Animals and nature have nothing to prove, nothing to be, but themselves. This is one of the reasons I like to venture in the wild – to immerse myself in the authentic.  To be me, way beyond color, sex, age or any preconceived idea of me that I have; to strip down to my essentials, ready to meet wolverine.

Last week I talked about how I get myself out of my head and into my life in, Live your Soul, not Your Thoughts.  So, now you are here, what do you do?  Well, I connect, to earth and thus to me.  Here is the story of how I do it in one of my favorite places on the planet.  It begins with a flight in February to my Homestead, the plan is to explore the winter wild and myself in it.

You can get from my village to my Homestead in one hour flying in a Cessna 185 on skis, and it is a glorious thing.  I load my sled, skis, snowshoes, survival gear, food and my soul-dog Luzy, in the plane.  We take off from the Talkeetna Airstrip on a sunny morning with a talented pilot.  Luzy and I watch the Susitna Valley unfurl beneath the wings.  As soon as we are airborne, the roads disappear.  Innumerable frozen lakes, streams, ponds, meadows, woods, and three major rivers all pass beneath us.  It is vast.  Alaska Native Athabaskan people traveled this land and knew it well, you can feel their echo through time.  I look down and see the influence of 5-7 glaciations where thick ice sheets came from the Talkeetna, Chugach and Alaska Mountain Ranges.  For the last 40 minutes of flight, there is no human sign.

We land on the large frozen lake and throw our gear onto the snow.  I watch the plane take off, leaving us in a place where the silence gets louder as the plane engine noise fades away.  The Alaska Range wraps before me to the North as I face Denali, the Tordrillo Mountains connect to my West, the south opens for 60 miles behind me all the way to Cook Inlet with Beluga Mountain breeching to my East.  Nature seems to say, “now you are with us”.

The silence out here is so loud, it is a thrumming, a live breathing of many beings; trees, wolverines, water beneath the ice. I pull my ears to clear them because it is so loud.

You should know, Luzy is an Alaskan Husky and she has my heart.  She is at home in the wild and can gather her own food from blueberries to voles and rabbits.  We enjoy each others company and we love to explore together.

She is exuberant and athletic and wise and she is also kind enough to pull my sled with gear.  Luzy is treated like royalty she is.  Luzy is up for every adventure and part of my being here is also to connect more deeply to her, to listen and learn with her. We like to learn together in the wild, sometimes I teach her things, and many times she teaches me.  I love when she pauses mid run and her ears move, I have learned to watch her tips for animals nearby.

Luzy and I make our way up the ridge above the lake to the cabin my husband, Rick and I built here some 20 years ago.  The Homestead.  SIGH it is a powerful place for me where I breathe deep lungfuls of serenity.  The Homestead Act was enacted in 1862 by President Lincoln and we went after the opportunity to Homestead this Alaska land with gusto.  We filed our claim in 1998.  The only development on our land when we came was an often used bear path.  We cut trees and pulled them like mules to the house site.  Every item out here that we did not make from these woods, we hauled by plane and then foot.  The only machine we used is a chainsaw.  But the building of this place is another story.  Right now, I have come to enjoy, connect and be.

I shovel my way through 5 feet of snow to the front door and we are in our cozy 16×16 log home.  I light the woodstove to get us warmed up before nightfall and prepare dinner.  I create a sort of plan for our time here; exploring and cozy cabin time.

The indoor routine 

Gather and split wood, Stoke stove

Melt snow for water

Love on Luzy

Look at maps

Watch the weather

Create wonderful meals on the cookstove

Write in my journal

Breathe

Give thanks

Sleep

I am good at setting intentions and making trails to get there.  This trip, I have no end destination in mind.

The outdoor routine

Step out of the cabin each morning,  breathe deeply and gratefully

Pack sled with gear and food

Choose a new compass bearing to follow, North, South, East, West, whichever calls to me that day

Go as far as feels good and see what I see

Sleep under the full moon enlisting its energies to be open and receptive or return to the cabin

The compass has great meaning for me and symbolizes not only finding my way in the wild world but also tuning in to my internal compass.

West

The first morning, Luzy and I awake to a clear view of the Tordrillo Mountains beckoning us from the front window which faces west.  I have a hankering to get into these largely unexplored mountains.  We take my packed sled because it may take a few days.  West is one of my favorite headings because it denotes for me the future and next steps.

These next steps are not easy.  It takes two days to get 15 miles.  The snow is too deep for Luzy to break trail and pull our sled so I snowshoe up and down ravines making trail while Luzy follows pulling the sled with our camping gear and the skis which I plan to return on.  It is grueling and slow but Luzy is happy and I am up for the challenge.  It begins to snow lightly and I lose sight of the mountains.  I am following my compass heading west.  I begin to get attached to the outcome and think I want to get at least to the foothills.  We spend the first night out under a full moon, it is lovely and we are tired and sleep soundly.

Day 2 we awake with a light dusting of snow over us, I rise to cook oatmeal and bacon and make more trail.  Seven hours later, my thighs are weary and we are hungry.  We stop, in the pitch black and set up camp and cook another simple meal on my campstove.  I get in my sleeping bag figuring an early rise will be good.  Luzy lays on my feet but she is not comfortable for some reason.  I close my eyes, I can’t see the moon but I know she is there all ripe.  I wake up 20 minutes later, it is raining.  My down sleeping bag is quickly wet.  I scramble to put my sled bag over us and a tarp.  I did not bring a tent.  I feel defeated thinking about sleeping in this and venturing further in rain.  Rain in the Alaska February is a hard thing to take.  I know I have to watch for hypothermia – I consider making a fire and I notice Luzy is standing by the trail heading back the way we came.  She is being very clear, lets go back to the cabin, now.  I ponder, it took 2 days just to get here, could we get back tonight?  And in the dark?  I brought skies for the purpose of skijoring the trail on the return and I realize it will only take 3-4 hours to skijor back, I have my headlamp for lighting the trail ahead and we will keep warm, could be crazy – could be fun.  I remember my favorite decision making tool:  What feels most delicious?  And out here, I add, what feels safe?

