Alaska for Greenhorns | Outside Online

You Are Here:

Home >> Travel >> Alaska for Greenhorns

Today's Question
Where should I camp in Switzerland with my kids? answer

What's the best volcano to hike up in North America? answer

How can I plan a trip around riding the biggest, fastest roller coasters? answer

Online Favorites

Special Issues

Photo Galleries

Outside Magazine's 2002 Travel Guide

Page:

Alaska for Greenhorns

By Mike Harrelson


	Heavenly heli view over Girdwood

Milky skies marked our February arrival in Alaska as we bounced along the tarmac in Anchorage. Soon we were winding south on the Seward Highway toward Girdwood and our palatial base camp, the Alyeska Prince Hotel, while Celeste, our driver, pointed out the paths of hulking avalanches that pummel the roadway on numerous occasions. "Last year, during one of our more intense storm cycles, a snowplow driver got blasted out into the Turnagain Arm," she said. "Needless to say, the jig was up for him."

Like so many aspects of life in Alaska, wildness and unpredictability are the norm. Meteorologically speaking, January had been a typically unusual month in the Chugach: It had dumped 29 of 31 days for a record-breaking 274-inch total—just under 23 feet. By any measure, an astonishing blanket of freshies.

Cached Pow

Hike, Drive, or Hop a Train to AK's Hidden Stash

Though an avid and reasonably accomplished skier and boarder, I had never considered myself worthy of this Alaskan bounty. "AK," as it's referred to by those in the know, redefines big, gnarly, and unforgiving. Alaska is to skiing and snowboarding what the North Shore of Oahu is to surfing—a proving ground. A place to put it all together because,



	Placer-Skookum powder day

if you don't, you might be in for the big sleep—or so I'd heard. But this is not another saga of testosterone-fueled chest pounding. Rather, this is a tale intended to debunk Alaska's "expert only" myth and expose the plenitude of moderate 5,000-foot descents awaiting in a sea of Rubenesque terrain.

That's why when planning our sojourn we sought a situation that provided an ace up one sleeve, a king up the other, and a queen behind the ear. Enter Chugach Powder Guides. The Girdwood-based heli-ski business set up its operation to accommodate the whimsical nature of, well, nature. When the stars line up and the morning dawns blue, you're in for a day of heli—unless the weather decides to change. Understanding its guests' aching need for vertical, CPG has backed up its helicopter with a snowcat that accesses lower-elevation tree runs. And if all hell breaks loose—the chopper is grounded and the cat can't operate—there's a third option waiting off the back of the five-star hotel. There you'll find a 60-person tram that, in less than four minutes, will zip you 2,000 feet up the steeply gladed, bowled, and couloired north face to the shoulder of 1,000-acre Mount Alyeska, home of Alaska's largest lift-served ski and snowboard resort. So in essence we had signed on for a triple play.

As we rolled into the small town of Girdwood, our henna-haired driver pointed out one of the key local eateries ("Good luck trying to eat a whole pepper steak at the Double Musky," she said, rubbing her stomach) before depositing us at the Alyeska Prince.

Later in the wee hours, snuggled under my high-threadcount sheets, I rolled over to ring the CPG Status Line. Each morning this fateful call for the predawn weather and forecast would tell me whether we were flying or grounded. As luck had it, we flew not only that first morning, but helied four of our first five days in Alaska. Call it a harmonic convergence: We'd somehow slipped into a favorable weather window.

Page: