As I am no longer tied down to the demanding year-round training schedule of a collegiate ski racer, I've found time to pursue other interests. One of them is making money. Really though, it's tough to find a well-paying summer job that allows time for both morning and afternoon training sessions. With my new freedom, I took up an offer to work as a deck hand on a salmon gillnetting boat in legendary Bristol Bay.
Two short weeks after returning from the Alaska Range, I flew to Naknek to kill fish. Six weeks, and nearly 200,000 pounds of salmon later, I returned to Anchorage with calloused hands and the biggest paycheck I've ever earned.
Gillnetting is a very labor intensive way of fishing, but it's very sustainable, and has almost no wasteful bycatch. Instead of surrounding a shoal of fish with a trap net (called purse-seining to those in the know), gillnets entangle salmon of a particular species and size much like a snare. The mesh size of the nets is just big enough to fit over a salmon's head, then catches on the gill plates to pull fish from the water. It's almost impossible to catch fish or animals of the wrong species or size; they simply can't get snared in the net. Furthermore, escapement of salmon into the river systems is counted, and fishing openings are strictly regulated to ensure sufficient breeding populations. It's no exaggeration to say that gillnetting in Bristol Bay is the cleanest, most sustainable fishery on the planet.
But, it is lot of work. Every fish that comes onboard is ensnared in the mesh of the net. Somebody has to pull each stuck fish out of the net, and toss the fish into refrigerated holds. I was such a somebody.
Fishing is one of the last jobs that has no guaranteed pay. No salary, hourly wage, signing bonus or pension plan. Just a percentage of a possible catch. As a first year deck hand, my cut was 5% of the total catch after fuel and groceries. The more we caught, the more I was making. The harder I worked, the more we caught. If we never caught anything, I would owe my share of fuel and groceries. But that's what made this job one of the most satisfying I've ever had. Offloading our catch to the tender boats at the end of the period and seeing the total effort of our four-man crew hanging there in big slimy bags gave me a satisfaction akin to finishing a ski race and seeing my finish time posted on the scoreboard. All of our exhaustive effort culminated into one daily score, and this time the score had a dollar sign in front of it.
Thanks to Chris White: captain of the Vulcan, Mike Reitz: mechanic and first mate, and John Stetson: seasoned deck hand for their mentoring and for our shared efforts and experiences.
10/13/10
Denali's West Buttress
What a great trip! Clay, Rick and I spent a couple of weeks on Denali. Anyone familiar with the Alaska Range knows that the weather is one of the biggest challenges there. If it's snowing, blowing or severely cold, it makes otherwise straightforward routes like the West Buttress completely impossible. Something like half of all attempts on Denali fail, almost all of those due to severe weather.
And so we were shocked and pleased to have perfect weather for our entire trip! We had planned one full week of weather days into our itinerary, and never used one. We did get to experience some of the harsh conditions that Denali is known for, but they coincided with our rest / acclimatization days. We must have earned some good mountain karma somewhere along the line...
Twelve days after landing on the Kahiltna Glacier, Clay and I walked to the tippy-top of the continent in crystal clear and calm weather. It was a soul-quenching experience to see that much of Alaska from one vantage point.
My favorite part about this trip was what I learned. It took us rookies a lot of planning, organizing, budgeting, experimenting and practicing to pull off such a big adventure. Last year, when we first started thinking about Denali, the whole idea felt extremely daunting. After our positive experience on the mountain, I feel like I learned a lot. A lot about being a mountaineer, and a lot about myself. I can look back at what was daunting then, and see that I accomplished those things. That kind of success makes me confident and optimistic for other things that seem daunting now, whether in mountaineering or in life.
And so we were shocked and pleased to have perfect weather for our entire trip! We had planned one full week of weather days into our itinerary, and never used one. We did get to experience some of the harsh conditions that Denali is known for, but they coincided with our rest / acclimatization days. We must have earned some good mountain karma somewhere along the line...
Twelve days after landing on the Kahiltna Glacier, Clay and I walked to the tippy-top of the continent in crystal clear and calm weather. It was a soul-quenching experience to see that much of Alaska from one vantage point.
My favorite part about this trip was what I learned. It took us rookies a lot of planning, organizing, budgeting, experimenting and practicing to pull off such a big adventure. Last year, when we first started thinking about Denali, the whole idea felt extremely daunting. After our positive experience on the mountain, I feel like I learned a lot. A lot about being a mountaineer, and a lot about myself. I can look back at what was daunting then, and see that I accomplished those things. That kind of success makes me confident and optimistic for other things that seem daunting now, whether in mountaineering or in life.
8/25/10
Upcoming Updates
And now it is time for me to delve back into the digital world...
I've been a busy adventurer during the summer despite what might be inferred from my complete lack of new stories. My excuse? I've been almost entirely unplugged almost the entire summer. It was great. You should try it.
Now that I'm back at school with plenty of bandwidth, I no longer have any reason to hold the internet in endless suspense, awaiting my next blog entry. And so I've begun composing. But I have a lot to write about, so I'll need a while to get it all down.
In the next short while, expect scintillating stories and even a few pictures of these adventures:
I've been a busy adventurer during the summer despite what might be inferred from my complete lack of new stories. My excuse? I've been almost entirely unplugged almost the entire summer. It was great. You should try it.
Now that I'm back at school with plenty of bandwidth, I no longer have any reason to hold the internet in endless suspense, awaiting my next blog entry. And so I've begun composing. But I have a lot to write about, so I'll need a while to get it all down.
In the next short while, expect scintillating stories and even a few pictures of these adventures:
- Slogging Denali
- Killing Salmon professionally
- Kayaking Resurrection Bay
- Biking the Denali park road
- Racing the Nenana River
- Backpacking Kesugi Ridge
Until then, power down, unplug, go outside, and do something you could blog about!
4/2/10
Too much snow...
Like last year, the Tour was during the first weekend of spring break. This timing requires a quick transition from ski racing to mountaineering. Sunday afternoon saw me totally wrecked from skiing hard for 50k, and Monday morning I was breaking trail through knee-deep snow, carrying a hefty pack of mountaineering gear. Yahoo.
Clay's friend from Michigan, Patrick the footballer (Played on the starting lineup for Michigan State) came up to visit AK for his spring break. No one yet knows how he decided that spending time camping in the cold with two smelly guys in Alaska was a better option than lounging on the beach with many beautiful women in Cancun. As it was, Clay and I already had excellent adventure plans for spring break, so Patrick got the Full Alaskan Experience.
Our goal was to hike from the Crow Creek trailhead up Goat Mountain to the Eagle Glacier near the Raven Headwall (gotta love the animal names for places...sounds like I made those up...) Well, when we left Anchorage, it was cloudy but pleasant. Driving South, we couldn't see the road for all the snow. Should have been a hint right there. We got to the the trailhead in a full-on blizzard, and knew right away we would never make the glacier because the avalanche conditions were abysmal. But, since we were there, and had all our stuff together, and were totally gung-ho to go play and camp in the snow, we loaded up and decided to hike up the creek valley a bit, and camp on the flats before the mountain. Breaking trail was fun, and hauling a pack wasn't too bad, and the wind was only sometimes, and you could ocassionally see through the snow to the next patch of alders to bushwhack.
Then a snow sluff (i.e. small avalanche) buried us to our belly-buttons. Yikes. A small, 12' cut in the creek valley dumped it's snow on us as we walked by. We took it as a loving slap-on-the-wrist from the mountains, and quickly retreated to the saftey of the truck. Out in a big flat field, we spent a while practicing with our fancy avalanche rescue equipment to pay penance for tresspassing against the snow and mountain gods. A couple hours after we drove back to Anchorage, an epic avalanche covered the highway, closing the only road South for a day. We all agreed to stay inside reading books the next time it snows that hard.
Clay's friend from Michigan, Patrick the footballer (Played on the starting lineup for Michigan State) came up to visit AK for his spring break. No one yet knows how he decided that spending time camping in the cold with two smelly guys in Alaska was a better option than lounging on the beach with many beautiful women in Cancun. As it was, Clay and I already had excellent adventure plans for spring break, so Patrick got the Full Alaskan Experience.
Patrick, representing MSU
Clay, ready to slog
It's nasty out, but we're havin' fun.
