Early in the winter, Ed had mentioned we might get some time off in April to do a little trip of our own. With all of the work on the ranch (what a reporter called where we live, though we don't wear cowboy hats nor has a truck ever driven here), we sort of thought a vacation would turn out like the sauna- a great idea, but just not realistic and not likely to come to fruition any time soon. We put the idea out of our minds and just planned on taking a week off between working here and the start of our Outward Bound season.
Ed returned to Camp from the Iditarod pretty exhausted, having again placed in the top ten (6th) which is impressive given that not everyone even finishes the race, and still plenty good enough to help pay the dog bills. He also received the Leonard Seppala Award which is a high honor. All of the veterinarians that check the dogs throughout the race choose one musher (out of sixty-something this year) at the end of the race for the best treatment of their dogs. Ed's dogs had diarrhea (no, not because of any of the meat that we cut or bagged thank goodness!) for the start of the race and he nursed them through it and kept them healthy and running well.
So, when offhandedly in the kitchen Ed mentioned we should take a week off and go to the mountains (what, with wood to cut, nets to fish, dogs to feed, poop to scoop??) we were a little surprised, almost stunned. Of course, we had to fish before we left, though Quinn did "offer" to take care of the nets while we were gone. It didn't take us long to let the idea of an adventure soak in (and though we call it a vacation, it was definitely not going to be tropical with froofy drinks and lawn chairs). We perused maps, checked weather, and started planning a little ten day tour to the mountains with two teams of 12 dogs each and skis to explore the Baird Mountains. Quickly we threw together our stuff- sleeping system, eating system, meals, etc.- which has become routine for us in some ways given our lifestyle.
On a crystal clear and very cold day we left Camp (home camp that is) and headed upriver to get up into the mountains. Our sleds were heavy and we slogged out of the yard. Within two hours, however, we had started traveling over country neither us nor more than half our dogs had ever seen before. For all our yearlings, this was going to be their first overnight trip away from the kennel. Like students on one of our courses, some were nervous and some got more excited.
Traveling over glare ice on the
Noatak River the runners of the sled scratched along. Turning onto new trails that wound through tundra plants exposed from the wind and daily gain of solar radiation, we inched on. We headed up the gentle Hugo's valley to a pass and took a much needed rest for an hour, snacking the dogs on a half pound of Hi Protein meat chunks.
After two more hours of running we finally dropped into the
Squirrel River watershed. It was here that it seemed like it dawned on the dogs that we were not turning back towards home and we were not going back to Camp that night. Ten miles from where Ed has a high camp for his training runs, the dogs slowed. Plowing through softer snow in the higher reaches of the Squirrel we frequently hopped off the sleds and ran beside them or pushed to keep the pace going. We started looking for places to bivi for the night. We took a little break to check the map, but with the short rest the dogs seemed once again excited to get on the trail. We pushed on, the sky still light in the spring
Alaska evening. After a little more than fifty miles and over ten hours of traveling we arrived at high camp in an amazing nook in the mountains. Ed chose this spot because it almost always has running water, even at forty below. He uses it every year. It's funny, that out here, people claim different spots on public land (or is it Native owned? We are still not sure given the land settlement issues between the Alaska National Interst Lands Conservation Act and the Alaska Native Claims Settlement Act. See
http://www.npca.org/media_center/fact_sheets/anilca.html to gain some background) as theirs for hunting, trapping, etc. and everyone else knows whose camp is where. What is most impressive is that really its just millions of acres of open space in the mountains and seems to be hardly used by anyone except the locals.
We attempted to settle in to our temporary home and clipped our confused, young dogs on to the picket line (a long chain with short leashes attached) stretched between the trees. Tofu just howled and howled in pure panic that he wasn't back at his doghouse and it was dark and cold and he was hungry and tired. We were too. Grumpily we snapped at each other just trying to get things done. We needed to get some calories on board and sip some tea, but we couldn't get the stoves to work safely. Both of our stoves just poured fuel out of their pumps because the rubber "o" rings were frozen. Dark now, we realized just how cold the already cold day had become without that big fiery ball in the sky. A bit flustered we managed to feed the dogs and then retire to the tent. We munched on chocolate, nuts, bars, and other yummy Trader Joes snacks (thanks!) having to eat a second meal in the middle of the night to keep from shivering too much. We woke up to huge frost feathers covering the inside of our tent, some hanging down several inches from where our breath above us froze. I don't think I have ever been so cold camping (it was at least 40 below zero if not colder). We laughed that it was our own little Outward Bound experience. We also realized that it was exactly the Alaska experience we were looking for when we peered out the tent door at the rising golden moon, white snowy mountains, and a wavering green curtain of soft green Aurora.
We spent most of our days exploring from high camp, traveling up the valleys and drainages surrounding us, some days on skis, some days on dogsled, some days on foot. The mountains were blown to bare rock on their northern aspects collecting the season's snow into windpacked bowls on the leeward slopes onto weak layers of dry snow- perfect avalanche conditions. So for those who were about to be jealous of our sick backcountry turns, rest easy as we have no tales of figure eights in pristine pow pow of the AK backcountry. We did, however, do some sick skinning around on hardpack, to some really beautiful spots. Camping in the cold and with the dogs forced a relaxed pace for us as we had to spend a few hours every day just making hot food for the dogs on a fire. And there was no sense getting up before noon because it was too darn cold to be fun until the sun finally peeked into our little valley and hit the tent.
Winter turned to spring on our journey and the last few days were warm and cloudy and a bit snowy. The warm weather was nice, but we started to worry a bit about overflow, especially since we were going to travel a different route out along the Agashashook River. Overflow is a natural phenomenon that occurs on rivers in cold places, where fast moving water under the ice flows up through cracks or the edges along the banks and over the top of the ice layer, especially when the weather warms up. Overflow can be just a thin coating or a few feet deep- not a fun prospect when you are winter camping to think of submerging your feet in cold water. We have heard dramatic tales of snow gos sunk forever in overflow, of it sneaking up on you hidden under a layer of snow, of suckholes on rivers that you can disappear in?we have been afraid of overflow. We finally had to face our fear. We slushed through overflow many times, up to our knees at times, yelling at the dogs to keep moving forward and pull us and the sled out, which they did every time. The dogs don't like it either, it is wet and no fun, but not so scary now, and if you are quick, you can avoid getting wet by hopping up on the sled until the dogs make it through.
The big moment of the journey came on a mountain pass overlooking the Agashashok River (the Aggie is the shortened version), and this will tell who really reads through our whole email updates?(yes, we too are guilty skimming long email updates from friends, so we do it out of fun). Michael asked Jen to marry him and she said yes. A dog named Gringo wore the engagement ring (that Michael carved for her out of a caribou antler) on his dog bootie. That's who you see with us in the picture attached. No, we don't have a date or a place or a whole lot of details worked out yet (though it will be in the next 18 years for sure), we have been too busy playing in the mountains on vacation!
On our way out down the Aggie, we ran on shiny, blue glare ice, smoother than any ice skating rink. The dogs are not graceful skaters and avoid it when they can. In our case it meant being dragged onto exposed gravel bars, through willow patches, over bumpy tundra and then back out on the ice to slip and slide and scramble with the sleds for footing with traction again. It was a relief to make it back to a staked trail that led towards home. And just like many of our students, the dogs were relieved to make it back to their doghouses and home cooking. Admittedly, we were also a little glad to make it home, having seen some incredible open country, big mountains, and big rivers. We gee'ed into the dogyard with big smiles on our goggled, scarf covered, frostnipped, windburned faces.
Sincerely,
Michael Raffaeli and Jen Brown
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