On happiness

Date: Feb. 21
Mileage: ~5
Total climbing: ~2,200 feet
Time: 2 hours, 7 minutes
Weather: Sunny, 42 degrees, light winds
Details: Hike to Ben Stewart, 40-90 percent

I didn't sleep well last night because my heart rate wouldn't slow down, something that happens to me when I am "overtraining," which to me means working my body at a consistently higher rate than it is comfortable with for an extended period of time. The kind of thing I do during an ultraendurance race. The kind of thing I'm actually seeking to do right now, with my "mountain bender." But after not sleeping well, I woke up late with a sun hangover, prickly quad muscles and legs that felt like they were stapled to the mattress. My hands are torn to shreds from my Sheep Creek bushwhacking adventure and I'm finally starting to get blisters on my toes. So I decided, "time to take a rest day." I knew, physically, that rest would do me more good than exercise at this point.

I did some cleaning and organizing at home, and at noon decided to go to the office a couple hours early and work on some administrative stuff that I've been putting off. As I drove south, the mountain peaks that envelope Juneau like a fortress became visible through the diminishing fog. As though emerging from a fog myself, my inertia slowly became supplanted by desire. "I have two hours," I thought. "What can I do with two hours?" I drove past my office building and kept going.

I had in my car a pair of running shoes and clothing I wear to the gym. Not exactly up to the standards of the winter trekking gear I traditionally use, but perfectly adequate for what I had in mind - climbing to Ben Stewart, a 3,366-foot-high peak on Douglas Island. I have actually never been all the way to this peak before, because it's a muskeg-slicked slog in the summer and in the winter it is usually the realm of skiers - located in the immediate backcountry of Eaglecrest Ski Area. But it's a good, fast peak to hike for two reasons - you can "cheat" by starting at the base of the ski area at 1,150 feet rather than the typical Juneau starting point of sea level. And snowshoeing snowboarders generally lay a good boot-pack trail that is sufficient for running.

But as I tried to kick-start my reluctant legs and adjust my sunburned eyes to the bright white snow, that nagging guilt, "why are you doing this?" trickled into my mind. So I thought about it. I coughed and clawed up the slush and ice and thought about it. I didn't think very hard, because mountain benders combined with my weekend work duties generally turn my mind to mush. But the only answer I could come up with, as I stood on the peak with the sun-drenched pinnacles of Southeast Alaska surrounding me, was, "It makes me happy."

But that started me thinking about the substance of happiness. To me, the question "what is happiness?" is the same as asking "what is food?" It is something that fills you up, energizes and replenishes your body and mind. It is something you need and something you seek after. It is not the same for everyone - some people crave lobster; others like peanut butter sandwiches. Happiness is organic in the same way food is, consumable and finite. One source will never be enough to satiate a person forever. We are destined to pursue it our entire lives, and eventually find fulfillment in the pursuit as much as the reward. The question "are you happy?" is the same as the question "are you hungry?" Happiness is hunger, the force and motivation of life. If I'm satisfied today, I'll still have to go searching the next day, and the next and the next, until I breathe my dying breath. And to stop searching is to starve, slowly but surely. This I believe.

Then again, I have been spending a lot of time in the sun this week. :-)

Shredded quads are good for the soul

Date: Feb. 20
Mileage: ~7
Total climbing: ~3,300 feet
Time: 2 hours, 34 minutes
Weather: Sunny and hot, 47 degrees, light winds
Details: Ridge hike, 60-90 percent

The high-pressure system continues. I did an ambitious trek up Gold Ridge today. There were nice, packed footprints in the snow; I jogged and power-hiked most of the way up and ran, loped and hobbled on the way down. The reason I pushed it so hard is because I didn't get started until nearly noon, and I had to be to work before 3:30. The reason I didn't get started until nearly noon is because I couldn't pull myself out of bed in the morning. The reason I couldn't pull myself out of bed is because I felt sore and hung-over and generally crappy from a 13-plus-hour weekend of hard labor in the hot sun.

But eventually I dragged myself toward my coffee maker, gulped an entire pot of rocket fuel, and rallied. "Why bother?" you might ask. "What's the point?" you might ask. I have my reasons. Even as these mountain benders rip up my body and burn my eyes, the experience of being immersed in the fog of it, drunk on endorphins and awestruck at the scope and beauty of the world, is a healing experience. It gives me clarity and hope. The reason I do it - the same reason some meditate, the same reason others dance or paint or pray. It's my way of feeling wholly connected, creative, energized and alive.

On a place like Gold Ridge, I see others, just as awestruck, just as invigorated, and I know I'm not alone in this. But, like all things in the universe, every reward comes with a cost. And like every bender, every mountain binge comes with a hangover. And like every hangover, the only cure is to get right back out there.

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.