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.

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.

Denali (The Great One) - Aug 3 to 9, 2007

The merits of a snooze…..

I’ve come to believe that an afternoon nap is one of life’s greatest pleasures. What a shame we have to reach an advanced age before the realization that we can slow down and not always be rushing for more of everything. Now I’m a fine one to talk because I live my life as if there’s no tomorrow and everything must be done today. I need to go everywhere and see everything, afraid I might miss something along the way. But it seems that I have learned from Fernie the delight of taking an afternoon nap. It started with a bit of the “if you can’t beat them, join them” sort of thing but now I long for the time, after we’ve been tramping around all day, and we’re bone weary, when we crawl onto Maggie’s luxurious bed, windows open both sides, Caesar in between us and we settle in for our siesta.

The afternoon sun is warm and a breeze wafts across my face and bare arms; the shadows from the supple trees move in the gentle waft of air and cause my eyes to flicker. Caesar’s warm little body is snuggled in tightly to my side and he unknowingly emanates an occasional twitch and a sporadic sigh of contentment. I quickly reach a state of euphoria and enter the netherworld where I’m no longer awake but I’m not yet asleep. I’m somewhat aware of my surroundings and yet feel removed from it rather like being hypnotized. I am aware of every inch of my body; my mind follows the sensations from my toes, up my legs and my trunk, down my arms, my fingers, up to my neck and my head. There are no negative thoughts; all I feel is beauty and ecstasy. This should be what heaven is like, if there is such a place - and all of a sudden it’s Blotto!


The next thing I feel is obtrusive – I’m shaken from my reverie.
“Gerri.i.i.i.i.i….. it’s time to get up” Fernie in his sing song voice who lives by the clock. Oh well, there’ll be another nap tomorrow afternoon. What a trip! No drug could do better. However, a vodka martini is of great assistance in getting me to that special place.


But I digress; I’m supposed to be writing about Denali. So far, Denali is dark, dank, dingy, dismal and downright depressing with the clouds low on the mountains and the wind whistling through the canyon spinning up miniature dust tornadoes and whipping doors open and slamming them shut. Luckily, there are a few geocaches in the area – that kept us busy and me smiling for the afternoon. Fernie has found a new passion – he’s collecting pins, which he sometimes finds in the caches. So far he has eleven and he’s hankering for more – that’s good for me because he wants to go Geocaching as much as I do now. Caches are not allowed in the national park area, so for the next few days, we’ll have a break from my addiction.


Riley Creek, a National Park campground at the entrance is where we stayed for our first two days in Denali. It has all the amenities – showers, laundry, dump station, fresh water, store, and wifi at the store. There were hardly any English-speaking visitors there, some French (from France) but mostly German – that’s not surprising; they are the world’s adventurers. They were mostly young – in their twenties, I’d guess - and the men wore those funny little knit hats in Fairisle pattern, with two ear flaps that looked like braids and a tassle dangling from the crown. They all wore expensive outdoor clothing and boots and they were ready to tackle the higher realms of Denali, some even to climb Mt. McKinley – AKA Denali meaning ‘the great one’ in Athabaskan. Some of them rented motorhomes but more of them carried large backpacks and tents. I wonder how they’ll like Denali in this weather.

Riley Creek is within walking distance of Glitter Gulch – about a mile away. That’s where Princess Cruises and Holland America have their lodges and the resultant tacky tourist souvenir shops have sprung up all around them. You’d have thought that the cruise companies would have located their lodges away from such a tawdry area and offered their clients something a bit more refined and tranquil. But I guess the patrons love this sort of stuff – that tells me something about the average cruiser in today’s market.

Monday morning dawned – yes it actually did get dark last night – to torrential rain and low clouds and this was the day we were driving into the park to the Teklanika campground. It’s 30 miles inside the park and we are only allowed to drive our RV in and drive it out 3 days later – no tow car allowed and no driving around once we’re there. All travel is to be done by the regularly scheduled shuttle buses or tour buses. Apparently, a wolf pack has a den in the area and so no soft-sided camping apparatus is allowed. I wouldn’t have thought wolves would pose that sort of danger – I understood them to be elusive and evasive. So tonight, I’ll be waiting for the howl of the wolves as I lay in my bed – I’ll be so disappointed if I don’t hear them. As for a sighting, that’s not likely.


