Scott Chandler
Wildness is a necessity- John Muir
- Joined
- Jan 4, 2014
- Messages
- 1,099
Spend enough time in wild places and you can expect to eventually be bit in the butt. Hope that you don't pay to dearly when it happens.
___________
It's mid August and I've finally lined up time off to get away and enjoy the resource away from camp. I won't go into details, but by this time morale across the Brooks Camp staff was at its lowest. Recharge had to happen, and a few of us finagled our schedules to try and regain some love for the area, to realize the vision we all had for going to ALASKA for the summer. Little did we know that our own drive to enjoy this place would throw us into one of our worst experiences outdoors.
I started out on my own, having a few days off before the others could join me. Being alone out here feels different. Truthfully the stakes are the same as anywhere in the lower 48, but it does not feel that way. This was a major constraint to my summer enjoyment. So being alone this first day, I decided to keep it simple and day trip at the foot of the Valley of 10,000 Smokes. Meeting the others would be easier at the Visitor Center that night instead of remotely the next day after all.
So off to "Solstice Peak" I went. This isn't actually a named peak, or anything that a casual visitor would do, but is still a nice adventure for someone with the time. It continues a tradition of walking straight up a steep mountain with some knarly bushwhacking at the bottom, but the views are pretty spectacular from the top. It gives a nice perspective of some country that no one goes to. Weather threatened the whole time, but only vexed me with a bitter wind at the summit. Gosh the countryside is wild out there.
Solstice Peak, my route went up the slope in the sunlight before cutting across the saddle and up to the top
Windy Creek below and the VTTS beyond
Dwarf Fireweed, probably my favorite flower of the area
My job at Brooks Camp was far more sedentary than I am used to, and this trip kicked my butt.
The view south from the summit. No one goes into the valley on the right. Mt Magiek should be visible on the left, but, clouds.
Slopes of Magiek barely visible
From there it was back down to the VC to meet Daniel and Whitney. We decided to spend the night there, enjoy the sunset and set out into the VTTS the next morning.
It was a beautiful sunset. The sunsets from the Visitor Center out there always seemed amazing.
And so the next morning dawned fine and we set out. Our goal was to reach the foot of Mt Magiek and attempt reaching one of its peaks. We had some trepidations, our weather forecast was not the best, but we were optimistic. The area had been vexed by rain since June, so we couldn't let that idea stop us from trying to enjoy ourselves. We had four days off, so surely one would be clear enough to enjoy a summit attempt. We could handle rain for a couple days.
The forecast was nice enough to have overcast skies for our hike in! We were pretty psyched as we rounded the Buttress Range and Mt Magiek steadily got closer. Crossing the Rive Lethe was a little spicy, or should I say frigid, but we eventually hit the foot of the volcano. A lot of thought was put into where to set up our camp, we wanted some shelter in case things got nasty back there, and we found a good spot. We went to sleep tired from a long hike on weak bodies but excited for the chance to see this wild country. Sadly, a good spot out there isn't enough.
Following the River Lethe along the Buttress Range
This valley is unbelievably humbling. Little did we know how much.
Mt Magiek getting closer
Novarupta
Glaciers clinging to the mountain.
The River Lethe where we crossed it. Glacially cold and swift. One of the more terrifying rivers I've forded.
Contemplating a glacialmelt crossing. These braided streams always have one braid that is harder to cross than the rest.
Hoodoo Camp, tucked back in as much of a nook as exists in the VTTS
Not an awful view from camp, skies aren't promising but it hasn't been bad at all getting here
I woke up at 3:30 to my tent folding over on me. I freak out a bit, feeling like death is upon me. The tent bounces away and I look around. A good bit of pumice is in the tent, so the wind has been going on for some time now, that gust was just enough to flatten the tent despite our efforts to prepare for this moment. The remainder of the night turns into a nightmare of the likes I haven't had before. The tent flattens more and more, to the point where I wonder if it will ever right, but it does time and again. The wind comes from every possible angle, and the tent buckles with each one. Will it rip? Will it rain? How much pumice is getting into everything I own? How are Whit and Daniel? Will my weight be enough to keep the tent from completely blowing away? Multiple times I venture out to quickly refortify stakes that rip out of the ground or move the rocks guylines are attached to. Thank goodness we're by the volcano and have rocks other than pumice to weigh down the tents.
