Hey Tribe,
Yesterday was Labor Day and I, like a great deal of
Americans, had the day off from work.
So, what are a girl and her dog to do on a glorious late summer day when
not at work? Go hiking, of course! The only problem was, nobody was willing to
go with me. Undeterred, I decided Fly
and I would go by ourselves. Normally, I
fear going alone: what if I hurt myself, or what if I meet people with evil
intent, or I’d have nobody to talk to, or I’d have nobody with whom to share
the experience, etc. However, I have
realized that I cannot put off what I want to do, because this is my life, I
won’t get a second chance, and I only have so many days before my journey on
Earth is finished – so instead of waiting for others, I will rely on myself for
happiness and do the things I want to do.
Like hiking on a sunny Monday morning.
The drive was uneventful – most adventuring folks had driven
to their destinations after work on Friday and wouldn’t be back on the road
until this afternoon. We did pass a few
motorhomes making their way out of the pass, getting an early start for home I
suppose, but most of the mountain range was steeped in sleepy quiet.
 |
| Only a few people at Summit Lake |
We hit the switchbacks leading up to April Bowl just as the
sun began to rise over the ridge of the mountain; as we climbed, so did the
ridgeline and so did the sun, allowing us to experience an extended sunrise that lasted
for our entire climb up the mountainside.
April Bowl lakes were looking especially beautiful, like gemstones around the neck of Hatch Peak. Their waters reflected the nearly cloudless
sky and were a perfectly deep clear blue.
Only the slightest of breezes graced the bowl, keeping the air fresh,
and preserving the mirror-like surface that I so greatly appreciate when admiring
any mountain lake.
Even on the ridge, the wind was not as forceful as it
usually is in the area, so Fly and I were able to traverse the ridgeline in
relative comfort. We met a guy who
overtook us during our ascent; we chatted at a mutual rest break as I took off
my jacket and stuffed it into my pack.
The morning was warming. He
pointed out across toward Willow and asked if the mountains in the distance
were Mt. McKinley. I tried not to grin
too much and pointed in the correct direction, saying Mt. McKinley was one,
singular, tall peak, not a mountain range, and that it should be visible from
the top of Hatch peak on a clear day like today.
 |
| April Bowl |
 |
| Hatch Peak is the second on the right. |
Once Fly and I were properly above the bowl, with the
majority of the climb completed, the walking was easier and we could see
sweeping views in all directions. It was
pleasant to amble along in silence, enjoying the sunshine, realizing the day
was mine and I could use it as I pleased.
I wasn’t on a schedule, didn’t have to be anywhere at a certain time,
and had no true destination. Nobody’s
opinion mattered but my own. We were
headed for Hatch Peak, but would we stop there, or continue the ridge to
Government Peak, or drop down some unexplored valley – who knew? The wide expanse of the Talkeetna mountains
fueled my joy at how wide open my choices were and the freedom was
exhilarating.
 |
| Looking out over the Matanuska river and the Knik river beyond it. |
 |
| My shadow waves hello to the lakes in April Bowl. |
There were some early hikers lounging at the top of Hatch
Peak. One woman asked what kind of dog
Fly was – we get this question a lot – and after I told her, I added that she
was good at keeping bears away from me.
To which the woman replied, “So it sounds like we’re hiking with you for
the rest of the day.” Her group and I
all had a good chuckle and I bid them farewell as Fly and I moved down the
opposite slope to sit in the warm sunshine and have our summit snack.
 |
| Summit selfie. |
 |
| Sure enough, Mt. McKinley was out in all it's glory. |
 |
| Trying to get at a ground squirrel. |
Alpine contentment is one of my favorite feelings: it comes
when I am sitting high up on the side of a mountain, nestled comfortably on the
crispy yet soft moss and lichen, listening to the whisper of the wind and
scratch of unseen tiny non-scary insects.
I get drowsy and indolent. Time
could pass or stand still and it all seems one and the same, because I am
unhurried and quiet both in body and mind.
Alpine contentment is a wonderful experience. I looked at Fly; she looked at me; we both
seemed to share a moment that was only for us.
Slowly, eventually, we roused and I decided it was time for
us to begin our return journey. More
hikers were making their way up the ridge and I wanted to maintain our feeling
of solitude, so we dipped off the ridge slightly and traversed the alpine slope
back toward the bowl before regaining the trail.
After savoring one final moment near the sapphire blue
lakes, Fly and I quietly retraced the switchbacks down the mountain to the now
fully packed parking lot that was bustling with children, dogs, and excited
tourists who were all hurrying to make the most of what was left of their
holiday. I on the other hand, felt no
rush.
What I did feel was the knowledge that I can be content with my own thoughts, can rely on myself in unfamiliar territory, and that hiking can be just as enjoyable if I have a human companion or if I am alone with Fly. However, if I didn’t have Fly…
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