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Alaska...Again There's something about Alaska that keeps calling me back. I recently returned for a third visit, bringing my wife along this time. We weren't disappointed. Fly Delta Airlines, see the benefits of booking with Delta. by Bob Neubauer I would have loved to see the vibrant orange sky glowing above the Alaskan landscape as our plane neared Anchorage at about 10:00 p.m. Unfortunately, Northwest Airlines had placed me in a window seat without a window. Nothing but a blank wall met my gaze. So I craned to see through the tiny crack between the guy's seat in front of me and the wall, catching glimpses of brightly painted clouds, and sighing in disappointment. About 10 hours after leaving Philadelphia's sweltering summer heat, we dropped down into Anchorage, and my wife Felicia and I stepped out into much more comfortable temperatures. Unfortunately, yet again, our bags did not make it. This happened on our last trip, to Baton Rouge, as well. Fortunately, we had learned our lesson and packed a change of clothes in our carry on this time. My uncle Jim and cousins met us at the airport and took us back to their place. There we saw my cousin Shayne's baby, Riley, and met his wife, Alicia. We also met my cousin Shannon's girlfriend, Sukar, who is Iranian. My other cousin, Shawna, stopped over too. After dropping into an exhausted sleep, we woke to a beautiful, sunny morning. I stepped outside and breathed the crisp, clean air of Alaska, and I was so incredibly happy not to be home, gagging on hot, damp air. After breakfast, Shawna stopped by and took Felicia and I to a mountainside park (near Flattop Mountain) with trails offering a fantastic view of the Anchorage valley, with the city "skyline" in the distance and the bay behind. We walked another trail down a hill and over a rushing creek. We spotted a male moose with a full rack of antlers in the distance and watched it with binoculars, munching leaves. Moose are pretty common sights in the city, actually, since much of the "city" is in woods or near them. After lunch, we went biking with Shawna on one of the city's great bike trails, the Tony Knowles Coastal Trail. We followed a river under roads and around lakes, then hit the coast and rode alongside the bay. Riding through the woods later, I saw some people staring into the trees. Following their gaze, I saw a female (antlerless) moose grazing among the trees. The girls missed the sight. After dinner, Felicia and I went in my uncle's indoor hot tub. We could look out the window and see the pink and orange sky reflected in the water of the bay-at 10:30 at night. The next day we woke to cloudy skies. I wanted to take Felicia to Portage Glacier, a popular tourist stop, and Shawna had said she would come also. When we arrived, it was very cold and damp out, with a bitter wind blowing. Since the glacier retreated years ago, the visitor's center is kind of stranded, and there's not much to see there. We hiked a trail to another glacier, the Byron Glacier. I had done this with Shannon on my last visit. After walking a mile--and making noise whenever possible to ward off the bears that had been seen in the area--we came to the glacier, a vast area of snow sloping up the side of the mountain. A river flowed out from underneath it. Far above we could see the blue ice at the heart of the glacier. We walked on the snow, climbing slowly up the hill to a rocky area. Shawna and I scampered up the mountainside, climbing over lots of loose rocks and gravel. We saw where the river disappeared underneath the snow. Mostly we walked on snow, but sometimes large sections of gravel appeared on top of the snow. This gravel had been scoured from the ground by the glacier as it moved across the land. We climbed higher and higher, until the snow was replaced by hard ice. I was a bit worried we might step on what appeared to be a small crack, only to have it open up into a crevasse, into which we would fall. Eventually the ice got very slippery. Water was flowing on top of it and under it, and you could clearly see the telltale blue color that marks a glacier. Everywhere around us we could hear the sound of water flowing. Shawna found a hole in the ice and we looked down about 20 feet at the river flowing swiftly under the ice. That was scary, considering that if we fell in, we would be swept away by the icy stream, never to be seen again until the ice melted in a few hundred years. We hurried back down, gathered up Felicia (who was quite chilly by then, standing by her poor self in the snow) and hiked the trail back to the car. The next day we had planned to go on a wildlife boat cruise, but we woke to rain. Felicia was eager to see some whales, though, so we called to reserve tickets. Shannon opted to join us. He drove us in his Camero. Despite the rain, he drove 100 MPH on the winding road to Seward, passing other cars, and keeping us on the edge of our seats. As a result, we arrived about 90 minutes early. We went