White Mountains 100

An idea...that morphed into some scribblings on a sheet of paper...and is now suddenly becoming a reality. So simply named but packed with an uncountable amount of challenges to push the human body to the point of physical and mental exhaustion. The White Mountains 100 - a 100-mile human powered winter bike, ski and running race. Coming to interior Alaska in March 2010.

Silence in the Clearwater

Mark and Sky descend a mountain pass in the Clearwater Mountains

We finally settled down and started to cook dinner around 1 am under the dim twilight. It was noticeable that the nights were gradually getting darker as time slowly slid away from summer solstice. The two of us perched ourselves on a cushion of tundra overlooking a glassy alpine lake as we devoured our warm meals from the self contained aluminum bags.

Mark was the first one to notice it. I had sensed that something was different but no conscious thought had surfaced until he pointed out the obvious. It was completely silent...dead still. There were no birds, not a single movement of air to rustle the miniature leaves on the surrounding sedges -- but this place was void of something more prominent. Bugs! There was no incessant buzzing of mosquitoes. We had been so accustomed to a constant hum in the atmosphere this summer that the lack of sound felt strangely discomforting.

This was our last trip together before Mark heads back to his home high in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado and tends to more important things like high school and cross country running. Mark was eager to do a multi-sport trip which would combine hiking, boating, and cycling. We decided to explore the Clearwater Mountains: an accessible subrange in the greater Alaska Range along the Denali Highway. A very well maintained road and network of 4-wheeler trails lead to the tundra in the Valdez Creek mining area. We followed one of these paths until it spit us into the alpine. From there we hiked about 18 miles to Clearwater Creek, dropped our packrafts in the water and floated 15 miles to the Denali Highway, and then biked 35 miles back to the truck. A complete 70 mile loop which can easily be completed in a 3-day weekend.

We scrambled up a pass above Grogg Lake en route to our put-in on Clearwater Creek.

A dense population of caribou in this area have developed a well worn web of trails through the lower elevation brush. This made for easy walking as we dropped down into the Clearwater Creek drainage.

We put in on Clearwater Creek at the confluence with a tributary which contributed enough water sufficient for floating.

The creek was almost entirely Class I water with a short stretch of rocky...non butt dragging...Class II riffles with some boulders to dodge.

The take out at Milepost 55 Denali Highway. I was skeptical about floating this river when I saw the low volume of water flowing under the bridge. The trip was surprisingly nice with plenty of water to keep the boats afloat.

Heading west on the Denali Highway and back to the truck.

Whitewater on Windy Creek

Ben and Tyler take a ride down Windy Creek

Windy Creek is often used as an approach to access the Sanctuary River in Denali National Park. This clear boulder strewn ribbon of water also makes for a superb day trip. When I first walked up this drainage en route to the Sanctuary River via Windy Pass I was so focussed on my final destination that I somehow overlooked its amusement park ride-like floating potential. Fortunately a fellow packrafter pointed out the obvious in a post on the internet.

A well worn 4-wheeler trail branches northwest from the community of Cantwell and crosses a low divide before narrowing down to a single track where it descends into the Windy Creek drainage. We hiked about 5 miles along this path from Cantwell to an undefined spot that looked like a great starting point. This was followed by a 9 mile float down Windy Creek and the Jack River -- eventually pulling out where the Jack spills into the Nenana River. A short portage through the brush brought us back to the road. From there its a pleasant 8-mile bike ride or run back to the vehicle in Cantwell. The ideal trip..no car shuttle required.


Mark gazes down at the others clambering on all fours as they climb a steep bluff along Windy Creek.

The upper part of Windy Creek is very fun and steady class II water with lots of small drops and standing waves. The volume is relatively low so there are no big hydraulics or unmanageable holes to contend with. Its a confidence boosting intro paddle for newbies to whitewater packrafting. The lower river is a mellow class I "chill out" and soak up the scenery float.

Tyler prepares to re-enter the river after one of our numerous stops to dump water out of the boats.


