tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-67204180593106618392024-03-12T20:54:13.005-07:00alaskatracksned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.comBlogger110125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-75309302377691695882020-07-23T17:44:00.000-07:002020-07-23T17:44:39.697-07:00Exit the boreal forest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Our neighbors and friends and Bubble Family members have a boat. They invited us on a week-long tour of bays of Prince William Sound. Yes, thank you.</div>
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We dwellers of the spruce-birch forest got to see different spruce, in this case Sitka, in the rainforest along the ocean coast.<br />
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Kristen Rozell brought her paddleboard, here on Shoup Bay.<br />
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Different tree species, the tang of salt air, 13-year-olds with orange shoes.<br />
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Our captain, Chris Carlson, and his first mate Ella Carlson. We've missed Chris's liners to left on the softball team this summer, but we are glad he is living the salt life.<br />
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Chris ferried us to places like this, where mountain creeks meet the salt water of Sawmill Bay.<br />
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Even the Cap'n got to fish.<br />
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Salmonberries</div>
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Still-life, Valdez, Alaska. Midnight in July.</div>
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Pinks are in! Anna uses Tony Rozell's reel, purchased in 1968.</div>
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My boy from another mother Ian, and Norsy, who has the same name as my lovely sister.</div>
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Bears often visit this spot for salad. This black bear has an extreme case of cinnamon.</div>
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We had to leave on a day the road was dry. That is illegal in Valdez, so we turned around.</div>
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ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-76482959881245160862020-07-08T09:05:00.003-07:002020-07-08T18:08:41.640-07:00Far Mountain Traverse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here's the hiking course. About 30 miles, up and down 16 domes. Just a half-dozen water holes.<br />
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Hiked the first eight miles with Lucie Meyer, who earned her Monster, and Tom Paragi, as well as Tom's wife and Lucie's mom Sarka, and Kerry Walsh.<br />
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Kerry, left, and Sarka have been friends since their kids were munchkins. They say yes to every outdoor outing.<br />
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Water is hard to find on the ridgetop traverse. When we camped the first night with water we had carried up, Sarka had a feeling there was water in the next steep drainage. After the crew hiked back to Chena Hot Springs, I descended into the mosquito woods and found a spring. I dug out enough room to dip my water bottle and extracted a few quarts of chocolate milk.<br />
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Sarka told me about a mushroom rock ahead. A genius friend told me it's a yardang. That's a landform -- in this case a granite tor -- shaped by wind.<br />
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A nice feature of this field of tors near the summit of Far Mountain are a few eroded basins that hold water from thunderstorms. Like all the other water sources, I found this one when Cora started lapping it.<br />
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The summit of 4,694-foot Far Mountain is indeed far away from anything. Except this communications facility, its three large diesel tanks and perpetually running generator.<br />
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Breakfast view.</div>
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Dinner view.</div>
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Dome after dome. Did I mention there are 16 of them? In his excellent <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Outside-Interior-Adventure-Central-Alaska/dp/1602232806/ref=pd_lpo_14_t_0/138-0132126-6239020?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=1602232806&pd_rd_r=3ae272a4-7903-4782-89cf-7b26909d7f3c&pd_rd_w=y43Ad&pd_rd_wg=qSMBr&pf_rd_p=7b36d496-f366-4631-94d3-61b87b52511b&pf_rd_r=YQS2SJHW06QE5SKCZV28&psc=1&refRID=YQS2SJHW06QE5SKCZV28">Outside in the Interior</a>, Kyle Joly mentions 14,000 feet of elevation gain on this loop. It's like doing a Colorado Fourteener, without the people.<br />
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At the end, I was cooked. Cora too. I wouldn't let her drive home.<br />
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-21186658737291517692016-07-27T01:02:00.001-07:002016-07-27T01:02:31.267-07:00Upper upper Chena River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Inches of rain in our lovely Chena River basin. What to do? Highmark the river, try to get as far up as possible with a 16.5-foot canoe and pink inflatable.<br />
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Chris Carlson, Cora and I put in on Monument Creek right where it enters the North Fork of the Chena. About a mile from Chena Hot Springs resort. We scouted Monument Creek there but deemed it a bit tight for our boats (though with plenty of H20).<br />
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The route was fantastic fun. Exhilarating and terrifying, which is kind of the same thing. A few portage drags like this. Some pinballing off logs. A dump for me and Cora, who is a good swimmer even though she was under the overturned canoe for a bit. Eight miles of non-stop splashy thrill ride that Chris and I don't really need to do again.<br />
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This picture pretty much says it all:<br />
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-85991689712412003502016-07-21T23:09:00.001-07:002016-07-21T23:31:04.500-07:00Angel Creek 50 miler<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The second annual summer ultramarathon in Interior Alaska, the <a href="http://angelcreek50.org/">Angel Creek 50 miler</a>. I was on board this year after watching buddies run in through a tempest last year.<br />
