What is a few days in Hatcher Pass, Alaska?
So the one who means the most to me is off in Turkey and normally I would write things such as "Got this many climbs done. Went here. Did this." and she is always very supportive so I figured I would write a story out of the last few days I have spent in Hatcher Pass. Luckily for me she is in Turkey or else she would probably kill me for all the spelling and grammar mistakes I made! I only have one picture for the moment but if your committed then maybe you may read the whole little story. Personally, I'm just glad you thought my post worthy of a click. Thank you!
A few days in Hatcher Pass - >
Its late, I don't know what I want to do more. Drive until the road ends or sleep so soundly I dream I am away. Its certain to me that staying put is not my first choice so I choose a path between the two. I get into my custom built 1989 Jeep Cherokee, custom because several integral parts of the vehicle have been refitted with wood part, custom because I feel it is my home, and custom because that makes me feel like I am driving a larger more powerful vehicle. Something to cover over any testosterone that may be hiding below my puny truck. I drive as far as Palmer, often I turn up the music to open my drifting eyes.
"Warm yourself by the fire son, and the morning will come soon. I'll tell you stories of a better time and a place we once knew. Before we packed our bags and left all this behind us all in the dust." The words were soothing and the mood angry. The perfect concoction of punk alternative music to keep me awake. The vehicle made it as far as Palmer then its principle form of navigation was to tired to go on. We pulled over near the <st1:place><st1:placename>Matanuska</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>River</st1:placetype></st1:place> and drove into the grass finding a relatively flat place to sleep. I crawled into the back and stared at the moon glinting off the river. It flowed by in eerie silence and I felt its presence until my eyes became dim and I slept.
I awoke to the sun rising over the mountains. I was less then 100 yards from the road but i felt as thought I had parked in the middle of a vast wilderness. <st1:state><st1:place>Alaska</st1:place></st1:state> as it had been before all the people, ironically including me. I realized no matter how much I would want to experience life in <st1:state><st1:place>Alaska</st1:place></st1:state> before all the people that would mean I wouldn't be around to see it. Am I content just to believe it would be beautiful? I hoped so. I slithered feet first into the driver seat and with a low roar of a sleeping machine the jeep came to life. For a few moments I forgot it was a machine and felt it was the elephant I was waking to take me from the jungles of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region> to my school so my tired feet would get some rest.
I drove on to Hatcher Pass where there were supposed to be people waiting for me. The first, Amos, called and said it looked like it was raining. It seems like so many fear the rain, and he cancelled. He said he would try and come the next day. My mind was blank, I am not sure if it was because I had just woke or because I was used to the situation but for some reason I didn't care. Earlier in the weekend I had done much of my climbing alone and it had strengthened my mind since I spent less of my time worring about the abilities of others and more time focusing on the task at hand. At the end of <st1:street><st1:address>Archangel Road</st1:address></st1:street> I was met by Lila and her husband. I would forget his name frequently and found that I only would remember hers because she was a member of Alaska Mountain Forum. Oh how easy it was for me to remember their names if they had been part of the forum. I still thought of Bryce as Burlapp, Rob as trebork, Matt as Faust, and myself as Prezwoodz. Although I will admit it was the last that worried me the most. When someone speaks to me and asks if I remember them I think deep in my mind "Are you on Alaska Mountain Forum?"
We watched the rain fall, it never seamed to stop here. I spent hours digging into the first book of two which I had bought at the Fireside Bookstore in Palmer. I heard it was good and looking at the cover evoked something in me I couldn't quite explain. It reminded me constantly of the one I loved for I had seen it on her bookshelf many times, at least my mind has seen it on her bookshelf and only in my most weakened position do I fully trust my mind. At first The Life Of Pi was uninteresting to me. It spoke of religion and I didn't much care for religion. I found myself trying to ignore the words on the page and blank through till I found something which would entertain me. I closed the book and stared at the cover...where was this tiger which the cover has? I have neither heard nor seen anything which would lead me to this naked Indian in a boat with a <st1:place>Bengal</st1:place> tiger. I put the book away and listened to the rain. There is something intoxicating about the rain, the way it falls unceasingly. You begin to wonder if the sky has a never-ending limit of water like a water hose put into the ocean and expending to the sky always replenishing itself or when my spirits are more upbeat its a bucket that someone is running over a screen and laughing as I climb soaking wet and cold. I am more upbeat because I know a bucket runs out of water, that is until the maniacal soul that filled it does so again. I sat as long as my impatience would allow at times I saw blue sky, other times I created blue sky. The new clean pages of The Life of Pi was once again in my fingertips this time moving more quickly. I spent time on the words, even went back and reread what I had grazed over. When I was finally getting entertained the sky rained hellfire down on us for a few minutes, just enough to soak everything in existence. Moments later, it was gone.
