[BLOGNOTES: While citing four science articles in the Sunday Anchorage Daily News of July 26, 2009 (“Comments on Afghanistan…science-notes“) I didn’t mention Ned Rozell’s excellent science column because I didn’t get to read the entire paper until days later. Ned Rozell soldiers along with his regular science column to keep the masses informed.

Re previous blog: “Giant marmots…“ about Hatcher Pass and missing wildlife -

A Garfield cartoon in ADN reminded me that the State of Alaska actually has a “Hatcher Pass Management Plan.” I even took time to send in my comments.

However, as Garfield says: “I believe in planning ahead… Becaaauuuuuse… if you spend enough time planning you never actually have to do anything.”

The only constraints on the State of Alaska in “managing” this world-class mountain ecosystem/park are to have a “plan,” solicit “comments,” hold “public hearings” and “update” the plan.

In more enlightened places this area would be cherished and protected instead of allowed to deteriorate. This is no reflection on the dedicated but under-funded, understaffed park personnel---it’s a matter of public and political indifference.]

THE BLOG: [I had seen only one golden eagle this year. Until now.]

GOLDEN EAGLES -

A pair of golden eagles rode the winds above the Reed Lakes on the East side of Hatcher Pass on Sunday 8-9-2009.

The cries of these magnificent eagles is often used to evoke a “wild” feel in “outdoors” commercials, films, videos and for dramatic “scary” effects.

That brief, “canned” eagle cry doesn’t do justice to the actual, intricate voicings ringing from the high peaks---usually after the birds have hunted and made their kills. Or talking to each other when returning to their aeries.

PEOPLE AND DOGS -

I don’t go into wilderness to get away from people but I rarely meet humans on my climbs, treks and backpacking trips so it’s always fun to see other outdoors persons---motorized or muscle-powered (as on this trip). However, with people and their dogs there are always more security problems.

Reed Lakes is a fabulous place with lots of visitors. Many let their dogs run free. They invariably assure me, “Oh, he’s friendly.”

Well mine is not. I am on constant “wildlife alert” because Belinda loves to quickly “dominate” other dogs---except really big ones or large packs (she‘s crazy not stupid).

At a July 4 barbecue the “Imp of Satan” tore open my finger (through leather gloves) with the rope attached to her neck; jerked my entire body horizontal; and then slammed me to the ground---all to get at the poor female Rottweiler unwisely coming over to greet her.

A few weeks earlier, again with me trying to hold her back, she tore up some poor dog so fast I never saw how it happened or even what.

ROMA -

Two dogs popped out of a boulder field along Reed Creek and barreled toward me and my dog as I ate lunch on a green meadow by a translucent pool. I jumped up, yelled “Son-of-a b___! Get outta here!” Weighted down by her pack my dog charged at the intruders. But her rope was tied to my own loaded backpack.

The dog owners looked “Gypsy.” Small in stature, dark hair and eyes, the mother (I presume) wearing an almost conical hat. She stopped, looked at me, and spoke evenly in what I later realized was a foreign tongue.

Here’s what I subsequently figured out. They were Gypsies and I should have said the word. Actually I should have said “Roma,” the more politically correct term which didn‘t occur to me until even later. Instead, I just tried to understand what she was saying when she was obviously trying to find out if I had Gypsy blood. Which I do.

The daughter spoke a more universal language---smiles.

I regret being so slow on the uptake---they might have been distant relatives.

A PRE-TERMINATED MEETING -

Last year, along this same Reed Lakes trail, I had met a lovely woman the wrong way thanks to the “Imp of Satan.” For days I had kept Belinda away from other dogs until she finally snapped and dragged my loaded backpack, contents streaming, after some lady’s dog that was minding it’s own business while I was distracted taking pictures. The lady grabbed the rope and I ran over apologizing profusely.

“At least you tried to restrain her,” she said icily.

This year I kept “the evil one” under extra-tight security and managed to ward off the loose dogs of other climbers and hikers.

BEAR SPRAY AND PIT BULLS -

I carry bear spray to deal with loose dogs (and crazy people) as well as bears and moose but I’ve never had to use it.

I had seen the pit bull in the parking lot and warned the owner that my dog would fight if approached. He seemed sensible and even had one of those metal dog collars with prongs and appeared quite capable of controlling his animal. He kept her on a lead, strapped on her doggie pack and they were gone.

