Chasing Winter

By the time the ski season ended this year I was, unsurprisingly, ready for winter to start. So it was with high spirits that I shipped off to the southern hemisphere, arriving at the beginning of their fall. I packed flannel, warm pants, and even some ski gear in anticipation of cold weather running. I did not, however, check the weather before I left for Buenos Aires. Suffice it to say I was not prepared for the 90 degree heat that greeted me when I walked off the plane. A month and a half later, temperatures dropped to more reasonable temperatures in the 80's, but I was suffering due to the fact that I didn't bring any shorts . It only made sense, then, to go searching for Winter in a place I was sure would have snow, Patagonia.

I set off on my trip with high expectations of solo hiking, and the chance to spend some quality time with myself. After two days alone, I learned, shockingly, that I am not a solitary creature. It was very lucky, then, that I met up with ski team alum Sarah Tory for a couple of days of hiking around Mount Fitz Roy. Almost all the hiking was accessible right from El Chalten, so Sarah, her partner Alex, and I ended up pitching our tents at "la casa de Jesus", where a local resident reenacts the Stone Soup story every night.
Mount Fitz Roy and some surrounding peaks

The hiking was spectacular, but we quickly learned that Patagonian weather is fickle, and cycles through a two hour sequence of sun, snow, sleet, and rain, with high winds throughout. The glacial lakes and jagged peaks, though, made the weather all worth it.
After three days, I decided to leave El Chalten, and head over to Chile to do a longer hike, the "W" in Torres del Paine. I felt a little sad about doing my first big run/hike without Phil, but since he had other plans, I had no option but to attempt it alone. I'll spare everyone all the details of the hiking, but here are some of the more impressive sights.

The beginning, right off of the catamaran.
Glaciar Grey
Paine Grande


It snowed 30 centimeters the second night

On the last morning, I got up before the sunrise and hiked to the base of Las Torres, arguably the most famous view in Patagonia. Thanks to some incredible luck, we had blue skies for the whole sunrise.

Some of the world's hardest climbing

I also got an unbelievable view of the sun rising through the valley. Sequentially:

Done.

Alaskan alumni go the distance!

This winter three Alaskan alumni participated in their first 24 hour (+) races:
Fiona Worcester ('09, the author of this post) , David Hansen ('10), and Dylan Watts ('06).


In January, I completed the 100-mile Susitna 100 ski race, a backcountry race on snow machine trails that started across the bay from Anchorage at Point MacKenzie, and headed north for 53 miles before turning back. Eighty-three finishers biked, ran, and skied the race, and I was the 1st female skier, 4th female overall (3 female bikers beat me), and 4th skier (three male skiers beat me).

The race required bringing at least 15 pounds of gear, including 3000 calories of food, a sleeping pad, a sleeping bag, and a bivvy sack (and not including my water). The race also required a headlamp and a red blinker light, as about 12 hours of the race were in the middle of the night, and we needed to be visible to snowmachine patrollers. Rather than using a backpack, I elected to pull a sled, a homemade aluminum frame built on top of two kids' Fisher RCSs attached to me with a sanding pole and a waistblet. I also wore an insulated camelback and a front fanny pack, for quick access to clothing, food, and water, without removing my cumbersome sled. My focus was on the following: staying warm without sweating, staying hydrated and fed, and to not stop moving.

Me and my rig! My dad took this near the start.

 Coming up on one of the male skiers (the trail was narrow).

The course follows the Iditarod Trail in places, and I encountered seven dogsled teams, some practicing for the 1049-mile saga to be held later that month. I also passed icefisherman, a few, sparse cabins, and skied on portions of the IronDog course, a famous Alaskan snowmachine race (Todd Palin has won it twice, I believe). The course was an out-and-back for the most part, with five checkpoints along the way, where we could rest, warmup (or dry out as the case may be), snack, and fill up on hot water.

Aid station

Mount Susitna: "the Sleeping Lady"

 My favorite parts of the race were also some of the most lonely. At about 3:00am, I was traveling toward the dreaded "Dismal Swamp", a 7-mile stretch of wide open space in which you can see your destination, but you never have the sense of getting any closer. The stars were some of the brightest I had ever seen, and I turned off my music, imagining I could hear the Northern Lights that were dancing across the sky behind me, pointing me home. I could see Mount Susitna, "the Sleeping Lady" looming, backlit by constellations I should learn to keep me company on such lonely nights.

The view behind my sled back up the Susitna River

The last checkpoint of the course was a Mardi-Gras themed station where I dined on jumbalaya, served by the two motherly checkpoint workers. Unfortunately, upon awaking from my 15-minute nap (my only sleep during the race), I realized I had tweaked my left knee badly and I could barely put any weight on it. My pilot bindings had given out at mile 55, and, I must of caught my tip and twisted my leg while skiing tensely, trying to keep my skis from catching on the uneven trail. As dawn came, I left in temperatures just below zero, and double-poled the remaining 18 miles to the finish line.

I did not quite make my goal of 24 hours, finishing in 26 hours, 50 minutes. But there's always next year!

 The sun rising as I doublepole/limp to the finish.

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David Hansen and Dylan Watts competed in the SKAN 24, a 24-hour ski race held at Kincaid Park, in Anchorage, Alaska. The object is to complete as many laps of a 6.4km loop as possible in a 24-hour time frame. The race also included team events (with 2, 4, and 8-person teams) and 12-hour and 6-hour event, but the Williams boys decided to go the distance with 24-hour solo races!

