Hearing Voices

Next to last goal met, time to head for Wasilla, daughter, aunt, son-in-law and a re-visit to grandson.

A half-day fishing charter was all we could manage, full-day boats were already full.  As was the case with all of our trip, it was serindipitous.  We returned to Homer with 20 pounds of filets, had 2 vacuum packed, the remainder flash frozen and scheduled to ship fedEx and meet us on our return.

Sunrise over Kachemak Bay

Kachemak Bay, from the Homer Spit

We drove noth towards Wasilla but decided to stop short at Cooper Landing and spend the night at our all-time favorite camp ground, Quartz Creek, near Cooper Landing.

Quartz Creek CG, near Cooper Landing

Dad said he could hear voices as we sat beside Tustamena Lake, the voices of his children when they were young and so enthusiastic about simply living each moment.    During the 6 years he and mom spent here in Alaska, Quartz Creek was at least an annual destination.  A certain birch tree, still standing, cradled their daughter and first-born son on each trip to this wondrous place.  We stopped there first as dad insisted on yet another photo of Tim seated on the branch that last held him when he was 3.  Then it was on to the ritual of picking the best available camp site, which we did with great success considering it was two days prior to the start of the Memorial Day holiday.


Once camp was set  we prepared our dinner: fresh, self-caught halibut coated in crushed Ritz crackers mixed with lemon pepper and grilled over coals from a birch wood fire. Ah! Laska.

Short Cut

How does one shave off 335 miles from a road trip of 520 by driving just 1 to start the day?  Why, by traveling the one and only Alaska Marine Highway!  That's how.  We drove from Eagles Rest campground to the ferry terminal in Valdez and loaded DaRV aboard the MV Chenega, the AMHS fast ferry bound for Whittier.  The 'short-cut'  deposited us in Whittier, a mere 187 miles from our day's destination, Homer, by the sea.  The all-land route is 520 miles and not nearly as much fun.

Explorer Captain James Cook named this beautiful island and mountain studded body of water the "Sandwich Sound", after his patron, the Earl.  His map editors apparently thought better of a Prince William and renamed it appropriately.  On any given day, Orca and Humpback whales may be seen here.  Not for us today, though.  We saw plenty of puffin, kittiwake and other seabirds but, alas, no whale.

The newer, and much faster of two AMHS ships making the crossing, the Chenega took just under 3 hours to cross Prince William Sound on glass-smooth water and deposit the three of us in Whittier.

 We queued up with 70 or so other vehicles and then drove through a two mile long tunnel, emerging at Portage Lake within sight of Potage Glacier.

Having struck out in our effort to fish for halibut in Valdez, we headed for the self-named "halibut fishing capital of the world.  Homer lies literally at the end of the road, on Katchemak Bay and, naturally, it too is surrounded by towering mountains and glaciers.  If one builds a cabin on the ridge above town, the outhouse absolutely must have a view of the bay and glaciers to the south.

Overlook above Homer and Katchemak Bay

Ah!-Laska

Ah!-Laska

Talkeetna to Valdez

Following our Denali adventure, we closed up DaRV and drove an hour south to Wasilla.  Grandson, aka nephew Collin, was anxiously awaiting his first RV campout.  We loaded him up and returned to Talkeetna.  Five-year olds take pleasure in such small things; trying to figure out where the electric steps went when the door closed, or where they came from when the door was opened; riding the camper's pop-out room, in and out, over and over, and a basic grilled-cheese sandwich with french-fries and a Sprite, whilst  sitting on the deck of Talkeetna west Rib Pub and Grill with Grandpa and Uncle Tim amd a slew of current-generation Alaska frontiersmen/women.

Next morning we returned, of course, to the Roadhouse for breakfast.   Ordering for Colin was a challenge after he clearly announced he did not like eggs, cinnamon rolls nor sourdough pancakes. "Only regular pancakes", he demanded.  Wise old Grandpa winked at the server and ordered "a half-order of regular pancakes, please".  When the more-than-plate sized sourdough cake was served, Grandpa added butter, folded it into four layers and topped it all with maple syrup, real maple syrup.  Grandson ate half that 'regular' pancake with relish and compliments and kindly left the remains for Tim and dad to split.

If the first portion of our trip were labeled "New Adventures" and the second "Wildlife", part three would have to be scenery.  The drive from Wasilla to Valdez has to rank close to the top for views, vistas and wonder.