I wish I could have witnessed the event personally to get the sequence but must rely on what the owners of a Red Setter later told me. I had also warned those owners that my dog was “ornery” so they shouldn’t let their animal come close.

“That sucks,” the guy had said.

At first I thought the huge, faded “OBAMA POWER” sign on their vehicle said “BAMA” and referred to an Alabama football team. The two day-hikers were however, in the good sense, ageing hippies.

Anyway, according to their story when I met them coming back (contrite), somehow the pit bull had gotten a hold of their Red Setter by the neck and could not be persuaded to let go even after being blasted with bear spray. I presume, in such close quarters, the Setter got a good dose as well---one of the dangers of using bear spray. Why I also carry a big pistol.

I was told that only the butt end of a trekking pole pounded on the pit bull’s snout finally caused her to let loose. And, fortunately, it turned out she had a grip on the Setter’s collar only---not the neck itself.

I would have liked to continue the conversation for more details (like which owner or owners had actually lost control of their animal and when) but I was heavily-loaded with a climb to finish and camp to set up that evening for a five-day photo shoot.

FLIP FLOPS -

A few days later I was taking pictures at the waterfalls between the Reed Lakes. The waterfalls drowned out all other sounds (I could sneak right up on my dog). The “evil one“ alerted me, with movements of her snout, that a group of hikers was approaching from a mile away though they would be hidden from sight for ten more minutes.

When the four hikers reached the waterfalls I was surprised to see a young guy wearing flip flop sandals. Also---and I have no idea if this was of any cultural significance---in his party was a young woman wearing a long skirt almost to the ankles.

Now this ain’t exactly technical climbing but the Reed Lakes Trail has lots of steep, rough ground---especially boulder fields that could be leg-breakers. I would have liked to inquire further about the flip-flops but the man was here and then gone. He seemed to get around okay but I noticed he did get going kind of fast downhill. I’m guessing those single thongs between his toes were beginning to chafe.

My Tai Chi instructor had recommended water buffalo hide sandals for my mountaineering---like the ones he always wore. His sandals, however, were more substantial than the shower clogs worn by our hiker.

I do love to go barefoot outdoors but only on chosen ground. And since I was not raised in Nepal or Tibet I go with Lowa Mountain Professionals. Which I highly recommend as the best, most lightweight, most comfortable (for a climbing boot) and sufficiently rigid boot to traverse the steep, glacier-carved Talkeetna mountain slopes. These boots have revolutionized my summer mountaineering activities.

Flip-flop guy’s party of four provided a great laugh later when they passed by on their way back to the parking lot. I already knew they had one regular-sized dog (Imp of Satan is particularly attentive to humans with dogs) but I hadn’t noticed the little poodle until my evil female became agitated beyond belief though we were still on the other side of the waterfalls.

After all the bigger dogs we had encountered I began to laugh at the sight of a miniature poodle. Imp of Satan became increasingly agitated.

“No, you can’t attack them,” I cajoled as she literally shivered and strained against her rope. But the sight of that little poodle and Belinda’s consternation made me laugh even harder until my dog began to howl in protest which of course caused me to raise my mirth level to a howling good roar. I think the people actually heard us over the noise of the waterfalls.

Then they were gone. That‘s the story of these glancing social blows along the trail. Soon me and the dog were alone in our camp, far off the trail. She couldn’t take her eyes off the ground squirrels but the threat of dog fights was now diminished.

ADDITIONAL WILDLIFE SIGHTINGS -

I picked up a few more no-see-um bites but don’t know where. Why they’re called no-see-ums.

I can recall individual mosquitoes on this 5-day mountain trip---that’s how rare they were.

Plenty of shit-flies in the parking lot, however, with no human toilet facilities except the bushes.

A gregarious gang of mountain magpies hovered around the parking lot as well, raising a constant ruckus. I love these short-tailed highland birds.

The few ground squirrels and marmots were invariably sleek. None were overweight in this rugged country where it is tough to make a living.

I saw one of my favorites---little, squeaky-toy pikas. These grey little guys manage to evade most hawks because they live in dens so rocky even the bears can’t get at them. I’ve seen areas where pikas were the only surviving ground dwellers after bears had cleaned out the squirrels and marmots. They are so cocky in their rocky lairs.

Plus a few small birds.

