When hiking in Alaska, more is not better, it's just more

When hiking in Alaska, more is not better, it's just more
By Craig Medred
Outdoors

(Published in The Anchorage Daily News: April 27, 2003)
(Reprinted at TLB by permission)

Sometimes you have to wonder what will shake the image of Alaska as Seward's Icebox.
Take a look at the "Alaska Rules" from Backpacker magazine's May issue devoted to "Alaska Made Easy."
"This place will kick your (butt) if you don't pay attention," the magazine warns. "Here are nine ways to win."
First on the list? "Take more food, fuel and clothing than you think you'll need."
No doubt, Alaska can test even the toughest hiker.
Unfortunately, the people often struggling the most are tourists from Outside with humongous loads of food, fuel and clothing on their backs.
Nothing makes going cross-country in Alaska more difficult than packing a load. Consider the difference between walking up stairs or walking up stairs carrying your overweight neighbor.
But how much food, fuel and clothing do you really need for Alaska?
Competitors in the Alaska Mountain and Wilderness Classic races think they're grossly overloaded if their packs -- including three to five days of high energy food and an inflatable raft -- weigh more than 20 pounds.
These are, of course, the people at the exact opposite end of the scale from your overloaded backpacker. But it is worth noting they have gone the length of the Kenai Peninsula, crossed the Wrangell Mountains, skirted the south face of the Alaska Range and trekked through the Brooks Range.
A better comparison might be to racers in the Susitna 100. They are required by race rules to carry a sleeping bag good to 20 degrees below zero, a sleeping pad, some sort of shelter, a stove, a pot and fuel. Yet most manage to get their loads -- and this is for winter travel -- down to 25 pounds or less. Some have been so good at cutting weight that race officials had to add a requirement that everyone carry a "minimum'' of 15 pounds of mandatory gear.
Why do they travel light knowing that temperatures can go to 20 degrees below zero?
Because hauling a big load of equipment is a struggle even when you have the luxury of towing it on a sled. Sleds sliding on snow offer a mechanical advantage you won't get struggling across tussocks under an overstuffed pack because a national magazine advised you to take a:
"Bombproof tent with vestibule or tarp;
"Full rain gear: Jacket, pants, hat, gaiters, pack cover;
"Quick dry base layers (note the plural);
"GPS, spare batteries;
"Sandals and waterproof socks;
"Dry bags;
"Repair kit: duct tape, SeamGrip, stove repair, bailing wire;
"Expedition first-aid kit;
"Bear spray;
"Bear bag and/or bear-proof canister;
"Reliable fire starter'' (whatever that is).
Let's do some quick math:
• Bombproof tent, 8 pounds minimum;
• Rain-gear-plus outfit, 3 1/2 pounds;
• Quick-dry base layers, 2 pounds for the restrained;
• GPS and extra batteries, 1 pound;
• Sandals and socks, 1 1/2 pounds;
• Dry bags, 1 pound minimum;
• Repair kit, 1 pound;
• Expedition first-aid kit, 4 pounds;
• Bear spray, 1 pound; and bear-proof canister, 2 1/2 pounds.
That's 24 1/2 pounds right there, without an ounce of that most important item -- food. The packing list might help to explain why the magazine says you should "expect to cover no more than five miles per day'' in Alaska, or why it considers the 26 miles along the Iditarod Trail from Crow Pass above Girdwood to the Eagle River Visitor Center in Chugach State Park a three- to four-day hike.
Outdoor enthusiasts here are familiar with the annual Crow Pass Crossing footrace over the same route. It takes the winner less than four hours. Seventy-year-old Dick Griffith usually hikes the trail to the Eagle River ford on race day carrying a one-man raft, floats part way down Eagle River, hikes to the finish line to make sure everyone finishes the race, and then turns around and strolls the trail back to Girdwood.
Fit hikers consider these 26 miles a good day-hike. For anyone in decent condition, it makes for a nice weekend backpack trip if you want to camp out and catch some Alaska scenery.
And, of course, if you put on a 75-pound backpack with food and fuel for four days, plus a safety margin for a couple more days, and enough clothing for an Antarctic expedition, the trip could, indeed, be made into a four-day ordeal.
How does a good magazine like Backpacker -- its gear reviews are the best out there -- go over the top on gear recommendations for Alaska? Rocky Mountain editor Steve Howe said he was just trying to make sure people were adequately prepared for the 49th state.
