Mountain Running

This summer, one of my main objectives was to do a couple long trail runs in the Sierra Nevada mountains. I figured the runs would be challenging but beyond that I didn’t give it much thought. After all, I’ve been trail running for nearly 10 years. Turns out, that was a rookie mistake…

Attempt #1. July 15. I had found an area on our map of the Mokelumne Wilderness that had a plethora of enticing trail options: I could hop on the Pacific Crest Trail, or run out to a backcountry lake, or do both! I decided to finalize my route once Owen and I found a dispersed campsite. As we turned off the highway onto the side road, the first red flag was the signpost that said all campgrounds along the road were closed. I thought, that’s weird. It must not be updated for the summer. The next red flag was the road closed sign and gigantic gate across the road. While we pondered our options, we let Denali cool off in the creek just past the gate. She loves swimming but she doesn’t like jumping into deep water. This particular creek had several very deep pools, and we laughed our heads off watching her leap insanely far distances to avoid the deep water. 

We decided to see if we could drive around the road closure via some side roads. We were thwarted on our first attempt by a sketchy, off-camber section of road still covered in snow (which should have raised another red flag). Eventually, we found our way through and were rewarded with a beautiful lake-side campground that was nearly deserted because it was technically still closed. Which was because there were still several feet of snow on the sides of the roads and covering the trails. That’s when it dawned on me: my beloved plethora of trail options would all be covered in snow. 

Owen helped me concoct a new plan. Above the lake, we could see the summit of a mountain, aptly named the Nipple, which was clear of snow. All I needed to do was bushwhack through the snowy forest for a bit before I would clear the tree line and beeline it up to the summit. The route would also cross the Pacific Crest Trail, so I could run that too. I was nervous to do a solo run off-trail but I didn’t see any other options, so I agreed to it. 

The next morning, Owen decided to accompany me with Denali until I got above treeline to make sure I didn’t get lost. We slowly picked our way through the snowy, buggy forest. Above treeline, the going did not get much easier- there was loose rock and thick ground cover. When I saw hikers a couple hundred feet above us, I was elated- it was the PCT! Once I made it to the trail, I could finally run. There were still some sketchy snow patches that I had to reroute around, but at least I got a couple miles of running in. Owen even decided to summit the Nipple with Denali, and I met up with them afterwards and took Denali on a bonus run. Lesson learned: it was a historic snow year, and I need to check areas in advance to see if they’re open! Also, running and bushwhacking don’t mix.  

Attempt #2: July 28. Another weekend, another spot on the map to explore. This time, I googled the trail I had in mind in advance. The Forest Service website said that the trail was open and was “very steep with many slopes and switchbacks.” Perfect. I also found a backup trail option, which was listed as open on the Forest Service website too. I had a solid plan this time, what could go wrong?

The “4x4 high clearance vehicle only, very rough road” to the trailhead was in such bad shape that I had to close my eyes in some sections while Owen drove. Needless to say, we never made it to the trailhead. After we turned around, we found out the road was still technically closed. Time to activate plan B. This one was a point to point run, so we made plans for Owen to pick me up at a trailhead a couple miles east of where he dropped me off. I told him that if I didn’t show up there in about four hours, he should come back to my original drop off location, because it meant I couldn’t get through for some reason. But again, what could go wrong? 

I felt confident as I power-hiked up the mountain through wildflower-dotted meadows. I even got some intel for a great little side jaunt above a nearby lake from a couple I passed who had been here before. But just two miles in, the trail disappeared in the snow. I wasn’t sure what to do. As I contemplated my options, the couple from earlier caught up. They explained which direction the trail went, and I decided to try to keep going. I figured this might be the only snow patch. Wrong again.

For the next hour, I was laser focused on not losing the trail as it wound in and out of the snow, again and again. I felt like a hunter stalking its prey. Mentally exhausted, I finally made it to the backcountry lake, only about 3 miles into what was supposed to be a 10 mile run. The trail completely petered out past the lake and to be brutally honest with myself, I had no desire to continue even farther into the unknown. I admitted defeat and turned around. I only hoped Owen would know to come back to the original trailhead to pick me up. 

Luckily he did, and I was very, very happy to be out of the backcountry and reunited with him. The sandwich, chips, and seltzer I had that afternoon never tasted so good. More lessons learned this time: check trail reviews in advance to see what the conditions of the trail are like! There could be snow even in late July. After the fact, when I read reviews on AllTrails written around the time I was there, the majority of people never even made it to the lake. Also: I need to have a way to navigate if I lose the trail. I promptly downloaded the National Forest Service mapping app. 

Attempt #3: August 12. I was exhausted from the past two run’s escapades. I wanted to just run. On a trail. That was not covered in snow. We were camping with friends pretty close to the last place I ran, and I decided to do repeats on that same trail up to the ridge line, right before the snow started. It wasn’t as adventurous as the other runs, but there were wildflowers, beautiful views from the top (which I got to enjoy multiple times), and I still felt like I’d worked hard to earn the chicken fingers I devoured afterwards at a nearby cafe. 

That afternoon, the skies opened up and it downpoured. We all huddled under our friend’s awning and watched the storm. Let me clarify, all the humans huddled under the awning. Denali was content to sit out in the rain, getting drenched. As day turned to night we watched lightning crack across the sky as the clouds rolled in and out across the setting sun. Mother Nature put on quite the spectacle. 

