Neighboring seasons on the haul road

Autumn is undoubtedly upon us in the sub-Arctic. The gold has crept in from the north and enveloped Fairbanks in a bright contrast of yellows, reds, and the struggling remaining greens. Temperatures are still above freezing, but there is a cold wind from the northeast. The yellows turning to browns, the transition is almost complete.

This summer I ended up taking two trips up the Dalton Highway (aka “haul road”). It is 496 miles from Fairbanks to Deadhorse (Prudhoe Bay). Prudhoe Bay is where most of the drilling takes place, and Deadhorse is kind a support town. It has the airport, general store, and a few motels (for $200/night). You can’t actually drive to Prudhoe Bay, the oil companies keep the roads private. You can take a tour, though, so I was able to dip my feet in the Arctic Ocean. (My leg is healed up well, but I still had an open wound then, so I didn’t get to do a full dip.)

The haul road is not for the faint of heart. It is one of the last great road trips. It is 416 miles of dirt, gravel, or pot-holed asphalt. It is the trucker’s road - not ours. Big rigs hauling pipes, heavy equipment, and portable living spaces to Deadhorse dominate the traffic. There are only 2 stops along the way with gas, Yukon Crossing and Coldfoot, so it is wise to bring gas cans. Yukon Crossing is just that, where the road crosses the mighty Yukon River. Coldfoot is an old gold miner’s camp that has become a trucker’s favorite stop. The truckers even have their own table reserved for them with coffee always fresh. You can get gas in Deadhorse, but they don't even display the price on the pump! I can only imagine.

The Dalton winds north out of Central Alaska, a region that looks much like Fairbanks. Some high Arctic tundra pops in every so often, until it reaches the Brooks Range. The Brooks Range is the northernmost range in Alaska, and shields the Fairbanks region from much of the Arctic winds. It is a place of vast wilderness, awe inspiring beauty, and extreme seasonal variability. The mosquitos were so thick in the summer I had to simply accept the fact I was going to eat some. By the time I was done with a meal, I had pushed 10 to the side of my plate. In the winter, however, it is home to the coldest registered temperature in the US: -80F, Prospect Creek, 1971. Come August, it is already autumn. Green hills rich with life turn hues of orange.

Naturally, after two trips up the haul road, I have plenty of pretty pictures. But rather than post a bunch of "calendar" shots, I’d like to present it a bit differently. There were many similarities and differences between my summer and autumn trips, and they were apparent in the photos. Unfortunately, I didn’t think of this earlier, so I couldn’t take “identical” photos for seasonal/trip comparison, but I think it worked out pretty well. Trip 1 (first) was early July, Trip 2 (second) was early September.

-------------------------

Neighboring seasons on the haul road





----




-----




------





-------




-------




------




-------




-------


^ Photo credit to Oliver! ^


------



(we could see for miles in both directions)
--------




-------

Carnival Dream

I've been sitting on these photos long enough! It was a wonderful trip full of relaxation, great family, and random acts of dancing. It's been so long now it seems like it was only a dream...

The blue jacket with no pockets

(a story not for the faint of heart)

It all began with a jacket. Little did I know a blue wind jacket with no pockets, plucked off the clearance rack at Beaver Sports, would alter my life so drastically. There's no place for your hands! Oh well, nice jacket anyways. Always a sucker for a good sale.

In training for the Equinox Marathon, I went running last Thursday on Ester Dome, a nearby elevation gain of about 2000'. There was a threat of rain that day, so from the car I ran with my blue jacket with no pockets. It didn't take long for me to realize that I was over-heated, and stashed the blue jacket with no pockets in the bushes. On the way back, I didn't even think of it; ran right by and headed to the showers.

Then came Friday. I was tired of running, but still had the itch to do something. Winds weren't favorable for any sort of flying, so I packed up the mountain bike. Now where is my blue jacket with no pockets? Oh yeah, Ester Dome. Well, I guess I'll ride those trails. It was a little out of the way, but any excuse to ride the single-track.

"Single-track" is a type of trail, typically tight and technical. (As opposed to a double-track which is likely a road for vehicles.) The Happy Valley Trail on Ester Dome sweeps, swerves, dips, and dives through the trees about half-way up Ester Dome. It flows; smooth and fast.

I was familiar with the trail, and perhaps riding a bit on the over-confident side. It sure felt good to be on the bike. Cool air moving past my face, Jimi Hendrix on the iPod, and Apollo blazing the trail at constant trot, bewitched by the occasional calling squirrel.

