August 2, 2023 

~10 miles hiked 

Since I put off going outside to pee last night for so long, I wake up pretty early and decide to just do that and get my bear bag at the same time. I have what feels like all the time in the world to have breakfast and wake up. Two fruity oatmeals, peanut butter, and a long, slow coffee. Ahh. I love this part of backpacking.

Time goes on, the others get up, and before long I’m behind on packing up. Shoot. And I have to dig another cathole. But after that I’m good to go, or as good as I’m going to get, and we head out across the bog.

The day is largely an experiment in trying to avoid bog and largely a failure, but for the morning at least we have moderate success. The ground is a little rocky but not too bad at first, but it does go through some annoying brush, which Carrot says is called dwarf birch. There’s also some willow, which is larger, beefier, and way harder to push through. By the end of the day Chelsea and I have our legs covered in scratches. Brooks Range in shorts! Not necessarily advisable. 

We’re walking along Chandler lake for a few miles. At one point we we see a mystery object down on the side of the lake and decide to go investigate. It’s just a boat. But it’s almost nice to see something from the outside human world. It’s labeled “Carolina Skiff.” Chelsea is tickled. She takes a photo to show her husband later—he’s originally from North Carolina.

More green; more rocks. We follow the line of the lake and then make a gentle left turn to enter another drainage. We manage to avoid bog for a bit but then it starts again. Springy basketball tussocks and squishy ground that requires so much effort to walk over. We’re all silent for a moment, and then Carrot says quietly, “SpongeBog.” Over the day it evolves into “SpongeBog BallPlants.” Who lives in Alaska way out in the bog? SpongeBog BallPlants! 

We start curving around the turn towards this new drainage and we have to go up a bit to get to better walking. There is some larger talus interspersed with squishy ground. I catch up after being behind for a minute and hear that Gahl and Chelsea have started a storytelling game where one person begins a story and then they hand it off to the next, and anyone can jump in and continue the tale. So far the premise is that there is a goat living in the Brooks Range who speaks in the ululating call we’ve created and that he is looking for another goat. I add that the goat’s name is Percy.

Here’s how the Percy saga goes:

Percy has been searching high and low for another goat. He thinks he sees one, but up close it’s just a clump of toilet paper. He eats the toilet paper and starts tripping, imagining that he’s seeing the little people that live in the mountains. Then, not sure if he’s hallucinating this or not, he comes upon a group of four hikers who are looking for better walking. Percy says “Come with me!” and he takes them to a magical cave. Inside the cave is a pile of whitefish from Chandler Lake and one of the little people who live in the mountains.

The hikers eat the fish and they and Percy are magically transported to Chandler Lake. The four of them start walking and hunting for a mate for Percy. Percy thinks he sees another goat, but they get up close and it’s just a glacier. An evil glacier! The glacier is surrounded by the small people who live in the mountains. The hikers and Percy are scared so they offer the glacier some whitefish and tell them their struggles. The glacier (who by now we’ve established as actually just being a cover for several of the leprechaun type people hiding behind it, Wizard of Oz style) feels bad for the goat and sends two of the small people to ride on Percy’s back. They part ways with the hikers. 

“Do we have two storylines now?” I ask, hoping for more.

Carrot replies, “Or an ending.”

“Alright. Maybe Percy realizes that he doesn’t need a mate to be happy and he just becomes friends with the leprechauns and that’s enough.”

“Or,” Carrot proposes, “later on, in the future, the hikers come back to Chandler Lake and overwinter there. They set up camp and hunt caribou. Percy comes back, all alone, and is so happy to see them. It turns out he’s trans! He’s AFAB. What is a female goat called?”

We all think for a moment. “An ewe?” Gahl suggests. “No, that’s a sheep.”

“A she-goat?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Carrot continues. “Percy is assigned she-goat at birth. So you can milk him! And he provides milk to the hikers all through the winter.”

“And you can make soap!” Chelsea chimes in excitedly. “Chandler Lake Soap Company.”

“Yes! And on the label there’s a short version of the story and a message of acceptance,” I say, then sigh. “Ah, what a wholesome story. It could be a children’s book.”

