Alaskan Adventure: August 2019

(Planning thread that led to this Trip Report)

Once again, thanks to everyone who offered advice and suggestions relating to this trip and helped to ensure a truly memorable three and a half weeks. It’s a special place, one that presents challenges as well as rewards – it is most definitely frontier country in places – but a state that (finances permitting!) we will return to in the not too distant future.

Despite being pretty seasoned road-trippers (this was our 48th state), I confess that I found the whole concept of planning this visit more than a little daunting. Alaska was completely unknown to us and while this lack of familiarity was part of its appeal, it also meant that we started out with a blank canvas other than the fact that we knew we wanted to see Denali.

So, by way of thanks to those who helped us develop and route and pick out some highlights along the way, and more importantly to create a record of our experiences in case this helps other travellers, I have pulled together a day-by-day diary of our 2019 Alaska Adventure.

One thing to point out first: This trip was planned and executed on the basis of it being a once in a lifetime visit. We were fortunate enough to have built up sufficient cash to do everything we wanted within reason so it ended up being expensive. Very expensive.

It’s certainly possible to do things more economically but be under no illusion. Alaska is not cheap. If you want to be able to travel some of the less well-paved highways, you will need an SUV and you will need permission from your rental company to travel these roads. Most of the usual names do not permit their vehicles to be used on the Denali Highway, the McCarthy Road, the Dalton Highway etc.

As we wanted to visit McCarthy (which can only be reached via a 60 mile gravel road), we booked a Jeep Wrangler 4x4 for three weeks from specialists Alaska 4x4 Rentals and it came to over $4000 (of which nearly $1000 was taxes etc.). You then need to allow for CDW and SLI coverage on top; we arranged ours in the UK through a company called Insurance4carhire .

You can of course forget these roads and do the trip in something standard but a quick look at the Hertz site suggests three weeks in a standard vehicle would have cost us $2600 for a Compact or $3600 for an Intermediate SUV. If it’s going to cost that much anyway, you may feel, as we did, that a few hundred dollars more is a price worth paying for the flexibility to go further afield. As I say, it’s possible to make savings but you’re unlikely ever to think you’ve got a bargain in Alaska.

This is essentially just a self-indulgent vent about the arrogance of international carriers so feel free to skip straight to Day 2.

We booked our flights with Icelandair back in December 2018 – a full 8 months ahead of our trip – and reserved extra legroom on the long haul legs (Iceland > Anchorage > Iceland).

A week before we’re due to fly, Icelandair inform us that they are using a different plane so we need to rebook our seats. Can we transfer our extra legroom bookings? “Sorry, no.” What about a refund? “Sorry, no. You’ll have to claim that after your flights have been completed”.

A day before we’re due to fly, Icelandair inform us that our flights have been cancelled completely and they are rebooking us via New York and Minneapolis so our arrival in Anchorage will be in the small hours of the day after we’re due to arrive, not the civilised 16:20 arrival we’d expected.

An hour later we receive a request to check-in and download boarding passes … for the flights that have just been cancelled. Another call: Hello Icelandair, WTF is going on? “Sorry, I don’t know. But if you have boarding passes you should be fine for your booked flights. Please turn up at the airport as planned.”

On the day of the flight, check-in / bag drop appears to be some kind of lottery, with certain passengers being bumped and others checking in as normal. We’re among the lucky ones but are advised that, as the aircraft have once again changed, our seat reservations are no longer valid.

That’s okay on the relative short (<3 hrs) leg from Manchester to Keflavik but more than a little frustrating for the 2nd part of the journey given that we’ve already paid twice for the privilege of a few extra inches. However, here our luck finally changes. As we board in Iceland, it’s apparent that my seat is broken and, yes!, the only spare seats are over the wing … with extra legroom. So we get to stretch at no extra charge and – eventually – manage to wring a refund out of Icelandair (this took until January, a full five months later!).

And by around 6:00 pm we’re sitting outside the very pleasant Lakefront Anchorage hotel under a baking sun (approx. 80 degrees!), enjoying a beer, and watching the floatplanes take off from the adjacent Lake Spenard. It’s amazing how quickly the trials and tribulations of travel become a distant memory.

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Journey proper starts today. We collect the Jeep from the wonderful Alaska 4x4 rentals (“We know that people choose Jeeps for a reason so don’t worry about minor scratches if you take it down a dirt road. All we look out for are dents and cracked windscreens. Have a great trip.”) and hit the road.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Our first stopping point is to buy provisions. We pull into a Carrs Quality Center on Gambell Street and, well, all I can say is that it’s the roughest supermarket we’ve ever visited in all our years of USA travel. I ask where the restrooms are and have to be escorted there. The door is unlocked and my guide / warden waits outside, presumably to make sure I’m not shooting up. Cigarettes are kept under lock and key. At the check out desk, another shopper rambles incoherently before walking out.

This isn’t quite how I’d pictured Alaska. Looking at Govt figures, it would seem that, while on their way up, poverty rates in the Anchorage municipality are actually lower than those of the rest of Alaska, which in turn are lower than the national average. So I guess we just chose the wrong location.

Leaving Anchorage we head north and stop for a restorative walk along the short nature trail at Eagle River Nature Center. This is more like it. There’s a Beaver Viewing Deck (but no beaver), wonderful scenery, and the reassurance of knowing that if a bear does make an appearance, there are plenty of small children present who would surely represent an easier meal.

Reaching our destination from here is simply a matter of following the spectacular Glenn Highway north past lakes, through Palmer, alongside the grey glacial water of the Matanuska River, past the spectacular Matanuska Glacier that we will visit tomorrow, to our idyllic cabin – Tundra Rose Cottage at milepost marker 109. Next door is Grand View Café, a fully licensed restaurant owned by the same people, and a great place to end our first day on the road with a brick oven-baked pizza and a few beers.

Oh yes, the name Grand View. Look out of the window of the café and you do indeed get a grand view of the mountainside opposite, complete with the tiny white dots high up there that are Dall sheep.


Eagle River
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Glenn Highway
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Matanuska Glacier
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Tundra Rose Cottage
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Hey, Peter

Good show--I've been looking forward to reading about your Alaskan adventures. (Me, and everyone else, I'm sure!) Your report is already bringing back memories. Nice looking Jeep; I'd say you did quite well in your choice of vehicles!

Rick

Yes, we are looking forward to reading this report.

George, (glc) provided the impetus and suggestion to move this field report into it's own thread.

And once it is summer again, Tom will make a trip map and place in this thread.

Mark

Peter, you are already bringing back so many memories. I love the Glenn Highway and the Matanuska Glacier region. Must also say, I am so fortunate to have my own vehicle. It goes where I tell it to go, without restriction.

The first time I went to Alaska (2004) I rented a car in Seattle, and was told I could take it anywhere north of the Mexican border. I'm sure the gentleman did not expect this senior female to take it to Alaska. I never mentioned Alaska to them. No mention of forbidden roads either. I did not learn about that until I got to Alaska. On that first trip I stayed on the main highways, which filled the 18 days I had to make sure I got the car back in time.

It may be expensive, but no-where near as expensive as the true last frontier - Antarctica! Alaska is a magnetic place.... calling you back. It was good to read in your first paragraph that it is not out of the question. After four trips, two in my own vehicle, I long to take another trip, but alas! I doubt it will happen. All good things must come to an end.

Can't wait to read more of your trip.

Lifey.

I've only this minute seen that this has its own thread - thanks for the kind words. I have a few 'days' up my sleeve which I'll post soon and then get back to working through my photos / memories and Carole's daily journal.

An early start for me in the hope of spotting wildlife along the Glenn Highway, leaving my wife Carole to enjoy a couple more hours in our wonderfully cosy little cabin. Nothing doing on the animal front but spectacular light as the sun comes up between the towering mountains.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

To Grand View Café next door for breakfast then back west a few miles to pick up our guided tour of Matanuska Glacier with Nova Alaska Guides. The glacier is only accessible via a private road so there’s a fee to enter and – unless you really know what you’re doing and have the necessary gear – you’ll need to book a trip with one the number of outfits who can take you out there safely.

The glacier itself is 26 miles long and 4 miles wide – the largest in Alaska that can be reached by vehicle – so a two hour guided trip can only show you a tiny fraction of that but it’s a remarkable experience. You’re guided past crevices, between ice walls and down slopes that would have you horizontal in seconds were it not for the spikes attached to your boots. And despite the fact that there are other groups exploring the same miniscule fraction of the overall glacier, the sheer scale of the place means you may only catch occasional glimpses of them. It’s a photographer’s paradise of course but should be a must-do on any visitor’s itinerary: Alaska Magazine rates it as #2 in its ’49 Places To Visit In The 49th State’.

Heading to tonight’s destination, Talkeetna, requires us to retrace our steps west along the Glenn Highway to Palmer – no great hardship – then head through Wasilla and north on the Parks Highway. I’d assumed that this 323 mile road took its name from the fact that it runs past Denali National and State Parks (yes, they are two different things) but it’s actually named after one George Parks, governor of the Territory of Alaska from 1925 to 1933. However, according to that font of all knowledge Wikipedia, the aptness of the name was not lost on those who chose it.

It almost goes without saying that it’s a beautiful drive. Slightly less expected is the continuing pleasant weather of sunshine and blue skies. The only cloud on the horizon – literally and metaphorically – is concern over conditions in and around Denali, where weeks of heavy rain have resulted landslides, causing the park service to close public access beyond mile 30. We’re booked onto a bus that’s scheduled to take us the full 92 miles into the park in three days’ time.

Talkeetna itself is a real highlight of our trip. It has the air of a rugged and outdoorsy place – the bars and cafes are full of people (servers and customers alike) dressed for a life of climbing, kayaking, off-road biking, that kind of thing – but it’s equally geared up to meeting the needs of those planning less challenging adventures, with a excellent range of restaurants, brew pubs, delis, coffee shops and other such essentials.

