the epic hike that spawned a man.

Mount Cecil Rhode. The epic backdrop of the Kenai Princess Lodge. Covered in snow in the winter, spotted with snow in the summer, and home to a resident population of horned sheep and grizzly bear. Two weeks ago two KPL employees went hiking there and ran upon a mother grizzly bear and her cub, undoubtedly the worst way you could possibly encounter a bear short of strapping bloody sockeye salmon to your back and trying to mount the animal’s behind. Luckily, the mother bear sniffed the air, decided the two young men weren’t worth the confrontation, and eventually went on her way. No lives were lost, and no trousers ruined.

We set out to climb Mount Cecil Rhode about a week later. We got lost finding the trailhead because we always get lost finding the trailhead. We walked all the way to Cooper Lake before we realized our error and then had to trek some four miles back before we could begin our ascent. I thought my achilles tendon might shatter into several small pieces, but it stayed strong. You gotta sidestep.

Getting lost in Alaska can suck, getting lost in Alaska can be awesome.

Snow cave.

Cooper Lake.

The trail up from the road to Cooper Lake is horribly marked and steep. About an eighth of a mile in we saw what we thought were bear droppings followed by a scarf ominously “abandoned” on a tree branch. We began to make large amounts of noise.

Matt: Possibly running from a bear, possibly running from the past.

An exercise in radness.

Rounding the first hump we were presented with staggering views. The clouds were just starting to roll in and reach down towards the hillside in wispy fingers. We could see KPL and the Kenai River below, and much more of Mt. Cecil Rhode above. We could also see snow.

Lichens and the Kenai Princess Lodge.

It was about at this point that Matt started to lag behind and Phil slipped into a groove ahead. It was also about this time that the footing turned to a loose shale, and a snow storm started. With moisture the shale became slippery, and I had to put my hands in the snow or on the often-times knife-sharp rock to keep myself from falling. Matt started to lag even further behind, while Phil charged on like a male ram in search of an in-heat female.

The trail gets steep…

And then it gets snowy.

I almost gave up. I was sliding nearly every step and it was getting dangerous. I was afraid that if I actually fell I might not be able to stop myself, and I was pretty sure that a bad fall was not far off. So I yelled to Phil, “I’m not going to be able to make it. I’m going to stay here,” and then I waited. After a few minutes Matt came plodding past and barely uttered a word but kept walking. At that point the decision had to be made: Bruised body parts, or bruised ego? Like the intrepid young explorer I am, I pressed on.

Things began to get awesome by the ridge. It stopped snowing and the summit was finally in sight. Phil was already up there. The views were amazing. Hiking is amazing. And a few short minutes later and I was there, slightly terrified that I was going to somehow get off balance and plunge several hundred feet to my death, but mostly happy that I hadn’t given up, despite the fact that the bottoms of my New Balances might as well have been coated in petroleum jelly and my hands looked like they were about to fall off from spending so much time in the snow. The views were epic. Cecil was epic. Everything was epic.

And then we went down.

Footprints.

The ridge.

Kenai Lake.

The summit.

Resting Phil.

Happy Matt and Mark.

The view from the top.

A young man making his way in the world.

i’ve washed my hair once since i’ve been in alaska.

and it’s getting awesome…

a day in the life.

Wake up, do calf raises, walk to work, eat breakfast, punch in, go the laundry room, do luggage, get room assignments, clean toilets, make beds, clean fireplaces, dust, vacuum, go on break, clean more toilets, eat lunch, suck a spider up in the vacuum, clean another fireplace, dust the deck, go on break, empty ash buckets, punch out, go to dinner, eat hickory-barbecue chicken thighs, eat salad, drink water, talk, laugh, get up, put plates in bussing trays, leave, walk to employee housing, do more calf raises, do pullups, talk, sit around, play pingpong, play horseshoes, slackline, hike, watch a movie, talk, sit around, drink beer, drink whiskey, talk, laugh, eat, snack, drink water, watch it get dark, swat away mosquitoes, talk, laugh, get up, go to bed.

a photo a day…

…keeps the doctor away. Climbing mountains also keeps the doctor away, unless you fall and break your ulna. Then the doctor will be beating your door down, begging to mend your broken bones.

