Alaskan Wilderness

Step Into the Alaskan Wilderness

By Lisa Maloney, Freelance Writer

Febraury 2008

All you have to do is turn the corner past the lake, and you will have left the very last traces of what some call "civilization" behind.

Something was watching me - I could feel it. The typically Alaskan combination of thick alders, running water and a slight breeze in my face had me wondering: Could it be a bear?

I scanned the brush to either side – no bears. I studied the wide dirt trail in front of me. No bear sign there, either. But that nervous clutch in my stomach continued to twist – I knew I was being watched. Finally, I found it – motionless in the alders, watching me intently – a baby porcupine.

Bears may be what come to mind first when you think of Alaska, and it’s true that they are a nearly constant presence – but there’s a lot more to Alaska than bears.

That baby porcupine was waiting for me in a quiet, forested nook less than twenty minutes outside of Anchorage. The trail here, leading into what is known as Ptarmigan Valley, is a direct corridor into Alaska’s wilderness through Chugach State Park – all 495,000 acres of it.

The trail itself is maintained for winter snow machine access. This means that the bulk of it is cut wide and clear of brush, making it into a veritable roadway into the wilderness. You’ll have plenty of opportunity for more primitive trail conditions once you’re a few miles in, so enjoy the wide road while you can.

Go there in early spring and you get lost in a rolling sphere of sound, created by twittering songbirds and silent trees with moss on their feet. If you close your eyes and listen to the birds it sure sounds like summer – and if you happen to pick the right patch of forest to peek into, it looks like summer, too. Even though the greenery is only just starting to take off, several varieties of moss resemble the lush green carpet of long summer days, well before summer has shown its face. All that remains is for the forest to catch up. Before long it’ll be like Jurassic Park – giant devil’s club, over s The Alaskan landscape varies widely. In less than four miles, this lush greenery will turn to scattered spruce and finally open tundra. ix feet high, spreading huge leaves amongst the tall trees and lush moss.

The trail wanders up and down through a series of dips – they make up the majority of the landscape here. Birdsong is concentrated in the hollows, thick with birch trees and devil’s club; when you come up for air over the higher places, the birdsong fades away into the sky.

This is an interesting place because it moves quickly from woodland hollows to relatively flat land, populated by small spruces that grow in clumps, leaving the trail to wind its way between them. It’s almost as if you’ve emerged on a totally different planet – even the air feels, and sounds, different. For some reason it always reminds me of walking in the desert – maybe it’s the flatness of it. Grades here are extremely gentle, so gentle that you don’t notice you’re inching uphill until you sight the other side of the valley through the alders. It’s amazing how trees hand off the baton to each other; each holding fast to their favored terrain, they nonetheless manage to fill the entire valley.

Now you’re in Ptarmigan Valley proper. There are peaks to either side of you that, depending on the vegetation, may be invisible until you emerge onto the tundra at valley’s end, with the exception of one prominent viewpoint where the alders peel back and, no matter how leafy they are, you can see the gray of rocky peaks facing you across the valley, bright tundra furring their flanks. A stream keeps you company, burbling along below the trail. This is where I met the porcupine. No people – just a little porcupine going about his business, whatever that business may have been.

Once you’ve put in about four miles of walking, you emerge into a shallow bowl that is cupped by a ridge of mountains including Roundtop, Baldy, Blacktail and Vista Peaks. In spring, the tundra is sopping wet and just emerging green. Come summer it is lush, thick with tiny flowers; and during the fall it pops with color – rich reds, yellows, and oranges that spill across the mountainsides – real 3-D art.

Interestingly enough, Baldy – part of this ridgeline – is one of the state’s most popular day hikes. It’s impossible to miss the broad – and to my eyes, inviting - rib of tundra that connects it to Blacktail Rocks, but it’s almost as if there is an invisible force field preventing picnicking families from venturing past the midway between the two mountains. It’s a pity – they’re missing a lot. The wind can whip fiercely here, a real spectacle when the ravens come out to play in it. They’re nature’s acrobats, jesters, and clowns rolled into one. I remember watching one of Climb to the top of Blacktail Rocks and you'll see nothing but endless rows of mountians fading into the distance. the enormous black birds hop off the tundra over and over again as if it were on a trampoline, spreading its wings to catch a gust of wind every time. I’ve also seen them skid effortlessly by in the air, borne by wind – forward, backward, sideways – even, once, for just a second or two, upside down.

Since most families stay back at the popular Mt. Baldy, you will have the entire mountain bowl – and the valleys beyond – to yourself, or nearly so. If you walk up one of the peaks here you’ll get a nice view of bare rocky rib after rib of mountain, rolling into the distance. You probably won’t be able to see the jeweled tundra hidden between those ribs, but it’s there. All you have to do is pick a goal and go.

