Backpacking The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes

     On June 6th, 1912, the lush, green Ukak River Valley was transformed; buried under hundreds of feet of ash over the next 60 hours, it is now known by a different name.  When Robert Griggs, a botanist with the National Geographic Society, explored the valley in 1916, he and his comrades discovered a desolate, steaming landscape.....

"The sight that flashed into view...was one of the most amazing visions ever beheld by mortal eye. The whole valley as far as the eye could reach was full of hundreds, no thousands--literally tens of thousands--of smokes curling up from its fissured floor…It was as though all the steam engines in the world, assembled together, had popped their safety valves at once and were letting off surplus steam in concert."

      From that point on, this place has been known as the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes.  The explorers' emotions are reflected in names such as Mount Cerebus, named for the three-headed dog that guards the Gates of Hell in Greek mythology, and the River Lethe, one of the rivers of Hades also in Greek mythology.  Much has changed over the past century; the valley is no longer full of smokes, we now know that Novarupta, a strange, new volcano capped by a lava dome, is the culprit of the eruption rather than Mount Katmai- which collapsed into a caldera during the eruption, and amazingly, life is slowly reclaiming the valley.  Nevertheless it remains that the 1912 eruption was one of the largest eruptions in human history, and over a century later the scarred valley still echoes the unyielding, unforgiving power of the Alaskan wilderness.

A neighboring valley gives an idea of what the Ukak Valley looked like (The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes is off to the right).  

The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes when Griggs first explored it (Photo from National Geographic).  

The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes today.  

     I don't tend to anthropomorphize places, however, I cannot help but feel that the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes has a certain essence and personality.  Most of the time it is ill-tempered, showing no mercy on its travelers.  We had started our 22 mile drive to the Valley, on the only developed road to the park, under cloudy skies and decent temperatures.  As we reached the Valley, a strong, cold wind whipped against us, chilling even through Patagonia windbreakers and down jackets.  Droplets of rain pelted our faces at an angle, further dampening the situation.  My first view of the Valley was breathtaking.  The strangest landscape stretched in front of me; a red, gold, and tan floor, sliced by a deep gorge winding across, surrounded by towering mountains, most of which are actually volcanoes.  Dark clouds hung over it, and it was visibly raining farther out.  It looked worst just beyond the curving Buttress Range, where I and other backpackers would be headed the next morning.  It was anything but inviting.

     For the first day, we descended 800 feet into the Valley, viewing the confluence of the River Lethe and Windy Creek, one of the jump points (where backpackers can jump across the river gorge- there's no return if a mistake is made), and Ukak Falls.  Water rushed over the rocks, roaring angrily screaming danger and power to my ears.  The water was brown, and fossil fumaroles raced up the ash wall that towered above us.  We tossed pieces of pumice, which is a type of volcanic rock that floats due to copious bubbles formed from rapid cooling and depressurizing of gases within it during eruption, into the water, and watched them disappear in rapids and reappear as they spun around in a whirlpool at a curve in the river.  We climbed up and down the ash, which felt like rougher, thicker sand beneath my feet and hands.  We found burnt wood pieces and roots that had been killed over 100 years ago, and examined dark cryptobiotic soil (a mix of cyanobacteria, lichens, fungi, bacteria, and more) reblanketing the Valley just off of the trail.  Back at the overlook/Visitor Center, I spent the rest of the evening pondering what I had seen.  I felt excited and nervous at the prospect of backpacking into this place.  The wind had picked up even more, and farther out in the Valley the rain had as well.

River Lethe and Windy Creek confluence.

Ukak Falls

Fossil fumaroles

Burnt roots from trees alive before the 1912 eruption.

     I woke up the next morning feeling like Bilbo Baggins from J. R. R. Tolkein's The Hobbit.  The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes could easily be part of the title of an adventure movie.  The weather was somewhat better, although the sun still did not shine.  We descended into the Valley around 9:00, and quickly came to our first river crossing.  My first time fording, I clumsily stuffed clothing layers into my backpack, stripping down to underwear on my lower half.  The water was cold, and the current strong.  We carefully moved against it, my legs feeling as though they were being pricked with pins and needles.  Quickly re-dressing and pulling our bags back over our shoulders, we hiked onward.  I agree with others' descriptions of the Valley as analagous to the surface of the moon or a desert.  We crossed small stream after stream, and ascended as we hugged the side of the Buttress Range.  We occasionally came across bear tracks, and I smiled, acknowledging that both bears and humans maintained the thin, weaving trail we were on.  The largely barren Valley is still easier to travel across than its more fruitful, mountainous, brushy surroundings; the bears are willing to make that trade-off.

