Sunday, September 23, 2007
Friday, September 14, 2007
The Final Leg ………
Sep 7 to 13, 2007
I haven’t been in Edmonton for thirty years so we decided to spend a few
days there and see how it had progressed in the interim. We’d never before visited that Canadian icon of commercialism, West Edmonton Mall. Isn’t it strange that we’ve travelled to some of the most remote places on the earth and yet never visited it? So we remedied that - on our first day in the city, we checked it out. It’s almost a carbon copy of The Mall of America in Minneapolis and I think I’m way too old to appreciate either one. We stopped at my favourite shopping spot on the way home to Maggie; the place that always gives me the thrill of consumerism – Costco! Now, that’s my amusement park.
We had a glut of social interaction while in Edmonton starting on Saturday afternoon with a visit to Fernie’s sister (1 of 5). We were staying in Leduc south of town and she lives on the northwest side. The traffic was horrendous crossing the city particularly on the return because of the numerous road construction projects forging towards completion before the winter sets in.
Sunday morning for breakfast at the White Spot we met a business colleague of Fernie’s from the 1980’s. At that time, I referred to him as a ‘kid’ so I was taken aback to find that he’s now over 50. He’s a scintillating conversationalist and so it was a pleasant diversion for me and Fernie was so pleased to be back in touch with his old friend. That was the first of three social engagements that day.
It was my turn now for a bit of
nostalgia with a visit to a high school chum. She and I only got back in touch with each 
other about 6 or 7 years ago and now for the first time, we were able to sit down with each other and reminisce. It was non-stop chatter from the moment I stepped through her front door. Fernie plunked down with her son and husband who were watching football and had a stimulating afternoon and was not in a hurry to leave.
Finally, we had dinner at a Greek restaurant in Leduc with a young couple we’d met on our South African journey last year and we shared tales of our travels and their anticipated journeys. It was a terrifically satisfying day and it didn’t even wear us out.
Never before in any city we’ve visited have we experienced driving habits quite like those in Edmonton. Now please Edmonton folks, don’t get defensive; I’m not attacking, just reporting. Edmonton drivers are so painfully slow. With a speed limit of 110kph, many coasted along at 90kph. So I’d pass one of the snails and move over and invariably within a couple of minutes I’d catch up to another one. This necessitated a constant series of lane changes. So I wondered – are they farmers that have come to the city – used to driving tractors rather than cars? Another curious habit was they’d drive half way across the shoulder – that must be from driving farm equipment. The drivers ranged from young women to old men and everything in between. So maybe it’s just an Edmonton phenomenon. So I guess they just aren’t in a hurry and that was also exhibited by an amazing tolerance and graciousness in merging.
We drove south from Leduc to Red Deer and then west to enter the Icefields Parkway in Banff/Jasper National Park in the middle, then back north to Jasper before heading west on the Yellowhead Highway. That route was such a mistake. First, they charged us $18 to go through the park and as a ‘cheaparino’ that irritated me. The road was rippled and rough – I guess our $18 isn’t for highway maintenance. But worst of all were the thousands of tourists. It was off-season and we were told at the entrance station that most campgrounds were closed – since Labour Day.
“Can we boondock?’ I cheekily enquired. After I explained the term boondock, she assumed a horrified expression and sharply retorted, “No, certainly not – you must use a campground”.
“Hrmphhh!”
The Columbia Icefields, crawling with trippers was just an anticlimax to all the wonders we’d seen in the far north, so we slowed down, noticed how much the glacier had receded since we’d last visited and peeled rubber to get away from the throng. The only campground open was “Whistlers” 2km south of Jasper with over 700 campsites – so what else could we do. We didn’t really want to drive that far but it was necessary. Exhausted when we arrived, we were shocked to find ourselves in a long line-up – about thirty RVs were ahead of us – mostly Cruise America/Canada rentals and it appeared to be taking an inordinate amount of time to just sign in one of them. So we soared past them all and manoeuvred a tight U-turn to whip right outa’ there. After the Yukon and even Alaska, which we perceived as busy but not so in comparison, we had been spoiled by the easy access to isolation. Banff/Jasper National Parks have become amusement parks for the thousands of Europeans that descend annually and I think we’ll just stay away in the future. We stopped in a BC Provincial Parks campground for the night – it was only 30 minutes west of Jasper and there was hardly anyone there.
We both agreed that it was time to go home. As we passed Mount Robson, sparklingly etched against the cornflower blue sky, I stifled a yawn. Ho-hum!
I haven’t been in Edmonton for thirty years so we decided to spend a few
days there and see how it had progressed in the interim. We’d never before visited that Canadian icon of commercialism, West Edmonton Mall. Isn’t it strange that we’ve travelled to some of the most remote places on the earth and yet never visited it? So we remedied that - on our first day in the city, we checked it out. It’s almost a carbon copy of The Mall of America in Minneapolis and I think I’m way too old to appreciate either one. We stopped at my favourite shopping spot on the way home to Maggie; the place that always gives me the thrill of consumerism – Costco! Now, that’s my amusement park.We had a glut of social interaction while in Edmonton starting on Saturday afternoon with a visit to Fernie’s sister (1 of 5). We were staying in Leduc south of town and she lives on the northwest side. The traffic was horrendous crossing the city particularly on the return because of the numerous road construction projects forging towards completion before the winter sets in.
Sunday morning for breakfast at the White Spot we met a business colleague of Fernie’s from the 1980’s. At that time, I referred to him as a ‘kid’ so I was taken aback to find that he’s now over 50. He’s a scintillating conversationalist and so it was a pleasant diversion for me and Fernie was so pleased to be back in touch with his old friend. That was the first of three social engagements that day.
It was my turn now for a bit of
nostalgia with a visit to a high school chum. She and I only got back in touch with each 
other about 6 or 7 years ago and now for the first time, we were able to sit down with each other and reminisce. It was non-stop chatter from the moment I stepped through her front door. Fernie plunked down with her son and husband who were watching football and had a stimulating afternoon and was not in a hurry to leave. Finally, we had dinner at a Greek restaurant in Leduc with a young couple we’d met on our South African journey last year and we shared tales of our travels and their anticipated journeys. It was a terrifically satisfying day and it didn’t even wear us out.
Never before in any city we’ve visited have we experienced driving habits quite like those in Edmonton. Now please Edmonton folks, don’t get defensive; I’m not attacking, just reporting. Edmonton drivers are so painfully slow. With a speed limit of 110kph, many coasted along at 90kph. So I’d pass one of the snails and move over and invariably within a couple of minutes I’d catch up to another one. This necessitated a constant series of lane changes. So I wondered – are they farmers that have come to the city – used to driving tractors rather than cars? Another curious habit was they’d drive half way across the shoulder – that must be from driving farm equipment. The drivers ranged from young women to old men and everything in between. So maybe it’s just an Edmonton phenomenon. So I guess they just aren’t in a hurry and that was also exhibited by an amazing tolerance and graciousness in merging.
We drove south from Leduc to Red Deer and then west to enter the Icefields Parkway in Banff/Jasper National Park in the middle, then back north to Jasper before heading west on the Yellowhead Highway. That route was such a mistake. First, they charged us $18 to go through the park and as a ‘cheaparino’ that irritated me. The road was rippled and rough – I guess our $18 isn’t for highway maintenance. But worst of all were the thousands of tourists. It was off-season and we were told at the entrance station that most campgrounds were closed – since Labour Day.
“Can we boondock?’ I cheekily enquired. After I explained the term boondock, she assumed a horrified expression and sharply retorted, “No, certainly not – you must use a campground”.
“Hrmphhh!”
The Columbia Icefields, crawling with trippers was just an anticlimax to all the wonders we’d seen in the far north, so we slowed down, noticed how much the glacier had receded since we’d last visited and peeled rubber to get away from the throng. The only campground open was “Whistlers” 2km south of Jasper with over 700 campsites – so what else could we do. We didn’t really want to drive that far but it was necessary. Exhausted when we arrived, we were shocked to find ourselves in a long line-up – about thirty RVs were ahead of us – mostly Cruise America/Canada rentals and it appeared to be taking an inordinate amount of time to just sign in one of them. So we soared past them all and manoeuvred a tight U-turn to whip right outa’ there. After the Yukon and even Alaska, which we perceived as busy but not so in comparison, we had been spoiled by the easy access to isolation. Banff/Jasper National Parks have become amusement parks for the thousands of Europeans that descend annually and I think we’ll just stay away in the future. We stopped in a BC Provincial Parks campground for the night – it was only 30 minutes west of Jasper and there was hardly anyone there.
We both agreed that it was time to go home. As we passed Mount Robson, sparklingly etched against the cornflower blue sky, I stifled a yawn. Ho-hum!
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Winding down......through BC and Alberta
Aug 28 to Sep 6, 2007
So this is where all the wildlife is…..in northern British Columbia.
Several herds of buffalo relaxed right beside the highway, lounging in the long grasses with their long-legged, ungainly babies. We had to stop for them as they decided to amble across the road. One baby, left behind by his mother, bleated a panicky drawn-out ‘Maaaaaaa’ as it ran to catch up. It sounded more like a sheep than a cow
Muncho Lake Provincial Park was packed full of animals and every corner turned we spied something new. We had to slam on our brakes to miss hitting a baby caribou. It could have been a calamity – I can’t imagine what it would feel like to injure or kill an animal like that. It sauntered across the road unaware of the danger; I have no idea where its mother was but surely she couldn’t have been far away. A bit further along, a caribou threesome, ‘Ma, Pa and baby’ strolled along the road in front of us refusing to move over and allow us to pass. They finally crossed to the other side but not in a hurry.
