my favorite hike

i'm taking my life's perogative to tell a story out of order. i have many things to report, but none seem as compelling to me this afternoon as this one does. Last Sunday, Cob and i hiked the Granite Tors trail, a 15 mile loop that climbs 2500' up to a set of tors before descending again. on our drive out, Cob happily chirped that we were going on "brownie's favorite hike!" i looked at him sideways and exclaimed that this was not my favorite hike - Pinnell was my favorite hike (a 27 mile point to point over alpine tundra - are you getting the idea that i might like the long haul?). i mean, i really like Granite Tors, but my favorite hike? i don't think so.

firmly chided, Cob didn't mention it again.

we got to the trail head, checked our day packs: 2 litres of water each, lunch, extra warm clothes, rain gear (you know, as insurance for no rain - if you don't bring it, it will for sure rain), bug dope (you know, 'cause it won't rain since we brought our rain gear), sunscreen, matches, etc., and set out.

a hiker can travel in either direction up to the tors as the trail is a loop, but i like the left side, so up we went. we moved through the spruce near the river, climbing up into the birch forest that burned a few years back. this is a picture of it from the other side - all those downed trees never actually burned, they just fell over after their root systems burned out from a hot ground fire that swept through the area. fire is a strange thing and it does strange things. you can see where it swooshed up the hillside in great waves.

the burned out forest (full of fireweed, that beautiful pink-purple flower that colonizes burn areas and so gets its name) is stark and simultaneously monochromatic in its charred face that also makes the color - blue sky, purple flowers, green leaves - seem all the more brilliant. i remember this forest before it burned. the canopy sun-dappled the trail and complicated little eco-systems supported a variety of fauna that will have to wait on the flora to catch up. i've done this hike 6 or 7 times since i've lived here in AK; this is my second hike through the burn. my memory of green is still pretty strong.

we finally make it to the Tors and stop for lunch and a little medical attention for my rapidly developing blisters. Nuch takes up residence on one of the Tors and contemplates the universe - he's a deep guy. Cob checks out some kind of lichen or mineral staining on one of the Tors. Cob tells me that the Tors are granite outcroppings formed when magma formed into a large mass called a pluton under the earth's crust which heaved up during a process called ice wedging (i'm working on memory here, folks, and this physical science stuff is a stretch for me). as the earth's crust eroded away, water seeped into the pluton, froze, and expanded, calving off these great slabs of granite that pierced the ground. or something like that.

the way down was a little tricky - we lost the trail for about a mile, but found it again no thanks to the superior smelling skills of the pup. as we picked our way through fallen trees and over granite rock beds back to the real trail, a thousand memories of previous hikes along this trail seemed as real as the trail itself (and my blister).

it's interesting how a place, even one that has changed as much as this place has, can still populate one's brain with a collection of memories drawn from different experiences, different people, different things that happened in this place. like when i hiked it with Jim and we were totally dehydrated, or when Phyllis, Cob, and I gathered burnt out pieces of birch for Jesse's carvings and it now sits in their foyer, or when i lay in a field of fireweed in front of one of the tors, or when we fished out every ziploc bag and empty container from our eaten lunch 'cause we found an amazing blueberry spot. all of these things happened at particular moments in my life, which had changed a little over the years. i remember when i hiked it with a friend whom i rarely see anymore. and when i hiked it with Jim before he left us. and when Nuch and i made a solo summit just to watch the sky by ourselves. when i first hiked it with Cob. when it burned.

the Granite Tors trail has become a space in which my life has unfolded - and been marked by the passage of time. for the first time, i actually wondered where and who i would be when i passed by this way again. how it would look to me then, who i would hike it with, what we would talk about, what memory i would take away from it to remember later. and then i remembered what Cob said...he was right, Granite Tors was my favorite hike. it was like an old friend who always wants a visit from me and likes to catch up on what's happened since he last saw me. and always, always has a few surprises himself.

the only thing that stays the same is the blisters.

catching up...

ok, so i'm way behind, which is apparently what happens when you travel too much.

after St. Mary's, i had a day and a half in Fairbanks before heading back out to the Yukon - to the village of Grayling this time. Grayling is an interesting little village in that it was moved to its current location on the Yukon from the Innoko, a tributary of the Yukon directly to the east. On the Innoko, the village was called Holikachuk. the village was experiencing significant flooding, and so folks picked up and moved due west in the 1950s. This move made sense since many of the summer fishcamps used by Holikachuk residents were on the Yukon and they traveled there every summer. however, many Grayling residents continue to use the Innoko country for many of their other subsistence uses, inlcuding mosse hunting and harvesting whitefish and migratory birds.