Our room – overlooking main street, directly above the Wildflower Café – is disappointing: the TV and Wi-Fi both fail to work throughout our stay (yes, I know we’re in Alaska and should have better things to do with our time but you know, when it’s advertised…); Carole never trusts the cleanliness of dark coloured towels or bedding; the shower is mouldy; and the freezer is frosted shut. But we stroll down Main Street for a couple of beers at the brilliant West Rib Pub & Grill then back to the Wildflower Café for an even more impressive selection of beers, some excellent wine, and a superb meal of sesame scallops followed by halibut and fries. We love it here.

Early morning, Glenn Highway
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Matanuska Glacier
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Matanuska Glacier
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Wildflower Cafe, Talkeetna
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Ever since we’d started planning this trip, I’d been aware that Talkeetna was not only a base for those hardy people who head out to tackle the ascent of nearby Denali by foot / crampon / rope (a challenge that can take as long as 16-17 days – even more if the weather causes delays), but also a center for the slightly softer method of visiting Denali, flightseeing.

Right up until a couple of weeks ago, I’d hummed and hahhed about the cost before finally convincing myself that we’re only here once. And wow, am I glad I did.

We booked K2 Aviation’s Denali Flyer with Glacier Landing tour and every single moment from check in and take off to landing back at Talkeetna’s little airport is relaxed, friendly but 100% professional, geared up to making sure everyone feels as relaxed, comfortable, and confident as possible.

It’s the first time we’ve been in a single engine plane like this – there’s eight of us plus pilot – and any disquiet over clambering into something so small and fragile looking soon evaporates. We are all equipped with headsets and mics so we can hear and communicate with our pilot guide, and after explaining the many and varied safety features of his aircraft – including equipment that will guide rescuers to our location should we happen to go down in the mountains – we’re up and away, heading north towards Denali.

For the first part of the flight the skies are clear and the views huge but as we near our destination the rain clouds that have been creating so many problems on the ground begin to build and obscure the view. However, as we approach the Alaska Range, we see that far from being hidden, the three peaks of Denali, Mount Foraker and Mount Hunter are breaking majestically through the clouds, appearing to float above a sea of billowing white. The effect is dramatic, moving, and totally unforgettable.

Our flight takes us between and around them, passing so close to the jagged, snow-covered walls that the peaks themselves disappear out of site far above us. It’s just breathtaking. After assessing the conditions, we’re told that we are going to attempt a glacier landing so we descend into the clouds, trusting our pilot’s skill – and the instruments in front of him – that our next contact with terra firma will be horizontal ice and not vertical granite. Moments later we break through the cloud below, make our landing, and step out onto the glacier. It’s bitterly cold but we all have smiles fixed on our faces. As the clouds are threatening to close in on us, we’re given just a few minutes to take it all in and take our photographs before it’s time to buckle up and take back to the air for the short return flight to Talkeetna.

It’s a totally exhilarating experience, one that I’d urge anyone to do. It’s not cheap – it’s Alaska – but if you’re there and can find the budget, you won’t regret it. You may not be lucky enough to do it on a cloudy day but I’m sure clear skies are almost as good.

The second part of our Talkeena adventure takes the form of an afternoon on the Hurricane Turn Train, America’s last flagstop service. Running the 57 miles between Talkeetna and Hurricane Gulch (and back again), it provides access to remote cabins, hiking trails, and hunting destinations. Some stops are scheduled, others are at the request of passengers either on the train on the way out, or standing by the side of tracks looking for a ride into town.

Truth be told, the majority of passengers are just there for experience and photo ops like us, but it does deliver a sense of how much this part of America remains frontier country to see people unloading the provisions that enable them to live off-grid out here.

As well as these request stops, the train also pulls over to let faster services pass by, and takes breaks at attractions such as the studio home of children’s illustrator Shannon Cartwright; a salmon spawning river next to a particularly photogenic bridge; and a collection of disused railroad cars at the old town of Curry, at all of which we’re encouraged to disembark and stretch our legs for 10 minutes or so.

The fact that it’s a slow train with frequent stops (and no buffet service - you bring your own lunch, snacks and - in our case - a couple of cold ones from the the Denali Brewing Co.) makes for a long afternoon – we’re not back in Talkeetna until 7:00 pm – but after the morning’s flight excitement, a bit of slow pleasure provides the perfect contrast.


Denali from the air
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Glacier landing
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Aboard the Hurricane Turn Train
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Hurricane Turn Train - a rest stop
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This was our Denali flight ...

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CNqQa8MX7SQ

Absolutely love these photos!

And the video was awesome!

Hi Peter. I'm absolutely loving the report and photos and that video gave me goosebumps, unbelievabley awesome !! Alaska is on our bucket list and something we hope to do in the next 3 or 4 years, so I'm really looking forward to more!

Wow, what an adventure !!

Dave.

It's great to hear you're enjoying it as much as I am writing it and going through our photos.

Today is scheduled as an A-to-B day. We’re heading north to lodging just outside Denali NP in preparation for tomorrow’s long day in the park. After breakfast at the Roadhouse (a Talkeetna institution, built in 1917 and opened for food and lodging in 1944), we make our way back to the Parks Highway and head north.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

The success of tomorrow’s Denali trip has been hanging in the balance in recent days, heavy rains having closed the road into the park, but we’ve heard that it’s now been reopened and the closer we get towards the park, the more promising the signs become. Yesterday’s clouds have disappeared completely and over to our left we catch glimpses of a very large mountain that begins to dominate the western skyline.

Given all we’ve heard ahead of our trip about only one in three visitors getting to see Denali in its full glory, unobscured by clouds, we resist getting too excited at first. After all, there’s more than one high peak in Alaska. But as each mile passes it becomes increasingly clear that we’ve fallen very lucky indeed. This is Denali on a perfect day and the closer we get, the more people we see pulled over at the side of the road capturing the view on their cell phones.

So instead of stopping for lunch and missing what we’re later told is the first clear day in weeks, we drive straight to the park, buy a very expensive sandwich and bottle of water, and jump on the free shuttle that travels between the Visitor Center and Savage River at Mile 14.

This two hour round trip (it’s slow going with numerous stops and a short break before returning) provides a perfect introduction to Denali: as well as views of the mountain we see moose and caribou along the way.

There’s an easy 1.7 mile loop trail at Savage River that takes about an hour but yesterday was a long day so we take the same bus back and head for our accommodation for the next two nights, the Grizzly Bear Resort.

No lodging within spitting distance of Denali can remotely be described as economical and this is no exception, but it did seem to offer the nearest to ‘value for money’ of all the places we looked at. It’s situated a few miles south of the main drag of hotels, restaurants and gift shops clustered directly outside the park entrance but, for us at least, this was part of its appeal. On-site food outlets are limited to a couple of ok looking food trucks in the car park but there’s a good bar and restaurant just over the road at Denali Park Village, a five minute walk away.


Heading north on the George Parks Highway
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Denali from Parks Highway
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Caribou by Savage River
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We’re booked on the Denali Backcountry Adventure today, an all day (13 hour) guided bus trip taking in the full 92 miles of the park road and back again. We’re picked up at 6:00 am and after collecting passengers from other hotels, enter the park about an hour later.

Our driver guide is Anna and she explains the procedure. Her job is to get us there and back in one piece so it’s best if she keeps at least one eye on the road. Our job is to spot wildlife. If we see anything – or think we see anything – we are to shout “Stop the bus! Bear / Moose / Rabbit (as appropriate) at 11 o’clock!”

As it transpires, both Carole and I prove to be appallingly bad at this; neither of us is the first to spot anything. Fortunately, there are a number of eagle-eyed hunters on board who are able to distinguish a rock from a feeding elk a mile or more away so our day is one of frequent loud shouts and sudden stops. Invariably this is followed by me peering through binoculars and telling Carole that I really can’t see anything until she patiently points out a feature on the landscape that eventually guides my eyes towards the beast that everyone else has been looking for the last 20 seconds.

We see numerous moose, elk, and caribou throughout the morning and Anna keeps up a constant – and entertaining – commentary on what we’re seeing and the park in general. Yesterday, she tells us, was the best view of Denali she’d seen in her seven years at the park, a day so clear and the mountain so sharp, that she’d been moved to tears. And today is just the same, with crystal clear views all the way through until early afternoon when a few wispy clouds begin to develop around the summit.

If the mountain is the main attraction, spotting a grizzly runs it a very close second and a few hours into the journey we hear our first “Stop the bus – bears at 3 o’clock!” They’re some way off, scrabbling for food under rocks on a steep hillside, but sure enough, there are our first grizzlies of the day. Other follow but, it has to be said, always a little too far away to engender anything more than a buzz of satisfaction.

Lunch is a buffet at the end of the road and we then have an hour in the fresh air with a choice of activities. I go gold panning while Carole opts for a short guided hike; each activity proves about as successful as the other. All I find is dirt, while Carole’s walk doesn’t take place at all due to a medical emergency requiring the attention of the guide.

The return journey is just as interesting as the outbound leg, possibly more so as, while assisting with the emergency, Anna manages to acquire a deep gash to her hand. This requires constant re-bandaging by passengers concerned for her welfare (and also I suspect, out of self preservation: the last thing you want is a blood-slippy interface between bus and driver as she negotiates scarily tight switchbacks with almost sheer drop-offs).

Despite very obviously requiring medical attention herself, Anna continues to respond to any animal sightings although, as the afternoon progresses, we agree to keep moving for elk and caribou. Only when the cry comes up “Stop the bus! Grizzly at 4 o’clock!” do we once again pull over and sure enough, there he is, no more than maybe 50-60 yards away, turning over logs in search of protein-rich insects.

It’s the icing on the cake of a great day out – what everyone was hoping for – and we spend the next 10 minutes engrossed as we watch him forage on the low hillside, seemingly oblivious to our presence.

Then slowly we make our way back out of the park, tired and ready for a beer but satisfied that all the boxes have been ticked (we didn’t see wolves but hadn’t expected to anyway). It’s nearly 8:00 before we reach our hotel (first pick-up, last drop-off), but Anna still has to go to the emergency room before returning home, cleaning the bus and getting it ready to collect tomorrow’s adventurers. It can’t be a bad life, getting paid to spend every day looking for wildlife in Denali National Park, but she sure earns her money!