Videography from Windy Creek

Hot Springs Double Header

Melozi Hot Springs - the abandoned wilderness paradise... (Rozell photo)

I stood there completely naked as the cascade of hot water splashed over my head and ran down my back. Several large grayling suspended in the crystalline water that was lapping at my knees effortlessly maneuvered between the cobbles lining the bottom of the creek. A lone dipper glided across the blue summer sky as it skipped from rock to rock in search of food. This is absolutely unreal I thought to myself. Does this place exist? ...or is this some fantasy that I conjured up in my mind? But I am really here...in this remote valley deep within Alaska's interior.

The hot springs double header - this trip was conceived while soaking in the steaming water of Horner Hot Springs over 7 months ago on winter solstice. Dan and I had skied from the village of Ruby to these springs that rest on the northern flank of the Yukon River. Now we were here again in the heat of the mid-summer sunshine retracing our steps - but this time by boat and foot.

On this return trip we were accompanied by my 15-year old nephew and friends Ned and Jim. The plan was to complete a full 360 degree traverse that would hit two remote geothermal springs: Horner and the mystery shrouded Melozi. This entire circuit would incorporate a 25-mile boat ride up the Yukon River, 25-miles of ridge hiking over the Kokrines Hills, and over 70-miles of packrafting the Melozi River.

Sam and his friends drop us off at the start of an overgrown trail that leads a mile back to Horner Hot Springs. Sam lives about 10 miles downriver and is building the Yukon River Lodge which should be open for business soon.

The approach to Horner Hot Springs nearly required a machete in order to bash back the thick growth of ferns and other Jurassic-like vegetation.

Jim adjusts the plumbing that feeds the small tarp-lined pool at Horner Hot Springs. Hot water seeping from the adjacent hillside is collected in a small pond above and piped into the pool.

Quaking aspen cavities (Rozell photo)

Jim climbs into the alpine tundra high above the mighty Yukon River.

Mark gazes down at an unnamed alpine lake from the crest of the Kokrines Hills. This was the first of two cirque lakes we skirted which were tucked into a dramatic amphitheater of rock that rose over 1000 feet above the waters surface.

Plotting a course across the "green" -- We had to descend from our firm carpet of tundra into a saddle riddled with thick brush, dense mosquitoes, and scraggly spruce trees. Rumor had it that a trail transected this low pass through the Kokrines en route from the Yukon River to Melozi Hot Springs. We never saw any trace of the historical path...

Becoming one with the tundra (Rozell photo)

The late evening sunlight softens the high terrain of the Kokrines. This elevated island of rugged topography along the central Yukon River was once sculpted by glaciers and lies in sharp contrast to the surrounding weathered and rounded hills. The isolated alpine ecosystem here is home to the Alaska marmot which can only be found in two other ranges in northern Alaska.

The main lodge at Melozi Hot Springs was in stellar shape. The stout roof was still intact even after more than 25 years of neglect. This was not the case with the remaining structures littered around the springs which were in varying degrees of disrepair.

The Melozi Hot Springs reservoir tub fabricated from slats of wood was too hot for soaking. It was designed to accumulate a pool of water that could be gravity fed to the various cabins.

A pipe fed an intricate network of plumbing that provided a "green" source of heat to several buildings and brought the luxury of hot running water to this isolated paradise.

Ned rotates a hand crank drill that was mounted in a dilapidated workshop. The shed was loaded with nearly every tool one could imagine. It was difficult to accept that the last residents at Melozi Hot Springs departed and left an entire lives worth of hard work to decompose in the boreal forest.

Its amazing the structure hadnt been ransacked by bears or other varmints such as squirrels or porcupines. There was still an assortment of spices on the kitchen shelves, jars partially filled with dried legumes, circa 1970's clothing hanging in the closets, file cabinets with various paperwork, and liquor bottles at the bar (empty...of course). (Rozell photo)

An old brochure describes the decadent features at Melozi Hot Springs...including the indoor swimming pool.

The indoor pool in July 2009 - collapsed and gradually being overtaken by the boreal forest and eventually erased forever.

A tattered copy of People Magazine and Cosmo resting on the table from the early 1980's shot us back to a time. The account of the passionate and later volatile love affair between Glenn Campbell and Tanya Tucker provided us with a brief flashback of pop culture from that era.

The not so grand piano rests silently under a pile of dust.

Pinups on the wall of the main Melozi lodge give a glimpse into the lives and dreams from days past.