David demolished the field, posting a record 37 laps in 24 hours, 22 minutes (if you start the last lap before the time is up, you may complete it). His total distance skied was 236.8 km, or 142 miles. These loops were not flat, and included some of the more difficult terrain at Kincaid!

I was out at the race supporting my East High Ski Team boys (they won the 8-man division, with a distance of 448 km [268 miles]) until I went to bed for the evening. They reported that David pretty much kept up the same steady pace throughout, not stopping often. Dylan Watts opted for a different strategy, stopping to rest and change clothes often, and even sleeping at times, but skiing quickly while on the course. Dylan was the second male solo finisher, with a total distance of 185.6km, or 112 miles.

Below is a piece done by a local news station; David is featured prominently. Hear his thoughts during the race! :)

Hawaii, Part 2

I neglected to mention this in my last post, but on the day we flew out to the Big Island, Elena was celebrating her 19th birthday. She considered herself lucky because her birthday lasted a full 18 hours because we flew west with the sun. Not to mention we were going to Hawaii!

How it feels to have a leap-birthday. Happy Birthday, Elena!

Our stay in Volcano ended up being fairly rainy, even by the standards of the wet side of the island. It wasn't until the day we left for the Kona coast that they actually had a clear day with no rain. Still, we managed to stay dry on most of our hikes. On the few occasions we did get soaked, the Breakfast Lanai had a very handy hot tub in a nice glass porch area. Not a bad place to eat, either.

Breakfast at the Breakfast Lanai

 Up to this point, our closest brush with real flowing lava had been at Halema'uma'u Crater, the giant hole in the Kilauea Caldera floor, which looked pretty stunning at night. But that would all change soon...

 

At night, the glow from Halema'uma'u is visible from the Jaggar Museum (compare to daytime picture in previous post)

On the last day of our stay in Volcano, we got the surprise news of the week, and perhaps of the trip and/or some of our lifetimes. Paul Karabinos, ever the showman, waited till the morning of to let us know that we would be hiking out from the town of Kalapana to see live lava flows from Pu'u 'O'o. Like, up-close and personal. So, we saddled up with enough water and food to last us a day in a lava desert, and set out past the partially overrun town on jagged, glassy lava flows that were only a few years—or months—old.

 

A very large, translucent, crystallized volcanic glass bubble

 As time went on, we began to see signs that we were getting close. First, the flow-colonizing vegetation disappeared, then we saw smoke from burning vegetation on the big fault scarp, then the distant heat waves coming off the flows, then suddenly we saw a dim orange glow in the daylight and the heat stopped us in our tracks. Several people didn't even bother taking off their packs, they were so awestruck. For literally hours on end, we threw rocks at it, burned articles of clothing with it, and scooped up molten material with a rock hammer until our hearts were content. When the sun went down, the glow from the hills mixed with the glow from the plain and made for quite the dimly lit, warm, and romantic dinner spot.

Because of Kalapana coast's closure to the public, being able to see live lava this close was quite rare, even for seasoned geologists. We were amazed to hear that even Paul, once-upon-a-time a grad student in igneous petrology, had never experienced it up close before. We were truly blessed to have had this opportunity.

 

Kalle burns the brim of a hat as a memento to this geologic rite-of-passage moment

 

During the day, we took big scoops of the good stuff...

 

...and at night, we sat and admired lava rivers that could be seen in the hills.

The next day, our travels took us to sunny Puako, on the Kona coast, the land of macadamia nuts and delicate coffee flavorings. We took to the beach, doing enough Sand Sumo, two- and three-person tall chicken fights in the water, and double-back-flip throws to make us sore all over. Every day was a constant strength session! Add in two hours of body surfing in six foot surf at Waipio Bay and we were soon covered in all sorts of bumps, bruises, and sore muscles.

Mastering the art of the frontflip backflop

Decidedly, another one of the group favorite destinations was Waipio Valley, a sparsely-populated remote agricultural settlement with some fantastic views, great surf, and a tendency to be hit quite hard by tsunami.

 

Waipio Valley

In Waipio, we discovered Paul's showman's surprise for the second week more by show and less by tell. After walking down the "steepest road in the world," dropping 800ft at 25% grade for .6 miles, we came around a corner and saw the most unbelievable waterfall. The hike in to the fall was slow-going, but an extremely fun and rewarding way to get to the waterfall itself (think lots of branch-grabbing, slick rock-jumping, and river-fording.

 

One poorly practiced climbing move on the trail to the falls and I was in the water with my boots on...

 ...and then Kalle was too.

The rock face stands over 1600 feet high, and water cascades straight down the side of the canyon for most of that distance. Kalle and I thought Casey would be decidedly skeptical of dropping over it in a kayak.

We found it exceedingly difficult to breathe with 40mph wind blowing water up our noses, the effect of which may have added somewhat to our elation.

Kalle defends the troop from unseen danger with his knifle

 

Relaxin'

Kalle and Elena watch for the green flash on our last night in The Aloha State

We arrived back in Williamstown today, depressed and jetlagged after 22 straight hours of travel, but with no regrets and surprisingly much more physically ready to begin the training season than expected. I think we can safely say that that was the school field trip of a lifetime!

Photo credit: Tommy Gaidus, Elena Luethi