Our goal was to hike from the Crow Creek trailhead up Goat Mountain to the Eagle Glacier near the Raven Headwall (gotta love the animal names for places...sounds like I made those up...) Well, when we left Anchorage, it was cloudy but pleasant. Driving South, we couldn't see the road for all the snow. Should have been a hint right there. We got to the the trailhead in a full-on blizzard, and knew right away we would never make the glacier because the avalanche conditions were abysmal. But, since we were there, and had all our stuff together, and were totally gung-ho to go play and camp in the snow, we loaded up and decided to hike up the creek valley a bit, and camp on the flats before the mountain. Breaking trail was fun, and hauling a pack wasn't too bad, and the wind was only sometimes, and you could ocassionally see through the snow to the next patch of alders to bushwhack.
Then a snow sluff (i.e. small avalanche) buried us to our belly-buttons. Yikes. A small, 12' cut in the creek valley dumped it's snow on us as we walked by. We took it as a loving slap-on-the-wrist from the mountains, and quickly retreated to the saftey of the truck. Out in a big flat field, we spent a while practicing with our fancy avalanche rescue equipment to pay penance for tresspassing against the snow and mountain gods. A couple hours after we drove back to Anchorage, an epic avalanche covered the highway, closing the only road South for a day. We all agreed to stay inside reading books the next time it snows that hard.
3/24/10
Done College Skiing
The end of my college skiing career came and went all too quickly. I'm often asked, "How was your season?" or, "How did you do?" I find it sort of a tough question to answer. I had some great races, some really difficult ones, and some kickin' adventures. Overall my performance this year was about what I expected, and maybe just short of what I dreamed it could be. I didn't win any races. I didn't qualify for nationals. I wasn't the MVP. But, I just might've had the most fun, and could maybe have reaped the most satisfaction.
In my very last college race, for the very first time, I got DFL (Dead -*@#&- Last). Yep, everyone beat me. Ouch. Ironically, the race was still ultimately satisfying. I raced as hard as I could, I didn't give up despite my position, and fought hard until the bitter end. Really, that's all you can ever do, the rest is up to your competition. I had a bit of an asthmatic episode during the race, and coupled with the altitude, I wasn't capable of moving very quickly. I didn't let it go to my head though, and stayed tough for all 20k. That is satisfying, and could even be called successful.
The Tour of Anchorage was another fun time. It's tough to Race 50k after a season wherein 20k is long, but I always love skiing together with all of the Anchorage regulars (irregulars?). I felt strong for the first 45k, but lost my battle to glycogen depletion. It felt strange to be so close to the finish, but unable to ski well. Next time I'll pack a few GU's.
So that's it for this college ski racer. I know I'll always ski, and I'll probably still race here and there, but mostly it's on to new adventures and other fun games.
In my very last college race, for the very first time, I got DFL (Dead -*@#&- Last). Yep, everyone beat me. Ouch. Ironically, the race was still ultimately satisfying. I raced as hard as I could, I didn't give up despite my position, and fought hard until the bitter end. Really, that's all you can ever do, the rest is up to your competition. I had a bit of an asthmatic episode during the race, and coupled with the altitude, I wasn't capable of moving very quickly. I didn't let it go to my head though, and stayed tough for all 20k. That is satisfying, and could even be called successful.
The Tour of Anchorage was another fun time. It's tough to Race 50k after a season wherein 20k is long, but I always love skiing together with all of the Anchorage regulars (irregulars?). I felt strong for the first 45k, but lost my battle to glycogen depletion. It felt strange to be so close to the finish, but unable to ski well. Next time I'll pack a few GU's.
So that's it for this college ski racer. I know I'll always ski, and I'll probably still race here and there, but mostly it's on to new adventures and other fun games.
Photos by: UAA ski team
2/13/10
Denali Aspriations
The ski season is gradually nearing it's end. I've raced almost every weekend for about a month now. My last college races ever will be in Colorado Springs at the RMISA regionals event two weeks from now. After that, it's the Tour of Anchorage, and the Oosik in Talkeetna to wrap up a pretty decent ski racing career. On to different awesome things.
Just turned in my registration to the park service, it must be official. Clay and I have been gradually planning and accruing gear for this coming spring. About a week after Clay graduates with his Bachelor of Arts in justice, we'll be flying out of Talkeetna into Kahiltna base camp for a power-slog trip on Denali's West Buttress. Clay, myself and Rick, another hunting guide legend, will spend three weeks playing out in the snow and cold, hoping for a chance to see the top. Should be a rowdy gig.
Just turned in my registration to the park service, it must be official. Clay and I have been gradually planning and accruing gear for this coming spring. About a week after Clay graduates with his Bachelor of Arts in justice, we'll be flying out of Talkeetna into Kahiltna base camp for a power-slog trip on Denali's West Buttress. Clay, myself and Rick, another hunting guide legend, will spend three weeks playing out in the snow and cold, hoping for a chance to see the top. Should be a rowdy gig.
1/25/10
Schallinger for the W!
Racing in Utah went reasonably well. My legs are still hurting today two days after the 20k skate race. The olympic course at Soldier Hollow is no easy feat for mere mortals, but our UAA freshman ringer Michael Schallinger hailing from Traunstein, Germany made easy work of it. On the last hill before the finish, Schalli blew past the pack and sprinted in for the win. This is the first nordic win for UAA since Paul took the gold in New Mexico in 2007. Yahoo and good work Schalli!
Schallinger jump-skating up the last hill.
Here I am heading out for one more lap at Bohart Ranch in Bozeman.
Photos by Mandy Kaempf and Lex Treinen
1/21/10
Race. Hard.
Full-throttle racing season is on. Train easy, rest well, race hard, travel, repeat. I love this rhythm.
US nationals finished a few days before the school semester started up. After two days of school, I jetted down to beautiful Bozeman, Montana with the UAA team for some college racing at the MSU invitational. My classic race went pretty well, putting me in 26th place, but I bombed on the skate. It always takes some getting used to skiing at altitude.
Then we all drove down to Midway, Utah, stopping at West Yellowstone along the way for a lovely training ski. It's been stormy here in the rockies with lots of new snow. We've been training and prepping this week for our races tomorrow and Saturday. With the warm weather and the new snow, it could be tricky conditions for the classic race tomorrow. We'll see.
Tricky conditions usually favor those who don't give up, and always know that it's the skier that counts, not the skis (or as my dad would say, what's on top of the skis is more important than what's on the bottom). All of the physical training we do as nordic skiers makes us fit, but perhaps more importantly it makes us mentally tough. Knowing you can do something is half the battle of actually getting it done. I try to remember that during hard training sessions. I'm not just teaching my body to deal with the pain of extreme effort. I'm learning how hard I can push myself. I'm learning that the limits of my mind are often more strict than those of my body. I'll try to remember that tomorrow as I power my way up Herman's hill through the thick snow.
Wish me luck!
photos coming soon...
US nationals finished a few days before the school semester started up. After two days of school, I jetted down to beautiful Bozeman, Montana with the UAA team for some college racing at the MSU invitational. My classic race went pretty well, putting me in 26th place, but I bombed on the skate. It always takes some getting used to skiing at altitude.
Then we all drove down to Midway, Utah, stopping at West Yellowstone along the way for a lovely training ski. It's been stormy here in the rockies with lots of new snow. We've been training and prepping this week for our races tomorrow and Saturday. With the warm weather and the new snow, it could be tricky conditions for the classic race tomorrow. We'll see.
Tricky conditions usually favor those who don't give up, and always know that it's the skier that counts, not the skis (or as my dad would say, what's on top of the skis is more important than what's on the bottom). All of the physical training we do as nordic skiers makes us fit, but perhaps more importantly it makes us mentally tough. Knowing you can do something is half the battle of actually getting it done. I try to remember that during hard training sessions. I'm not just teaching my body to deal with the pain of extreme effort. I'm learning how hard I can push myself. I'm learning that the limits of my mind are often more strict than those of my body. I'll try to remember that tomorrow as I power my way up Herman's hill through the thick snow.
Wish me luck!
photos coming soon...
12/21/09
Adventures in the Dark
It's solstice today, and since it's cloudy in Fairbanks, that means it won't get very bright for very long today. That reminded me of some of the recent adventures I've been having in the dark. Since I'm home for the holidays, and it's cold out, I suppose I have some time to type up a few updates.
Whilst driving north for turkey day, Paul, Clay and I stopped in at Dragonfly Creek for a bit of ice climbing. It's perhaps the most convenient climbing anywhere. A two minute walk from the car leads to the top of the ice pillar that drops down towards the Nenana River. Tie in to the anchor-tree, rap down and start playing. We each did a few laps, and throughouly enjoyed ourselves. We started climbing at about six o'clock, so it was headlamps climbing. Fun, but more intense. We were thankful for the toprope.