“Yeah, and it’ll get burned in Utah,” Gahl replies. 

We’re on another annoying climb to avoid bog now and I’m feeling that pre-lunch slump. I want to stooopppp. Waah. I am the sad baby of this hike. We get to the top, cross a stream, and then make our way through alternating talus and dwarf birch until we start to go downhill towards our lunch spot by the creek. 

I’m a little nervous about lunch right by the creek because I think it will be buggy, but it turns out to be the most beautiful place. It’s got a soft gravel bar for sitting and a little pool where the water gathers. 

“I’m going to do some bathing while I’m still warm!” Carrot declares excitedly, and Chelsea and Gahl follow suit, disrobing and full-on sitting in the frigid water. As I’ve said, I am a baby, which extends to being cold, wet, and/or naked, so I don’t go all the way in. But peer pressure induces me to splash around and cleanse the important bits at least, and I feel like a much more acceptable human afterwards. 

This lunch spot is so incredibly comfy. I settle in, eat my silly little wraps, and make a cup of tea. Carrot hasn’t done that thing of “we have been here for x minutes, let’s leave in x minutes” thing they’ve been doing every day yet, so I’m optimistic that we will actually get to enjoy some time here. 

I spoke too soon. 

“We’ve been here for 30 minutes. How much more time do you want?”

Gahl assesses her lunch. “I could be ready in 10 minutes.”

I make a face like I’ve just seen a dead animal. 

“Yeah, I could be ready pretty quick,” Chelsea adds. 

Carrot looks at me and laughs. 

“Why are we always in such a rush?” I ask, frustrated. “This is such a nice spot. I still have to drink my tea. Let me just burn my throat chugging it.”

“But we don’t know what’s ahead,” Carrot points out. 

“Yeah, but we know what’s here.”

“Yes, eventual death.”

“Eventual death is at camp too, Carrot!”

In the end we stay for twenty more minutes. With longing, I look back at the sweet sweet camp spot and wish for more time. But alas, I must continue with the group lest I meet my untimely end in the Alaskan wild. 

Right after lunch we try to walk along the creek, but the willow is too thick so we head back up the boggy slope to the talus. Dry talus, it turns out, is actually pretty fun if you’re fed and caffeinated. I feel pretty in the zone and focused until we hit another willow patch. Then it’s a bushwhack for a minute. 

“Just a whack! An afternoon hwhack!” Carrot pronounces this last word with an exaggerated posh “w” sound and it sends me into fits. 

“Don’t make me laugh when I’m crossing a creek!” I nearly trip over myself and all the willow.

It gets a little intense on the other side so we head down to the ATV track again with high hopes. But it’s bog. Such bog. It’s bog and squish for the rest of the day. I’m still riding my post-lunch high for the first bit, but it wears off soon and then every spongy step and tussock is so annoying and my hamstrings are getting so tired. I fall behind and decide to put on some music and dissociate to get me through it. It doesn’t help as much as the day with the climb, but it’s something. 

Bog bog bog! Uphill bog, sideways bog. Walk uphill to avoid the bog, hit more bog. Sometimes more energy, sometimes less. We take a few breaks, and then it’s downhill to a creek where Carrot stops and looks around and gives very This Is Camp vibes. 

“Is this camp?” I ask excitedly.

“I think so!”

We happily set our packs down and then, because the creek is so nice and we’re here pretty early, we do a little more washing and laundry. I wash out my disgusting socks and my skort, which later ends up being A Choice that I regret, but at least it’s less gross. 

We set up our tents and then gather to cook dinner. Carrot regales us with a rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” as sung in the voice of Kinnikinnik, one of her two chihuahuas. Then she does impressions of both Kinnikinnik and Quito. It’s hilarious and I almost spit out my chicken and stuffing. It starts to rain a few times as we sit there but never for very long, and we sit and chat amiably until bedtime. It’s pretty cold tonight. Regrets are happening re: that wet skort I’ll have to put on in the morning. But that’s not a right now problem. Time to bundle up.