Warmth of Winter

.

On most of those short days in far north, I drove about 250 miles, about the same as a migrating Canadian goose.  I say short days because the sun never rose far above the horizon, and it seemed like sunrise or sunset was never long in coming.  The snow that fell on most of those overcast, usually sub-zero days, was either loose like baking flower or packed like tortillas.  When loose, it was taken up by even a slight wind into waves like little low clouds.  Sometimes driving the jeep seemed like sailing a boat through white rippled water.  And on those rare events when a car, or more likely a big rig, approached from the other direction, it billowed up a cloud of snow that obliterated all visibility for about ten seconds.  And when the snow became tortilla, it was not slippery like ice, but almost as safe to drive  
on as asphalt.

They say that once you've done the Alcan, you have bragging rights any time your friends start talking about their road trips.  But it’s not worth the bragging rights.  I performed my obligation and achieved my full desire in just getting to Fairbanks, and had plenty of pleasures along the way.  Some of you worried more about me than I had the sense to worry about myself.

You know by now that I did not return the way I went north, but drove a mostly different route to where a ferry came and whisked me and the jeep off to the lower 48.  Here in Corvallis, Oregon, I’m most of the way home now, and will arrive on Tuesday.  

This map shows in a general way the trips up and back and how different they were. 

Click on  Michael's Map  to show accurately all of the places I spent the night, except those four nights aboard the ferry.  You can zoom and pan on this map and find my exact routes in case you wish to also have bragging rights.  

I will probably do a presentation at Kathabela’s place on Friday, February 22.  Watch for further information as the time approaches.  I am also open for invitations wherever a group wants to have me.  

Thanks to all who commented, either by email or directly on the blog.  You helped me through the ice. 

Stay Warm

Arora Borealis

.

Low in the western sky, competing for brightness with electric lights, like a green snake, came the northern lights.  Those white streaks, looking like shooting stars, are real stars, streaked as my tripod sank slowly into the snow.  (exposure time 2 seconds, f4, focus infinity)  

I have never taken pictures like this before—hands freezing, can’t see the camera, watching fast-moving fingers of Arora borealis as they move toward me from west to east with twists and sweeps of green arms.  

You can find more crisp and vivid find pictures on the web, but standing there in the cold night, immersed in this moving panorama in the sky, was so breathtaking that I forgot how cold my hands were. Gloves don’t work with the camera, so I hurried back inside to see if any of the pictures turned out.  After seeing they did, I was back out into the cold, spectacular night. 

I almost forgot to show you pictures, taken yesterday, of the mountains and the hike on Healy Mountain View Trail in Denali National Park.   

On the trail up to one of the minor peaks, not nearly as high as Denali at 20,310 feet, trudging in fairly solid snow, spruce trees tend to lean over in shifting permafrost.  It’s the way buildings used to lean over and roads heaved, before we learned to build like trees live, letting the earth do what it will, while we barely survive.   

Michael Angerman has kept a map during this long trip, showing all of the places where I spent the night.  Please view his map at:     Michael's Map  You can pan zoom to see more detail or more area as you choose.