Following this plan, we hiked north to the rock slide. After studying the hillside, to decide the best route, we struck off into the trees and undergrowth. It was difficult as soon as we left the trail. Low level shrubbery grew in great profusion and was hard to find a way through. The fact that everything was so dripping wet just made it worse. The grade was severe and small embankments became major, slippery, obstacles to upward progression. We gave each other help and used roots and branches to haul ourselves over the worst slopes. Every blade of grass, tree branch, and leaf, flipped or dripped rain water, and in spite of raingear, we were soon wet all over. It was an unkind, steady drizzle.
The grade probably averaged forty percent with steeper sections giving us a lot of trouble. Several times we came up against rock cliffs which couldn’t be scaled. We’d traverse across the slope to skirt around them. Tumbled piles of fractured rocks, overgrown with shrubbery, were particularly dangerous to cross.
Under this stress, a tenacious Hagen was emerging. Peering from under a dripping rain hat brim, Hagen’s blue eyes gleamed. “Now, here is a challenge, Doug.” His jaw was set and I could tell he was visualizing himself as an early pioneer who had to cope with miserable adversity, if they were to conquer the frontier. Trial by fire and all that.
I was also interested in conquering this dratted hillside. Perhaps in a different way, because once we were committed, I just wanted to be done. We were busy climbing and struggling through the shrubbery. We weren’t looking around and could walk into a bear without seeing it. The rifle, which was such a comfort at times, was now just one more cumbersome item.
Thankfully, often we rested and regained our breath. Slowly we gained ground. To our advantage, the foliage changed and larger trees began to dominate. This smothered the smaller growth and the going was much easier. We took a lengthy rest under partial shelter of larger trees and broke out trail-mix and Koolaid. We had climbed six or seven hundred feet from the valley floor and had another five hundred to go to reach the bald ridge.
Moving on twenty minutes later, we found the slope lessening just a little and we made good headway for a while. Then, as larger trees gave way, dwarf willows took over. Just when we lost what little shelter the trees provided, we encountered wind driven rain. There was no choice, we just pushed our way upward, taking advantage of small clearings or any pathway. It was just awful. Everything was soaking wet, dripping on us—rain driving into chinks in our clothing. The brush constantly snagged us, our backpacks, and our rifles.
It took us an hour to pass through this atrocious tangle of willows and brush. What a relief when we reached the upper slopes where only bearberries, blueberry bushes, and heather grew. Resting for a few minutes, we hunkered down against the slanting rain. Looking back down, we could hardly believe we had fought our way up that terrible slope under such conditions. It was crazy, but we couldn’t just stay there in the valley waiting for it to stop raining. Who knows? Maybe it would rain for a week.
We hardly had a dry spot on our bodies, and the wind was chilly up here on the ridge. We needed to get moving and find ourselves a place to rig a shelter. Number one priority now was to get dry and warm. People died of hypothermia under these conditions and we weren’t going to be one. We agreed we were pretty miserable, but we felt okay to continue along the spine to the main trail. It was about a mile in open country. If we were steady on, it shouldn’t take too long.
The walking now, was much better than we thought it would be and the mild exertion kept us warm. With rain coming from behind us the Gortex did a good job and at least we didn’t feel as if we were getting any wetter.
Thank goodness. The main trail at last. The worst was over. To make our way out, we only had to stick to the trail. If it continued to rain, at least we wouldn’t have to fight our way through any more brush.
Right now we had other priorities. We needed to rig a shelter and get into dry clothes. Working quickly we rigged both of our ponchos between two stunted trees. They formed a wide lean-to; a shelter against the wind and rain. Then, still in our wet clothes, we scavenged around for firewood. Long ago we learned how to get a fire going in wet conditions. We used little dry birch bark kindling stashed in our backpacks.
The fire, which we made near the lean-to entrance, was slow and smoky and we coaxed it along. As it became established, we ducked under the shelter, struggled out of our soaked clothing and pulled on our spare dry set. We shook the water off the Gortex and hung it to drip-dry under our small shelter.
The fire was not large but we kept it stoked and its meager heat radiated under the poncho shelter. We boiled water and made hot, extra sweet tea and stirred packets of cream of chicken soup. We had only snack food left; a few crackers, a few granola bars, and some trail mix. We spread it all out and slowly munched. Huddled under the shelter, away from the wind and rain, we waited for the warmth to sneak slowly back into our bodies.
It took two hours for us to recover. When the rain slackened, we decided to move along the trail to our cache of supplies and then make camp for the night. A hard, torturous, seven hours was enough for one day.
Before leaving the tiny shelter, we put on our damp Gortex, making sure everything was well closed to prevent water from sneaking into our dry clothes. Only when we were zipped up, and water tight as was possible, did we take down the shelter. To save time we shook the water off the ponchos, folded them and secured them over the top of our backpacks
It was two miles to the food cache and we covered the distance leisurely. The plastic trash bag containing our supplies was undisturbed. We had a supply of food and water aplenty for the night and enough to reach our next cache. Under the adverse conditions we were glad of our advance planning.
