Tern Mountain
I’d like to begin by saying that the application of the term mountain to Tern Mountain could easily be construed as a misnomer. You see, Tern Mountain isn’t a mountain at all. It is an extinct volcano. Though it appears to be a mighty protrusion in comparison to the flat, seemingly limitless expanse of tundra, it would, in most instances, be viewed as a hill. This definitional discrepancy could be easily argued and won, leading to the landmark’s acquisition of a new, more appropriate name, but what would be the point? After all, being able to lay claim to reaching the summit of Tern Mountain is infinitely more heroic sounding than speaking of the conquest of Tern Hill. With that being said, I will have you all know that it is my intent to reach the summit of Chefornak’s domineering overseer.
To do this, I will have to hike 7 miles to the base, reach the summit, and hike or arrange to be returned to Chefornak’s city limits via snow-machine. This is a very easy thing to toss around in one’s mind. The concepts are very simple. The execution, I assure you, will be much more difficult. Not merely in terms of energy expenditure, but of coordination. In some parts of the world speaking of the weather has come to be a means of engaging in idle chit-chat, but here weather dictates existence and is indeed worthy of one’s interest. One’s activities are intimately tied to the promising or damning whims of the great magnet. In order for me to even think of attempting this feat, I have hypothesized that I must find a day with clear skies with raw temperatures approximating the freezing point. This must be the scenario so that it is warm enough to sustain life, but cold enough to render the snow-laden tundra firm enough to provide a cement-like passage. Yesterday seemed to approximate these conditions. The day’s raw temperature reached a high of 20 degrees (0 degrees with the wind chill) and the skies were clear. The time was ripe for experimentation.
With my CamelBak filled with cool distilled water and granola bars, I set out on a mini-expedition. Accompanied by Kane and Lepsis (two German Shepherds whose awareness and intelligence is readily apparent to those whose minds have the ability to seek past the notion that humans are the only available form of intelligent life on this planet) I set out northward. In the beginning there was no established destination. My aim was to cross the river (which I had never done) test out my gear, the integrity of the snow-constructed walkways, and my legs. Upon passing the myriad remnants of old boats scattered about the banks north of the river, it soon became clear that our goal would be to reach the top of a humble hill whose distance, though undefined, seemed to be attainable.
Kane and Lepsis led our campaign and maintained a consistent pattern of darting ahead, wrestling, and returning to my side while always possessing a playful mood. At various points throughout our journey the pair had attained a distance outside of earshot. They wrestled and sprinted at times with little to no regard to my calls. I became nervous. I had no desire to return to Andy’s without the dogs I had borrowed.
We walked for nearly an hour face first into a consistently increasing northerly wind. My facial hair had frozen and upon caressing my face I could feel each individual icicle amidst the field that had sprouted upon my face. During this time I found that the tundra did not possess the integrity that I had hoped for. I found myself periodically breaking through the seemingly solid sheet of ice with my mighty steps (for those that have never experienced this, an unexpected plunge of at least 6 inches and up to a foot is quite a jolt to the body and a bit exhausting). Feeling quite tired, I grasped for the water providing services of my CamelBak only to find that my water supply had frozen, completely. Hmmmmm. Time for decisions.
It was at this point that I turned around and faced my starting point. I had made it much farther than I had anticipated. Chefornak no longer possessed any form. The communications tower could be discerned, but the rest was nothing more than the reflection of sunlight upon tin roofs. For all intents and purposes I could see no signs of the effects of man. I basked in the nothingness and rejoiced in the fact that I was simply being. I felt great. I was maybe a mile and a half away from the foot of the hill. Everything inside me told me to go for it. After all, I was nearly there. At this moment my dreaded rationality kicked in. At the present moment I was nearly an hour away from shelter, I was tired, and though the skies were clear, the northerly wind continued to pick up speed. In Alaska, it is commonly known that the weather can turn in an instant and those who do not heed the warnings are often those whose names are added to the list of the preventable, weather-related deaths. Reluctantly, I turned back.
About mid-way I was certain that I had made the right decision. I was fatigued. As such, the focus and attention I gave to each step was immense. I sought to avoid to the greatest extent possible the areas that I perceived to be unsound, so as to minimize my efforts on the return home. About this time I noticed that Kane and Lepsis, who had previously walked ahead and quite far from me, were now behind me and close in. After a few more steps, they were just slightly ahead of me, always staying within a 5ft radius of myself. There was no longer any playfulness within them. They both walked with an earnestness that almost seemed out of character. I was later reminded of the fact that these are German shepherds and that their character and nature is to protect. They were protecting me. They were responding to me and my concerns, they were aware, I am certain of it. We walked in this fashion all the way home.
No sooner had we made it back to Andy’s that the wind had kicked up to nearly 45mph (every Alaskan home is or at least should be equipped with an indoor/outdoor thermometer and anemometer) bringing with it a dense mass of clouds and disorienting thick fog that would have no doubt caused problems for this suburbanite.