     I will admit that after a while, I became rather frustrated and irritable.  I later found out that I was not wearing my backpack correctly, letting the weight fall on my shoulders rather than my hips, I was hungry, and most of the group I was in were wanting to go at a much faster pace.  I am not a speed hiker.  We faced a strong headwind and rain.  I walked through thick brush, branches entangling with my bag and attempting to pull me back more.  I climbed several small gorges where waterfalls flowed.  Lunch and water collected from the second waterfall refueled me, but the need to press onward was accentuated by how cold I became sitting still in sweat and rain.

Crossing small waterfalls and gorges.

These colors are formed by different minerals at different temperatures being released during the eruption.

     The River Lethe is only fordable in several places, outside of those it is a deep and deadly gorge.  Our destination for the evening, the Baked Mountain Huts, was still barely visible in the distance, and would involve a strenuous climb.  The wind was picking up, and I knew once I crossed the river I was committed to that destination.  The water here was even colder, but shallower.  It was a rather tame crossing for my group (that is not always the case depending on snowmelt, rain, etc.), and the only unnerving part was ash slightly sinking beneath us in several spots.  After again climbing to the top of the ash layer, the wind carried not only rain but pumice, hitting my face like glass shards.  I donned a pair of sunglasses and my buff, attempting to keep pumice out of my eyes, nose, and mouth.  Now unsheltered from the Buttress Range and on the other side of the river, we faced a long, flat expanse of ash, over 30 mile an hour winds (my estimates) attempting to push us back with every step.  "I sure picked a helluva place for my first backpacking trip", I thought to myself.  I kept my head towards the ground, occasionally turning around and walking backwards when too much pumice funnelled at us.  In squinting glances, the huts never seemed to get closer.  Time appeared to have stopped, and I was solely aware of two things; the misery of this stretch and the need to get to shelter.  After several hours (what seemed like more), we finally reached Baked Mountain.  Two fellow backpackers kindly helped me adjust my pack and lightened my load; I had learned a valuable lesson about the importance of weight and spatial distribution in backpacking.  My feet throbbing with fresh blisters and back aching, I slowly climbed.

One of the River Lethe crossing points.

     The huts were small, dilapidated, and moldy, but they felt like a 5 star hotel at the time.  The view was spectacular, and that I couldn't see where we had started gave me an idea of how far we had come (~11 miles).  I was exhausted.  Hoping that the weather would improve tomorrow, I enjoyed a hot Backpacker's Pantry (freeze-dried food packet) and settled into my sleeping bag, falling asleep to the wind pelting pumice against the huts and threatening to rip them apart.

Baked Mountain Huts outside view.

Baked Mountain Huts inside view.

     Miraculously, the sun was shining through cloud patches when I woke up the next day.  I ate breakfast, collected, melted, and filtered snow from the mountain for drinking water, and headed out to view Novarupta, which was only several miles away.  I (along with a friend) walked over snowfields on the slopes of Baked and Broken Mountains, occasionally sinking up to my knee, and holding my walking/fording stick horizontally in case I fell deeper.  While climbing up a final slope, a spectacular sight came into view.  A huge, unearthly, black dome of lava stood out from its surroundings.  Novarupta: the origin of the miles of ash we had walked on.  Steam coming off of the active volcano made it appear even more menacing.  We would have gone closer, but the subvalley that Novarupta sat in was funneling wind and rain.  I took in the view, pondering it while eating Peanut Butter on Pilot Bread (large, dense crackers).  Eventually, I turned back into the sun, already planning a future trip to go closer.

View back towards the Huts while walking to Novarupta.

Novarupta is in the middle of the frame.

Mount Cerebus to far right, unknown mountain to left, right of Novarupta (out of view to left).

     Time passes slower in the backcountry.  Without the distractions of modern technologies and other amenities, the mind is able to wander more freely.  We spent the rest of the day inventing games that involved throwing rocks and pumice and playing cards.  A beautiful rainbow appeared over the area; symbolizing protection even in this harsh place.  It was the perfect end to my second day in the Valley.

     Early the next morning we began our trek back.  Most of the way was either downhill or flat, which made for quick travel.  The sun was peaking out of the clouds again, and I was able to view tall Mount Griggs and glimpse the bottom of Mount Mageik.  I won't say much about the trip back, besides feeling both fatigued and contemplative by the end of the trip.

The fog that morning almost looked as though the Valley was smoking again.

     The first few days following a return from a trip ino the wilderness are strange.  Typically things are relatively the same as you left them, but you are different.  Removed from the modern world, then cast back into it; given a new understanding and then forced to reconcile it with your previous perspective, is difficult to swallow.  Nevertheless, this feeling of displacement subsides, and you do your best to retain the most vivid memories of your experience and incorporate an intangible wild lesson into your normal life.  The Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes challenged me physically and mentally more than any other place has.  Being consumed by it; enveloped by ash swirls and rain, and then thrown out again, was a strong experience that has taught me.  Humbled by the Valley of Ten Thousand Smokes, its power and wild wisdom, I continue to explore and seek out wilderness.