The Overdue Snowbirds

The Overdue Snowbirds

Katie & Alex on the "bird"

     “Hey it’s Tom” came the low voice over the phone.

“I’m out.  Livio and I are going fishing but Katie and Alex are in if it’s cool with you”

“Sounds great” I responded happy for some company on my hike.

     Tom and Livio showed up at 8:45 AM the next morning to drop off the ladies for the hike.  We loaded their bags then headed down the highway towards our Hatcher’s Pass trail head.  Using my thinking cap, I pulled over at Newmans’ to pick up some snacks and a couple of Gatorades for the trip.  There is some nifty boy’s scout saying about proper preparedness. (It’ll come to me I’m sure)

       Warm summer sunshine poured over us as we got out of the truck at the Reed Lakes trail head.  We had to park way in the back because there were probably thirty other vehicles lining the roadway.

     “Wow, there are a lot of people here” Katie noticed as we threw on our backpacks.  A couple of leashless dogs frolicked around our shins as their indignant teenage owners repeatedly yelled after them.  The dogs could have cared less about all the yelling.  They were content to carry on regardless.

     “Let’s get out of here!” Katie said as the last dog was snatched and scolded.

     “ I agree” said Alex with a hint of an accent in her voice.

     Alex, short for Alessandria, is from Switzerland.  Her boyfriend Livio was a foreign exchange student at Palmer High School where he had met Tom. Livio and Alex had purchased a van and have returned to Alaska several times since spending their summers traveling around, fishing, hiking and exploring. 

    We boogied down the well groomed trail towards the old snowbird mining village.  From there we turned up the snowbird trail leading straight up to a hanging valley where much old equipment and remnants remain from the old mining claim.  The mine itself was prospected in the 1920s, developed in the 1940s and closed in 1950.  All of the old cables and outbuildings were abandoned and are well on there way back to Mother Nature.  We passed about twenty people on the hill leading to the mine. 

    Up we went, losing the trail several times having to scramble over and around huge boulders.  Before long we had arrived at Snowbird pass where we could peer over onto the snowbird glacier.  A short downhill ramble over more boulders dropped us onto the glacier proper. 
    As I reached for a granola bar out of my pack, I realized that I didn’t remember having transferred any of my snacks into my backpack after leaving Newmans.  That couldn’t be true, could it?  I fumbled through the food pocket of my pack only to retrieve a lint roller.

Anyone seen my lint roller?

     “Huh” was the only word-like noise that escaped my lips.

     I refilled my empty Gatorade bottle from the glacial creek and we were on our way. Apparently I had left the other full gatorade in the truck too…..Huh. 

     A pleasant stroll awaited us on the gentle downslope of the Snowbird Glacier.  We followed some old footprints down glacier as they weaved over and around many very thin crevasses.  Soon we noticed a rather large boulder the size of a small house with a red painted arrow pointed uphill.  The entire North edge of the glacier was flanked by a rolling ridge of very large boulders.  Hidden at the top of this ridge was the newly constructed snowbird hut tucked neatly among the rocks. 

     We were not alone as we arrived at the hut.  There was a volunteer crew of four taking down the old dome style hut.  I met Harry who was busy assembling a new outhouse. I had visited the old hut fourteen years earlier with friends and was able to find my old journal entry:  “Great place, great friends, great time”-Steve Harrison.  My brilliant articulation so many years before astounded me.

     “What do you think” I asked, “its 2:30, we are only about one quarter of the way”

     The original plan was ambitious.  “The Bomber” traverse it was called.  The route continued our current progress North dropping down into the upper Bartholf creek valley, cross over to the East branch of Bartholf and up to The Bomber Hut.  In days of yore, legend speaks of a plane crash high up in this Eastern Bartholf drainage.  Rumor has it that remnants from the old bomber plane can still be seen.  I was looking forward to checking it out for myself.  From there, approximately the mid point, we would turn East and pass over the Bomber glacier up to Bomber pass.  From there we would descend down to the Reed lake trail bringing us back to the truck, essentially a fifteen-ish mile loop.

    “Let’s do it” Katie said.

    “Let’s go” Alex said

    “Ok, let’s go” I added as we grabbed our packs.  I waited until we were a hundred feet away from the hut to fling my nectarine pit given to me by Alex.  The nectarine went nicely with the handful of mixed nuts Katie gave me.  What else did they have in their packs I wondered?  I could always offer to remove any lint from their coats if needs be.  Together we were a good team.

     Down we climbed over a jagged garden of huge rocks.  Eventually we came to the creek draining off the glacier.  The pounding rush of thousands of gallons of meltwater was as loud as a jet as we made our way to the lake below.  The creek mellowed and braided out nicely for us to ford.  We picked our way around the corner and then stopped to survey our route.

Katie knows no bounds

     Before us lay a series of steep drops and mossy plateaus leading to the upper Bartholf creek bed.  Bartholf eventually runs into the upper Kashwitna drainage.  Thoughts of a future float trip were swirling in my brain.  The descent to the creek bed was an exciting mix of bouldering, gentle ridge walks, some mild bushwhacking and a few stream crossings thrown in for good measure.  We picked our way around the corner into the mouth of the Bomber valley.  From there we found a trail assuring us that we were not lost.

