Monday, July 30, 2007
DAWSON CITY, YUKON — "All that glitters is not gold" is a saying we all know well, and in the Klondike of the Gold Rush this had great meaning for those who lusted after this gleaming treasure. Today, as we tread the same paths they did in these rugged northern hills, we also realize that there are many golden things that do not glitter — like perfect summer days, wonderful adventures, far-off places, and the treasure of loved ones.
Val has been reading all the stories and accounts of the Klondike Gold Rush as we have traveled these regions. Right now he’s reading the story of George Carmack, whose news of gold discovered in Bonanza Creek in 1896 was the impetus for thousands who braved untold hazards to try and strike it rich. That very creek is a stone’s throw from our campground!
The amazing thing is that people are still making a living by mining for gold here, and we decided to visit such a family to see how it works in 2007. The Goldbottom Mine Tour is run by the Millar family, who have claims along the Hunker and Goldbottom Creeks about 15 miles from town. Today we were the only two people who signed up for the complete tour, and Deborah Millar took us up to their camp along a bumpy, dusty back road, pointing out the operations of neighbouring miners as we passed them. Deborah’s parents moved from eastern Canada to the Yukon in the early 1950s and have been in the mining business ever since.
Goldbottom used to be a vibrant mining town, complete with trading posts, roadhouses, blacksmiths and a population of about 5,000 people, all around the area that is now the Millars’ claim. Only one building remains — the roadhouse, and the family uses it as their summer home, with a display case in the front room where tourists can see artifacts from the old days, and even mastadon bones and ivory tusks that they have discovered while digging.
Some others joined us at the camp, so there was a small group of us who went with Deborah to the site they are currently working on. Dredges went through the area in the old days, so the nuggets are pretty well mined out, but there is enough placer gold (pronounced "plasser"), or gold bits the size of the seeds in bananas or even smaller, to keep them going. In addition, there are certain sections that the dredges appear to have missed which have yielded some more exciting quantities.
The Millars use a back hoe to scoop up the dirt and gravel and dump it into a large hopper. It then passes through a large pipe made of metal mesh that separates out the larger chunks, and, with the help of water, washes the remainder through sluices that capture the heaviest part of the material (which is the gold), along with the finest gravel, in plastic matting that resembles a coarse plastic scrubby. That mixture is removed by buckets full for further sorting back at the camp. Washing out the silt and gravel and lifting out the black sand — which is magnetic, making it a bit easier — eventually leaves various sizes of gold bits, from banana seed size up to the size of a small glass bead. These bits are mixed with a chemical like washing soda and melted at high heat, and the soda takes away the last of the dirt.
The gold still needs to be refined, but this is done by the assayer. Deborah says that silver, which is mixed in with the gold, is separated out, and the value of the silver is about enough to pay for the assaying process. Then their buyer will convert their gold to dollars, and they’re off to the grocery store! It’s quite a process.
Once we had followed this whole operation, Deborah invited us to try panning for some gold ourselves. Val and I had a bit of experience from our visit to El Dorado in Fairbanks, but this started with a heap of dirt beside the stream which we shoveled into our pans ourselves. Then, equipped with borrowed rubber boots and with a bit of instruction, we waded into Hunker Creek to wash away all the rocks, stones, pebbles, gravel, sand and silt, and looked, REALLY closely, to see what remained. My pan held one minuscule speck of gold, while Val managed to glean five slightly more robust specks! We were planning our trip to Hawaii already! We gathered these tiny treasures into a small glass vial filled with water, which was ours to keep. It was great!
Tonight, back at the trailer, there was a rain shower that was caught by the sun, setting a beautiful rainbow in the sky. The rainbow’s end, to the west, looked like it had settled right about at Hunker Creek. And we know for a fact that there was gold at the end of that rainbow!
Monday, July 30, 2007
On top of the world
Sunday, July 29, 2007
DAWSON CITY, YUKON — It’s back to kilometres, litres, loonies and twonies again! We crossed the Yukon River at about five o’clock this afternoon by ferry, and are now camped at the Bonanza Gold RV Park where we stayed, with Mum, for Canada Day nearly a month ago.
Our route today took us from Tok to the Taylor Highway turnoff, just east of the town, headed for the towns of Chicken and Eagle. Later, we turned off the Taylor onto the Top of the World Highway, and that brought us to the Canadian border and on to Dawson.
The Taylor is not for people who want to keep their RVs shiny clean and their dishes neatly stacked inside. It is not for people who are faint of heart when they round a bend of road with a soft shoulder and a precipitous drop over the side. It’s the kind of route people print T-shirts for that say "I survived...". It’s the kind of route that gets discussed and analyzed between campers in the evening at the RV park’s laundromat. "I wouldn’t recommend it," drawled our American neighbour at North Pole campground, when we were talking about our itinerary. "Not with your trailer, anyway."
Well, we drove it, and we loved it. For much of the way, we raised a plume of dust behind us, because the surface was dirt and gravel — and for the parts that didn’t raise dust, the pavement was often pot-holed, dipped or patched. We also rarely got above 40 miles per hour the whole way, and sometimes much less than that. But aside from that, we passed through some of the most beautiful and awesome scenery we’ve seen so far, viewed from heights so high it was almost like being in a plane!
Over and over, we would come around a bend and see, spread out before us, an endless vista of valleys, hills, and mountains, interlaced with streams or rivers, and dappled with sunshine that peeked through huge, billowing clouds. The land was a tapestry of colours, from dark green black spruce, spongy silver-green moss or willows, purple streaks of fireweed, bright green meadows, charcoal-coloured rocks, golden splashes of sand, a sprinkling of white Queen Anne’s lace, and the deep grey and blue of distant peaks stretching miles and miles off to the horizon.
For much of the way, we could have been the only travelers on the road. Most of the people we passed waved, as if to say, aren’t we the intrepid ones, braving this isolated place?
After we had covered nearly 70 miles, we came to Chicken, population about 100 in summer, six in winter. The town used to be a mining camp, and it got its name because the miners didn’t know how to spell ptarmigan, the bird they encountered frequently in the area. So Chicken it became! I sat down on a bench outside the sod-roofed post office to write a postcard. There was an old wheelbarrow planted with a tumble of bright flowers, and chicken figures on the railing and porch, plus a whimsical hen by the door with a sign that said "Scramble on in!". Since it was Sunday, the office was closed, but I was able to post the card in the slot anyway.
We filled up with fuel before heading on toward the border. When we got to a wayside picnic area, next to the South Fork of Fortymile River, we stopped for lunch. The river flowed by at a fair pace, and it was a clear brown colour — no glacial silt there. It was very peaceful.
Then on we climbed, up higher and higher, and came to the turnoff for the Top of the World Highway. Ahead in the distance, as the hills folded from one to another, we could see short curves of the highway that we would eventually be traveling. Great vistas dropped away from us on the right and on the left, and we must have said "wow!" a dozen times or more as another one came into view. It was absolutely breathtaking.
By two o’clock we were at the Canadian border, switching our clocks ahead to three, from Alaskan time to Pacific time. The highway was in quite good condition, we were pleased to note, once we entered the Yukon Territory, but we still had quite a bit of dirt road to cover along with the nicely paved sections. Several times we found ourselves eating the dust of another vehicle, and the thin film of brown on all the surfaces inside the trailer at journey’s end was a less than welcome side effect.
Finally, we came around the bend and saw, laid out below, the lovely little town of Dawson City, and the mighty Yukon River flowing past it. We had to wait our turn for the short ferry ride across, even though we arrived at the head of the line. The captain was the one to decide who got on for which crossing, and a tanker truck got priority over us, so we watched the vessel navigate the strong current across and back before we were waved on board.
It was great to be back in Canada, and back in this picturesque Gold Rush town again.
DAWSON CITY, YUKON — It’s back to kilometres, litres, loonies and twonies again! We crossed the Yukon River at about five o’clock this afternoon by ferry, and are now camped at the Bonanza Gold RV Park where we stayed, with Mum, for Canada Day nearly a month ago.
Our route today took us from Tok to the Taylor Highway turnoff, just east of the town, headed for the towns of Chicken and Eagle. Later, we turned off the Taylor onto the Top of the World Highway, and that brought us to the Canadian border and on to Dawson.
The Taylor is not for people who want to keep their RVs shiny clean and their dishes neatly stacked inside. It is not for people who are faint of heart when they round a bend of road with a soft shoulder and a precipitous drop over the side. It’s the kind of route people print T-shirts for that say "I survived...". It’s the kind of route that gets discussed and analyzed between campers in the evening at the RV park’s laundromat. "I wouldn’t recommend it," drawled our American neighbour at North Pole campground, when we were talking about our itinerary. "Not with your trailer, anyway."
Well, we drove it, and we loved it. For much of the way, we raised a plume of dust behind us, because the surface was dirt and gravel — and for the parts that didn’t raise dust, the pavement was often pot-holed, dipped or patched. We also rarely got above 40 miles per hour the whole way, and sometimes much less than that. But aside from that, we passed through some of the most beautiful and awesome scenery we’ve seen so far, viewed from heights so high it was almost like being in a plane!
Over and over, we would come around a bend and see, spread out before us, an endless vista of valleys, hills, and mountains, interlaced with streams or rivers, and dappled with sunshine that peeked through huge, billowing clouds. The land was a tapestry of colours, from dark green black spruce, spongy silver-green moss or willows, purple streaks of fireweed, bright green meadows, charcoal-coloured rocks, golden splashes of sand, a sprinkling of white Queen Anne’s lace, and the deep grey and blue of distant peaks stretching miles and miles off to the horizon.
For much of the way, we could have been the only travelers on the road. Most of the people we passed waved, as if to say, aren’t we the intrepid ones, braving this isolated place?
After we had covered nearly 70 miles, we came to Chicken, population about 100 in summer, six in winter. The town used to be a mining camp, and it got its name because the miners didn’t know how to spell ptarmigan, the bird they encountered frequently in the area. So Chicken it became! I sat down on a bench outside the sod-roofed post office to write a postcard. There was an old wheelbarrow planted with a tumble of bright flowers, and chicken figures on the railing and porch, plus a whimsical hen by the door with a sign that said "Scramble on in!". Since it was Sunday, the office was closed, but I was able to post the card in the slot anyway.
We filled up with fuel before heading on toward the border. When we got to a wayside picnic area, next to the South Fork of Fortymile River, we stopped for lunch. The river flowed by at a fair pace, and it was a clear brown colour — no glacial silt there. It was very peaceful.
Then on we climbed, up higher and higher, and came to the turnoff for the Top of the World Highway. Ahead in the distance, as the hills folded from one to another, we could see short curves of the highway that we would eventually be traveling. Great vistas dropped away from us on the right and on the left, and we must have said "wow!" a dozen times or more as another one came into view. It was absolutely breathtaking.
By two o’clock we were at the Canadian border, switching our clocks ahead to three, from Alaskan time to Pacific time. The highway was in quite good condition, we were pleased to note, once we entered the Yukon Territory, but we still had quite a bit of dirt road to cover along with the nicely paved sections. Several times we found ourselves eating the dust of another vehicle, and the thin film of brown on all the surfaces inside the trailer at journey’s end was a less than welcome side effect.
Finally, we came around the bend and saw, laid out below, the lovely little town of Dawson City, and the mighty Yukon River flowing past it. We had to wait our turn for the short ferry ride across, even though we arrived at the head of the line. The captain was the one to decide who got on for which crossing, and a tanker truck got priority over us, so we watched the vessel navigate the strong current across and back before we were waved on board.
It was great to be back in Canada, and back in this picturesque Gold Rush town again.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Candy rain
Saturday, July 28, 2007
TOK, ALASKA — Today we completed the last stretch of the Alaska Highway, returning to the town of Tok, through which everyone must pass who travels in or out of the state by land. With the last stretch from Delta Junction to Tok (rhymes with smoke), we can now officially state that we have covered the entire length of this famous highway.
It’s been a piecemeal effort, done from east to west mostly. We were at Mile Zero of this highway on June 22 at Dawson Creek, BC, and got to Mile 895 at Whitehorse, where we left it to do our Klondike trek up to Dawson City and back. When we got back to Whitehorse, we resumed the Alaska Highway headed for Tok, which is at Mile 1314. Then we left it again to do our loop around the Kenai Peninsula, Anchorage, Denali and Fairbanks. The last stretch was done from west (Delta Junction) to east (Tok) so it has taken us a while to cover all 1422 miles of it! We made it official by purchasing a certificate at the Visitor Center at Delta Junction, which states that we have "gone through the trials and tribulations to reach Mile 1422, the end of the Alaska Highway" on this day.
We left North Pole in good time this morning, and passed the first point of interest soon afterward — the Eielson Air Force Base is just east of the town, and we saw all kinds of military transport aircraft as well as fighter planes lined up near the hangars, set well back from the highway with the runways between us and them. There are two squadrons here and the base uses more than 60,000 square miles of airspace up here to train military personnel from all over the US.
The highway followed the contours of the Tanana River (remember, it doesn’t rhyme with banana), with its multiple braided streams flowing through a wide, gravelly river bed. When we had our tour of Denali National Park, we learned that these rivers never actually fill the entire riverbed with water from shore to shore, even in the wettest seasons.
For the most part, we covered flat land, although the Alaska mountain range was in view much of the time to the south, either as distant blue hills or, for a short time, close up with its rocky heights looming in front of us. There was quite a bit of tundra and swampy areas full of black spruce, but we also passed some lake areas that reminded us of northern Ontario. A handsome moose that trotted across the highway in front of us completed that picture nicely. Fortunately, an oncoming traveler flashed their headlights to warn us, so there were no untoward encounters.
Just before 11 o’clock, we arrived at Delta Junction, and as we rounded the curve and looked ahead, we could see crowds of people lining either side of the highway, many with lawn chairs and little kids in tow. I checked the Milepost book, and sure enough, it described the Deltana Fair that takes place in late July, with celebrations that included a horse show, concessions, pancake breakfast and an annual parade! We got there just in time! We found a place to pull over and joined the crowd.
We stood next to a mum and dad and their little boy, who was squirming with excitement as he pulled his little tote bag over his head. I wasn’t sure what the bag was for until his mother explained that he was waiting for the candy. Before long, the parade started up, just near the point where we had decided to turn off the highway a couple of blocks back.
There were fire trucks, horses, old tractors, Miss Alaska past and present, the Baptist Church, the youth court counselors, a motocross club, the local grocery store with a float decorated with fruits and vegetables, Smokey the Bear and the park rangers, Sparky the firedog, and a clutch of kids dressed as clowns with huge curly wigs and outlandish costumes.
Every vehicle and person that passed by tossed handfuls of candy to the kids by the road, so our little friend was scampering about picking them up and stuffing them into his tote bag. "It’s raining candy!" he shouted delightedly at one point, grabbing another Tootsie Roll that landed at his feet. Val and I helped gather some of this bounty for him, and soon he had to move on to a grocery sack his mother had brought along. He had a better haul than some kids get from a whole evening of trick-or-treating on Hallowe’en!
When the parade was over, there was still a lot of traffic to clear out (including a long line-up of hapless travelers who didn’t roll in to town at quite as strategic a moment as we did, and had to wait behind barricades till the parade finished). So we stayed put and had lunch in the trailer. By the time we were done, the road was clear again and we headed on our way, checking in for our Mile 1422 certificate before heading on to Tok.
After we got settled at our campground, we set out to get fuel and look for some moccasins for Val at a couple of local gift shops. The Athabascan crafters make lovely moose-hide slippers, but they are trimmed and/or lined with fur that makes them too warm for Val, so we didn’t find what we were looking for. We were rewarded, however, with a beautiful double rainbow in the eastern sky.
TOK, ALASKA — Today we completed the last stretch of the Alaska Highway, returning to the town of Tok, through which everyone must pass who travels in or out of the state by land. With the last stretch from Delta Junction to Tok (rhymes with smoke), we can now officially state that we have covered the entire length of this famous highway.
It’s been a piecemeal effort, done from east to west mostly. We were at Mile Zero of this highway on June 22 at Dawson Creek, BC, and got to Mile 895 at Whitehorse, where we left it to do our Klondike trek up to Dawson City and back. When we got back to Whitehorse, we resumed the Alaska Highway headed for Tok, which is at Mile 1314. Then we left it again to do our loop around the Kenai Peninsula, Anchorage, Denali and Fairbanks. The last stretch was done from west (Delta Junction) to east (Tok) so it has taken us a while to cover all 1422 miles of it! We made it official by purchasing a certificate at the Visitor Center at Delta Junction, which states that we have "gone through the trials and tribulations to reach Mile 1422, the end of the Alaska Highway" on this day.
We left North Pole in good time this morning, and passed the first point of interest soon afterward — the Eielson Air Force Base is just east of the town, and we saw all kinds of military transport aircraft as well as fighter planes lined up near the hangars, set well back from the highway with the runways between us and them. There are two squadrons here and the base uses more than 60,000 square miles of airspace up here to train military personnel from all over the US.
The highway followed the contours of the Tanana River (remember, it doesn’t rhyme with banana), with its multiple braided streams flowing through a wide, gravelly river bed. When we had our tour of Denali National Park, we learned that these rivers never actually fill the entire riverbed with water from shore to shore, even in the wettest seasons.
For the most part, we covered flat land, although the Alaska mountain range was in view much of the time to the south, either as distant blue hills or, for a short time, close up with its rocky heights looming in front of us. There was quite a bit of tundra and swampy areas full of black spruce, but we also passed some lake areas that reminded us of northern Ontario. A handsome moose that trotted across the highway in front of us completed that picture nicely. Fortunately, an oncoming traveler flashed their headlights to warn us, so there were no untoward encounters.
Just before 11 o’clock, we arrived at Delta Junction, and as we rounded the curve and looked ahead, we could see crowds of people lining either side of the highway, many with lawn chairs and little kids in tow. I checked the Milepost book, and sure enough, it described the Deltana Fair that takes place in late July, with celebrations that included a horse show, concessions, pancake breakfast and an annual parade! We got there just in time! We found a place to pull over and joined the crowd.
We stood next to a mum and dad and their little boy, who was squirming with excitement as he pulled his little tote bag over his head. I wasn’t sure what the bag was for until his mother explained that he was waiting for the candy. Before long, the parade started up, just near the point where we had decided to turn off the highway a couple of blocks back.
There were fire trucks, horses, old tractors, Miss Alaska past and present, the Baptist Church, the youth court counselors, a motocross club, the local grocery store with a float decorated with fruits and vegetables, Smokey the Bear and the park rangers, Sparky the firedog, and a clutch of kids dressed as clowns with huge curly wigs and outlandish costumes.
Every vehicle and person that passed by tossed handfuls of candy to the kids by the road, so our little friend was scampering about picking them up and stuffing them into his tote bag. "It’s raining candy!" he shouted delightedly at one point, grabbing another Tootsie Roll that landed at his feet. Val and I helped gather some of this bounty for him, and soon he had to move on to a grocery sack his mother had brought along. He had a better haul than some kids get from a whole evening of trick-or-treating on Hallowe’en!
When the parade was over, there was still a lot of traffic to clear out (including a long line-up of hapless travelers who didn’t roll in to town at quite as strategic a moment as we did, and had to wait behind barricades till the parade finished). So we stayed put and had lunch in the trailer. By the time we were done, the road was clear again and we headed on our way, checking in for our Mile 1422 certificate before heading on to Tok.
After we got settled at our campground, we set out to get fuel and look for some moccasins for Val at a couple of local gift shops. The Athabascan crafters make lovely moose-hide slippers, but they are trimmed and/or lined with fur that makes them too warm for Val, so we didn’t find what we were looking for. We were rewarded, however, with a beautiful double rainbow in the eastern sky.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Paddlers and panners
Friday, July 27, 2007
NORTH POLE, ALASKA — The pages of history came alive for us today. This morning we rode aboard a huge sternwheeler with four decks, built along the design of the paddleboats of the Gold Rush years.
