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...