On our way South back to Anchorage, we stayed in at the cabin for a couple nights. What a great place to unwind. I almost forgot how much schoolwork I was neglecting. We spent our day there investigating the bowels of the Castner glacier, and were not disappointed with our findings. We came prepared with both ice climbing gear and river gear to be ready for any sub-glacier terrain features. Neat cave. Waded in thigh-deep ice water. Belly-crawled on mud and rocks. Hiked in huge open tunnels. Wahoo.
After school was finished, I picked up a few hours at AMH, Anchorage's premier ski-racing and mountian-climbing headquarters. I've worked there on and off for a few years, and it always feels like coming home when I start there again. One of the perks of working there is that your co-workers are always planning excellent hair-brained adventures. And so I found myself preparing for a late-night backcountry ski trip with Paul and two of the rowdy AMH crew, Jason and Galen. It had been snowing all day, and we got first tracks after getting off of work that night. We dropped into the bowl at about 9:30pm, headlamps struggling to cut through the warp of falling snow. What fun!
And now it is full time ski-racing season. So far it looks like my training is paying off, but I still have a ways to go before I'm skiing as fast as I can this season. Last weekend was the first two Besh Cup series races. about 500 skiers from around the state show up to race. It's a big event for the juniors trying to qualify for the Junior Nationals team, but it's a great event for everyone to get some race practice in. Sunday was a 15k classic race. I placed ok, but I didn't feel very strong. Saturday though, I placed 12th in the skate sprint. I qualified 13th in the morning, then placed 3rd in my quarterfinal heat behind powerhouses Reese Hanneman and David Norris. It turned out that we had the fastest heat, so I still got to advance as the "Lucky Loser" despite my #13 race bib. I got my butt kicked in the subsequent heats, but I had secured myself as 12th for the day. The race started with a prelim at 11 o'clock. My last heat started at 4:15. That made for a long day, and it was dark in the stadium well before we were finished.
Whilst driving north for turkey day, Paul, Clay and I stopped in at Dragonfly Creek for a bit of ice climbing. It's perhaps the most convenient climbing anywhere. A two minute walk from the car leads to the top of the ice pillar that drops down towards the Nenana River. Tie in to the anchor-tree, rap down and start playing. We each did a few laps, and throughouly enjoyed ourselves. We started climbing at about six o'clock, so it was headlamps climbing. Fun, but more intense. We were thankful for the toprope.
On our way South back to Anchorage, we stayed in at the cabin for a couple nights. What a great place to unwind. I almost forgot how much schoolwork I was neglecting. We spent our day there investigating the bowels of the Castner glacier, and were not disappointed with our findings. We came prepared with both ice climbing gear and river gear to be ready for any sub-glacier terrain features. Neat cave. Waded in thigh-deep ice water. Belly-crawled on mud and rocks. Hiked in huge open tunnels. Wahoo.
After school was finished, I picked up a few hours at AMH, Anchorage's premier ski-racing and mountian-climbing headquarters. I've worked there on and off for a few years, and it always feels like coming home when I start there again. One of the perks of working there is that your co-workers are always planning excellent hair-brained adventures. And so I found myself preparing for a late-night backcountry ski trip with Paul and two of the rowdy AMH crew, Jason and Galen. It had been snowing all day, and we got first tracks after getting off of work that night. We dropped into the bowl at about 9:30pm, headlamps struggling to cut through the warp of falling snow. What fun!
And now it is full time ski-racing season. So far it looks like my training is paying off, but I still have a ways to go before I'm skiing as fast as I can this season. Last weekend was the first two Besh Cup series races. about 500 skiers from around the state show up to race. It's a big event for the juniors trying to qualify for the Junior Nationals team, but it's a great event for everyone to get some race practice in. Sunday was a 15k classic race. I placed ok, but I didn't feel very strong. Saturday though, I placed 12th in the skate sprint. I qualified 13th in the morning, then placed 3rd in my quarterfinal heat behind powerhouses Reese Hanneman and David Norris. It turned out that we had the fastest heat, so I still got to advance as the "Lucky Loser" despite my #13 race bib. I got my butt kicked in the subsequent heats, but I had secured myself as 12th for the day. The race started with a prelim at 11 o'clock. My last heat started at 4:15. That made for a long day, and it was dark in the stadium well before we were finished.
Dragonfly in the Dark
Gearing up: kayaking drysuit, mountain boots, crampons.
Ice Tunnel
Explorer Paul
Ice-bank hopping.
Scharlping some Gnar the day before the dark skiing adventure. Pictures turn out better in daylight.
This is Ski Racing.
(Photos by Clay Roberts, Steffi Hiemer, John Schauer and UAA Seawolves Skiing)
11/23/09
Ice Climbing Science
It's almost that time again... As the mercury drops, ice climbers dream of water trickling over rock walls, gradually growing from smears to bulges to big fat walls of ice. Paul forwarded me this excellent scientific report testing the strengths of various types of ice protection. It will always be a judgment call whether an anchor is solid, but empirical evidence is surely a painless way to gather knowledge. So if you're planning on swinging tools this winter, I'd give it a thorough perusal.
On that note, Paul, Clay and I will be braving the parks highway on Wednesday so that we can join our family in sacrificing a turkey. Friday will see Father and Sons racing together as the "Schauer Power" relay team at the annual Turkey Day Relays. Upon finishing, we will make our exodus to Ohana Cobana, our cabin near the Deltas. Early season ice climbing or late-season ice caving shall ensue. Expect updates next week.
On that note, Paul, Clay and I will be braving the parks highway on Wednesday so that we can join our family in sacrificing a turkey. Friday will see Father and Sons racing together as the "Schauer Power" relay team at the annual Turkey Day Relays. Upon finishing, we will make our exodus to Ohana Cobana, our cabin near the Deltas. Early season ice climbing or late-season ice caving shall ensue. Expect updates next week.
11/18/09
Gotta love it...
I just handed in my genetics lab report, a real-world style primary source document detailing the semester in which we isolated, cloned, anaylzed and sequenced DNA from spinach. This morning I hammered all four heats of a classic sprint time trial with the ski team, and actually stacked myself in with the big guys. Yesterday I turned in my term paper for physiology, a well-researched and thoroughly fascinating treatise about thermoregulation and hypothermia. Tomorrow morning I'll be completing an essay exam for that same class, covering material about the nuts and bolts of respiration, circulation, ion balance, nitrogen management digestion and nutrition. Friday I'll be heading to Hatchers Pass with the team for a weekend training camp up on the good snow, though I do have to swing back into town Friday afternoon for a lab session. Between two-a-day workouts this weekend at Hatchers, I'll be studying for my organic chemistry exam on Monday. Then it'll be thanksgiving, thank goodness.
I'm finding out that the only possible way for me to cope with this schedule is to fully embrace it as the insanity that it sometimes is. I watched a TED talk by a brit named Ben about skiing solo to the geographic North Pole. Dude has some willpower. Because the sea-ice that covers the Arctic Ocean is always drifting, he often floated backwards while he slept, only to ski for many hours the next day to creep a couple miles north of his previous position. On his worst day he skied due north, pulling two gigantic sleds with all of his necessary gear, into a headwind for 7 or so hours, only to end up two and a half miles further south of where he started due to the drifting ice. And he was laughing about it. What a guy...
I'm pretty sure that's probably what it takes to surmount an insurmountable obstacle. Realize just how outrageously impossible it really is, laugh about it, then do it...with a smile.
...gotta love it :-D
I'm finding out that the only possible way for me to cope with this schedule is to fully embrace it as the insanity that it sometimes is. I watched a TED talk by a brit named Ben about skiing solo to the geographic North Pole. Dude has some willpower. Because the sea-ice that covers the Arctic Ocean is always drifting, he often floated backwards while he slept, only to ski for many hours the next day to creep a couple miles north of his previous position. On his worst day he skied due north, pulling two gigantic sleds with all of his necessary gear, into a headwind for 7 or so hours, only to end up two and a half miles further south of where he started due to the drifting ice. And he was laughing about it. What a guy...
I'm pretty sure that's probably what it takes to surmount an insurmountable obstacle. Realize just how outrageously impossible it really is, laugh about it, then do it...with a smile.
