The (New) Adventures of Steel Bladder and AmBEAR GRYLL

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The (New) Adventures of Steel Bladder and AmBEAR GRYLL

Scrambling^a past the sign "Eagle River--26 miles^b", Steely^c struggled to keep an injured^d--yet fast-striding^e--AmBEAR^f in sight^g. Winding^h down the valleyⁱ, through^j (not over) the glacier-fed river^k, past the broken beehive^l, plentiful^m bear scat, manyⁿ sauntering hikers^o, until (10 hours later^p) the intrepid adventurers made a disappointing discovery:
No rootbeer^q at rainbow's end.

^a In case I wasn't sure, it was immediately clear from the first five seconds that this would not be a leisurely stroll through the woods. AmBEAR strode away from the car at a pace that would make greyhounds proud. Uphill. We'd start out together, she'd quickly outdistance me (even though I was often taking quicker steps than she was, I still lagged--curses to my short legs!), draw farther ahead, wait for me to catch up, and we'd plunge into another round of the cycle. I told her I'd just meet her at the pass, but she very magnanimously continued her stutter-stop-go rhythm to keep me within eyesight. Perhaps it was because I carried the bear spray? ;o)
^b Official mileage for the trek from Girdwood to Eagle River via Crow Pass has long been a hotly contested debate. Depending on your source, the distance varies from 23 miles to 27 miles (many miles more, if you're like Chandra and AmBEAR of years ago and take many unplanned side trips due to a brief, but debilitating, bout of being directionally-challenged). But the sign said 26 miles, so that's what I'll go with. If we had successfully purloined Rod's Garmin early that morning, I would know for sure--darn it--but we opted to be gracious and let the Hutchings sleep.
^c Though my own given name has always been (unjustly) suspected to be a nickname, I really have made it through most of my life without any nicknames. Should I feel Lucky or Left Out? The noticeable exceptions being when AmBEAR lovingly refers to me as "Twin #2", or the brief time back in high school when Stephen's younger sister, Emily, couldn't pronounce "Rahni" and thus adorably dubbed me "Brownie". Didn't last, though. So I was rather surprised when AmBEAR turned on the trail (after about 20 miles) and said (with a grin), "How're you holding up there, Steel Bladder?" You could just hear the capital letters in her tone. I kind of wish that this nickname came out of nowhere but, alas, there's a story highlighting my stupidity behind it. Let's just say that I'm not a fan of answering the call of nature IN nature. How can I get around that? I pondered. Aha! I'll purposely dehydrate myself, thus ridding myself of the pesky quandary altogether! As you can tell, I'm no Danielle Boone. That genius idea ended with Chandra holding her puny water bottle in the rushing current of a friendly-looking creek about 16 miles in while I chanted, "Please don't kill us, please don't kill us, we have no way to purify you, please don't kill us." Apparently, some people will remember any little story involving foolishness on my part.
^d Bum knee, blistered feet, possible shoulder fracture? That's nothing to athletes such as my sister. And I thought I'd be the stronger one in this adventure. Nope.
^e For awhile I consoled myself that I'd surely excel at the downhill portion of the route. Well, I immediately jammed my big toe in my enthusiasm to pull ahead, thus ended up limping behind AmBEAR once again. On a constant downhill or constant flat route, I could keep pace, but given any uphills? I was toast. Also, around mud. I hate mud. I'm squeamish and tend to slow wa-ay down around the squishy stuff. I was quietly horrified by AmBEAR's unconcerned approach to mud bogs (straight through) and often had to stop myself from leaning forward and brushing off mud splatters from her legs. I know what you're thinking. Poor AmBEAR, why did she choose Steely for a hiking partner? Well, son, pickings were slim and you got to "dance with the one that brought you." Rather, the one that you brought.
^f A word about the nickname . . . genius, right? Not being a Discovery Channel surfer (or wherever you watch nature programs and such), I'm only familiar with Bear Gryll because he's featured on the front of a book that I often have to reshelve at B&N. But Amber is so the female version of him! As far as I can tell, at least. She takes on each ridge and path as though she's insulted it's in her way. Onward, despite pain, despite weariness, hunger, lagging hiking partners and everything. Awesome, awesome endurance and fortitude. AND cheerful and upbeat the whole time? Is she woman or wo-machine? If it's anything but storming weather outside and she's got a free minute, she wants to be out there in the world, taking on any new adventure within reach. Makes me tired, just thinking about her "recreational" time.
