Just Another Jim's

Alaska Journal

Ch. 1: Journey to Fielding Lake

Posted June 23, 2006 by James E. Nelson

True believers hold certain days in sacred trust: Nebraska has Husker game day; Louisville has Derby Day; and interior Alaska has Labor Day weekend. Labor Day weekend marks the confluence of several events. Moose season starts on Sept. 1 for most of the state, and the three day Labor Day weekend is the first opportunity for many to get to their favorite hunting sites. By Labor Day, the aspens are golden, the evenings come too soon, and one can feel the snow advancing from the arctic. The changing weather patterns also mean that this first weekend of September often marks the end of the good fishing weather. As a result, Labor Day weekend takes on a near mystical character in the Interior. It is incumbent upon all real Alaskans to be out and about to observe the passing of summer. With snow and darker days around the corner, Labor Day weekend is a ritual of consummation. With the last days of catching fish and the first days of moose hunting, Labor Day weekend is a ritual of preparation for the long, cold, barren days ahead.

Being new to Alaska and not knowing the rubrics of this day, we were invited to take part in an annual family outing to Fielding Lake. It is no accident that Fielding Lake was the site of this end-of-summer gathering. The lake is high above the tree line, shadowed by glaciers in the not too distant peaks. It is most memorable for its stark and formidable emptiness. The small headwater valley in which Fielding Lake lies is surrounded by grass and shrub covered hills, that are surrounded by great mountain peaks ringed by rock slides and snow drifts, that are surrounded by the clouds, that keep the not too distant sun at bay. This place, at the union of heaven and earth, is ideal to mark the passing of the season. Cheating winter out of one last weekend, in this high country, where winter can intrude upon any season, any month, is a small, but important act of human defiance against the forces of nature.

The Alaska Range is huge beyond description. To illustrate, the vertical rise from base to foot of the great mountain peaks that most Americans know is typically less than two miles. The peaks of the Front Range (Long’s Peak, Pike’s Peak) are all about 1¾ miles above Denver, Colorado Springs, and Longview, Colorado. King’s Peak, the jewel of the Wasatch Range, also has a vertical rise of 1¾ miles above the Great Salt Lake. Grand Teton rises just over one mile above the Jackson Hole region. Mt. Hayes, on the other hand, stands nearly 2½ miles above Delta Junction. The foothills along this portion of the Alaska Range are almost non-existent, so the great ridge of mountain peaks to the south of Delta Junction seem to rise out of the river plain with no warning, adding to the grandeur of these snow capped peaks. Fielding Lake is nestled among these giants of the Alaska Range.

Even though it is only sixty miles from Delta to Fielding Lake, there are three distinct stages to the journey. On the first stage from the mouth of the Delta River to Donnelly Dome we drove across a slowly rising plain where the mountains beckoned, but from a distance. By late August autumn had captured the Delta River valley that flows from the mountains past Donnelly Dome. In the river valley white spruce and birch are the dominant trees, but black spruce and a stunted cottonwood take over near the permafrost that underlies much of the plain. Woody underbrush, now autumn red, and groundcover such as blueberries, arctic dogwood, and cranberries carpeted the permafrost. As we rose out of the spruce forest onto the plain, Donnelly Dome, a lone sentinel hill between the mountains and the river, demanded our attention. The area around Donnelly Dome is an utterly flat plain, the Dome rises out of this otherwise unremarkable region to an elevation of 4,000 feet. If one detours from the highway over to Donnelly Dome, a landing strip is visible across the highway. This long ribbon of concrete, out in the middle of nowhere, is still used for emergency landings, but is now mostly used by Army paratroopers on maneuvers.

Historically this region was home to the largest moose in Alaska. Although most of the trophy animals have been killed off, it still supports a large moose population. From the base of Donnelly Dome the reason becomes clear. To the south and east, the plain slowly gives way to gentle rolling hills where small lakes and ponds collect in nearly every valley. The vegetation in these shallow, but protected valleys is dense and nutritious providing both forage and protection for the moose.