The next day, Denali and I went on a “recovery” hike that was a little more than I bargained for. No more than a half mile in she got stung by a bee, then we navigated across endless ankle breaking rocks, and I hung onto the leash for dear life as she went splashing through the water. To celebrate surviving the weekend, we all got ice cream, even Denali, on the long drive home. 

Attempt #4: August 18. This time, I was prepared. I snagged a last minute campsite in Yosemite National Park. I researched the latest trail conditions on AllTrails. I checked and rechecked the weather forecast. And finally, dare I say, everything went smoothly. When I arrived at the campground I went for an easy shake out hike that meandered along a stream and into a wildflower meadow. The pile of bear scat I found didn’t materialize into any real threat. This was a solo trip, so for dinner I got to eat the entire box of macaroni and cheese by myself.

The trailhead was crowded the next morning even though I arrived early, the price I had to pay for doing a popular route in Yosemite on a summer weekend. But after the remote runs and route finding I’d experienced earlier this summer, I was OK with some company. The trail was challenging; think dozens of switchbacks, more of those ankle breaking rocks, and lots of climbing. To be honest, I did more hiking than running. But it was all worth it for the view at the top. I don’t come to Yosemite very often anymore, and this run reminded me how special a place it is. 

The last few miles back to the trailhead were a slog, and the five hour drive home was even more of a slog, but I was buoyed by the experience I’d had, not just on this run but on every mountain run this summer, through the good and the bad and everything I’d learned. There is a method to my madness, a reason I’ve been doing all these mountain runs… a reason I’m too superstitious to write, but that should become apparent in a future blog post. As always, stay tuned!

Seeing the Light

I’m a little behind on my blogging and in the four months or so since I last posted the weather has turned from winter to spring to summer. If you blink, you’ll miss it! Luckily, we’ve had a couple long weekends that let us travel farther afield and explore the subtle, and not so subtle, changing of the seasons. 

On a long weekend at the end of March (thanks to Caesar Chavez), we made one last “winter” trip to Lake Tahoe. On a snowshoe hike through an area torched by a wildfire, we found a truck camper buried in the snow- eerie! We splurged on a couple’s massage for the first time. I thought it was the most relaxing thing in the world but Owen was less thrilled. His masseuse went to town on his back and legs so snowboarding the next day was kind of rough for him. We toasted to surviving the day of snowboarding unscathed with some beers at happy hour, and though we didn’t know it at the time, it turned out to be our last day of snowboarding for the season. 

In April, we went backpacking in Big Sur. It was a beautiful weekend on the trail: we saw wildflowers of every color, Denali got her swimming fix, and it was just nice to spend the whole weekend outside after months of rain. But the trip wasn’t without its challenges. As we were walking to our tent from the river that night, all of a sudden Denali held up one of her legs and couldn’t put weight on it. We carried her into the tent right away and for a few hours she laid on her side with her leg twitching in pain. It was pretty scary to see her hurting, but the scarier thought was how we’d get her out of the backcountry if she couldn’t put weight on that leg.

The next morning, she was able to walk as if nothing had happened. We’re still not sure what actually happened, maybe she just tweaked her leg strangely? After the trip a friend told me about Ruffwear’s emergency dog sling that can support dogs up to 100 pounds if you need to carry them out in an emergency situation. Denali scorns at even wearing a cooling vest, not sure if she’d let us carry her out in a sling…

I seemed to sustain an injury myself after that trip- a knee pain that would not go away, even after taking a break from running for a week, which turned into two weeks, then three weeks. Finally I went to the doctor who confirmed what I suspected it was, an overuse injury. I guess my body is not as resilient as it used to be! It drove me nuts not to run, especially now that the weather is so nice and the days are long. I tried to ride my bike instead, and promptly was reminded 1) how scary mountain biking can be, and 2) that I am NOT in biking shape. 

By the time Memorial Day weekend came around, I still wasn’t recovered enough for backpacking or hiking so instead we planned to have a chill weekend camping and exploring a part of California we’d never been to, Mendocino National Forest. The route there went through a small community, Potter Valley, and we happened to drive through just as the whole town was heading to the Memorial Day Weekend rodeo. Between the old-timey general store we stopped at and everyone dressed in their cowboy boots and cowboy hats, I felt like we had traveled back in time. 

That weekend we tried to relax and hang out, but we didn’t last long until we were itching to explore. We hopped in the truck and drove the Forest Service roads all around us. The higher up in the mountains we got, the crazier the conditions were. We almost made it to the road’s end, at a radio tower, but there were several feet of snow on the ground still, so we parked and walked the half mile or so to the tower. Owen and Denali reached the tower first. By the time I arrived I couldn’t find them but I heard a bunch of cats meowing and dogs barking inside the tower. I immediately thought oh my god Denali’s in there and she’s being tortured I need to find her. Yup, my brain can spiral pretty fast, but seriously why else would there be a bunch of animals in a creepy radio tower in the middle of nowhere? It turned out to be a sound recording of cats and dogs, presumably to keep rodents out. That’s just our theory though. As I was reeling from that, the skies opened up and it started pouring. We hightailed it back to the truck, and on the drive back to camp we saw a bear running down the road. All in all, we got a little more adventure than we bargained for that day!