The first half of the drive into Denali was pavement but after that it was fifteen miles of winding, gravel road through the taiga and tundra. The speed limit is low – 35 mph - and it was pouring rain so instead of dust, it was mud we had to contend with. When we reached our destination and I went outside to guide us into our campsite, the motorhome was encrusted with muck and all I could think was “Oh no, Fernie’s gonna be all upset and grouchy that his Maggie is so filthy”. So I warned him……but that didn’t stop the moans when he got out to see for himself and his usual expression of disgust “That’s lovely; that’s lovely ………” on and on he went.

The rain never let up, so we spent the rest of the day curled up with our books and playing a mean-spirited tournament of Spite and Malice – the card game that brings out the worst side of me.


Just outside our front window – maybe about 20 feet away, under the shade of a small white spruce an immobile ‘snowshoe hare’ sat as if waiting out the pouring rain. He was not at all perturbed by our movements inside the motorhome. After a bit, he scooted over a few feet to a small shrub and commenced munching down some tender leafy branches. Known as rabbits locally, they are brown with white furry paws but they turn totally white in the winter. When Fernie took Caesar out for his constitutional later on, even with his bad eye, Caesar took off at a run after the rabbit and a dozen others that appeared out of nowhere. No success in catching one, of course and thankfully but he had the thrill of the chase.

Tuesday morning, 4am – no sound of rain on the roof – was that a good omen? Yes it was – when we got up there was no rain and we saw a couple of patches of blue sky. Caesar encountered a group of chattering ground squirrels (they look like gophers) on his early morning walk, which gave him his thrill for the day. They seemed to be goading him on unafraid, which drove him absolutely mad.


Our shuttle bus was due about 9am so we packed up sandwiches, thermoses of coffee and tea, put on our hiking boots, carried our rain gear just in case and headed off for the day. Our green shuttle came along – it had an almost full load from the headquarters – we were an hour and a quarter down the road and the only ones to get on from Teklanika.
“Have you seen any wildlife yet?” I asked the friendly group.
“Just a herd of caribou” they chorused.
“Well that’s a good start” I thought – maybe we’ll have a good day of sighting.
All the buses, including the white tour buses stop at designated rest areas – there were about four of them along the way. Restrooms, of course plus we had about a quarter to half an hour to walk around each area. With the shuttle system, we could stay longer in an area and catch any of the other green buses that came along after.

The terrain in the park is a lot like that along the Dempster but because the weather wasn’t good, its beauty was not displayed at its best. Receded glaciers have left long wide beds of ‘plaited’ rivers. There were occasional peeks of blue sky and the sun glinted off the Technicolor mountains. The road is very narrow and the mud was oozing after the monsoon of yesterday. Work crews were out in force repairing washouts. The mud splashed up onto our windows, so at each rest area squeegees were provided for us to clean them. The road is so narrow in some places that one bus has to pull over in a widening to allow another to pass. When this happens on a tight cut across a slide area, it’s a bit freaky.

The ‘Big Five’ of Denali were what we hoped to encounter but didn’t hold out a lot of hope. However, the weather was obviously conducive because we saw four of the five.

1. High up on a green peak were dozens of little white blobs – binoculars brought them in clearer; they were Dall Sheep and there are about 2,500 of them in the park.

2. Unbelievable! there was a grizzly, just across the stream on a steep bank ambling along while grazing. Beautiful thick blonde fur on his head and back and a dark underbelly and feet, he was only about 500 feet away and with our binoculars we could see him clearly. We encountered another grizzly and a cub not long after but they quickly disappeared into the undergrowth. Further along, another grizzly was fast asleep on the hillside after a big meal of berries and roots, I suppose. Then another grizzly bear; we watched him rouse lazily and mosey back into action – they seem to always be alone unless with cubs. With only 300 to 350 total bears in the park, I am amazed that we had four sightings (5 counting the cub).

