To Hells Gate

Jul 13
12 min read

with the Devil on my Shoulder.

Here is the video portion of this trip set to music, below this is the write-up and pictures

We ski'd to Hells Gate - an out and back trip. This style of writing is called: "Just Write" whatever comes to the head. Follow the journey in the headspace of Grace - that means it doesn't always flow.

Overflow removed our trail. Had to wallow overland for a mile or two until the trail came back. Love this picture on the ice, the ice flakes and Gale's shadow

We were waiting for the wind to die down. I had started to hurry and leave, to pack and get out – then the forecast came, too windy, too cold. This was late march. The Iditarod was already out left on the trail. I wanted to follow right after them, but I hung back. I thought oh, this wind it blows. I’ve had it with the cold. We did our cold trip. Where is the warm spring?

Finally, I got all packed.

Indeed, it doesn’t take much to pack – well, it does still take a tremendous amount of effort, but nothing like in the days of old where I had to pack and put everything meticulously together. Now I just throw it on the floor – along with some labels of which day I’ll be eating it, my estimated time out, etc.

I have a lot of powdered eggs. I still have a few bags, but don’t like the stuff much. I also don’t really like to eat oatmeal out there. Its very unsatisfying. I guess I just want to eat sticks of beef, ribeyes, round steaks, sirloin steaks, tacos, hamburgers, anything with red meat. The more meat the better. I don’t eat much meat out there. Its dicey – if I can keep it frozen it stays good. Its way to expensive to buy. I took some salmon out of a jar and dumped it into a ziplock bag, I had some frozen salmon meals.

The first night I set out – we set out down the river, straight out from my cabin. We walked down the road a quarter mile to the trail, where I donned my skis and we set off, north. Its a funny thing, I leave all civilization behind, first I leave the road, and its gone. I don’t see a road again. Then I leave the land to a river, and I ski over the frozen ice.

The river this near the road system is a highway though, the plague riders, the mosquitos of the summer ride along on the river, spawn of devils. There are some good ones, the ones who live along the river hauling gear and items for themselves to their home.

The trail was great setting out, a beautiful day, my pulk sled fully laden with food and all the things to make myself comfortable out there in the big lands. I always love the first day of a trip. So full of energy and anticipation, relief that the packing phase is over, an attitude to conquer whatever weather throws at you.

I hadn’t traveled the overland cat trail yet in lieu of the Yentna yet, so I decided to hit this “new” trail which I’d traveled only so far as a day trip. It wasn’t long before I reconnected with the Yentna River, the cutoff was shorter than I had anticipated. I’d pass’ted the Yentna Station, where I stayed on my first trip, so I knew I’d be sleeping somewhere along the river. I am afraid of getting run over out there on the ice.

I found a slough to pull over in, a nice little slough, I thought I’ll go this way and then get up on the bank of the river and hide out in the trees. I’ll be safe there, away from the murderous threats of man and machine on the ice. For some reason, there was also a whole lot of stakes in the snow. I thought I was in the fish lakes neighborhood, but I was too early.

I noticed a trail on the slough, instead of going overland, simply went to a cabin on the river. It looked like a lodge, but clearly wasn’t operational. So, I thought that I will sleep here on the ice, off the main channel. As I got closer to the island, I noticed the lodge did look like somebody was there, a single light was on. It was still bright out. I thought, well that’s funny. I don’t really want to sleep outside where somebody can watch me, with all this land around. So I kept on skiing, and I got more and more near.

A fresh trail went right up to the building, so I let Gale go and dropped the sled, and we walked on up to say hello. It was pretty late, I’d already ski’d 40 miles, I didn’t really want to go further. I was ready for bed. So, I took a deep breath and knocked. The door opened and a man said hello. He invited me in, and explained he had just got here. That this was a summer fishing lodge, but he had a group coming in for a spring trip for a couple days and he was just opening it up for them. I was welcome to stay the night if I wanted. What an offer. I hadn’t even been on that line of thought. I had already settled on camping out, but the offer was too rich to turn away.

A warm cabin, water from a nearby creek already gathered. Sure! Just let me grab my pulk sled, if I’m no bother we’ll come on in. I pulled up my sled, started the cooker to heat some water for Gale’s food, and prepared her evening meal. Once she had eaten, I went inside with my ramen and sausage and sat down.

