Tag: smoke

This season I’ve packed my pickup with as many maybe-needs as possible and headed over to my friend’s place to collect her and all of her multiple items before driving to our chosen campsite. There, we’d set up our tents and head off on the hike of the day or week. Everything we could possibly need would be safely stored in the truck.

Car camping is enjoyable and convenient, but we do tend to bring everything except the kitchen sink (unless you count my fabric and wire washing tub that holds nearly as much water as an actual sink).

Our next challenge was to pack as lightly as possible for a one-day backpacking trip. We have never been on a one-dayer before. After all, if we’re going to go backpacking, let’s go!  The novelty of this trip prompted us to choose Granite Tors, despite having hiked the 15-mile (24.1-km) trail in a single day many-a-time before. The destination is close to Fairbanks, not a far drive for only one night. It would be perfect for a test backpacking hike.

Our only concern as the day of the trip approached was the Munson Creek forest fire, which was still at 0% containment. Started naturally by lightning, the flames were spreading in the hot, dry weather. Black spruce is wonderfully flammable and prevalent — not making for an easily contained fire (unless you start it purposefully in a campsite fire ring). Many forest fires in Alaska are allowed to burn because fire is a natural part of the forest’s lifecycle and they are usually also so far away from human habitation. 

The older sections of forest are filled with standing dead and fallen trees, and the duff has built up several layers. Not only is this age of forest great for finding campfire kindling but also great fuel for the igniting heat of a lightning strike. The fire clears out the debris, prompting different plants to grow in the now freed space, plus some seeds need the burst of heat to germinate in the first place.

When a natural fire (or one regretfully begun by a foolish human being) nears manmade structures, however, firefighters step, drive, fly, and jump in to protect life and property.

Even if I had not listened to the news, or pulled up info online, I still would have known that a fire burned nearby. For days, smoke has hung over Fairbanks and the surrounding area, carried here by air currents and kept here by thermal inversion. A goodly wind would have blown it away, but fanned the flames as well: A double-edged sword.

The morning of our scheduled trip, a posted air-quality alert firmly suggested that residents stay indoors to protect their lungs. The sky looked like it was heavily overcast and smelled like a campfire. 

Might the air be clearer as we drove out of town?

We doubted it. 

But our curiosity wanted to find out anyway, so off we drove, down the road towards the end where a fire crackled and snapped.

On July 1, Alaska State Parks had closed the Angel Rocks Trail (the next trail over from the one we chose), and now the Department of Forestry had issued an evacuation advisory for all residents beyond the 48-mile marker of Chena Hot Springs Road. The Granite Tors trailhead is at mile 39.5.

We did not truly believe we’d be able to hike there — and at about mile 18 on Chena Hot Springs Road, we pulled off onto a side street. Being outside was like standing in a column of smoke from a campfire, but without the stinging of ash in the eyes. Neither of us wanted to walk in this atmosphere, much less exert ourselves.

 So, where to go? What’s the next closest…?

Let’s head to the White Mountains.

— but somewhere we have not yet been…

Laurie pulled up a list of trails on her cell phone and we tossed out the ones we had already hiked, and the ones with creek crossings or a ‘difficult’ rating. Not that we couldn’t do these, or hadn’t, but the purpose of this trip was to test our packing skills, not our trail-navigating prowess.

At milepost 42.5 on the Steese Highway, McKay Creek Trail looked promising. A long parking area and a dogsled-unloading sign were visible from the highway. Around the curve of the drive an ATV trail led into the trees, which I noted were predominantly deciduous, not the typical spruce or boreal forest we hike in.

Smoke followed us for several miles then sunlight burst through the windshield and the sky became blue once more. I smiled.

We walked up to the trail info signs, but there was no map, just the general warning signs and a couple about there being dog teams on the trails (the first 1.5 mile was private property). Yes, the trail looked acceptable to our purpose. Back at the car, we hitched our packs to our backs and headed uphill.

