Spring has sprung ... and it's time to head home.

It is hard to believe that the adventure that I wanted to take for many years and that I planned for the past year has actually come and gone!

Chena River view of the "Love Alaska" sign.

  I read recently that some psychologists have determined that it is the anticipation of an event or activity, not the doing of it that gives us humans the most pleasure.  I think those writers and psychologists must never have actually done anything more than plan and anticipate.  Almost everyday, even days of just working and enjoying the view from Janet's house were wonderful, each in its own way.  I leave Alaska with mixed reactions ... good to be going home to friends and family but also having had incredible experiences with new friends and old.

Northern Lights

One more aurora. 

Over dinner on my last night, my Alaska friends' assumptions were that I would be coming back next winter.  However, one person asked, what else is there to do that I haven't done.  The answer was so close to the tip of my tongue and flowed forth so quickly that before we knew it, the table was planning a dogsled trek in the Whites, a snowmachine outing, a couple fatbike trips in Denali and maybe Homer.  So, the anticipation began again, before this trip even came to a close.  Yes, that sort of anticipation is invigorating. 

It is hard to explain but there is really something quite magical about the interior of Alaska.  In March, the days are long, the temperatures have moderated, the trails are ready to be explored, and the light has a wonderful soft quality that is a bit like being inside a gentle rainbow.  For my last day of the adventure, the interior outdid itself. 

In the wee hours of Friday morning, the day began with an aurora display overhead that included a swirling circle of green and red light followed by intense light flashing across the night sky.  Despite the prediction of snow, the day dawned clear, calm and moderately cold.  As I loaded the car, again I saw the local moose.  As I drove toward town, I passed a snow grouse that had already shed his winter white for a coat of dappled summer browns.  An hour into a long ride on the Tanana with Chris, the cold lost its grip on the interior and we stopped to take off jackets and other cold weather gear.  

Wearing my going home Colorado jersey over my fleece.

The river was covered with folks out enjoying the sun on foot, on skis, on snowmachines

 and on the runners of dog teams.  

That is an 18 dog team.

A small plane flew low over our heads and landed on the river behind us.

 

That plane was a lot bigger than it appears when it was right over our heads.

The world was melting so quickly that the changing texture of the snow was easily seen and the sound of our wheels in the snow changed from a hollow sound to the sound of stirring mash potatoes.

By day's end, I was exhausted from playing so hard, but I still had to step outside on the balcony of my hotel room overlooking the Chena River and minutes from the airport.  The night was once again cold, the world beyond my balcony was a star studded silent winter paradise. 

Yup, I will be back...

One Man's Ceiling Is Another Man's Floor

Over the weekend, I joined a group of adventurous women for a camping trip in the White Mountain National Recreation Area about 30 miles north of Fairbanks, AK.  The camping trip was awesome and depending on your perspective it was typical weekend outing or an adventure of some varying magnitude.  The group consisted of a veteran of 3 Iditarods and her team of 10 dogs, a local mid-distance club racer (100 miler), a mother and her college student daughter skijors, one bike rider on a “fat-bike” pulling a pulka and a local kid on skis being pulled by the smaller dog team and walking.

 For the Iditarod veteran, the weekend was just a run in the park.  In fact, she made the trip out and back a couple times just to get a few more miles on the dogs.  For the second musher, it was a small adventure running in a new place, with a heavy sled that she had to help push up the steepest hill, plus she was responsible for taking care of the kid who came along.  For the skijors the new snow and a dog that wasn’t sure he wanted to pull made it a bit of an adventure.  Finally, for me it was a great adventure as my first winter camping trip by bike rather than dog sled and my first pulling a trailer.

Do I really have to go outside and take you skijoring?

Sure, I had done plenty of much much longer snow rides on local trails and rivers in and around Fairbanks the prior few weeks.  I had planned out my gear and had figured out how to carry everything I needed.  It wasn't until a day before our departure when someone realized that we needed to haul firewood for the stove in the cabin that the logistics changed.   Between dog food, bales of straw, people food, gear and firewood, the two sleds and my bike packs couldn't carry everything.  

We needed one more small sled.  Enter the carriage on skis that I dubbed, "Little Monster" or LM for short.  LM was hooked to the back of my bike for the first time the day before we headed out.  Empty, LM followed along without much trouble on the hard packed trail where we tested it on Friday night.

At 3 a.m. the morning of our departure, I happened to wake up, look out my cabin's second story window and see that for the first time in 3 weeks, it was snowing and snowing hard.  I watched it snow for a while and wondered how much new snow was falling in the Whites.  I knew that from the trailhead, the trip out to the Lee's Cabin was short - only 7 miles - but as everyone kept saying, there are a few big climbs.  I also knew that a significant part of the sport of fat-biking is pushing the bike through soft new snow. 

