I mustered the energy and reserve this morning to go on my search for a bull moose to photograph. I know full well it was to be a futile effort. Not that a bull is hard to find in Anchorage bowl in the fall, but because I lack the proper lens to capture the large animal without extreme risk to my person.
I arrived at the Flattop parking lot just before 11am. A glance at my navigation panel of my Nissan Titan told me it is 18 degrees out. A glance outside told me it was sunny and there did not look to be much wind. I put on my Mountain Hardware jacket that was in my small pack and headed out down the trail. My basic plan was to head across towards false O’Malley and down the Blueberry loop trail. By the time I reached the intersection with Powerline pass trail I had warmed up and shed my Patagonia R1.5 shirt.
Looking down at upper Campbell creek I could see one young bull, and at least 4 cow moose. I headed down the trail to the bridge. As I approached the bridge I could see a young woman on the other side creek jogging with a dog run right pass a 8 point bull moose with out so much as a side glance. I stopped at the bridge to take some photos of the water and ice forming in on the sides of the creek. As the young jogger passed I asked if she had seen the moose, but she had not.
I crossed the bridge and made my way up the steep embankment carefully looking for the large bull. Once on the plain above the stream I headed out into the tall fall grass very aware that a 2000 pound mammal was close by. I followed his tracks through the tall grass until I was about 100 feet away. I followed him and watched him eat and walk downwards in the valley until he came to the younger bull. For what seemed a long time they just watched each other until some subtle agreement was reached. They then munched and slowly continued down the valley. Buy now I had made my way over to the “proper” trail, still following the two moose. The trail was in horrible condition; it was basically a simi-frozen mud and watercourse. I would occasionally break through and soak my feet. The going was getting tough.
About half and hour had passed, the moose laid down for their mid-day rest and I continued along. The trail dried up, first the water and mud made way to well packed dirt, then the trail disappeared into branches of game trails. I knew about where the trail headed so I continued on my way. An hour went by and I became mildly concerned that I had not found the “main” trail. At last I break thought the Alder and Blue spruce and come to the top of a bluff.
I stopped here for a few minutes to look for something to eat. Since I did not think I was going to be on as long a hike as this, I had brought no food. A quick look around yielded a good bunch of later season, frozen berries. After few handfuls of blueberries, elderberries, and some pectin berries, I felt better after my snack of half fermented, half frozen berries.
From my vantage point I can see the trail on the other side of the now very steep canyon wall of upper Campbell creek. I headed towards the canyon and find what looks like a old unused trail where the main trail should be. I followed it, thinking that it will lead me to the main trail down towards the whitewater and to a bridge across.
After one hard fall and a long, steep descent of the canyon wall I came to the flats and follow the trail to the water; on what I am now sure is the right trail and as I come around the last stand of Alder to the stream THERE IS NO BRIDGE. No there is a bridge, but it’s in two pieces. One on this side of the water, one on the other side.
GREAT. Fast whitewater, fifteen feet across, 3 feet deep, below freezing. Or go back the way I came. Stream crossing time, there are a few thing I need to do so that if I fall I will survive. A quick look down stream does not fill me with confidence, if I fall there is not much chance of getting out until the bridge a mile down stream and I would be very weak and beaten up by then.
I break off a straight piece of alder about 6 feet long to use as a brace. I zip up all the pockets on my pants and jacket, so if I fall they will not fill with water and further drag me under. I loosen the straps of my pack, which since it is almost water tight would flip me stomach down in the event of a fall, So I’ll need to ditch it. The streambed is large glacial rocks which further complicate my crossing. I step in, yep, it’s cold. I carefully move into the fast moving water. I face up stream and use the stick as a support above me. The footing is bad, uneven and slippery and the water is faster and deeper then I thought. The water reaches my upper thighs as I pull myself onto the other bank.
I don’t stop to reflect on the crossing and how dangerous it really was. I am cold and at least a mile from the main trail where if I become hypothermic I can find help. The water on my crossing stick if frozen; so is the water on outside of my shoes and pants. I climb the steep trail, no longer thinking about bear or moose encounters. If I thought the parking lot was further away I would stop and build a fire to dry off, but it’s only about two miles. Once on top of the canyon wall the trail connects with the rim trail and it is well worn and easy to walk. Even if I am getting really cold. I hike with determination, I reach Powerline pass trail and I know it’s not much more then a mile, but my wet feet are really starting to hurt. By the time I enter the parking lot I am walking with a limp.
Sitting in my truck with the heater on full I ring out the water from my socks.
It is 4:10 pm. I drive home barefoot.