Wolverine

Hike diary #1

Jul 23, 2024

Welcome to my first hike diary: a photo- and thought-filled adventure chronicle. If we (you, me) like it, there will be more. P.S. the post editor tells me this is too long for email, so you may need to open it in your browser. While you’re there, feel free to hit the heart button ♡♡♡

Mountains surround Anchorage. The Chugach front range abuts the east side of town, meaning that, within 20 minutes, you can be at a trailhead with access to dozens of hikes.

Solo hiking is one of my favorite ways to clear my mind. When I lived in New York, I would take “urban hikes” during which I wandered for miles through new neighborhoods or parks or anywhere that might allow me anonymity and soothe the folds of my brain. Now that I live out here, I prefer to hike in nature.

Wolverine is a prominent peak in the front range. At over 4,400 feet of elevation, you can spot it and its distinctive bowl from various points in town.1 I’ve skied the bottom of the bowl in winter, but never made it to the peak. It’s been on my list and on Sunday—after digesting the latest political news—I decided to go for it.

I pulled into the Basher parking lot around 3:45 p.m. Does that sound late to start a hike with a good bit of elevation gain? Perhaps. But when the sun doesn’t set until 11 p.m., you get used to it.

I had hoped the wind would pick up in the afternoon. That didn’t happen, so I committed to suffering through a heat-fest. Cosmic payback for complaining about how cold it was last week, no doubt.

Without doing math, I decided I would be back at my car around 9 p.m. Read on to see how accurate I was…

The hike began rather brushily. I forgot how overgrown this section of trail gets, and somewhat regretted wearing shorts. As I waded through waist-high foliage, I was grateful that this part of Alaska doesn’t yet have ticks. What we do have, though, are plants that will stab you (devil’s club) or give you chemical burns (cow parsnip). Dealer’s choice!

The brushy, not-very-steep part of the hike lasted for a while. I’d been to this part before and find it pretty, though somewhat boring. Also, pretty is not the focus early on in a hike. Instead, it’s about mental state. Assessing my energy and figuring out what I need to think about to get up the literal hill.

After an hour and a half, I made it out of the brush and onto the beginning of the bowl. This was the part of the hike I’d never done before, so that was exciting. What wasn’t exciting was how tired I was. It was hot out! And still no breeze! I stopped by this large pile of rocks, which I guess served as a gigantic and unnecessary cairn, and took a selfie of my suffering for posterity.

As I began the slog up the bowl, I let my mind wander. After many years of hiking, I’ve come to learn that my physical motor is fueled by the contents of my mind. It may sound weird but, I hike faster when I think positive thoughts. This is the meditative aspect of hiking: as a negative thought emerges, I acknowledge it, feel it in my body, and let it go. Feeling it in my body literally translates to my legs not working well, which gives me physical evidence of how the idea doesn’t serve me. There’s no use in being hung up on an old injustice, or clinging to resentment or self-doubt. That’s just not what will get me to the top.

Once I’ve done enough of this house-clearing, the fun thoughts emerge. Gratitude for people I care about. Ideas about things I want to write or say or do.

At first, I thought about this newsletter. It turns two on July 30th, and I wondered if I should write some kind of thank you post to celebrate. I played with that idea, and the voice in my head began dictating. But after a while, it started to feel like homework. A “should” versus a want. So I let it go.

After a few more switchbacks, I got high enough to see the mountains to the south. Something about this line of ridges cascading into the horizon lifted my spirits and caught my breath at a time when I sorely needed it. It reminded me how vast the Chugach range is, and how I could probably keep exploring this area for the rest of my hiking life and never see it all.

After making it up the bowl and near the final section of ridge, I took a break. It was still incredibly hot, so I tried to emulate an emoji. 🥵

The flowers were nice, too.

Less than ten minutes later, I reached the top and instantly forgot what pain was. The summit is always worth it. I could see past what I knew before. That’s the best part of the front range: you get to the top of it and realize how many layers of mountains exist beyond. The photo below looks east out to Long Lake, to the left, and Williwaw Lakes, to the right. I’ve camped at Williwaw before and would love to go again.

It was time to enjoy the rewards. I dropped my backpack, finished my mini Gatorade, and opened some chips. Look at beautiful Anchorage, sprawling out below. The Cook Inlet beyond it, and beyond that, the Tordrillo range shimmering in the heat.

But guess what? I soon learned I wasn’t alone. And I’m not talking about a creepy human or the marmots that chirped their distress whenever I moved. Instead, my companions were every form of flying menace. Mosquitos! Black flies! Some other weird flies!

