I do most of my hiking alone, because I like to take off early in the morning and go at my own pace. I love the solitude and peace of high places, the moment when you break out of the trees and find yourself once again in the alpine world. On this day I hiked through a steep open forest on Bear Mountain at the south end of Sitka, and it began to snow lightly just as I approached treeline. I had never been up on this mountain before, so I really was not sure what to expect. I stopped to rest in the softly falling snow, and then pushed on.

I climbed higher and reached a point where I was walking on crusty snow. I sat against a tree to put on my crampons and pull out my ice axe. As I strapped on a crampon, I heard a rustling from below, and thought I might see a bear. Bears don't hibernate predictably in southeast Alaska, because it stays fairly close to freezing, without going much below that. We do not get deep winters like you get up north in Interior Alaska. Anyways, it was not a bear, it was a friend's dog, Granite, who poked his head above the horizon.

We hiked the rest of the way together, up into a bowl full of hard snow, softened by the freshly falling snow. We climbed a steep ridge about 500 feet up the side of the bowl, Dan kicking steps, me side-stepping in half-crampons, and Granite between us trying to use Dan's steps. Granite kept pausing and looking back at me questioningly. At one point, he looked back at me and slid slowly down until he was cradled between my legs, my arms, and the mountain. He looked up at me, scared and unsure. No way to go but up, so I gently prodded him and up we went. It was wild to see him use his claws like mini crampons, finding tiny notches in the hard snow to grip.

We reached the ridge and could see nothing but the ridge in the snow. This photograph was taken at about 3700 feet, on a 4200-foot mountain. We turned around right where Dan is standing, not wanting to risk a nice long fall into oblivion.

Winter climbing is harsh, but it brings you to a very unique world.