The Discovery Riverboat program is more than just a cruise. Our first demonstration was a floatplane that took off on the river next to us, flew around and landed again, and then did the same for the passengers on the other side. The pilot conversed with us from his plane, telling us about his job and the challenges of flight in a land where winter remains for so many months.
Next, we passed the kennels of the sled dogs that race in the Iditarod. From our vantage point in the river, we saw how the puppies are trained and exercised when there isn’t any snow. The handler tied a team of dogs to an ATV instead of a sled. The dogs were leaping and yelping, barely containing themselves. Then they were off like a shot on a track that took them around a lagoon out of sight for a few seconds and back to the shore. As soon as they were let loose, they scampered to the water and took a quick dip in the river to cool off.
Shortly after that, we came to the intersection of the Chena and Tanana Rivers (pronounced TAN-ana). The latter is a glacier-fed waterway, while the Chena flows from a freshwater source. The Chena looked clear and brown, and the Tanana was milky with glacial flour and silt. At the point of meeting, it looked like milk poured into coffee as the two swirled together!
The Discovery slowed down as we came to a small Athabascan fishing camp. A young Athabascan girl spoke to us from the shore about how the natives cut salmon and hung it out to dry before curing it in the smokehouse. The smokehouse was there, and, on the shore, a fish wheel that they used to catch the salmon by the basketful as they swam by.
We went ashore at our final stop, an Athabascan village, where local Alaskans explained about animal furs and how they were selected, tanned and made into garments, shelters or tools. We learned about a lean-to, a skin-covered frame, a bark house and a sod hut. We also got to see some Iditarod sled dogs up close and learn more about the grueling 1,100-mile race.
As we returned to the starting point, we were offered free coffee, donuts, and samples of smoked salmon spread on crackers. It was a terrific morning, and based on the quality of this visit, we decided to sign up for the afternoon visit to the El Dorado Gold Mine that is run by the same family on the other side of Fairbanks.
We were not disappointed! A small steam train carried us toward the mining camp, and stopped in a tunnel (shudder!) to display the layers of rock and permafrost that miners had to work through to get to the bedrock where most of the gold was to be found. From our vantage point in the train, with the aid of TV monitors, we listened to a miner talk about underground mining. Spotlights shining on the rock and equipment made the experience a bit less scary, and it was brief.
Outside again (whew!), we passed a section where a young man was operating a steam engine attached to pulleys that brought buckets of earth from below the ground and carried it to a dirt mound, like they did in the Gold Rush days in wintertime. When summer came, they had a mound of thawed earth that they could wash through to find gold. It was fascinating to see this old equipment in operation.
Finally, we got to the sluice section, and, as we sat on benches on either side, they sent a gush of water and soil down the sluice. After the flow slowed, several young men demonstrated the art of panning for gold. The idea is to keep the water swirling in the pan, pick out the bigger stones and gradually pour out the remaining gravel and sand until all you have left at the bottom is gold. Since it is very heavy, it remains behind when everything else is flowing out.
Next, it was our turn! We filed into a covered area with troughs filled with water, and each of us was given a small cloth bag filled with dirt, and a pan. We dumped the dirt into the pan and, seated at benches on either side of the troughs, we scooped up the water and swirled it around just like we had seen. Helpers came around to give us tips. I kept worrying that I would dump the gold away with the dirt, but after careful swirling and pouring, I suddenly glimpsed the yellow gleam of tiny specks of gold in my pan! It was very exciting!
We each put our gold into little plastic canisters, and carried it in to have it weighed and evaluated. Val had about $13 worth, and my take was worth nine dollars — and we were allowed to keep what we found! The staff showed us how we could encase the tiny bits into a locket to hang on a chain around my neck, or make into earrings if preferred. So now I have a lovely necklace of gold we panned ourselves!
Our visit included a complimentary hot drink of cocoa or coffee and freshly-baked homemade cookies. Then off we went by train back to the starting point. It was a terrific day!
NORTH POLE, ALASKA — The pages of history came alive for us today. This morning we rode aboard a huge sternwheeler with four decks, built along the design of the paddleboats of the Gold Rush years.
The Discovery Riverboat program is more than just a cruise. Our first demonstration was a floatplane that took off on the river next to us, flew around and landed again, and then did the same for the passengers on the other side. The pilot conversed with us from his plane, telling us about his job and the challenges of flight in a land where winter remains for so many months.
Next, we passed the kennels of the sled dogs that race in the Iditarod. From our vantage point in the river, we saw how the puppies are trained and exercised when there isn’t any snow. The handler tied a team of dogs to an ATV instead of a sled. The dogs were leaping and yelping, barely containing themselves. Then they were off like a shot on a track that took them around a lagoon out of sight for a few seconds and back to the shore. As soon as they were let loose, they scampered to the water and took a quick dip in the river to cool off.
Shortly after that, we came to the intersection of the Chena and Tanana Rivers (pronounced TAN-ana). The latter is a glacier-fed waterway, while the Chena flows from a freshwater source. The Chena looked clear and brown, and the Tanana was milky with glacial flour and silt. At the point of meeting, it looked like milk poured into coffee as the two swirled together!
The Discovery slowed down as we came to a small Athabascan fishing camp. A young Athabascan girl spoke to us from the shore about how the natives cut salmon and hung it out to dry before curing it in the smokehouse. The smokehouse was there, and, on the shore, a fish wheel that they used to catch the salmon by the basketful as they swam by.
We went ashore at our final stop, an Athabascan village, where local Alaskans explained about animal furs and how they were selected, tanned and made into garments, shelters or tools. We learned about a lean-to, a skin-covered frame, a bark house and a sod hut. We also got to see some Iditarod sled dogs up close and learn more about the grueling 1,100-mile race.
As we returned to the starting point, we were offered free coffee, donuts, and samples of smoked salmon spread on crackers. It was a terrific morning, and based on the quality of this visit, we decided to sign up for the afternoon visit to the El Dorado Gold Mine that is run by the same family on the other side of Fairbanks.
We were not disappointed! A small steam train carried us toward the mining camp, and stopped in a tunnel (shudder!) to display the layers of rock and permafrost that miners had to work through to get to the bedrock where most of the gold was to be found. From our vantage point in the train, with the aid of TV monitors, we listened to a miner talk about underground mining. Spotlights shining on the rock and equipment made the experience a bit less scary, and it was brief.
Outside again (whew!), we passed a section where a young man was operating a steam engine attached to pulleys that brought buckets of earth from below the ground and carried it to a dirt mound, like they did in the Gold Rush days in wintertime. When summer came, they had a mound of thawed earth that they could wash through to find gold. It was fascinating to see this old equipment in operation.
Finally, we got to the sluice section, and, as we sat on benches on either side, they sent a gush of water and soil down the sluice. After the flow slowed, several young men demonstrated the art of panning for gold. The idea is to keep the water swirling in the pan, pick out the bigger stones and gradually pour out the remaining gravel and sand until all you have left at the bottom is gold. Since it is very heavy, it remains behind when everything else is flowing out.
Next, it was our turn! We filed into a covered area with troughs filled with water, and each of us was given a small cloth bag filled with dirt, and a pan. We dumped the dirt into the pan and, seated at benches on either side of the troughs, we scooped up the water and swirled it around just like we had seen. Helpers came around to give us tips. I kept worrying that I would dump the gold away with the dirt, but after careful swirling and pouring, I suddenly glimpsed the yellow gleam of tiny specks of gold in my pan! It was very exciting!
We each put our gold into little plastic canisters, and carried it in to have it weighed and evaluated. Val had about $13 worth, and my take was worth nine dollars — and we were allowed to keep what we found! The staff showed us how we could encase the tiny bits into a locket to hang on a chain around my neck, or make into earrings if preferred. So now I have a lovely necklace of gold we panned ourselves!
Our visit included a complimentary hot drink of cocoa or coffee and freshly-baked homemade cookies. Then off we went by train back to the starting point. It was a terrific day!
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Christmas in July
Thursday, July 26, 2007
NORTH POLE, ALASKA — Ho, ho, ho! Welcome to Santaland RV Park, where it’s Christmas every day of the year. The campground is located at 125 St. Nicholas Drive, and the sites are set out on lanes named Donner, Prancer, Dancer, Blitzen, Comet and Rudolph! The picnic tables are painted red on one lane and green on the next, and each electrical connection box is decorated with a cutout of a snowman’s head. Every morning, Santa’s elves even come to pick up your garbage right at your site.
We knew we had arrived at the right place when we saw, from the highway, a huge figure of Santa Claus, standing about 30 feet high, studiously checking a large list of children’s names clutched in his mitten. Right next to the campground is Santa Claus House, a beautiful white building with shakes on the roof and red trim around the dormers. The outside walls are tiled in white with pictures of children, reindeer, Christmas trees and snowmen, and Christmas music wafts on the breeze. Out back are two of Santa’s reindeer (a.k.a. caribou) with magnificent racks of antlers.
Inside is a gift shop full of souvenirs of North Pole, decorations, T-shirts and other items, including some beautifully crafted nativity scenes. We did some browsing, and when I turned a corner, there, seated on a large easy chair was the Elf Himself — a real live Santa Claus with a real white beard, dressed in a light cotton shirt (with a Christmas print, of course), and, sitting next to him, Mrs. Claus, contentedly knitting. I went over to say hello, and Santa reached for my hand to shake it, drawing me to sit on his knee when I took hold! A friendly customer kindly snapped a photo of me on Santa’s knee with Val perched on the arm of Mrs. Claus’s chair. Santa really is a very nice gentleman with sparkly eyes and a friendly word for everyone.
The town of North Pole came to be in the late 1940s when it was hoped that the name would attract toy manufacturers who could advertise that their products were made in North Pole. The factories didn’t materialize, but the name stuck, and the town’s theme is "where the spirit of Christmas lives year round". Its streets are named Mistletoe Drive and Santa Claus Lane and the lampposts are white with red stripes and curved at the top like giant candy canes. It’s kind of a fun place to be!
Our drive here today was the first in a long time where I had the sun on my side of the vehicle most of the way. We’re headed east now! We left the mountain ranges of Denali and followed the Nenana River a good distance, passing through flat land a lot of the way, but coming to several high points that provided huge vistas to the north with plains, rivers and far-off mountains, and, later on, the same type of expansive views to the south. The Nenana River is a key artery for the transport of goods to northern communities, and this is done on freight barges that load up at the town of Nenana. The town was also a hub for the construction of the Alaska railway in the 1920s.
We’re still in Gold Rush country too, so there are gold-panning activities for the tourists in places like Ester, just east of Fairbanks, and theatre nights with a Gold Rush theme. The city of Fairbanks owes its beginnings to gold miners who sailed up the Chena River (which runs through the city) and settled here. The name refers, not to the lovely scenery next to the river, but to Charles W. Fairbanks, a senior senator from Indiana who became vice-president to US President Theodore Roosevelt in the early 1900s.
It was not a long drive to Fairbanks, and we drove right through to get to North Pole, just on the outskirts at the east end of the city. We will go back and do some more exploring tomorrow.
We’re at the 64th parallel, only two degrees of latitude south of the Arctic Circle, and to date the farthest north we’ve been. Even with this kind of chilly context, we are experiencing some of the warmest weather of our trip! Val actually dug out his sandals and shorts today, and the thermometer on the truck registered a balmy 76 degrees Fahrenheit! Everyone is complaining about the oppressive heat, but we just smile.
NORTH POLE, ALASKA — Ho, ho, ho! Welcome to Santaland RV Park, where it’s Christmas every day of the year. The campground is located at 125 St. Nicholas Drive, and the sites are set out on lanes named Donner, Prancer, Dancer, Blitzen, Comet and Rudolph! The picnic tables are painted red on one lane and green on the next, and each electrical connection box is decorated with a cutout of a snowman’s head. Every morning, Santa’s elves even come to pick up your garbage right at your site.
We knew we had arrived at the right place when we saw, from the highway, a huge figure of Santa Claus, standing about 30 feet high, studiously checking a large list of children’s names clutched in his mitten. Right next to the campground is Santa Claus House, a beautiful white building with shakes on the roof and red trim around the dormers. The outside walls are tiled in white with pictures of children, reindeer, Christmas trees and snowmen, and Christmas music wafts on the breeze. Out back are two of Santa’s reindeer (a.k.a. caribou) with magnificent racks of antlers.
Inside is a gift shop full of souvenirs of North Pole, decorations, T-shirts and other items, including some beautifully crafted nativity scenes. We did some browsing, and when I turned a corner, there, seated on a large easy chair was the Elf Himself — a real live Santa Claus with a real white beard, dressed in a light cotton shirt (with a Christmas print, of course), and, sitting next to him, Mrs. Claus, contentedly knitting. I went over to say hello, and Santa reached for my hand to shake it, drawing me to sit on his knee when I took hold! A friendly customer kindly snapped a photo of me on Santa’s knee with Val perched on the arm of Mrs. Claus’s chair. Santa really is a very nice gentleman with sparkly eyes and a friendly word for everyone.
The town of North Pole came to be in the late 1940s when it was hoped that the name would attract toy manufacturers who could advertise that their products were made in North Pole. The factories didn’t materialize, but the name stuck, and the town’s theme is "where the spirit of Christmas lives year round". Its streets are named Mistletoe Drive and Santa Claus Lane and the lampposts are white with red stripes and curved at the top like giant candy canes. It’s kind of a fun place to be!
Our drive here today was the first in a long time where I had the sun on my side of the vehicle most of the way. We’re headed east now! We left the mountain ranges of Denali and followed the Nenana River a good distance, passing through flat land a lot of the way, but coming to several high points that provided huge vistas to the north with plains, rivers and far-off mountains, and, later on, the same type of expansive views to the south. The Nenana River is a key artery for the transport of goods to northern communities, and this is done on freight barges that load up at the town of Nenana. The town was also a hub for the construction of the Alaska railway in the 1920s.
We’re still in Gold Rush country too, so there are gold-panning activities for the tourists in places like Ester, just east of Fairbanks, and theatre nights with a Gold Rush theme. The city of Fairbanks owes its beginnings to gold miners who sailed up the Chena River (which runs through the city) and settled here. The name refers, not to the lovely scenery next to the river, but to Charles W. Fairbanks, a senior senator from Indiana who became vice-president to US President Theodore Roosevelt in the early 1900s.
It was not a long drive to Fairbanks, and we drove right through to get to North Pole, just on the outskirts at the east end of the city. We will go back and do some more exploring tomorrow.
We’re at the 64th parallel, only two degrees of latitude south of the Arctic Circle, and to date the farthest north we’ve been. Even with this kind of chilly context, we are experiencing some of the warmest weather of our trip! Val actually dug out his sandals and shorts today, and the thermometer on the truck registered a balmy 76 degrees Fahrenheit! Everyone is complaining about the oppressive heat, but we just smile.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
White water, white knuckles
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — Another perfect summer’s day greeted us this morning! The activity of the day was a white-water rafting trip down the Nenana River, a glacier-fed torrent that runs between the town area and the mountains of Denali National Park. This river flows into the Yukon River and then to the Bering Sea.
We had two choices, wild or mild. The former required you to help paddle the raft wearing helmets and hanging on with your feet tucked under inflated sausage-like bars across the inside of the dinghy, while seated on the outer rim. The milder ride was conducted by an oar-wielding guide while you sat on the inner sausage and held on to guy lines with both hands. As this would be my first experience, and I’d had a good look at the boiling waves through which we would travel, I opted for the so-called "mild" ride. I think Val might have gone for the wilder one, but he kindly agreed to my choice, being the true sweetheart that he is.
Suiting up was an adventure in itself. We had been advised to wear warm clothes and two pairs of socks. It was also suggested that we leave our glasses behind. We were each issued a dry suit, life preserver and a pair of soft-soled boots. The dry suit came complete with feet, like babies’ sleepers, only these were made of rubber. The wrists and necks had rubber cuffs to seal out the water, and the boots went over the rubber feet. When we were zipped in and clipped on our life preservers, we felt like five-year-olds trussed up in snowsuits, and we looked like the Michelin man!
We waddled over to the bus that would take us to the start point of the river run. It was a short distance further up the road, and when we disembarked and descended to the shore, the rafts were already there. Russell, our guide, gave us instructions about what to do if we were tossed overboard. These details, plus the hair-raising waiver form we had to sign (discussing dismemberment, drowning, cracked skulls, hypothermia and other niceties), really helped me prepare mentally for this little adventure. At least we’d be able to hang on with both hands; the paddlers only had their toes, plus they ran the risk of getting crowned by their fellow passengers’ paddles — hence the helmets they were issued.
By the time we set off, we were very warm from standing in the sun in what was essentially a plastic bag from the neck down. So the cool, rushing water was actually a welcome change. The water was full of glacial silt, and looked almost like a river of chocolate milk. Russell paddled us toward some rough-looking sections, and suddenly, whoosh! We were into the rapids with the nose of the raft plunging down and up again and great splashes of water raining down on us! It was cold, but exhilarating and refreshing at the same time!
Val was on the outside on the left side of the raft, with me next to him. The two young daughters of another fellow were next to me, and their dad was on the right side. Russell handled the oars behind the five of us. It seemed as though every big wave we hit came from the left and completely drenched Val! He didn’t seem to mind a bit! I caught some water too, and wondered why I had bothered washing my hair this morning.
On we swirled through rapids with names like Roly Poly, Train Wreck, Royal Flush, Coffee Grinder and Ice Worm, as the river rushed along between steep walls of rock, wide in some spots and narrower in others. One rock, jutting out next to a particularly turbulent section, was called The Knife, and Russell told us that more than one raft had "popped" on the Knife. We, thank goodness, did not join their ranks. Every time we came to another set of rapids, I was amazed to see these huge, boiling waves coming at us, exploding over us with an icy splash, and we actually got through them without capsizing!
There were smoother sections in the ride that allowed us to catch our breath and take in some of the beautiful scenery, and even get acquainted with our fellow passengers. The dad was a lineman for the power company, and the two girls live with their mother in the neighbouring town, Healy. They both go to school there and play hockey in their free time. They were enjoying the ride, and toward the end where the water was calmer, they and their dad hopped over the side and paddled in the water, holding on to the raft by the ropes. We had fun hauling the three of them back on board!
The ride covered a distance of about 12 miles, and then we pulled ashore and stripped off the top portion of our dry suits, tying the arms around our waists. I had the distinct feeling that my "dry" suit had sprung a leak at the spot where I sat down. Then I REALLY felt like a five-year-old. We climbed aboard the bus, loaded the rafts on a trailer at the back, and returned to the office where our glasses and shoes awaited us. Once freed of our regalia, the warm sun and breeze dried out the damp spots quickly enough.
Photographers had positioned themselves on the shore at strategically rough sections to snap our pictures, and the prints were already on display at the office. So we have a nice souvenir of our white water experience to prove we actually braved those churning waves.
Who knows? Maybe when we’re back in Ottawa, we can try the rapids on the Ottawa River now that we have some experience.
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — Another perfect summer’s day greeted us this morning! The activity of the day was a white-water rafting trip down the Nenana River, a glacier-fed torrent that runs between the town area and the mountains of Denali National Park. This river flows into the Yukon River and then to the Bering Sea.
We had two choices, wild or mild. The former required you to help paddle the raft wearing helmets and hanging on with your feet tucked under inflated sausage-like bars across the inside of the dinghy, while seated on the outer rim. The milder ride was conducted by an oar-wielding guide while you sat on the inner sausage and held on to guy lines with both hands. As this would be my first experience, and I’d had a good look at the boiling waves through which we would travel, I opted for the so-called "mild" ride. I think Val might have gone for the wilder one, but he kindly agreed to my choice, being the true sweetheart that he is.
Suiting up was an adventure in itself. We had been advised to wear warm clothes and two pairs of socks. It was also suggested that we leave our glasses behind. We were each issued a dry suit, life preserver and a pair of soft-soled boots. The dry suit came complete with feet, like babies’ sleepers, only these were made of rubber. The wrists and necks had rubber cuffs to seal out the water, and the boots went over the rubber feet. When we were zipped in and clipped on our life preservers, we felt like five-year-olds trussed up in snowsuits, and we looked like the Michelin man!