Six o'clock rolls around and it's finally bright enough to feel we can do something. We weigh options as our tents collapse in front of us. They aren't built for this and it's only a matter of time before rain gets added into the mix. Clouds are screaming by, blowing from the Gulf of Alaska into the valley. Pumice is whirlwinding around going hundreds of feet into the air. We were prepared for rain but not the full might of what would be a tropical storm, heck, nearly a hurricane, elsewhere. We help each other break down camp. We can't stay in this.
Just as we get things packed it starts to rain. The question comes on how we want to get out of here. We'll be more exposed going out into the valley but we have to do that to leave. How will the wind and rain affect the river crossing? Are there other options? We get hit by a blast of wind and Whitney is literally blown over. Sitting and waiting for better doesn't sound doable, considering our sheltered spot is so bad we're being blown over. Decide to try and skirt the river, hoping that it will be smaller and rock hoppable at its head. We venture. Wind whips around us, at one moment blowing so fiercely that it blows us backwards and the next trying to throw us on our faces. It is as if the storm is actively against us.
The nightmare quality of the experience is further amplified by the landscape itself. Brown water pours off the mountain upon jagged black rock. Every color has a lifeless quality to it. Sulfur even tickles our noses. It's as if we were picked up and dropped into JRR Tolkien's Mordor.
Note the pumice blowing into the air. Pumice is glass, just more sand like than window like.
We nicknamed this "Mordor Falls"
Magiek Lake, yummy brown color
As we continued around the Lethe it became obvious that our attempt to dodge the river would be fruitless. Glacial streams don't have small headwaters, especially when they pour right out of a glacier. Despite being defeated, we venture up to the ancient monster before we turn back. I'll go into my glacial impressions on another TR, one where the theme is far less nightmarish.
The toe of the glacier is truly menacing.
No safe way to cross that water!
Water pouring off the glacier
That water fuels this entire watershed...
Our retreat is morose. What I would guess were 50 mph winds blow at our backs the whole way down the valley. Water is forced through our rain gear, soaking us to our core. Even if there were any shelter, we were too soaked and cold to handle waiting this out. The Lethe crossing is harder and higher this time. Pumice gets into the boots, into the eyes. It's a somber trudge out that we walk.
______
I don't think I have ever felt wilderness as purely as I had on this trip. Despite all of my work and play in remote places, there has always been some level of a "safety net" feeling available. The car is nearby. A hospital is an hour away. People will find me. I can do some other recreation option if weather is bad. In Katmai, none of this is there. Unless you want to sit in a cold tent frame, you can't avoid weather. You're hours from even poor safety. The safety net out in Alaskan wilderness is non existent. This is frankly humbling and terrifying in so many ways.
I still don't know what I think about this trip. It may have been my worst experience outdoors but was also amazing in so many complex ways that I'm not sure if I would have done any differently if I could. It is amazing that places like this exist, places where we truly are puny creatures on the face of an untamed planet. Yeah, it's a bummer that what was supposed to reinvigorate my summer enthusiasm, turned into a death defying escapade, but maybe that honestly made the summer even better in retrospect.
Respect nature folks. As great as it is to just go out and enjoy, we truly walk a fine line every time we go into wild places. Plan ahead and be prepared. As often as many of us go out, it is only a matter of time before things go scarily off the rails. Many of us have had "epics" and we shouldn't be afraid of the outdoors because of them, but learning from them is great. Check and heed your forecasts. Don't downplay realities because of your desires. Have gear that is proper for the environment. Don't be afraid to turn back if you have to. Sometimes getting out truly is the best option.