The ride was about over when I came to some man-made features. Little platforms on which to ride, catch a little air, and continue onward feeling like a bad-ass. I had done this ramp in particular before, multiple times, why back down from the challenge now?

Into the air I flew, carrying too much speed. I overshot the landing, and came down on the mushy, vegetated edge of the trail. This put me in a wobble and I started over the handlebars. At this point I realized there were some trees rapidly approaching. Funny. I remember spotting those trees the first time I saw this feature and thinking, "Hmm, wonder why they built that ramp there right in front of those trees."

Airborne horizontally, with the bike below me, my right shin made full contact with a standing birch tree. The impact spun me around and stole from me all momentum I carried moments before. Ouch, that was a hit. Can't be that bad, lets see the damage.

"$%&@"


At this point, Apollo doubled back and we sat in the middle of the trail. I cursed a few times and banged on the ground. Ah, finally - adrenaline. I pulled my handy-dandy iPhone from my bag and gave a ring to ol' 911. Paramedics on the way. Nice. Okay, now what?

As Apollo worked a close perimeter, I removed my riding shirt and tied it around the wound. Last time I ride without a first-aid kit. I used my headphones for a little extra pressure, but they proved useless. Climbing to my feet, I realized I could bear weight. That's good. But the first few steps quickly showed me hobbling on one foot while leaning a bicycle wasn't going to work. Wait a minute, stop leaning on the bike and ride the thing!

I flung my leg over and balanced on the seat. With my left foot guiding the pedals and occasionally dragging on the ground, right foot out like a broken wing, I coasted the bike down the trail. Careful now. Falling is not an option. It was about a half-mile back to the car, and lucky for me mostly down hill.

I arrived at the car right as a first responder showed up. "You call an ambulance?" Yup. The wrap, limp, and bloody leg didn't give it away? She was nice. I was glad I got out of there on my own, even an Alaska State Trooper showed up with an ATV.

The paramedics were very friendly, but I declined transport. Something about seeing your muscle flop out of your leg makes you want to call 911, but I probably could've gotten myself to the hospital. I called Will, and he gave me a ride to the ER. The paramedics gave me a good pressure wrap, and cracked jokes while we waited for Will to show up.

The ER was pretty straight forward. Wait. Triage. Wait. X-rays. Wait. Insurance information. Wait. Doctor. Wait. IV. Morphine. Wait. Anti-biotic flush. Wait. Stiches. Wait. Wrap. Wait. Go home at midnight.

The flush was pretty impressive. To clean the wound of any dirt or debris, they squirted 3 liters of an anti-biotic fluid into my leg while simultaneously sucking it out with a vacuum. That made an interesting sound.

Looks good. Final count was 2 internal, dissolving stiches, and 12 external, doubled up to make 24 individual connections between the opposing sides.


It struck me when here I found myself, in the ER, eating chocolates brought by friends, watching the tech use little curved needles grafted to black fishing line to sew the hole in my leg closed. A hospital gown graced my chest because my shirt was previously used as a tourniquet. I came in wearing the the blue jacket with no pockets, but it impeded the IV.

Many thanks to Will for taking me to the hospital and for getting me all set-up with medical supplies. Also to Oliver and Brittany for taking Murphy (Apollo) for me.

Ninilchik

Photos from a drive to the Kenai Peninsula and back to Fairbanks, a little bit of old town Ninilchik, and a great fishing trip with Dad.

ewr

Too much time in an airport, and a camera.

Soltice Fly-In

Date: June 18-20, 2010
Location: Eagle Summit, Alaska



What is a "fly-in" you ask? Well, it is simply a gathering - a gathering of hang-glider (HG) and para-glider (PG) pilots from far and wide. They come together to embrace the spirit and energy of each other, and come with high hopes for good flying and camping. One pilot, John, came from as far as Pennsylvania:



What better way to celebrate the longest days of the year by soaring hills and watching the sun not set?


Adam soars the ridge.

------

Eagle Summit is a two hour drive to the northeast of Fairbanks. As altitude is gained to a meager 3,652ft (high by sub-Arctic standards), the trees slowly fade and the domain of Arctic tundra is entered. Here the hills are bare, covered with soft, spongy flora and the occasional rock pile. Eagle is an ideal flying site because it sits between the Yukon Flats to the north, and the Tanana Valley (Fairbanks area) to the south. Any differences in weather between the two areas produces strong winds, and even if light, the air is always moving. We camped right on top.