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The course has some great hooks: coverage of almost all of the Chena River State Recreation Area, where we have boated, hiked, skied, camped and ran so many times. Traverse of some of the high country and a few rugged miles of the Chena Dome Trail, which doesn't see many footprints.<br />
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A crazily technical course featuring areas of no trail, pointy rocks, killer uphills and swampy lowlands along with a few bridge-less creek crossings.<br />
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Drew Harrington dreamed it up. He's one of the race directors and wanted a course that kept throwing obstacles at people. He succeeded. Here he is running last year's race just before a cold hurricane blew in.<br />
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This year we had a warm hurricane, with buckets of rain after the 5 a.m. start. Hail the boy scouts who camped out to create Checkpoint 1, which is 7 miles into the race.<br />
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A few hours of slow ascent followed. A few race veterans said to run the uphills early and on Angel Creek trail because a low percentage of the 50 mile course is runnable. I thought of Eric and Tom as I chugged slowly along. Their words made a difference in a few hours.<br />
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But in the early morning climb, the world was getting foggy. When the four-wheeler trail ended at the high Chena Dome trail, which is not burned in by the few footfalls it receives each year, navigation became stressful.<br />
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This is Checkpoint 3, the Chena Dome trail shelter. It could not be seen until you were 25 feet away.<br />
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Inside the Trail Shelter were my buddies Andy and Chris. Andy handed me a hot Via. Chris gave me some of his lunch. They would have their own adventure trying to depart in the cloud an hour later.<br />
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Past the trail shelter, into the cottonball. I've been up here about six times. This was the worst visibility. No trail, squinting for rock cairns and tiny red flags. Here, runners clumped up to navigate together. I caught up to Tammy Walther from Little Rock and we walked together from marker to marker. We soon found Anna Worden heading back to us. Then we three slowly made sure not to drop off the ridgetop.<br />
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Tammy from Little Rock has done a few hundred milers. She prefers to road run, but signed up for the Angel Creek 50 Miler for something totally new. She said the AC50 was harder than the Badwater 135, in which runners pad along through Death Valley on the asphalt in July and temperatures rise to 120.<br />
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As Nansen said, "Everything ends and so did this." We finally descended from the cloud and the trail headed toward upper Angel Creek and the cabin checkpoint there. This section of loose scree was not fun. Tilting, slippery rocks 30 miles into your day.</div>
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Then, more familiar smiling faces at Upper Angel Creek Cabin. Kim and family where there, as were racers' drop bags. I changed into dry socks and got going for the runnable six miles that were ahead. Kim's husband Steve said we had about three hours to make it to Angel Rocks trailhead, where volunteers would stop us if it was after 6:30 p.m. I did the math on that 9 miles and realized at my pace beating the deadline was not a gimme.</div>
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Just before Angel Rocks, Drew leads runners not over the highway but the winter trail that parallels the road. Here's where the race course crosses Angel Creek. My friend Jen had hooked me up with Cora a few miles back as she walked into upper Angel Creek.</div>
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Pete Hjellen passed me on the winter trail and was jogging the bog so fast I couldn't catch him. He had missed the deadline the year before by three minutes. I don't carry a watch but Pete said we were ok on time when he passed.</div>
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The final lovely checkpoint and beautiful volunteers. Pete is smiling because he made the cutoff this year. So did I. Cutoff time was 6:30. I arrived at 6:26.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">photo by Jeffrey Oatley, who was picking blueberries</span></div>
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The pressure was off, the weather was beautifying and the terrain was steepening on the Angel Rocks trail.<br />
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Pete and his friend Dale Fiest, there to pace him on the final 8 miles. Behind are the hills from which we came.</div>
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The fantastic finish, about 17 hours after the start. Most impressive was the presence of Matias Saari, in hooded sweatshirt. He won the race eight hours earlier. No one was within an hour of him.</div>
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And the final fantastic finish at Chena Hot Springs resort, by Pete. Time for a burger and a soak.</div>
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-77215916761352053132016-07-02T23:08:00.000-07:002016-07-02T23:08:00.706-07:00Nenana to Tanana<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another canoe trip in the quest to paddle the entire 500-plus miles of Tanana River. This time from the village of Nenana to the village of Tanana, where the river enters the Yukon.</div>
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Trip partners Alison Beamer and Jason Clark celebrate finding a rock on one of the sand bars upon which we camped. Rocks are hard to come by on the Tanana, which flows over a basin of glacial dust.</div>
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Cora, a crowd favorite, was also in my red Bell canoe. Jason and Ali paddled Jason's 16-foot Old Town.</div>