As well as seeing a ton more of caribou, we did spot a cow moose just disappearing
into the trees beside the highway. A bright-eyed red fox stared intently at us as we drove by slowly; a large deer on a curve caused us consternation when we could see a semi-trailer coming at full speed but the driver spied it in time and slowed down allowing the deer to dart up the bank. A large coyote dashed across the road in front of us – again, we had to slam on the brakes. No wonder there’s so much road kill. But the most heart-warming of all was the family of black bears only inches from the shoulder – a mother and three cubs. Surprisingly, the cubs were quite small considering that autumn is approaching fast. As Mom munched on berries, the cubs frolicked and rolled around in the grass, play fighting with each other. There was no room for us to pull Maggie right off the road, so we couldn’t linger as long as we wanted.
Liard Hot Springs had been highly touted to us by several friends so we anticipated staying there for a day and overnight in the Provincial campground. I think it’s changed since it was recommended and not for the better. They’ve put a charge into effect now at $5 per person for day use – it used to be free.
I suppose that’s understandable to cover the cost of maintenance and improvements. However, it points towards its overuse. No longer is it a well-kept secret and a natural hideaway. The next pointer to its disintegration was the children with their multi-coloured blow up inner-tubes and other water-toys. The last straw for me was the young men with snorkels! Now, I’m not a lover of hot springs anyway but Fernie is and he had no interest. “Too many kids” and It’s not hot enough” were his criticisms. The upper pool ‘Beta pool’ is supposedly hotter and therefore maybe usually less crowded but a padlocked gate and a sign warning of a ‘problem bear’ took away that option. So we saved the $10 and carried on.
Between Fort Nelson and Fort St. John the weather changed. We could see the heavy layer of clouds ahead of us and hoped it wasn’t too deep and we’d get through it. But we were immersed in the socked-in low cloud and heavy rain. It was so depressing. If the weather had been like this in the Yukon and Alaska, it would not have been so enjoyable. It made me realize how lucky we’d been.
Fernie, who usually resists driving more than a hundred
or two miles per day, was obviously in a hurry to get to his ‘homeland’, Dawson Creek where he spent most of his formative years. He drove three straight days of around 300 miles each; I could do nothing to slow him down. Even my pleas of “Let’s stop in Fort St. John and look around” were met with “I hate Fort St. John – it’s a rough and dirty town” and he drove right on through.
We settled into the Dawson Creek Walmart in a quiet area on the north side of the store and we stayed three days. Each day, Fernie relived a portion of his youth with me as his chauffeur and audience for his reminiscences. We visited his childhood home; the house has been torn down now and replaced. Then it was on to his school, Notre Dame, his various abodes after he left home, his workplace, Bear Mountain (which is just a pimple on the landscape) where he wandered alone in the woods and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Dawson Creek, Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway
is in farming country. It’s an agricultural centre that is slowly being taken over by oil and gas. Oil pumps and tanks are starting to mar the farmers’ vast fields. There was the most amazing sunset as the storm clouds parted just enough to allow the brilliance of the sun to paint a memorable and vivid scene. It looked as if the city was on fire. Geocaching took us around town and out to McQueen’s Slough where Ducks Unlimited maintains a waterfowl refuge. It was on our third day there and finally the sky was blue and the sun was warm. There was no one out there other than us and it was so peaceful and beautiful. We even saw an owl.
As we walked down the streets of town, we were regularly greeted with “Good morning” or “How are you today?” and “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”. The clerks in the shops, the customers and everyone we met were so familiar – it took me off my guard. I guess this is what small farming towns are like. I was reminded though that Dawson Creek is not ‘small’. I was to find out what a ‘small’ one was like when we visited Spirit River, Fernie’s birthplace and home of his same-age uncle and aunt (E&C).
Spirit River is only sixty miles straight
(and I mean straight – there are no mountains to go around) east and we arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon and docked Maggie comfortably in E&C’s back yard. Days of roaming and evenings of cards and dominoes filled our time pleasurably. We introduced E&C to Geocaching; they taught us how to play dominoes and took us out to visit their children and we just plain enjoyed each other’s company.
Sunday afternoon, we drove out to Dunvegan, the earliest settlement in the area. A long suspension bridge, the longest in Alberta (or is it just northern Alberta?) gracefully arches high above the mighty Peace River. There resides a Provincial Park where the original church and rectory still stand and nearby is a beautiful white statue of “Our Lady of the Peace”. Because it was Labour Day weekend, the park was teeming with locals out for picnics or just on an outing after Sunday morning church services. Farm country is usually very religious (moreso than urban environments) and thus is often known as the ‘Bible Belt’. It was a festive environment; there was a huge cake, urns of steaming tea and coffee, bottles of water and cartons of juice and the staff told us to help ourselves. So we did and sat under a shady tree to enjoy it.
After finding a couple of caches, we headed a bit further along the river to Dunvegan Gardens, a farm and nursery welcoming customers into their antique shop and ice cream parlour. They had a table set up on the lawn with a steaming pot of freshly cooked corn on the cob, which they plunged into a vat of melted butter and handed out the dripping cobs to all who passed. We each had two cobs before we were done – they were absolutely delicious and of course ‘calorie-laden’. Usually when I eat corn (which is seldom), I have it without butter or margarine, just salt and pepper, so you can imagine how wonderful this was for me. It’ll be hard to go back to it plain in the future.
E&C escorted us on a round of visiting their four offspring. How different their rural lives are from ours in the urban environment. Two of them have large acreages and when visiting it seems so idyllic but the work to keep the land maintained must be all encompassing. I would be far too lazy for that unless I had servants to do it for me. Mind you, I think it would be fun cutting lawns with one of those little tractors. Hmmm, would I soon get tired of that?
I am flabbergasted by the number of relations that Fernie has in this area. Of course, when you think that his paternal grandparents were directly responsible for almost 600 descendants (so far), when you factor in the spouses and then his maternal side of the family, it’s absolutely staggering. Two elderly aunts (91 & 84) live in a retirement home in the little town of Falher, Alberta about 70 miles from Spirit River. When we told them we were coming, they called another of their sisters who still lives on a farm in the area and she drove (at 89 she still drives and amazingly well too) in to visit with us. Two of their daughters also came out and we sat around for several hours laughing & chatting.
On the way to Falher, we stopped in the little town of Tangent (it’s so small, I wouldn’t have even known it was a town – a half dozen houses, a store and a hall). It’s full of Boivin family members but Fernie didn’t know who was who there so we didn’t see anyone. We did stop at Smoky Gardens in the valley of the Smoky River where a Boivin cousin just a bit younger than Fernie grows and sells vegetables.
A sign scrawled in red paint on the side of an outbuilding proclaimed, “Supervise your children!” and “Garden is restricted area” As we pulled up to the vegetable stand, a fellow in big rubber boots and overalls and grubby from working in the fields sauntered over to us. He didn’t recognize Fernie immediately and was extremely serious when Fernie asked him “How much do you want for your property?”
“I’m not selling,” he snarled.
Fernie told him who he was then and his face broke into a wreath of smiling lines etched from the sun.
“Come on in for coffee!” he demanded and led the way to his humble abode.
Another cousin sat inside at the window nursing his steaming cut of coffee. He too was in overalls and his muddy boots sat outside the door. They work together in the fields happily and had just stopped for a coffee break. Both of them are divorced and have no women in their lives “No more for us!” they chorused. “We’re happy the way we are”. So the two aging bachelors revel in each other’s company scorning women and marriage. It was an interesting visit for me – as a woman - and I was very amused by the repartee between them.
So this is where all the wildlife is…..in northern British Columbia.
Several herds of buffalo relaxed right beside the highway, lounging in the long grasses with their long-legged, ungainly babies. We had to stop for them as they decided to amble across the road. One baby, left behind by his mother, bleated a panicky drawn-out ‘Maaaaaaa’ as it ran to catch up. It sounded more like a sheep than a cow
Muncho Lake Provincial Park was packed full of animals and every corner turned we spied something new. We had to slam on our brakes to miss hitting a baby caribou. It could have been a calamity – I can’t imagine what it would feel like to injure or kill an animal like that. It sauntered across the road unaware of the danger; I have no idea where its mother was but surely she couldn’t have been far away. A bit further along, a caribou threesome, ‘Ma, Pa and baby’ strolled along the road in front of us refusing to move over and allow us to pass. They finally crossed to the other side but not in a hurry.
As well as seeing a ton more of caribou, we did spot a cow moose just disappearing
into the trees beside the highway. A bright-eyed red fox stared intently at us as we drove by slowly; a large deer on a curve caused us consternation when we could see a semi-trailer coming at full speed but the driver spied it in time and slowed down allowing the deer to dart up the bank. A large coyote dashed across the road in front of us – again, we had to slam on the brakes. No wonder there’s so much road kill. But the most heart-warming of all was the family of black bears only inches from the shoulder – a mother and three cubs. Surprisingly, the cubs were quite small considering that autumn is approaching fast. As Mom munched on berries, the cubs frolicked and rolled around in the grass, play fighting with each other. There was no room for us to pull Maggie right off the road, so we couldn’t linger as long as we wanted.
Liard Hot Springs had been highly touted to us by several friends so we anticipated staying there for a day and overnight in the Provincial campground. I think it’s changed since it was recommended and not for the better. They’ve put a charge into effect now at $5 per person for day use – it used to be free.
