Reach the Beach

Reach the Beach

This treatise  covers the return journey, no less full of adventure but of necessity somewhat shorter and, so, condensed in a single entry.

We put Tim on a non-stop flight to Portland, said goodbye to grandson, daughter and son-in-law after a far too short visit, and departed Wasilla in mid-afternoon, Mom and Dad on the road again together. 

Dad retraced the route east to Glenallen for 150 miles and set up camp at Tolsana Wilderness Resort; no credit cards accepted, widely spaced sites like a national forest campground, and a coffee-colored stream full of Grayling running beside the picnic table.

Tim arrived in Portland minutes after we arrived here.  It still amazes dad that one can sit in an aluminum tunnel beginning at one place and end up in a different world so quickly; especially having spent two weeks getting to beginning to end.

Another sparkling day found us heading for Kluane Lake in Canada. The road after the Canadian border hadn't changed much, still really rough and mostly under construction.  The Chuck Wagon was still closed and rumor had it that it would not open this year.  With the big commercial camp ground still closed as well, we opted for the territorial campground nearby.  It was a great choice.

The ice was still in but quite obviously at the end of its life cycle.  Late evening but still daylight brought a strong wind from the north that started moving the ice, turned now to 'candled' ice, rotten but beautiful crystal columns that made the sound of breaking crystal as it began to move with the wind.  Smoke from a wildfire near Fairbanks gave the sky a pink hue that lit the ice the color of pink sapphire.

By morning, the wind had abated, leaving 6 foot walls of ice crystal along the shoreline.  Dad couldn't resist walking a short distance away from shore on the fragile ice; the water was shallow there but the photo op too dramatic to pass up.

From Kluane Lake we made a long drive to the junction of the Alaska and Cassiar highways where we spent the night.  Until very recently, the Cassiar was all gravel, a popular route with log trucks and 18-wheelers, an almost guaranteed way to sustain a gravel-induced windshield crack, broken headlight or both.  Now it is all paved and the 460 mile length of the highway shaves 140 miles off the Alaska Highway route to Prince George in British Columbia.

Turning south onto the Cassiar early the following morning it was immediately evident that we were in for a surreal experience.  The road is built on a narrow bed that rises 15-20 feet above the surrounding forest with no shoulders. 

One senses they are in the center of a wilderness, where the road, and our View, and we are intruders.  With respect, we continued south and were treated to some of the most wondrous scenery and spirit,  and a sense, if not reality, that we were the only ones here, having been apparently been granted permission to transgress so long as we were appropriately grateful.

In Jade City, British Columbia, the store owner shared that more than 80% of the world's jade is mined there.  We could have picked a number of turn-outs and slipped a chuck or two into D'Arvy but opted to support the local economy instead.  Raw jade is shipped from here to Asia for carving and returned to sell at not-unreasonable prices.  Wonder how they do that.The road improved somewhat here and continued to do so as we continued through miles of road with clear streams, each sure to hold a fisherman's fantasy, crossing beneath and countless "lookathat's! whoaizatcool's! izatawesomeorwhat's! neverseensopretty's" and nature-inspired silent contemplation.  Oh, and not just a few bear here and there.

About 140 miles before highway's end, we came to the 30 mile spur road that heads west to yet another special place.  Some thousand plus miles after leaving Alaska, we crossed back into one the state's most southern towns, Hyder: the friendliest ghost town in Alaska, population of 97 in 2010, and, according to a local we shared stories with, now around 65. One can ship down the 100 mile Portland Canal from here and meet the Pacific to head back north or south to the smaller 48.  And the scenery?  Somewhere close to paradise-pretty; surrounded by tall peaks, glaciers and fast water.

Typical of such small Alaska towns, our local source related the tale of a new resident, lover of all things natural, but, to his mind, more than a bit short of a full deck. In fact, he related, the town was being filled with enough odd enough people he was considering heading to the Yukon to find real people. Seems, according to our source, the new resident was feeding local bear instant milk powder and had even set up the space under her house to entice them to den there over-winter.  While unverified, this is the kind of legend typical of the Great White North and we suspect is more fact than fiction.

