It’s easy to fall in love with Alaska in the autumn, especially if you dress for it

Ah, fall. Everyone around me seems to be complaining about it. The days are getting shorter, the air is cooler, and for some reason the trees along the Glenn Highway turned brown instead of yellow this year.

I have zero complaints. I am an early and ardent fall supporter. I loved fall long before the rise of the pumpkin spice latte. Even when I was a kid I basked in September, and disdained summery weather when I felt it should be cool. As a grade-schooler waiting for the school bus I wore my coat even if I was sweating underneath it.

Now I know that sweating profusely is a bad sign. It just goes to show that I have learned a thing or two since I was 8.

Visitors to Alaska are advised to dress like an onion. Perhaps that's an odd way of putting it, but it's also correct. The "outdoorsy" way to describe it is to dress in layers. This means wearing multiple articles of clothing that can be peeled off or tugged back on depending on temperature and comfort.

This fall especially this fall, as the warmer days linger well into September in Southcentral Alaska, layering is key.

The first question in deciding what to wear is about the intensity of the activity. For 8-year-old me at the bus stop in the warm September sun, simply standing didn't merit my warm coat.

Now, running in the fall on a sunny day, I wear the exact same thing I'd wear in the summer. It's mostly leggings or shorts topped with a tank top and glorified athletic sweatband. The difference between running in this ensemble in the fall versus running in the summer is that in September I don't wish I had additional layers to pull off. I'm comfortable. The cool air on my skin feels glorious and refreshing.

Hiking becomes a little more complicated. The temperature seems to swing wildly from shade to sun, from lower elevations to mountaintops. And my experience changes depending on if I'm strolling along or hauling myself up a steep grade.

The trick, I've found, is to err on the side of wearing fewer layers to the trailhead but packing extra in my backpack. By starting cold I can avoid the rookie mistake of sweating through all of my warm stuff before I need it. Then, if the weather cools down or I'm walking back and getting chilly, I still have dry layers to throw on.

The other thing I've realized is that black does, indeed, absorb sunlight and therefore warmth.

When I wear my super-cool ninja outdoorsy ensemble, I might look like a trendy New York version of my Alaska athleisure self, but I am also sweaty.

It's nice to have a pair of pants that can be pulled on over shorts if needed. But what I usually end up doing is retreating into the grand changing room that is the woods or behind a rock. There, with only the prying eyes of marmots to see me, I can quickly change out of shorts and tug on pants.

For really getting up high, I'm also realizing it's that time of year to bring a light jacket and a hat.

Winds pick up quickly, and in the past few weeks I've even see some termination dust grace the highest peaks in the Valley. That's an indication of the temperature up there if nothing else, and it's always a bummer to hike long and far just to get to a point where you don't have enough gear to safely or comfortably keep going.

Finally, there's the question of cotton. Oh, maligned cotton. I understand that it is the fabric of our lives. It's also the essence of my favorite t-shirts. However, that old adage that cotton kills is a good thing to abide while layering to head outdoors.

Before it kills, cotton is uncomfortable — when it gets wet, it becomes cold and heavy, and takes a long time to dry. Non-cotton materials, especially those used in most outdoor clothing, don't retain as much moisture and dry more quickly.

I know this column is the death knell for those of us in Alaska still hanging on to every scrap of summer. I appreciate that. I, too, am enjoying these warm days and soaking up the lovely sunshine.

However, as the nights get cooler and cooler, I feel that 8-year-old's excitement once again. Now I'm just better prepared and better dressed while I enjoy my favorite time of year.

Alli Harvey lives in Palmer and plays in Southcentral Alaska.