Grayling is up river from St. Mary's and our visit continued to track with the upriver progress of the salmon. this was cool since it afforded me my very first opportunity to driftnet. drifting is a style of fishing when you set a net from a moving boat - basically one that is drifting downriver and the net drifts with you, snagging fish along the way. each drift takes about a half-hour to an hour, depending on the strength of the run. drifting is hard work - our first attempt yielded us this HUGE lochness monster-like tree root wad, which was a lot heavier than a salmon, or even several. not so much fun to catch wood.

that's Chase, my drifting teacher. He's 11 and has been working with his uncle since he was 5. Chase was a good teacher - look at our fish!

our catch was brought back to Chase's aunties, who then enlisted our help in making salmon strips. strips are hung to air dry for a day or two before being moved into a smokehouse where they will be smoked for a few weeks and then frozen for winter use.

this is a another family's smokehouse. those are backbones hanging on the outside which will be dried slightly and either used for dog food or boiled to remove the meat for jarring.

we were doing the same work in Grayling that we were doing in St. Mary's - documenting local knowledge of the salmon runs. believe or not, that's NOT me mapping historic fish camps with Henry Deacon, the traditional chief of the village. that's Catherine - we've worked together for the last several years and are regularly mistaken for each other - even when she was pregnant!!

the youngest researcher

ok, i've got exactly one day between field trips to get this post out before i'm on to new adventures, so forgive anything here that may seemed rushed! we just returned from St. Mary's, a Yup'ik village on the Andreafesky River, a tributary to the Yukon in its lower reaches near the mouth.


















"We" is a gang of 4 doing some research on local knowledge of salmon: me, Tori, Catherine, and her daughter, Savonnah, the 4th and youngest member of our crack research team. Savonnah is about 14 months...i'm dying to knit something for her now that i've spent a week with her. cute as a bug and 'full of beans' as her mother says!




that's the little stinker reaching for freshly hung salmon fillets - more on those later...











St. Mary's is a cool little place - about 550 souls - that combine subsistence and commercial fishing (for salmon) to make a living. we got there during the first pulse of salmon to enter the river. so we saw a lot of this:






cutting fish by the river bank









and this:


stretching salmon fillets that have been scored to hang and dry for winter use


















and this:


salmon strips hanging in a smokehouse to dry - pictures do not do this sight justice. salmon strips literally drip oil as they dry and are among my favourite foods...















we also saw a lot of net repairing going on. St. Mary's residents catch most of their salmon using gill nets, and specifically drift gill nets, where the nets are set out of a boat in the middle of the river and the net and boat drift downriver with the current for a spell before being hauled back in, hopefully full of fish!

















ever wonder where the fish you buy in the grocery store comes from? chances are, if you're buying fresh Yukon River king salmon, this is where! this is the dock of the Boreal Fish Processor in St. Mary's - many of the commercial king salmon pass through this dock.

with dirt roads and a little rain, a village can be a muddy place. we found this sign on an elder's door - i'm thinking of making one for myself! now, if i could only teach Nuchie to read...

unfinished projects

i've been thinking about unfinished projects - some are easier to deal with than others, so these are my most beloved unfinished works. the baby sweater, now claimed by Kimmie for her most beautiful daughter, Mara Brodie Wuhs Coles de la mancha...

















baby pants - for baby Anna Kay. these were a suprise until i was stupid enough to leave them out for her mom to see. all done, 'cept sewing in the elastic at the waist.


















a hat - for someone i won't name yet, since i still have a hope of keeping this a secret!


















a blog on unfinished projects wouldn't be complete without a picture of Cobbie's unfinished project: the "19 year sweater" - you know, the one he started during the Reagan administration? yep, Cobbie knits, and knits beautifully, if slowly. he's almost there - the body's done, one sleeve is done, and he's nearly there with the second sleeve! Go Cobbie! now he's just looking for someone who it will fit (i had him size the sleeves on my arms just in case...).






















then there's mystery #1: close to done...

