The blue sky was a beautiful thing to behold after hours of rain. I gathered my ropes and somehow got Lila and her husband, whose name still escapes me, to believe there might be dry rock somewhere. I flaked my rope in front of an obviously wet route at the base of the Monolith. Wet as it may have been it was supposed to just be a 5.7, one of the easier routes in existence. I gathered all my trad gear and clambered into the first crack section. I placed many pieces of protection gear they call cams, which in this wetness seemed like fish heads trying to escape into a hidden crevasse. Climbing over a particular section where I had my arm jammed full into a crack like some angry airport personnel looking for heroine where it shouldn't ever be, I found myself completely backwards of how I should. Things such as this are oddities which never seem to make sense. Especially when you find you can't move, your shoes are spinning around your feet, and your heroine addict is getting a bit peeved and wants your arm out. I struggle with many great noises that seem like such a necessity, with any luck my belayer can't hear me and will think it I "made it look easy". Finally at the top I come down bleeding from my wrist to my elbow and soaking wet. I come out with the most obvious response, "It was great! A bit wet but actually really fun." The routes difficulties had already seemed to disappear from my mind. This is something I have noticed in climbing, difficulty, dirtyness, and overall annoyance of the route seems to leave quite quickly. At times it seems the lower from the top to the ground makes a route which on the way up was torture seem quite doable. Whereas after an arduous hike it takes me a good nights sleep and possibly a large cheeseburger to forget about the hellish bush whack. Maybe its the length of time which it takes to hike a peak over the short amount usually reserved for a single climb. Perhaps it was just so I could subject someone else to that which I wish I didn't have to do? Either way we climbed 3 more routes that night before the night finally beat us down to our vehicles, and then the cold to our tents or jeep backs.
The next morning brought blue skies and dry rock. A gift given from some far off mountain god (if Hatcher had a mountain god he surely was as sour as a bridge troll). We packed up and left right for Toto Buttress for some climbs that I needed to get for the guide. We toproped some easier routes and had a good time climbing nice warm, dry, Hatcher granite. I cruised up some routes my mind in another place, at times I forgot I had a rope on and would sail through holds thinking not about where I am going but what to do next. Thankfully my shoes would stay wet through the night and my feet, which one could see through the bottom of my climbing shoe, were now wet and sliding around inside my shoe. It was enough to drive me mad. We climbed a route called Festoon, 5.9 as it says in the ol' Hatcher paper printout. It felt harder, much harder and I fell. I cursed my shoes, stupid shoes. I grabbed the bolt and took a rest, stupid shoes. Then I moved up beyond the bolt and slipped a bit, my grip going white knuckled to the rock, I pulled over the lip on grass and my fingers dug into the moss. I slipped again and almost fell back down to the bolt, stupid shoes. Oh how I wish I had new shoes so that I wouldn't have that excuse every time I took a fall or slipped on an already slippery hold. I didn't feel my confidence this morning on something that seemed as though it should have been easier then I made it. So I went further left and lead something that didn't seem to exist on any paper printout. In fact it looked like it just ended, which it did. The hold in the middle of the route was covered in a thick black film. Some form of lichen which cared not that the sun was out and went on being wet anyway. It took a few times to get on good enough terms with the lichen to use it as a hold and moved on to the finish of the route, which just happened to be nowhere. The route ended at a bolt chain and that was it. I walked across the grass to a different anchor and came down. All in the name of guide making! Another route down we moved on to toprope some others we setup. Amos had come out halfway through and climbed until it was time to go. Lila and her husband left after the hail fury which resulted as a punishment for us trying to climb to long into the day. I retreated back into my tarp and to The Life of Pi.
