Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
The Resurrection Trail dates back to the 1890s, when stampeders came into Seward by
the shipload and hauled their picks and packs over the Trail to Hope, a town on the south
side of Turnagain Arm whose economy is still based on gold. The first thing you'll see
your first day out is the Paystreak Mine, still in operation. The trail is now a hard-packed
footpath in the Chugach National Forest, walked at least once a day by forest rangers and
very well maintained.
There were four of us, me, Linda, Chris Kemper, and Sharyn Wilson, all members of
my book club, also known as the Four Major Food Groups and Literary Society. Chris ca-
noes with her husband Jim. Sharyn was once a white-water rafting guide. Linda makes
regular assaults on any Chugach Mountain with a trail to the top of it.
And then there was me.
Day 1
. All I can remember of the first day was one very high, very long hill, with a re-
wardingly spectacular view at the top of thickly-wooded chasms falling to the swift-run-
ning Resurrection River below, and another, more somber view farther down the trail, of a
broad hillside of black boles, spruce trees burned down to the trunk in a forest fire.
We crossed creek after creek, Cripple Creek, Wildhorse, Bedrock, Rimrock, Highland,
Island, Willow, Wolf. Cannonball Pass Creek, White Creek, Fox, Moose, Hungry, East,
American, Abernathy. I always wonder how that particular name wound up on an official
map. Why is there always a Cripple Creek? Whose horse, and why was it wild? Who was
hungry, and did they make it out?
The cabin at Caribou Creek was greeted with hosannahs, but all in all, not a bad first
day. It hadn't rained, the bugs hadn't been too awful, I had only one blister, and Sharyn,
who had drawn cook's duties for the first night, had packed in real chicken breasts and an
instant cheesecake mix. Chris, who is an artist, had been appointed Mistress of Ambiance
for the trip and she took her duties seriously. She has studied ikebana, she brought a
flower frog with her that fit neatly into the upturned cap of Sharyn's can of fuel, and every
night we had a fresh wildflower arrangement adorning our dining table, along with bright
plaid cloth napkins folded into origami cranes.
Okay, I made that up about the cranes, but you get the idea.
First night, seven-point-one miles from the trailhead.