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Celebrated the summer solstice on a nice sandbar with arctic terns and semipalmated plovers.</div>
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Sand, sand and more sand out there. Sometimes airborne. Always warm and comfy.</div>
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Putting on the brew during a stop at Old Minto, former village site and now a meeting place. Just got the Kelly Kettle. It eats only wood chips and sticks. Feeding it is recreation. Did not burn a drop of white gas.</div>
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The lord of Old Minto</div>
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A lunch break at Tolovana Roadhouse, the only standing stop from the Serum Run of 1925. </div>
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We were quite surprised to enter Charlie's Slough outside Manley Hot Springs and see two dozen kids playing on a sandbar. Charlotte and Dean gave us a nice tour of their well-hidden Bible Camp. Good black coffee in the mess hall, a basketball court of treated plywood. Hot showers.</div>
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Also stopped at the ghost town of Cos Jacket. Known on the gps as Coskakat and to Tanana residents as Cross Jacket. Many bugs reside there.</div>
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Even though we were looking for moose, as I explain <a href="http://www.gi.alaska.edu/alaska-science-forum/moose-not-easy-see-big-alaska-river">here</a>, Jason loves to fish. We pulled into every tributary and casted Daredevils with steel leaders. Sometimes we got pike. After a while, we hoped for sheefish (because they are the lobster of the North). Here Ali shows one she caught in the Zitziana River. </div>
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Hot weather = <a href="http://www.gi.alaska.edu/alaska-science-forum/moose-flies-high-summer-alaska-pest-0">moose flies</a></div>
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After a week, we ran out of Tanana River and into the Yukon. Twice as big but way smoother. Took 15 minutes to ferry across the river to the village of Tanana.</div>
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Back to the world of people and planes. Sam saw me and Cora floating in. He was on the bank watching his four kids swim in the Yukon. "I can give you a ride to town if you need it." What I needed more was a kennel, so Cora could fly back to Fairbanks. Sam looked at his watch. "I don't have a kennel but I know where to look. We have 20 minutes before the plane comes in."</div>
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Cora and I hopped in Sam's truck. We saw a kennel in the yard Sam was thinking of. A girl came out and dumped some chicken poop out of it. I gave her and her sister a tip for the loan of the kennel. Sam took me to the Yukon to wash it out. With it cleaned, Cora and me and Jason and Ali were on the plane to Fairbanks. </div>
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Jason and Ali just retrieved our canoes from Nenana, where they rode on a barge from Tanana. Trip complete. Another fine trip on my home river. The Hudson used to be, but I've lived here longer.</div>
ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-41643645220292961232016-06-05T22:35:00.000-07:002020-07-06T20:13:33.985-07:00Birch Creek River Log<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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May 25- June 1, 2016<br />
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Put-in: Mile 94 Steese Highway, about 105 miles from Fairbanks.<br />
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Take-out: Mile 140 Steese Highway.<br />
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Distance: 106 river miles<br />
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River rating: a Class 1 river with many Class I-II riffles and four Class III rapids<br />
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Party: Garrett Jones and Brenda Murphy (canoe). Becky, Cameron and Skylar Baird (12-foot raft and packraft). Jennifer Wenrick, Andy Sterns, Salak Crowe and Olive (canoe). Kristen Rozell (inflatable kayak). Ned and Anna Rozell, Cora (canoe).<br />
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Trip summary: This large group ran upper Birch Creek's first 100 miles over the Memorial Day holiday and then some, with seven days on the river and seven campouts. Despite such a party size, there was always room on gravel bars for everyone to have plenty of space.<br />
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We put in on Eagle Creek (between 12-mile and Eagle Summits on the Steese Highway) at a BLM gravel lot also good for camping (and it has a nice outhouse, just like the takeout). It's the same spot a few of us have caught the Yukon Quest trail in February for a ski to Chena Hot Springs road.<br />
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The 10 miles of Eagle Creek to where it intersects the Harrington Fork of Birch Creek had plenty of water. The Bairds, both former river guides in Haines, never got the raft stuck. Eagle Creek is fun and splashy with S-turns and many sweepers. Garrett removed a few of those for us.<br />
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There's not much room to maneuver in this section. We tipped the inflatable kayak and lost a paddle and dumped one of the canoes right before we camped, losing another paddle. If you found any paddles on Birch Creek . . .<br />
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The water from Harrington Fork made the river much bigger about 10 miles into the trip:<br />
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We all got to see this guy, who tolerated the whole flotilla:</div>
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We hit three sections of rapids (in quick succession) between Clum's Fork and Thomas Creek. The first showed up at a big bend to the left just after McLean Creek.<br />
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Garrett and Brenda run the first rapid in their 16-foot green canoe. They ran all the whitewater in great style. They are expert canoeists and <a href="http://arcticriverguides.com/">wilderness guides</a>.<br />
