120: White Mountains January 2023

“The trails here are phenomenal” was all it took from my dog-musher friend Jodi Bailey to entice me throw skis, gear, and food into car and drive up from Willow to one of my favorite adventure locations in Alaska. A couple weeks before, Gale woke up with a sore wrist on New Years Day. Looking mournfully sad, she got out of bed hobbling around on three legs, refusing to eat chicken or salmon, her favorite delights. Three days later as she was still gimpy gimpy Gale, and to the vet we went. An xray revealed good news – normal looking bones. She also earned a hard set 14 days off, a full two weeks. Let me tell you, this is not easy for a sled dog. Fortunately for me, my good friend TC and aspiring veterinarian Josh took on the challenge of caretaker for a crazied Gale while I peaced out to San Diego to meet my newborn niece.

Just four days after returning back from San Diego, Gale and I set off to the Whites. On leaving my cabin, I looked at my pulk sled and said “no, I do not desire to have you behind me” and left the troublesome sled behind. Thankfully, I stopped at Alisons to tell her I was going to the Whites and she said “you fool, go back and get your pulk sled.” What would I do without her sage advice? Back we went for the sled of trauma. Quickly without thinking, loaded the thing into the vehicle. Ugh, a necessary evil.

Now – off to the whites we go! Yet, we had some stops to make on the way. We had to see how Gale's wrist fared and I set a stop limit of 20 miles per day. We broke the drive up and stopped for a day-ski at milepoint 186 of the parks highway – a pulloff that I saw had significant snow-machine traffic heading west. Initially, the trail looked like an old mine road that was not plowed. A subdivision with a few houses appeared, which explained the nicely packed trail. I was turned off the road by a large shallow creek no more than a foot deep and 6 feet wide. Not what I wanted. I branched off onto other tracks heading south, and then explored another trail which, after descending a twisting harrowing serpentine trail filled with alders poking through it, found myself in a delightfully frozen bog which the sun peered down into with curiosity and gentle light. Occasionally sneaking peaks at the Alaskan range and Talkeetnas, I glided by dead stumps and bog pits where bog monsters hid below. Suddenly, the trail ended after I had bashed through a section of alders, and we began our return journey. A good day to be sure, twenty miles and a Gale who didn't appear to be favoring her wrist. We unthawed our frozen meal on the camp stove, luxuriously filled our canteen at the Cantwell gas station, and slept the night with the windows down on a pulloff of the Denali Hwy.

Daytrip In the bog, seeping sunlight and the talkeeetnas

Morning came and we drove to Denali National Park. In both Cantwell and the Park, snow levels were minimal. I wanted to do a night in my tent and make sure I had all the gear needed for winter camping and a longer trip. Here I packed my dratted blue pulk sled (good thing I had it!) for one night out. We began on the unplowed park road, which the ranger recommended. A very, very poor recommendation. After the initial hill, the snow on the road disappeared where the wind had taken and redeposited it elsewhere. I went along bumpty bump on the side of the road, walked over sections of ice I, until I finally dropped off down into a their dog-mushing trails, which was better, much much better. Repeatedly, I've found rangers just make up answers to your questions to just have an answer. They really don't know and pull answers from a hat. For today, I didn't want to ski too far and wear myself out, I mainly wanted to set up camp, melt snow, and drink tea. There was a nice ridge just west of the Savage river which was an easy off-trail climb. The temperature was moderate and wind low, and decided to take the risk of setting up camp in a clearly windblow hard packed area, because I could. The views were nice. Its also pleasant to have a hard packed place to set up and not track soft snow into the tent. Night came with a clear sky to the north, cloudy skys to the south, and a soft breeze throughout the night. In the morning, we rose and returned on the dog-musher trails, which were smooth and I enjoyed my return trip to my car! After returning, I went and explored the Riley Creek Campground groomed trails for a few miles, which I found to be underwhelming. Temperatures were significantly colder down by the creek, and the trails winded around the campground. The speeds that Gale was able to run on the wide groomed trail was fun. She also enjoyed being invigorated by the plentiful smell of wildlife down by the creek.