and mystery #2: not yet started, but destined for great things...

rock star

last monday, i attended an event that was a knitter's version of a rock concert. when i say rock concert, i mean one of those great big huge venues with cool light shows and smoke and big sounds, or maybe i mean a small, intimate venue where you can see whether or not your rock star is sweating or merely glistening - depending on what you like. the point is that it was big. HUGE. it was the Yarn Harlot.

the Yarn Harlot, aka Stephanie Pearl-McPhee, is a knitter who also writes books about knitting - very, very funny books about knitting. i've been a fan for a long time, primarily through her blog . which is cool and funny. very, very cool and funny (are you getting the idea that i really love the Yarn Harlot?) she's currently on tour launching her new book and she came north for the FIRST TIME (except that sh'es actually from Canada so she might already know a thing or two about the north). so, without a second thought, i trekked down to Anchorage ('what?' you say? 360 miles just to see a knitter? did i mention that it was the Yarn Harlot???), and Tracie and i went to see our rock star.

now, the Yarn Harlot is not just any old rock star - she's a socially conscious rock star. we were instructed to knit hats if we had time - the hats would be collected and donated to a local Anchorage area charity - a homeless shelter, a domestic violence shelter, etc. Tracie and i both knitted hats:




















although Tracie was a little concerned that hers was more of a yarmulke than a hat really. i think it's odd that without even trying Tracie and i both knit hats in shades of purple and yellow. hmmmm.... anyhoo, after a short wait in line and a slightly longer wait in our seats, the Yarn Harlot came out and delighted us with her wit and humour. and let me tell you (i think only another knitter will understand this) how cool it is to sit in a room with about 100 other people who are all KNITTING. we might have even been swaying together as one to the sound of her voice holding up our needles instead of lighters. it was cool.

afterwards, she signed copies of her books and i had my picture taken with her. upon seeing my picture, both Cob and Mia noted just how positively giddy i look standing next to the Yarn Harlot. i was so giddy, i barely remember the experience! to top it all off, as i put my camera back into a running sock which doubles as a high-tech camera case, she jumped up and took a picture, exclaiming that it was the best use of a commercial sock she'd ever seen! the Yarn Harlot took a picture of me! ohmygod - how cool!


















the green sock i'm holding is a sock that travels with her around the country and figures prominently in many of her pictures - this sock has a better life that me, i say! anyway, unless you follow the Yarn Harlot, you have no idea what a thrill it is to hold the green sock. giddy doesn't even begin to describe it!

toy forest

last week-end, we planted trees. oh, did we plant trees! see, when our house was built, the contractor did A LOT of dirtwork - apparently trees get in the way of this endeavor. so this year we thought we might try to re-establish a few of those lovely trees. our effort started in Nenana, about 60 miles south of Fairbanks on the road system, at the Woodland Farms, a really cool tree and reindeer farm (only in Alaska) full of beautiful pines, spruce, birch, etc. we planned to get about 12 trees but the sight of all those baby trees got to me and i selected 15 before Cob cut me off. i tell you, baby trees are almost as cute as baby animals. but less mobile. not really a bad thing, though. we selected our baby trees in early May, and when the farm called to tell us that the ground had thawed and they'd balled up our trees, well, we high-tailed it down there to be reunited with our little forest and bring 'em home! (this required a not-so-bad 14 ft U-Haul rental).




Cob and Stumpy taking a rest after we spent the evening moving around members of our toy forest to figure out their permanent homes. i think Nuchie is after a mosquito...









our friend Dave came over early to help us get the first ones in the ground - that's Cob and Dave consulting over one of two chokecherries that now stand tall (or at least about 5-6 ft tall) in front of kitchen windows. i've been obsessed with having a chokecherry ever since i tasted a friend's chokecherry bounce, a wonderfully purple sipping alcohol. if any of you see that in your future, you're now looking at the very beginning of what i hope will be a long and happy relationship between me and my chokecherries.


















then of course, there was beer.

















then more trees...


this is Stanley, a lodgepole pine. Stanley is about 5 ft tall - check out his little pine cone beginnings. now, i don't know much about pine reproduction, but i think these are spores - see that little cloud of yellow dust? so cool! you just gently nudge his little pine cones, and poof! yellow pollen or spores or something! i did this about 25 times until Cob suggested that i leave Stanley be. sigh.......................