After an hour or two of dry weather I packed my bags and walked toward more climbs on the Fairangel Wall. I was told off by driving rain and slaying wind. I retreated under a rock and laid about until I felt defeated, throwing my bag on my back and heading back to the car. Solo climbing on a rope had its difficulties as it was, I didn't need rainfall to queer the deal of survival.
That night I slept restlessly, I awoke often with the final remnants of a dream on my mind. They faded into nothing as I looked into the night, soon I was sleeping again only to be awoken again by another dream. I was not frustrated at this interruption as I become used to my mind being active with its own thoughts at night. I kept it so focused during the day with my activities that it had little option to wander while the sun was out.
The sun started over the mountain and lit up the opposite wall. Another beautiful morning! I felt like I was in great luck and in no time my friends John and Tracy would show so that we could get right into climbing. After an hour a cloud appeared dark and ominous on the horizon. It carried an angry touch which dug in deep as only a dark sinister cloud could. Those clouds you see as you near the summit of a peak and know they will come at you soon, lashing at you for stepping into a realm with so small a body and no weapons to defend with. The rain came lightly at first then began to pick up. I packed the bags and headed down the valley with the jeep throwing itself along the road as the potholes beat what’s left of my beautiful elephant into submission. I meet John and Tracy halfway down the valley, its agreed to head out, the rain is coming and there’s no denying it. After a short stop I am on my way into <st1:city><st1:place>Anchorage</st1:place></st1:city> where I stop to finish The Life of Pi near the <st1:place><st1:placename>Knik</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>River</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Near the end of the book, almost as if to signify the conclusion I hear a loud clap. Its that angry cloud saying I haven't run far enough, that it would catch me soon enough. The rain that followed blinded me as I drove not relenting to this great beast. A flash of light brought flashbacks into my mind of the Italian Dolomites. I looked back in the direction of <st1:place><st1:placename>Hatcher</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Pass</st1:placetype></st1:place> and felt I had made the right choice, going home would feel sweet, if only I wasn't driving my home around.
A few days in Hatcher Pass - >
Its late, I don't know what I want to do more. Drive until the road ends or sleep so soundly I dream I am away. Its certain to me that staying put is not my first choice so I choose a path between the two. I get into my custom built 1989 Jeep Cherokee, custom because several integral parts of the vehicle have been refitted with wood part, custom because I feel it is my home, and custom because that makes me feel like I am driving a larger more powerful vehicle. Something to cover over any testosterone that may be hiding below my puny truck. I drive as far as Palmer, often I turn up the music to open my drifting eyes.
"Warm yourself by the fire son, and the morning will come soon. I'll tell you stories of a better time and a place we once knew. Before we packed our bags and left all this behind us all in the dust." The words were soothing and the mood angry. The perfect concoction of punk alternative music to keep me awake. The vehicle made it as far as Palmer then its principle form of navigation was to tired to go on. We pulled over near the <st1:place><st1:placename>Matanuska</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>River</st1:placetype></st1:place> and drove into the grass finding a relatively flat place to sleep. I crawled into the back and stared at the moon glinting off the river. It flowed by in eerie silence and I felt its presence until my eyes became dim and I slept.
I awoke to the sun rising over the mountains. I was less then 100 yards from the road but i felt as thought I had parked in the middle of a vast wilderness. <st1:state><st1:place>Alaska</st1:place></st1:state> as it had been before all the people, ironically including me. I realized no matter how much I would want to experience life in <st1:state><st1:place>Alaska</st1:place></st1:state> before all the people that would mean I wouldn't be around to see it. Am I content just to believe it would be beautiful? I hoped so. I slithered feet first into the driver seat and with a low roar of a sleeping machine the jeep came to life. For a few moments I forgot it was a machine and felt it was the elephant I was waking to take me from the jungles of <st1:country-region><st1:place>Thailand</st1:place></st1:country-region> to my school so my tired feet would get some rest.