Denali NP Camp-out

Now – lets get to Jodi Baileys house and the Whites! We drove from Cantwell to Chatanika.

------- White Mountains January 2023------- 94 miles / 4 days 120 miles total

Have you ever thought “this will be very demanding” and proceed to embark on the challenge, and find that, lo and behold, “this is indeed extremely demanding and challenging.” This sums up my loop in the White Mountains. Slow exhausting travel, hilly terrain, and sore sore sore muscles. Did I mention sore?

Trial Day Saturday Jan 21:

Having traveled this loop the year before in April on dogsled, I indeed had a inkling of what this loop could throw at me. I was unsure if I could climb the hills with a loaded pulk sled. With a heave and a thump, I pulled out my pulk sled that I had used the night before camping at Denali National Park, I threw ten pounds of beef and a handful of human meals into it then zipped it up. We didn't get out of the yard before I was being pulled back downhill by the weight of the pulk sled. Ski skins were in order. I stuck the skins to the ski and like magic – we were able to walk up the hill on skis like spiderman scales a tall building. With vigor and a budding realization, we ascended into the whites. I began to process that I was fully equipped to ski the dream of “the big loop” or “the 100 mi loop” of the whites. I felt the brain change click, from recreational day trip mode to challenge mode, monster mode. We're going. We're doing this. We crushed the day trip out to Ophir Creek and back, almost 20 miles in four hours hauling the pulk. If we can do this, we surely can do the loop. Gale's wrist continues to look good.

Day 0: Pack the pulk sled. Rest from the previous day.

Red numbers indicate night of stay

Day 1 Monday Jan 23: Start from McKay Creek Trailhead (Jodi's house) to Dan's Camp

“Wow – I'm still very sore” were my first thoughts as I took my first steps leaving the property and stepping onto the trail at 0845, just as the first light of day started to dawn. No matter, we've got business to attend to and mileage to make. We charged forward with day one energy. This day was relatively straightforward and without any form of hardship. Moderate wind and visibility between Ophir and Beaver creek. Great glide from the fresh inch of snow over the weekend. The biggest challenge was after Cache Mountain Cabin, we rounded a downhill corner at speed which deposited us into a short stretch frozen overflow bumpy. With one ski bouncing on the lumpy ice, and once ski whacking through soft snow filled thick with small alders, I bless the stars I miraculously stayed on my feet. That would have hurt. A few miles from the camp, my energy stores were quickly depleting. The intense cardio of climbing the hills and the extended amount of time on my feet came to greet me. While daylight, it was quite socked in, a muted sort of daylight. Just four miles to go.... just two miles to go... when you get there, I repeat to myself, you can stop. There is no stopping until you get there. One foot after another. Around three thirty I arrived at Dan's dog camp. Seven hours on the trail. That's pretty good time, I think to myself, but man o man. I am about ready to topple over. My eyes are rolling back in my skull. Im ready for bed. I stomp the snow. I set my tent. I make water, tea, feed Gale, eat food, and by 6:30 we are settled into our sleeping bag. I throw on an audiobook, shut my eyes and rest. Snow tonight the forcast said. I hear it now falling on my tent despite the temperature feeling around -10f. Its cold out and snowing.

Sometime, I fall asleep. I wake up thinking “I heard a human voice.” Awake, listening to the silence, I hear nothing but the pitter patter of snow on the tent. I'm hearing things again in my tent. Great. Again! I hear it. A voice, it has to be. Is there light? A few more seconds elapse with me questioning my sanity. I hear a dog bark twice. Ahh, my sanity is restored. A dog team. Silence. They are gone. Looking at the time its about 4am. Back to sleep.

Day 1 Summary:

Time Elapsed: 7 hrs (~08:45 AM to 3:30PM)

Distance: 28 miles

Remarks: Sore. Dead tired.

