Alaskan Adventure: August 2019

[Peter Thody]

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.


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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



Early morning view from MV Aurora



Mountains, Prince William Sound



Arriving in Whittier - Begich Towers in the background



Iceberg, Portage Lake

[Peter Thody]

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.


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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



Trail closed due to bear presence



Exit Glacier



Fish cleaning and filleting station, Seward



Smoke hangs over Seward's picturesque small boat harbor



Yukon Bar, Seward

[Peter Thody]

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



Aialik Glacier



Seals basking on ice floes



Leaving the glacier



Sea otters



Sea lions on a rocky outcrop



Pod of orcas

[Peter Thody]

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.


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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



Limited visibility means slow going



Coffee kiosk just east of Soldotna



Soldotna Historical Society’s Homestead Museum



Holy Transfiguration of Our Lord Chapel, Ninilchik



Sunset, Homer Spit