Now go outside and enjoy some nature!!! I know I need to cheer myself up after that.
___________
It's mid August and I've finally lined up time off to get away and enjoy the resource away from camp. I won't go into details, but by this time morale across the Brooks Camp staff was at its lowest. Recharge had to happen, and a few of us finagled our schedules to try and regain some love for the area, to realize the vision we all had for going to ALASKA for the summer. Little did we know that our own drive to enjoy this place would throw us into one of our worst experiences outdoors.
I started out on my own, having a few days off before the others could join me. Being alone out here feels different. Truthfully the stakes are the same as anywhere in the lower 48, but it does not feel that way. This was a major constraint to my summer enjoyment. So being alone this first day, I decided to keep it simple and day trip at the foot of the Valley of 10,000 Smokes. Meeting the others would be easier at the Visitor Center that night instead of remotely the next day after all.
So off to "Solstice Peak" I went. This isn't actually a named peak, or anything that a casual visitor would do, but is still a nice adventure for someone with the time. It continues a tradition of walking straight up a steep mountain with some knarly bushwhacking at the bottom, but the views are pretty spectacular from the top. It gives a nice perspective of some country that no one goes to. Weather threatened the whole time, but only vexed me with a bitter wind at the summit. Gosh the countryside is wild out there.
Solstice Peak, my route went up the slope in the sunlight before cutting across the saddle and up to the top
Windy Creek below and the VTTS beyond
Dwarf Fireweed, probably my favorite flower of the area
My job at Brooks Camp was far more sedentary than I am used to, and this trip kicked my butt.
The view south from the summit. No one goes into the valley on the right. Mt Magiek should be visible on the left, but, clouds.
Slopes of Magiek barely visible
From there it was back down to the VC to meet Daniel and Whitney. We decided to spend the night there, enjoy the sunset and set out into the VTTS the next morning.
It was a beautiful sunset. The sunsets from the Visitor Center out there always seemed amazing.
And so the next morning dawned fine and we set out. Our goal was to reach the foot of Mt Magiek and attempt reaching one of its peaks. We had some trepidations, our weather forecast was not the best, but we were optimistic. The area had been vexed by rain since June, so we couldn't let that idea stop us from trying to enjoy ourselves. We had four days off, so surely one would be clear enough to enjoy a summit attempt. We could handle rain for a couple days.
The forecast was nice enough to have overcast skies for our hike in! We were pretty psyched as we rounded the Buttress Range and Mt Magiek steadily got closer. Crossing the Rive Lethe was a little spicy, or should I say frigid, but we eventually hit the foot of the volcano. A lot of thought was put into where to set up our camp, we wanted some shelter in case things got nasty back there, and we found a good spot. We went to sleep tired from a long hike on weak bodies but excited for the chance to see this wild country. Sadly, a good spot out there isn't enough.
Following the River Lethe along the Buttress Range
This valley is unbelievably humbling. Little did we know how much.
Mt Magiek getting closer
Novarupta
Glaciers clinging to the mountain.
The River Lethe where we crossed it. Glacially cold and swift. One of the more terrifying rivers I've forded.
Contemplating a glacialmelt crossing. These braided streams always have one braid that is harder to cross than the rest.
Hoodoo Camp, tucked back in as much of a nook as exists in the VTTS
Not an awful view from camp, skies aren't promising but it hasn't been bad at all getting here
I woke up at 3:30 to my tent folding over on me. I freak out a bit, feeling like death is upon me. The tent bounces away and I look around. A good bit of pumice is in the tent, so the wind has been going on for some time now, that gust was just enough to flatten the tent despite our efforts to prepare for this moment. The remainder of the night turns into a nightmare of the likes I haven't had before. The tent flattens more and more, to the point where I wonder if it will ever right, but it does time and again. The wind comes from every possible angle, and the tent buckles with each one. Will it rip? Will it rain? How much pumice is getting into everything I own? How are Whit and Daniel? Will my weight be enough to keep the tent from completely blowing away? Multiple times I venture out to quickly refortify stakes that rip out of the ground or move the rocks guylines are attached to. Thank goodness we're by the volcano and have rocks other than pumice to weigh down the tents.