Scared might be a better word, as if there is some Outsider who doesn't already think of Alaska as a godforsaken place where you can freeze to death, even in summer.
You can too, if you're foolish enough. But then you can also freeze to death atop California's Mount Whitney in most seasons.
The truth is that Alaska's summers simply aren't that bad. Backpacking here doesn't require arctic equipment.
The average temperatures for May in Anchorage range from 38.7 to 54.8 degrees Fahrenheit at night. In Fairbanks, the averages are 37.5 and 59.8 degrees. June, July and August -- the height of the tourist season -- are even warmer. The shoulder season of September posts mean lows of 35.5 for Fairbanks and 41 for Anchorage.
How many "quick-dry base layers'' do you need to carry to stay warm at these temperatures?
How about the layer you're wearing and a pile jacket to throw on at night if you want to sit around outside the tent and admire the views?
If you get cold lying on the tundra staring at the midnight sun, get in the sleeping bag. If it's raining and inhospitable, get in the tent and the sleeping bag.
If you are going to go to the trouble of carrying a tent and sleeping bag everywhere you go, doesn't it make sense to use them? If you don't plan to use them, why not leave them home?
Because here's the important thing to remember whenever you think about trekking the Alaska backcountry:
More is not better; more is just more.
The fun of hiking decreases in direct proportion to how much you carry. This is true everywhere, but especially here where poor trails -- or no trails -- add a multiplier.
Side-hilling across scree is OK with a 25-pound pack. It's hell with a 75-pound pack. As for alder bashing, well, you don't even want to think about going in those places with a big pack. A big pack, in truth, might be the greatest detriment to enjoying Alaska's wilderness.
The less you can pack and remain comfortable -- not only physically, but psychologically -- the better.
If people think of Alaska as cold and inhospitable, that is what it will be -- even in summer. If they think of the Alaska wilderness as scary, that is also what it will be.
Then again, maybe this is a good thing. Backpacker outlines some nice trips accessible from the state road system. Some of them, like Williwaw Lakes, are uncomfortably close to home. It wouldn't be a bad thing if some tourist with a 100-pound pack full of unnecessary necessities got only a mile from the Prospect Heights or Eagle River trail head before deciding to turn back, now would it?
As long as you're not one of them.

When hiking in Alaska, more is not better, it's just more By Craig Medred Outdoors (Published in The Anchorage Daily News: April 27, 2003) (Reprinted at TLB by permission) Sometimes you have to wonder what will shake the image of Alaska as Seward's Icebox. Take a look at the "Alaska Rules" from *Backpacker* magazine's May issue devoted to "Alaska Made Easy." "This place will kick your (butt) if you don't pay attention," the magazine warns. "Here are nine ways to win." First on the list? "Take more food, fuel and clothing than you think you'll need." No doubt, Alaska can test even the toughest hiker. Unfortunately, the people often struggling the most are tourists from Outside with humongous loads of food, fuel and clothing on their backs. Nothing makes going cross-country in Alaska more difficult than packing a load. Consider the difference between walking up stairs or walking up stairs carrying your overweight neighbor. But how much food, fuel and clothing do you really need for Alaska? Competitors in the Alaska Mountain and Wilderness Classic races think they're grossly overloaded if their packs -- including three to five days of high energy food and an inflatable raft -- weigh more than 20 pounds. These are, of course, the people at the exact opposite end of the scale from your overloaded backpacker. But it is worth noting they have gone the length of the Kenai Peninsula, crossed the Wrangell Mountains, skirted the south face of the Alaska Range and trekked through the Brooks Range. A better comparison might be to racers in the Susitna 100. They are required by race rules to carry a sleeping bag good to 20 degrees below zero, a sleeping pad, some sort of shelter, a stove, a pot and fuel. Yet most manage to get their loads -- and this is for winter travel -- down to 25 pounds or less. Some have been so good at cutting weight that race officials had to add a requirement that everyone carry a "minimum'' of 15 pounds of mandatory gear. Why do they travel light knowing that temperatures can go to 20 degrees below zero? Because hauling a big load of equipment is a struggle even when you have the luxury of towing it on a sled. Sleds sliding on snow offer a mechanical advantage you won't get struggling across tussocks under an overstuffed pack because a national