Aug 24 1983 2:00PM +70 degrees. Beautiful, sunny, bugless day!! Light variable breeze. Melozi seems more of a natural paradise. Photographed a grizzly splashing across the river below cabin #2. Working in the garden naked - making love on a mat by the pool..then a warm swim. Grizzly running in the sparkling blue river. A rare day. (Excepts from a Melozi diary, author unknown.)

We loaded up our rafts and took to the river where the hot water free falls into the creek. We suspect this was the first packraft descent of Hot Springs Creek and maybe even the Melozi River.

Hot Springs Creek was entertaining Class I/II water with some rocks to "pinball" through and small standing waves to bob over.

Altocumulus clouds illuminated by the midnight twilight.

The gang enters the head of the Melozi River canyon. The river water was an unbelievably warm 64 degrees F (18 C)! Several hundred miles of the upper river slowly meanders across a broad interior valley and soaks up the 20+ hours of daily sunshine.

Scoping the runout of the upper rapids in the Melozi River canyon.

There are two short class III rapids in the Melozi canyon. This inhibits almost all motorized boat traffic from traveling beyond the canyon. We also heard that the local legend about the "woodsman" that haunts the forest along the Melozi also discourages visitors to this region. Thus, there is minimal sign of humans on much of the Melozi River considering its navigable size and proximity to Ruby.

We were not the only ones traveling down this river corridor.

The full circle is complete - the hot springs team back in Ruby on the way to the airport. (Rozell photo)

Plaque at Melozi Hot Springs...


Video sampler from the Hot Springs Double Header

Kids on the Itkillik

Dwarf fireweed casts a midnight shadow along the Itkillik River

I looked back over my shoulder and they were still there. Completely lost in their thoughts and undoubtedly struggling to deal with the miserable situation. I began to seriously question my decision to bring two 15-year old kids on this trip. We had been stumbling across knee deep tussocks in the late afternoon heat fully draped in our armor of raingear for hours. The uneven surface made it nearly impossible to move in any direction. Each erratic and unstable step ended with a sharp roll of the ankle as we clumsily navigated through the maze of towering tufts of grass. But we had to keep progressing forward because the incessant humming of the mosquito filled atmosphere was maddening. The continuous ricochet of bugs against our bodies felt like a torrential shower of raindrops pelting our clothing. There was no choice but to move on to a place where the ground would firm up enough to allow us to setup camp and take refuge in our tent.



I knew better than to head to the Arctic this late in June but I thought we had a few more days of reprieve before the onset of bugs. We were a day too late. The season is short this far north and the tundra explodes with new life every hour during the start of the brief warm season and 24-hour sunshine. My nephew Mark and his friend Mara were up for the adventure and decided it was worth the gamble. So we spent summer solstice above the Arctic Circle in the shadow of spectacular folded limestone cliffs, fields of wildflowers, diving raptors, howling wolves, following the footprints of grizzly bears, and sacrificing ourselves to the hordes of blood thirsty mosquitoes.

Our traverse would take us over the crest of the Brooks Range to the Itkillik River valley. From there we would hop in our packrafts and drift northward before beelining our way back across the tundra to Galbraith Lake about 40 road miles north of our starting point. The entire trip consisted of roughly 50 miles of hiking and 25 miles of river travel.

Our last view of the Dalton Highway before we head into the wilderness. It would be another 5-days before we returned to this industrial artery that connects the oil fields at Prudhoe Bay to the rest of the world.

An uncountable river crossing...the classic image of almost any trip across Alaska where trails and bridges are almost non-existent.

Mark gazes into an eroded cavern in the remnant river ice. Extensive areas of aufeis are common in this region. These large sheets of ice can be several meters thick and persist well into the summer. Aufeis begins to form as the river freezes and the channel becomes constricted. The buildup of water pressure forces the river to flow out of the channel and spread across the adjacent flood plain throughout the winter. Ice sheets like this often serve as the only escape from the mosquitoes for thousands of caribou.

Crossing Oolah Pass - aka the continental divide.

Mara makes the descent into the Itkillik (or Oolah) Valley past giant walls of sedimentary rock that originated as the floor of a shallow tropical-like sea. There is evidence of this past environment in the fossilized corrals and shells that can be found littered in the piles of scree.

We tromped through a lot of grizzly bear scat but never saw the source of the bodily waste.