Once we left Colin back safe with his dad, we put the city in the mirrors and rolled on down the two-lane paved-but- frost heaved Glenn Highway east through south central Alaska's farm lands, the Matanuska Valley.  Newly greened birch trees lined the road at the lower elevations; low bushes of unknown origin still held the promise of Spring above 2000'.

The Chugach mountain range accompanied us throughout; tall, rugged spires covered in snow and glacier.  The views were so majestic one could easily forget how harsh the winters here are and find themselves seriously considering the occasional "For Sale" sign posted near small cabins set on 40 acres or so of Ah!-Laska.

The road became even more challenging as we turned south on the Richardson Highway.  Extraordinary vistas continued, however, as we drove through the valley of the Copper River and up through Thompson Pass.

Thompson Pass receives an average 550 inches of snow each winter.  Remarkably, the state of Alaska keeps it open year-round.  Spring brings towering waterfalls to life that, in winter, draw those who would meet the challenge of climbing a frozen sheet of ice that rises over 600 feet from the highway's edge.

Bright sunshine gave way to clouds and rain as we entered the port city of Valdez, the end of the trans-Alaska pipeline and Alaska's largest year-round ice-free port.  The town is surrounded by high Chugach mountain peaks that rival for beauty the Alps surrounding the lakes of Switzerland.

We'd seen only one bear and a couple caribou on the drive in.  Once in Valdez we saw more Bald Eagle than seagulls.  They circled and sailed the wind currents above us, occasionally gliding low and across a backdrop of snow covered peaks.

It was hear we hoped to accomplish another goal: fishing for halibut in Prince William Sound.  Shortly after setting up camp we learned that the town was still waking up from winter and deep-sea fishing would not begin for another week or so.  Instead we wandered the streets of this rugged, 47 year old fishing town.  Of course Valdez was established long before 1964, but the massive earthquake on Good Friday of that year, dropped the original waterfront and 1400 feet of the town into Prince William Sound, creating a 67 meter high slump-induced tidal wave.  That and the earthquake destroyed much of the rest.  After determining the original site to unstable, the town was rebuilt at its current site.

Valdez history fills two museums, which we visited at great length.  Mostly though, we soaked in the incredible beauty and natural spirit of Prince William Sound.  Ah!- Laska.  It was enough.

Before bed, we discussed options, considering whether to remain in Valdez as planned but not fish or to catch a ferry to Whittier and motor down to Homer where halibut sport-fishing was well underway, or head for Whittier and decide what to do once there.  We opted for Wittier with options.
We over-slept the following morning.  Once again the long hours of daylight fooled our minds and bodies, conning us into staying up and active until the wee hours of the morning.  When dad fired up the computer, he discovered that the ferry had just left.  We couldn't muster the energy to retrace our trail up the Richardson and Glen Highways so reserved a spot for ourselves and DaRv on the fast-ferry, MV Chenega leaving tomorrow at noon.

Having a full day to wander, nap, catch up on mail and such was a  treat.

The Great One

The Great One

Some reading this may note that we are way behind on posting our journal.  That's part due to lack of internet connections (Verizon may be best in the 48 but marginal, at best, here in the Upper 1), but it's mostly due to the intense schedule we're keeping.  The 20 hours of daylight, virtually no real dark, finds us up and active outside until 11 PM, sometimes later, and so tired at the end of the day, if one can figure out where the end is, that writing is a low priority.  We apologize, but only a bit.  We've written the text for the next few days and hope to have all up to date before Dad heads back south on the return leg.

Another mission pre-planned: a flight seeing trip to Denali and a glacier landing, looked to be beyond reach as the sky brightened to mark our first morning in Talkeetna.  There were high, grey clouds but the wind of the past two days had abated.  To our delight, however, the folks at Talkeetna Air Taxi advised they were flying after all; weather at McKinley Base camp on the Kahiltna glacier was reported to be good.

They had room on an 11:15 flight so we first headed back into town to accomplish mission 3, sourdough pancakes breakfast at the Talkeetna Roadhouse.  The sourdough started there had recently celebrated its centennial birthday and the cakes were big enough to use as a poncho.  Covered with butter and locally made birch syrup, with a side of reindeer sausage, they made the perfect start to the day.

At 10:45 we were back at the airport and ready to fly.  There aren't many words that can describe the grand experience that followed.  We'll let the pictures try that.

In factual terms, we departed Talkeetna in a turbine- engine DeHavilland Otter with six other passengers, flew north over lake-studded tundra, into and among the peaks, snowfields and glaciers of the Alaska Range.  The base of the cloud ceiling was around 8000 feet, obscuring all the peaks above.  The sun broke through occasionally, spotlighting hanging glaciers and lower summits.


