Ah, Saturdays, the perfect time to sleep in, eat a leisurely brunch, and hike straight up a 2900 foot peak over slippery board walk and rotten snow. It's the ideal combination to recharge the soul. I went with my friend Nikki, a born-and-raised, honest-to-god Ketchikanian (Ketchikanite? Ketchikonian?), her dog Mosely, and my friend Carl's dog Bubba. It was sunny when we left the coast and started driving the one dirt road that accesses the interior of Revillagigedo Island. The patchy clouds made for some amazing views as we clambered up the board walk, which quickly disappeared beneath banks of snow.
As we followed the ridge up the trees got shorter and stumpier, until we were following game trails through twisted, shoulder high heathers. We decided we'd reached the summit when the ground didn't go up anymore. The clouds enshrouded us on all sides so there was no other way to tell. Have I mentioned that Bubba doesn't enjoy posing for pictures?
We both decided we like hiking best in this misty, cool weather. As we stood at the summit the wind kept opening little windows in the clouds, revealing crumpled coastline, the snow-covered flank of a mountain, and even patches of blue sky. We stuck it out until the next cloud arrived to dump its contents on our heads, then boot-skied our way down to solid ground.
The flowers were just starting to come alive in the higher reaches, like these lupine. Down below the bunchberry is blooming, the devil's club has exploded, and the skunk cabbage is shoulder high. This island has more shades of green than the Inuits have words for snow.
As we followed the ridge up the trees got shorter and stumpier, until we were following game trails through twisted, shoulder high heathers. We decided we'd reached the summit when the ground didn't go up anymore. The clouds enshrouded us on all sides so there was no other way to tell. Have I mentioned that Bubba doesn't enjoy posing for pictures?
We both decided we like hiking best in this misty, cool weather. As we stood at the summit the wind kept opening little windows in the clouds, revealing crumpled coastline, the snow-covered flank of a mountain, and even patches of blue sky. We stuck it out until the next cloud arrived to dump its contents on our heads, then boot-skied our way down to solid ground.
The flowers were just starting to come alive in the higher reaches, like these lupine. Down below the bunchberry is blooming, the devil's club has exploded, and the skunk cabbage is shoulder high. This island has more shades of green than the Inuits have words for snow.
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