Luckily the next day was much more chill. We had brought the refrigerator that’s powered by the truck and we feasted on gourmet sandwiches, icecream, and cold drinks. We might not have a four-inch thick memory foam mattress on our camping trips, but we know how to dine right! With full bellies we explored Lake Pillsbury and came across a herd of elk grazing in a meadow. It turned out to be a weekend for wildlife viewing - later that day we saw river otters in the nearby Eel River. Denali was beside herself, trying to swim across the fast-flowing river to get to their den. And she probably would have gotten to them if we let her!

We had another long weekend for Juneteenth and headed out to the Eastern Sierra via Highway 108 which had just opened up the week prior after being closed all winter. As we drove through the mountains we wondered why the road had only just opened since there wasn’t even a trace of snow left. But by the time we got to the highest point, Sonora Pass, which is over 9,000 feet, it became immediately apparent. There was still over ten feet of snow next to the road! There were lots of people getting one last dose of winter, going skiing and snowboarding and playing in the snow. We cashed in on it too, and went glissading while Denali took multiple snow baths. Just as we thought winter was well behind us.

We encountered challenging weather conditions the rest of the weekend, too. In our usual fashion we hadn’t identified a specific place to camp in advance. Instead we used our paper maps of the area as a reference and drove down a few National Forest roads to scope out a good spot. The “good spot” we finally found turned out to be in some sort of crazy wind tunnel. Have you ever experienced a bad campfire? Me neither, at least not until this trip. The wind blew ashes from the fire in our faces until we finally gave up on it, buried the fire, and drove out to nearby hot springs. Our shitty campfire was a blessing in disguise though, because on our way to the hot springs the sunset over the Sierra Nevada was nothing short of spectacular. It finally gave meaning to the Sierra Nevada’s nickname, the range of light. Technically, it's dubbed the range of light because of its light colored granite rock, but I like my explanation better. 

I’d planned a hike for us in Mammoth Lakes to the Lakes Basin but there was still so much snow that the road to the trailhead wasn’t even open. So we shifted gears and found a slightly lower elevation hike that didn’t require trudging through waist-deep snow. The next day, before we had to head home we drove the scenic June Lake Loop which had us ogling at each of the four lakes and fantasizing about coming back when we had more time to hike some of the trails above the lakes.

If I needed a reminder that it’s officially summer, our trip to the Dominican Republic last week for Owen’s family reunion did just that. It was five days of morning yoga on the beach, pina coladas by the pool, and swimming in the ocean. If that sounds too relaxing for our usual trips, don’t worry - we worked up a sweat on a hike in a nearby nature reserve and got to swim in a cave! I’m excited to see how the rest of the summer pans out :)

An Unprecedented Winter

To say that it’s been a hell of a winter would be a gross understatement. The Santa Cruz Mountains have been hit with too many atmospheric rivers to count, a freak snowstorm, power outages, landslides, road closures, and flooding. At least one historic record has been broken. For those that say it doesn’t rain in California, this winter has proven them very, very, wrong. Maybe Mother Nature is finally cashing in on years of rain dances? 

Freak snowstorm near our house

If I needed a reminder that humans are not in control, this was it. Our beautiful, peaceful Santa Cruz Mountains turned into a disaster zone. We cleared debris from streams and culverts to prevent water from undermining the road. We burned hundreds of tree limbs and tree tops that came down in our backyard from the heavy snow. We had to walk home one day through a field, about half a mile, when our road was closed for repairs. The longest stretch that we went without power was six days. We were essentially indoor camping. We survived off PB&J and soup, took showers at work. It redefined my sense of what “clean” clothes were. Thank god for our wood burning stove: not only was it a practical way to heat the house, warm up food, and dry clothes, it provided a small glimmer of hope on the dark winter nights. Other “highlights” from the past month: I carefully shimmied across a landslide with Denali, almost got beheaded by a falling tree limb, and navigated a river crossing that was as deep as mid-thigh.

This is supposed to be a paved road

A driveway near our house

One silver lining is that the storm forced me to stay put, slow down, and finally work on the blog. That is, once I’d procrastinated in every way possible, from decluttering our entire house to reading three books. I’m going to try something new this time: nine pictures and nine stories, to summarize our travels the past few months. Because I’m way behind!

Long Beach Island, New Jersey (Sept 2022)

If you remember, my last blog post left off with us returning home from our road trip. Naturally, the next place we went was as different from the Alaskan backcountry as you can get: the Jersey Shore. We spent a week vacationing with my family and generally vegging out. I grew up going to the Jersey Shore with my family, but for Owen it was his first real “beach week,” so he got a crash course. Luckily, it wasn’t difficult for him to adjust to our routine of eating donuts and icecream, going for several bike rides a day, and laying out in the sun. 

Southern Oregon (Sept 2022)

After beach week we flew back to California and took one last road trip up to Oregon for Owen’s cousin’s wedding before our sabbatical ended. Along the way, we explored the southern coast of Oregon. This photo was taken at Samuel H. Boardman State Scenic Corridor. It took a couple wrong turns until we found this secluded beach. We even found a dead octopus washed up on shore! It was a bittersweet trip, fun to be on the road again but sad our vagabond lifestyle was finally coming to an end. 

