One goes snow-blind.

One breaks her ski.

One bruises a couple ribs.

I go into the wild to play to my edges.

Earth and dog teach me what to do when those edges get edgier

March 25th I flew into Denali National Park with two special women and seven magical huskies.  This Wilderness protects North America’s highest peak, Denali, and acts as a game reserve.  “The great one” is the meaning given Denali in the Athabascan language.  We skijored attached to sleds packed with some 100 pounds of gear for 10 days, pulled by our dogs.  The mountain followed us each day.  Check out my videos, if you like.  This may be one of my most challenging treks.  Cameras were not rolling during the crazy times.  Maybe it is just as well.

The Plan

Skijor a hundred miles with the dogs that we love.

The Reality  

Skijor 40% of the time, spend 60% of the days tramping over sharp rock, skating glaciers, navigating opening rivers, pulling sleds up tussock-covered mountains, to finally, just walk out.

I am a life coach and fascinated with our human journey and how to share my belief that we are deeply connected to land and sky.

I seek ways to bring people into this connection through nature. But this trip was for me, my forth long-distance skijor journey.  I Flow in the wild.  Mihaly Csikzentmihalyi talks about Flow as a mental state wherein a person performing an activity is immersed in a feeling of energized focus and enjoyment.  I think of it as, “Where did the time go?”.  Treks like this one are easy flow for me, I am mostly “in the now” because it is all consuming and to not be “in the moment” can be dangerous.

I am used to mind-blowing vistas, but this was WOW.  The clarity of blazing bright snow against a too-blue sky of increasing daylight hours was our world.  It seemed every animal in the Park laid track across the expanse.  I saw evidence of wolf, lynx, caribou upon caribou, fox, coyote, and a sweet lil vole.  I forgot civilization in this perfectly ordered realm of white rising to cosmos and falling to rivers of ice.  Eye-candy every-single-where I looked.  But the trail sucked.  

Exuberant on the first day I burned down a knoll letting the dogs run full out while my wiser compatriots held back.  My ski tip caught something on the way down and yes, I flew through the air with the greatest of ease.  It was the landing on the handlebar of my sled that knocked the wind out of me.  The remainder of the trip I was made painfully aware of each breath I took.  Deep breathing still hurts now, months later. 

A routine develops on backcountry treks and despite the raucous conditions of this journey, it remained pretty true:

WAKE

Camped on a frozen river with “the great one”,  I sleep outside so I can steal looks at the mountain and stars all night.  I am rewarded with the aurora dancing green overhead.  I also refrost my cheek on the old frostbite – not too bad, but a reminder: be aware.  Wake up to a golden Denali on another spring day.

Wake slowly, feel well-used muscles, peek out of sleeping bag, see splendor, shiver and duck back in bag.  Finally, you have to pee so bad you scramble out.  This is only a foray, you return to the bag to assess your next move having determined it is -20 degrees.  No one is stirring to make that coffee.  But, the dogs heard you and now they wriggle and the day’s cacophony of howls and whines begin.  Layers on, venture out again to cuddle with dogs, stretch.  Start stove, melt snow for coffee, dog food, oatmeal and then fill water bottles.  I am awake enough now to welcome the day and offer blessings to the four directions.

NORTH thank you for any wisdom you can spare

SOUTH please illuminate what I need to see

EAST grateful for grace on the trail

WEST I welcome help finding the way forward

The roar of my XGK stove blazing away sets the tune for packing camp.  We organize colored gear sacks and dog booties.  Then, consult the map and review plans for the day.  Time to harness dogs and it gets LOUD with energized howls, “letsgoletsgoletsGO!”.  We take about two hours from first stretch to ski away.

This is where hope lies.

MOVE

serenity and magic usually begin here.  But this trip, most of our 6 hours skiing is spent tackling changing conditions.  “Now what?!” is a familiar thought.  Breaks consist of stuffing gu, powerbars, or bacon in mouth as you ski, while throwing meat treats to dogs.  Stopping for a few minutes here and there to scratch my head or consult the map- not too long, because your sweat cools and cold sets in fast.  We are not making the customary 15-25+ miles a day; it’s more like 9-12 miles.   A new refrain becomes routine between 4 and 6pm, “I can’t take anymore of this awful trail, lets look for a camp.”.

 This is where reality lies.

CAMP

a gorgeous camp (they all are) out of the wind.  Give thanks.  Morning routine in reverse, I call this the Urban Sprawl – dogs lounge, gear spreads, tents sprout.  Change socks before feet freeze, mukluks on, add layers.  Massage doggies on the Caribou skin, boil water and always feed them first.  Pass smoked salmon, nuts, and cheese as camp duties unfold, yum.  Dinners are one dish wonders with butter and bacon and kale.

Sun is going down, gaze at Denali and shiver.  I record our longitude and latitude each night in my journal, mark the map, plan tomorrows’ trail.  Eyeing the river, I hope the ice will hold our weight.

This is where exhaustion lies.

 Sounds of Camp

AWOOOOOO

Where is the bacon?

SWIX, PELE, NOOOOOO!!!

This is Awesome

@#*^&!!

This is soooo Beautiful

Quote Board

“The only thing I have ever waxed is my skis”

“A blind woman is braiding my hair”

“I only had time to drink whiskey today”

“All the cute crap I do has a functional nature”

 The nature of this journey seems to be traversing.