Some may consider a night ski a ridiculous thing to do in the rain, but we are called to do it.  I know we can stop and get under the tarp if needed.  We say goodby to the Tordrillos and go for it.  Luzy is delighted to run on the trail we made after slogging in deep snow.  We take our time, it is not a smooth trail and it hasn’t set up very hard, but it is exciting.  There is something mesmerizing about being on the trail in the dark, you have to be doubly aware, yet the dark makes you feel like you are floating in an otherworldly landscape.  We get back to the cabin around midnight ravenous and I make us a halibut supper.  We sleep well.

East

This morning I set an intention to seek a gentle direction for exploration.  Luzy and I stand on our ridge waiting for inspiration on which direction to follow.  Luzy is watching the east.  And Raven, my old friend and one of my totem animals, flies out from Beluga Mountain to the east.  Raven sees us and caws loudly, circling us, then returning to Beluga.  We have our direction.  East, for me, signifies peace and calm, not the usual characteristics of Raven in my life, but this feels right.  There are very few Ravens out this way, in contrast to many other places in Alaska, so this is of note.  I enjoy playing with and being aware of anything that crosses my path out here.

We will leave the sled.  I shoulder my backpack with snowshoes strapped on and other necessities and plan to return to the cabin this night.  The rain stopped the night before, the temperature is 19 degrees and we have a crust to ski on.  We ski freely through the old growth forest, across a creek and head up a flank of Beluga Mountain.  Beluga is approximately nine miles long and she houses a few Bear dens.  Luzy and I switch skis for snowshoes as we get higher and avoid the rocky cave areas.  We only get a third of the way up the 5,000 feet to one of the summits, but we are laughing and singing this day, completely content to explore, as the giant birch bend over us.

North

I have lost track of days and time.  Another morning, we set out with the playful intention to see magic.  I enjoy tossing out these intentions and then being on the lookout for how they might turn up.  North means wisdom and guidance for me and we journey across the big lake and overland following the compass with Mts Sultana and Denali in our sights.

Toward evening we head back towards the cabin.  The lake is 2 miles long surrounded by mountains.  There are numerous springs and the warm February weather is opening overflow everywhere,  we watch our steps.  Luzy sees them first.  I follow her intent gaze and finally see, the otters!  Some 15 meters away, there are two river otters sliding down the bank to the lake on their bellies with a third otter following.  Such joy! I swear I hear them laughing. When they get to the lake they see us and they run to a hole in the ice and dive in.  Luzy and I are mesmerized.  We go to their hole and see it is an opening about 2 feet wide with a tunnel leading away, horizontally, between ice layers.  We can’t resist giving it a go…I slide in their tracks on my butt, laughing with Luzy romping by my side.  One otter peaks out of the hole, watching us.  I think he approves.  We return to this spot a few days later with lunch and wait for the show.  They come out after a while and make more slide runs, they know we are watching.  Magic!  These River Otters are agile and focused on their fun.  Focused fun.  I like it.

South

I have one more direction to take and I set my intention to again simply be aware of what wants to show itself.  South denotes bringing to light that which may be in shadow.  Luzy and I snowshoe toward the Talachulitna River, where we have caught giant prehistoric King Salmon in June.  This way crosses a creek and then journeys up through long, wide, high alpine meadows with large vistas in all directions.  We enjoy a day of rambling and there is something very “Sound of Music” up here so I find myself singing loudly.  It gets HOT and you know I love to be authentic out here, so….

Walking around naked heightens awareness.  I am more in touch with the air and the desire to not fall.  I feel more animal.

I am singing aloud  a new song I have made up called Luzy the Mighty – when she pulls up short and freezes.  I look beyond her and into the eyes of Wolverine!  He (he feels like a he) stands at the edge of an open section of the creek not 25 feet in front of us.  I can hear the water running over rocks here and it seems we are all staring at each other for quite some time.  He is every type of brown from dark to golden and looks like a miniature bear, I can see his lengthy claws even in the snow.  Wolverine is on all fours facing us, I wonder what he thought of my song?  He is clearly powerful, not in size but in assurance.  I hold onto Luzy who now wants to move toward him.  We are having some sort of stand-off and he is not budging.  It comes to me there may be young nearby.  I want to take his picture but I cannot break this gaze.  We are two beings sizing each other, trying to learn from one another what we are about.  Wolverine probably taking in my hairless body, my strange noises and smell.  I feel like he also gathered something of my personality, my questioning of the world and my place in it.  I am completely struck by his utter confidence and belonging.  I finally decide it is I who must move and respect his space, so I walk upstream to go around him.  He continues to gaze at me.  I offer him a blessing of good health.  As I cross the creek to head away, I see his head turn, watching my retreat.

I have only seen Wolverine a handful of times in the wild and it is always a gift.  We return to the cabin tingling.  Every animal, tree, event out here brings up many wonderful things to learn from and also gives my mind much to ponder and reflect.

I walked away from Wolverine remembering: You have power and you can stand in it, you deserve it, you need to own it.

I learn things about myself out here.

Nature tells the truth.  Always.  Nature only expects me to be who I am and so I remember myself in nature.

There are no masks in nature, everything sees through that – and  you can’t fake things with a wolverine, he is sensing your true energy.  And you know what?  Wolverine was not fazed by my nakedness, I even forgot about it.  So delicious.  The trees simply do not care what your title is.  Nature teaches authenticity.

 

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