Outdoor Life

Back to My Roots

As we walked my eyes darted from the trees to the leaves, moss, and rocks. I wanted to take it all in, study every detail. My dad knew everything about these woods. He had an eye for detail and he hiked this trail for decades. There was once a time when I would be looking for the differences between the Pennsylvania oak forests of my childhood and the coniferous forests of the Pacific Northwest Cascades, my adult home. But on this short hike I was desperate to find similarities. The way the granite sparkled on the trail, how the green moss gathered in clumps that were irresistible to touch, how mushrooms and lichen cling to the bark of the trees.

It had been five days since my dad passed away. Five days since we left the hospital in the wee hours of the morning under an almost full moon and a layer of frost. Five days since he squeezed my hand and gave me his bright and comforting smile. Five days since my sisters and I sang to him the last words he would hear in this world. Five days since the air was turned off, the mask removed, and peace enveloped him.

We spent five days with him before that day. At first he seemed well and we talked late into the night. We combed his hair and rubbed his feet and made sure he was comfortable. We watched Jeopardy, something we did together daily when I was a kid, and golf and a Phillies game, his favorites. We snuck sweets in for him and made him tell us all of his favorite things. Evie sat on his bed and blew him kisses. His room filled up with family daily. He greeted them all with his bright smile and cracked jokes. At one point we had the whole waiting room filled with family, laughter, and kids running around. We all sat around him and told our favorite stories and laughed and cried. My sisters and I told him that he was an amazing dad and we were so lucky to have him raise us all on his own. I made him promise he would always be with me and I told him I would take him everywhere, on every adventure and every mountain top.

Back on the trail, my Uncle Jack led the way as Evie yelled, “follow Uncle Jack!” We stopped at a small clearing near a large pine tree and he pointed down into the woods. That’s where your dad’s tree stand was, he told us. Everyone continued on walking and I lingered for a little bit. I was secretly hoping for a sign that he was there, like a visit from an animal or a sudden breeze. But there was nothing, no sign, just a comforting silence.

My dad often wrote poems for us and about spending time in the woods. As the family gathered in a circle to spread his ashes on his favorite mountain, my sisters and I read some of his poems aloud. We all held hands and my uncles and cousins shared their hunting stories and we prayed together. We brought some of the flowers from his memorial service and the kids took some of them and stuck them in the remaining patches of snow.

A month later, on another night with an almost full moon, I sat by the window and read my dad’s hunting journal. I didn’t know about the journal and I especially didn’t know he was such a great writer. My heart swelled as I read the entire thing in one sitting that night. He started it when I was 3 years old and kept it going for thirty years through the 80’s, 90’s and early 2000’s. Every winter he and his five brothers along with his nephews would go up to the hunting cabin on his favorite mountain. He enjoyed the hunting part and spending time in the woods, but mostly he loved getting the family all together.

There is a passage that he wrote that I think captures him perfectly.

“I spent several hours in my stand without seeing anything and decided to go back to the cabin to see if the others had any luck. On my way back along the trail several chickadees were in the laurel just a few feet away from me. I stopped to watch them move about from branch to branch. My rifle was tucked in under my right arm with the barrel pointed down toward the ground. I stretched my left hand out to see if I could coax the closest one to bite on my glove. He looked closely at it and flew instead onto my rifle barrel. He sat on the end for a half minute cocking his head back and forth looking at me as if to say Hello, what are you doing here? They are one of my favorite birds.”

I miss my dad terribly, but I feel fortunate that I got to spend time with him before he passed. It gives me great comfort that he was surrounded by family and treated with dignity and respect in his last days. I am forever grateful for my amazing family who helped us during this difficult time. No matter how far away I am I will always feel that pull back home. And until I return I’ll be seeking out the glittering granite, the pillows of moss, and acorns that bring me back to my roots.

“I can safely say that I never left after time in the woods without feeling all the better for being there.”

Outdoor Life

Return to Twin Falls

There was the time before my dad got sick and the time after he got sick. My dad was in the hospital two thousand miles away while I drove Evie and myself down I-5 through downtown Seattle. The sky was clear and blue, but something felt wrong. I panicked a little. I searched the skyline for something that was missing. Did the city always look so small and brown? It seemed that everything was dull and diminished, like someone turned the saturation down and zoomed out on my world.