3. There were many herds of caribou; they favour the tundra and so were easy to pick out. One herd was right beside the road and crossed in front of our bus – the stag had an absolutely massive set of antlers – I wondered how he held his head upright. In another spot, a couple with no other herd in sight braved the swiftly running waters of a deep river and swam strongly across, quivering their little white rumps when they clambered out to shake off the excess water.


4. A cow and a calf moose were grazing in the taiga area of low shrubby trees. Guess we’re a bit ho-hum about moose.

5. The elusive wolf was not to be seen or heard. There are only 80 to 100 in the park and I guess we’d have to be well off the road to have an encounter with those reclusive creatures.


Mt. McKinley (AKA Denali, the great one), the tallest mountain in North America at 20,320 feet was not to be seen – it remained shrouded in cloud even though the sun came through around it. It is said that ‘McKinley is so tall that it makes its own weather’ and you’ll seldom see the whole mountain in the summertime. A bit of trivia: Because of plate tectonics, Denali is still growing at the rate of about a millimetre a year.

What a great day! I take it back about Denali being ‘dark, dank, dingy, dismal and downright depressing’ – instead it’s thrilling and alive.

Wednesday - more downpours started in the middle of the night and continued through the morning. It was a good excuse to linger in bed a while. After a late breakfast, we spread out all the brochures we’d gathered and planned the next couple of weeks of our travels mostly around the Kenai Peninsula…….and unexpectedly, the sun came out.


We hiked along the Teklanika River, through mystical mossy taiga forests, full of orange, green, white, yellow and brown mushrooms and other magical fungi. The green of the springy moss dazzled the eyes and the mushroom caps were so large, I could imagine we’d fallen down the rabbit hole into Alice’s Wonderland. There were plenty of rabbits around – unafraid, they’d sit watching from underneath a spruce tree their eyes following our movements. I can see why they call them snowshoe hares – they’re feet are absolutely huge.

All around our campground were red warning posters that a grizzly had recently been seen in the area, so we whistled and talked loudly as we walked so as to not come upon one unexpectedly. We almost stepped in a huge pile of fresh grizzly scat (feces) – it was full of undigested red berries and leaves and was so recent we decided it was time to turn around. They look so slow and cumbersome but apparently they can exceed 30mph in a chase, which is way faster than I can run, even when scared to death.

Caesar had his share of fun when we took him out after. We kept to the campground roads and trails within the perimeter. Every tree and bush has a warren under and the ground squirrels scampered around teasing Caesar relentlessly. He’d stick his nose right down their burrows and it would come out black. Westies were bred from Cairn terriers that are the rodent hunters of the Scottish highlands. Cairns with their brown, grey and black colouring would get lost, sometimes stuck halfway in a burrow. So they bred them white so they’d stand out on the sparse slopes and called them West Highland White Terriers. Caesar was just doing what he was genetically programmed to do.


Thursday - finally the weather is perfect and holds out hope that Denali (Mt McKinley) will shrug off the shroud of fleecy cloud and emerge denuded. It was so cold overnight that we had extra fuzzy blankets on top of our duvet but once the sun truly rose, everything warmed up and the countryside sparkled in its glaring light. And yes, there was Denali, its white slopes and glaciers dazzling in the early morning. The peaks were still veiled by a residue of mist but it seemed to dissipate as we watched it.


The gravel portion of the road out of the park had several washouts over the last couple of days but we were fortunate that the road crews had managed to restore the surfaces before we had to attempt the run. Maggie was still encrusted with dirt, so we hoped to find a facility to wash her before too long.

It was a day of Geocaching (so we did get some exercise) and admiring Denali, the mountain from all her sides as we descended south on the terrifically scenic Parks Highway towards Anchorage. The sun made us sing as we drove. We found a wonderful little spot right beside a lake to spend the night.

Life is good!