Dr. Phil.

they say they want to save the earth…

My worst nightmare has come true. I have been accused of the one thing on Earth I never thought I would be accused of, the one thing I have I have fought with every ounce of my being to eradicate from my soul. I’ve worn deodorant every day for five years, never owned a Nalgene bottle, and crinkled my nose every time I’ve heard the word “tofu.” But none of it matters, because it’s happened: People think I’m a hippie.

It all started with Phil’s slackline. Before coming to Alaska, I had never slacklined and didn’t have much desire to try. I considered it something reserved for granola, hemp-loving assholes in the quad and people who consistently complained about the constraints of “society.” But as it turns out, slacklining is awesome. And not even that hard.

But people think I’m a hippie.

This might, of course, also have something to do with the fact that I don’t really drink up here, I always want to go on walks, and I’m often barefoot. I don’t want to have to explain myself but I want people to know: I abhor hippies! There’s no people Earth I despise more! I wear deodorant! But no one understands. People see you on a slackline, they see you barefoot, and they think you’re a hippie.

Which is why I’ve decided to take evasive action.

From now on, no more drinking out of water bottles. Instead, I’m going to buy styrofoam cups in bulk at Fred Meyer and throw them on the ground after each use. I’ll stop eating vegetable in favor of all meat affairs: Bacon and sausage for breakfast, chicken for lunch, and beef for dinner. I’ll make politically incorrect jokes and laugh at people with disabilities. I’ll do my best to try and forget that there’s things going on like genocide in Darfur and sweatshops in Bangladesh. If at all possible, I’ll go whaling.

And most importantly, I’ll stop slacklining. I love slacklining, it’s one of my favorite things to in the long Alaskan evenings — balancing between two birch trees in the warm crepuscule — but now I’ll have to quit. It doesn’t matter that it’s fun and it builds strength in your legs and it’s great for your balance and people think you’re badass when you can easily jump on and walk the whole thing when others can’t even take a step — I have to stop. Because what’s more important? A small physical diversion, or a set of ideals? And what if slacklining is just the tip of the iceberg? What if by the time I get back to Seattle I’m hanging out in parks playing kickball and listening to Rusted Root?

You can keep your slackline hippies. I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll take up moose hunting. This is Alaska, after all.

take me down to brown town.

The first way you’ll notice Trent’s drunk is that he staggers. It’s not a big stagger, but it’s definitely an, “I’ve been drinking whiskey — and lots of it” stagger. This happens at least every other night. The second way you’ll notice he’s drunk is that he becomes considerably more talkative. If the conversation turns towards the brewpub he wants to open one day where he brews his own beer and serves his own food, he’s probably drunk. The third way you’ll notice he’s drunk is if he passes out on a picnic table.

Someone passed out tonight, but that someone wasn’t Trent. That someone was a girl, and a small part of me seriously fears for her safety right now. This girl is not a light weight; she could go head-to-head in a drinking contest with a grizzly bear and hold her own. Especially if she and the grizzly bear were drinking whiskey. But tonight the whiskey got the better of her. She was bent over the dryer, and she was vomiting. It took a squadron of three ladies to wheel her up to her room, where she is now undoubtedly passed out, hopefully breathing, and most likely face down surrounded by a head of extremely disheveled hair.

And then there’s Tyler. Tyler was dancing up a storm. Tyler is always dancing up a storm. But today Michael Jackson died, so the storm was a category five tornado taking dead aim on a trailer park in the panhandle of Oklahoma. A week ago there was a dance party and Tyler danced for what must have been four straight hours. Shortly afterward he was seen sitting down abruptly into a plastic chair, which then broke under his weight and sent him tumbling down a hill. He did not remember the incident.

So this is a night in Brown Town. It’s not a typical night, but it’s not far off. In the lower rec people are playing ping pong and surfing Facebook. In the upper rec people are searching for movies on TV and slowly digging their ways through 18-packs of Natural Light. And down in downtown Brown Town…well, it’s always a party in Brown Town.