I drove on to Hatcher Pass where there were supposed to be people waiting for me. The first, Amos, called and said it looked like it was raining. It seems like so many fear the rain, and he cancelled. He said he would try and come the next day. My mind was blank, I am not sure if it was because I had just woke or because I was used to the situation but for some reason I didn't care. Earlier in the weekend I had done much of my climbing alone and it had strengthened my mind since I spent less of my time worring about the abilities of others and more time focusing on the task at hand. At the end of <st1:street><st1:address>Archangel Road</st1:address></st1:street> I was met by Lila and her husband. I would forget his name frequently and found that I only would remember hers because she was a member of Alaska Mountain Forum. Oh how easy it was for me to remember their names if they had been part of the forum. I still thought of Bryce as Burlapp, Rob as trebork, Matt as Faust, and myself as Prezwoodz. Although I will admit it was the last that worried me the most. When someone speaks to me and asks if I remember them I think deep in my mind "Are you on Alaska Mountain Forum?"
We watched the rain fall, it never seamed to stop here. I spent hours digging into the first book of two which I had bought at the Fireside Bookstore in Palmer. I heard it was good and looking at the cover evoked something in me I couldn't quite explain. It reminded me constantly of the one I loved for I had seen it on her bookshelf many times, at least my mind has seen it on her bookshelf and only in my most weakened position do I fully trust my mind. At first The Life Of Pi was uninteresting to me. It spoke of religion and I didn't much care for religion. I found myself trying to ignore the words on the page and blank through till I found something which would entertain me. I closed the book and stared at the cover...where was this tiger which the cover has? I have neither heard nor seen anything which would lead me to this naked Indian in a boat with a <st1:place>Bengal</st1:place> tiger. I put the book away and listened to the rain. There is something intoxicating about the rain, the way it falls unceasingly. You begin to wonder if the sky has a never-ending limit of water like a water hose put into the ocean and expending to the sky always replenishing itself or when my spirits are more upbeat its a bucket that someone is running over a screen and laughing as I climb soaking wet and cold. I am more upbeat because I know a bucket runs out of water, that is until the maniacal soul that filled it does so again. I sat as long as my impatience would allow at times I saw blue sky, other times I created blue sky. The new clean pages of The Life of Pi was once again in my fingertips this time moving more quickly. I spent time on the words, even went back and reread what I had grazed over. When I was finally getting entertained the sky rained hellfire down on us for a few minutes, just enough to soak everything in existence. Moments later, it was gone.
The blue sky was a beautiful thing to behold after hours of rain. I gathered my ropes and somehow got Lila and her husband, whose name still escapes me, to believe there might be dry rock somewhere. I flaked my rope in front of an obviously wet route at the base of the Monolith. Wet as it may have been it was supposed to just be a 5.7, one of the easier routes in existence. I gathered all my trad gear and clambered into the first crack section. I placed many pieces of protection gear they call cams, which in this wetness seemed like fish heads trying to escape into a hidden crevasse. Climbing over a particular section where I had my arm jammed full into a crack like some angry airport personnel looking for heroine where it shouldn't ever be, I found myself completely backwards of how I should. Things such as this are oddities which never seem to make sense. Especially when you find you can't move, your shoes are spinning around your feet, and your heroine addict is getting a bit peeved and wants your arm out. I struggle with many great noises that seem like such a necessity, with any luck my belayer can't hear me and will think it I "made it look easy". Finally at the top I come down bleeding from my wrist to my elbow and soaking wet. I come out with the most obvious response, "It was great! A bit wet but actually really fun." The routes difficulties had already seemed to disappear from my mind. This is something I have noticed in climbing, difficulty, dirtyness, and overall annoyance of the route seems to leave quite quickly. At times it seems the lower from the top to the ground makes a route which on the way up was torture seem quite doable. Whereas after an arduous hike it takes me a good nights sleep and possibly a large cheeseburger to forget about the hellish bush whack. Maybe its the length of time which it takes to hike a peak over the short amount usually reserved for a single climb. Perhaps it was just so I could subject someone else to that which I wish I didn't have to do? Either way we climbed 3 more routes that night before the night finally beat us down to our vehicles, and then the cold to our tents or jeep backs.