in some shops and bought things to eat and drink in a cafe. Then we boarded the nearly empty boat and set out. The view of the harbor was great, with boats everywhere and mountains behind. Unfortunately the fog covered up many of the scenic views I had seen on my previous boat trip there. Still, there was a certain magic about seeing rain-fed waterfalls crashing down the sides of mountains, veiled in shrouds of fog. We saw a number of bald eagles perched atop trees. Several otters, floating on their backs, came near the boat, as did some porpoises. Puffins flew around us and sea lions lounged on rocks. The cruise ended sooner than I had expected. With the small number of people on the tour, I figured the crew was just going through the motions for us. We went in the much-touted Alaska Sea Life Center, basically an aquarium. I thought the $12.50 entrance fee was a bit steep for the limited amount of things to see (though because Shannon is an Alaska resident, we got in for $10). Still, it was cool to look through the glass below the water and see sea lions swimming past and puffins diving and swimming, flapping their little wings underwater like they were flying through the air. One huge sea lion developed an interest in a little girl and just stared at her through the glass. We headed out of town, again at top speed. Within an hour the sun was poking through, illuminating patches of the mountains next to the road. At one point, Shannon asked me to drive. Since I don't usually drive stick, this was a bit tricky, but he walked me through it and soon I was flying down the road--at about 60. The next day was our day to drive to Denali National Park. Felicia and I got up early, a bit glum to see more rain falling, and packed up. Shannon had graciously offered to lend us his pickup truck, though he had reservations. He had put small, sporty tires on it, and only used it for short trips. He worried that, if we drove it too fast, it would put a strain on the transmission because the smaller wheels were turning faster than large ones would have. The result of this, he said, was that the speedometer showed a higher speed than was really being driven. Shannon got up just before we left and told me this fact, plus a few other things about the truck. He said I had to check the tire pressure and use only 90 octane gas. I asked him for CDs, since there are no radio stations where we were going, and he presented me with about eight of them--all Led Zeppelin. We headed out of town in the rain for Denali, but we made a few stops along the way, like in Eklutna, where we glimpsed the "spirit houses," which are replicas of houses built over the graves in an Indian cemetery. We stopped in Palmer, where we had hot drinks in a coffee shop--nice on a cool, damp day--and looked out at the rainy streets of Palmer and the mountains behind. From there we drove up a winding mountain road to the Independence Mine, an old gold mine, now a state historical park. We waited around for the 3:30 tour, anxious to get a look inside this old mine. But a half-hour later, after the tour guide had led us through every room in the mess hall, we realized this tour wasn't going into the mine at all. The guide confirmed this when she said the mine was too unstable to enter. Disappointed, we walked the trail up the hillside afterwards to peer into the old entrance. Perched high on the cliff above were old mine buildings. The decaying remains of an old wooden staircase ascended the steep cliffside, showing the trail the miners once took to reach the original mine entrance. From up there we could see the complex of mine buildings below and the valley stretching out into the distance beyond that, with mountains on all sides. It was a great view. A gravel road went from the mine up and over Hatcher Pass, eventually connecting with the Parks Highway, which was where we were headed. Since the alternative was a lot of backtracking, I had thought we'd take that road. Views were supposed to be spectacular, though it was a very rough road with steep hills. We drove about 10 minutes on the road, through endless potholes, before deciding to turn around. I didn't want to damage Shannon's truck, and I didn't want to spend 90 minutes gripping the wheel with all my might. As we retraced our route down the hill, Zeppelin's "No Quarter" filled the cab with its haunting melody, sticking in my mind as I gazed across the mountainous miles. We worked our way back to Wasilla, just 45 minutes from Anchorage. Already it was 6:00 and we still had 200+ miles to drive. We opted to eat at KFC, since Wasilla was the last real town we would see for hours-for days, really. Then, after filling the tank ($1.72/gallon for 90 octane), we started the long drive. Check-in time at our campground ended at 10:00, so I felt we had to hurry. At the same time I was trying to heed Shannon's directive not to drive too fast. His speedometer went only up to 80, but because of those small tires, 80 was actually about 65. It rained off and on the