Whole new territory

Date: Feb. 19
Mileage: ~10
Total climbing: ~5,000 feet
Time: 6 hours, 30 minutes
Weather: Sunny and hot, 45 degrees, light winds
Details: Ridge trek, 40-90 percent

Only time for another quick photo post today. But what a stellar weekend this was! Today I lazed through a relaxing morning, and in the early afternoon I headed up the Hawthorne Ridge with Geoff (yes, my ex) and Dan. This was unique for a couple of reasons: 1. I can never talk people into hiking with me on Fridays. Dan actually took the afternoon off. 2. This is a ridge near town that I haven't been to yet. Let the adventure begin.

It was a simple grunt up to timberline and incredible views almost from the get-go. The day was so clear that we could see all the way across the Juneau Icefield. The peak on the right, the one that looks like a big hand signaling "stop," is the Devil's Paw, on the Canadian border.

That's Mount Roberts, looking rather gnarly on its south side.

Friday was again incredibly warm, probably near 50 degrees. Because Juneau ridges are usually snow-covered well into July, this was nearly identical to a summer stroll - wind crust, slush and an almost unbearable barrage of snow-reflected sunlight.

Taku Inlet as seen from West Peak.

We climbed up to Middle Peak only to meet the Impassable Precipice of Death. It was a near-vertical drop down a cliff band into a razor-sharp, rocky knife ridge. This is a picture of Geoff and Dan being disappointed that we couldn't go to Hawthorne and loop around Powerline Ridge. I have to admit I was a little relieved, because my comfort threshold is quite a bit lower than these guys', and I could have easily been dragged into something nauseatingly unnerving if the route had been marginally passable, as I was suspected it would be at best after looking at it from below. The Impassable Precipice of Death left no lingering questions.

Here I am standing near the Impassable Precipice of Death. That was as close as I was willing to get to the edge.

The ex.

Dan.

Views were still good from Middle Peak, elevation 3,722.

These boys have a running habit that is tough to match.

Looking back over the climb up West Peak. After much deliberation about the snowpack and spring-like conditions, the boys decided that instead of climbing the peak again, we would go OVER the cornice, into the steep bowl, and back out the other side. Dan's fairly experienced with winter travel and I trust his judgement for the most part, and it is good for me to push my comfort limits if I ever want to take this mountaineering thing to the next level, but, man, I was sweating the whole time. And not because it was hot.

The specter of the snowshoer.

Looking back over the three peaks at sunset. Hawthorn is on the left, Middle Peak and the Precipice of Death in the center, and West Peak on the right. Because it was only sunset and we had so much time to burn (ha!), Geoff persuaded us to cross a secondary ridge and drop into Sheep Creek. The ridge was longer than I anticipated, and then it dropped straight off the world into a near-vertical drainage, which the guys slide down on their butts because they're more comfortable doing stuff like that. I have a problem with being out of control, so I painstakingly backstepped my way down it, using my ax and more than a few painful handfuls of Devil's Club stalks as handholds. I was dark my the time I crawled across Sheep Creek. Then the runner boys sprinted ahead as soon as we reached the icy trail. As I was wandering downhill, I made a quick cell-phone call to a friend to let him know I was going to be late for a play we made specific plans to attend and had tickets for. While I was making this call, I managed to wander off the trail in the dark and was never able to find it again. I spent 15 minutes looking for the trail before giving up in disgust, knowing I was almost completely disoriented and fairly exhausted at that, and then crawled down another steep drainage, ax and Devil's Club stalks in hand, until I stumbled out onto a strange private road. It turned what should have been a 30-minute walk out into more than an hour. It was after 7 p.m. by the time I made it to Thane Road. I had missed the play, stood up my friend, and caused Geoff and Dan to nearly return to the spot where I wandered off the trail, looking for me. (I tried to call them on my cell to let them know I was lost, but reception was spotty.)

Such is adventure. The biggest challenges happen after you think you're done.

Mount Jumbo to Mount Troy

Date: Feb. 18
Mileage: ~12

Total climbing: 6,284 feet
Time: 7 hours, 13 minutes
Weather: Sunny and hot! 34 degrees at sea level, hotter higher; Light winds
Details: Ridge trek, 40-90 percent

Today I did something that I have always wanted to do, which is connect two prominent peaks on Douglas Island via the mountain ridge. In doing so, I walked from downtown Douglas to Eaglecrest Ski Area, the hard way. I will eventually talk more about observations regarding yesterday's post, but for today I am just doing a quick photo blog.

An inversion coated Juneau with thick fog during the morning and part of the early afternoon. This airplane was flying in circles, waiting for the fog to clear so it could land at the airport. You have to think those passengers are grumbling about the unfairness of a weather delay as they coast through clear blue sky.

And it was hot! So, so hot. I don't know how hot it was. 80 degrees? Maybe 90? It was actually 34 degrees at my house before I left for the morning. Probably mid-40s above the inversion. My shirt became drenched with sweat on the way up Jumbo so I took it off for a while, until my pasty white belly started to burn. This is the obligatory self portrait on top of Mount Jumbo, elevation 3,337. I've hiked this peak many times during the summer, and it felt every bit as warm today. You'd never know it wasn't July. Seriously. Except for all the snow and rime ice.

After that, it was time to set out toward unknown territory. This is an overlook of Stephens Passage and Eagle Peak on Admiralty Island.