A few days earlier I got word that my dad was in the ICU on a breathing machine. It wasn’t the first time. Three months earlier he had collapsed from a heart attack and lack of oxygen on Christmas Eve. He was sent home with a portable oxygen tank and some medications and seemed to be doing better in the new year. My sisters and I planned a big family trip to Cape May in March. Dad said it would be too cold to go to the beach, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to wait any longer to see him. I felt terribly guilty for not being there on Christmas and the miles between us were palpable. It felt like there was a rubber band between us, stretched as far as it could go.

So I drove on to an old favorite trail in the foothills outside of Seattle, the one I took Evie on for her first hike ever. With all that was going on with my dad, I needed to be on the trails. I was also hoping that maybe Evie could walk it herself this time. We started at the icy trailhead and Evie immediately wanted me to carry her. So much for my plans. With a two year old I am getting very accustomed to a change in plans. I shrugged it off and happily carried her up to the falls.

Once we were at the upper falls, she was ready to walk. She put on her backpack and marched right up the icy stairs. Brave girl. When I managed to get her to stop and turn around, she hesitated, perhaps realizing just how far up she was on the slick ice. I recognized this reaction. The ‘oh crap’ feeling when you realize how steep the terrain is after turning around and looking down. I scooped her up and brought her back down, steady on the ice with my yaktrax.

After that taste of danger, she wanted more. She insisted on walking down the trail, forcing me to do a half hunch while holding both of her hands as she walked, and slid, down the trail. My back wouldn’t be the same for a week. We detoured down to the lower falls viewpoint and she got down all the stairs on her own while holding onto the lower wooden railing proclaiming, “it’s my size!” As she climbed back up we counted the stairs – 104! I was a proud mama.

On the way back down the trail we stopped for a closer look at the South Fork Snoqualmie. We played Evie’s favorite game of picking up rocks and throwing them into the water. I picked up the biggest rock I could handle and underhanded it with two hands between my legs as high as I could. We giggled and I taught her the word “kerplunk!”

On the drive home I called my dad and reported the impressive number of stairs that Evie climbed on her own. I called him everyday while he was in the hospital, usually during my commute home from work. He was always upbeat while we talked and after a few days he sounded much improved. But then suddenly he started getting worse. It was beginning to look like I would have another change in plans. Instead of a family vacation at the beach, we would all be heading back home to the hospital.

Book Club

Shell Games

It was hard not to wonder what was out there, or even who was out there. The book club met on a cool February morning at Bowman Bay, a wide, protected and inviting bay, a place that seemed to beg for underwater exploration. We watched some folks out in a boat and couldn’t help but be a little suspicious. What exactly were they up to?

Our sudden skepticism stemmed from reading our February book club pick, Shell Games. The author, Craig Welch, is a journalist who took a deep dive into the underworld of the seafood industry of the Puget Sound. For two years, he followed the local wildlife police as they pursued poachers of a funny little (or maybe I should say not so little) mollusk, the geoduck.

When I announced Shell Games as our February pick, I asked in our Facebook group if anyone had ever eaten geoduck. I learned that most of the locals in the group never had it. Some said they never would, most said they would try it if they had the chance. I also learned that Speedy the geoduck is the Evergreen State College mascot which has got to be up there with the strangest school mascots.

The sheltered marine waters of the Pacific Northwest are the only place on earth where wild geoducks grow in great size and quantity. And the mollusk was riding a tidal wave of globalization. The geoduck’s escalating popularity abroad tracked the rise of a new wildlife underground- and an evolution in mankind’s ability to exploit nature. In the booming international market for fresh seafood the geoduck had become a path to quick profits. And smart smugglers always followed the money.

Craig Welch, Shell Games

The group skirted the bay on the way to Rosario Head. The trail was lined in mossy green and madrona trees until we reached the headlands. There, the way opened up with views of the Puget Sound all around. We paused at the gorgeous wooden carving of “The Maiden of Deception Pass” and read her story.