whole way. Our campground was at mile 231, and we started at about mile 50. Mile markers showed each passing mile. Let me tell you, it's a long drive when you're watching each mile tick by, and there's not much else to see but pine trees. Some big moments were: Mile 100 (just 131 to go!); Mile 131 (just 100 to go!); Mile 200 (a nice round number!). Every few minutes I would look at the time and the nearest mile marker and figure out what time we would reach the camp. I kept coming up with a time perilously close to 10:00, furthering my anxiety. To make use of my spare time, I used the mile markers and the truck's odometer to calculate how much the speedometer was actually off. For each mile, the car registered 1.2 miles, I was proud to finally announce. And then, Felicia looked over the side of a bridge we were crossing and saw a grizzly bear with a fish in its mouth. She shouted out "A bear!" and I turned around as quickly as I could. But when we got there it was gone, perhaps scared away by the passing Alaska Railroad train. At that moment we knew we were in a new world. Not long after that, we slowed to pass a stopped car, and saw a mother moose and two babies on the side of the road. A few miles later, another moose stood munching on the shoulder. We were deep in Alaska now. We reached Denali Grizzly Bear Cabins & Campground at 9:50, with darkness beginning to fall. We checked in with ease and then searched for our "tent-cabin," a structure on a wooden platform with canvass walls and a metal roof. It was at the bottom of a steep hill, right next to a roaring river. The location was very picturesque, but it was a chore to get all that gear down the steep hill in the growing darkness. Inside was a mattress on a platform, a table and a chair. We zipped the two sleeping bags together, piled two blankets on them and jumped in. Outside, the river rushed past, fooling our ears with strange sounds. I kept thinking I heard large animals crashing through the woods, thumping on the ground. The air in the tent got colder and colder, and I lay awake for about an hour before drifting off to sleep. Felicia was less fortunate. She said the river kept her up most of the night. Denali Park Tour We had booked a 6:30 voyage on one of Denali Park's shuttle buses, the only way people can see the interior of the park. This meant we had to get up at the horrible hour of 5:00 a.m. The inside of the tent was really cold when we arose, like 40 degrees. Putting on cold jeans was quite a shock. I just kept thinking "It's 95 degrees back home" as I shivered. I eventually donned two sweat shirts and three jackets before venturing outside. It was drizzling lightly as we clawed our way up the hill to the parking lot. Denali National Park was just 6 miles away, so in minutes we were standing by the visitors' center, waiting for our 6:30 bus. We grabbed a seat near the front and soon we were off. About two minutes later we spotted a mother moose (called a cow) and baby. The driver was surprised and said moose, though common in Alaska, were actually rare sights in the park. He said we probably wouldn't see any more. A minute later we saw another. Then a little farther down we saw three more, including a bull moose with a full rack of antlers. By then we knew we were going to have a good day of animal spotting. The bus rumbled along the winding road, which eventually turned to gravel. Unfortunately, all the great valley views were on the left side of the bus and we were on the right. Still, the scenery was incredible. We spotted distant dall sheep on cliffsides, and a few distant caribou (which are basically reindeer). Then we came upon some stopped vehicles and saw, grazing on a hillside, a mother grizzly and her cub. They paid us no heed, eating and wandering maybe 100 feet from the bus. This was actually the very first bear I have ever seen in the wild, despite all my camping and traveling. The bears eventually went out of sight over the hill and we drove on. The next surprise came as we turned a corner and got a terrific view of the snow-capped top of Denali (a.k.a. Mt. McKinley), the tallest mountain in North America. It's rare to see the mountain, since it's nearly always covered in clouds. With all the rain we'd had, this was the last thing I had expected to see. As we drove, the mountain repeatedly came in and out of view around corners. The road followed the edges of steep canyons, with no guard rails at all, and occasionally we plunged into foggy areas. We stopped a couple times to use the bathrooms. After about 4 hours, we arrived at the Eilson Visitor's center, some 60 or so miles into the park. Felicia and I opted to stay there longer than the half hour rest period our bus was taking. We ate a leisurely lunch marveling at the sight of Denali, just 35 miles away, in all its snowy glory. After about half an hour, clouds moved in and all but obscured it. Our bus was the only one that got to see it. We hiked down toward a glacial river in the broad valley below the visitor's