Dan's Camp

Day 2: Dan's Camp to Caribou Bluff Cabin

At 6:45 my alarm rings. Up up up. Its 28 miles to Caribou Bluff. We've got a long day ahead of us. Pour hot water on Gale's meat. Light the stove, make oatmeal and drink tea. Refill the thermos after hydrating. Theres snow out here. Looks about like five inches. The forcast said half an inch to one inch, great. Its airy and fluffy, a cold snow. At 9:45 we've got everything in the pulk sled and pull out of camp. Its heavier than yesterday, thats for sure, as I feel the tug of the sled dragging behind. My 4AM musher man voice friend was very much appreciated, as they packed down about half the nights snowfall. Two to three inches of fresh snow on top made the trail seem much more manageable. As I make progress, I occasionally look back at my pulk to see it following, and wonder why it feels so darn heavy. Did it snag a branch? Nope. Ahh yes, its the delight of cold snow. I had forgotten. Snow made up of so little water doesn't like to glide. Its like dragging a sled over small pebbles. Both my skis and the pulk cling to the snow instead of glide. Travel is slow. Going uphill is quite strenuous. On the flip side, I have total and utter control over my skis. I will not hit a tree on the bends. My sled with not misbehave as it so likes to do and follow its own route down a lowpoint like a creek. In obedience, it follows meagerly along behind me, like a beaten mule dragging its feet getting yanked along by its master. On the hills, the mule rears up then sits, refusing to climb. Gale and I have to lean in and heave the slothful creature up. Then stop, breathe, and heave again for another stretch. Stop. Breathe. Will the beating of the heart to calm. Heave. Climb.

In densely wooded areas I'm surrounded by magnificent birch and wide pine and spruce. Birds twitter in January. I see the reds in bark. The green of spruce. A fox print here. A hare print too – what fun! Up and down creek channels we bounce. Up and up we climb and wind. A jagged cliff on my right. How neat. Very nice. I flitter my eyes to look at it. Yes, I have no time to stop and gaze. Very beautiful, yes yes. I must continue. At the top of Cache Mountain Divide, I stop to put my small puffy jacket back on. I'd been traveling in just my fleece and no hat. My body is producing so much heat. I'm sweating and it feels to be no warmer than 0 F. I've never worked so hard on a ski trip before. (Except perhaps that first day on my McGrath ski trip last spring, when it snowed 15” of fresh wet 32 degree heavy snow when I was breaking trail along the Yentna. That was flat and I moved at about half the speed as of this day, a different sort of heavy, an isolated single day of hard work). I have indeed never worked so hard for multiple days concurrently on any trip before. That is beyond a doubt. I am sore. I am sore from my trial day. I am dead sore from the first day. I am sore today as I ask even more from my body, my heart, my hips, my quads, and my Gale. I wonder what she is feeling? She too leans in and works to get us up. Sure, I've been sore like this before – aching getting out of bed the next day. But then I could take it easy. Drink tea. Shorten my ski. Change my route. Lay on the couch. Not today. Today we travel further and further inward, further away from others.

Pictures at the Divide.

I was conjuring fears. With this fresh snow, what if the wind blows and deposits the trails full of deep drifts? I'd be stuck. Should I turn around? No, you've got what you need. You've got food and fuels. Don't be silly. You've made it so far. The first two days are the highest mileage. What if my headlamp dies? The forecast called for snow overnight for monday to thursday, although never forcasted for more than an inch. What if it snows 6 inches each night? What if it drops to forty below? Pah! Not likely with this snow. At the top of the divide, we stopped and took some pictures. The clouds broke and the sun was sneaking through in places. Such glorious beauty! Down we started skiing, down down down. I should have removed my skins at the top. I had to walk down on skis, no gliding for me. We entered a majestical tunnel of alders. The snow clinging an inch or two thick onto each and every branch. Each glimmering in the sunlight. Surrounded and enclosed in a passage of glory. Oh my heart beated with the awesomeness that was in front of me, that glinting glee that bore me forward. I now see it for what it was, a passage of from the Wicked Witch of Narnia. I was entering her domain. Beautiful, enticing, but treacherous. A trap.