The rain and wind abated as we began to set up our camp, but there was no sign of a real break in the general lousy weather. It gave us just enough relief to have our evening meal and get ourselves and camp arranged for the night then it started again. Not quite so decided as before, but rain nevertheless. Thankful for small mercies, we rolled into our sleeping bags, under our ponchos, now with edges staked down, and fell into a deep sleep of utter exhaustion. This had to go on record as having been a wretched hiking day.
Before poets romanticize about sunrises, they need to spend a rainy night, under a poncho, on a mountain ridge in Alaska. Our ‘dawns early light’ began at seven o’clock—it was cold, grey, damp, and miserable. The mist was moisture laden and was just like rain. Visibility was down to a hundred yards. There was no indication of a pending change.
First, we lit a fire and boiled water for breakfast. Then, we stoked up the fire as much as possible and attempted to dry out things a little while we had breakfast. It was a bit futile but the roaring fire was good for morale. It was not the kind of morning which encouraged loafing. So, we packed everything carefully, scooped water from a puddle, and doused the fire. We set off to the west.
There was no view to admire and nothing to delay us in any way, so we just plodded along solidly for miles in silence. With the thick mist close, it was difficult to tell at times where we were, or if we were going up or downhill.
At eleven o’clock, we took a break and made a small fire sufficiently to boil water for tea. It was important to consume something hot to ward off the damp chill. Despite the weather, or maybe because of it, we were making pretty good time. At this rate, we should be able to reach our second cache at Poplar Hollow by mid-afternoon. From that point, to trails end, was still more than we could manage in a day, so we hiked for a few more hours into the evening. Perhaps we could make it to the high point and the attractive camping spot where we had rested on the way in. That would leave us with one short day of hiking to the Chevy.
There was marginal improvement in visibility but the cloud layer overhead remained. It seemed as if it would start to rain again any minute. No sooner had we commented about this when it started to sprinkle. We hurried to round up our gear and hit the trail before it started in earnest.
We held our rest to the minimum and then crossed the hill’s flat top to the shale slide. This slope would be a definite obstacle to any kind of vehicle we might consider using later. We would have to find a more gentle route. If conditions had been better, we would have scouted for a better way, but right now we didn’t want to go plunging into any more wet brush.
Getting down the slide was difficult and painful. It was wet and slippery and we both lost our footing several times, bumping our rear ends, elbows, and rifles. We picked up a few more bruises too. We discovered them later. We finally made it down to more level ground, sore and muddy.
By way of reward, it was a couple of easy miles to our supply cache at Poplar Hollow. Eureka! Water and food. We divided it between our back packs. From here, it was a gentle uphill slope with no steep sections all the way to the crest of Mt Son. The rain abated and by the time we reached the summit, it had nearly stopped and the sky was considerably lighter.
We started to set up camp between the little grove of gnarled spruce trees and the rocky outcrop. While these preparations were going on, the sky brightened, and at last we removed our raingear. We rigged a line and hung wet clothes. Except socks, we had no dried spares left. Ours was a tenuous situation. It was important to dry clothes, if possible.
Scouting around spruce trees, we gathered enough firewood to keep us going for the evening, plus a little for the morning. We then prepared a well-deserved dinner. An ideal camp set up, trees and rocks sheltered the site, ponchos were set equidistantly from the fire place, our cooking pots hung from the quadrapod and our wet clothes swayed on the line in a stiff breeze. This, our last night on the trail, might not turn out to be too bad after all.
We put together an excellent meal of dehyd beef stew, dehyd vegetables, and a big canteen of hot sweet tea. I surprised Hagen by digging into my back pack and producing two small cans of fruit cocktail for dessert.
“Hah. I was right.” He said. “You’re a sneaky cuss. What else you got in there you haven’t told me about? Never mind, where’s mine.”
I laughed at him as we savored the fruit, cube by little cube, “Pineapple from Hawaii, peaches from Georgia, apples from Washington” I counted them out.
“Don’t know what this is, probably a pear. Ha, here’s a grape from California.” Hagen swallowed the last. “And to think we are in the mountain tops of Alaska enjoying such a thing.” We both laughed.
There was a damp chill in the evening air so we stoked the fire and huddled close by to keep warm. Late in the evening the breeze pushed away some clouds and we saw a few clear patches of sky. This was more like it. What a difference from the miserable rain we endured for the last two days.
We sat late into the evening, reminiscing about the hike, the claims, the bear, and the challenges. What will we do next? Hagen and I agreed we should eventually buy an all-terrain vehicle to ferry in sufficient equipment for working The Glory Hole. We’d shop around. If we bought something soon, we could spend time during the winter getting ready for another foray. I didn’t attach too much to dreaming, but I could see Hagen’s brain spinning into high gear. The pioneer gleam came into his eyes. I knew him well, and something was cooking.
At eleven we called it a day. It had been a tough one and we were both dog-tired. Minimal ablutions, but what the hell, we only had to survive one more day.