We waddled over to the bus that would take us to the start point of the river run. It was a short distance further up the road, and when we disembarked and descended to the shore, the rafts were already there. Russell, our guide, gave us instructions about what to do if we were tossed overboard. These details, plus the hair-raising waiver form we had to sign (discussing dismemberment, drowning, cracked skulls, hypothermia and other niceties), really helped me prepare mentally for this little adventure. At least we’d be able to hang on with both hands; the paddlers only had their toes, plus they ran the risk of getting crowned by their fellow passengers’ paddles — hence the helmets they were issued.
By the time we set off, we were very warm from standing in the sun in what was essentially a plastic bag from the neck down. So the cool, rushing water was actually a welcome change. The water was full of glacial silt, and looked almost like a river of chocolate milk. Russell paddled us toward some rough-looking sections, and suddenly, whoosh! We were into the rapids with the nose of the raft plunging down and up again and great splashes of water raining down on us! It was cold, but exhilarating and refreshing at the same time!
Val was on the outside on the left side of the raft, with me next to him. The two young daughters of another fellow were next to me, and their dad was on the right side. Russell handled the oars behind the five of us. It seemed as though every big wave we hit came from the left and completely drenched Val! He didn’t seem to mind a bit! I caught some water too, and wondered why I had bothered washing my hair this morning.
On we swirled through rapids with names like Roly Poly, Train Wreck, Royal Flush, Coffee Grinder and Ice Worm, as the river rushed along between steep walls of rock, wide in some spots and narrower in others. One rock, jutting out next to a particularly turbulent section, was called The Knife, and Russell told us that more than one raft had "popped" on the Knife. We, thank goodness, did not join their ranks. Every time we came to another set of rapids, I was amazed to see these huge, boiling waves coming at us, exploding over us with an icy splash, and we actually got through them without capsizing!
There were smoother sections in the ride that allowed us to catch our breath and take in some of the beautiful scenery, and even get acquainted with our fellow passengers. The dad was a lineman for the power company, and the two girls live with their mother in the neighbouring town, Healy. They both go to school there and play hockey in their free time. They were enjoying the ride, and toward the end where the water was calmer, they and their dad hopped over the side and paddled in the water, holding on to the raft by the ropes. We had fun hauling the three of them back on board!
The ride covered a distance of about 12 miles, and then we pulled ashore and stripped off the top portion of our dry suits, tying the arms around our waists. I had the distinct feeling that my "dry" suit had sprung a leak at the spot where I sat down. Then I REALLY felt like a five-year-old. We climbed aboard the bus, loaded the rafts on a trailer at the back, and returned to the office where our glasses and shoes awaited us. Once freed of our regalia, the warm sun and breeze dried out the damp spots quickly enough.
Photographers had positioned themselves on the shore at strategically rough sections to snap our pictures, and the prints were already on display at the office. So we have a nice souvenir of our white water experience to prove we actually braved those churning waves.
Who knows? Maybe when we’re back in Ottawa, we can try the rapids on the Ottawa River now that we have some experience.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
The Great One
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — In the seven plus weeks that we have been on the road, there are some days that stand out as especially memorable. Today is one of those days. Even now, as we sit with our tea after dinner in the quiet of our trailer, images of our visit to Denali National Park and Preserve flow through my mind again and again and I review them with awe and wonder.
We traveled 7,000 miles to get here. We made our reservations for the bus tour into the park yesterday and rose from our sleep at 4:15 this morning to be ready for pick-up at the Chalets Hotel across the highway at 5:30. All this was within our control, but we had no control over the type of day we would be granted for this special visit. In these parts, July is known for its rainy weather, and the last two rain-drenched, cloudy days have brought that home to us.
Today, the skies were clear. The sun was shining. It was perfect.
Val and I were probably the only couple who weren’t part of the group of travelers on the land portion of a Holland America cruise, which started in Fairbanks, continues through Denali to Anchorage and on to Seward, and then sails to Vancouver. I think we were the only Canadians as well. Our bus driver, Allen Irwin, is a science teacher from North Carolina who has a Masters in biology and has driven buses since he was 16. No wonder the park management snatched him up to take tour groups into the park for the last 12 years! He provided an informative narrative throughout our more than eight-hour tour with humour and a strong North Carolina twang.
Our bus covered 64 of a possible 90 miles of road into the park. The first portion of the roadway was two lanes of paved thoroughfare, but then it narrowed to hard earth and eventually to dusty gravel road with some twists and turns at high altitudes that even made me blanch once or twice, sitting on the right side window seat looking down a sheer drop of, as Allen put it, eight to 10 rolls of the bus — without specifying if they were side to side or end to end!
If we had seen nothing but landscape, it would have been a totally rewarding visit. There were huge valleys of tundra, dotted with delicate flowers, sweeping high up to green velvet-covered foothills, craggy sepia-coloured mountains, and iron-grey peaks, between which the perpetual snows of the highest summits gleamed white in the sun against the pure blue of the sky. Braided streams cut across the valleys, and streaks of rust-coloured moss or grey-green lichens blended with shrub-like willows or spiky pine trees in a glorious tapestry.
Added to this amazing vista was the excitement of animal sightings throughout the day. Allen had given no guarantees of what we would see, except for snowshoe hares, which darted from the warm roadbed ahead of us numerous times, and ground squirrels, that always seem to be in a state of nervous tension as they jerk to attention, look about, and scamper off. The first creatures of any size that we saw were actually tiny white dots against the steep brown heights — Dall sheep grazing peacefully, far above the threat of wolves or other predators. Allen had a video camera that he used to focus on the animals, and the images were simultaneously screened on small video monitors inside the bus to assure everyone of a good look, in case they weren’t well positioned to see out the window.
At one of the rest stops, some people wandered quite some distance from the bus and actually made us wait when it was time to leave. They came back in great excitement, because they had seen four grizzly bears! The rest of us were hoping this wouldn’t be the only sighting.
Early on in the tour, Allen stopped to let us out and have a good look at Mount McKinley, or Denali as it is also known — an Athabascan term that means "the great one". He said even though it was quite far off, it might be our only chance to see it without a cloud cover, because the majority of the time it is not fully visible. As it turned out, on every other occasion as we got nearer to it, and as we left the park and glanced backward at it, this majestic jewel was fully visible. Allen said this was the only day all summer that this had been the case!
One of the passengers caught sight of a caribou grazing on a hillside. It was quite far off, so we were glad we had brought our binoculars.
We were coming along a section looking down on a braided riverbed when I spotted the blond curved back of a grizzly bear wandering along the stream. Again, out came the cameras and binoculars as we all ogled out the windows and his lumbering form. I was so glad we hadn’t missed seeing at least one grizzly! Later on, at another rest stop, we saw two across the valley on a flat portion of the mountain side. I turned my gaze to the left up the stream bed and caught sight of a beautiful pair of brown caribou with large, velvety antlers, but when I went to point them out, they had already wandered off.
The tour included a boxed lunch for everyone, which we munched on as we headed through the park. "Lunch" was a bit of a misnomer, however, since it was only around 10:30 or so, but we’d been on the road since so early it seemed like midday. Park regulations were strictly followed to control as much as possible the impact of humans on the wilderness areas, so we had a trash bag in the bus to collect all our waste, and we were asked to recycle our boxes and water bottles as well. Bringing in the thousands of visitors that do see the park is also limited to mass transit buses, with very few exceptions, to protect the wildlife from human contact as much as possible.
Before our visit was over, we sighted one more grizzly bear about 60 yards away, a male caribou who ambled along the roadway for several minutes, and, finally, a cow moose and her twin calves right next to the bus in the ditch, only a few minutes before we left the park. We also caught glimpses of the willow ptarmigan and a merlin, a member of the hawk family, as well as magpies and other small birds.
In all, it was a thrilling day which we will remember for a long time.
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — In the seven plus weeks that we have been on the road, there are some days that stand out as especially memorable. Today is one of those days. Even now, as we sit with our tea after dinner in the quiet of our trailer, images of our visit to Denali National Park and Preserve flow through my mind again and again and I review them with awe and wonder.
We traveled 7,000 miles to get here. We made our reservations for the bus tour into the park yesterday and rose from our sleep at 4:15 this morning to be ready for pick-up at the Chalets Hotel across the highway at 5:30. All this was within our control, but we had no control over the type of day we would be granted for this special visit. In these parts, July is known for its rainy weather, and the last two rain-drenched, cloudy days have brought that home to us.
Today, the skies were clear. The sun was shining. It was perfect.
Val and I were probably the only couple who weren’t part of the group of travelers on the land portion of a Holland America cruise, which started in Fairbanks, continues through Denali to Anchorage and on to Seward, and then sails to Vancouver. I think we were the only Canadians as well. Our bus driver, Allen Irwin, is a science teacher from North Carolina who has a Masters in biology and has driven buses since he was 16. No wonder the park management snatched him up to take tour groups into the park for the last 12 years! He provided an informative narrative throughout our more than eight-hour tour with humour and a strong North Carolina twang.
Our bus covered 64 of a possible 90 miles of road into the park. The first portion of the roadway was two lanes of paved thoroughfare, but then it narrowed to hard earth and eventually to dusty gravel road with some twists and turns at high altitudes that even made me blanch once or twice, sitting on the right side window seat looking down a sheer drop of, as Allen put it, eight to 10 rolls of the bus — without specifying if they were side to side or end to end!
If we had seen nothing but landscape, it would have been a totally rewarding visit. There were huge valleys of tundra, dotted with delicate flowers, sweeping high up to green velvet-covered foothills, craggy sepia-coloured mountains, and iron-grey peaks, between which the perpetual snows of the highest summits gleamed white in the sun against the pure blue of the sky. Braided streams cut across the valleys, and streaks of rust-coloured moss or grey-green lichens blended with shrub-like willows or spiky pine trees in a glorious tapestry.
Added to this amazing vista was the excitement of animal sightings throughout the day. Allen had given no guarantees of what we would see, except for snowshoe hares, which darted from the warm roadbed ahead of us numerous times, and ground squirrels, that always seem to be in a state of nervous tension as they jerk to attention, look about, and scamper off. The first creatures of any size that we saw were actually tiny white dots against the steep brown heights — Dall sheep grazing peacefully, far above the threat of wolves or other predators. Allen had a video camera that he used to focus on the animals, and the images were simultaneously screened on small video monitors inside the bus to assure everyone of a good look, in case they weren’t well positioned to see out the window.
At one of the rest stops, some people wandered quite some distance from the bus and actually made us wait when it was time to leave. They came back in great excitement, because they had seen four grizzly bears! The rest of us were hoping this wouldn’t be the only sighting.
Early on in the tour, Allen stopped to let us out and have a good look at Mount McKinley, or Denali as it is also known — an Athabascan term that means "the great one". He said even though it was quite far off, it might be our only chance to see it without a cloud cover, because the majority of the time it is not fully visible. As it turned out, on every other occasion as we got nearer to it, and as we left the park and glanced backward at it, this majestic jewel was fully visible. Allen said this was the only day all summer that this had been the case!
One of the passengers caught sight of a caribou grazing on a hillside. It was quite far off, so we were glad we had brought our binoculars.
We were coming along a section looking down on a braided riverbed when I spotted the blond curved back of a grizzly bear wandering along the stream. Again, out came the cameras and binoculars as we all ogled out the windows and his lumbering form. I was so glad we hadn’t missed seeing at least one grizzly! Later on, at another rest stop, we saw two across the valley on a flat portion of the mountain side. I turned my gaze to the left up the stream bed and caught sight of a beautiful pair of brown caribou with large, velvety antlers, but when I went to point them out, they had already wandered off.
The tour included a boxed lunch for everyone, which we munched on as we headed through the park. "Lunch" was a bit of a misnomer, however, since it was only around 10:30 or so, but we’d been on the road since so early it seemed like midday. Park regulations were strictly followed to control as much as possible the impact of humans on the wilderness areas, so we had a trash bag in the bus to collect all our waste, and we were asked to recycle our boxes and water bottles as well. Bringing in the thousands of visitors that do see the park is also limited to mass transit buses, with very few exceptions, to protect the wildlife from human contact as much as possible.
Before our visit was over, we sighted one more grizzly bear about 60 yards away, a male caribou who ambled along the roadway for several minutes, and, finally, a cow moose and her twin calves right next to the bus in the ditch, only a few minutes before we left the park. We also caught glimpses of the willow ptarmigan and a merlin, a member of the hawk family, as well as magpies and other small birds.
In all, it was a thrilling day which we will remember for a long time.
At Denali’s door
Monday, July 23, 2007
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — Just a mile beyond the entrance to Denali National Park is a collection of shops, resort hotels, rafting and flightseeing enterprises and RV parks. We are at the Rainbow Village RV Park, on a strip of land tucked between a row of these little shops alongside the highway and a sheer rocky cliff that rises almost vertically behind us. It’s a busy place which reminds me of the hustle and bustle in the town of Banff, where everyone is there to see the awesome beauty of the mountains.
We had a short drive today from Wasilla. It was raining just as hard when we woke up as it was when we went to bed, but the upside was that our trailer windows were almost clean again! Our route took us northward through some exotic places — Houston, Honolulu and Colorado to be precise! Another small town we passed through was Willow (population 1,932) which got chosen to be Alaska’s capital in 1976, but when they realized how much it would cost to move the capital from Juneau, the idea was voted down. It’s hard to figure out why Juneau ever made the list, since it has no roads leading to it; it’s only accessible by water!
Speaking of water, we crossed a number of rivers today. They varied from wide, blue-green torrents to small streams and some that are called "braided" rivers. These flow through very wide riverbeds that are sandy and gravelly on the bottom and quite shallow. The water separates into rivulets or strands around the sandbars as it flows along. Some of the river names have a similar ending — Susitna, Talkeetna, Kashwitna, Chulitna. A couple of creek names were Montana, Sunshine, Trapper and Troublesome. That last one had quite a few rocks in it.
We’re still in sled dog country, and we learned that the annual 1,100-mile Iditarod sled dog race has its ceremonial start in Anchorage on the first Saturday in March. Then they all pile into trucks and trailers and head for Wasilla, 35 miles further on! The "real" race restarts there the next day if that’s where the snow is, which it was in 2004 and 2005. Lack of snow forced them to start in Willow, even further west, in other years. The end of the race is always Nome. No worries about snow there, apparently.
The GPS altitude reading went up steadily on my laptop as we approached the mountainous areas that signaled the beginning of Denali State Park. There are two parks; one a state park and the other, more famous one, a national park. The terrain changed from flat areas with tall trees on either side of the highway fringed with lovely banks of mauve fireweed, to more open country with fewer trees and spiky black spruce, and glimpses of mountains appearing like ghosts through the cloud and drizzle. We hit more than 2,000 feet when we got to the Broad Pass, a huge flat expanse that was aptly named, which marks the divide between the drainage of rivers and streams that empty into Cook Inlet and those that empty into the Yukon River.
There, the cloud ceiling rose and we started to see patches of blue sky. It was a good spot to stop for lunch, which we did. This time, we turned on the propane and ran the furnace while we ate, for a less chilly midday interlude. The terrain of the pass had a real look of tundra, where one could imagine grizzly bears or moose roaming about. Today, they were all hiding behind the black spruce, which is a real feat considering how skinny some of those trees are.
We stopped to refuel in Cantwell, just beyond the pass, and there were some grand vistas of bluffs and mountains, some close by and others, purple and blue, in the distance. We saw very little snow on these, but they were majestic none the less.
Only a few miles further on, we arrived at Denali Park. It was just two o’clock, so we got registered and settled in our campsite, unhitched the truck and, after a short break, headed in to the park to see the Visitor Center and find out what activities were available.
Just as we were about to turn in at the park entrance, we saw a cluster of vehicles by the roadside, so we pulled over. There was a cow moose, munching on the leaves of some low branches, only a few feet away! We got a good shot of her. She was very large, with great long legs. I took this as a good omen for further wildlife sightings in the park proper.
The park’s public access road only allows you to go in 15 miles, but commercial vehicles, such as tour buses and the park’s shuttle buses, can go all the way in to Kantishna at Mile 90. You can hop on and off the shuttles at various stopping points to go hiking, view wildlife or try to catch a glimpse of Mount McKinley, which is often shrouded by clouds. This peak is North America’s highest, at 20,320 feet. Or you can take guided tours of varying lengths to learn more about what you are seeing. We opted for the latter, and went to sign up for tomorrow’s six-hour tour. Start time: 5:20 am!! And that’s not the first trip of the day! Looks like an early turn-in tonight!
DENALI PARK, ALASKA — Just a mile beyond the entrance to Denali National Park is a collection of shops, resort hotels, rafting and flightseeing enterprises and RV parks. We are at the Rainbow Village RV Park, on a strip of land tucked between a row of these little shops alongside the highway and a sheer rocky cliff that rises almost vertically behind us. It’s a busy place which reminds me of the hustle and bustle in the town of Banff, where everyone is there to see the awesome beauty of the mountains.
We had a short drive today from Wasilla. It was raining just as hard when we woke up as it was when we went to bed, but the upside was that our trailer windows were almost clean again! Our route took us northward through some exotic places — Houston, Honolulu and Colorado to be precise! Another small town we passed through was Willow (population 1,932) which got chosen to be Alaska’s capital in 1976, but when they realized how much it would cost to move the capital from Juneau, the idea was voted down. It’s hard to figure out why Juneau ever made the list, since it has no roads leading to it; it’s only accessible by water!
Speaking of water, we crossed a number of rivers today. They varied from wide, blue-green torrents to small streams and some that are called "braided" rivers. These flow through very wide riverbeds that are sandy and gravelly on the bottom and quite shallow. The water separates into rivulets or strands around the sandbars as it flows along. Some of the river names have a similar ending — Susitna, Talkeetna, Kashwitna, Chulitna. A couple of creek names were Montana, Sunshine, Trapper and Troublesome. That last one had quite a few rocks in it.
We’re still in sled dog country, and we learned that the annual 1,100-mile Iditarod sled dog race has its ceremonial start in Anchorage on the first Saturday in March. Then they all pile into trucks and trailers and head for Wasilla, 35 miles further on! The "real" race restarts there the next day if that’s where the snow is, which it was in 2004 and 2005. Lack of snow forced them to start in Willow, even further west, in other years. The end of the race is always Nome. No worries about snow there, apparently.
The GPS altitude reading went up steadily on my laptop as we approached the mountainous areas that signaled the beginning of Denali State Park. There are two parks; one a state park and the other, more famous one, a national park. The terrain changed from flat areas with tall trees on either side of the highway fringed with lovely banks of mauve fireweed, to more open country with fewer trees and spiky black spruce, and glimpses of mountains appearing like ghosts through the cloud and drizzle. We hit more than 2,000 feet when we got to the Broad Pass, a huge flat expanse that was aptly named, which marks the divide between the drainage of rivers and streams that empty into Cook Inlet and those that empty into the Yukon River.
There, the cloud ceiling rose and we started to see patches of blue sky. It was a good spot to stop for lunch, which we did. This time, we turned on the propane and ran the furnace while we ate, for a less chilly midday interlude. The terrain of the pass had a real look of tundra, where one could imagine grizzly bears or moose roaming about. Today, they were all hiding behind the black spruce, which is a real feat considering how skinny some of those trees are.
We stopped to refuel in Cantwell, just beyond the pass, and there were some grand vistas of bluffs and mountains, some close by and others, purple and blue, in the distance. We saw very little snow on these, but they were majestic none the less.
Only a few miles further on, we arrived at Denali Park. It was just two o’clock, so we got registered and settled in our campsite, unhitched the truck and, after a short break, headed in to the park to see the Visitor Center and find out what activities were available.
Just as we were about to turn in at the park entrance, we saw a cluster of vehicles by the roadside, so we pulled over. There was a cow moose, munching on the leaves of some low branches, only a few feet away! We got a good shot of her. She was very large, with great long legs. I took this as a good omen for further wildlife sightings in the park proper.
