Epiphany on the Hike From Hail

The sun’s rays sparkled across the small pond, across the back porch, and into the windows of the cabin. The day was bright in Fairbanks, singing the tune of summer with clear skies and chirping birds. It seemed like a shame not to be out there, reveling in the glory, so I took to the streets in the belly of the “Bomber,” a term so fondly given for my friends’ indestructible Alaskan Sable (being Alaskan because it has survived enumerable winters). I decided to head to Wickersham Dome to hike Summit trail, a path I had previously been unable to finish due to the latent winter residue. But today, on such a clear day, I was sure to succeed

As I drove along happily with not a care in the world except for whether or not the Bomber would make the forty-five minute drive, I couldn't help but notice the black blanket unfurling across the skies, overshadowing Fairbanks with an ominous gloom. Determined as I am, I pressed on to conquer the trail. And since the weather in Alaska changes every hour or so, I assumed that the skies would again turn to my favor and make for a delightful afternoon.

I arrived to the trail and began my ascent just in time for the skies to descend. Hail the size of peas speckled my head, fleece, and exploded onto my pants, dousing me completely in a matter of fifteen minutes. The muddied trail from the recent snow-melt turned to sludge that I trudged through as I persevered through the elements. Nothing was going to stop me; I was determined to make it to the end.

The hike through hail was more than just my afternoon workout: it was a representation of the last three months of my time in Alaska. I arrived here just a short while ago to what should have been the most favorable of conditions. I had a job, a place to stay, and the potential for nothing but adventure this summer. However, upon arrival, I quickly came to see that uncontrollable conditions and unpreventable “hailstorms” were going to dampen my spirits, forcing me to consider turning back on numerous occasions.

I kept going even at the first hint of ankle-deep mud, lightning, thunder, and never ending hail. For an hour and a half, I pushed forward, thinking to myself that the weather just had to break. The sun had to come out. It was supposed to be a glorious afternoon and an exhilarating hike. But it wasn’t. The lightening flashed around me and the hail continued raining on my uncovered head. After one step too many in the mud and rain, I finally decided that it was time to turn back.

After three months in Alaska, I've decided the same about being here and working in Denali. The hike that day was everything that my time has been—isolation, bad conditions, hail on my head. It has taken me three months to realize that some situations in life are not meant to be endured. It is only wisdom to see it in time to seek shelter.

I made it back to the warm Bomber in record time, just as the sun was peaking through the clouds. I had been drenched, but I felt more at peace than when I began. I left the trail and my own internal battle that day with the resolution to leave Alaska.  It has been nothing that I anticipated and more than I could have expected for shaping who I am.