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Shotgun Rapids is the final frothy water. Cameron splashed through with his packraft. G and B slid through with grace. We portaged one canoe and ran the inflatable kayak and another through just the second part of the rapid after lining the boats through the upper part. All the girls got on Becky's raft:<br />
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Helpers stayed downstream with throw ropes that weren't needed by humans. But Cora jumped in behind Kristen. Becky and Garrett saw her get "Maytagged" in a hydraulic. She's a good swimmer so it was kind of funny. Her head is the black dot about to get pulled under for a good washin':</div>
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The water mellowed after Thomas Creek, but it featured enough sharp turns and wave trains to remain extremely fun and keep us awake. And, my favorite part, there were wolf tracks on every bar.</div>
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About 3/4 into the trip, the South Fork of Birch Creek enters river right. It dumps a lot of water in (looks like a fun packraft out from Big Windy Hot Springs 8 miles up). There is also magnificent camping here at a high bank sheltered with 200-year old spruce.</div>
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South Fork collides with Main Fork, Birch Creek</div>
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Skylar found a hammer. Most useful for tent stakes</div>
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Girls pitched the tent themselves! A new era.</div>
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The weather continued to fantastic up as we boated out of the hills and into the flats between the South Fork and the takeout.</div>
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Still batting 1.000</div>
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Drifting into the flats, crescent bar after crescent bar . . . And here the water slowed a bit, to a 3 mph drift when upriver it was 5 mph.</div>
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A few of the party saw black bears. We all saw moose. Singing birds were a constant pleasure, with Wilson's snipes, Swainson's thrushes, water thrushes, yellow warblers, kingfishers and other favorites. A regal trumpeter swan let us all float close.</div>
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The takeout was a mudpit we had marked on our GPS devices. It was extra buggy to help us pack up fast. </div>
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We had a nice clean run on Birch Creek except for the lost paddles. It was a great wilderness float. The only man-sign was a few coals at obvious campsites and a blue bucket and few other pieces of plastic. And there were wolf tracks on every bar. </div>
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-65682014171957492822016-05-02T18:20:00.002-07:002016-05-02T18:20:36.751-07:00Spring ride with Ella Carlson<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-53955410568640493322016-04-02T13:13:00.000-07:002016-04-24T20:16:20.229-07:00Running the White Mountains 100<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Because we no longer chase bison with spears, we humans need new challenges to fill that void. One way to scratch the itch: push the body machine to see what it can do.<br />
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Running 100 miles today is perhaps equal to what running 26.2 miles was a few decades ago. Something that seems impossible, but other people have done it, so it must not be.<br />
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The foot division of the White Mountains 100 has intrigued me since the race started seven years ago. I'm a skier, but have seen those people at the starting line with the sleds and running shoes and wondered what their long experience must be like. Where does your mind go when trying to cover 100 miles at less than four mph?<br />
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I have signed up for the race as a runner before but have always gone back to what is comfortable, switching to skis and the predictable fast downhills and less time on my feet. But this January when race organizer Joel Homan offered me a spot on the roster, I said yes as a runner and didn't consider any other method.<br />
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John Shook</div>
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Shooky also signed up as a runner. He had also skied and fatbiked the race, and if he finished this year he would be the first to complete the 100-mile loop using all three methods. I think that's a pretty cool accomplishment. Back in January, I went on a training run with John. It was the first run that had felt fun to me in quite a while and got me started.</div>
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I tried to copy John's preparation for the race. Shooky has everything dialed in. He ran 20 and 30 milers on back to back days and stuck to his training schedule. My favorite training day: After I gave a public presentation at Morris Thompson center I arrived at the Nugget Creek trailhead as darkness fell. I strapped on a headlamp and ran the 20-mile Stiles Creek loop. I jogged back to the car, attached a sled to myself, and ran 7 more miles to near the Nugget Creek cabin, where Kristen and Anna were sleeping. Because it was 3:15 a.m. and I didn't want to wake them, I pulled out my bivvy sack, pad and sleeping bag and slept on the trail. </div>
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Heather Best</div>
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Race day at 8 a.m. Warm with a moody fog. Here's the fatbikers at the start, ready to leave we slower people hours behind. I admire people who appear calm at freakout time. Heather is ready to go. David Fee, 28, isn't doing much fiddling. </div>
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Ed Plumb, Kristen Rozell</div>
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Kristen didn't get a fast start, either. She did get a hug from Eddy, who invented the White Mountains 100 in 2010. He stepped out from under from the weight of directing the race a few years ago but volunteered this year checking in racers at the start. </div>