The pilot weaved through a myriad of mountain passes until we broke out into clear skies on the north side of the range.  we flew now at 12000 feet along the Wickersham Wall, greatest vertical rise of terrain in the world.  It climbs from near sea level to over 14,000 feet in just four miles.  We caught occasional glimpses of the summit of Mount McKinley, ten thousand feet above us.

Wickersham Wall, greatest vertical terrain rise on earth

Returning south again, the sun disappeared until we approached Kahiltna Glacier.  We're in luck", the pilot "The Ruth Glacier is socked in but weather over the Kahiltna is good. We're going to land at Denali base camp."

Climbers on the way t0 the summit

Through the window we watched as the pilot retracted the wheels until they were resting above the skis in preparation for the landing on snow.  And then we did.

Denali Base Camp-=Kahiltna Glacier

Thoroughly Alaskan

Mission 1  Accomplished - Dinner and beers at Mile High Pizza Pie in Talkeetna.

In the first page of this blog Dad set a few "must do" goals.  The only way to attain them was to stop in beautiful Talkeetna, 100 miles sounth of the entrance to Denali National Park.  It's a hard thing, but someone has to do it.  Might as well be us.

After leaving the ups and downs of the road past the park, we had a fairly smooth ride all the way to the Talkeetna access road.  The town sits 15 miles north of the turn off.  One actually passes it south bound on the Parks Highway and has to double back to the town.  it is one place more than worth the back-tracking.

Talkeetna is quintessentially Alaskan.  Athabascan Indians originally inhabited this area. They were a strong group that refused to let the Russian traders up the Susitna River. In 1892, gold was discovered in the lower reaches of the Susitna River, bringing miners and prospectors into the area..  Some of the claims established then are still mined.  Talkeetna's proximity to Mount McKinley, and early bush pilots like Don Sheldon, who pioneered landing airplanes on The Mountain's glaciers in support of, and to rescue, climbers, made Talkeetna the modern-day departure point for expeditions on McKinley.  The median age for Alaskans is 32. 4 years.  This town is full of young success-fulls, hopefuls and dreamers.  And yes, it is Mecca for Dad, the ex-bush pilot who used to "fly bush" in western Alaska.

On arrival we set up at Takeetna Camp Services RV park then hoofed it in to town, a half mile away.  Camping a bit out of town was on purpose.  We would need at least a little exercise to work off the calories we fully intended to consume over the next two days.

We had a fine lunch, chili con reindeer carne and a patty melt pasty (pronounced PASS-tee by the locals, perhaps to preclude misunderstanding and/or embarrasment as in "I want to eat a pase-tee") at the Talkeetna Roadhouse.

Afterwards we wandered over to the airport and enquired as to the possibility of a flight-seeing trip to The Mountain.  Weather was sunny in Talkeetna but the same winds that knocked us around yesterday were still blowing, even harder at higher altitudes, and weather on The Mountain wouldn't allow so much as a flyby from 40 miles away.  "Perhaps tomorrow", the dispatcher opined.

We settled for wandering around town, catching up on office work and napping instead.  When dinner time arrived, we were off for Mountain High Pizza Pie.  Dad had a Carnivore (lots of meat as the name implies) and Tim risked a new one to both of us, a Pierogi Pizza.  I mean, who ever heard of cheese and mashed potatoes on a pizza?  It was delicious!  And the fine Alaska-made microbrews served at MHPP made overconsumption of the pies quite easy.  Still, there were a few slices left for lunch tomorrow.

Mission 1 accomplished.

Coming (back) Into the Country

If you want a good taste of what draws many to The Great Land, read John McPhee's "Coming Into the Country".  Amazon.com's review review: "Residents of the Lower 48 sometimes imagine Alaska as a snow-covered land of igloos, oil pipelines, and polar bears. But Alaska is far more complex geographically, culturally, ecologically, and politically than most Americans know, and few writers are as capable of capturing this complexity as John McPhee. In Coming into the Country, McPhee describes his travels through much of the state with bush pilots, prospectors, and settlers, as well as politicians and businesspeople who have their eyes set on a very different future for the state."

