My favorite run does not climb big mountains. The elevation gain is less than one thousand feet.

My favorite run does not have lots of expansive views. It only has two viewpoints.

Obviously, based on what I’ve said so far, my favorite run in the world is not in Alaska.

My favorite run is not a secret, it is hiked by hundreds of people every week.

My favorite run in the world is not an exciting new route. I first did it when I was six years old.

Most of my favorite adventures are off the beaten path. I like adventures that are little too long, too hard, or too far-flung for most people. But my favorite run in the world is none of those things. There is nothing epic about it at all. It’s comfortable, like an old sweatshirt on a Saturday morning.

On my wedding day, I made all the guests do this run (or hike) with me.

My favorite run is located on the shores of Squam Lake, NH. It starts with the Five Finger Point trail, then goes up East and West Rattlesnake “mountains.” Growing up, I spent all of my summers at a family camp on Squam Lake, and it is my favorite place in the world. I did this run at least a couple of times every week when I was in my teens. Nostalgia is a big part of why it is my favorite, but it’s also a perfect everyday loop. Interesting, but not overwhelming. Tiring, but not exhausting.  And while the only viewpoints are at the tops of the Rattlesnakes, the view-to-effort ratio is the best I’ve found anywhere.

Last month, while we were back east, we spent three days at the camp on Squam. I did my run every day. As always, I followed each run with a swim in the lake, and then a big meal at the dining hall. Maybe that’s why it’s my favorite.

And last week, we had three generations  out in the rafts, paddling among the ‘bergs.

That noise you hear is me letting out a loud, contented sigh.  Finally, after five long months, I made it back into the mountains of Alaska.  My main goal as I was rehabbing my Achilles tendon was to heal well enough and quickly enough to do some peak-bagging before summer was over. If I could just bag a peak or two, summer would not be a total loss.   By early August, I was feeling ready and the weather was looking good. So Tim Kelley and I got together for a hike.

Tim suggested Bard Peak, which he had done before.  If you’ve ever gone to the Portage Glacier Visitors Center and looked across Portage Lake, you’ve seen Bard Peak. Here’s a picture of it in winter time. Bard Peak is the pointy one on the left.

Bard Peak is fairly close to home and seen by hundreds of people every day, but rarely climbed.  It would provide enough vertical gain, bushwhacking, and rock scrambling to give my legs a good test without too many unknown-territory variables.

We accessed the peak by paddling across Portage Lake. The paddling made for great bookends to a spectacular hike.  Check my photos below, and of course also check Tim’s trip photos.

It feels good to be back at home with sore muscles and a few scrapes on my arms and legs, enjoying the afterglow of a long-awaited peak-bagging outing.

So yesterday I succumbed and headed to Portage Lake. With weekend temepratures hitting 70 degrees in Anchorage, I wasn’t sure the lake would still be skiable, so I had Turnagain Pass in mind as a back-up plan. When I arrived at the lake, it looked perfect. The crust was firm and smooth. There was a bustle of construction activity (lots of people and trucks) at the rock slide site, which led me to believe that there wouldn’t be any blasting anytime soon. So I geared up and headed across the lake.

Its about three miles to get back to the glacier. The first mile was great skiing. Fast and flat – perfect for my leg, which is still in the walking cast. After the first mile, though, the snow started getting punchy. At this point in the spring, the “snow” on the lake is really just a foot-thick layer of slush on top of ice. So each time I punched through, my foot dove into a soggy mess. For the next mile, I did my best to stay on top of the snow. But soon the crust was completely gone and I was trudging through slush. Bummer. At this point, making it to Portage Pass was out of the question, so I decided to trudge ahead until I could see the glacier, then turn around.

Proof that I made it. All 2.5 miles of it.

When returning to the car, I played around on the firmer crust on the north end of the lake a bit, watching the rock slide work. I finished skiing about 9:00 AM. When I got back to Anchorage, I found out that the blasting began a few hours after I left. I wish I’d been able to stay and watch! I found it amusing and slightly aggravating that the last time I was there, there were a bunch of warning signs even though the blasting wouldn’t take place for almost two weeks. Then yesterday, with the blasting only a few hours away, no signs at all!

Apres Ski

Even though the skiing wasn’t very good, it was great to be on skis again. And the trip was worth it for the drive alone – I saw a coyote, a fox, a moose and a bison along the way! (Okay, okay, the bison was at Big Game Alaska. But the others were legit.)

