This weekend, Carlos, one of his coworkers, and I set out on a tundra trek with high hopes and foggy outcomes.
On Saturday, we braved a land cloud, that eerie phenomenon when the dew point and temperature meet just right, causing the sky to descend onto the earth. Think: a cloud on land, thick and disorienting. Our mission? To find Kittiwake Lake and the lava tubes.
What we think might have been the lake was, well… a rather underwhelming puddle. Standing around it, we all exchanged a glance that quickly turned into laughter. “This is the lake?” The kind of humor you can only find when you’re standing ankle-deep in mystery and moss.
Not yet ready to give up, we hiked up a nearby hill, McKay’s Folly, to see what we could see. The climb wasn’t easy. The ground here looks flat but isn’t. Hidden crevices and tephra deposits make each step an act of strategy. Thankfully, reindeer tracks gave us a path to follow. If it’s good enough for the reindeer, it’s good enough for us. We leaned on our walking sticks and trusted the hooves that came before us.
The summit offered us… fog. No lake. No lava tubes. But maybe, just maybe, we were close. According to the map, McKay’s Folly was just west of our destination. We left with a promise: we’d try again.
And we did.
On Sunday, Carlos and I made a second attempt. This time from a different angle, approaching from the quarry. The land cloud was back with a vengeance. We could barely see 15 feet ahead, and without clear visibility, we didn’t want to risk wandering too far off course. In weather like this, the land disorients you. Every boulder looks like the last. You lose all sense of direction. In places like St. Paul Island, you don’t mess with fog.
So once again, no lake. No lava tubes. Just two hikers (plus one on Saturday), some laughs, a few good stories, and a growing appreciation for the mystery of this place.
We’ll be back. The tundra doesn’t give up her secrets easily, but we’re learning she rewards those who keep coming back.
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