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Kristen didn't get the ideal training miles for the race but she never complained about it. She did line up friends and neighbors to watch Anna while we both did the race. We won't win Parents of the Year for both choosing to do things like this that don't include our 9 year old. But we both love to move on the snow and challenge ourselves. It's a selfish desire and I feel guilty about it at times.</div>
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Andy Sterns</div>
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My jogging/walking pace was pleasantly equal to the skiing speed of my friend Andy. Travelling together made us think of so many other trips we've shared. Skiing from Nabesna to McCarthy, Tanana to Allakaket, Nenana to Nome.</div>
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We were together for nine hours. Sharing snacks, stopping for pee breaks, grinding along. It was a great way to start the long day.</div>
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Andy and I arrived together at the second checkpoint of Cache Mountain Cabin. It was 39 miles into the race. We were happy to see the volunteers, including Stan Justice, Equinox Marathon record holder and Fairbanks icon.</div>
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Here, I removed my running shoes and summer-weight socks, which were soaked. I pulled out my shoe liners and set them and my shoes by the woodstove. I pulled a dry pair of socks out of my backpack and put them on after my feet had dried. I carried three pairs of socks, my one indulgence in a pack that weighed less than 10 pounds.</div>
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As I ate my baked potato with sour cream and bacon bits, I looked over at Andy sitting on a bunk. He stared straight ahead at a time he would have been eating if he had felt better. He had been sick in the week before the race. He also broke both legs in a climbing accident a few years ago. His recovery from a two-week coma was just about a miracle. </div>
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He came over and sat by me. "I'm not feeling confident I can make it over the divide," he said softly.</div>
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He decided not to continue. I gave him a hug and headed out for the trail ascent of Cache Mountain Divide.</div>
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Headlamp time. I was sad to leave Andy behind but relieved he'd made the right call. As I was traveling with almost nothing, not even shoe covers, I had nothing but good words to offer anyone.</div>
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I really enjoyed the descent into darkness. When I stopped, the world was absolutely silent. </div>
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To my surprise, I could still jog the slight uphill leading to O'Brien Creek. As the trail dropped onto the creek proper, I wished I was carrying my bivvy sack and bag. I would have shut 'er down in those big spruce trees by the patch of open water. </div>
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As the trees thinned and I neared the low pass (about 3,100 feet), I saw the white dots of two headlamps. One was Eric Troyer, who was pulling a kicksled. The other was <a href="http://evergreenendurance.com/2016/04/01/white-mountains-100-race-report/">Jessi</a>, a woman from Seattle hiking a great clip with ski poles. </div>
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I caught up with Eric near the high point. I didn't think much of his idea of pushing a heavy sled over the course, but here I hadn't caught him until the midway point. And when he zoomed away into the darkness on his sled I wished I was him.</div>
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Eric Troyer at the race start</div>
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After Eric left me, I was alone in the dark until I met Jamie Hollingsworth at his wall tent. He sets it up at the end of an area known as the ice lakes because lots of people have trouble there. When I saw the big bear, he spoke to me.</div>
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"You're the last one. The runners behind you quit at Cache. I'm going to break down the tent and I'll follow you to Windy Gap."</div>
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Jamie passed on snowmachine a few hours later. Then, a few miles short of Windy Gap Cabin and checkpoint No. 3, I had my low moment.<br />
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My wet feet were on fire, my ankles and knees were aching. It was 2:30 a.m. and I was 55 miles and 18 hours into my day.</div>
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Jamie Hollingsworth, left</div>
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The volunteers at Windy Gap cabin were 20 hours into their day. Despite this, a woman named Lindsey rose from a bunk and asked me and Erik if we wanted some meatball soup. As we were the final racers, she kept offering us meatballs. I ate 26 of them. Things were looking up.<br />
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I left the cabin with my headlamp on, but dawn light bathed the trail in blue. I said some bad words as I punched through shin-deep water on Fossil Creek, but the day was warm enough that my feet were in no danger of freezing.<br />
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My spirit sang as the sun climbed over the hills. I noticed I again had a tailwind. I thanked my late friend Brian Jackson for it. I thanked my late mom and dad for giving me resilient joints upon which I was still jogging. I was quite happy to be in one of the prettiest place on the course, a spot I've rarely been because it's so far from the road.<br />
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Mark Simon</div>
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Seventy miles in. Still jogging. I was surprised how natural it felt to run rather than walk.</div>
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And there was Mark Simon. He had a wall tent set up at the midpoint between Windy Gap Cabin and Borealis Cabin.</div>
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He also had coffee. He boiled me some water and made me a Starbucks Via Dark Roast. My God coffee has never tasted better. Mark's encouraging words, the Via and the sunshine made this section of trail a favorite. I had been on my feet 25 hours.</div>