I suppose that’s understandable to cover the cost of maintenance and improvements. However, it points towards its overuse. No longer is it a well-kept secret and a natural hideaway. The next pointer to its disintegration was the children with their multi-coloured blow up inner-tubes and other water-toys. The last straw for me was the young men with snorkels! Now, I’m not a lover of hot springs anyway but Fernie is and he had no interest. “Too many kids” and It’s not hot enough” were his criticisms. The upper pool ‘Beta pool’ is supposedly hotter and therefore maybe usually less crowded but a padlocked gate and a sign warning of a ‘problem bear’ took away that option. So we saved the $10 and carried on.
Between Fort Nelson and Fort St. John the weather changed. We could see the heavy layer of clouds ahead of us and hoped it wasn’t too deep and we’d get through it. But we were immersed in the socked-in low cloud and heavy rain. It was so depressing. If the weather had been like this in the Yukon and Alaska, it would not have been so enjoyable. It made me realize how lucky we’d been.
Fernie, who usually resists driving more than a hundred
or two miles per day, was obviously in a hurry to get to his ‘homeland’, Dawson Creek where he spent most of his formative years. He drove three straight days of around 300 miles each; I could do nothing to slow him down. Even my pleas of “Let’s stop in Fort St. John and look around” were met with “I hate Fort St. John – it’s a rough and dirty town” and he drove right on through.We settled into the Dawson Creek Walmart in a quiet area on the north side of the store and we stayed three days. Each day, Fernie relived a portion of his youth with me as his chauffeur and audience for his reminiscences. We visited his childhood home; the house has been torn down now and replaced. Then it was on to his school, Notre Dame, his various abodes after he left home, his workplace, Bear Mountain (which is just a pimple on the landscape) where he wandered alone in the woods and so on and so forth, ad infinitum, ad nauseum.
Dawson Creek, Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway
is in farming country. It’s an agricultural centre that is slowly being taken over by oil and gas. Oil pumps and tanks are starting to mar the farmers’ vast fields. There was the most amazing sunset as the storm clouds parted just enough to allow the brilliance of the sun to paint a memorable and vivid scene. It looked as if the city was on fire. Geocaching took us around town and out to McQueen’s Slough where Ducks Unlimited maintains a waterfowl refuge. It was on our third day there and finally the sky was blue and the sun was warm. There was no one out there other than us and it was so peaceful and beautiful. We even saw an owl. 
As we walked down the streets of town, we were regularly greeted with “Good morning” or “How are you today?” and “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”. The clerks in the shops, the customers and everyone we met were so familiar – it took me off my guard. I guess this is what small farming towns are like. I was reminded though that Dawson Creek is not ‘small’. I was to find out what a ‘small’ one was like when we visited Spirit River, Fernie’s birthplace and home of his same-age uncle and aunt (E&C).
Spirit River is only sixty miles straight
(and I mean straight – there are no mountains to go around) east and we arrived on a sunny Saturday afternoon and docked Maggie comfortably in E&C’s back yard. Days of roaming and evenings of cards and dominoes filled our time pleasurably. We introduced E&C to Geocaching; they taught us how to play dominoes and took us out to visit their children and we just plain enjoyed each other’s company.
Sunday afternoon, we drove out to Dunvegan, the earliest settlement in the area. A long suspension bridge, the longest in Alberta (or is it just northern Alberta?) gracefully arches high above the mighty Peace River. There resides a Provincial Park where the original church and rectory still stand and nearby is a beautiful white statue of “Our Lady of the Peace”. Because it was Labour Day weekend, the park was teeming with locals out for picnics or just on an outing after Sunday morning church services. Farm country is usually very religious (moreso than urban environments) and thus is often known as the ‘Bible Belt’. It was a festive environment; there was a huge cake, urns of steaming tea and coffee, bottles of water and cartons of juice and the staff told us to help ourselves. So we did and sat under a shady tree to enjoy it.
After finding a couple of caches, we headed a bit further along the river to Dunvegan Gardens, a farm and nursery welcoming customers into their antique shop and ice cream parlour. They had a table set up on the lawn with a steaming pot of freshly cooked corn on the cob, which they plunged into a vat of melted butter and handed out the dripping cobs to all who passed. We each had two cobs before we were done – they were absolutely delicious and of course ‘calorie-laden’. Usually when I eat corn (which is seldom), I have it without butter or margarine, just salt and pepper, so you can imagine how wonderful this was for me. It’ll be hard to go back to it plain in the future.
E&C escorted us on a round of visiting their four offspring. How different their rural lives are from ours in the urban environment. Two of them have large acreages and when visiting it seems so idyllic but the work to keep the land maintained must be all encompassing. I would be far too lazy for that unless I had servants to do it for me. Mind you, I think it would be fun cutting lawns with one of those little tractors. Hmmm, would I soon get tired of that?
I am flabbergasted by the number of relations that Fernie has in this area. Of course, when you think that his paternal grandparents were directly responsible for almost 600 descendants (so far), when you factor in the spouses and then his maternal side of the family, it’s absolutely staggering. Two elderly aunts (91 & 84) live in a retirement home in the little town of Falher, Alberta about 70 miles from Spirit River. When we told them we were coming, they called another of their sisters who still lives on a farm in the area and she drove (at 89 she still drives and amazingly well too) in to visit with us. Two of their daughters also came out and we sat around for several hours laughing & chatting.
On the way to Falher, we stopped in the little town of Tangent (it’s so small, I wouldn’t have even known it was a town – a half dozen houses, a store and a hall). It’s full of Boivin family members but Fernie didn’t know who was who there so we didn’t see anyone. We did stop at Smoky Gardens in the valley of the Smoky River where a Boivin cousin just a bit younger than Fernie grows and sells vegetables.
A sign scrawled in red paint on the side of an outbuilding proclaimed, “Supervise your children!” and “Garden is restricted area” As we pulled up to the vegetable stand, a fellow in big rubber boots and overalls and grubby from working in the fields sauntered over to us. He didn’t recognize Fernie immediately and was extremely serious when Fernie asked him “How much do you want for your property?”“I’m not selling,” he snarled.
Fernie told him who he was then and his face broke into a wreath of smiling lines etched from the sun.
“Come on in for coffee!” he demanded and led the way to his humble abode.
Another cousin sat inside at the window nursing his steaming cut of coffee. He too was in overalls and his muddy boots sat outside the door. They work together in the fields happily and had just stopped for a coffee break. Both of them are divorced and have no women in their lives “No more for us!” they chorused. “We’re happy the way we are”. So the two aging bachelors revel in each other’s company scorning women and marriage. It was an interesting visit for me – as a woman - and I was very amused by the repartee between them.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Completion of the Circle - Anchorage to Watson Lake
Aug 19 to 27, 2007
It was back into sunshine and warmth again. We whipped through Anchorage only stopping for a Costco fix. That store continues to give me a high – it’s an addiction and I always buy something I didn’t plan on. This time it was a sweater, underwear, and jeans for Fernie.
Glaciers in Alaska are much like cathedrals in Europe or kangaroos in Australia – they sooner or later become ‘ho-hum’ with the vast numbers you encounter. Along the Glenn Highway east to Glenallen and the Richardson Highway south to Valdez, so many magnificent glaciers materialized that I stopped grabbing my camera and yelling ‘pull over so I can get a picture’. The dramatic countryside is absolutely stunning though and changeable too which makes it so much more intriguing.
The only thing I knew about Valdez prior to our visit was the Exxon Valdez oil spill back in the 1980’s but I’d read that the drive down was stunning. We boondocked a couple of nights on the way to Valdez in private and quiet spots – so much more enjoyable than campsites. There’s never a shortage in Alaska of beautiful places to stay the night, by a lake, or a stream or in the woods. Gas is a lot higher now that we’re away from the busy, civilized area near Anchorage. It soared in price from $2.89/US gallon to $3.50/US gallon in Valdez. But that’s the only real cost in travelling the way we do so we don’t complain and just pay the bill.
On Good Friday 1964 a major earthquake with a 9.2 magnitude struck Prince William Sound, 45 miles from Valdez. The damage was widespread – Anchorage had major damage; Seward was severely hit; but the town of Valdez was totally wiped out. The town was rebuilt four miles along the road from the original site, which remains a solemn graveyard of bare foundations, fragments of pilings in a morass of swamp.
A rusty old forklift stands alone like a sentinel in the centre of reeds and grasses. It’s a very sombre memorial to all those who died. Exacerbating the solemn mood, several creeks empty through the area and thousands of salmon had spawned and died or were in the process of dying – flapping and gyrating with no rhyme or reason. The stench of the rotting flesh was awful but that wasn’t what drove us away – it was because we felt such extreme sadness at the cruelty of nature.
Valdez (pronounced Vald-eez, I found out) had another disaster on another Good Friday in 1989. You’d think they’d be a bit superstitious of Good Friday. The oil tanker Exxon Valdez, hit the rocks at Bligh Point (named after Captain Bligh of the Bounty) and the oil spill fouled the coastline for miles – the worst maritime oil spill in history. It took millions of dollars and years to clean up but it appears today as if sea life is plentiful and healthy – sea lions, harbour seals, sea otters, sea birds, salmon, halibut and shellfish are prolific.
Unlike Whittier, which is situated just west in Prince William Sound, Valdez is a lively hamlet of about 4,000 people with the feel of a cohesive community. Valdez’ harbour is much wider and so I didn’t get the claustrophobic feeling that I did in Whittier. However, it also gets socked in with low clouds and mist. Fishing is everything here – large barracks of dormitories sit alongside the harbourfront for the fishermen when they come home from the sea. I talked to Judy, a 60ish woman who hailed from Minnesota and moved to Alaska in 1972. “I’d never leave” she stated “we get anywhere from 25 to 40 feet of snow in the winter and we only get a few hours of daylight, but I LOVE it here” she continued. It takes a certain personality to live in such a remote place.
