Max can pronounce this with a perfect angry/ warm Scottish accent. This was a good hour long drive from our dark Rabbit Creek Trail, and Valery picked us up as we “slogged” (citing P. Hecht) the 17 degree incline that took us nowhere. San Francisco can beat 17 degree hills in its sleep, but for day one with ~45 lbs a piece on our backs, it took some panting. Max softened to the idea of a more mild, traversed ground for us to hunker down at, and we settled on the recommended Eklutna Lake. I reserved a back woods cabin that was a three mile hike in from the main trail head, and Uber Valery scooped us up.
Eklutna is the largest body of water in the Chugach Park, and it’s blue lake covers about 7 miles. The lake is lined with white capped mountains and glacier peaks, and medium sized rocks tumble along the stretches of black beach. Entering the ten mile stretch toward Eklutna, was very similar to the drive into Yosemite; tall mountains loomed over creeks that ran along a winding road.
Valery pointed out a few Alaskan must sees as we drove, and I noted them all as well as a “ya,” in her vernacular— similar to the Fargo speak. Maybe snow brings that out in accent. She reluctantly dropped us off and left her phone number, since we were way out of service, and there was a pay phone (!) at the trailhead entrance. Free local calls pay phone! We thanked her and watched her go. Max and I oohed and ahhed along the muddy path as we headed to our cabin.
The walk was trying, but we adjusted our gaits and rhythm to balance our weight in order to find that sweet spot of endurance. Generally, I steer clear of terms like “sweet spot,” and often wince when that or related phrasing is used, but I’m sorry, it works here. Not unlike running, or I imagine any sport, the way my body adapts to turning the physical activity up a notch, requires a mini battle between head and bod. The mental piece cannot be discounted for me, because I can mess with myself pretty good. If that line of strained configuration is crossed, one enters a zone of dance. Once we hit the right beat, we tromped along, complained a little, and tromped some more. We hit the cabin, which sat at the edge of the lake and wore a green roof. We dropped our bags, happily inhaled, and deflated into skins of ourselves.
The cabin was small, made of logs, had built in bunk beds, a table, and an oil can sized stove. It was, we both agreed, exactly the home we’d both hoped to live in someday. We set up our sleeping stuff, and hung up our ice axe, poles, shoes, shovel and head lamps, and ventured down to the beach for food. A perfect creek ran down alongside our cabin, where I collected water, and the view was spectacular. This would be our home for two days.
Our view from the front door (better photos to come once uploaded)
My morning coffee spot down on the beach