From Fairbanks we headed south towards Talkeetna,a true and unadulterated Alaska town and base for those who come to climb the continent's highest peak, Mount McKinley.  A flat tire delayed our departure until early afternoon so we decided to cut the leg short and stop at Denali National Park.  The road was, in two words "really rough", paved but a continuous series of frost heaves that seemed to bottom out the shock absorbers and created a cacophony of rattling dishes,cups and teeth.  Add a strong wind that, at times was right on the nose, at others, buffeting our 10 foot profile from the side, and grew stronger as we drove through the Nenana River canyon on approach to the park entrance and the flat tire that caused us to shorten our drive became a blessing in disguise.

Rough Roads, Bear Butts and the Good Ol' USA

More Like the old Days

Leaving Destruction Bay we noted a solar powered, lighted sign flashing the urgent message "Rough Road From Here to Border!".  It sorta figures; only 140 miles to Alaska and they turn out to be rougher than even the worst that dad remembered.  We'd planned to reach the border in 3 hours or so.

It took four and a half.  But that was ok.  The slower speed made spotting wildlife easier and there was still plenty of it. We saw Grizzly's three times, although we were certain of the species on two occasions.  There were plenty of black bear but the camera caught mostly their butts as they sped across the road and into the buses.  That was more bear than we'd ever seen in any previous trip, including Yellowstone, Glacier and Denali National Park.

The final stretch to the border was under construction, basically not much more than rutted gravel and silt, that required a pilot car to guide traffic through one direction at a time. 

The crossing went well even though we had to give up the one remaining orange from the bunch we carried from Oregon; no citrus imports allowed.  One wonders why though.  Last time I looked there were no orange groves anywhere in Alaska.

The Customs and Border Control officer also promised that the road ahead was much better than we'd just experienced.  He was right.  At least for the first long stretch it was brand-spanking new.  We made it to Delta Junction and the official end of the Alaska Highway, stopped for the requisite photo and then continued on.  Tim did not suffer too much when the miniature replica of the Alaska State Insect tapped him for a pint.

Aside from stopping for pictures when the scenery demanded, we made Fairbanks in early afternoon. We had to cruise around looking for an open campground and ended up at the Alaska State Fair Grounds.  Sunny, warm (74f) and one week from Memorial Day, even the state camp sites in Fairbanks were still closed.

Sunrise tomorrow at 4:01 A.M., Sunset at 11:37 PM.  Tim hoped to see the Northern Lights and had been studying the forecast for same.  The sky was clear enough for sure and he was determined to stay up until dark.  Dad recommended he check the time for evening civil twilight on the internet and so he did.  The answer: "No Civil Twilight At This latitude".  Guess he'll have to come back in winter.

Mount McKinley

Not My Father's Alcan

This was not how Dad remembered the Alcan of his younger days.  For the most part the road has been in good shape, allowing for cruising speeds in the 55-65 mph range.  Oh, there were exceptions, of course, and some notable ones.  Thirty years ago on his first trip, however, his memory says there was lots more gravel and slower speeds.  Even from only 22 years ago, on the trip that returned the family to the Lower 48, he had stories of a mud-encrusted pop-up trailer and gravel-cracked headlights and windshields.  He hasn't seen any of the custom-designed cages that snapped over headlight lenses to protect them for sale this time.

We left Watson Lake around 9 after the mandatory visit to the Sign Post Forest. The first sign post was planted in 1942 by a home-sick GI working on the Alaska Highway.  There are well over 10,000 now.

For about 110 miles after Watson Lake, the road was in decent condition and we made good time.  Then it was over 60 miles of frost-heaved roller coaster and then back to 'normal'.  From the capital of the Yukon Territory in Whitehorse into our overnight stop on Kluane Lake in the settlement of Destruction Bay we managed an average of about 50 mph.

We'd been looking forward to a burger dinner at the highly rated Chuck Wagon diner, which is parked on the west shore of the lake but it wasn't there.  The camp ground we'd set our sights on was still closed for the season as well.  The ice had not gone from Kluane Lake as of yet but was it was still a sight to behold.

Sunset was a few minutes later than the night before, not quite down at 10:30 when the picture below was taken.  Dinner was pasta with the last of the special sauce mom had made the day before departure and slipped into the 'fridge.  It was better than some dumb old "Best Hamburger in the Yukon" anyway.

Wild Life, Wildlife, WILD

Tim the navigator shared notes from the Milepost as we left Pink Mountain for Watson Lake.  "Watch for Black Bear grazing along the Alaska Highway."  Within minutes we slowed to miss one that charged out of the trees on the left, dashed across the road and into the woods on the right.  He/she was moving really fast! That encounter was a precursor to a day filled with wildlife sightings.

