Crow Pass

The next day while Aponi was at work, I convinced Mom we should go to a place about an hour outside Anchorage in the Chugach National Forest called Crow Pass. I had run across it online while looking for places to hike, and it looked hidden from your typical tourist and worth visiting.

I'm so glad we went. For both of us, I think it was our favorite place of the whole trip (when people we spent time with aren't part of the equation, at least).

As is my wont, I'm posting far too many pictures for you to enjoy (or skip over, as you wish).

We had to drive way back into the middle of nowhere on a dirt road, hoping against hope that we'd actually find the trailhead. (We did.)

Mom kept exclaiming at the mountains as we drove, saying that she'd always imagined the Swiss Alps would look something like that. The mountains looked bigger and steeper in real life than they do in the pictures.

Once we neared the top, we came to a solid-looking one-lane bridge spanning a creek rushing down from the mountain. My eyes could trace it up and up until it was hidden behind some jagged ledges near the peak.

We were already feeling like the drive was worth it between driving along Turnagain Arm, seeing the mountains, and clambering up creek rocks.

(I told you she was a poser.)

Once we reached the top of the narrow drive around the mountain and over the bridge, we found a parking lot and figured we'd reached the trail. Our suspicions were bolstered when we saw a couple of groups of intimidating-looking hikers with walking poles and huge backpacks and determined grimaces. I was slightly taken aback, thinking maybe we weren't prepared for this hike after all. We had no hiking poles. We had no huge backpacks. We had no determined grimaces. The best I could muster was a bemused and slightly cowed look of apprehension. 

Nothing daunted, and without backpack, poles, food, or water (except what was safely stowed away in our car), we took to the trail. After hiking for a little while, one of the guys from the Extreme Hiking Group from Barcelona, Spain (they were actually very friendly and companionable, all of them) asked if Mom and I were from around here. They must have been impressed by our under-preparedness. We said "No," chatted for a bit, and then walked right by 'em.

At the start of the trail was a sign detailing what we were about to undertake. Part of what drew me to this particular trail was its history. It's part of the Iditarod and also saw a rush of gold miners clambering over its slopes at one time. 

That's where the mountain creek you saw earlier was coming from. We soon began to see little rivulets racing down the mountain all over.

This was one of our friends from Barcelona, the one who was so impressed with our lack of gear.

Mom was in rare form, and after we were out of earshot she started hopping around doing what I could only guess was a Spanish jig, singing, "Barcelo-na, Barcelo-na..." You all missed out on that one. I can't really describe it...

We found these cool-looking berries which Mom hypothesized were mountain blackberries. I, with a  brilliant flash of rationality, argued that they weren't black. So for now, they are Mystery Berries.

This was the bearded, hipster group. They were Too Cool. They were impressed that we'd caught up to them until they saw our backpackless backs. Mom asked if they'd share their steak, and they willingly obliged provided we helped carry their packs. 

We opted to continue on footloose and fancy-free.

Mom was completely dwarfed in the landscape.

What is sadly lacking from this post is sounds and smells. The air was so fresh you could taste it, and our whole hike was accompanied by birdsong and the sound of the creek rushing along at the bottom of the gorge.

Abandoned dogsled runners.

Mom was trying to find leftover gold in the mining equipment. She wouldn't tell me if she found anything, but I noticed a glint in her eye and bulges in her pockets.

Most of the length of this waterfall is hidden in the picture, as is the tenuous little trail leading down to it. I went down to the mouth myself while Mom sat up on a rock above. I didn't think to leave my camera with her, so you'll just have to imagine me on that little ledge with her watching (and probably praying) from far above.

We scaled above and found more water...

...as well as quickly realizing we'd reached the snowline.

I was a little bit gleeful when I spied this mountain goat hair off the trail. We were being watched.

We'd gone quite a ways by this time (about 4 miles) when we reached the hidden oasis at the top. There was a lake and tiny little cabin that someone else was renting. It was such a secret space up there. I loved being away from the bustle of Anchorage and coming instead to a place where you saw few people, and those who you did see felt like comrades who were in on the secret.

This flowering moss was pretty neat.

Last stop before we had to turn around? Raven Glacier.

There it is. Our first glacier, quickly shrinking under a warm July sun.

It was one of those moments where you feel a sharp pang at having to stop when the trail goes on. Down on that little ridge, the trail kept going and going. All told, the whole of the Crow Pass trail is just under 30 miles long. 

(That would require the backpacks we didn't have.)

As we started hiking back, Mom spied this little guy who kept serenading us. The picture is really zoomed-in and washed out, but can you tell what kind of bird he is, Gussie?

I was excited to run into the Hipster Hikers again on the way down. You see, I'd wanted to covertly photograph one of them before but didn't have the courage. You'll see why in a minute. 

Mom asked for food again, but they said they hadn't caught it yet. That'll make sense in a minute, too.

Behold! THE DREADED MAN. 

(They thought I was photographing wildlife, but I'm sly.)

And their free-range meat. We found mountain goats! This picture is ridiculously zoomed-in. One of the pictures below shows the goats without using zoom so you can get some perspective.

Unzoomed. The goats are those two teeny-tiny specks just about smack-dab in the middle of the ridge.

Who can spot the Mopsy?

More mining equipment on the mountainside.

After making it back down to our car, I stopped along the dirt road to take a picture of this sign I'd seen earlier on our way to Crow Pass. It's for my students, mostly, so they can be duly impressed that I was there.

Anyway.

That, my friends, is what I call a Glorious Day.