We pulled into a city run campground right on the oceanfront at Allison Point across the bay from the town. This is where the Alaska pipeline ends and large oil tanks and freighter terminals are situated just a bit further along the coast. It’s wonderful to have a beautiful vista of the sea and mountains but I hate how the other RV’s are so close to us. I guess we’re used to our boondocking lifestyle.
Last night was terrible – the family in the motorhome next to us were yelling and screaming and starting their motor to keep warm until about 2am and then were up again to go fishing at 5am making just as much noise. I love my boondocking – do you see why?
Autumn started one day unexpectedly with one yellow leaf on an alder; next day, we saw leaves blowing in the wind and then each day it would progress - subtly at first then with a vengeance. When the top of the fireweed blooms, it’s the end of the summer – so we were told. Today, at the heights of the Glenn Highway, the fireweed had completed blooming and already faded – summer is obviously over.
We arrived back at Tok at the crossroads, completing the Alaska circle and as we did on our last visit to there, we again fuelled, washed Maggie and the Honda, dumped and watered and did our laundry. Three hours and all was done - good for another week.
We had been warned about the bad condition of the Alaska Highway between Tok, Alaska and Haines Junction, Yukon (a 300 mile stretch) so were prepared for a slow, rattling journey. There were some gravel stretches, but not too long and on the Canadian side mostly, terrific frost heaves with the highway rolling in waves but it wasn’t half as bad as we expected so we rolled along quite merrily. We were back again to the wilds with little civilization and we did enjoy that. Overall, we found Alaska just too damned busy – too many people, too much traffic, too much litter. The Yukon on the other hand seemed unspoiled.
Just southeast of Destruction Bay, we spotted a large animal crossing the road not far ahead of us and we sped up to get a good look. Wow! It was a huge grizzly that just made it to the side of the road as we approached and slowed Maggie to a stop. It was a large chocolate brown bear and he (she?) ambled alongside the highway, just behind the shrubs nibbling as she (he?) went. It was only about 75 feet from us and was totally undaunted by our proximity. I was absolutely thrilled.
We spied a bevy of glistening white swans (yes, that’s right – it’s not a flock; I checked with the World Almanac for Children) in flight, barely skimming the treetops and just below several more of the graceful creatures glided across the mirror-surfaced pond as if on ice skates.
A second visit to Whitehorse and we went down to Miles Canyon hiking
for some geocaches. The wide and jade green Yukon River narrows and forges through the picturesque gorge. A walking bridge straddles the chasm and on the other side, miles of trails follow the cliffs and banks of the river. As we rambled along the narrow cliff side path, a boat chock full of grey-haired Holland America tourists chugged upstream towards the gorge. They waved and gestured madly at us as if we were wild animals endemic to the Yukon. “Look Harry, there’s some of those Yukon folks!” I like to think we looked fit and outdoorsy with our poles and backpacks. “See Harry, they stay in awful good condition up here in the north”.
Fernie phoned an old work associate who used to be the terminal manager of Canadian Freightways, Whitehorse before his early retirement about 4 years ago. His wife has COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and is connected to oxygen 24 hours a day, trailing transparent tubing throughout their mobile home or pushing a cart with her oxygen bottle when she goes out. They invited us over to visit them that evening and I looked forward to some social interaction. They are approximately our age but her illness curtails the freedom that we are so lucky to enjoy. Life in Whitehorse is very different from ours in Vancouver. The city has a population of only 31,000 and the winters are long, cold, snowy and dark. I think one needs youth or good health to enjoy the winter activities and I wondered why this couple stay there now that they are retired.
The sunshine continues!
We have been so fortunate with weather on this trip. Only 109 miles south of Whitehorse through the scenic White Pass lies Skagway, a popular cruise ship terminal. The road was smoothly paved and the sky was cloudless but as we approached the summit, the clouds enveloped us in a thick murky fog. The White Pass and Yukon narrow gauge railway traverses the same route through the pass with carloads of cruisers. The fog diminished as we descended but the sky remained cloudy only breaking every so often but it never cleared. Light showers and dampness prevailed. I do not like this damp weather while travelling.
The glacially-carved landscape was picturesque in a moonscape sort of way but sunshine would have displayed its true beauty. There were several geocaches along the way and one near the summit at the Canada/US border. That one required some rock clambering over some slippery boulders but the view was worth it.
There was no apparent boondocking in the vicinity of Skagway so we pulled 
in to an RV park right on the waterfront at the wharves where the cruise ships dock. The Zaandam and the Pacific Princess were in on Saturday creating a chaos of shoppers in the touristy town streets. A surfeit of jewellery stores and the usual grotesque souvenir shops lined the quaint roads. The ships sailed late that evening and it was lovely to watch them through our front window. Next morning two more ships were in – a Carnival one and a Regent Seven Seas one – didn’t bother to check them out but instead hit the road before an expected caravan of RVer’s hit town. Blue sky was peeking through the early morning mist and by the time we crossed the pass we were back in full sunshine.
We intended to stay at Mukluk Annie’s, just outside Teslin again but were so surprised when big signs and blockades announced ‘Closed for the season’. Gee whiz! It’s only August 26th. So instead we pulled into an RV park beside the lake with wifi and hookups. It was a good one. “So, what did you do in Teslin?” you might ask. Not surprisingly, I’d answer “We geocached”. There were only two and the second one was 1.5 miles off road up a steep gravel hill. A pickup blocked the road a short way in and a group of native youths were drinking and carousing around it – 2pm Sunday afternoon. We didn’t want a confrontation and so backed up out of there.
A beautiful bright orange harvest moon rose from the eastern sky and cast its radiant light over the serene lake. But the temperature dipped very low – close to freezing. The air was crystal clear but the bright moonlight made the stars faint. About 11:30pm, the northern sky started to glow over the lake and green and reddish toned Aurora Borealis radiated and whirled, the shapes changing like a kaleidoscope. I was rapt and opened the window wide but the blast of cold that hit my face made me shut it pretty quickly. It was lovely.
There was a heavy dew this morning – maybe frost melting; it was dripping from the roof of the motorhome. The sun was brilliant but the wind was cold; it was like a sunny winter day in Vancouver.
Watson Lake, a grubby rundown town full of tough-looking inhabitants, was where we settled Maggie for the night. Its one claim to fame is the Signpost Forest - there are 54,000+ signs brought by travellers passing through - signs from their hometowns or countries, home-made signs, license plates; a fascinating place to while a way some time. The sunshine continued but the cold breeze warned that summer was over. Businesses were boarded up and signs announced “closed for the season” and “winter hours in effect” and its only Aug 27th. There seems to be no boondocking along this Yukon stretch of the Alaska Highway so we checked in to the city-run campground on the outskirts of town. It is a pleasant treed area with widely spaced spots – oh, and free wifi and for only $10 (off season rate).
Tonight, we expect the lunar eclipse and it’s a crystal clear night so perfect for viewing it. However, I don’t know if I’ll be awake at 2am to see it. Maybe I’ll see the Northern Lights though.
We’ve completed the full circle of the Yukon and Alaska with our arrival in Watson Lake. Now, it’s on towards Fernie’s hometown of Dawson Creek, his birthplace Spirit River and Edmonton before we head for home.
It was back into sunshine and warmth again. We whipped through Anchorage only stopping for a Costco fix. That store continues to give me a high – it’s an addiction and I always buy something I didn’t plan on. This time it was a sweater, underwear, and jeans for Fernie.
Glaciers in Alaska are much like cathedrals in Europe or kangaroos in Australia – they sooner or later become ‘ho-hum’ with the vast numbers you encounter. Along the Glenn Highway east to Glenallen and the Richardson Highway south to Valdez, so many magnificent glaciers materialized that I stopped grabbing my camera and yelling ‘pull over so I can get a picture’. The dramatic countryside is absolutely stunning though and changeable too which makes it so much more intriguing.
The only thing I knew about Valdez prior to our visit was the Exxon Valdez oil spill back in the 1980’s but I’d read that the drive down was stunning. We boondocked a couple of nights on the way to Valdez in private and quiet spots – so much more enjoyable than campsites. There’s never a shortage in Alaska of beautiful places to stay the night, by a lake, or a stream or in the woods. Gas is a lot higher now that we’re away from the busy, civilized area near Anchorage. It soared in price from $2.89/US gallon to $3.50/US gallon in Valdez. But that’s the only real cost in travelling the way we do so we don’t complain and just pay the bill.
On Good Friday 1964 a major earthquake with a 9.2 magnitude struck Prince William Sound, 45 miles from Valdez. The damage was widespread – Anchorage had major damage; Seward was severely hit; but the town of Valdez was totally wiped out. The town was rebuilt four miles along the road from the original site, which remains a solemn graveyard of bare foundations, fragments of pilings in a morass of swamp.
A rusty old forklift stands alone like a sentinel in the centre of reeds and grasses. It’s a very sombre memorial to all those who died. Exacerbating the solemn mood, several creeks empty through the area and thousands of salmon had spawned and died or were in the process of dying – flapping and gyrating with no rhyme or reason. The stench of the rotting flesh was awful but that wasn’t what drove us away – it was because we felt such extreme sadness at the cruelty of nature.
Valdez (pronounced Vald-eez, I found out) had another disaster on another Good Friday in 1989. You’d think they’d be a bit superstitious of Good Friday. The oil tanker Exxon Valdez, hit the rocks at Bligh Point (named after Captain Bligh of the Bounty) and the oil spill fouled the coastline for miles – the worst maritime oil spill in history. It took millions of dollars and years to clean up but it appears today as if sea life is plentiful and healthy – sea lions, harbour seals, sea otters, sea birds, salmon, halibut and shellfish are prolific.