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Bob Groseclose and Rourke Williams</div>
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An all-star team of volunteers was embedded at Borealis Cabin, 80 miles in. Ralf, Bob, Trusten, Rourke and a few others with thousands of wilderness miles under their feet. They got back in character for their political theme, with Bob here posing as Hillary.</div>
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Trusten boiled me some water for a Ramen while I switched into my dryest wet socks for the final 20-mile push. </div>
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I did some mental math and figured I would make the 40-hour deadline if I continued jogging. Another goal was to finish the race without firing up my headlamp again.</div>
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Each person in the cabin told me how good I looked even though I didn't. Those positive words have such incredible value. It's a magic element of the race that you don't feel in training with self-critical you.</div>
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As I hiked up the Wickersham Wall, a steep hill nine miles from the finish, I stopped and turned around. There I saw Cache Mountain and the other peaks of the Whites. It hit me then: I had just circumnavigated those mountains on foot!</div>
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And I had been on my pins for 36 hours at that point. It was the frontier, Lewis & Clark Time. How did I feel? Competitive!</div>
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Eric's wife and my doctor Corrinne Leistikow showed up on her fatbike.</div>
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"Eric's not that far back," she said. "He's catching up with you!"</div>
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It was a battle for the red lantern. Even though it would be cool to be dead last, I did not want to see Eric's kicksled gliding by.</div>
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So, quite stupidly, I ran harder down the hills near the finish. Stars and crescents were shooting from my knees and ankles.</div>
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Then, from a distance, I saw the most lovely sight on the planet:</div>
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Despite the effort to bend, I hugged this sign. I kissed it.</div>
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I jogged the mostly downhill mile, struggling to see trail definition without my headlamp. </div>
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Then I saw a familiar bob of light heading up the trail. Andy!</div>
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My friend had returned to drive me home. Kristen was home with Anna, who had school in the morning.</div>
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We hugged and jogged down the trail.</div>
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Lena Krutikov came up the trail to greet us. She escorted me into the parking lot I had left more than a day before. I smiled at the colorful grafitti someone had painted on the snow. I blinked and the colors disappeared.</div>
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Shadowed volunteers exited a motorhome and cheered me over the line.<br />
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I stepped into the trailer and Heather, volunteering after finishing more than a day before, handed me a Carl's Jr. double cheeseburger Kristen had sent up with Andy. </div>
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I munched it while Joel took a compromising photo of me. Finished.<br />
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Thirty-eight hours. A friend pointed out that I was moving for a work week. </div>
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I don't mind saying this: I'm amazed at what I was able to do. I ran much of the course, even at mile 99. With Eric placed in the ski division, I was the last runner. I'm quite happy with that, and even more I finished before a cold rain poured down when Andy was driving me home.</div>
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So, what's next? </div>
ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-25501150609738829232016-01-24T13:16:00.000-08:002016-01-24T13:16:42.436-08:00Richard's cabin<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A new cabin in the White Mountains National Rec. Area for me. The only one I had not visited. Skied out there with Bob Gillis and Seth Adams. About 21 miles from the Steese Highway mile 42.<br />
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Did not need a headlamp for the 5 hour ski. Fullish moon, about zero F.</div>
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Felt like we were far away from everything.</div>
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Nice morning on Beaver Creek. On this day in 1971, Alaska's all-time low temperature of minus 80 F was recorded at Prospect Creek, about 50 miles northwest. About 80 degrees warmer when this pic taken.</div>
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Friends Chris and Robbyn skijored in as we skied out.</div>
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Gillis on the ski out. He got me back into the AK groove. Good man to run the river with.</div>
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-54387083913818519402015-09-09T14:41:00.001-07:002015-09-09T14:41:05.964-07:00<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--TrrLSYBXKI/VfCncG5OnyI/AAAAAAAABzo/zKwqOZVZ1wU/s640/blogger-image--776587484.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--TrrLSYBXKI/VfCncG5OnyI/AAAAAAAABzo/zKwqOZVZ1wU/s640/blogger-image--776587484.jpg"></a></div>ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-41207796066246261302015-09-04T21:11:00.001-07:002015-09-04T21:11:45.652-07:00<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-s2k4_cL_Vik/VeprgPwoAeI/AAAAAAAAByg/eeIWJb2dqNU/s640/blogger-image-1455780137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-s2k4_cL_Vik/VeprgPwoAeI/AAAAAAAAByg/eeIWJb2dqNU/s640/blogger-image-1455780137.jpg"></a></div>ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-83092579392836526902015-07-14T17:42:00.002-07:002015-07-14T17:42:31.586-07:00The Tanana River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1DwGLHuwXQ/VaRe0yMVvPI/AAAAAAAABtE/PsS2Kzn5dgI/s1600/entire%2Btanana.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="632" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m1DwGLHuwXQ/VaRe0yMVvPI/AAAAAAAABtE/PsS2Kzn5dgI/s640/entire%2Btanana.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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A life goal: to float the length of the Tanana River in a canoe. Why? It's my home river. It ain't hip. It's fun to navigate the woody channels and squirrelly current.</div>
