Hiking in Vermont was pretty easy. Just enough elevation to keep things interesting and score some nice views. Local guidebooks gave a pretty good idea of what to expect, but were a little off-base on estimates relating to time. Five hour hikes typically took two.
Hiking in Alaska occurs on a slightly different scale. Elevations are higher, views more sweeping. The most significant practical difference, though, has to be time. When the local guidebooks predict five hours, plan on six. And pack a lunch.
In early September Emma and I tackled Kasugi Ridge, a natural ridgeline cutting through the foothills of the Alaska Range, just north and west of the Talkeetna Mountains. We figured two full days, maybe two and half, for a 23 mile stretch of the ridge. After feuling up with coffee and breakfast sandwiches near Denali, and stashing the car at our projected end point (Emma biked back), we got a late start and started up the gap along Little Coal Creek at around 3 p.m. It was a hot and sweaty climb to about 2500 feet where we accessed the ridgeline. After another six or so miles fading light required us to pitch camp. The views of Denali were awesome, a tropical orange sun reflecting brightly of the mountain peaks and valley glaciers. As the sunlight melted away the full harvest moon picked up the slack, throwing enough light to preclude the need for headlamps as we jet-boiled some dinner. Sleep felt good and we woke up late the next day, mostly because the eastern mountains defended against the morning sun until around ten.
Back on the faint trail we meandered through upland tundra in full autumn maroon and gold to offset the stunted green spruce trees holding firm against the steady wind. Every few miles the flat ridgeline gave way to deep valleys cut by clear, cold mountains brooks. It was at such a spot about 13 miles in that we pulled the plug on the rest of the hike.
Slow progress, blisters, and my preference to spend the next day lazily drifting beads for big trout led us to dip off the ridgeline and take a mid-way connection back to a trailhead off the Parks Highway. It was here that I learned to hitchhike. What I lacked in breasts I made up for in determination, securing a ride to Byers Lake after about 20 minutes of solicitation.
After dinner in Talkeetna we cruised back up to Troublesome Creek, pitching our tent late at night in a state-run campground. Roughly ten minutes after climbing into our sleeping bags, loud trampling in the woods sent us scurrying into the large bear-proof container that is my car. Another good night’s sleep fueled a good day’s fishing featuring a nice grayling, some incidental chums, a beautifully flushed silver salmon, and an NFL-sanctioned football of a rainbow trout that leapt parallel to the stream’s surface and threw my hook within two heart-pounding seconds.
Yes, the hike was abbreviated but that experience of the open high tundra was not. The fishing was just icing on the cake.
Hiking in Alaska occurs on a slightly different scale. Elevations are higher, views more sweeping. The most significant practical difference, though, has to be time. When the local guidebooks predict five hours, plan on six. And pack a lunch.
In early September Emma and I tackled Kasugi Ridge, a natural ridgeline cutting through the foothills of the Alaska Range, just north and west of the Talkeetna Mountains. We figured two full days, maybe two and half, for a 23 mile stretch of the ridge. After feuling up with coffee and breakfast sandwiches near Denali, and stashing the car at our projected end point (Emma biked back), we got a late start and started up the gap along Little Coal Creek at around 3 p.m. It was a hot and sweaty climb to about 2500 feet where we accessed the ridgeline. After another six or so miles fading light required us to pitch camp. The views of Denali were awesome, a tropical orange sun reflecting brightly of the mountain peaks and valley glaciers. As the sunlight melted away the full harvest moon picked up the slack, throwing enough light to preclude the need for headlamps as we jet-boiled some dinner. Sleep felt good and we woke up late the next day, mostly because the eastern mountains defended against the morning sun until around ten.
Back on the faint trail we meandered through upland tundra in full autumn maroon and gold to offset the stunted green spruce trees holding firm against the steady wind. Every few miles the flat ridgeline gave way to deep valleys cut by clear, cold mountains brooks. It was at such a spot about 13 miles in that we pulled the plug on the rest of the hike.
Slow progress, blisters, and my preference to spend the next day lazily drifting beads for big trout led us to dip off the ridgeline and take a mid-way connection back to a trailhead off the Parks Highway. It was here that I learned to hitchhike. What I lacked in breasts I made up for in determination, securing a ride to Byers Lake after about 20 minutes of solicitation.
After dinner in Talkeetna we cruised back up to Troublesome Creek, pitching our tent late at night in a state-run campground. Roughly ten minutes after climbing into our sleeping bags, loud trampling in the woods sent us scurrying into the large bear-proof container that is my car. Another good night’s sleep fueled a good day’s fishing featuring a nice grayling, some incidental chums, a beautifully flushed silver salmon, and an NFL-sanctioned football of a rainbow trout that leapt parallel to the stream’s surface and threw my hook within two heart-pounding seconds.
Yes, the hike was abbreviated but that experience of the open high tundra was not. The fishing was just icing on the cake.
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