^g Beautiful day--fall colors, warm sun, awesome scenery. No wildlife, though, beyond some dogs, a squirrel (chipmunk?) and an unusual bird.
^h At one point, we turned around to see where we had come from only to discover that we had no exact idea where on earth the trail was behind us. Good thing it wasn't an out-and-back hike.
ⁱ Nothing like hiking for miles through brush higher than your head in bear country to keep you on edge.
^j Blessed with bad luck in that river, I've never once crossed at the suggested crossing zone. Neither has AmBEAR. Or, I believe, Chandra. Perhaps if we stopped trying to take shortcuts alongside the riverbank?
^k You can SEE the glacier that provides the swiftly-flowing frigid water that marks the half-way point to Eagle River. I knew I was in trouble when my several-inches-taller sister struggled through water up to her zipper. Both times now that I've crossed this behemoth, I've been blessed by an undesirably clear insight: This is how people die! If I was to trip in this river, there's no way I'd get out--I'd be paralyzed down to my pinky toes with bone-chilling spasms. That river is by far the coldest thing I've ever experienced in my life. When we got to the other side and collapsed on the bank, both AmBEAR and I had to scream and yell to as an outlet for our pain. There are bridges over almost every other wet spot along the trail. WHY NOT HERE?
^l The last time I hiked this trail, Chandra (walking ahead of me) obliviously whacked a beehive with her trekking pole and the bees (being a little slow to catch on) missed their actual antagonist and targeted innocent me. I got five bee stings. Another case of mistaken identity. It's hard to be a twin, sometimes. This time, I wisely avoided bothering the bees swarming around their broken hive that blocked the path.
^m Early on, I asked AmBEAR to point out bear scat, should she see any. For an Alaskan, I've always been remarkably ignorant of what bear scat looks like. Well, no worries, I'm quite educated now. We saw LOTS. Which was informative and illuminating, if not comforting.
ⁿ Not as many as AmBEAR had hoped, though. She was looking forward to passing crowds of 2-day and 3-day hikers. Apparently, the greater Anchorage area decided to spend Labor day not-laboring elsewhere.
^o In particular, one slow-moving group that we passed petitioned us, "If you see a gold Expedition in the parking lot with a guy named Chris, could you tell him we're coming?" And, indeed, we did meet their genial gentleman driver, 1.7 miles from the parking lot, hiking in to meet them. Nice man.
^p I naively thought that it'd take us around 11-12 hours to do this hike, only to find out that AmBEAR was hoping for 8, but allowed for 9 hours (river crossings, stopping for food, etc.). I didn't learn this until we started up up up the trail. In a complete opposite direction than I am prone to take, AmBEAR showed no irritation when our pace didn't meet her expectations. Amazing, really, her positive outlook. She probably had plans for the evening that she had to re-strategize. Seriously, though, I don't see how we failed to meet the 9 hours. We were STRIDING the whole time. Which is kind of sad, actually, that I kept falling behind not because I was stopping, but because I was just a slower hiker.

^qAmBEAR sparked our hopes with memories of a soda machine at the trail's end. We started waxing philosophical about food in general, and about an ice-cold rootbeer, in particular. I even had some Eagle River-soaked singles in my pocket to bring our dreams to life. When we reached the parking lot, I spared nary a glace to our ride home, but headed straightaway to the Nature Center, only to find that it was closed, due to the holiday. Wouldn't you think that destination places like this would be open on such holidays! Sadness. You'd think I'd have known better. One time, back in high school, I was called upon to pick up a weary and ravenous Patrick and Ryan in that same parking lot and they were absolutely starving. We ended up stopping by a convenience store to take the edge off their hunger, as they couldn't wait for Anchorage's all-night fast-food restaurants. This hike burns some calories, I tell you.