The Samish people once lived where we stood. They gathered shellfish on the water’s edge, fished from their wooden boats, and pulled camas bulbs for eating. One day, the maiden and her sister were gathering chitons. She was startled and dropped a chiton in the water. When she went to reach for it, a hand grabbed her and she heard a man’s voice telling her about his house in the water filled with food and about life with the sea people.

This happened again and again until the maiden pulled her hand away and asked to see the man. He emerged from the water and joined her for dinner with her father (like ya do). He told her father that his daughter was beautiful and he wanted to take her back to live with him. He was hesitant about the stranger and was sure the maiden would not survive in the sea. He challenged the sea man and refused to let his daughter go.

The sea man finally relented, but not without warning. He said his people have always been kind to them, but if he went home alone, the tide would no longer go out, they will find nothing on the beach, and the springs will run dry. Eventually, after a long, hard, and fruitless time, she goes to him. Once the sacrifice is made, the sea people continue to provide for the Samish people. The maiden returns bearing gifts of shellfish of all kinds. Each time her hair gets a little longer and resembles seaweed.

This story of mutual respect between the Samish and the sea reflects how we should be living: not taking more than we need, always giving back and taking care of our home waters. The stories told in Shell Games reflect a different culture, one of cheating the land and taking as much as possible. Reading this book was a great reminder that we should be more like the Samish.

We ate our lunch and then wandered the shoreline investigating the life on the rocks. We even found a chiton thanks to Jamie, our very own marine biologist. They completely blended into the surroundings. I wondered how they tasted…

Photo courtesy of Mala Giri

Shell Games by Craig Welch

Book Ends

Book Club Archive

Book Club

A Winter Russian Fairy Tale

It’s become a favorite tradition to start off the new year with an Alpine Trails Book Club snowshoe to Laura’s cabin. My husband and I packed up Evie and doggie Nali for a cozy weekend. You have to snowshoe to the cabin in the winter, so our things were packed up in a sled with Evie, including a ten-layered cake topped with a large soup pot for protection (more about that later). Evie was skeptical about the snow but we showed her how to build a snowman and she was content enough to allow us to pull her to the cabin in the sled like a princess.

Our January book club selection was The Bear and the Nightingale, a retelling of an old fairytale set in the medieval Russian wilderness. The book revolves around a young girl named Vasya and starts off with her family telling ancient stories of the evil Frost King while safely cozied up around the fire and eating honey cakes. Soon you find out that there is more to these stories as it is revealed that Vasya can see fairies and demons. and the lines between good and evil quickly become blurred. Vasya gives offerings to the docile demons who protect her home and bring warmth, a tradition that was passed down from her mother.

The winter half of the house boasted huge ovens and small, high windows. A perpetual smoke trickled from its chimneys, and at the first hard freeze, [Vasya’s father] fitted its window-frames with slabs of ice, to block the cold but let in the light. Now firelight from his wife’s room threw a flickering bar of gold on the snow.

– The Bear and the Nightingale

The warmth of the cabin and the wood-burning stove greeted us as though Laura and her family have been giving offerings to the cheryti, or house demons, all winter. We got settled in and drank warm beverages and caught up before heading out again for some snowshoeing and exploring. A few other members came up early to spend the night with us and we filled the cabin with delicious food, games, and laughter.

The next morning we bundled up and headed to the trailhead to meet the rest of the book club. We had our largest group yet and many were eager to snowshoe for the first time. Unfortunately, there was not much fresh snow on the trail and you could easily go without snowshoes, but a few tried it out anyway. We hiked the short trail to Gold Creek Pond and took a loop trail around to get a better vantage of the reflections of the mountains in the calm water. A low wintry fog clung to the mountains and just a frosting of snow outlined the trees.

From the pond we took the trail to Laura’s cabin where we warmed up on coffee, tea, and lots and lots of food. Rebecca brought some lovely Russian tea cakes, white as snowballs, and Kirstin brought some delicious hearty scones. Laura made her usual Finnish Pulla bread (a book club favorite) and I made some mushroom soup, meatballs, and my favorite golden chai lattes. We feasted for a while, discussed the book, and Amelia even made a sweet little painting of the cabin while we chatted. Cindy graciously gifted some snowdrop bulbs to me. These flowers play an important role in the book and I will cherish them as a harbinger of spring.