The amazing Shannon and I on the River BarReaching across the seasons from winter to spring, from control to chaos and back.  Getting across the hell to somewhere else, anywhere, feeling the pain and then seeing the beauty and sometimes both all at once. Change is all around us, the ice is breaking up, and the rivers are mimicking the thawing of my own body from the long winter.

We are actually skiing over pointed rocks

There is scant snow covering the ground in places and I fall and feel a rock stab into my thigh.  Time to take off the skis and walk.  Nope, run.  I am running across rocks in ski boots to keep up with the dogs who do not slow down and the sled goes bouncing over the terrain. I slip again and feel a sharp jab rip a hole in my pants.  I see blood; I may as well wear the damn skis.  Laura and Shannon look to be in more control, and then I see their faces.  This scenario plays daily.

Dogs are happy

We fly through Thoroughfare Pass.  I watch Luzy duck her nose into the powder and, not missing a step, she comes up with a vole in her mouth!  But this is protected Wilderness, and hunting is not allowed, so she drops said vole who flees free across the pass.

Connection

Tempers flare in the stressful conditions and then they die out.  We are able to let things go and to be clear about what is important.  While the landscape holds us and exerts her energy there is no hiding from yourself.  We are each other.  The animals, mountains, people, and rivers have no dividing lines as we operate in tandem.  I can taste the vole in Luzy’s mouth, I can be the frigid summits where Denali knows my essence. Your parka cannot hide you.  The rocks and ice feel like my own feet.  It is why I come.

A sweet moment

One morning, we are having coffee in Laura’s tent, waking up to the world and snorting at our assortment of  hat-head-hairstyles.  My two amazing friends decide to braid my hair.  One on either side of me, they give me a gift- I am ten years old again and trusted girlfriends are braiding my hair.

Mr.Toads Wild Ride

I forget all about the Day 1 fall and bomb down a mountain pass, through switchback-icy-tundra with brushy obstacles ending on a short fast ice sheet to the Toklat River.  Scary-fun and probably foolish.  You can go pretty fast down an icy mountain with your dogs pulling you and a heavy sled.  I ride the brake the whole way just to stay upright as I careen down in the flow of pure focus on avoiding annihilation.

We are skijoring on thin ice

Shannon’s eye’s are bothering her.  Maybe the copious amounts of sunscreen we are using got in her eyes?   The river is melting.  While not a deep river, there are some open leads with 5 feet of water running.  We ski through overflow and soak our boots.  Things get hairy navigating a route on firm ice and around gaping maws of rushing river. We drink shots of whiskey and trust our dogs to lead.  It works.

Topless skijoring

Panting in the 20 degree heat.  I am pushing my sled, helping the dogs pull us up Highway Pass.  It is Hot.  My ribs hurt so much from the first day’s fall, I stop periodically so I don’t hyperventilate.  The pass moves endlessly up and and sweat runs down between my breasts.  In the sunny Denali holy-ness what is a girl to do?  Topless skijoring.  There is nothing like it, situation improved.

Feeling the bliss in the pain is such a wonder to me

Mountains have many edges.  The climb can be a satisfying workout and you arrive gasping on the glorious top where there is snow to ski on and a view.  But, it’s cold and windy and you must get down.  The ski down is exhilarating and sometimes death-defying.  Then, you are down again and the snow is shitty and you pine to be above it all and so it goes…up and down.

It is all about the Huskies

I could write a book here.  I go because I want to be with dogs and make them happy.  They instruct me.  Listen to them, notice their ear movement, follow THEIR nose, they will teach you how to ski, how to understand the ice, they know the wolves are watching.  They will connect you.

Laura’s ski binding breaks

on a ridge line.  Full stop.  Bitter wind.  Would be a long trek on one ski.  Shannon can see less and less and we cannot stay up here, so we focus on a solution and MacGyver a fix with a zip tie.  That feels good.

Skiing up a frozen waterfall

on a slope of no less than 25 degrees, the dogs are AMAZING as is Laura, who charges forward somehow gracefully.  Me?  Not so much.  The uphill ski on ice is maddening and exhausting, we spend hours getting virtually nowhere.  The sleds pull us back down and we start again.

 Shannon can see only shadows now

we realize she is snow-blind.  Camp is made, Shannon placed in a tent, and we call a 24-hour rest.  Our partner is blindfolded and quarantined from light so she may rest her eyes.  Laura and I use the gift of time to organize and repair gear, we play with dogs and explore.  Shannon makes fun of herself and makes us laugh.

Shannon improves by morning and she wants to go on. We determine to get to the Denali road where she can get a ride out, no use endangering her vision further.  We fly down an icy, rocky hillside barely in control keeping the dogs from a 200 foot drop off the edge and  run out of snow at the bottom.  It sinks in, this is the end of this skijor journey.

There is stress on any trek such as this one, staying grounded is important.  Each of us lost it at some point along the way.  This is rare for me and I do not like it.  Yet, we continued to move forward in camaraderie.  I am grateful for my two friends and their great spirit.

When those edges get edgier

Try not to make things worse, get in the tent if you are going blind

Seek improvement in the moment, get naked?

Connect, Feel the Earth, she feels you

Look for beauty, it is following you

 

A redhead, a blonde, a brunette, and 7 huskies skijor into Denali Wilderness…

 

And they laughed and ate bacon everyday.