The park’s public access road only allows you to go in 15 miles, but commercial vehicles, such as tour buses and the park’s shuttle buses, can go all the way in to Kantishna at Mile 90. You can hop on and off the shuttles at various stopping points to go hiking, view wildlife or try to catch a glimpse of Mount McKinley, which is often shrouded by clouds. This peak is North America’s highest, at 20,320 feet. Or you can take guided tours of varying lengths to learn more about what you are seeing. We opted for the latter, and went to sign up for tomorrow’s six-hour tour. Start time: 5:20 am!! And that’s not the first trip of the day! Looks like an early turn-in tonight!
Sunday, July 22, 2007
West point
Sunday, July 22, 2007
WASILLA, ALASKA — Tonight, we have left the Kenai Peninsula and Anchorage behind, and are on our way toward Denali National Park, the jewel of Alaska. It was rather a longer drive today, and it rained on us nearly the whole way. The scenic Sterling and Seward Highways that we followed from Homer may have been spectacular, but clouds got in our way! Fortunately, we were covering territory we had seen going the other way, so we didn’t feel totally cheated.
We were able to enjoy the beautiful wildflowers by the roadside, since we weren’t completely socked in. The peninsula was full of Queen Anne’s Lace, and a second widely dispersed flower were tall, deep purple lupins. There was one field just filled with both kinds in a stunning array. I wanted to take a photo on the way down but we passed it too quickly, so this time we stopped, but they weren’t nearly so vivid in the rain. So I settled for a closeup of one cluster instead.
Rainy weather seems to suit certain wildlife, as today we encountered two moose — and we have never seen moose on sunny days. One of the two, which were both cow moose, was calmly grazing by the side of the highway and paid us no mind at all as we passed her. Later after lunch we saw the other, on the same side of the highway as us, but this one was running by the road. She swerved away from us when Val pressed on the brakes, fortunately, and not into our path. Hoping to spot a third somewhere, I watched closely at every marshy area we passed, but two was it for today.
It wasn’t until we arrived at the Alaskan Nights RV Park tonight and looked at the map that I realized we have gone as far west as we’re going to go, hitting our westernmost point in a small town called Anchor Point, just a few miles outside of Homer. So, technically speaking, we are now heading home!
When lunchtime rolled around, I was looking in our Milepost guide for a good restaurant, because the trailer gets so cold inside on rainy days. Something hot is much more appealing when it’s 13 degrees out! We found a suitable place with plenty of room for big rigs (a higher priority than the quality of the menu if the truth be told!) and pulled off to park. When we went in the door, the owner came up to us right away and apologetically explained that we’d have a 45 minute to an hour wait! So it was off to the chilly trailer for cold sandwiches and icy milk, eaten wearing our jackets! I was so grateful for the heated leather seats in the truck when we got on our way again. That, and the warm computer on my lap, thawed me out in no time.
We saw quite a few stalwart fisher folk on the Kenai River that ran along the highway at the northern section of the peninsula. The turquoise green colour of the river is so startling! And people in boats and rubber dinghies were out in good numbers, as well as others standing in the water in hip waders.
There was actually a traffic jam when we got to the junction of the Sterling Highway, from Homer, and the Seward Highway that would bring us off the peninsula. We slowed to a crawl for about a mile as one after another RV or truck or car waited at the stop sign to make the left turn onto the Seward. There’s an intersection that would be a good candidate for a traffic light.
The cloud ceiling lifted a bit as we approached Anchorage, so we were able to enjoy the steep mountains around Knik basin at the tip of Cook Inlet. They rise so high by the highway, and the moss, grasses, shrubs and pine trees cloak them in so many different shades of green. Near the tops were patches of snow.
Our route took us right through the city of Anchorage, but being a Sunday afternoon, the traffic flowed quite easily. About 35 miles beyond the city was our turnoff onto the Parks Highway that loops north toward Denali and Fairbanks. The region we are now in is officially named after its main two rivers, the Matanuska and the Susitna, but its nickname is Mat-Su. Wasilla is a town of about 6,000 people with plenty of big box stores along the main drag. It is Alaska’s fastest growing community with a rate of 40 per cent since the year 2000.
Our campground is brand new, with not a twig or a green branch in the whole expanse of its 120 or so sites, but at least it is surrounded by woods. And, lucky for me, the rain has let up so I can trek over to the main building to post this without getting drenched.
WASILLA, ALASKA — Tonight, we have left the Kenai Peninsula and Anchorage behind, and are on our way toward Denali National Park, the jewel of Alaska. It was rather a longer drive today, and it rained on us nearly the whole way. The scenic Sterling and Seward Highways that we followed from Homer may have been spectacular, but clouds got in our way! Fortunately, we were covering territory we had seen going the other way, so we didn’t feel totally cheated.
We were able to enjoy the beautiful wildflowers by the roadside, since we weren’t completely socked in. The peninsula was full of Queen Anne’s Lace, and a second widely dispersed flower were tall, deep purple lupins. There was one field just filled with both kinds in a stunning array. I wanted to take a photo on the way down but we passed it too quickly, so this time we stopped, but they weren’t nearly so vivid in the rain. So I settled for a closeup of one cluster instead.
Rainy weather seems to suit certain wildlife, as today we encountered two moose — and we have never seen moose on sunny days. One of the two, which were both cow moose, was calmly grazing by the side of the highway and paid us no mind at all as we passed her. Later after lunch we saw the other, on the same side of the highway as us, but this one was running by the road. She swerved away from us when Val pressed on the brakes, fortunately, and not into our path. Hoping to spot a third somewhere, I watched closely at every marshy area we passed, but two was it for today.
It wasn’t until we arrived at the Alaskan Nights RV Park tonight and looked at the map that I realized we have gone as far west as we’re going to go, hitting our westernmost point in a small town called Anchor Point, just a few miles outside of Homer. So, technically speaking, we are now heading home!
When lunchtime rolled around, I was looking in our Milepost guide for a good restaurant, because the trailer gets so cold inside on rainy days. Something hot is much more appealing when it’s 13 degrees out! We found a suitable place with plenty of room for big rigs (a higher priority than the quality of the menu if the truth be told!) and pulled off to park. When we went in the door, the owner came up to us right away and apologetically explained that we’d have a 45 minute to an hour wait! So it was off to the chilly trailer for cold sandwiches and icy milk, eaten wearing our jackets! I was so grateful for the heated leather seats in the truck when we got on our way again. That, and the warm computer on my lap, thawed me out in no time.
We saw quite a few stalwart fisher folk on the Kenai River that ran along the highway at the northern section of the peninsula. The turquoise green colour of the river is so startling! And people in boats and rubber dinghies were out in good numbers, as well as others standing in the water in hip waders.
There was actually a traffic jam when we got to the junction of the Sterling Highway, from Homer, and the Seward Highway that would bring us off the peninsula. We slowed to a crawl for about a mile as one after another RV or truck or car waited at the stop sign to make the left turn onto the Seward. There’s an intersection that would be a good candidate for a traffic light.
The cloud ceiling lifted a bit as we approached Anchorage, so we were able to enjoy the steep mountains around Knik basin at the tip of Cook Inlet. They rise so high by the highway, and the moss, grasses, shrubs and pine trees cloak them in so many different shades of green. Near the tops were patches of snow.
Our route took us right through the city of Anchorage, but being a Sunday afternoon, the traffic flowed quite easily. About 35 miles beyond the city was our turnoff onto the Parks Highway that loops north toward Denali and Fairbanks. The region we are now in is officially named after its main two rivers, the Matanuska and the Susitna, but its nickname is Mat-Su. Wasilla is a town of about 6,000 people with plenty of big box stores along the main drag. It is Alaska’s fastest growing community with a rate of 40 per cent since the year 2000.
Our campground is brand new, with not a twig or a green branch in the whole expanse of its 120 or so sites, but at least it is surrounded by woods. And, lucky for me, the rain has let up so I can trek over to the main building to post this without getting drenched.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Hook, line and sinker
Saturday, July 21, 2007
HOMER, ALASKA — Up and down. That might describe today’s fishing trip on many fronts! Up we got at five o’clock to go down to Homer Spit for our fishing jaunt. We were amazed to see how busy the spit was on a Saturday morning before 6:30.
We gathered up our gear and went down to the dock to climb aboard the good ship Whistler. Our captain, Gary, said it would take about an hour and a half to get to our fishing spot. The sun was coming up behind the boat and, as we were facing that way, our hat brims went down to shade our eyes a bit. Up and down went the waves in our wake, a wide swath of churned water fringed at the edges by sea foam. The weather was clear and it was fairly calm as we headed out, but when we got further from land the wind picked up, sending plumes of spray toward the stern each time we hit a wave.
After we traveled for about an hour and a quarter, Gary came aft to tell us we had about an hour to go (huh?) and softened that with word that whales had been sighted in the area. So we looked up and down the waterway for the telltale spout and spied two or three of them in the distance as their blue-grey backbones curved up above the waves and down again. Val saw a porpoise leap out of the water as well!
We knew we were finally getting close when Megan and Avery, the two crew, started baiting the hooks on the 14 fishing poles, that were lined up along the back of one bench, with heavily salted fish heads and tails. Each pole had a lead sinker weighing two pounds and a very large, curved hook that would have curled easily around a lemon.
Gary finally cut the motor and it was time to get up and let our lines down. The water was about 200 feet deep at that point, so the line reeled out for a long time before the sinker hit bottom. It took getting used to the weight of the rod, reel and sinker, after our gentle little fishing trips on Lake Temiskaming back in Ontario when two pounds was the weight of the fish we were catching, not the sinker!
Up and down bobbed the boat. Up and down went my stomach, in spite of the Gravol I took before leaving. But I was hanging in there. Wow! I got a bite! Man, it felt like Moby Dick at the end of the line! I was cranking that reel like mad trying to pull in my catch. Crank, crank, crank — 200 feet of line takes a lot of cranking! Finally I got a glimpse of something coming to the surface — large, wide, long...it was a stingray! Or a skate, as the crew called it, chopping away the hook and letting it slap back into the water. I barely had time to see what I’d pulled up before it was fluttering down again to the deep.
Now Val was cranking like mad — he got something too! He worked away and up it came: a shark! Well, a very small version that looked like a shark, but the crew called it a dog fish and flipped it back as well. We were off to a great start! Oh! Another one on my line! Crank, crank, crank, crank....another dog fish! Splash! Down he went. He was off the hook, literally.
By this time I was not feeling all that well. Down I went inside for another dose of Gravol from my bag. In the hold, the churning and bobbing was even worse. I had to grab at anything I could to keep from crashing into door jambs and counters. Up I came again with that sinking sensation. Woops! Down went my breakfast to the waves below. With that little episode over with, I began to feel a bit better. Val was looking a bit green about the gills as well — Val, of the rock-solid stomach no matter how unstable the lake was, had had his downs and ups as well.
After a bit of a break, we were both revived and at it again. Val pulled up a beautiful 40-pound halibut — the biggest fish he has ever caught! Before long, he had nabbed two more, slightly smaller. Megan kept reassuring me as I continued to feed bait to the fish. Several times I got bites and began reeling in, only to feel the line go slack as they got away.
Finally I felt a good one on the line! Gary came and helped hold the rod while I cranked, and up came a nice halibut, about 25 pounds. At last! Have you ever seen a halibut? They are the weirdest creatures, brown on one side, white on the other, with the eyes planted both on the brown side, but with the mouth perpendicular to the eyes as if it was placed wrong! They flop along the bottom rather than swim. But they taste really good.
On the trip back to the spit, Megan and Avery sorted out the fish and let us pose with our catches. Then, with a slice or two and a flick of a blade, they flayed off four fillets from each halibut, nicked out the cheeks and hurled the rest back for the seagulls to fight over.
The fish processing teams were ready for us when we got back. They can freeze and store your catch until you are home to receive the shipment, which was what we were interested in. We went over to make arrangements, and learned that they don’t ship to Canadian destinations! We couldn’t believe it. The woman we spoke to vacuum-sealed one fillet (of our 16) to take with us to the trailer — that was all we really had room for. She suggested giving the rest to the crew, as they are not allowed to fish when they are running charters for clients, and would really appreciate it. Rather than see it go to waste, that’s what we did. So, as I said at the start, up and down describes our day rather well! The big ones got away, but we have some great photos, and we fished for halibut in the halibut capital of the world, Homer, Alaska.
HOMER, ALASKA — Up and down. That might describe today’s fishing trip on many fronts! Up we got at five o’clock to go down to Homer Spit for our fishing jaunt. We were amazed to see how busy the spit was on a Saturday morning before 6:30.
We gathered up our gear and went down to the dock to climb aboard the good ship Whistler. Our captain, Gary, said it would take about an hour and a half to get to our fishing spot. The sun was coming up behind the boat and, as we were facing that way, our hat brims went down to shade our eyes a bit. Up and down went the waves in our wake, a wide swath of churned water fringed at the edges by sea foam. The weather was clear and it was fairly calm as we headed out, but when we got further from land the wind picked up, sending plumes of spray toward the stern each time we hit a wave.
After we traveled for about an hour and a quarter, Gary came aft to tell us we had about an hour to go (huh?) and softened that with word that whales had been sighted in the area. So we looked up and down the waterway for the telltale spout and spied two or three of them in the distance as their blue-grey backbones curved up above the waves and down again. Val saw a porpoise leap out of the water as well!
We knew we were finally getting close when Megan and Avery, the two crew, started baiting the hooks on the 14 fishing poles, that were lined up along the back of one bench, with heavily salted fish heads and tails. Each pole had a lead sinker weighing two pounds and a very large, curved hook that would have curled easily around a lemon.
Gary finally cut the motor and it was time to get up and let our lines down. The water was about 200 feet deep at that point, so the line reeled out for a long time before the sinker hit bottom. It took getting used to the weight of the rod, reel and sinker, after our gentle little fishing trips on Lake Temiskaming back in Ontario when two pounds was the weight of the fish we were catching, not the sinker!
Up and down bobbed the boat. Up and down went my stomach, in spite of the Gravol I took before leaving. But I was hanging in there. Wow! I got a bite! Man, it felt like Moby Dick at the end of the line! I was cranking that reel like mad trying to pull in my catch. Crank, crank, crank — 200 feet of line takes a lot of cranking! Finally I got a glimpse of something coming to the surface — large, wide, long...it was a stingray! Or a skate, as the crew called it, chopping away the hook and letting it slap back into the water. I barely had time to see what I’d pulled up before it was fluttering down again to the deep.
Now Val was cranking like mad — he got something too! He worked away and up it came: a shark! Well, a very small version that looked like a shark, but the crew called it a dog fish and flipped it back as well. We were off to a great start! Oh! Another one on my line! Crank, crank, crank, crank....another dog fish! Splash! Down he went. He was off the hook, literally.
By this time I was not feeling all that well. Down I went inside for another dose of Gravol from my bag. In the hold, the churning and bobbing was even worse. I had to grab at anything I could to keep from crashing into door jambs and counters. Up I came again with that sinking sensation. Woops! Down went my breakfast to the waves below. With that little episode over with, I began to feel a bit better. Val was looking a bit green about the gills as well — Val, of the rock-solid stomach no matter how unstable the lake was, had had his downs and ups as well.
After a bit of a break, we were both revived and at it again. Val pulled up a beautiful 40-pound halibut — the biggest fish he has ever caught! Before long, he had nabbed two more, slightly smaller. Megan kept reassuring me as I continued to feed bait to the fish. Several times I got bites and began reeling in, only to feel the line go slack as they got away.
Finally I felt a good one on the line! Gary came and helped hold the rod while I cranked, and up came a nice halibut, about 25 pounds. At last! Have you ever seen a halibut? They are the weirdest creatures, brown on one side, white on the other, with the eyes planted both on the brown side, but with the mouth perpendicular to the eyes as if it was placed wrong! They flop along the bottom rather than swim. But they taste really good.
On the trip back to the spit, Megan and Avery sorted out the fish and let us pose with our catches. Then, with a slice or two and a flick of a blade, they flayed off four fillets from each halibut, nicked out the cheeks and hurled the rest back for the seagulls to fight over.
The fish processing teams were ready for us when we got back. They can freeze and store your catch until you are home to receive the shipment, which was what we were interested in. We went over to make arrangements, and learned that they don’t ship to Canadian destinations! We couldn’t believe it. The woman we spoke to vacuum-sealed one fillet (of our 16) to take with us to the trailer — that was all we really had room for. She suggested giving the rest to the crew, as they are not allowed to fish when they are running charters for clients, and would really appreciate it. Rather than see it go to waste, that’s what we did. So, as I said at the start, up and down describes our day rather well! The big ones got away, but we have some great photos, and we fished for halibut in the halibut capital of the world, Homer, Alaska.
Friday, July 20, 2007
A spot on the spit
Friday, July 20, 2007
HOMER, ALASKA — Somehow we managed to sleep in past eight this morning, much to our surprise! But we didn’t have an elaborate agenda today, so that was fine. It was nice to see the sun shining and relatively little wind. Heat is not something we have suffered from at any point on this holiday, unless you count the lack of it from time to time. We expected some cool days, and even had the forethought to bring our three-season jackets with fleece shells and waterproof outer layer. They really came in handy when we went fishing near Whitehorse — and will do the same for our fishing trip tomorrow, but more on that later.
Our first stop before going to Homer Spit was the Visitor Centre for the good words of advice and information we have come to expect at such places along our way. Our information bag is so full of brochures, pamphlets, maps and flyers that I can barely lift it any more! And I’ve already gone through one cull of extraneous stuff. Now, when it’s time to pull in the slide of the trailer where it sits, I put it aside until the sliding is done so as not to tax the mechanism by its weight!
Inside the building, there was a huge circular work of art in the middle of the floor; a stained glass "carpet" depicting eagles, bears, pine trees, stars, mountains, lakes and rivers in vivid colours, swirling around a golden sun at the centre. It was just beautiful, and I couldn’t figure out why it was placed where people would actually walk on it. I could hardly take my eyes off it.
In addition to some good advice, the attendant sold us Halibut fishing derby tickets. The money goes toward civic activities, and we now run the chance of winning big bucks if we should happen to catch a great big fish tomorrow! We’d have to get a halibut weighing over 200 pounds, but someone has to do it so it may as well be one of us!
The first thing we wanted to do on the spit was ensure we were booked for tomorrow’s outing, since it had been done by telephone, so we found the Inlet Charters office and checked in. We’re in, and we now have our fishing licence for the day all set up as well. We’ll be on a boat of 14 fishers and three crew, and will be out from 6:30 in the morning till five. We’re going to pack a hearty lunch and some snacks for the day, and we’ll have our layers to keep us warm as well.
Homer is a centre for artists in the region, and the spit is where many of them display their works in quaint little huts and shacks along a boardwalk on either side of the road. Mixed in with these shops are all the sport fishing package providers and eateries of various kinds. We stopped at the Happy Face restaurant for fish and chips (which, as I predicted back in Skagway, were incapable of measuring up to the meal we had there!) and to warm up a bit. The breeze had picked up and it had clouded over, making it quite cool.
On the way back from the spit we ran a couple of errands and then went back to see what we could do with our trailer at the camp, since we needed to stay another night. While it appealed to us tremendously to stay in the same spot, that wasn’t an option, since a regular client was coming the third night and always reserved our space. We couldn’t move the trailer tomorrow because we’ll be gone from early till late. That meant moving it today, and after much hemming and hawing, they figured out where to put us. Karen at the counter produced a receipt with explanations and refunds and number changes written every which-way that she was sure would totally puzzle the owners. Running an RV camp must be so much fun! At least our new spot was a cinch to back into, much to Val’s relief.