It was lovely and quiet. No sound of running water, no rain and no wind—not even a buzzing mosquito. Just the absolute peace and quiet of an unnamed mountain in wilderness Alaska.
Chapter 18
Last Day of Hiking
Our last morning. Sunday. I drank the last of my tea and told Hagen, “We’d better start packing for the hike out.” The weather was still fine and sunny, but a little cool. It would be a pleasant day for hiking. The trail ahead was lined with just a hint of fall colors. There was some showing on higher ridges too. Bearberry leaves were crimson and blueberry leaves were orange. For a few weeks the slopes would be adorned with beautiful rustic fall colors. The snow would come to this region, and everything would be blanketed until next spring. This very mountain top would be a very bleak and inhospitable place from October until May.
By eight o’clock we were on our way. Backpacks were about as light as they would be and we were unhindered by raingear. First, there was the steep downgrade on the western flank to be negotiated, but it was drier underfoot now and we managed to make it all the way down without incident. We fairly romped along the saddle toward the next peak about three miles away, and bit into the upgrade in grand style. The slope was gentle, but of course, it took the wind out of our sails and soon slowed us to a more sensible pace.
At the top of the three thousand eight hundred and six feet high unnamed peak, the last high point on the trail, we took a half hour break. The clear day rewarded us with a marvelous view in all directions. It was a great change from the confines of the valleys and poor visibility of the last few days.
On our way in we viewed the ridge stretched out for miles. Now it was all behind us and in the distance we could make out the furthest high dome we had passed over. It was no longer just a reference mark on our maps. We had been there, and a little further too. It all looked so far away. Could we possibly have walked that far?
Starting downhill again, we caught sight of the Taylor Highway in the distance. Our first real glimpse of civilization, if you could call a remote gravel road civilization.
It was three and half miles, and a descent of two thousand feet, down to the drainage by the Chevy Blazer. Downhill did not mean it would be all easy. There were steep sections with washouts and eroded areas to carefully negotiate as the trail zigzagged to the lower level.
As we descended from tundra conditions, we could see over tree tops of the lower elevations. There was a great variety of growth noticeably different between the hillsides with a southerly, as opposed to a northerly exposure. It was a land of such contrasts, and some surprises too, such as the grove of poplars we had discovered on our way in and the magnificent conifers down on Trib 1.
With a couple of brief rests on the way down, we soon approached the bottom of the hill. It occurred to us that the swamp might be primed with fresh rain water but we weren’t prepared for what we found. The swamp was now more like a pond with a stream running through it. The water was at least six inches deeper than it was when we entered. We already knew there was no practical way around it. It stretched north and south. There was nothing for us to do except to wade through. We had managed to keep dry—to this point. Oh well, the Chevy was only a few hundred yards away and we had dry clothes there.
We set off into the water without even rolling up our pants. We were soon over our knees in water and muck. At one point, straying off the trail, we got stuck in the mud. We held onto each other for support.
“Now would be a fine time to meet another bear.” Hagen commented as he hung onto me.
That did it, we started laughing and all but fell over in the swamp. Regaining our composure, we eventually extracted ourselves from the sludge. Uncomfortably, we sloshed the last two hundred yards to where the Chevy was hidden. It was undisturbed.
We set our backpacks down one last time and stretched our tired bodies. We had done it. Over a ten-day period we had walked at least a hundred miles. Granted, some of those miles had not been difficult, but others had been downright miserable considering bad weather and all. Anyway, we congratulated each other on a job well done. We had walked in, located a Glory Hole, staked our claim, explored, and survived the walk out. It was quite an
achievement, at least for two middle-aged wanna-be adventurers.
Without changing our wet clothes we removed the camouflage and tarps from the Chevy. We recovered our possessions, keys, and wallets from their hiding place. Just a bit of a groaning start, a moment of anxiety, it fired up and ran smoothly. I coaxed the Chevy out onto the trail. Hagen walked ahead to guide me around any obstacles.
Once we were in the open we stopped and changed from dirty wet hiking clothes into clean gear. Well, we were unshaven and still a bit grubby, but that didn’t matter much out here.
Next, we unloaded our rifles and cleaned them as best we could. We hadn’t fired a single shot in the time we had been out. Maybe it was just as well. With our gear packed in the rear of the vehicle, we were ready to go. Hagen walked ahead and made sure there was no traffic coming either way as I pressed the vehicle over the roadside berm. Again we kicked loose gravel over the tire tracks to conceal the entrance to the trail.
After the long hike and then sitting around on whatever was available, the comfortable interior of the Chevy felt a little strange at first. We were warmed by the heater and began to feel very weary. By the time we reached the Tanana River Bridge, we realized it would be foolish to drive back to Anchorage this evening. Space available, we’d stop at Tok Motel for a shave, shower, a good meal, and a night’s rest.
We were in luck. There had been a cancellation and a room was available. We had a severe case of sticker shock at the price. They condescended to a discount when we gave them an argument. The price was still fifty four dollars, but after all, this was the world infamous Al-Can Highway.
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