Alaska: Day 14: 7-19-93: Hiking, Camping And Feeding The Black Flies In Chugach State Park

Although the morning sky looked ominous, Dave and I decided to go ahead with our camping trip. We ate some apple pancakes, packed our backpacks and ran out to do a quick errand at the local locksmith (We were taking Becky's car to Chugach, and she wanted us to leave her a copy of the car key in case she needed to drive somewhere while we were gone). A few doors down from the locksmith was a teacher store, and I browsed around until the key was made. Then we made a quick stop at the adjacent pet shop, where I sought out a book on Chow Chow dogs (I forgot to mention that I called home on Saturday only to find out that there is a new member of my family -- a one-year-old purebred black Chow Chow named [tragically] Lex. It seems a friend of Christine's [my dad's girlfriend, not mine] couldn't keep the $600 pet, so he was passed on to us). I've seen a lot of dogs in my day, but, for the life of me, I couldn't remember what a Chow Chow looks like, so the book helped out immensely: I learned that they are hairy, with a stocky build and a proud face framed in a shaggy mane (quite regal looking, actually). They are also distinguished by their blue-black tongue.

After dropping off the key at the house, Dave and I drove to Chugach State Park, about 15 miles outside of Anchorage. We parked at the Visitor Center, obtained a trail map (a REAL one, this time), and donned our packs. The trail was a beauty, passing through almost every kind of ecosystem imaginable (dry, desert-like terrain; lush rainforest; rocky mountains; grassy plains; marshy creeks). Some of the memorable sights during the hike were: 1) a haunting deciduous forest, well past its prime, replete with gnarled grey stumps and dead, spidery branches; 2) bright fields of Alaskan Fireweed and dandelion (a particularly large and hardy breed); and 3) rushing, silty rivers (one of which harbored at least 3 big red salmon). I also saw a lot of bear scat, some frighteningly fresh. When Dave asked me how I knew it was ursine excrement as opposed to the leavings of a more docile creature, I quoted his sister's immortal words: "Nothing craps like a bear!"

----------------------------------The Great Outdoors-----------------------------------

Fortuitously, the afternoon sun burned off the dark clouds of the morning, and we enjoyed its brightness for most of our hike. It shone down on our heads as we went up mountains, under waterfalls, through valleys, over bridges (where available) and into rivers (where not -- I had to doff my boots and hike my pants to cross Icicle Creek, and boy, did it ever live up to its name!).

Ultimately, after roughly 12 miles and 5 hours of hiking, we chose Thunder Gorge as our final destination. We dropped our packs and let our backs regain feeling -- I am not too proud to admit that I was weary, hurting and drenched with sweat. Here's the kicker! No sooner had we settled down to recuperate and eat a well-deserved supper, when we were suddenly swarmed by black flies. At first, they were just a pesky nuisance, then a major annoyance, and finally -- when they started biting -- a damned plague. So we ate quickly and uncomfortably, jogged back to our predetermined campsite (never eat where you sleep in the wild!), and set up the tent in record time. All this while, the flies continued to descend upon us en masse. At one point, I swear I had at least 100 flies on my body!

No sooner was the tent erected than Dave and I raced inside, thankful to have been granted a momentary reprieve from the scourge. Waiting out the hoard, we played some cards and examined our wounds: it seemed we had escaped with a few dozen welts and only a minor loss of blood. Eventually, about half the flies flew off for juicier pastures, and Dave and I figured it was as good as it was going to get, so we cautiously ventured out again. We went to a copse of trees about 150 yards from our campsite and hung our remaining food high up in a tree. Hopefully, this would keep our supplies (and ourselves) safe from a bear attack. Well, time will tell.

Returning to the tent, Dave and I played another Rummy 500 two-out-of-three championship series (I won again, thank you) and read a little of our respective books. After "curbing my Warpoling activity" (technically, since I'm reading Anne Rice, I guess it would be my "Ricing activity"), I wrote the words you are now reading. Having nothing more to say, I shall now end yet another historic chapter of my eminent life.