We stopped by at the Alaska Islands and Ocean Visitor Center, as they had advertised a talk about the Second World War and the Aleutian Islands this afternoon. In 1943 the Japanese actually invaded some of these islands, bringing munitions and vehicles and thousands of troops, and taking some of the native people as prisoners of war. American and Canadian troops responded, in a chapter of history we knew very little about, and hoped to learn more. Unfortunately we were given wrong information, so we never did get to hear the talk, but we did have a look at some of the displays. The centre was beautifully decorated with marine themes, including an art deco design on the building’s doors that looked like loops of kelp framing the door and curling around the pull handles. Pillars inside were decorated with metal starfish, bubbles, seaweed and fish, and even the floor looked like a sea floor with shells and rocks embedded in it. Above our heads was a flock of paper seagulls suspended in flight by filament threads. It was lovely!
HOMER, ALASKA — Somehow we managed to sleep in past eight this morning, much to our surprise! But we didn’t have an elaborate agenda today, so that was fine. It was nice to see the sun shining and relatively little wind. Heat is not something we have suffered from at any point on this holiday, unless you count the lack of it from time to time. We expected some cool days, and even had the forethought to bring our three-season jackets with fleece shells and waterproof outer layer. They really came in handy when we went fishing near Whitehorse — and will do the same for our fishing trip tomorrow, but more on that later.
Our first stop before going to Homer Spit was the Visitor Centre for the good words of advice and information we have come to expect at such places along our way. Our information bag is so full of brochures, pamphlets, maps and flyers that I can barely lift it any more! And I’ve already gone through one cull of extraneous stuff. Now, when it’s time to pull in the slide of the trailer where it sits, I put it aside until the sliding is done so as not to tax the mechanism by its weight!
Inside the building, there was a huge circular work of art in the middle of the floor; a stained glass "carpet" depicting eagles, bears, pine trees, stars, mountains, lakes and rivers in vivid colours, swirling around a golden sun at the centre. It was just beautiful, and I couldn’t figure out why it was placed where people would actually walk on it. I could hardly take my eyes off it.
In addition to some good advice, the attendant sold us Halibut fishing derby tickets. The money goes toward civic activities, and we now run the chance of winning big bucks if we should happen to catch a great big fish tomorrow! We’d have to get a halibut weighing over 200 pounds, but someone has to do it so it may as well be one of us!
The first thing we wanted to do on the spit was ensure we were booked for tomorrow’s outing, since it had been done by telephone, so we found the Inlet Charters office and checked in. We’re in, and we now have our fishing licence for the day all set up as well. We’ll be on a boat of 14 fishers and three crew, and will be out from 6:30 in the morning till five. We’re going to pack a hearty lunch and some snacks for the day, and we’ll have our layers to keep us warm as well.
Homer is a centre for artists in the region, and the spit is where many of them display their works in quaint little huts and shacks along a boardwalk on either side of the road. Mixed in with these shops are all the sport fishing package providers and eateries of various kinds. We stopped at the Happy Face restaurant for fish and chips (which, as I predicted back in Skagway, were incapable of measuring up to the meal we had there!) and to warm up a bit. The breeze had picked up and it had clouded over, making it quite cool.
On the way back from the spit we ran a couple of errands and then went back to see what we could do with our trailer at the camp, since we needed to stay another night. While it appealed to us tremendously to stay in the same spot, that wasn’t an option, since a regular client was coming the third night and always reserved our space. We couldn’t move the trailer tomorrow because we’ll be gone from early till late. That meant moving it today, and after much hemming and hawing, they figured out where to put us. Karen at the counter produced a receipt with explanations and refunds and number changes written every which-way that she was sure would totally puzzle the owners. Running an RV camp must be so much fun! At least our new spot was a cinch to back into, much to Val’s relief.
We stopped by at the Alaska Islands and Ocean Visitor Center, as they had advertised a talk about the Second World War and the Aleutian Islands this afternoon. In 1943 the Japanese actually invaded some of these islands, bringing munitions and vehicles and thousands of troops, and taking some of the native people as prisoners of war. American and Canadian troops responded, in a chapter of history we knew very little about, and hoped to learn more. Unfortunately we were given wrong information, so we never did get to hear the talk, but we did have a look at some of the displays. The centre was beautifully decorated with marine themes, including an art deco design on the building’s doors that looked like loops of kelp framing the door and curling around the pull handles. Pillars inside were decorated with metal starfish, bubbles, seaweed and fish, and even the floor looked like a sea floor with shells and rocks embedded in it. Above our heads was a flock of paper seagulls suspended in flight by filament threads. It was lovely!
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Homer bound
Thursday, July 19, 2007
HOMER, ALASKA — Haul out all your fish jokes; this is the place to use ‘em! There’s something fishy about Homer....we thought we’d come just for the halibut....and now we’re hooked! This seaside town is set on a bluff looking across Kachemak Bay, which is a finger of Cook Inlet, which is a finger of the Gulf of Alaska. Below the bluff is the Homer Spit, as it’s called; a long thin arm of land that provides docking space for hundreds of boats on an inner marina, while on the outer rim are rows and rows of fishing charter services, outdoor outfitters, ice cream stands, taco shacks, and shops with wood carving, jewelry, sweaters, toothpick holders and every other charming thing you could want, stamped with HOMER or ALASKA on one side and Made in China on the other. Every other square inch of the spit is filled with RVs, trucks, boat trailers, derelict boats and seagulls by the gazillion. Oh, and hordes of humanity as well!
Across the bay is a magnificent array of mountains, capped with snow or sporting a thick glacier or two, dusted with clouds and set off like a jewel by the blue ocean.
The staff at Oceanview RV park, where we are staying, took one look at Val and assigned us the tightest, trickiest campsite they had. They planted a "Speed Limit 5" sign with an edge like a blade at one side of the narrow opening, and a site sign at the other, with a garbage can tied to it for good measure. They built a low retaining wall across from the site and arranged for the campers next to it to park their vehicles at the very edge or jutting out just a little bit. And they built the site on a hill, terrace-style, for a final twist. Then, they asked a number of other campers to arrive at the same time so they could be waiting for us to get off the thoroughfare and watching Val’s every manouevre. Well, he rose to the challenge! He had to use the slide-back feature of our fifth-wheel hitch to purchase a bit more flexibility, and try it from a couple of different angles, but his persistence and patience paid off. The folks at the next site above ours were out on their lawn chairs taking in the spectacle and added their kudos to mine when the deed was accomplished.
We had a lovely trip from Seward this morning, despite the rainy start to the day. Fortunately, that didn’t last. The first 27 miles of the road was the same one we took coming in, but then it split off to the west toward Homer, and took us across the flat centre portion of the Kenai Peninsula, where there were no mountains and a fair bit of marshy plain, a favourite spot for those skinny, spiky black spruce to grow.
At lunchtime, we stopped at a place called the Town of Living Trees, where several log cabins were set out in a semi-circle, and where several chain-saw sculptors were hard at work, creating bears, fish, eagles and other figures out of huge logs, with sawdust and wood chips flying and saws blaring away. All around the buildings were these whimsical creatures — pot-bellied cowboys with floppy stetsons, cross-eyed moose, snarling orcas, as well as beautiful wood furniture, such as benches with horse heads at either end or chairs shaped like fish. They also had a carrousel with wooden Alaskan animals to ride, set against colourful paintings of northern landscapes on the inside walls. It was a terrific display!
As we approached the western shore of the peninsula the black spruce gave way to taller pine trees and deciduous trees, and millions of enormous Queen Anne’s lace flowers on either side of the road, as well as tall, purple lupins in great clusters. We stopped at a turnout and the Queen Anne’s lace was growing taller than me, with stems as thick as cigars! We passed several fields full of these white and purple flowers that any gardener would have been proud to say they had planted. And in places where the blue-green Kenai River flowed alongside the road, the effect was enchanting.
There were lots of boats and people fishing along the river in hip waders. The towns of Soldotna, Kasilof and Ninilchik revealed their Russian and Aleutian origins in their names, and their devotion to the sport fishing industry in their numerous commercial enterprises. When Kachemak Bay came into view we could see, on the other side, the "ring of fire" volcanic mountains. One of them, Mount Augustine, erupted as recently as 2006! Others last spewed forth in 1989 and 1992.
Once we finally got parked at our site, we inquired about getting out on a halibut fishing boat, or onto a plane that would take us to bear country. It wasn’t looking too hopeful, but we finally did manage to book a spot for Saturday to go fishing, so we’ll stay here in Homer for three nights.
HOMER, ALASKA — Haul out all your fish jokes; this is the place to use ‘em! There’s something fishy about Homer....we thought we’d come just for the halibut....and now we’re hooked! This seaside town is set on a bluff looking across Kachemak Bay, which is a finger of Cook Inlet, which is a finger of the Gulf of Alaska. Below the bluff is the Homer Spit, as it’s called; a long thin arm of land that provides docking space for hundreds of boats on an inner marina, while on the outer rim are rows and rows of fishing charter services, outdoor outfitters, ice cream stands, taco shacks, and shops with wood carving, jewelry, sweaters, toothpick holders and every other charming thing you could want, stamped with HOMER or ALASKA on one side and Made in China on the other. Every other square inch of the spit is filled with RVs, trucks, boat trailers, derelict boats and seagulls by the gazillion. Oh, and hordes of humanity as well!
Across the bay is a magnificent array of mountains, capped with snow or sporting a thick glacier or two, dusted with clouds and set off like a jewel by the blue ocean.
The staff at Oceanview RV park, where we are staying, took one look at Val and assigned us the tightest, trickiest campsite they had. They planted a "Speed Limit 5" sign with an edge like a blade at one side of the narrow opening, and a site sign at the other, with a garbage can tied to it for good measure. They built a low retaining wall across from the site and arranged for the campers next to it to park their vehicles at the very edge or jutting out just a little bit. And they built the site on a hill, terrace-style, for a final twist. Then, they asked a number of other campers to arrive at the same time so they could be waiting for us to get off the thoroughfare and watching Val’s every manouevre. Well, he rose to the challenge! He had to use the slide-back feature of our fifth-wheel hitch to purchase a bit more flexibility, and try it from a couple of different angles, but his persistence and patience paid off. The folks at the next site above ours were out on their lawn chairs taking in the spectacle and added their kudos to mine when the deed was accomplished.
We had a lovely trip from Seward this morning, despite the rainy start to the day. Fortunately, that didn’t last. The first 27 miles of the road was the same one we took coming in, but then it split off to the west toward Homer, and took us across the flat centre portion of the Kenai Peninsula, where there were no mountains and a fair bit of marshy plain, a favourite spot for those skinny, spiky black spruce to grow.
At lunchtime, we stopped at a place called the Town of Living Trees, where several log cabins were set out in a semi-circle, and where several chain-saw sculptors were hard at work, creating bears, fish, eagles and other figures out of huge logs, with sawdust and wood chips flying and saws blaring away. All around the buildings were these whimsical creatures — pot-bellied cowboys with floppy stetsons, cross-eyed moose, snarling orcas, as well as beautiful wood furniture, such as benches with horse heads at either end or chairs shaped like fish. They also had a carrousel with wooden Alaskan animals to ride, set against colourful paintings of northern landscapes on the inside walls. It was a terrific display!
As we approached the western shore of the peninsula the black spruce gave way to taller pine trees and deciduous trees, and millions of enormous Queen Anne’s lace flowers on either side of the road, as well as tall, purple lupins in great clusters. We stopped at a turnout and the Queen Anne’s lace was growing taller than me, with stems as thick as cigars! We passed several fields full of these white and purple flowers that any gardener would have been proud to say they had planted. And in places where the blue-green Kenai River flowed alongside the road, the effect was enchanting.
There were lots of boats and people fishing along the river in hip waders. The towns of Soldotna, Kasilof and Ninilchik revealed their Russian and Aleutian origins in their names, and their devotion to the sport fishing industry in their numerous commercial enterprises. When Kachemak Bay came into view we could see, on the other side, the "ring of fire" volcanic mountains. One of them, Mount Augustine, erupted as recently as 2006! Others last spewed forth in 1989 and 1992.
Once we finally got parked at our site, we inquired about getting out on a halibut fishing boat, or onto a plane that would take us to bear country. It wasn’t looking too hopeful, but we finally did manage to book a spot for Saturday to go fishing, so we’ll stay here in Homer for three nights.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Table for four
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
SEWARD, ALASKA — This morning, for the second time this week, we switched our trailer from one site to another in the same campground. This time, at least, it was an upgrade move from dry camping to full services, but it still means a fair bit of fussing for a small gain. It’s an indication that we are in high season for RV camping, if the sight of so many rigs on the highways and byways wasn’t enough!
Once we were settled again, we went off to pick up Georgette and Farid at the auto repair shop, where their rental camper was getting new bearings in both front wheels. It was very close by, and they were pleased to escape a day of waiting on a seedy couch in the cramped shop office.
On the way into town, we spotted a bald eagle preening its feathers atop a tall pine tree. Their white heads aren’t hard to see against the dark trees if you look out for them. Our friends were delighted to check off one more creature on their wildlife-sighting list! It was the first one they had seen.
We decided to visit the Sea Life Center again; as Georgette and Farid hadn’t been there yet, and there was plenty for us to enjoy a second time around. The facility is funded in part by the Exxon Valdez Corporation in order to showcase the effort that has been made toward the recovery of the environment from the disastrous oil spill years back. Today the sea lion was out and about in his tank, and we marveled at his enormous size and swimming ease. The other display that entertained us at great length was the bird habitat and its underwater viewing level below, where we could watch the little puffins plunge down and flap their wings as they zoomed past sleepy fish, trailing a silver tail of bubbles behind them. They had such energy!
We stopped for lunch at The Bakery, and the cool drizzly day inclined all of us to order the soup of the day — navy bean — which came, hot and thick and full of chunks of ham and carrots, and accompanied by big sandwiches made from wholegrain, homemade bread. It was so filling even the sweet lovers among us couldn’t find room for the lovely pastries in the glass case on our way out.
Our friends suggested we have a look at the Exit Glacier, where they had already been, which was accessible on foot along a hiking trail of less than a mile. It was an eight-mile drive in, through beautiful forest with tall pine trees and beside the creek that was fed by the glacier. The walk wasn’t too taxing, although there were plenty of other people doing the same thing. As we ascended the rocky path, we could feel the temperature dropping from the cool breeze blowing over the ice in our direction. We could see the top of the glacier between two peaks, and it curved behind one of them and around and down like a large, backward C. It wasn’t possible to actually touch it, but we got within 15 feet of its base where we could see the blue-green colours and the deep folds where little trickles of ice-cold water flowed down toward the creek bed below. All along the route to the hiking trail they had planted signs showing where the end of the glacier had been in 1899, 1916, 1922 and on through the years. The distance between the furthest point out and its current location was considerable. However, even if global warming is the cause, we didn’t feel any too warm on the windy rocks next to the icy mass that still remains!
By this time, it was time to check in at the auto repair shop, and both Georgette and Farid were relieved that the work had been completed and they were road-worthy again. So we said farewell, wondering where our paths will cross the next time. They are off toward Anchorage again, while we are headed for Homer for a couple of days. But, thanks to the magic of the Internet, we’ll keep in touch.
One of the things they had suggested we go see was the return of the fisher folk at the end of the day, so we headed over to the docks to see what kind of luck people had had. They have structures set up with crossbeams along which a series of large hooks are mounted, so they can display their catch and stand in front for photo opportunities. There were some impressive fish! Nearby was a cleaning station with long counters where staff were filleting fish after fish for their clients, stashing the silvery salmon or ling cod fillets in heaps and tossing the guts and heads down a hole, then hosing off the blood before tackling another batch. On the rooftops and boat masts of the marina behind them were noisy seagulls, anticipating some fishy nibbling of these remains.
Before heading back to the trailer, we picked up some groceries and stopped at the memorial for Benny Benson, the 13-year-old Aboriginal boy whose design won the contest for the flag of Alaska in 1927. He grew up in Seward in a home for children where his father had left him at age four, after his mother died. The flag is a rectangle of deep blue with golden-yellow stars of the big dipper and the north star on it.
We were still so full of our navy bean soup when we got home that we didn’t bother making supper tonight! I may nibble later on, but that was one hearty meal we ate today.
SEWARD, ALASKA — This morning, for the second time this week, we switched our trailer from one site to another in the same campground. This time, at least, it was an upgrade move from dry camping to full services, but it still means a fair bit of fussing for a small gain. It’s an indication that we are in high season for RV camping, if the sight of so many rigs on the highways and byways wasn’t enough!
Once we were settled again, we went off to pick up Georgette and Farid at the auto repair shop, where their rental camper was getting new bearings in both front wheels. It was very close by, and they were pleased to escape a day of waiting on a seedy couch in the cramped shop office.
On the way into town, we spotted a bald eagle preening its feathers atop a tall pine tree. Their white heads aren’t hard to see against the dark trees if you look out for them. Our friends were delighted to check off one more creature on their wildlife-sighting list! It was the first one they had seen.
We decided to visit the Sea Life Center again; as Georgette and Farid hadn’t been there yet, and there was plenty for us to enjoy a second time around. The facility is funded in part by the Exxon Valdez Corporation in order to showcase the effort that has been made toward the recovery of the environment from the disastrous oil spill years back. Today the sea lion was out and about in his tank, and we marveled at his enormous size and swimming ease. The other display that entertained us at great length was the bird habitat and its underwater viewing level below, where we could watch the little puffins plunge down and flap their wings as they zoomed past sleepy fish, trailing a silver tail of bubbles behind them. They had such energy!
We stopped for lunch at The Bakery, and the cool drizzly day inclined all of us to order the soup of the day — navy bean — which came, hot and thick and full of chunks of ham and carrots, and accompanied by big sandwiches made from wholegrain, homemade bread. It was so filling even the sweet lovers among us couldn’t find room for the lovely pastries in the glass case on our way out.
Our friends suggested we have a look at the Exit Glacier, where they had already been, which was accessible on foot along a hiking trail of less than a mile. It was an eight-mile drive in, through beautiful forest with tall pine trees and beside the creek that was fed by the glacier. The walk wasn’t too taxing, although there were plenty of other people doing the same thing. As we ascended the rocky path, we could feel the temperature dropping from the cool breeze blowing over the ice in our direction. We could see the top of the glacier between two peaks, and it curved behind one of them and around and down like a large, backward C. It wasn’t possible to actually touch it, but we got within 15 feet of its base where we could see the blue-green colours and the deep folds where little trickles of ice-cold water flowed down toward the creek bed below. All along the route to the hiking trail they had planted signs showing where the end of the glacier had been in 1899, 1916, 1922 and on through the years. The distance between the furthest point out and its current location was considerable. However, even if global warming is the cause, we didn’t feel any too warm on the windy rocks next to the icy mass that still remains!
By this time, it was time to check in at the auto repair shop, and both Georgette and Farid were relieved that the work had been completed and they were road-worthy again. So we said farewell, wondering where our paths will cross the next time. They are off toward Anchorage again, while we are headed for Homer for a couple of days. But, thanks to the magic of the Internet, we’ll keep in touch.
One of the things they had suggested we go see was the return of the fisher folk at the end of the day, so we headed over to the docks to see what kind of luck people had had. They have structures set up with crossbeams along which a series of large hooks are mounted, so they can display their catch and stand in front for photo opportunities. There were some impressive fish! Nearby was a cleaning station with long counters where staff were filleting fish after fish for their clients, stashing the silvery salmon or ling cod fillets in heaps and tossing the guts and heads down a hole, then hosing off the blood before tackling another batch. On the rooftops and boat masts of the marina behind them were noisy seagulls, anticipating some fishy nibbling of these remains.
Before heading back to the trailer, we picked up some groceries and stopped at the memorial for Benny Benson, the 13-year-old Aboriginal boy whose design won the contest for the flag of Alaska in 1927. He grew up in Seward in a home for children where his father had left him at age four, after his mother died. The flag is a rectangle of deep blue with golden-yellow stars of the big dipper and the north star on it.