I guess I had a pretty good idea how the day would unfold even before we arrived at the trailhead.  With 5 inches of brand new snow and a couple of good climbs, I was about to become a real snow biker pushing my way along.  

The Iditarod driver got to the trailhead first and took off up the trail before the rest of us.  I was next, followed by the skiers and sometime later by the second dog team.  The first climb began at the trailhead.  It was two full miles of climbing on new snow.  I started riding up towing LM, which was now loaded with gear.  On all that soft snow, I found my rear wheel often just spinning and the rest of the time barely moving.  The only way to actually move forward was to get off and push.  So I pushed.  I probably pushed the bike and trailer a mile and a half of those first two miles. 

After another half mile or so, the Iditarod dog team came back out the trail toward me (I sure wished I had dogs at that moment.)  The musher and her team had already been to the cabin and dropped their gear and straw.  She was heading back to the trailhead to pickup something she had forgotten at her truck. She offered to haul the gear that was in LM. I gladly accepted this offer.  We ditched LM behind a tree.  Free of the dead weight of the trailer, I took off like a shot!  Gleefully riding across a ridge and up to the base of the big climb.  I was already pretty beat-up from pushing uphill in deep snow, so the remaining climbs felt tougher than they were.

Lee's Cabin sits in a clearing on a bit of ridge with views in every direction.  To the north we could see the vast expanse of the White Mountains and on to the southern edge of the Brooks Range. At night, we were treated to a huge display of the northern lights spread across a wide-open sky.

 Sunday morning, the White Mountain 100 Human Powered Race (ski, bike or run) came through on the same trail we had followed the day before.  By then, the trail had been packed by our group and by a bunch of snowmobiles that were out at 1 a.m. preparing for the race.  We watched the fastest fat bikers cruise through after only 45 minutes on the trail.  They were faster than even the small dog team the day before.  Some of the groups of racers took a wrong turn off the trail and down the 100 yards to our cabin.  We kept pointing and signaling for them to go back to the trail. The first bikers were followed by skiers and then by a mix of bikers, skiers and runners who were 7 miles in to their 100 mile adventure.  

By midday Sunday, the trail had been transformed from its condition the prior day to more of a snow highway packed by ski, paw, foot and fat-tire.  

The ride back over the same summits and down the other sides was a BLAST.  The snow machines left hummocks in sections of the trail that created rollicking roller coaster like feeling.  The ride passed too quickly, taking less than half the time of the trek the day before. 

Ready to roll!

Before I knew it, I was back at the tree where we cached Little Monster.  I hitched LM back to the bike and took off up the half mile before the long easy drop 2 miles back to the trailhead.  LM still felt like I was towing a piece of carpeting behind my bike but on the firmer trail, we could just cruise right along back to the parking lot.  

After another 20 minutes the smaller dog team reached the parking lot.  By then, the musher and I were working together like a well oiled machine unloading sleds, packing the gear, loading the dogs, loading the bike and hoisting the sled onto the roof of the dogbox.  

Yup. We had had a successful adventure. We decided that the only thing left to do was to stop at the Hill Top Cafe - a famous truck stop on the haul road - to eat a piece of their famously great pie!  Like the bumper sticker says, “Warning – We Brake for Pie!”

This isn't the time to hibernate.  It is time to celebrate!

The ONAC Trail - A Musher's Paradise

            Last week, the Open North American Championships or ONAC, the most prestigious sprint or speed type dog sled race in the world capped off the spring break festivities in Fairbanks.  The temperatures for the race were back down to more seasonally appropriate levels ranging from 5 degrees to perhaps a high over three days of racing of 20 degrees.

            I asked a number of the racers, both past and present winners, why they race the ONAC.  The answer came back the same each time I asked, “bragging rights!” According to the folks who have run this race, the Fairbanks course is designed with speed in mind.  It is laid out and groomed to be fast; faster than any similar race including the famous Anchorage Fur Rondy.  

Arleigh Reynolds championship winning team takes it first step of a 30 mile run on Sunday morning.

            This year, the race also served as the IFSS World Championship Open class race, so the winners of this year’s event can truly brag that they have the fastest dogs in the world, at these kinds of distances.  (One could have a lively debate about which dogs are truly the fastest in the world because the average speed of these big open class teams is actually a bit slower than the limited class sprint teams that run substantially less distance than the open class dogs.)

            After having heard so much about the fantastic ONAC course, I had to check it out for myself, albeit sans dogs.  Yesterday, I set out to see the course by fatbike. 

