Monday, February 29, 2016

A Quest for a Lake

A Quest For a Lake

    “Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.”- Vince Lombardi

    I pulled up next to Bryan.  He was peeling off his seal skin hat and he revealed a bead of sweat on his brow.  I was hot too and he had picked the perfect spot to take a break.  We had just topped-out on a snowy ridge.  We were somewhere in the Western foothills of Beluga Mountain.  The hill fell away from us too steeply and spilled into a deep-cut some 200 vertical feet below us.  Was this a dead end? Beyond, and up again was the way but it appeared that we had come to a reckoning.  We had been riding for five hours and were coming up on 100 miles on the odometer.  
    Up to that point, the paper birch forest had been delightful.  We had picked our way through the seemingly uniform white trees feeling our way along the base of the mountain.  I secretly hoped that these friendly rolling hills would continue up and over the ridge.  From there we could pick our way down to Hiline lake to visit my friend Wendy.  But I wasn’t born yesterday and I wasn’t surprised at all that suddenly before us was this giant obstacle; it was effectively giving us the finger.
      These slap-in-the face moments in the mountains are nothing new for me.  Sometimes it’s an indication that I’m in over my head.  Other times it’s a reminder that sometimes you’ve got to try-out many options before finding the right way.  Mountains can be puzzling but one thing I know for sure is that if you’re lucky enough to be in the mountains, then you’re lucky enough. I was enjoying this puzzle.
    Bryan was impressed with our spot. “I’m pretty sure that no one has ever been here before.”  He could be right but even if he wasn’t, it’s a pretty powerful feeling to be in such a remote, wild place.  In fact, it’s that very feeling that pulls me into the wilderness to begin with.  As we studied our place and surroundings I had to agree; the expanse before us appeared to be as untouched as any spot that I’ve been and it made me happy.  
     My friend Wendy is all-about this sentiment as well.  She is well connected to her spirituality and her place in the universe.  I wouldn’t find out until I got back home but as we were exploring the West side of Beluga Mountain, she had ventured into the mountains with her dog Luzy on the other side somewhere near Hayes pass.  
     There is no doubt that Wendy is a free spirit and so it was no surprise to me when several months ago she told me that she wanted to skijor from her house in Talkeetna to her cabin at Hiline, a journey of 85 miles as the crow flies.  This is nothing new for Wendy.  She has skijored along the Iditarod trail and is an experienced adventurer.   She asked me for help putting in a trail.  I said yes.
Wendy Battino and Luzy heading to
Hiline Lake.
           
    Bryan was using his Gaia GPS app on his phone to keep track of our whereabouts.  Using the Google Earth overlay allowed him to find an old seismic line that cut straight to the base of the mountain.  From there we picked our way over creeks and beaver dams.  We snaked our way along windy swaths of swamp where thick stands of spruce pinned us in before we cut over through several small lakes and then finally we got up into the hills.
    “Maybe we can find a way down this thing.  If we can just get over to there, I think we’ll be home free.”  I was pointing to a snowy hill in the distance.  The trees were sparse and if we could just get there we should be able to pick our way over the ridge and down to the lake.
    “Ok, let’s go.”  It didn’t take long to find a small cut to ride down.  It was obvious to both of us that although we knew we could make it down, there was no way we would be able to make it back up.  At that point we had just committed ourselves to finding a different way back.  Adventure is as adventure does.
    One at a time we pointed our sled's noses over the edge of the shoot and slid down the hill braking and leaning.  The late afternoon temperatures had softened the snow into a deep mess of sticky mash potatoes and at the bottom of the ravine I quickly managed to bury my sled.  I was trying to pop over a bundle of covered alders.  Bryan, choosing a different way got himself stuck too. This pattern continued as we skirted around the hill trying to find a way up to the aforementioned sparsely treed hillside.  Finally after another particularly grueling extrication that involved using my winch and shovel, we decided to call it a day.  We still had to find a new way back and doing so in the dark wasn’t appealing or smart.

    In the end we didn’t make it to the lake to see Wendy.  We were about six miles shy of the lake.  We are confident that we will be able to make it next time.  Exploring new territory takes lots of time.
Stuck

Stuck
Hiline lake on the lower left.  Our track is orange. Each square is one mile...so close.
World imagery.  Hiline lake lower left.  Our track is orange.


Monday, February 15, 2016

Of Pike and Men

Of Pike and Men
“A fisherman is a jerk on one end of the line, waiting for a jerk on the other”-Unknown
Jerk#1 and #2 in no particular order.


    Corey was clutching the two foot ice fishing pole as it was bending and twitching violently towards the hole.  It was a battle I wasn’t sure he would win.  Unfortunately I had neglected to change line and I had our poles rigged with four-pound test from a prior trip and he had already broken one off.  Corey had been jigging while the rest of us were busy re-baiting all of our tip ups.  I hustled down to him in time to take some video. “Nice job Bubba!”
    For reasons that are beyond me, the fish were able to strip us of our bait on all of the tip-ups and the only way to catch them was to jig.  We had at least 20 flags on the tip-ups; bait gone on them all and no fish.  Huh?  
    “Maybe something else is getting the bait.” Tom surmised.  I had caught up with him on Monday at work and was interested in his opinion on the matter.  Tom was probably nursing sore arms from reeling-in scads of giant Pike on his own weekend trip.   Apparently he had found the “honey-hole” and told me that maybe he wouldn’t ever have to fish for pike anymore because he could never hope to top the fishing he had just experienced.  Asshole.
    Maybe he’s right, maybe a voracious school of whitefish are pecking our bait to death.  I think next weekend I’ll gear-down and see if I can catch some of these interloper bait thieves.
    The creek had frozen high this winter and there was enough water to punch-in some holes and fish.  Years ago we drilled a few holes and literally “drew mud” indicating insufficient water depth and honestly the thought of ice fishing in the creek after that hadn’t even crossed my mind.  Maybe this will be the year, I thought.
I was right.
    
Dad caught a burbot.
Corey the fish slayer hauling his load back to the cabin.
Mount Susitna bathing in the morning sun.
The sun even shines on a dogs ass every now and then.
Flag up!.......bait gone.....shit.
Ten minute snow storm.
Corey
Corey and friend.