Entering the Queen's Domain, looking for Turkish Delight

In front of me are the ice pools, notorious. Sometimes, they can be frozen solid. Sometimes, water glazed delicately over ice. Sometimes, a puddle of slush great for splashing in. Sometimes, a pool of slush appropriate for a high platform diver to disappear beneath. The first pool we began, a slush puddle. Annoying but expected. We plod through the next visible one lifting my 20 pound right ski, snow-slush built up onto the bottom of it 5 inches thick the length of the ski. Now lift the left ski, and take a step, now pull the 200 lb pulk sled forward. Yes, great great great. Got through that, clear it off. Ope, no around the corner there is another. Alright, fine. Lets do this fun again, splashing in puddles is a good outlet for joy they say. I've removed the ski skins by now, stowed them away. They're all bogged up with slush and water. I think thats the end. Nope, around a bend of alders theres more. This one looks alittle more blue, but also like it has solid ice on it. Sweet, I'm might be in luck. Crunch. Sink. Ope, thats my whole boot under the slush. Gales already turning left. Shes saying that was a bad idea. Get to the side. Make another path through not on the trail. Plod plod plod we make some steps. Ive got to clear the skis and pound the pulk in order to move. I can't even move with so much buildup. Take the skis off, whack whack whack with my ski poles. Flip the pulk sled over, bang bang bang with my fist. That slush just picks up more snow and freezes almost instanteously at these cold temperatures. So much drag with with even a thin layer of ice on the pulk. Am I having fun? Just keep smacking and banging away. I hope that was the end. Around the next corner, oh dear no – more! I did not remember this. I remember one or two puddles from the dog sled trip in spring. Here we go. Get through the puddle. Clear the ice. Don't complain. Move forward again. Another pool, lets get smart and try to bypass this to the right. Wow, that worked! Gale punched through to slush, but I got lucky and stayed on top. I think this is it. A foot up a ledge and we're OUT. What a relief. Thankfully my slush boots didn't have time to absorb water from the top with my pants clipped in the way they were.

Gales head perks up. A dog team is coming head-on around a bend. No time but to move to the side of the trail, say “hello” and smile as the dogs all surge forward in the excitement of another team. Then they are around the bend dropped down into the ice pools. Have fun. The trail is more packed by them now. Its longer to Windy Gap from the ice pools than I thought. We've still go to climb hills? Thats right I remember some hills and bends. On a steeper hill to a ridge. I couldn't get up with the thicker snow on each side waddling up. I tried to take off my skis, but my right ski binding had, to my chagrain, frozen tight to my ski boot. I took off one ski and climbed up. No more skins. They won't stick now to the ski, the glue gotten wet and cold. Although, I feel as if no skins might be better, because the grip is so solid and firm on the cold cold snow, they're not really necessary anymore except on the few steep sections. I've got to use my triceps more to use my poles, and ask Gale for more on the slopes to get us up.

Jagged Rocks Jutting Out with Bird atop Tree

In the wooded forested section, Gale jumps over some half-crumbled snow bridges or one foot gaps that I ski over. I think I'm lucky that we got past the open water creeks I remebered, until another group of them came. The last creek was open and flowing, just an inch or two deep but three feet wide. No big deal. I'll just get my skis off and jump it. Then bang my sled to clear the ice that accumulates on it. Couldn't get my ski off. I don't want to put my ski boot in flowing water to walk across. A tree! Lets just meander off trail to that tree. I can ski over that. So we did. The pulk sled plopped down and slid off the side, but thats fine. We're over. Lets continue. Around two o'clock we reach Windy Gap Cabin. The dog team who passed me came from here. Fresh tracks coming out. I'm tired and could stop here, but I want to make it to Caribou Bluff. Its flat along the creek from here. Hah! Nope. I was wrong. The trail had been rerouted due to overflow often on the creek. So, instead I climbed. Oh the effort of that climb onto a semi-ridge line, where I ski'd along the side of of a hill. It was not too hilly from there, some ups. Some downs. I watched the mountain on my right. I looked for where Caribou Bluff would be. It was still some miles ahead. I watched that mountain on my right ever extending. I was waiting for it to drop down. I knew nestled in a pocket of mountains was cabin I so desired. It was nice skiing. I began to feel like a polar explorer. Sore muscles all over. Traveling and fighting for miles and distance. Mantras began to rule in my head. Become comfortable being uncomfortable. Just keep moving. Another step forward. Don't stop moving. You got yourself in here, you get yourself out. I had actually thought I might stay two nights at Caribou Bluff Cabin. I had food. I had my fears too. That more snow would fall. I had fears that wind would blow erasing trails. I wasn't sure if a trail cutoff had had recent traffic or if I would have to add on extra miles over hilly terrain if not. I wanted to keep moving. I didn't feel comfortable overnighting without moving while conditions were favorable for moving, leaving so much terrain and unknowns ahead. It was good skiing. Slow. The day had us about at 3 mph, and we kept this pace. When I'd stop for a quick drink, my muscles would ache and shout that standing was not acceptable. They were angry at the cessation of movement. The breaking of the rhythm didn't vibe. I'd almost feel as if I was still stepping while standing still. I wondered if I should march in place while getting a drink. Better to keep moving.