The next morning brought blue skies and dry rock. A gift given from some far off mountain god (if Hatcher had a mountain god he surely was as sour as a bridge troll). We packed up and left right for Toto Buttress for some climbs that I needed to get for the guide. We toproped some easier routes and had a good time climbing nice warm, dry, Hatcher granite. I cruised up some routes my mind in another place, at times I forgot I had a rope on and would sail through holds thinking not about where I am going but what to do next. Thankfully my shoes would stay wet through the night and my feet, which one could see through the bottom of my climbing shoe, were now wet and sliding around inside my shoe. It was enough to drive me mad. We climbed a route called Festoon, 5.9 as it says in the ol' Hatcher paper printout. It felt harder, much harder and I fell. I cursed my shoes, stupid shoes. I grabbed the bolt and took a rest, stupid shoes. Then I moved up beyond the bolt and slipped a bit, my grip going white knuckled to the rock, I pulled over the lip on grass and my fingers dug into the moss. I slipped again and almost fell back down to the bolt, stupid shoes. Oh how I wish I had new shoes so that I wouldn't have that excuse every time I took a fall or slipped on an already slippery hold. I didn't feel my confidence this morning on something that seemed as though it should have been easier then I made it. So I went further left and lead something that didn't seem to exist on any paper printout. In fact it looked like it just ended, which it did. The hold in the middle of the route was covered in a thick black film. Some form of lichen which cared not that the sun was out and went on being wet anyway. It took a few times to get on good enough terms with the lichen to use it as a hold and moved on to the finish of the route, which just happened to be nowhere. The route ended at a bolt chain and that was it. I walked across the grass to a different anchor and came down. All in the name of guide making! Another route down we moved on to toprope some others we setup. Amos had come out halfway through and climbed until it was time to go. Lila and her husband left after the hail fury which resulted as a punishment for us trying to climb to long into the day. I retreated back into my tarp and to The Life of Pi.
After an hour or two of dry weather I packed my bags and walked toward more climbs on the Fairangel Wall. I was told off by driving rain and slaying wind. I retreated under a rock and laid about until I felt defeated, throwing my bag on my back and heading back to the car. Solo climbing on a rope had its difficulties as it was, I didn't need rainfall to queer the deal of survival.
That night I slept restlessly, I awoke often with the final remnants of a dream on my mind. They faded into nothing as I looked into the night, soon I was sleeping again only to be awoken again by another dream. I was not frustrated at this interruption as I become used to my mind being active with its own thoughts at night. I kept it so focused during the day with my activities that it had little option to wander while the sun was out.
The sun started over the mountain and lit up the opposite wall. Another beautiful morning! I felt like I was in great luck and in no time my friends John and Tracy would show so that we could get right into climbing. After an hour a cloud appeared dark and ominous on the horizon. It carried an angry touch which dug in deep as only a dark sinister cloud could. Those clouds you see as you near the summit of a peak and know they will come at you soon, lashing at you for stepping into a realm with so small a body and no weapons to defend with. The rain came lightly at first then began to pick up. I packed the bags and headed down the valley with the jeep throwing itself along the road as the potholes beat what’s left of my beautiful elephant into submission. I meet John and Tracy halfway down the valley, its agreed to head out, the rain is coming and there’s no denying it. After a short stop I am on my way into <st1:city><st1:place>Anchorage</st1:place></st1:city> where I stop to finish The Life of Pi near the <st1:place><st1:placename>Knik</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>River</st1:placetype></st1:place>. Near the end of the book, almost as if to signify the conclusion I hear a loud clap. Its that angry cloud saying I haven't run far enough, that it would catch me soon enough. The rain that followed blinded me as I drove not relenting to this great beast. A flash of light brought flashbacks into my mind of the Italian Dolomites. I looked back in the direction of <st1:place><st1:placename>Hatcher</st1:placename> <st1:placetype>Pass</st1:placetype></st1:place> and felt I had made the right choice, going home would feel sweet, if only I wasn't driving my home around.
My Pictures can be seen at http://prezwoodz.smugmug.com
I Live at http://www.alaskamountainforum.com
I Live at http://www.alaskamountainforum.com
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