We were still so full of our navy bean soup when we got home that we didn’t bother making supper tonight! I may nibble later on, but that was one hearty meal we ate today.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Down to the seaside
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
SEWARD, ALASKA — Before we left Anchorage this morning, we decided to check out the Alaska Zoo. We had read that it specialized in Arctic and sub-Arctic species such as caribou and polar bear, and many of the inhabitants have been rescued and rehabilitated. My Streets and Trips program on the laptop provided an approximate location, and GPS did the rest as we approached the location noted in the brochure, but the final couple of blocks we’d have to figure out the old-fashioned way — by craning our necks for signs.
There were no signs. At the last moment I spotted the zoo on the left side as we sailed by. When you’re driving a truck that’s 22 feet long, pulling a trailer that’s 32 feet more, you don’t stop on a dime or pull a quick u-turn. So on we drove, with the conversation focusing generally on the importance of fair warning and the like on the one hand, and the explanation that travel brochures don’t produce perfect scale maps with longitudes and latitudes on the other hand. You know, pleasant chat.
After a delightful tour of the neighbouring suburbs, we found ourselves approaching the Alaska Zoo again with a bit more foreknowledge, and managed to turn in to the parking lot. But entering was not the only concern; being sure of an exit was also very much part of the agenda, and this parking lot was not engineered with the idea that big rigs would be turning in and out every day in great numbers. Still, it looked possible, so we decided to address the leaving problem later. On to the zoo!
Our tour was delightful. Built on a much more intimate scale than the Metro Toronto Zoo, the Alaska version meandered through forested pathways with generous enclosures for the animals and cheerfully worded signs with quizzes and illustrations. There were lots of families with excited little kiddies hopping around, which added to the pleasure of our visit. We missed seeing the wolverine and the lynx, but all the other animals were out and about — including a couple of Siberian tigers, studiously presenting their backs to us, and a moose only visible by a large rack of antlers peeking up above the tall grass where he was lounging.
Back in the parking lot, we located an exit route that got us around the many more cars that had arrived after we had, and made our way out of the city, southbound toward Seward.
The Seward Highway is known for its scenic vistas, and we were not disappointed. We never knew there were so many mountains in Alaska, but they are so numerous they make Banff and Jasper seem small and limited! We must have seen five or six glaciers between various peaks, and around every bend was another breathtaking view. We traveled along Turnagain Arm, part of Cook Inlet that encircles the Kenai Peninsula on the west with the Gulf of Alaska on the east. It was our first look at the Pacific Ocean since Scagway, and the sun glittering on the water made it look like a sea of silver, with grey-blue mountains rising high on the opposite side. Beluga whales frequent the Arm, although we didn’t catch sight of their spray out among the waves. There is a distinct tidal bore along the arm as well that brings in waves six feet high when the tide is rising, but our timing was not right for that, at least on this southbound trip. We have to come north along the same route again, so maybe we’ll get a second chance.
The highway was heavily traveled in both directions, but I quietly rejoiced every time I saw an RV outbound, since it meant a better chance of a campsite once we arrived. We hadn’t been able to reserve a spot, so we were pushing our luck a bit. That’s why we were pleased to grab a dry camping opportunity just six miles outside of Seward, where we’re camped for the night.
We should have waited! When we got settled, we drove in to town to look around, and there along the waterfront were rows and rows of RV sites, free of charge for dry campers, or $12 for serviced sites, with a view of the ocean and all the fishing boats! There were lots of people there already, but plenty of empty sites too. It was a good lesson to read the literature closely before arriving.
Seward’s Sealife Center caught our interest, and we stopped to have a look. It was an excellent facility with fish tanks full of beautiful specimens, plus large habitats for seabirds of all kinds with underwater observation areas so you could see puffins and others diving down for fish and gliding below the surface, using their wings like fins! They had another area for sea lions and seals, and a display that explained how salmon change their appearance when they are about to spawn. There was even a tank where you were allowed to touch starfish, sea urchins and anemones "with two fingers".
By this time we were hungry, so we decided to stop at a seafood restaurant for Alaska king crab. It was scrumptious! My first taste, and where better to do that? The chocolate praline fantasy dessert was out of this world, too.
On our last jaunt around the docks, who should we run across but Georgette and Farid, our Swiss friends. The bearings of their rental camper are shot, so we’re going to meet them in the morning at the garage and take them sightseeing with us while they wait for repairs.
SEWARD, ALASKA — Before we left Anchorage this morning, we decided to check out the Alaska Zoo. We had read that it specialized in Arctic and sub-Arctic species such as caribou and polar bear, and many of the inhabitants have been rescued and rehabilitated. My Streets and Trips program on the laptop provided an approximate location, and GPS did the rest as we approached the location noted in the brochure, but the final couple of blocks we’d have to figure out the old-fashioned way — by craning our necks for signs.
There were no signs. At the last moment I spotted the zoo on the left side as we sailed by. When you’re driving a truck that’s 22 feet long, pulling a trailer that’s 32 feet more, you don’t stop on a dime or pull a quick u-turn. So on we drove, with the conversation focusing generally on the importance of fair warning and the like on the one hand, and the explanation that travel brochures don’t produce perfect scale maps with longitudes and latitudes on the other hand. You know, pleasant chat.
After a delightful tour of the neighbouring suburbs, we found ourselves approaching the Alaska Zoo again with a bit more foreknowledge, and managed to turn in to the parking lot. But entering was not the only concern; being sure of an exit was also very much part of the agenda, and this parking lot was not engineered with the idea that big rigs would be turning in and out every day in great numbers. Still, it looked possible, so we decided to address the leaving problem later. On to the zoo!
Our tour was delightful. Built on a much more intimate scale than the Metro Toronto Zoo, the Alaska version meandered through forested pathways with generous enclosures for the animals and cheerfully worded signs with quizzes and illustrations. There were lots of families with excited little kiddies hopping around, which added to the pleasure of our visit. We missed seeing the wolverine and the lynx, but all the other animals were out and about — including a couple of Siberian tigers, studiously presenting their backs to us, and a moose only visible by a large rack of antlers peeking up above the tall grass where he was lounging.
Back in the parking lot, we located an exit route that got us around the many more cars that had arrived after we had, and made our way out of the city, southbound toward Seward.
The Seward Highway is known for its scenic vistas, and we were not disappointed. We never knew there were so many mountains in Alaska, but they are so numerous they make Banff and Jasper seem small and limited! We must have seen five or six glaciers between various peaks, and around every bend was another breathtaking view. We traveled along Turnagain Arm, part of Cook Inlet that encircles the Kenai Peninsula on the west with the Gulf of Alaska on the east. It was our first look at the Pacific Ocean since Scagway, and the sun glittering on the water made it look like a sea of silver, with grey-blue mountains rising high on the opposite side. Beluga whales frequent the Arm, although we didn’t catch sight of their spray out among the waves. There is a distinct tidal bore along the arm as well that brings in waves six feet high when the tide is rising, but our timing was not right for that, at least on this southbound trip. We have to come north along the same route again, so maybe we’ll get a second chance.
The highway was heavily traveled in both directions, but I quietly rejoiced every time I saw an RV outbound, since it meant a better chance of a campsite once we arrived. We hadn’t been able to reserve a spot, so we were pushing our luck a bit. That’s why we were pleased to grab a dry camping opportunity just six miles outside of Seward, where we’re camped for the night.
We should have waited! When we got settled, we drove in to town to look around, and there along the waterfront were rows and rows of RV sites, free of charge for dry campers, or $12 for serviced sites, with a view of the ocean and all the fishing boats! There were lots of people there already, but plenty of empty sites too. It was a good lesson to read the literature closely before arriving.
Seward’s Sealife Center caught our interest, and we stopped to have a look. It was an excellent facility with fish tanks full of beautiful specimens, plus large habitats for seabirds of all kinds with underwater observation areas so you could see puffins and others diving down for fish and gliding below the surface, using their wings like fins! They had another area for sea lions and seals, and a display that explained how salmon change their appearance when they are about to spawn. There was even a tank where you were allowed to touch starfish, sea urchins and anemones "with two fingers".
By this time we were hungry, so we decided to stop at a seafood restaurant for Alaska king crab. It was scrumptious! My first taste, and where better to do that? The chocolate praline fantasy dessert was out of this world, too.
On our last jaunt around the docks, who should we run across but Georgette and Farid, our Swiss friends. The bearings of their rental camper are shot, so we’re going to meet them in the morning at the garage and take them sightseeing with us while they wait for repairs.
Of seaplanes, salmon and sled dogs
Monday, July 16, 2007
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA — Our first task this morning was to hitch up our trailer and move it all of 50 yards to a new slot in the same campground. The managers gave us a full-service site overnight (which includes electrical and water connections plus a sewer disposal on the site), but could only offer a site with electricity for tonight. Not a huge problem, but it did mean pulling in our slides, stowing almost everything away, hitching up and unhitching again, after maneuvering our 32-foot behemoth around a number of other very large rigs already in place. Val did a great job overcoming these challenges, and we were soon on our way into town to see the sights.
Our first stop was the visitor information centre, a log cabin in the heart of town complete with sod roof! We got all the brochures and maps we needed, and decided to take a one-hour tour by trolley bus for an overall view. We had a bit of a wait, so we stopped for lunch at a sausage stand with a difference: the main fare was reindeer sausage! Fortunately, they also had chicken sausages for folks like me, who are not inclined to munch on Donner or Blitzen in a bun. Val said his reindeer meat did have a bit of a gamey taste, and he probably wouldn’t go looking for it again.
We then boarded our trolley. It was actually a clear day today, so we even got a good look at Mount McKinley off in the distance — a treat not all visitors get to enjoy.
Our driver took us past the Earthquake Park, where there is evidence of homes that sank nearly 30 feet in 1964 when the quake hit near Valdez. We also drove past two lakes, where float planes take off and land at the rate of 250 per day. He told us that Alaska has more of such planes than it has cars. All around both lakes, every 20 feet, were slips where the planes park, and little cabins where the owners stow their gear. There was even a section of the road with a sign that says "Yield to planes", because it does dual service as a road and airstrip! We must have seen more than 200 small planes.
Scattered around the downtown are fibreglas salmon sculptures that various artists have dressed up in different styles. One blue one had fried eggs all over it — Salmon eggs. Another was painted with bright red and orange flames — xxx; and there was one that incorporated a board game called Salmonopoly. I think Toronto did a similar thing with large moose figures a couple of years back.
Speaking of salmon, we were told that you could wander down by Ship Creek and actually see them swimming upstream to spawn, so we decided to have a look. We saw quite a few folks in hip waders with fishing rods, but nobody seemed to be having much luck in the shallow stream. A young boy whose name was Derek was coming by on his bicycle and started chatting with us about his fishing ventures. He said he’d bring us to a place where you could see the salmon, so we followed him a little further up the creek to a footbridge and he pointed down into the water. We were amazed to see great, brick red salmon milling in the water just above a small waterfall. There were at least a dozen of them and some were up to four feet long! There were even more on the other side of the bridge. Fishing was restricted at this point, so they weren’t in any danger. We watched for several minutes — the water was quite clear, and the sun glinted against their red scales. We thanked Derek warmly for sharing this special feature of his home town with us before he pedaled off.
In the same area, we had stopped in to see the Ulu factory, where they manufacture replicas of the sharp, curved knives with wooden handles used by Inuit people to skin animals and fillet fish. You could watch them making the knives and then buy them at the gift shop, along with bowl-shaped cutting boards for chopping foods.
Outside the building was a girl cradling an adorable puppy that turned out to be a husky pup. She was selling tickets to the Iditarod show just down the way, where they demonstrated how the sled dogs are used in this world-famous thousand-mile race from Anchorage to Nome every year. So off we went to see the show. The host was the son of the winner of the Iditarod in 2004, but the stars of the show were the dogs themselves, who yelped and jumped with excitement in their harnesses, and sped like the wind around a small arena oval, pulling actual Iditarod sleds over a bed of small river rocks. We were amazed at their strength — they even hitched up a team of 16 dogs and got them to pull the dog team’s pickup truck across the centre of the arena from a dead stop.
The young people who put on the show got into lots of hijinks as they pitted the boys’ team against the girls’ in races and got everyone to cheer them on. We were also introduced to "Flapjack", who was featured in the Walt Disney movie Eight Below that we had seen on DVD. After the show, we even got our pictures taken next to this canine movie star!
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA — Our first task this morning was to hitch up our trailer and move it all of 50 yards to a new slot in the same campground. The managers gave us a full-service site overnight (which includes electrical and water connections plus a sewer disposal on the site), but could only offer a site with electricity for tonight. Not a huge problem, but it did mean pulling in our slides, stowing almost everything away, hitching up and unhitching again, after maneuvering our 32-foot behemoth around a number of other very large rigs already in place. Val did a great job overcoming these challenges, and we were soon on our way into town to see the sights.
Our first stop was the visitor information centre, a log cabin in the heart of town complete with sod roof! We got all the brochures and maps we needed, and decided to take a one-hour tour by trolley bus for an overall view. We had a bit of a wait, so we stopped for lunch at a sausage stand with a difference: the main fare was reindeer sausage! Fortunately, they also had chicken sausages for folks like me, who are not inclined to munch on Donner or Blitzen in a bun. Val said his reindeer meat did have a bit of a gamey taste, and he probably wouldn’t go looking for it again.
We then boarded our trolley. It was actually a clear day today, so we even got a good look at Mount McKinley off in the distance — a treat not all visitors get to enjoy.
Our driver took us past the Earthquake Park, where there is evidence of homes that sank nearly 30 feet in 1964 when the quake hit near Valdez. We also drove past two lakes, where float planes take off and land at the rate of 250 per day. He told us that Alaska has more of such planes than it has cars. All around both lakes, every 20 feet, were slips where the planes park, and little cabins where the owners stow their gear. There was even a section of the road with a sign that says "Yield to planes", because it does dual service as a road and airstrip! We must have seen more than 200 small planes.
Scattered around the downtown are fibreglas salmon sculptures that various artists have dressed up in different styles. One blue one had fried eggs all over it — Salmon eggs. Another was painted with bright red and orange flames — xxx; and there was one that incorporated a board game called Salmonopoly. I think Toronto did a similar thing with large moose figures a couple of years back.
Speaking of salmon, we were told that you could wander down by Ship Creek and actually see them swimming upstream to spawn, so we decided to have a look. We saw quite a few folks in hip waders with fishing rods, but nobody seemed to be having much luck in the shallow stream. A young boy whose name was Derek was coming by on his bicycle and started chatting with us about his fishing ventures. He said he’d bring us to a place where you could see the salmon, so we followed him a little further up the creek to a footbridge and he pointed down into the water. We were amazed to see great, brick red salmon milling in the water just above a small waterfall. There were at least a dozen of them and some were up to four feet long! There were even more on the other side of the bridge. Fishing was restricted at this point, so they weren’t in any danger. We watched for several minutes — the water was quite clear, and the sun glinted against their red scales. We thanked Derek warmly for sharing this special feature of his home town with us before he pedaled off.
In the same area, we had stopped in to see the Ulu factory, where they manufacture replicas of the sharp, curved knives with wooden handles used by Inuit people to skin animals and fillet fish. You could watch them making the knives and then buy them at the gift shop, along with bowl-shaped cutting boards for chopping foods.
Outside the building was a girl cradling an adorable puppy that turned out to be a husky pup. She was selling tickets to the Iditarod show just down the way, where they demonstrated how the sled dogs are used in this world-famous thousand-mile race from Anchorage to Nome every year. So off we went to see the show. The host was the son of the winner of the Iditarod in 2004, but the stars of the show were the dogs themselves, who yelped and jumped with excitement in their harnesses, and sped like the wind around a small arena oval, pulling actual Iditarod sleds over a bed of small river rocks. We were amazed at their strength — they even hitched up a team of 16 dogs and got them to pull the dog team’s pickup truck across the centre of the arena from a dead stop.
The young people who put on the show got into lots of hijinks as they pitted the boys’ team against the girls’ in races and got everyone to cheer them on. We were also introduced to "Flapjack", who was featured in the Walt Disney movie Eight Below that we had seen on DVD. After the show, we even got our pictures taken next to this canine movie star!
Antlers and horns
Sunday, July 15, 2007
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA — We have reached Alaska’s unofficial capital, human population 300,000, moose population 1,500 — within the city limits! The tourist literature says swamp donkeys roam around this city in much the same way elk invade the city of Banff, nibbling flowerbeds and halting traffic.
We were enjoying other horned and antlered creatures today in Palmer. We had hoped to stay two nights there, but the campground could not guarantee us a space, so we moved on. That meant driving our whole rig into town so I could get to church, which was a bit awkward, but we managed. We got to see a bit of the town that way, anyway. There are cottonwood trees on many streets, which right now are dropping great globs of fluffy seed material on people’s lawns and in ditches, looking much like patches of snow.
Our first destination after church was the musk ox farm on the east side of town. The farm itself was lovely, with well-kept lawns and tidy red buildings at the end of a tree-lined road. Seeing agricultural areas around Palmer was a change from the landscape we’d encountered through most of the rest of Alaska.
Our tour leader took us out to the fenced paddocks where these wooly creatures were grazing. There were a number of babies that had been born this spring. This herd is the only domesticated herd in the world. The musk ox as a species is the same as it was 600,000 years ago, and the herd we saw had been reintroduced to the area from Greenland in the 1930s. They are well adapted to the wintry regions they normally live in, with soft, smooth hairs of fur that resist matting and so are able to stay fluffy and keep the creatures warm. They also have spiral-shaped bones inside their nostrils that filter the icy air and warm it up as they breathe. And they are well-armed by the thick, curled horns on their heads. Because of their penned lifestyle, the animals at this farm had the points cut off their horns for their safety and that of their handlers.
Our guide told us that these creatures are not oxen, nor do they have musk glands, but probably got their names from looking a bit like oxen and from living on the muskeg where they were first discovered.
Native people (Alaskans call them Eskimos) harvest the ultra-fine, soft qiviut by combing the coats of the musk ox, and spin it into yarn which knits up into scarves and tuques that are much lighter and warmer than sheeps’ wool. The knitting patterns they use are distinct to each community. There were items on display and for sale, but I think they were quite expensive, because they were kept in glass cases. We got to touch some samples and they were as soft as cashmere.
Our next destination was a reindeer farm on the Old Glenn Highway on the other side of the Matanuska River. The paddock was full of them, and next to it was a sleigh much like the one Santa hitches them to at Christmas time! They are small animals with splayed hooves that allow them to walk on snow easily, but also can be cupped like paddles to help them swim across open water. Their coats are made of coarse hollow hairs that increase their buoyancy as well. We were allowed to mingle with them and touch their velvety antlers, which are warm from the blood vessels inside them. Our guide gave us cups of pellets to feed them, and we had to hold out our hands flat so their soft lips could nibble off them! In no time we were surrounded by snuffling reindeer looking for a snack! We were supposed to hide the cups under our arm or in a pocket if they got too pushy. I tried to feed one sad-looking female that had lost her baby, and at first she shied away, but I did get to give her some later on. It was an amazing experience. I was pleased afterward to see a sink with soap and water where you could wash the reindeer slobber off your hands.
At the same farm there was a herd of elk, and the contrast in size between the two kinds of animals was remarkable. In addition, the reindeer were humble-looking and gentle, while the elk, especially the ones with majestic racks of antlers, looked aloof and proud. A buffalo and two moose on the property rounded out the horned and antlered set!
After these two interesting stops, we headed on toward Anchorage, which was only 40 miles away. Much of the highway was four-laned, a treat we had not enjoyed since Alberta. Our campground is very citified and densely packed, but we’ll be able to look at the city tomorrow without traveling far.
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA — We have reached Alaska’s unofficial capital, human population 300,000, moose population 1,500 — within the city limits! The tourist literature says swamp donkeys roam around this city in much the same way elk invade the city of Banff, nibbling flowerbeds and halting traffic.
We were enjoying other horned and antlered creatures today in Palmer. We had hoped to stay two nights there, but the campground could not guarantee us a space, so we moved on. That meant driving our whole rig into town so I could get to church, which was a bit awkward, but we managed. We got to see a bit of the town that way, anyway. There are cottonwood trees on many streets, which right now are dropping great globs of fluffy seed material on people’s lawns and in ditches, looking much like patches of snow.