Early morning, Denali National Park
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Caribou
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Denali from Stony Hill Overlook
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The end of the road
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Tight curves on the way back
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Stop the bus, griz at 4 o'clock
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Moose
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From the moment we landed in Alaska almost a week ago, we’ve enjoyed almost unbroken sunshine, usually warm enough to sit outside for lunch and dinner. Today though, we wake up to rain, set off in rain, and arrive in rain. As this a primarily a driving day it’s not a major problem and the experience somehow feels very ‘Alaskan’.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

The same can be said of our breakfast venue, Rose’s Café, heading north out of Healy on the (George) Parks Highway. Its presence is announced on a hand-painted old trailer unit by the side of the road and the battered cars and deep-looking puddles in the parking area out front do little to alter the impression of this being something of a rough and ready operation, but inside it’s clean, warm and welcoming, with good food and coffee.

This sense of being somewhere that’s just been nailed together, where a culture of ‘make do and mend’ applies as much to buildings and vehicles as it does to clothes, becomes a familiar theme over the coming weeks, and it’s apparent just how different Alaska is from much of the Lower 48. So many places feel as if people have either only just arrived and haven’t had time to put down proper roots yet, or don’t plan on staying for long anyway, so have decided that it’s not worth investing in something more permanent. Maybe it’s the remoteness. Maybe it’s because Alaskans don’t feel the need for the frills and fripperies the rest of us have grown used to. Whatever it is, it’s for good reason that the state added the slogan ‘The Last Frontier’ to its license plates in 1981.

Our destination is a cabin in North Pole, just outside Fairbanks, about 130 miles north and there’s little to tempt the traveller off the main highway until you reach the town of Nenana. (Na is a common suffix on Alaska place names and means ‘river’.)

We enter town knowing literally nothing about the place, really just delaying our arrival in Fairbanks until it’s time for lunch, so it’s a pleasant surprise to discover that it’s home to not one but two museums: the Alaska State Railroad Museum, housed in the 1923 train station; and the Alfred Starr Cultural Center and Museum, an impressive facility packed with information and exhibits on the local Athabascan culture.

There’s also a sign highlighting the town’s place on the Iditarod map. The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race is an annual endurance event that runs from Anchorage to Nome on the western Bering Sea coast. Mushers, both men and women, drive teams of between 12 and 16 dogs, and the winner will complete the 1000 mile course in around eight or nine days It captures the imagination and attention of the state like perhaps no other sporting event in the world. The only thing I can think of that comes close is the Tour de France. To its obvious pride, Nenana was the 1st checkpoint in 2003, 2015, and 2017.

The fourth and probably most famous attraction in town is the Nenana Ice Classic. Every winter, when the Tanana River freezes, the official wooden tripod (something of a misnomer as it actually has four ‘legs’) is placed on the ice and connected to an on-shore clocktower. In spring, when the ice starts to melt and the tripod moves 100 feet downriver, the line breaks and the clock stops. People pay a couple of dollars to guess the date and time when the clock stops and the closest tickets wins. The event began as a wager between railroad men in 1917; today it attracts global interest and the pot will top $300,000.

Our interest in Nenana satisfied, we head into Fairbanks for lunch. Now, I know no city looks its best in the pouring rain and we almost certainly fell unlucky with our choice of diners (yes, multiple; the food in the first was so bad so we leave it almost untouched), but our very brief experience of Alaska’s second largest city fails to engage us. So instead of exploring, we drive on to North Pole, 15 miles away, and the beautiful cabin we’ve booked on the bank of Chena Slough.

We did have time over the next couple of day to come back and have another look around but there always seemed to be something more interesting to do. Our loss, I’m sure.


Rose’s Café, Healy
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North on Parks Highway
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Nenana Ice Classic 'tripod'
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Coffee stop at Gold Hill Express, just south of Fairbanks
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Chena Slough
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This is wonderful! We did it the easy way, an Alaskan cruise with land package that started in Fairbanks then went to Denali for several nights before heading down to Whittier to catch the ship. I remember seeing some of these places along the way. Great to see up close pictures.

Our base for the next two days is the cutesily-named North Pole, famous for its Santa Claus House and festive street names such as Snowman Lane, Holiday Road, and Kris Kringle Drive. Even the law enforcement officers drive around with cartoon snow graphics applied to the top of the POLICE lettering on their patrol cars.

You might well imagine – as I did – that it had taken its name from the Santa Claus House, developing as a town to service what is certainly its No.1 visitor attraction, but it was actually the other way around. The area was first homesteaded in 1944 by Bon and Bernice Davis, and initially took on their family name. Within a few years though, the Davis’s moved on and the new owners renamed the place North Pole in the seemingly optimistic hope that a toy manufacturer might want to open a factory and advertise its products as ‘Made in North Pole’. Or, even more ambitiously, that someone might be inspired to create a Santa Land, a chilly, snowier version of Disneyland.

The fact that Santa Claus himself decided to relocate here in 1952 and has attracted visitors – and letters – from across the world ever since, would seem to have confounded any sceptics and, in doing so, confirmed their business nous.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Deciding to delay the excitement of sitting on Santa’s knee in August until the next day, we drive out to Chena Hot Springs, a scenic 60 mile journey through dense woodland which every now and then opens up to reveal picturesque lakes. Every single one of them raises a frisson of excitement at the prospect of spotting a moose, its head deep in the water browsing for pondweed and other aquatic vegetation, but there’s nothing doing. I guess if you’ve got hundreds of square miles of wilderness at your disposal, why would you choose to stand near a road?

Chena Hot Springs is very much a resort destination, so if you’re a fan of soaking in remote, undeveloped locations, this is not for you. As well as the outdoor hot springs (18+ only) and pool house, there’s lodging, a reasonable restaurant, and a fairly basic café / gift shop. Other activities include massages, sled dog tours, snowmobiling, aurora viewing, and the like. There’s also an icehouse which features a year round display of impressive ice sculptures.

One tip: if you’re planning to visit both the hot springs and the ice house, do the ice house first; that way you’ll leave Chena with a warm glow inside rather than chilled extremities.

For the rest of the day we sit back and enjoy the comfort and views provided by our riverside lodging, Moose Walk Cabin. A privately owned rental property, this two-story log home combines rustic charm with real comfort and a view over Chena Slough. Sadly the moose that feed in the stream (and give the cabin its name) fail to make an appearance, and the constant rain means the front yard fire ring remains essentially unused throughout our stay (one attempt as soon doused) but I would still recommend Moose Walk unreservedly as a base from which to explore the area.


City of North Pole Police
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Chena Hot Springs
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Cocktails in the icehouse
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Beer - and an about-to-fail fire - at Moose Walk Cabin
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Today has been set aside as a take it easy, no pressure day, time to kick back a little after the excitement of the last few days and take a breath ahead what will be our longest drive of the trip tomorrow.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Unfortunately the rain shows little sign of abating so outdoor playtime is curtailed but this doesn’t get in the way of our first port of call, North Pole’s famous Santa Claus House.

It’s as cheesy and commercial as you’d imagine – outside there’s a 42 foot tall statue of the man himself, the building looks like it made of gingerbread, and inside it’s a mini mall of all things Christmassy – but it makes no claims to the contrary. This is the Santa Claus House: if you’re going to visit, take it for what it is and enjoy it. If you don’t like this kind of thing, go do something else instead.

We enter expecting to take a quick look around for 20 minutes before leaving, maybe picking up a small gift or two. We end up spending an hour or more inspecting trinkets, ornaments and baubles before attempting – without tremendous success – to persuade one another that, however cute that tree decoration might be, it’s unlikely to survive the rest of our journey. Carole even goes as far as to have a photo taken sitting on Santa’s knee, something I’m relieved to look back upon and say is the point at which I draw the line.

The whole experience proves highly addictive; you end up like a kid in a candy store, encountering ever more imaginative ways in which the festive season can be tied to unnecessary but – at that moment – desirable consumer goods. So when I tell the lady who bags up our purchases that I imagine this to be the retail equivalent of crack cocaine, I mean it in a positive way, a compliment to their retail skills, but her expression suggests that maybe I could have expressed it better.

Our second destination of the morning is The Knotty Shop, located about 15 miles south on the Richardson Highway

This is a store dedicated to all things wood, leather and feather and, if you like this kind of thing (we do), you’ll love it. There are carved animals, ornaments made out of antlers, knives, the obligatory dream catchers, native arts, ceramics, and jewelry … in other words a range of typical Alaskan gifts. Some are probably the same as you’d find in cheaper stores but in the main they’re interesting handmade crafts.

There’s also an impressive collection of taxidermy. Most if not all are trophies bagged by members of the family that run the place who, if they’re not overly busy at the time, will be more than happy to tell the tale behind each specimen. And if dead animals aren’t your thing, The Knotty Shop is also famed for its ice cream.

And then it’s back to Moose Walk, our cabin by the river for an afternoon of catching up, tidying bags, preparing dinner, watching a little TV and gazing outside wishing the rain would stop so we could at least enjoy tonight’s first beer outside. The downpour does actually break for an hour in the middle of the afternoon, enough time for me to jump into one of the canoes that come with the cabin and paddle a way upstream before allowing myself to drift back down again on the slow moving current. And as I pull the canoe out of the river, back comes the rain.

The weather could certainly have been kinder to us but this most northerly stopping point on our trip is pretty much perfect: good food, good wine, amazing scenery and the most wonderful location, all enhanced by the welcome and helpfulness of our host Terri (who lives in the house next door).


The Santa Claus House, North Pole
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Carole meets Santa himself
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Taking advantage of a short break in the rain
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A paddle up Chena Slough
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Today begins as yesterday ended so we load up the car in the pouring rain and set off south in a fairly wet and steamy state. Breakfast is at Salchaket Roadhouse and we press on through the puddles and greyness.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Highlights are few and far between but we stop for coffee and nature break in Delta Junction and take a look around the Sullivan Roadhouse Historical Museum. This wonderfully characterful log cabin – the oldest original roadhouse in Alaska’s interior – was built in 1905 and served as a roadhouse on the Donnelly-Washburn winter cut-off, a part of the newly opened Valdez-Fairbanks Trail. It was abandoned in the 1920s and over the following decades survived fire and the constant threat of obliteration by a poorly targeted shell on the adjacent Oklahoma Bombing Range.