Unlike Whittier, which is situated just west in Prince William Sound, Valdez is a lively hamlet of about 4,000 people with the feel of a cohesive community. Valdez’ harbour is much wider and so I didn’t get the claustrophobic feeling that I did in Whittier. However, it also gets socked in with low clouds and mist. Fishing is everything here – large barracks of dormitories sit alongside the harbourfront for the fishermen when they come home from the sea. I talked to Judy, a 60ish woman who hailed from Minnesota and moved to Alaska in 1972. “I’d never leave” she stated “we get anywhere from 25 to 40 feet of snow in the winter and we only get a few hours of daylight, but I LOVE it here” she continued. It takes a certain personality to live in such a remote place.
We pulled into a city run campground right on the oceanfront at Allison Point across the bay from the town. This is where the Alaska pipeline ends and large oil tanks and freighter terminals are situated just a bit further along the coast. It’s wonderful to have a beautiful vista of the sea and mountains but I hate how the other RV’s are so close to us. I guess we’re used to our boondocking lifestyle.
Last night was terrible – the family in the motorhome next to us were yelling and screaming and starting their motor to keep warm until about 2am and then were up again to go fishing at 5am making just as much noise. I love my boondocking – do you see why?
Autumn started one day unexpectedly with one yellow leaf on an alder; next day, we saw leaves blowing in the wind and then each day it would progress - subtly at first then with a vengeance. When the top of the fireweed blooms, it’s the end of the summer – so we were told. Today, at the heights of the Glenn Highway, the fireweed had completed blooming and already faded – summer is obviously over.
We arrived back at Tok at the crossroads, completing the Alaska circle and as we did on our last visit to there, we again fuelled, washed Maggie and the Honda, dumped and watered and did our laundry. Three hours and all was done - good for another week.
We had been warned about the bad condition of the Alaska Highway between Tok, Alaska and Haines Junction, Yukon (a 300 mile stretch) so were prepared for a slow, rattling journey. There were some gravel stretches, but not too long and on the Canadian side mostly, terrific frost heaves with the highway rolling in waves but it wasn’t half as bad as we expected so we rolled along quite merrily. We were back again to the wilds with little civilization and we did enjoy that. Overall, we found Alaska just too damned busy – too many people, too much traffic, too much litter. The Yukon on the other hand seemed unspoiled.
Just southeast of Destruction Bay, we spotted a large animal crossing the road not far ahead of us and we sped up to get a good look. Wow! It was a huge grizzly that just made it to the side of the road as we approached and slowed Maggie to a stop. It was a large chocolate brown bear and he (she?) ambled alongside the highway, just behind the shrubs nibbling as she (he?) went. It was only about 75 feet from us and was totally undaunted by our proximity. I was absolutely thrilled.
We spied a bevy of glistening white swans (yes, that’s right – it’s not a flock; I checked with the World Almanac for Children) in flight, barely skimming the treetops and just below several more of the graceful creatures glided across the mirror-surfaced pond as if on ice skates.
A second visit to Whitehorse and we went down to Miles Canyon hiking
for some geocaches. The wide and jade green Yukon River narrows and forges through the picturesque gorge. A walking bridge straddles the chasm and on the other side, miles of trails follow the cliffs and banks of the river. As we rambled along the narrow cliff side path, a boat chock full of grey-haired Holland America tourists chugged upstream towards the gorge. They waved and gestured madly at us as if we were wild animals endemic to the Yukon. “Look Harry, there’s some of those Yukon folks!” I like to think we looked fit and outdoorsy with our poles and backpacks. “See Harry, they stay in awful good condition up here in the north”. Fernie phoned an old work associate who used to be the terminal manager of Canadian Freightways, Whitehorse before his early retirement about 4 years ago. His wife has COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease) and is connected to oxygen 24 hours a day, trailing transparent tubing throughout their mobile home or pushing a cart with her oxygen bottle when she goes out. They invited us over to visit them that evening and I looked forward to some social interaction. They are approximately our age but her illness curtails the freedom that we are so lucky to enjoy. Life in Whitehorse is very different from ours in Vancouver. The city has a population of only 31,000 and the winters are long, cold, snowy and dark. I think one needs youth or good health to enjoy the winter activities and I wondered why this couple stay there now that they are retired.
The sunshine continues!
We have been so fortunate with weather on this trip. Only 109 miles south of Whitehorse through the scenic White Pass lies Skagway, a popular cruise ship terminal. The road was smoothly paved and the sky was cloudless but as we approached the summit, the clouds enveloped us in a thick murky fog. The White Pass and Yukon narrow gauge railway traverses the same route through the pass with carloads of cruisers. The fog diminished as we descended but the sky remained cloudy only breaking every so often but it never cleared. Light showers and dampness prevailed. I do not like this damp weather while travelling.
The glacially-carved landscape was picturesque in a moonscape sort of way but sunshine would have displayed its true beauty. There were several geocaches along the way and one near the summit at the Canada/US border. That one required some rock clambering over some slippery boulders but the view was worth it.
There was no apparent boondocking in the vicinity of Skagway so we pulled 
in to an RV park right on the waterfront at the wharves where the cruise ships dock. The Zaandam and the Pacific Princess were in on Saturday creating a chaos of shoppers in the touristy town streets. A surfeit of jewellery stores and the usual grotesque souvenir shops lined the quaint roads. The ships sailed late that evening and it was lovely to watch them through our front window. Next morning two more ships were in – a Carnival one and a Regent Seven Seas one – didn’t bother to check them out but instead hit the road before an expected caravan of RVer’s hit town. Blue sky was peeking through the early morning mist and by the time we crossed the pass we were back in full sunshine.
We intended to stay at Mukluk Annie’s, just outside Teslin again but were so surprised when big signs and blockades announced ‘Closed for the season’. Gee whiz! It’s only August 26th. So instead we pulled into an RV park beside the lake with wifi and hookups. It was a good one. “So, what did you do in Teslin?” you might ask. Not surprisingly, I’d answer “We geocached”. There were only two and the second one was 1.5 miles off road up a steep gravel hill. A pickup blocked the road a short way in and a group of native youths were drinking and carousing around it – 2pm Sunday afternoon. We didn’t want a confrontation and so backed up out of there.
A beautiful bright orange harvest moon rose from the eastern sky and cast its radiant light over the serene lake. But the temperature dipped very low – close to freezing. The air was crystal clear but the bright moonlight made the stars faint. About 11:30pm, the northern sky started to glow over the lake and green and reddish toned Aurora Borealis radiated and whirled, the shapes changing like a kaleidoscope. I was rapt and opened the window wide but the blast of cold that hit my face made me shut it pretty quickly. It was lovely.
There was a heavy dew this morning – maybe frost melting; it was dripping from the roof of the motorhome. The sun was brilliant but the wind was cold; it was like a sunny winter day in Vancouver.
Watson Lake, a grubby rundown town full of tough-looking inhabitants, was where we settled Maggie for the night. Its one claim to fame is the Signpost Forest - there are 54,000+ signs brought by travellers passing through - signs from their hometowns or countries, home-made signs, license plates; a fascinating place to while a way some time. The sunshine continued but the cold breeze warned that summer was over. Businesses were boarded up and signs announced “closed for the season” and “winter hours in effect” and its only Aug 27th. There seems to be no boondocking along this Yukon stretch of the Alaska Highway so we checked in to the city-run campground on the outskirts of town. It is a pleasant treed area with widely spaced spots – oh, and free wifi and for only $10 (off season rate).
Tonight, we expect the lunar eclipse and it’s a crystal clear night so perfect for viewing it. However, I don’t know if I’ll be awake at 2am to see it. Maybe I’ll see the Northern Lights though.
We’ve completed the full circle of the Yukon and Alaska with our arrival in Watson Lake. Now, it’s on towards Fernie’s hometown of Dawson Creek, his birthplace Spirit River and Edmonton before we head for home.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Anchorage and the Kenai
Aug 10 to 18, 2007
How outrageously fortunate! They’re having a heat wave in Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula. A heat wave here is totally tolerable - it means temperatures of 70 degrees F and over and it actually reached 77 degrees F on one of our days. It was just like being in the Caribbean – especially with the azure sea.
Anchorage, a city of 277,000 is beautifully situated on
Cook Inlet and they’ve taken advantage of its lovely site by having hiking and biking trails all along the shore even where there are no roads. Overall, Alaskans are a hardy, outdoors, athletic and health-conscious people and they walk and bike everywhere. The city reminded me a bit of what Vancouver was like fifty years ago – particularly in the setting. But we hankered to get away to the wilds after a bit of touring, some Geocaching and stocking up our pantry.
The Seward Highway south from Anchorage is spectacular – it’s very much like Vancouver’s exit to Whistler – the Sea to Sky Highway. It ringed Cook Inlet hugging the shore as it arced the soaring mountains. It was a feast for the eyes - the sea, sky and the sparkling glaciers. There were plenty of pullouts to savour the view and a few geocaches along the way. The road eventually reached the end of the inlet, it crossed the marshes and forged its way up through the sharp-spired, glacier-filled mountains.
We pulled in at the summit of Turnagain Pass; a long green valley full of graceful grasses and stunning wildflowers; it was used for snowmobiling and cross-country skiing in the winter. Walking trails meander invitingly through the tall grasses and flowers. Great place to spend the night – a view to take our breath away out our front window.