Toiyabe National Forest (Oct 2022)

We lasted three weeks back at work until we had to bust out of the Bay Area and go camping. We went to the Sierra Nevada in search of rare pockets of fall colors. We found a secluded place to camp at the end of a forest service road and got to experience not just fall but also winter with a dusting of snow the next morning. This photo was taken after I went for a chilly trail run with Denali, when I’d warmed up by the fire with a cup of hot apple cider. It tasted like liquid gold. 

Southern California (Nov 2022)

For the first time in years, we did not spend Thanksgiving at a campground. Instead we visited Owen’s uncle and his partner in southern California. The day after Thanksgiving we did the grand tour of the area: lunch in Palm Springs, the desolate Salton Sea, Salvation Mountain. Our goal was to finish the day off by watching the sunset from some sand dunes nearby. We were a little late for the sunset and we arrived at a scene altogether different than what we expected. The dunes were bustling with hundreds of people riding ATVs and side-by-sides. We went for a short jaunt up one of the dunes, then hightailed it back to the truck so as not to get run over. 

Anza-Borrego State Park (Nov 2022)

On the way home from Owen’s uncle’s house we detoured into Anza-Borrego State Park for a day. As California’s largest state park, a day is nowhere near long enough to fully explore it but we hit the highlights, at least the ones we could reach in our 2WD Yaris. Dogs aren’t allowed on the trails so I attempted to solo hike a loop trail called The Slot while Owen stayed back with Denali. The trail wound through a spectacular, narrow canyon… and then disappeared. I teamed up with another solo hiker who was similarly lost. We tried a few routes before giving up and hiking back the way we’d come. Luckily I didn’t mind retracing my steps. 

Mount Shasta (Jan 2023)

For New Year’s we took a trip to Mount Shasta in northern California. In the winter, the Everitt Memorial Highway, which goes partway up the mountain, only gets plowed up to Bunny Flat at 7,000 feet elevation. The rest of it shuts down to car traffic and turns into a thoroughfare for cross-country skiers, snowmobiles, and snowshoers. We made the trek on snowshoes. There was something invigorating and humbling about standing below the hulking beast that made it a good place to start the new year. 

Truckee (Jan 2023)

Every year for my birthday we go to the mountains so we have a chance of being in the snow. Some years, it’s hit or miss. Not this year! We stayed in Truckee, and there was already several feet of snow on the ground. Then, the morning of my birthday I woke up to it snowing! I grabbed Denali and we went for a run in the powder through the neighborhood. It brought me back to my days as a kid in New Jersey, traipsing through the woods behind my house on snow days.

Lake Tahoe (Feb 2023)

My friend Lowell had stellar timing with her visit to California for a ski trip with us: she came during the small window when our power wasn’t out and the highways to Lake Tahoe were clear. Our first day skiing we couldn’t have asked for better conditions: it was a bluebird day with stellar views of the lake. The second day, I could barely see my hand in front of my face- it was dumping snow. While Owen and Lowell were flying through the trees, I just tried to stay upright. That is, until I realized that falling didn’t hurt with all that snow! The adventure didn’t stop at the end of the ski day, either. On our drive home, Owen helped shovel and tow a car out of a snowbank.

Death Valley National Park (Feb 2023)

This was our fourth time going to the hot springs in Death Valley for President’s Day, so we weren’t the newbies anymore. We were the ones telling the newcomers about the baseball game, the potluck dinner. This year, there was a new event: the National Park Service hosted a stargazing talk. A crowd of around 60 people gathered, and I overheard one man say “hell, it’s like we’re in Yosemite Valley.” But of course he was joking. This was nothing like Yosemite Valley, unless Yosemite Valley has clothing optional hot springs, wild burros roaming through camp, and hundreds of people camped in the middle of the desert for one weekend a year.  

It was the rejuvenating weekend I didn't know I needed, the calm before the literal storms. It's tough to guess what the weather will throw at us next, but I'm going to assume winter is not finished with us just yet.

Alaska or Bust: Part 2

If you missed Part 1, check it out here!  

Chapter 1: McCarthy

August 8 - August 15, 2022

It was finally time for us to head to Wrangell- St. Elias National Park. Because we had adjusted our schedule a bit, we only had one day to rent bear canisters, find semi-normal dog food in a backwoods town, pack for our 5-day backpacking trip, and drive 180 miles to McCarthy, the last 60 of which were unpaved and unmaintained. Somewhere in the middle of all that, I had a nervous breakdown. We pushed on though, and made it to McCarthy without puncturing a tire on one of the infamous railroad spikes. Arriving in McCarthy, I could tell immediately that it was not your typical town, even for Alaska. For one, we couldn’t actually drive all the way to town. We parked our truck on one side of a footbridge and walked a mile down a dirt road into town (there’s also a shuttle tourists can take). The town is completely surrounded by Wrangell- St. Elias National Park. You take your shoes off before going into the hotel lobby, the unofficial mayor of town is a dog, and there are more 4-wheelers than vehicles on the streets. There are no paved roads or sidewalks, no trash services, and many homes don’t have running water. “Town” consists of two restaurants, one bar, one hotel, and a grocery store/liquor store/hardware store/icecream shop. I tried to soak up as much as I could but I was a little anxious about that backpacking trip. Filling out forms with questions about the colors and brands of our gear (in case of a rescue) did little to calm my nerves. 

