July 4, 2012. Seward, Alaska. During one the most popular foot races in state, Mount Marathon, a racer disappears, never to be seen again.
This is the story of the vanishing of Michael LeMaitre.
The Mount Marathon Race is one of America’s oldest foot races. Almost every 4th of July for well over 100 years people have gathered in Seward,
Alaska to cheer on runners as they scale the steep, barren slopes of Mount Marathon. Starting near sea level on 4th Street in downtown, the relatively short race ascends nearly 3,000 feet to a false summit called Race Point on the great mountain’s eastern flank. To win Mount Marathon is to become an instant legend in the circles of Alaska athletics. And though many compete to steal that honor, only one can stand atop the victory podium and bask in that glory. The names of those who do are etched into race lore forever….
Will Michael LeMaitre ever be found? What happened to Michael LeMaitre? I climb to Mt. Marathon's Race Point to examine this curious, eerie disappearance for myself and try to guess at what happened to the racer who disappeared during the Mount Marathon Race.
Online theories to explain his disappearance range from alien abduction, to interdimensional portals, to an intentional disappearing act pulled off by LeMaitre.
Until some sign of LeMaitre is discovered, the real truth of what happened that day, will always be one of Alaska’s greatest outdoor mysteries
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Somewhere under a blanket of ice hundreds of feet deep, runnels of water squeeze through tunnels and cracks, collecting in pockets. Gathering momentum. Finally, after a seemingly endless journey through the dark, it erupts into daylight as a churning, turbid stream. A creek Is born and it begins its descent to the sea.
This is the life of a river… Ice to Ocean.
Our Alaska packrafting adventure started at the Exit Glacier trailhead in Kenai Fjords National Park. Exit Glacier is one of about 40 glaciers spawned from the Harding Icefield, a massive sheet of ice that covers roughly 1,000 square miles. That’s about the size of Rhode Island. Our destination was the toe of the glacier, where Exit Creek emerges from under the ice and, like us in our packrafts, begins its tumble downhill.
We used to put-in much closer to the glacier, but a sudden glacier outburst flood of Exit Glacier June 14, 2021 sent a wall of water charging through the narrow gorge, re-arranging the channel and prompting the park service to close the canyon. It’s hard, as we spread our gear over glacial moraine, not to look up at the wall of ice and imagine seeing that rushing chocolate water and tumbling mass of boulders bearing down on us.
After the first set of crux rapids, we settled in to rhythm of this river. Dodging sharp rocks, logs and brush, and always being alert for the deepest channel to avoid running aground.
After two and half miles, Exit Creek spills into Resurrection River and we continued downstream with triple the flow.
The next six miles were much the same, only on a larger scale. Braided islands and swift corners punctuated by occasional small rapids. Though the river is tame, the setting is incredible. Towering mountains leap skyward, crystalline cascades pouring down their jagged faces. Glaciers cling to the highest alpine rungs despite the apex of summer. It is, in a word, inspiring.
At mile 9 we passed the lowest takeout I’d ever used. From here down we were entering the unknown. Well not exactly. This was the most industrial and urban part of the river. Our route took us through a gravel pit, under a busy highway and alongside the runway of a small airport. But eagles lounged on the riverbank, scouting for salmon. Busy helicopters circled towards the alpine cirques.
Ahead, the stream was opening up. And we knew the ocean was near.
We suspected paddling our lightweight Alpacka packrafts on Alaska's Resurrection Bay would be a challenge. We were not wrong. The mile-long paddle was slog across shallow mudflats, angling into a south wind, as small breakers lapped over our gunwales. At times it felt like we were making no progress. But eventually, somehow, we washed ashore just fifty feet from the car.
Ice to Ocean. We’d packrafted fourteen miles, 13 by river and one by sea. We’d sniffed out the river source, and saw it all the way to its mouth. We’d descended 700 feet and navigated countless swift corners and braided channels. My vision of a dynamic day adventure had come true.
Watch video documentary here:
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Three days, 3 toddlers and an Alaska glacier. What could go
wrong?
Iceberg at Spencer Glacier Lake
Spencer glacier just off Alaska’s Turnagain Arm, is a
perfect taste of the Alaska backcountry without feeling too committing.
Accessed from a whistle stop off the Alaska railroad and an easy one mile hike,
it is close and convenient yet stunning with its sheet of wrinkled ice and broad
lake dotted with gleaming icebergs. It seemed ideal for a first backpack trip with
a three year old.
But as we set off into the wild, I felt a growing unease
about the things that could go wrong. Even though Spencer is close to the most populous
part of the Last Frontier, it still is, well, the Frontier. Were we putting our
daughter in danger just by bringing her to a place like this? Were we setting ourselves
up for misery and failure? The next three days would tell.
Our journey started at the Portage Train depot where the
three of us and some friends boarded the steaming, blue and gold Alaska
railroad. It was my daughter’s first train ride and her eyes filled with wonder
as we rolled into the forest. It was a short trip to the whistle stop, and once
we left the crowds behind, a hush fell over the landscape.
It was a wet, chilly night. After a soggy breakfast the next
morning, we settled on a hike around the lake for a better view of the enormous
glacier, and its many icebergs.
After lunch, the rain tapered just enough to inflate the
boats and head out the water.
It’s humbling to float through the maze of blue ice. They
stand like frozen, dynamic sculptures. We drifted in the calm water, trying to
decide what animals they resembled. The challenges of endless rain and
sleepless nights with a toddler washed away.
Sometime during the night, the blanket of clouds tore apart.
The morning air was crisp and calm. The lake surface mirrored the sky above. It
was perfect for photography and for another paddle.
Day pressed on. The yellow sun quickly felt hot. We basked
in warm of a perfect Alaska afternoon.
When the time came for the short hike out,we left all our challenges and fears behind. Without
questions, it was all worth it.
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