On sunny summer weekends, the residents of Anchorage pack up and leave in droves for the Kenai – trailers, motorhomes,
boats plug the Seward Highway south. So we shouldn’t have been surprised when the lovely city run RV park right on the waterfront in Seward was full when we arrived midday on Saturday but we were downhearted. When we were in Seward in 2005 during a cruise from Japan, we strolled through the park and said if we ever visited with the motorhome, we must stay there. The location is superlative, a block from town and jutting out at the end of the peninsula affording amazing views of Resurrection Inlet and the surrounding towering mountains. We lingered there a bit though and a motorhome eventually left so we had our space. Now everything was perfect and we stayed for three days.
Fishermen (I guess fishers is the politically correct term but I didn’t see any women fishing) lined the shores of the inlet;
fishing boats bobbed in the water; every stream and river were full of them. I guess it’s the national activity. They were catching salmon and plenty of them – from the shore as well as from the boats. While I was having breakfast and looking out at the ocean, a bald eagle swept across only 15 feet or so in front of the window and landed on a short pylon beside the water. Behind his perch, an otter glided by on his back grooming himself. Such an amazing sight.
A Holland America ship, the Ryndam sailed in early on Sunday morning right past us and docked about a mile further up at the end of the inlet. So the hordes were increased - but as most of the cruisers go on tours, they were dispersed onto sightseeing buses and nature tour boats.
We drove up to Exit Glacier, 12 miles out of town. It’s a glacier that you can walk right up to but it’s melting and receding quickly like the rest of them. I’m awfully glad we didn’t meet a busload of cruisers up there. It would have ruined the ambience of the serene and wild outdoors.
There were a couple of hiking trails in the area which coincidentally had a couple of geocaches along them so by the time we got home to Maggie, we had put many miles on our boots and we were flagged out. But, we had to do laundry – or should I say Fernie had to do it. He has elected it to be his job! I made him a sandwich and brought it to him with a cold drink while he laundered – good little wife that I am.
Our neighbours – Larry and Katherine.
Larry is such a cheerful fellow that he draws people to him with his gregarious and happy nature. He loves fishing and so the few days they spent on the shore in Seward, he fished every day. But he looked after Katherine first. Tiny Katherine - maybe 90 pounds at most - was crippled with what I believe could be osteo-arthritis – she could not walk at all. Her limbs were withered and bent and her hands and feet were like claws but her spirit soared as she tootled around in her motorized wheelchair always dressed smartly. I did wonder why she had ‘walking’ sandals on her feet – they were serviceable ones not decorative. Their motorhome had been especially modified with a large door and a powered elevator, which she’d drive onto and Larry would raise her up and in. The passenger seat had been removed and instead there was a bracket that held the wheel chair in place as they drove.
“How y’all?” she called out. They were both very hard to resist with their smiles and cheery greetings.
“We’re from Virginia via Missouri and Ohio but now we’re Virginians from right near Washington, DC” she answered when I asked.
“Is that one of them sea otters?” Larry called over to us as an otter cavorted about right in front of our RV’s. There was always a song in his voice and a grin as wide as his face.
Katherine’s abilities were minimal so Larry did everything outside and inside the motorhome, and looked after Katherine too. He never stopped moving. However, they didn’t like getting up in the morning and usually stayed in bed ‘til about noon.
“We’re nocturnal” Katherine crowed.
Fernie made their acquaintance before me and when he mentioned that we were just going to have cocktails, Katherine said, “Oh, we don’t do that – we’ve met the lord”.
Well, it obviously worked for them.
For us – I was busily shaking up some martinis to enjoy in our chairs in front of the magnificent vista.
Monday morning I opened the shades and was dazzled by the sun shining across Resurrection Bay – it was as if a million diamonds had been strewn across the water. We took our tea and coffee outside and whiled away the morning watching the fish jumping, otters and seals frolicking and gulls whirling.
Geocaching ruled the day. It took us partway up the perpendicular Marathon Mountain where signs warn “Ordinary public should not use this trail” and “If we have to call out Search and Rescue, you’ll have to pay”. Needless to say, we didn’t pursue it too far. Every July 4th, the City of Seward has a race up Marathon Mountain to the top and back down across the dangerous scree slopes. Obviously only lunatics, studly youth and those crazy Eco-Challenge kind of people would try it. Ironically, one block down is the hospital with its large EMERGENCY sign quite apparent. I’m sure it’s well used on Independence Day.
Lost Lake – that sounded like a nice trail to pursue – if you started in the early morning. It was a seven and a half mile hike in and we knew it would take us way more than three hours to complete it. Aha – the geocache was only a half-mile in, so all was well. It was a beautiful trail full of unusual plants and mosses. A visit to a gushing water fall and drives up both the east and the west sides of the inlet made us very familiar with Seward.
One cache drove us crazy. It said to drive to the end of Roundtable Road. When we found the approximate area, all the roads were named for the Knights of the Roundtable and we found every name imaginable except Roundtable. Excalibur, King Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Moat, Knight, even Troll - etc. Interesting houses in the remote area on the side of a hill – some half finished, some just humble huts and log cabins, some high end with sumptuous gardens and almost all with signs that warned “Trespassers will be prosecuted” or “No Entry” – I was afraid to go up to a door and ask where Roundtable Road was. Alaskans are very private people. We never found it. The Seward Airport at the end of the inlet hid another quest near the beach - it was an area hit extremely hard by the huge 9.2 earthquake in 1964. The tidal wave swooped up Resurrection Bay and eradicated all that was there and it hit within 60 seconds of the quake. People didn’t have a chance to run away. Hmmmmmm……..where we’re camped I guess we’d be wiped out if it started shaking again.
We travelled west across the Kenai Peninsula along the Kenai River, the most beautiful waterway with sparkling aqua glacial waters - except for one thing, thousands of fishermen were in the river in their chest waders or on the banks of the river or fishing from the bridges. Sparkling Kenai Lake was ringed with fishing lodges and cabins and was covered with boats. All along the highway that followed the river were more lodges and camps. It was most depressing that this beautiful spot has been blighted by the onslaught of so many people. It reminded me of a scene I saw in a movie once – it was in Australia and a nuclear bomb had been exploded in the northern hemisphere and as the nuclear cloud circled the globe, it killed everyone in its path. Australians knew it would soon be there and their days were numbered and do you know what they did with themselves - - - they all went down to their local fishing holes and went fishing, fighting to find a vacant spot on the riverbank. So what is it about fishing? I don’t get it. It’s a blood ‘sport’. The worst is when they do what they call ‘catch and release’. Imagine the terror and pain the poor fish go through and all for the perverted pleasure of the fisher who doesn’t even fish for sustenance. ‘Sportfishing’ – that’s a term I can’t abide. I guess it means killing or maiming or torturing just for the ‘sport’ of it. But enough of my lecture – I’ll get down off my soapbox now.
Halfway across the peninsula, we
left the mountains behind for mildly rolling hills and the more highly populated area of Sterling, Soldatna and Kenai. There’s a Russian influence on the west coast of the Kenai – towns with the names of Nikiski, Kasilof, Ninilchik, Kachemak and they have small picturesque Russian Orthodox churches where services are still held. We left Maggie in Soldatna for the afternoon and took a drive through the northwestern part of the peninsula through the city of Kenai and the little town of Nikiski but we ended up staying at Clam Gulch (that doesn’t sound Russian) south of Soldatna for the night. It’s not much of a town at all but it’s right on the Cook Inlet and the beaches are full of razor, littlenecks and butter clams. I wonder if clams feel terror and pain?
Anchor Point on the way south to Homer, holds the distinction of being the most westerly highway point in the USA. Halibut fishing is the thrust on this coast – and charters for the fishers who want the big trophy of a halibut that can weigh over 400 pounds and be up to 8 foot long. “Senior special – half a day halibut charter fishing expedition $89”. No more lectures!
It’s such a colourful drive south to Homer – the fireweed are thick and now in full
bloom and line the highway; the road follows the coast of the wide Cook Inlet bordered on the other side by volcanic mountains and more glaciers of course – extremely picturesque. Kachemak Bay splits away from Cook Inlet with Homer at the base of the cape – a five mile long narrow spit of land surges across Kachemak Bay from Homer, seemingly half way across the bay. The city allows camping in most spots along the spit in a beautiful natural setting right beside the sandy beaches – that’s where we stayed for our days in Homer. At the top end of the spit, it reminded me of the pier at Santa Barbara with all the glitzy commerce and an expensive RV Park - $75 a day we were told.
A couple from Penticton pulled in beside us –
a rare sight to see British Columbia license plates in Alaska. A pleasant twosome who left home about July 20th and followed almost the same route as us, they said “hasn’t the weather been awful – rain all the time?”
Now we didn’t understand that because we can only remember a few rainy days – were we just lucky being ahead of them by a few days or a week or is our perception of weather different because we’re Vancouverites and are well-used to rain. I guess it’s a bit of both. We were talking to them as we walked Caesar on the beach and they were complaining how cold it was and were all bundled up in their winter coats. We, on the other hand, were saying that weren’t we lucky that in spite of it being overcast, it wasn’t raining.