Six o'clock rolls around and it's finally bright enough to feel we can do something. We weigh options as our tents collapse in front of us. They aren't built for this and it's only a matter of time before rain gets added into the mix. Clouds are screaming by, blowing from the Gulf of Alaska into the valley. Pumice is whirlwinding around going hundreds of feet into the air. We were prepared for rain but not the full might of what would be a tropical storm, heck, nearly a hurricane, elsewhere. We help each other break down camp. We can't stay in this.
Just as we get things packed it starts to rain. The question comes on how we want to get out of here. We'll be more exposed going out into the valley but we have to do that to leave. How will the wind and rain affect the river crossing? Are there other options? We get hit by a blast of wind and Whitney is literally blown over. Sitting and waiting for better doesn't sound doable, considering our sheltered spot is so bad we're being blown over. Decide to try and skirt the river, hoping that it will be smaller and rock hoppable at its head. We venture. Wind whips around us, at one moment blowing so fiercely that it blows us backwards and the next trying to throw us on our faces. It is as if the storm is actively against us.
The nightmare quality of the experience is further amplified by the landscape itself. Brown water pours off the mountain upon jagged black rock. Every color has a lifeless quality to it. Sulfur even tickles our noses. It's as if we were picked up and dropped into JRR Tolkien's Mordor.
Note the pumice blowing into the air. Pumice is glass, just more sand like than window like.
We nicknamed this "Mordor Falls"
Magiek Lake, yummy brown color
As we continued around the Lethe it became obvious that our attempt to dodge the river would be fruitless. Glacial streams don't have small headwaters, especially when they pour right out of a glacier. Despite being defeated, we venture up to the ancient monster before we turn back. I'll go into my glacial impressions on another TR, one where the theme is far less nightmarish.
The toe of the glacier is truly menacing.
No safe way to cross that water!
Water pouring off the glacier
That water fuels this entire watershed...
Our retreat is morose. What I would guess were 50 mph winds blow at our backs the whole way down the valley. Water is forced through our rain gear, soaking us to our core. Even if there were any shelter, we were too soaked and cold to handle waiting this out. The Lethe crossing is harder and higher this time. Pumice gets into the boots, into the eyes. It's a somber trudge out that we walk.
______
I don't think I have ever felt wilderness as purely as I had on this trip. Despite all of my work and play in remote places, there has always been some level of a "safety net" feeling available. The car is nearby. A hospital is an hour away. People will find me. I can do some other recreation option if weather is bad. In Katmai, none of this is there. Unless you want to sit in a cold tent frame, you can't avoid weather. You're hours from even poor safety. The safety net out in Alaskan wilderness is non existent. This is frankly humbling and terrifying in so many ways.
I still don't know what I think about this trip. It may have been my worst experience outdoors but was also amazing in so many complex ways that I'm not sure if I would have done any differently if I could. It is amazing that places like this exist, places where we truly are puny creatures on the face of an untamed planet. Yeah, it's a bummer that what was supposed to reinvigorate my summer enthusiasm, turned into a death defying escapade, but maybe that honestly made the summer even better in retrospect.
Respect nature folks. As great as it is to just go out and enjoy, we truly walk a fine line every time we go into wild places. Plan ahead and be prepared. As often as many of us go out, it is only a matter of time before things go scarily off the rails. Many of us have had "epics" and we shouldn't be afraid of the outdoors because of them, but learning from them is great. Check and heed your forecasts. Don't downplay realities because of your desires. Have gear that is proper for the environment. Don't be afraid to turn back if you have to. Sometimes getting out truly is the best option.
Now go outside and enjoy some nature!!! I know I need to cheer myself up after that.