Morning came and we set out again, saying goodbye to Andy and thanks for the coffee. The wind was consistent against our faces, coming in from the north. The day before it wasn’t bad in the trees but once out on the river it did slow us down substanstainally. Not enough to chill to the bone but enough that you just felt like you were moving along like a turtle, despite putting out enough energy that you should be hopping along like a hare.

There isn’t that much to say, really. We ski’d forward over the river, through Skwentna – oh a man did pass me here. He stopped and said: “I heard you’re going to Shell Lake, stop by my cabin if you’d like, its red.” I forget his name now, but he has a red cabin.

So along I went over the hills of Shell Lake, it was easy travel with such a hardpacked trail. The downhills had enough snow to them still that it was not harrowing. And we dropped down onto Shell Lake. Shell Lake was absolutely littered with cabins, all throughout the lakes sides. Many of the cabins were red. I laughed and rolled my eyes, stop by at the red cabin, my fanny.

But of course, many of the cabins did not have fresh trails leading up to them, just unbroken snow. So I traveled the main trail through the center of the lake and behold, I saw a fresh trail leading off to a red cabin. What the heck, I thought. I’ll go re-up on water, it was only 5 pm.

So, I knocked on the door of the red cabin, and there was 4 people inside. All with friendly faces, wondering what I was doing. One man just kept asking me why was I skiing out in the snow? Why are you doing this? Why not stay at home? What do you eat?

They filled my water bottle, oh glorious water, and I left them and their smiles behind. I still had energy and daylight, two resources that are not to be squandered lightly. And we passed Shell Lake Lodge, and kept right. In a moment we were back on the Iditarod Trail, and the stakes started to appear again. It was all so overtraveled. No new snow for weeks. The spring sun was turning it to ice. No purchase for my skis to grab onto for an edge. I would double pole a lot. Lots of glide, both forward and backwards. Thankfully Gale pulls forward, but the pulk sled pulls backwards often.

For a couple more hours, we went onward towards Finger Lake, over the hills. Its really beautiful land out there, the Alaska Range coming closer into view. Foraker shining, Denali next to her. We found a bit of straw left behind where a musher had camped. It didn’t have any snow on it. This musher was smarter than the others, they found a nice protected line behind some trees where the wind didn’t hit so hard. The other straw patches we came along the straw had been blown away or covered in snow. The wind was back again, in these swamps that form. The swamps where the wind blows.

Well, we had slept and awoken, we ski’d and we moved along the lands. Over the swamps, over the lakes, down the happy river steppes, and back up onto the hills. We ski’d and we stopped to drink, stopped to eat, stopped to pee, stop to change gloves, stopped to add or take off a layer.

Moment by moment, the sun shifts overhead. The days are so long, especially late in the spring. We got to Puntilla Lake, where I talked with the lodge owner. He said the trail was bad, it was all ice just like I had come over.

It wasn’t. I don’t know why I listen to people. They always seem to be wrong. Its better not to listen. Just go and see for yourself. We deceided to head towards Hell’s Gate. I had wanted to go here, as well as go onward to McGrath, but this was only possible if the river crossing at the south fork of the kuskoswim was not open, which was said to be flowing and not crossable. If I say “We” it means Gale and I.

In retrospect, I should have lugged my pulk down there, to hells gate and beyond. But I chose the lazy route, which also is more enjoyable for the day to day operation of leaving food behind and doing an out and back. I left a few days worth of food at Puntilla Lake for my return trip, then I left down to Hells Gate.

That land is a land of fairy tales. No words can describe it. The vastness and the beauty. It wells up in feelings within a soul. My smallness in this big world is so apparent, so nonnegotiable. Just a small dot in a vast place, and yet we move around in comfort. We move with our tent, with our sleeping bag, with our snickers bars and gasoline to make hot water. What a luxurious life that I haul behind me, step by step.

And the creature out in lead, she pulls me onward, the blood of my body that beats in front of me. The moon of the night, the sun of the day, she is the wind that blows and the heart that warms. Chaos wrapped up into a loose package with a couple knots.