The best scoop we got from our new friend was the where to eat breakfast in Hyder.  The Glacier Inn served us a fine morning meal accompanied by interesting history and traditions.  Long ago a miner leaving town,  and uncertain of his future fortune,  penned his name on a $2 bill and asked the bartender to keep it until his return so that he might have money for at least one drink then.  The bartender agreed to hold the funds and affixed that bill to a wall nearby.  There's no word on how that miner fared but the walls of the Glacier are now covered in currency, foreign and domestic, inscribed with visitor's names, dates and events and include bills signed by the cast of Leaving Normal, a 1998 girl-buddy film with scenes recorded there.  The Glacier Inn is also the only place in the world where one can "Get Hyderized".  Check YouTube for film of that ritual.

Soon after leaving Hyder we were back in the land of large towns, even cities, four-lane roads and many  cars.  After hundreds of miles of only one road, one lane each way and only an occasional fellow traveler, we now had to watch road signs for directions and relearn how to change lanes.  The Yellowhead Highway brought us into Prince George and another overnight stop.

Morning day 6 we continued south along a road that at times parallels the Thompson River.   Driving through the region around Cache Creek one seems to be suddenly back in the western US desert where only sage and prairie grass grown.  Soon after though we were back in the mountains and pines winding along the Thompson River Canyon.  Stopping at Goldpan Provincial Park for a night's rest was a special experience.  The Canadian Pacific and Canadian National railways parallel the river on opposite shores.  Camped just above the river we found sleep a bit of a challenge, a beautiful view with the sounds of flowing river interrupted every thirty minutes or so by a north or south-bound train, sometimes both simultaneously.

Fraser's river canyon preceded us as we headed south; made a short stop at Hell's Gate, did the tourist tram thing, enjoyed a slower pace but felt the tug of home so continued on.  

We crossed back into the U.S. mid-morning.  One more long day on the road, made longer and more stressful by Seattle's traffic, brought us across the Columbia River and back into Oregon.  

The camera wasn't so readily grabbed at this point, not for lack of subject but in recognition that this was our home country, already in our hearts and minds and already frequently captured in picture.  This was a time to be grateful for where we were privileged to live and for a successful adventure to the Great White North and return.

Some may think traveling over 7000 miles in 22 days was pushing too hard, not giving appropriate time to experience the land and people we encountered.  Dad might agree that more time would be better but would say one has to take the opportunity when it presents.  This was a trip long overdue, one for TimnDad, father and number one son, so long delayed that it risked never being done.  We had two wonder-filled weeks together, Dad a third on the return leg with Mom, remembering, making new memories, learning anew and learning new things, enjoying the fellowship and the very simple, elegant things in life.  A spectacular view, the rush of cold air flowing off an icy lake on a warm day, a mountain vista and soaring eagles, quiet conversation and unbridled laughter; it's all good.

The following morning we made the short hop down to Pacific City, parked D'Arvy and checked into our cottage on the Pacific.  It was time to stop moving for awhile and so we did.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;        5

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,         

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.    

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

R Frost

Pick a road, any road, just pick it and travel.  It's all good. 

TimnDad

My Own Words

Hey all, I thought I’d break the mold here a bit and do an entry of a more personal nature.  Up to this point Dad has been trying to make sure the blog speaks from both of our perspectives, and you can’t tell who the writer is.  (I’ll give you a hint:  aside from some editing and a bit here,  the majority of the writing has been done by Dad, though the experiences, emotions and thoughts are shared.)  So if you find this shift in narrative different, there’s your reason.  And I apologize for the length as it may surprise you to hear I can be more longwinded than dad. ;) 

I decided that, to wrap up my leg of the journey,  I’d share a bit of my individual experience in the last couple of days as we pulled into Quartz Creek Campground, a very special place the resides in the memories of all of our family.