In the 1970s, the Army moved it log by log to where it sits today in Delta Junction and it is now home to a large collection of historical artefacts, furniture, clothing and photographs. Even if you only have 10 minutes to spare, it’s worth it – you certainly come away with an idea of how difficult life was in the days of the early pioneers.

Our journey continues on the Richardson Highway, through the spectacular Delta River valley with walls so steep and tall they disappear into the low cloud. Forty miles south of Delta Junction there’s an excellent view of the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System, the 800-mile, $8 billion tube that transports oil from a pumping station in Prudhoe Bay to the Valdez Marine Terminal. Seeing it close up – and how it literally cuts through the landscape – brings home what a staggering endeavour this was, and makes the fact that the whole thing was built in just three years even more impressive.

We stop for lunch at Meiers Lake Roadhouse (Mile 170), a friendly, welcoming place with good food, a cool-looking bar, lodging, store and full service gas station.

Our drive south continues and gradually the rain lightens before stopping altogether. Even the clouds begin to disappear, revealing hints of blue sky for the first time in four days.

Finally we see the signs for Alaska Highway 10, the Edgerton Highway, and head east towards tonight’s destination, the little town of Chitina.

While by no means a ghost town – population is around the 120 mark – Chitina has a remote and rugged feel to it. It may describe itself as a “gateway” to Wrangell-St. Elias National Park, but aside from Gilpatrick’s Hotel with its restaurant and bar, Uncle Tom’s Tavern over the road, and a small art gallery, there’s not much else in the way of infrastructure to support those passing travelling into the park. (So get your gas and provisions in Kenny Lake, which you’ll pass about 10 minutes after exiting the Richardson Highway.)

The hotel is fairly basic – small rooms, no TV – but perfectly serviceable. The restaurant menu is varied and imaginative, covering everything from steaks, pasta and chicken to halibut and crab dishes. Maybe it’s a little too ambitious – we’re not overly impressed with ours – but on-line reviews are without exception positive so it seems we’re the exception in this respect.

Uncle Tom’s on the other hand, more than lives up to expectations. If ever there was a bar that was going to reflect our preconceived ideas of Alaska, this is it. The pool table is hidden under a massive grizzly hide; the walls are covered floor to ceiling with faded photos, guns, trophies, vintage licence plates, and other Alaskana (think localised Americana); seating is up at the bar, and Tom serves us cold cans out of the fridge. It’s been a 300+ mile driving day, we’ve earned it.


Heading south on Richardson Highway in the rain
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Milepoint 562 on the 800 mile Trans-Alaska Pipeline System
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Alaska Highway 10, the Edgerton Highway
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Gilpatrick's Horel, Chitina
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Beer time, Uncle Tom’s Tavern
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The day begins badly – a storm blew through town in the early hours, rattling shutters and sending stuff crashing so we’ve had little sleep – and it’s about to get worse. Not only has wind damage cut off the town’s electricity, but it seems that the water supply needs power too.

So no shower, no second flush of the toilet (too much detail?), and no coffee. Well, to their credit the hotel staff do find a gas cooker and a pot of water to boil up but they’re unable to make more than a few cups at a time and we’re not the only ones crying our for our morning fix, so it’s a 20 minute wait for a disappointingly weak and luke warm drink.

Anywhere else and we’d drive up the road to find a café with power but the closest community to Chitina is Kenny Lake, 25 miles in the wrong direction. Instead we embark on what promises to be the slowest and bumpiest leg of not just this trip but any we’ve ever made in the US.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

The McCarthy Road is a 60-mile gravel-surfaced, washboard road that runs from Chitina to the town of McCarthy. It is rough and slow going, with rock falls, deep pot holes, sharp turns, narrow one-way bridges, and local traffic to watch out for. As a driver I have to say it’s actually tremendous fun – this road is why we rented a Jeep – but I can understand why someone riding shotgun - especially one who's gone without coffee - might find the sudden but constant bumps and lurches a less than pleasant experience, particularly after having missed out on coffee, and I can sense that the sooner we reach our destination, the better.

Road conditions aside, it’s a spectacular drive through a tiny section of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park. Stretching out of 13.2 million acres, this is America’s largest national park – equivalent in size to Yellowstone, Yosemite and Switzerland combined, according to the NPS web site – and is accessible via just two roads, this and the 42-mile Nabesna Road at the north.

This is real wilderness country, a landscape that is awe inspiring in scale and beauty, one of endless forest, snow-capped mountains and pristine blue lakes. The only sign of man’s presence is the occasional homestead or remnants of the old Copper River and Northwestern Railroad that used to haul copper from the Kennecott mine.

By late morning we pull up at the car park outside McCarthy – visitors’ vehicles can go no further – and head for the narrow footbridge that connects the town with the outside world. There’s a phone at one end so you can call the hotel and they will then send a shuttle to meet you at the other end of the bridge. That’s the idea at least.

I try four times but there’s no answer. What’s to do? Well we’re certainly not turning back so decide to walk into town with our luggage. (This isn’t quite as ridiculous as it sounds; our hotel has warned us that rooms are small so we should pack all we need in a carry-on size bag.)

There are two roads on the other side of the Kennicott River, one straight ahead and one to the right. Fortunately I can clearly recall reading that you should take the road to the right, otherwise you’ll end up in the middle of nowhere. Or was it the other way round? And yes, after a sweaty half hour or so spent hauling our wheeled cases over stones and through ruts and puddles, it’s abundantly clear to one and all that I have compounded the misery of the caffeine-free morning and a never ending dirt road drive by f***ing up on our walk into McCarthy. No words are spoken; they don’t need to be.

Halfway back to the bridge our saviour appears in the form of Neil, who’s passing by on his way to have a dog speyed. “You guys lost?” he asks, probably unnecessarily. We explain the situation and he instructs us to jump in the back of his truck. As we head back he calls the hotel to tell them there will be two discontented guests awaiting collection at the bridge in a few minutes’ time. Thanks Neil.

When we finally arrive at the hotel, we learn that Neil isn’t just any old Neil, but The Neil. Neil Darish, businessman. The guy who bought up most of the town’s businesses and has spent the last 15-20 years with the aim of injecting new life into this extraordinarily remote community. He owns the general store, the bar, the restaurant and yes, the hotel too. I’m guessing words were had with whoever should’ve taken our calls.

If any of this sounds familiar, it’s because life in McCarthy has been played out on the small screen over the four year run of the Discovery semi-reality / documentary series, Edge of Alaska. It’s not always clear whether the producers wanted to portray Neil’s role as that of good guy or bad guy but he gets my vote.

The town’s hotel, Ma Johnson’s , is packed full of character, all squeaky floorboards, old furniture, tiny bedrooms and shared bathrooms. It wouldn’t do for more than a night or two but it positively oozes charm. There are no room keys because there are no locks – “There’s no crime in McCarthy” they reassure us – and we certainly don’t feel anything less than 100% secure and comfortable.

Revived by coffee and lunch, we take the shuttle bus up to the historic mining town of Kennecott, five miles away. Once the richest known concentration of copper in the world, the mine operated from 1911 to 1938 and necessitated the construction of the 196 mile CR&NW railway and the formation of a steamship company to transport the ore.

After it closed in 1938, it was left to rot until the 1980s, when people started to show an interest in the old buildings. Today, visitors come from all over the world to wander through its NPS-protected buildings, and marvel at the scale of the equipment needed to process ore in such quantities.

We also find time to visit the McCarthy–Kennicott Historical Museum which is full of fascinating photos, documents, and artifacts relating to the town’s short but colourful history. One exhibit in particular catches our eye, the story of the McCarthy Massacre.

In 1983, angered by the opening of the Trans-Alaska oil pipeline, 39 year old computer programmer Louis D. Hastings decided to hijack the weekly mail plane when it arrived in town, fly to the pipeline and blow it up. This plan involved killing anyone who got in his way, resulting in six of the town’s population of 22 being shot dead before his rampage ended. And we’ve been told there’s no crime in McCarthy … WTF?

Our evening begins with local beers in The Golden Saloon in the company of a couple of gregarious Texan bikers who delight in telling us the McCarthy Road takes less than two hours on two wheels (not that I think this would have enhanced the experience as far as Carole’s concerned).

From here we move next door to what may well be the most impressive of Neil Darish’s achievements, The McCarthy Lodge. Originally a cannery building on the coast, it was moved here in 1916 and served as a store before being used as a hunting lodge.

It is now the location of a fine dining restaurant specialising in locally reared duck and pork, Copper River Red Salmon, and other Alaskan seafood including halibut and black cod. We go with belly pork and halibut cheek appetisers, share an elk and mash main and finish off with a boozy pudding of some description. It really is extraordinary, without doubt the best meal of our entire trip. Someone tells us that there are just four qualified sommeliers in the whole of Alaska, and two of them work here. Whether that’s true or not I don’t know but it wouldn’t surprise me.


A section of the 60-mile McCarthy Road
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Gilahina Trestle, built for the Copper River and Northwestern Railway
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Kennecott MIne buildings
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Ma Johnson's Hotel, McCarthy
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Downtown McCarthy - location of the 1983 massacre
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It may – to borrow the words of Basil Fawlty – be a case of “stating the bleedin’ obvious” but it’s amazing what a difference a good night’s sleep, a hot breakfast and a couple of coffees makes. Yesterday we completed the McCarthy Road without any of the above and, for Carole at least, it was an eminently less than enjoyable experience.

Today we tackle the return leg well rested, fed and caffeinated, and the drive is a delight. The morning light is beautiful, the sun rises behind us to burn away the clouds, and even the potholes appear shallower and less likely to snap an axle.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

By mid-morning we’re passing through Chitina and, after a coffee stop in Kenny Lake, we’re soon back on the Richardson Highway with today’s destination, Valdez, just 80 miles south.

In a land blessed with such staggering scenery you begin to run out of superlatives but it’s hard to imagine a more spectacular drive than the second half of this short journey. The first 30-40 miles are far from forgettable but then – wallop! – everything seems to change in an instant and we’re struck speechless by the scale of the mountainous landscape into which we’ve been catapulted by Alaska Route 4. The road winds its way between the mountains, rising and falling over the foothills, passing fast-running rivers grey with glacial silt (aka rock flour, generated by the grinding of the ice on the bedrock).