Douglas Island Ridge is fairly broad, which allows non-technical passage but can make route finding more difficult.

And there was lots of route finding to do beyond Mount Jumbo. I was hoping I would see old ski tracks I could follow, but no dice. They probably melted.

Looking back on Mount Jumbo after looping around a small secondary peak, elevation 2,800.

Self portrait on top of an unnamed prominent peak, elevation 2,900, above the Dan Moller bowl.

Ah, look, it's downtown Juneau. Above town you can see how high snowline is on Mount Juneau. All joy about July-in-February weather aside, it's sad to see our snowpack this dessicated.

Yeah! Made it to Mount Troy, elevation 2,950. Lots of climbing to reach these high points - the ridge dipped as low as 1,800 feet at times. I had originally thought Ben Stuart might be an good, ambitious goal if the trek went really well, but it took too much time and energy to reach Troy. I'm not sure how I feel about trekking through the ski area anyway. But my next goal is to link up Mount Meek and Ben Stuart.

Lots of good thinking today, as well. I am very pleased with how the day went ... good goals, good introspection, good weather, good scenery, good workout. Good day.

A lack of color

Date: Feb. 16
Details: Rest day

Date: Feb. 17
Mileage: 24
Time: 95 minutes
Weather: Steady rain, 38 degrees, southeast wind 15-25 mph
Details: Tempo ride; intensity 65-90 percent

So today I'm going to post about two things that I don't talk about very often on my blog - writing and discontent.

I feel like I have to preface this post because I'm not going to talk about bicycle riding, trekking or training today. It's actually still somewhat humorous to me that for the past four-plus years, I have been updating what is essentially a bicycle and photo blog. I found out recently that "Up in Alaska" was nominated for a "Best Sports Blog" Bloggie for the third time (I found out too late to solicit votes, but that's OK, because I didn't stand a chance of winning against Fat Cyclist and BikeSnobNYC anyway.) But, yeah, I have a sports blog. This idea still makes me giggle. And photography! I was essentially anti-photograph four and a half years ago, the kind of person who put her hand in front of her face when cameras came out and had only recently acquired a 2-megapixel Fuji digital camera because I was moving to Alaska and "you have to take photos of Alaska." No, if you asked me on Nov. 3, 2005, what I wanted to do with a personal blog, I would have said that I wanted to be a writer, without the drudgery of actually pursuing a career in writing.

Fast-forward four and a half years. Now I have a sports and photo blog with more than 1,000 posts and I spend some of my free time writing creative nonfiction that I develop in the form of books. Right now I'm in the process of finishing up the "2009 story." I've been polishing up the chapters I've written and for the most part I'm pretty happy with them - even the stuff I wrote while I had the flu, when I managed to evoke more than a few, ah, interesting metaphors (chalk that one up to Nyquil.) I really only have one more chapter to actually write, and I've been avoiding it. I pretty much know exactly what I want to do with this chapter; the reason I've avoided writing it is because I don't want this project to end. Oh sure, there's still tons of editing to do, and that horrible, laborious process of trying to get the thing published (I still haven't decided whether or not I'm going to try, to be honest.) But once Chapter 24 is actually written, that's it. The creative development that has provided me so much satisfaction will be done. There won't be any more opportunities to wholly immerse myself in words and images and shimmering pieces of the past until the present me, the one sprawled out on a bed in a dark little room in Fritz Cove, doesn't even exist anymore.

And this is the part where I want to talk about discontent. A vague restlessness has been needling at my senses ever since I stepped off the ferry on July 16 to rebuild my life in Juneau. This restlessness has been pronounced enough that I haven't tried very hard to actually rebuild my life here. I lived fully homeless until I finally rented my own room in mid-September (not an apartment, a room.) I've pushed away from or been unceremoniously pushed out of every new relationship I started. I won't even buy myself new hiking shoes or a trekking backpack - things I really, really need - because some mental block is preventing me from "accumulating stuff." And I have been surviving rather than thriving at work - mostly because I work at a newspaper in a bad economy; surviving is the most we can do. Meanwhile, I keep trying to do the things I love. I go to the mountains. I ride my bike. On rare nights off work, I go to parties and see movies. Life is still very good, very beautiful and very blessed. But something is missing. Something is definitely missing. I don't know what it is. If I was looking for an, ah, interesting metaphor, I would say that my life is like a half-eaten grapefruit. On the surface it's still whole and dimpled and delicious, but I've already mined the juicy center and what I have left on the inside is somewhat ... hollow.

I am happy when I'm in the mountains. I am happy when I ride my bicycle. I am happy in the company of friends. But if someone were to ask me that ever-vague question, "Are you happy?," my honest answer would be "no."

And I am blogging about this now just because it feels cathartic to admit it. I'm not necessarily looking for life coaching, although I always enjoy the random life-coach advice I receive (unsolicited comments are definitely the best part about keeping a blog, even if it can't be an "Award-Winning Blog" because it always gets stuck in the dang Sports Blog category.) But it is becoming obvious to me that I need to do something different. Make some kind of change. As they say, "If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got."

I don't know what the solutions might be. They're as distant and daunting as the Great Divide, as close and uncomfortable as the prospect of finishing my book. My plan is to spend a lot of time in the mountains this weekend, thinking about it. I'm going to think about it.