This is a good time to mention that travel into the Alaskan backcountry must not be taken lightly. It’s best to assume that no help will be available and prepare accordingly. For many, that’s part of the beauty – but otherwise competent hikers have died through simple mistakes. Weather can change quickly to extremes, and it’s easy to get lost or disoriented. The sense of self-sufficiency you must take with you into the backcountry is part of the lure for some people… as for me, I’d say the biggest draw of all is the pull to come back home safely and have another adventure tomorrow.

Another great place to access Alaska’s wilderness – again, less than thirty minutes out of Anchorage – is the South Fork Eagle River trailhead. This is one of the most popular trailheads in Eagle River, a community of about 25,000. Here you find the dreaded conga-line – locals and tourists alike criss-crossing the boardwalk that leads over a small marsh and onto the mountainside. In the fall you can hardly take a step here without stepping on a berry picker. But in spite of all the traffic – in every season – you can still find an oasis of solitude and easy access into the backcountry. The key is knowing where to go.

The crowd gradually thins away as you follow the clear, narrow trail over a shelf on the west side of South Fork Eagle River valley. The far side of the valley is populated, so you’ll spend a little while looking at a string of houses, but before long you leave them behind. Then the scenery is nothing but open mountain valley with tundra creeping up its sides, islands of spruce trees on its wide floor, thickets of aspen, and a ribbon of river flowing through its center. Most of the people you meet here are headed to Eagle and Symphony lakes at the end of the main trail, six miles in. Not too many of them make it all the way, and the boulder-hopping necessary to get to and past both lakes weeds out still more. By the time you’re ready to explore the valleys beyond Eagle and Symphony lakes, you’re on your own. From conga line to solitude – this is your ticket to the backcountry.

Another option is to start on the same tra This hidden tarn can be found off the beaten path on the way to Hanging Valley. il but, before you get to the lakes, turn off toward what is simply marked on the map as “Hanging Valley”. You are carrying a map, right?

Another one of those force fields is in play here. Despite the hordes of hikers headed to Eagle or Symphony lakes, almost none of them head up to Hanging Valley – even though it’s actually the easier destination. No boulder hopping here. This means that even when the South Fork Valley is choked with berry pickers, you can still find bushes full of fat blueberries if you take the path less traveled. Even when the other lakes are crowded with hikers, you can still go to the Hanging Valley and have several small lakes entirely to yourself.

If you find the turnoff to the valley (you’ll need a map or guidebook to do this), you’ll cross roll after roll of glacier-carved tundra and crest a hill before reaching the valley floor. This is a wonderful place to pitch your tent and enjoy the quiet, or have a quick camp before scrambling up to a steep overlook and picking another peak or valley as your goal. In the meantime, you can enjoy several large reflecting pools beaded along a creek, and – if you catch site of a worn path in the tundra on your right that doesn’t quite meet the one you’re on, or if you make the very steep, slippery climb straight up the tundra along a small stream, you’ll find a beautiful hidden tarn.

Alaska’s mountains are full of surprises – porcupines, moose, eagles, ravens, and – yes – bears. South Fork Eagle River Valley, the conduit to both Eagle/Symphony Lakes and the Hanging Valley, is a nice microcosm of those surprises. You’re liable to see sign from moose and bears, or the animals themselves. You’ll find stands of tall, straight aspens quaking in the wind – in spring their leaves are green as fresh foam. Come fall they turn a stately, uniform yellow. The tundra itself glows with the fire of autumn colors and here, more than any other place I’ve seen, the clouds come down and fill up the valleys, leaving only the peaks and ridges of the mountains open to the sky.

Alaska’s mountains are full of stories, too – I carry mine around in a worn-out map and beat-up red backpack. Where will you find yours?

**All Photos by Lisa Maloney

If You Go

Ptarmigan Valley Access: From Anchorage, take the Glenn Highway (this is the only major highway to the north of town) to North Birchwood Exit – about 20 miles from Anchorage. From the exit turn right, then right again onto the Old Glenn Highway. State Park signs mark the trailhead on your left, and parking is free.

South Fork Eagle River Access: From Anchorage, take the Glenn Highway north to the Eagle River Loop/Hiland Road exit (about 11 miles). From the exit turn right, then right on Hiland road. Follow Hiland (it changes names several times) until it eventually crosses South Fork Eagle River. Turn right on South Creek, right on West River, then look for the trailhead on your left. Parking here costs $5 – be prepared with exact change or a personal check, and a pen or pencil to fill out the fee envelope. There is no attendant to collect money, but park rangers do enforce the parking fees.

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