Worthington Glacier is the best known and most accessible of the many glaciers along the route. Eye-catching from miles away and ever more impressive close up, it appears to flow down the mountain like lava from a volcano (it’s actually retreating but more slowly than many others: its location, Thompson Pass, is the snowiest place in the state). There’s a viewing platform just short hike away but we drive on, stopping instead at a pull-out point a few miles on where we just sit in silence and gaze out over the vastness towards distant peaks, waterfalls, lakes and forests. Wow. Just wow.

The final treat along the way is Keystone Canyon, a spectacular gorge just a few short miles of Valdez. Walls of slate, some almost perpendicular, rise up above the Lowe River for three miles, and in places the canyon narrows to as little as 100 feet. Numerous small waterfalls tumble down to the river and two – Horsetail Falls and Bridal Veil Falls – are spectacular enough to warrant their own turnouts.

Once in Valdez, we head to The Fat Mermaid by the dock for an excellent fish & chip lunch, then take a short stroll around town. It doesn’t take long to notice that Valdez appears to have an abundance of bunnies. Or, as some locals prefer to describe it, an infestation. Everywhere you look there are feral rabbits. In gardens, crossing the road, beside boardwalks, under cars. There are literally hundreds of them.

No one appears to know for sure how they got here but the variety of colours means they’re not wild. One person confidently tells us there was a rabbit farm nearby and some escaped; someone else is certain that they arrived in town when their owner, an old lady, passed away. Opinions are equally mixed. Some feed them over the winter, others want practice this making illegal. To most visitors, they’re just cute hence the fairly unlikely theory that they were deliberately introduced as a tourist attraction. Yeah … they’re nice enough, but …

The rest of the afternoon is spent at our wonderful little cabin at Valdez KOA Campground. We light a fire, make a coffee, catch up on email, sort the bags, read a little – all the things that are good to do every now and then on a road trip, in between the exciting bits. And in the evening I nip back into town for takeout pizza from The Fat Mermaid, and a couple of small beers while I wait. I could get to like Valdez.


Return journey on the McCarthy Road
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Heading out of Wrangell-St. Elias National Park
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Worthington Glacier
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Spectacular scenery along the Richardson Highway
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Keystone Canyon
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Valdez KOA Campground
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Fabulous report, Peter. I'm right there with you. Keep it coming!

Rick

When we first planned this trip, our original intention had been to spend just a night in Valdez before taking advantage of the Alaska Marine Highway in the form of the Valdez – Whittier Ferry. However, it turns out that this runs every second day – eastbound one day, westbound the next – so we have bonus 24 hours in town and there’s plenty to do.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

We start off with breakfast at The Fat Mermaid (yes, it really is that good) then pay the first of a number of visits to the Solomon Gulch Hatchery on the opposite side of the fjord known as Port Valdez. The hatchery releases more than 250 million salmon fry every year and in late summer, approximately 16 million of them return. Some are harvested for their eggs, most are caught by the local fishing fleet.

Our visit coincides with the return season and the sea outside the hatchery is a seething mass of salmon attempting to enter the hatchery via the fish ladder. While this is an impressive sight in its own right, it’s not the only reason we’re here: the arrival of the salmon attracts bears as well as people and we’re told that it’s common to see them catching salmon by the tidal pools along the road. Sadly they don’t make an appearance for us (and we come back a couple more times during the day) but we tried.

On the way back into town we spend a pleasant half an hour exploring the Valdez Memorial Cemetery, the final resting place of residents from as far back as the late 1800s. There’s a leaflet you can pick up that pinpoints the graves of some of the more eminent names in the city’s history. And history is very much the focus of the next stop on our list, the Valdez Museum.

I’m slightly embarrassed to admit that we arrived in Valdez with next to no knowledge of the place; it’s somewhere we included on our route for simple reasons of geography, a stepping stone to the Kenai Peninsula. A couple of hours in the museum quickly fills this gap in our knowledge.

There are exhibits on native culture, the arrival of Captain Cook, Spanish then Russian exploration, the Gold Rush, the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System, mining, and fishing but two events stand out above all the rest.

The first was the Good Friday Earthquake of March 27, 1964. With a magnitude of 9.2, this was the second most powerful earthquake ever recorded and caused multiple tsunamis as well as landslides both on land and under the sea. The waterfront area of Valdez was washed away with the loss of 32 lives and the rest of the town deemed unsafe. Over the course of the next three years, the entire town was relocated to its present day site.

The second event was the Exxon Valdez oil spill in March 1989, when the Exxon Valdez oil tanker ran into Bligh reef, approximately 25 miles away, resulting in one of the world’s worst ever human-caused environmental disasters. While it is now more than 30 years since 11 million gallons of crude oil poured into Prince William Sound, it effects on industries such as fishing and tourism are said to be still felt.

Understandably, both events feature prominently at the museum, and recent years have seen significant upgrades to the exhibits with the addition of rarely-seen artifacts and interactive materials.

After leaving the museum we decide to visit the Old Town site and, truth be told, that’s all it is: the site where Valdez used to stand. Those buildings that weren’t moved were burned down so all that’s there now are a few historical markers indicating what used to stand on each lot.

And the rest of the day’s excitement? We’re almost two weeks into our trip so it’s time for some laundry back at our hotel (the Best Western Valdez Harbor Inn, selected for its proximity to the ferry harbour); early evening beers at, where else, The Fat Mermaid; and then – on the recommendation of the guy serving us – back to the hotel restaurant for overpriced scallops and overcooked halibut, without doubt the worst meal of our entire trip.


Salmon at Solomon Gulch Hatchery
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Valdez mural
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Recreation of a settler's cabin at Valdez Museum
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Ice cream time
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Valdez Harbor
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Beer in the sun outside The Fat Mermaid
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Up bright and early to catch the Valdez – Whittier Ferry on what’s known as the Alaska Marine Highway System. The journey, approximately 100 nautical miles, takes 5 hours 45 minutes and once we’re on board there’s little to do other than find a seat, sit back and watch the world go by. Bliss.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Despite us being among the first to arrive at the harbour (6:30 for a 7:30 departure), by the time our car is loaded all the front row seats are taken, and within minutes of setting sail, most of the occupants recline their seats and promptly fall asleep. Frustrating to say the least.

This aside, the journey is an absolute delight. We set off as the sun is rising through a smattering of light, herring-bone clouds and by the time we enter Prince William Sound, the sky is a clear blue and the views of the mountains sensational. Our time is split between our non-prime (but still ok) seats, the café / diner / galley where we get breakfast and lunch (both excellent); and out on deck, excitedly pointing out icebergs and groups of sea otters, surely the cutest of all marine mammals.

The final leg into Whittier takes us through Passage Canal where the mountains close in and huge glaciers pour down towards the sea to provide a spectacular end to a thoroughly memorable cruise.

Whittier itself is one of America’s stranger towns. It was established during WWII as a deep water port and logistics base, a project that also required the construction of a 2.5 mile (4 km) rail tunnel under Maynard Mountain, without which the facility – then known as Camp Sullivan – could only be reached by air or sea.

It remained an active Army facility until well into the 1960s and eventually became what it is today: a port of call for ferries and cruise ships and home to just over 200 people, the vast majority of whom live in a single 14-storey property, Begich Towers, built in 1957 to provide accommodation for military families and civil servants.

The Buckner Building nearby is even larger – once the largest in Alaska – and was referred to as the city under one roof. As well as a mess hall and sleeping quarters, there was a movie theatre, bowling alley and even a jail. Today it sits abandoned to the elements, its grey concrete blocks reminiscent of the worst of Soviet architecture.

The tunnel– now called the Anton Anderson Memorial Tunnel – remains the only land-based route in and out of Whittier but, thanks to some very clever engineering and logistics, it is now open to road traffic as well as rail, all on a single lane. When a train is coming through, road traffic has to wait. And when it’s clear for vehicles, east- and westbound road traffic takes turns in half hour slots. (The rails are set slightly below the road surface in case you were wondering).

Once out of the tunnel, the road – the Portage Glacier Highway – passes by Portage Lake and through the Chugach National Forest before reaching the junction with the Seward Highway, linking Seward with Anchorage.

It is here that we first see for ourselves the effect that the Swan Lake Fire is having. The largest of several fires raging in Alaska this summer, it was caused by a lightning strike and has been burning since early June. More than 150,000 acres of forest either side of the highway between Sterling and Cooper Landing have been consumed, the Sterling Highway itself has been closed at times due to poor visibility and fire encroachment, and communities have been evacuated or instructed to be prepared at short notice.

Its presence is immediately apparent from the dramatic change in the quality of light. Instead of the clear blue skies of the morning, the sun is obliterated by hazy smoke that hangs low in the sky, cloaking the tops of mountains like a dense fog. Fortunately for us, it only impacts our ability to see the landscape in its full glory today as we are heading south to Seward but it does raise slight concerns over the viability of the rest of our trip. We’ll see.

Our home for the next three nights is an apartment at Sauerdough Lodging, built in 1907 and formerly a general store, meeting hall and brothel. Situated in downtown Seward, away from the hotels and restaurants of the port area, it’s perfect, with full kitchen so we can self cater, views over bustling 4th Avenue with its cafes and craft shops, and a choice of characterful bars (Seward Alehouse being my favourite) no more than 200 yards away.


Leaving Seward under a beautiful sky
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Early morning view from MV Aurora
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Mountains, Prince William Sound
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Arriving in Whittier - Begich Towers in the background
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Iceberg, Portage Lake
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Today had originally been set aside for a Kenai River rafting trip but sadly this had fallen victim to the effects of the Swan Lake Fire, the poor air quality making outdoor activity along the Sterling Highway a no go and forcing the outfitters, Alaska Wildlife Adventures, to close this operation down for the season.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

So instead we head out to nearby Exit Glacier, one of the most accessible glaciers in the state. As yesterday, the landscape appears through a haze of smoke. We stop to take a look out over the outwash plain where dead trees have been deposited by the waters of the glacier and it looks nothing short of apocalyptic, a desolate post-nuclear landscape in which the sun struggles ever to burn through. It’s sad of course, but makes for great photography!