The Untrodden Trail

About a mile from the Caribou Bluff Cabin cutoff, I saw tracks that looked like footprints. A foot-runner out here? 50 more meters down the trail, more tracks and packed snow. A dog team turned around here. We had a mile of packed snow, they continued straight towards Borealis Cabin direction, where I was heading the next day. I turned right onto soft fresh 5” of snow to blaze a trail to cabin on the bluff, a mile or two away. A gentle downhill led me onto the creek crossing, which I plopped down onto with a bit of a splash into overflow. Not altogether unexpected. I plodded over to the other side of the creek and up off the ice. Done with the skis. I opened my pulk bag and pulled out my boots. We were walking the final three quarters mile. I flipped my pulk over, smack bang smack I beat its bottom to remove the ice buildup. Tied my skis still attached to my boots on the top, and began walking. Oh, I did not anticipate it to be such effort to walk up a hill. I had to stop multiple times to breath. Gale wondered why we moved so slow. Lets go she insisted. My hips burned. My quads burned. I kept looking to my right and seeing a valley instead of a bluff and a cabin. I stopped again, and considered setting up my tent right where I stood. It looks nice enough. No, no no no Grace. Keep moving. Cabin ahead. No one there. Just keep moving. The sooner you move the sooner you can start the fire on the wood stove. Less standing, move! Feel the muscles burn and let them talk. Soon fire and sitting. With effort we got to where we could see the cabin and had a small and final hill with a tantalizing prize sitting atop.

A smile on our face, we got to the cabin porch. Hurrah. Unclipped the belt and dropped the sled. Walked inside and someone had left kerosine. I broke some small branches off a spruce, threw wood the stove. Poof in a moment we had those flames roaring. We got snow melting. We got gear inside. We got our cookstove blazing for some even quicker melting of snow and hot water. Gale got her food. I got my food. I got to sit. Sit. Oh sitting. Glorious sitting. I pulled out my “double meal” pack which was extra extra large and reserved for cabin consuming since I needed a bigger pot to melt it down. Its amazing how much one can eat in a single sitting! Delicious. I couldn't eat it all. I left a third on the table. After drinking, eating, and settling down it was time for bed. Around 4 am I woke up, looked at the remaining food and ate it, went outside to the outhouse, and watched the northern lights dance slowly over the cabin. All that sweat and muscle to get here. And here I am. Healthy, fed and hydrated. Was it really that bad? No, not really. It just took some effort. A lot of effort. Effort I was capable of. Beautiful lights with stars gleaming behind.Its rather cold standing out here in my underpants and a t-shirt when the thermometer on the cabin shows twenty below. I go sit on the table for a few minutes, looking outside. How delightful to sit with a crackling fire and be able to watch the sky light up outside. The next day I only had 18 miles on my plate. I am going to sleep in. Awake at 8. Be on the trail before the clock strikes 11.

Day 2 Summary

Time Elapsed: 8 hours (9:45AM to 6:45PM)

Distance: 28 miles

Remarks: Dreadfully sore. Slow-down at Ice-Pools. Difficulty climbing after ice-pools.

