The Severed Leg

I gotta go pick up my car. I drank too much last night and couldn’t drive home. This means that I now have to bike across town to fetch my vehicle from behind the VFW way out in Dimond. The alcohol does need to be worked out of my system. Not to mention all that country Karaoke from last night. I plan to pay further penance for my singing and imbibing by going for a run in the mountains, even though the weather doesn’t look very good. A blanket of fog is hanging over the peaks and it looks cold. It’s cold down here, it must be awful up there.

I do want to see if there is ice on the north face of O’Malley peak. I’ve heard about this long alpine ice route, and given the snow conditions and warm/cold weather cycles, the Jackie Purcell in me says that it may be an early season climbing possibility.

The road up to Glen Alps has been graveled. This is nice for me as I haven’t yet changed over to studded tires for the winter. A red truck blocks half the road with their flashers blinking. A line of cars waits to get around it. The truck’s occupants are gawking across the road at something in the ditch. I look over and see two moose on the opposite side. It’s a cow and a younger moose. I maneuver around the truck and check my rear-view mirror to see the family now getting out of the truck to get a closer look at the moose. When will people learn that you just ought not to bother the moose?

At the trail-head, I see a few frustrated looking snowboarders. There is only about an inch of snow on the ground up here. Perhaps they have found a drift somewhere to shred. A pair across from me are changing into their street shoes. The very young looking driver lights a cigar and leans on the side of his green F-150, just above a “Murder is Justice” sticker. I suddenly don’t feel like asking them about the snow conditions.

I strap on my gear; trail shoes, tights, fleece shirt, hat, gloves, GU, iPod, keys, water, and a headlamp. I’m off. The trail starts out with a slightly packed layer of snow. Skiing on it would be a bad idea for your ski bases, but it would work. When it opens up to the Powerline pass trail, the sun has melted large patches of snow on the main trail. I take the Middle Fork cutoff towards O’Malley and cruise right past a paper sign listing the details of a recent bear sighting. Like in a cartoon, two steps later, I screech to a stop and jog backwards to read the sign. You never know what it might say:
“Bear right in front of you, don’t go down this trail”.
Actually, it says something like:
“10/21 – Bear sighted at moose kill site. Other side of river bench about 200 yards away from bridge on Middle Fork trail.”
I continue down the hill to a clear spot and stop to scan the other side of the riverbank. Nothing. I continue on.

I consider for a moment going up and over the football field instead of around the West (front) of the mountain. I decide to continue on with the original plan and turn left. The trail is narrow and there has been traffic on it. The slope is gently descending, making for a faster run.
Around the front of the mountain, I see two hikers in the distance. The sun has come out now and the surroundings are beautiful. The Southern cliffs of Wolverine are red in front of me. The little boulders and rocks on the trail have little snow caps. It all looks like a Bev Doolittle painting. I almost expect one of those hidden Pintos to pop out of the scene. Suddenly, my foot punches through a semi frozen marshy section into wet mud. Great, my little Bev Doolittle painting is shattered by my wet and muddy foot.

I catch up with the hikers after about twenty minutes. They are coming down the Williwaw Lakes trail towards me. Their energetic dog rushes ahead to greet me. The couple look to be Scandinavian. They say hello, but nothing more. I assume they’d made it back to the lakes.

I follow the couple’s tracks up the valley towards the lakes. I soon find their turn-around spot. The hiking boots and dog tracks are replaced by obvious bear tracks! The tracks are very clear as the snow is fresh as of last night. I put my gloved hands down into an impression of the bear’s front paw. It is larger than the both of my hands side-by-side. The rear paws are the same width, but much longer. There seem to be tracks going in both directions, so it is unclear where the bear might be.

I decide to go on anyway, but I turn my iPod off just in case. The scrunch-scrunch-scrunch of the fresh snow replaces the music in my ears. I start my “Hey Bear!” shouts as I make my way up the valley.

The bear tracks disappear at one point. The bear got tired of following the trail, or saw something more interesting I guess. I’m relieved. I’m also pleased to be the only one making tracks in the snow. It always amazes me that here in Anchorage, I can get a true wilderness experience just a short drive from home. I suppose others are watching the World Series today, or they were dissuaded from hiking by the clouds and recent snowfall. Actually, the weather is taking a turn for the worse now. It’s starting to snow and the wind has picked up, against me. The bear tracks have started up again. I’m thinking about turning around.

I click my iPod back on and Bad Religion comes blaring out. I find courage to fight the wind and keep going.

On higher ground I can see further ahead, and I see no bear. I kick up the pace and head for the lakes. The drifts are getting higher, up to my knee in places. At the lake, I wonder if the ice is thick enough to walk on yet. Inching out and thinking light thoughts, I test the ice. It seems to be holding, so I walk on it close to the bank. It’s easier than rock-hopping the perimeter and risking a broken ankle. Finally able to take my concentration off the trail, I pull out a GU and start sucking it down. Then there is a loud crack and my foot punches through the ice, soaking me up to my calf. I “fly” over to the nearest rock and think that maybe now I should turn around.

Looking up, I see that I’m now at the North face of the mountain. My watch says it’s taken over two hours to get here. I block the wind from my face and scan the cliffs above. I see snow and rocks, but no ice. I failed to look at a guidebook before my adventure, so I also don’t really know where to look. Oops. I keep going east. I might as well since I’m here. I notice a group of moose across the valley. They’ve already noticed me and are checking me out. I’m now beyond the lake and I see that there is a gully around the corner. Maybe that is it.

Icicles hang from a blocky stone ahead. This must be it! I head towards the center of the valley for a better view. A clear ice line is visible from here. I’ve found it! And it looks climbable! Success! I hoop and holler. A cow moose across the way starts heading up the hill for safety from this crazy screamer. A bull just stares at me. I take the hint and decide to head back.

Mostly downhill, the trail moves quickly beneath me. I’m out of bear-track zone in no time. Feeling good, I round the front of the mountain and start the climb back to the south side of the peak. The uphill halts me instantly. I struggle to make it up. A rest break, a GU, and some Lords of Acid helps me through this part.

Now almost back to the bridge, I’m stopped again. There is a severed leg on the trail! Uh, this was definitely not here on the way in. I think I’d have noticed it. The moose’s leg has the hoof and fur completely intact almost up to where the knee was. I can see the white bone and red blood at the end opposite the hoof. I get chills as I look around for the bear. Nothing. I kill the music player and proceed forward slowly. Where is he? Where is he?

Then I have a thought. It was probably a dog. Duh! A dog probably discovered the moose kill and the leg is just the right size for a dog to bring back to a disgusted owner. “Look what I found!” the dog thought. I’m gonna bring this back to my people! Why else would it be in the trail? Convincing myself of this explanation, I get back to running.

Back on the main Powerline pass trail, I start to see people again. I’m barley able to say “Hi”. It’s just a little ways back to the car. Must keep going. At the gate I stop my watch. Three hours, fifteen minutes. Not too bad. Now to call the Calvary and get this line climbed!