In the forest. Snowdrops. The old oak before dawn.

– The Bear and the Nightingale

One of my favorite parts of the book is that the author came up with her own interpretation of Russian words and names to include in the book. In the back of the book is a glossary with the names and words and where they come from. We played a game where I wrote down the words and held them up to hear how the group pronounced them. We tried out batyushka (priest), dvorovoi (yard demon or protector), Lesnaya Zemlya (Vasya’s hometown), and podsnezhnik (snowdrop), just to name a few.

Before leaving the cabin we had one last thing to do. It was Lainey’s birthday and we celebrated with a massive Russian Honey Cake. After reading about the honey cakes in the beginning of the book, I thought it would be fun to make them. I imagined a simple recipe of flour and honey shaped into rounds. However, when I started doing some research, I found that the Russian Honey Cake is actually a more modern cake that is popular in Russia and eastern Europe. It is also quite the opposite of simple. It is a delectable ten layer cake with a dulce de leche based cream between each layer. And while this complicated cake was certainly not made by people in Vasya’s time, it seemed like a cake worthy of celebrating the book club and most importantly, our good friend Lainey. I challenged my husband to make it for us (he’s never one to refuse a baking challenge) and after a week of prepping and baking each layer and burning honey to perfection, we had a Russian Honey Cake! The hard work paid off and it was quite delicious.

The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden

Book Ends

Book Club

Hygge Snowshoe

We kicked off the Alpine Trails Book Club 2018 season with the coziest of all book club meetups. The day started with a snowshoe to Gold Creek Pond where we encountered a nice little blizzard. Big, heavy flakes covered our hoods and packs and blew sideways across the lake, obscuring the mountain views. Tree limbs glowed white against the dark of dense forest and the blue depths of the pond provided the only color besides our rainbow of puffy jackets and packs. We all smiled with glee, snowflakes on our noses and lashes as we kept moving to stay warm.

Our co-leader Laura was gracious enough to invite us to her family’s adorable A-frame cabin for lunch. We ended up arriving early so we munched on Scandinavian inspired snacks like cheese and smoked salmon, Pulla (a braided cardamom bread) and sipped hot tea. We made ourselves comfy and sat in front of the wood stove to discuss the book and hygge.

The best way I can think of to describe hygge is to tell you about one of my favorite memories growing up in Pennsylvania. I loved when it snowed and my sisters and I would sled all day and then make hot chocolate (the Swiss Miss kind that comes in a packet with the little itty bitty marshmallows) and buttered toast (with good old-fashioned white bread). We would turn the light on outside the sliding glass door, dip our toast in the cocoa, and watch the snow fall. I still crave hot chocolate and toast when it snows. That feeling of warmth, love, and safety is the essence of hygge.

Meik Wiking lays out his Hygge Manifesto in our January book selection, The Little Book of Hygge. These 10 pillars just so happen to align perfectly with the goals of our book club. Here they are, slightly altered into the Alpine Trails Book Club Manifesto:

Atmosphere: Surround yourself with beauty
Presence: Be here now
Pleasure: Enjoy a treat without guilt
Equality: Everyone has a voice
Gratitude: Take it all in
Harmony: It’s not a competition, we already like you
Comfort: Take a break to relax
Truce: No drama, no politics
Togetherness: Build relationships
Shelter: This is your place of security

We spent hours sitting in the warmth of the cabin chatting and getting to know each other. We ate some more; pumpkin soup, spicy cranberry meatballs, and chocolate cake before heading back out into the snow. It was a lovely day that encompassed all aspects of hygge, and the intentions of our book club. We started the day as mostly strangers and ended as friends.

The Little Book of Hygge by Meik Wiking

 

Book Ends

Reading List

Reading List: Hygge Vibes

For me, winter is all about hygge. I love curling up with a good book, a blanket, and a mug of hot chai tea. As I thought about which books to include in this list, I realized that they don’t all fit into one category. For some people, hygge is all about peace and comfort. For others, it is the feeling you get while reading a scary book while it rains outside and you are safe and dry. And yet for others, it’s all about nostalgia. I think everyone would agree, though, that it’s all about getting a warm and fuzzy feeling inside.