If I’d been thinking actively, I would have lightened my pack right there at Laurie’s car. Her pack weighed twenty pounds, mine forty. What?! Already I’d failed our goal to keep the packs as light as possible. The majority of the weight was in water, and I’d packed with Granite Tors in mind. A lot of that 15-mile trail loop was exposed, significant parts of it demanded exertion, and it was supposed to be a hot day. Each time I had been on that trail, I had consumed a couple of liters, and that was without cooking meals or boiling water for morning tea. It had also scared me that we had run out of packed water during a previous summer when our three-day trek turned into five days. There had been water sources along the trail which we had planned on using, and which we did, treating it with filters and chlorine dioxide tablets, and we still had water at the end of the trip, just not what we had brought with us. Still, the experience unnerved me. The sources on Granite Tors were either close to the trailhead or dried up by this time of the summer. These details combined to have me over-pack on water, especially considering the current plan was now quite different:

We would walk in 5.5 miles, find a camping spot for the night, and walk back.

I should have left a 3-liter bladder in the vehicle — or even on the side of the trail as we walked up since we would be returning the same way. I did not think of either of these ideas until I was already at the top of the hill. [Note to self: reasonable amount of water = a light pack] On the plus side, I was developing muscle tone and stamina….

The McKay Creek Trail was a wide four-wheeler trail the entire way. It was not the prettiest we’d ever been on, but not because it was designed for ATVs. After only a mile or so we realized that we are used to hiking at higher elevations: the trails are generally above the tree line and lend us wide vistas as we walk. 

This trail cut a line through aspen and alder. The cooler space under the trees and our warm presence enlivened winged arthropods. I sprayed my bare arms and legs with insect repellent and tugged my mosquito net over my fisherman’s hat. I like the wide circular brim. It keeps the net and perching bloodsuckers away from my skin.

Laurie retold the plot of a book she had recently read, I think to distract us both from the fact that we were in an uphill walk with nothing grand to look at. It was an interesting story, but we were still heading uphill among the trees when she had shared the book’s conclusion and we had dissected the characters a bit. 

Within the first couple of miles four hikers approached from the opposite direction. Laurie always knows what questions to ask. If it were just me, I’d wish them happy hiking and plod on by. Laurie found out there were some good camping spots ahead — not just closely growing trees as here — and the man said the trees would open up in “just a bit”. Be warned that ‘just a bit’ means something different to people walking uphill from those walking downhill. It was several hours before the tall trees changed to scrub and more open space. 

We chatted for a while.

I occasionally sipped from the tube of water attached to one of the bladders, absently thinking that my pack would get that much lighter each time.

We were silent for a while, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other.

I could feel the skin at the back of my heels begin to burn. I wanted to stop to put on moleskin, but I did not want to stop and dig anything out of my pack until it was time to pitch camp. The blisters steadily developed.

Were we ever going to get there? It was only 5 and a half miles…

Mosquitos buzzed about, not liking the ‘perfume’ on my skin, or landed on the net, only to still be thwarted from a meal.

The trees were beautiful, healthy and green.

I hoped we would see a team of dogs pulling a four-wheeler set in neutral as part of their summer training, but we never did. Perhaps it was too warm a day?

I had not seen or heard any birds. Why not?

Why had I packed so much water?

My mind shut off a little as my body focused on the uphill, so I can’t remember when or how the trees gave way to more open space. The trail split a couple of ways around a meadow-like area by a lone spruce, although there was only one clear main trail. We opted to leave our packs in the bushes at the base of the stout spruce and scout for a campsite. A few steps and I had the sense that my body would rise off of the ground I felt so light and free without the pack! What an odd, uplifting sensation.

The first lightly traveled trail we explored had a box on a tree near it. We had seen a similar one on the side of the main (uphill) trail — or, rather, we’d seen half of the box on an angled tree at the side of the trail, and another part, gnawed, in the middle of the trail. Near this intact box on the side trail, a cluster of signs drew my eye. Strangely, someone had suspended a silver bear bottle from a nearby branch. Two signs were weather-worn, but the third’s laminate kept it legible: a couple of ecology-minded families had trapped the area for the last several decades and no trap had been set in the main trail, only off to the sides of it, and only occasionally in the side trails. The notice listed the names of the trappers’ and pled that hikers respect these established traplines.