Vast, what does this word mean? Big. Enormous. No, what does such a word convey? The mountains are not enormous. They do not tower, yet the valleys are long and wide. The rivers are unmistakable. How this land was chiseled by the ice, the giants who lived here before us, the gods who stepped and made holes in the earth. Who dragged chains around behind them leaving these rivers. Is that what happened? Were you here to see? Don’t tell me it wasn’t so. I will believe what I will believe.

So we traveled down this valley to the gates of hell. Far down we dropped, back into the trees. Into darnkess. It blew here, shadowed and cold. Admittedly, it was quite uninviting. I didn’t like the place. I didn’t stay long. The golden snows were absent, they too had left this place. Left behind was ice which didn’t lay flat on this river with gravel bars exposed. The wood washed up and reared its head. Yet the wind blew fiercely here.

Gale and I we turned tow and through the gale, the Gale ran. Fear in my voice, cortisol in my blood, ice ice ice and broken bones. Your leg with the driftwood, locked in place, called the ice. We will keep you here at Hell’s Gate. Just lay down and we will welcome you here.

No, Gale ran faster than the devil’s voice. We left that place and the styx river. We retraced our steps, to the sled I had left behind, ate food and made our way back.

In the middle of the trail, sat a fox. I thought it was a fox made out of wood. It stood still and looked at me. Gale too looked at it.

Then movement erupted. Life was breathed into it, we saw it happen. It was wooden, then it ran. Gale ran then too, energy shot back into her blood. Her ancestors poked in her brain. I won’t write where I slept that night, it is a secret of Gale and mine. We have our secretes, as do all men and beast who live.

The sun that had risen high left us behind the mountain, and the cold night came as it always did, and all turned dark but for the snow, the shadows of the trees danced ahead.

Water we fetched from a stream, deliciously cold and fresh. Of course I don’t drink cold water when I have a stove. I warmed it up hot. It warms the body.

Days later, and a walk back over the barren windswept valley, back at Puntilla Lake we met some horses while we slept in our tent. Those horses, they live out there in the wild, fed by a metal airplane who drops them food. They pack for hunters over the summer months, yet today they were confused about the apparition on their land. The girl and her dog who slept.

One horse came and bit my sled. I heard it screech across the snow. Then he came to my tent and snuffled and breathed. I cried out my displeasure from within, unwilling to don my boots. I poked my head out and said be off. Yet, they looked at me and said I was on their land. I nodded in acqusionse, it was true. I was indeed on the land they live off of, but it was frozen and ice.

And so we laid and listened to their talk, of what they should do about us. And I eventually they wearied of the conversation, and some walked off and others followed, and Gale and I fell back to sleep. Then we woke, we left and went back the way we came.

In such a blaze we left, the trail turned bad, worse than before. I wish I’d gone on to McGrath. The sun was fierce, melting out the snow and turning it to ice. Finally we traveled back the happy river, over the hills onto the yentna. In such a rage of fire and smoke, I continued on down the trail. For 70 miles we went, with one two hour break in the middle.

I stood on my ski’s and shut my eyes. The headlamp off and the moon overhead. Done with the sun, I didn’t want to see her again. Rabid my thoughts that churned in my head. Yet, our cabin still was far off down the river, and sleep we must despite my mood. So then we slept and did not wake til the sun was far in the sky. I asked her away, yet she yet shune, and we had to move again.

Down she bore, the snow turning to mush, in contempt I ski’d. Gale hot and lithe not understanding this human she tugged along, whose temper was torn asunder. No, I am not a river girl who sings along the banks. Put me in the trees and let me sing with the birds.

A breathe I breathed and came alive, I got the devil on my shoulder. I hate how he gets hold of a strand of my hair, sometimes I just can’t get him loose. Faster than a tiny mosquito he always evades the hand that comes to slap. The devil on the shoulder that just won’t let go. Was he there since we left Hell’s Gate? No, we picked him up on the river. He flies around this earth. Perhaps he’s a flake of skin left from the giants before, one of many flakes.

We got on, we went on. The clouds finally came to hide us from the sun. The sun that warms. The sun that bakes. The sun that destroys and the sun that gives life. And we got on down the trail, and then we got home.

And we were back.

Where I no longer had to cook snow to make water. Where snow no longer went down my back in a frightful good morning. My legs, could they stop the pattern of moving?

What is this life that we live?