magazine advised you to take a: "Bombproof tent with vestibule or tarp; "Full rain gear: Jacket, pants, hat, gaiters, pack cover; "Quick dry base layers (note the plural); "GPS, spare batteries; "Sandals and waterproof socks; "Dry bags; "Repair kit: duct tape, SeamGrip, stove repair, bailing wire; "Expedition first-aid kit; "Bear spray; "Bear bag and/or bear-proof canister; "Reliable fire starter'' (whatever that is). Let's do some quick math: • Bombproof tent, 8 pounds minimum; • Rain-gear-plus outfit, 3 1/2 pounds; • Quick-dry base layers, 2 pounds for the restrained; • GPS and extra batteries, 1 pound; • Sandals and socks, 1 1/2 pounds; • Dry bags, 1 pound minimum; • Repair kit, 1 pound; • Expedition first-aid kit, 4 pounds; • Bear spray, 1 pound; and bear-proof canister, 2 1/2 pounds. That's 24 1/2 pounds right there, without an ounce of that most important item -- food. The packing list might help to explain why the magazine says you should "expect to cover no more than five miles per day'' in Alaska, or why it considers the 26 miles along the Iditarod Trail from Crow Pass above Girdwood to the Eagle River Visitor Center in Chugach State Park a three- to four-day hike. Outdoor enthusiasts here are familiar with the annual Crow Pass Crossing footrace over the same route. It takes the winner less than four hours. Seventy-year-old Dick Griffith usually hikes the trail to the Eagle River ford on race day carrying a one-man raft, floats part way down Eagle River, hikes to the finish line to make sure everyone finishes the race, and then turns around and strolls the trail back to Girdwood. Fit hikers consider these 26 miles a good day-hike. For anyone in decent condition, it makes for a nice weekend backpack trip if you want to camp out and catch some Alaska scenery. And, of course, if you put on a 75-pound backpack with food and fuel for four days, plus a safety margin for a couple more days, and enough clothing for an Antarctic expedition, the trip could, indeed, be made into a four-day ordeal. How does a good magazine like *Backpacker* -- its gear reviews are the best out there -- go over the top on gear recommendations for Alaska? Rocky Mountain editor Steve Howe said he was just trying to make sure people were adequately prepared for the 49th state. Scared might be a better word, as if there is some Outsider who doesn't already think of Alaska as a godforsaken place where you can freeze to death, even in summer. You can too, if you're foolish enough. But then you can also freeze to death atop California's Mount Whitney in most seasons. The truth is that Alaska's summers simply aren't that bad. Backpacking here doesn't require arctic equipment. The average temperatures for May in Anchorage range from 38.7 to 54.8 degrees Fahrenheit at night. In Fairbanks, the averages are 37.5 and 59.8 degrees. June, July and August -- the height of the tourist season -- are even warmer. The shoulder season of September posts mean lows of 35.5 for Fairbanks and 41 for Anchorage. How many "quick-dry base layers'' do you need to carry to stay warm at these temperatures? How about the layer you're wearing and a pile jacket to throw on at night if you want to sit around outside the tent and admire the views? If you get cold lying on the tundra staring at the midnight sun, get in the sleeping bag. If it's raining and inhospitable, get in the tent and the sleeping bag. If you are going to go to the trouble of carrying a tent and sleeping bag everywhere you go, doesn't it make sense to use them? If you don't plan to use them, why not leave them home? Because here's the important thing to remember whenever you think about trekking the Alaska backcountry: More is not better; more is just more. The fun of hiking decreases in direct proportion to how much you carry. This is true everywhere, but especially here where poor trails -- or no trails -- add a multiplier. Side-hilling across scree is OK with a 25-pound pack. It's hell with a 75-pound pack. As for alder bashing, well, you don't even want to think about going in those places with a big pack. A big pack, in truth, might be the greatest detriment to enjoying Alaska's wilderness. The less you can pack and remain comfortable -- not only physically, but psychologically -- the better. If people think of Alaska as cold and inhospitable, that is what it will be -- even in summer. If they think of the Alaska wilderness as scary, that is also what it will be. Then again, maybe this is a good thing. Backpacker outlines some nice trips accessible from the state road system. Some of them, like Williwaw Lakes, are uncomfortably close to home. It wouldn't be a bad thing if some tourist with a 100-pound pack full of unnecessary necessities got only a mile from the Prospect Heights or Eagle River trail head before deciding to turn back, now would it? As long as you're not one of them.