home mid month, and the neighbors had largely cleared out. I had the place to myself and almost nothing to do besides apply for jobs, fish, watch the bears and get back into riding. Life was pretty good, but winter has been coming down across the area quickly. Snow started sticking high up in the mountains and has slowly been working its way lower and lower. Next week we're forecasted to get some down here, though I doubt it will stick. The cool wet weather along with the waning light had me really wondering if I was sure I wanted to stick it out up here or consider making a break for the lower 48.

Fishing into the evening, I lit camp up when it got dark while I cleaned my fish given the bear activity

A week and a half ago Bernie shot me an ad from journalismjobs.com for a general new reporter position right here in the peninsula. I'd been avoiding applying for journalism positions because the pay for an entry level position is so low, especially compared to those at say, multi-national oil companies...
Suddenly the option of doing something I know and enjoy, while living rent free was sitting in my lap. I jumped on the ad and hand delivered my resume and clips, something they hardly expected. The following day they asked me to come in for an interview. I had to rush to the local clothing store, as in my haste to leave Vermont, I chose to leave behind my sport jacket, and the nicest pair f pants I brought still had grease stains on the bottom of the right leg from my bike... Anyway, less than three hours after the interview, standing knee deep in the Kenai fishing for the second run silvers, my phone rang, and I was hired. I'm not going to write the name of the paper here to avoid catching screens, not that I'm planning on writing anything deceitful about the paper, but I'd prefer not to attract the attention of corporate eyes, especially having just started. If you're interested in following my work shoot me an email and I'll send you a link.
I'm still concerned from time to time about what it will be like in a month as the cloak of night sweeps in and the temps continue to plunge. More, I long for the closeness of friends I once had in Saratoga and Middlebury. I suppose those will come with time, but when I'm sitting around wishing I could go bag a peak, or grab a drink, time is not my friend. If in a year I'm ready to be done with this place I can always head south. For now, I'm really excited about this opportunity, living rent free, in one of the wildest most beautiful places on earth, doing what I love, and getting paid for it all... what else could a 22/23 year old want!?