in case you're wondering, they all have names. other than Stanley, we also are home to Sylvester and Adrienne the chokecherries (Cob calls this our Philly corner); Steve, Julia, and Olga (2 pines and a birch) in the front; Gabriel, Fidel, Ruby, Leo (Cob says short for Leonid), and Josephine (3 pines and 2 spruce on the front slope); Bert and Lucia, the birch and Siberian larch off the deck; Fanny and Bruce (a spruce and a pine along the driveway); and Amythyst, the lilac in the built-in planter. ask me in 6 months if i remember any of these names, but they all have funny stories behind them, i assure you!!




that's a little herb garden at its base!


















and then more trees.




Kristin and Jeremy came by to help us plant half of our forest (can you believe they're still talking to us after the Denali debacle?) that's the group planting Lucia and Bert the birch.










all the while, Nuch made sure to keep the dirt pile from walking off. its' a tough job but somebody's got to do it.

















ok, i admit it, this doesn't have much to do with tree planting. but, it IS purple and look how pretty! whoever decided that chives should have perky, puffy, purple flowers - genius! total genius.

and how does Nuch sneak into every picture???

Type II Fun

a few weeks back, friends P & C invited us along on a memorial day bike trip on the Denali Highway. the Denali Highway is an unpaved road, approximately 130 miles long, that connects Cantwell to Paxson, south of the Alaska Range. seemed like fun, P & C are fun, biking is fun, memorial day is fun - what was there to say "no" to?

after tempting us with such fun, P & C were unable to make it, so we invited other friends, Kristin and Jeremy. after some negotiation, we modified our trip to two days and 60 miles, which seemed ambitious enough, and headed south. and yes, we checked the weather: partly cloudy, scattered showers on Sunday, highs near 60F both days. but, this is Alaska where weather can change on a dime and the last thing you want is to be in the middle of nowhere with no dry clothes.

we decided to bike from the Tangle Lakes campground to the Susitna River, so the boys shuttled a car in while Kristin and i busily packed the bikes, or maybe we took naps. Kristin's impersonation of a blue tarp burrito:

the weather looked a little less optimistic than "partly cloudy with highs near 60" but we were confident until we hit this:

biking in a cloud.

as we climbed up to the 4,000 ft. MacClaren Pass, we stopped to put on another layer. then we stopped to put on a third layer. then a rain jacket. then panier covers. then rain pants. and still we climbed. oh yeah, and there was wind. once we reached the top of the Pass, we faced the long downhill - cold, wet, windy. nothing like a screaming downhill in those conditions! we reached MacClaren Lodge none too soon and warmed up with some hot chocolate.

with hypothermia no longer knocking at the door, we were able to come to our senses and ask for shelter. unfortunately the lodge was full but they offered us the musher's cabin; there was no heat, but at least it was dry. Cob, a man i'm now convinced knows EVERYTHING about fire, reassembled the small woodstove and had it cooking in no time. so, now we had dry AND warm. it just doesn't get any better than that!

the next morning, we faced another rainy day, which might explain why we weren't motivated to leave the lodge until noon. while my socks dried out over night, i couldn't afford another long day of wet feet, so some plastic bags between two pairs of socks kept at least some of the rain and mud out the next day.

with 35-40 miles in front of us, we set off, climbing out of the valley and up a hill that pretty much didn't stop until what felt like 35-40 miles later at the car. it pretty much rained the whole time except for that brief, shining moment when it hailed slightly. we stopped for lunch under a bridge to get out of the rain.

Jeremy modeled Kristin's pink hat (she was wearing his):

and then we set off again. now, i've biked/run/canoed/hiked in the rain - rain doesn't bother me. what bothers me is to be in one of the most beautiful places on earth and not be able to see more than 50 ft in front of me. which means no expansive vistas, no looming mountains, no magestic glaciers. but we did get to see mud - on our clothes, our bikes, our water bottles, our faces. mud everywhere.

at one point in the day, it must have warmed up to about 50F, which felt downright balmy, and the clouds lifted enough to see this:

now, just imagine that as an entire mountain range in the distance. that's what we missed. but what we did have was good company, and good fun - "Type II fun" as one friend called it (the kind where you're glad you survived and feel damn virtuous for it) - but fun nonetheless.

p.s. on our way out, we added one more precipitation to our experinence - snow.