So here are my picks for all of your hygge vibes, whatever they may be.

Become a Hygge (and Fika) expert:

 

Enjoy a dark, cozy novel:

    

 

Revisit a classic:

  

 

Be inspired:

  

 

Find peace:

   

 

Lose yourself in another world:

   

 

Devour a sprawling novel:

   

What are your favorite books to get cozy with?

 

Outdoor Life

Iditarod: The Last Great Race

The relationship between dogs and people in the Arctic spans thousands of years. In winter, the harsh Arctic landscape is covered in snow and ice and a sled was the most practical way to travel for the indigenous people. Dogs have incredible endurance and strength, and their thick coats keep them warm in cold weather. This makes them perfect for pulling sleds and large loads throughout the north.

In the late 1800’s and early 1900’s during the Klondike Gold Rush, people flocked to the Yukon and Alaska. In Alaska, fortune-seekers sailed to Seward and then made their way north overland through the heart of the territory to Nome. They established a route that connected trails originally established by the native people. Dogs were indispensable at this time. They hauled people, cargo, and mail to these places unsuitable for horses and roads. The route became known as the Seward-to-Nome Mail Trail, and later the Iditarod Trail.

In 1925, during an outbreak of diptheria, 20 mushers and 150 sled dogs relayed life-saving serum from Nenana, near Fairbanks, to Nome. The run was completed in five and a half days and saved the town from an epidemic. The race became known as the Great Serum Run and the lead dog on the last leg to Nome was famous thereafter. You can still see the statue of Balto in New York City’s Central Park.

But not long after the Serum Run, the airplane began to take over the duties of the sled dog and the sport soon fell out of favor. Native Alaskans continued to use the dogs as a means of transportation and for hunting until the snowmobile, or “iron dog”, made it’s way to the north in the 1960’s. At the end of the decade, there was an effort to restore and preserve the historic Iditarod trail and to commemorate the trail with a sled dog race.

The first official Iditarod race took place in 1973 with twenty-two finishers. It took twenty days to complete, about twice as long as it takes these days. The race started a resurgence in dog sledding that continues to this day. About 50 or more mushers enter the race every year and many of the mushers and their dogs are local celebrities. The Iditarod starts on the first Monday of March with a ceremonial start in Anchorage. The race’s official start is the following day in the smaller town of Willow.

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When our friends asked my husband and I to join them in Anchorage for the Iditarod start, we jumped at the chance. People from all over the world travel to Anchorage for the event and the town is full of energy and excitement. Early on Saturday morning we made our way downtown to check out the dogs. The main street was closed off and they hauled in snow to cover the road. It snowed a few inches the day before, but it was the first snow in a while and certainly not enough to cover the route.

The main street was lined with trucks with dogs chained up around them. Most of them were snoozing away in the snow or in their quarters and others expressed their joy with excited yips. Surely they were aware that their journey would start soon. We read off all the dog names and chatted with some of the mushers, wishing them luck. We even got a special souvenir, a real homemade stinky used dog booty! Honestly, we were totally thrilled.

Finally we heard the announcement for the first musher and caught a glimpse of them through the crowds. We walked further down the street to find a less crowded spot and get a better view of the dogs as they charged by us. We felt the excitement of each team as they sped by and we gave them a hardy cheer and wished them godspeed.

Later, after all the mushers had completed their ceremonial run, we lined ourselves up on the snowy street to run with the reindeer. Yep, reindeer. Male ones with huge antlers. We weren’t alone, though. Thousands of people flee from the reindeer down a few blocks of the main street. A thrilling end to a exciting day in Alaska.

 

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Fast into the Night by Debbie Clarke Moderow

Debbie fell in love with mushing after a friend gave her an old sled dog, Salt, for a pet during a hard time in her life. She was in her forties and a mother of two when she finally decided to run the Iditarod. She had experience running other races and had the full support of her family, all mushers in their own right, but unfortunately had to scratch on her first try. Two years later, Debbie was back on the trail with her memorable dogs Kanga, Juliet, Lil’ Su, Piney, Creek, Zeppy, Nacho and Taiga. This time, her tenacity and resilience got her to the finish line on Nome. This is a beautiful story of love and dedication between a family and their dogs.