...gotta love it :-D
10/23/09
Feel the Burn
As I wake, my body already knows what is coming. It is hardening itself, preparing. I feel a little bit sick, but this is normal, and it means I'll feel good when I get moving. I choke down some breakfast, though I don't have much appetite. Out the door, ready for the day.
As I start my warm-up, my body feels tense and heavy, but I soon relax into a springy jog, poles in hand, on my way out to the hill. I begin to focus on what I need to do. Three minutes as hard as I can, five times up the hill. Just a mere fifteen minutes of effort sounds small, easy, do-able, but I know it will hurt.
I do a warmup interval. Not all-out, but fast. I feel strong. I can spin my legs quickly. I breathe fast and deep, keeping up with my body's output. I bring myself near the brink of anaerobic pain, and ease off before I get there, revving the engine before the drag.
The tinny beep of the watch springs me to life. My heart rate and breathing quickly accelerate to match pace with my legs as I sprint through the trees over dead leaves and mud. As soon as I settle into a comfortable pace, I up the ante and try to spin faster. I swing my hands quicker to make my legs pump harder. I'm just on the flats now. I have to go fast to make it hard.
This is where the pain begins. Before I reach the hill, I'm already breathing raggedly, but I can't get enough air. I'm at the bottom of the pool struggling for a breath, but I force my legs to move faster. The familiar burn of lactate begins to pollute my thighs. This is gonna be good...
I turn the corner to face the incline. I accelerate; a launching linebacker at the hike. I stab my poles down hard and begin to bound. Huge strides propelled with both arms and legs. I imagine my limbs are the pistons of an oversized engine, and I cram on the gas pedal.
This is where the pain deepens. My face numbs, my bowels cramp, my ears ring, my heart pounds through my body. My legs begin to fill with red-hot lead. My breathing is so fast and hard that it would worry me if I'd never done this before. This is where an athlete is born, in this moment. To ignore the pain and push harder than I know I can is the lesson I'm learning here.
I lift my eyes to the horizon of the gradually steepening slope. I force my body to push harder, and to quicken the tempo. A guttural grunt involuntarily escapes from my chest. A flood of adrenaline. A bucket of gasoline is thrown over the fire in my legs, and I accelerate with the eruption of flames.
As if forcing my way through a stone wall, with determination, focus and aggression, I break through the pain in my body. On this higher plateau, I reach a new level of power. Bestowed with the fear and aggression earned by eons of nature's ancestors fighting for survival, I fly wildly up to the crest of the hill sprinting powerfully over the top.
I come to a screeching halt. I stop my watch. I collapse, doubled over on my poles, gasping desperately for breath. I descend back down through the layers of pain as my body recovers. Seconds later, as soon as I can move, I begin to jog gingerly down the shortcut to the start of the loop. My legs momentarily wobble as if I haven't walked in a very long time. I breathe deeply and flush fresh blood through my body on my way back to the start.
One down, four to go.
As I start my warm-up, my body feels tense and heavy, but I soon relax into a springy jog, poles in hand, on my way out to the hill. I begin to focus on what I need to do. Three minutes as hard as I can, five times up the hill. Just a mere fifteen minutes of effort sounds small, easy, do-able, but I know it will hurt.
I do a warmup interval. Not all-out, but fast. I feel strong. I can spin my legs quickly. I breathe fast and deep, keeping up with my body's output. I bring myself near the brink of anaerobic pain, and ease off before I get there, revving the engine before the drag.
The tinny beep of the watch springs me to life. My heart rate and breathing quickly accelerate to match pace with my legs as I sprint through the trees over dead leaves and mud. As soon as I settle into a comfortable pace, I up the ante and try to spin faster. I swing my hands quicker to make my legs pump harder. I'm just on the flats now. I have to go fast to make it hard.
This is where the pain begins. Before I reach the hill, I'm already breathing raggedly, but I can't get enough air. I'm at the bottom of the pool struggling for a breath, but I force my legs to move faster. The familiar burn of lactate begins to pollute my thighs. This is gonna be good...
I turn the corner to face the incline. I accelerate; a launching linebacker at the hike. I stab my poles down hard and begin to bound. Huge strides propelled with both arms and legs. I imagine my limbs are the pistons of an oversized engine, and I cram on the gas pedal.
This is where the pain deepens. My face numbs, my bowels cramp, my ears ring, my heart pounds through my body. My legs begin to fill with red-hot lead. My breathing is so fast and hard that it would worry me if I'd never done this before. This is where an athlete is born, in this moment. To ignore the pain and push harder than I know I can is the lesson I'm learning here.
I lift my eyes to the horizon of the gradually steepening slope. I force my body to push harder, and to quicken the tempo. A guttural grunt involuntarily escapes from my chest. A flood of adrenaline. A bucket of gasoline is thrown over the fire in my legs, and I accelerate with the eruption of flames.
As if forcing my way through a stone wall, with determination, focus and aggression, I break through the pain in my body. On this higher plateau, I reach a new level of power. Bestowed with the fear and aggression earned by eons of nature's ancestors fighting for survival, I fly wildly up to the crest of the hill sprinting powerfully over the top.
I come to a screeching halt. I stop my watch. I collapse, doubled over on my poles, gasping desperately for breath. I descend back down through the layers of pain as my body recovers. Seconds later, as soon as I can move, I begin to jog gingerly down the shortcut to the start of the loop. My legs momentarily wobble as if I haven't walked in a very long time. I breathe deeply and flush fresh blood through my body on my way back to the start.
One down, four to go.
10/12/09
Fall Training
With 15 mostly upper division biology credits including 3 labs, a new part-time on-campus job, and being team captain during my last season as a college skier, This fall has been decidedly busy.
My favorite part of the day? Getting to go train with the best college team in the nation. Quite literally, the UAA nordic ski team (both men and women) was the fastest in the country last year at NCAA championships. Officially UAA placed 4th. The NCAA scores Nordic and Alpine skiing together, and though our Alpine team was strong last year, together we placed 4th overall. We're all excited to build on that from last year, and bring it all together for some excellent racing this winter.
Not only is it a fast team, it's just awesome to train with these guys. We put in the effort together every day, and that environment is really exciting to be around.
Until this week, it was really starting to feel like winter here in Anchorage. We had some snow in the mountains near town, just a couple thousand feet above sea-level. Today it's sunny and 50 degrees again. This is the time of year that skiers get antsy for snow.
It makes for some interesting training in the transition period. Running in the muddy snow up in the mountains, rollerskiing on wet leaves and frost. Gritting our teeth through wet sleet on the long workouts. Suffice to say it'll be nice when everything is packed under a few feet of snow, and we just have to deal with the wind and cold at Kincaid.
Here's a few pictures of the team putting in the effort. You can check out the ski team at the university athletics webpage, or read about our adventures on the ski team blog.
My favorite part of the day? Getting to go train with the best college team in the nation. Quite literally, the UAA nordic ski team (both men and women) was the fastest in the country last year at NCAA championships. Officially UAA placed 4th. The NCAA scores Nordic and Alpine skiing together, and though our Alpine team was strong last year, together we placed 4th overall. We're all excited to build on that from last year, and bring it all together for some excellent racing this winter.
Not only is it a fast team, it's just awesome to train with these guys. We put in the effort together every day, and that environment is really exciting to be around.
Until this week, it was really starting to feel like winter here in Anchorage. We had some snow in the mountains near town, just a couple thousand feet above sea-level. Today it's sunny and 50 degrees again. This is the time of year that skiers get antsy for snow.
It makes for some interesting training in the transition period. Running in the muddy snow up in the mountains, rollerskiing on wet leaves and frost. Gritting our teeth through wet sleet on the long workouts. Suffice to say it'll be nice when everything is packed under a few feet of snow, and we just have to deal with the wind and cold at Kincaid.
Here's a few pictures of the team putting in the effort. You can check out the ski team at the university athletics webpage, or read about our adventures on the ski team blog.
Here I am racing in the Kincaid Stampede rollerski race, gettin' after it.
Max Treinen putting the hours in on Potter's hill.
The start of the Kincaid Stampede race with Michael Shallinger and I in green up against the big bad APU boys led by Mark Iverson.
At the top of Hatcher's pass, a standard feeding session after a long, hard workout.
(Photos by Mandy Kaempf)
10/6/09
Wildwater Win!