Vibrant arctic poppies brighten the landscape.

We eventually came to a point where the gradient of the Itkillik River mellowed enough for us to throw the boats in the river.

As we continued to move downriver and to a lower elevation we reached the "mosquito zone" --- our only escape was the heat from a fire fueled by dried willows.

The river was mostly class I/II water with occasional rocks and small wave trains to bounce through.

Mark paddles past a massively exposed ice wedge along a cutbank of the Itkillik River.

More frozen ground or permafrost features. A lens of ice heaves the tundra up into the warm summer air. Its hard to believe the ground is permanently frozen just below the green surface.

The uber-light and roomy tarptent sheltered us from mosquitoes, heavy rain, and moderately strong winds.

We make the final push out to Galbraith Lake and the Dalton Highway with our small insect friends in tow as another spectacular trip in the arctic comes to an end...

W. Fork Atigun Weekender

Dan rides the waves in the West Fork of the Atigun River

I suddenly felt a sense of relief as the last bit of warm blood vacated the few remaining vessels in my feet. I was no longer subjected to the excruciating pain caused by the snow and pools of slush that were penetrating my sneakers. I somehow convinced myself that no feeling is better than endless stinging. But I already knew that repeated inflictions of my feet to the cold over the years had resulted in permanent numbness to some of my toes. At this point I still didn't care. I just wanted to keep moving downhill to a lower elevation where green tundra and the first wildflowers of the summer dotted the valley bottom.

We headed north for the weekend to the Brooks Range in hopes of crossing over two passes and floating a portion of the upper Itkillik River before returning to the highway. This plan abruptly failed. A cool start to summer left large expanses of snow lingering in these mountains that define the divide between water flowing north to the Arctic Ocean from that draining southward towards the Bering Sea and north Pacific. We retreated back in our tracks after attempting to climb a sketchy ice covered pass with our inadequate gear. Instead we found ourselves bouncing down the whitewater of the West Fork of the Atigun River in a stunning Arctic valley.

Ted plunges up to his crotch as he crosses endless stretches of snow on our way over the continental divide. We delicately placed our weight on the white surface in hopes of warding off additional swims in the bottomless snow. It would be another week or so before the snow would setup and transform into a solid walking surface.

Despite the rotten snow and laborious trudging the scenery was absolutely spectacular as we descended into the upper reaches of the Atigun River.

We really were happy to be out in the mountains.

Another water crossing near the headwaters of the Atigun River flushes the cold snow out of our shoes.

We had to hike for several miles down valley to a spot where the shallow braided channels consolidated into one primary deeper channel.

Resourceful Sky chomps away on an abandonded caribou rack. She could survive a long time on small mammals and other treasures in the wild. The caribou had moved down out of the mountains to the coastal plain in preparation for calving.

The West Fork of the Atigun is pinched between the exposed bedrock. We portaged this significant drop. The remainder the river was primarily fun wave trains and navigating through partially submerged rocks.



Videography from the West Fork of the Atigun.

Preparing for the final leg: a cold rain and driving headwind forced us to vacate the boats when our waterway skirted the Alaska Pipeline and road. Mildly hypothermic we ran the last 15-miles to the truck along the muddy highway outfitted in all our clothes and life jackets with the hopes of getting a ride...no ride came.

Coffee and Pizza Traverse

Descending into the upper Nenana River drainage in the Alaska Range

All I could focus on the last two hours of our float was shoving a giant piece of greasy pizza into my mouth. The pleasurable sensation of the melted cheese against my tongue and anticipation of the calories replenishing my body. Fortunately for me our weekend traverse in the Alaska Range would terminate at the same location we started at the day before - but this time there would be unlimited pizza fresh out of the oven waiting to be devoured.

This most recent packrafting trip was aptly named the coffee-pizza traverse because it began and ended at the java shop and pizza joint which straddle the banks of Carlo Creek on the Parks Hwy. The entire loop consisted of about 15-miles of scenic alpine hiking followed by 16-miles floating the upper Nenana River.

A conveniently placed 4-wheeler path exists from the Parks Hwy up through the brush to treeline and resulted in a bushwhack-free stroll to the tundra.

Ben admires the newly melted snow as it cascades through a narrow gully.