Addendum
Today is Saturday, April 21, 2007 and as I finish this piece I am about to once again set out to the hill for a bit of practice. The temperature is 25 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind is barely blowing at 5mph. I am rested, stretched, and hydrated. I regret that I will not be taking my camera with me. I will be gone for about 3-4 hours and do not want to risk the expensive device quite yet. Besides, cameras I have purchased never seem to do justice to the awe-inspiring landscapes I have witnessed throughout my time.
To do this, I will have to hike 7 miles to the base, reach the summit, and hike or arrange to be returned to Chefornak’s city limits via snow-machine. This is a very easy thing to toss around in one’s mind. The concepts are very simple. The execution, I assure you, will be much more difficult. Not merely in terms of energy expenditure, but of coordination. In some parts of the world speaking of the weather has come to be a means of engaging in idle chit-chat, but here weather dictates existence and is indeed worthy of one’s interest. One’s activities are intimately tied to the promising or damning whims of the great magnet. In order for me to even think of attempting this feat, I have hypothesized that I must find a day with clear skies with raw temperatures approximating the freezing point. This must be the scenario so that it is warm enough to sustain life, but cold enough to render the snow-laden tundra firm enough to provide a cement-like passage. Yesterday seemed to approximate these conditions. The day’s raw temperature reached a high of 20 degrees (0 degrees with the wind chill) and the skies were clear. The time was ripe for experimentation.
With my CamelBak filled with cool distilled water and granola bars, I set out on a mini-expedition. Accompanied by Kane and Lepsis (two German Shepherds whose awareness and intelligence is readily apparent to those whose minds have the ability to seek past the notion that humans are the only available form of intelligent life on this planet) I set out northward. In the beginning there was no established destination. My aim was to cross the river (which I had never done) test out my gear, the integrity of the snow-constructed walkways, and my legs. Upon passing the myriad remnants of old boats scattered about the banks north of the river, it soon became clear that our goal would be to reach the top of a humble hill whose distance, though undefined, seemed to be attainable.
Kane and Lepsis led our campaign and maintained a consistent pattern of darting ahead, wrestling, and returning to my side while always possessing a playful mood. At various points throughout our journey the pair had attained a distance outside of earshot. They wrestled and sprinted at times with little to no regard to my calls. I became nervous. I had no desire to return to Andy’s without the dogs I had borrowed.
We walked for nearly an hour face first into a consistently increasing northerly wind. My facial hair had frozen and upon caressing my face I could feel each individual icicle amidst the field that had sprouted upon my face. During this time I found that the tundra did not possess the integrity that I had hoped for. I found myself periodically breaking through the seemingly solid sheet of ice with my mighty steps (for those that have never experienced this, an unexpected plunge of at least 6 inches and up to a foot is quite a jolt to the body and a bit exhausting). Feeling quite tired, I grasped for the water providing services of my CamelBak only to find that my water supply had frozen, completely. Hmmmmm. Time for decisions.
It was at this point that I turned around and faced my starting point. I had made it much farther than I had anticipated. Chefornak no longer possessed any form. The communications tower could be discerned, but the rest was nothing more than the reflection of sunlight upon tin roofs. For all intents and purposes I could see no signs of the effects of man. I basked in the nothingness and rejoiced in the fact that I was simply being. I felt great. I was maybe a mile and a half away from the foot of the hill. Everything inside me told me to go for it. After all, I was nearly there. At this moment my dreaded rationality kicked in. At the present moment I was nearly an hour away from shelter, I was tired, and though the skies were clear, the northerly wind continued to pick up speed. In Alaska, it is commonly known that the weather can turn in an instant and those who do not heed the warnings are often those whose names are added to the list of the preventable, weather-related deaths. Reluctantly, I turned back.
About mid-way I was certain that I had made the right decision. I was fatigued. As such, the focus and attention I gave to each step was immense. I sought to avoid to the greatest extent possible the areas that I perceived to be unsound, so as to minimize my efforts on the return home. About this time I noticed that Kane and Lepsis, who had previously walked ahead and quite far from me, were now behind me and close in. After a few more steps, they were just slightly ahead of me, always staying within a 5ft radius of myself. There was no longer any playfulness within them. They both walked with an earnestness that almost seemed out of character. I was later reminded of the fact that these are German shepherds and that their character and nature is to protect. They were protecting me. They were responding to me and my concerns, they were aware, I am certain of it. We walked in this fashion all the way home.
No sooner had we made it back to Andy’s that the wind had kicked up to nearly 45mph (every Alaskan home is or at least should be equipped with an indoor/outdoor thermometer and anemometer) bringing with it a dense mass of clouds and disorienting thick fog that would have no doubt caused problems for this suburbanite.
Addendum
Today is Saturday, April 21, 2007 and as I finish this piece I am about to once again set out to the hill for a bit of practice. The temperature is 25 degrees Fahrenheit and the wind is barely blowing at 5mph. I am rested, stretched, and hydrated. I regret that I will not be taking my camera with me. I will be gone for about 3-4 hours and do not want to risk the expensive device quite yet. Besides, cameras I have purchased never seem to do justice to the awe-inspiring landscapes I have witnessed throughout my time.
posted by Brian Kruk at 12:07 PM
5 comments