“Look, there’s the hut!”  I exclaimed.

 In the far distance perched at the head of the valley was what looked like a large white house.

“And look, there’s a bear!”

     The large brown bear was lumbering along the hillside opposite us.  The bear was a good half of a mile away slowly working the hillside.  Like a lot of bears I have seen in the mountains, this one too was well above the lush vegetation in very barren looking mountainous country.  This bear was an enjoyable spectacle indeed considering that we were at a good safe distance. 

     The close bear encounter the week before rainbow fishing with Tom was a different story.  We had startled a sleeping brown bear nestled right off the trail.  Twenty feet away is closer than we cared to be from this huffing, whoofing monstrosity.  Luckily Tom’s intimidating stature and wilderness confidence scared the hulking beast far into the bush.  Like a cartoon character the bear was up and off like a cannonball crashing through the willows like they weren’t even there.

“How does such a large animal eat enough way up here?” asked Alex.

     Just about then I passed a hubcap sized pile of Bear poop packed with hundred of blueberry skins.  “I think that’s what they eat up here!” I pointed out.

     We took a short break and surveyed our situation.  Further up the valley we began to notice the increasingly menacing looking dark clouds forming above the mountains.  I couldn’t help but think about scenes from Mordor in the Lord of the Rings.  The only thing missing was a giant lidless eye wreathed in flames.  According to our map we were coming up on our half way point.  It began to rain. After a little discussion we decided to retreat instead of press forth through Mordor. Continuing meant trekking through an unfamiliar mountain pass, in a storm that was imminent.  Although difficult, the way back was known to us, and we would pass by the snowbird hut in case of emergency.   We turned our muddy toes back down the trail past the formidable pile of bear poop.  The Bomber Hut would have to be discovered another time.

     As we ascended the valley of steps and plateaus, the weather worsened.  Rain turned to driving snow, making the big boulders slippery to our feet. The higher we got the windier it became.  With my GPS watch, I clocked our progress; we had slowed.  We were moving one mile per hour.  We started to get cold.  I glanced up ahead at Alex.  Visibility was shutting down. I could still see her blue coat, but the barrage of horizontal snow flew high over top of her in endless sheets.  As we climbed past the glacial stream, it became more and more apparent that we needed to stop by the hut to warm-up.

     We arrived at the Snowbird Hut at 7:30 PM.  The small cylindrical kerosene heater glowed cherry red through its grate.  We melted into the cabin heat dripping from head to toe.  I helped Katie undo her backpack buckles because her fingers were cold and weren’t moving very well.  Mine weren’t much better.  The four others at the hut were very gracious. They offered us food, water, and good console.  I wrung out my wet socks and hung them to dry around the heater along with everyone else’s wet garb.

     Our decision to stay the night came quickly.  At our recent rate of travel, with five miles left to go, we would reach the truck well past midnight.  With the impending blizzard blasting the side of the hut we settled in for the night.

     In truth we were happy to be at the cozybird hut playing Jenga with crew leader Harry and the others, but all of us knew that our loved ones would be worried about us.   We were not in an emergency situation per se, but all year long it seems, the newspaper is riddled with stories of adventures gone awry.  Between the seasonal snow machine ice break-throughs, avalanche victims or bear maulings it would seem as if the wilderness is ready to attack us at any minute!  I never have felt that way myself, but we knew that these scenarios were playing out in their minds at home because we were overdue. 

      What I do believe is that life is too short to stay home living in fear of what might happen.  When I am old and my wheelchair is unable to overcome the boulder fields of the bomber valley then at least I will have fond memories to reflect upon.

Jenga intensity

     

    Our plan was to dry out and crash at the hut.  We would wake as early as possible in the morning and hustle out.  Sometime around ten that night, the roof avalanched its accumulation scaring the bejesus out of us.  I’m just thankful it didn’t’ happen in the middle of one of my stellar Jenga moves!  After we had all settled down into our plywood bunks, Katie wished us all goodnight. 

     At six A.M.  while the others were still sleeping, we quietly geared up and hit the road.  Our footprints pushed into the fresh snow on the deck and stairs leading down to the rocky ground.  It was still snowing pretty good, but we were warm and dry and energized.  Thirty minutes after we left we had crossed the glacier and reached the pass. Standing in a foot of new windblown snow, I was able to send a text message home letting everyone know that we were safe and would be back soon.

Texting in a blizzard can be fun.

      A feeling of relief overcame us all when we got word back that they got our message.   It turned out that my wife Tamra, Tom and Livio didn’t sleep too well that night.   None of us did.  With a weight lifted off our troubled minds we descending the snowbird valley and it was a joy.  We were able to find the trail marked by the stacked rock cairns.  The fresh snow was fun to travel in, we even got to glissade for a short run.  Soon the snowfall turned back to rain as we moved to lower elevations.   A fat patch of blueberries halted our progress towards the bottom as we savored a few mouthfuls of delicious blue goodness.

     Upon further reflection, perhaps my original journal entry at the snowbird fourteen years ago wasn’t so bad, maybe it fit this trip too; “ Great hike, great company, great time”- Steve Harrison