The park service normally offers guided hikes up to the glacier but these have been put on hold to protect the rangers’ health so we pick up the self-guided trail leaflet and take the ‘moderately strenuous’ hike up to the overlook. It’s a pleasant walk made slightly more exciting by a trail closure due to the presence of a sow with cubs who has been demonstrating ‘defensive behavior’.

Aside from views of the glacier, we also get to see a dad ignore the multiple warning signs and clamber down the steep rocky slope below the overlook in order for his wife to photograph him with the main event in the background. Our enjoyment of watching this potential Darwin award winner dice with death turns somewhat sour when he instructs his son, who can be no more than 9-10, to join him. Clearly reluctant, the boy tentatively makes his way down, slips and begins to fall before regaining his balance. Dad’s reaction is to admonish him for such clumsiness before again posing for photos.

We don’t hang around to see whether they survive the climb back up.

By the time we’re back in Seward the smoke, while still casting a haze over distant mountains, has begun to lighten a little – maybe due to a change in wind direction – and we take a walk around the picturesque small boat harbor, its jetties lined with fishing boats and pleasure craft. We stop at the fish cleaning and filleting station where the overnight catch is being dismembered into shippable size portions.

We get into conversation with a Texan guy who’s brought two halibut for processing (regulations limit catches to no more than two halibut per day) and as he explains, it’s not a cheap pastime. A day trip will cost in the region of $300-400. Processing and freezing is around $1.25/lb, so a good size halibut will cost upwards of $100 (200 lbs is consider trophy size, the world record is 496 lbs). Add in FedEx shipping at $150 per 50 lb box and this is likely be the most expensive fish he’ll ever eat. But I guess that’s not the point. Fishing aside, the main reason he and his wife are in Seward is to visit their son, who’s working the summer … on the fish filleting station. So maybe he gets a discount?

On the advice of the son, we walk the 100 yards to Ray’s Waterfront for lunch, take a seat overlooking the water and enjoy a superb meal of roast garlic with cheese, following by seared ahi tuna. Signs proudly announce that Ray’s is a winner of Alaska's Best Restaurant Award, an accolade that seems suspiciously vague to me, but there’s no arguing with the quality of the food.

And that’s it really for today. We head back to our apartment at Sauerdough Lodging, have a snooze, watch some TV, and edit/back-up some photos, before heading out for beer at the extremely characterful Yukon Bar and food at the highly rated Cookery and Oyster Bar.

It’s easy to feel guilty when you opt for an afternoon like this, that you’re wasting opportunities to do things that you may never get the chance to do again (despite it being no more than a five minute walk away, we fail to visit Alaska Sealife Center, but it’s amazing how good a bit of unproductive downtime makes you feel when you’ve been full on for a week or two.


Hazy smoke over the glacial outwash plain
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Trail closed due to bear presence
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Exit Glacier
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Fish cleaning and filleting station, Seward
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Smoke hangs over Seward's picturesque small boat harbor
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Yukon Bar, Seward
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Up bright and early for our Kenai Fjords National Park Tour, a wildlife and glacier cruise that will take us south through Resurrection Bay and then back up north via Aialik Bay to the Aialik Glacier.

We’re instructed to check in at the boat harbour by 7:00 and to wait at the outfitter’s offices until invited to board for an 8:00 departure. All passengers obediently obey, with the exception of a group of Russian visitors who make their way straight to the boat and are rewarded with the pick of the seats. I know it’s not important in the overall scale of things but it still rankles six months later. Ah well. I need to get better at letting these things go.

The tour itself is as wonderful as it could possibly be. The further we get from Seward, the less impact the smoke from the fires has on the light, and after an hour or so we’re once again enjoying brilliant blue skies and clear long distance views.

Throughout the morning we’re treated to close up sightings of puffins, harbor seals, Stellar sea lions, and sea otters, and we spot a humpback whale whose tail fin or fluke is missing a large chunk (possible resulting from an orca attack). Throughout the trip, our captain – tirelessly supported by a helpful and friendly crew – keeps us informed of sightings and provides a constant stream of information on Kenai Fjords National Park and its wildlife.

We arrive at our primary objective, the Aialik Glacier, and make our way between ice floes on which dozens of seals are basking in the sun. Once in position, the captain switches off the engines, allowing us to listen to the creaks and groans of the ice. Occasionally there’s a sharp snap and we see the splash of ice falling from the toe of the glacier into the sea.

The difference between the speeds of sound and light means that by the time the sound of calving reaches us and we work out the direction it’s come from, the ice has usually already hit the water but it’s a spectacular sight nonetheless. It’s an experience to be savoured and I think everyone on board – captain and crew included – would have been happy to stay longer but time, tide, and timetables wait for no man so we head off on the return journey.

As we approach the mouth of Aialik Bay, our captain informs us that we’re going to take a slight detour in the hope of encountering a pod of orca that has been seen nearby. This will mean he’s going to gun the engines across an open – and therefore choppy – stretch of sea so we should all take our seats. Unfortunately, the gap between this announcement and him hitting the throttle can be measured in seconds and there isn’t time for me to get off deck before controlled directional movement becomes a physical impossibility.

I begin by clutching onto the handrail for dear life but as the speed increases I stretch my legs out and brace myself in a fairly awkward fashion against the lower rail opposite. And to the consternation of some and no doubt amusement of others watching from inside, I have no option but to maintain this undignified position for the next quarter of an hour or so.

Finally we reach our goal and a more comfortable speed /calmer waters, and I’m able to relax a little and enjoy the trip again. And within moments, we find ourselves in the midst of a pod of maybe 20 or more orcas. It’s a magical experience and the crew appear as excited as we are; we’re told that this is the best sighting they’ve had in weeks.

Everywhere we look, these sleek, torpedo-like animals are surfacing to spout, barely creating a wave as they glide gracefully through the water. Occasionally one breaches completely, something that would be easy to anthropomorphize as an action of sheer joy but is actually believed to be a way of communicating when other noises (such as a nearby boat) could mask acoustic signals.

Again, time constraints dictate that we must leave before anyone would really like but it’s been the icing on top of an already rich cake, and – sadly – the end of what has until now been a wonderful day. I don’t know whether it’s the effect of those 15 minutes spent bouncing though the waves or the come down from the adrenaline of the whale sightings but, either way, I suddenly feel more than a little queasy and on the advice of the crew, spend the journey back to Seward on the lower deck at the rear of the boat, in the company of one or two similarly afflicted passengers. Ah well, it was worth it.


Heading out of Resurrection Bay
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Aialik Glacier
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Seals basking on ice floes
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Leaving the glacier
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Sea otters
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Sea lions on a rocky outcrop
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Pod of orcas
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We’re on the move again today, heading west on the Sterling Highway then south to Homer. This brings us into close proximity of the Swan Lake Fire that has been ravaging the area for weeks and its impact is immediately apparent. A blanket of dense smoke reduces visibility to no more than 50 yards or so; businesses have shut up shop and painted ‘Closed for the season’ messages on wooden pallets outside; pull-out areas – all shut off to public access – are packed with the vehicles of firefighters; and in many places the trees lining the road have been reduced to charred skeletons.

It’s the scale of the fire and resulting damage that’s most shocking; how do you even begin to tackle something this large? I guess it’s a matter of containment and protection of life, and accepting that nature will eventually run its course.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Once we’re west of Sterling, the worst of the smoke is behind us and by the time we reach bustling Soldotna, it has completely disappeared and we’re enjoying clear blue skies once again.

We’re suckers for local museums, especially those where they’ve gathered together a collection of old buildings, so the Soldotna Historical Society’s Homestead Museum is an absolute treat. The main display, housed in a log cabin, contains a wealth of artifacts relating to the development of the area through homesteading and what I find particularly interesting is just how recent this history all is.

When you visit this kind of museum in, say, Wyoming or Oregon, you’re going back as far as the wagon trains of the mid-19th century and the Homestead Act of 1862. Here in Soldotna, it was the Homestead Act of 1947 (giving priority to WWII veterans) that tempted settlers to a place that had until then been the preserve of hunters. For us baby boomers – people of an age my Dad used to describe as “entering one’s early prime" – these settlers were our parents’ generation so many of the items on display here will probably be familiar from early childhood days.

The museum is located in the unspoilt woodland of Centennial Park and a path leads the way to other buildings including original dwellings, Slikok Valley School (built in 1958), and a larger building housing an outstanding display of wildlife mounts.

It is here that we also learn the story behind the state flag. In 1926, a contest was held in which schoolchildren throughout the territory were invited to submit designs for a flag. Thirteen year-old Billy Benson, an orphan of Russian-Aleut and Swedish descent, came up with the idea of the constellation of Ursa Major – the Great Bear – to symbolise strength and the North Star to represent Alaska’s location, and his design was adopted as the official flag for the Territory of Alaska on May 2, 1927. How have we spent more than two weeks here without hearing this story until now?

From here we head south, stopping in Ninilchik to take a look at the famously picturesque Russian church that stands on the hill above the original settlement of the village. Built in 1901, the Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord Chapel is a small white and green building crowned with five gold onion domes, each topped off with a distinctive Russian Orthodox three bar cross. Out front there’s a small densely overgrown cemetery. The fact that the wooden crosses marking the graves are almost overwhelmed by weeds seems strange given that the markers themselves are brilliant white and many are adorned with what at least appear to be recently placed bouquets of flowers (man-made rather than fresh).

A mile or so further on we stop for a surprisingly good lunch at Rosco’s Pizza and less than an hour later we reach the southern terminus of the Sterling Highway in the form of Homer – or, to be more precise, Homer Spit, the 4.5 mile strip of land that extends out into Kachemak Bay.

Homer Strip is a scruffy, scrappy looking place, an unpromising stretch of real estate on which the city of Homer has built a road, residential properties, industrial units, restaurants, hotels, and retail outlets, as well as a fishing harbor and ferry / cruise ship port. It is the heart of Homer’s tourism industry and a destination for thousands of visitors hoping to enjoy the landscape, catch fish, and watch bears. And it’s the latter that has drawn us here.