center, but it proved farther away than it looked. In the near distance were other snow-capped mountains and a glacier. At around 12:30 we boarded a different bus. Unfortunately, we again had to sit on the "bad" side of the bus (it annoyed me that some of those on the side with the views fell asleep while we craned to see out their windows). During the ride back we saw several hoary marmots, which look something like a weasel, and a flock of ptarmigan on the road, the Alaska state bird. Then we came upon the mother grizzly and cub again. We were closer this time, and had excellent views of them foraging for food. At one point the cub stood up on his hind legs to look for his mother. It was cute. Outside the bus, walking down the road with cameras, were two guys, who stopped to photograph the bears. That didn't seem really smart to me, since bears with cubs are very dangerous and protective. After watching these bears for a while we moved on. Later we saw another grizzly digging feverishly in the dirt. Our driver said he was probably digging up a squirrel's nest. Another bear was spotted a short while after that, just running along the distant tundra. He had black hair underneath and blond hair on his back. We saw a number of caribou, mostly far away. After several successive shouts of "caribou!" each time someone spotted a new one, the driver announced, good-naturedly, he would no longer stop for caribou. Soon after that, a caribou climbed onto the road right in front of the bus and began trotting along, in no hurry, his back legs splaying out comically with each step. The bus slowed down behind it, and someone shouted, "I thought you weren't going stop for any more caribou." After a minute, the caribou turned left and ran off into the tall grass. When we reached the visitor's center, 9 hours after we started, we felt we'd had a very successful trip through Denali National Park. In the morning we packed, hauled everything up the hill, and set off. We ate a great breakfast in the small, woodsy McKinley Creekside Cafe (I had both eggs with reindeer sausage and pecan pancakes) and then started driving. The sun came out at times, illuminating the woods, fields and mountains. The leaves were already turning yellow there as fall approached. We stopped a few times for photos, and then took a 15-mile side road to the town of Talkeetna, the starting point for mountain-climbing trips up Denali. By then it was sunny and warm out, maybe 70. Wasilla came not far after that, and then we were heading toward Anchorage, aiming for a 4:30 arrival. It was Uncle Jim's 60th birthday and we wanted to get him a card and gift before getting there. But fate had other plans. Just outside of Eagle River, a car passed us, then slowed and came back alongside. A woman pointed at our truck and made hand signals, so I figured I'd better stop and look. Sure enough, our front left tire was nearly flat. I put on flashers and drove slowly to the nearest exit, pulling into a school parking lot. By then the tire was completely flat. I checked under the truck bed, but there was no spare and no jack. Why hadn't I thought to ask Shannon about a spare? Then again, would we have made the trip at all if I had known he had none? All I could think was how lucky we were that this hadn't happened off in the middle of nowhere. After talking with some helpful students, I went in the school and called my uncle. He said he'd be right there. 45 minutes later, he arrived. The only spare Shannon had was huge compared to the other tires. Shannon roared up in his Camero not long after and they jacked up the truck and removed the tire. Shannon didn't want to drive with the large tire, so they left and drove to Eagle River to have it patched. They returned a half-hour later and reattached it. Then Shannon sped off to start the grill for dinner, and we followed at a slower speed. At the house, all my cousins arrived for their dad's birthday. Shannon cooked salmon and halibut they had caught. The fish was excellent. I don't believe I've ever tasted fish that good. Something about fresh salmon, caught in a river, gives it a taste far, far better than store-bought, hatchery-raised salmon. The next day was our last one in Alaska. I got up early, intending to bike the Powerline Trail, but the road leading to it was closed. I returned and set out with my uncle for a trail he likes to bike on, the paved Campbell Creek Trail. It was very cold out, probably in the 40s. My hands were freezing as we rode along, and I was yearning to get out of the shadows and into the sun. The trail followed the creek, crossing it on bridges and going through tunnels under roads. It was very picturesque. Later, Felicia and I took the truck downtown and walked to the Saturday Market, browsing booths of crafts and souvenirs. We met a friend of mine who used to live in New York and had lunch. Then it was back to my uncles to pack, and off to the airport for the flight home.   Land of the Midnight Sun E-mail Bob | Another Alaska Story Home Page