I would have loved to explore more, to see how the men had set their traps, and what kinds, but I’d respect their sustainable legacy. I also respect the image of metal teeth snapping shut on my booted ankle — and was careful to watch my step back to the main trail, even though I remained firmly on the dirt of this side trail.

…What is the significance of the wooden box fastened to the 45º-angled pole? Is it a special trappers’ signal?….

The two of us headed down the main trail once more, still pack-less. Clumps of thick brush alternated with sparser, shorter vegetation. Nothing called us to camp.

A slightly muddy section of trail had captured a paw print as big as my open hand. Oh, great.

A thrill of excitement and a shiver of fear made me glance about warily, and I was glad Laurie and I had made our presence known by talking. Bears tend not to want to sully their reputations with human fraternization. It’s the element of surprise that concerns me. I don’t want any of us to be surprised by the other. The bear might strike out with its mighty paw, and I might scream and pee my pants. I don’t like either of these scenarios.

A wooden ‘H’ on a small rise drew our eyes, then our feet. A trail led to a ring of stone encircling ash and char near the man-made framework of spruce trunks.

I ducked into the bushes with bear spray while Laurie perused ahead for a suitable campsite. The relatively level ground was dotted with ground cover and the occasional spindly alder. After hefting on our packs, we returned here to pitch camp, each of us on a patch of berry plants and semi-crunchy leafy lichen — a softer pad than the hard dirt and the partially-embedded lichen-spotted rocks.

Wisdom and the bear track prompted us to cook and eat our dinner away from our tents. We scanned the vista as we ate. The rolling hills extended into the bands of greens, blues, and grey that indicated distant mountains. Off to our left we could see sections of the pale brown ribbon that was the trail winding up and onto the next tree-covered hill. Always in the trees. So, there would be no wide landscapes to see from the trail. It did not entice us. We really were used to the panoramas of higher elevations.

I would have to look at the closer beauty of the trees on our return tomorrow. It should also be appreciated. The wide expanses with their ever-changing shades of color hold awe-inspiring beauty, but so too do the fine veins in a tiny leaf on the smallest bush.

We might not have hiked as much as we had on past trips, but this was our first backpacking trip of the season — if only for one night — and the trail had been consistently uphill. We had hiked from 1:30-5:30 p.m., and it was only 8 o’clock in the evening, but we were both ready for bed.

After evening ablutions and hanging our food and toothpaste in bags from the support by the stone fire pit, we bid each other good night and I spent the next several minutes arranging things inside my tent. A light rain fell on the tent as I closed my eyes. 

I woke at half-past midnight. Now awake, or perhaps awake because of it, I unzipped my tent to find a private set of bushes. I sucked in my breath sharply as I pulled on my boots. The blisters on my heels burned, and I walked stiffly to avoid banging the boot leather against them as I walked. I knew I should have prepared my heels before going hiking. I normally do. I’ve yet to find boots that don’t give me blisters. I wish I could purchase a bespoke pair from a cordwainer.

I strolled about for a while, gazing at the landscape. Above my head the beautiful night blue sky was clear, but still too bright for stars. In the distant the darker slate grey clouds were edged golden pink by the sunset. It’ll rain tomorrow, I thought. But not now. I breathed in the moisture-hinting air and felt the calm of Nature’s grace.

A glimmer of reflected light caught my eyes. Surely that could not be the flash from someone’s binoculars. Why would anyone be out in the middle of the woods away from a visible trail? I was drawn to investigate, but logic and memory stayed my feet. The silver seemed to be hanging from a tree — not unlike the beer bottle. Perhaps that was another one, or some other reflective visual marking a trap line. I was satisfied with just looking at the view. 

