On an assignment in Argentina for the oil and gas company, BP, several years ago, we included the southernmost city in the world, Ushuaia.
Brent Voorhees and I were pleased to find a recently made snowmachine trail as we skied north on Caribou Creek.
Conditions on Eklutna Lake during the first two weeks of February had been perfect for skiing, skating, biking, hiking and snow machining.
Our world of ice is beautiful. I can remember as a child in Seward staring at the colorful prism created by sunlight striking ice sickles.
Violence, greed, corruption, and oppression of people seem unending, but I now have a robust and enduring faith in humanity.
What follows are female mountaineers, primarily Alaskans, who have and are continuing to make extraordinary achievements in the mountains.
I’ve always loved the quietness of Hope, which I can guess is the exact opposite of what it was like back in the early 1900s
I later re-named it Mount Kennybaker, but my formal application did not receive enough Seward support to be approved by the State of Alaska.
I’m slowly hiking the trail up to Curry Ridge in the Alaska Range with my friend Carl Portman. Behind us is a palpable presence.
During the summers of 1949-50, my dad, Kenneth D. Baker and Forrest Davis hiked to the north fork of Spruce Creek to work the claim.