The walking was nearly effortless across a green blanket of tundra and through fields of wildflowers.

Breaking a thin layer of ice on a small pond at our camping site near the headwaters of Carlo Creek.

Large snowfields still linger below the pass at the head of the Carlo Creek. The snow was firm enough to walk across with ease.

Ben begins the steep and rocky descent on the south side of the pass. This section required some serious scrambling over small ledges and over giant boulders. We would eventually drop into the far distant valley and plop ourselves into the cold, silty waters of the Nenana River.

Curious caribou circle around us.

The girls cross a beautiful alpine stream.

Making our way across a wide open expanse of tundra above the Nenana River.

Preparing to launch the boats. The final push down to the river was a steep descent through a brief stretch of moderately thick brush.

The Nenana River upstream of the Parks Hwy bridge is a casual Class I float. The river picks up a bit below the bridge with a few short Class II+ sections that are relatively easy to portage.

10 PM and back at the starting pt...fresh pizza...beer...live music...THE END.

Beaver Creek 360

The tundra high above Beaver Cr has come to life with the arrival of summer.

Ann quietly gazed down at the map as we drifted past a tall stand of spruce trees. Her concerned voice broke the silence as she slowly raised her head, "I think we have to go a lot farther than you expected." I looked back at her a little bit puzzled and muttered, "Hmmmm...really?" Exactly how far had I miscalculated our inaugural packraft trip of the season? Embarrassingly...a lot. This was already going to be an ambitious wilderness foray for a long weekend. I now realized that I had somehow underestimated the entire traverse by nearly 50 miles.

Our route began at the usual starting point for a float down Beaver Creek at the Nome Creek put-in. From there we paddled steadily for about 100 miles before rolling up our rafts and stashing them into our backpacks. Most Beaver Creek floaters continue downriver an additional 15 miles to a wide gravel bar where a small fixed-wing plane can touch down and pluck them from the wilderness. Instead...after climbing out of the creek we followed a series of interconnecting ridge lines that would eventually lead us 45 miles back to the gravel road we started on...and then climax with a 16 mile bike ride back to the truck. A complete 360 degree circuit that amounted to about 160 miles of travel by boat, foot, and bike.

Ann absorbs the view as Beaver Creek winds its way past jagged limestone teeth of the White Mountains.

It appears that the river otter population will thrive this year by the way these two were going at it.

Beaver Creek is an easy Class I float with only a few small riffles and an occasional tree hanging into the water that can sweep over a boat. The water was flowing along at a casual 3 to 4 miles per hour.

Packing up the boat and remainder of gear in preparation for our cross country hike. I am still dumbfounded with the fact that it is possible to have my deflated boat disappear into the depths of my pack and then lug it across the countryside.

We had a very steep ascent out of the Beaver Cr valley but there was very little bushwhacking. In the distance is Victoria Mtn...which is the last bit of terrain before the river spills out into the broad expansive lowlands of the Yukon Flats.

We encountered a series of game trails when we climbed above tree-line which made for very easy walking at times.

The majority of the hike was spent side sloping across precariously placed lichen-encrusted rocks, postholing through thigh deep snow fields, and stumbling across tufts of tussocky tundra.

Ann crosses one of the uncountable saddles in the high country. The terrain was brutal as we negotiated a never ending sequence of 1000 foot climbs followed by an equal amount of descents.

The avenue of tors--some of these environmentally sculpted spires of granite soared over 100 feet into the sky.

There were still plenty of depressions in the tundra with meltwater from the dwindling winters snowpack. Later in the summer it would be difficult to find any water this high above the river valleys.

Even though we didn't see a trace of any other human being...we were not alone.

Liberally applying Body Glide to my feet in hopes of preventing blisters. This in combination with keeping my feet occasionally wet and cool seems to diminish the threat of incapacitating foot problems. The main side effect is flirting with the onslaught of trench foot after about 10 hours of damp feet.

Dropping down into the Quartz Creek drainage. We hoped to find a 4-wheeler trail on the opposite side of the valley that would ease the last stretch of our hike.

Towards the end of our hike we intersected the Quartz Creek trail. The trail had recently been improved and made for great walking. Its a great trail for accessing the dramatic granite spires around Mt Prindle.

The final leg on bike completed our 160 mile, 360 degree adventure.