Clarity at Eleazar's Cabin

Feb. 18

“When is it expected to warm up?” Matt asked Bobby, one of his former co-workers that morning at the weather office.  “Not ‘til next week.  Looks like you brought all the cold air up with you.”  Despite all the thermometers we passed on our way to the Wickersham trailhead read in the -30F range, I couldn’t help but feel a bit of excitement for our impending getaway.  Matt and I had discussed a weather-related bailout plan, but it was very vague and more related to road conditions than anything else. 

I stepped out of the car and a familiar sting greeted me.  It wasn’t quite the cold that took my breath away, but it was close.  Jim, Matt, and I spent the first twenty minutes there just assembling all our layers in the correct order to seal the cold air out.  Then we were off.

We skied through stands of tall and short spruce trees.  Sunshine of the day was waning and so began the beautiful soft light that I always loved about being this far north.  Shadows of lilac and pale blue light dance across the snow that is wind-whipped enough that it looks like meringue.  Through my many layers and later review of my photos, I can still sense the piercing cold; but it is incredibly beautiful.  Our skis move sluggishly through the icy snow, it doesn’t feel like we’re moving much faster than a walk. 

Being the Monday of a three day holiday weekend, we see an unusually high amount of trail traffic.  We ski past dog teams, snowmobile traffic, as well as fat bikers and skiers.  Many of them recognize Jim by his wild beard and stop to chat.  They are taking advantage of the long weekend and are getting in a long training weekend for the upcoming White Mountains 100 race.  We curiously check out each other’s gear setup and adventure plans.  Bob’s “feed bag”, what looks like a rock climbing chalk bag, is fixed to the front of his pack for easy access without having to stop long.  Matt, Jim, and I will later spend the rest of the week wishing we had a setup like that.  During a snack break, a caravan passes us on the trail: snowmobile pulling a sled pulling two skiers.  We later learned that one of the skiers fell through the ice to almost waist-depth on Beaver Creek and had to be rescued.  Up here, nature has to be respected, sometimes almost feared.  We also came across Kristen and her dog, Poops, both very chilly and anxious to get home.

Last night, while organizing provisions in my pack, I held up a bag of Peanut M&Ms to Matt.  “My lunch tomorrow,” I said.  He laughed and continued preparing his much healthier snack.  On our food break, we laughed as he asked for another handful of my candy meal.  My hands don’t work very well when they get cold, so I like things I can practically pour into my mouth, and these tiny rainbow goodies work just as well as anything else.  Pull food from pocket, stuff in face, and keep moving; that was my basic strategy. 

Since it was the first day of the trip, I quietly enjoyed the scenery from inside my capsule of winter clothing unable to hear much more than a dull mumble.  Matt and Jim skied behind me, chatting about everything from training to our recent trips.  Jim was one of Matt’s favorite Fairbanks coworkers.  We were very excited to hear that he was willing to take additional vacation days just to accompany us on this trip.  He recently returned from a trip to Iceland and had many fun stories and adventures to tell. The trail was never wide enough to ski three abreast, so we took turns leading.  We also were caught up on the office and running club gossip, it felt as though we had never left. 

About six miles in, we reached the top of the Wickersham Wall, a steep ridge that overlooks the Moose and Wickersham Creek drainage.  From here, the trail descends quickly for almost two miles, but the panoramic views from the top prompted us to linger awhile before heading down.  Spindly black spruce trees darkened the valley like spilled pepper flakes; the mountains beyond the ridge so softly blended with the sky that they appeared airbrushed.  We caught the first glimpse of our night’s stop, Eleazar’s Cabin, still six miles away by trail, halfway up a ridge across the vast valley.

Matt and I joked about my M&M fire dying out at mile 10.  It is interesting to note how my endurance is so dependent on my training.  As a half marathoner, I could go about two hours before losing steam; now, as someone that regularly runs short ultras, I have about 6-7 hours of reserve.  My internal clock always tells me when that endurance begins to fizzle out, right about the six hour mark.  As that energy fades, I have more difficulty keeping my fingers warm.  I throw them down at my sides, ski poles dangling from my mittens, to revive them.  In running they teach you not to do this to avoid swelling, but the thought of swelling and pooling blood sounds fantastic.  I pick up the pace to momentarily stoke the fire, fanning the flames of my internal heater.  The only thing that revives my fingers is a thorough heating that night at the cabin.

After a dinner of salty potatoes and s’mores, we continue with lively conversation and thaw out a few beers that were left behind by previous users.  Then the aurora show began.  Through a week of snow predictions, opportunities looked bleak.  This cabin is perhaps one of the best to view the aurora because of its position on the ridge. 

I wore every article of clothing that I brought along.  As I watched the green and white bands ripple and dance across the sky, I thought to myself how perfectly this describes my relationship with Alaska: her unique natural beauty that melts my heart but at the same time freezes the hell out of my fingers. 

I feel like I’ve returned to Alaska because I can never make up my mind about permanently returning, hoping each visit will yield some clarity.  Standing out there in the cold, I realized something:  Maybe this is the relationship I’m meant to have.  Maybe I’ll never make up my mind.  Maybe some of that indecision is part of her attraction: the friend I’m meant to love and hate in equal measure.