Fire damage along the Sterling Highway
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Limited visibility means slow going
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Coffee kiosk just east of Soldotna
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Soldotna Historical Society’s Homestead Museum
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Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord Chapel, Ninilchik
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Sunset, Homer Spit
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Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Peter Thody

... Fortunately I can clearly recall reading that you should take the road to the right, otherwise you’ll end up in the middle of nowhere. Or was it the other way round? And yes, after a sweaty half hour or so spent hauling our wheeled cases over stones and through ruts and puddles, it’s abundantly clear to one and all that I have compounded the misery of the caffeine-free morning and a never ending dirt road drive by f***ing up on our walk into McCarthy. No words are spoken; they don’t need to be.

---

It is fortunate that Carole has always been a good sport on these adventures...

Pretty cool that you met Neil and thanks for sharing the challenging parts of your trips with us. Those are the moments that always live the longest in our memories -- and generate the best stories whilst holding a pint!

Mark

Ever since our first road trip in 2005, a meandering 4542-mile route from Chicago to Seattle, Carole’s enjoyment of America’s most wonderful landscapes has from time to time been compromised by the expectation of imminent death by bear. This hasn’t actually stopped us camping in the Redwoods or following a lonely trail in Glacier National Park, but where there are bears, the fear is always present.

Now, if there’s one thing Alaska’s famous for (aside from the fact that every second person appears to be part of an extreme survival reality show), it’s its bears. You can’t have an Alaskan nature documentary without footage of ursus horribilis catching salmon at Brooks Falls. So, to use an entirely inappropriate metaphor, bears are the elephant in the room on this trip.

As they say though, the best way to overcome one’s worst fears is to confront them face on. And that’s why we find ourselves parking up at Homer Airport while it’s still dark, pulling on waders, and signing an endless number of forms absolving our outfitters, Alaska Bear Adventures, of any responsibility for anything that might befall us over the course of the next few hours.

There are a dozen of us and we’re split into three groups of four, each assigned a pilot/guide. Ours is Derek, the most experienced in both flying and bear scouting terms, and he leads us out onto the airfield for a pre-flight briefing. As well as highlighting our aircraft’s various safety/rescue features, he also explains that, while bear spray is not carried (it’s an unpressurised cabin so aerosols are strictly forbidden), they do have distress flares that could be deployed in a bear’s direction if absolutely necessary, but in 15 years, they’ve never had cause to do so.

Briefing over, he asks our group whether this is the first time for any of us in such a small (6-seater) plane. “No? So it’s just me then”, a joke he obviously rolls out every time but it puts a smile on my face at least.

And with that, the three planes are airborne and we’re on our way southwest in search of at least some of the 3,000 grizzlies that call Katmai National Park home.

The sun rises as we’re in the air and the views of the mountains, rivers and glaciers are as spectacular as you could hope for. At one point we bank steeply so Derek can check for bears far below but there’s nothing doing so we head on over more snow-capped ranges before making our descent towards Cape Douglas.

The landing is surprisingly smooth given that it’s on a pebbly beach strewn with large pieces of driftwood and as we climb out, there they are. A couple of hundred yards or so away, a sow and two cubs are making their way towards the grassy bank that runs the full length of the beach. A frustratingly distant and brief sighting, but a sighting nonetheless.

Our groups split up again and we head separately into the high grass towards the Douglas River beyond. We move slowly and carefully in single file, and all the while Derek is in radio contact with the other guides, letting them know where we are and advising them on where they should go. And then suddenly he stops and signals for us to crouch down. Dead ahead of us in the thigh deep grass we can make out the unmistakeable shape of a grizzly. We’re reassured that he’s a good 50 yards away but I’d be surprised if it ‘s much more than half that (not that I’m going to pace it out to prove a point!), and we just kneel and watch him tear pieces off a large salmon. He knows we’re here – he glances towards us every now and again – but shows no interest beyond that.

After a while we move on and head down the other side of the bank onto a flat open area of sandy beach, mud flats, and the Douglas River. At first we spot just a solitary bear, splashing around in a tidal pool teaming with trapped fish, but gradually others appear, emerging from the grass or ambling towards the river from the distance.

Within 20-30 minutes of our arrival, we are surrounded by bears, some gorging in the pools, some chasing prey in the river, some moving away to enjoy their catch somewhere a little more private. At one point I reckon there are as many as eight or 10 of them in view. We move across the flats to get a closer view of those in the river, then kneel down and settle in to watch. Travelling the States is full of unforgettable experiences but there aren’t many to equal this.

As with our orca adventure 48 hours earlier, we have fallen incredibly lucky: the previous day our guides had only seen two bears all morning.

And yes, even Carole appears enraptured. I say ‘appears’ because we have agreed ahead of things that she wants to handle this her own way, without any pressure from me, so we haven’t actually spoken a word to one another since arriving at the airport!

The only time her body language betrays a sense of discomfort is when a very large female walks up river within a matter of yards of our group (Carole is closest to the river) but we barely warrant a second glance, so focused is she on the next catch. At this time of the year, when spawning salmon return, bears enter a state known as hyperphagia, in which their appetite becomes almost insatiable and they can consume as many as 100,000 calories in a day. So full are the bears in the tidal pools that we see them catch fish, bite the brain and then discard the flapping body.

A couple of hours later, memories created (and memory cards full), we make our way slowly back to the beach and clamber on board for the return flight. It has fulfilled a dream and left us both appreciative of just how lucky we are to have been able to experience such an adventure.

As for the rest of the day … to be honest we spend it in a bit of a daze, probably the after effects of such a huge adrenaline rush.

Just for the record, we have a superb lunch (seafood chowder, octopus poke) at the Little Mermaid, widely held to be the best restaurant on Homer Spit, and a bit of a lie down in the afternoon. In the evening we a beer at Land’s End at the tip of the Spit and another at the famous Salty Dawg Saloon; followed by seafood/salad to go from Captain Pattie’s Fish House next door to our lodging.

It’s all great, but the impact of our Alaska bear adventure has overwhelmed everything else.


Heading for Katmai National Park
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Bear in the grass
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Hunting for salmon in the tidal pools
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So who's boss?
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Hunting salmon in Douglas River
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Just don't forget, I know you're there
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Four bears, the Douglas River and Mount Douglas behind - what a view!
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We made it!
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Safely back in Homer
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I did a video too (Carole says I need to point out that the music can be muted!):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hlYg_QXlC3Q

There are endless opportunities for fun, excitement, and adventure in and around Homer, from sea kayaking and halibut charters to a day trip across the bay to Seldovia. But sometimes it’s a good idea just to see where the day takes you. Plus, we’ve booked what feels like the best accommodation in town so we decide to get our money’s worth and enjoy it a little.

Our three nights on Homer Spit are spent in the Captain’s Suite, a beautiful one room studio we found on Airbnb. Located on the west side of the Spit, its floor to ceiling windows open out onto a private deck overlooking the beach. This vantage point, 8 feet above the beach, means we can open the curtains and look out over the water towards the mountains beyond without leaving the comfort of our bed; It’s one heck of a place to wake up.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

Eventually we force ourselves to get up, get dressed and go in search of breakfast. One particularly promising looking place has a handwritten note on the door: ‘Sorry. Closed for the season due to the fires. Thanks and see you next year.’ These devastating fires are a good 80 miles away but they are clearly impacting on businesses across the entire Kenai Peninsula.

A helpful lady in an adjacent store recommends The Bagel Shop as an alternative so we head into town for what turns out to be of the best breakfasts of our trip.

At the neck of the Spit, shortly before it reaches the mainland, we pass what is popularly known as the boat graveyard. This is a wonderfully photogenic collection of maybe 20 or so boats in various states of decay and disrepair. There are small fishing boats standing in dry dock cradles, larger vessels with artwork painted on top of rusting hulls, and assorted items maritime paraphernalia scattered around the place.

Most distinctive all is a rotting WWII supply boat with pirate flags at the windows. And this, it turns out, is home to the family that lives here and owns all the boats. In the 1990s, Bob and Judy Cousins arrived here with six children and bought these three acres of land and the WWII boat, and began to build a home in its remains. More boats were added to the collection over the years but they eventually moved back to the Lower 48. However, in around 2015, his eldest daughter Cassier and her husband Drew decided to make this their home and they now live here with their young child, and a niece and nephew.

The weather today is amazing, the continuation of an uncharacteristically hot summer (with all its consequences, good and bad), and we need only t-shirts when we return to the Spit for a leisurely stroll along the shore. The whole place has a pleasantly bohemian feel to it, with tents pitched directly on the beach and the remains of campfires waiting to be washed away by the tide.

We buy a coffee, and sit on a driftwood log to watch the world go by. Sometimes it really is best to do absolutely nothing.

I say ‘nothing’, but that’s until I get the overwhelming urge to run down the beach into the sea. After all, it’s not often that the weather in Alaska is conducive to a quick dip, is it? And all I’ll say on the experience is that the frigid waters of Kachemak Bay are probably best left to be enjoyed by the sea otters that bob along the shoreline.

After drying off we go over the road to Coal Point Seafood for our first taste of King Crab. We share a single leg and are suitably impressed; it’s far from cheap but one of those dishes that you really have to try when the opportunity arises to enjoy it fresh off the boat.

What else? We take a walk around the harbor, spot bald eagles on the rooftops, have a look around the many and varied galleries and craft stores, and then return to the Captain’s Suite to gaze out over the beach and chill.

One place I’ve been particularly looking forward to visiting is Homer Brewing Company, a brewery and taproom that has been operating here since 1996, and in the evening we call in on the way back from a trip into town to buy dinner. Like all good craft breweries, they do a flight sampler so I get to choose six beers from an impressively extensive list.

Sadly, while the assorted pale ales, IPAs and stouts are all great and the guy working there friendly, we’re his only customers so it’s not as buzzing as it might have been. Still, I drink the beer, get the t-shirt and return to our lodging ready for dinner and with my growing affection for Homer further enhanced.

From the bears and beer to its seafood and scenery, we have absolutely loved it here; it’s a place we’d definitely like to return to one day.