Every year at Denali park, Alaskan paddlers congregate for a weekend of joviality and competition on the rapids of the Nenana river at the Wildwater Festival. There's always a down-river race: a 3-4 mile sprint downstream through class 3 rapids. After the race and re-running shuttle, everyone trades their longest, skinniest racing boat with their shortest, fattest play boat for the rodeo. We find a feature or two that are near a bridge, and have a show-off contest for best tricks. By then we're all whipped and ready for a barbecue where twice-told tales from the good old days get better each year, and new accounts of heroism and drama join the collective history of Alaskan paddling epics.
This year though, Paul decided to let me have the advantage in the main event down-river race. Our mom used to kayak way back when a standard-sized boat was 12-13 feet long (i.e. fast). Now she rows the raft, or her new inflatable kayak because she cleverly prefers the relaxation of a more stable craft. Luckily though, we never sold her ancient fiberglass kayak. It comes out to play just once a year now, and it's been the winning boat for at least 4 years running.
I used to have Paul take it because he is the more skilled, fitter paddler, and therefore more likely to win. I'd take something a little more durable, but maybe not quite as streamlined, and place in the top five. This year though, since Paul has ratcheted back on the ski racing, he let me give it a try. I was a bit nervous about it being so fragile and hard to control, but super excited to go fast!
The race was excellent. I fit in the kayak just fine, it controlled pretty well, and it totally zipped through the waves. My competition though, was definitely not going to let me have it so easily. Jeff Shelton, a Healy local, works as a raft guide on this very stretch of water, rowing piles of tourists down it 3 times a day. Suffice to say he's fit and knows where the current is. He had his own fast boat, and the two of us dueled the whole way down arms and lungs burning. Near the end it looked like he'd gotten me. He had picked a better line in the last rapid, and I was struggling to catch him on the flats into the finish. I was sure he had me, but then with just a hundred meters to the end, his boat bogged down in a slower patch of water, and I just passed him at the finish line! Paul and my Dad came in soon after, 4th and 6th I believe.
Now that Paul and I have each had our victories in Mom's yellow boat, we'll have a rock-paper-scissors (or my new favorite: ninja-yeti-cowboy) to decide who gets it each year.
Here's a video of the Rodeo finals at Rockslide. I'm in the yellow boat with the blue helmet. Paul is orange boat with orange helmet. Thanks to my dad for putting this together. If it doesn't show up below, here's the Youtube link
Here's the Newsminer Article
Here's a video of the Rodeo finals at Rockslide. I'm in the yellow boat with the blue helmet. Paul is orange boat with orange helmet. Thanks to my dad for putting this together. If it doesn't show up below, here's the Youtube link
Here's the Newsminer Article
10/2/09
Bear Hunting
I grew up to the REI side of the middle. I used to hate it when we had to control the squirrel population at the house, to keep them from destroying our insulation. Those furry buggers are pretty cute until you have to clean up a mess they've made, then it becomes a little easier to dispatch them. I even used to be some sort of a vegetarian. From about ages 8 to 12 I didn't eat cows or pigs. I had to compromise a fair amount, otherwise I would've had to cook for myself, which come to think of it I still have trouble with... I'm still not entirely sure what my reasons were for quitting meat. I think I mostly just didn't like it, but there was some sensitivity towards animals involved. Since going back, I'm definitely a full-on carnivore now, making up for lost time. I still love animals, but it makes sense to eat them too, that's just part of nature. If a baby caribou gets killed by a wolf, a wolf pup gets to eat...
Growing up as an REI person, I've never even tried hunting anything, except for the occasional pest control of those fuzzy-tailed rats (i.e. squirrels) It's not that hunting is inherently ill-natured, or bad, we just preferred hiking for hiking, camping for camping, and being experience rather than goal oriented. Besides, once you pull the trigger, the fun is over and you find yourself on a work trip instead of a fun trip.
And that brings me to this fall. My roommate, Clay, is from the UP of Michigan. He grew up on freshly killed deer meat. His dad is an accomplished professional taxidermist. Clay used to work in a butcher shop, turning dead deer into cuts of steak, roasts and sausage. When he moved up here, he started working for Ray Atkins as a load hauler carrying dall sheep for hunting guides, and is now himself a guide. He gets paid to take people up mountains after big full-curl sheep. Clay offered to take me hunting and teach me his skills just like I've brought him into the climbing and skiing worlds. After listening to Clay's hunting stories, I was totally up for it.
I also feel good about gathering food from the land. Alaska is becoming rare as a place where there are still enough wilderness resources that are managed well enough to support the needs of alaskans. Subsistence hunting is still a way of life here for many people, and that is something that I wanted to experience. I think it makes a lot more sense to harvest wild, natural, local meat than to pay someone to grow a cow in a box in oklahoma, pumping it full of hormones to be unnaturally heavy, butchering it in a factory, freezing it and shipping it to me 3000 miles away.
So on labor day weekend I went on my very first ever hunting trip. We practiced with Clay's rifle a bit, and I was able to shoot well enough, so off we hiked into the wilderness, gun in hand. Clay had suggested we hunt for black bear. This time of year their coats are beautifully full, and they're packing themselves with blueberries to get fat before the winter. It's also a manageably sized animal that isn't too much work for 2 guys to butcher and carry out.
We had about as easy of a hunting trip as might be possible. I think I'm in for some long, cold, wet, uneventful hunting trips if I go again, because I cashed in all of my beginner's luck in one go. Our first night out, a beautiful warm sunny evening, we hiked a few hours up a trail and over a ridge to get away from the road and people, where we might start looking for bears the next morning. We found an excellent place to camp, and set our packs down on the tundra. With our packs off, we decided to look up over the next knoll to scope out routes for the morning. As we crested the steep little hill, Clay dropped to the ground and dragged me down after him yelling in a whisper, "There's a bear right down there, 30 yards! Rack a shot!"
I put a round in the chamber, and we belly crawled up to the very crest of the hill. The black bear was eating blueberries and hadn't seen us until we poked the gun barrel and our heads up over the top of the hill, trying to line up the shot. It looked right at us for a bit, wondering what on earth we were, and what we were doing. I still couldn't see through the scope, and the gun barrel was still obstructed by the top of the hill, so we had to sit still. A few tense seconds later, the bear decided to romp off, it probably got wind of our smell. I don't blame it, I'd run if I smelled us too.
As I found the rapidly retreating bear in the scope, now at about 40 yards, Clay had the presence to yell, "Hey!" to get the bear to stop and look again. I lined up the shot and pulled the trigger. After that I had no idea what had happened. Ears ringing from the blast, staring up at the sun on the horizon, I didn't even know if I'd hit the thing. Clay was already celebrating though, because he'd seen it drop instantly and roll twice to the bottom of the hill. I missed the vitals that I was aiming for, but I accidentally got it right through the neck, killing it instantly. It didn't feel much.
I spent that night learning from Clay how to skin and quarter an animal, a valuable skill. We had a nearly full moon and decided to camp, and carry everything back in the morning.
We now have a freezer full of wonderfully tender, all-natural, organic, blueberry-fed black bear meat, not to mention a hide with thick, luscious soft fur, all for the price of a tank of gas and a bullet. With that kind of an introduction to hunting, I'm sure I'll go back.
So now, I wonder what that 8-year-old bunny-hugger me would have to say if he knew he would grow up to become a carnivorous bear hunter?
So now, I wonder what that 8-year-old bunny-hugger me would have to say if he knew he would grow up to become a carnivorous bear hunter?
9/15/09
Europe in July!
Now that I've moved back down to Anchorage, and gotten into the swing of the busy school and skiing schedules, I finally have some time to tell stories about my fun trips and adventures this Summer and so far this Fall.
The big news and best stories have got to be from my awesome trip to Europe this Summer! I took an over-the-pole flight from Fairbanks to Frankfurt, Germany to visit Steffi for three wonderful weeks in July. Steffi grew up and lives in Krün in Bavaria near Garmisch about a 10 minute bike-ride from the Austrian border; i.e. right smack in the Alps! She was home for the Summer with her parents who generously let me stay with them in their beautiful home in small-town rural Germany.
Steffi and I spent about half of our time in or near her town meeting her family and adventuring in the local mountains. We went biking through expansive alpine valleys, hiking up dramatic winding trails, sport climbing awesome limestone crags, and we even went canyoning down a steep narrow creek.