A summit is usually a windy respite from them. I just happened to choose the one supremely nice and windless day to take a toasty hike. Oh well.

I had already spritzed myself with an all-natural, lavender scented bug spray, which now seemed to act less as a repellant and more like perfume. Luckily I had some DEET in my backpack. That went on pronto, and I cut my summit time short. After all, it was nearly 7 p.m. and I had a long descent. Onwards!

Some people thrive on the uphill. That’s never been me. I’m slow, even when in good shape. I question all my choices and lament each step. Even the “positive thinking” thing is probably just a crutch to get me to do something I find honestly mostly just painful.

But… it’s worth it. Because once I start heading down, the world opens. All my thoughts emerge. I get the best ideas of my life.

This time, my mind wandered to the book I’m writing. I’ve written (and re-written) the first third of it a few times now, and have outlined the plot for the rest. But I’d been subconsciously stuck. I didn’t have that next scene to flesh out in words.

While hiking, I imagined several such scenes. The dialogue ran through my mind and the plot took on nuance. I wondered briefly if I should record voice notes of these thoughts, as if they might vanish without documentation. But I’ve never done that before. Instead, I hope that my good old-fashioned memory box stays functional for a bit longer.

…I hope I haven’t lost you with talk of a book you may never see. Sometimes it’s hard for me to read about other writers working on their fiction. I’m not sure if it’s envy, or a scarcity mindset. A fear that an idea I feel uniquely positioned to write will somehow get taken or diluted or appropriated before I can share it. I still haven’t discussed the plot of my book with nearly anyone. Certainly not the specifics. But it feels disingenuous not to include that portion of my thoughts in this diary, given how propulsive it felt.

Okay, back to hiking. As I neared the way-too-large pile of rocks, I finished the last of my water. I still had a few miles to go, but oh well. The rest of the hike was pretty easy, and there was water in my car.

In the same way with estimating time/distance, I’m not very scientific about estimating water. I just eyeball it and usually end up with some left. I guess I was bound to have a hike where the opposite occurred.

My mind turned to dinner. I suddenly became ravenous for Taco Bell’s bean burritos. One of the few times I permit myself to get Taco Bell is in these conditions, after finishing a decent hike at a late hour. I opened my phone and began scouring the menu while hiking, and wished there was a way for Siri to dictate it to me. There probably is, but I wasn’t in the state of mind to figure it out. I came up with my order and began to really want the hike to end.

A bit later, I was back in the brushy forest. Golden hour approached at the advanced time of 8:30 p.m. Something magical happens in these evergreen forests with slanted light. It’s when the fairies emerge.

At this point I was fairly certain no other humans were on the trail. So I hoped, as much as I respect their right to travel freely, that the bears would also stay away. I sang out loud a bit and tried to scare them off by being an annoying human. Luckily, no encounters.2

Gosh, the last half hour of this hike was gorgeous. There was a light breeze and that, combined with being shaded from the sun, made the temperature ideal. I love this section of trail even when overgrown. You can hear the creek running to the south and glimpse mountains and ocean through the trees. It’s peaceful and feels like a place with good energy, to evoke my hippie ancestors.

Those tall pink-flowered plants are called fireweed. Although I’ve now seen them outside of Alaska, I first encountered this plant up here. Like an inverted hourglass, the progression of pink petals up their stems signals the passage of summer. Once the fireweed blooms at the top, summer is theoretically done.

Luckily, it seems we still have a good half-fireweed or so left.

Well what do you know? I reached the parking lot at 8:57 p.m. It’s funny how accurate I can be. And yes, it’s perhaps a bit of a humble-brag to tell you that I was an hour and a half faster than the AllTrails estimated hiking time. I have no idea how they come up with those, by the way.

Speed is not why I hike. I don’t have tracking apps or GPS beyond my phone. I hike to get into my body and, through physical suffering, into a more free and unburdened part of my brain. To complete the trifecta, there’s probably some spirit stuff that happens, too. All I know is that the euphoria doesn’t come without the pain. It’s worth it, every time.

Although I’ve been hiking a bunch, this was my first major peak of the summer. A new mountain climbed, and new views seen. Slowly and surely, I’m getting my bearings within the front range. Noticing what ridges connect with what, and which lakes appear in which valleys.

I’m going to leave you with a still from a Tiktok dance video I may or may not have recorded on Wolverine Peak. What’s the brattiest thing of all? Recording dance videos that will never, ever, be seen.

Thanks for hiking with me! Catch you on the next one.

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