Downtown McCarthy

The bridge leading to McCarthy

Wrangell- St. Elias National Park is 13.2 million acres, the size of Yellowstone, Yosemite, and Switzerland combined. I knew we’d only see a fraction of a percentage of the park on one backpacking trip, especially if we had to bushwhack through alders and cross glacial streams. But we had a trick up our sleeves: an airplane. Wrangell Mountain Air does backcountry drop-offs and pickups in the park, and even takes dogs! When I called to inquire about it a few months back, they said the only rule was that your dog wasn’t allowed to touch the pilot. 

Fast forward to the next morning, and as Owen and I tried to shove our packs into the tiny, 4-seater Cessna 185, I asked our pilot Bill about Denali. “Just don’t let her run to the back of the plane,” he cautioned. Otherwise, our weight would shift rapidly and we could crash. She didn’t quite want to run to the back of the plane so much as she wanted to get the hell off the plane. She was shaking like a leaf the entire flight. I can’t blame her, though. We were flying in a 40+ year old tin can of a plane, hurling through an unforgiving landscape of glaciers, mountains, and volcanoes. 

Our Cessna 185

Bear spray strapped to the outside of the plane

A tight fit

We landed at the “airstrip” at the Wrangell Plateau which was no more than two dirt tracks worn in from plane tires. It was only fitting that it promptly started raining as soon as Bill left. There are no trails in the backcountry, so we set our own path across the tundra, and after about three miles we made it to a nice looking spot on the edge of the plateau, overlooking Long Glacier. We set up our tent as quickly as we could in the rain, then laid out all our wet rain gear in the vestibules to try to dry (who were we kidding?).

Searching for a spot to camp

Smiling despite the rain

It was only around noon but we promptly hunkered down in the tent and did not leave for several hours. We passed the time by reading, sleeping, and playing War, and wagered that the loser had to get out and pee first (both of us had to go, neither wanted to go out in the rain). We even broke our cardinal rule of backpacking and ate snacks in the tent. It just. kept. raining. We finally forced ourselves out to cook dinner, and I don’t think I’ve ever had a more miserable meal in my life. By bedtime, I was freaking out that our tent wouldn’t hold up in the rain, since we had several spots where water was dripping in. And without a waterproof tent out there, we were toast. It took me several hours that night to fall asleep. 

I woke up the next morning and had two thoughts: we survived the night, and IT’S NOT RAINING! We got our first full view of Mt. Wrangell, a volcanic snow-covered monolith looming above the plateau. That day we stayed close to camp, explored some nearby lakes, and lounged in the sun and played card games. This time the wager was that the loser had to strip naked and run around the plateau. I was four cards away from losing when a plane flew overhead- a flightseeing tour. We cracked up imagining what they would have thought if they’d seen me! Eventually I did lose, but luckily the plane was long gone. 

Denali enjoying the tundra as the clouds roll in

Mt. Wrangell

Day three we decided to venture farther out to search for Cheshnina Falls. With full day packs, we navigated by map and compass across the open tundra towards the falls, not sure exactly how long we’d be out or how far away it was. During a snack break, I looked up, and maybe forty feet away there were two caribou! They ran away, then came back, and repeated the process several times. I’m just grateful they were caribou and not bears. Right around lunch time, we finally made it to a viewpoint of Cheshnina Falls. What looked like a tiny speck on our map turned out to be a 300 foot high waterfall, cascading into the verdant, green, Cheshnina river valley below. The base of Mount Wrangell wasn’t too far from us, and it beckoned us to come closer, so we hiked up to get a better look, quickly encountering a fresh dusting of snow. The walk back to camp was long, arduous, and of course it started raining. All in all, we hiked about eight miles and rewarded ourselves with the highest calorie freeze dried meal we’d brought. We capped off the night with a few rounds of War. I quickly lost two games in a row. 

Curious caribou

Cheshnina Falls

Fresh snow, fresh tracks

The next morning we woke up to bluebird skies. After staring down at Long Glacier for three days, it was finally time to go explore it. According to my park guidebook, Long Glacier is a valley glacier, meaning it doesn’t have hidden crevasses or snow bridges and you don’t need to be roped up to safely navigate. We descended 1000 feet towards the glacier and found a suitable, albeit rocky, place to get down to the glacier and up on the ice. Owen and I strapped on our crampons and tested out our new found superpowers of being able to walk on ice. Denali didn’t need crampons; she deployed her “four paw drive” as we call it, and extended her nails to get traction. She did great on the ice, though she was nervous to jump over crevasses, rightly so. In fact, she usually picked the safest line so we followed her. We found crevasses both small and large, pools of bright blue meltwater, gurgling drainage holes, and steep, jagged ice formations. It was an otherworldly, beautiful, slightly terrifying landscape to be in. Instinctively, I knew it was not a place that humans were meant to linger. Back at camp that night, we passed the time by playing more card games. I noticed a strange soreness in my right hand. Was I getting an overuse injury from playing cards too much?

En route to Long Glacier

Denali in her element

Owen messing around

The last morning of our backpacking trip we packed up our tent and the tundra looked so empty without it. What had at first felt like an unforgiving place that we needed to survive in for five days had become our little patch of tundra, our temporary home, our playground. As much as I was ready to take a shower and get out of the elements, I was sad to leave. We arrived at the airstrip about 45 minutes early and just soaked up the last views of this special place. Our plane arrived right on time and was flown by the same pilot as before, Bill. He was the first person we’d seen in five days and it felt like we were greeting an old friend. Right away he asked how our trip had been. We had an eager audience too, as Bill was dropping off three people for a backpacking trip. Even though we’d only been out there a couple days, I felt like a wise sage as they asked about wildlife, mosquitoes, and conditions we encountered. 