We poked around the area, headed out to old Ninilchik
for a halibut lunch (I should feel guilty but as long as it wasn’t killed for fun….) at the Boardwalk Café. That sounds kind of fancy but believe me, it wasn’t. It was an old shack on the beach right beside the tiny historic village of Ninilchik but it was squeaky-clean run by an old woman who looked to have Russian roots to me. You’ll notice I haven’t mentioned Geocaching but that doesn’t mean we didn’t do any…..just don’t want to get boring. We didn’t have a map of the rural roads outside Homer and hoped we’d figure out how to get down to the mouth of Diamond Creek on Cook Inlet. We figured it shouldn’t be too difficult as the highway was only ¾ of a mile away from our geocache target, so we drove slowly through the country roads back and forth, reached a few dead ends and retreated to try another thinking if we saw anyone, we’d ask for directions. Suddenly, about five or six HUGE dogs, at least two were the most ferocious pit bulls I’ve ever seen, rushed our car – snarling and biting at it; they scared me to death. Fernie yelled “back up outa here” which I did nervously as the dogs circled the car – I didn’t want to hit one. A man in dirty jeans, long stringy hair topped with a woollen toque, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth ambled out of his shack and glared at us……I gave him a wave and a smile but that didn’t charm him and the dogs kept up the attack. Alaskans are solitary and private and don’t like intruders. I was imagining if we’d decided to walk down with Caesar instead of driving…….they’d have made Caesar salad out of him and had us for the main course.
Amazinly, we pulled in a satellite signal in Homer. It was wide open across the ocean to the south, no mountains or trees to block a signal. We also had 4 or 5 TV local stations so it was kind of fun to have a couple of evenings of television. It rained the first night quite hard, but cleared by morning, so nothing to complain about. We’re starting to see signs of the approaching autumn now, some leaves are turning colour and blowing in the wind and it’s colder at night. How short the Alaskan summer is – no wonder they panic to get out and enjoy it.
A bit of a detour from the Seward Highway took us to Whittier, nestled at the end of a narrow fjord in the heart of Prince William Sound. Dwarfed by the walls of mountains that are covered with vast icefields, Whittier is a popular port for cruise ships that want to explore the numerous glaciers. Today with clouds so low that it felt like night was approaching, the Sapphire Princess sat at dock in the dark and dismal port. It had disgorged its passengers into numerous tour buses and distributed them around the Kenai. The only apparent ones around were the crew.
It wasn’t until the year 2000 that Whittier had road access. It’s only 11 ½ miles off the Seward Highway but through almost impassable mountains. So innovatingly, they modified the 2 ½ mile long railway tunnel to handle vehicles as well as trains. It’s a narrow and roughly hewn passageway that provides a single lane for traffic over the railroad tracks. Westbound and eastbound vehicles take turns using the tunnel – they let through as much traffic as can fit in fifteen minutes and then allow another fifteen minutes for all vehicles to complete the run. Then they alternate allowing the other direction to take their turn unless a train arrives and it takes precedence. It’s an odd route and they charge hefty tolls - $12 for a car, $35 for a motorhome. We left Maggie down the road and took the Honda.
We emerged the other end of the tunnel to the dank and dismal town, that isn’t really a town at all. All along the docks, huts have been built selling expensive hermetically sealed seafood & the usual tacky souvenirs intertwined with fish and chip cafes and fishing or glacier-viewing charter companies – everything the cruise ship passenger might want to spend their money on. A myriad of boats sat idle in the tight harbour alongside the railway depot and ferry terminal.
We crossed the tracks to try to find the town – a couple of humungous buildings could be seen on the steep slopes. Well the town consisted of a public works building, a fisheries an unkempt shop beside the grungy Anchor Inn hotel and those two large edifices that I needed to explore further. The first one looked like a prison with its grey block construction but on closer inspection, it was a derelict and deserted monstrosity – windows shattered and debris all around it. A half mile along, the newer building, about twelve stories I’d guess, was definitely inhabited. Shops and other businesses used the bottom floor, while the upper floors looked to be grim-looking apartments. In the rear, the state troopers had their office on the bottom floor and across a narrow road stood a school with hardly any windows. There appeared to be no houses in Whittier. Perhaps the extreme snowfall in winter is just too much to deal with so they all stay in this one building all winter long. It reminded me so much of Russia and its depressing lifestyle. I wonder who chooses to live there?
We grabbed one geocache from the dock area and were just in time to join the westbound flow out of Whittier. Strangely, when we emerged from the other side, it seemed so much brighter.
After a week in the Kenai, we’re ready to move on – back up to Anchorage where we’ll shop and on to our next destination – Valdez.
How outrageously fortunate! They’re having a heat wave in Anchorage and the Kenai Peninsula. A heat wave here is totally tolerable - it means temperatures of 70 degrees F and over and it actually reached 77 degrees F on one of our days. It was just like being in the Caribbean – especially with the azure sea.
Anchorage, a city of 277,000 is beautifully situated on
Cook Inlet and they’ve taken advantage of its lovely site by having hiking and biking trails all along the shore even where there are no roads. Overall, Alaskans are a hardy, outdoors, athletic and health-conscious people and they walk and bike everywhere. The city reminded me a bit of what Vancouver was like fifty years ago – particularly in the setting. But we hankered to get away to the wilds after a bit of touring, some Geocaching and stocking up our pantry. The Seward Highway south from Anchorage is spectacular – it’s very much like Vancouver’s exit to Whistler – the Sea to Sky Highway. It ringed Cook Inlet hugging the shore as it arced the soaring mountains. It was a feast for the eyes - the sea, sky and the sparkling glaciers. There were plenty of pullouts to savour the view and a few geocaches along the way. The road eventually reached the end of the inlet, it crossed the marshes and forged its way up through the sharp-spired, glacier-filled mountains.
We pulled in at the summit of Turnagain Pass; a long green valley full of graceful grasses and stunning wildflowers; it was used for snowmobiling and cross-country skiing in the winter. Walking trails meander invitingly through the tall grasses and flowers. Great place to spend the night – a view to take our breath away out our front window.
On sunny summer weekends, the residents of Anchorage pack up and leave in droves for the Kenai – trailers, motorhomes,
boats plug the Seward Highway south. So we shouldn’t have been surprised when the lovely city run RV park right on the waterfront in Seward was full when we arrived midday on Saturday but we were downhearted. When we were in Seward in 2005 during a cruise from Japan, we strolled through the park and said if we ever visited with the motorhome, we must stay there. The location is superlative, a block from town and jutting out at the end of the peninsula affording amazing views of Resurrection Inlet and the surrounding towering mountains. We lingered there a bit though and a motorhome eventually left so we had our space. Now everything was perfect and we stayed for three days.
Fishermen (I guess fishers is the politically correct term but I didn’t see any women fishing) lined the shores of the inlet;
fishing boats bobbed in the water; every stream and river were full of them. I guess it’s the national activity. They were catching salmon and plenty of them – from the shore as well as from the boats. While I was having breakfast and looking out at the ocean, a bald eagle swept across only 15 feet or so in front of the window and landed on a short pylon beside the water. Behind his perch, an otter glided by on his back grooming himself. Such an amazing sight.
A Holland America ship, the Ryndam sailed in early on Sunday morning right past us and docked about a mile further up at the end of the inlet. So the hordes were increased - but as most of the cruisers go on tours, they were dispersed onto sightseeing buses and nature tour boats.
We drove up to Exit Glacier, 12 miles out of town. It’s a glacier that you can walk right up to but it’s melting and receding quickly like the rest of them. I’m awfully glad we didn’t meet a busload of cruisers up there. It would have ruined the ambience of the serene and wild outdoors.
There were a couple of hiking trails in the area which coincidentally had a couple of geocaches along them so by the time we got home to Maggie, we had put many miles on our boots and we were flagged out. But, we had to do laundry – or should I say Fernie had to do it. He has elected it to be his job! I made him a sandwich and brought it to him with a cold drink while he laundered – good little wife that I am.
Our neighbours – Larry and Katherine.
Larry is such a cheerful fellow that he draws people to him with his gregarious and happy nature. He loves fishing and so the few days they spent on the shore in Seward, he fished every day. But he looked after Katherine first. Tiny Katherine - maybe 90 pounds at most - was crippled with what I believe could be osteo-arthritis – she could not walk at all. Her limbs were withered and bent and her hands and feet were like claws but her spirit soared as she tootled around in her motorized wheelchair always dressed smartly. I did wonder why she had ‘walking’ sandals on her feet – they were serviceable ones not decorative. Their motorhome had been especially modified with a large door and a powered elevator, which she’d drive onto and Larry would raise her up and in. The passenger seat had been removed and instead there was a bracket that held the wheel chair in place as they drove.
“How y’all?” she called out. They were both very hard to resist with their smiles and cheery greetings.
“We’re from Virginia via Missouri and Ohio but now we’re Virginians from right near Washington, DC” she answered when I asked.
“Is that one of them sea otters?” Larry called over to us as an otter cavorted about right in front of our RV’s. There was always a song in his voice and a grin as wide as his face.
Katherine’s abilities were minimal so Larry did everything outside and inside the motorhome, and looked after Katherine too. He never stopped moving. However, they didn’t like getting up in the morning and usually stayed in bed ‘til about noon.
“We’re nocturnal” Katherine crowed.
Fernie made their acquaintance before me and when he mentioned that we were just going to have cocktails, Katherine said, “Oh, we don’t do that – we’ve met the lord”.
Well, it obviously worked for them.
For us – I was busily shaking up some martinis to enjoy in our chairs in front of the magnificent vista.
Monday morning I opened the shades and was dazzled by the sun shining across Resurrection Bay – it was as if a million diamonds had been strewn across the water. We took our tea and coffee outside and whiled away the morning watching the fish jumping, otters and seals frolicking and gulls whirling.
