Isn’t it weird how periods in your life sometimes seem to
have a theme? Last summer our theme was
Epic Alaska, but this year is a little different. It came to me as I was slumped over a rock
halfway up a mountain, dry heaving, chest burning, rethinking my life choices.
The theme of this summer is: “Great ideas I should have prepared better for.”
Catchy, right?
Let’s start at the beginning.
This June marked our 15th anniversary. We normally don’t do much of anything because
we’re lame. Most of the time, we go out
for dinner, which has varied from legit, adult restaurants to dollar-menu
drive-thru. If we’re feeling really
invested, we might go for a movie.
Sometimes we don’t do anything at all because Rick’s out of town.
*shrug* Thankfully, Rick and I are both fairly low maintenance when it comes to
anniversaries and birthdays.
Anyway, this year I wanted to shake things up a little—you
know, share experiences together and all that crap. Shockingly, Alaska has a lot of experiences
to choose from. I finally decided to
surprise Rick with a hike to Chena Hot Springs. Chena Hot Springs is a resort
built around a natural hot spring, with a year-round ice museum, dog sledding,
horse rides, aurora-watching in season, hiking, ATVs, and a greenhouse, all of
it self-sustaining due to hydrothermal energy.
It’s a great favorite with locals during the winter, when you can be
sweating in the springs and have your hair frozen solid at the same time. (It’s more fun than it sounds. We went earlier
this year when it was a balmy -5 degrees, but for some reason didn’t blog about
it until now. Oops.) A fantastic friend offered to take my horde
and add them to hers for the night. I
made reservations and patted myself on the back. It was a great idea.
When I smugly informed
Rick of my plans, he was excited but tactfully suggested that I should start
hiking to get strong. After all, it would be 8.3 miles one way over a couple of
mountains from Angel Rocks to Chena Hot Springs. I poohpoohed it—it wasn’t a big deal, I had a
couple of months to work up to it.
He suggested it again later, and I waved it off. 8 miles?
I still had a couple of weeks. A
mile or two a day, I could knock it out of the park. No worries.
I’d start tomorrow.
A couple of days before our anniversary, he asked if I had
done any hiking—any at all. I
shrugged. It wasn’t that big of a
deal. Only 8 miles, right? Not a problem. I packed my backpack with confidence. After all, I had checked the elevation map,
and after the initial butt-kicker ascent, it should be mostly flat and
downhill.
This next part is very important, so listen carefully.
ELEVATION MAPS ARE LIARS.
Now, most of you will probably be surprised to hear that I
am not exactly an athlete. Angel Rocks has
kicked my butt before. It’s just under 2
miles to the top and most of it switchbacks through spruce and birch and
rocks. It rises about 1200 feet in that
two miles. We usually make it to
the first set of tors and turn around.
This time, the only way I got up was reminding myself that this was the
worst part, that it would get easier soon.
It didn’t.
Don't mind me, I'm just dying.
While I got a quick boost from covering ¼ of our total
distance in less than an hour, I soon found myself trudging up another
mountain. Then a rock field. Then a rock field on a mountain. I stopped probably every 10-15 minutes for
water and to consider whether I was ready to give up and become one of the
hill-people. To his credit, Rick never
once said “I told you so.”
Finally the rocks leveled out into brush, which thankfully soon
cleared to a delightfully flat saddle. I
was elated. Look how high we had
climbed! Look at the beautiful scenery! We must be at least half-way
there.
Random place for a bench, but I like it.
I almost cried when I saw the 3-mile-marker.
After a brief respite while I stomped and swore and yelled
at the stupid mountain, we continued on.
The hill sloped gently down for another half mile or so, then the path
dropped precipitously into brush again.
I wasn’t super excited to have the trees and bushes pushing in so
close—I joke about it a lot, but we were solidly in bear country. I started making as much noise as I could as
I half-fell down the trail that was supposed to be a gentle descent according to the
map. I blared iTunes on my phone and
kept a hand on my airhorn. Rick gave me
a little crap about it, but I didn’t care.
I hadn’t made it that far just to get eaten by some stupid bear.
We took a short rest at a trail shelter that was basically a
shed on legs with an axe and a rusty woodstove.
It was cool reading all the poems and notes left by other travelers
while Rick cut some wood because he could. (Edit: He is offended by this
description. According to him, “It is
trail etiquette to leave a place better than you found it, and to add wood if there
isn’t any.” Uh-huh. I'm sure the axe had nothing to do with it.)
We trudged on. When
the trail split, I opted for the lower path. The map said it was prone to
bogginess, but it was half a mile shorter and my feet were throbbing.
I chose poorly.
The last two miles of the trail were thick with mosquitos,
sucking ankle-deep mud, and fresh bear tracks.
It started to rain. And then the
trail forked again. This last
development was not on my map at all. (Why I still cared about what the lying
liar-hole of a map said I will never know.) Rick looked at the map, at the
trail, at the map again, and then led us to the left. At this point, I was running on fumes and
they finally sputtered out. Whiny,
tired, and wet, I trudged after Rick, certain we were lost.
I’d forgotten I was married to a Ranger.
Just when I was about to mutiny and demand to slog back to
the other trail, we passed a sign marking the upper fork of the path, and
another guiding us to the resort. We arrived about 8 pm, greeted on arrival by
a mama moose and her twinners. After checking in and grabbing a couple of
burgers from the overpriced but tasty restaurant, we headed for the hot spring. It was full of Russian tourists (Russians
apparently visit Alaska in the summer and the Japanese come in the winter) but
the water felt wonderful. We boiled for
about half an hour before going back to our hotel room. It wasn’t exactly 4-star, but I’d gotten it
half-price and that more than made up for the damp smell and strangely lifted
shower.
Look closely. The babies are a chestnut brown, Mom is darker.
Cool dragon sculpture by the hot springs.
Bear on the ceiling. Because they could.
We lived! Time for a victory burger.
The next day, after a delicious breakfast with all the bacon,
we went horseback riding. It was a great
hour on a couple of draft horses picking through the forest and several
creeks. Neither of us had been on a
horse in over a decade, but with our knowledgeable and friendly guide we had a
great time. It was easily the best part
of the trip.
Rick and Colby
The delightful hour just prolonged the inevitable
discussion—how the heck were we getting back?
We had parked 8.3 miles away at Angel Rocks. I was feeling pretty good, mostly due to the
hot spring and a handful of Motrin. Just
thinking about climbing back up that decidedly not-flat trail, however, made my
feet cry. I was game to try walking the
flat park road, but Rick was against it.
He offered to hike it and drive to get me, but I already felt pathetic
and that would be the last candle on the cake of my lameness. Then, we struck gold. The resort offered a
shuttle service back to Fairbanks, but since we just needed to go about ten
miles instead of sixty, they would charge us $20 and take us back to Angel
Rocks.
Best $20 I ever spent.
Epilogue: We made it home.
My feet didn’t fall off, and Rick and I still liked each other. Our friend was still our friend even after
having our savages overnight. We also
learned that the Angel Rocks Trail was closed a few days later due to a mama grizzly
and cubs that were staking a claim in the area.
Most importantly, I had learned my lesson about putting the work in when
I had epic ideas. Well…not really.
To be continued…
