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| Perfect Xcounty Conditions |
http://www.adn.com/2012/01/23/2279417/woman-crosses-antarctic-solo-on.html?story_link=email_msg
But the reality of life and age leaves it well out of my realm of possibilities. I still envy Felicity Aston and her glorious trek across the Antarctic wilderness but at this point in my life I am content with my Alaska adventures of the homegrown variety that, tame as they may seem to some, always seem to me to be just about enough.
The first ski of the season is always an adventure.
( check this link for last year's first ski http://mariansjournal.blogspot.com/2011/02/first-ski.html)
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| fluffy marshmallows |
We had been gathering a wealth of snow, watching it pile up like giant marshmallows, raising anticipation for getting out in it, having fun, making the most of skiing cross country. The first weekend of the new year I’m finally out the door of the cabin and into my skis, no need to drive to a designated ski trail, surrounded by my Alaska wilderness, opportunity is available to the north, south, east and west, each with its points of interest, each with its own ups and downs. Literally and figuratively.
Excitement to get going mixed with some apprehension about how long it will take for these old muscles and joints to get back in gear I take off.
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| Dan drags the trail for a smooth ski |
This time out I take the west trail which
heads towards the river because Dan has just run over it with the drag so it will have a lovely coating of soft snow, the better to glide with no surprises.
Around the cliff and out of the yard I come to the first downward slope, not very steep, but enough to get going faster than I want to so soon into my ski. A little snow plowing with the skis, a little self talk, bend the knees, stay loose, and I’m back in gear faster than I thought. This is going well. Not five minutes into the ski I come to the first uphill and wonder do I herringbone, side step or assault straight on. I always marvel at Will’s ability to tromp straight up a hill but he usually has skins on his skis. Mine don’t have skins, but they have built in “fish scales” which are suppose to do the same thing. Why not try it, I think, since so far everything has been easy and I’m in that can-do zone. Straight up the hill I go until almost there when it gets steeper and takes more pushing on the poles to keep from sliding back. I surprise myself with a smooth transition to a duck walk (herring bone) and am at the top of the hill before I can start to worry about it. Along comes Dan back from trail dragging reporting everything in good shape for a nice ski. I tell him I should be back to the cabin in an hour. Right.
With the main obstacle, the uphill, behind me I head off skiing more and more smoothly, finding my stride and start to feel that lovely rhythm like I'm dancing over the snow. I pass moose tracks and weasel tracks and dainty little vole tracks and a bunch of tracks I think might be ptarmigan. The woods are full of creatures I never see all watching me. I come to my turn around spot just in time for a breath-catching rest. Amidst a grove of trees we’ve built a bench for our summer hikes but today it sits under two feet of snow. I could clear off a portion to sit but since the snow on the ground is as high as the bench seat it won’t help much. I should tamp down the snow in front of the bench but I decide instead I’ll just sit on top of the snow. Carefully I maneuver the backs of my skis under the bench without difficulty. For a moment its the perfect perch and then comes one of those what-were-you-thinking moments. In my slippery snow suit I start to slide and settle softly down on the ground. Before I can grab hold of anything to stop me I’m in the snow, the back end of my skis beneath me and no hope of anyone materializing out of the woods to rescue me as in last years first ski. (See link above for last years first snow adventure)
I first think I’ll just pull myself up because I want to avoid having to take my skis off but I can’t get a purchase on anything to give me some leverage and my poles aren’t helping. After repeated tries with no luck I give into that nice rest I came for in the first place. There is something very serene in lying on your back in a bed of soft snow gazing skyward through the spruces watching the clouds sail by. As the frustration oozes out of me I toy with the idea of taking a nap thinking that Dan might come looking for me when I don’t get back but after awhile of peaceful gazing the cold starts working its way through my outer layer of down, then my next layer of fleece, then my under-layer of wintersilk. Back to the effort. I’ll take my skis off but first I need to get them out from under me which proves trickier than normal since they're so neatly tucked under the bench. I manage it by turning from one side then flopping onto the other all on soft snow which I just sink into. In pulling my skis out I end up with them perpendicular to the sky, back ends stuck straight down in the snow more or less pinning me in place. The only option now is to get the skis off. Normally this is an easy enough task but since I used the skis that allow me to wear my warm sorels they’re strapped on and I have to undo the straps by pressing on a clip and pulling the strap at the same time. A two-handed manuever. I can’t just use my pole to release the binding. And, trapped as I am, I can’t quite reach the clip. Okay. I’ll have to get my foot out of the boot then I can grab hold of the boot pull it and the ski towards me and open the straps. Fortunately the boots are not so tight they need to be pried off but as my foot comes out my fleece sock stays behind in the boot and I realize they're tight enough. It takes some doing trying to keep my bare foot out of the snow but the boot is soon free of the ski. I wiggle my now freezing foot back into the sock then into the boot and now I can tackle the other one. Same thing. No sock. More pulling and tugging and asking myself how I got myself in this mess and I finally can stand up although I’m in snow up to my thighs and with all the fussing with the boots and skis in the snow my inner gloves are wet and cold. Good news this time. I have my favorite winter accessory, extra heat packets, in my parka pocket. I have to use my teeth to open them but soon have them in my cover mitts warming my hands the wet liner gloves in my parka pockets. A final challenge, getting back to the packed trail through thigh-deep soft snow where I can put my skis back on and head for home proves less daunting than I thought it would be and I’m soon on the way feeling confident again thankful that I'm all alone in the woods and no ne has been watching this comedy of errors. Last obstacle, the hill. Instead of skiing straight down the dragged slick trail I decide to take it in the deep snow which will provide just enough drag for me to go down comfortably. It works perfectly until I steer back on the trail too soon before getting ready for it and end up once again on the ground. Even though by now its getting dark there is no sign of my shining knight coming to rescue his damsel in distress. Stuck on the down hill makes getting up with the skis on more than I can manage so once again they have to come off but this time I can easily reach the clip and the job is done without hassle. The cabin is just ten minutes away so I pick up my skis and walk. I’m done for the day with this adventure.
Back at the cabin Dan says, “There you are, You’re all covered with snow, where have you been, I thought I might have to go find you.”
And if he had I wouldn’t be wallowing in the smugness of knowing I can still do it myself.
So, undaunted, out I go on day two heading for the south trail which starts with a walk down the hill, across the bridge, and up the other side because to start out on skis puts all the hard work in the beginning. This way the skis go on when the worst is behind me.
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| The muskeg |
This is a great trail because it winds gently up hill for about a mile then ends at a long snowed-over muskeg where I can go for a long uninterrupted stretch and really get my glide going. This trail, too, is dragged and I’m pleased at how smooth the trip is and, due to the perfect lay of the downhill slope, how nice the long glide home will be.
A gentle breeze I never noticed when I started out is nipping at my cheeks. When I finally reach the top of the ridge and head for the muskeg it's gentle no more. A whine and hiss and a low howl has crept into it and leaves me suddenly gripped by a sense of foreboding and a shiver. The sky has darkened, heavy with snow. I decide to leave the muskeg for another day. A gentle downhill glide lets me cruise all the way home to a warm fire thankful the cabin is there to rescue me when ever the adventure gets too real.