We spent the remainder of our time road-tripping in Steffi's parents' VW Eurovan. To anyone who has yet to road trip in a camper van, it is one of the best ways to travel! The van was an early 80's vintage pop-top tricked out with a loft, stove, bed, fold out table and plenty of room for bikes and gear. Compared to all of the little sports cars on the Autobahn and steep winding mountain switchbacks, it was a little slow, but it chugged along like a real trooper. About halfway through the trip we dubbed the van "Howard" or Howie for short because it had enough character that the anthropomorphism stuck. Man I love that van... We drove to Lago di Garda in northern Italy, over to Pontresina in the Swiss Alps, and later to the Dolomites for a bit, climbing, hiking and playing the whole way.
The first day I was there was one of the coolest hikes I've done. I slept as late as I could, about 4am, and we took off to hike the Zugspitze (the highest peak in Germany) once the sun came out. Eventhough it is the highest peak, and there is a little glacier in the upper valley, the Zugspitze gets so much traffic that it was really quite tame. Tame but beautiful. The first part was wide winding gravel trail with steps built in, then it narrowed into a deep canyon where we hiked through man-made tunnels in the rock, then it opened into the upper valley, crossed a small moraine and a snow field before we got the the really fun part. The last hour of the climb goes up pretty steep rock walls, but there are ladders built into the rock and an inch-thick cable handrail the whole way. What Fun! Kinda scary, but as long as you hold on, it's really no big deal. My mom probably wouldn't want to go, but Steffi and I had a blast.
We were hiking with small daypacks in running shoes, and felt totally prepared for the climb which took a total of about 5 hours from the car to the top. The craziest part is that the people we were passing on the way had HUGE packs, heavy mountaineering boots, harnesses, slings, tons of brand-new climbing gear, and spent several DAYS on route, staying at hotel-like lodges along the way! Lots of inexperienced mountain people everywhere. I guess all of the german city people make pilgrimages to the "top of Germany" and pay guides to take them on the expedition up the wide trail to the hotel at the top. Yep, there's a gigantic ski resort with $1000-a-night hotel rooms at the top and 2 trams to take you up and down. Definitely a different scene than I'm used to, but I gotta say, it's not too bad to have a fresh espresso at the summit of a long climb! We actually ended up having to take the tram back down to avoid thunderstorms. It would have been sketchy to be on the rock wall hanging on a huge cable with lighting coming down...
Anyway, that's just one of the many awesome stories from that trip. I'm sure I'll go back next time I can buy a plane ticket.
We did a sweet training run through these rocky spires in the Dolomites.
Driving Howie down the scary Italian switchbacks wearing my bavarian farmer's hat.
Trying to fit in with the locals in the tourist town on Lago Di Garda.
They drive crazy in Europe. It took me a long time to get used to the speed, and the narrow narrow roads.
Alpine valleys filled with cows are everywhere. Definitely adds to the charm.
We hitch-hiked down a pass in the Dolomites with our roller skiing gear so we could get a good training session climbing a couple thousand feet of switchbacks.
Steffi on lead on a fun multi-pitch route across the valley from her house.
Taking a facebook-fodder glory shot. The valley behind me is where Steffi grew up. Little towns of 2000-3000 people every few kilometers.
The upper valley of the Zugspitze. This is my favorite mountain photo from the trip.
Steffi on the "via ferrata" climbing near the top of the Zugspitze.
"This is easy with a ladder!"
7/2/09
Eklutna photos
After Clay got back from his fun hitch-hiking adventure from Anchorage to California and back, I finally got the photos from the Eklutna Traverse trip last spring. I put them together with commentary as a slide show over at Voicethread.com. Hope you enjoy!
Eklutna Traverse Slideshow
Eklutna Traverse Slideshow
6/11/09
The Summer of Bicycles
Wow! We're already well into June, hot summer Fairbanks sun, and I've yet to write any updates. Well here goes.
In the last month I've learned more about bicycles than I knew one could know. And I feel as though I know so little. On my way to Fairbanks this summer, to live at home with Mom and Dad, I fired an old coach of mine an email to see if he could use a hand at his bike shop, Goldstream Sports. He had just been considering calling me up and offering me work, so it worked out well for me to start as soon as I got home. I've been fixing and building and selling and talking about and oogling over bikes ever since.
Being a rookie mechanic, and eager to learn all there is about fixing bikes, I decided to tear down and completely rebuild my own bike. About 5 years ago, I spent my first summer job's earnings on a Lemond Poprad cyclocross bike. I have many happy miles on it, and it desperately needed some love. The bike only came in boring black, and I had always dreamed of giving it a new wonderful paint job. Since I had all of the parts off of it anyway, I decided to spruce up the frame with a fresh coat of paint. I spent hours researching the proper way to prepare the frame, what type of paint to use and how to do it right. I found out that doing it right would cost me as much as the rest of the bike, so I opted for the rattle can method and only spent twelve bucks on paint.
The hard part, I later discovered, was removing the tenacious baked-on enamel factory paint. Sandpaper was way too slow, the power sander took off metal, and I so I was left with nasty chemical paint stripper. I went through an entire can of the stuff, and a package of steel wool stripping all of the old boring black paint off of that thing. Would never do it again, but once I started, I was obligated to finish.
I got the layers of new bright blue paint on, with some fancy masking work, and had it dry by the time the new parts came in. I decided to give the old boring black machine a sweet new look with gold highlights in the paint, gold cable housing, a gold chain, and brown handlebars and saddle. A sweet new wheelset, and this bike is better than it was when it was new. It's been a fun project, a labor of love, but now I have a bike I can really take pride in.
Ugh! buggy nights, nasty chemicals, and slow going taking the paint off the frame.
My constant companion throughout the de-painting. I spent probably 10-12 hours working with this stuff.
Don't get it on ya.
But it was all worth it! A bike that I can take pride in.
Here's what it used to look like.
In the last month I've learned more about bicycles than I knew one could know. And I feel as though I know so little. On my way to Fairbanks this summer, to live at home with Mom and Dad, I fired an old coach of mine an email to see if he could use a hand at his bike shop, Goldstream Sports. He had just been considering calling me up and offering me work, so it worked out well for me to start as soon as I got home. I've been fixing and building and selling and talking about and oogling over bikes ever since.
Being a rookie mechanic, and eager to learn all there is about fixing bikes, I decided to tear down and completely rebuild my own bike. About 5 years ago, I spent my first summer job's earnings on a Lemond Poprad cyclocross bike. I have many happy miles on it, and it desperately needed some love. The bike only came in boring black, and I had always dreamed of giving it a new wonderful paint job. Since I had all of the parts off of it anyway, I decided to spruce up the frame with a fresh coat of paint. I spent hours researching the proper way to prepare the frame, what type of paint to use and how to do it right. I found out that doing it right would cost me as much as the rest of the bike, so I opted for the rattle can method and only spent twelve bucks on paint.
The hard part, I later discovered, was removing the tenacious baked-on enamel factory paint. Sandpaper was way too slow, the power sander took off metal, and I so I was left with nasty chemical paint stripper. I went through an entire can of the stuff, and a package of steel wool stripping all of the old boring black paint off of that thing. Would never do it again, but once I started, I was obligated to finish.
I got the layers of new bright blue paint on, with some fancy masking work, and had it dry by the time the new parts came in. I decided to give the old boring black machine a sweet new look with gold highlights in the paint, gold cable housing, a gold chain, and brown handlebars and saddle. A sweet new wheelset, and this bike is better than it was when it was new. It's been a fun project, a labor of love, but now I have a bike I can really take pride in.
Ugh! buggy nights, nasty chemicals, and slow going taking the paint off the frame.
My constant companion throughout the de-painting. I spent probably 10-12 hours working with this stuff.
Don't get it on ya.
But it was all worth it! A bike that I can take pride in.
Here's what it used to look like.5/6/09
Eklutna Traverse!
After demonstrating for the last time how to calculate the speed of a falling projectile, I handed in my final final exam. Wahoo! Lets go to the mountains!
The Eklutna Traverse starts out behind Girdwood, near the start of the crow pass race, travels over and through the mountains, crossing three glaciers, and ends up at Eklutna Lake 30 miles later. It's then a simple 10 mile walk on the four wheeler road to get around the lake. The sun was hot, the snow was decent, and Clay and I were as antsy as teenagers moving away for college.
After packing the gear and a grocery run, we shuttled a truck out Eklutna lake. We then drove all the way around the Chugach front range to get to Girdwood. Because we wanted to get good hard snow, and it is hot out during the day, we left town at midnight and started hiking at 2am. This would get us on skis early in the morning, and hopefully save us from wet snow slogging in the late afternoon sun.