MORE ON GLANCING SOCIAL BLOWS -

I get all the natural solitude I can handle so I enjoy the glancing blows of social contact along these popular trails. Everyone is almost invariably friendly and smiling (except some overly-serious young men). For one thing, we hikers all know what it took to get here and we can see the size of each others’ packs (or none) and check out the boots, clothing and other gear. For another thing, contacts don’t last very long. They are real but fleeting. Short enough so we don’t get on each others' nerves.

Lots of women of various ages, girls, boys and kids as well. All well-behaved except for the dog owners letting their animals run loose.

There are always the over-prepared---guys carrying assault rifles.

There are always the unprepared. I was at the upper lake when a young man with four young women in tow asked me about getting to “the bomber” (a B-29) on Bomber Glacier. “Where is the trail?” he wanted to know.

I pointed to scree slopes above the lake. I noticed that the party of five wore shorts, running shoes and had tiny waist packs incapable of carrying what I would consider sufficient protective clothing. It was also late in the day.

They went to look for the “trail” and came back.

“A friend of mine said it was an easy hike,” said the fellow.

“You should get your friend to lead you on the hike,” I said.

“Yeah,” said one of the ladies. She wanted to verify once more where the “trail” was. When the man pointed to the rocky slope she wisely said, “No way.”

REFUGEE STATUS -

During 472 overnights backpacking in the Talkeetna Mountains (mostly off-trail plus uncounted day climbs and hikes) I invariably have thoughts about refugees from political and natural disasters. As if I were sharing some sort of mutual bond.

Now I realize what a conceit that is.

I’m no starving refugee. There are no incoming mortar rounds, no attack helicopters, no jet planes dropping bombs, no armed checkpoints. “Refugee” indeed!

HOMELESS -

When outdoors I also think about homeless people but that’s a conceit as well. I have a Kevlar shelter tarp (supported by trekking poles). I carry a wad of food. There are no police trying to evict me from my humble shelter on behalf of smug but fearful citizens. No cowardly punks looking for thrills. My only worries are injuring myself and if my old truck will start and get me back over the pass to my cabin home. It’s a rough life.

ATHABASKAN -

When Athabaskans lived off this land they had to stay on the move. Though now thoroughly depleted, these mountains were never rich in food and game like the lowlands, rivers and shorelines.

I used to see a moose track or two in this area. A caribou track. Infrequently, Dall Sheep droppings. And always places where a bear or wolf had excavated ground dwellers’ dens for a rich snack. Bears make coffin-sized digs, moving lots of earth and rocks to get a squirrel or marmot. But on this trip not a single track or sign of any wild creature larger than a marmot.

NATURE AND THE WEATHER -

There is one constant---clouds and weather. The daily cycle of clouds bring rains that shape the land, break down the rocks and nourish the vegetation.

Rains come and go. Mostly gently but sometimes in wild torrents. During one trip to Mint Glacier the entire Valley rumbled and vibrated as waterfalls sprouted from every mountainside and the trails became streams. The Little Susitna River squirmed and howled like a stuck siren and vibrated, humming like a turbine in a power station.

I was wet, cold and scared. Even my dogs were subdued. I could feel the ground shaking as I huddled in my sleeping bag. But it was spectacular and exciting. Wonderful!

Earlier this season I’ve been chased off a number of peaks by lightning storms presaged by warnings of distant thunder. I don’t dislike any of it. I exult in the extremes.

CONTEMPLATION -

Of course I am spiritual out there (minus the spirits. I am a quantum animist). I feel an at-one-ment kind of thing. A unity with everything. That everything is nature because everything comes from nature. It’s the truth of life my culture has thoroughly forgotten---that nature underlies and transcends everything.

PRIMITIVE RHYTHMS -

I contemplate the Big Bang rushing and expanding through the prehistory of matter and the formation of galaxies…ancestors…then recorded history and finally winding up where we are today. I contemplate the miracle of plastic (nearly all my gear is made of plastic) and the strangeness of my estranged, civilized society.

I do retain a very real connection to the primitive human lifestyles that constituted most of our past history---long periods of intense physical exertion followed by long periods of profound, relaxed recuperation.

But when I get home, instead of sitting around cave and campfire to relax like my ancestors, I now photo-edit 20 gigabytes of photographs collected on the trip and write this stuff on a computer.

Rudy Wittshirk