Over the ensuing 3 hours, we saw one of just about every resident creature.  There were moose, of course, and stone sheep, bison, and caribou.  We saw what appeared to be a Gray wolf amble across the road.  And another bear that stood at roadside and stayed put when we pulled over.  Her cub sat almost invisible behind a bush a short distance away.  Look above and left of mama bear.

A one hour stop at Liard Hot Springs gave both travelers a welcome break from the road and the warm, soothing mineral spring provided renewal and reinvigoration.  It's early in the tourist travel season so we shared the pools with only two other people.

Along this stretch of highway the Birch had opened in a green so brilliant against the blue skies that it almost hurt the eyes.

We left Beautiful British Columbia behind today and entered Larger Than Life Yukon Territory, stopping for the night at Watson Lake.

A Pink Mountain and a New Beginning

Prince George to Pink Mountain

Grey skies never darked altogether overnight.  We hit the road early and before noon arrived at Dawson Creek, BC: the official beginning of the Alaska Highway.  Having now covered almost 1200 miles, reaching the marker was bittersweet.  Only 1573 miles to Fairbanks from here!

Mile 143 on the Alaska Highway brings you to the small roadside hamlet of Pink Mountain in the Rocky Mountain Foothills, northwest of Fort St. John. Pink Mountain glows a vibrant pink color at a certain time during sunrise but its real claim to fame is the high population of rare Arctic butterflies found here, attracted by the region's blossoms.  We saw none of these phenomena.  The weather improved as the day progressed; bright sun and a cloudless sky that remained lit noticeably longer than at home.  Sunrise to sunset was 90 minutes longer here.  

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Spring has yet to truly arrive here. The deciduous trees along the route look almost dead.  They stand in great numbers in a forest that stretches from road edge to horizon.  But, they are leafless among their sister pines and spruce and so appear as great patches of gray among the green.

Sunrise here: 4:48 a.m.  Sunrise at home, 5:38 PM.  Sunset here 9:08 PM, Sunset at home, 8:26  PM.  Difference today Plus 1+32

There's Always Hope

In spite of a late start we made good time along Interstate 5 from Beaverton.

Seattle's notorius interstate traffic jams have improved but not much.  We passed downtown around noon in heavy traffic. North of the city 'heavy' became stop and go.

We took advantage of the slow-down to snap a few pictures of the Emerald City skyline then hopped into the HOV (car pool) lane and were out of the mess in mere minutes.

About 3 hours later we rolled into Sumas and queued up to cross into Canada.

As a former U.S. Customs Inspector, Dad knew that the best way to avoid a lengthy inspection was to be forthcoming and completely honest duing the interview with Border Services Officer.  Dad should have also know what the non-resident limit for alcoholic beverages was.  As one who enjoys an evening martini, and/or wine with dinner, Dad packed the View with supplies sufficient for a four week trip, neglecting to consider he was going into a foreign country along the way.

The interview went something like "And are you carrying any firearms? No ma'm.  Any mace or pepper spray?  Yes ma'm, We have two canisters of Counter Assault bear spray properly labeled as such.  And any alcohol?  Well, we have a bit less than yesterday so I'd say about 4 liters of gin, 2 of whiskey, a case of beer and 5 or 6 bottles of wine."

"Sir, did you know the import limit for non-residents is 1.14 liters of spirits and 1.4 of wine OR 24 cans or bottles of beer?  No ma'm, I should have though.  And I would certainly toss it if you so require.

She let us proceed with a stern warning not to forget that limit on the return trip.

We stopped in Hope, BC for the night, and 'Hope- fully' we'll be on our way bright and early tomorrow!  (Sorry couldn't resist)

North of the 45th Parallel

Dad left town at 5:26 PM and crossed the 45th parallel (half way between the equator and the geographic North Pole) at 7:15.  After a quick stop at the iconic Mount Hood and Timberline Lodge, he continued west to the US Forest Service campground at Camp Creek.

The original plan had been to overnight near the lodge but that was idea was tossed.  It having been a record year for snow in the Cascades, four feet of it remained covering the campground..  A quick stop for a picture was all the motivation needed for a retreat to a lower elevation.  The dashboard thermometer read 28F.  It would not have been any fun trying to prepare dinner outdoors there.



Ten miles or so west, and a couple thousand feet lower, was Camp Creek USFS campground 

The wondrous white noise of the fast-moving water outside the View assured a deep and uninterrupted sleep.