6 hours and 6000 feet of very difficult hiking got us to the top of Goat Mountain, perched just above the Eagle Glacier. The snow on the way up was atrocious. Crotch-deep mashed potatoes in lots of places. The rocky talus and scree ridges weren't much more accommodating. Neither were the skis and mountaineering gear we had on the packs. This was not looking good for the remainder of the trip, but we pressed on with hopes that the glacier was not as bad. Angled snow, like that on goat mountain, receives sunlight more directly. We were hoping that the flat glacier was a little more firm.
When we finally crested the ridge we could see our route across the Eagle glacier. Not to mention the many thousands of peaks in every direction. We could see South over the Kenai Peninsula, Southeast to whittier, East to the great big peaks deeper in the Chugach, and North to the Whiteout Glacier. Not a cloud in the sky. No wind. Wow.
We had some oatmeal and a 30 minute nap after the long grueling night. Even just that half hour of sleep on talus really helped to recharge our batteries. Then we strapped on skis, took off our shirts and whizzed down the Eagle glacier. Giggling like schoolgirls, we did the 5 miles across the first ice field in about 20 minutes. The snow was perfect corn snow. Not too icy, not too soft. Sweet!
The next stage was a long day of slogging up the icefall to the Whiteout Glacier, and up the Whiteout to Hans' Hut. We spent the rest of the day roped up, skinning up and sidehilling at a steady marching pace. At 5:30, when we finally reached the salvation of the hut, we were completely exhausted, sunburned, dehydrated and hungry. Food, water, sleep. We conked out for 15 hours. That is how much sleep our bodies needed after that day. One of the longest days I've ever done.
When we finally rolled out of bed around 10am the next day, it looked like we were going to get some clouds rolling in, so we wolfed oatmeal and packed up to get off of the glacier while we could still see. Once we were skiing though, the skies cleared, and gave us one more day of perfect sunshine. We glided down the whiteout icefield to the top of the Eklutna Glacier, and had another cathartic release as we bombed down the gradual snow slopes of the icefield.
Getting off of the icefall ended up taking most of the afternoon. Guessing there would probably be enough snow, we decided not to carry the 3 pounds of steel crampons up and over the mountains. Turns out we could have used them. We were able to work our way down the ice ok, but it took a few sections of downhill step-cutting to do it. Kinda hairy, and lots of work.
At about 5 pm, we were at the base of the ice, and getting ready for the long hike out to the truck. It's all flat ground, and most of it is on a solid dirt road, but 13 miles is 13 miles. We thought about spending the night at Serenity cabin, but decided that we would rather say we did it in 2 days, and sleep in comfortable beds instead of putting off the long walk out. Plus Steffi was leaving for Deutschland the next morning, and Clay knew that I really wanted to see her off.
We felt pretty cool hiking in shorts by the lake carrying full mountain packs complete with skis, ropes, iceaxes pickets and the like strapped on. 13 miles later, we dumped our packs into the truck and heaved our tired selves into cushy seats. We drove into the sunset, and chuckled about how sunburned we were.
Hard work, sun, fun and adventure! Hooray!
photos to come when Clay posts them...
Now it is off to Fairbanks for the summer. Living with the folks to train for one more year of college skiing.
The Eklutna Traverse starts out behind Girdwood, near the start of the crow pass race, travels over and through the mountains, crossing three glaciers, and ends up at Eklutna Lake 30 miles later. It's then a simple 10 mile walk on the four wheeler road to get around the lake. The sun was hot, the snow was decent, and Clay and I were as antsy as teenagers moving away for college.
After packing the gear and a grocery run, we shuttled a truck out Eklutna lake. We then drove all the way around the Chugach front range to get to Girdwood. Because we wanted to get good hard snow, and it is hot out during the day, we left town at midnight and started hiking at 2am. This would get us on skis early in the morning, and hopefully save us from wet snow slogging in the late afternoon sun.
6 hours and 6000 feet of very difficult hiking got us to the top of Goat Mountain, perched just above the Eagle Glacier. The snow on the way up was atrocious. Crotch-deep mashed potatoes in lots of places. The rocky talus and scree ridges weren't much more accommodating. Neither were the skis and mountaineering gear we had on the packs. This was not looking good for the remainder of the trip, but we pressed on with hopes that the glacier was not as bad. Angled snow, like that on goat mountain, receives sunlight more directly. We were hoping that the flat glacier was a little more firm.
When we finally crested the ridge we could see our route across the Eagle glacier. Not to mention the many thousands of peaks in every direction. We could see South over the Kenai Peninsula, Southeast to whittier, East to the great big peaks deeper in the Chugach, and North to the Whiteout Glacier. Not a cloud in the sky. No wind. Wow.
We had some oatmeal and a 30 minute nap after the long grueling night. Even just that half hour of sleep on talus really helped to recharge our batteries. Then we strapped on skis, took off our shirts and whizzed down the Eagle glacier. Giggling like schoolgirls, we did the 5 miles across the first ice field in about 20 minutes. The snow was perfect corn snow. Not too icy, not too soft. Sweet!
The next stage was a long day of slogging up the icefall to the Whiteout Glacier, and up the Whiteout to Hans' Hut. We spent the rest of the day roped up, skinning up and sidehilling at a steady marching pace. At 5:30, when we finally reached the salvation of the hut, we were completely exhausted, sunburned, dehydrated and hungry. Food, water, sleep. We conked out for 15 hours. That is how much sleep our bodies needed after that day. One of the longest days I've ever done.
When we finally rolled out of bed around 10am the next day, it looked like we were going to get some clouds rolling in, so we wolfed oatmeal and packed up to get off of the glacier while we could still see. Once we were skiing though, the skies cleared, and gave us one more day of perfect sunshine. We glided down the whiteout icefield to the top of the Eklutna Glacier, and had another cathartic release as we bombed down the gradual snow slopes of the icefield.
Getting off of the icefall ended up taking most of the afternoon. Guessing there would probably be enough snow, we decided not to carry the 3 pounds of steel crampons up and over the mountains. Turns out we could have used them. We were able to work our way down the ice ok, but it took a few sections of downhill step-cutting to do it. Kinda hairy, and lots of work.
At about 5 pm, we were at the base of the ice, and getting ready for the long hike out to the truck. It's all flat ground, and most of it is on a solid dirt road, but 13 miles is 13 miles. We thought about spending the night at Serenity cabin, but decided that we would rather say we did it in 2 days, and sleep in comfortable beds instead of putting off the long walk out. Plus Steffi was leaving for Deutschland the next morning, and Clay knew that I really wanted to see her off.
We felt pretty cool hiking in shorts by the lake carrying full mountain packs complete with skis, ropes, iceaxes pickets and the like strapped on. 13 miles later, we dumped our packs into the truck and heaved our tired selves into cushy seats. We drove into the sunset, and chuckled about how sunburned we were.
Hard work, sun, fun and adventure! Hooray!
photos to come when Clay posts them...
Now it is off to Fairbanks for the summer. Living with the folks to train for one more year of college skiing.
4/28/09
The Scary Climbing Story
I've debated about posting this story for a while. It shows a naïveness and lack of foresight in my decision-making process, and given the dramatic nature of the event, the story could have caused unnecessary attention for those involved. In retrospect though, I think it's a good idea that people read about it, and adjust their adventures accordingly. That way maybe someone else can avoid the situation that I was in.
I wrote this several days after it happened. That was a few weeks ago. It is a bit of a lengthy post, but I think the details are important.
I wrote this several days after it happened. That was a few weeks ago. It is a bit of a lengthy post, but I think the details are important.
Steffi and I went up Hunter creek for an Easter Ice climb on Saturday. We had been up Eklutna Canyon on Friday, and took I took the time to teach her about anchor building, screw placements, prussiks, rescue systems, different types of belays, lead climbing in general, and let her do a mock-lead on some easy stuff (top roped placing screws). She's a natural climber. We've been climbing a few times, but usually I essentially guide for the sake of expediency.
On Saturday in continuation of teaching, we spent the whole drive out to the Knik talking about saftey, decision-making, basic first aid, and the like. At the parking lot I showed her my "oh-s*** kit" with first aid and repair stuff. Obviously this is no replacement for experience, training, practice, and the like but I figured it couldn't hurt, and she was happy to learn.