            The course starts out on 2d Street in downtown Fairbanks.  

Waiting for the start on Sunday 

            This neighborhood is perhaps the most “gritty” section of a rough little city.  Although the downtown start brings out truly large crowds of people packing the sidewalks, a fur auction, a traditional parka parade and has a real “spring break” feeling, it is the least scenic section of the race.  The 2^nd Street section crosses several streets, which remain open between racers and are shoveled with fresh snow each time a car crosses the trail.  

Racer pushing towards the finish line a block and a half away.  

At the end of the street, the trail goes up over a significant hump as it turns down to the river.  I seem to recall that the 1995  and 1996 ONAC Champion Amy Streeper said she actually went down going over that hump but somehow managed to hold on and keep going – and she was pregnant at the time.

Making the turn at the bottom of the ramp onto the river.

            The trail takes a sweeping left turn onto the Chena River where fans line the racecourse and play in the snow.  After a short stretch of river, it turns up a creek or “slough” for several miles.  This meandering slough winds its way through an industrial section of town with the usual graffiti on walls of bridges that cross above the slough and, sadly, a bit of trash careless tossed on the frozen creek surface. The slough continues into several pleasant neighborhoods, giving the folks who live along its banks a great place to watch the race.  One of the race officials said that he had used the slough, as many others do, as a snowmobile road into the heart of downtown before the race.

            After about 4 miles, the racers leave the slough – at the end of the race, they will return to 2^nd Street via the same slough – by crossing College Road and entering Creamer’s Field.  College is a major four lane cross-town road with plenty of traffic.  The police hold the traffic as each team approaches and crosses the road.  

Team crossing College and entering the slough on the return leg.

Cars are permitted to proceed between teams.  Again, to keep the “trail” race worthy, crews pack snow back on the road after the cars and before the next team arrives. 

Traffic on College between teams.

            Creamer’s Field is an historic dairy farm and migratory waterfowl refuge in the middle of town.  The spectacular barn and buildings have been preserved and are open to tour. To see these fabulous buildings watch the video tour.  Tour of Creamer's Field Buildings

In the summer, the area offers nature trails, migratory waterfowl habitat and a more than occasional moose sighting.  In the winter, Creamer’s Field turns into a series of groomed multi-use trails for X-C Skiing, skijoring, biking, walking dogs on leash or pretty much any non-motorized use.  The trails are marked to indicate ski-joring loops and other uses.           

            From Creamer’s the trail heads out through beautiful black spruce forests and through what looks like an old gravel pit area before hitting the golf course.  

While I did not ride around the golf course, I picked up some of the Alaska Dog Musher Associations trails used in the ONAC.  The ADMA track offer local mushers a place to train their dogs throughout the season on groomed trails through the forest.  The trails are marked with distances and directions offering mushers a choice of how far to train on any given day.  Area also has a reputation as playing host to a number of moose, so mushers have to be on alert for animals that have a superior right-of-way over all other trail users.  Dog teams are next in order of priority.  My lowly bike pulled on to the very edge of the trail for a “pass” with ONAC musher Mark Hartum. 

            The ONAC track is just one of many fantastic trails that wind in and around Fairbanks.  The sheer number, accessibility and condition of trails through meadows, forests and rivers right in Fairbanks is hard to imagine. Dog mushing to snow machining are all possible without having to travel for miles to a safe place to train or play.  Sprint mushers from outlying areas sometimes come into town just to train on the ADMA track. The University of Alaska maintains miles of XC ski trails that are closed to other uses. Still others may be found behind a warehouse or shop where a musher keeps a dog team. There are trails for just about every taste.

            Fairbanks may not be the most visually appealing city in the U.S. or even in Alaska, but it is easy to understand why it is so appealing to mushers, fatbikers, X-C skiers, skijorers and anyone else who enjoys a trail through beautiful country. 

Tropical Breezes in Alaska

            Several years ago, climate scientist and weather prognosticator Alexandra Autumn, advised that if I eventually wanted to retire to a pleasant Mediterranean climate I should consider holding on to a little piece of land I had in Fairbanks.  Given a bit more time, the Arctic would be a much warmer place to live. 

            Last week Autumn’s semi-tongue-in-cheek prediction seemed to be coming true with frightening speed.  In the early days of March, the temperatures in Alaska’s interior were soaring to unfamiliar heights.  The dog teams racing on the Iditarod trail faced both rain and open water on the normally frozen trail.  The Anchorage newspaper featured a photo of a dog team, sled and driver wading through more than a foot of water over old ice. 