The Arctic Circle is defined as the latitude on Earth where the sun does not set on the summer solstice, June 21st, at sea level. The farther north you go, the more days of 24hr sun. Eagle Summit is not technically in the Arctic Circle, but the elevation at a latitude of 65 degrees north makes it is possible to watch the sun skim the horizon and continue upward into the sky.


The night would grow no darker.

Saturday would prove to be an epic day. I awoke to the sound of a PG crinkling in the wind as it inflated. Adam was up at ‘em, feeling out the steady up-slope breeze with his wing.



Not wasting any time (nor wind), he set the mood by soaring the ridge. Get a load of Apollo in this one!



After a breakfast of pancakes and homemade Pennsylvania maple syrup, it was time to hit the training hill. We drove down about 5 minutes, but probably a good 1000 ft of altitude, where winds would be mellow. Here I got to stretch out my wing and hop around in the breeze over a gentle slope of tundra. At one point I shared the hill with 5 or 6 other pilots. It was truly incredible. I don’t have any photos from this spot, but somebody snapped this one.


If Apollo had a Facebook page, “chasing flying people” would surely be in his list of Hobbies.

Next, it was back to the main camp, and thus the main launch. Winds were still too light for the HGs, so while they were napping Adam and I discussed a tandem. A 'tandem' is two people in one wing, which can be done in either craft. They do, however, have to be specialized wings to account for the extra-heavy load! Adam got out his tandem and felt the wind.

“A little light,” he said. But it will do. I had waited a long time for this. My first tandem flight: unreal. We had to work a bit to get airborne in the light conditions, but after a short run I felt the harness tighten around me and watched the ground drop from beneath my feet. The air rushed past my ears, my helmet whistled a little. I shouted for joy and probably cursed a few times, because I was flying.

Apollo beat us to the bottom. Paragliders fly slowly.

By then we could all use a nap, so I joined the HGs in their slumber. I was awakened only after an hour or so by the sound of aluminum clanking and sails flapping. Winds had shifted and gotten a little stronger, so the HGs set up, anxiously anticipating stronger winds. It turned out the puff was short lived. Thus, the HGs were left to take a short flight or don’t fly at all. It takes a good 15-20 minutes to set up a HG, so you may as well make it worth it. John offered a tandem, I pounced on the opportunity.

Unheard-of. A PG tandem and a HG tandem, in the same day - without paying a cent! Had to have been a first in the state of Alaska. I promptly assisted John with set-up, and we did a few practice launches. When the pilot and passenger are here:



. . . the pilot needs to know the passenger will commit, and not become an awkward piece of luggage upon launch. All those days running track paid off, John was impressed with my run.

So then it was time! Wow, HGs are fast. Something about laying prone, Superman style, makes it easy to convince yourself you are now a bird.



It was easy to see why HGs are superior for long distance cross-country flights, and stronger conditions. We covered about twice the distance, in half the time. Apollo arrived a whole minute later.

At this point, my day could not possibly be any better. About an hour later we were graced with a passing shower.



The only thing left to do was to crack a beer and watch the sunset (or lack thereof). Dinner was moose chili by the fire.



Solar noon at Eagle, due to the large Alaska time zone and daylight savings, was around 1:45p. This means, in this shot:


. . .the sun was still on its way down.

Meanwhile, our camp was growing by the hour with fellow celebrators of the solstice. Everyone took to their own space, and did their own thing, but there was a common theme of light and wind. At one point there was a pack of at least 8 dogs circumnavigating the camp. Our view was a little blocked, but not spoiled, since they brought kites. There it is, 2:01 am:



According to Ben, we were very lucky this year to not have the sun blocked by clouds. I was even offered a kite to put in the air. How could I resist joining the flock?



To say we got rained out on Sunday would be putting it lightly, but it comes with the territory. Packing up camp in a torrential downpour didn't dampen anyone's spirits.

Summer!

Many apologies for the lack of posts! It has been a crazy summer. I have a many things ready for the blog, so the flurry of posts should show why I haven't been in front of my computer much. Events include a camp-out on a mountain top, fishing with Dad, a drive to the northernmost point in the US, a cruise, and now -- England! My adviser has sent me to Norwich, England to learn a few things. More on that, later, I am going to try to throw more science into the blog.

Hope all is well!
Patrick