------

Day 3: Caribou Bluff to Wickersome Trail Shelter

Even if muscles don't want to move, they must when asked. Its an easy day. A slow start. Just 18 miles. We packed up, had a pleasant slow morning in a warm cabin, not in a rush. That is, until the clock hit 11 and I wasn't on the trail yet. 15 minutes later we were skiing downhill. Hoping the overflow at the creek was frozen, but prepared to bang and smack skis if not. Not frozen. I tried to make a trail through the woods around it but was thwarted by big downed trees and having to reverse out. I then tried to get by on the very edge, knocking snow down from the shrubs on the side of the bank and bringing it over the ice. I succeeded in that as I got over, only the very very bottom of my skis got slushed, snow only sticking to the fish scales but not the edges. Thats good for me. Clear the ice from the skis, from the pulk, and onward. I met up with my tracks from the previous day, where the dog team had packed down the snow. The pulk still dragged on the cold packed snow refusing to glide. I turned it over wondering if I had missed some ice buildup. It looked clear. Cold snow. No glide. So be it. After one crossing of an overflowed swamp/creek patch which turned directly upward, the trail was flat for the first half of the day to the Borealis cabin. This stands out as a favorite trail with views overlooking the rolling hills and valley. Predominately flat, it was glorious skiing. I was very happy along this section of the trail. Absolutely delightful to put on the cruise control and just move forward without the extra effort required to climb. Let rhythm and cadence rule.

An Easy Day - A trail pleasing to the eye

After Borealis cabin, I distinctly remembered a long uphill. There it was, the return of hills but nothing we haven't seen and climbed earlier. Onward forward! While a bit rolly, the trail was clear of any hazard. We pulled into wickersome trail shelter just as headlight hour approached and snow started to fall. A quick scout a half mile into the moose creek cutoff showed that the trail had been groomed and put in, but there had been no traffic for a week since the snows began last weekend. To take the extra 6 miles around that is big hill hilly, or take the cutoff and break trail?

WickersomeTrail Shelter. So Little. So Cute. So Warm.

Day 3 Summary

Time Elapsed: 6 hours (11:15AM to 4:45PM)

Distance: 18 miles

Remarks: Half -flat, half rolly hills. Not to shabby of a day.

Day 4 Wickersome Trail Shelter to Crowberry Cabin:

Night brought about 2” of fresh snow. Up we popped and were on the trail at 10. We didn't desire neither the extra hills nor the additional milage. We will blaze the trail. Cabin thermometer said -20f but it sure didn't feel that cold. Who knows. My internal temperature gauge died with the work required to pull my sled. I could be in a tshirt ten below and sweating. There was about 8” of snow laying atop the trail. We plodded along for quite some time in the trees. The main trail shadowed with the indent of a suggested trail. Small rolling hills up and down, which I may have not considered hills on a groomed trail. Good grip with the skinless skis. Still lots of work to pull the pulk sled, despite its becoming lighter and lighter. It floated nicely on the puff and didnt dig in. Sometimes I'd turn around and look if it was still following. Then came a creek filled section which were just big ditches, down and up the trail would spew us. I'd whistle Gale on and we were able to get over the ditches without too much hassle, just a bit of focused muscle work.

Rising to see the sunrise

Not certain about this trail blazing business

Can you still see my legs?

Can you see ME with my face covered in snow?

CAMOFLAGED. Mwhaha.

