Going solo (skiing)

I just completed my first solo winter ski expedition, which turned out to be a somewhat crazy adventure. In a way it was one of the most remote trips that I've done, but it was also one of the cheapest and closest to home.

Last Wednesday I flew by small aircraft to Manley Hot Springs, an end-of-the-road village that is about 80 miles west of Fairbanks as the crow flies. From there my goal was to ski back to my cabin in Fairbanks. After arriving in Manley I put on my skis and threw my 60 lb (27 kg) pack on my back and started shuffling down the street. That first day I navigated my way through a maze of snowmachine trails partly by luck and partly by instinct. These trails are definitely for people that live there and know the land well. The first day was almost without incident, except that near the end of the day I missed a turn that I was supposed to make and ended up at an old sourdough's cabin. He invited me for a cup of coffee (I declined), told me a little bit about the trail that I was supposed to be on (the trail used during the Serum Run, a fascinating story for those of you that don't know it), and pointed me in the right direction. I felt pretty good about my first day - I had covered over 25 miles (40 km) and was well on my way home.

That night it snowed, just a little, but it was the bad kind of snow: granular, coarse snow that grips your skis and makes you wonder why have these heavy things strapped to your feet. The trip became a death march. My hamstrings quickly tightened up, which was followed by sore feet and a swollen achilles (tendonitis, I believe). I passed through the Dugan Hills and Deadman Lake - didn't stay there too long! Then onward pass the settlement at Tolovana and into the aptly named Minto Flats. Day two had me second guessing my ability to make it home. Would I have to turn around? Should I take a trail to a different village and hitchhike home?

Friday morning wasn't much better, slow and frustrating. The trails got better as I approached Old Minto, a former native village and now a drug and alcohol abuse center. I began to regain my confidence. Its amazing how many mood swings I went through on that trip. I thought I could make it all the way to Fairbanks, it might hurt a little, but that's okay. And at that moment the buckle on my hip strap snapped, meaning that all of those 60 lbs of gear and food would be resting on my shoulders for the last 50 miles. Ouch. I still could have turned towards Nenana (rhymes with banana) and shortened my trip, but I decided to continue on.

Friday night it snowed. Again, more bad snow. I wound my way through a labyrinth of rivers, ponds, and swamps and finally hit the Alaska Railroad. That was a comforting thought, now I was in a safe area and starting to get close to Fairbanks. The trails should also improve, or so I thought. The terrain became more familiar, I recognized some hills in the distance. But still the skiing was slow. I skied 11 hours on Saturday, but still covered less ground than I had covered in 8 hours on Wednesday. Furthermore, that night I discovered that part of the pain in my right foot was due to a huge blister that now makes walking quite difficult. I'm pretty sure the blister was a result of skiing with frozen boots in the morning. They had thawed out by afternoon and became more flexible.

I hadn't given up hope of making it home, but I began to seriously consider alternative routes. I had plenty of food - way too much in fact - so time wasn't too much of an issue. Weather ended up being the determining factor. That evening it dropped below -20 F (-30 C) and I could hardly sleep. I woke up several times shivering and was eventually unable to fall back asleep. I decided that there was no point in lying in my sleeping bag shivering, so I got up at 3:30 and took the shortest possible route to the highway. I would hitchhike home after all. The night sky was clear, the moon was bright, and I was treated to a spectacular auroral display that lasted for at least 2 hours. I enjoyed it thoroughly, and took it as a sign that I had made it.

I had no trouble getting a ride home. Its pretty easy when its cold and you look beat up. I made it home in time to go out for a big breakfast at Sourdough Sam's, a rewarding finish to a tough trip.

So, why did I do this trip? I'm not sure. But I'm sure it won't be my last ski trip. Going solo was a very different experience, I felt more aware, but also more insignificant. I had no support, mentally or otherwise. I tested my limits and came away with nothing more than some wounds that will heal in a few days. I learned something about the land where I live, where people have lived (amazingly) for thousands of years. I gained more respect for pioneers, building trails and living on the land. And I learned that as I much as I love wilderness, I still need some modern comforts. I ultimately didn't achieve my goal, but I did put myself into a position that I could have achieved it if it was really that important to me. And I didn't lose any toes.