Reading List

Reading List: Antarctica

51hws5NC01L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_Antarctica: An Intimate Portrait by Gabrielle Walker
This book is a great place to start for all things Antarctica. Walker spent a year on the white continent visiting several bases to see what it’s really like to live and work there. She follows scientists searching the Dry Valleys for tiny bacterial life that may give clues to what life might be like on Mars. She scanned the snow in harsh conditions searching for meteorites and visited the Dark Sector where the telescopes live. Walker gives the best descriptions that I’ve read of what it really feels like to be there over the winter with the isolation and feelings of madness and cabin fever. The history of Antarctic exploration woven throughout completes the book and gives the reader a thorough overview of the continent. If you only read one book on the list- make it this one.

 

 

 

 

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Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage by Alfred Lansing
Shackleton’s unintended voyage across the south Atlantic was incredible indeed. He and his crew set sail in 1914 to Antarctica with the intention of crossing the entire continent by foot. Only a day before they were scheduled to arrive, they found themselves locked in pack ice. After ten months, the ship was finally crushed and the crew were forced to make a decision. They decided to brave the frigid ocean in a small lifeboat to find the tiny island of South Georgia, 850 miles away, a seemingly impossible endeavor. What followed is a survival story for the history books, retold in this classic.

 

 

 

 

 

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Empire Antarctica by Gavin Francis
This is a thoughtful meditation on Francis’ year in Antarctica working as a basecamp doctor. He lived at Halley Research Station, nicknamed “Starbase Halley” where “it is said to be easier to evacuate a medical casualty from the International Space Station than it is to bring someone out of Halley in the winter.” He speaks to life without the distractions of everyday life during the long Antarctic winter. He also fulfills his lifelong dream of spending time with Empire penguins as they overwinter while protecting their precious eggs huddled in a pack. This is a lovely meditation of life in Antarctica and quietly delightful.

 

 

 

 

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Alone on the Ice by David Roberts
This is the little known and amazing story of Douglas Mawson, a geologist who led the Australasian Antarctic Expedition (AAE) to an unexplored section of Antarctica from 1911 to 1914. The purpose of the expedition was to chart 2000 miles of the coastline to the south of Australia and to gather scientific data. Mawson’s journey was eclipsed by the race to the South Pole that was occurring at the same time, an endeavor that Mawson had no interest in. Mawson and two others formed a survey team and had a successful five weeks of exploring when suddenly one of the men, six dogs, the tent, food rations and other crucial gear fell into a crevasse. This epic story of exploration, survival and tenacity is a must read for any Antarctic adventure lovers.

 

 

 

 

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Where’d You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple
This is one of the funniest novels I’ve read in a long time. It’s about Bernadette, a woman in Seattle dealing with the chaos of motherhood, career, ambitions, a Microsoftie husband and passive aggressive private school moms. What does this have to Antarctica? Bernadette’s daughter, Bee, is promised a family trip to Antarctica if she aces her report card. And Bernadette, who is fraught with anxiety and agoraphobia, can’t think of anything worse than a trip to the end of the world.

 

 

 

 

 

Trailblazers

Felicity Aston

Felicity Aston did not start off her trip with a good feeling. She had just flown over the most worrying part of her planned route across the continent of Antarctica and got a good look at the deeply crevassed glaciers scarring the landscape that she planned to traverse over the next 50 days. As she watched the plane take off she had an overwhelming feeling of dread and the realities of her solo journey were beginning to set in.

Felicity Aston - First Woman To Ski Antarctic Solo Guinness World Records 2013 Photo Credit: Paul Michael Hughes/Guinness World Records
Photo Credit: Paul Michael Hughes/Guinness World Records

This was not her first cold weather expedition or her first trip to Antarctica. She first visited Antarctica when she was 23 and spent two and a half years at a British research station monitoring the climate and ozone. She’s led many expeditions in polar regions including a crossing of Greenland and an all-women’s ski to the south pole. But this was her first time alone in Antarctica. Rescue was all but impossible on the remote side on the continent. So she did what whatever she could to focus on the tasks at hand.