Geocaching ruled the day. It took us partway up the perpendicular Marathon Mountain where signs warn “Ordinary public should not use this trail” and “If we have to call out Search and Rescue, you’ll have to pay”. Needless to say, we didn’t pursue it too far. Every July 4th, the City of Seward has a race up Marathon Mountain to the top and back down across the dangerous scree slopes. Obviously only lunatics, studly youth and those crazy Eco-Challenge kind of people would try it. Ironically, one block down is the hospital with its large EMERGENCY sign quite apparent. I’m sure it’s well used on Independence Day.Lost Lake – that sounded like a nice trail to pursue – if you started in the early morning. It was a seven and a half mile hike in and we knew it would take us way more than three hours to complete it. Aha – the geocache was only a half-mile in, so all was well. It was a beautiful trail full of unusual plants and mosses. A visit to a gushing water fall and drives up both the east and the west sides of the inlet made us very familiar with Seward.
One cache drove us crazy. It said to drive to the end of Roundtable Road. When we found the approximate area, all the roads were named for the Knights of the Roundtable and we found every name imaginable except Roundtable. Excalibur, King Arthur, Guinevere, Lancelot, Moat, Knight, even Troll - etc. Interesting houses in the remote area on the side of a hill – some half finished, some just humble huts and log cabins, some high end with sumptuous gardens and almost all with signs that warned “Trespassers will be prosecuted” or “No Entry” – I was afraid to go up to a door and ask where Roundtable Road was. Alaskans are very private people. We never found it. The Seward Airport at the end of the inlet hid another quest near the beach - it was an area hit extremely hard by the huge 9.2 earthquake in 1964. The tidal wave swooped up Resurrection Bay and eradicated all that was there and it hit within 60 seconds of the quake. People didn’t have a chance to run away. Hmmmmmm……..where we’re camped I guess we’d be wiped out if it started shaking again.
We travelled west across the Kenai Peninsula along the Kenai River, the most beautiful waterway with sparkling aqua glacial waters - except for one thing, thousands of fishermen were in the river in their chest waders or on the banks of the river or fishing from the bridges. Sparkling Kenai Lake was ringed with fishing lodges and cabins and was covered with boats. All along the highway that followed the river were more lodges and camps. It was most depressing that this beautiful spot has been blighted by the onslaught of so many people. It reminded me of a scene I saw in a movie once – it was in Australia and a nuclear bomb had been exploded in the northern hemisphere and as the nuclear cloud circled the globe, it killed everyone in its path. Australians knew it would soon be there and their days were numbered and do you know what they did with themselves - - - they all went down to their local fishing holes and went fishing, fighting to find a vacant spot on the riverbank. So what is it about fishing? I don’t get it. It’s a blood ‘sport’. The worst is when they do what they call ‘catch and release’. Imagine the terror and pain the poor fish go through and all for the perverted pleasure of the fisher who doesn’t even fish for sustenance. ‘Sportfishing’ – that’s a term I can’t abide. I guess it means killing or maiming or torturing just for the ‘sport’ of it. But enough of my lecture – I’ll get down off my soapbox now.
Halfway across the peninsula, we
left the mountains behind for mildly rolling hills and the more highly populated area of Sterling, Soldatna and Kenai. There’s a Russian influence on the west coast of the Kenai – towns with the names of Nikiski, Kasilof, Ninilchik, Kachemak and they have small picturesque Russian Orthodox churches where services are still held. We left Maggie in Soldatna for the afternoon and took a drive through the northwestern part of the peninsula through the city of Kenai and the little town of Nikiski but we ended up staying at Clam Gulch (that doesn’t sound Russian) south of Soldatna for the night. It’s not much of a town at all but it’s right on the Cook Inlet and the beaches are full of razor, littlenecks and butter clams. I wonder if clams feel terror and pain? Anchor Point on the way south to Homer, holds the distinction of being the most westerly highway point in the USA. Halibut fishing is the thrust on this coast – and charters for the fishers who want the big trophy of a halibut that can weigh over 400 pounds and be up to 8 foot long. “Senior special – half a day halibut charter fishing expedition $89”. No more lectures!
It’s such a colourful drive south to Homer – the fireweed are thick and now in full
bloom and line the highway; the road follows the coast of the wide Cook Inlet bordered on the other side by volcanic mountains and more glaciers of course – extremely picturesque. Kachemak Bay splits away from Cook Inlet with Homer at the base of the cape – a five mile long narrow spit of land surges across Kachemak Bay from Homer, seemingly half way across the bay. The city allows camping in most spots along the spit in a beautiful natural setting right beside the sandy beaches – that’s where we stayed for our days in Homer. At the top end of the spit, it reminded me of the pier at Santa Barbara with all the glitzy commerce and an expensive RV Park - $75 a day we were told. 
A couple from Penticton pulled in beside us –
a rare sight to see British Columbia license plates in Alaska. A pleasant twosome who left home about July 20th and followed almost the same route as us, they said “hasn’t the weather been awful – rain all the time?”Now we didn’t understand that because we can only remember a few rainy days – were we just lucky being ahead of them by a few days or a week or is our perception of weather different because we’re Vancouverites and are well-used to rain. I guess it’s a bit of both. We were talking to them as we walked Caesar on the beach and they were complaining how cold it was and were all bundled up in their winter coats. We, on the other hand, were saying that weren’t we lucky that in spite of it being overcast, it wasn’t raining.
We poked around the area, headed out to old Ninilchik
for a halibut lunch (I should feel guilty but as long as it wasn’t killed for fun….) at the Boardwalk Café. That sounds kind of fancy but believe me, it wasn’t. It was an old shack on the beach right beside the tiny historic village of Ninilchik but it was squeaky-clean run by an old woman who looked to have Russian roots to me. You’ll notice I haven’t mentioned Geocaching but that doesn’t mean we didn’t do any…..just don’t want to get boring. We didn’t have a map of the rural roads outside Homer and hoped we’d figure out how to get down to the mouth of Diamond Creek on Cook Inlet. We figured it shouldn’t be too difficult as the highway was only ¾ of a mile away from our geocache target, so we drove slowly through the country roads back and forth, reached a few dead ends and retreated to try another thinking if we saw anyone, we’d ask for directions. Suddenly, about five or six HUGE dogs, at least two were the most ferocious pit bulls I’ve ever seen, rushed our car – snarling and biting at it; they scared me to death. Fernie yelled “back up outa here” which I did nervously as the dogs circled the car – I didn’t want to hit one. A man in dirty jeans, long stringy hair topped with a woollen toque, cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth ambled out of his shack and glared at us……I gave him a wave and a smile but that didn’t charm him and the dogs kept up the attack. Alaskans are solitary and private and don’t like intruders. I was imagining if we’d decided to walk down with Caesar instead of driving…….they’d have made Caesar salad out of him and had us for the main course.
Amazinly, we pulled in a satellite signal in Homer. It was wide open across the ocean to the south, no mountains or trees to block a signal. We also had 4 or 5 TV local stations so it was kind of fun to have a couple of evenings of television. It rained the first night quite hard, but cleared by morning, so nothing to complain about. We’re starting to see signs of the approaching autumn now, some leaves are turning colour and blowing in the wind and it’s colder at night. How short the Alaskan summer is – no wonder they panic to get out and enjoy it.
A bit of a detour from the Seward Highway took us to Whittier, nestled at the end of a narrow fjord in the heart of Prince William Sound. Dwarfed by the walls of mountains that are covered with vast icefields, Whittier is a popular port for cruise ships that want to explore the numerous glaciers. Today with clouds so low that it felt like night was approaching, the Sapphire Princess sat at dock in the dark and dismal port. It had disgorged its passengers into numerous tour buses and distributed them around the Kenai. The only apparent ones around were the crew.
It wasn’t until the year 2000 that Whittier had road access. It’s only 11 ½ miles off the Seward Highway but through almost impassable mountains. So innovatingly, they modified the 2 ½ mile long railway tunnel to handle vehicles as well as trains. It’s a narrow and roughly hewn passageway that provides a single lane for traffic over the railroad tracks. Westbound and eastbound vehicles take turns using the tunnel – they let through as much traffic as can fit in fifteen minutes and then allow another fifteen minutes for all vehicles to complete the run. Then they alternate allowing the other direction to take their turn unless a train arrives and it takes precedence. It’s an odd route and they charge hefty tolls - $12 for a car, $35 for a motorhome. We left Maggie down the road and took the Honda.
We emerged the other end of the tunnel to the dank and dismal town, that isn’t really a town at all. All along the docks, huts have been built selling expensive hermetically sealed seafood & the usual tacky souvenirs intertwined with fish and chip cafes and fishing or glacier-viewing charter companies – everything the cruise ship passenger might want to spend their money on. A myriad of boats sat idle in the tight harbour alongside the railway depot and ferry terminal.
We crossed the tracks to try to find the town – a couple of humungous buildings could be seen on the steep slopes. Well the town consisted of a public works building, a fisheries an unkempt shop beside the grungy Anchor Inn hotel and those two large edifices that I needed to explore further. The first one looked like a prison with its grey block construction but on closer inspection, it was a derelict and deserted monstrosity – windows shattered and debris all around it. A half mile along, the newer building, about twelve stories I’d guess, was definitely inhabited. Shops and other businesses used the bottom floor, while the upper floors looked to be grim-looking apartments. In the rear, the state troopers had their office on the bottom floor and across a narrow road stood a school with hardly any windows. There appeared to be no houses in Whittier. Perhaps the extreme snowfall in winter is just too much to deal with so they all stay in this one building all winter long. It reminded me so much of Russia and its depressing lifestyle. I wonder who chooses to live there?
We grabbed one geocache from the dock area and were just in time to join the westbound flow out of Whittier. Strangely, when we emerged from the other side, it seemed so much brighter.
After a week in the Kenai, we’re ready to move on – back up to Anchorage where we’ll shop and on to our next destination – Valdez.
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