            In Fairbanks, the temperatures climbed into the upper 40s and at least one night stayed well above freezing until well after midnight.  Walking outside that evening, I felt a gentle breeze that reminded me of tropic trade winds in Hawaii.  In fact, that is basically what the wind was; warm damp air sweeping up from near the equator.

            The NOAA weather broadcast explained in great detail the movement of low pressure systems and the unusual pattern of the jet stream.  The graphic depicted a huge jet stream sweeping up from the tropics, along the east coast of Asia and heading directly for the north pole.  It was pumping tropical air over the interior of Alaska, and worse yet, over the sea ice.  From there it turned sharply south, bringing equally unusual cold and snow to the central United States. 

             The local paper showed a graph for the week, although no records were being set, the daily lows for the week were at or above the average historic highs for the week.  The week’s high temperatures were well above the normal range. 

            One might be tempted to say, why complain when the weather was unseasonably pleasant.  The answer is simple – climate change in the Arctic is moving more rapidly than other parts of the globe.  Minor changes in this extreme environment beget larger changes, which in turn result in still more and greater change; the so called positive feedback loop. 

            At a time when many scientists believe the arctic should be cooling – due to the decadal position of the earth – the arctic and Alaska continue to grow warmer.  The effects of this warming are immediate, tangible and readily observed in the changing landscape, wildlife, flora and even in the challenges facing native communities. 

Tree killed by pests and blown down 2 days ago.

            This morning I awoke in a cabin chilled by the more typical minus 10 degree temperatures, the sun is shining, the snow is beautiful and it might be easy to not think about the larger processes that are reshaping this state, but it would be a mistake.  It has been said that Alaska is the proverbial canary in the coal mine of climate change.  If we ignore its health, we do so at the risk of our own climate health.

            For more information about the specific processes at work reshaping the sea ice, moving mountains and reducing the expanse of permafrost in Alaska, take a look at Michael Collier’s book, “The Melting Edge – Alaska at the Frontier of Climate Change,” published by Alaska Geographic.  

Carnival at North Pole

With the first week of racing at the IFSS World Championships in the history books and the second week of races well underway, it is clear that some of the best dogs and racers have travelled from around the globe not just to compete but to enjoy the carnival that accompanies an international sports competition.

The racers and fans have come to Alaska from places as far away as Australia and South Korea, from Russia, Scandinavia and of course, from North America.  In keeping with the IFSS' Olympic aspirations, the event offers a glimpse of global harmony and camaraderie.

Over the past several days racers have been comparing notes, helping each other and sharing training and racing tips.  One of the top American skijoring competitors, said after witnessing the amazing prowess of the Norwegian skiers, "Now, I need to learn how to really ski ... like a Scandinavian!"  

Svein Ivar Moen

Sara Johansson

 The Russians and the South Koreans are sharing a dog truck.  Team US, its friends and handlers are everywhere helping with everything from getting all the teams to the line to serving as the event videographer.

After keeping the leaders in check, Janet Saxon watches as Team S. Korea's leaders settle a
a little international dispute.

Any time he wasn't on his skis, Kale Casey was front and center
recording every moment of festivities.

A few winners, in categories other than racing have also emerged.  The winner in the subjective, best team jacket category goes to Team Russia!  

The winner of the best motto goes to team Finland's use of the German dog food logo, "HAPPY DOG".

Best matching dog-human outfits was a close call between Norwegian 2 dog silver medalist, 

Yvette Hoel

for the matching dog and musher sweater set and a Team US skijorer and dog for matching warm wear. You be the judge of this one.

The award for best fans goes the partying South Koreans!  Team South Korea brought 6 dogs to the US and borrowed a couple more to race in 8 dog.

Seo Hyunchul

The team also had it very own mascot, cheering fans and waiving flags. 

 I think we were all South Korean's as we cheered Team S.Korea!

Cutest kid ... goes to local Fairbanksian

In some of the more traditional categories, the winners were mostly women! 

In the eight dog the winner is:

Kati Dagenais (Canada)

In the six dog the gold, silver and bronze go to:

Jessica Doherty, Ami Gjeston, Rachel Kinvig

In the Four Dog:

Lena Boysen Hillestad, Quentin Soulier, Amy Cooper (in order of finish)

Four Dog Mass start winners:

Lena Boysen Hillestad, Elin Bjork, Lilly Stewart (in order of finish)

Men's Skijoring

Vesa-Pekka Jurvelin, Ynge Hoel, Svein Ivar Moen (in order of finish)

Women's Skijoring

Marika Tiiperi, Yvette Hoel, Sara Johansson

Finally, the winner of the coveted spirit of the event award goes to the children of Team Sweden - for their hats