Christmas in July

The lethal Monkshood, or Wolfsbane (Aconitum delphinifolium)

Sunday (July 6^th)

Yesterday Jacob and I were invited to accompany Chris for a float down Willow Creek. Chris’s friend Laun is a guide who takes customers on his raft to various waterways in Southcentral Alaska for fishing and/or sightseeing. Luckily, Laun was generous enough to allow two poor trail boys experience this for free, whereas usual customers pay upwards of $150pp.

After getting the OK to get off work after lunch (we had stored up some extra hours), Jacob, Chris and I headed off to Laun’s place to help him load up the raft and gear, and then we proceeded to Pioneer Lodge, where we would be ending our trip, to drop off Chris’s truck. A short ride later we put in at the Shirley Town Bridge and began our journey downriver. I was carrying a fly rod I had found at the station; though it was only my second time fly fishing, with the expert advice of Laun and Chris I caught on quickly and pulled in a small rainbow about an hour in. Due to warmer temperatures that week, snowmelt from the Talkeetnas had made its way down into Willow, resulting in deeper and faster water than usual. Along the six-hour trip we went through some small rapids, which were nonetheless exciting for a whitewater novice like me. But for the most part it was a gentle, winding float on a gorgeous day, with dwarf fireweed blooming on the banks and the river stones happily presenting their beautiful array of hues through the cold, clear water.

Along the trip we regularly saw large King Salmon swimming upstream in groups of three and four, the last leg of their epic journey nearly complete. Though the fish were too near the end of their life cycle to be any good to eat, they still could put up a fight worthy of their noble title. Towards the end of our float, the temptation became too great and we caved in: Laun pulled out his larger fly rod, attached a 30# leader and cast for one of these monsters. Immediately hooking one (the bend where we had stopped was swarming with red titans), to my surprise he called me over and told me to take the rod. Knowing that I hadn’t pulled in a King yet, he decided I couldn’t leave Alaska without fighting one. And you can be sure, fighting a 40lb King Salmon on a fly rod on an Alaskan river is a memory I will certainly not be forgetting. After ten minutes of fierce battle, I became a little too anxious and horsed the fish a bit too much—the leader snapped and my worthy opponent swam free. Hey, give me a break, it was my first time.

Monday (July 7^th)

With the four of us having Mondays off, this morning Jacob, Erik, Mariah and I left to hike Matanuska Peak in Palmer. Only in Alaska would you be able to drive to a city, as opposed to away from one, in order to do a little mountain climbing.

A brief respite with Jacob and Erik

The day wasn’t that good for any long distance sightseeing, as Matanuska and nearby peaks were under cloud cover, but walking through the alpine meadows in the fog, surrounded by grand black slopes draped in mist gave a very movie-like feel to the day.

Climbing Matanuska

And with the light rain a nice regulatory measure against our perspiration, the weather was comfortable throughout…for the most part. Climbing the steepest section of the trail, at a constant grade of 45-50 degrees, I noticed that the soft mist present throughout the trek had changed its texture slightly, its presence now quite distinguishable as it hit my hands. It was snowing. Yes, today, July 7^th, I stood in a light snow shower on the slopes of Matanuska Peak. And to think I can’t even get a white Christmas at home.

We decided that skiing down the gully would be the fastest method of descent.

Tuesday (July 15^th)

This past weekend I traveled the canoe loop, heading out Saturday night and coming back yesterday afternoon. The first night was spent on an island in the middle of Milo Lake, which I’ve named Loon Island, in honor of the pair of birds that nest on its northern shore. After cooking breakfast and breaking camp Sunday morning, I traveled around the loop up to James Lake, fishing along the way. (I caught some nice ones, and discovered another good pike hole in the process.)

A White Water Lily (Nymphaea odorata)

Having checked the PUC reservations before I left, I knew the James Lake cabin was open that night and pulled into the dock there in the late afternoon. An open slot at this cabin is incredibly hard to come by; it’s our nicest PUC, the lone cabin on the shore of a secluded lake in the middle of the park, and it’s normally booked solid throughout the summer.

The James Lake Cabin was featured on the cover of Cabela's Magazine a few years back.

Paddling back after gathering firewood at an abandoned beaver lodge (which I have discovered is one of the best place to procure good, dry fuel—just make sure it’s abandoned), I spotted a mother black bear with a cub on the opposite shore of the bay, about 200 feet away. As I slowly paddled closer, she heard me and came to the edge of the shore, staring me down for a bit before running off into the woods with her cub close behind.

I enjoyed a good dinner by the fire, followed by some roasted marshmallows left by a previous renter (judging by the taste, a very previous renter). After a brief harmonica session, it was off to bed. The next morning I continued along the loop and pulled out around 3pm, but not before stopping at Chicken Lake for a brief, refreshing swim (I assure you, it was very brief).

Monday (July 21^st)

Today I took the truck up Hatcher Pass Road to do some hiking, hoping that the weather would break long enough for me to get some shots along this beautiful drive.

I could definitely live here.

Though I didn’t get any great light, the rain held off long enough for me to get a few frames, so hopefully you can get a slight feel for the Talkeetna Mountains area.

One of the many lakes in the area. Note the beaver lodge.

Arctic Lupin (Lupinus arcticus)

At the apex of the route is Independence Mine, an old gold mine that is now a State Historical Park, complete with informational kiosks and guided tours. I took a brief self-guided tour and then headed up the newly completed Gold Cord Lake Trail, a short trek up to a beautiful alpine lake. Due to rain and my beginner’s ignorance I left the camera in the truck, not anticipating any startling photographic opportunities, but as I hiked the last bit of the trail and came upon the deep, glacial blue lake encircled by steep, mist-shrouded slopes, I instantly regretted that decision. But as I gazed in wonder at the stern mysticism of the scene, with fog rolling over the edge of the lake into a seemingly endless grey nothingness, and the sharp craggy rocks jutting out of the mountainsides, softened here and there by a splash of Pink Plume Bistort (Polygonum bistorta ssp. plumosum) or the small white bells of Moss Heather (Cassiope stelleriana), I realized that there are some things one just has to view for oneself. Exploring off-trail, I climbed the slopes around the lake and gained a whole new vantage point. Perched on top of a boulder, probably 150 feet above the lake, I saw as a stiff wind blew over the top of the water, disturbing its surface and creating twirling, dancing formations as it raced across the smooth canvas, pushing, turning and merging intricate rippling patterns above the lake’s aquamarine depths. Nature is an artist with no equal.

A 20-inch rainbow trout caught and released on __________ Lake.
(Sorry, I can’t disclose the location—that’s highly classified information.)