I came to view Antarctica as a testing ground that would allow me to understand my potential and my vulnerabilities, an understanding that might, over time, enable me to become a better version of myself.

Felicity endured katabatic winds, blizzards, whiteouts and hallucinations. But she found that the hardest part of the journey was just getting out of the tent in the morning. She knew that if she could do that then she could do anything. Instead of simply celebrating her accomplishment when she finally reached the end of her journey across Antarctica, she was already wondering is she was capable of more. She is motivated by her endless curiosity. I asked Felicity what she is working on now and if she has plans to return to the pole. She answered, “there is one more ski journey I would like to make in Antarctica and I very much hope that I haven’t made my last visit to that most wonderful of continents. However, at the moment I am working on a team of women from Arabia and Europe to ski together to the North Pole in 2017. It is part polar expedition, part cultural experiment.”

I also asked her what advice she would give to a woman who wants to go out solo but is fearful. She says, “I would say, start with a trip / journey / adventure that you feel comfortable with as a trial. Start small just to see how it goes – maybe an overnight by yourself somewhere close to home, or a short break somewhere that involves a bit of traveling around alone. If that goes well, push it a bit further – a week hiking a trail by yourself for example. You’ll soon know if it suits you or not.

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It was clear to me that the success of my expedition had not depended on physical strength or dramatic acts of bravery but on the fact that at least some progress – however small – had been made every single day. It had not been about glorious heroism but the humblest of qualities, a quality that perhaps we all too often fail to appreciate for its worth – that of perseverance.

 

More info about Felicity Aston:
Felicity Aston’s official website

 

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Alone in Antarctica by Felicity Aston

Aston’s memoir of her trip across the Antarctic is brutally honest and forthcoming about the hardships on an epic journey such as the one she accomplished. She does not shy away from the realities of being truly alone and shares the mental struggles she endured as well as the physical. I really felt like I was there with her on her journey with her vivid descriptions of the landscape and her experiences. This quickly became one of my favorite adventure memoirs and I can’t recommend it more.

 

Outdoor Life

Hiking History: Franklin Falls

Winter is a great time to visit this popular waterfall. The snow gives everything charm, especially the cabins along the creek topped with a thick layer of icing-like snow. The normally two mile hike is extended down the forest road about a mile making it more of a worthwhile destination for the day. It is, however, still as popular as ever in the winter so get there early to avoid the crowds.

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The trail climbs gently through old growth along Denny Creek. In the summertime, you can walk along the Wagon Road Trail adjacent to the falls trail and see the remnants of the original road that climbed over Snoqualmie Pass. The old wagon road was built in 1867 to promote trade between Seattle and Ellensburg. There were frequent cattle drives on the steep road over the pass and maintenance was understandably difficult. Hiking along here, imagine what it would  have been like traveling in a wagon…

The wagon road continued to be the main passage through the mountains for cattle and goods until the Northern Pacific Railroad was completed in 1887. The railroad provided a much easier way to transport freight and the road fell into disrepair. David Denny, brother of Arthur Denny who is one of the founders of Seattle, took it upon himself to save the road. He repaired the road, laid corduroy, and built bridges. In 1905 the first automobiles would cross over the pass on the road that Denny built.

Later, during the 1909 Alaska-Yukon-Pacific Expedition, an auto race over the pass popularized the route. The state planned to build an official highway called the Sunset Highway that would run from North Bend east to the Idaho border. At its opening in 1915, the highway was hailed as “the first passable route between east and west sides of the mountains.” The new highway replaced the steep wagon road grade with switchbacks and hairpin turns that are now part of the forest road 58. The forest road parallels the trail and crisscrosses the original wagon road trail.

The trail to Franklin Falls has much to offer. It’s got old forest, a babbling creek, history and of course, the beautiful 70-foot falls. My favorite part of our winter trek was the impressive icicles guarding the falls on both sides, hanging from the rock like stalagmites. We walked the forest road down to make it a loop and threw snowballs into the deep snow for Nali to chase. She slept the whole way home. It was a perfect winter day.

More info about the Wagon Road

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Franklin Falls

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