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We've been piecing the river together in different trips. It's flat, gentle, brown and 584 miles long. Two years ago, we boated from the headwaters where the Nabesna meets the Chisana to Tanacross.</div>
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Paul Kelley helped with the shuttle on that year's trip. He was there again to help me and Cora with our shuttle on this year's trip from the village of Tanacross to the pulloff known as George Lake Landing. </div>
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This trip, from Tanacross to George Lake Lodge landing. 86 river miles.</div>
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My companion and new buddy, Cora.</div>
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Our takeoff. Photo by Paul. Felt like we were in the middle of a vast wilderness. We were.</div>
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First island campsite. That's not Cora.</div>
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Was expecting to see a peregrine on this bluff (and one was on top). But another bird shrieked from the center of the bluff.</div>
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We were the only ones sleeping at the mouth of Billy Creek. Or anywhere else. Three days without seeing a person or a boat. Moose, caribou, bear and thousands of songbirds and geese.</div>
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One of my favorite trips. </div>
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<a href="http://youtu.be/0-YlYLps984">Here's 46 seconds of peace:</a></div>
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ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-25141158144382536782015-04-30T23:27:00.002-07:002015-05-11T10:45:40.042-07:00Shishmaref to Nome on skis<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6buEyCUEnOQ/VR4ozxC2X_I/AAAAAAAABnE/V4fFK9Arjug/s1600/the%2Broute.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="466" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6buEyCUEnOQ/VR4ozxC2X_I/AAAAAAAABnE/V4fFK9Arjug/s1600/the%2Broute.jpg" width="640" /></a><span id="goog_900042800">Seven nights, eight days, about 200 miles of raw country on skis that will never talk to us again.</span></div>
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<span id="goog_900042800"> </span><span id="goog_900042801"></span>Sea-ice skiing on Shishmaref Inlet after a flight from Nome and a 1/2-mile guide from the airstrip to the tripods by Ken Stenek. Ken is a teacher from Shishmaref who also saved our asses by giving us the combination to his cabin, 20 miles out. We had planned on going 30. No way, Jose.<br />
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Eddy Plumb, who called the trip. He likes hot springs and covering new ground. He doesn't like wind. But at least he had a ruff.</div>
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First hot water was Serpentine, about 50 miles and a couple days from Shishmaref.</div>
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Our approach on a day Shishmaref people were talking about the wind. Flights there cancelled a day after we landed. We were farther inland so it wasn't so bad despite the lenticulars. Mystical.</div>
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Serpentine's bunkhouses and shop. No place like it.</div>
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From Serpentine, an epic 39-mile, 14-hour day through places like this, the Schlitz Creek Blowhole and its stairway to heaven tripods. This day thoroughly cooked me.</div>
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Did not cook Robin Beebee, the female representative. She irritatingly kicked all our asses by skating all the way from Shishmaref to Serpentine, even when there was no packed trail. I blame her uncommon motor and exquisite technique.</div>
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Eddy after the 14-hour day, in a cabin at Kougarok airport.</div>
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And strongman Brian Jackson. Looking way too fresh. And then there was John Shook, who troubleshot and fixed my MSR stove pump when I could not spell my name.</div>
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The great mileage, my diet of Reeses Easter Eggs or a combination of both led to me to become Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.</div>
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Could ski as Puff Daddy, so we made it to Pilgrim Springs, about 70 miles from Nome and five days into our trip.</div>
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The church built in 1919, shortly after the Spanish flu spread on the Seward Peninsula, wiping out whole villages, like York. The Catholic Diocese established Our Lady of Loudres Orphanage here at Pilgrim Springs. Kids grew up here running through Wisconsinesque farm fields and climbing real trees.</div>
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Lady of Lourdes, above the altar on the top floor of the church building.</div>
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A real great horned owl and real spruce trees. An oasis of warm ground 100 miles south of the Arctic Circle.</div>
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One of the creepiest/coolest places.</div>
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We found a tub for John Shook, Bob Gillis and the other four of us to squeeze in at once. It was like soaking in a Coke can. But medicinal, like all hot springs. I somewhat depuffed.</div>
