Head out: Chaotic start to Eklutna overnighter turns into memorable trip: Features

Thanks to beginning-of-season unpreparedness and having my mind elsewhere, I botched an otherwise wonderful overnighter last weekend with my girlfriends to one of the best local getaways in the Municipality of Anchorage: the Yuditna Creek Cabin at Eklutna Lake.

I hadn't thought I was the only person to have such misadventures, but as I watched Liz, Colleen and Dee methodically pull out the appropriate gear from the back of the truck and systematically put it together, I thought maybe I'll forever live up to the nickname given to me during a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail in 1993: Chaos.

With backpacks snapped in place, ski pulks attached and just our gloves to put on, I was the last to get my well-loved and very comfortable Salomon ski boots secured. Then I reached for my old rock-skis, a pair of classic skis that came with a house we bought in 1997 but that had been updated with newer bindings. They're great for marginal conditions, and this early-season ski was just that, with rocks poking out, overflow icing up and dips and divots where four-wheelers are still driving along the lakeside trail.

However, in my distracted end-of-day packing for the trip, I had the vivid memory of hating the old ski boots that I traditionally use for classic skiing. They cause blisters, pinch at the toes and never keep my feet warm.

I had yet another but misguided memory of last season having successfully matched my more comfortable skate-ski boots with those skis' bindings.

You can figure out what happened next: Dumb me sat by the side of the truck, trying in vain to clip into skis whose binding are not remotely similar to the Salomon boots I was wearing.

Now feeling like perhaps the most idiotic of skiers in all of Anchorage, I had no other choice. We had about a half-hour of daylight left and no time to drive back to Chugiak and retrieve the right gear.

So I took a few steps, jogging clumsily under the weight of the pack. The 25-percent addition to my body mass felt heavy and cumbersome, but the boots withheld the pressure.

So that's how my ski trip with my girlfriends turned into a slow jog-shuffle alongside them for three miles to the cabin.

For sure, this was one of my less stellar outdoor moments (matched only by the night I forgot a sleeping pad while camping in 20-below temperatures after a day of ice climbing), but within a quarter mile I found an awkward but manageable run-shuffle that kept me from slipping in the boots or toppling over with the pack weight.

Within half a mile I was in a downright comfortable groove, able to keep up with the girls and work up a nice sweat to keep me toasty warm under the waning daylight.

We reached the cabin after about an hour of careful route-picking to avoid the worst of the rocks and bumps and quickly got a fire started. We lit candles and placed them in all the windows and within a half hour, the cabin was warm, the conversation lively and the food out of this world. Later, we girls headed down to the beach, took in the stars and acted like silly teenagers.

The next afternoon, while running back out ski-boot-style, worries over my absent-minded mistake disappeared like the early morning fog that had rolled down the glacier and scudded over the lake.

Sometimes, things just don't turn out as planned, I thought. But sometimes, that's the best part: They turn out even better.

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