Goodbye, Wrangell Plateau 

Overlooking the Long Glacier

Denali found a caribou antler shed

This plane was much bigger than the one we’d flown in on- a positively spacious 6 seater- so Denali could easily lay down and seemed a lot less nervous. She did manage to leave a giant puddle of drool on the floor from panting though. To be honest, I was also a lot less nervous, as we had made it out the other side of our trip. I sat back and relaxed as we flew high above the mountains and watched sheep navigating on scree fields and moose wading through ponds.

Backcountry airstrip

We landed at the airstrip and got a ride back to McCarthy, but it was still too early to check into our hotel room so we weren’t sure what to do with ourselves. We relaxed on the hotel porch, and a shuttle driver rolled up and asked if we were going to Kennicot. It was one of those rare sunny, warm Alaskan days, too nice not to take advantage of. We looked at each other, shrugged, and said “Why not?” 

Kennecot is an old copper mill town, five miles from McCarthy along a bumpy dirt road dotted with homesteads tucked into the woods. The mill hasn’t operated since 1938, but many of the buildings have been pristinely preserved or restored. History, machines, and the history of old machines? That’s Owen’s bread and butter! He joined a mill town tour while I aimlessly wandered around with Denali. By the time we met back up, the sun disappeared and it started drizzling. We were ready for the great indoors. 

Kennecot mill town

It turned out that our time indoors was short lived. We finally checked into our hotel room in McCarthy and it was the size of a broom closet. The only way Owen and I could be in there at the same time was if we were both laying in bed. Add in our backpacking packs and damp, dirty gear, plus another bag of stuff for our two nights in town, and it was like a scene out of Hoarders. I commandeered the communal lounge area to try to sort and organize but it was a lost cause. We shoved everything back in our room and went off in search of dinner.

We went to the Potato because we heard they were having live music and figured we’d catch some of it before turning in early. A group of three people asked if they could share our table, as it was starting to get pretty crowded. We bonded after we found out that two of them, Kristen and Pat, were from New Jersey. By that point the band had started playing, and the dance floor was packed with people clad in rain jackets, boots, and even onesies. Pat offered to buy us drinks and we couldn’t turn them down. One round turned into two, three, four, and we got on the dance floor, too. At one point Denali was even standing on top of a table. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. I knew a little rain doesn’t stop Alaskans from having fun, I’d seen that before. But this was more than that. This was a full blown rager in the middle of a National Park. Historically, mill workers from Kennecot came to McCarthy to get their booze fix, so I guess they’re just keeping that legacy alive.  

At the Potato

A big crowd came out to listen to the band "Free Creatures"

We stayed until the band ended. Due to some poor planning on our part we were out of dog food and couldn’t feed Denali dinner until we got more. We had some back at the truck, parked a mile away across that bridge. Kristen, Pat, and Kristen’s brother Dave were camping across the bridge so we agreed to all walk together. It was midnight, pitch black, and we had no headlamps or bear spray. At one point, I was talking to Dave when we realized Pat was gone. Eventually, he reappeared and said he dropped his wedding ring and then found it, somehow, in the dark. At the time, it was the funniest thing and we couldn’t stop laughing. We parted ways with our new friends, retrieved Denali’s food and some odds and ends, and then trudged back to town.

The next morning we were both exhausted but we dragged ourselves to breakfast. It was included with our stay; there was no way I was missing a free breakfast. The restaurant was crowded and a fellow traveler we’d met yesterday asked if she could share our table. I was in no mood to make small talk with a stranger but said yes anyway. I guess she took a liking to us and offered for us to live in her cabin outside Anchorage over the winter. An interesting prospect!

After breakfast we took a shuttle to Kennecot to do a hike I had been eagerly anticipating: the Root Glacier. Years ago, I saw a photo of a hiker on the Root Glacier and I’ve wanted to go ever since. In real life the glacier was spectacular but surprisingly crowded! At one point, I counted 30 people. It made us miss our solo experience on the Long Glacier during our backpacking trip, but we did our best to avoid the crowds as we explored. This glacier was smoother and flatter, making it a lot easier to walk on than Long Glacier. Afterwards, we treated ourselves to gigantic sandwiches loaded with prosciutto, pork, bacon, and melted cheese from the Meatza Wagon. The perfect antidote to our hangovers. 

Exploring the Root Glacier

Denali was very curious about the pool

That evening we finally had time to relax. I caught up on my journal and tried to organize our hoard of gear. Before bed I was craving a little night time snack, so off we went in search of dessert. The grocery store was closed, the bar was out of desserts, and so was the Potato. There was only one place left: the fancy Salmon and Bear Restaurant. We were dressed in our dirty hiking clothes and by that time it was 9:30pm but I was desperate so I tentatively walked in and inquired. They had dessert! A chocolate torte with apricots, plated beautifully. I could’ve eaten three of them, easily. We got chatting with the server, who turned out to be the owner of Leyla, an old wooly Siberian husky we’d seen around town who looked just like Denali. The locals had even taken to calling Denali “Little Leyla.” It was nice to finally meet him and trade stories about adventuring with huskies and traveling in Alaska. As I was wondering just how much the fancy chocolate torte was going to set us back, he said that it was on the house. The only way our night could’ve been better is if a bag of chips materialized among the clutter in our room.