I wondered if our food bags were still suspended, so walked in that direction. Something brown moved close to ground level by the fire pit. I stopped.

A porcupine!

It nosed in the ground by a stone, and did not see me. I wanted to approach, but wisdom stopped me. Bears aren’t the only danger in the wild.

Hmmm… How does one remove a barbed quill from a body part?

I did not want to find out.

Back at my tent I read the section in my small first-aid book on dressing wounds and drifted back to sleep, confident with knowledge.

After 3 o’clock: Zzzip…! Zzzip…! I heard Laurie open tent and rainfly; then, what might have been a few minutes later… Zzzip…! Zzzip…! 

I moved around in my tent looking for my watch to check the time.

“Are you awake?” Her voice travelled to my ears and inwardly I groaned.

“Yes…”

“I checked the weather. It’s supposed to rain in a couple of hours.”

“Do you want to get up?”

“I think we should.”

After a pause, while I grumbled silently to myself (I really did want to try for another couple hours of sleep), I said, “Okay.”

The logical course of action was to pack up.

Getting up was the right decision. The problem with wanting to try to sleep right now was that I did not feel sleepy, or tired, at all, so it would have been me just laying on the air mattress looking up at the inside of my tent. Plus, I did not want to hike in the rain. One of the items I’d opted not to pack was the rain cover for my backpack.

First, I spent several minutes layering on moleskin around my blisters. Laurie and I said “Good morning” when we both had emerged from our tents, and we decided to nibble on nuts and granola rather than make a hot breakfast. Last night’s pasta primavera had been filling.

At 5 a.m. we were walking down the path towards the vehicle. The cool morning temperature was pleasant. We were both glad that we had chosen to head down the trial so early in the morning. We had gotten a full night’s sleep after all, and there really was a lovely morning of fresh air and beauty to enjoy. 

Some of the trail angled upwards. (Yesterday, on the way out, I had not noticed going down for even a little bit. It had all seemed up.) 

We knew now, when we came to the wooden chewed-on box in the middle of the trail what had caused the toothmarks: porcupine.

I liked going down. Today my knees did not hurt like they normally did on inclines. Perhaps it was due to the regular biking I have done this summer.

Among the trees the mosquitos awoke, but there were not as many, at first, when compared to yesterday. Suddenly we were at the bottom of the hill.

Rain did not fall, not a single sprinkle until we got to the car and had loaded our gear and gratefully changed out of our hiking boots. 

We each texted our in-town contacts to inform them we had safely finished our trip and were heading back into town. Laurie was driving back by 8 a.m.

“Well, now what?”

“How about breakfast?”

Yum! What a great idea!

Who knew so many restaurants were closed on Tuesdays…?

The nearby Chatanika Lodge: closed.

Down the Elliot Highway, the Hilltop Restaurant was only doing take-away: the large seating area blocked off, with chairs flipped over atop the tables. A sign said Management was not responsible for the decision to block off the seating area. Confusing: because if Management was not in charge, then who…? With it being such a high-traffic truck stop, I would have preferred they had written they were looking out for the health and safety of patrons and employees. (It is a time of COVID-19 after all.)

Wanting to sit and enjoy a meal after our trip, we hit the road again. Our next stop, Little Richard’s Family Diner in North Pole: closed on Tuesdays and Wednesdays.

We drove into North Pole seeking a cafe we both knew was there — except not any longer.

Fifth time’s the charm! We drove back into Fairbanks, navigated construction, and found a seat at the Wolf Run restaurant.

If I had checked my cell phone each time after we had pulled up to the door of a restaurant, it might instead have been only three because my in-town friend had texted, “Try Wolf Run.”

Of course, if we also had had the modern-times idea of calling first, before driving to each place…sigh…

Thank you, Laurie, for all of your driving — on both days!

What a fabulous, relaxing breakfast, with friendly service, and portions large enough for the rest of my day’s meals. A yummy relaxing finale to an overall lovely, successful trip.