In the opposite direction, toward the meandering Delta River, the summer range of the Delta Bison herd can be seen. This great grass covered plain was noted many years ago as potentially excellent bison feeding ground. Shortly after World War II bison were imported from Wyoming. The Delta herd has thrived ever since.

The patient observer, who knows just where to look, may be lucky enough to see a wolf in this region. Both black and brown bear are common. The berries attract the bears. The abundance of moose and buffalo attract the brown bear and wolf. The ravens are ubiquitous in this region, feasting on death wherever they find it.

The rolling hills to the south of Donnelly Dome mark the end of the first stage of the journey and the advent of the second stage. Cresting an otherwise unremarkable hill, we were suddenly faced with the great gaping jaws of the mountains, and a tiny ribbon of highway far below that led directly into them. The rise in the highway had been nearly imperceptible, but the results of that climb were now clear. We found ourselves at the top of a hill overlooking the vast Delta River basin and the great mountains rising on either side. The road before us dropped back into the river plain and then curved into the gaping valley from which the river flowed.

The Delta River is a glacial river. The water is chalky white and completely opaque. The name “Delta” is fitting because it is made up of a half dozen different channels meandering back and forth across a broad bed of gravel. This great gravel bed was created high in the mountains by the glaciers and transported down into the riverbed by the river. On either side the golden birch and aspen vie for attention with the deep green spruce. Here at the edge of the mountains, the valley is wide and gently slopes upward toward the mountain peaks. Farther to the south the valley narrows and the slopes become brutally steep.

Tiny rivers tumble down the steep mountain sides, chiseling out miniature valleys that flow into valleys that flow into the Delta River. The effect looks very much like great paws at the base of a marble sculpture. As our eyes gazed upward we almost expected to see massive gargoyles carved into the mountains. Instead these sculpted paws at the root of the mountains gave way to misty cliffs still green, crimson, and golden with trees so far away they appeared as velvet. Occasionally the velvet fabric of the mountainside was woven with the silvery threads of a waterfall, still dancing this late in the year.

The tree line was now in sight. Farther up the mountainside the golds and greens gave way to the earth tones of the stubborn underbrush that thrives in that desolate climate above the tree line. Finally even the underbrush gave way to the snow fields, crags, and mountain sheep. As we climbed up this mountain road the once distant tree line grew ever closer and the lush valley fell away below.

Marking the line between the second and third stage of the journey was more difficult than the transition from permafrost plain below Donnelly Dome to mountain river valley beyond. But when we arrived at Rainbow Ridge, we realized that things had changed. By this time the valley narrowed and the road, pushed up against the sweeping rise of the mountains, was clinging to the edge of the river. Suddenly the alder laden hills gave way to a great mountain face made up of changing colors, from purplish gray to ocher to rose. The whole mountain face was covered with loose rock and it appeared that the whole face could slide toward the river and road clinging to it at any moment. Indeed there are signs warning of the danger of rock slides. Vegetation was now the exception. Rocks, gravel, mountain peaks, and snow patches became the order of the day. Soon we would rise above this precipitous river valley and drive out onto the more expansive plains of the upper reaches of this mountain pass. We were nearing Fielding Lake.

Fielding Lake is noted for big lake trout in the depths of the lake. In the small stream that flows out of the lake, ravenous grayling and dolly varden are more likely to be found. For those rising with the sun, moose are common on the far shore of the lake. Brown bear and eagles also frequent this area. Mosquitos, gnats, and a variety of no-see-ums are so thick in the evenings, they tend to get caught between the eyes and lens of anyone unfortunate enough to wear glasses. It is the bugs that support the dense fish population found in these waters.

The day had been beautiful—hot, actually—but the chill came quickly with the setting sun. Smoke from the many campground fires was curling toward the clouds when we arrived. Of course we were told to bring our own supply of wood because Fielding Lake is high above the tree line and campfire wood was simply unavailable. This was the beginning of our first Alaska Labor Day weekend: steaks cooked over a smoky fire, jackets and leaping flames to ward off the chill air, grayling and dolly varden jumping in the nearby creek, and the peaks of the Alaska Range blazing with the last of the setting sun.