The next morning it was finally time to leave McCarthy. We enjoyed one last delicious, free breakfast, wandered among the dirt streets, and said goodbye. Even though we’d only been in town a few days, I was beginning to feel like a local. I’d fed some of the town dogs, helped search for a missing dog, hell, a few more days here and Denali would become a town dog! I was torn about leaving because there was so much we hadn’t seen, so much to still explore. But we desperately needed to organize and dry out our gear, wash dishes, restock on (reasonably priced) food, and do laundry, and we just couldn't do any of that in town. We were ready to move on.

Denali conspiring to join the pack of town dogs

McCarthy, in a nutshell

Chapter 2: Nabesna Road

August 16 - August 18, 2022

Some 200 miles from McCarthy is the start of the Nabesna Road, a 42 mile gravel road that enters the northern part of Wrangell- St. Elias National Park and is rumored to be even more remote than the McCarthy Road. With freshly laundered clothes and a restocked pantry, it was time for one more adventure in the park.

All in all, we spent three days and three nights along the Nabesna Road and experienced a little bit of everything. There was plenty of time for lazy mornings in camp, meditating on lake shores, and watching sunsets. It was just what we needed after our escapades in McCarthy. We didn’t lounge the entire time though…One day we hiked to old mine ruins at the top of steep, loose rock. We didn’t want to go back down the same way, so we bushwhacked through a long lost trail with strangers we met on the hike. Back at the truck, we encountered two hunters who had just spent three days making multiple trips to carry out a Dall sheep they’d gotten on a packrafting trip. I’m 99% sure they both had trench foot.

Sunset on the Nabesna Road

View from above the mine ruins

That night in the campground, a dog wandered over to us to say hello. His tag identified him as Buddy Jake from the hunting lodge down the road. Denali was quite fond of him, so later that night I took her for a walk to look for Buddy Jake again. As we walked by another couple’s campsite, the woman there sputtered that a dog (presumably Buddy Jake) had just chased off a grizzly bear! I immediately turned around, retrieved Owen and our bear spray, and then we went looking for signs of the bear and for Buddy Jake. We ended up at the hunting lodge where the owner’s kids came out to talk with us. We learned that Buddy Jake is a Karelian Bear Dog, which are bred to hunt big game. When we told them that he apparently chased off a bear, they said it was probably just a squirrel. I’m not sure who to believe…

Denali's new friend Jake

The next day we set off to hike the Skookum Volcano Trail. The first part of the “trail” followed a rocky stream bed. After rock hopping and zigzagging across the stream for hours, I started referring to the hike as the “Stupid Volcano Trail.”  Eventually we made it out of the creek bed and climbed a steep grassy slope up to a pass. We recovered for a long time at the top and watched 9 Dall sheep running around not far from us. Not such a stupid hike, after all!

Skookum Volcano Trail

Chapter 3: Homebound

August 19 -  September 3, 2022

With our big adventures in Wrangell- St. Elias behind us, it was finally time to start heading home. We didn’t need to be back to California until September 3 so we had some extra time for explorations along the way. In the Yukon though, the options were limited. Hell, we could barely find places to camp. Our first night back in Canada we camped at a pull-off just off the highway. It was pretty sad. The next night we vowed to do better. The Milepost mentioned a one mile access road to Lewes Lake, which sounded promising. After a couple wrong turns down private driveways, we found the lake. It more than made up for last night’s crappy spot: it was one of those sunset-and-a-beer kind of nights. I didn’t think the site could get any better until Owen woke me up in the middle of the night insisting that I look outside: the northern lights were flickering across the sky!

Short hike in Kluane National Park

Enjoying the fading light at Lewes Lake

Blue skies at Lewes Lake the next morning

The next day, we wanted to stay in an RV park so we could do laundry and take showers. We were still in the middle of nowhere in the Yukon, so there weren’t a lot of options. We came across one RV park and took a quick tour (always a good idea before you pay for the site, we’ve learned). The laundry area was fine but the bathrooms had a weird smell and the showers were like something out of a horror movie. We decided to stay anyway. Why? Because Owen said he’d used worse showers, as if that were appropriate justification. All in all, it wasn’t the most glamorous place we’ve slept, but it got the job done.

We continued south on the Alcan Highway, into British Columbia and through Liard Hot Springs. We weren’t Liard newbies; we stopped there four years ago on our motorcycle trip up to Alaska, and were thrilled to be back. We hit a little snafu, though: the main campground was full so we had to camp in the overflow area. For the same price as a regular site we got a dirt parking lot and world’s most fly-infested pit toilet. We also learned that BC Parks had recently constructed an electric wildlife fence around the campground, but not around the overflow lot. The fence was to keep out the bears, but I guess they figured the campers at the overflow lot could fend for themselves. There was a pretty scrappy group of older Canadians camping near us that I would’ve bet money on against a griz. Any remaining frustrations disappeared though, when we soaked in the hot springs. It was just as we’d remembered: a lush, peaceful oasis. 