As we rose and rounded a corner, we came to the section that had been windblown and side-hilly in my previous trips. This time was not that way. Fresh soft snow covered the trails. In fact, most of the time I could see no hint of a trail except a tiny patch here and there that looked indented, or a trail marker that assured me I hadn't veered off. Then the indented trail disappeared and I relied soley on the trail markers and the Gale. Occasionally Gale would sink and wallow in the drifts. Occasionally I would sink and step myself out. Around the final bend of windblown area, when the trees started to reappear, I saw a marker off a few to the side of the trail. I thought huh we must be going off trail. I gee'd Gale to the right and really got off the trail. Each step becoming a wallowing mire. I stood next to the trail marker now, wondering where do I go? I looked in all directions for another marker or a pylon. None. I slowed down my scan and inspected each tree in the distance for a half-covered patch of orange or yellow. I moved right and traveled upward to what might be a trail going between some trees, yet saw nothing. Hmm... I dropped my pulk sled and decided to do some zigzagging. Up and down I zig and zagged looking for an indent or a marker. Nothing. The sky was turning clear, with the soft rays hitting the snow. Great visibility. I can go back to the shelter I thought and take the long way around, but we've already blazed a trail six miles. Only three to go. I know the trails is in the trees there somewhere. Its just a short section around this little bend that all trace is gone. I put on my two puffy coats. Drank some water. Pulled out my garmin and gave into loading the gpx file which routed the trail. There I was, practically on top of the trail, if just to the right of it a wee bit. I went back and got my pulk sled, and came down to the line. We wallowed by the line on the garmin for about 100 meters, where then just a four or five feet to my left I saw the shadow of the indent. Ahah! We're back in business. What a relief that was. Now, in retrospect I believe that trail marker had been put on that spit of a tree, because it was the only tree in the area. I suppose it may have been sitting 10 to 15 feet above the trail, so my marching up to it only brought me further off the trail, bringing my guesswork and focus in the upward direction when the trail was actually more bending in the downward direction. I did “gee” Gale towards the trail marker. Glad I had that track saved on my garmin! I also saw we were had a moving average speed of 1.5 mph. No wonder we were taking so long to reconnect with the main trail. Three more miles to go, thats two hours! Geez. After we reconnect with the main trail, its about 11 miles on hills to Crowberry.

Back on the trail!

The next three miles was filled with memories from a previous trip. Places where Gale's brother Rambler of another litter found freedom and ran away with my friend's Alisons pulk, food, and gear. Gale and I dropped all our stuff and chased him down. We also passed “the foolery of Grace” tale where she (me) in search of moose creek cabin ski'd about one mile downhill when the cabin we were looking for was only 0.1 miles off trail (on the other side of the trail). Mistakes not to repeat. Today, on this leg of the trail our focus was getting to Moose Creek Cabin. We arrived to the turnoff to the cabin at 2:30, but I raced 10 feet past it before calling a halt. I wanted Crowberry and I wanted to remove the temptation of the turnoff. We took a half hour break from 2:30 to 3, eating cookies, bread and cheese. Gale had some chicken. In 4 ½ hours we covered 9 miles of the Moose Creek Trail. We knew hills were the next section and we needed food and water to have the energy to make it to Crowberry. The trail had just had 2” of snow on top. On this trail, we felt like SPEED DEMONS. We felt it was hard and fast, although it really was not. Uphills ceased to exist in our mental processing. I looked at the hind legs of Gale. I didn't look ahead where the hill stopped, or the bend curved. We simply just went forward. One foot in front of the other. It was irrelevant how far we traveled or how far we had to go. It became irrelevant whether we were going up or down. The only thing that mattered was that we continued moving forward until we saw the cabin, which would be on our left. In a clearing on a downhill I remembered as being unmissable after a long long long climb. So no worries about passing it by mistake. Move forward. Stopping for a drink again felt so wrong. The rhythm broken. The quads confused as to why the pattern was disrupted. The hips unconsciously still trying to move the leg forward. It was a relief to get moving again, and at such a wonderful and reasonable pace. Let the muscles thrum. Suddenly, after I had just put my headlamp on my head and donn'd my puffy coat, lo and behold there was a cabin to my right on a downhill. I shouted and yipee'd. “Haw” and Gale turned left as I sung a song of cabin-sighting glee. Bewildered by the sight so happily arrived at, we turned off the trail. It looked like nobody had been here all week. The snow around the cabin windblown. Snow on the porch. No tracks, no one here. Oh joy oh joy oh joy! Wood. Fire. Water. Food. Wonderful things. What a wonderful world. Inside the cabin, it felt strangely not cold. Weird I thought, doesn't seem as if anyone has been here. I looked in the log book and look, another crazed skiier had been here the night before on a one night out and back trip. His tracks erased by the winds of the night. The big cabin warmed right up having been pre-warmed.

Crowberry

Ninty four miles in four days. Much hills. Much snow. More overflow than desired. Cold sticky snow. Sore muscles. This was our journey. Here at Crowberry Cabin, that extra night I mentioned before, I decided to cash in. No reason to rush back. Here our journey ended. While we still had 26 miles to go back to the trailhead, the feel, mood, and trail of the trip changed drastically for our exit, which was so struggleless, easy, and had too much other human activity, that it is ostrisized from the trip log.