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Bobby Gillis photo. After the soak, we left Pilgrim Springs having just spent a few hours there. We were going to camp when we came around the corner and met Golden Gate Blowhole. Temperature dropped and an icy wind blasted us. Brian "Action" Jackson made his way over to this trailer and leaned on the door. It opened! I peed like our puppy when I saw that door pop. We ate and slept inside, where somehow we couldn't hear the wind. We owe thanks to a miner who did not padlock and who might not have been there since the date on all the food inside--2006. That the skis did not blow away is a Christmas Miracle.</div>
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After a less threatening night at a Salmon Lake cabin, we had 35 miles to town and a plane that was taking us toward home at night. Lots of ditch skiing around the road that led to Nome.</div>
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These trips always seem to end with a blistery stagger in plastic boots on miles of gravel. But this one was magical. We skied all the way in to Anvil Mountain, which should have been a crashfest on the descent into town. Instead, we got this:<br />
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We had left our stuff at Kristine and <a href="http://kigsblog-allapa.blogspot.com/">Ian McRae</a>'s house. Skied to the house across the street from theirs. When their dog Lucy was barking at us, Kristine came out to greet us with a yell. Then she invited us in. Made us coffee. Against my advice, let all six of us take showers. Loaned us the Mazda pickup so we could go into town and murder a few pizzas.</div>
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Coast to coast. Chukchi to the Bering. As said Goldie, the cab driver who drove us from the airport at the start and then back eight days later after we found him in the parking lot of the AC Store: It's all a memory now!</div>
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If you're still here, you must be interested. Invest nine minutes in watching this, by Brian Jackson:<br />
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ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-63725621692462424732015-04-02T22:45:00.003-07:002015-04-02T22:46:00.738-07:00The spring ski trip<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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details after they happen.ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-21274914880343045892015-03-27T10:43:00.003-07:002015-03-27T10:43:45.215-07:00UAF<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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overflight with Jessie Cherryned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-49540775007740792362015-03-13T10:33:00.002-07:002015-03-13T10:33:23.314-07:00Iditarod, Tanana River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-49761317263078782042015-02-25T23:14:00.003-08:002015-02-25T23:14:54.016-08:00Death Valley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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me, taken by John Arntz, esquire.ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-70796278286764132442015-02-19T16:56:00.001-08:002015-02-19T16:56:15.517-08:00great horned owl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Mg6xXf9jC4Y/VOaGHM9JeTI/AAAAAAAABjk/wHBtTcw0-yc/s1600/great%2Bhorned.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Mg6xXf9jC4Y/VOaGHM9JeTI/AAAAAAAABjk/wHBtTcw0-yc/s1600/great%2Bhorned.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-36512008888156245502015-02-18T12:35:00.001-08:002015-02-18T12:35:03.219-08:00Big Bend<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wp5gAbmYl5o/VOT3ZPC4yAI/AAAAAAAABjU/ulRd5xh35O4/s1600/ski.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wp5gAbmYl5o/VOT3ZPC4yAI/AAAAAAAABjU/ulRd5xh35O4/s1600/ski.JPG" height="248" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-68781581091708652822015-02-05T22:54:00.000-08:002015-02-05T22:54:02.644-08:00dogs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sd-Umh9xg64/VNRk_SlYxII/AAAAAAAABjA/YoY0mTeIOnA/s1600/10427337_893450330686764_6544215754729243433_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sd-Umh9xg64/VNRk_SlYxII/AAAAAAAABjA/YoY0mTeIOnA/s1600/10427337_893450330686764_6544215754729243433_n.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-21390304569814722182015-01-29T21:48:00.000-08:002015-01-29T21:51:56.639-08:00minus 40<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tDsSeEJtxoY/VMsa991n41I/AAAAAAAABik/-u3m4ych6Rk/s1600/10945685_889593334405797_9000245034198529090_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tDsSeEJtxoY/VMsa991n41I/AAAAAAAABik/-u3m4ych6Rk/s1600/10945685_889593334405797_9000245034198529090_n.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-80556303261586621232015-01-19T19:29:00.001-08:002015-01-19T19:29:43.487-08:00Mastodon Creek<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--e6l-3-RBEY/VL3LpBcMSDI/AAAAAAAABiA/RNGBpwsHBfg/s640/blogger-image--1196746419.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/--e6l-3-RBEY/VL3LpBcMSDI/AAAAAAAABiA/RNGBpwsHBfg/s640/blogger-image--1196746419.jpg"></a></div>ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-9503081794593300102015-01-12T19:37:00.001-08:002015-01-12T19:37:39.862-08:00Canyon<br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-8t9v7PY5mZI/VLSTAtStk9I/AAAAAAAABho/SdHVSYfBLEI/s640/blogger-image--151801522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-8t9v7PY5mZI/VLSTAtStk9I/AAAAAAAABho/SdHVSYfBLEI/s640/blogger-image--151801522.jpg"></a></div>ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-83953395376286459772015-01-10T12:03:00.001-08:002015-01-10T12:03:42.580-08:00California<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-FL5AW59ys4g/VLGFnb_Kf-I/AAAAAAAABhU/T4UKkqXq7qQ/s640/blogger-image-975758411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-FL5AW59ys4g/VLGFnb_Kf-I/AAAAAAAABhU/T4UKkqXq7qQ/s640/blogger-image-975758411.jpg"></a></div>ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6720418059310661839.post-75052335527982649582015-01-09T12:04:00.002-08:002015-01-29T21:53:35.617-08:00St. Elmo, Colorado<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nVVDx4OxECw/VLA0R9WV9zI/AAAAAAAABhE/jD9lTYvqk7g/s1600/St.%2BElmo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nVVDx4OxECw/VLA0R9WV9zI/AAAAAAAABhE/jD9lTYvqk7g/s1600/St.%2BElmo.JPG" height="401" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />ned rozellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17942384032519116293noreply@blogger.com0