Anchorage Daily News

The snow finally melted off the north side of McHugh Peak a few days ago.

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It has been that sort of summer.

Normally the snow is gone by the start of August, always by the Aug. 10 opening of the sheep season. Not this year. Not during the third-coldest summer on record for Anchorage.

My legs tell the tale. They are as white as pair of beluga whales.

Normally, they are tan to the height of the running shorts or at least the bike shorts. I rode a few times in the bike shorts this summer, but obviously not enough to get a tan.

As for the running shorts, I'm not so sure. I must have pulled them on at some point over the course of three months, but mainly my memories are of cool evening runs in tights.

Most summers, there are days when it is necessary to keep a close watch on the dogs so they don't overheat when they run along. There wasn't a single day like that this year.

I do remember one day of working on the Garage Mahal -- the construction project that ate most of the summer -- when the air actually did feel warm. It didn't last long. The wind came up, and the temperature seemed to drop 10 or 20 degrees within minutes.

The whole story of the season seems to have been about what wasn't:

No heat. No sun. In many cases, no fish. Or not many.

And now the snow will be coming back to McHugh any day.

I'm ready. If we can't have a real summer, maybe we can have a real winter.

There's a lot to be said for the snowy season in Alaska:

• It lasts a long time.

• It lacks bugs.

• The bears are in hibernation.

And did I mention that it lasts a long time?

For some, this is too much. That first white dust on the mountains is called "termination dust" for a reason.

A long time ago, it was the signal for white folk to pack up and get out before everything froze down. Alaska's Native people, being among the world's toughest, were more inclined to embrace the winter.

Rivers difficult to ascend in the days without the aid of power, be it the early steamboats or the later power boats, became frozen highways as easily traveled in one direction as the other.

Swamps, ponds and squishy tundra ceased to be obstacles. A man on snowshoes could cross them as easily, sometimes more so, than any other terrain.

Nothing has really changed in that regard over the course of centuries, except for it all got easier. The snowmachine now makes it easy for almost anyone to visit parts of Alaska too costly or difficult to access in summer.

Not that this is the only way to see a lot of the near Bush. Regularly used snowmachine trails can, with a little cooperation from the weather, pack up into fine trails for winter cycling too.

You'd be hard pressed to ride your bike from the Little Susitna River to Flathorn Lake in the summer, but it's usually a pretty easy ride in winter.

If you want, you can keep going on to the Yentna Roadhouse or Skwentna or even into the Alaska Range.

Or you can buy that first snowmachine and do this the easy way. The snowmachine is more costly to purchase and to operate, and it's not nearly so good for your cardio-vascular fitness. But it really does make easy access to the Alaska backcountry.

My neighbor, one of the better masters skiers in town, sometimes rides his snowmachine to the Susitna River, parks it, puts on his skis and goes for long tours in the quiet of the vast nothingness out there.

You can't do that in summer.

Still, what's probably best about Alaska's dominant season is that you face it with different expectations. If you expect the weather to be cold, it's not half as chilly as if you expect it to be warm.

Yeah, I'm ready for winter.

If you're not, just think about this:

The best thing about this rotten summer will be to have it disappear deep into dim memories. A good winter with good snow can only help to wipe it from the memory banks quicker.

Outdoors editor Craig Medred is an opinion columnist. Find him online at adn.com/contact/cmedred or call 257-4588.

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