The path to the hot springs

The first major town we came to south of Liard was Fort Nelson. We pulled in hangry, hot, and dirty. We sulked at the visitor’s center for awhile, then bought some cold drinks and resolved to find a dispersed camping site. Just as we’d found a site on a river bed and pulled out our drinks, Owen noticed a minivan stuck in the sand nearby. We drove over, hooked up our toe strap, and pulled them out. The minivan’s occupants were a young couple, their 3-year old daughter, and their friend. They asked if we wanted to hang out for a bit, and Owen and I looked at each other and said “Why not?” Famous last words. 

Sometimes when we help people with car troubles, we get offered twenty bucks. This time, we got offered cocaine. It wasn’t immediate though. Over the course of the next couple hours, we collected wood, built a fire, drank our drinks, they ran home to get their dog so he could meet Denali, they ran out to get Tim Horton’s coffee. Then the cocaine came out. We graciously declined, then entered into a fascinating, albeit hard to track conversation about the meaning of life, the universe, and outer space. When they finally left, Owen and I kept shaking our heads and asking each other what the hell just happened. The only casualties were: tons of bug bites, sand everywhere, and a slightly later than intended bedtime. Even so, we immediately decided to take a break from helping strangers with car trouble for the time being.

The next day we checked into a hotel to rest and commenced our extreme recovery method of laying in bed and watching movies all day while feasting on pizza and popcorn. The rejuvenating effects wore off quickly, though. After Fort Nelson we had long days of driving through a Canadian heat wave, which I didn’t know was possible. We cooled off in spray parks, in random rivers, and with icecream, but without A/C in the truck we were pretty miserable. Then one night, Owen’s sleeping pad sprung a leak and completely deflated, and Denali refused to share her pad with him. I didn’t think a 31-year old was able to have a temper tantrum, but I was wrong. 

Denali vegged out too

We still had some extra time before we needed to be back in California and we decided to spend it in Jasper National Park. Arriving in the park felt like arriving at an oasis after days of trekking across a desert. The heat broke, the rain came, and there was stuff to do! Hikes and restaurants and bars and campgrounds and dog parks. The options were overwhelming. Finally we settled on a plan. One day we strolled the Valley of the Five Lakes loop and saw the quintessential bright turquoise waters of the Canadian Rockies, made even more dramatic by the moody skies. Another day we brought Denali canoeing for the first time on Maligne Lake, and luckily didn’t capsize in the 40 degree water. The day after that we hoofed it up the Sulphur Skyline Trail, fought heavy winds, and were rewarded with 360 degree views at the summit. Each night we retreated to our tent at Whistlers Campground, which was just renovated with brand new bathrooms and showers that were always spotless. The days of horror movie showers were behind us! But it almost felt too luxurious, and I missed the simplicity of primitive campsites. 

Maligne Lake

Mt Edith Cavell

Sulphur Skyline

From Jasper, it was two full days of driving to get to our friends’ house in North Bend, Washington, near Seattle. We drove along the mountainous Coquihalla Highway that crosses 11 major avalanche tracks. Our final border crossing back into the US was easy enough, though when the border agent asked what was in the truck, Owen blurted out the only things we weren’t supposed to have: lunch meat and lettuce. He waved us through anyway. 

Mt Robson, BC

We arrived at Madeline and Evan’s house that evening and for the next day and a half did what we always do when we’re together: ate delicious food, consumed delicious drinks, and enjoyed the outdoors. Our method of travel was stand up paddle boards (another first for Denali!) There’s nothing finer than spending a warm summer day on the water with good friends and good dogs. 

Lake Wenatchee, WA

From Madeline and Evan’s, we had two days of driving and one night of camping until we were home. Our last night of camping in southern Oregon we feasted on hot dogs, chips, and flavored water. Not as fancy as our steak and broccoli meals in the beginning, but it was just as enjoyable. The crickets were chirping, the moon was out, and I didn’t want our trip to end. The next morning, as we approached the California border, a familiar sight greeted us: wildfire smoke. Yup, we were definitely almost home.

Just a few miles from home we stopped at the Summit Store, our local mountain grocery store, for dinner. It felt surreal, sitting there on the patio eating sandwiches, talking about how the trip went. All in all, we were on the road for 56 days, camped 41 of those nights, and drove approximately 10,000 miles. We could finally talk about our amazement that the truck didn’t break down, that nothing major went wrong (neither of us wanted to jinx it on the trip, so we never talked about it). I wish I’d taken a photo of us that night at the Summit Store. I’d spent so much time outside I got freckles around my lips, and it’d been so long since Owen cut his hair and beard that he’d gone “feral” (his words, not mine).

Despite the fact that these blog posts were so long, there was so much I left out. Like how I finally learned to truly drive a manual. Like the time I saw a bear cub and thought it was a black cat. Like meeting a guy at a remote campground in Alaska who lives 15 miles down the road from us in California. Like how we got asked multiple times if we were mushers, if we were from Alaska, and if Denali was a sled dog. Like the fact that we consumed over 70 granola bars, a useless stat that I decided to track. 

One of our goals for this trip was to have the space and time to figure out what we’re doing with our lives, and what our 5-year, or even 2-year plan is. We didn’t find the answers to those questions in Alaska. Instead, the trip reminded me of the values that I’ve had deep down for awhile now: that a simple life is the most enjoyable, that suffering allows you to more fully appreciate the good times, and that being outside fuels the body, mind and spirit like nothing else.

It’s been over two months since we got back from Alaska. There have been more adventures and more travels, but I’ll save those for another time.