Our first destination after church was the musk ox farm on the east side of town. The farm itself was lovely, with well-kept lawns and tidy red buildings at the end of a tree-lined road. Seeing agricultural areas around Palmer was a change from the landscape we’d encountered through most of the rest of Alaska.
Our tour leader took us out to the fenced paddocks where these wooly creatures were grazing. There were a number of babies that had been born this spring. This herd is the only domesticated herd in the world. The musk ox as a species is the same as it was 600,000 years ago, and the herd we saw had been reintroduced to the area from Greenland in the 1930s. They are well adapted to the wintry regions they normally live in, with soft, smooth hairs of fur that resist matting and so are able to stay fluffy and keep the creatures warm. They also have spiral-shaped bones inside their nostrils that filter the icy air and warm it up as they breathe. And they are well-armed by the thick, curled horns on their heads. Because of their penned lifestyle, the animals at this farm had the points cut off their horns for their safety and that of their handlers.
Our guide told us that these creatures are not oxen, nor do they have musk glands, but probably got their names from looking a bit like oxen and from living on the muskeg where they were first discovered.
Native people (Alaskans call them Eskimos) harvest the ultra-fine, soft qiviut by combing the coats of the musk ox, and spin it into yarn which knits up into scarves and tuques that are much lighter and warmer than sheeps’ wool. The knitting patterns they use are distinct to each community. There were items on display and for sale, but I think they were quite expensive, because they were kept in glass cases. We got to touch some samples and they were as soft as cashmere.
Our next destination was a reindeer farm on the Old Glenn Highway on the other side of the Matanuska River. The paddock was full of them, and next to it was a sleigh much like the one Santa hitches them to at Christmas time! They are small animals with splayed hooves that allow them to walk on snow easily, but also can be cupped like paddles to help them swim across open water. Their coats are made of coarse hollow hairs that increase their buoyancy as well. We were allowed to mingle with them and touch their velvety antlers, which are warm from the blood vessels inside them. Our guide gave us cups of pellets to feed them, and we had to hold out our hands flat so their soft lips could nibble off them! In no time we were surrounded by snuffling reindeer looking for a snack! We were supposed to hide the cups under our arm or in a pocket if they got too pushy. I tried to feed one sad-looking female that had lost her baby, and at first she shied away, but I did get to give her some later on. It was an amazing experience. I was pleased afterward to see a sink with soap and water where you could wash the reindeer slobber off your hands.
At the same farm there was a herd of elk, and the contrast in size between the two kinds of animals was remarkable. In addition, the reindeer were humble-looking and gentle, while the elk, especially the ones with majestic racks of antlers, looked aloof and proud. A buffalo and two moose on the property rounded out the horned and antlered set!
After these two interesting stops, we headed on toward Anchorage, which was only 40 miles away. Much of the highway was four-laned, a treat we had not enjoyed since Alberta. Our campground is very citified and densely packed, but we’ll be able to look at the city tomorrow without traveling far.
Alaska the beautiful
Saturday, July 14, 2007
PALMER, ALASKA — The state of Alaska is huge. If you were to superimpose a map of it onto the lower 48 states, it would stretch from Florida in the east all the way to California in the west, taking in its panhandle and the long string of Aleutian islands. The part of it that is populated and traveled is only about one third of the state at its eastern edge. The rest of Alaska is vast tundra, mountains, rivers and forests.
While we have only scratched the surface, we have absorbed an inkling of its massive size. Today we left Glennallen and headed westward along the Glenn Highway (Highway 1) in the direction of Anchorage. Palmer is not far from there; in fact the Homestead Campground where we are tonight claims to be within commuting distance of Anchorage, about 40 miles.
The campground is nicely laid out on a rise of land with beautiful birch trees strategically placed between large pull-through lots. At the south side of the property, the land drops precipitously to a distant river bed and a wide plain, and further south is a magnificent mountain range with craggy, snow-capped peaks. The plain and the mountains stretch as far as the eye can see in both directions, and today we passed through at least three huge stretches like this, separated by mountain passes with winding roads between enormous walls of rock.
At one point, we were stopped by a road crew for several minutes. The Glenn Highway is closed every night from midnight to six in the morning while construction crews take advantage of the long hours of daylight to work on the road. The design of the current road is telling its age; there are lots of serpentine sections through the mountain passes with sheer rock faces above and steep drops below, and more rises and dips than you would find in more recent highways. The work they are doing won’t be finished till 2009, according to the flag person we chatted with while we waited.
We saw a number of glaciers today. Most of the ones we have seen are thick build-ups of ice and snow at the V between two or three large peaks. This morning, it was the Tazlina Glacier, nestled at the base of Mount McKinley, Alaska’s most widely-known peak and, even at this late date in the summer, still completely white with snow and ice. It was strange to look at it out on our left side, in chilly shades of white, icy blue and grey, while on our right were rolling hills clad in green and sprinkled with flowers. The Nelchina Glacier had a similar appearance, but the Matanuska Glacier was quite different, spreading lengthwise through a long trough-like valley for quite a distance. We stopped at a turnout that gave us a good view of this one to enjoy a scenic lunch.
As we prepared our sandwiches, there was a tap on the back window of the trailer, and there was Georgette, our Swiss friend, waving hello. We invited her and Farid in to join us, and had a lovely long break, talking more about our travels, and hearing about Switzerland. When we told our tale of Tracie Harris and her gold claim on the marge of Lake Laberge, we tried to explain Robert Service’s poem, but decided the best thing would be to read it to them. So I did an impromptu performance of The Cremation of Sam McGee for their edification! Good thing we had the book handy so I could read from it! For our dessert, we enjoyed a lovely Toblerone bar which they brought in with them.
Once again on our way, we passed through Chickaloon (a town with a name that Val loves to repeat) with a population of 242, boasting a general store and a starting point for white-water venturers, of which we saw quite a few. Our route paralleled the Matanuska River most of the way from this point, a swiftly-flowing tributary that is liberally ruffled by rapids. It’s a perfect playground for the speed- and spume-loving set. That doesn’t include me! I wished we could have seen some of the people actually out on the river, but all we passed were groups about to set out, or just getting off. It looked like it would be an exciting ride.
There were so many mountains around us, but three stood out in particular along today’s route. One was the King Mountain, shaped like a huge pyramid, Gunsight Mountain, with a perfect notch at the peak just like a gunsight, and Lion Head, with a bulbous dome on one side much like the head of a lion, next to a rump-like shape to complete the image. Knob Lake, next to that mountain, picked up on that head shape as well. The knob is a great spot for birdwatchers in the spring, who hold an annual tailgate party there while they count the eagles, hawks, kestrels and other raptors that migrate along that path every year.
More mundane things awaited us at our destination; it was time for another laundry session, so we’re now all set with clean clothes and linens for another week.
PALMER, ALASKA — The state of Alaska is huge. If you were to superimpose a map of it onto the lower 48 states, it would stretch from Florida in the east all the way to California in the west, taking in its panhandle and the long string of Aleutian islands. The part of it that is populated and traveled is only about one third of the state at its eastern edge. The rest of Alaska is vast tundra, mountains, rivers and forests.
While we have only scratched the surface, we have absorbed an inkling of its massive size. Today we left Glennallen and headed westward along the Glenn Highway (Highway 1) in the direction of Anchorage. Palmer is not far from there; in fact the Homestead Campground where we are tonight claims to be within commuting distance of Anchorage, about 40 miles.
The campground is nicely laid out on a rise of land with beautiful birch trees strategically placed between large pull-through lots. At the south side of the property, the land drops precipitously to a distant river bed and a wide plain, and further south is a magnificent mountain range with craggy, snow-capped peaks. The plain and the mountains stretch as far as the eye can see in both directions, and today we passed through at least three huge stretches like this, separated by mountain passes with winding roads between enormous walls of rock.
At one point, we were stopped by a road crew for several minutes. The Glenn Highway is closed every night from midnight to six in the morning while construction crews take advantage of the long hours of daylight to work on the road. The design of the current road is telling its age; there are lots of serpentine sections through the mountain passes with sheer rock faces above and steep drops below, and more rises and dips than you would find in more recent highways. The work they are doing won’t be finished till 2009, according to the flag person we chatted with while we waited.
We saw a number of glaciers today. Most of the ones we have seen are thick build-ups of ice and snow at the V between two or three large peaks. This morning, it was the Tazlina Glacier, nestled at the base of Mount McKinley, Alaska’s most widely-known peak and, even at this late date in the summer, still completely white with snow and ice. It was strange to look at it out on our left side, in chilly shades of white, icy blue and grey, while on our right were rolling hills clad in green and sprinkled with flowers. The Nelchina Glacier had a similar appearance, but the Matanuska Glacier was quite different, spreading lengthwise through a long trough-like valley for quite a distance. We stopped at a turnout that gave us a good view of this one to enjoy a scenic lunch.
As we prepared our sandwiches, there was a tap on the back window of the trailer, and there was Georgette, our Swiss friend, waving hello. We invited her and Farid in to join us, and had a lovely long break, talking more about our travels, and hearing about Switzerland. When we told our tale of Tracie Harris and her gold claim on the marge of Lake Laberge, we tried to explain Robert Service’s poem, but decided the best thing would be to read it to them. So I did an impromptu performance of The Cremation of Sam McGee for their edification! Good thing we had the book handy so I could read from it! For our dessert, we enjoyed a lovely Toblerone bar which they brought in with them.
Once again on our way, we passed through Chickaloon (a town with a name that Val loves to repeat) with a population of 242, boasting a general store and a starting point for white-water venturers, of which we saw quite a few. Our route paralleled the Matanuska River most of the way from this point, a swiftly-flowing tributary that is liberally ruffled by rapids. It’s a perfect playground for the speed- and spume-loving set. That doesn’t include me! I wished we could have seen some of the people actually out on the river, but all we passed were groups about to set out, or just getting off. It looked like it would be an exciting ride.
There were so many mountains around us, but three stood out in particular along today’s route. One was the King Mountain, shaped like a huge pyramid, Gunsight Mountain, with a perfect notch at the peak just like a gunsight, and Lion Head, with a bulbous dome on one side much like the head of a lion, next to a rump-like shape to complete the image. Knob Lake, next to that mountain, picked up on that head shape as well. The knob is a great spot for birdwatchers in the spring, who hold an annual tailgate party there while they count the eagles, hawks, kestrels and other raptors that migrate along that path every year.
More mundane things awaited us at our destination; it was time for another laundry session, so we’re now all set with clean clothes and linens for another week.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
A chance meeting
Friday, July 13, 2007
GLENNALLEN, ALASKA — We’re back again at Northern Nights RV campground, and our timing is perfect; free dessert is served on Mondays and Fridays only and we hit it coming and going on those exact days. Last Monday we enjoyed peach cobbler and today it was blueberry! Before they serve the dessert they ask everyone to say their name and a bit about their travels or their hometown or how many grandchildren they have (yeah, there are a lot of grey-haired folks doing Alaska!).
The first lady jumped up and said her name and her husband’s name and told us he was her third husband. "The first one died from eating poison mushrooms," she said, "and my second husband died of a crushed skull." Amid the chorus of sympathetic "oh"s, she quipped, "he wouldn’t eat the mushrooms!" We were off to a good start. Tonight’s group included a crew of cyclists; I cannot imagine cycling up through the Thompson Pass from Valdez — it was an endless, continuous incline for about seven miles.
The weather was clearer today, so we got to see some mountains we missed on the way in to Valdez. There were still some clouds hiding the peaks of some of them, but the Mileposts guide told us about a turnout with a scenic view where signs would give us the names of each peak in the St. Elias-Wrangell mountain range, so I suggested that we pull over to take in the amazing view. I was able to gaze at it continually, but Val had to watch the road, so it would be an opportunity for him to really take it in.
We no sooner pulled in to the turnout when we spotted our Swiss friends, Georgette and Farid, whom we had last seen in Pancake Bay, Sault Ste. Marie, five weeks ago! It was a delightful surprise! They had decided to enjoy the same view at the same time, and, as Georgette said, we couldn’t have planned it better if we had booked an appointment. So we chatted for a whole hour, catching up on one another’s travels and adventures. They too were returning from Valdez; they had dry-camped at the Old Town site, where Valdez was located before the earthquake. We had driven in there yesterday, so we might have met up with them there — but then our chance meeting wouldn’t have happened on Friday the 13th, so it had to wait for a lucky day.
Georgette told us they had picked a nice spot by the water in Valdez to park their camper van, but as the afternoon progressed she noticed the edge of the water was getting closer and realized the tide was coming in. Farid didn’t think they needed to do anything, but on Georgette’s insistence they moved further inland. Good move; she said the water would have engulfed their van completely if they had stayed put!
Well, we never did read the names of all the mountain peaks at that turnout, but we had a very nice visit with our young friends, and are planning to connect once again for dinner in Anchorage, where we are both headed.
On the way back to Glennallen we took a side trip into Copper Center, a small settlement that harked back to gold rush days, with log cabins and an old roadhouse, and a little log cabin museum. The front steps of the museum were made of concrete with old pickaxes embedded in it as reinforcement, because they were so easy to find in the area! Copper and gold mining were among the activities of the earlier inhabitants, but today’s main source of income is taking folks out salmon fishing on the Klutina and Copper Rivers. At our dessert fest tonight, we once again heard the spiel about the wilderness river adventure that we could enjoy not far from here, but our sights are set for different horizons tomorrow.
GLENNALLEN, ALASKA — We’re back again at Northern Nights RV campground, and our timing is perfect; free dessert is served on Mondays and Fridays only and we hit it coming and going on those exact days. Last Monday we enjoyed peach cobbler and today it was blueberry! Before they serve the dessert they ask everyone to say their name and a bit about their travels or their hometown or how many grandchildren they have (yeah, there are a lot of grey-haired folks doing Alaska!).
The first lady jumped up and said her name and her husband’s name and told us he was her third husband. "The first one died from eating poison mushrooms," she said, "and my second husband died of a crushed skull." Amid the chorus of sympathetic "oh"s, she quipped, "he wouldn’t eat the mushrooms!" We were off to a good start. Tonight’s group included a crew of cyclists; I cannot imagine cycling up through the Thompson Pass from Valdez — it was an endless, continuous incline for about seven miles.
The weather was clearer today, so we got to see some mountains we missed on the way in to Valdez. There were still some clouds hiding the peaks of some of them, but the Mileposts guide told us about a turnout with a scenic view where signs would give us the names of each peak in the St. Elias-Wrangell mountain range, so I suggested that we pull over to take in the amazing view. I was able to gaze at it continually, but Val had to watch the road, so it would be an opportunity for him to really take it in.
We no sooner pulled in to the turnout when we spotted our Swiss friends, Georgette and Farid, whom we had last seen in Pancake Bay, Sault Ste. Marie, five weeks ago! It was a delightful surprise! They had decided to enjoy the same view at the same time, and, as Georgette said, we couldn’t have planned it better if we had booked an appointment. So we chatted for a whole hour, catching up on one another’s travels and adventures. They too were returning from Valdez; they had dry-camped at the Old Town site, where Valdez was located before the earthquake. We had driven in there yesterday, so we might have met up with them there — but then our chance meeting wouldn’t have happened on Friday the 13th, so it had to wait for a lucky day.
Georgette told us they had picked a nice spot by the water in Valdez to park their camper van, but as the afternoon progressed she noticed the edge of the water was getting closer and realized the tide was coming in. Farid didn’t think they needed to do anything, but on Georgette’s insistence they moved further inland. Good move; she said the water would have engulfed their van completely if they had stayed put!
Well, we never did read the names of all the mountain peaks at that turnout, but we had a very nice visit with our young friends, and are planning to connect once again for dinner in Anchorage, where we are both headed.
On the way back to Glennallen we took a side trip into Copper Center, a small settlement that harked back to gold rush days, with log cabins and an old roadhouse, and a little log cabin museum. The front steps of the museum were made of concrete with old pickaxes embedded in it as reinforcement, because they were so easy to find in the area! Copper and gold mining were among the activities of the earlier inhabitants, but today’s main source of income is taking folks out salmon fishing on the Klutina and Copper Rivers. At our dessert fest tonight, we once again heard the spiel about the wilderness river adventure that we could enjoy not far from here, but our sights are set for different horizons tomorrow.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Fish tales
Thursday, July 12, 2007
VALDEZ, ALASKA — We were pleased to see the sun shining today in Valdez. Both yesterday and Tuesday it had rained on and off all day; this didn’t really impede any of our activities, but it’s always nicer to do touristy things on a nice day.
Anyone wandering around Valdez would quickly realize that fishing is a big part of the town’s economy. One of the first things we saw when we first arrived at our RV park was a fish cleaning station behind the park office, where people were standing around a large table, filleting and cleaning salmon, their catch of the day. From time to time a fellow scooped all the heads, tails and guts toward a hole in the middle of the table, where a big grinder reduced it all to chum, to dump back into the harbour.
Next to the harbour are a number of enterprises that offer fishing excursions, flash freezing and shipping of your catch, or, simply, fresh fish to buy and take home for dinner. At the docks this morning were dozens of fishing boats at anchor. Authorities maintain control over the fishery through quotas and scheduling that mean some boats must wait a few days between trips out. When they do get the go-ahead, they stay out all day, transferring their catch to tender boats that suck it into their holds through large pipes and shuttle it back to the docks for processing.
We drove over to Peter Pan Seafoods Inc. this morning to buy some fresh Copper River red salmon and halibut. There was a sign outside a large, factory-like building that said "fish 4 sale: go through the door and up the stairs", so we did. We passed men in coveralls and rubber boots at the door, walked through an employees’ coffee break area and through a dark passageway. On the right was a kind of loading dock, and on the left an assembly line where workers, wearing white hairnets, were sorting fish and where cans were being stuffed, shunted along a conveyer belt and sealed.
No one paid any attention to us, but there were blue fish shapes painted on the floor that led to a staircase, so up we went, and at the top was a small landing with large chest freezer, fridge and shelves with signs indicating prices. A little further on was the administrative office, and a nice woman, also wearing a white hairnet, came from behind the counter to serve us. More than $150 later, we walked out with frozen salmon fillets, halibut fillets, fresh salmon, fresh halibut, a case of canned salmon and a box of scallops! We came straight back to the trailer and managed to squeeze all that into our small fridge and freezer. Guess what was for supper tonight?
On our way again, we took a look at the Valdez Museum, where some wag had mounted a very believable display of a fur-clad fish, known only in cold Alaskan waters, and a set of sharp-toothed jaws that claimed to be those of an ice worm, 27 feet long! There were some more serious displays of gold rush artifacts, plus an incredibly ornate steam-operated fire engine from the late 1800s, restored with nickel and gold leaf on its gleaming engine and spoked wheels.
After lunch we strolled over to the harbour to have a look at all the boats. Mixed together were dozens of sleek pleasure boats and hard-worn fishing rigs, loaded with nets, waiting the call to go out on the water. We stopped to chat with a fishing boat captain on the dock, who told us that some rigs are operated by a single individual. We asked him about the fish hatchery that gets the small fry started and then releases them to the join their wild siblings in the sound. He said they do contribute to the survival of the fishery, but seasoned fishermen can tell the hatched from the wild and prefer the latter.
Near the Peter Pan Seafoods building we saw dormitories where itinerant crew stay at the height of the season — and a sign indicative of the region’s long daylight hours, reading "no basketball playing after 10 pm. People are trying to sleep!" A summer job on one of these rigs would certainly be a unique experience for a young person.
VALDEZ, ALASKA — We were pleased to see the sun shining today in Valdez. Both yesterday and Tuesday it had rained on and off all day; this didn’t really impede any of our activities, but it’s always nicer to do touristy things on a nice day.
Anyone wandering around Valdez would quickly realize that fishing is a big part of the town’s economy. One of the first things we saw when we first arrived at our RV park was a fish cleaning station behind the park office, where people were standing around a large table, filleting and cleaning salmon, their catch of the day. From time to time a fellow scooped all the heads, tails and guts toward a hole in the middle of the table, where a big grinder reduced it all to chum, to dump back into the harbour.