O’Malley Peak is a great day hike from Glen Alps, and I’ve hiked and skied on both sides of many times, but never got around to hike it. So when I woke up Sunday morning to unexpected clear(ish) skies, and I had a few hours to spare, I figured it was a good time to give O’Malley a go.

I hiked from Glen Alps up through the Ballfield, took a short detour to look down over Black Lake, then started up the scree gully to get to the ridge. The ridge had some fog on it, so when I got to the top, it took me a few minutes to figure out that I couldn’t go any higher.

Looking east on the ridge from O\’Malley Peak

Yes, that is fresh snow (and some hail) in the photo above. Is it still called ‘Termination Dust’ if its been falling all summer? Is there really a summer to terminate? I digress. My goal was to continue back along the ridge to Hidden Peak. I stayed just below the ridgeline on the south side, since the north side drops vertically for a couple thousand feet. It was good traveling (at least by Chugach ridgeline standards), until I reached the point where I started ascending to Hidden Peak. There was some fog, and I couldn’t see a safe route to the top. I traversed around at about the 4500 contour line, hoping to find a gully to take me up. But I kept getting pushed downward by small cliffs, and eventually I had gone by the peak without seeing a good route up. By then I was running out of time, so I decided to head straight down the scree and snow to Hidden Lake, then run the trail back to Glen Alps. The trip took three and a half hours of hiking and jogging.

Hidden Lake and the scree field I descended below Hidden Peak.

O’Malley ridgeline, viewed from the south. Click for panorama

Chugach State Park is so close to home that I often take it for granted and forget what a spectacular playground it can be. This was a great hike. Many people travel thousands of miles to hike through rugged Alaskan scenery like this. And I was home in time for lunch.

I have done a number of fun mountain running races this summer and I had been told that the last one on the schedule was one of the best. The Lost Lake Run. The Lost Lake trail is about a 16 mile one-way trail near Seward, Alaska. Linda and I hiked the trail in July. As I said then, it is one of the most beautiful runs in Alaska. The trail climbs for the first half of the race up to Lost Lake. The elevation gain is only a couple thousand feet so it is gradual enough to run the whole thing.

Photos from this race in the gallery.

I realized at the start that most of the top trail runners were not there. Must be saving up for the World Mountain Running Championships in Girdwood, Alaska in a couple of weeks. I started well and was running near the front for the first mile or two. Then the top two runners took it up a notch and I never saw them again. I was feeling good, so I passed the rest of our group and tried to lay my claim to third place early in the race. I dropped them all, but the climb was longer and harder than I anticipated. I began to tire as I reached Lost Lake, which was one or two miles from the top of the hill. The first woman began to close in on me. About 500 meters from the top she caught me. At this point, pride took over and I refused to let her go. I crested the top of the hill with her. From here it was all downhill to the finish, 8 more miles, and the legs on her 5′ 3″ frame were no match for my 6’1″ gait and I was able to break away quickly. Whew, I could relax – I wasn’t going to get ‘girled’ today. But I couldn’t relax too much because I knew I was not a great downhill runner on uneven terrain and others would start closing in. Sure enough, with about four miles to go, a guy came flying by. I was starting to resign myself to 4th place, but then I realized that he was not getting away from me as quickly as he had caught up. I was hanging tough. For the next three miles I kept him in sight. With a mile to go, the trail emptied onto a road. Once again, I was able to put my long legs to use. I was feeling strong and I picked up my pace and quickly closed the gap. At this point there was only one problem – I didn’t know where the finish line was. There I was preparing for a sprint finish, but without any idea when it would start. The road was winding and I couldn’t see more than 50 meters ahead. I stayed shoulder to shoulder with him and waited for any clue: a quickening of his pace, the sound of spectators, the sound of the main highway nearby, anything. At one point we deviated from the road and dropped down a trail towards a firehouse. I knew the post-race party was at the firehouse, so I gambled and dropped the hammer. I got a good jump on him and immediately began to worry that I had misjudged. But just then, I rounded a corner and the spectators and finish line came into view. I finished third.

I was feeling pretty good about my third place when my friend Scott McArt, who had raced last year, but not this year, asked me my time. When I told him, he replied, “Nice job, that might have gotten you a top ten finish last year.” Ouch. Like I said, the fast guys weren’t there.