A Pleasant Day Remembered

I was so much younger then. I had returned to Alaska after the oil bust of the eighties, having lost my machinist job and everything else, essentially starting over back in that beautiful land I had always considered home. I had bullshitted my way into a job working in a photo lab, a job which at first I enjoyed the hell out of, as photography had been a cherished hobby, but between that and my first wife's cashier job, we were barely getting by. Be that as it was, for the most part I was in heaven, for I had developed a love of Alaska's natural beauty that I had not learned to appreciate while I was a kid in high school, for kids have interests that trump all others. Having seen a good chunk of the lower 48 and the world while in the Navy, going back "home" to Alaska became my holy grail, and I had somehow managed to make it happen, and I was happy. The truly wonderful thing about living in Anchorage was how easy it was to drive on down the blacktop and in no time at all find yourself completely alone, just you and nature gone wild, as it tends to do in Alaska's short summers. It was truly a hiker's paradise.
I had outfitted myself with some pretty good hiking gear, and on weekends I would head down the Seward Highway along the feet of the Chugiac Mountains, where there where several trailheads located that you could park and hike up along the glacier fed streams that poured fast and loud down the mountains. One could either hike up to the pass and return, or if you could get a friend to drive your car to the other side, you could spend the night and hike on thru to Eagle river. I had to settle for the halfway point, but getting to the pass and back without killing yourself was a two day event. The wife was not a big fan of things outdoors. Her idea of roughing it was a hilton hotel on wheels complete with a bathroom, shower, and television. My idea of roughing it was carrying 70 lbs of as much comfort you could carry in and pack back out, making no impact on the land. A three man tent for the room, a nice thermorest inflatable sleeping pad, a firefly gas stove, and freeze dried meals, what more does one need? Well, there's the can of pepper spray and my trusty Walther PPKs on my hip in case me and a grizzly made a surprise meeting. The pepper spray was for the bear if I had time to use it, the 380 auto was for ME in case I didn't. That meeting never occurred, thank Bob.
This particular day I drove down alone as usual and parked at the trailhead of Bird Creek. As I was getting my gear out in preparation to head up the trail, another guy pulls up, prepared to do much the same thing. We introduced ourselves to each other, he was a young guy with an obvious limp, a congenital leg problem he'd been born with but managed quite fine with. He worked for Flying Tigers Air Freight, and had gotten a free ride from Seattle so that he could do some hiking. We were both glad to share the experience and headed up the trail together.
I was in a lot better shape back then and soon found myself getting ahead of Tim, which I guess was a good thing because it made me slow down and enjoy more of my surroundings as we made our way up the not-so-smooth trail. It was difficult to talk much with all the effort of carrying our loads and the white noise of the rushing stream near the trail, but we would take occasional rest breaks and chatted while refueling on water and snacks. While we hiked, we both experienced our surroundings in our own personal ways.
Much later in the afternoon we finally found the grade much flatter and arrived at the meadow nestled in the pass at the top of the spine of the mountain range. From there, you look back from whence you came and are rewarded with an awesome view of the sound and the mountains on the other side. If you are lucky you can spy a pod of killer whales or balugas making their way along the ribbon of water. But up here in the pass is the only kind of silence I could ever appreciate, none of the noise of civilization, just the trickle of water, the calls of birds, the light breeze across the grasses.
The next hour is spent unpacking the back pack, setting up the tents, assembling the camp stove, boiling some water for coffee and dinner. The only way you sense how late it is by how tired your are and a glance at your watch, because the sun will only dip just below the horizon much later that night and pop right back up this time of year. So Tim and I listen, relax with our coffee and camp meals, and share some small talk before hitting the sleeping bags for the night. Tim needs to take a sleeping aid as his body is not used to the daylight so late in the evening. I've already acclimated and drift off in my tent, my pepper spray and gun next to my pillow, just in case.
I awaken the next morning fairly early, and quietly tear everything down to return to my pack as Tim continues to snooze. When he finally peeks out from his little tent I have a cup of joe waiting for him. Within the hour we are ready for the return trip, which won't take near as long as it's downhill all the way. Still, Tim's bum leg slows him down and we set a nice, unrushed pace. We finally arrive back at the trail head and shake hands, glad to have shared the trip, knowing we will probably never meet again, as he will fly out that night to return to Seattle and perhaps catch a ride on a jet to some other exotic location to experience. I will spend another two years before being nagged back to the lower 48 by a wife who never gets used to the frigid winters or the wonders of Alaska.
I've been exiled here in Florida going on near twenty years now. I have a new wife, a life still on the edge, a home of my own, and many good memories of the places I have been. The Alaska I once called home is certainly a different place, more crowded with humanity, many of the glaciers now melted and the increasing temperatures changing the very face of the land and driving many species of animals towards extinction. Even if I could, to go back now would probably be heartbreaking. But I shall always have the pleasant memories of the time I spent there, the interesting people I met, the wonderful peace of unspoiled nature I was able to enjoy. The days ahead of me pale in comparative possibilities.