View From Our Room
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On The Beach With The Captain's Suite Behind
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The 'Pirate's Ship, Homer Boat Graveyard
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Sunday Morning Strolls Don't Get Much Better
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A Quick And Chilly Dip in Kachemak Bay
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Salty Dawg Saloon
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Golden Eagle
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Want video evidence of the dip? Click if you dare!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QEdqhIz9tRc&feature=youtu.be

You're a braver man than me !! I'm not on about the bears, you would never(ever) get me in that water ! Brrrrr

The report, photos and videos are outstanding and I'm loving every moment of it, can't wait for more ! Those bear photos are amazing !

Dave.

Peter:

Ditto, to everything Dave just said. A truly epic report! Speaking from the perspective of a fellow scrivener, you're doing a fantastic job of conveying the spirit of the experience, and the familiar sense of wonder that inspires all the rest of us. (That, along with photographic proof that you've got cast iron pelotas! Yow! I shrivel, I mean, that is to say, I shiver at the thought!)

Rick

I agree, an incredible trip report. Thanks for taking us along!

mark

Your kinds words are appreciated. Just three days to go now ...

Once again we wake to brilliant sunshine and a crisp blue sky, the perfect end to our short but unforgettable stay on Homer Spit. We’re in no hurry to get off – our destination, a cabin just outside Soldotna, is little more than 75 miles north, a nothing distance even for a British driver – so we enjoy a leisurely coffee on the deck outside and take in the views.

Finally we tear ourselves away and begin the journey back up the Sterling Highway.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

One place the guide books recommend along the way is Nikolaevsk, a small community of ‘Old Believers’, a Russian Orthodox sect that fled Siberia in 1666 to escape persecution after resisting forced changes to the church’s prayer book and traditions. Over the next 200 years, the Yakunin clan moved through China, Brazil and Oregon before settling on the Kenai Peninsula in 1968 and, since then, forging a good living out of fishing.

They continue to dress in traditional clothes – which certainly catches the eye in the Homer Safeway store – and some elders still speak little English, conversing in a Russian dialect called Slavonic.

Given their desire to live outside normal Western society, it feels wrong for Nikolaevsk to appear on the tourist trail (I felt much the same about the Amish communities of Lancaster County, PA., despite their obvious willingness to attract passing trade) but we overcome this feeling of uncertainty and follow the narrow, 9-mile road that winds its way into town.

Any concern we may have had about residents thinking we’re there to gawp at them is misplaced, because the streets are completely devoid of life. There are two things to see in Nikolaevsk: the photogenic Church of St Nicholas and the Samovar Café. The first, quite reasonably, is closed the public; the second is closed to one and all. We see a builder working on the town’s new church, who studiously ignores us, and a lady who waves at us as we drive away from the café, but that’s it.

To be fair, I think our experience may have been unusual: the town’s web site (or, maybe more accurately, the web site that claims to represent the town) suggests that visitor’s are more than welcome and reviews of the café are, with one or two exceptions, extremely positive. If you’re passing, see for yourself.

If Nikolaevsk is slightly weird, our next stop threatens to take things to another level. Back on the Sterling Highway at Anchor Point, we are immediately drawn to a ramshackle-looking store offering an appealingly eclectic range of antiques, used car parts, guns, bait and tackle.

We stop in the hope of maybe picking up an old licence plate or other such souvenir and anticipate spending no more than 5 or 10 minutes browsing through the assorted piles of dust- and rust-covered junk. But the guy running the place has a different idea and our conversation quickly switches from “Where you guys visiting from?” to “Ever seen a UFO?”. Over the course of the next half hour we learn that he is Alaska’s prime Ufologist; had his first close encounter as a child at junior school (an incident that was hushed up by the teachers); and has footage of a 2016 sighting on his phone if we’d like to see it.

What can we say? We watch the inevitably grainy and indistinct bright shapes moving around a fuzzy, dark grey background and make polite noises: Hmmmm … right … yeah … I see.

I’m certainly not dismissing the possibility of alien life visiting our planet – to my mind the chances of us being ‘alone’ in the universe are infinitesimally smaller than the contrary – but such obviously inconclusive ‘evidence’ just brings out the cynic in me. The truth may be out there but it’s not on the shaky screen of our new friend’s phone.

As a footnote to this encounter, I have since found a page on the UFO Hunters website (note: not that of New Scientist or the American Association for the Advancement of Science) that would appear to detail his sighting.

And on we go.

This part of the peninsula will seem familiar to visitors from the UK. The landscape is forested, green and gently rolling, pleasant in a non-spectacular way and a real contrast to … well, pretty much the rest of Alaska. It’s a coastal road but one that rarely offers views of the sea and were it not for the names of the towns along the way – Happy Valley, Ninilchik, Clam Gulch – it would be easy to imagine you’re in Cumbria or Northumberland in the north of England.

We detour into Kenai for lunch and take a stroll around the Old Town, a collection of cabins, houses, churches, stores and other buildings from the town’s early days (some date back to the late 19th century, the fire hall was built as recently as 1955). There’s also a short walk down to a sandy beach, which kills a little more time until we’re able to check into our cabin just outside Soldotna.

And to be honest, that’s how today feels: all we’re doing is killing time as we near the end of our journey. We still have another two full days before we fly home but after the excitement of the last three weeks, today has felt a little flat.

On a more positive note, if you’re looking for a romantic break, then the cabins at Escape For Two just outside Soldotna could be just the ticket. There are just two of them, both nicely rustic but equipped with every home comfort imaginable (including hot tub). There’s bubbly and chocolates on the side and rose petals scattered over the bed (which possibly takes the romance bit a step too far but you can’t say they don’t make the effort). Oh, and book Moose Cabin, not Dragonfly. The photos on the website may imply otherwise, but only Moose overlooks the lake; Dragonfly looks out into dense woodland. On the other hand, if petals on the bed ring your bell, the quality of view could very well be irrelevant.


The photogenic Church of St Nicholas, Nikolaevsk
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An appropriately named boat outside oldest Nikolaevsk's building
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Saint Nicholas Memorial Chapel, Old Town Kenai
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This is our penultimate day and, like yesterday, is really just dedicated to getting from A to B which in this instance is Soldotna, on the central west portion of the Kenai Peninsula, to Wasilla, in the Matanuska-Susitna Valley north of Anchorage, a drive of just under 200 miles.


Click here for this RTA Library Map

The leg we’re most looking forward to is the section of Seward Highway that runs along the northern shore of Turnagain Arm, a stretch of highway reckoned to be one of the most beautiful in America.

First though, we must once again tackle the Sterling Highway, location of the Swan Lake Fire. And the prospects don’t look great as we draw to a halt behind a line of parked vehicles whose occupants are standing outside in the manner of people who know they’re not going anywhere in a hurry. And sure enough, we’re being held as the road ahead isn’t considered safe for traffic.

No-one seems entirely certain whether this is a complete and indefinite closure or something more managed, but it’s the only way through and there’s no alternative other than to sit back and wait.

Eventually, after maybe an hour or so, we see traffic approaching from the Cooper Landing direction, led by a slow moving white truck and, once they’ve passed by, we follow the pilot truck back east.

As we witnessed on the outbound journey, the effects of the fire have been devastating and it continues to rage. Flames still blaze by the side of the road and dense smoke reduces visibility to a matter of yards. For mile after mile after mile, those trees that are not actively burning are either smouldering or left burnt and blackened by the inferno that has devoured so much of this area.

These are dreadful scenes of course, and one can only have admiration for those tasked with keeping people and as much property as possible safe, but the shock of it all is tinged with a guilty sense of awe at the overwhelming, almost unstoppable power of this force of nature.

At Tern Lake the Sterling Highway turns sharply north and immediately merges into Seward Highway, and this takes us all the way up to Anchorage.

The drive along Turnagain Arm is indeed beautiful, although I’m not convinced it would squeeze into my Top 10 USA Drives. The road clings to the narrow strip of flat land that sits at the foot of Chugach State Park’s steep mountains to our right. To the left is Turnagain Arm, a branch of Cook Inlet and renowned for tides that see the water rise by as much as 40 feet or 12 metres. So quickly do they come in that this can create a 6 ft high, 5-6 mph bore tide that is a magnet for thrill-seeking kayakers and surfers. And when the tide goes out, all that remains are mud flats.

It’s in as we pass though so we pull over at a place known as Beluga Point to see if we can spot any of the eponymous white whales. We have no luck in this respect but a man notices our binoculars and points excitedly toward the higher slopes of the mountain behind us: “Look, you can just make out Dall sheep!”

It would be rude to do anything other than dutifully turn our attention to the hillside behind and scan the slopes for these distant dots of white, but I have to say that, in a country that’s home to such apex predators as bears, wolves and mountain lions, this fascination with sheep is a complete mystery. (Much the same can be said about Trumpeter Swans; I know it’s a park ranger’s job to enthuse about all God’s creatures but we have swans back home too you know? And don’t get me started on Canada Geese!)

The shoreline drive is only about 40-45 miles so it’s not long before we’re heading north once again, passing through Anchorage and recommencing the route we took almost three weeks and 2,000 miles ago, up the Glenn Highway.

We have chosen tonight’s lodging, Mat-Su Resort on Wasilla Lake primarily for its proximity to Palmer, where the State Fair is being held, but also based on its claim to be the Mat-Su (Matanuska and Susitna) valley’s “premier year-round destination”, a “boutique hotel” with an “award-winning fine dining restaurant”.

The reality is that it’s a slightly odd place. We approach it down what feels like the road into a quarry and are directed to a small residential-looking building that serves as the reception desk (and crèche for the child of the girl who checks us in).

The hotel itself a standard two-story building with external staircases, and our room is large, clean and perfectly fine. But boutique? There’s nothing wrong with the restaurant either (well, nothing that a couple more staff couldn’t fix – we get our drinks for free for remaining patient despite a frustratingly long wait) but again, they don’t do themselves any favours with the oversold “fine dining” boast.

Anyway, the beers are as good as the crab cake and fish’n’chips that follow, and we sleep soundly. Which is all you can really ask for. And that leaves us just one day to go.


Waiting to be guided along the Sterling Highway
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Fires burning by the side of the road
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Reduced visibility
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Dense smoke on the Kenai Peninsulsa
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Railroad by Beluga Point along Turnagain Arm
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Another video:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9S9uHq0rzV0