Chugiak Mountain Eve

ONCE upon a winter’s eve, I found my person walking upon the snowy banks of some mountain carving river midway into the heart of Alaska’s Chugiak Mountain range. The air was crisp and sharp in winter’s thrall and the heavy laden branches swayed and groaned under their silvery burdens. The sky overhead shone faintly as father Sun prepared to make his bed in a hanging glacial valley far behind the realm of human comprehension. Right now he was just brushing his celestial teeth.

Peaks and ridges backlit with the dusky rose haze of alpenglow cast the whole frozen world in a pink light that warranted an argument. For none was needed. Here was a place of peace. Untouched primal beauty as it was in the old days. I felt that by even being in this magical place that I was in some way interfering in the very balance of nature. For all of the serenity and peace that was granted to me by those mountain gods of their range, alas, I was an interloper yet.

- Nicklaus Sorum