Most of the ideals I have from camping come from that subconscious memory left by early trips to Quartz Creek.  The crunch of the small gravel over rough paved roads, the search for the perfect smooth flat rock to get the most skips across the glassy lake.   The reflection of a sharply rising peak over a broad lake with bright green trees coating the hill from shore to peak, the light sound of waves lapping gently against a loose rocky bank and golden glow across said lake from the low hanging sun call out familiarity from some recess in my mind where 22 year old memories are held.  Everything from the ground underfoot to the speed with which water shoots from the quick faucet collapses vague feelings of remembrance into acute memories.  I’ve been to this beach and I’ve poked a dead fish on its shores with a stick.  

This is my Alaska.  While we've spent the last couple of weeks making new memories on a path following memories of various family members, this last camping spot is one that, while not uniquely mine, is mine nonetheless.  It’s the perfect place to draw a quiet close to the whirlwind of perfect days and the days of driving and experiencing the great northwest.

After a night of camping at Quartz Creek we went on to add to our party of two, first Mom and Nephew Colin, Step Brother Sean and then Sister Berni and many others.  The quiet solitude has shifted to a constant hum of activity with people we care about, an abrupt, but not unwanted shift.  And now I’m preparing to leave Dad and Mom on their own solo journey back south as I fly home.

    

This has been a trip winding through memories.  Many many things are the same, and have shifted drastically from expectation (for better or for worse). One thing, one extremely important thing, has changed, for better or worse.  Instead of devouring a purposefully charred marshmallow on a stick, today's  S’more was slow roasted over a perfectly laid charcoal bed to crispy brown, gooey centered perfection; crafted with the aide of over twenty years of lessons from everyone whom I hold close to my heart.  And for that perfect marshmallow, I thank them all.

Ending and Beginning Anew

Things get emotional, personal and teary at this point.  It could not be avoided.  On this trip, experience and emotion were bottled, fermented and then released like a cork from the neck of a fine champagne.  All the pictures are at the end of the text this time.  If you are following you'll understand that's the way this entry should be published.

One more almost sunset, one more early sunrise, another sparkling day and one more leg of the trip.  Tim n dad broke camp and drove the relatively few miles left to Wasilla.


The drive up Turnagain Arm did not lack for "Wow!" moments but each seemed more contemplative as the final miles passed beneath the wheels.

Passing through Anchorage one could not help but remark at how uncivilized it seemed.  Four lane highway, aggressive drivers, urban sprawl from the Pipeline days with only the lovely Cugach range to relieve the eyes.  Dad drove briefly by our old home, not much changed, and then on to daughter's house, just down the street from Sarah's in-laws home.

Mom had flown into Anchorage the night before and was waiting to celebrate our arrival.  Nephew-grandson had been impatiently waiting a Grandma-promised lunch out,so, after a couple rounds of hugs, we loaded them into our View and headed off to Red Robin for burgers and fries.  It was not nearly as much fun as we'd thought.

A few hours later, however, we'd agreed on a plan to extend the trip one more day.  We retraced our way south to Girdwood and dinner with our Alaska family and friends at the Double Musky, the Last Great American Roadhouse; classic New Orleans dishes made with Alaska seafood and the best pepper steak anywhere.

From there it was but 20 minutes further south to a state campground on Portage Creek.  Dad, Mom, Tim and grandson chopped wood, made fire, roasted marshmallows for s'mores and told stories about this trip, past trips, growing together in Alaska and the special place it will always hold in our hearts.

We all slept well, rose early and returned to Wasilla for a recovery day, cleaning up DaRV, doing laundry (there was lots), playing with nephew, a home-cooked dinner of steaks and fresh halibut, wine, music and dance.  It was a most fitting end to TimnDad's excellent Alaska Adventure and prelude to mom and dad's return.

The following morning we had time to loll around the house, play and laugh some more.  Then it was time to send Tim to the airport and get back on the road.

Tomorrow, Tim closes his part of this travel-blog.

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