Day Five: Crowberry Cabin Explorations.

We wrote some letters. Drew some pictures. Took some photos. Ate and drank.

My day of rest at Crowberry Cabin was so restorative. Its truly amazing what one day of sitting, eating, and drinking does for the mind and muscles. Where the night before, I laid in bed willing my left leg to move, then isolating and willing my right to follow, then my core to engage and sit up, stand up, go outside. After sitting a day, I felt ready to go again on the loop. Had someone came and loaded my sled with food and fuel, I'd of gone again! The trails and hardships quickly fade away. I did need to pack more food for Gale. Both of us got skinny each day, just not able to consume as many calories as we were consuming. I hardly took time for lunch. I had packed daily rations for what Gale normally eats (2 lbs of beef and 1 can /2 cups of kibble), which she ate ravenously. I didn't plan on our increased caloric needs. I can't say I felt lacking, but my pants falling down when I got back from the trail indicated I had lost weight. Delightful. I love the Whites. I'm glad they did not throw at me 40 below and high howling winds. There is a lot more hardship I could of faced. Yet, the hardships I faced were not really that hard, simply it was demanding terrain in snowy cold conditions. A sense of accomplishment to push through such achey muscles, and contentment that I didn't injure myself in any way. For the whole run, I was healthy and strong. Strong and able. We got ourselves in, and we got ourselves out. I'm proud of those 94 miles in four days.

Exit Day

I will allow for a few words, yet this leg is dissassociated with the initial loop. It was yet a fun and interesting ski. After a delightfully full day of rest, we prepared our things for an early departure. Our departure was pushed about 7 hours early as a snowmachiner and dogteams from fairbanks arrived around 1:30 AM, who I promptly realized were not interested in bed and seemed to be prepping to watch the sunrise. I immediately fed Gale, waited two hours for her to digest and set off at 3:30AM. Although the lights had been out the night before, this night was socked in, dark starless and cloudy. We began our long descent to Beaver Creek.

The trail had been windblown, that had hardened up, and then the fresh snow from a couple nights ago laid it with a wonderful carpet for downhill skiing and control. Whacking through alder and willow was quite fun in the dark, flying around bends hoping no moose was standing on the trail. Like a bullet in slow-mo we traveled down and down and down. I remebered a short sharp downhill from a previous trip, and just before its decent I realized I KNOW WHERE I'M AT. I put on full brakes and stopped. At 0430 AM I was not about to go full speed down this short hill, although with the conditions I think it was quite doable and frankly, quite invigorating. Just, not something at 0 dark thirty I really want to be doing when my balance and processing is not 100%. We dropped down onto Beaver Creek. Plop.

And began a slow journey trail breaking to the junction of where I began the 100 mi loop, and where I turn off to return on the same trail I began on. At this junction, a snow machine had been on the trail with a 500 lb sled.

He packed the trail, but packed it so firm my ski's had nothing to grip. There was no treads. Just a concrete hard pack. Gale roared into turbo speed. I put one ski off the trail to control the speed and promptly toppled on my head. That was a refreshing morning face wash! Atleast he didn't have an otter sled to twist and maim the feet with their cruel tracks they leave in their wake. So I'm happy for this snowmachiner, I made good travel time. Then at Ophir Creek I met Leo the trapper on snow machine. He gave me an update on the Willow 300 sled dog race. He also resuscitated the trail by churning up the snow and giving me something that my ski's could grab onto. Hallelujah! So, this leg of the trail we can just seperate from my white mountain trip. There is something wonderful oh so wonderful about not seeing a snow machiner. About seeing only dog teams, and having no more than a second to smile and nod before they are gone. Plenty of human companionship on the trail. One nod a day and a fly by smile, yep. Just about perfect.

Leaving White Mountain National Recreation Area

94 miles/ 4 days

120 miles / 6 days

180 miles / 9 days

215 miles / 14 days from Jan 18th to Jan 31st. Thats a bit of adventuring!

Picture collage of multiple Restorative Day trips back into the Whites after our trip - with a friend! Because we love it here.