After a 2 mile hike in to Hollowhead, I did a nice fun lead up the first pitch. This time we were working more as a team than as a guide and a client, so it was really great. Hollowhead consists of two pitches of WI 3-4. We were making really good time, and being super safe. The conditions were excellent and the ice was solid; hero-ice. The first pitch is a 20-30 meter wall of pretty much vertical that leads to a hockey-rink belay station. The second pitch was 30 meters of 20 degree stair walking that led to a nice easy WI3 section to the top.
Off to our left on the second pitch was a rock gully. By the time I was finishing the last pitch some small rocks started melting out in the afternoon warmth. We started to get maybe one little shower every 15-20 minutes. It was mostly pebbles with a few ping-pong ball to tennis ball sized ones. We were well out of their way; Steffi was belaying from behind a steep wall of ice, and I was to their side on the last steep wall. On rappel, I made sure to make the second rap station as far right as we could get in order to avoid what few rocks there were. They had been bouncing from their gully straight down on the left side. I got to the bottom of the second rap, behind the ice wall, and clipped to the anchor that Steffi had belayed me from. Almost as soon as I was off, I heard Steffi scream.
A Really Scary Scream.
My first intuition was that she must have clipped to the rappel incorrectly, and that she was falling, sliding down the 20 degree slope towards me. I couldn't see her from where I was. I got ready to try to catch her as she would soon come sliding over top of me. Then I heard more screaming, from the same place. At the same time, a soccer-ball sized boulder came whizzing over the top of my little wall. YIKES. I knew then that Steffi had been hit by the rock. I put myself back on rappel, and ran back up the shallow stuff while reverse rappelling. I was doing everything I could to stay calm, to communicate with her, calm her down and figure out what happened as I got back up to her. She was just crying, and screaming from the pain. With the size of the rock, and the pain she was in, I was bracing myself for a grizzly scene. The time it took me to get to her was probably the scariest 2 minutes of my life.
On Saturday in continuation of teaching, we spent the whole drive out to the Knik talking about saftey, decision-making, basic first aid, and the like. At the parking lot I showed her my "oh-s*** kit" with first aid and repair stuff. Obviously this is no replacement for experience, training, practice, and the like but I figured it couldn't hurt, and she was happy to learn.
After a 2 mile hike in to Hollowhead, I did a nice fun lead up the first pitch. This time we were working more as a team than as a guide and a client, so it was really great. Hollowhead consists of two pitches of WI 3-4. We were making really good time, and being super safe. The conditions were excellent and the ice was solid; hero-ice. The first pitch is a 20-30 meter wall of pretty much vertical that leads to a hockey-rink belay station. The second pitch was 30 meters of 20 degree stair walking that led to a nice easy WI3 section to the top.
Off to our left on the second pitch was a rock gully. By the time I was finishing the last pitch some small rocks started melting out in the afternoon warmth. We started to get maybe one little shower every 15-20 minutes. It was mostly pebbles with a few ping-pong ball to tennis ball sized ones. We were well out of their way; Steffi was belaying from behind a steep wall of ice, and I was to their side on the last steep wall. On rappel, I made sure to make the second rap station as far right as we could get in order to avoid what few rocks there were. They had been bouncing from their gully straight down on the left side. I got to the bottom of the second rap, behind the ice wall, and clipped to the anchor that Steffi had belayed me from. Almost as soon as I was off, I heard Steffi scream.
A Really Scary Scream.
My first intuition was that she must have clipped to the rappel incorrectly, and that she was falling, sliding down the 20 degree slope towards me. I couldn't see her from where I was. I got ready to try to catch her as she would soon come sliding over top of me. Then I heard more screaming, from the same place. At the same time, a soccer-ball sized boulder came whizzing over the top of my little wall. YIKES. I knew then that Steffi had been hit by the rock. I put myself back on rappel, and ran back up the shallow stuff while reverse rappelling. I was doing everything I could to stay calm, to communicate with her, calm her down and figure out what happened as I got back up to her. She was just crying, and screaming from the pain. With the size of the rock, and the pain she was in, I was bracing myself for a grizzly scene. The time it took me to get to her was probably the scariest 2 minutes of my life.
When I got to her, she said it was her knee. No blood, whew. No shock. whew. No scary compound fractures. whew.
K: Can you bend it?
S: Yes, but it hurts a little.
K: Have you tried to stand on it?
S: no
(while we're both on rappel together, tied off to a prussik.)
K: Hold on to me and try to put a little bit of weight on it in this flat part.
K: Hold on to me and try to put a little bit of weight on it in this flat part.
S: Ok, I can stand on it
K: Any bleeding, wetness?
S: No, just pain.
K: But you can bend it and stand on it?
S: yeah
K: Can you rappel?
S: yeah
K: Ok. Let's get the *** out of here. I'll go first, if you scream or yell or anything, I'll yank on the ropes to stop you.
S: Ok, I'm fine, it just hurts.
I made sure she didn't have any bleeding, or shock symptoms, and made sure that nothing else hurt after the initial adrenaline wore off before I let her rappell . She rapped just fine, hopping or sliding on her one good leg. My oh-s***-kit was in the pack at the bottom of the next rappel with kickass pain killers; left-overs from wisdom-teeth extraction.
As we got to the bottom, three guys that had been climbing further up the creek came walking by and offered to help. We still had a 2 mile hike out. At the bottom, before heading out, I did a more thorough check. No hematoma, very little swelling, she could bend the knee almost the entire range without too much additional pain. It really hurt when I touched it in a very specific location. She could stand on it without too much pain. It was just super tender to the touch. My best guess was a bone bruise. I gave her two vicodin because she still had tears from the pain, despite her standard stoicism. One of the other guys gave her a pair of ski poles, we divied up her pack and we all started marching out.
With the ski poles as crutches, she was moving at an ok, but somewhat slow walking pace. Carrying her would have been much slower, more painful for her, and she wouldn't let us anyway. When the pain killers kicked in she definitely slowed down a bit. She was grateful to have the pain taken away, "wow! these drugs are GREAT!" but she was a bit tipsy from it too, and wasn't concentrating as well on moving.
For the sake of making a speedy exit to the truck, I decided to ditch my pack and run out to the car to get some skis. The plan was to make a sled to pull her out. After running the Koflach 3k (which I think would make for an interesting race), I got to the truck, and realized I still had my Ramer skis in the back that she could clip into her climbing boots. I ran back out with those, she clipped in and was able to double pole the last mile faster than the rest of us could walk.
With the ski poles as crutches, she was moving at an ok, but somewhat slow walking pace. Carrying her would have been much slower, more painful for her, and she wouldn't let us anyway. When the pain killers kicked in she definitely slowed down a bit. She was grateful to have the pain taken away, "wow! these drugs are GREAT!" but she was a bit tipsy from it too, and wasn't concentrating as well on moving.
For the sake of making a speedy exit to the truck, I decided to ditch my pack and run out to the car to get some skis. The plan was to make a sled to pull her out. After running the Koflach 3k (which I think would make for an interesting race), I got to the truck, and realized I still had my Ramer skis in the back that she could clip into her climbing boots. I ran back out with those, she clipped in and was able to double pole the last mile faster than the rest of us could walk.
Her leg never swelled very badly, never bruised, she could walk on it just fine the next day and bend the knee just fine. When I touched the one spot on her knee though, she would wince pretty hard, so I made her go to the student health center to get it checked out. They did an x-ray to find out if there was a bone chip. The results were inconclusive, and she dicided to opt-out of getting an MRI. Now a few weeks later, she's all healed up with no pain or tenderness. Could have been a lot worse...
Even though we did what we could have to avoid it, just being in the wrong place at the wrong time is all it really took. We were all the way to the other side of the gully, but that big rock took a weird bounce, and that was it. That was the only big rock at the base of the climb, so there wasn't a lot of warning before we got on the ice either. In 20-20 retrospect, we should have bailed as soon as the first pebbles trickled down the gully. After spending an entire winter climbing in below freezing conditions, I wasn't thinking about the risks involved with melting-out Chugach rocks that are only held together with a thin layer of frost. I'll definitely be more paranoid next time, and so should you.
Steffi told me after the fact that she was really impressed at how well I handled it, and that she would always be happy to climb with me because now she nows I can take care of things just in case it all goes bad. I guess I hid my terror pretty well.
climb safe.
Steffi told me after the fact that she was really impressed at how well I handled it, and that she would always be happy to climb with me because now she nows I can take care of things just in case it all goes bad. I guess I hid my terror pretty well.
climb safe.
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