Next to the harbour are a number of enterprises that offer fishing excursions, flash freezing and shipping of your catch, or, simply, fresh fish to buy and take home for dinner. At the docks this morning were dozens of fishing boats at anchor. Authorities maintain control over the fishery through quotas and scheduling that mean some boats must wait a few days between trips out. When they do get the go-ahead, they stay out all day, transferring their catch to tender boats that suck it into their holds through large pipes and shuttle it back to the docks for processing.
We drove over to Peter Pan Seafoods Inc. this morning to buy some fresh Copper River red salmon and halibut. There was a sign outside a large, factory-like building that said "fish 4 sale: go through the door and up the stairs", so we did. We passed men in coveralls and rubber boots at the door, walked through an employees’ coffee break area and through a dark passageway. On the right was a kind of loading dock, and on the left an assembly line where workers, wearing white hairnets, were sorting fish and where cans were being stuffed, shunted along a conveyer belt and sealed.
No one paid any attention to us, but there were blue fish shapes painted on the floor that led to a staircase, so up we went, and at the top was a small landing with large chest freezer, fridge and shelves with signs indicating prices. A little further on was the administrative office, and a nice woman, also wearing a white hairnet, came from behind the counter to serve us. More than $150 later, we walked out with frozen salmon fillets, halibut fillets, fresh salmon, fresh halibut, a case of canned salmon and a box of scallops! We came straight back to the trailer and managed to squeeze all that into our small fridge and freezer. Guess what was for supper tonight?
On our way again, we took a look at the Valdez Museum, where some wag had mounted a very believable display of a fur-clad fish, known only in cold Alaskan waters, and a set of sharp-toothed jaws that claimed to be those of an ice worm, 27 feet long! There were some more serious displays of gold rush artifacts, plus an incredibly ornate steam-operated fire engine from the late 1800s, restored with nickel and gold leaf on its gleaming engine and spoked wheels.
After lunch we strolled over to the harbour to have a look at all the boats. Mixed together were dozens of sleek pleasure boats and hard-worn fishing rigs, loaded with nets, waiting the call to go out on the water. We stopped to chat with a fishing boat captain on the dock, who told us that some rigs are operated by a single individual. We asked him about the fish hatchery that gets the small fry started and then releases them to the join their wild siblings in the sound. He said they do contribute to the survival of the fishery, but seasoned fishermen can tell the hatched from the wild and prefer the latter.
Near the Peter Pan Seafoods building we saw dormitories where itinerant crew stay at the height of the season — and a sign indicative of the region’s long daylight hours, reading "no basketball playing after 10 pm. People are trying to sleep!" A summer job on one of these rigs would certainly be a unique experience for a young person.
A glorious glacier
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
VALDEZ, ALASKA — When we went yesterday to book today’s tour of Prince William Sound, we had originally wanted the shorter, six-hour trip, but that tour was fully booked. Instead, they offered the nine and a half-hour tour at a discount, so we agreed to take it. It turned out to be a wonderful stroke of luck!
While we were waiting for the bus to come and take us to the boat, and we chatted with a couple whose accent told us they must be francophones. It turned out that Huguette and Yvon come from Montreal, so we carried on in French with them for the rest of the day. They were a delightful pair!
Even before we got out of the harbour, we spotted two sea lions lounging at the base of a large bouy. We also saw the oil tanker Prince William Sound at the mouth of the pipeline taking on a load of crude to take away for refinement, and a number of salmon fishing boats with their nets cast wide. As we watched them transfer the fish to larger collector vessels, we could see the gleaming silver fish tumbling into the hold.
Our route was to take us up two different fjords to see two glaciers, and as we approached the first, we could see white specks floating against the backdrop of the far shore. These were chunks of ice — some of them quite large — that had broken free from the glacier. Some were white with black dirty bits, while others were a beautiful turquoise blue; the captain explained that the coloured ones were more densely packed. The captain navigated slowly between these bits to get close as he could get to the face of the Columbia Glacier. Because there were so many chunks, we had to hang back at some distance. Still, we were impressed by the Columbia’s grandeur.
As we headed back out to the sound, we spotted the white head of a bald eagle against the dark green forest as it perched high on a pine tree. The captain also pointed out some Dall’s porpoises racing alongside us, but all I could see was a flash of black and white for an instant and then they were gone.
Soon we were headed into the second fjord. We had gone inside to sit down and enjoy the free hot tea and coffee they were serving. The wind and the spray had chilled us, despite our warm clothing. A few minutes later I looked up and saw through the window the blue-green wall of the Meares Glacier looming ahead — it filled the whole window! We were back out on the deck in an instant. The captain had shut off the motor so we could drift slowly toward the glacier, and everyone was just standing agape in silent awe at the scene in front of us.
We were about a quarter of a mile away, but it felt like we could touch it. The glacier wall was the height of a skyscraper and a mile wide. Great, vertical cracks were visible all along it, and its colours ranged from pure white to turquoise to deep blue. Floating in front of it were chunks and bergy bits, and as we watched we could hear cracks and rumbles coming from the face. Then a chunk as big as a car broke free and fell down, down, down to the water in a huge grey splash. We were spellbound!
Over the next 20 minutes as we drifted, we saw more pieces fall. One of the biggest pieces to come off must have been the size of a small apartment building, and it cracked and rumbled like thunder as it slowly gave way and crashed in a huge plume of spray. Then we saw the wave it had created! The chunks of ice near it were bobbing up and down, and a dark crease along the water was headed in our direction. Two or three minutes later the boat heaved up, dropped and heaved again as successive waves from this huge iceberg passed through our position.
We could see by the deep cracks on either side of one part of the ice face that another monster piece would soon be coming down. The captain and crew were glued to the windows on the upper deck, as fascinated as we were. He said we’d hang around for another five minutes or so, but it must have been at least 15 that we remained, silently drifting, watching and listening. More cracking noises and small chunks let go and fell. Then the mother of all hunks gave way and everyone gasped and pointed! A mountain of blue ice collapsed in slow motion and we heard a profound rumbling as it plummeted into the deep. At that point, the captain started up the engine again and we retreated as a miniature tsunami headed our way. It will be a long time before I forget what we saw.
Later I heard a crew member say this was the best display of glacier "calving" that they had seen this season, so we felt lucky indeed.
The wonders of nature were not over yet! Back again in open water, our sharp-eyed captain directed our gaze off to the left where plumes of spray indicated whales were present. There were two hump-back whale fins skimming above the surface and disappearing again. We followed their path with binoculars trained until they reappeared. Then they arched their backs to dive deep, and we saw the length of their grey bodies curve up, with their wing-like tails appearing last and slipping out of sight! Yvon managed, amazingly, to capture the tail on his digital camera. He was just thrilled as he showed us his prize picture. In all, we spotted five or six whales.
Next, we came close to the shore at the favourite resting spot for local sea lions. At first we saw half a dozen brown lumps lounging on the rocky shore. A little further on there were about 20 of them. Lastly, we saw about 200 carpeting a large rocky beach, lolling about, exchanging bites and nips or galumphing awkwardly over one another for a better spot. All the while we could hear them grunting noisily at one another. It sounded like a huge burping session!
Somewhere in between all the wonderful sights (including some adorable puffins and sea otters), we also were served a lovely hot lunch, and, on the return journey, delicious cups of steaming clam chowder. The crew were so helpful and friendly, even clearing the water-streaked windows with squeejees from time to time for our viewing pleasure. As we sailed back in to Valdez harbour, the sun had finally broken through the clouds, giving us a warm welcome back ashore at the end of a truly memorable day.
VALDEZ, ALASKA — When we went yesterday to book today’s tour of Prince William Sound, we had originally wanted the shorter, six-hour trip, but that tour was fully booked. Instead, they offered the nine and a half-hour tour at a discount, so we agreed to take it. It turned out to be a wonderful stroke of luck!
While we were waiting for the bus to come and take us to the boat, and we chatted with a couple whose accent told us they must be francophones. It turned out that Huguette and Yvon come from Montreal, so we carried on in French with them for the rest of the day. They were a delightful pair!
Even before we got out of the harbour, we spotted two sea lions lounging at the base of a large bouy. We also saw the oil tanker Prince William Sound at the mouth of the pipeline taking on a load of crude to take away for refinement, and a number of salmon fishing boats with their nets cast wide. As we watched them transfer the fish to larger collector vessels, we could see the gleaming silver fish tumbling into the hold.
Our route was to take us up two different fjords to see two glaciers, and as we approached the first, we could see white specks floating against the backdrop of the far shore. These were chunks of ice — some of them quite large — that had broken free from the glacier. Some were white with black dirty bits, while others were a beautiful turquoise blue; the captain explained that the coloured ones were more densely packed. The captain navigated slowly between these bits to get close as he could get to the face of the Columbia Glacier. Because there were so many chunks, we had to hang back at some distance. Still, we were impressed by the Columbia’s grandeur.
As we headed back out to the sound, we spotted the white head of a bald eagle against the dark green forest as it perched high on a pine tree. The captain also pointed out some Dall’s porpoises racing alongside us, but all I could see was a flash of black and white for an instant and then they were gone.
Soon we were headed into the second fjord. We had gone inside to sit down and enjoy the free hot tea and coffee they were serving. The wind and the spray had chilled us, despite our warm clothing. A few minutes later I looked up and saw through the window the blue-green wall of the Meares Glacier looming ahead — it filled the whole window! We were back out on the deck in an instant. The captain had shut off the motor so we could drift slowly toward the glacier, and everyone was just standing agape in silent awe at the scene in front of us.
We were about a quarter of a mile away, but it felt like we could touch it. The glacier wall was the height of a skyscraper and a mile wide. Great, vertical cracks were visible all along it, and its colours ranged from pure white to turquoise to deep blue. Floating in front of it were chunks and bergy bits, and as we watched we could hear cracks and rumbles coming from the face. Then a chunk as big as a car broke free and fell down, down, down to the water in a huge grey splash. We were spellbound!
Over the next 20 minutes as we drifted, we saw more pieces fall. One of the biggest pieces to come off must have been the size of a small apartment building, and it cracked and rumbled like thunder as it slowly gave way and crashed in a huge plume of spray. Then we saw the wave it had created! The chunks of ice near it were bobbing up and down, and a dark crease along the water was headed in our direction. Two or three minutes later the boat heaved up, dropped and heaved again as successive waves from this huge iceberg passed through our position.
We could see by the deep cracks on either side of one part of the ice face that another monster piece would soon be coming down. The captain and crew were glued to the windows on the upper deck, as fascinated as we were. He said we’d hang around for another five minutes or so, but it must have been at least 15 that we remained, silently drifting, watching and listening. More cracking noises and small chunks let go and fell. Then the mother of all hunks gave way and everyone gasped and pointed! A mountain of blue ice collapsed in slow motion and we heard a profound rumbling as it plummeted into the deep. At that point, the captain started up the engine again and we retreated as a miniature tsunami headed our way. It will be a long time before I forget what we saw.
Later I heard a crew member say this was the best display of glacier "calving" that they had seen this season, so we felt lucky indeed.
The wonders of nature were not over yet! Back again in open water, our sharp-eyed captain directed our gaze off to the left where plumes of spray indicated whales were present. There were two hump-back whale fins skimming above the surface and disappearing again. We followed their path with binoculars trained until they reappeared. Then they arched their backs to dive deep, and we saw the length of their grey bodies curve up, with their wing-like tails appearing last and slipping out of sight! Yvon managed, amazingly, to capture the tail on his digital camera. He was just thrilled as he showed us his prize picture. In all, we spotted five or six whales.
Next, we came close to the shore at the favourite resting spot for local sea lions. At first we saw half a dozen brown lumps lounging on the rocky shore. A little further on there were about 20 of them. Lastly, we saw about 200 carpeting a large rocky beach, lolling about, exchanging bites and nips or galumphing awkwardly over one another for a better spot. All the while we could hear them grunting noisily at one another. It sounded like a huge burping session!
Somewhere in between all the wonderful sights (including some adorable puffins and sea otters), we also were served a lovely hot lunch, and, on the return journey, delicious cups of steaming clam chowder. The crew were so helpful and friendly, even clearing the water-streaked windows with squeejees from time to time for our viewing pleasure. As we sailed back in to Valdez harbour, the sun had finally broken through the clouds, giving us a warm welcome back ashore at the end of a truly memorable day.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The pinnacle and the pipeline
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
VALDEZ, ALASKA — Our site number at the Eagle’s Rest RV Campground is number 701, which may give you an idea of the size of this place. There are literally hundreds of RVs here, and in our little jaunt around town we saw two or three other RV parks with equally large numbers! I wouldn’t be surprised if this town of 4,500 was hosting a thousand RVs tonight.
What is drawing all these tourists? A glance outside will tell you: the town is surrounded by steep, snow-capped mountain peaks on three sides, and the beautiful Prince William Sound, where great ships glide in and out and whales frolic, on the south side. Valdez is called Alaska’s little Switzerland, but it’s also the delivery end of the Alaska pipeline, a haven for fishing of salmon and halibut and a mecca for extreme sports enthusiasts.
But getting here, as the expression goes, is half the fun. We had a wonderful drive south today from Glennallen on the scenic Richardson Highway, passing alongside sheer rock faces, over rushing streams and rivers turned milky grey by glacial melting, and through the Thompson Pass where the mighty Worthington Glacier thrusts its blue-green icy fingers down the mountainside. More than once we pulled over to snap pictures that were so perfect, you’d think you were standing in a post card.
Most of the journey was through territory where only the bears and moose live; there were very few habitations. I was thinking about those creatures when we stopped to have a look at the Alaska pipeline. Our Mileposts guide indicated where to do this; otherwise we would have missed it completely. There was a nice gravel turnout, and an opening in the fencing where people could go in to read the interpretive sign and walk right up to the huge structure. To our right and our left, this enormous metal tube snaked out of sight, about 20 feet off the ground, held up by huge H-shaped supports. The vertical bars of the H are thermally designed to prevent the permafrost from melting and causing unevenness. The cross bars give room for the pipes to move laterally in case of seismic movement. Built in 1973, the pipes are about four feet in diameter and half an inch thick, and millions of gallons of oil flow through them from far-off Prudhoe Bay every day! It was an impressive sight.
It was cloudy today, and sometimes rainy, so there are some mountain tops we hope to see more clearly on the way back (the road in to Valdez is also the road out). We actually were driving in the clouds as we came through the pass, watching wisps of them floating by and nestling into the clefts of the rocks. The sky cleared enough for us to get a good look at Mount Billy Mitchell, named after a U.S. lieutenant who worked on building the trans-Alaska telegraph line in 1903.
We stopped at the viewing site for the Worthington Glacier and were able to look at it closely through telescopes. We saw people on the glacier when we looked through — a man at the base of a huge blue-green crack in the glacier and, high above him wearing crampons and aided by ropes and a pick, a woman who had just about made it to the top! Seeing them on the glacier allowed us to take in its size; they were completely dwarfed by the huge tongue of ice and snow.
One of the interpretive signs described a life form we never really believed existed: there actually ARE such things as ice worms! Robert Service wasn’t weaving tall tales in his iceworm poem after all — or at least not about the creatures themselves. There were actual microscopic photos of the little critters.
The highway followed the Tiekel River down the mountain through the awesome Keystone Canyon, where rock faces soared up at steep angles from the roadbed on either side. The river flows on to the town of Valdez, and before we got to the official town we passed the site of the old town that was wiped out by the earthquake and tsunami of 1964. It measured 9.2 on the Richter scale, and the tremors were felt as far away as California and South America. The epicentre was 45 miles west of here. Valdez is also known for the huge oil spill of the Exxon Valdez in 1989. Strangely, both disasters took place on a Good Friday. The quake killed 131 in all; the oil spill, unnumbered birds and sea creatures along many coastlines, although the port of Valdez itself was not affected.
We actually got to see footage of the pipeline construction and the earthquake at the Sugar and Spice shop, where some enterprising merchants have set up chairs in front of a TV with free continuous screenings of both films amid the racks of T-shirts and trinkets! Our price of admission included a cosy sweatshirt and T-shirt emblazoned with "Alaska" that Val picked up!
VALDEZ, ALASKA — Our site number at the Eagle’s Rest RV Campground is number 701, which may give you an idea of the size of this place. There are literally hundreds of RVs here, and in our little jaunt around town we saw two or three other RV parks with equally large numbers! I wouldn’t be surprised if this town of 4,500 was hosting a thousand RVs tonight.
What is drawing all these tourists? A glance outside will tell you: the town is surrounded by steep, snow-capped mountain peaks on three sides, and the beautiful Prince William Sound, where great ships glide in and out and whales frolic, on the south side. Valdez is called Alaska’s little Switzerland, but it’s also the delivery end of the Alaska pipeline, a haven for fishing of salmon and halibut and a mecca for extreme sports enthusiasts.
But getting here, as the expression goes, is half the fun. We had a wonderful drive south today from Glennallen on the scenic Richardson Highway, passing alongside sheer rock faces, over rushing streams and rivers turned milky grey by glacial melting, and through the Thompson Pass where the mighty Worthington Glacier thrusts its blue-green icy fingers down the mountainside. More than once we pulled over to snap pictures that were so perfect, you’d think you were standing in a post card.
Most of the journey was through territory where only the bears and moose live; there were very few habitations. I was thinking about those creatures when we stopped to have a look at the Alaska pipeline. Our Mileposts guide indicated where to do this; otherwise we would have missed it completely. There was a nice gravel turnout, and an opening in the fencing where people could go in to read the interpretive sign and walk right up to the huge structure. To our right and our left, this enormous metal tube snaked out of sight, about 20 feet off the ground, held up by huge H-shaped supports. The vertical bars of the H are thermally designed to prevent the permafrost from melting and causing unevenness. The cross bars give room for the pipes to move laterally in case of seismic movement. Built in 1973, the pipes are about four feet in diameter and half an inch thick, and millions of gallons of oil flow through them from far-off Prudhoe Bay every day! It was an impressive sight.
It was cloudy today, and sometimes rainy, so there are some mountain tops we hope to see more clearly on the way back (the road in to Valdez is also the road out). We actually were driving in the clouds as we came through the pass, watching wisps of them floating by and nestling into the clefts of the rocks. The sky cleared enough for us to get a good look at Mount Billy Mitchell, named after a U.S. lieutenant who worked on building the trans-Alaska telegraph line in 1903.
We stopped at the viewing site for the Worthington Glacier and were able to look at it closely through telescopes. We saw people on the glacier when we looked through — a man at the base of a huge blue-green crack in the glacier and, high above him wearing crampons and aided by ropes and a pick, a woman who had just about made it to the top! Seeing them on the glacier allowed us to take in its size; they were completely dwarfed by the huge tongue of ice and snow.
One of the interpretive signs described a life form we never really believed existed: there actually ARE such things as ice worms! Robert Service wasn’t weaving tall tales in his iceworm poem after all — or at least not about the creatures themselves. There were actual microscopic photos of the little critters.
The highway followed the Tiekel River down the mountain through the awesome Keystone Canyon, where rock faces soared up at steep angles from the roadbed on either side. The river flows on to the town of Valdez, and before we got to the official town we passed the site of the old town that was wiped out by the earthquake and tsunami of 1964. It measured 9.2 on the Richter scale, and the tremors were felt as far away as California and South America. The epicentre was 45 miles west of here. Valdez is also known for the huge oil spill of the Exxon Valdez in 1989. Strangely, both disasters took place on a Good Friday. The quake killed 131 in all; the oil spill, unnumbered birds and sea creatures along many coastlines, although the port of Valdez itself was not affected.
We actually got to see footage of the pipeline construction and the earthquake at the Sugar and Spice shop, where some enterprising merchants have set up chairs in front of a TV with free continuous screenings of both films amid the racks of T-shirts and trinkets! Our price of admission included a cosy sweatshirt and T-shirt emblazoned with "Alaska" that Val picked up!
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